Reflections on Amsterdam

I want to write a story about my trip to Holland sometime soon, a story for a magazine that young people will read and learn from my experience. I want to share that missions and servanthood are harder to bring home than they are to cultivate overseas, but that God grows these things in our hearts until a passion for the lost is ignited and He begins to make us His hands and feet.

Here is a tentative beginning. I don't know how it will actually go, but Amsterdam has been on my heart lately and I wanted to share a little now.

The smell lingered in my nose for hours after I washed it off my skin, the suggestion of marijuana, dust, and cheap beer picked up along the cobblestone streets of Amsterdam’s red light district. I had only been in the city for one day, but what I had seen made me hate Amsterdam. I struggled for days with how to respond to the challenges of such a dark and sinful neighborhood.

The next evening, after mulling over the flagrant sin and desperation of the district while spending time with the Dutch youth of the my friends’ church, I sat at the open second-story door of their home outside the city, watching a storm roll in. I could feel the rain and thunder coming. I waited in anticipation, hoping the storm would be a catharsis for dealing with Amsterdam and the red light district. I still didn’t know how to feel about it, how to think, how to pray.

To my surprise, it had been hard to feel anything while I was there except disgust at the tourists, often middle-aged couples pushing baby carriages past theaters, windows and sex shops. I couldn’t fathom how they could enjoy the display of an inhumane trade that I, as a young woman, could hardly comprehend.

The rain started suddenly, pattering on the flat Dutch roofs that stretched down to the shlote (little canal) where the ducklings hid. I sat with my Bible and notebook open on my lap; I would start to process Amsterdam soon, but I paused to enjoy Nieuw Vennep. I love the Dutch countryside. I would be happy to stay forever if I could move my friends and family there. The way I felt about the countryside made it harder to comprehend the city less than an hour away, where girls sold themselves to cheap buyers and YWAMers prayed constantly for them all to be set free. I prayed for a softened heart, that God would teach me to allow myself to be brokenhearted for others, to offer up their sin and my judgement to Him and take His love in return.

Just then the other couple who lived in the house drove up from a weeklong holiday to England. I shouted, “Welcome home!” then laughed at myself. Me, watching the storm from their rooftop, welcoming them to their own home when I had been in the country a week. But that’s the way God works, growing love and passion in the middle of much need.

Law Should Be Liberty.

I just finished reading Frederic Bastiat's mid-19th-century book, The Law. [You can, and should, find the book here. Bastiat's concise but brilliant book reminds me why I love French writers so much- writers like Alexis deTocqueville, Blaise Pascal, and even Moliere. After reading The Law, I think I have to move Bastiat up to deTocqueville's level. The clarity of his arguments is supplemented by the elegance only a Frenchman's political prose can succeed at.

Bastiat's central argument is that the purpose of the law is to prevent injustice through the use of collective force, and anything outside the prevention of injustice is unlawful force. By this reasoning- which I am well persuaded is absolutely true- even the current state of our democracy is unlawful. Many of us have realized that the American government is unconstitutional, but Bastiat argues that it is against the principle of law as a universal principle as well.

I love America, but I do not love big government, so I appreciate Bastiat's arguments immensely. He lays them out clearly enough for me to follow, know why I agree, and remember, and he does it in less than 100 pages too. I wish I had read this in college- why doesn't Hillsdale require it in one of the core classes? I'm sure several professors do.

Being in D.C., working at a newspaper, and reading this book have all made the transience of government and human frailty of legislators clearer than ever to me. That sounds depressing, but actually I find it encouraging for two reasons. First, it means the system we operate under does not always have to be the current form of democracy. Second, it means that those who understand the purpose of law, that, as Bastiat repeats over and over in his conclusion, "law is liberty," have a chance to change our system of government in favor of liberty and justice for all.

Newspaper Days

I spent the past two years of journalism classes and Collegian work trying to imagine what the day-to-day life of a journalist is like. Now that I'm here, trying it out for the summer, I find that some of my imagining was completely off, while some of it was not too far from the truth. 

* First of all, it does get easier to whip out stories on a deadline. That started getting easier this year, as I wrote 2-5 stories a week for the Collegian, but I still thought it would be harder at a daily. The reality: some stories still take several days to adequately research, and that's still ok. Others have a turnaround of 2 hours or less, and that's ok too. It happens. 

* Second of all, it really is easier to interview people when you can introduce yourself as part of a major newspaper. Saying, "Hi, my name is Michal and I'm calling from Hillsdale College's newspaper, the Collegian... Hillsdale... yes, Michigan..." just doesn't get you as quick a response as saying you're calling from the Times. 

*The newsroom is not always hectic, and editors are not always scary. Sure, my stomach flip-flops at the thought (or event) of an editor coming over and asking if I can get a story done before I leave the same day, especially if there are prominent people involved. But one phone call at a time, reporting just has its busy moments like any other job. Political reporters in The District probably always feel hectic, but I am not one of them. 

*Sometimes being in an office and wearing business attire, even if it's cute, is not as fun as playing house. The walls are bare white. The lights are fluorescent-do I have Seasonal Affectedness Disorder? Or does anyone else understand how awful fluorescent lights are on cloudy days? Also, button-downs don't stay tucked in all day. 

*The newsroom is no longer full to the brim, the phones don't ring off the hook (although a lady called in a story today), and the editors are not constantly yelling and assigning and copyediting. But there is plenty of room for young, innovative, persistent journalists to keep the news industry going. Newspapers are by no means dying; the business model is simply changing. 

*It really is a fun job. And it's an industry that has no time or patience for writers and reporters who can't hit the ground running, so everyone in the newsroom or the editorial office really counts. You really do get your name in print, too, which doesn't hurt. :-) 

Nine weeks of summer left to save the world. The last two are for cleanup. 

A train of thought not entirely random

I just finished the BBC version of Emma. As lazy as I feel watching a movie during the daytime, I have to say it's awfully good not to have to do anything. I'm also reading The Law for homework, and it's astonishingly astute and engaging. But I got to spend a few hours with Mr. Knightly. He is so gentlemanly and so wonderful. Whoever I marry will be a gentleman like him. My Daddy made sure I'd be satisfied with no less. :-)

Thinking of men makes me think of Matt Chandler (a pastor Ian told me about) and his wonderful teaching on Biblical manhood, which makes me think of living Biblically in general. It is too easy to get comfortable being as I am, I realize, even when I've just moved to a new place. I think of my own interests and not the interests of others.

I passed by a homeless man begging outside of Starbucks today, and the first thing out of my mouth was, "I'm sorry, I don't have anything." As I walked into the coffee shop, it struck me how false that really was. While I ought to be wise with how I care for homeless people, it's not a reason to completely disregard every one of them. I could have asked him if he needed some food; or I could have supplied him with endless satisfaction by asking if he knew the Lord. It was a busy street with lots of people around and inside the store, so I would surely be safe sitting across the little table from him and asking that. But it is so hard to shift gears and think of myself as a servant, not the served. Because I am always being served.

I'm not about to go looking for homeless men to chill with, but I have been wondering how to be Jesus' hands and feet here. Maybe it is among the NJC interns and the Times newsroom. Matt Chandler says Epaphroditus in Ephesians heard the gospel, went home to share it with his town, and through his enthusiastic love for God's glory planted the Colossian church. Where is my faith to "speak boldly, as I ought to speak"?

Pray for me, that boldness may be given to me in the Spirit, that I may speak as I ought to. I love my Savior, and I want to have too much zeal for His name to let it go unknown where I am. This is going to be a good summer, and I hope to leave the people I meet a little different than they are right now.

Them Sobbin' Women

(photo by Rachel Duke)

Would you like to know what Rachel and I do in our free time? On our long walks from on museum to another, to the Press Club, to the Metro?

We sing Seven Brides For Seven Brothers.

I can't count the number of times in one week one of us has sung, all of a sudden, in a fake baritone, "Tell you 'bout them sobbin' women, who lived in the Roman days..." or, in the middle of a quiet hustle, turned to the other one and said, "But secretly they was overjoyed!" Also, at one point Rachel started singing "Goin' Courtin' " last night while we walked with her friend Jeff to celebrate our first day of work. I think he may or may not have pretended he didn't hear it.

We also quote movies. Obscure movie quotes that most people don't instinctively pick up on. The other day, as we crossed the street, I said in a really dumb Spanish accent, "I am too young to die!" and Rachel said, "I have my whole life ahead of me!" Seriously, how many people would have known instinctively that I was quoting the second Zorro movie?! So now every once in a while (like, once an hour if we're touring or sitting near each other) Rachel says, "I am too young to die!"

Yesterday evening we relaxed to the Beauty and the Beast soundtrack. It was marvelous. :)

All I have to say is, everyone at the Times is going to think we are nuts. And maybe we're right. But we've got nine weeks to change the world, so a little ridiculousness keeps us ready to go do that! (The last two weeks are for cleanup.)

Sleep sweet. :)

The First Week

This is me photographing the Library of Congress (media credit goes to Courtney Nolan). The building reminds me of an illuminated medieval text! It happens to be the most gilded building in North America, so anything that looks like gold actually is. It also has American-designed, Italian-made colored stone mosaics on the walls and ceilings. Incredible.

I can't give you the inner workings of my internship, because we like to change the world here and you can't do that if you tell how it works. :) Just kidding, sort of. I really can't give details because there are a lot of other interns who probably don't want to show up on the internet unexpectedly in my blog. But I can give some word-pictures of my first week here.

Auntie Karrie is a wonderful aunt who not only met me at the airport and drove me the hour and a half from Baltimore to Arlington, but stopped at American Eagle on the way. Just because I wanted a cardigan there and had a coupon. The cardigan is perfect for evenings here and I love it. :) I also got a little notebook at Carbiou which had the honor of being perfect for taking my first notes in here. We had a speech to attend and write about, and I filled five pages front and back with notes. Homework.

The architecture in D.C. is beautiful. I didn't remember that from my visits with family, because I had no appreciation for architecture and very little for art! But it reminds me a little of Amsterdam, with colorful buildings grown up close together but somehow managing to look ancient and elegant. The District looks like history. It makes me love American history even more just to walk in through the "temple of justice," for instance, where the Supreme Court sits; to see Thomas Jefferson's library, with its faded leatherbound copies of things I myself have read. On his shelves I saw Plutarch (Sabine women!), among others.

Not so pretty, however, is the escalator down to the trains at the Rosslyn Metro Station. I counted today: almost 100 steps to walk. The thing's too slow to ride up and down, especially with a metro train to catch. So after every long day, every workout, Rachel and I walk up 100 steps.

The Washington Times building has a ballroom. A ballroom with crown molding along the ceiling and crystal chandeliers. That's not where the newsroom is, but somehow working in such a building- which, unlike some newspapers these days, is still all for the Times- is better for it. Also, I have my own desk. Obviously. But it's my own desk at the Washington Times. Today I sat at my own desk and read a book about a bicyclist. Life is sweet.

Back home, our studio looks less like the bachelor pad Rachel and I inherited and more like a mini home. We took down the American flag (respectfully) and put up the London skyline. Not patriotic, but more feminine. I got my magazine cutouts and Jane Austen mens' pictures in the mail and put the collage on my wall. My books are on the shelf, along with my stationary box and letters. Rachel got her duvet in the mail. The fish cease to annoy us. It is, in short, home away from home.

This is a long collection of snapshots, so if you made it to the end, thank you! :-) I'll update more than once every three months so there isn't so much catching up to do. The District is a busy place and hopefully I can eventually blog about a little International Justice Mission volunteer work (it'll be office stuff) and a direction God is leading my heart for the city. Until then, I can pray for it. The Metro commute is a great time to pray.