I'm Going Home

My time spent in Armenia was one of the most poignant events of my life. Each day was a bead that I placed on a string, creating a necklace of memories I cannot seem to find words to describe. I saw a lot of suffering and I suffered myself. Every single day for a year and a half I spent hours in people's homes; everyone was always inviting us in, offering what little food they had. I spoke of Christ, I carried buckets of water up flights of stairs, I danced in taxi's (the drivers always thought this was hilarious,) I ate gobs cabbage, I celebrated the new year, I slipped on the ice, I carried a handkerchief in my pocket to wipe the sweat, I learned to make dolma, I climbed a hillside with a shepherd, I helped beat wool from some mattresses. From the dusty roads lining the shadows of Ararat to the broken rocks of Gyumri, I found that heaven is a tangled mess of pain and beautiful darkness.

I still remember the day when I was in a small kitchen, two Armenian women sitting at a table next to me, speaking in Armenian, preparing a meal. I felt in an instant just how far away from "home" I was. But yet, I understood every word from their mouths- I too helped make the food. I sat there with them eating lunch. Somehow, I was home.

As much as I did there, there was one thing I did not do. I did not really get to photograph it. For the seven and a half years that I have been home I kept saying that I needed to go back with my camera. I need to tell the stories I felt, the ones with no words. 

I've been trying to get back to Armenia for years now. I kept saving money for my return, only to have life happen- you know, cars break down, weddings happen, babies are born. And that money kept disappearing. Last year I was determined to return with Buck for our five year anniversary. But I got a big fat NO from God when I prayed about it. But I knew it was okay because His plan for my life is always the best plan. 

And then. Just a couple weeks before Christmas I was scrolling through instagram and that's when I saw it. I follow a few National Geographic photographers on there and I've narrowed it down to my favorites. As I scrolled through I stopped on the post by John Stanmeyer, truly one of my most favorite photographers based on his photos, his deep thoughts, and friendliness. And his post hit me hard:

"Story telling workshop! I want to learn about my favorite photo subject from him!"

But then

"In GYUMRI ARMENIA?!?!?!!"

 

In an instant I was crying and shaking. I took this screen shot and sent it to Buck. I couldn't believe it. I wanted to go SO BADLY but I had no idea how on earth I would ever make it happen. I'd be gone nearly two weeks from my little family. How would I find the money? And I realized that I would have to do this alone, meaning I would be going back without Buck. How would he feel about all of this? No, there's no way. I thought.

 

When Buck got home from work that night he simply came in the house, put his stuff away, sat down at the table and said, "You are going to go to that workshop. You are going back to Armenia. I don't know how but we will find a way." 

I was in shock! It didn't even feel real! 

But now I'm like a month and a half away from leaving. I've signed up, paid the money, and even have a traveling buddy, my good friend Rebecca whom I served with in Armenia, is also going to the workshop! What's more is that I've been in contact with John Stanmeyer. We've been emailing and he even called me! He's looked at my photos and has given me feed back. We are working on what story I might try and tell while I am there. This whole thing still feels like a dream. I can't believe I am going to meet someone who is so famous in my eyes. He's done 18 cover photos for TIME magazine, 14 stories for NatGeo, he's been nominated for an Emmy, he's been to over 100 countries, he even just got back from shooting a story about the refugee crisis in Europe. I can't believe I get to learn these skills from him! And I CAN'T BELIEVE THAT I'M GOING BACK!

When I think of their stories, I think about their hands- and all that they do and symbolize. I think of their light; their candles. The symbolism of their dark churches being pierced by the flames of candles. I think about the idea of being forgotten, but not lost. The story of their hearts, that they have always been found by the sacrifice of their ancestors. At first glance you may think you are staring at a ghost town- crumbling cement, grass peering through cracks. At first glance you might see sadness in the peoples' eyes, the enlarged passport photos of their loved ones now gone clinging to their rug covered walls. And in it you find yourself breaking. But then you start to notice how every morning faces get painted with sunlight as they hurry outside to sweep the front steps for their shoes, holes in the bottom but always shined, to walk out the door; to walk into their work and a fierce pride and devotion to what makes them Armenian. Perhaps the world forgot but they never will. 

And I never will.  

Over 100 countries John Stanmeyer has been in and he chose Armenia for this because he said it was one of the most richly deep cultural lands he had ever visited and that it changed his life in a way he's never experienced. And he was only there for two months! All missionaries will claim that where they served is the best place on earth but I'm just saying... mine actually is. ;) I canNOT wait to be back there for a short time. Back home.