What’s In a Name?

It is lost and found. She is lost and found. He is lost and found. They are lost and found. We are lost and found.

Lost&Found can mean various things to all of us. You may think about the undying institution of a “lost and found box,” or the familiar “missing pet” signs dotting neighborhood streets and then being taken down, or the annoyance of losing your keys and realizing you left them in your car. But then we can also talk about being lost and found in a more intangible way--- a person can be emotionally or spiritually lost and found. 

I like to think of my blog title as this abstract painting that can be interpreted to your own liking. Any way you chose to define Lost&Found is not right or wrong, the point is that you define what it means to you. What emotions does this phrase encapsulate for you?

For me, I think about lots of things. One of them is best told with a story:

When I was growing up, I remember anticipating the long awaited chance to accompany my mom to the grocery store. I am one of a seven children and my parents had a rule that each week only one of us would get to join her on this weekly trip to Jewel and Osco (a Chicago supermarket).

I loved those trips. I would stand on the back of the cart and ride along with my knees bent and butt sticking out, and always clutching the staple companion of every grocery event---Barnum and Bailey’s Animal Crackers. My mom would let us pick out one treat to eat while in the store, which at the time I thought the store did not allow--- I thought we were being complete rule-breakers.   

Sometimes on these trips, for whatever reason, I would find myself apart from my mother. She would go to frozen foods and I would be wandering the magazine aisle or the toy section.  At some point in my strolling, I would suddenly realize that much time had passed, and then look for my mom. When I had searched long enough with no Joan Welbourn in sight, the panic would set in.  I realized I was lost.

I think the scariest and also the important thing about being lost, is the moment you know you are lost.   

Up until that point I was distracted with all the sights and sounds of the store, and I didn’t know I was missing. Hypothetically, my mom could’ve known I was lost before it was even a thought in my mind. I may have been found by her before I even knew I needed to be found. So in this sense I could be lost to her, but to myself--- not lost at all.

I say this hypothetically because my mother would never do this. In all of the times I had been lost---in K-Mart, Kroger, Toys R Us, wherever we were… I was always the one to make the “lost realization” first. My mom is not one of those parents who panics and throws her kid’s name on the store loudspeaker after five minutes of their disappearance; she’d just mozie along, always knowing that we would eventually be found. I really like that about her.

All in all, this anecdote was provided to say that--- being lost is only truly meaningful to you when you recognize the need to be found. There is an innate part of us that wants to be found and we are NEVER too lost for this...Praise Jesus.

I think “lost” and “found” are distinct parts of life…you can go through weeks or seasons of time when you are sad, hopeless, or just stagnant and other amounts of time when you are joyful, adventurous, and full of growth. Neither is bad or good but both are distinct, predicted, and necessary parts of humanity.

The Kardashian family would characterize it as your “daily peak and pit.” (Yes, I did just make a Kardashian reference, I am a huge fan).  This lost and found can even be thought of in the course of one day. We have these great high points where we are encouraged, feel recognized, or learn something new and in the same day we are disappointed, treated unfairly, or our feelings are hurt.

As I write this blog, my desire is to be the most candid I can be---never concealing and always revealing my lost and my found.  

And if anyone was wondering about the title of this blog post--- yes, I wrote it in reference to the “What’s In a Name” monologue from the Romeo and Juliet balcony scene, which I memorized in the seventh grade---just because.

 The Kardashian family, in whom I sometimes find inspiration

 The balcony scene from the 1968 version of Romeo and Juliet

I write blog posts?

I can't believe I did it.

Besides the fact that there are many who want to know what the heck I am doing on the other side of the world, and the fact that many of them would kill me if I didn't make this, I was ready to set sail on my Hungarian experience---blogless.

But then I was thinking...that's a little selfish.  I mean, someone thought up the idea to have this thing where you can share your life through the written word, a virtual diary let us say, what a beautiful thing, and I have such an aversion to it. Maybe part of that is because so many people that I know from college have blogs and it sort of became a fad thing and if you know me well I never align myself with fads unless it has to do with fashion, and then I will just tell you I thought of it first.  I think the biggest part of my avoidance of making this blog is that I feel I am not worthy enough to have one. Whatever that means.

I am not a true blog follower myself, but I have read enough of a couple to understand how incredible they can be. KissesFromKatie is one blog that has impacted people all over the world that a girl I went to elemetary and middle school with in Tennessee has been writing for a while now about her life in Africa after adopting several (and when I say several it is because I am not sure the actual number currently but I think it is over 10) children.

Mo(u)rning Restoration is another blog that is quite dear to me, my good college friend EA has been writing this for a year about her recovery from an eating disorder. Too much of me has trouble reading such important and well-written experiences like Katie and EA's and feeling like I have something compareable to address. Instead I feel like I do not have a place here, that I am not as gifted, that my experience isn't worth a blog.

Lies, lies, lies.

(Wow that word looks funny pluralized and written that many times.)  I have known since November that I would be traveling to Europe to teach English and tell people about Jesus. In January, I was asked to go to Hungary since I had no country preference when I applied (always go with the flow---you'll be happier for it). In April, I was told to wait to find out my city, school, and living placements.  And today I found out that I will be living in Miskolc, Hungary, which is a northeastern city---the fourth largest city in the country. I will be living there with a girl named Alyssa. We are part of a larger team of 10 people from Teach Overseas who will train together this July in California. Between the 10 of us we will live in three cities: Budapest, Miskolc, and Sarospatak. I will be teaching English at two schools---Frater Gyorgy Katolikus Gimnazium es Kolleguim and Zrinyi Ilona Gimnazium...try saying that five times fast :)

I have included some pictures of Miskolc and the schools below.

I may need some accountability to keep up with this...but here's my first ever post.

The city of Miskolc

Frater Gyorgy Katolikus Gimnazium es Kollegium



Zrinyi Ilona Gimnazium