Ariel isn't the only one who can have oceanic friends!

Today I was researching animals indigenous to Spain, as I just realized that I will likely see something other than deer and livestock while overseas. Behold! There are dolphins in Spanish waters! When you live in a landlocked state, you sometimes forget that certain creatures are not just created for movies but real breathing beings, like whales and sea horses and unicorns.

My hope is to see at least one of these little fellows:

His name is the Least Weasel, which is a sad moniker. No weasel can be least.

This is the dormouse, whom I hope to find lazing about at a tea party and singing "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Bat." (Apparently, there are also lots of bats in Spain.)

Finally, I would enjoy a glimpse of and/or best friendship with one of these guys: the Harbor Seal. Called the Common Seal by some, though, again, it seems sad to think of a seal as common. (I understand that these are scientific terms. Please understand that I am an English major.)

When I was little, I wanted to become a dolphin trainer, and I spent many a summer evening splashing about in one foot of water (thanks, Cabbage Patch kiddie pool!), pretending to be a dolphin while forcing my brother to play the part of the seal. Ironically, I cannot swim, so my goal is not only to meet these lovely Mediterranean creatures but to learn their ways. And if one of them somehow follows me home and decides to take up residence in my bedroom, well, so be it!

P.S. I do not want to see bulls.

Waiting, waiting (and some bonus royalty)

Well, my papers have been at the Consulate (or in Spain, or en route) for three weeks now. My time in the States grows ever shorter!

(Cue creepy rocketship song from Sunday school: "Ten and nine, eight and seven, six and five and four, call upon the Savior while you may/Three and two, coming through the clouds in bright array/The countdown's getting lower every day!" No one knows how much trauma I experienced over that song, nor how many times I prayed and told Jesus that I expected him to come back any time between then and when I turned 120. I prayed about each age individually, just in case: "I expect you back when I'm 8. I expect you back when I'm 9. I expect you back when I'm 10." Because the Rapture seemed so frightful, and Jesus won't return when anyone expects it, you see. Reverse psychology.)

Their Majesties King Juan Carlos I and Queen Sofia

The world is bigger than the nation

One small problem with growing up in America is that we have a tendency to forget how much of the world has been around longer than us. Unless you are a Native American, you have immigrants not so far back in your family history. My own family has only been here for a few generations. My great-grandparents made their way to the prairies from Norway, Sweden, Germany, and Romania.

When I was in middle school, I disliked my geography class because we colored maps all day, and talked about topography and climate zones. To me, it didn't really matter, because we lived in North Dakota, in the United States, the center of the whole world. I wanted to see Scandinavia, land of my forefathers, and maybe some tropical islands. Nothing else, really. My world wasn't that big, and I didn't anticipate it getting much bigger.

But it did. It did because of Minneapolis and Guatemala, and now it's going to get bigger still, thanks to Europe, and I am catching a taste of what St. Augustine meant when he said, "The world is a book, and those who do not travel have read only a page." I understand that not many of us have the time or the resources to just take a gap year or even a gap week, but there's something to be said for getting outside of ourselves, even if it's just reading the world news. There is a huge world beyond what we know, seasoned travelers included, and it is worth knowing about: because the creative hand of God is at work in each place, in that "other" place; his image is pressed into its people and its foliage and its languages.

A book I just finished said something that hit me in the very core, basically that we (especially as white Westerners) do not bring God to the nations. God is already there. He may use us in the process, but not as the bringers, the superior beings who have a nice American God in our backpacks, a God we can distribute along with our American ideas and cultural norms and interpretations. No, if we go elsewhere, we go as co-discoverers. We are not taking God into that place for the first time; we are only to help others understand what already is.

He is, and he is everywhere. For Western believers, the world should matter not because it is a "great mission field" but because it is God's--and he loves that which belongs to him. We can't go to all those places, but I think that if we let him, he will start to open our hearts little by little to a deeper understanding, a deeper love for others, a wider perspective. Sometimes, it is easy to get caught up in being American--and there's nothing wrong with being American, unless we forget that most of the world isn't America.

P.S. I really like geography now. I wouldn't mind teaching it. Also, this map seems kind of important at present:

P.P.S. Reading is one of the best possible ways to travel without traveling. If you know me at all, you know that a recommended reading list is about to follow:
•Foreign to Familiar by Sarah Lanier (discussion of the difference between hot and cold cultures)
•Sold by Patricia McCormick (fiction based on the true lives of women sold into prostitution in India)
•The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Annie Barrows & MaryAnn Shaffer (fiction based on the German occupation of Guernsey Island during the war)
•The Book Thief by Markus Zusak (chilling fiction based on Holocaust events) 
•Hope in the Dark by Jena Lee & Jeremy Cowart (a pictoral journey through sub-Saharan Africa)
•Zlata's Diary by Zlata Filipovic (diary written by a young girl during the siege of Sarajevo)
•Slumdog Millionaire isn't a book, but it's a heart-breaking, terrible, wonderful movie that anyone with a heart for Asia should probably see.

P.P.S. The BBC website is a really good place to go for recent news, and it includes no headlines about Justin Bieber, which makes it even better: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/

The Consulate

Let it be known that all necessary papers were handed in to the Spanish Consulate in Chicago on Monday, March 7th, at approximately 10:20am CST!

Yes, the government of Spain is now in control of all 100 pages. Here's photographic evidence that I treated said documents much as I would my own child--that is, wrapped them in plastic and carried them close to my heart.

The whole handing-in process took about ten minutes, and honestly, it was a little disappointing. Basically, the lady behind the window said, "Do you have all the papers?" Then I slipped everything, those delicate pages, lovingly photocopied, under the glass, only to watch her stamp them, then say in monotone, "We'll give you a call at this number when it's processed." That's it? I spent my fall and winter in a state of stress trying to collect all this stuff, flew to Chicago, and no one's even going to shake my hand?

Okay, it was truly not that dramatic, and any stress was my own fault, anyway; it stems from a certain anxiety problem I may or may not have. But I really was hoping for at least a nice smile or a "good job" or a scented sticker or something. (This is not a complaint, by the way. It's more of a...a comment card. Yes, here, on a blog, where it will reach none of the necessary parties and have no effect on real life, except for making me feeling slightly validated in my desire for fanfare.)

I got to stay with these really great people I'd never met before, Suzanne and Travis. They filled me with delicious Swedish food and let me feed baby food to their darling niece, and it was a wonderful time. Suzanne was the one to drive me to the consulate, and here we are afterward, being quintessentially Chicagoan at The Bean!

If you look closely, you can see the consulate building in the reflection. However, I'm not actually sure which one it is, as I have the navigational skills of a ferret.

I did learn a few fun facts about air travel on the journey. Namely, that the plastic cups they hand out on Delta flights hold approximately half a can of Minute Maid orange juice at a time. And that one of the saddest things you can see in an airport is the "Under Maintenance" sign blocking off one of the moving walkways.

I got bumped thrice in the Minneapolis airport, so I started to memorize the walking distance (in minutes) between the difference concourses. If you're going to get bumped, MSP is a pretty good place to do it: Caribou Coffee, moose postcards, and friendly little ladies who share your table at Starbucks and tell you how much they love North Dakota. I didn't really see Minneapolis proper, but this is what it looks like, give or take a few buildings:

And that is the consulate story. Yes, my papers are now in someone else's hands, and I have 5-12 weeks (give or take) before I fly back, get a visa in my passport, and leave the country! Ever so slowly, the pieces are coming together. Thanks be to God who knits all stories together, even when the plotlines seem like tangled threads to those of us with a limited viewpoint.

I am pleased to announce...

...that I now have in my possession everything needed to go to the Spanish consulate!

I have documents! I have translations! I have signatures! An appointment! A plane ticket! A place to stay! Some peace of mind!

All I need to do now is take the documents to a copy machine and carefully make four copies of everything, then tuck them back inside my very organized folder and breath deeply. Oh, and pick up two money orders at WalMart. And book the plane ticket for real, and buy an armored backpack in which to carry the papers to Chicago.

Okay, I don't quite have everything. Close enough.