Editor's Column

by Allison Brandow

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Suitcases, Storms, Sun
Shape Summer

"Florida in the summer? It's going to be hot and humid," I heard repeatedly. In fact, that was the first reaction of most people when they discovered that I planned to spend my summer in Orlando.

Usually I shrugged and nodded in acknowledgment. But I mentally reminded myself that the weather didn't matter.

I had an internship in the communications department at Wycliffe Bible Translators.

My summer experience began soon after school ended. One week I was studying for a New Testament Biblical Theology exam, and the next I was squeezing my possessions into two suitcases and a carry-on bag. I arrived in Florida on May 30.

Two weeks later, I stood in the break room in the communications department. Matt Petersen, a writer and my mentor, had invited everyone to celebrate my arrival with a party. As I later learned, my co-workers loved to have celebrations.

During my welcoming party, I leaned against the wall and listened to the formal introduction of the people I was working with. We laughed together as each person read a favorite quote.

The group I had joined impressed me. They were serious yet took time to laugh. They were professionals who desired to see the Bible translated into every language. They loved each other and God.

At the end of our break, I wandered back to my desk and tacked some of the quotes to my cubicle wall. My desk was part of a quad cubicle, which I shared with Jewel Fink, Joe Armfield and Jon Shuler. But because the cubicle was large, often people gathered there for discussions or breaks.

Sometimes Borghy Holm, another writer, popped over to discuss design with Jewel or to work through an assignment with me. Sean Stark, a graphic designer, often worked on projects with Joe.

A great part about the location of my desk was its view. I could look out the ground floor windows to the lake behind the building. In the afternoons, the water turned dark as storm clouds rolled in and the wind blew. I could see the lightning flash or the sun shine.

Yet that window also provided a view of everyone walking to lunch. I could see all, and they could see me. Sometimes I felt like a goldfish in a bowl. Other times I was amused to let them be the goldfish. One Wycliffe employee, Maresea Carlson, was also my host. I lived with her and her husband, Wes, in a townhome near Wycliffe.

One Sunday, I, Maresea, Wes, and Wes' kids, Katelyn and Steven, gathered at the table to eat.

As we prepared the meal and sat down, talk swirled around me. Maresea began to tell me about the corn festival they used to attend. Then Wes, in his New York accent, began to extol the marvels of corn on the cob and of "Butter Boy," the little-green-man butter dispenser.

Katelyn and Steven added their voices, laughing over their dad's expressions, such as, "What a blessing," which he interjected randomly.

When dinner finished, we pulled out Risk and settled down for a three-hour game. I discovered the Carlsons were serious Risk players who would not lose without a fight. They were also good at strategy and psychological warfare. Finally, Maresea gave up and let Wes win.

At the end of the summer, my clothes and books lay sprawled across the bed in my room. The Carlsons' cat, Bruce, watched me fold and squish items into my bags.

Eventually everything fit, but doing so took a few hours and three or four tries. I was zipping shut my suitcases when Maresea arrived home. She presented me with a book as a gift from her and the family. Then she helped me squeeze the book into a suitcase.

The day I left Florida, the sky was clear and the temperature hot. I had long since admitted that 95 degrees plus humidity was too warm. But I had grown addicted to sunshine and thunderstorms, especially when I had friends with me.

When I landed in Portland, I couldn't help comparing its nighttime chilliness to the warmth I had left in Orlando. But when I evaluate my summer, I don't gauge its success by the agreeableness of the weather.

Instead, when I think of Florida, I remember the people.

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