Faith Through Love

Unwritten...

2012-01-09T16:41:00.002-06:00

I sit here on a dreary Monday afternoon, doing what I typically do when I find myself with a little too much time on my hands... over thinking. Here I am, lost in my own thoughts; lost in trying to figure out life. Like reading a book, I swiftly turn the pages of the story, my story, going through scenario after scenario of what life “should” look like. Trying desperately to write the next part of the story, to finally be able to answer the question of “what’s next?”

You see, i’m at a transition point in the book, kind of like the cliff hanger at the end of the chapter. Ever so quickly my mind conjures up all the possibilities of what could be next. I begin to mentally make a list. I try to manipulate all the things that I know, all the things I’ve learned, all the things I enjoy, all the things I’m good at, and all the things I am passionate about and with them create this one perfect story.

And yet I find that every day this list, this projected story, changes. Everyday, my ideas for the next chapter look a little different. Everyday there are new things to add to the list, and old things to remove. Very few of the ideas are enough to make the list more than once or twice. Instead it becomes a list full of things that quickly become unimportant. A list full of restless ideas that flow in and out as quickly as the wind blows through.

And, so I am back to the beginning. Back to searching my heart. Back to understanding my one true love. The only thing in my life that is unchanging. The only desire I never lose, the only thing I really want to do day in and day out - the desire to live a life consumed by the presence of God. I want to sing, I want to dance, I want to study, I want to teach, I want to learn, I want to grow, I want to praise, I want to love, I want to make a difference. Everything else is irrelevant.

I used to think I wanted perfect. That I wanted stability. That I wanted normal. That I wanted safe. But, I’ve changed my mind.

Because normal, safe, regular... it’s just not enough for me anymore.

What do I want to do with my life? I want to do outrageous. I want to do ridiculous. I want to do impractical. I want to do and be a part of things that are so big and so life changing that they can’t be done in my own strength. Things that most times wont logistically or financially make sense. Things that will fail if God doesn’t show up. Because failing to let God move in my life has become bigger than failure itself.

I know that I’m asking for it. I’m asking for sleepless nights, for unreal expectations, for life that will look like to some as unsettled, unpredictable, and impractical. A life that breaks all the rules of what it “should” be.

So, beware of what’s to come in this story. The next chapter isn’t predictable, it isn’t safe. And it most certainly isn’t an easy read. It’s going to be wild, it’s going to be challenging, its going to keep you on edge. But I promise you it wont be ordinary... because this regular, this stability seeking, this perfectionist of an author is finally putting the pen down... and the new author, well, there is nothing ordinary, predictable, or safe about Him.

“Safe?" said Mr. Beaver."Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you.” -Chronicles of Narnia

Remembering...

2012-01-02T16:56:00.002-06:00

It’s officially taken me a good 25 days to finally sit down and write a blog about my time in South Africa. It’s not that I don’t have fond memories. It’s not that my time there wasn’t memorable or life changing. In fact, it’s very much quite the opposite. Every time I sit and try to wrap my mind around that piece of my journey, I come up short. Words just don’t seem to be enough to express the beauty of that land; of the amazing people, of the unexplainable love, of the real life community.

Instead of words, my mind swirls with images. Amidst the breathtaking beauty of Cape Town sits a community called Ocean View. In the community live some of the kindest people you will ever meet. Their faces flash, like a slideshow, through my mind and each one of them is looking at me with such love, such grace, such joy. I imagine myself walking through the streets again, and remember that each and every time I did so, I was greeted by a crowd of giddy children, a hug from a desperate teenager, a wave from a hurting mother. Words can’t capture those memories.

As I am back in the States, I can’t help but feel like life is a little cold (and, no not just because I am finally experiencing winter!) Despite the hurt, despite the pain, despite the brokenness of that community... there was love. There was joy. There was life. It wasn’t a place of people just co-existing, it was a place of people choosing to live life together. And I miss that. More than I realized was possible.

The people of Ocean View changed my life. Part of my heart will forever belong to them. They taught me how to love in the midst of heartache; how to pick yourself up after devastation; how to fight this battle as an army and not as individuals. They reminded me that life is about living together.

My time there was short, and yet I was never treated as a stranger. Though I currently live thousands of miles away, I have African mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, that will forever be a part of my my journey; that will forever be a part of my family.

Community is more than just the people that live nearby. Community is more than just a neighbor. Community is about living life together. Side by side. Fighting for one another. Thank you, Africa, for reminding me of just how sweet and how beautiful that can truly be.

Shell of Perfection

2011-12-04T10:39:00.001-06:00

So, earlier this week I had one of those days where Jesus was just all up in my business. You know, one of those days that no matter how hard you try to just consume your mind with other things He just keeps tapping you on the shoulder with a gentle “psst... hey you! Yes, you. I have something to tell you.” One of those days when you try to just push Him off, knowing what He has to tell you is probably something that you need to hear, but don’t necessarily want to. And, yet he wouldn’t give up. Relentless, that one. “I need you to hear this. It’s really good. Trust me.”

Did I happen to mention that this was the start of my day? Yes. First thing in the morning. Can’t a girl at least get some caffeine in her system? So, I chugged a cup of scalding hot coffee, threw a hoodie on over my pjs, grabbed my car keys and jumped in the car. Ready to listen.

I was a bit reluctant to start the conversation. But, about 5 minutes into the drive, I found myself crazily ranting out loud about all the things that laid heavy on my heart. The things that I had allowed to build up, to be pushed down deep, the burdens that I left sitting. Then, in true World Race fashion, I pulled over to a spot on the road overlooking the vast beauty of Cape Town, stood on a rock.... and began declaring. Declaring who I am, declaring what I am capable of, declaring my purpose. And, just as I finished out of my mouth slipped the words, “and, Papa... remove this shell; this shell of perfection and expectation that has trapped me from letting people see me, in the depths of who you created me to be.”

Wait. What? Where did that come from?

And, although it was as if the words formed themselves, I couldn’t deny their truth. Somewhere in the depths of who I was, I realized that I had spent years and years striving for perfection. Striving to meet expectations. Striving to be the image of what other people thought I should be. Only allowing the bits and pieces of myself come out that I knew would be accepted, that I knew would be appreciated, that I knew would be enjoyed. Those annoying, quirky, weird things... let’s just keep those inside.

On the drive back, I quickly began to realize the truth of this statement. Of the resistance I had perfected. Of the shell I had been carrying around for a very long time.

As I parked the car and walked back towards the house, something happened to catch my eye... a small, white, perfectly whole, shell. You know the curly, hermit crab type shells. At first I picked up the shell, admiring it’s perfection. Not a single crack. And as I went to slide it into one of the side pockets of my purse I immediately heard God speak... “That shell is meant to be broken. Isn’t that what you asked for?” I smiled, raised the shell high above my head, and quickly catapulted it toward the ground, expecting a shattering explosion of victory.

It bounced. No, seriously. The shell hit the concrete ground and bounced, rolling over into the grass. Not a single chip, not a small crack. Completely whole.

Twice more, I threw the shell towards the ground with the exact same response each time. Okay, God... real funny. “Micah, my dear.... I know you are a strong girl. But, you can’t do this within your own strength.” he responded. Fuming in defeat, I held the shell in front of my face, said “I’ll deal with you later” and then shoved it away in my purse.

I went along my day, trying to ignore the happening of the morning, but the shell weighed heavy in purse and even more so on my heart. Sure, it was just a silly shell. But, it symbolized something in my life that had been weighing down on me for years and years; a weight I had become so accustomed to carrying that I had forgotten that it wasn’t naturally a part of who I was.

It was time to break this shell once and for all. I kicked off my shoes, and excused myself from my company, and slipped off to the nearby beach. It was midday, and the dark, rocky street I was walking along was anything but comfort on my feet. As I stopped and considered turning back to grab my shoes, I heard God speak “This journey isn’t supposed to be an easy one. Part of freedom is allowing yourself to first remember the pain.”

So, I finished the walk, feet writhing in agony, sweat forming on my brow arriving along a secluded area of beach. I placed the shell in the middle of my hand, held it out in front of me, and finally allowed myself to speak the words...”I need you. I need your help. I can’t break this shell by myself.” As quickly as finished that sentence, I looked down to see a very large rock to my right. One that coincidently had 4 iron nails sticking out of it. Symbolic, at all? I gently set the shell upon the rock, picked up another nearby rock and dropped it upon the shell. The pressure of the two rocks was more than the shell could handle, and despite its look of strength and perfection, it shattered along the sand into a variety of pieces. The pieces were still beautiful, the still represented pieces of strength. And, for the first time, I was able to see the iridescent beauty that formed the inside of the shell. An odd, squiggly array of colors that was hidden until that point.

Maybe it was just a shell. And maybe finding it was just a coincidence. But, God spoke such freedom into my life that day. God allowed me to finally see that imperfection does not equal failure. God allowed me to realize that the me that is often times hidden away is really the person that the world needs to see. A weight was lifted, a shell was broken. And, a new, quirkier me is being released. Watch out, people... things are about to get crazy. :)

A Taste of Heaven

2011-11-13T12:42:00.000-06:00

I think I got a taste of Heaven today.

It was phenomenal. Like time stands still, never want to leave that moment phenomenal.

Beauty that cannot be captured, that cannot be described.

I went on a prayer walk with about 50 other locals through Ocean View (the township I live in). As we walked through the streets, there was a steady melody of hymns and praises being sung gently and sensitively over the land. Local voices calling out praises. Interceding on behalf of their people, of their family, of their community. Walking together. Side by side. Step by step.

An army of the living God.

As we ended the prayer walk, we stopped and gathered in this small park. The weather was surreal, the sun beating down just perfectly. As we circled, I couldn't help but just close my eyes and listen to the voices sing. Surrounded by the scenery of one of the worlds most beautiful creations, trying desperately to soak in the absolute beauty of the moment.

In the circle around me stood men, women, children, grandmothers. A people of mixed races, of all ages, of all types of backgrounds. Standing in one place. Singing to the glory of the throne.

Enveloped with love. Surrounded by grace. Immersed in beauty.

A small taste of Heaven.

Nothing

2011-11-04T13:33:00.002-05:00

"...apart from me, you can do nothing." John 15.5

Ever heard that verse before? You know, the ever popular vine & branches analogy. Get's you every time, right? Yeah, me too.

But, have you ever really considered what the word "nothing" means?

Nothing (adv): in no respect or degree; not at all.

Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero. Nothing we do, apart from God, is worth it. Nothing.

I've had to remind myself of that a lot lately. And when I mean remind, I mean blatantly remind. I've written it in big block letters across my journal. I've doodled the phrase with pen a time or two on the inside of my arm. I've highlighted and underlined the verse in every version of bible I possess. I've all but tattooed the words across my forehead.

Because, it's been that important.

You see, lately feel a little bit like I've been trying to do it alone. You know, I've done this before. I've lived among the poor. I've hugged the necks of the needy. I've prayed prayers of love and of freedom and of healing. And, somewhere along the way... I let my guard down. I thought that I had some kind of control over this crazy thing called life. And, this past week... I all but cracked my head open on the sidewalk as I took a unexpected fall into the pit of my own inadequacy.

I can't do this alone. No amount of money, no amount of love, no amount of wisdom I have to offer these communities will change things.

Apart from God... I can do nothing.

In this week alone, I followed a local friend of mine into house after house, hugging the necks of women who struggle from drug addition. Women desperately seeking to be free from the chains of bondage; women desperate to be good mothers; women desperate to simply feel alive. This week, I stood in front of a group of 50 women, calling out the identity and beauty that exists in each and every one of them; watching, as tears fell down their cheeks and as arms embraced. Women in desperate conditions, claiming to walk down this road together. This week, I've seen hungry children. I've heard the cries of poverty. And I've certainly felt the wrath of the enemy.

And I can't do this alone.

But, if I'm honest.. I don't really want to. Because, while apart from Him I may be nothing... with Him, nothing is impossible. Nothing.

Guest Blogger. What, what?

2011-10-21T04:25:00.002-05:00

Guess what? I had my first official guest blog post.

That's right. It's kind of like I'm an official blogger now. What's up?!

Except, really I was just writing a blog for the ministry I am working with here in Cape Town. But, that's neither here nor there.

All that to say, that you should go check it out. http://looklistenlove.org

Not only should you read the blog I wrote, but you should also check out their ministry here in Ocean View. These incredible friends of mine are dedicated to seeing the love of God absolutely explode over this area. The way the have become a part of this community is absolutely mind blowing. Seriously. They might be some of the coolest people I've ever met.

That, and my girl Sarah is way better about keeping you updated on what life and ministry looks like here on a daily basis. Not nearly as much as a blog procrastinator as myself.

So, go. Right now. I mean it. Check it out. It's worth it, I promise.

True Missionaries

2011-10-14T05:22:00.002-05:00

Missionary.

I have a hard time calling myself that. Is that weird? I don’t know what it is exactly. I’ve spent the last year and a half of my life traveling overseas, living in poverty stricken lands, trying desperately to be the hands and feet of God. And, yet... when someone asks me about myself, about what I am doing with my life, about my job, I find it incredibly difficult to choke out the phrase “oh, you know... I’m a missionary!”

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not because the term holds any sort of derogatory connotation in my mind. Maybe it’s actually that it holds so much weight. From a young age, whenever I heard the term in church, I immediately pictured a lovely woman, with her crazy, unkept hair, wearing a long, flowing skirt, with a beautiful smile on her face; living among the poorest of poor, with 700 babies in her lap. Okay, so maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but you get the point. To me, a missionary was someone who was willing to sacrifice everything...luxury, money, fashion, showers, and even mexican food! And to be honest... I’m not sure I ever really wanted to do that.

Last night, as I sat in a room in Cape Town, South Africa surrounded by faces that belong to beautiful, mighty, amazing women of God... my definition of missionary changed once again. These women have seen life at its worst. They haven’t just seen poverty, they’ve experienced it. They haven’t just seen devastation, they adorn scars that boldly speak of the battle. And, they don’t just pack their bags and do this for months at a time....day after day, they pick up their swords and return to the battlefield.

These women. These amazing, strong, courageous township women. They are the missionaries. They are the ones giving everything they have to see their community survive, to see their families unite, to see that injustices are no more. Their scars may run deep, but their love runs deeper.

Maybe one day I’ll get there. Maybe at some point I will feel a bit more deserving of the term “missionary”. But for now, I relent to just being a student, to being a learner, to being a disciple. This place is incredibly blessed with warriors, with intercessors, with life bringers, with world changers. People who are willing to give it all, to see it through. To fight the ongoing battle of hopelessness, to never give up.

True missionaries.

Jesus in a Tattoo Parlour

2011-09-22T12:34:00.000-05:00

I met Jesus in a tattoo parlour.

And, no it wasn't anything like that picture.

But, seriously.

Don't worry, don't worry. I wasn't going in for a second tattoo. This time, I was simply accompanying a friend as moral support. Trust me, the pain is still very real in my mind... no new needle artwork for me anytime soon.

Anyway... let me set the stage for you. So, there's this tattoo parlour in Gainesville, Georgia. And if you didn't know any better, you might be a little suspicious. I mean, it is located in a building that sits behind a gas station. But, it's legit, I promise. And they have very nice curtains in the windows... which, sadly to say, was the basis on which I originally picked this place. Super intelligent, I know.

So, back to the meeting Jesus thing. As we walked in the door, we were instantly greeted by this, big, tough, burly, tatted-up biker dude. You know, the stereotypical guy that comes to your head when you think tatto parlor. Exact replica. There he is, just sitting back, ever so nonchalantly scanning the room. We gently slide into the nearby chairs, and as all good missionaries do, start up a quick conversation. One thing led to another, and soon we were talking about the Race and all of our adventures from the past year. All of a sudden, as if the guy's chair caught on fire, he quickly shoots up and says... "hold on, i'll be right back" and all but skips out of the room.

Awesome. Our stories even scare off tough, biker dudes.

However, within seconds he returns holding this crumbled up piece of paper, words blotted and scattered throughout the page. He sits back down, looks shyly at his paper and says "I wrote something down this morning and I just really want to share it with ya'll. I knew someone would need to hear this today."

He sits up straight, clears his throat, and begins reading these beautiful, gut wrenching, lines of poetic verse. He speaks so eloquently about the scars, the impurities, and the imperfections of our lives. He reminds us that those things aren't reminders of disgrace or defeat. That instead they are reminders of VICTORY. Those wounds are our badges; they are our medals of HONOR. Those scars tell of our experience, of our journey, of our story. Those imperfections are a reminder that we choose to fight alongside the greatest warrior of all time. These blemishes tell of our commitment to choose into this battle to follow Christ. And he finishes with a line that says...

"and if you don't have any deep scars to show... then you haven't really been chasing after Jesus."

Umm. Excuse me, who are you again?

As he finishes up, he looks up at all of us and with such great sincerity in his eyes and continues speaking. "Yesterday was a hell of a day. As we woke up, my wife and I, we could feel the enemy lines approaching. We knew that they were starring us right in the face. And at that point, early in the day, we knew we had a choice to make. We had to decide then and there if we were going to fight or be overcome." He pauses for a bit, as if picturing the battle scene in his own head all over again; then with a grin he says "And at the end of the day, before we went to bed, we looked back on the day; we looked back on the battle. The one we chose to fight. Our bodies were tired, pierced, and wounded. There were newer and deeper scars to add. But, we were still alive. We were still standing. At the end of the day, we were able to look back on the battle field and physically see the VICTORY that is promised."

See. I told you I met Jesus in a tattoo parlour.

I don't know who this guy is. I don't know his story. I don't know what life looks like for him on a daily basis. I don't know why he chose to share this absolutely beautiful nugget of wisdom with us that day.

What I do know, is that God works in unexpected ways.
What I do know, is that God lives and dwells in unexpected places.
What I do know, is that God doesn't just live in the church.
What I do know, is that He doesn't just exist in "holy" places.

This guy may not be accepted in our modern day church, but he absolutely knows his Father. He may not hang out in the crowds of people we consider to be "christian", but neither did Jesus. He may not look like your typical missionary, but he certainly knows what it means to stand in the middle of the battlefield.

There's a battle to be fought, and victory to be won. And you better believe I want people just like him standing beside me on the front lines.

Part Two: Tattoo

2011-08-08T16:05:00.001-05:00

It's official.

I got a tattoo.

WHAT?! That sweet, little Baptist girl from the bible belt of Arkansas permanently marked her body with Satan ink? Yup. well, something like that.

I've actually been thinking about this tattoo thing for a while. Well for 11ish months anyway. You see, this year has been such a pivotal year in my life and I wanted something to commemorate that. To be a reminder of the amazing truths revealed in and over my life. And, what better way than a tattoo, right?

So, I should probably go ahead and preface this story with the fact that needles quite often cause me to pass out. Awesome. Like the time that I gave blood. Or the time I had to get 473 shots to make sure I didn't contract any crazy diseases while overseas (okay, so maybe it was more like 5). Or the time when a transvestite pierced my nose, without using a piercing gun, I might add, for $1.50 in Thailand. (Just ask Stacey Hume, she will be more than happy to give you the dramatic version of that story). Long story short, I don't do well with needles. There, I said it.

So, a couple weeks back I was sitting across the table from my good friend Ashley Musick. Just chatting about life, eating a scrumptious meal after a morning at church, when I notice the tattoo on her wrist. I quickly begin to inquire about the design, where she got it done, and the ever famous question of "how bad did it hurt?" She sweetly answers all my questions and then pauses to ask... "wait, do you have a tattoo?"

Before I know it, I am sharing with her about this huge theme of my life. About my identity in Christ. About how this year has been absolutely monumental is establishing who I am as a daughter of a King. About the fact that I no longer am obligated to the things of this world, that I belong to a greater kingdom, and that I am ROYALTY.

That's it. My tattoo. ROYALTY.

That word alone reminds me so quickly of who I am. Not what I do, but who I am. Of that one thing in my life that can never be changed, never be taken. I forever am the daughter of the King of Kings, and while I am here on earth I have a responsibility to that Kingdom.

Royalty.

"That's perfect." Ashley replies. "Let's go get it."

Wait. What? Now. Oh yeah... P.S. I am probably going to pass out. Maybe throw up. And you will have to hold my hand. Still wanna go?

We called a couple of friends and then quickly searched the internet for local tattoo shops, scribbled down a few addresses, and jumped in the car. All to soon be reminded that it is Sunday. No tattooing on Sunday. Bummer. Apparently making sure you can't buy alcohol or get tattoos on Sundays makes you holier. Hmmmm....

To shake off the "no tattoo" blues, I settled for a very large cone of Bruster's Ice Cream, most which most ended up on either the ground or my dress (yes, I still have a couple of 5 year old tendencies). However, still very determined to be brave and go through with this.

Finally the day arrives. Tattoo Tuesday. My friend Ashley and I march back down to the tattoo place, brave pants pulled up high. I walk in, expecting to have at least a short wait, and quickly find myself sitting on a vinyl covered, black stool with my left arm extended in front of me, the layout of the word ROYALTY starring back. In front of me sits a very burly man, tattoos up and down his arm, ink gun in his hand. Yup. We're at the right place.

I am determined that I will not pass out. Determined, mind you. I quickly look over at Ashley and say "Just don't let him stop at ROY. Whatever happens, he must finish." She gives a quick giggle and before I know it the buzzing of the gun begins. I turn back to Ashley "Quick, tell me a story. Anything." Bless her heart, she does her very best to keep me distracted... but soon enough I find my eyes getting a little blurry. And then there's that blasted ringing sound. Sweat droplets start to form on my forehead. I've only made it two letters in and I am not fairing well. This can't be good.

The lady behind the front counters steps in to check on me, and quickly sees that I am not doing so hot. Before I know it, she has a jar full of sugary snacks in front of me, asking which one I want. "Do you want cherry, or strawberry? or Watermelon or grape?" Really, lady. I don't care. I just want it to be in my mouth. Now.

Left arm still on the table. Right hand holding Ashley's. Sucker stick hanging out the side of my mouth... I finish my tattoo like a champ. Even found the courage to watch as he finished off the second half. Brave pants still on. Tattoo adventure. Success.

Will I still love my tattoo 40 years from now? Who knows? But, even 40 years from now it will still speak boldly of who I am. Even now, multiple times a day my tattoo will catch my eye. And each time it's a quick reminder of this year of my life. It's a quick reminder of my purpose. Of my identity. Of my responsibility to the Kingdom. Of life abundantly greater than I can ever imagine.

I am ROYALTY. And so are you.

Part One: Identity Crisis

2011-08-01T21:04:00.003-05:00

just a couple of days ago i officially started packing up the room i grew up in. i removed all the plaques from the walls, and then stared down into boxes full of trophies, awards, pictures, and other mementoes of my childhood. don’t worry, even at 25 my parents aren’t kicking me out just yet. instead, i am packing up and repainting this room so that when the time officially comes, my new haitian sister will have a room to call her own (which is a whole other blog in itself).

piece by piece, i was vividly reminded of who i am. maybe more so of who i was. you see, i’ve always been the kind of person who got something in my head, went after it, succeeded, and then had the paperwork to show it. a box full of academic awards; scholarship achievements, 4.0 plaques, the most outstanding graduate award from my college, and the dried up flowers from my homecoming court debut. a box of church related awards; scripture memory achievements, religious debate awards, service project acknowledgements. a box full of leadership achievements and fancy invitations to special events and conferences. and finally, a box filled with athletic achievements; player of the game awards, all conference team acknowledgements, along with trophies and medals from multiple summer league championships.

and while all those shiny awards and achievements once claimed the walls and shelves of my room, it felt fitting to finally pack them into boxes. that’s not to say that any of those achievements were wrong or unwarranted. the issue lies within the fact that competition, success, and perfection were the driving forces of my life. they defined who i was, they defined my expectations, they defined my identity. without them, i would have fallen short. i would have failed. and failure was never an option.

yet throughout this past year, God has slowly (and quite painfully) begun to strip me of what i once thought was my identity. what i once thought i had to live up to. of the perfection i thought was necessary in my life, especially in my walk with Him. instead of perfection, i experienced failure. instead of always being able to succeed, i found myself in situations that i could not change, circumstances i could not overcome. over and over, i fell on my face. over and over, i sat in brokenness. over and over, i was reminded that falling short is what warrants my desperate need for my Papa.

each time i fell, my Papa picked me up and spoke graciously into my identity. into who i really was. those things, all the expectations i had once lived up to, they aren’t who i am. they are temporary, all set by my own expectations. instead, this year i have been reminded that who i am is a child of God. who i am is a daughter of a king. i am ROYALTY. i did nothing to deserve that status. nor can i do anything to take it away. it's who i am, it's ingrained deep into my being. nothing about that is temporary. that’s who i am, that’s who i’ve always been. nothing, not even life can take that away.

no amount of awards or successes can increase his love for me. no amount of memory verses will change the way he sees me. i already belong to him, i belong to his kingdom, i have been adopted into the royal family, and i have an inheritance to claim. my identity lies in Him and Him alone. i am called to step into that royalty, to acknowledge my responsibility to the kingdom, and walk alongside the king of kings. the one who created all claims ME as his own... that’s all He expects of me, to simply be His.

Training Camp Recap

2011-07-20T14:20:00.006-05:00

This particular blog goes out to my WORLD RACE ALUMNI. Just a little bit of life for me post race, and you need to read it. Okay, so maybe NEED is too strong of a word.

A couple of weeks back, I loaded up all my WR gear again (what was left of it) and jumped in my car for a long drive into the woods of Tennessee to help out at the most recent training camp. It wasn’t necessarily something I had planned on attending, but after exhausting all forms of entertainment at home, I figured at least it would be a nice change of pace. I mean, it had been a whole month... isn’t this when I am supposed to pack up my bags and move somewhere new?

I don’t know exactly what my expectations were. I went ready to cook, to clean, to set up, to tear down, do whatever needed to be done. I knew I would be surrounded by my community, get some hard truth from Michael Hindes, and be able to experience some crazy, spirit filled jam sessions with the Helser band... that was enough for me.

What I quickly found out was that I actually needed that training camp, maybe just as much as the new squads who had yet to embark on this crazy whirlwind journey. I needed to be reminded of my purpose, of my calling, of my freedom, of the fact that being home from the race doesn’t mean that the lifestyle I adopted and fought hard for over the last 11 months has to end. I needed to be able to share my experiences with my generation, to be able to be on the return side of things and assure those eager, scared, anxious faces that this crazy journey would absolutely be worth it.

There’s definitely a beautiful thing about being on the other side of a training camp. To see the process, to rejoice in the huge changes in life, and to be able to fall facedown and admit that I still don’t even slightly have things figured out! And to be able to experience that while surrounded by a community of people that can fuel that process and love me fiercely while doing so. A community so much bigger than just my squad. An extended family like no other; an extended family of some of the most amazing, prophetic, life speaking, world changers you will ever meet.

Returning for a training camp turned out to not only be a phenomenal experience, but also vital part of the whole re-entry process for me. I’ve decided that the world race community is kind of like chocolate (hang in there with me, this gets good). You know that chocolate is great. Chocolate definitely adds some flavor to life. But it’s not until you go spend 11 months overseas that you realize chocolate is not only really great, but it is absolutely a vital part of daily survival!! This community, this truth, this freedom is vital, and it doesn’t have to end just because we are back in the US. We now have the experience, the opportunity and the responsibility to be a part of this process for other people, don’t miss out!

Current State: Uncertain

2011-07-14T22:15:00.001-05:00

oh, july. you are proving to be quite an interesting month.

in the past two weeks, i’ve spent around 22 hours on the road, been in 5 different states and slept in 6 different beds. sadly enough, life almost feels normal again.

last week i met up with my world race family in the woods of tennessee to shake up another group of world changers as they got a small taste of the kingdom journey they are about to embark on. we sang, we danced, we cried, we laughed... and, just as promised, the Holy Spirit showed up in a mighty big way. i ran around like a mad woman all week long; loving, serving, praying, and enjoying the ridiculously amazing community that is my world race family. very little sleep was had, but it was absolutely worth every minute of being there. those are my people, hands down.

after saying another round of “see ya when I see ya” I headed even farther south to alabama for a week on the beach with the family. RELAXATION. finally. or so i thought.

day one of vacation, i crack my tooth. awesome. shouldn’t be too bad, right? i’ll get it taken care of when i get back home. wrong... by day two my whole upper jaw is throbbing. i try to tough it out, thinking a nap out on the beach should do the trick. 45 minutes later i was literally crawling back to the room and dialing the phone number of the first dentist i could find. so much for relaxation. to add to that, the next open appointment they have is the following morning. a whole night of intense throbbing pain. excellent. this news may have warranted me to extend the normal dosage for ibuprofen that evening, but did in fact make it through the night.

day three of my relaxing beach vacation and i find myself sitting in the local dentist office. two x-rays, a poking around, and $87 later they send me off with two prescriptions and advice to see my dentist when i get home. yup. that just happened. the only upside, one prescription is for a strong dosage of hydrocodone. hollar! maybe i will get some rest after all. or at least be able to forget about the fact that when i get home, i will have an expensive dental appointment to schedule. did i mention that i have no dental insurance? more drugs, please?

day four turned out quite well. that of it which i managed to stay awake. day five was even proving to be off to a good start, made it all the way though dinner before the next catastrophe; dropping my two week old iPhone on the pavement and cracking the entire screen. shattered. completely. definitely wishing i had found the otter box a more important investment. oops.

another expense to add to the list, so it seems. and as i all but banged my head against my car door, i couldn't help but wonder how in the world i was going to pay for all of this. the term “poor missionary” was now becoming much more of a reality, and before i knew it i sat there questioning my future. is money going to be a constant battle? am i ridiculous for thinking that all the things i will ever need will just be provided? is this sort of life actually do-able?

in that moment, i was reminded of the words of prophecy spoken over me throughout the year. words from my teammates, words from friends back home, words from women in south africa, words from a korean women in malaysia. all confirming God’s call on my life. that i am called to something greater. something bigger. something that doesn’t make sense in the mind of man.

so, despite the unrelaxing state of my vacation, despite the nagging pain in my upper left jaw, despite the disabling of my connection to the outside world... i choose not to be discouraged. i choose not to be overwhelmed. i choose rest. i choose peace. i choose to trust in the provision of my Papa.

i am well aware that this promise of provision may not look anything like i think that it should, but i also know that it’s a promise He intends to keep.

“and my God will meet all your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus.” (Phil 4.19)

Stories to Share

2011-06-03T18:50:00.000-05:00

as i sit here typing on my big comfy couch, wrapped up in a blanket, sitting in front of a television too big for my own good, with the smell of home cooked food in the air, i can't help but feel on edge. so little has changed. and yet this time around i feel so out of place.

as i looked into my closet yesterday, the abundance made me utterly nauseous. the fact that i happened to have 7 different bottles of shampoo in my shower didn't help. in just a few hours after getting home, i quickly found my big, red, beaten up backpack looking luxurious again. part of me desperately wanted to just throw my three outfits and two pairs of shoes in the bag and call it a day.

but, this is reality. this is my home. these are my people.

and while i find it overwhelming to try to figure out how the person i now am fits into the world of who i once was, i know that i'm here right now for a reason. i now have a story to tell. i now have words that can't go unspoken. and there are so many people that deserve to hear it. more, even so, that need to hear it.

so, after spending the whole day sorting through and downsizing my entire wardrobe, i think i have regained a small bit of my sanity... for the time being anyway. i'm not quite ready to face the world (or go shopping in walmart), but hopefully i'll get there eventually.

because this story is BIG, and my world needs to hear it.

The Cat Lady

2011-05-12T18:50:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I wish you all could meet the interesting characters we run into on this adventure around the world. I can confidently say that in this year alone I have seen, done and experienced some of the most random things ever possible. One thing is for sure, every day has the possibility of being highly entertaining.

For instance, let me introduce you to one of my newest friends, Iing. I like to refer to her simply as the cat lady of Penang. Please, note that this is not just a cat lady... this is THE cat lady. You see, Iing loves the cats. All the cats. But, especially stray, street cats. Actually to say that she loves them might even be an understatement. Iing spends her days browsing the streets for cans and other recyclable items in which she can cash in to buy cat food. Then in the evening, she sets up camp on a local sidewalk, lays out food... and voile, instant cat lady.

Last night, myself, my friend Jon Bunford, and a couple other volunteers made a visit to Iing's part of the neighborhood. As we approached her street, Iing was pacing up and down the sidewalk, bantering under her breath in rapid Mandarin. She was clearly worried about something. After some interpretation, we found out that the nervous pacing was due to the cats. This night in particular, there were about 5 or 6 cats in the area. Iing begins pointing at the cats one by one, still speaking rapidly in her local tongue. Worried about Iing, we inquire as to what we can do for her. After a couple of seconds, with a small grin on her face, our translator looks up at us shyly and says "she says she wants you to pray for the cats. All the cats need prayer, but especially the small black one over there. That one needs prayer the most."

Pray for the cats, huh? That's definitely a new one.

I quickly look over at my friend Jon trying desperately to figure out how we are going to go about doing this all while keeping a straight face. In being culturally appropriate to the gender rules in Malaysia, he simply smiles and says "so, should we check underneath and see which one of us has to do this?"

Just about this time, one of the cats lets out a deep hiss. "More importantly," he adds "have you had your rabies shot?"

Trying to hold it together, I take one glance back at my friend Iing, give her a slight head nod and walk towards the cats. Then and there, myself, Jon, and another volunteer stretch out our arms and begin to pray.

"So, God, I never thought I would be standing on a street corner praying for cats. Especially ones that are hissing, possibly diseased, and that could attack me at any moment. But, here I am. Father, I know your probably more of a dog person, like me, but considering you made the cats you probably still love them too. So, bless the cats. Bless the yellow cat, and the gray cat, and the spotted cat, and the black cat. Especially the black cat.

Apparently he needs your help a little more than the others. Amen."

And that was that.

We then finished up our conversation with Iing, who had calmed down considerably since the cats had been prayed over, and I just stood there and grinned as I thought about all the ridiculous things I have experienced this past year. And yet, every bit of it has revealed small pieces of God's character. A bit of God's character exists within the crazy cat lady on that street corner. A bit of his character exists within the exuberant woman who sings at the top of her lungs from the alleyway. A bit of his character exists within the highly animated tricycle driver who claps along to a tune only he can hear.

God is much more exciting than we sometimes give him credit for. And more importantly His sense of humor never ceases me make me laugh.

Follow Me

2011-05-07T18:46:00.000-05:00

Follow Me.

Apparently God is trying to tell me something. In the past week, I have seen those two words plastered literally everywhere I look. In huge block letters on the front gate of a random business, across a blatantly large banner hanging at the bus station, on the label of a whole row of shampoo bottles. All repeating the same phrase...

Follow Me.

Okay, God, I get it. But, where is the rest of the sentence? I feel like you have forgotten a couple of terribly important details. Do you mind to expound on that just a little?

I can't help but feel a bit like I've been given a beautiful invitation to the event of a lifetime only to find that the host left the inside of the card completely blank.

Follow me. That's all I've got.

All this to say to myself, and to all of you... I don't know what's next. I don't have any of the details. There is no timeline. There is no absolute direction.

All I have is "follow me"... and for now, that's going to have to be enough.

Beauty Defined

2011-05-02T18:44:00.000-05:00

I'm trying out this new thing. I know when I blog that I tend to write about what is going on around me as opposed to the journey and the struggles going on inside my own life. In sharing with a friend the other day I was challenged to be real not only with the outside journey but also the things going on inside my head... so, here we go. :)

A couple days back we arrived into Penang, Malaysia, which just so happens to be a pretty bustling city. Malls, restaurants, movie theaters... you name it. Being a girl, one of the first thing I explored was, of course, the shopping. It's been a while since I've been in a big mall and this time as we walked through surrounded by stores and stores of ridiculousness, I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. There was such an shocking array of sparkling, colorful merchandise, this overwhelming abundance of things that society defines as beauty. Stores and stores of manmade things, claiming to add to your beauty, to speak into your identity.

Don't get me wrong, I've been in malls time and time again. But, this time, something about it all just didn't sit well with me. It was if all I could see was a facade of what really existed. Nothing about that spoke beauty to me, and yet I couldn't help but feel compelled to feel like it should.

As I tried different accessories on, I would take a glance into the mirror in front on me. Mirror after mirror, I found myself looking at each one, trying to decide if I did in fact, actually like what I saw. Each time, my thoughts soon turned from the merchandise to the image behind it. "Maybe if I had put on make-up, maybe if I had fixed my hair, maybe if I wasn't wearing miss matched, worn out clothing... maybe then I would be more pleased with what I saw."

It was funny to sit here and have all these thoughts. You see, beauty and self-image are not things I have typically struggled with. Sure, I have those moments, as every woman does, where I wish I was a few inches taller, a few pounds lighter, and a few shades darker. But, I was fortunate enough to grow up in a home with a mother and a father who spoke so graciously over my identity. Parents who never asked me to be anything different than what I was. Parents that never opposed my tomboy stage of wearing gym shorts and a pony tail. Parents who loved without criticizing my identity.

Yet, here I was, letting the lies of Satan slowly creep in. Lies of my self worth, of my beauty, of my importance.

It was in that moment that I also realized that in just a few short weeks, that beast is exactly what I am going back to. It wasn't until walking back from that mall that I realized just how much freedom I have been walking in this year. I had almost forgotten what that bondage felt like. Bondage that exists so heavily back home. The idea that self worth can be purchased. That beauty is defined so strongly by materialistic things. I have spent a year walking in a new freedom of beauty, so much that I almost forgot how heavy, how fierce it was. And, here I was, four weeks away from returning... completely and utterly overwhelmed by it all.

As I stood on the street with my friend Stacey, praying, and just letting tears fall down my face, I realized that the struggle here was that my idea of beauty no longer coincides with the rest of the worlds. I was finally realizing how much my perspective has changed; how much my definition of beauty has changed. Back in the store, as my eyes tried to take in all of the glitz and glamour around me, I had realized that nothing in that store was beautiful. Beauty is no longer an accessory, or a piece of jewelry, or an article of clothing. Beauty is an African woman with her shaved head and handmade clothing; beauty is the smile on the face of a child running barefoot and filthy through the slums of a third world country; beauty is the prostitute wiping the makeup off her face, packing her bags, and reclaiming her self worth.

Now, this is not to say that I won't ever again wear girly accessories (in fact I have some pretty great earrings on today!) But, never again will those "things" define my identity, my beauty, my self worth. This year, I've seen the beauty of God, the beauty of his rawest creation. And I am part of that creation. You are part of that creation. We, in our simplest form, completely encompass the definition of true and absolute beauty, with or without any added glamour. It's time, my loves, to reclaim that beauty!

Your Love Never Fails

2011-04-14T18:42:00.000-05:00

i'm at a loss for words.

my thoughts are jumbled.

i sit here staring at my computer knowing that i need to write a blog, but doing it more out of necessity than desire. it's just that i am finding it really difficult to put into words the things i have experienced in the last month and a half...

i've seen and felt some really dark stuff. i've experienced the bondage of a country void of religious freedom. i've lived in a country so dark that even the stars can't find the light to shine; a country marked by a wall that screams of slavery.

i've walked through the busy streets of thailand. i've seen faces of utter brokenness. i've looked into the eyes of darkness, felt it's fury, and almost crumbled at its overwhelming presence.

it's one of those times where words wont do justice to what i have seen. where words most definitely can't describe what i have felt. my words fail me.

but my failure, my inadequacy, is what brings me back to my first love. everything within my own strength will never be enough to heal these nations. never be enough to heal my own soul. but, luckily i have arms to run into. arms of a father, arms of a savior, arms of a healer, arms of a lover. arms strong enough break down walls. arms big enough to wrap around brokenness. arms powerful enough to conquer all evil.

thankfully, even when my words fail me... His love never fails.

Jump In

2011-02-21T18:41:00.000-06:00

Sometimes in life you just have to do things that are ridiculous...

like jumping in the ocean fully dressed.

You see, despite the fact that I am legally of age to be considered an adult, I often feel like I still have the heart of an 8 year old. But then again, I think maybe that's true for all of us... we just don't allow ourselves to believe it.

Just yesterday we took a stroll to the beach. We didn't have a whole lot of time, and I had already showered for the day (which is a big deal), so I hadn't planned on getting in the water. In fact, I was perfectly content just to sit on the beach, digging my toes in the sand, enjoying the beauty around me.

Soon enough, I found myself up to the edge of the water. As much as I hadn't planned on getting wet, I suddenly had this huge urge to just run and jump in the water. In fact, I could picture it in my head, I could see myself, just like a young child running straight into the waves, giggling the entire time. I stood there for a long time and rationalized all the reasons why that would be ridiculous. First off, I absolutely hate walking around in wet clothes and would undoubtedly not have enough time to dry off. Second, I had on clean clothes (which is pretty rare these days) and I had just recently showered. Thirdly, there was a huge boat full of people docked at the beach, all of which were already staring at me as I stood at the water's edge, clearly pondering the meaning of life.

I stood there for a long time, just rationalizing with myself again and again... over something to silly. Then, I realized... sometimes in life, you just have to do things that are ridiculous.

So, I turned around, gave my good friend Alicia a huge grin... and then took off into the water... jumping straight into the waves.. giggling the whole time.

In a crazy way, jumping in the water was another step of freedom. Too often we let ourselves be restrained by rationalizations of what should be, of what society tells us, of the lies that we have allowed ourselves to believe. It's time to jump in the water, it's time to break down the walls of legalism, it's time to let yourself free.

So what if I was going to have to walk 15 minutes home in wet clothes, so what I had to be a little bit icky for the rest of the day, so what if my clothes and hair were no longer clean... for that moment in time, as I floated in the water just laughing out loud, I was free. I could have easily let myself miss out on that experience, out of that joy... but for that day, I chose otherwise! Just like our relationship with God, sometimes we miss out, sometimes we try to rationalize His greatness, sometimes we don't just let ourselves fall head first into His love.

Are you ready to jump in?

"Daily I live with fear- a healthy fear... that I will miss something God has for me... I don't want to be robbed of even one of God's riches by not taking time to let Him invade my life. By not listening to what He is telling me. By allowing the routine, pressing matters of my minutes to bankrupts me of time for the most exciting, most fulfilling relationship in life."

Change of Pace

2011-02-11T18:40:00.000-06:00

I can be extremely selfish. There, I said it.

Sometimes that realization cuts me to the core... mostly because it's true. Prior to the World Race, I had very few responsibilities outside of myself. Back in those day, I could do things in my own time, in my own way, and I could control every single detail. Needless to say, that's not really the case anymore. Back then, I had a specific pace, and I stuck to it. I took care of me, I looked out for me, and I only worried about what was best for me.

I think our Christian walk can actually look a lot like this sometimes as well. We can serve the Lord and still be completely selfish about it. We constantly fall to our knees in prayer asking God to heal us, to make us whole, to make us better. We continually ask God for more of His presence in our own life, for more of His blessings, His spirit, and His gifts to fall upon us. We spend hours pleading our case and only seconds pleading for others. We spend so much timing making sure we are taken care of, making sure we are looked out for, making sure we are getting what is best.

We spend so much time running life at our own pace.

As some of you may know, I had the opportunity to run a 5k around Manila a couple of weeks ago. At first I had agreed to run the race with two of my teammates, Alicia & Stacey. About halfway into the race, I was feeling really good. It felt so nice to stretch my legs again, to compete in a race again, just to run with a purpose. I looked over at my teammates and could tell they weren't quite thinking the same thing, they were ready to slow down... but I was ready to plow ahead. In this moment I made the decision to set my own pace, to move ahead, to push forward for what was best for me. On the turnaround route there just so happened to be a huge monster of a hill. The joy I had for running just minutes ago had all but disappeared... my legs were burning, my lungs were screaming, and I was all but ready to just call it a day and start walking. Just about that time, one of our squad leaders, Lia comes running up the hill behind me. Just to give you a little background on Lia, running is not just an interest for her, it's a passion. Needless to say, she could easily run circles around me. As she approached me from behind, I completely expected her to give me her best encouraging grin and pass on by... but much to my surprise, she ran up beside me and instantly stepped into stride with me. Without saying any words at all, I knew in that moment she had agreed to run right beside me the rest of the race, all the way through the finish line. I knew that if I needed to slow down, she would slow down and if I needed to run faster, she would run faster. She was there to see me through. She changed her pace for me.

Just through that experience God taught me so much about how I should be living life. Don't get me wrong, this life is a race, and we should never stop moving... but it's not a competition. There's no prize at the end. There is no big medal to be draped around your neck. There is no glory in finishing first. The glory is in finishing together. The glory is in fighting for our brothers and sisters. The glory is in opening our eyes to the people around us, to running the race beside them, and to doing this thing we call life together!

Let's run this race together. Are you ready for a change of pace?

Taste of Reality

2011-02-05T18:38:00.000-06:00

Reality kicked me in the face yesterday. And I felt every bit of it.. the shock, the pain, the nausea, the stumbling. I thought I was prepared. I thought I was ready to fight. But the battle snuck up on me... and it all but knocked me out.

I knew coming into Asia that prostitution and trafficking would be present. It's something we've talked about since day one. It's a normal topic of conversation when discussing the ministry opportunities on the race. In fact, it's one of the reasons many of the girls on my squad signed up for this adventure. It's something that I knew to expect.

But my expectations absolutely failed me.

While walking along the beach yesterday, I saw this injustice first hand... and it absolutely blind sided me. I was nauseous, I was broken, I was hurting. I wanted to scoop up this young girl, look her in the eyes and tell her over and over again that she was loved and that she was worthy of so much more! I wanted to stare that man in the eyes (after I got over the urge to punch him) and ask him who hurt him, who left him so empty, who broke him. I just wanted them both to know that there was more... so, so, so much more.

I stumbled my way past. I took in a deep breath. I regained my composure and I was reminded that my God is big enough even for this. This place, despite its breathtaking beauty, is a dark place... but my God is so full of light! It's time to hit our knees in prayer! It's time to fight! It's time for us to prophesy life over the death in this world. It's time for the nations to see and feel the presence of His love! It's time for injustices to be broken! It's time for His promises to be fulfilled. It's time for HIS radiance to shine!

"Arise! Let your light shine for all to see. For the Glory of the Lord rises to shine on you. Darkness as black as night covers all the nations of the earth, but the glory of the Lord rises and appears over you. All nations will come to your light; mighty kings will come to see your radiance." Isaiah 60:1-3

The Journey

2011-01-31T18:37:00.000-06:00

Some days I can't believe this is my life.

In the past 3 days I have flown over 17 hours, passed through over 6 different time zones, and suffered from a severe case of jet lag. In the past 3 days I have given up caffeine (we'll see how long that lasts!), ran a 5k through the Philippines, and gotten an hour long massage for 4 dollars! My life is so random, and so crazy... and yet I absolutely love it!

Some days I can't believe that in the past 7 months I have lived on 4 different continents and been in 12 different countries. Seriously, who does that? What is even harder to believe is that now I can't imagine life any other way. I can't imagine life without community. I can't imagine life without poverty. I can't imagine life without my my beautiful, spirit filled, crazy, prophetic family of 64 people known as the "P-SQUAD".

My life has changed so drastically in the past 7 months. I think, speak, and process so differently. The baby I was 7 months ago has grown up. My heart yearns for things I never thought it would before. My life will absolutely never be the same, and for that I am so thankful.

This journey for me hasn't ever really been about finding Jesus. I found Him a long time ago. This journey instead has been about learning to surrender, to listen, to speak, to trust, and to love in a way that I never knew was possible. This journey has been about being exposed to and equipped for whatever God has in store for me after this race comes to an end. I don't have a clue what the final 4 months will look like (seriously, only 4 months left?!), but I know that my God is a God of great adventure... so I can only imagine what he has in store!

Here's to a new month, a new country, a new continent, and a new season.

"It's gonna be wild, it's gonna be great, it's gonna be full of Me!"

Follow

2011-01-25T18:35:00.000-06:00

My bags are packed. It's time to move on once again, not only to another country but onto another continent. Usually about this time I start getting antsy to leave. Usually, I am ready for the chance of pace and the excitement of a new adventure.

...but this month is very different.

This month I can't help but think of all the people I am leaving behind. This month I can't help but think about all the great and wonderful things that I will not have the opportunity be a part of. This month I can't help but think of all the friends that will now be an ocean away. This month it feels almost like leaving home again.

I think i've known for a long time that I had a heart for Africa, but that I just played it off as being the typical missionary place to go. Then two months ago, I finally get here and after struggling through those months I was honestly kind of ready to leave. Don't get me wrong, it had been a great experience, an irreplaceable experience... but one I was not really all that sad to see come to an end. I had changed my mind about this Africa, I had decided it was not at all what I had expected, and again just thought that I had bought into the cliche of being a missionary here.

Then God brought me to Cape Town.

I never would have realized that in 18 days I would be able to feel like part of a community. That I would develop lasting relationships. That I would have such a yearning and a desire to see the hope of these people become reality. Something about this place has definitely stolen my heart and I can't wait to see what exactly God has planned.

"Where you lead me... I will follow."

Stolen Heart

2011-01-22T18:33:00.000-06:00

Cape Town has officially stolen my heart.

Not only is it one of the most beautiful places in the world, the people here are absolutely incredible. Cape Town is this crazy and wonderful mix of civilized culture meets traditional Africa.

This month we have been hugely blessed. My team and I have been working with an American couple, Andy & Leigh Myers (www.reachingcapetown.com). Andy, Leigh, and their beautiful daughter Norah moved here from Vermont just about 7 months ago. They both have a huge passion for the youth here in Cape Town, and have been working largely through an organization called Africa Jam. The focus of this organization is to serve high-school age youth in some of the most economically disadvantaged townships in South Africa's Cape region. Young people in these areas regularly encounter violence, hunger, drug use, sexual temptation and the perils of HIV/AIDS and need help building self-esteem, developing life skills, and establishing a promising future.

Andy & Leigh have an intense passion for these teenagers. They dedicate a huge amount of their time just hanging out with these kids, loving on them, and exposing them to real family. One township that has really stolen their hearts is Khayelitsha. Just for some background information, Khayelitsha is reputed to be one of the largest and fastest growing townships in South Africa, housing at least 500,000 black African residents. This township was established in the 80's, during the apartheid when a large number of people were forcefully relocated to the outskirts of Cape Town. Many houses in Khayelitsha are made up of nothing more than scrap metal. Poverty has largely infiltrated this community. But, hidden in this community are lights. Hidden in this community are beautiful, God seeking, passionate teenagers and young adults with hearts that truly beat for our Lord.

Those of you that know me know that I have a passion for this type of population. God has richly, richly blessed my life. God has showered me with love, with grace, and with a huge amount of stability... and I truly believe He has done so in order for me to be that for other people. During the race, God has only intensified and expanded my love for this population, and this month I have definitely gotten the opportunity to extend that love. This month I have been able to stand along side these precious, amazingly talented, beautiful children of God. I have been able to sit and listen to their life stories, I have been able to spend time in intense worship with them (and trust me, they know how to rock out for Jesus!), and I have been able to join with them in prayer, allowing them to reclaim their identity in Christ and as a generation of world changers.

Cape Town has stolen my heart.

The Love of a Grandfather

2011-01-21T18:32:00.000-06:00

Today I feel the need to be a little bit nostalgic. This past Wednesday, a wonderful man in my life, my grandad, went home to be with Jesus. I write this blog with tears in my eyes. Tears of sadness, but also tears of joy. Tears because I will certainly miss this man, tears because I never got to say an official goodbye, tears because I didn't get in that one last hug... but also tears that celebrate his life, tears that rejoice in the amazing man that he was, and tears of joy as I picture him skipping (yes, skipping) happily along through those pearly gates.

It one of those times when I wish everyone I knew had met my grandad. I wish that everyone I knew would have been able to sit and enjoy the blessings and the wisdom of this man the way that I did. Words just don't seem to be enough to really share what he has meant to my life.

As a small child, we spent a couple days a week at my grandparents house. I remember running up to the door each time, ready and excited for the day, knowing I would be completely and utterly spoiled! Mamaw and Grandad's house was the best. no contest. During those days, we would spend the morning with my grandma but I remember eagerly awaiting for my grandpa to get home from work. I remember climbing up into his lap in his big, comfy recliner and watching whatever sporting event was on tv. I remember the comfort and peace that was brought about just by hanging out with Grandad.

Even at 24 years old, every time I walk into my grandparents house I give my Mamaw a big hug and then walk straight to my Grandad's chair. Even at 24 years old, he let me squeeze into the chair beside him. Even at 24 years old, he let me climb up beside him and just sit. We didn't always exchange many words, but he would always hold my hand and continue to rock back and forth, simply allowing me to be a kid just hanging out with my grandpa.

Not only did this man in my life exemplify what it means to be a wonderful grandfather, he was also an extraordinary father, husband, and man of God. It's from my grandpa that my own father learned what it means to be a gentleman, what it means to be unselfish, and what it means to truly take care of your family. Even at 81 years old, my grandad always opened the door for my grandma. At 81 years old, he still got up and went to work every single day, always wanting to be able to personally provide for his family. I even distinctly remember that at every meal we would eat my grandpa always made sure everyone else had food on their plates before he would fill his own. My grandad was a true gentleman in every form of the word.

I sat down yesterday and made a list in my head of all the wonderful things I wanted to remember about my grandad.... I want to remember how big he would smile when we would banter back and forth. I want to remember that how by the end of the day, he always managed to have at least one small stain on his shirt from something he had eaten. I want to remember how he could never find his own reading glasses and would

resort to wearing my grandma's instead. I want to remember how proud he was off all his grandchildren, and how excited he was to hang new pictures of us in his office at work. I want to remember how every Christmas he would suggest that we open gifts starting with the oldest first. I want to remember how sometimes he would get so comfy in his big chair that it would take him three good rocks back and forth to get up. I want to remember how much he loved the Arkansas Razorbacks and could talk about them all day. I want to remember the look of admiration he would always give my dad, acknowledging just how proud he was of him. I want to remember how he didn't have to say many words, and yet you knew that this man truly adored his family.

I distinctly remember when my grandpa found out that I was leaving for the race. I think for a couple weeks straight he would call my dad up every day and ask him if he was sure this was something I wanted to do. He was worried, as many parents and grandparents are, but soon enough he understood the importance of this trip in my life. The last memory I actually have of my grandad is when we went out to eat with the family the day before I left. As I hugged him and my grandma with tears in my eyes, I remember him saying to me "I'm really proud of what you are doing." Even at 24 years old, those words spoke straight to my heart.

My grandpa was an absolutely wonderful man, and while I will miss him deeply... I choose to rejoice. I choose to celebrate the fact that he lived 81 beautiful years of life. I choose to celebrate that fact that for those 81 years he was surrounded by family and friends that loved and adored him. I choose to celebrate that his life was one of greatness, one of success, and one of joy. I choose to celebrate that his life here was only a small glimpse of the life he now gets to live for eternity. I choose to celebrate the fact that one day my grandad and I will be united again, that one day he and I will walk along streets of gold, that one day he and I will dance together around a heavenly throne!

5-4-3-2-1 BUNGEE!!

2011-01-12T22:08:00.000-06:00

As most of you know by now, my team and I had the opportunity to visit Victoria Falls this past month in Zambia. Upon researching the Falls, we found out that they just happened to have the world's third highest bungee jump! If you know me at all, you know this is something I would not be able to pass up. The opportunity to swan dive off a bridge at one of the most beautiful places in the world... what's not to like? :)

When you are standing in line to bungee jump, a lot of things tend to run through your mind. You try to process all the aspects of the jump, even though there is no way you can accurately feel what is about to happen. In fact, the preparation for the jump is the fun part... it's when you waddle to the edge and hang your toes over that it gets scary.

As I was standing there waiting for my turn, I realized bungee jumping can actually be a lot like our walk with Christ. Kind of a funny analogy, I know. From the line, this lifestyle looks fun, it looks adventurous, and it looks exciting. We like the idea of the challenge and the adrenaline of something new. We stand in line, we even gear up, but its when we get to the edge that we are finally faced with fear. The fear of failure, the fear of inadequacy, the fear of losing everything, the fear of losing control. When we get to the edge, we realize that in order to take the plunge we have to completely and totally trust and rely on something greater than us to catch us, to save us, and to protect us.

So instead of jumping, many times we stay in line. We keep the harness on, and we think about walking forward... but we can't quite make the commitment. We can't officially let go.

It's time to take the plunge. It's time to stop just looking the part. It's time to hang your toes over, take a deep breath, and finally jump. God's ready. :)

Bungee Jumping Video

A Different Kind of Christmas

2010-12-25T22:07:00.000-06:00

for my christmas this year there are no christmas lights. there are no carolers. there are no bustling department stores.

for my christmas this year there is no tinsel. there are no overdone christmas trees. there are no presents. no wrapping paper.

the agenda for my christmas this year does no include anything about santa claus, kris kringle, or even father christmas. for my christmas this year there are no little kids anxiously waiting to see a bright red nose or hear hooves on their rooftops tonight.

in fact, my christmas this year is about as anti-american as you can get.

in zambia, christmas is not about a day. christmas is not about money. christmas is not about glitz and glamour. here the only celebrity on this day is the one for which it was originally intended.... a small baby, a son, and the very child of God.

sure, i miss the holiday hype. i miss the spirit of christmas. i miss singing christmas carols at the top of my lungs. i miss being surrounded by my very favorite people. i miss days in a row of the best food and desserts you can ever imagine.

but, i also have the opportunity to finally experience christmas for its true meaning. i am experiencing a christmas that is truly about life, about family, and about love. and not only that, but i get to celebrate with people who know the importance of these things and truly cherish them.

next year, i will most likely plunge back into the american style of christmas... but for this year, this year i get to experience a very different kind of christmas.

Overwhelmed

2010-12-24T22:06:00.000-06:00

i am officially overwhelmed.

i'm a problem solver... a solution finder... a fixer.

and the things i see on the world race on a daily basis are things that i just can't fix.

i sat in a living room this week and looked at a young baby who was cuddled into her mother's chest and couldn't help but think about the fact that she had no idea what lies ahead in life. she doesn't know that once she is ready for solid food that most likely she will go hungry. she doesn't know that in a couple of months that she might not have a roof over her head. she doesn't know that both her parents are sick and are HIV positive. she doesn't know that she might one day be an orphan.

i sat with a group of teenagers this week who have already lost one parent and have another parent that is sick. teenagers that have to miss school because they have to take care of their family. teenagers who can't always even afford to go to school. teenagers who are expected to act as adults.

i sat with a church member in his home this week who recently lost his 18 year old son. his son committed suicide. this sweet man had to bury his own son and is left to question how things could have been differently. this 18 year old boy thought life was too hard, and so he left his family with questions, with grief, and with one less child.

i sat inside a house this week with a woman who has one of the biggest hearts i have ever met. this woman works with orphaned children her in zambia. she lives in a mud brick house, with two small rooms, and no electricity. this woman could afford more, but instead her priority is being able to give at least a couple of these orphans a place to live. she goes on very little food, and sacrifices her lifestyle in order to make sure more children have a roof over their heads.

i sat beside a mother this week and listened to her talk about her husband. how he is an alcoholic, how his alcoholism affects him from working, and how he can no longer provide for their family. i listened as this mother told me that her husband had a girlfriend, and as she showed me the scar marks on her arms from a run in with the other woman. i listened as this mother talked about how her family was slowly falling apart.

for me these problems aren't just problems anymore, they aren't just statistics or things you hear on the news... they are people. they have names. they have stories. true, real stories... and as much as i want to fix all of them... i can't.

i'm am having to learn the hard way that sometimes things are just out of my control. sometimes i can't fix every single problem. sometimes i don't have all the answers and i am learning to be okay with that... only as long as i never forget that these problems, they still exist.

...To Be Loved

2010-12-16T22:03:00.000-06:00

Imagine with me for just a minute.

Imagine you are a 40 year old woman living in Africa. A 40 year old woman infected with HIV. A 40 year old woman with 6 children who are also all infected with HIV. A 40 year old woman who recently lost her husband, the sole provider of the family. A 40 year old woman who in a short period of time lost her property, her spouse, and her means of living. A 40 year old woman who is sick. A 40 year old woman who is tired. A 40 year old woman who is hungry. A 40 year old woman who most days cannot even feed her own children.

This woman has a name... her name is Mary.

As I sat in Mary's small home a couple of days ago, my heart broke. Through tears, she told us her story. Through tears, she choked out the details of her life. Through tears, she exposed her vulnerability and she admitted that she was not okay... that she was tired, she was hungry, and she was struggling.

As I looked into Mary's tear filled eyes, the only thought that went through my head was that there was absolutely nothing I could say to this woman to make things better. There were no amount of words within my vocabulary that would fix any of this. Nothing I had to tell her was going to heal things. All I had to offer her in that moment was my love.

So, I walked across the room, sat down beside Mary on the dirty floor, placed her hand in mine, and just cried with her.

I wont ever really be able to understand Mary's situation, but for the time being God allowed me to experience her pain. For the time being, God gently reminded me that sharing His love often involves sharing in the burdens of His people. God reminded me that we don't always need people to fix our problems, sometimes we just need people to scoop us up, to hold us, and to cry with us. Sometimes all we need is to be loved.

Family

2010-12-03T22:02:00.000-06:00

In case you didn't already know... I pretty much have the greatest family in the world. A bold statement, I know, but also a true one.

Let me tell you just how great they are. But, first I have to go back a couple of months.

During month 2 of the race, I had the opportunity to live and work at an orphanage in Haiti called HIS Home for Children. Not surprising to anyone, I quickly fell in love with the beautiful faces there, but there were two kids in particular that stole my heart... a 9 year old named Jasmine and a baby named Sammy.

Let me give you a little background on these two.

Jasmine has lived at the orphanage since she was about 2 years old. At this time she was severely malnourished and her mother brought her in because she just could not take care of her on her own. At the orphanage, she was nursed back to health and her mother was actually given the opportunity to attempt to raise her again. Unfortunately, a couple months later, her mother returned with the baby because she could not provide for her properly. Jasmine was my shadow from the day I stepped into the orphanage. She's beautiful, she has a smile that lights up the room, and while she loves the color pink, she sure doesn't mind getting down and dirty in the middle of a soccer game with all of the boys. Definitely my kind of girl.

Sammy, a one year old in the nursery, stole my heart at first glance. He has big brown eyes that read both of sadness and of love. From the first time I picked him up out of his bed, I knew we had a special bond. Throughout the month, I would stop in the nursery many times a day just to kiss my sweet baby on the head. It got to the point that he would start jumping up and down with a huge smile on his face whenever I would even peek my head in the room. This beautiful, sweet baby, like many other orphans just craved love.

Why tell you about these two? What does this have anything to do with my family? I'm getting there, I promise. :) You see, throughout my month in Haiti I prayed specifically over these two and their huge needs for a family. During this time, I also jokingly mentioned to my parents and my older sister that I had found Haitian children for them to adopt.

Somewhat to my surprise, and by God's divine intervention, my family took this advice seriously and agreed to be prayerful about it. Wow.

Long story short, these two Haitian kiddos will soon be coming to the United States to be a part of my family! I now have another little sister as well as a second nephew! Two little loves of my life will officially be a part of it forever.

How crazy is that? It still blows my mind.

See, I told you... I have a ridiculously wonderful family.

and an even more fabulous God.

Firsts

2010-12-03T22:00:00.000-06:00

Africa is definitely a place of "firsts."

First time I have survived a whole month without electricity. First time I have ever shared a house with a family of mice. First time I slept in a house with dirt floors. First time I have taken bucket showers. First time I have eaten things like goat meat. Definitely lots of new experiences to add to the list.

However, my favorite first of this month was one I never would have expected...

Prison Ministry.

During the last week of our ministry here, we were surprised by our contacts with the opportunity to visit a local prison to share the love of God with them. To be honest, I had absolutely no idea what to expect. The most I have ever seen of a prison before is the back area I was escorted through in order to get fingerprinting done for my teaching licensure! I was quickly beginning to think that it was probably not going to be quite the same experience.

Don't forget... we are in Africa. Government buildings and facilities are not quite what they are in the United States. This prison is located in the middle of a couple villages, its a small, rectangle, brick building. Nothing special. No barbwire. No armed men. Only one small gate that served as the way in and the way out. From outside, it was already evident that this place had the potential to get pretty rowdy. Outside the walls, we could hear the violent banter and rustling of the abundance of men inside. The presence was almost overwhelming and we had not yet even stepped inside the door. It was intense, and it was harsh, but we did all we know to do... we spent some time in prayer and trusted our God to lead us.

The prison itself it a square courtyard type setting with rooms all along the outside walls. As we step inside, it's clearly evident that this place is overcrowded. There are people everywhere. Hanging out the rooms, sitting on window sills and on top of ledges, pouring in and out of the bathrooms. Everywhere. We boldly step in, being escorted by one and only one guard. Here we are, in the middle of this mess of chaos, but still fully expecting God to show up.

They seat us up front on two long benches and begin to attempt to gather the crowd. The banter continues until our pastor begins a worship song in the native language. Suddenly a hush comes over the group and people begin to congregate near the front. Many of them know the words to the song and begin to sing and dance along. The atmosphere of the place is slowly changing. This new peace is beginning to wash over the chaos.

After the song is over, the crowd is completely silent. The men are sitting quietly. The faces are attentive. The large courtyard I stepped into just minutes ago looks like a completely different place. As we begin to share with them the wonderful news of salvation, it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

For a split moment, I actually forgot that I was in a prison.

God continued to do his thing, and the day ended with over 60 men dedicating their lives to Christ. Over 60 men, bound by prison, but now forever freed by the love of an eternal Father. Amazing. Ridiculous. Mind blowing. 60 men who no longer have to live under the bondage of the past. 60 men who can now walk in a new life with a new beginning.

What a great reminder of God's ability to calm a storm. A great reminder of God's ability to let His light shine in even the darkest of places. A great reminder of God's grace, His forgiveness, and His love for even those people who have fallen far from Him.

This is Africa.

Surrender

2010-11-17T21:18:00.000-06:00

where to even begin? it's pretty much impossible to wrap up in just a couple of words the awesome things God has done in the past two weeks. ridiculous.

in the past few months God has been teaching me alot about the word surrender.

surrender your needs. surrender your comforts. surrender your will.

surrender your flesh.

long story short, God has given me PLENTY of opportunities to practice this idea in the past two weeks.

our journey to africa was not an easy one. after a full 170 hours of travel of which included 60 hours on a bus, spending two nights in an unairconditioned bus, and spending several hours each day praying for mercy at the border crossings... we finally made it to malawi.

surrender your needs.

our ministry this month is village evagelism. our living conditions are primative. many times I tend to forget that I am acutally living in the year 2010. there is no air conditioning. there is no electricity. there is no kitchen. there are no beds. we are living the african life; outhouse, bucket showers, and even dirt floors.

surrender your comforts.

day to day we walk all throughout the african country side, sitting down with small villages at a time and sharing the gospel of christ. it's not always easy, it's not always comfortable, and for a person who is big on relational ministry, door to door evangelism is sometimes a struggle.

surrender your will.

this month has been a constant struggle between the spirit and the flesh. there are days when I my own selfish desires start to surface again. days I don't desire to sit in a 4 hour church service, days when I don't desire to walk hours in the blazing sun, days when I don't want to eat the same meal over and over again.

surrender your flesh.

what's amazing about the idea of surrender is that I have the opportunity to surrender to a power that is not only greater, but that desires surrender because He loves me so greatly. and in that surrender, I have experienced God in a way I never imagined.

in this surrender, I have seen lives changed. in this surrender, I have seen bodies healed. in this surrender, I have seen demons cast out. in this surrender, I have learned more about my heavenly Papa than I ever dreamed. is it easy? absolutely not. is it worth it? every second.

Moldovian Lifestyle

2010-10-18T21:16:00.000-05:00

just for you... a taste of what life looks like in cornesti, moldova!

our humble abode... a beautiful cold war cabin, tin roof and all

our front yard, which also doubles as a vegetable garden

the ever popular outhouse in a lovely shade of green

where we get in a good dose of our squat workouts

the furnace/microwave/heater... it's very multipurpose!

the food supply. straight from the vine, concord grapes... yes, please!

daily work... picking and cleaning fresh veggies. yumm!

our on-the-side job... sheep herding. for real. :)

most importantly, the cutie-patooties that we get to work with everyday!

Lost in Romania

2010-10-08T21:14:00.000-05:00

I now completely understand just how frustrating travel must be for people on the Amazing Race. Being in Ireland for an entire month, I almost forgot the amount of confusion that comes with being in a foreign, non English speaking country, with no translator, no transportation, and no local currency. Welcome to the adventure called the World Race.

So, let me set this up for you. We just recently had a short debrief in Romania where our whole squad met together for something called "team changes." Upon being introduced to our new teams we were given the opportunity to have a night on the town to "make a memory." So, on our first night as a new team, we take to the streets.

Problem number one. Seeing as though everyone on my team just arrived to Bucharest late the night before, we have no local currency. No big deal, you might think... just find an ATM. False. This is not America, therefore ATMs do not exist at every turn. Nor do some people even know what an ATM is. Oh, and despite the fact that we think that everyone should know at least some English.. they don't.

Problem number two. No local currency means no local transportation. For some reason bus drivers aren't too keen on just taking you in with no money in hopes that you will pay them back later. Bummer, right?

Problem number three. It's Sunday and our living quarters are located in what you might call the outskirts of town. What does that mean? That means even the quaint corner store at the end of the road, where the people live above their business... even that is closed. Awesome.

So, in true World Race style...we take off walking. You see, there is this slight misconception that we as world racers begin to believe... we kind of think that if we want to get somewhere badly enough, we can always just walk. Does that work in some cases? Absolutely. In this one? Absolutely not.

A good hour later, after passing every field and industrial business along the way... we finally see a sign for Bucharest. Meaning, we still aren't anywhere close. So, instead we settle for a Hotel/Restaurant mix called the Hornet which, according to the sign is just another mile down the road. One mile... no big deal.

Once we reach the Hornet Hotel, we quickly realize there is no way we would be able to afford a meal in this place, seeing as our budget is limited to a mere $4/day. Despite that fact, we decide to investigate the situation anyway. Much to our surprise, the receptionist at the front desk does speak English, broken English, but English none the less. After finding out there is no ATM anywhere nearby, we are miles away from the city, and no, she cannot exchange money for us... we are left with only one option. Call a cab.

15 minutes later, we are stepping into two separate cabs. Unlike many foreign countries, they do still obey the rules on the amount of people allowed to be in one vehicle at any given time. The wonderful lady at the hotel then nicely explained to each cab driver where it was we needed to be taken. My cab driver, who gave off the vibe that he pretty much hated life, grumbled, argued, and then consented to taking us where we needed to go. All was well. Until we pulled out of the parking lot, and our driver is already headed in a different direction than the other cab. Perfect.

After 35 minutes, and 30 lei later (about $10... which is a fortune by WR standards), our driver stops the car and says "finish." We took that as our cue to get out. Found an ATM, and paid the not so nice cabbie. After doing a quick scan and not seeing the other half of our team anywhere in sight, in my very best sign language I ask "where is the other car?" The only reply I got was... "I bring you to ATM, I bring you to ATM. Finish."

We are now somewhere in downtown Bucharest with only half a team and the only thing that looks familiar in site is the McDonalds. So, what to do? We walk up and down the street a couple of times. We get some money from the ATM. Check out a few stores. Then we decide, oh well.. if we are lost, we might as well be lost on a full stomach, Mickey D's here we come.

We sit down to enjoy our nice, greasy hamburgers and it is in that moment that we realize we don't have a clue what the place we are staying is called or the town in which it is located. The three of us apparently have full confidence in our team leader, who is also lost somewhere in Bucharest, to always be able to get us back home. We then decide, why ruin a good meal worrying? So, we bless the food, pray for some divine intervention, and chow down.

Just as we finish eating, in walks another one of the teams from our squad. It never fails that you can somehow find other Americans if you just go to McDonalds. Not to mention that one of the girls on this team actually speaks Romanian. Coincidence? I think not. God's provision? Absolutely. So, we make plans to meet back up with their team later in order to make our way back home via the cheap local transportation. Despite the fact that we still have 3 team members lost somewhere in the city, all is well once again.

As we finish eating and step outside to spend some time exploring... guess who we run into? Our other three team members... who, I might add, had spent the last hour or so walking the square area around the McDonalds looking for us. Whoops. Apparently, they had very different priorities than we did! Needless, to say... we were united once again and reminded that even in crazy circumstances, God proves himself faithful.

Thanks to our wonderful adventure, my new team (consisting of James Woodley, Kara Graham, Alicia Tarjeft, Stacey Compton, Robby Smith, and myself) is rightly named...

Team Prodigal.

If this is day one, I can only imagine what it's going to look life from here!

The Love of a Father

2010-09-10T21:10:00.000-05:00

Just the other night, I met a very interesting man named Amon. He's an older Irish gentleman, who, according to him, was apparently quite the stud back in his day. Unfortunately, Amon suffered from a stroke about two years back and is still gaining back alot of his sharpness including his speech and small motor movements in his hands. As I spend some time with Amon, I learn that he has lived a tough life. Worked hard for anything he had, scrapped by in order to feed the children, lost a child, and because of depression afterwards his wife left him as well. Amon wears a lot of sadness on his face, but there is one thing that lights him up.... his son Edward.

Amon loves his son Edward so much that just in talking about him his whole face smiles. He describes Edwards as being "wonderful, special, and especially handsome." This father did not see a flaw in his son, not one. He delighted in his son's presence so much that he would rub his hands together and dance like a little child at just the simple thought of it. Amon's eyes even filled with tears when he recalled the story of his young son looking to him and saying "Papa, I love momma, but I love you the best." Amon undoubtedly loved his son, and saw him through wonderfully clouded goggles as only a father can... because Edward was his, and he was proud.

In hearing this father's humble adoration for his son, I couldn't help but think of how much our Papa, our heavenly Daddy, loves us. God sees us as Amon sees Edward! He points down at us and says "you see that one, she's special! that one, she is wonderful! that one, she brings me such joy!" Like Amon, our Papa gets giddy and lights up at the thought of our presence. Our Papa, just like Amon, he can't stop talking about us; about our achievements, about our beauty, about our perfection. He, like Amon, soaks up all our words and is waiting for the day when we say "Papa, I love alot of things... but I love you the best!" He sees us through those wonderful eyes of a Father... because we are his, and he too is overwhelmingly proud!

Constraints

2010-09-03T21:07:00.000-05:00

I don't think we realize how many constraints we put on ourselves, or have put on us by others just in our everyday life. I'm beginning to believe that God's not really much of a fan of constraints...

Just the other day, I realized a huge constraint in my life... time.

If you don't know me well, I am the kind of person that always knows what time it is. In fact, I don't even take my watch off when I go to bed. Not to mention that I have a watch tan line that could compete with just about anyone! I am the kind of person that is always on time. To make it even worse, not only do I always know what time it is... I also tend to "time myself" when doing random tasks. I love having a deadline, I love competing to beat the clock, I love finishing just in time. A little weird, I know.

So, let me set the stage for you.

On the world race, we are not allowed to do much of anything alone. We travel in groups (of 74, at times). We live in groups. We eat in groups. We fellowship in groups. There is always someone that you have to organize your time with in order to get things done. What's even better is that most likely the people you are living with probably will be nothing like you... meaning, just because you are the type of person that likes to be on time, or that likes things to be done quickly and efficiently does not mean that the person next to you feels the same. See where I am going with this?

While the fact that I somewhat ridiculously time oriented is no surprise to me, the fact that I often times let this idea of time consume my day is definitely a new realization. Why is it that little things like being late can sometimes totally ruin my attitude? Why is it that little things like a change in schedule can just throw me off? Why is it that I put such constraints on my life because of time?

So, one day this week during worship I am really struggling with this idea. I am struggling with the fact that so much of my life is oriented around time. I am struggling with the idea that I probably pass up opportunities every single day because I simply don't have time.

Then, in a very gentle whisper I heard my Papa say "Look down at your wrist. See that watch? It's time to take it off."

I look down at my arm and think, Seriously? My watch? I mean, it's just a watch. Besides, I have to be on time this week... we have a schedule, we have specific meeting times. I need that watch."

He laughs at me and says "Dear child, you're right, it is just a watch, but it's time to take it off. It's time for you to work under my timing... not your own."

"Okay, so maybe you have a point, God. But, seriously... I will take it off later, I will take it off after service, maybe when we get back to the campsite, yeah maybe then... then I will have some place safe to put it."

"Child... just trust me. Right now, this very moment, let go of that constraint...it's time." (Don't you just love how God uses your own words against you?)

So, in dramatic fashion, of course... with a huge sigh of defeat, I reach down to my left wrist... slowly unbuckle my watch, and drop it to the floor...

My watch tan still there. And, I still constantly pull up my left sleeve out of habit. But, for now the watch is packed safely away. For now, I am living under God's timing and I challenge you to do the same thing. Spend the week without having any concept of time. It will drive you crazy, it will stress you out, but it will also give you such freedom. Freedom to work under God's timing... because you never know what opportunity he might place in front of you that you think you just don't have time for.

Perspective

2010-08-25T21:04:00.000-05:00

About a week ago we got the opportunity to spend some time in the downtown area of Port-au-Prince. Despite that we have been here for almost a month, we have not seen much outside of the house and the church so spending a day in the city was a pretty big deal. The sights that I saw peering through the back bars of the box truck were sights of poverty, and of devastation, and of a third world country stricken by confusion and chaos.

As I sat and took all of this in, my mind wondered as to how I could pray for this country. What was God's vision for this place? What was his plan for Haiti? Having an American perspective on life, my mind first went to success. I wanted to pray for Haiti to become successful, to become self-sufficient. I wanted Haiti to have nice streets, to have clean water, to have unbroken buildings, and to have luxuries.

It was in that moment that I realized that I was praying for Haiti to become like America.

Just as that thought struck me, I was reminded of the fact that success is not defined by material things. Success is not defined by how large, or how clean, or how modern a place is, not by Godly standards anyway. It was in the moment that God reminded me that I look at things with such clouded vision. That my prayer for this place should not be that it grows into a huge metropolis, but that it grows into a country that bleeds for the Lord. What was even more heart wrenching is that God reminded me that this third world country, stricken heavily by devastation, is more likely to turn wholly towards him that my very own America.

God's vision for Haiti is not ever for it to become like the United States. God's vision for Haiti is that is becomes a country that lives, breathes, and serves a living father despite the hurt and devastation that surrounds it. God's vision is for this country to rise above the rubble, to be a country that overcomes, to be a country that is alive again. God's vision for Haiti is nothing like my vision for Haiti... but I am beginning to realize that is probably a very good thing!

Haitian School Teacher

2010-08-14T20:53:00.000-05:00

One of the greatest things about the world race is that you can never have any kind of expectations...

I am officially a Haitian School Teacher. Definitely didn't see that one coming! :)

So, how did this happen you may ask? Well.. let me just tell you. Initially my team was to spend this month of ministry living in an orphanage and working on a restoration home that is to open sometime during the month of September. However, because of some issues with finding the right location for this home, my team has spent the past two weeks being challenged to use our own gifts and abilities to help out in different ways around the orphanage. For instance, my teammate Emily, who has a degree in occupational therapy, has been spending the working with special needs kids at the orphanage. Another teammate of mine, Alicia, has a degree is social work and has been helping with assessment and paperwork as new kids come to the Home. And I, well... I volunteered to help out at the school, of course!

Initially when I volunteered to do this, I figured that I could do some one on one tutoring, right? Maybe help some kids that were a little behind, or just give the teacher some assistance in the classroom. I was also very much willing to organize supplies, books, just whatever needed to be done to be helpful.

So, I arrive to school Monday morning with the kids, introduce myself to the two teachers, and explain that I have a background in education and want to be able to just help out for the next couple of weeks in whatever way they need me to. The teacher looks at me and says "well, you can teach the class, if you'd like." My first thought went straight to "what in the world have I gotten myself into?" I tried to politely explain that I didn't think I was qualified to teach a variety of subjects to Haitian students, many of which only speak a little English. Again, they insisted that I teach the class... that being educated in America, I was much more qualified than they were to be teaching these kids, and they as teachers, could possibly learn some new things. Again, "what have I gotten myself into?" I finally ask if maybe I could just observe for the first day, seeing as though I had absolutely nothing prepared to teach that day, nor did I have any idea at what level these kids were at, or what they were learning! They agreed, I could observe the first day and start teaching the next.

As I got back to the house that afternoon, thoughts swarmed my head. What can I do to get myself out of this? Sure I have a degree in education, sure I can help teach some English, but I am not in any way qualified to teach these kids all different subjects in a language they don't all understand. Surely I can find something else to do as my ministry this month, right? I'll spend some extra time in the nursery, maybe help out the nannies downstairs. Then God chimed in... "you, my child, are going back to that school tomorrow, you have a ministry there, don't ignore that." Alright, fine, I'll go.

Later that night I spent some time talking with Mrs. Chris (our ministry contact) about the school situation and how I could best be helpful there. She informed me that there were actually about 4 kids in one of the classrooms that, despite the fact that they are 9 & 10 years old, they have never been in school before. There is no such thing as free education in Haiti, and therefore while the kids are required to go to school, many don't simply because of the fact that they can't afford to do so. These kids needed to learn the basics, they needed to be taken back down to preschool level, they needed to start from scratch... now, that I could do!

So, day 2, I pack my busted up plastic grocery bag with books, crayons, scissors, and prizes and I make the hike to school. It's on that day that I officially became a Haitian school teacher. I now have my own classroom, I have four beautiful students ages 9-11(none of which speak a bit of English), and we spend 3 hours every morning learning our ABC's, numbers, colors, and animals. We sing, we color, we cut, we pray... but most of all, we learn. They spend time learning the basics about English while I spend time learning the basics of obeying God's call, of embracing a situation even when it seems overwhelming, of letting go of expectations.

So that, my friends... is how I became a Haitian school teacher, for this month anyway. Pretty sure this one is a must for the resume. :)

Resilience

2010-08-06T20:50:00.000-05:00

I cannot even begin to describe how much joy there is here at this home in Haiti. Each and everyday I am greeted by the sounds of young voices singing, praising, and just living life as happy children. These children here are beautiful, they are loving, and they are respectful beyond belief.

At first glance, you would never believe that one of the 13 year old girls here was raised under voodoo influence and was forced to drink human blood during rituals from the time she was 7.

At first glance, you would never believe that one of the 11 year old girls here was recently raped while living in a tent community and was subjected to humiliation as all the people around her refused to take care of her.

At first glance, you would never believe that one of the 9 year old girls here was raised as a child slave and wears scars that outwardly show years of abuse. She ran away not solely because of the abuse but because she desired so badly to live somewhere where she would be allowed to go to school.

At first glance, you would never believe that one of the beautiful babies here was found laying in a dumpster with rats eating at her skin all while simply trying to survive.

I am continually amazed at the resilience of children... at their ability to forgive and to adapt. These children are able to handle things in life that would devastate most adults and not only make it through, but also be completely joyful in the process.

Each child here has a story, one of devastation but also one of victory. Each of these beautiful children were handed circumstances that were not in their favor, and yet they survived, they overcame, and they remain joyful, loving, and thankful in spite of what they have been through. There is no doubt in my mind that we could all learn a thing or two from these wonderful kiddos!

Undescribable

2010-07-30T20:48:00.000-05:00

As I sat down at the house last night, with the intentions of typing up a new blog I couldn't help but become completely overwhelmed. How in the world am I supposed to be able to capture in words all the things I saw just in this short time period of a week? How can you really portray to people the relationships you develop, the heartache you feel, or the abounding love and hospitality that is shown each and every day from the people in the world who have the least?

This week, I met a one month old premature baby named Valerie whose 18 year old mother abandoned her and she is so malnourished that she barely weighs 2 pounds... and yet she is surviving in one of the dirtiest, poorest places in the world only through the love of God, the power of prayers, and the unselfishness of a wonderful women within the community who has agreed to love her as her own.

This week my heart was broken by a 13 year old boy named Francis who needs attention so badly that he resorts to treating women in the community with a huge amount of disrespect. What's even more disheartening is that he is encouraged by the men in his community to do so.

This week, I held a mother's hand as we prayed over her 3 year old son who spends most of his time being terribly sick. This child, Wilme had to have colostomy surgery at a young age and needs to be taken to the capital (which is about 4 hours away) every couple of months to receive medical treatment. If you met this kid, you would never guess he spent more of his days being sick... joy radiates from him... and its through his sickness that his mother, Tika, came to Christ.

This week, I sat on the sidewalk with a man named Migueso who just one week ago believed that this life that we have now is all the exists, that all our hope lies in our life here on earth and that there is nothing to live for past that. Just yesterday, as we said our goodbyes, this wonderful old man told us that even though we might not see him again here on earth, that we will see him one day in heaven.

This week, I hugged on children and watched them cry as we told them our final goodbyes. Goodbyes, and not See You Laters. It was in that moment that through foggy eyes I was reminded that my purpose in temporary, and while these beautiful children of Guachupita are no longer under my love and protection, they are cared for by a loving God who can do much greater things than me anyway.

So... that's my week, in words. Overwhelming, rejoiceful, and heartbreaking all at the same time. Each and everyday I experience a love and compassion that I will never be able to forget. It's a wild ride, no doubt, but one I am glad I took the time to stand in line for.

Reality

2010-07-23T20:47:00.000-05:00

Today, I had a little dose of reality.

As I sat outside of a small, blue house at the back end of Guachupita, I tried to internalize all that surrounded me. As crazy as it may sound, the more times I return to this place, the more I dull myself to the poverty that exists here. I forget that living in a house of tin walls in not normal. I forget that life without electricity or living water is not normal. I forget that children running around half naked in the dirtiest area of the country is not normal.

As I sat there and took in the brokenness around me, all I could think was "this is reality." There are days when I long so desperately for the comforts of home, days when I want to break free from this oppression and the desperation that is all around, days that all I want is to be back home, back in the realm of reality... and then I realize, for them, this is home. This is their place of solitude, their place of comfort... for them, this is reality.

We all know poverty exists, right? But do we ever actually understand what it means to live within that poverty? Do we understand that many of the children that grow up in these cultures don't know that what they have isn't enough? Are we able to comprehend the fact that this is not just temporary, that day in and day out for these people this is LIFE?

My heart was broken once again today for the people here, mostly because I realize that in just 7 days from now I will pack up my stuff and move on, traveling around the world and eventually returning to my reality, back to my home... and the people here, they may never have the opportunity to move on, they may never be able to escape this reality.

Letting Go

2010-07-18T20:40:00.000-05:00

It's still very hard for me to comprehend the fact the lifestyle that I am living now is one that I am going to be experiencing each and every day for the next 11 months. I'm not going to lie... it's ridiculously overwhelming from time to time. These past two weeks have felt more like two months, and therefore 11 months seems like a lifetime. I have moments where I so much miss the comforts of home, I have mornings when I wake up and all I would really like to do is jump on a plane ride back home...

...and then God gracefully reminds me that my purpose in life is so much greater than just who I am. That it's time to grow up, to look beyond myself, and realize that a life simply catered to my own needs was never really an option. God created each of us with intricate details, with plan, and with a purpose... and it was never a purpose of spending a life chasing after our own desires, that's a purpose we created all on our own.

So, every morning I throw in the towel... I give up, I let go, I give in.

If you know me at all, you can only imagine how this kind of attitude completely clashes with my relentless stubbornness. Many days, it just feels like am giving up control, that I am losing my independence, that I am having to just lay down and let someone else win... and oh, how it hurts.

But the pain is humbling. The pain is rewarding. And the pain is purposeful. The pain is a reminder that I can't ever do this on my own. The pain means that just like the people of Guachupita, I myself still very much need the Healer.

Freedom

2010-05-27T20:35:00.000-05:00

When you live in the United States, it is very easy to take the word "freedom" for granted. We are instilled with the belief that we are free, that we make our own decisions for our life, and that we are completely capable of determining out own realities.

Truth is, we are all bound. A even harsher reality is that we actually bind ourselves.

We are bound by feelings of shame, of inadequacy, of insecurity. Bound by fear of change, of acceptance, and of being asked by God to do something that is completely ridiculous, completely unrealistic, and completely uncomfortable. We are constantly held back by our own chains, and simply because we aren't willing to just LET GO.

One truth I have learned at training camp this week is that freedom is attainable. Our bondage has been paid for, our bail has been met, our chains have been broken. So let the walls fall down, and embrace our Jesus. Embrace his hope and most importantly his love. Because, believe me, there is real POWER in true freedom!