Words from a Willingham

Ordinary Vessel

2010-12-08T16:01:00.001-08:00

Over the course of the past few months I have been trying to let go of my expectations for my life. I didn’t realize I had so many, until the slightest hint that life might have other plans. I have always had a strong sense of self importance. For good or bad, I always think every motivational speaker is talking to me, and I personalize every sermon. That is what they want us to do isn’t it? Take their messages to heart? Well, I have. And I believe in myself. I believe that I was born to do great things for God. But I’m starting to realize how little that has to do with me, and how much it has to do with the fact that God can use anyone, and he really meant it when he said our righteousness is filthy rags.

I look around, and I’ve been out of college for a year and a half…and accomplishment is not looming on the horizon, but neither is failure. Don’t get me wrong I feel good about a lot of the things I have been working on. I love my marriage. I am inspired by the people in my life, and I will always be grateful for everything that God let me be part of in Nicaragua. I can honestly say that whatever good I accomplished in my time in Nicaragua was the Lord’s work. Though I want to hang my hat on the success of the dance team, I know through and through that God is who breathed life into it, and it is God who is sustaining it. He’s who is sustaining me, some days I feel so desperate to be affirmed outside of him, and he just won’t let it happen. Every self-inflated thought pops the second I compare it to his truths.

I wonder if this is just the beginning of dying to myself. That scriptural principle has always seemed rather elusive to me, dying to myself and letting Christ live in me. And I wonder if I ever would have let him do it, but honestly it feels like he’s killing me. But to be fair I told him he could…over and over actually. I surrender, I give up, I need you….But how far, how much? What was he really asking when he asked me to be his? What was he offering to me? I’m beginning to believe that he really does spit out the lukewarm parts of me, and that sometimes the fire he puts under me is a little hotter than I want it to be. He’s not after a part of me, and when he takes all of it he wants all the credit. I can hardly take ownership of my success because it just feels like I cheated. Every good act, beautiful result, and all standing evidence of my value seem to fall back on the Lord. I might be the front man for Milli Vanilli, but we all know it was that other guy singing.

At a woman’s retreat my sophomore year of high school a woman spoke about having “god-esteem” instead of “self-esteem.” I thought it was a cheesy thing to say, which also meant I loved every word of it, and took it to heart. Remember I do that. But it is starting to feel like that. Perhaps because I’ve always tottered back and forth between pride and insecurity I’ve spent countless hours in self-reflection. Journaling and dreaming and wondering what am I good at? What am I doing here? How will I leave my mark? And on good days I knew I was going to do something extraordinary and on bad days I at least thought I might be rich. But now I’m trying to see a bigger picture. A picture that is more about what God is doing everywhere than just what God is doing in me.

I praise the Lord for the part of the picture I got to see in Nicaragua. I got to see a growing church that God thinks is extremely important. I got to see kids tasting and seeing that He is good. I got to see bored teenagers falling in love with the art of dance and beginning to share it with their community. I got to see generosity in poverty, and reconciliation in relationship. I got to see faith for God’s provision in the midst of actual rather than perceived need. I saw a different genre of life, and I saw God alive and active in it. And it began to feel very normal. And I began to realize that I was not living some epic journey that could encourage the nations, or pioneering a profound work in a third world country. I was just…me…just me in Nicaragua. On the other hand, God…well God he’s doing some really great things, really epic things. He’s incredible. God is the famous one. Remember that song…”you oh Lord are the famous one.” I honestly never really got what that was talking about because I wanted to be the famous one. I would never in a million years have admitted it. But I wanted to be the one he chose. I wanted to be his right hand man. I wanted to be Ruth or Esther or Paul. I always thought of myself as the one writing the letter to the church. I never thought of myself as the random church secretary unrolling the scroll, or the nameless lady in the fourth pew listening intently. But maybe I am. Maybe I’m not the leader, and maybe I’m not the one starting something, maybe I’m just joining it.

Is this depressing? I am not trying to be a dream crusher. I’m just trying to believe what the Lord has said rather than what I interpreted it to mean. And my interpretation of the “least shall be greatest” and “the first shall be last.” Somehow led me to believe that being least and last would feel like being greatest and first. I thought of it as more of a metaphor. But what if God is actually saying “you lose”…Follow me, and I will make you the biggest loser, and by that I don’t mean the skinniest. What if he’s saying nobody will like you anymore? They won’t respect you. They won’t listen to you. They’re going to persecute you. But don’t lose heart they treated me the same way, and through it my father was glorified.

Now that is in the context of the world, hopefully we’re all finding love and acceptance within the context of the church. Hopefully we feel God’s pleasure in us in the gaze of our brothers and sisters eyes. But to the world…well, the world says, “God is a delusion. People who base their lives on God are crazy.” Crazy doesn’t really appeal to me. When my fourth grade teacher pulled me outside the class and told me I was smart I soaked up every bit of it. I like it when people agree with me. I like it when I say something and people get that impressed look in their eye. And I don’t like it when people think I’m crazy, which has caused me to stumble awkwardly through many a conversation in the face of confrontation. All those guilty of watering down their faith raise your right hand and put your other hand on the…oh wait, can we swear on the Bible that sometimes we don’t want to admit that we believe what it says?

Alright, I might be beginning to ramble. But here’s the thing. I’m actually really, really excited about just being on the tip of beginning to grasp this whole dying to self thing. I am actually really pumped about not having the weight of the world resting on my shoulders. I just get to trust him, and be faithful with what he’s given me. And be honest about who I am and what I believe and where he has me. And I’m really important to him, just like every other person on this planet. My sense of self-importance has not been stripped. But it is being transformed. All that stuff you hear about God getting the glory. Well, I’m starting to believe that he really deserves it. And yes, we are his ambassadors, and yes he does lavish his love on us, and yes, he does love for his children to bear his image. But…it’s just not about us in comparison to each other. It’s not about being God’s pet favorite. It’s about being his vessel, humble or exalted. When we let him have us, we get to be everything we’re made for. And sometimes we’re made for ordinary purposes. And I’m beginning to believe that that’s ok.

Mystery bride

2010-07-04T14:28:00.000-07:00

I've recently noticed that beaucoups of blogs take a far more light hearted angle than I tend to. In middle school it was brought to my attention that I had a "serious voice" in a addition to my normal speaking voice. I used to my "serious voice" to lead FCA or for intense heart-to-hearts. I do believe that I have been using my "serious voice" perhaps a bit too much for this blog.

On that note, I am at work, and my job is not particularly demanding at the given moment, hence the blog writing. This evening, I have taken 4 reservations, sent 5 emails (one of which was to myself), and given one set of directions (although I did repeat it three times, which is as good as giving three sets in my opinion...definitely sends my productivity for the evening way up the charts). All that in just under three hours. I am available for similar work for $10/hr. if anyones interested. Needless to say being a concierge is not all that Pretty Women would allude to...I have yet to send a single prostitute on a shopping spree or taught anyone table manners, for that matter.

I may not be doing very much, but I am at least dressed festively. I am sporting a very patriotic outfit that took me entirely too long to decide upon. A cream top with lace embellishments around the collar, a red cardigan (Heather Smith once offered to buy it from me due to the fact that it was the very red cardigan of her dreams...in spite of the fact that I only wear it approximately 3 x's a year ....Christmas, Valentine's and the 4th....I didn't take her up on the offer) a large red coral bead necklace with smaller blue accent beads, and a red antique-esque watch given to me by my grandmother.

For those of you that do not know, I am recently employed by a country club in the Asheville area...due to the fact that it is a private company it shall remain nameless. But honestly, if I were to name it than I'm sure I'd be good rather than bad for their PR because I have been quite pleased with them thus far. Anywho, I'm in that awkward training phase where I don't know exactly how to do my job, but there's no one specifically training me any longer...which means I'm putting lots of people on hold for uncomfortable lengths of time, and rummaging around trying to find the answers to their questions.

Last night, there was a wedding here at the anonymous company clubhouse, and due to the fact that the bride was wearing a very unconventional dress I didn't realize she was the bride until way too late in the game.

Our first interaction consisting of me coming down the stairs to find her, along with her sister and the groom rearranging all the guest gift boxes I had alphabetized and oh so carefully displayed at asthetically pleasing angles. I kindly (thankfully) informed her of my game plan. She agreed my method was better than her idea to sort them by table numbers, since the guest did not know their assigned table numbers, and she began re-doing my work. I attempted to help, but four people bustling around one table moving the a's back with the a's and the w's back with the w's was wildly unsuccessful. I retreated, and let them work it out.

Interaction number 2 was shortly after the ceremony, I was designated door holder, the bride and groom asked for Prosecco (Italian wine...don't feel bad, I didn't know what it was either). I brought them their wine quickly without spilling it on them...check. "Congratulations you just got married"...no check.

Interaction number 3 I was holding the door, as the bride walked through holding up her dress:
Bride "it's a little long"
Me "It's beautiful...and I love that bouquet"
Bride "thanks"
this was of course the best interaction thus far. Decent bridal treatment on my part for a perceived non-bride.

Interaction number 4
Bride "did the dj arrive?"
Me "I'm not sure, I haven't seen him."
Bride *worried look
Me "but I did hear someone talking about music. That might have been him." *lame semi-recovery
Groom enters
Bride "let me know if the dj arrives...please." *worried look
Groom "he's here. He was late, but he's here"
Bride and Groom exit.

There were several smiles exchanged later on, but really nothing else to mention. All-in-all I would rate my performance of accomadating the bride a C-. But lets be fair, her dress was smoke colored...gray for the layman. It had an overlapped plunged neckline and a simple flowy floorlength skirt. Her hair was in a simple up-do, modest makeup...A classic Maid-of-honor look. I didn't have a chance.

As the toasts were being made I left my post at the desk to eavesdrop *("The area under the eaves right next to the front of a building used to be called the 'eavesdrop,' and somebody listening in secretively from such a position came to be called an 'eavesdropper.' Unfortunately, so few people distinctly pronounce the V in 'eavesdrop' that many are misled into misspelling it 'easedrop.'"--thank you Paul Brian, Common Errors in English Ussage)* ... I was still hoping to get a glimpse of the bride, quite dumbfounded as to how they had managed to slip past me. I finally realized who the toasts were being directed towards...my good friend the party favor re-arranger.

Why we do the Hows?

2010-06-29T05:16:00.000-07:00

We have been on native soul for a month and some change, and it has been a good month. It has been a hard month, but good nonetheless.

Jacob and I are writing our final update about our time in Nicaragua, and hope to get it in the mail and posted here soon! Therefore, this blog shall not bring closure of any sort to our time in Nicaragua...Instead of picking up where we left off, it will spring forward into the present leaving a cliffhanger for those of you that were following. You'll have to wait until we've mentally processed it a bit more. Five months living in a different culture is a difficult thing to try to summarize and share. However, I'll try not to keep you waiting too long. I know it will be good for my heart to put it into words...or at least make an attempt.

Moving on....Transitions anyone? It seems like life always flows in seasons, and sometimes they change gradually, like spring warming up after winter. But sometimes they come at you quick and you feel disjointed like a hot day in March when you can't seem to shed your layers quick enough. This time has been more of the latter, more so for me than for Jacob.

We stepped off the airplane and BAM America in all its glory. We were in a whole new world...only it wasn't new, it was familiar. Eerily familiar and yet we were seeing it with such different eyes. There are now a million questions floating around every procedure and protocol known as American culture. This includes calling it American, seeing as how everyone from Canada to Chile can technically consider themselves American. Jake suggests we call ourselves Statesman...any takers?

The whys of how we "do" life here are like cartoon thought bubbles popping up everywhere I look. Have you ever been in the car riding with someone going somewhere you've driven a million times, and suddenly they take a turn you never take? You wonder why would they go this way...usually the debate ensues as to which route is quicker. But every now and then it isn't about the faster more efficient path, but instead they have chosen to go for a more scenic route or perhaps a more sentimental one. And what if you are in a hurry and they still choose scenery over timeliness? unacceptable?...to "Statesman"...definitely. to Nicaraguans...definitely not. These are the whys I'm talking about. My father is a big believer in "starting on time and ending on time." He considers it a matter of respect. But to a Nicaraguan relating to time is an entirely different animal.

Time is the classic example. And honestly, it has been refreshing not to spend so much time waiting for people to show up...often times they never did in Nicaragua. But, there are many more smaller ways we negotiate our lives with the world around us that are different. But this is not just a matter of culture. It's a matter of individuality. It's a matter of preference. It's a matter of background. It's also a matter of morality. Because if you believe in God...which I do. And you believe in God as a being, rather than a concept, who has opinions, who loves and hates, and is some things and isn't others....which I do. Then you have to know that this God has the ability to trump. Like the ace of spades he trumps our desires. Culture A might consider timeliness and efficiency the point, while culture B votes for ease of pace and enjoying the process...But God comes in and trumps with the LOVE card. He considers love the chief aim. Easy answer right? In 100 words or less please explain love....ready....go: ...I can't do it. I can't explain how to love perfectly and purely in any given situation. I can only choose to take on love every morning and let it walk me through my day.

So love becomes the ultimate And while I don't believe in relative truth, I do believe in flexibility and complexity of truth. I believe in right and wrong. For example, I believe that child abuse is evil, motivated by hate...black.... I believe nurturing children is good, motivated by love....white. I also believe in spanking children, but it depends on the motives and the way it's carried out...gray.

So you see what I mean...lots of questions. Lots of Americans vs. Nicaraguans....vs. Jesus floating around in my head, and I'm trying to make sense of it all. Praise the Lord there is grace in the journey. That he does see our motives, and if our motive is pure then he can gently nudge us when our action is wrong. But when our motive is wrong, even the most precise action becomes so tainted.

About that grace...it doesn't just apply to me. It applies to everyone I come in contact with. Because while my parents may have outlined the rules for living very meticulously to me, my best friend/co-worker/spouse 's parents taught them from a different manual. The Nicaraguans manual only came in Spanish. It takes some compromise and grace to blend the two. But rest assured everything will be on the metric system in Heaven.

2010-05-04T13:14:00.000-07:00

In the simplicity of life here I find myself more drawn to beauty than ever. Raw and rich that cannot be bought or fabricated.

Beautiful....
little girls laughter as they spin in circles and jump on mattresses

fervor in Rosa's eyes burning like our beachside campfire as she prayed for sweet Teresa's homelife

Jovanny's smile as he recounted to the other youth our antics on his birthday, smashing an egg on his head, singing brazenly in the park, asking strangers to serenade him...for his smile has been absent as of late in the midst of his parent's separation, his brief reprieve from worry and weight was brought by the first ever celebration of his birthday, 17 years in the making

watching teenagers taste and see that God is good..."I've never experienced God's presence like this before...and I really like it." Elisa, 14

the "thump" sound as Yahaira fearlessly flipped onto the sinking sand...a sight reminescent of tweedle dee and tweedle dum...hilarious

coffee and intercession with my girls Lisa, Lindsay and Darling yesterday morning, falling in sync with the Holy Spirit, experiencing the intimacy of prayer

thankfulness over small blessings... a pair of flip flops, a bottle of antiseptic gel, an oreo, mouthwash

"he was like a brother to me," Linda Melissa whispered with tears in her eyes, as she asked Jacob for a photo of her and her pet rooster that is now in a better place

the ability to build Marta a new stove that passively ventilates the smoke to outside of her home, in order to stop aggravating her asthma

Francisca's blue roof rafters, because the details that matter to us matter to God as well

Let those cares fall off

2010-04-15T12:59:00.000-07:00

“A thankful heart prepares the way for you my God.” -100 Portraits, Enter the Worship Circle 3

Our days here are slipping away like sand in an hourglass, and as we come up on the final month of our trip in Nicaragua I can hear a whisper in my heart, “drink it in, my dear, taste it all…don’t lose heart, finish the race.”

Our God has been thoroughly, beautifully faithful to us. He has met our needs, blessed our efforts and encouraged our spirits along the way. I find myself increasingly grateful for the opportunity to be here. It is funny how in the midst of something extraordinary it can seem rather ordinary until you take the time to notice. It’s easy to get bogged down by life, easy to forget what a wild and lovely story God is telling. It’s easy to become a bystander in our own lives. This is part of why I like the idea of keeping a blog, or of writing in a journal… or anything that marks the days because it forces us to take notice, to pause and recognize the hand of God in our lives, and in turn give thanks. For in every season there is cause for thanks. If you are breathing, give thanks.

I woke up feeling grumbly. When met in the kitchen by Lindsay (a member of our team, who radiates the love of God…invite her out for coffee if you ever get the chance) and asked if I would be joining them for our scheduled Thursday morning worship, I shook my head, half-asleep, I think I muttered that I wasn’t really “feeling it.” As I began to chop up a mango for breakfast, and my sweet husband began preparing French toast I began to perk up, although not quite enough to want to join in the group’s activities. But then, of course thoughts of guilt rose up in me…I am currently a missionary after all, skipping out on morning worship isn’t really the type of behavior that is applauded amongst God’s workers. And yet, these thoughts of guilt were abruptly stopped by another voice, one not quite so sleepy, a good deal clearer. This voice spoke of having grace for myself and the freedom to pull away sometimes to take care of myself, to enjoy my morning as I pleased. This voice reminded me that God is not a god of rules and expectations, but one of relationship, intimacy and honesty. The Holy Spirit was short circuiting any attempt to thwart my morning.

Yes, I did go to morning worship, but no, I didn’t go out of obligation. Something about being reminded that our God is sincere, and patient, and really isn’t all that demanding, prompted me to sit at his feet for a while this morning. And once I got there it turned out God wasn’t expecting me to do a trick for him, or jump through a hoop. He didn’t even mind that I was a little groggy.

Pressure…. Grace…. Expectations…. These have been frequent in my thoughts in my time here, and as I read through the New Testament I find confirmation after confirmation, that God is a God of grace. That this life he is calling us to is not a life of rigid, strict regulations and repeated failures. It is a life brimming with love. We are to walk a road of God’s delight in us paved by the sacrifice of Jesus. “God loved us while we were yet sinners” ….yet sinners…
If I can see how dearly loved the man on the street is, why do I so often look at myself with a critical eye? I’m his. He loved me before I acknowledged him, and he loves me still. I wasn’t capable of winning my salvation, and I’m not capable of proving I was worth it. It’s really just too wonderful for me. All that is required of me is faith. For without faith it is impossible to please God. I simply believe him. Trust him. Admit that I need him. Recognize that he is true and good. That Jesus was his son, that what he endured was more than enough to set me free and make me new. And it is indeed that faith, not my own strong will or self-discipline that makes me new. We are transformed by faith, not by works. The Holy Spirit prompting and convicting, blessing and encouraging us is what bears the fruit in our lives.

Yes, for these things I am indeed thankful. Not to mention relieved. I’m finding it much to my liking letting all my cares fall at his feet; they were awfully heavy to carry around.

2010-04-01T10:02:00.000-07:00

Where do I begin for so much has taken place since I last wrote? I suppose I can start with today, and then try to hit some highlights from the past month or so. But first let me just say that I love my life here. The more I get to know God the better he gets. He has blessed our time here in countless ways, and there is so much to thank him for.

This morning I woke up in an air conditioned room, snuggled up to my husband. It was incredible. We lost power over two months ago, and we got it back two nights ago. Praise God!!! We used a generator throughout that time, but it was only strong enough to run a few things at a time, and it was never strong enough to run things like coffee pots, microwaves, hair dryers, and definitely not air conditioning. In the heat of the night, cuddling has not been an option, so it was a beautiful thing to rest my head on Jacob's chest in the early hours of this day.

I just got done with dance class, and I am thrilled with how God is moving within that ministry. Tonight three churches are coming together for a special holy week (Easter week) service. They have been working on a dance for the past month, and are going to share it tonight. We held class as usual yesterday, but they insisted on going over it again this morning, and after running it multiple times, they're planning on rehearsing again before service. They are so nervous and excited. And I loved watching them work together this morning as one unified body.

The youth that have been coming are so precious to me, and more than me I know they are so precious to the Lord. The photo to the left shows four of my students, Elisa, Joel, Teresa and Jiovanny.

It has been such a journey teaching dance classes here. I typically begin each class asking "quien quiere horrar?" which means, "who wants to pray?" Two months ago the answer to that question was often no one, but I have watched them grow in confidence with simple things like opening up the class in prayer. After prayer we have a time of informal Bible study and discussion. We talk about God and why he is so worthy of our worship. We talk about
"offering up our bodies as living sacrifices," and finding our gifts and the purposes he has in our daily lives. We invite his presence and enjoy his love.

Then we move. In this culture exercise is not nearly as emphasized as it is in the States. I was initially surprised when the teenagers would show up for dance class, and then tell me they didn't want to move, much less dance. But none of them grew up in rec league, and for many of them this is there first ever dance class, so this is a new structure for them. For many it's the first activity based on movement for the joy of it rather than because it is a necessary task (such as carrying 5 gallon buckets of water, the 1/2 mile back to their house, when the water frequently goes out). But I am happy to say that after three months they are stretching, lunging, working out their abs, plieing, and tenduing with the best of them...well maybe not quite the best of them, but it's happening. Warming up has always been my least favorite part as well, so I suppose I can't really blame them.

I have tried to use the remainder of each class to give them a foundation in dance. They have learned four different dances so far, giving them a taste of different technique and ways to move. We have done a lot of choreography generating activities as well because I think learning how to create dance is essential for them when I leave. They make up short phrases of movement, and work in pairs and groups. As a journalism major, I have incorporated a good bit of writing exercises into my classes, perhaps because that is how I create. I move and reflect, I process my movement with words, and I process my words with movement. These kids have written the most beautiful poems to the Lord. They have written memories and stories of his faithful hand in their lives, and then they have used it as inspiration for improvisational dance. The truth is these kids inspire me so much.

I planned on writing broadly and giving an overview, so much for that. I just get so excited that I want to tell it all and I simply cannot do it justice. I suppose I will just tell a little more about the dance aspect, and then write again later about all the other awesome things God has been doing here. Now that we have power again, the internet should be less sporadic, and I will try to write more frequently. But honestly, it's just hard to pull away, to write blogs and email, from all the people that are literally just outside my door right now, eager to spend time with me.

I have been teaching three very different groups. I teach a little girls class and a youth class, both twice a week in Candelaria where I am living. Then I travel every Sunday to La Isla to teach in a more rural community.

The La Isla class (pictured to the left) is such a gift to me. They are hungry! They're thankful. They listen and learn. They are gentle, helpful and encouraging to one another. It's a bumpy, dusty ride on my bicycle with many catcalls and creepy guys along the way...but it is absolutely always worth the trip.

The little girls in Candelaria are a mess (Juniet, Karla, and Kenia are pictured below.) They are a handful, and they wear me out...but I completely adore them. I wrote about them initially, about their zeal and faithfulness. I ran into a bit of a problem with them about a month and a half ago. They became overly focused on performing, they were fighting amongst themselves, and were a bit too sassy. When I told them the focus of the class was going to be on learning to dance and working together rather than showing off what they had learned every chance they could, the class practically disappeared. But over time, the class has been rebuilding itself, and I am still waiting to see what it will become. I spend a lot of time with these little girls outside of the class going to the park, the grocery store, and simply sitting or walking around, and even within the class I think often that it's main purpose is for them to have my attention, my love, and have something to look forward to. They need discipline, for sure, and I know God is bringing some structure to their lives through the class, but it's been a slow process.

The La Isla class and the Candelaria class are about as different as can be imagined, but God gave me the idea to combine the two last week. It was interesting to say the least.

Several youth and Lindsay, a member of the mission team, accompanied me as I took my class from here to La Isla. We hitched a ride with a trustworthy man in the community most of the way there. We walked the rest of the way, which took about half an hour. I quickly found out that not everyone who had been so anxious to come was entirely prepared for all that it entailed, namely walking in the heat of the day along a dusty road, through two small rivers, and a sugar cane field. 11-year-old Karla was granted permission to come on the condition that she bring her 4-year-old sister, Kaylinn, with her that she is responsible for. We planned on arriving in time to go swimming before class, but by the time we got and blown up all of our floaties and tubes they only had twenty minutes in the springfed pool. This did not put them in the greatest of moods, but I am happy to say I only had to threaten to talk to their parents once and count to five before they got out of the water.

As can be expected, the fact that we arrived 10 minutes late to class, meant that we still waited another 20 minutes for all of the La Isla students to arrive. I was so pleased with how the class went. We started with the name game, warmed up and practiced a dance that both groups have been learning. The Candelaria girls were the most disciplined and attentive that they have ever been, largely due to the behavior of the La Isla students. I even paired them up with one partner from each class, and had them get to know each other a little more. I felt God's pleasure at bringing two groups of his children together.

As the class resolved though, Rosa, from Candelaria, volunteered to close in prayer. She perceived some sort of judgment about this from the La Isla class, which I am utterly convinced was non-existent. And quick as a flash, the Candelaria girls were huddled off to the the side passionately fussing about how the La Isla girls didn't like them, how I liked the La Isla girls better...etc... As we said our goodbyes, my hopes for social bridging, unity and friendships being forged weren't exactly soaring. But it was a start.

Poverty, parental neglect, rampant gossip, jealousy and insecurity all play a huge part in these children's lives. Their emotions are on a high speed roller coaster, and they are quick to get defensive and angry. But I get the silent treatment less often than I used to, and little by little God is teaching them about healthy relationships and consistent love.

It took us two hours to walk back from dance class. Half-way back Kaylinn squirmed out of my arms abruptly and made a mad dash for the woods, as diarrhea hit her. I ignored a drunk man expressing his admiration, who then proceeded to throw rocks at me, thankfully he wasn't a good shot. We received a warm welcome from strangers where we stopped to ask for water along the way. We had a talk about how I love all my students and have different relationships with them, and how their perception of the girls in La Isla was a bit brash. As I dropped them off at their homes I was ready to crash, thankful that there is a good sovereign God "working all things together for good for those who know and love him." And as Jake's Papa always says, "well, we sure made a memory."

Can you hear the angels singing?

2010-02-25T10:11:00.000-08:00

Erling’s and Abel’s names are now written in the Lamb’s book of life. The air was thick with the presence of the Lord, as the Holy Spirit prompted and led me, I helped walk them through receiving salvation last night. Praise God. As I type this I’m on the verge of tears for I feel God’s heart so strongly. He’s overjoyed.

I spoke last night to the youth about God’s desire to be known for who he truly is, and how he revealed much of his character through the life of Jesus. Simple words, and a simple concept, but so much of the culture here is entangled in appearances. Pastors rant about playing cards on Sunday morning and carry on affairs throughout the week. Fathers adorn their daughters with new outfits and jewelry, and yet can’t afford rice and beans. This carries over into all of their relationships. They fear true intimacy and true vulnerability. I concluded talking about God’s desire to be known, by discussing how he has given us that same desire, and how we are here to know them, to support them, to offer a safe place to be honest about their innermost fears and desires.

We passed out “we want to know you” questionnaires. And then broke up into groups of threes and fours to discuss our favorite colors, future aspirations, and tastes in music. When my group, Erling, Abel and I, got to question 10: “Are you a Christian? For how long have you been one?” the Holy Spirit took the reins. As they both responded “no,” I felt God’s presence wash over me. There was an urgency in God’s whispers in my ear, “today is the day of salvation.” I shared the Lord’s love, and my pleasure in serving him. We talked about the fulfillment only offered in the embrace of God’s plans for our lives. We talked and prayed and talked some more, to all of which they replied, “one day...not yet…we’re not prepared.”

The groups around us began to disperse; the meeting was coming to a close. “We’re not done talking. Let’s go outside,” I said.

Oh, did I forget to mention, this was Erling’s first time ever coming to our church, I’d never seen him before, and here I was speaking with such passion about how God was calling for a decision. I’m typically very patient. In the states I often discuss my beliefs with phrases like, “this has been my personal experience,” and “I certainly don’t know everything.” But last night my desire not to “push conversion” was overcome by the Lord’s cry to be known, and his passion for these two young men.

I was listening closely for guidance from the Holy Spirit. As we stepped outside Abel said, “I felt something run through my arm when you were praying inside. I liked it.” Encouraged by his perception of the Holy Spirit moving among us, I prompted further discussion. When “not prepared” continued to course through our conversation, I asked if I could pray again. I petitioned the Lord to prepare them, to open their heart and to open their ears. I confessed my complete inability to persuade them, and how I needed him to show himself to them. As I ceased my prayer, neither Abel nor Erling released my hands. They held tight, and as I looked around the circle at their closed eyes I knew that they felt the same peace and love I was experiencing at that moment. And I knew that upon tasting God’s presence, upon him stirring their hearts they were eager for more. I began to sing, for God inhabits the praises of his people, even when it’s sung in my imperfect Spanish. Then God led me in leading them through a prayer of confession, repentance, and acceptance of the hope that we have in Jesus Christ. With slight hesitation, with muffled tones they began to whisper their prayers to the Lord. And then I began to sing again, and this time Abel and Erling joined their voices with mine growing more confident with every word. Undoubtedly our songs were merely an accompaniment to the chorus of angels in heaven rejoicing.

Caught by the current

2010-02-23T13:48:00.000-08:00

As with every new endeavor, there comes a point where things began to settle. The beginning is always fresh and surprising, a bit overwhelming, but there’s grace in times of transition. But then something really grabs you. You commit to it, and it begins to be part of life, not merely something you tried once. Then it begins to take on a new form. And we, too, begin to be transformed by our new way of life.

I surfed for the first time several weeks ago. I devoted the day to it, and I must confess it was a rush. The current was far fiercer than the Myrtle waves I grew up with. It literally took me twenty minutes of fighting with everything in me to get myself and my board out far enough to catch waves. I would gain five feet and lose ten. And at the end of the day I got up twice. I rode in a few times on my knees, but the ones I remember were the ones I stood up. It was brief and exhilarating. It was for that attempt to stand up that I got tumbled and choked, bonked on the head with my board and from head-to-toe utterly exhausted. I learned what it felt like for the wave to really grab me. How I had to keep swimming ful l force until it pulled me in. But getting caught up was only half the battle; I had to get on my feet. I had to find my balance, I had to ride the wave.

I am not a surfer; I merely gave it a go. I’d like to try my hand at it again, but it didn’t capture my heart. However, God has caught my heart. And he asked me to come to Nicaragua, to be a missionary. Perhaps, after these six months I will be called to go out to the foreign harvest field again, perhaps I will not be. I don’t know yet, but for now this is where God has me. I felt that pull. I let it take me, but now that I’m here and things are beginning to settle I’m trying to find my feet, and learning what it means to ride this wave.

There was this moment, when I had been struggling without avail to get out deeper into the ocean, when it occurred to me that maybe I didn’t have a real desire to surf, that maybe I just liked the idea of it. For it was becoming real, it was becoming work. Getting mouthfuls and nosefuls of salt water was less glamorous than Blue Crush.

That moment happened with the mission field as well. That moment when I was no longer dreaming about living in a foreign country spreading the gospel, I was living there and it wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be. And I wondered, “do I really want this? Did I ever really want this? Or was it just the idea of it?”

I did love the idea of following my Lord somewhere, and showing him how much he meant to me. I did love the idea of doing something bigger than myself. I did want to help, to heal, to love. And those weren’t wrong things to want, and I still want them. But what it came down to a few weeks ago, when it stopped being a transition and started being life. When I realized I was still just as imperfect on the mission field as I was before I came here. It came down to what it always comes down to…Jesus.

And the fact of the matter is, Jesus is all I really want. I need him desperately. Any other motivation for being here just wouldn’t be enough. It’s undeniably rewarding to see the tangible difference my presence here is making with the people, but the truth is I don’t always see it. And besides, I miss my family. I miss my friends. It’s certainly less comfortable here. I’ve come to the realization that if it’s the idea of mission work that is keeping me here, if it’s the idea of being who I want to be…than it’s not enough. It’s the fact that I know this is where Jesus wants me. I could live anywhere, and do anything, and God would use it. He would work it together for his good, but I don’t want him to have to go to plan B…I want to hear him, and follow him, and live in step with him. That being said, I could spend the next 40 years on the mission field making a lot of sacrifices and feel really great about what a “true Christian” I was being, and it all be plan B. If I’m doing it to prove something or to be something than I’m living for an idol; my personal growth, my personal work for the Lord would be my idol.

Life has ups and downs anywhere. In fact, the past few days have been really up. I had a beautiful incredible birthday two days ago. I was showered with love. I felt consumed by it. Jacob flooded me with surprises, a big breakfast, a surprise party, a dance routine, tiramisu, and my team and the youth here took part in all the festivities going to great lengths to show me their love for me…it was probably my favorite birthday ever. It’s easy to be content in those circumstances. But on days when the youth are rebelling or gossiping about one another, or we’re still without power after over a month…I begin to wonder what the point of me being here is. And I’ve concluded that the point of being a missionary is the same point as being a banker, and it’s the same point as being a stay-at-home mom…the point of life…drum roll please…Jesus.

I count it all a loss in comparison to knowing him.

The mission field hasn’t made me a better person. God uses our circumstances no doubt. But it’s about him, not about the circumstances. It’s about drawing near to him, and being changed by who he is. And we can draw near to him anywhere, because he’s everywhere. We can learn just as much about him surfing as we can sitting in a pew. We learn about him through comforting the sick and embracing small children. We see his heart in real conversations and laughter over strong cups of coffee.

So often they say big breaks in Hollywood or in the business world aren’t about what you can do, but rather about who you know. I’m beginning to realize that perhaps that’s how it is with the Lord. He’s much less concerned with being served by us, as he is being known by us. He wants our worship, our prayers, our obedience, for sure, but I think first he just wants our attention. He wants us to desire to know him for exactly who he truly is. For what does our worship mean anyway if we’re worshipping him for something he isn’t? How can we possibly obey him if we don’t know what kind of things he actually likes and dislikes? Loves and hates?

So I plan on spending the next few months down here in Central America in hopes of getting to know Jesus better. As I see and experience his creation, as I go to the places he asks me to go, as I encounter a new culture full of people he is completely enamored with I know that he’s ready to talk it all over with me. He’s open book. I simply have to ask.

Full of it

2010-02-18T14:28:00.000-08:00

The Lord is opening hearts.
It isn’t me.
I’m not the one with the ability to offer true comfort, and yet almost daily I find myself comforting someone in tears. Deep wells of hurt are opening up, and the Lord is healing them. It surprises me how naturally it is happening. Normal casual conversations quickly turn to brokenness.
The truest poverty is poverty not in the natural, not in the material, but in the spirit. Many of the people here have lived truly tragic lives…tragic not merely because they lack basic necessities, but more so because their lives are without love, without hope, without the truth of God’s goodness.
I’m not trying to invoke some sort of pity for people in third world countries. Were you to go to an inner city and spend time with the children there, you’d find much the same story. Lives that are marked by a lack of…life.
I came here to teach dance on one level, but on a much deeper level I came to “bring life, and bring it to the full.” Jesus came to do that, and then he charged us to do what he did, and greater. That is of course under the condition of his saving grace, the power of his spirit, and the wellspring of his love. On our own we’re pretty much up a creek when it comes to being like Jesus, but with him “we can do all things”…right?
So life, full life…eh? What is that anyway… And how do we bring it? How do we offer that water that quenches the thirst welling up in their spirits? How do we begin to meet the ever surmounting need of the world around us?
This morning as I was dancing around the mission house talking to Jesus, he gave me a picture of a geyser, the water surging out of the ground. As I watched the water bursting forth I followed it until it was a mere trickle running through the dirt. And God told me you have to go to the source. Trying to catch the trickle at the end of the line, right before the water runs dry is never going to be enough for any of us. Every good thing comes from above. He’s the source.
In seeking him first, all these are added unto us. When we truly encounter God, when we learn how to talk to him and enjoy his company, when we begin to taste, feel, touch him, when we realize that he’s everything we’ve always wanted…That’s when we find ourselves in the midst of a broken world with the ability to heal.
Have you not heard that you cannot give away what you do not have? I suppose in order to bring life…we have to get one.

2010-02-01T16:42:00.000-08:00

Connie mustered a weak smile as she approached me, her eyes wet with tears, and she uttered a heavy, “hola.” I wrapped my arms around her, and she began to weep. She trembled in my arms as we gazed upon the charred remains of her sister, Jessica Vega’s home. “Dios va a ayudarles, (God is going to help you),” I said. As I held her those words kept ringing through my mind, a few minutes passed, and I repeated them, to which Connie replied, “Gloria Dios, Amen.”

Yesterday morning nine month old Alan Vega was alone in his aunt's house when it caught fire. Most of the family was at church for Sunday school, and the water was out in the entire town of Candelaria. As the Vega house went up in flames, due to an unknown cause, the neighbors came running with all the water they had on hand in their homes. Alan’s Uncle Marvin, age 19, entered the house, and saved him, in what was described by bystanders as, “at the last minute.”

The Vega house was destroyed leaving, Jessica, her husband Marlon and her four children, 9-year-old Jesvic, 7-year-old MaryLacy, 5-year-old Tito, and 4-year-old David homeless. The community quickly gathered to help, but they were unable to salvage anything except a few small items.

“They lost everything, when they already had so little,” Linda Gable, Newsong Mission co-founder, said.

The Vega's are faithful members of Newsong church and community. Jessica, along with other women in her family, helps clean the church and the mission base’s goathouse every week. The children spend their freetime playing on the mission grounds, having water fights, and attending every church event held. MaryLacy is one of the youngest girls in my dance classes, and though she gets overwhelmed and bashfully walks off everytime I try to teach her how to plie, her sweet spirit brings so much light to my class.

One minute we were all in the living room eating lunch, and the next thing I knew we were walking to the sight of the fire. It happened in a hurry, and I was walking side-by-side down the dusty road with Marvin, a member of the youth here.

“Who’s house caught fire?” I asked, my adrenaline beginning to pump as if I was about to go on an adventure.

“My sister’s,” Marvin said.

As I watched his eyes fill with tears the weight of this tragedy began to hit me. Approaching the house I quickly found myself in a sea of tears, and yet I felt overcome by hope. I knew instantly that God is going to help them. I knew that he is going to provide the money, and that we are going to build them a new home.

“It’s going to be a blessing in the end. I think I thrive on seeing bad things turned to good.” Linda Gable said.

2010-01-28T08:15:00.000-08:00

In the states when people talk about getting off the grid, I always think "yeah that's a good thing to do, maybe one day..." For in the states, all the talk about peak oil only seems real to a certain extent. All the talk about oil dependency, and how it affects our way of life seems very intellectual, and honestly when Jacob would come home from his energy issues class I'd listen, but I never really took it to heart.

Well, we have been without power for 9 of the past 11 days (it came back for one day in the middle), and it's been a bit of an ordeal. The water has been off and on throughout this time also. I realize that many places I could go as a missionary no electricity or water would just be part of the equation, and I'm not saying I wouldn't love that. But here, there is normally electricity, and it's different to step into a situation knowing that it's a primitive tribe in the middle of nowhere, versus a mission base that is structured around that fact that power is available and consistently used. Little things like feeling around in the dark to find my booklight are becoming second nature.

For those of you that have been waiting by the phone, or waiting for us to skype... we hope we haven't worried you by the lack of contact, internet just hasn't been available. We'll talk to you soon, and we love you so much.

The first night was a novelty. The church still met for service in the pitch black, singing and praying and preaching with their usual latin american ferver. For those of you that don't know, Nicaraguans are an extremely passionate culture. After the service several of the youth knocked on our door, a few hours into the power outage and invited us to go watch the sugar cane being harvested. We walked across a field, under some barbed wire, through the briars, across a creek, and down a dirt road. We watched in amusement, and while chatting with the workers asked to ride along in the tractors as they harvested. We split up and rode around the sugar cane fields. Brittany's ride went something like this...she climbed in,
driver asked "do you have a boyfriend?"
"no" Brittany answered
driver asked, "will you give me a kiss?"
"no" Brittany answered
Followed by awkward silence....
We got a good laugh out of our adventure into the sugar cane field.

In the days that have followed we have cooked many an egg sandwich by flashlight, and taken a few too few birdbath style showers. We're praying that the end will soon be in sight to our own little energy crisis, and learning to be content with a few less luxuries.

2010-01-13T15:02:00.000-08:00

Linda has said several times that she loves dreaming dreams down here and then watching them come true.

I have always been relationally motivated, and for me much of life simply seems to be context. It's not so much what you're doing as who you're doing it with. Jacob and I read 1 Corinthians 13 this morning, the well known chapter of love, and as it says, without love none of it really matters. And where is the love found...in relationships. Therefore, many of the dreams that I'm dreaming down here are relational.

Let me introduce you to Karla. She rallies people. When dance class is about to start she goes throughout the village and gathers all the girls. I go with her to "call on them." She has been organizing a huge "lucha de agua," or water fight the past few days. She had 40 people signed up, and had them carefully listed into two teams. She asked me to ask 10 people in the college group that's here right now to each give one cordoba (about a nickel) towards the cause of plastic bags for makeshift water balloons. Ultimately I decided to just pay the whole $ .50 out of pocket, but the point is she knows how to make things happen. She melts my heart on a regular basis. When I tell her we can practice more, or that we are going to perform a dance the light that fills her eyes and the way she embraces me can only be described as alive...vivid life. She's full of it. Sunday night during the church service she crawled into Jacob's lap and nuzzled up to his neck. They snuggled there two peas in a pod listening to the sermon. At the close she leaned up and whispered in his ear, "sometimes I feel like you're my dad, and Ashley is my mother."

Crazy cool story... this is from Jacob

2010-01-09T20:37:00.000-08:00

Hello everybody, I (Jacob) am writing this blog because the Lord did something really cool tonight and I wanted to share it.

Tonight we had a church service and I was standing off to the side during worship singing when a man approached me. The guy was clearly drunk and his Spanish was difficult to understand but what he told me was that he wanted to re-commit his life to Jesus. He asked me to pray for him and so I of course did and we hugged for several minutes (he was in great need of affection). He began telling me some of his story, how he had no home, nothing to eat, and he slept in the streets like a dog. I told him that he was not a dog and that in fact he was created to be a child of God. We sat down to talk more and he began telling me of a dream that he had the night before. He said that he had a dream where he was laying in the streets and he heard music, and in the dream the Lord spoke to him and told him to get up and go to the music because there he would find a gringo (someone from the States). The Lord told him that this person was going to help him to change his life for the better. That was all that he told me of the dream at first but that was more than enough to catch my attention. He said that he came because he was lying in the streets and he could hear the music coming from the church service and that it reminded him of his dream. He began talking about how he needed somewhere to sleep and how he hadn't eaten for 4 days but I stopped him and I told him that first we were going to deal with his spiritual needs and then we would get to the physical. (Keep in mind that this entire time I had absoultely no clue how to deal with this situacion nor what to say and so I was constantly telling him to give me a minute to ask the Lord... the Lord would then proceed to deal with the situacion through me and I just kind of let it happen. All that to say is that HE is accredited for this, completely). I asked him what he believed about demons and he said that he thought they were real. I asked him if he thought that there were demons living inside of him. He looked me straight in the eyes and responded "hay, me entiendes, hay," which means "there are, do you understand me, there are." I almost felt like the demons were challenging me, mocking me or something. I told the man, Jose Andres was his name, that I was son of the most high God and that he had given me authority over demons and I asked him if I could pray that the demons might leave and Jose said yes. I prayed; I used the name of Jesus and the power that it carries. I asked him if he felt anything, if they had left. He told me that they were gone. I then told him that the word of God says that if demons leave and we don't replace them with something then they can return. I told him that what he needed to replace them with was Jesus and I asked him if he would pray a prayer after me and he said that he would. So we prayed that Jesus might be the savior of his soul and that he might enter his life, which I am sure He was faithful to do. He showed me a mark under his eye and he said that he had fallen several days ago and hit his face, he said that it was really painful. I told him that the same power that got rid of those demons could heal his pain. And so I placed my hand on his face and asked the Lord to heal him from his pain. After I removed my hand I asked him how he felt and I told him to be honest. He told me with a smile and a look of confusion that there was no more pain. I told him that this was the power of God and that it was a sign of God's love for him. Jose told me again that he was hungry and thirsty and so I went inside and brought him out some leftover enchiladas and some juice. When I did this he lit up, his eyes got really big and he looked up and started thanking the Lord in a loud voice. He looked at me and said that this was exactly what happened in his dream. For several minutes he didn't even touch his food but just kept talking about the joy and happiness that he felt because of God's love and he continued to look upward and praise the Lord. He then told me that at the end of his dream he saw himself standing with a huge Bible in his hands and he was preaching what the book said to everyone. He asked me what I thought that it meant and I told him that it meant that one day he was going to be a powerful preacher for God. At one point while we were talking he almost chuckled to himself and I asked him what was funny and he said "your voice sounds just like it did in my dream." Last he asked me for a place to sleep. I spoke with Linda and with the guards and we decided that it was a safety concern to allow him to sleep on the property being as drunk as he was. So I asked him to make me a promise; I told him that I would give him a mattress to take with him for the night if he would come back the next day and talk with me while he was sober. He said that he wanted to; he told me that he wanted to study the Bible. I told him that if he returned the next day drunk again that I would not talk with him because it was to difficult but he assured me that he wouldn't drink. And so he left with his mattress. I have no clue what is going to come of this story, I hope to update on it soon. I simply felt like it was a story worth telling because it shows how completely awesome the Lord is and how he cares for his children, even those that are laying in the streets drunk. And also how he can use us, even if we are not at all certain of how to do handle what he has for us, he knows and he speaks. It was a super humbling experience, and I feel honored, exhausted and somewhat broken right now... praise the Lord.

2010-01-08T13:49:00.000-08:00

Yesterday:
Seeing the team off at the airport this morning was bittersweet. I had practically zero desire to board the plane with them, and yet it felt strange not to be leaving with them. I knew I wasn't going to and yet saying goodbye, in a sense, to my college years, in an airport in Nicaragua wasn't quite what I had anticipated. Goodbyes are funny. They're sort of awkward, and that end of a disney movie kind of closure is hard to come by. I always want to find those words, the ones that say everything you always wanted to say, the ones that fix every mistake you ever made in that relationhip. I always want the goodbye to be a landmark in time, a moment to look back on with peace.

But it seems that peace runs a lot deeper than the words we say, even in the most significant moments. Peace runs in our veins with the blood of Jesus. It soothes us later after the goodbye is said, when it was all wrong or even just not quite right. His Spirit comforts us from the every day reality of a broken world. His blood redeems every day from the ways we are unbalanced, unworthy, unloved.

So the goodbye this morning was a surreal and sleepy one. We met in our hotel lobby at 4 a.m. to leave for the airport. We rode there in the back of a cattle truck, and shivering in the cold wind combined with the lack of sleep made for a very silly ride. Jacob and I were giggling about things that at any other time would not be remotely funny. At the airport we hugged everyone several times and encouraged one another, and then they left and we left. The cattle truck suddenly felt huge and unneccessary for Jake, Linda, me and our driver Rafael. Arriving back in Candelaria I was instantly surrounded by the younger girls that I have been dancing with;they tugged on my arms, draped themselves around me and questioned when we were going to get to dance again...home sweet home.

2009-12-31T15:20:00.000-08:00

I'm happy to announce I have a group of passionate little dancers on my hands. Yesterday at the end of dance class they begged to have class an hour earlier, so they could have more time. Today they arrived at the set time to practice, in America showing up for a class on time is fairly normal, here it's nothing short of miraculous. For example, yesterday the youth were supposed to meet to leave at 3:30 for a worship night, and we ended up leaving after 4:30. Timeliness simply isn't culturally normal, but my little girls show up on time ready to go. After working for an hour, Britty and I were ready to wrap it up, but las ninas were not. They not only insisted on practicing more, after several more run throughs Juliet informed me that they were relying too much on each other, especially the younger ones. She felt that they each needed to do it by themselves one at a time to make sure they new it. For those of you who haven't danced much, that's pretty hardcore. I've never been to a rehearsal where that was required.

...I wrote that a few days ago, and got distracted before I finished it. Life is busy here! We have full days of visiting in the villages, spending time on the base with the youth, teaching classes, fixing up the mission house, and then we've had services, prayer and worship each night. The group here with us from Boone is so vibrant. It has been such a blessing for us to start out this journey with their support, love and the familiarity of home. For the past four years Darrell has been my pastor, they have been my church, and so it's incredible that the Lord has brought them here with us to take the next step in our lives. God is so gracious.

2009-12-29T07:33:00.000-08:00

I arrived in Nicaragua a week ago, and I am finding life here much to my liking. I can feel the Lord tugging on my heart is many ways, and I know that my every effort here is being met with his faithfulness. I followed his voice to come here, and though in truth I have little knowledge of what being here will mean, or what it is about, or who I will be at the end of my six months here I am full of anticipation.

Jacob and I are living in a dormitory style building where we have our own room, but everything else is common area. The lack of privacy is refreshing and disarming....a moment after I wrote that I was joined by Jaqueline the cook here, and I just spent the last 10 minutes talking with her. The frequent disruptions are a nice reminder that this whole thing called life isn't really about me. As followers of Christ we give up the right to make it about us, and yet so often I find myself living in the midst of plans I have made for myself, determined to keep them. Not to say that making plans is bad, certainly it's necessary, but refusal to change them can cause trouble.

I have sat down with the intention of beginning this blog on multiple occasions in the past week, and each time I felt at a loss for words. There has been so much to take in, and to observe that I wasn't at a point where I could communicate the things I was experiencing. What a blessing it is to have this opportunity to experience this.

I remember as a little girl longing to go to foreign lands to serve the Lord, and always feeling like if I ever got to I would be so lucky...or rather blessed. I thought on multiple occasions, everybody wants to do that, everybody wants to be a missionary...but who gets to actually do it? And for this season I thank God that the answer is me. I get to go. I get to come here. I get to do this. In spite of how incredibly surreal the past week has felt, it's actual. I'm here. Praise God! In preparation for this trip I kept thinking "Lord what do I have to offer? I just graduated college. I'm so young." And it's true. I have little to bring, and much to learn. And yet, I have been chased and pursued by a faithful, and I mean really truly faithful God, my entire life, and though I have been at many times a mess he keeps coming for me. So really, I don't expect much of myself in this time, but I expect everything from God. And I can't wait to watch him do it. In the past week, as our team has gone out into the streets of the village here people have gotten saved, people have gotten healed. And it's just God. It's so good. He really is the only one that just consistently gets better and better the more I know him. I love the scenery here, I love the fact that last night I climbed a volcano and looked inside its crater and saw lava, but I find that my favorite part of it all is that God is right here with me. He's my favorite.