November Edition

Once the school year hits, I feel as if this blog turns into an obligatory newspaper to which I must write at least monthly. In the summer, and during Christmas break, I am bursting with things that I am turning over in my mind and want to share. When I am in Joplin, I barely have time to think through the things I am doing.

At any rate, these days I find myself longing to read. Like most girls, I have lately been looking through Pinterest. I have found the website most helpful in planning for Christmas. In fact, I found all my gift ideas on Pinterest this year, and I so enjoy making them. There is something special about a homemade gift, I think. I have already finished three of my gifts, planned three to be completed closer to Christmas, and am ironing out the details of the last five. However, my favorite thing to find on Pinterest have undoubtedly been the reading nooks. Every once in a while a "pin" will appear depicting some fabulous shelving idea or some great corner that just beckons one to come and spend hours with a good book. I can't remember the last book that I finished that I read just for myself, for enjoyment. I hope to have the opportunity to do so again soon.

Mostly my days are spent running from one activity to the next. When I daydream at the future, I am most excited for 8-5 days that are spent in one place, for evenings spent in my home, for homework free nights. However, I fear these dreams are nothing more and I will find things to occupy those precious hours. I just don't seem to be able to sit still.

If this post comes across discontent and exhausted, it is because I am. It's that part of the semester where students just long to be done. Thanksgiving break gives a glimpse of Christmas break, which glimpses summer break - a time of joyous relaxation and recuperation. And camp. Oh, how I miss camp.

I do have several things to look forward to, however. I get to spend New Years in Syracuse, NY with my best friend for her birthday, I get to have lunch with six of my very good friends that have not all gathered together since 2009, and I get to spend a few hours with a friend that I have not seen in at least a decade. And I get to visit camp.

If I can make it through the next three weeks, I will be a very happy girl!

Summary

September seems to have run right past me. In fact, August seemed to fly by as well. Each day seems to feel like a mere hour and each month feels like one week. Particularly this year, I find myself clinging desperately for each passing minute, hoping to cram more and more into my limited twenty-four hours.

I've been busy before but this year seems to be re-defining the word and not just for me. Everyone's schedule seems to be as chaotic, perhaps a lingering consequence of living in post-tornado Joplin. While my life is largely unaffected by it, friends are doing truly great things to serve the city and Joplin-ites (?) and furthering the kingdom. My involvement is limited to riding my bike past the make-shift school set up as an alternative to a building not safe for students or occasionally driving through the "tornado zone," which I find myself avoiding as much as possible because each time I see it, it seems to break my heart a little more.

Instead, I have continued to serve in all the things I anticipated this fall would bring. I love encouraging and supporting my friends and community in rebuilding but that is simply not where I am called right now, which seems strange to me. If I could give more hours or somehow acquire the time-turner Hermione used at Hogwarts, I would be there in a heartbeat. But I know that my time is spent better encouraging and supporting those who do serve and loving the kids at Life House. Most afternoons are filled with Life House related activities - especially as we get ready to kick off tutoring. My mornings are spent in class and at work, and my evenings are a dismal attempt to maintain a social life, get adequate rest, and do homework and online class. It is true that only two of those ever seem compatible.

I am learning so much in my classes, particularly at Ozark. My MSSU classes are interesting as well, but I very much enjoy this season of learning and growth. I love living off-campus and having a home to retreat to and entertain from. I love when the neighbor kids come ask if I can play and the two mile ride to campus every day. It is a busy season that is flying by much too quickly, but it is a time of growth and rest and learning.

Faith

Of late, I have had the pleasure of reading a few very challenging and thought provoking books. In particular, I have been reading about August Hermann Franke, founder of the orphan house in Halle, Germany and forerunner to George Mueller. Franke founded an orphan house that has provided food and education for literally tens of thousands of students (if not more) over the past three hundred and some odd years on less than five dollars. And of course God. If he has taught me one thing, it is that the biographies of those completely sold out to God are far from boring.

Franke was a university professor and pastor who was deeply sold out to God. As a child, he requested of his mother a private study where he could read the Scriptures and pray. Later, he went to the University and studied religion. It was in the course of his studies that he came to what he called his true conversion - the beginning of his radical devotion to and faith in God. He was regularly attacked by members of the German church for being a fanatic, but it was he who brought about revival in Germany. He preached straight from the Bible, which was somewhat rare in that day (circa 1670). When he was asked to preach in Halle and be a professor at the University, he began to notice the lack of religious instruction innate in the poor, particularly the children. Being a man devoted to the work of God, this troubled him greatly and prompted him to begin collecting donations to change this. From here, it snowballed. Franke's life is one of radical dependence on God and watching God's provision come at just the right time and amount. There were times when he had upwards of a hundred orphans to care for, plus a school and other outbuildings, and not a cent to his name. But God always came through and Franke never lost his faith. He was a man of prayer and thanksgiving, a man who sought his own betterment for the sake of bring glory to the Father. Even when he was wrongly accused or reproved, he always responded with a grace that should be characteristic of every Christian.

The life of Franke has left me pondering my own. Do I have faith like that? Do I truly believe in the God of divinely orchestrated circumstances and just-in-the-nick-of-time provision? Is my faith what drives me or is it a safety net? Oh, how I long to be a woman patterned after the life of Christ. I long to have such a bold testimony to my Redeemer as Franke's life evinced. I long to live radically for Christ, to have such a strong faith in my heavenly Father. I want to believe with every fiber of my being. And I think that I do. But I also think its a growing process, and a process that cannot be truly evaluated until the time that the product is crucial. In the meantime, I pray that I can be such a witness to Christ.

Its amazing that we humans long to believe in something so deeply, to have faith in relationships or the goodness of humanity or even in themselves or security. And to believe in those things to some extent isn't necessarily a bad thing, but they should never be the end all be all of a person's faith. Because they ultimately will disappoint; relationships end, people commit heinous acts that testify to the falleness of our condition, security vanishes, and people disappoint themselves. But I believe in a God who is bigger than all my failings or the failings of this world, a God who redeemed me from my brokenness and is continually restoring me to holiness. And I rejoice in that, though not as often as I should.

But often believing in God is the most daring and courageous thing that is available. It can be a crutch, yes, but if you truly believe that Jesus is the Son of God and that He is more than just a shoulder to cry on or some sort of divine homeboy, you know that the life that He calls us to live is far from easy. It is far from a walk in the park. In Luke, He tells his disciples that those who are persecuted, hungry, poor, and mourn are the ones who are truly blessed because of the reward they may expect in the life to come. He continues this dialogue by proclaiming that the rich, the well fed, the ones who laugh and are esteemed have received their reward in full. Honestly, that is a challenging passage. Is God calling His people to put themselves in the way of poverty and famine simply for the promise of a castle in heaven? I don't think so. But somehow I think such things are woven into the Christian life. I think we find ourselves constantly bombarded by people who are in those conditions or living dangerously close to them. I think we ourselves must be willing to be in those circumstances if they should befall them. I think that we must always chose Christ over laughter, riches, or even a piece of bread. I don't have it all figured out yet. I'm wrestling with extrapolating this from the American Christianity we have so blindly adopted and mixed with the Gospel.

But I do want a deep faith, a faith so strong that the foundations of it can move mountains and make the devil shudder and enable joy and contentment in every circumstance.

If you are interested in Franke's work, here is the present day website of the school he began. How amazing it is that this project, started with $3.50, is still alive and well today, educating thousands??

http://translate.google.com/translate?hl=en&sl=de&u=http://www.francke-halle.de/&ei=YL1CTuT_MOStsALA09XCCQ&sa=X&oi=translate&ct=result&resnum=1&ved=0CDoQ7gEwAA&prev=/search%3Fq%3DFranckesche%2BStiftungen%2Bzu%2BHalle%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DG%26tbo%3D1%26tbm%3Dbks

What I Love About Camp

Another great summer at West Central has come to its conclusion, a full week and a half earlier this year than last. The last few days have been filled with a thorough cleaning of the dorms and time well spent with Jessica and Duonna. The kitchen was filled with milk, delicious smells, more milk, and laughter. There were eight gallons of milk in the fridge Friday night. Duonna took one home and Jessica and I left just under two this morning. I would be content to never look at milk again.

Aside from recent dairy related nausea, it has been an incredible six weeks. I started this summer thinking that it would be my last at WCCSC. Now I am not so sure that next summer will not find me watching the pool at West Central. I love camp. And thinking that I may not return really cemented that fact. I love to watch the campers play in the pool (they are so goofy), I love to listen to their absurd conversations while they swim, I love to put food on their plates and greet them with a smile as they struggle to wake up enough to ask for more bacon. I love the kids. I love getting to know the faculty and finding myself looking forward to seeing them again. I love that Tom adopted Jess and I this year - a fact that he revealed of his own volition. I love that Duonna promised me today before we left that I could use her daughter's wedding decorations "when my time comes." I love that I have history at that camp and that I know the standard of Godliness (and cleanliness) to expect. I love watching the campers wrestle with the things they are learning and come to love Jesus more.

I love that an eleven year old camper begged me almost daily for french silk pie because he knew that I was a pushover, and had I had any leftover, it would've been his. I even love that the faculty teased me about the two popsicles and piece of pie I did give him to the point of getting him to ask me out on a date ("lifeguard, if you guess what I have in my hands I'll take you out on a date tonight....close enough! pick you up at 7, we're riding bikes!). I love to get in the water during pool time and splash the kids and to hear them chant "Lifeguard, lifeguard, lifeguard" as I go down the slide during their five minute break. I even thought it was mildly amusing when a mischievous high schooler asked me if I'd ever seen the Sandlot, and proceeded to attempt to act out the scene which he was referencing (fortunately the pool is only five feet deep and short of diving in headfirst, there was no way that could happen).

I love running on the gravel roads surrounding the camp and making mid-week Starbucks runs for appreciative faculty (and staff) members. I love to sit outside and listen to the campers sing late at night around the campfire, proclaiming their love for Jesus under bright stars and often a clear moon. I love that being at camp is a retreat for me. I love to sit and read and reflect and wrestle with the things that challenge me most. I love long talks with the nurse and celebrating crazy holidays and cooking together (which inevitably ends with her realizing just how stupid I truly am).

I feel so at home at camp. I love to do crazy things to make Tom shake his head while a smile creeps across his face. I love to say crazy things to which Duonna will invariably reply "You should. I want you to. I know you don't have morals." I love to sit with Jessica and read ridiculous books about Mennonites wearing little black dresses.

The time I spend at camp is without a doubt exhausting. There is simply no question. Yet somehow in the rigid routine and the mornings which come too early there is joy and peace. Even in the chaotic and dramatic events that plagued the kitchen for a few weeks, I wouldn't have traded the summer for anything. Camp is where I relax. Camp is what makes the rest of the year worth it. It is probably the busiest vacation in existence, but I find myself debating the possibility of saying goodbye to it as I pursue other opportunities. I know that Tom and Duonna will be proud of me no matter what and that God will provide both for the camp and for my future, but it is hard to look objectively at the idea of saying goodbye to West Central this close to being there constantly. The next few months will be filled with prayer and waiting on God, but I know that my heart belongs to West Central. And it always will, no matter where I am. Perhaps that is what makes the decision so difficult.

Even with such a difficult decision glaring back at me, I can look back on an untarnished summer of crazy tan lines and constant Starbucks, dropped calls and spotty cell phone service, knowing Jesus more and living in wonderful community. Oh, how I love camp.

Our last night of Duonna lovin'

Home is Whenever I'm with You

Sarah's flight is probably preparing to take off as I write this.

As you may have guessed by the cheesy title, this post will take a turn for the sentimental. It may even become downright sappy. Don't say I didn't warn you. I've spent the past week with my best friend, a girl I've known since before I can remember. In our earlier years, our days were filled with office playdates (her mom worked at the church with my dad) and Thursday afternoon outings (our parents got so tired of our constant begging that they finally established a set day for Sarah to come over or for me to go to Sarah's; while that helped, I still remember asking my dad if Sarah could come over nearly everyday). We'd drink half of our Dunkin' Donuts chocolate milk (to the chagrin of my mother) and eat our donuts as we chatted away. Between the two of us, there was never a quiet moment. Ever. We'd run wild through the church building as our parents worked, getting into everything and having grand adventures. There is no one that I remember having so much fun with, except perhaps Tina (since we lived together).

Then one day, a car carried her away to Remsen, NY - a place about which I had never heard. Though we promised faithful correspondence, our barely passable writing skills never quite lived up. We were, after all, only in first grade. The summer after she moved (the summer after second grade), my parents agreed to detour to her farm on our traditional vacation to Kansas. I remember feeling something beyond excited. Despite our failed attempt to keep in touch, I had entered a story about her in my school writing contest. I hardly remember it now, though she swears its somewhere (I gave it to her on that trip). I wrote, illustrated, and published (sewed the binding on) this little story for which I was recognized in front of the entire elementary school I attended (it won 'Best Best Friends Story' - I was a good writer even then). We spent an afternoon together, but had to move on far too quickly. I remember flashes of that day, mostly memories jogged by a few photos we have.

After third grade, my family moved to Missouri. I was devastated to learn that, instead of visiting Sarah, we'd be spending a few days in New York City. Few girls are as disappointed as I at spending time in the Big Apple.

From there, we kept in touch spottily. A few letters here and there, an occasional phone call. Around seventh grade we became very faithful about our Saturday afternoon conversations. That was before texting and before everyone had internet. I'd count the minutes to when I knew she'd be available. We'd talk for an hour or so - until we got kicked off. Even in middle school - even now - there's always something to talk about.

The summer after eighth grade was the first time we saw each other face to face. She flew to Kansas City for a week. We were so excited. It was a very fun week but we didn't account for how much adjusting to each other we'd have to do. As a farm girl, she found it physically impossible to sleep past eight. As a city girl, I found it physically impossible to wake up before eight. She was (and still is) very extroverted. I am very introverted. Despite our differences, the week was practically unforgettable.

The next summer I flew to New York. I am not a farm girl - I learned that real quickly. But I got up before seven to milk cows - until I got horribly sick. The last few days I was there I caught some terrible virus that knocked me out for a while. But I did get out of chores.

The following summer, Sarah returned to Missouri. I could drive now, and we relished the thought of the keys and the open road.

Next year I found myself back on the farm, faithfully (and healthily) doing chores. We went to Water Safari that year, a water park that we drove through the Adirondacks (the mountain range she lives so close to) to find. We also visited her grandparents in Massachusetts and went to a family reunion in Connecticut. It was so much fun! I took pictures with "my" cows - the cow Sarah named after me and its babies - whom I got to name (Penelope and Sherlock, if you're wondering).

The next summer, we had graduated high school and Sarah flew to Missouri to celebrate. We had professional pictures done by a friend of mine, we drove to Kansas and stayed at my grandparents' for a few days (she met the whole fam), we drove to Joplin and I showed her my school and Precious Moments - it was a wonderful trip.

The next summer neither of us had time to travel - or money. Which brings us to this year. After two years apart, it was wonderful to be reunited. Honestly, it was a chill trip. We did some shopping, we did some henna, we went to Joplin and spent a morning volunteering. She got to meet some of my friends, we rode bikes and took walks and laid out, watched movies, cooked delicious food, and spend lots of time talking. All in all the trip was a smashing success.

The thing that I treasure most about Sarah is that I can tell her when I need space. We are nearly opposite in everything which makes us an odd pair to be so close. We've both said that if we hadn't grown up together, we would not be friends with each other. I'm way too type A, organized, and driven and she is way too relationally driven and extroverted. After a week together, we tend to get a little rough around the edges.

Perhaps that is why I always feel surprised at the profound sense of loss I feel as we arrive at the airport, check in, and one of us goes into security while the other watches - knowing that the amount of time between our next reunion is never set in stone. As I walked away from the gate this evening, I was moved nearly to tears as I reflected on our friendship. Sarah and I don't always see eye to eye. She drives me crazy sometimes. But I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I love her more dearly than I could ever think possible. I treasure her so deeply that I know that our friendship could never really end. I don't know why God put us together, but He did and for that I am grateful. Sitting beside her, I almost lose track of where she ends and I begin. There are very few people who have an unlimited license to hug me but she is one of them.

Saying all of this, it dawns on me that it is almost like a romance or like being in love. While I can assure all of you that it is entirely platonic (we are both too boy crazy for our own good), she is one of the few people in the entire world that I am not sure that I could love a boy more than. I trust her with everything. Literally. I wish that I could be there when things are going badly, but I am relegated to being the friend on the phone. I wish we could celebrate the little victories, but I can only send my congratulations via technology. Still, I know that we have something special. We've been friends for twenty years - a bond not easily shaken. There may come a day where the chaotic push and pull of life forces us to fall out of touch but I have a strong conviction deep within me that even in that circumstance we won't stop loving each other, we won't stop thinking of each other, and we'll make it work. Because we always have. We are pros at the long-distance thing.

A few letters I dug up:



The summer after we graduated:



















































The summer of '08 (the last of the cow days):

Urgency

Repent for the kingdom of heaven is near.
-Matthew 4:17

Urgency is more or less the buzzword of our generation. Vocalized or implied, this three syllable word seems to motivate nearly everything we have or do. "Now! Now! Now!" chants the class of twenty-somethings taking their place in society. "Give me the nicest, newest toy now!" "Give me the best job now!" Urgency is an undeniable theme by which we are governed.

Yet how often am I urgent when I preach the Gospel? How oten do I speak such a simple message of truth? How often will I leave my daily tasks - my livlihood, my social agenda, my all - for Jesus?

Far too rarely, I fear. I so admire the twelve for their immediate reaction to the Christ Incarnate. They knew less than I, yet were far more willing to respond to the call of discipleship. After the crucifixion, resurrection, and ascension, they earnestly proclaimed the kingdom. I wish that I would step up with the same boldness for Jesus - to proclaim the Gospel instead of sneaking it into some care package of social justice and missionary support. I wish that I was less often a cheapener of grace and more often a proclaimer of the true, costly grace that I have received.

But in a society turned off by the explicit statement of any one religion, how can one do that? Paul gives us some help in Acts 17, but I still feel more or less lost. Is it a lack of courage that stills my tongue or is the Holy Spirit preventing a fumble? For now I am still wrestling with that discernment.

But the kingdom is near and millions have not heard.

Things I'm Learning:

Discipleship and the Individual.


That's the title of the chapter I just finished in Dietrich Bonhoeffer's classic book "The Cost of Discipleship." Bonhoeffer makes many excellent points regarding discipleship in the chapters preceding this one, yet it is this one that has gripped my heart in a strange way.

As I sit on a greyhound rolling through southern Kansas, I feel alone. I don't mind it, but there is something about traveling alone which seems to render the individual more individual. There is an independence, an alertness, that is of natural consequence to the journey. Perhaps that is why I enjoy traveling alone - flying solo, if you will. This chapter reminds me of that feeling, in some ways.

See, Bonhoeffer examines the text in Luke 14 that sats that if a man wants to follow Jesus, he must hate his father, mother, sister, brother, wife, etc. It is a strange passage to the naked eye. Pulled out of the surrounding verses, it paints Jesus in a very different light. Of course, any extended study of the passage reveals that Jesus is employing hyperbole, but that it is vital for Christ followers to have Christ as their priority, the most important relationship in their lives. I very muched like Bonhoeffer's elaboration. He talks about how this call, this grace of Christ which beckons men and women to lay down their lives and pick up their crosses, it individualizes. Christ is not calling my parents or my brother and sisters, He is calling me. And that's an important thing to distinguish. When I picture Jesus pointing at a group of people which includes me, I feel the responsiblity that I am called to slacken. When just I stand before the throne of God to be handed a task, there is much more seriousness and commitment required.

That is what the call of Christ does. It peels through the layers of protective men and women who perhaps have already answered their call, straight to the center where I stand. Christ beckons me and leaves me with the choice to follow or disobey, boldly contradicting his teachings and aligning myself with his enemies. There is no half-way line to stand on when Christ calls because he specifically calls individuals. He does not call countries or family groups or tribes or friends; he calls the individuals which form them to break the ties which have been a part of their lives, to leave everything to follow him.

Bonhoeffer also points out that the minute the call is accepted, there is no direct relationship except with Christ. All relationships hereafter are mediated by Christ - both relationships with the Father and relationships with other men and women. "We are separated from one another by an unbridgeable gulf of otherness and strangeness which resists all our attempts to overcome it by means of natural association or emotional or spiritual union. There is no way from one person to another."

It is an interesting thought to turn over in my head. The idea that Christ's call to me demands surrender of all direct relationships. Of course, the pro to this surrender is the knowledge of the promise of community and the purity of love for others that comes through Christ's mediation - whether they also have answered the call or whether they are still being sought.

Still, it is rare that surrender is easy.


1 Timothy 4

Verses that caught my eye:

Have nothing to do with godless myths and old wives' tales; rather, train yourself to be godly. For physical training is of some value, but godliness has value for all things, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come.
This is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance (and for this we labor and strive), that we have put our hope in the living God, who is the Savior of all men, and especially of those who believe.

Be diligent in these matters; give yourself wholly to them, so that everyone may see your progress. Watch your life and doctrine closely. Persevere in them, because if you do, you will save both yourself and your hearers.


My mind is a little bit gone to mush, due in part to the long West Central days that I rejoice in (despite their wear on my body), and a little bit due to the long and draining swim that occupied my evening. It's rare that I get upset enough to just need to swim but that was the case tonight.

Yet these verses capture my attention. There is something about them which draws me in, beckons me to inspect them just a bit more closely than the neighboring verses.

How do these words change my life? They should, shouldn't they? The Word of God - the living and active Word that cuts like a double edged sword - should profoundly affect my life each time I inspect it. Tonight finds me wondering what godless myths and old wives' tales Paul was referring to. Simple false religion? Or something more? Superstition seems like a viable translation. But what does that mean for me? What am I not seeing? I do want to train myself to be godly. I want that more than I want physical fitness and health - I truly do - and that's a great deal. This kind of ties into the pull I feel from the last verses - orthodoxy has always been quite important to me. I want to believe - and do - what is right. But what is my motivation? To be good? But why? Why do I desire goodness? Why do I desire God? Undoubtedly we were created to desire God, but why do I desire righteousness? Simply to be righteous? It's a sort of catch-22. I want to want it for the right reasons, so does that automatically disqualify it?

I'm not sure. My mind is still grappling with that one. Here's what I do know: I want the latter part of that first verse - the reason Paul labored - to be true. I want to work always because I hope in the Living God, the God who can pick up broken pieces and put them back together, the God who is still in control, even in the midst of incredible chaos.

On love and marriage. And rest.

At the present moment, I sit in the guest room of my brother's home as the sounds of the concluding numbers of the annual jazz festival waft gently and soothingly through the open windows from the park across the street. The time that I spent here, though a few days from being finished, has been so restful and rejuvenating. The greyhound adventure was rather calm, though it had its interesting moments, and I am beginning to feel more like myself.

The last few weeks have been truly draining. So many conflicts, both internal and external, waged war on my spirit and the grueling tests that ended the year were no help. As much as I love my community and all that I do in Joplin, I had to leave. I looked forward to leaving. Though I did not realize the extent of the damage that the last month inflicted, I did know that it wasn't healthy for me to stay there - the feelings that I had been suppressing were bound to roll over the top. I know suppression is rarely healthy but I think that it was in this case. I have a habit of imposing unfair expectations on people and then becoming quite disappointed when they fail to live up to them. While holding in all of my thoughts towards the end made the last days a living hell at some times, it saved the people I love from my hurtful words, and for that I am grateful. It was important for me to leave and process everything, in order to heal and be able to contribute to the community again.

Then the storm hit. If my emotions had been in shambles before such an event, the wreckage was far from distinguishable after. I have no claim on anyone's pity, because I was not there, nor do I have any right to call what I felt even a glimmer of survivor's guilt. Yet there was an emotional attachment to the city that made my heart turn within my chest. The few days I spend at home turned from a Sabbath to days of walking around with a heavy heart and great sadness. Hours were spent staring at the wreckage, trying to mentally map the pictures flashing across the television and computer screens. The time that wasn't poured into grieving and praying for Joplin was devoted to studying to become a re-certified lifeguard, and then I almost immediately shipped out to Oklahoma, a girl running on empty and ready for distraction. Even my quiet time, my time with Jesus, suffered greatly.

But in this home I have found greater peace than what I could anticipate. In the delighted smiles of my nephew and the long talks with my sister-in-law about love and marriage and family, I have felt joy. It is wonderful to feel someone pouring into me in the way that Erin is. It is wonderful to talk to someone who has been in my shoes and felt as I do, to talk to her about the beginning of her and Nathan's relationship and things that pertain to love and self-image. As I watch their little family together, I see a "someday dream," one that has come to pass for her and one that I still fervently pray for.

While I think I could remain unmarried for the rest of my days and survive, I know that I crave a marriage. I want to be a God-honoring woman no matter where I am or what my relationship status is, and so I pursue God first and foremost. Yet there are days when my someday dreams crop up and get the best of me. I want to embark on the adventure of marriage, of serving God together for life, of furthering the kingdom by two people, divinely unified for all days. But I think the God part is far more important than the two people part.

These thoughts (not regarding a certain someone, but in general) began to chyrstalize after a recent trip to the movie theater. I rarely go to the movies (before this one, I think I saw Toy Story in June). It's a lot of money for something that doesn't retain my attention well. And a long time to sit still. But some friends were going, and I decided I was in the right mood. We saw the movie Something Borrowed, with Kate Hudson and John Kransinski and a whole slew of other talented people. The story is that Kate Hudson is engaged to this guy who's evidently had feelings for her best friend forever but thought they were unreciprocated. The night of the friend's 30th birthday, truth is revealed and so begins the affair. For a long time it goes back and forth between them feeling awful about sneaking around and painting Kate Hudson's character as the bad guy. Surprisingly, months go by before the fiance makes a choice between the best friend and Kate Hudson. I mean, who saw that coming? A guy who's good enough to sleep with the best friend of his fiance doesn't have the stones to give a definite answer to either woman? Wow, crazy.

The movie really got under my skin for some reason. I'm sure part of it was my emotional vulnerability, though I wouldn't discount the annoying habit I have of analyzing everything that come through my mind and philosophically dissecting it in terms of everyday practicality. After wrestling with it for a few days, here's what it came down to:

I have come to disdain chick flicks. I'm tired of movies about desperate, lonely girls who do stupid things in pursuit of a forbidden man, who in turn loves them for their immoral and selfish ways, claiming great emotional connection as the end all be all.

That's not the woman I want to be. So am I doomed to single-dom? Since I want to have a man nobly and God-fearingly pursue me, respect me, love me? Since I want to fall in love once and have Christ at the center? Since I want to be in love with a man who loves me in spite of - not because - my character flaws, a man who pushes me to be a better, more Christ following woman? Since I crave more than an emotional connection, but a moral, intellectual, and spiritual connection that preludes any sort of physical or emotional vulnerability? Am I facing a future full of lonely nights and endless bags of cat food because I want the man I love to enable me, to push me and challenge me in serving God? Because I want a partner in ministry and a man to help in bringing glory to the King, the Creator of the universe and the Redeemer of souls? Does that rule our the possibility of romance and passion and deep, deep love?

Doubtful.

As much as I crave this experience, this connection, this love, as I much as I desire to be a wife and confidante and lover and servant to a man to whom I have given the days of my earthly existence and the trust of a life together, I could not be happy in a relationship lacking such things. I'd rather live the singe life forever.

Rarely am I comfortable sharing such intimate thoughts, yet there is a point in all my rambling. I'm tired of the lowering expectations for romance and building a life together. I feel like girls are falling prey to the myth that men can't be better, can't change. I'm not suggesting that withholding all affection and intimacy is the answer to a morally degenerative society, but I do think that - to some extent - when ladies have high expectations, men rise to meet them. I can't help but wonder how many men would become better leaders, better husbands and fathers, if woman could accept their identity as beloved daughters and sisters in Christ rather than pursuing an identity as a wife, mother, lover, girlfriend, etc.

It'd be an interesting experiment, I think. I could be wrong, I don't know. But that knowledge does not compel me to change the way I'm living. If my expectations are that morbidly incorrect, I think I'd rather miss out on the whole thing anyway.

Storms

A mere twenty hours after leaving my college hometown, a tornado ripped portions of the city to shreds. Most news sources have their own cover of the stories. We sat in front of the TV as the devastation became more and more publicized. The city is unrecognizable. My heart breaks for those who lost so much. It is unfathomable, especially as far away as I am. I know that it won't truly be real for me until I drive down those roads myself and see the lingering after-effects of such a power storm. How I long to be there with my friends, of whom I am so very proud as they continue to pour themselves out for their neighbors. I love watching them be the hands and feet of Christ, a truly united church serving their community.

Editorial Note: a friend just text me to report that the sirens are going off in Joplin and a tornado was sighted a few miles north of Joplin. Devastating. Terrifying. Oh, how my heart breaks.

Yet life goes on. We pray and we give and we pray some more. But ultimately, time marches on. The recovery and rescue attempts take less and less of our time and attention as the daily chores and information claim our focus. There's nothing wrong with this, I know. Yet it is hard not to feel guilty. It is difficult not to feel like a victim, even so many miles away. My heart is with those that I love in the city where I reside most of the year. But other responsibilities make it impossible for me to go back to this beloved place. If I could move back, I'd be there in a heartbeat. But I have to prepare for my summer, I've committed to spending time with my brother and sister-in-law, I have to move to camp. I wish with everything in me that I could spend these days in Joplin; yet I am excited about the things which will fill my days instead. And I wrestle with this. I know in my head that I shouldn't feel this obligation necessarily. I know that it is okay for me to be upset and appropriate for me to call on my Heavenly Father and beg for His mercy. But there is no place for my feelings of guilt. It is simply selfish.

But I cannot feel excited without this guilt. I go to update social media sites and can say nothing but to re-iterate my prayers for Joplin. My Facebook news feed is an odd blend of gruesome pictures of streets I drove down a few days ago and mundane daily news. The pictures look like something out of a bomb catastrophe. The trees are left barely standing, naked without the leaves or small branches to decorate them. Homes are simply a pile of wooden planks mixed with years of rubbish torn apart. It's indescribable.

Yet I still wish that I was there. I know that God is working mightily in that city right now, even as the citizens sit terrified in their basement.

I cannot conclude this post without relating my own mundane news. While I would love for my travels to take me to Joplin, I will instead be traveling to Oklahoma City on a greyhound bus. While I am quite familiar with school buses, I have never taken so much as a city bus, much less a greyhound. I am oddly excited. I am also excited to spend a week with some of my favorite people. And I am excited to go to camp in just over a week. Mostly, I am excited for life to go on, to move past this terrible tornado and to watch Joplin re-build, to see the lasting Kingdom effects of this devastation - to watch the beauty rise out of the ashes.

The Charms of Home

Home. Though I am only here for a short time, I intent to savor every minute of it. I love to rest, to read whatever I want, to have an entire room painted and decorated to my whim that I can enjoy. I love growing up and going away and begin to feel the anticipation of independence (a concept both terrifying and incredible exciting), I love to be back where I am taken care of, where I can walk out of my room and be greeted by things dating back a decade and - best of all - my family. I love going to church at LifeSpring and seeing all of the people who are near and dear to my heart. There's just so many wonderful people in Kansas City (although the metro area does not have the monopoly. There are several great people in Joplin as well).

However, my stay here is so very brief. Ironically, I am quite excited to leave. After resting here (and studying for a terrible test that is slated for Tuesday afternoon), I get to travel down to Oklahoma to be the most excellent aunt I can to my precious little nephew and to visit with my sister-in-law and brother for a week. I do love them so much, and I am really looking forward to getting to hang out with them for a while.

After that wonderful week, I'll come back to Kansas City, re-pack everything (well, not EVERYTHING. but lots) and move to West Central Christian Service Camp for another excellent summer of lifeguarding and shoot-outs with the nurse. I am so ready to be back at camp, and I am so looking forward to this summer.

I think the thing that most excites me about this summer is the prospect of growth, of training, of discipline. Last summer was a good forerunner, but I intend to be more intentional as the next few months' progress. I want to know more about God, to know Him better and trust Him more, to stretch my intellectual capacity, and to start running again. Oh, how I love to run. Some of my most intimate God moments seem to happen out on the road in front of camp. I am so looking forward to it.

Joy

I have found a new obsession. Coincidentally, this obsession is the best thing that I have ever done.

I wrote a little about the mentoring project I am working on in my last post. That little snapshot was a gross misrepresentation of the amount of time and energy that I have devoted to this. Since week of e (spring break), I have been working to pull this thing off. More than anything, I've been turning it over in my head, trying to see it, trying to make it real.

Well, as of May 3rd, it is real.

The reality of it still sends shivers up my spine. That one thought makes me feel like I'm on a roller coaster, about to descend the first real hill. My stomach leaps to my throat, and it's a bit hard to breathe. It's happening. This is my baby - the thing that I am most passionate about. And it's actually becoming a reality. The impossibility of it all strikes me more than anything. Like I said earlier, this is the best thing I've ever done. More than that, this is the type of thing that I have always wanted to do. It's a small piece of a dream that is intricately connected to my heart, something so intimate yet so public now. In many ways, it's bizarre.

It's still weird to hear other people talk about it. There's a part of me that selfishly desires to keep it close, to shelter and protect it, to maintain the monopoly of conversation on it. While that part exists, I'm still beyond excited to hear people discuss it. It's amazing how people have caught the vision and the passion that I have had, although I don't think anyone could love it quite as I do.

What happened on May 3rd, you ask? May 3rd marked parent approval. A dear friend and I went to visit with the parents after the Tuesday afternoon activity. Both parents received it extremely well. It was amazing the trust that they had in anything associated with the ministry, which only serves as a strong testimony to the work that is being done. It is an exciting time.

In the next few weeks, I will be introducing the mentoring pairs, helping to set up the first meeting, facilitating a training session for the mentors (speakers: the elementary school principal and a social worker), and making general going-out-of-town preparations. It's difficult, in some ways, to trust something so dear to my heart to anyone for such an extended time. But I'm excited too. I want this to change. I want to tweak it, I want to learn. I want this program to grow and to become better. It's scary to hold a dream out so far and let it be beat against and let it fail in its own right, but I think that is part of the charm to me. It is an adventure.

The fall will already bring several, more official changes to this program. I'm hoping to get grown-ups involved to serve as partners for the young adults who will be serving as mentors. I'm also hoping to compile more information regarding both the students and the volunteers who are involved. I am hoping to have lots more people involved. Ideally, I want this to become a volunteer-led, self-sustaining program that will continue to evolve and benefit people long after I leave.

The fall will also bring the opportunity for me to live in this community, to work harder and longer on this, to devote more time and energy to this. Not only will my housing situation make this more feasible, but also my course load. It's amazing to see everything come together, to watch the hand of God and recognize the opportunities unfold.

But if this whole thing falls flat on its face, my joy will not be any less. My God will not be any smaller. My dream will perhaps be scathed, but it will remain. I am only twenty years old, after all. I hope that this is not the best thing I ever do. In fact, I know it won't be.

Life Right Now

It's been a while since I posted anything even remotely current. My life right now feels like a hurricane of activity, and I am terrified of the collateral damage that seems inevitable. Despite the negative connotations of such a metaphor, it excites me more than frightens me. So I guess that's a plus.

The semester is winding down as far as school work goes, yet I somehow seem just as busy as ever. Today marked the turning in of one of my three remaining assignments, a burden which I didn't notice until it was lifted. I have spent the entire semester working, it seems. I have barely kept my head above the workload threatening to drown me, and only now can I see how perilously close I came to such a fate.

Work has been especially, especially busy these last few weeks. With the musical approaching entirely too quickly, it seems that my afternoons are devoted to preparation for the musical or playing catch up on the things which got bumped from the time the musical claimed.

I have decided not to be an resident assistant next semester. Despite the fact that I did not do nearly the job I wish I had done, and I will always regret such a short service with many broken commitments, I feel God tugging me away from the dorm and into Life House more deeply. Plus, without the harness of being an RA I can now do the things which I wanted to do as an RA (the catch-22 of dorm life).

What will I be doing at Life House? Well, honestly, I'm not really sure what it will look like, but I know it will be time consuming. For the past several weeks, I have been going to meetings and brainstorming and praying about a project that I want to start in the neighborhood. A mentoring project. What started as a small idea has grown into a dangerous whirlwind that threatens to plow me over at any moment. Basically, the idea is to partner with the school, the parents, and the existing ministry to provide mentors to kids that Life House already has consistent communication with. I have met with several people, including the principal of the elementary school all of the children attend, and this small idea that the Holy Spirit put on my heart has grown and grown and grown into something that I never saw coming. People have been so incredibly receptive and encouraging, and while it has been a lot (A LOT) of work, it hasn't been an uphill battle in the least. Working out the logistics is a headache after headache affair, but I have had tremendous support. Soon, soon, soon the launch for a summer trial run is approaching. Soon I will be approaching the parents about this idea. I need all the prayer that I can get!

In all of these things, I am so vastly impressed with the work of the Holy Spirit. As much as I'd love to take credit for all this and avoid sounding all new age-y and mystical, I can't. From the very beginning, the Spirit has been guiding me and working on people's hearts. It's an amazing picture. I know that this is where God wants me and this is what he wants me to do, but I can't rule out the possibility that this will fall flat on its face or morph into something entirely different. And I think that I am okay with that. I am trying to be, at least.

God has been teaching me so much in these last weeks. My heart and mind have been torn open and stitched shut, my circumstances have been altered, my expectations entirely shifted. I feel like so much is still up in the air and that few things are certain right now. As much as I hate ambiguity, I see the necessity of this. I am learning to be laid back, to take things as they come, to love people rather than tasks.

Life right now may be full, and it may feel like a hurricane some days, but I am learning so much about the Father and the Spirit and the Son, and I daily find myself more captivated by their work and their character and everything about them. There are so many things I'd love to articulate, so much about my feelings that I'd love to express but they remain simply feelings rushing around my head. This I do know: I dearly, dearly love my Savior, and I am constantly finding myself falling more in love with Him.

Honduras - Schools

Wednesday ushered in my first exposure to international education. Long ago, I dreamed of (felt called to would be a more appropriate description) teaching in a missionary school, so I was anxious for hands on experience. And I definitely got it. My father accompanied the missionary and I to the school. The roads were less smooth, and the route took us up through some poor communities, much like what you would expect to see on late night TV pledge commercials. It was an interesting juxtaposition for a five to ten minute drive - the commercial metropolis was a stone's through away, yet shanties cluttered together in small communities seemed to pervade the miles surrounding the school. Upon arrival, an armed guide suggested I sign in. I took his advice. I met briefly with the principal,and all too soon my father left and I was alone, in a foreign country, unable to speak the native tongue, unable to communicate via phone, and unable to even try to find my way to the house. I had a brief moment of panic, but it was mostly a surreal knowledge. It's so unusual in the States to have any one of those circumstances, let alone all of them.

The principal led me to the director, who introduced me to the teacher for first - third grade. I expected to observe, or help in the classroom. She sent me with the third grade to teach. As I led the students to the playground (the easiest place, in my mind, to work) I was more than a little overwhelmed. Fortunately, the students had worksheets they were supposed to go through. We talked through them, in broken English (I was not so bold - desperate? - as to try communicating in the rusty, extremely elementary Spanish vocabulary that had laid dormant for two years)we worked through them to the best of our ability until recess. I wasn't sure of the difference between recess and lunch (both times seemed characterized by the same activities and food), but at both I heard students playing some version of tag, taunting each other with "Gringa, Gringa." It made me laugh, but I don't think I could've felt any more conspicuous. Thank goodness they liked my eyes (I got several compliments on my blue eyes).

After recess I worked with the second graders, of whom there were several. They were far from fluent, so we accomplished one worksheet with minimal difficulty, but there was no way I would be able to teach them an entire lesson in Science (it was on farming. I tried to demonstrate, but apparently I'm an even worse actor than I remember). I was loosing them, so I got out my camera (and of course had their attention right away). We finished what we were working on, I took a few pictures (they LOVED pictures. a few girls pressed their faces against mine as soon as I took my camera out. guess they've got some experience with the American self-portrait - which I am sure is rather universal, but still...). Before too long, I took them back up and was told to work with the third graders again. I appreciated their fluency so much more, and we were able to get several worksheets done before lunch. I ate lunch with some of my students, then went and sat with the teacher. We talked a little, but mostly I just watched the kids play. They were having so much fun.

After lunch I was given the first graders, who spoke no English. There were only three of them, but they were a handful. I had them for the rest of the day and was given Math and Science books to go over once they had completed spelling. I am not sure what the teacher expected, but in the two hours we were together, almost all of the students finished their spelling, and I considered that a victory. A crucial part of classroom management, I've realized, is speaking the language of the students. The "mom look" - which I've received enough to do a decent impression - is universal, but only as long as the kids think that you'll back it up. About ten minutes before school let out, I gave up and we went outside to play.

I rode the bus home with the students. "Bus" is an exaggeration - it was just a church van, crammed full of students. I got to see a lot of different places in the city as we dropped the students off, and we arrived back at the missionary's house before I knew it. The team was still at the church for the sewing class and medical clinic, and I was exhausted and glad for the alone time. The team was back a few hours later, and we had a delicious dinner and a wonderful evening together.


Friday morning, my Dad spoke at the chapel service of the missionary's daughter's school. The missionary, my father, Anna, Andrea, Alyssa (who taught the sewing class) and I loaded up early Friday morning to head to school. This school was much more structured from the get-go. The campus was neat and tidy and the students were much more calm. The building was simple but decorated tastefully. The entire service was conducted in English, except for the national anthem and the pledge to the flag. Dad's sermon seemed pretty engaging, and after the chapel service we took a tour of the facility. Everything is open and airy, which is nice. The classes are set up with "offices" for the students, which essentially are tables with dividers set up to make it feel almost like a cubical. Because of the curriculum they use, everything is very individualized and all at the pace of each student. In spite of this, the classrooms were still colorful and welcoming. After the tour, I was given the option to stay behind. I was hesitant - the memory of Wednesday was still rather overwhelming and the idea of being stranded at a school with no way of saying that I wanted to leave caused a moment of panic - but the realization that this was my last opportunity won me over and I stayed. After everyone left, I had the opportunity to sit down with the principal and chat. She is an American and supervises only the English education component of the school. When each students graduates, he or she receives a degree recognized by the Honduranean school system and by schools abroad. It's pretty legit. We talked for a while about what her life was like as an American living in Honduras, and it was awesome.

Afterwards she put me in a classroom with the second and third graders. That teacher was so amazing. He was welcoming from the beginning, and he asked me simply to practice conversation with some of his advanced students. I am excellent at speaking English, so I readily agreed. The kids were so much fun! They peppered me with questions, and we talked about so many topics. Soon they asked me about my family, and I pulled my camera out to show pictures. When the camera came out, they all started posing. So goofy. We had been conversing for a while, so I figured we could take a break. The students suggested we go down to the courtyard, and I agreed. We took pictures and went back to work briefly, but soon it was recess. I agreed to play with them, and during an intense game of freeze tag, one of the administrators pulled by aside and politely whispered that we were in a forbidden area. Excellent. We quickly left, and I went back and talked to the teacher, a kind man who was studying foreign language at the university. He spoke excellent English and was very interested in the culture. One of the students came up to me and asked if I liked one of the traditional breakfast-y/snack foods. When I replied I had never tried it, the teacher went to the cafeteria and bought me one! It's been several weeks since I tried it, granted, but I liked it. It was a tortilla with mantequilla and red beans, I think. It made me feel very welcome, and I appreciated the generosity of the teacher.

After recess, I worked with a little boy who was struggling. He was a very cute little boy, but he didn't have a lot of focus or dedication to his work, which was not what I was used to. We worked through the necessary pages with a lot of re-focusing and some mild off-task antics while the teacher was gone. In the hour or so we worked together, he seemed to get a lot done, though I don't know the typical standard. During our time together, it was cool to watch the teacher in action. He used some of the same American classroom management techniques we're learning about in my education class at MSSU, which was super cool. When I asked him about it, he said that it just made sense to use the callbacks, etc. I was pretty impressed with him.

Lunch was delicious - fresh fruit, fresh avocado - mmmmm. It was fun to watch the kids play and laugh. I also got more opportunity to speak with the teacher, which I really enjoyed. It was fun to see him interact with the students during their recess time as well.

After lunch, the students studied in Spanish. A calligraphy teacher came in to instruct them, and the teacher worked on some grading. We talked about American culture for a while (he's really into movies), and then the principal invited me to play with the kindergartners during their recess. I agreed, since my time at the school was drawing to a close.

The kindergartners were a mischievous bunch. I thoroughly enjoyed the few minutes I had the opportunity to spend with them before I had to leave. They loved the camera, of course, and they loved playing with me. They had an awesome tree house that they climbed around fearlessly. What a joy it was to see children play without the cumbersome restriction that the US imposes on recess! It was a wonderful way to end my school days in Honduras.

Honduras - Arrival

Three weeks ago, I was preparing to leave Joplin for Honduras (with a stop in Kansas City for a couple of days). What a strange thought. In some ways, I feel like I returned yesterday. In other ways, three weeks seems to have stretched into a lifetime that now separates me from that experience. However, I did promise that a post would appear relating my experience, and now seems as good a time as any. Since the week that was spent there was rather busy, I think I will just post segments at a time, also to ensure that I don't spend my whole life on one long, boring post that no one will ever read entirely.

The excitement mounted as we drove to the airport in the damp, cold, dawn air. It was almost surreal to think about spending the evening in an entirely different country. Although it was early, we were plenty awake. We met up with the rest of our team in the lobby of MCI - an eclectic group of people that were somehow drawn into the mission of the ministry of one man, his obedience to God, and the products therein. The flights were uneventful, except to mention that we lost some luggage - the box containing the medical supplies and the box containing the sewing supplies. Thankfully, their delay lasted only a day.

We arrived in Honduras around three, I think. I know that our first act upon arrival and clearing customs was to eat Burger King. Naturally it was an excellent introduction to the culture... After BK, one of the women and I did venture to a legitimate Honduranean business - a coffee shop that rivals DD. It was wonderful. The streets on the way to the missionary's home were interesting, although typical of Tegucigalpa (from what I saw). There were no lawns and every house was gated. Though the gates were ornate and beautiful in many cases, they failed to entirely conceal the reminder of their purpose: to keep people out. The streets were narrow and cars were parked on both sides, making some roads a little more treacherous. In my journal, I described it this way: "Tegucigalpa is an odd blend of American 90s culture and Hispanic. The architecture is Hacienda-reminiscent - lots of reds, oranges, and pale yellows. There are no front yards here - only gated patios. The trees are blooming, with palm trees and mango trees mingling with bright purple flowered trees and trees with no flowers, just vibrant green leaves. It creates a wonderfully picturesque scene."

The missionary resides on a dead end. The front gates of the houses form a continuous wall on either side of the street, replacing anything that would be considered a front lawn with colored concrete. While the house seemed small by American standards, it was more than adequate for the purposes of the family. It even had a small pool (which seemed like more of a baptistery) and a wonderful deck (for lack of a better term) with comfortable lawn furniture (a paradise to reflect, journal, and read). It was also where we ate our meals.

Anna and I were shown to a room with two sets of bunk beds with the two other girls on the trip. The room functions as an office for the missionary when there aren't visitors, and it is right next to the missionary's daughter's room (a fourteen year old who could talk from now into eternity, and wished to especially in the later hours of the night). It was clean and roomy, although four suitcases definitely cluttered it up quickly.

After getting settled in, we met to talk about logistics, then we went to pick up supplies to replace what had been delayed. This included a frightening road trip to pick up a woman working with us for the week, a trip to the mall, and a trip to Walmart.Two rules govern the roads of Honduras:

1. Don't do anything dumb in front of the police
2. Biggest car wins

A much simpler system that we Americans have. We returned home for a much-anticipated dinner, where we met a wonderful woman who works with the ministry and lives across the street. My parents were staying with her (given the constraints on space) and my sister spent the summer learning Spanish from her. Adjectives that spring to mind when thinking of her: strong, determined, practical, passionate. She was so fun and so funny, and she reminded me a lot of my mother's mother, which was wonderful.

The evening was over before it got too late, as we were all pretty wiped out from our early start. Also, Wednesday morning came quite early, and I was glad for the extra rest of an early bed-time.

Running (and other Highlights of My Break)

Running is inherently introspective, I think. Of course, this post is the epilogue to a three mile run, so it will be a very reflective post.

Today was my first run in several weeks. Since January 31, in fact. There is nothing like the first run after a long break. It both harder and easier than anticipated. Suddenly all of the forgotten perks of running come rushing back - the sound of feet hitting the pavement, the feel of the wind rushing against the face, the feel of endorphins supplementing focus and determination. Today's run brought all of those pleasantly rushing back.

Normally I run alone. I like to run alone. I like to think and go at my own pace, rather than talk and worry about keeping pace with others. I'm an introspective runner if ever there was one. I can't even focus on the music I am listening to. Such sensations simply wash over me, occasionally rushing to the forefront of my consciousness for a brief span of seconds.

Today I had the great pleasure of running with my favorite companion, Jack. Jack is my beautiful black lab. He is around five years old, with all the energy of a new puppy. The idea of a run threw him into a fit of excitement. It took nearly the entire first mile of the run to calm him down enough to get into a comfortable pace for both of us. I am not so foolish as to pay no regard to the ankle which has kept me off of the road for the better part of two months, so the going was a little slow.

Regardless, it was a glorious run through my neighborhood. Even though it is ridiculously hill-filled (somehow the route that has become my favorite is mostly uphill), the strain felt good on my legs that were still suffering from the effects of a day of traveling.

After the first two miles, I began to feel the effects of the running sabbatical and switched to interval running for the last mile. Jack definitely appreciated the switch. My poor exhausted puppy. I have no doubt that he loved every minute of it. It's interesting how something so simply must have created so much joy for him.

Besides my run, my break so far has been pretty run of the mill. Slept till nine, chiro appt (found out Kurt left - still processing my grief. At least I'll always have Dr. Scott), went to Borders for a closing sale and bought fabulous books for even better prices, and went to Honduras for a week. The rest of the time will be divided into homework, seeing friends from long ago, and enjoying my favorite parts of Kansas City, including the chance to visit camp on Saturday.

I briefly mentioned Honduras. Soon enough this blog will be updated on that experience. But that's enough for today.

Honesty.

Some days I feel more acutely aware of my own flaws than others. In some ways, today has been such a day.

As my stress level increases, I find myself become less and less gracious and more whine-y, for lack of a better term. My ability to relate to people on a relational level all but vanishes behind the shadows of the enormous to-do list taking up residence in the forefront of my brain. Even God sometimes must submit to the demands of my schedule.

I hate that. I know it isn't right. I know that I serve a God who is so much bigger than any demand that could ever be placed on my time, so much more important than any single assignment or task or grade. Yet he takes his place somewhere in the bottom half of the task list, patiently waiting for my overwhelmed heart to seek solace in him.

Overwhelmed. I've been using that word a lot lately. I don't even have a firm grasp on what it means. I've started to simply use it to express the inexpressible ball of lead that has made its home somewhere between my stomach and my mouth, nestling near the bottom of my trachea, meddling where it shouldn't and dropping to the pit of my stomach as it pleases. As much as I try to give it to God, it is content to stay right where it has been residing for far to long. I so desire for its removal, yet it stays.

A good friend reminded me tonight that I am in a time that I will not remember nostalgically, but simply as a time when God was preparing me for something greater. I long to fully believe that. Yet as the days dwindle and the airport looms ahead, I find myself distracted, unfocused on the prize. Perhaps it is the sheer amount of unpleasant tasks that stand between us, but I still feel as though I should feel something. I am beyond excited about the anticipation my little sister feels. Reading her blog post on the article fills my heart with a big sister's pride - to know her heart and see her serving God is bliss. I am excited for her, but strangely empty with regards to my experience.

So much of me longs to have an explanation for this. Try as I might, I cannot see beyond the end of the stressful season. I feel each day pass - seemingly taking an eternity, yet gone in a blink. I feel the discouragement and the anticipation of simply being provided for and taken care of for a few days, but no more.

It is on days like these that I long for an emotional response. As a whole, I tend toward the analytical side, reserving my tears (generally) for situations that warrant frustration or anger. I can't force myself to feel something or even to see beyond the logical on some days. I feel drawn to work and productivity and see relationships as a means to an end, rather than a joy. Don't get me wrong, I do value friendship but I often do not pursue friendship for the joy that it will later bring.

It is on days like these that I long for the loving heart of Christ which so many around me need to see and feel. I long to be the embracer, the one with the perfect hug and comment, to be used more by the Holy Spirit. I can only pray that He would continue His work in me on days like this. And on every day. And I can look forward to the glorification that stands in the distance, the final perfection, the beginning of a Heavenly Kingdom.

I think that sometimes I forget that I am supported and shaped by something much more than just my education, my age, even my community. I have been blessed with a group of people that encourages me to pursue growth, provides for me in every conceivable way, and that inspires me to persevere, and I know that I don't thank them enough for all they do for me. That group is my family.
More and more I am convinced of what a blessing and rarity my family is, and I am daily more grateful for them. Please don't hear this as me bragging, but let this be a thank you to them. These people are particularly on my mind because I have recently been reminded, either by their physical presence or a telephone call that they are so integral to my growth:

My grandparents are some of the most Godly people I know. The more I get to know them and see them as people besides just grandparents, the more that I see what loving and compassionate people they are. I have been inspired so much by my grandmother's example as a woman who loves God and serves Him. I hope that if God calls me to be a wife, I can serve my husband as gracefully as she serves her's and support him as well. My grandfather is a wonderful example of a man that lives to glorify God. At eighty plus years old, he is still active in the church as the minister of encouragement, taking his experience with shaky health and using it as a motivation to serve others. I am so proud of his preaching ministry and his example of a life lived in pursuit of God. I take great pleasure in growing into a young woman who brings them joy. I hope that someday I am as open to God's will and timing as they are.
My father is one of my favorite people in the entire world. He lives to glorify God and he is still my hero, even though I am well past the days of being his princess. He still looks for ways to provide for me and to show me that he loves me. He is without a doubt my favorite person to cook for because I know that he appreciates it so much. His dedication to God and his faithfulness to God's calling is such a lesson to me in the way that God works. In so many instances I have seen God's hand in his life, and I love the way that he leads our family.
My mother is also a rare gem. I admire and respect her so very much, more than I think I could ever articulate. She has had such a different life than what I have or will have, and her reliance on God and trust in Him makes me marvel. I love the talks that we can have and the wisdom that she always imparts. She has taught me so much about life and about being a woman who serves God. If I ever have kids, she is the model of the mother I want to be. There was never any doubt in my mind that she loved (loves) us, and that she wants nothing but the best for us - that she would literally do anything for us. I love her vulnerability and even watching God work in her life brings me joy.
One of my greatest desires is to become a woman that makes my parents proud, the woman that they want me to be.
My brother is yet another very influential person in my life. I admire him and respect him more than nearly anyone else. He has such strong leaderships skills and desires so much to serve God, and he is one of my go-to problem solvers. He married a fantastic woman, whom I love very dearly. She has also been a great asset and encouragement, and I love getting to know her better and developing the relationship more.
I have three wonderful sisters that have shaped so much of who I am that it would take hours to elaborate. Lately, I have been especially encouraged by Tina and Anna.
Tina is one of the people I victimize most with my verbal processing. She has such a different perspective on things and is so much less impulsive and dumb than I. I really appreciate the insight that she gives me and that she lets me talk so much. She has pushed me in my growth towards God so much, especially in my time since Ozark. Being at school together has brought a unique opportunity to see each other in a new light and watching her pursue God and figure out what he's calling her to has been marvelous. I love the long drives that we get to take together to visit family because they are always a catalyst for great conversation. I am grateful for the ways that she has invested in me.
My younger sister is the sweetest fourteen year old ever. I appreciate so much how our relationship is growing as she grows up, and I am especially grateful for how open we can be with each other. I very much look forward to going to Honduras with her in just over two weeks. She has a heart for people and watching her develop her God-given passions is such a joy to me.

There are many fabulous people that I have failed to mention. Even if I had all the time in the world, I doubt I could do justice to all the people who continually pour into me or even all of the family that I am beyond grateful for.

Thirty Years

My favorite classes always seem to be exegetical. I love to get into the Word of God and dissect it. There is a great sense of revelation and wisdom that comes from the pages of Scripture and I love having the assignment of reading the Bible.
In my recent reading of John and the notes that accompanied the passage we were discussing, we were talking about Jesus' ministry. There's some debate as to how long it was, and I won't bore you with the details except to say that I fall into the school of thought that allots three years to his ministry. Another debate lies around Jesus' age, but for the purposes of this short post we will say that he was around thirty when he began his ministry.
Jesus spent thirty years of his life preparing for three years of ministry. Just three years. I spend so much time and thought complaining that I have to prepare for 5-6 years for my education degree, yet Jesus prepared for thirty. Of course if you count the k-12 years, and even earlier, my totally preparation amounts to around twenty years, but I will probably teach for at least twenty years.
There is speculation as to how Jesus spent those thirty years. Very little detail is given, and other than the idea that he probably worked in his father's carpentry shop, there aren't any solid theories. I can't imagine what it would be like to be making chairs and farm equipment while knowing that you are the Son of God. I feel so trapped sometimes, because I know that my preparation will take a while and I feel so ready to be actually doing what God has gifted me in, yet Jesus had a much higher calling and spent so much more time in waiting.
I think that thought lends more importance to the idea of preparation and of patience for God's timing. At least for me, I have realized that this time is about more than just cramming my head full of knowledge so that my life can begin. There is so much more going on, more than just knowing how to teach, but learning to depend on God and feel the Spirit move. God doesn't design everyone's ministry this way, but for mine this is definitely true. And I realize that I have the opportunity to be involved in other ministries, and I am, but it all feels so transitory. A part of me wants to fast forward five or ten years, but I am constantly reminded how necessary and fleeting these years truly are. With the example of Jesus to draw encouragement from, I will just have to learn to wait on God. His plans for me are much greater than my own, and I have to trust that He is using this time to get me ready to achieve those dreams, and that He will continue to prepare me long after my formal education ends.


On another note, I am so grateful to have a Godly father with whom I can discuss these things. I love getting older and learning more and conversing with him about these things. He is so wise and so encouraging!

Thoughts on Fridays.

Fridays are inherently good.

Classes rushed past, as always, and as I walked out of my 11:25 at 11:41, I felt free. I stopped over in the Student Center to check my mail - and lo and behold, there sat a package from Amazon. I love getting new books. Today's choice is "The Cost of Discipleship" by Dietrich Bonhoeffer. I am so excited to read it, as I've heard fantastic things about the book and very much respect Bonhoeffer.

This Friday brought with it a wonderful opportunity: to go swimming. I have not swam in months. Oh, how I missed it. When I swim, I feel the big-ness of God. There is something inexplicable that happens in the gentle rise and fall of the water, as I rush back and forth. There is a pleasure which I cannot quite articulate, a calm that I wish that I could put in a bottle. Exhausting as it is, the joy of it makes me yearn for more. It is bizarre to me that something as simple as swimming can have such an effect. Anxieties which I didn't know I was carrying fall to the ground as I encounter the magnitude of my Heavenly Father. This fascination bewilders me. It so frustrates me that I can't explain why or how or what triggers this divine encounter, why going from end to end of a pool brings about such an awesome experience. Even running does not compare with what I feel when I swim, though I find great peace in that as well.
Despite these facts, I still love God best in the stillness.

Psalm 27:13-14

I seem to have so much to say as of late. The snow brings out a more reflective side of me, I suppose.

But today I am just so impressed by the goodness of God that I had to share my thoughts.

Last night, I was flipping through Psalms and my eyes came to rest on Psalm 27. Psalm 27 is one of my favorite Psalms, though I cannot articulate why. However, the last two verses of the Psalm arrested my attention:

I am still confident of this:
I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.
Wait for the Lord;
Be strong and take heart,
Wait for the Lord.

I have been worried about so much in the last few days, and that simple reminder was just what I needed to finally rest my mind. I am just in awe of how it speaks to my heart in ways that are inexplicable.

Today has brought so much relief and my mind keeps running back to those reassuring verses. God is so GOOD! As I reflect on the news that I have received and the beautiful snow, I just seem unable to think of anything else. Today has brought wonderful time to talk with friends, opportunity to finally get things done that have been long put off, and the reminder that I serve a powerful God - a God who invented the snow (something so small yet so amazing!). This week has undoubtedly been a lesson in faith and in reassurance and in the goodness of God. And God is good.

Observations

Sometimes confrontation and vulnerability is good.

Also, this quote seems to be sticking with me this week:
"Prosperity knits a man to the world. He feels that he is making his place in it, while really it is finding its place in him."
- CS Lewis

Community is delightful. In particular, getting snowed into a mansion with fifteen of your friends is fantastic. I highly recommend it, especially if you have a bounce house.

Just as "when it rains, it pours" when it snows, it blizzards. Ten years of living in Missouri has taught me to downplay every weather source. This time I should not have.

Also when it rains, it truly does pour. This week has been rather overwhelming.

Surprisingly, this is one of my most popular blog posts.
http://natashaohmart.blogspot.com/2010/11/thankfulness-and-christmas.html

On a related note, I learned how to check stats for this site.

As I sit in my warm dorm room and reflect on the past days and weeks, I can't help but smile. So much has happened, and I feel like I've grown in some ways. I love typing away at my computer and marveling at God's working in my life. I still see so much that we must work out together, but it is exciting to notice progress.

I love the Gospel of John. It is fantastic.

I love getting to know people better and realizing that we are all human and we all have the same insecurities, no matter the image we project. It is nice to have someone to be in the trenches with, fighting the war to become more like Jesus.

Obviously this has been an eclectic post of thoughts swimming around in my mind, but I am just so content right now that my mind cannot help but to wander. After a weekend of being anxious and overwhelmed, it is nice to experience the peace of God, which transcends all human understanding.

Washington University.

Sometimes it is nice to be a little pretentious. Even better, though, is to be around a person who appreciates that side of me. This weekend has been so incredible so far. I've missed Katie so much, and I love seeing what her life is like on a daily basis. It is something so special to be able to walk in someone else's shoes. It lends invaluable new insight into their reactions, their personality, their future even. And that, in a nutshell, has been what is so special about this weekend (aside from the Katie herself!).
To give some background, Katie and I have been friends for about five years now. We met in Antique Photo, summer 2006. In the long, boring days of Antique we forged a friendship that extended beyond our first job. We've experienced so much together, and it is hard to describe our friendship without getting a little sentimental. Suffice to say, I feel like Katie understands me better than even most of my friends. We love to laugh together, have the same sense of humor, have very similar personalities, and share a bond deeper than all of those - we LOVE the TV show 'How I Met Your Mother.'
This weekend has brought an opportunity for me to visit Katie at Washington University. I hitched a ride from Joplin with a girl in my dorm, which was fantastic. It was a great four and half hours of wonderful conversation and laughter. We arrived at WashU around dinnertime, and it was so great to see Katie's apartment. Cute! After a short nap, Katie took me to a wonderful on-campus restaurant called ibby's. It is definitely a nicer place on campus, complete with fine dining options. After a very filling dinner (I had chicken and gnocchi, and Katie had steak, we shared chocolate mousse for dessert. Mmmm.) we explored the campus. It is a beautiful campus, filled with traditional architecture and practically radiating history and tradition. It was a beautiful night for a walk, and the campus was still covered by snow. Beautiful. After a tour that made me a little jealous for Ozark, we returned to Katie's apartment and start on homework. Something about being in the same room made Friday night homework less miserable. Finally I could keep my eyes open no longer, and thus Saturday morning was ushered in.
We slept in - it was glorious - and caught breakfast at the dining hall. Delicious omlettes filled us up, and we set off for Forest Park. Forest Park is so beautiful, especially with snow on the ground. The snow was fast melting, but we caught some really amazing pictures. We trekked up to the art gallery, and the view was stunning. The museum sits on a hill that looks down upon this beautiful lake with decorative white walkways and bridges. After taking some pictures, we entered the museum and saw several exhibits - European, American, Asian, Egyptian (mummies! it was super cool), and several ancient cultures. It was wonderful, especially because that is a part of my passions that is so rarely fed. Examining the paintings, searching for meaning, recognizing artists - it was all so fantastic. We went from the gallery to the mall, in order to find a suit for Katie. It proved more difficult than anticipated, and while she tried on option after option, I tried on prom dresses! It was so fun, and it helped both of us relax some, I think. Especially because we finally settled on an option. We took the metro back to campus in time to nap before dinner at ibby's again (you'd be exhausted too). We dressed up for dinner, and enjoyed a dinner of a butternut squash ravioli and a delicious hamburger, followed again by chocolate mousse. Mmmmm. A rather chilly walk brought us back to the apartment for homework, Celebrity Rehab, and HGTV. And of course, playing with Katie's hamsters. Fabulous Saturday. I feel like tomorrow will be filled with homework, but that may be alright given the amount of walking today required. It'll be good to just chill.
I am so excited to be here with Katie. It's always awesome to be with someone with whom you are completely comfortable and have no reservations. I had so much that I had to talk through with her, and I value her opinion and listening so much! I love getting to know this side of her, and I'm honestly excited to be able to go to a class with her Monday morning!