I Could've Been Caught in That Fire, But Now the Fire's Inside Me

It's dramatic, but a lyric near that played at church today and really struck me. So I am stealing it to title the first blog post in a looonnnggg time. I am not sure anyone will even read this! I have been writing, but it is so hard to edit things that are recognizable out of stories, so they've been staying safe in my notebook.

Today was different. Today I needed to publish, if for no other reason than the ability to look back on this exact web page in five, ten, fifteen years.


I knew this year would be difficult. As soon as I got my class list, I started praying over my students intensely - especially one or two. As I page through my journal entries, I am struck by things like:

"Last week I commented to Sarah that I thought my emotions were broken. Tonight... it occurred to me that I have been operating in survival mode. There's so much in my students' lives that I can't fix." (from an entry dated 12/6)

"I've spent a lot of time dreading 26. I even joked I was skipping my birthday this year. I think it's because my life is so different than what I imagined/expected it would be like - single, childless, working 2 jobs, thoroughly obsessed with my dog. But today I made I joke that I was re-doing 25 and it hit me. 25 was a hard year. I have struggled mightily with so much this year - relationships, boundaries, career challenges, restlessness. There have been incredible highs - deaning Middler for the first time - but some pretty steep valleys as well...It was a hard, hard year. But it was also a growing year. In the midst of hurt and pain - those times of total shatter - God is willing and able to make something abundantly more beautiful, joyful, and life-filled." (from an entry dated 12/22)

"It's been a month of challenge and seeing all the places I need to surrender to Jesus, but it's also been an incredible month of journeying to and pursuing the God that is everlasting and restores all things. I see his faithfulness in everything, especially his timing." (from an entry dated 1/18).

"But this year, as I read over these passages (Luke 22:39-46 and Hebrews 4:14-16) in preparation for Easter, I find myself feeling, so keenly, the words. I can imagine the anguish. Although I (obviously) have never faced anything remotely similar to what Jesus was facing, I have felt the pangs of praying earnestly, longing for God to show up, waiting desperately for a sign, and being bitterly disappointed to only find silence... I need that great High Priest. One who understands and sympathizes rather than constantly measuring and finding me wanting. I need that Savior. I need Him on days when my temper is short. I need Him on days when my finances run dry. I need Him on days when I wonder when my life will "start." I need Him as I face uncertainty after uncertainty when all that is sure in this world is sin and pain." (an entry dated 4/7).

So there's your frame of reference for the past few months. Honestly, I feel like I am constantly reflecting on God's faithfulness (in my thoughts, in previous entries on this blog, etc). As May starts to come into view, I can't help but rejoice in that faithfulness. As hard as this year has been - for a variety of reasons - it could have been so much worse without God, without His preparation.

I came across a quote in my devotions that read "Mountain tops inspire us, but valleys mature us." I have had mountain tops this year, but oh how the valleys have changed me!

I think about how a very uncomfortable situation last summer led me to seek counseling from a local pastor. He recommended a book that changed my life! (Boundaries: When to Say Yes, How to Say No to Take Control of Your Life - Henry Cloud) It enabled me to see better boundaries in that particular situation and radically grew my ability to see and implement healthy boundaries across the board: in relationships, in work-related responsibilities, in finances.

That situation taught me that responsibility is not putting up with all difficulties in the interest of preserving peace or relationship or a short time frame. Responsibility is being wise about what you say yes to.

As uncomfortable as last summer was, it was invaluable in preparing me - or helping me - to seek the right preparation for this year.

As I've learned to say no and set boundaries at work, I have re-discovered myself - my passions, my voice, the things I truly enjoy, besides being a teacher or a camp worker. As I have made time for other things, I have found moments of true and perfect peace, reveling in God and His creation and how God created me.

I have learned bravery and contentment, even in the midst of uncertainty and restlessness. I've learned to listen for the Holy Spirit by abiding in and memorizing Scripture (a lesson I have a feeling I will re-learn time and again).

As I look ahead into this summer, I am overwhelming excited. Not only is it the season of many of my favorite things : camp, fresh-starts, adventures, tans, flip-flops, playing outside, free time, swimming, grilling out; now I also see it as a time of great preparation. God was faithful as He prepared me last year. What will this year bring?


"When we are who we are called to be, we will set the world ablaze."
-St. Catherine of Siena




And just FYI - I love my class this year. They have been a challenge, but they are some of the sweetest and loving-est children I have ever had the joy to work with. They always make my laugh and smile, and they truly are gems.

Grandpa

A few weeks ago, I had the opportunity to spend a weekend with my family. We gathered together around my grandfather, and we reminisced and laughed and sang and prayed. As we each left, we made a point to say good-bye to Grandpa.

It was an emotional weekend. Walking away from the bed after the last hug was probably the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Tears poured openly and the sobbing didn't slow until I was well on my way back to Joplin. The doctors had discussed with us the situation; they expected him to live a few more weeks. Grandpa didn't want to pursue any treatment, and with each labored breath it was clear how uncomfortable he was. The hospital staff worked hard to alleviate his discomfort, but he was restless to be with Jesus. His death is a celebration of a life of serving Jesus. He has crossed the finish line boldly. He ran the race with perseverance and endurance and grace. I could not be more proud of the man that I get to call Grandpa.

If I had to capture this man in one word - if one word could effectively summarize everything that he poured his 86 years into (which would be a failed endeavor, I realize) - I would choose faithfulness. My Grandpa faithfully pursued Jesus all of his days. It is incredible to hear stories of his life and the faith that he had. In so many situations, I am awed by his tenacity and reliance on Jesus.

Even in these last few months, he has been so faithful to Jesus. He gradually lost the ability to do normal day-to-day tasks but he continued to sing praises to God. Even when his voice became weak and couldn't support his singing, praises were still on his lips.

Grandpa has become for me the picture of praising God in every circumstance. My memories of my grandfather are interlaced with hymns and pictures of ministry. It seems like every meal we ate together ended with him singing. Some songs were simply from his childhood favorites. Most songs were hymns that he treasured. I am so honored and blessed to be a part of the legacy of a man so devoted to glorifying God and serving him faithfully. He spent years preaching and teaching about the Word of God. When his days behind the pulpit ended, he took up a ministry of encouragement and writing. Even two weeks before his death, while he was in the hospital, he took the time to write a final article for the church newsletter - an article that focused not on his limitations and pain, but on the joy of finally seeing Jesus. After a lifetime of faithfulness, I can't imagine a better reward.

My grandfather's faithfulness has inherently placed such a high standard on my own life. Standing beside his bed a few weeks ago, I was struck by the great privilege of being related to a man who had spent so much of his life working for the kingdom. The legacy that he leaves is not one of brokenness and discouragement, but of challenge and faith. I want to conduct myself in a manner that honors his choices and sacrifices, a manner that prioritizes the kingdom and glories God. I want my life to be a legacy of faithfulness and love for my great God.

Life.

It is such an incredible thing to see God moving. I know that God is always at work, but what a privilege it is to be able to recognize His Spirit so tangibly! In so many ways, I am in this incredible season of reaping the harvest that has been sown. And this harvest is not something that I can take any glory for - it is completely owing to the dozens of people who have gone before me. It is their hard labor, their faith, that makes it possible for me to have the joy of reaping the harvest.

And what a joy it is! I know that these memories of when God was so clearly glorified here in my life will sustain me in the years to come when I am in the season of planting the harvest. What an exciting thing to be on this side of things though!

And not only do I see it around me, I see it in me. I feel God working things out in my heart. I feel His joy and His love and His passion consuming me in new ways. I feel I am diving into more of His heart. What an incredible feeling! The more that I see Him move, the more deeply I long to know Him. And despite the ridiculous class/work schedule that this semester boasts, the more that I want to be involved in what He is doing. I want to pursue what He is doing in other things too - the other ministries my friends are involved in, the other ministries I hear about. I am so in love with God that it doesn't matter what it is, I want to hear what He is doing!

I have been reading about Amy Carmichael lately. What an incredible woman of God she was! Reading about her pursuit of Christ has brought so many things into sharper focus for me. She gave up everything to go where Christ led her: she broke so many expectations and social codes, she faced so much criticism, and yet she went. And this book is so bluntly honest about her feelings and her struggles. I love it. She writes about her frustrations with where she felt God was leading her and the people who tried to contradict it. One of my favorite things she brought out thus far was the tension between how we live and how we should live, as Christians. People were objecting to the how hard she was pushing herself for the ministry, and she made the point that "Satan is so much more in earnest than we are - he buys up the opportunity while we are wondering how much it will cost." BAM! Convicted. And I realize that boundaries and stuff are important to prevent burnout or whatever, but this is a really interesting point to ponder. It makes me want to seize more of what God lays at my doorstep - to push myself harder to glorify God (within the context of boundaries that guard who He has created me to be). But our God is in the business of stretching people, and I am so excited for Him to stretch me into the most God-glorifying version of myself.

How great is it that God knows the most awesome version of who I could be - the fullest version of myself! The more that God changes me, the more that I feel that He's weeding out who I am not so that I become more of me! I feel like I am learning who I am because of who He's created me to be. It's freaking awesome!

One of the greatest responsibilities and privileges I have is to oversee the tutoring program at a local ministry. It's small - about ten students - but God is moving. I have been involved with this ministry for the length of my college career but just recently it was thrown into my lap. I went from being a volunteer to being a director of sorts, and the transition has been more or less overwhelming. In the past five months, however, I have seen some great opportunities arise.

I've watched the program grow from the ground up. None of the students that I tutored in the past years is involved anymore; its all new students and new tutors. The classrooms have changed as well - not in their physical location, but in the room layout and purposes. Last semester was all about these transitions.

But this semester? This semester promises great things. God is already working in such obvious ways. I have been able to meet with people and establish curriculum that will astronomically benefit most of these students. I have been able to establish connections between the ministry and the school - connections that enable the ministry to access academic records. I have watched relationships grow, and I've had the opportunity to sit down with these college aged tutors and ask them to intentionally insert themselves as role models and helpers in the students' lives.

But it honestly is not about what I've done. All I do is lay groundwork. I establish the system so that the volunteers can work. I watch them pour into these students and get little in return, especially in the way of gratitude. I watch them sacrifice precious time to pour into these little ones that are so near and dear to the Father's heart, and I am humbled that I get to be a part of it.

I am far from the leader that I should be, but by the grace of God things are happening. I've been purposely vague in discussing this ministry because of the delicate matter of the subject - my first priority is to protect the kids. But God is moving in mighty ways, and I find myself daily experiencing this. Lately, its been most tangible in the attacks I find the devil attempting. But I see it in the conversations I have with parents, in the interactions I have with the kids, and I see it in the commitment and passion of my volunteers. And the real point of what this is, the real reason that nothing that I do truly matters is because it is all for the sake of the glory and honor and power of God. If I lose everything, pursuing that end I still will have won.

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'

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.

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.

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!