Count-down to Kenya

In a little over three weeks I will be boarding a plane at SEATAC bound for Kenya.  I am struggling to place words on all of the emotions churning inside, but I will do my best to do that here as I give you a run-down of what God has been doing in my life the past few months.

God has been working on my heart in a serious way this past year.  Starting with a complete break-down of everything I have built myself to be, God has since been rebuilding a better version (well, at least I hope it’s a better version!).  Attending the School of Spiritual Direction (SSD) with Larry Crabb has played a big part in reshaping my theology and understanding of my purpose on this earth.  I am slowly beginning to grasp what it means to “live for His Glory”, and that’s through authentic relationships with God and with others.   I must say it’s a lot easier to engage in conversations that matter with people who are in a space (such as SSD) designed to facilitate such encounters, but I’ve seen a glimpse of what relationships can be like and I am encouraged to continue pursuing them in “the real world”.

I’ve been fluctuating between great excitement and extreme dread the past few months.  I go through thoughts about how I can be a relational vessel to the children and the staff at the orphanage, and how I can really help there, and then I have fears about getting malaria or bitten by a black mamba, or the worst fear of all—God will call me to this orphanage in Kenya FULL TIME!

Most of my excitement focuses on the kids.  I can’t wait to wrap my arms around all of the little black bodies I met last April, and the new ones I haven’t met.  I am overjoyed to begin working with Teddy and the other severe needs kids on communicating (thanks to my friend Shannon for instilling the belief that I can help in this area with her and others as resources back in the States).  I am anticipating helping in the kitchen and building relationships with the cooks while humbly serving the children.  I am grateful to be in a Christian environment with others who share the same beliefs as I.  This is my great excitement.

And then some doubts creep up.  I don’t know about you, but when I think of Missionaries, I think of people who feel a strong “calling” to go to another country and speak the Gospel; they are fearless people eager to go where God tells them.  None of that fits me.  I didn’t hear an audible voice telling me to go to Kenya—God just shut all the other doors of options for me.  Yes, I love the kids at the orphanage and the people who run it, but I don’t feel like I belong there.  I don’t have an overabundant urge to witness to the heathens—I just want to love people.  I am full of fear and doubts, but I am willing to go where I believe God is leading—not eager, just willing.  But what have I to offer?  As all the money needed to get me to Kenya and pay for my basic needs worth it?  What can I give to the people there that someone else more qualified can’t give in my stead and in a mightier way?  And what if God’s leading results in another year like my time in Mexico?  Thinking about having another few years like last year is terrifying.  I don’t feel capable of surviving those struggles let alone flourishing in the midst of those trials.  Yet I know that God can and will use my inadequacy.  I’m coming to realize that God wants to use my weaknesses more than my strengths because then He gets all the glory—it’s nothing I have to offer besides my heart and my willingness.  I choose to trust God’s plans for me because of his promise in Jeremiah 29:11. 

God is merciful, and in my times of greatest doubt, He brings much needed encouragement and a reminder that He is directing my path and I can rest in that.  Despite not working much the past few months, God is providing everything I need for my trip.  I am overwhelmed at the support of family, friends, and people I don’t even know who have donated money for my trip.  My room and board (I will be living and eating on-sight with the kids) is paid for, and I have purchased a 32GB iPad 3 with the funds provided from your donations to be used with the special needs kids and the kids.  

Through all of you, God has affirmed my decision to work at Rehema In Step Orphanage in Kitale, Kenya, at least for three months to start.  Words can never fully express my thanks, and so I will try to upload photos of the children, my work with the special needs kiddos, and just life at the orphanage so you can see what I am doing in addition to blogging.  I covet your prayers for safe travels, safety while there, and God’s continued direction and leading while I am there—is this something God wants me to be a part of long term? 

General itinerary for those of you interested:

Ø  Leave SEATAC 1:15pm 1/6/13

Ø  Two hour layover in Amsterdam

Ø  Arrive in Nairobi 8:25pm 1/7/13—

Ø  Catch a flight the next morning to Kitale (or Eldoret, a town nearby) and drive to children’s home

Ø  Total travel time is about two full days

Holy Lego Bricks

Legos are awesome.  With a little imagination and a bucket full of plastic interlocking bricks, anything is possible.  But Legos are no fun individually.  One brick does not create a space ship or a dinosaur or a car.  Legos are best used in large quantities.

I believe we as Christians are “Holy Lego Bricks”.  In isolation, we cannot be a part of God’s kingdom on earth.  Together we can be built into a massive structure that is God’s design. 

We are relational beings and intended for community.  Yet one of the inherent dangers of us coming together like Legos is that we tend to build fortresses that keep Christians together and keep others out.  As “Holy Lego Bricks” we need to focus on being bridges and off-shoots that reach into the world.  We are still connected to other Christians who encourage and challenge us, but we are reaching beyond our own needs to love the people of this world.  God’s design is so much grander than a few Lego castles.  I believe it’s more like a network of bricks that spread in all directions while staying attached to one another and the green Lego Base (of which I will take the liberty to call God).

And just as a new creation sometimes requires dismantling an older structure for parts, so God will move His “bricks” around to better build His Kingdom.

With this new-found "Lego knowledge", I’m pondering where I am in God’s Lego Kingdom—am I safely tucked away in a wall of a fortress, at the top of a high tower far away from the Base, branching out from the structure, or sitting off by myself unattached?  Where are you?

I Am the Eldest Son

My mom just finished reading The Prodigal God by Timothy Keller with her small group, and my pastor talked about the concept today at church; I can be dense at times, but I’m getting the hint from God that I need to think on this topic a bit.

The full version of the story can be found in Luke 15:11-32, but most of us know the story well enough or are too lazy to look it up, so let me recap the major details:  A guy had two sons, “A” the eldest and “B” the youngest; “B” wanted his inheritance early, squandered it, returned home with his tail between his legs and his dad threw a party for him; “A” stayed at home and played the good son and was pissed off when “B” came back. 

The younger son gets all the attention, probably because the story is mostly about him and Sunday School teaches us not to be like that kid, but if we are, God will still take us back.  While I can sympathize with elements of the story, I’ve always applied it to others and not myself.  I never went through an extremely rebellious phase, I’ve always been good with money, and I never wanted to leave home (look where that got me…).  Perhaps this is why God has brought the story back to my attention from a different angle.

I am the epitome of the eldest son… well, what he represents anyway… obviously I’m not a boy, I come from a large family, and I’m the youngest, but I digress…  There’s a lot of joking in my family about how I’m the "favorite daughter" and the "perfect child".  My parents are proud of me.  I have avoided many of the pit-falls that my siblings found.  I obey my parents (for the most part), I’m a hard worker,  I read my bible and speak “Christianese” and help at church, I do my best to lead a biblical life, I read Christian books and attend conferences on how to love God and people better…  To borrow a phrase from a dear friend, I have become a “human doer” not a “human being”.  And to be honest, sometimes I get a little miffed when a new believer gets more attention than me when I work so hard to be such a good Christian.  When I really focus in on the story of lost son in the bible, I find myself empathizing with the older son when he lays into his dad about never being celebrated and how unfair it is that his younger brother gets all the attention for being bad.  I do an internal fist pump and a think, “Yeah! Preach it brother!”.

But this story isn’t about life-style choices, it’s about our hearts.  The father didn’t possess the hearts of either of his sons in the beginning.  Through losing everything, the younger son realized all he truly wanted was the heart of his father and for his father to have his.  Through maintaining everything, the eldest son didn’t realize what he lacked.

I don’t want to be the eldest son.  I don’t want to miss my Father’s heart, nor do I want to withhold mine from Him.   

Pulling the Trigger

For the past few days a woodpecker has been flying into the window of my parent’s living room.  It hits the window pretty hard, and then scampers off.  Woodpeckers can take a beating because of the way they’re designed, but this bird seemed suicidal.  Yesterday it hit the window harder than ever, left parts of itself on the window and laid on the front porch, twitching slightly.  My immediate thought was to put the bird out of its misery—find a BB gun and go throw it in the woods.  The wisdom of my mother was to let it be (although I think part of that was because my nephew and niece were over and she didn’t want me to kill the bird in their presence).  I wanted to end the suffering.

That got me thinking about how I respond to problems in my life and in others lives’.  I’m a fixer.  You got a problem, I will fix it.  I don’t like to watch people suffer, so if I can help in any way I will.  But after spending a week with Larry Crabb and other lonely souls longing for authentic relationships (School of Spiritual Direction), I’m learning that to try and “fix” is to dismiss the real problem.  While my immediate response is to “pull the trigger” and end the suffering, that suffering has a purpose, and I need to let it run its course.  What if God decided to put us out of our misery every time we messed up?  None of us would be around!

So yet again, my mother was right.  After sitting on the porch in a daze for a while, the bird flew off.  I don’t know if it survived much longer, but that’s not my responsibility.  The best thing I did was nothing at all.  I think that’s what I need to do more in my relationships—just be there but not try and fix anything.

Missing the Glory

Every time I meet someone new, the question of “what do you do” always creeps up.  It seems only a few years ago I eagerly awaited that question so I could respond with a resounding, “I teach middle schoolers!”  Teaching is a noble profession and respectable—I loved my job.  Now, dread rises up inside me like mercury on a hot day, because my answer is, “I’m a catering assistant.”  I find myself quick to add, “But it’s only temporary because I’m going to Africa come January.”  Why do I feel like I have to justify my current situation?  Being a missionary in Kenya must be a more gallant job than a lowly catering assistant… Or is it? 

I am making all these plans for my life, despite spouting off that I’m not, and I feel like I’m just in a holding pattern until my plans unfold.  And I can’t help thinking that I’m missing something.  If God has placed me as a catering assistant right now, then that’s where He wants me to be.  I don’t need the glory of a high paying or prestigious career.  I don’t need the recognition of “doing God’s work” overseas.  I don’t need to be constantly looking forward to what I will do.  I need to be present where God has me.  My coworkers need Jesus just as much as the people in Kenya.  My boss longs for an authentic relationship as much as I do.  The people I serve desire glimpses of Heaven just as much as the orphans I’ll work with in January.  God longs to pour out His love and grace on all of His children around the world.  Why would I say no to some and yes to others?

The lyrics of Gordon Mote’s song, “Don’t Let Me Miss the Glory” have hit me this evening:

 
“Don’t let me miss the glory
Don’t let me miss the grace
All creation is singing
To the honor of Your name
 
Don’t let me miss the wonder
Don’t let me miss the grand design
All the lightning and the thunder
Lord open up my eyes
Don’t let me miss the glory”

God, in the midst of a job I dislike, in the midst of my plans for the future, please don’t let me miss Your Glory.  Please don’t let me miss the opportunities you place in my path daily to love people.  Open my eyes to see the world as you see it, and break my heart for the things that break Yours. 

Running in the Snow

Last week I was fortunate to go hiking in Glen Eyrie in Colorado Springs during the first snow of the season.  Despite being a bit out of shape, I had finally adjusted to the altitude and was trekking along at a good speed.  The snow appeared to increase and thoughts of having to turn back from my journey began to impede my progress—I slowed to a stop.  As I stood in silence and observed the flurries, I realized that the snow hadn’t increased since the beginning of my walk; it was still falling to the ground at the same relaxed speed.  My fast pace had distorted my perception of the snow. 

Now given my love of metaphors and being my father’s daughter, I had a “Life’s a lot like that” moment.  For much of my life I have been compensating for my young age in ministry by working really hard to be a conduit of God’s grace (funny since conduits are supposed to do nothing accept allow substances to flow through them…).  Whether it is facilitating a bible study, leading worship at church, discussing spiritual matters, I feel I have to work extra hard to appear to be a mature Christian because of my young age.  And because of how much effort I’m putting forth, it feels like I’m running down a trail in the snow—it’s snowing really hard!  The Holy Spirit’s work is increased greatly by my effort!  This is great!  But when I pause to reflect on where I’m at (my “red dot” for all my SSD friends), I realize that the Snow has not increased due to my effort—God’s still doing what He wants to do.  The Holy Spirit is still snowing down grace on people’s lives at the appropriate speed.  So this leads me to ask the question, why am I working so hard?  What good is all of my “extra effort”?  Isn’t all this over-compensation actually prohibiting me from experiencing His grace? 

I’m beginning to see that all of my extra effort actually shows my immaturity rather than proves my maturity.  I want to meander through the Snow instead of running through it.   

Fences and Chinks

It’s been over a year since I was last at the Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs, and there have been a few changes.  One of those changes is an addition of fences along the sidewalk.  Every few yards there are signs stating: “To help preserve nature, please stay on sidewalks”.  While I understand the intent behind this addition to the park, I can’t help feeling that I am no longer allowed to engage with the beauty that is here.  See the beauty, sure; be in awe, yes; but really engage by wandering through the grass or nestling into a crevice of the Red Giants, no.  Not allowed.  Prohibited.  Inaccessible. 

And is this not what I do in my relationship with God?  What is intended for direct contact and interaction—an authentic relationship—I pervert and distort by building fences to keep out.  In order to “stay on track” with God, I set up boundaries to keep moving towards my goal—a godly life.  By staying on a certain track, I think I am “preserving” God’s beauty.  I can love God and be blown away with the visual beauty of Him, but I cannot partake in His beauty.  Not allowed.  Prohibited.  Inaccessible.  By building these fences to help me be a good Christian, I so limit and deprave the true meaning of Love and Beauty.  Why do I feel the necessity to guard myself from engaging in true Beauty?  I believe I choose the sidewalk version because if I can only “see” God’s beauty, I can talk about that experience while preserving my shame.  If I don’t engage with God’s true beauty, I can’t see what is truly ugly in me.  I know my sin is ugly, but only compared to what I have categorized as beautiful.

Yet as I searched along the fence in the park, I found chink in which I could enter into the park instead of merely walking along the periphery.  Without this opening, I would never have known what I missed.  God has been revealing these fissures in my own life, allowing me to participate in His beauty.  And through these interactions I am realizing what I’m missing—I’m settling for my own definition of beauty, and while I may feel safer in this, I am not really living.

With these glimpses comes a drive to rip out the fences in my life, but as soon as I get on the other side and back on the “Christian Sidewalk”, I forget my chink experience and decide to walk along the fence until I find another opening rather than create one myself.  This side of Heaven, I don’t know that I will change much, but I’m becoming aware of my fences, and there’s power in that.

Picking Blackberries

Dear faithful readers/prayers/encouragers,

Blackberries: face-puckering goodness that is free to whoever is adventurous enough to go after them.  This is a great blackberry year, and now is the time to pick them, but more on that later.

I have now been back home for almost two months, but I have not felt like blogging.  My parents have encouraged me to at least close my adventures in Mexico.  The only problem is that while my presence in Mexico has been removed, I have still been sorting through the aftermath of this past year, and the sorting has been slow and painful.   

While this last school year was difficult, I did not realize how much damage it caused until I began to try and pick up my life again back in Anacortes.  The problem with “picking up where you left off” is that nothing is static.  Life continues on whether I am part of it or not.  I returned to a place I thought I knew, but in reality I did not recognize.  This “glitch” in my logic helped plunge me into a deeper depression.  Everything I knew had changed.  I could not (and cannot) find my identity in being a Teacher, a Professional, Self-sufficient, Independent—all of those things were gone.  Now I am just a 28-yr-old overqualified and unemployed person living at home with her parents—I don’t rank very high on that “success” meter.  To come to this end after six years of working, providing for myself, developing friendships and a “life” is devastating. 

So now that I’ve been stripped and laid bare before my Maker and everyone else, I find that I really do not have anything to offer God except myself.  All of my skills and talents are not enough.  Whatever skills and talents I possess are not because of what I have done.  God does not need more great teachers, professionals, self-sufficient, independent people—He needs more willing hearts to wait on Him to be used by Him.  Yet I still find myself trying to offer everything I can do instead of everything I am.  This is a difficult concept, especially for someone who defines herself by what she can do. 

Now I find myself waiting on the Lord, not because I want to, but because I have no other options.  God is funny like that.  There are so many things that come out of patience though.  For example, since I have been home I have been ogling the blackberry bushes around my parents’ property, knowing that towards the end of August I would be able to ambush them and use them in delicious jams and desserts.  Only time would bring these berries to ripeness, no matter how much wishing, praying, and checking I did.  I feel like that is where I am right now in life.  I am not ripe yet, so God is not picking me.

In the mean-time, I want to keep growing towards the Light, because the Sun is what causes the fruit to ripen.  And I want to be so heavy-laden with berries that when the time comes, I will hang low enough to be accessible to others so that I can truly be used in the capacity for which God has created me.

Can you tell I’ve been picking blackberries with God recently?

Final Evaluation

Today I was measured and found wanting.  Unfortunately this is metaphorically speaking and not literally.  And as much as I would like to blame the “scale” that was used, ultimately I know that is truth in the results.  Today I was given my final teacher evaluation, and in the past I have met or surpassed every category; this year I was marked “working towards” in almost every one.  I could rejoice in the fact that I am not categorized as “not meeting”; I could rail against the school and lack of support to succeed; I could blame the cultural differences for my low marks.  All of these responses appear to be appropriate, but I know that my performance this year was the worst of my teaching career, including my student teaching experiences.  I say this because I gave up this year; I allowed my circumstances to defeat me, and for that I am ashamed.  Yet, like all great stories, my journey does not end here.  God is able to redeem this defeat and use it for His glory.

As mentioned in a previous blog, over the past several years I have found my success and identity in being a teacher—it’s something I’ve always been good at.  Through hard work, determination, and a fiercely independent spirit, I have built a reputation as a capable teacher and professional.  This persona left little room for God to work.  That’s not to say that I was a bad person or bad Christian—I really believed I was using my talent for God, and I do believe He gained glory in much of my work.  The problem (as I see it now) was that I didn’t need God’s help.  If I had a problem I would figure it out on my own or consult other teachers/administrators to help.  I would ask people to pray for me but I wouldn’t pray myself; I was dependent on people but independent from God. 

This year teaching Mexico has been the opposite.  I have experienced little to no success in the classroom or in the professional realm.  My “expertise” has been useless.  I cannot be dependent on others but only on God.  Through my failure this year, God humbled me and revealed that He can take away talents just as easily as give them.  Through my brokenness this year, God directed me and evoked a new passion and vision for life that centers around His will.  Through my surrender, God will use all of my experiences for His good to further His plan.  Had I never come to Mexico, I would have been comfortable and unchanging, but I never would have developed a passion for Kenya.  Without all of the struggles this year, my character and perspective would have remained unchanged, and I could not delve into this new-found passion that is driving me closer to God.

Yes, I am disappointed with many (most) or my actions this year, but I cannot dwell on the past.  As Paul says, “…I focus on this one thing:  Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, I press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling [me]” (Philippians 3:13-14).  I don’t think God is concerned with my past or who I was; I think He is concerned with my future and who I will be.  So that’s what I’m going to focus on too.

The Plan (B)

After my last post on Broken Dreams, some of you may be wondering what’s next.  To be honest, I am too!

In anticipation for my next step after Mexico, I spent many hours in conversation with God, friends and family.  All arrows seemed to be pointing towards moving back to Colorado and working at the same middle school I was at B.M. (Before Mexico—that’s right folks, this has been a major turning point in my life just as Christ’s death was for the world… although not quite to that scale!).  All I had to do was go through the formality of an interview and the job would be mine!  I started to get excited about the possibility of returning to my old life, dear friends, and something that was “known”.  All the while I kept in the back of my mind my parents words of encouragement, “What’s the worst that can happen?  You don’t get the job, come home to raise support, and go back to Kenya!”  I don’t think my parents realized that their encouragement was actually a prophecy.  So plan “A” was returning to a known life in Colorado, plan “B” was continuing on my journey of the unknown with a glimpse of Kenya in there somewhere.  After a decent phone interview and a week of waiting, God slammed the door to my plan “A”.  See, with us Kisers, God has to be firm in His directions.  If there is the slightest crack or doubt that an option has ended, we will figure out a way to shove a toe or finger to wedge back in.  Sure, I could have looked for another teaching job in Colorado, but if I couldn’t get a “guaranteed” job there, I think that’s a pretty good indication that’s not where God wants me.

Now that I’ve had some time to mourn with my Savior over yet another broken dream and ponder other options for my future, I’ve chosen a new path to continue my journey.  After devoting about eight years to teaching (training for and becoming a teacher), I’m taking a break from it.  A difficult decision to say the least, but I’m not quitting forever, just for a while.  My focus has become getting back to Kenya, but with more of a purpose than just holding babies (which I still plan to do!).  God revealed two specific needs at Instep Children’s Home while I was there in April:  1. The special needs kids need more attention and someone to work with them on basic skills, and 2. Many of the kids will at some point come to grips with their abandonment and/or abuse issues and need someone to talk with—currently, there is no on-sight counselor, and there are so many more kids than ears to listen to them.  While I am in no way an expert in either of these areas, I have a heart to help in them. 

After looking into possible Master’s in Christian Counseling Degrees, I’ve come to the conclusion that I do not have the resources to invest in something like that.  And as my mom says, “You don’t need a degree to talk to kids.”  My dad pointed me towards Larry Crabb, a man well known in the Christian sphere for counseling, and I’ve found what I want to do.  Dr. Crabb has four online courses entitled “SoulCare” that delve into the heart and mind of entering into authentic relationships with people to help point them to Christ.  There is also a week-long seminar that goes into more depth about what that looks like.  This is the kind of base-knowledge I think would be useful in Kenya at a fraction of the price of a Master’s Degree, plus I can complete all of these courses in a few months as opposed to a few years.  So my plan is simple:  1. Return home and live with my parents to cut down costs of living; 2. Obtain a full-time job wherever I can to earn as much money as possible while living at home; 3. Complete all four online classes while working full-time, get accepted into the week-long seminar and attend (minimum age is 30 years old, but with God’s help I just might be accepted anyways), and take a few courses in Special Education; 4. Network like crazy to find people who can help answer my questions and give me guidance when I’m in Kenya and have no answers; 5. Return to Kenya sometime after Christmas for as long as I can on the money I’ve earned.  I need to experience Kenya when it is not an escape from Mexico, and if I still feel like God is calling me on a more permanent basis in Kenya, I’ll return home to elicit sponsorship and help financially. 

Is this the right direction?  I’m not sure, but as my dad says, “God likes to steer a moving object.”

Broken Dreams

Mosaics contain broken pieces of other vessels to create breath-takingly beautiful pictures.  These pieces do not look like much individually, but in the hands of an artist they are joined to create a masterpiece, one that takes time and patience to perfect.  But where do these pieces come from?

In my life, I think God gets these pieces from broken dreams.  Whatever dreams I have constructed of various materials are not grand enough for the Master Artist’s conception; He must shatter them in order to use the pieces as He sees fit.  And to battle with the Artist over the pieces and try to put them back together how they were originally is pointless; not only will the dream be cracked and imperfect, it will be leaky and useless.  Oh, how I want to rush out and buy some super-glue in the hopes of fixing what I have held onto for so long!  This dream encompasses blood, sweat and tears (SO many tears)—how can I relinquish it from my grasp?  Yet what if I do?  What if I abandon the useless shards and allow God to rework them into a new dream, a better dream, a dream worthy of display in any gallery?  For as many tears as I shed over my broken, imperfect dream, Jesus weeps more as he cleans up the mess and repurposes the remains.  How can I settle for my limited, close-up perspective when God can envision the whole picture and every broken piece that is needed to complete it?

Jesus, would you weep with me while you gather up these pieces and use them for your grand mosaic?

Purpose Makes a Decision

Purpose and I met this evening to discuss what we were both reading in the book of James.  After our discussion, she said, “Are you ready?”  I looked at her and asked, “What do you mean am I ready—you’re the one who needs to be ready!”  To which she replied, “Let’s do this”. 

Tonight, the angels are rejoicing in Heaven.  Tonight, I led someone in prayer for the first time.  Tonight, Purpose prayed to accept Christ into her life.

The world will never be the same!

The Summiting Process

As I contemplate this blog entry, I am being serenaded by Peggy Wood (“Climb Ev’ry Mountain” from the musical “The Sound of Music”).  I find this song fitting after a Skype conversation with my mother tonight (As a side-note, I don’t know what it is about talks with mom, but I always come away feeling better and having a deeper understanding of life and God.  I am incredibly blessed by my mom, and I’m excited to be able to tell her that in person this coming Mother’s Day.). 

This conversation led to a “Life’s a lot like that” moment involving my plans to become a nun and the process of climbing Mount Everest.  I was lamenting my anxiety about my future—ever since my Skype interview with a school in Colorado I’ve been over-thinking my future.  If I get the job I will most likely be working with an age-group I haven’t taught since college, and I’m feeling burned out as a teacher after this year in Mexico.  However, if I don’t get the job, it’s like a rejection of a marriage proposal after a four-year courtship (because I worked at this same school for four years before my jaunt in Mexico); well maybe not that dramatic, but I’m a hormonal woman and I jump to illogical conclusions often.  Somehow this conversation moved to a discussion about how maybe life is as hard as it’s going to get, to which I drew the conclusion that life is NOT as hard as it will get, but it’s also not as good as it’s going to get either. 

Thinking about the struggles that are sure to come makes me want to stock up on books and chocolate and find a hole somewhere in which to spend the remainder of my life.  I told my mom that maybe I should convert to Catholicism and become a nun—hiding away in a nunnery sounds better than facing these “mountains” in my life.  And because my brain does not work like a normal person’s, I began thinking about the process of climbing Mount Everest.  Thanks to teaching the novel Peak by Roland Smith, I learned a lot about how someone summits the highest mountain in the world (well, second to Mount Kilimanjaro, but that’s technically because of the bulging of the Equator and not actual altitude above sea-level and so doesn’t really count…).  Climbing Mount Everest requires training.  First you start by summiting smaller hills and continuing to work your way up to bigger and bigger mountains.  The problem with bigger mountains is that they have deeper valleys (but that’s another blog entry entirely…).  Then, when you are ready to attempt the Big One, you can’t just set out and hike straight to the top from sea level—you have to acclimate.  There is not enough oxygen at the top of the mountain to sustain life—if you stay up there too long, you will starve your brain of oxygen.  Climbers must start at basecamp (which has an elevation of 5,380 m (17,700 ft) for the Southeast Ridge approach) for several weeks and then hike up to several of the “camps”, stay a night or two, and then hike back down to lower camps.  This process can be disheartening.  It is counterintuitive to hike down when your goal is up.  But this series of camps helps your body to acclimate and produce the needed red blood cells to make the final summit possible.  Without this process (and the blessing of good weather), you can’t make it to the top. 

Life is a lot like this.  At this stage in my life, I feel like I’m heading back to base camp—the opposite direction from where I think I should be heading.  I want to summit and experience the rush that comes with the amazing sense of accomplishment and the breath-taking view.  But I know that God is helping me acclimate; He’s preparing me for the summit, and I just have to be patient and stick with the process.  If I try to rush to the top, I won’t make it.  If I will just listen to my Guide and follow His process, I will reach the summit, weather permitting.

No Electricity, No Big Deal

Yesterday afternoon I came home from school and discovered that my electricity was out again, my cell phone battery had just died, and my laptop battery was about to die so I had no way to contact anyone about the problem.  The frozen food I had just purchased from Costco would have no place to go, and that’s about $30 in the trash.  Reverting to my selfish perspective, I started to get upset and ask, “Why does this keep happening to me?”  This little upset in my schedule of surfing the web, charging electronics, and enjoying lights brought my world to a grinding halt.

Meanwhile half a world away a little girl’s treatment for HIV stopped being effective and she is really sick--she may need to start quinine but that is a last resort.  Another woman is sick with typhoid and an intestinal infection.  A boy is healing from third degree burns on his arm from helping carry a hot meal for others.

Going without electricity for a day seems to pale in comparison to these larger problems.  Oh, that I could get past my own selfish needs to see the needs of others!

Living for the Afterlife--An Eternal Perspective

In a sermon from my home church in Colorado Springs, the pastor discussed life after death and how that should impact how we live on earth.  If I am to “run with endurance the race God has set before” me as stated in Hebrews 12:1, what does that look like with an eternal perspective?   

This got me to thinking about my experiences in Mexico and Kenya.  Both of these countries place a high value on relationships, much more so than on work or production (which leads to MANY of my frustrations).  This switch in mindset is one of the reasons I believe God took me away from my American comforts of hard work = success.  Although my job in Colorado was not without its trials and frustrations or impact on relationships, I became consumed with being the best I could be as an educator.  I don’t think that was all bad—my students and colleagues deserve the best I can offer them, but the problem began when I lost my eternal perspective.  I was no longer trying to be the best at my job so that I could impact lives for Christ; it was about earning more money, earning the admiration of my coworkers, employers, and my friends.  It wasn’t that I became a horrible person and became work-obsessed, but rather it was I lost my vision.  I think that is why God put the bug in me to look at teaching abroad so that He could refocus my vision and purpose.

If you have read my blog entries from the first part of the school year, you have seen how painful this object lesson was and continues to be for me.  It is never easy to be stripped of a habit.  Ask any ex-smoker, ex-drinker, ex- anything that was addictive and I’m pretty sure that person will tell you it was incredibly difficult to quit and the temptation to start again is overwhelming at times.  I feel the same way about this shift in thinking.  In a world that constantly inundates us with the belief that to be successful means higher salaries, expensive possessions, and having more than your neighbor, it’s difficult to live for something else, something more meaningful.  Yet that is what God calls us to, and it is more than anything this world has to offer. 

When I first came to Mexico, I thought it was because of the job.  I was hired (at least this is how I perceived it) to help usher in the IB Programme to this school in Mexico.  My expertise in the program was going to help bring great change to the school…  But the great change hasn’t happened in the school.  In fact, my expertise has no place here, at least for now.  God did not bring me to Mexico so that I could use all of the knowledge I’ve gained in education to help the school.  On the contrary, God brought me here to reprogram my thinking, to show me that this life is not about the acquisition of knowledge or becoming the expert.  Life is about relationship.  It is through relationship that Purpose is free to ask questions and learn about God.  It is through relationship that people are touched and brought to the feet of God.  It is through relationship that God is able to use me to further His Kingdom.

When I get to Heaven and give account of my life, I don’t want to give a list of all of the degrees I’ve earned or all of the knowledge I’ve gained, I want to tell of the people I’ve loved and the relationships I’ve forged that helped bring people into relationship with God.  And I think it is through relationships that God will say, “Well done, my good and faithful servant,” and oh, how I long to hear those words from my Father and Master.

And ironically, as I write about a need for a change in perspective, I am in the midst of teaching a unit about perspective to my 6th graders with the guiding question, "How can I flip my thinking".  God certainly has a sense of humor!

The Adjustment

Now that I’ve had a few days to readjust to the time-zone, school-zone, and Spanish-zone, I owe you all an update.

First of all, here is a link to pictures I took while in Kenya: http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150811669366419.472839.596911418&type=3&l=37625cc1da.  I hope that these pictures help to shed more light on the descriptions in my previous blog posts.  While pictures may say a thousand words, millions are needed to give you a glimpse into what Kenya is really like.

Slipping back into the life I’ve established in Mexico wasn’t as difficult as I had thought it would be.  The limited amount of Spanish I knew before heading for Kenya still remains.  My students have been behaving well (that could have something to do with the video I showed them over the past two days…).  My apartment has running water and electricity, and my internet even works most of the time.  Life has resumed its course, and I’m back in the midst of it.  I have been relishing the many opportunities I’ve had to share my pictures and stories from Kenya with others.  Seeing the faces of the children and the cooks from the children’s home makes me miss them terribly, but I know with time that pain will ebb until it is just a distant memory.  In some ways this is good because it will allow me to focus on the present and what my purpose is right now, but in other ways I fear I will forget the lessons God taught me while I was there.

I have 46 days left with my students, and of those maybe only 40 of them teachable days.  At this point I am neither overly excited nor overly sad about the brevity of my time remaining.  I am excited about my future, but not anxious.  I’m just focusing on one day at a time, making the best of what I have, and living in the moment.

Re-entry wasn’t so bad, but maybe I’m just in denial. :)

Goodbyes are the Worst!

13-14 April 2012

Saying goodbye sucks.  Although the English Language is chockablock with descriptive words, “sucks” is the best in this case.  Having to issue this phrase sucks all of the emotions buried deep inside and brings them to the surface.  Having to receive this phrase uttered through downcast eyes and desperate hugs sucks the life right out of you.  Goodbyes contain very little “good”—at least in some circumstances.  Even as I write this (12 hours after the words were spoken), I find my tears are being sucked out onto this page.

Over the past two weeks I have diligently built relationships with specific people at InStep (the children’s home): Shirlyn (13 years old), Peris (cook), and Vero (also a cook).  But it wasn’t until the last three or four days that I broke through their defenses and they started to let their guard down.  This is no small feat with the amount of visitors that come through the children’s home on a regular basis.  It’s easier to stay detached than to invest in a relationship and then have that relationship disappear, not likely to return again.  Shirlyn opened up after I spent three hours alone with her at the eye clinic.  When we started to walk out of the clinic, she grabbed my hand and that is how we exited the hospital, hand-in-hand.  In the taxi on the ride home, Shirlyn rested her head on my shoulder.  This may not seem like much, especially since Shirlyn is so friendly and sweet-natured, but this was a pretty big deal—something just finally clicked after the eye-clinic.  Maybe it was all of the science knowledge I shared with her about the human eye and making her solve math problems with her eyes closed while her pupils were dilating… J  Whatever the reason, it was pretty special.  Peris and Vero were a bit more gradual in dropping their guards.  They are around the same age as I am (26/27 years old), so that made us more equal, but the girls really began to open up little by little with the more time I spend in the Kitchen.  I tried to do the things they did, and they were very patient in showing me the steps and laughing at my feeble attempts.  I washed dishes, tried to mop the floor the way they do with a duster (or towel for you non-Kenyan people), sorted maize and beans several times, tried to cut skuma and other vegetables the way they do, and just talked to them about life and God.  And it seems like just when I break through with these amazing girls, I have to say goodbye, furiously trying not to cry, promising to write, and desperately planning in my head when I can return again to spend more time with them.  All three of these girls worked their way into my heart, and to have to leave them is almost unbearable! 

Saying goodbye to Teddy broke my heart too.  When I walked into the room, I called Teddy’s name, and he came and wrapped his little arms around my legs and wouldn’t let go.  I don’t know if he sensed that something was changing, but he just clung to me, forcing me to have to rip him away.  I tickled him and placed him on the mat and had to walk away before I started bawling.

I MUST return—if for no other reason than to show these girls and Teddy that I am invested in them and that I am not just a typical visitor.  I don’t think I am done with Kenya—I feel like God is just beginning something with Kenya and I.  I have absolutely no idea what it will look like, but I just have a feeling something more is coming, and the funny part is that doesn’t scare me at all.  I feel a peace about my future role with Kenya whatever form it takes.  And I will scrimp and save wherever I can to get back there.

Dump Run

9 April 2012

Today my dad took Danae, James (the farmer here at InStep), and I into Kitale to run a few arrends. We dropped James off in town to haggle over prices of agricultural goods because Kenyans get better deals than white people, and then we headed to the dump. I'm not really sure where to begin describing the dump, so my thoughts may be a bit scattered--I know, I know, my thoughts are always scattered, but bear with me.

There is a family that runs the dump and they haven't been paid for two years by the government. And now the family has been given a notice that they have to move out of the house on the dump property for who knows what reason. This is a family that subsists on sorting through the trash for items they can sell for a minimal profit. Their job at the dump is to burn the trash that comes in. The mom was seriously burned last year while tending a fire because something in the fire exploded. The hospital, along with everyone else in the surrounding area of Kitale, comes and dumps their used needles and trash. The kids run around barefoot in this filth and pick up who knows what diseases. These living conditions would be reprehensible anywhere in the US or Canada, but this is normal here in Kenya. As we were saying good-bye to the dump family, the father kept asking my dad for help and money to fix the situation. My dad told the guy that he can't ask for help; if God says to help and brings my dad or Jeff to the family to help that's ok, but the guy can't ask for it. It seems like if you are mzungu (white person), that means you have money and give hand-outs to people. And while most white people who come to Kenya do have much more than the vast population of Kenya, us giving all out money to one person is not going to bring help or change to this country.

I'll tell you, life on the compound of the children's home is a lot easier to deal with than life outside it. The children's home provides a shelter from the worst parts of Kenya. It's easy to forget where I am when I'm surrounded by children who are loved and cared for, but step outside into the community and you will see the poverty and affluence that mix like water and oil.

Easter in Kenya

Happy Easter! I never thought I would be celebrating a holiday on the other side of the world, but here I am in Kenya!

Foregoing the Easter basket and egg hunt, I embarked on my day by trying to hide in the Kitchen. You see, yesterday after lunch we sprayed the Veranda for cockroaches, and that happens to be the place where all of the kids' clothes, blankets, and sheets are stored. So yesterday we (the older kids and Danae and I) hauled ALL of the clothes outside to shake out the bugs and dirt and then stack them in a hallway. Aftr thoroughly wiping down all of the surfaces after the room was sprayed, we didn't have time to put all of the clothes away, so that meant thattoday, Easter Sunday, was the day to put everything away! Now you have to understand what an undertaking this was. There are around 107 kids here, and only the older kids take care of their clothes. So 100 kids worth of clothing is stored in window seats in the Veranda. That's underwear, pants, shirts, sweatshirts, and pajamas multiplied for 3-5 days worth for EACH kid! This all adds up to a MOUNTAIN of clothes, and if you're thinking about scaling such a mountain, be sure to pack oxygen canisters! Because we had the older kids "helping", and because we didn't think of keeping the piles seperated ahead of time, ALL of the clothes, blankets, and sheets were piled together, leaving us to sort the heaping mass later. Most of the kids were helpful, but only two of them knew where everything went. Suffice it to say, it took us about 5 hours just to sort and put away the mound today.

In the midst of this feat, we breaked for kids church, ate lunch, had a big rain/hail storm, and read an Easter story. The kids church was all in Swahili and began and ended with songs led by the kids with clapping, singing, and drums. Lunch was followed by a big rain/hail storm which according to my dad is typical during the "rainy season". This rain turned the paths and roads into rushing rivers, some of which flowed into the Veranda. Once the rains slowed enough to hear people talking, I read the kids a story about Jesus' death and resurrection told from the perspective of a merchant during the time of Jesus. Mama Carla read this to the big kids last year, but this year we included the 4-yr-olds, and the Pastor (who led the kids church) translated it into Swahili. The story was VERY long, and having to wait ever sentence for the Pastor to translate made the story about an hour in length. The kids who stayed awake the whole time and paid attention were led to Mama Carla's kitchen for a snack and discussion. The story wasn't much, but at least it was something to teach the kids about Jesus. Some of the kids could even tell you what Easter is about after the story!

Life in the Kitchen

6 April 2012
Today I worked in the "Kitchen" all day. The Kitchen is a little two room building with one side being used for food prep and the other side used for storage. Most of the cooking is done outside on charcoal burning stoves called jikos. There is one going at all times with a pot of water on it which is used for cooking and also washing dishes. The cooks wash dishes about seven times a day for all of the meals and cooking they do. They also wash the floors about seven times a day by hand with their legs straight and bent at the waist. One of the cooks, Paris, wanted to see me try it, but because I'm not flexible and can barely touch my toes, I had to crouch down to do it. Paris thought this was hilarious and just laughed and laughed. Earlier in the day another cook, Vero, had me peeling potatoes--I was slower than her, but she said I did a good job. I also helped wash the dishes by rinsing the dishes in scalding hot water (and most of the dishes are metal and conduct heat very well). Next, Vero and Paris tried to teach me how to cut skuma (it's like Kale). They gather a bunch of of skuma and squeeze it together in their fist and take a knife and chop at it in their hands, and this action shreds the skuma. I tried this and Parris was worried I was going to slice my fingers off--she kept looking at me and saying, "Oh wow". Next we sliced cabbage and I did a much better job at this. Then I helped sort beans for about an hour. After a break of a Bible lesson with the older kids and a quick lunch, I was back out in the Kitchen to help prepare the rest of the dinner for that evening. I chopped tomatoes and made Paris and Milka (another cook) laugh a lot, and then I helped sort beans again. I don't think I was super helpful since it took them longer to explain what to do then for them to do it on their own, but I really enjoyed spending time with the girls in the Kitchen and getting to know them better.

Vero is probably my favorite, even though I like them all. She is extremely bright, loves life, and she isn't afraid of making decisions for you! She is the same age as I, and I really enjoy talking with her. In many ways Vero seems older than 27 because people have to grow up quicker here since their life expectancy is so low. Even today, Vero shared that a friend of hers who had just started university was killed by a man because she wouldn't let him "have" her. Life and death are every day occurance here and clearly visable--it's just a fact of life in Kenya. But even with that, Vero still has a positive attitude and enjoys laughing and singing and dancing. I hope to spend more time with Vero and more time in the Kitchen.

If I were to come back long-term, I could see starting a Bible study with women like Vero and Paris...

Teddy

5 April 2012

I've mentioned a bit about the facilities here at the children's home in Kitale, and now I want to tell you about the kids. One of the first kids to latch onto me was Teddy, and that is odd--here's why: Teddy has some pretty severe needs mentally. I am not sure of all Teddy struggles with, but I recognize some autistic behaviors such as teeth grinding, repetitive hand movements, and extreme melt-downs from failure to communicate. When something sets Teddy off, he starts scratching his neck and temples to the point of drawing blood. He is covered in scars because of these melt-downs. But when I first met him, I was sitting in the room where the kids eat all their meals and the youngest kids hang out a majority of the day, and Teddy came up and put his head on my back. I didn't know anything about him before, but I noticed pretty quick that there was something different about him. He liked me holding him and clacking my tongue at him. Kids with autism don't normally reach out for people--they tend to stay in their own little worlds, so I know there's something more with Teddy. My next encounter with Teddy came about after the Aunties cleaned up all the baby toys and took the one Teddy was holding. He started to grab his ears (the first sign of one of his melt-downs) and crying out, and then he started scratching himself. All of the other Aunties were busy with the rest of the kids, so they didn't notice Teddy. I went over and rubbed his back and then picked him up, sat him on my lap, and clacked my tongue at him. He seemed to calm down a bit and even laugh, and later when an Auntie came to change his diaper, I realized he had peed all over my leg!

That night I called my mom and when she asked if there were any kids that had an impact on me, I told her I wanted to bring Teddy home with me. My mom laughed and told me I always attracted the "off" people. Teddy just needs so much more attention than he is able to get. He is unable to communicate and needs someone to spend time teaching him a form of communication whether verbal or other. And Teddy isn't the only kid here with severe needs. It would be wonderful if God would bring an individual to this home whose heart is geared towards these kids and could work with them apart from the rest of the herd. One more thing about Teddy, he loves music (talk about someone after my own heart!). Last night evening it started raining and all of the kids had to come inside. Just as they were starting to get out of hand, I borrowed Carla's guitar and sang some worship songs to all the kids to keep them entertained. Teddy came right up to the table my chord charts were on and laid his head on it. Music soothes him--I'll have to remember that for the next major melt-down!

First Full Day

3 April 2012

My first full day at the home--pretty cool! The kids and the Aunties started moving around at 5:00am. Every morning, while fully staffed, every kid is bathed, dressed, and fed by around 9am. 106 kids, EVERY day! While this was happening, however, I was in bed asleep. I think I have adjusted to the time change fairly well, but it was SO hard trying to stay up until 9pm last night. Pushing myself to stay up made all the difference though. I finally got out of bed around 8am, ate a breakfast of orange juice and a granola bar, and then I went on a tour of the property with my dad. I have to say I am thoroughly impressed with what is already here and what the future plans are for this place. There are two green houses with plans to build at least two more, fields containing banana trees, orange trees, pineapple plants, and many other organic goods. There is also a two-room school house with plans to build more classrooms by January when a new group of kids is old enough to enter school--pray for the funds and the means to accomplish this task by that time. The health clinic is well on its way to being finished soon, and a new dorm is in the works as well. Progress is being made and God is providing the means for that.

After the tour I spent the remainder of my time during the morning working with the two 4th grade students on contractions and reading. There are 13 second graders in the same classroom as 10 4th-7th graders--two teachers share the space, and I am amazed at how well they work together. The other school room normally contains 23 first graders, but the teacher is currently way from the orphanage. I enjoyed working with them, but I also remember why I chose secondary education for my major... Some of you may be thinking, "During Spring Break a teacher CHOOSES to work in a school? CRAZY!" And you are probably right, but it was fun. I played with the kids during their breaks, and I'm pretty sure the older kids know my name and know that I'm a teacher too. I then I had a quick lunch and spent most of the afternoon straightening and organizing the hospitality room and spraying for bugs (more to come about the bug spraying extravaganza). This is the room where all the visitors' food is kept and where you can go to escape from the chaos if needed. I played with some of the babies until dinner time when I was called over by Vero (one of the cooks and according to my father, one of the brightest Kenyans he's ever met) called me over to help serve food to the kids. I'm looking forward to spending more time in the kitchen with her. After a dinner of beans and rice, I researched bats in Kenya because jeff and Carla (the people who run this place) are thinking of building a few bat houses to help control the bug population and help stimulate the agriculture. The internet didn't hold out for long, so I made a phone call to my mom to fill her in on things.

Life is good. God is good.

Traveling and First Days

Okay, after two and a half days of traveling and a day at the orphanage, I've finally found time to update you on my adventure! I'm going to back-track a bit and share with you my journal entries from the past few days, and be forewarned--this will be a LONG entry.

31 March 2012

After much anticipation, packing, and cleaning, today I start my adventure to Kenya. I managed to sleep last night and at 7am I started my last minute preparations with gusto. At 9am I met Paulina and her dad at the gate of my apartment and made it to the Querétaro airport around 9:30am. When I tried to chek in for my flight, the desk agent told me I had to have my immagration form--you know, the one that the gate agent took from me when I flew back to Mexico after Christmas break because I didn't neet it anymore? Yeah, that one... After some help from Pau, we got everything taken care of and then came time to say goodbye. We made it quick so as not to get all sappy and sentimental.

The Querétaro airport is tiny--there are only two gates. Because I was over two hours early for my flight, I had to wait until about 11:30am before they would let me into the gate area, so here I am sitting in a little restaurant enjoying an unexpected breakfast of chilaquiles and fresh squeezed orange juice. The food has helped to calm the butterflies threatening to burst forth from my stomach at any moment like a horror film, and I am left to come to grips with what is happening in my life: I am going to Kenya--in AFRICA--on the other side of the WORLD! A year ago I never thought I would travel to the East Coast let alone outside of the US. And now look at me, I'm living in Mexico and traveling to Africa in the same year! I live a blessed life indeed. Who knows what the future may hold for me?

1 April 2012

Man, it feels like I've been travelling for days--oh wait, I have! :) Here's a quick recap of the past 24 hours.

My flight from Querétaro to Dallas/Fort Worth was on a small plane, two seats on one side, one on the other. There was little overhead space, so I shoved my big backpack under the seat in front and hoped the flight attendant didn't notice/say anything. It happened on this leg of my journey that one of my students and his family were on the same flight as me and were sitting in the two rows in fron of me. I chatted with his mom a bit about Mexico and my trip to Kenya. She said it's a shame I don't have a blog or something so she could read about it, to which I replied, "Actually, I do. Here's my webaddress!" I also chatted with the lady next to me who is from Colorado and had been visiting San Miguel.

After touching down in Dallas, I had to go through customs and another security checkpoint to get to my connecting flight. Danae (the gal I was meeting there and with whom I was flying the rest of the way to Nairobi) arrived shortly after I did and then it was time to load onto our flight to London-Heathrow. This second flight was on a 747-400 series, and it was GINORMOUS! It had two levels and was by far the biggest plane I have ever been on. My imagination took over and I envisoned hot-tubs, a piano bar, and people playing pool on the upper level--not likely, but it was a nice fantasy anyways. Unfortunately, Danae and I didn't have seats together, but there was "On Demand" TV and movies to keep us occupied. I also greatly enjoyed listening to the flight attendants speak because all of them had British accents since I was flying with British Airways. It was REALLY difficult not to emulate their speech patterns, but I refrained from vocalizing my "British" thoughts. 8.5 hours later we landed at Heathrow, by-passed Customs, and went through another security checkpoint. there were only 10-15 people in line, but it took FOREVER! Eventually Danae and I made it to our connecting flight to Nairobi just in time to load for our last leg of the journey. Same thing as before but a smaller plane--only one level. I really enjoyed catching up on the movies I've missed while being in Mexico, like "The Iron Lady" and "The Muppets". I also devised a method of folding and wrapping the provided blanket around my neck like one of those flight pillows since I didn't have one. Kiser ingenuity strikes again! When Danae and i deplaned, my dad was waiting for us. We made it through Customs without a hitch, were picked up by Job who drove us to our hotel, and not it's 11:14 pm (or 2:14 pm yesterday for me). It hasn't fully hit me that I'm IN Africa yet. Perhaps with daylight my realization with actualize! I'm happy to be with my dad, and I can't wait to get to the orphanage tomorrow!

2 April 2012

This morning we ad a breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, mystery meat sausage (it LOOKS like sausage, but it is NOT sausage...), and some kind of ham/bacon hybrid . Then we traveled back the same airport we flew into last night and caught our 45 minute flight to Eldoret. My dad and I talked a bit, and there was just enough time for the flight attendant to serve us a beverage and then collect out cups before landing. Jeff (he and his wife Carla are in charge of the orphange) was waiting outside for us with "Toyota". You'll have to read my dad's blog to fully understand this vehicle, but basically it's a truck with the cab extending all the way to the back with benchs bolted to the floor. We loaded all our gear and Danae and I into the back and proceeded into town to pick up a few items. Desiel is expensive so it's important to use every trip away from the orphanage to its fullest. We stopped at a grocery story to pick up food for us to eat while at the home, and Jeff was looking for a specific lotion they need for one of the kids. While Jeff was running in and out of various stores, my dad engaged a begging teenage boy about why he really needed money (most likely to buy glue to sniff), and the boy kept changing his story. We also got a parking ticket, well more so a packing "pass". Stores have a few parking spaces in front of their building, but if those are full, your option is to park in a "city" space which translates to a few city employees who walk around looking for parking "violations" so you have to pay them. Today it was 100 shillings (about $12US) to park in the space we were in.

Driving is crazy--similar to Mexico in that the rules are more of a suggestion. There are people on bikes and motorcycles, and when I say "people" I mean there is more than one person on each of those forms of transportation. People also ride in taxi busses, and if there isn't room inside, they just hang on the outside. The roads are fairly decent right now because the weather has been dry and some have been repaved recently.

Finally at around 12pm we made it to the children's home, and since my dad was little help in showing us around since he was under a pile of black bodies and slime (you think I'm exaggerating, but you could barely see him or hear him for all the kids hugging him and shouting "Babu Terry"), a couple that works at the orphange during part of the week gave Danae and I a tour of the major buildings, telling us what we needed to know. After settling into my room that I am sharing with Danae and another girl, I ventured out to meet the children. The kids warmed up pretty quickly, and soon I was covered by tiny black bodies encoated in snot, food, and who knows what else! It is a bit overwhelming especially since I don't have a clear purpose yet, but I know things will get smoother and more routine in the next few days.

Miracles

This morning I was watching a sermon from my church back in Colorado Springs about miracles, and I began to think about all of the miracles I have witnessed in life.  I believe God performs miracles ever day but often times we are blind to them or we attribute them to another source or don’t call them miracles at all.  Maybe we don’t observe miracles as they were in the Bible—when was the last time you walked through a parted river or tasted wine that used to be regular old well water?  But this doesn’t mean that God is not performing wonders in this world.  Simple things like finding an underground river of pure, clean water in a location in Kenya where there was none, or showing up in a tiny village along the Yukon River in Alaska with no place to sleep and being offered the preschool Head Start building and a key to the bathrooms and showers for free, or God giving my parents a negative income on paper so I could receive necessary financial aid to attend college.  Looking back, I can clearly see God’s miraculous work in my life and the lives of others, and sometimes I was fortunate to realize it at the time as well.

Perhaps the most awe-provoking miracle to me is when God turns a hardened heart towards him.  This is what I am privileged to bear witness to here in Mexico.  Remember Purpose, the one I believe God sent me to Mexico for?  Well, God has been working overtime in this gal’s life.  I remember my conversations with her when we first started hanging out, and I remember thinking, “This girl is SO different from me; her worldview has been shaped by whatever people tell her to be true about God, religion, our purpose in life—I don’t know if she will ever come around to Christianity.”  But my conversations with Purpose have been incredibly deep courageously bold, on both our parts.  I have been up-front from the beginning that I want to see her saved and have been rather blunt about what that looks like.  In turn, she has been open-minded and free with her questions.  I have seen great change in Purpose.  For someone who used to scoff at prayer, she has been talking to God; she didn’t (and maybe still doesn’t fully) believe that Bible is true, but she has been receptive to the passages I’ve been sharing with her.  God has given Purpose a thirst for Him, and she is responding by asking questions, borrowing my Bible, and allowing me to share what God has done in my life.  If this isn’t a miracle, I don’t know what is!  And with everyone that is praying for Purpose, she hasn’t got a chance!  Oh, and I told her that too, at which she just laughed.

God may not perform wonders and signs the way we expect him to, but isn’t that part of what makes them miracles?