IT'S STILL LIFE.

Down in the Holl'r

2011-12-07T17:23:00.008-05:00

Recently I was able to visit my husband's homeland, the great state of Virginia.
To be honest, I had been reluctant to go even though I've known great and wonderful people from Virginia. But not everyone I know from Virginia comes from the same area where Clint grew up. You see, my husband is a geographically certified hillbilly. I did not know I had prejudices against hillbillies until I met Clint and they continued to stew for the better part of the last year and a half. Whenever he'd reminisce about the good ol' days back home in Appalachia (for the rest of you who are not from that area, it's pronounced Apple-atcha by natives), I would secretly cringe inside, knowing that one day I'd actually have to go and encounter these people who speak weird and like wood paneling and bad wood carvings and fake flowers. Only to Clint it wasn't actually a secret that I dreaded going. It wasn't a secret that I was a snobby Californian who judged his people.
Despite myself, I loved Virginia. We started up near our nation's capital in Fairfax, VA where Clint's mom, dad and sister live. His mom had to work for most of our trip, but we got to take her to work a couple of times and I got to see where she spent a lot of her time (and subsequently where Clint spent 5 years of his life working the same job-- contract delivery driving for the postal service). His sister played tour guide and we cruised around D.C. I am a lame traveller in the sense that I could care less about seeing monuments. They thought I'd want to walk around the Lincoln and Jefferson memorials, stare at the White House, visit the Smithsonian, etc. I told them I was content doing a drive-by...I'd rather discover the cool parts of the city where we'd find a good hole-in-the-wall Greek diner. We found one called The Greek Spot. It was pretty decent.
Our second day was spent exploring a cute town called Lucketts and going antiquing. Then we ventured into Maryland once I found out how close we were. It wasn't too long before we were in West Virginia, yes, eating dinner and playing slots at Hollywood Casino. Clint was mortified as his sister and I went from nickel slots to penny slots and back again. We didn't lose ALL of it.
The next 5 days were spent down in Clint's hometown, Stickleyville. It was a 7 hour drive to get there, through endless groves of deciduous trees in full fall array. Breathtaking.
A good amount of Clint's extended family, on both sides, still live in Stickleyville. I do not know what the population of this tiny farm community is, but it's TINY. And most of the residents are related to Clint in one way or another. To be honest, the place spooked me at first. And, by spook, I mean creeped me out in its ability to fulfill all stereotypes I'd had. While I did not see children running around shirtless in bib overalls and barefoot, I did see my share of double wide trailers with rocking chairs on the front porch and dogs chained to barrels outside. There were also quite a few barns with what looked like drying leather or some sort of thick herbs hanging in the doorways. Clint let me know it's what's called "hangin' 'baccer" (hanging tobacco). I couldn't snort-laugh when I heard this because I didn't want to shame his niece Verity, who was sitting in the back seat and who still lives in that area.
Like I thought, every house we entered had wood paneling, fake flowers and even his sweet Mamaw Rasnic (grandma)-- who lives on Rasnic Hollow Road, had two wood carvings of hillbillies toting jugs of moonshine-- yes, Clint's ancestors were Moonshiners. And, as I expected, every place we went, we were served up biscuits, ham and bottomless cups of sweet tea. Everyone was 'just as nice as they could be' and I immediately picked up the accent. We were able to experience a church service at Wallens Creek Covenant Church where Clint attended many services growing up and whose Camp he worked at for several summers. He hadn't been back in about 10 years and everyone there was SO excited to see him and to meet this curious Californian bride they'd all heard about. I shook many hands and heard many voices lifted in hymnal song, harmonizing in that ol' bluegrassy kind of way. It was totally surreal to me. I loved it.
We got to stand on the place in the Cumberland Gap where Virginia, Tennessee and Kentucky meet. We went antiquing around those areas, visited various relatives, played rounds of Hand and Foot and had the most marvelous time.
We headed back up north to spend the last couple days of our trip with friends of Clint's and with his mama (who we talked into getting a new 'do' and does she look sassy!). Clint's friends Adam (the best man at our wedding) and Nikki are awesome... they are the type who stand by you through thick and thin, always encouraging and praying for you. They have 2 adorable children, Jacob and Lily. I was so thankful we got to spend time with them, albeit brief. We also got to spend an afternoon with a woman Clint has known his whole life, Wendy. I'd heard many stories about this world-traveling woman from England who, upon seeing Stickleyville, decided with her husband to settle there. They built a house not far from Clint's homestead and their little daughter was Clint's sister's best friend. Wendy recently relocated up near D.C. to live with family and we had a beautiful time of sharing. She even gave Clint a children's book about sharks that he used to look at all the time at her house growing up. Tears flowed abundantly.
What I learned while in Virginia is that prejudices are stupid and they trap us. My heart is still warm with the homefires I got to partake of, both spiritual and literal, while visiting friends and family in Appalachia. I think my husband is really fortunate to have grown up with such caring, servant-hearted, hard-working, family-oriented people. I reap the benefits daily.

Nothing in Particular

2011-06-13T00:38:00.002-04:00

It's 9:38 pm. I just finished eating a plate of spaghetti and the best thing about it were the artichoke hearts I cooked into the sauce. In about an hour and half, Clint will get home from work. This was the afternoon I was supposed to spend doing art of some kind. Not homework -related art, as the semester has ended, but just the anything-I-want kind. We even took apart my dining-room studio yesterday, cleaned it out and rearranged it so that I could have a fresh start today. Instead, a handful of people called this afternoon and then some of them came over. It's now late and all I've sketched today are some tree skeletons. At least it's something.
I am in a funny place in life. Now that I don't have school telling me what I should draw or paint or sculpt and how I should do it, I have to try and figure out what it is I actually like to do. Paint? Draw? Definitely not sculpt, I know that much. What do I feel like communicating through image? Do I just want to lay medium down on paper and let my soul and arms do the work or do I want to really plan out what I want to show? Gah! It's odd to have the freedom I need to have in order to do what I want to do and instead am sitting at the computer typing about what I wanted to do earlier. I am nervous, intimidated, daunted by my options. I thought I might want to draw some barren trees in charcoal on watercolor paper. I started to and I don't like it. I have to go back to it, study it, figure out if I want it to look more realistic or impressionistic or representational or... do I do it all in charcoal? add paint? add oil pastel? all of the above?
I have decided to discontinue going to art school. The cost is too overwhelming. Clint and I want to buy a house, travel around visiting people we love and miss, raise some kiddos (no, I'm not pregnant, yet, but still trying). It's one of those frustrating things in life, facing the letting go of come-lately dreams. I love the Academy of Art University. But, I will never be an artist for Pixar or Disney. I'll probably never show in a hip New York Gallery. Other than glorifying God with the talents He's given me, these are reasons for continuing toward a degree. An education can be garnered anywhere you seek learning and so I've decided to continue my education by hanging out with other artists in town, by checking out dvd's from the library, by attending cool workshops whenever we can afford it. Over time, I will grow as an artist as long as I continue to practice, observe, record and play. A degree guarantees me an overwhelming debt load, not a career. I go back and forth on this, but mostly I'm convinced that if I continue to offer this talent up to God, He will make a path for it. I will miss taking classes at such a cool University and getting incredible feedback and instruction from seasoned instructors. But, it's time to move on to other wonderful things in life. Like, going to bed.
Goodnight!

The Debt of Love

2011-02-02T14:29:00.002-05:00

"Owe no one anything except to love one another, for he who loves another has fulfilled the law." Romans 13:8

Clint and I are taking Crown Financial Ministries to help us get on the same page regarding our finances and how we manage our money as a couple. We were asked to look up this verse today (and two others) and then answer a question: Why is debt discouraged in Scripture? After thinking on this for a while, I answered the question and then moved on to other things. About an hour later, I got to thinking about this particular verse again.

Like many couples, Clint and I have very different habits regarding how we handle money and our attitudes toward it. Without going into detail about our differences, let's just say it is THE area of conflict in our young marriage. Not shocking. As I evaluate my part in the conflict and how my attitudes and actions add strain, I am forced to look at the things I value and what I cling so tightly to. Today I realized at a deeper level that the things we cling to are what we become indebted to, what we become slaves to. I am not Buddhist, but Siddartha had it right when he said that the reason we suffer is due to clinging to the impermanent. Now, Buddha did not believe in God, so I will now turn to Christ who said that we cannot serve both God and money, for we will love one and hate the other. Hatred is suffering. When I cling to money, things, and the 'security' I believe they give me, I am not clinging to God, the Giver of all things. When I rely on stuff, when I cling to the impermanent, I become a slave to it because I live in constant fear of my security being taken away. When another human being comes to use, take away, borrow, etc my stuff, i.e. source of security, I feel hate and I suffer. Now, clinging to stuff doesn't necessarily have to do with financial debt, except that the desire for unnecessary stuff can get us into debt. But any kind of slavery leads us to hatred and loathing. It leads us away from love.
According to God, he wants me to be free from all kind of debt, all kinds of slavery. The only thing I should be captured by is love. To truly love God and to truly love my husband, I need to not put things and money before either of them. I owe them love, not hate.

Charles Clinton Parsons

2010-12-05T11:59:00.005-05:00

He's the reason I haven't blogged since July.
Technically, that's a lie, but I blame it on him because a new relationship can be all-consuming. Or rather, since most of what I have been processing since July has been related to Sir Parsons, I have chosen to not blog in order to process things with him. It has been a wise choice. I've opened my heart to him, he's opened his heart to me and we've decided that we mutually adore each others' hearts enough to keep adoring them until 'death do we part'.

Clint and I 'met' online.
It's all the rage you know.
Prior to signing up for a dating website, I had scoffed at them. That is until I started meeting the awesome people close friends and family members of mine had met and started dating online. I fought the act of submitting a profile for a long time, wanting to hold out for that supernatural fairy-tale story of meeting my husband on a bumped flight or reaching for the same book at a hole- in- the- wall bookshop thousands of miles from home. I waited a long time for something super cool and movie-like to happen. Then I hit my thirties and I was over it.
After reading the story of how Abraham's servant 'found' Rebekah for his master's son, Isaac, God loudly pointed out the obvious: "Amy, she was out in the open. She was on her way to water camels. She wasn't sitting in her room pining and waiting. You have to be 'out there'. The guy needs to be able to see you and know you're there!"
Made sense.
So, I put myself 'out there'. Being a missionary in a foreign country where few single eligible men in my age group dared to venture made it difficult to meet someone. Living in a tiny coastal California town and being the only single Christian woman in my age range made it difficult to meet someone. I even moved to Denver, a city where I knew my prospects would grow exponentially. And then I couldn't find a church where I connected. Until the very end of my time there. Until I had already 'met' Clint online.
So, Charles Clinton Parsons.
His profile picture on the website is what immediately caught my attention. He was making an 'Amy face' (wide-eyed, mouth in the shape of an 'o', eyebrows looking surprised). Plus, he was cute. Plus, his profile wasn't a literary paint-by-number which the majority of guys' profiles are. I had decided early on that I wasn't going to contact any of the men on there. I would let them pursue me. After deleting a couple of emails from some guys in foreign countries looking for a green card, I saw Clint's email. By some of the questions he asked, it was obvious he had actually read my profile, so I wrote him back. Then he wrote me back, etc until after several times we decided to video chat. I purposely made my hair messy and put my glasses on so that he could see the 'real me'. According to him, I was the cutest thing he'd ever seen, and so began our odd, but God-directed journey together.
Clint is 38, is from Stickleyville, Virginia (in the western-most county of VA that butts up against Tennessee), has a bachelor's degree in Youth Ministry and has the most golden heart of any man I've ever met. He's my height, still has most of his hair, has gorgeous green/hazel eyes and nice straight teeth. He's intelligent, is well-written and has a great sense of humor that I completely don't find funny. But other people do, so it's okay. He's never been married and has no kiddos. He loves his family. He is totally servant-hearted. He has a deep, abiding passion for Jesus and wants everyone to know the freedom that is available through Him. He's never been out of the country and I can't wait to take him somewhere. He plays bass, guitar, clarinet, tuba... I think there are more, but I can't remember. He is super handy and can fix just about anything. He loves me like Jesus does and it continually blows my mind. He had been planning on moving to Denver to attend seminary there, which is another reason he contacted me. So, he moved out to Denver from Virginia early August. I was in Cambria for my brother's wedding while while he was driving out to Denver. Our first meeting was at the airport when he came to pick me up. He showed up with a huge bouquet of flowers in all my favorite colors. I sort of gave him the cold shoulder. I was being very guarded. That lasted about a day and a half and then my heart couldn't hold back anymore. He was too wonderful.
Clint and I both had planned on being in Denver for a while. However, circumstances for me changed when I was given 3 weeks to find a new place to live. He also, after touring Denver Seminary, decided he actually didn't want to go. And then he was told he had to move out of the place he was staying due to issues going on with the family he was staying with. I wasn't able to find a place and neither was he, so we decided to come out to Cambria. It was a quick decision, but we both knew God was pushing us out here. It's been rough ever since. Clint has been sleeping on couches, in laundry rooms, on floors for the last 4 months. It took him 2 months to find steady work. I have been working part time and going through my second grueling semester of art school. We have been battling everything from our pasts, from our present, from the enemy, from ourselves. It has been a relationship forged in fire. How could I not love a man who would continue to stand through it all?
Clint has been my support, my emotional punching bag, my best friend, my enemy, my brother, my father, my boyfriend. He is everything God ever promised me in a mate and so much more than I ever even knew to ask for. And I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with him, discovering more of Jesus together.
And, I can't wait for him to meet all of you!

Ask and Ye Shall Receive

2010-07-17T18:02:00.003-04:00

So, my car was broken into night before last. Whoever did it completely busted my driver's side window, ripped apart my console, stole my stereo and my entire CD collection. Thank goodness I did not have any thing else of 'value' in the car. After fretting for a bit, I knew I needed to pray and ask my Father to help me restore those things, inexpensively. I saw that damage as I was walking to work, so I had little time to really deal with the issue since I had to work a full day. I filed a police report, called my insurance company (only to find I don't have the coverage that would cover the loss) and had my roommate drop me off at work. I was definitely stirred up. As I stressed over the thought of having to figure out where I was going to get the best deal on auto glass and installation, one of my co-workers suggested calling a salvage yard. I called my roommate and asked if she would do that for me since I was working. Half and hour later she called me back letting me know that she found a yard that had a window for me. I could pull it myself for $35 or have them do it for $50. I don't make/have a lot of money and $15 right now is more than I can just throw around. I pondered what I might do as I washed dishes and it occurred to me to ask my friend Jeff who was sitting in the coffeeshop doing some work on his computer. I ran out there, let him know what had happened and asked if he had any clue how or any willingness to extract a window from a vehicle. He said he could probably do it and would be happy to help me the next day (today).
Jeff not only spent almost two hours trying to get this window out of the junked car, but then offered to install it into mine! He spent his entire morning and afternoon in the hot sun laboring on my behalf and all he wanted as payment was a ride to the grocery store.
In all, I spent $35 for a new window and the owner of the salvage yard threw in a new console for free!
When God challenges us to ask-- of Him and of others-- we can expect that when we do, we will receive.

Coffee Shop

2010-07-07T12:11:00.003-04:00

All this week thoughts of blogging have been flitting through my brain. What to blog about? Why do I even still keep a blog? I think it's because I love to write and every so often a moment has a multi-dimensional, vibrant quality to it that causes me to want to capture it, look at it from different angles and make it completely my own. I haven't had too many of those moments lately. Unless you count the few seconds interval on my walk to the gym the other day where I passed a woman's black pleather belt which looked as though it had been used as a weapon the night before and then passed by a men's once-white crew sock limpily hanging off the curb, looking very much like the victim of belt war tactics. I chuckled and then sighed to myself seeing these two elements as symbolic representations of some broken male-female relating. I quickly concluded that it wouldn't make a very interesting blog article on its own, but I just had to stick it in one anyway.
This morning I awoke with a strong desire to sit in a random coffee shop and blog. I had a Groupon (coolest thing EVER-- every morning I get a coupon emailed to me for some kind of service offered at a crazy discount price) for an oil change on my car and needed to take it in. I just dropped off my car and started walking toward the King Soopers shopping center out this way, having been told by the car place guy that he thought there might be an Einstein Bagels in that general area. Halfway there, I glimpsed a sign 'COFFEE SHOP'. Random coffee shop. Way better.
So, I'm sitting here, drinking an iced coffee, listening to Roy Orbison on the radio and just writing because it feels good. I still love my new church-- starting our first single women's small group tomorrow night. I love being in on the ground floor of things. And, I just need to meet more regularly with people who are trying to know more and more what it means to love and be loved by Jesus in America. I am keen to know how these girls see their faith, how they choose to live it out in the world around them. I crave to hear their personal struggles, to listen as they share what Scriptures they might hold onto when they feel lost. My soul just needs to know: how real IS Jesus in the lives of people around me who claim to know Him?
I have realized that I am desperate to hear these faith confessions because I feel like my own walk of faith has taken on a completely new life, that sometimes feels like death. I was reading in Matthew the other morning, 'You are the salt of the earth; but if salt loses its flavor, how shall it be seasoned?' Ugh. I used to feel so dang salty. To be honest, I used to be a total spice cabinet. Today I am just begging God to not let me become completely flavorless. It freaks me out that I'm questioning things I once wholeheartedly knew-- and not out of cynicism, either. Not even out of doubt. More out of: how in the world did I go from being an MVP to one standing in line outside the park staring at the corn dog seller? How did I go from seeing the Kingdom of God all around me to being one who listens to others talking about it? I can imagine the Israelites during the 3 and a half year drought during Ahab's reign commenting to each other: 'Remember the rain? Remember how when it rained it would cool down for a while and then get insanely hot right after? Remember when we could go down to the brook and stick our feet in the water?' I feel like I'm having to constantly remind myself: remember when you used to pray for people and they would be set free? remember that time in Indonesia when... remember that time in Nigeria when...
But then Elijah prayed and the deluge came. "Elijah was a man with a nature like ours, and he prayed earnestly that it would not rain; and it did not rain for three years and six months. And he prayed again, and the heaven gave rain, and the earth produced its fruit.' James 5:17,18
Keep praying for rain, Amy. It will come again.

The Pearl

2010-06-13T19:24:00.002-04:00

I've been here in Denver 6 months. And, for those of you who follow this know that I still do not have a church home and it has been quite the excruciating challenge for me. While some people might welcome the opportunity to NOT have to commit somewhere for a while, I have suffered from spiritual dryness unlike ever before due to a lack of regular hanging out with people who love Jesus as much as me. I have wrestled day and night over this for quite a while now, torn between the things I would have to give up if I should commit to one church or another.
Today I reluctantly tried yet another church. I saw it advertised on facebook. The last time I paid attention to something advertised on facebook ended up with me at a Matisyahu concert that blew my mind, so this church had some potential. Facebook has also suggested I become an Ultrasound Technician. How do they know about my obsession with babies?? Anyway, my roommate and I drove the 20 minutes to this brand new church that meets in the Marriot convention center.
I loved it. The pastor's wife has written songs for Hillsong and has performed with Darlene what's-her-face, so needless to say, the worship was astounding-- and not because of the sound quality. Basically, she knows how to lead people into worship. It was the first time in a LONG time I didn't feel like we were all just standing around singing songs. We were worshipping. The message was great, straight out of Colossians. The pastor mentioned that even though they are only a 7 month old church, they are planning on doing a mission trip sometime this year. As a church plant, they support other church plants. Everyone was friendly and welcoming. I talked with the pastor right after service and we just 'got' each other. They are starting up small groups for next month and he was SO excited that I want to be a part of that. He invited me to join them for lunch next Sunday so they can all get to know me.
I am almost too afraid to get too excited about this, but I must say that I felt 'home' from the minute I walked in until the end. I cannot wait for next week and to start getting involved. Ojalá. Vamos a ver. Dios es bueno.

check out www.thepearlchurch.org

Heavenly Remnants that Remind

2010-06-03T22:17:00.002-04:00

My camera was stolen recently, so I cannot convey in pictures the subject of my gratitude and heightened inspiration lately: Denver skies at dusk casting surreal light on corners of all conceivable places.
Thank you Father of Lights for not forgetting anything.

Effective. Fervent. Avails.

2010-04-23T11:39:00.002-04:00

A couple of days ago I got to visit, in person, with a friend I made two years ago while I was working in the Dominican Republic. He and a buddy of his came down for a month or so right after graduating from med school and just before beginning their residencies. They interned with Students International during our Spring Team season and were incredibly refreshing company for both my roommate Amy and I. I was really sad when they left, but managed to keep in touch with one of them, Ryan, via facebook over the last couple of years. Ryan was just in Denver for 24 hours and squeezed me into his schedule and for this I am incredibly thankful. We wasted no time in catching up and just generally talked non-stop for the two hours we had. He joined the Navy just out of med school and is now working for the Marines as a doctor. He used military language that I am unfamiliar with, but basically he is over an 850 person corps. He is stationed in Okinawa, spent time in Korea and is about to head over to Afghanistan for 7 months before returning to Japan. Among the many exciting and wonderful things we talked about, I asked him what books he was reading. His response was: INSIDE THE REVOLUTION by Joel Rosenburg. I hadn't heard of it. Ryan explained it well, but I'm not going to try and give a summary on a book I haven't read, so here's one I copied off the author's website (www.joelrosenburg.com):

INSIDE THE REVOLUTION
Inside the Revolution takes you inside the winner-take-all battle for the hearts, minds and souls of the people of the Middle East. It includes never-before-seen profiles of the Radicals, the Reformers, and the Revivalists. It explains the implications of each movement and the importance of each leader – not only through the lenses of politics and economics but through the third lens of Scripture as well. Today, wars and revolutions define the modern Middle East, and many believe the worst is yet to come.

The one thing Ryan shared was how Rosenburg addresses very strongly that the war in the Middle East is not only a political war, it's a spiritual war-- a war that was started way back when Ishmael was born to Abraham. Although most Jews and Muslims understand this, and some Christians understand it, it re-ignited the understanding within me when I heard Ryan recount, "The problem is that America is going in to fight a battle, but it's the wrong battle. The Muslims know what the battle is really about." Wow. That shook me for some reason. It shook me because I know in my core that it's true. Unless we are dealing with the true Enemy, we fight in vain. Lives are lost for no purpose. Time, money, power... all of these are wasted in the process of trying to eradicate a physical enemy and trying to bring political reform to a spiritual issue. "For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places. " Ephesians 6:12 As Ryan talked, I felt my spiritual eyes open up and I was able to see all of our troops as spiritual workers and I felt a surge to really be praying at a deeper, yet higher level. My prayer for Ryan, and this is what I spoke to him, is that his spiritual eyes would be opened while he is over in Afghanistan and that God would train him in how to stand and advance within the spiritual battle that is raging over there.

I get so overwhelmed sometimes by all of the prayer needs out there and easily lose my fervor. This week, God corrected me by bringing this Scripture to mind: "The effective, fervent prayer of a righteous man avails much" James 5:16
How is prayer effective? When we pray according to God's will. How do we know God's will? It is clearly stated in many ways throughout Scripture. I have read various books by spiritual teachers I very much respect who often suggest praying only Scripture and asking God to fulfill his promises, His will. We don't need to invent anything in prayer. We don't need to come up with things we think God should do. It's all laid out for us in His Word. Well, how do I know if my prayer is fervent enough? I think we know the difference between praying with conviction, faith and passion and praying out of obligation. I have seen mountains move when I have prayed from a place of desperation and groaning. And, a righteous man, person, is simply someone who is in Christ, the only Righteous One. God calls us righteous who have received the blood sacrifice of Christ as our payment to God for our sin. God hears me and responds because I am Christ's. Does God not hear the cries of everyone? Certainly He does. God searches the hearts and answers prayers of those who do not even know Him, yet, because they are sincerely crying out for help and because He wants all people to come to Him. But those of us who have received the redemption of Christ's blood have a place of partnership with God in prayer. God answers prayers of humanity; God MOVES on the prayers of the righteous.
I have been re-encouraged in the place of prayer after talking with Ryan. I am writing to stir that same fervent desire in the bosom of you who are reading this-- whether you know you have a personal relationship with Christ and the Father or whether you just believe that there is a God and He loves you. If you are one who believes in God, but doesn't get the whole Jesus thing, I invite you to ask. There is a position for you in God's Kingdom that you don't even know about yet that is better than living where you are and still wondering. I asked and made the choice 9 years ago. The difference is like night and day.

Let's pray my friends!

Perplexingness

2010-04-08T23:15:00.002-04:00

I am in a state of perplexion that I think I am finally coming to peace with, if one can be at peace with things that are not so cut-and-dried. Perhaps many of you out there are completely comfortable with ambiguity. I know some that thrive in undefined territory, but I have never been one of those people. I still don't like it, but I am learning to accept it.
I am going to a new church.
This has been perplexing to me.
After spending 3 months at Church in the City, a church that I believed God had designed just for me, I realized that I was insanely bored and was having an impossible time making friends. And it wasn't for lack of trying. I have no problem asking people if they want to hang out or what have you, but although I was surrounded by all kinds of different people, it did not include anyone in my peer group. In the past, this has not been important for me, but after spending 2 years in the DR with people my age I realized how needful I really am. So, without any fanfare or goodbyes, I silently left the Messianic-Hispanic-Inner City church and moved on.
The first church I visited was one that is well-known to the underground of Denver. It is held in an old artist's house-- all the walls are painted crazy colors and there is a huge mural of a skull on the wall. People are milling about outside smoking cigarettes, waiting for the service to start. Inside, I would like to say I found all walks of life, but mostly it's the young, white, dred-locked, tatooed and pierced crowd ( I have both tatoos and piercings, so don't get the idea that I'm uppity about this). The church boldly proclaims that their mission is to reach the outcasts of society. My overwhelming sense of the whole night was that they have made themselves a comfy place for people to come hang out, but I didn't see much evidence of transformed lives. I understand that we are all at different stages in our walks with God, but I had to wonder after hearing the pastor use a cuss word 3 times in a 6 minute period, if they were really reaching anyone with the gospel message. When we look like the world, why should the world want to change? I ask that God move in that church and that His Spirit be present, bringing abundant blessing, but it isn't for me.
So, after much thinking (prayer?) I decided to check out a church I had found online when I was researching churches back in October, when I was still in the 'if' stages about coming to Denver. I was drawn to this church's website because it was intelligent, informative, straightforward and obviously made up of college and career-aged folk. It is non-denominational, but founded in Reformist theology. I have not done all my homework regarding the Reformation and all it entails, but I do know that I have not always seen eye-to-eye with some of their doctrine. Which is why I was surprised I was interested in going. Which is why I resisted going. Which is why I'm surprised I'm going now and, so far, am loving it. This is where the perplexion, perplexity, perplexicacity comes in. For the last 4 Sundays, I have heard the meatiest, most solid preaching I have heard since I was at IHOP. I feel like I get to meet Jesus all over again, in deeper ways. This pastor can hold my attention the entire time he's talking and if you were to sit and have lunch with me, I'd be able to recount to you every sermon of his I've heard from start to finish. It's that good. Also, they offer communion EVERY WEEK!!! After going to churches that seem to want to forget about this holy sacrament (save the Cambria Vineyard that at least does it once a month), I am like the deer that pants for the water in a dry and weary land. I can't get enough. I have been so hungry and thirsty for the Word and for communion!! I had no idea!! Jesus meets with me every week and I just cry. I am also surrounded by a bunch of young adults who I have little in common with, but who all love Jesus and who strive to be disciples. After my first Sunday there, I decided to jump into their pre-service, 8 week 'Gospel class' just so I could meet people. This sweet little group had an Easter lunch at one of their homes and I went. Three newly graduated Engineering students, one girl getting her degree in Physical Therapy and me. It felt so random and it was.
I guess my biggest 'struggle' is that I don't feel like I fit into any kind of church community-- at least not one that I have found here. I feel mostly myself and most comfortable when I'm hanging out with the people I've met at the ice rink. None of them are Christians and yet I'd rather hang out with them all week. It's not like I'm ashamed of my love affair with Jesus, it's just that it seems that people who don't know what it's like to have a love affair with Jesus just accept me as I am, whereas the people I'm meeting who want to walk with Jesus and be like him totally don't get me.
I think Jesus felt this tension.
People who know they are sinners and aren't trying to hide that fact are attractive. They are real and fun to hang out with. Jesus hung out with all kinds of people. But, he didn't just hang out. He brought them the gospel message, too. He healed them, loved them, preached to them. So, even though he enjoyed his time with them, He wanted them to be transformed by His love. This is how I feel with all of my ice skating friends and people I meet at work. I accept them as they are, but I don't want them to stay that way. I want them to encounter God's healing love. Jesus also loved hanging out with His disciples and He really wanted them to 'get' Him, but most of the time, they didn't. He expressed both frustration and loneliness over this.
I don't know. Something has changed in me since I've moved to Denver. I want to be able to make sense of it all, but I can't. Can you? Can someone tell me what's going on? Haha.
www.fellowshipdenver.org
Good preaching.

Mid-afternoon break from school

2010-03-11T18:46:00.003-05:00

Today the sun poked out and brought some Spring-ish warmth with it. So, instead of going to the gym, I decided to take a stroll downtown, deposit a check and get some food. Yesterday my friend Phillip mentioned that he was going to get a Kosher dog for lunch later on and ever since I had been craving one. Just out front of my bank sat a hot dog vendor. Hassim. He really wanted me to try his chicken kabobs or gyros or humus, but I had a hankering for a dog. So, as he prepared it and topped it with sauerkraut, I asked him where he was from. Israel. Go figure. I got a can of Squirt, pulled up a curb in the sun and devoured the best tasting Polish sausage I've ever had. I love living in a city.

One Wise Virgin Dozes Off

2010-02-19T11:47:00.002-05:00

One aspect of the parable of the 10 virgins found in Matthew 25 that has always been a bit surprising to me is the part where all 10 virgins fall asleep while they're waiting for their bridegroom. Actually, there are a lot of aspects of this parable that are surprising and cause me to want to meditate on it more and more. In fact, when you look at the story, the only thing separating the wise and foolish virgins was the amount of oil each woman brought with her. They all heard the call, 'the bridegroom is coming!'. They all responded to that call and went out to meet him. They all lit their oil lamps to light their way. They all fell asleep together while they waited. The only difference is that when they all awoke, only 5 had enough EXTRA oil to keep their lamps burning while they waited for the dashing man to show up. The other five had to leave camp and go buy more oil because the other 5 refused to share. And, they missed the coming of the bridegroom. This causes me to wonder. Is is really important to God that these ladies were able to continue to see through the night? Wasn't the fact that the 'foolish' virgins even came and were still present when they heard the call enough? I mean, 5 other virgins had lit lamps, so surely the whole camp of 10 would be able to see by that light. Did those five foolish virgins have to leave camp, really? Couldn't they have stayed and sat in the dimmer light provided by the other virgins? I'm thinking that I am probably missing a deeper meaning. It's not that I haven't heard plenty of teachings on this parable. More often than not, I have heard it preached that the oil in the lamps symbolizes the Holy Spirit and that those who foster more intimacy with Him won't have lamps that go out. Hmmm. In the parable, it is clear that the wise virgins thought ahead. They planned better. The foolish virgins had what was needed, but it wasn't enough. They didn't foresee having to wait longer. Maybe they were hasty and just didn't think about it at all. When I think about it more, it seems to me that the oil symbolizes waiting. It's not so much the oil (even the five fools had oil), but the thought behind bringing more, the looking ahead to the possibility of delay. The five wise were committed to WATCHING for him; to WAITING for him, no matter how long it took. Just before sharing this parable, Jesus is quoted in Matthew 24:42 saying, "Watch therefore, for you do not know what hour your Lord is coming." The foolish virgins had a desire to meet and see the bridegroom. They had heard about him and knew that they were to go out and meet him. But they didn't have that deeper desire that would cause them to prepare ahead of time to wait. They were not on watch. They were aware, they responded, but they weren't adequately prepared.
Why am I ruminating on this?
Because lately I have felt like a virgin falling asleep as she waits. Lately I have felt like the answers to the cries of my heart aren't coming fast enough and I'm tired of looking, tired of waiting. I am in a spiritual wilderness/desert/dry spot and though I've heard the call, have responded, have packed my things and headed out to meet him, I feel like it's been a long time since I heard the call and feel like maybe he's forgotten about me. Maybe he's just not coming.
I have not been able to put into words what it has been like making such a drastic shift from being a missionary 24/7 to going back to 'normal' American life in a new city. I have written about the wonderful things like discovering joy in ice skating, cool aspects of my new church and how God lead me to my 'normal' job, but I have found it difficult to write about the incredible disappointment I have felt in feeling so alone in this new place. Though I am learning so much at my new church, it has been nearly impossible to build community. If I go to the Messianic services on Saturday mornings, I am blessed to be learning how to pray in Hebrew, but am also the only single person my age in the entire congregation. If I choose to go to regular service on Sunday, I will see a few more people my age, but they are in a sea of hundreds of other people and there is no time for 'meet and greet' before or after service. My church just started up their home groups again for the new year. There is even one for singles. However, all these groups take place on Friday night and I have to work. No one at work would trade shifts with me and I need the money. It's discouraging!!! I even met a good-looking guy my age at the ice rink last week who asked for my phone number and then proceeded to call me and ask if I'd like to join him for dinner. I was ecstatic! Maybe God was going to finally answer my cries for my lifemate! He invited me over, cooked me fresh cod, we had wonderful conversation and HE DOESN'T KNOW JESUS! I was devastated. Here is this wonderful person wanting to get to know me and I can't continue dating him because I know that it would end in misery. I found my heart trying to make excuses, trying to work my way around the fact that we don't share faith in Christ. In my frustration, disappointment, heartbreak, fatigue and loneliness, I am way tempted to just fall asleep to my faith. I am tempted to let the light burn out. I, like the foolish virgins, believe in the Bridegroom. I want to see Him. My soul, however, is fighting to stay awake, to keep on track, to relish in righteousness and holiness and obedience when I feel abandoned, forgotten.
Jesus was tempted in the wilderness. He was tempted by Satan with things that had already been promised to Him by His Father: power, authority, protection. Satan offered an alternative way, a way that seemed more pleasing, easier. But Jesus refused and chose the narrow way. He chose the way of the Cross and received all the promises His Father had made him-- but He received them in freedom and not as a slave. He received them in Life and not chained to Death. And because of His choice, I now have that same freedom and I now have resurrection life. The fulfillment of the promises received have now been transferred to me, if I just believe. However, along with freedom, life and inheritance of the promises, I am faced with the same temptations as Jesus. I am here, in the wilderness, where the Holy Spirit drove me and am being tempted to doubt God's goodness. I am being tempted by Satan with an offering that looks and smells very close to the promise of God over my life, but that comes with the cost of slavery and death. So, will I wait? Will I choose the way of the Cross, die to my own desires for fulfillment and comfort on my own terms, or will I let myself fall asleep; let my oil burn out?

"No temptation has overtaken you except that such as is common to man; but God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will also make the way of escape, that you may be able to bear it." 1 Cor. 10:13

I am going to choose the narrow way, the way of escape. I am going to choose to wake myself back up, pack some more oil and WATCH and WAIT for my bridegroom. I am going to wake myself up from this slumber of disappointment and shake off the dust of the night, rub the sleep from my eyes and look hard into eternity with the eyes of faith.

It's For Real

2010-01-27T19:57:00.002-05:00

Here are the promised photos of me in my new ice skates, standing on the ice, getting ready to rail my way around the rink. Today, my third day ever ice skating, I made it around the entire rink TWICE WITHOUT EVEN TOUCHING THE RAIL!!! I even had a scary thought of setting a goal to be on a hockey team one day. The thought quickly left my head when I remembered how much I hate to participate in competitive sports. Fun 2-second thought, though.

Anonymous

2010-01-23T00:06:00.002-05:00

Well, I've gotten some 'comments' on my blog in the past that were ads from some companies or individuals trying to sell something, which is why I decided to start moderating my comments. Blog Spam. Blam.
Today, I had another 'comment' on a very old blog and the entire thing was in Hebrew. Since I have a mild obsession with Israel and because I just started studying Hebrew, I decided to publish the 'comment', thinking it was from someone I know who knows these things about me. Then, I looked closer. There were URLs included. I decided to copy and paste. Wouldn't you know it, it was an ad. But not just any ad. It was an ad for a hotel/getaway in Tel Aviv Israel. Instead of being bummed that the comment wasn't from a fun friend, I looked at the photo gallery on this website. I read about their amenities. Now I want to go there. Maybe for my honeymoon. I bookmarked the website for future reference. www.kfarbair.com. It's kinda funky/artsy. Awesome BLAM!!!

Twirl-arina. Mmm, not quite yet.

2010-01-20T23:30:00.004-05:00

You probably couldn't tell just by looking at me.
Even people who've known me for years may never have been able to guess, ascertain or even intuit. Except my mom, that is, since she has the special God-given powers of 'knowing' me.
The guy I rented the hybrids from probably couldn't tell either.
But, you can ask the ice...

I'M A SKATER!!! I SKATE!! (said in the voice of Bill Murray's character, Bob Wiley, taken from the scene where he's strapped to the mast of the sailboat)

Yes, folks, it's true... after 33 years of living in rink-less, frozen pond-less areas of California, the inner ice skater in me finally emerged today at the Joy Burns Ice Arena at Denver University. I held that railing like it was going out of style as toddlers whizzed past me, carving ice onto my pant cuff. Humiliated? Not even for one second!! After going 'round a few times, I even approached this, pardon the expression, bad-ass hockey chick and asked her for some tips.

"So, today's my first day out here on the ice,' I said cool-ly, 'and, uh, I'm thinkin' I should probably practice falling. So, what do you think is the best way?"
She looked around and then straight into my eyes with an intensity that only people on 'the ice' can really share.
"You know, the trick is, just don't tense up-- JUST DON'T TENSE UP! Man, snowboarders you know? If they don't, like, clench their fists as their falling... they like break their wrists and stuff, like all the time. So, just, if you're gonna fall, just clench your wrists and just go with it, ya know?"
"Yep, okay, just go with it. Okay."

What else do you do with such awesome free advice like that? Continue to skate next to the railing and then grab on for dear life before you have to clench your fist and just 'go with it'!! That's right folks, I didn't fall today, not even once!! I probably will tomorrow, though, if I get up enough chutzpah.

So, I skated for an hour. Most of that time I actually practiced stops, swizzles (which were really more like swoozles since I haven't had any lessons and just read about them on some beginner's site I found off of Google), turns and glides. Half of the time I practiced these things NOT TOUCHING THE RAIL!! I'M AWESOME!!!

So, needless to say, I was on a major high at the end of the public skate sesh. So high, I told my roommate at lunch (consumed a lamb gyro in about 5 seconds flat after that hard core workout), that I needed to go out and buy my own skates RIGHT THEN. She complied, being on the same high herself and needing her own pair of pretty skates, and we drove over to the nearest Play It Again to try some on. They had a perfect pair in my size for a super good price, but Christine wasn't convinced, so we went on over to the 'best' skating shop in Denver, where they had no skates in stock, but gave us a complete education on each brand and type of skate, blade, etc and tried to get us to order their least expensive which prices skyrocketed out of our budgets. So, armed with lots o' information, we drove right on back to the first store and bought us the cheapo ones. Good brand, lesser model. Maybe in a couple of weeks when I'm doing spins and flips I'll invest in the more expensive ones, but, for now, my beautiful, new white Jackson Glaciers are all I need to get out there, clench my fists and 'go with it'!

I totally took photos, too, of me on the ice-- well, one photo was taken of my by Christine-- and of my new skates, but I can't find the cord that connects my camera to my computer for uploading. BOOOOOO!! You'll just have to take my word for it: I'm a skater.

Would you like foam on that?

2010-01-10T10:49:00.001-05:00

They liked me.

www.tatteredcover.com

Snapshot

2010-01-08T22:13:00.007-05:00

In prayer last week, I got a snapshot impression of burgundy painted walls, telescope lights and a glass bakery case. A coffee shop? Probably. A job, perhaps? Maybe. Days later, on a walk downtown with my fantastic friend and housemate Christine, I mentioned the image I'd gotten.
"I think I'm supposed to look for work in a coffee shop with burgundy painted walls and telescope lights."
"Okay, let's look for it."

I love people who believe God like I do.

We were actually walking around looking for good places for her to put in an application, but every time we passed by a Starbucks, a Peets, an Ink!, we peeked through the windows at the wall color. Lots of sage green. One with bright red and white. No burgundy. I let it go.

Days later I was having breakfast with my incredibly, artistically- talented friend Cami. I mentioned the prayer impression I'd gotten to her. She smiled and said something like, "Well, God can do anything!" Ah, how true. We quickly moved onto other more fascinating subjects and then it was time to do more hanging out elsewhere. She suggested the Tattered Cover bookstore . I didn't know that the Tattered Cover had a bookstore in Highlands Ranch where she lived-- about a half hour drive from where I live in Denver. The Tattered Cover is legendary here. It's one of Denver's must-sees. I was up for a peruse.

I was busy talking about something probably unimportant when we walked through the front door, so I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings much, only to notice that Cami kept walking toward this little cafe section and I kept wondering why since we'd downed more coffee than either of us needed at the breakfast place. Then, she stopped and just stood there, looking forward. It took me a bit and then I shut up and looked ahead, too. Well, wouldn't you know it. Burgundy walls. Telescope lights. Glass bakery case.

She nudged me forward. Feeling a little foolish, I walked up to the counter and addressed the down-to-earth-looking woman standing behind it.
"I just have a question. Do the other Tattered Covers in Denver have coffee shops in them as well?"
"Yes they do."
"And, are they owned by Tattered Cover or are they a separate entity?"
"Are you looking for a job?"
"Actually, yes, yes I am."
"Stay right here."

I stood right there and shot Cami a quizzical look. She shot one back and pantomimed that she'd be reading some magazines in one of the overstuffed chairs in the corner. Shortly after, a thin, grey, curly-headed man strolled out from behind an 'employees only' type door.
"You looking for a job?"
"Actually, yes, yes I am."
"What area do you want to work? Downtown? Colfax? Here?"
"No, either downtown or Colfax-- I live in Lodo, so those are closer."
"Oh good, 'cause we're hiring for the Lodo store and are closing out applications today. You have time to fill out an app?"
"Um, yep."

It took me a while to fill it all out. They ask a lot of interesting questions like: what 3 sections of the bookstore would you be found in? (religion, travel, art) and, what makes a great coffee shop? (friendly, helpful staff; consistency and quality of beverage and food; cleanliness; good music; comfy places to sit...)

I completed it with gusto and went to hand it back to Wayne who then asked if he could give me a preliminary interview. I had to get through Wayne first. He liked me. He passed along my app to personnel. They liked my app. I got a call from Chuck. I had an interview with him and Jackie this morning. I liked them.

I'll let you know if they liked me back in my next inspiring blog...

By the way, thanks to 'anonymous' for leaving me that encouraging note on my last entry. It's bugging me that I don't know who you are. Annoying. Intriguing...

Every Tribe, Tongue and Nation

2009-12-27T19:30:00.002-05:00

I've been meaning to get to the Spanish service that Church in the City has on Sunday afternoons, but until today hadn't made the effort. After being sick all week, I had a slow morning and so decided to skip English service and go Español this afternoon. It felt like coming home.
The first person I met was Brian. Brian is an older gentlemen who has lived in Denver since '57. He was a little disheveled and, well, he is white, like me. He refused to speak to me in English and so we had some Spanish chit chat before the service. He has been teaching himself Spanish over the years and is pretty good-- about where I was after 6 months in the DR. When we walked into the sanctuary, he introduced me to the Pastors and then to a lovely older Mexican woman named Marguerita. He took off and so I sat with her and listened to her talk and talk and talk about the Lord. I could not stop smiling. I don't know what it is about Latin Christian culture, but they LOVE to talk about the Lord and about faith and about trials and how God uses the trials to strengthen them. I am always humbled and built up after listening. And, also following Latin culture, everyone else who walked in the building (either before or after the service) came up to say hello, shake hands, exchange names and a 'Dios le bendiga, hermana' (God bless you, sister). The pastor never has to encourage Latinos to greet others-- it's ingrained in them. Also, If you don't know this, all Spanish worship songs are passionate and all about the Gospel. They are always completely focused on Jesus and His worthiness, not on ourselves. Because of this, they lead one into a place of worship of the Holy and I always feel the presence of God when I am singing Spanish worship. The prayers, too, are different than the prayers we pray in English. They always focus on His power, His majesty, His mercy, His blood. By the time the preaching is about to start, I am already filled with the Spirit. Today was no different.
The Chilean pastor had a burden to share his and his wife's testimony of their conversions, faith walk and life as missionaries (Brazil, Honduras, Equatorial Guinea and now Denver). He had his wife sit up next to him and they tandem-shared their mutual journey. With tears consistently leaking out the corners of my eyes, I listened for over an hour to story after story of times when they felt that God had abandoned them and then, after prayer, how God miraculously came through. With tears consistently leaking out of the corners of their eyes, they implored us to not forget the mercies of God, to not forsake praying for His promises to come to pass, to not become weary in well-doing and to pray always, in all circumstances, believing.
I needed to hear that today. Big time. I thought a lot about my call to nations and about how God has not removed that call from my life, even though I am here in Denver. In fact, downstairs, just below us, as we were having church in Spanish, there was another service going on in Indonesian. I could not help but reflect on my time in Indonesia 6 years ago and how just being there for two months made me feel connected to the people worshipping downstairs. I thought about how excited I am to start Hebrew classes at this same church in January and I wondered at God's excellent craftsmanship in bringing me to a place that has an Indonesian congregation, a Messianic congregation and a Hispanic congregation. In just one building I see God's thread in my life and marvel.
After service, I walked outside and met a young man coming out of the Indonesian service. He is Chinese, speaks little English and sometimes attends the Indonesian service with his wife who is Chinese Indonesian. He gets bored, he says, because he doesn't understand Indonesian. He and his wife, Macy, are fairly new to Denver as well and are looking for friends. I didn't get to meet her since the Indonesian service was still going on, but I plan on spending some time getting to know them in the future. What an awesome day. That's all I can say.

Never Alone

2009-12-23T20:34:00.002-05:00

In just two days we celebrate Christmas. Before I chose to believe that Jesus was the only way to the Father, the only way to freedom and salvation and redemption and restored relationship, Christmas was a lovely time of homemade cookies, handmade stockings hanging over the fireplace, our traditional Christmas tape (now burned onto a CD) that my dad mixed many years ago, German Apple Pancakes in the morning, ripping open of presents. Come on, it's the best time of year. It's the best day. After I decided to believe in Jesus and call myself a Christian, Christmas actually continued just about the same, though I now recognize the gospel truth being sung out through many carols (how could I have missed that message all those years?) I can't say that I spend lots of time preparing my heart during advent or that I meditate for hours on his birth and what His coming to earth really means. I am one of those who LOVES the American tradition of Christmas and all that it entails. Neighbors exchanging baked goodies, Charlie Brown's Christmas, all the colorful wrapping paper and bows... I LOVE it!
This year, however, is a little different for me.
I'm not at home. It's my first Christmas without my family. I've never missed a Christmas. I thought that I would be okay with it. I mean, we celebrated it early since my brother and his fiancé, Stacy, were going to spend Christmas in Connecticut with her family and my little nephew, Gabriel, was going to spend it with his mom. And, I was leaving for Colorado. It all seemed okay. Then I got here and found out that Gabriel had to leave his mom's and come back to his daddy's. They couldn't afford to buy him a ticket to Connecticut, too, so they had to postpone their trip. They're all there, right now, at my mom's having Christmas parties, baking cookies, singing carols, hanging out the stockings, wrapping presents. And here I am, in a new city, watching the snow fall down, sick with a cold and spending endless hours with my roommate's Siamese cat Puss Puss Elvis while my roommate is at work. I'm trying not to feel sorry for myself, but it's not working.
This is when it hits me that maybe this Christmas can really be about Jesus. Even though I'm sort of at odds with Him at the moment as I question His motives for moving me out here, I can't help but feel inexplicably drawn to be nearer to Him than ever before. Loneliness has a way of doing that. As I watch out the window at the snow falling, I also catch glimpses of homeless men making their lonely tracks along broken sidewalks. I don't have any words of wisdom to write. I just feel sad as I watch them. I shoot up a prayer of thanks to God that I can be inside with a heater on on such a cold day. I think about God and kind of end there. I don't have all the answers. But, because Jesus came to earth, I can have Him. Not in the flesh. Not to be able to hug and smile at and crack a joke with, but I can have His presence because He promised it to anyone who would believe in Him. And, that warm relationship is just about all I want right now. I want that sense of family. The homeless men probably want that, too. Jesus was born all those years ago just so we wouldn't have to be completely alone, whether we have people around or not.
So, this Christmas, it's just me and Jesus. And Puss Puss Elvis.

Rise Up and Come Away

2009-12-11T23:38:00.000-05:00

I was sitting curled up in a tiny log cabin, fire going, cup of tea in hand, listening to the raging blizzard that taunted me from outside. Thankful for this cozy shelter in the middle of a blinding storm, I closed my eyes blissfully and smiled.
And then I heard my name called.
"Amy!"
Faint at first, I laughed it off, believing the howling wind was playing with my ears. Then I heard a loud knock on the door, an urgent, forceful rap that could not be written off as a wayward branch being flung from a tree.
Reluctantly and with rightful alarm, I slowly rose and walked near the door.
"Amy! Get your things, it's time to go."
The voice was unmistakable. It was the Lord.

You know that sound they play in songs and movies of an old record being scratched to a quick stop, signifying a 'whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a minute' moment? This was one of those moments. As the record came to a scratching halt, I lucidly came out of this dream-like vision only to hear the Lord say,
"A time is coming when I am going to call you out, call you to leave a place where you have felt safe, and ask you to leave in what seems like the absolute worst time to go. You will need to just trust me and quickly obey."
I had this vision about 5 years ago.
Now is that time.
He is asking me to leave this place I've known to be my safe haven and go out to a new destination in the middle of a horrible storm. Emotionally, I have experienced so much loss and grief in the last few years that I often feel as if there is nothing left of me. I have been hard hit from every side and so much want a cozy log cabin I can curl up in and just ride out the rest of this winter season. But I can't. At what feels like the absolute worst time to me, spiritually and emotionally, God is calling me to rise up and leave-- to brave the storm and move forward to the next place he has for me. Ironically, it's also in the dead of winter and I'm headed toward the mountains of Colorado.
Many people have asked me, "Why Colorado? What's out there?" After being sent out on such cool, exotic missions to Australia, Indonesia, Nigeria, Guatemala, Dominican Republic, it's hard to not have a specific answer. People expect me to have some obvious purpose. All I can say is this: I don't know. I've always loved Colorado-- have always felt like myself when I come here (if that makes any sense). I am starting art school in February, but I am doing that online, so it is not determining my location. I found a church here in Denver that my friend Christine believes was designed just for me (it has Messianic Shabbat services on Saturdays, is held in the oldest synagogue in Denver, has an international staff, is missions oriented both internationally and city-wide, and has Gentile- style services on Sundays both in English in the morning and Spanish in the afternoons), but I did not come out here for that church. By the way, you can check it out at www.churchinthecity.org

Only God knows why I am here. But, I'm not complaining. I'm excited. I'm looking forward to getting a 'normal' job again and just meeting people and seeing what opens up. I am learning that for me, missions isn't necessarily about where you go, it's about who you are. I love going to nations and plan on going out again in the future. But, I also love seeing the hearts of the people around me and getting to share the incredible, all-powerful love of God with love-deprived Americans.

Thanks for sharing in my journey.
Also, a friend recently asked me why I changed the name of my blog from 'In God's Whirlwind' to 'It's Still Life'. It's simply because more often than not, life is found in the stillness, in the mundane, in the normalcy of being human. Sometimes there is a wonderful whirlwind we get to dance in and that was the DR for me, but for now, though I am still in the grace and will of God, I am reveling in the stillness. It may not be as wild, but it's still LIFE.

November Evening

2009-11-24T01:08:00.002-05:00

Just to have a new post, I am going to write something not profound.

p.s. I am moving to Denver in 2 weeks.

Matisya-who?

2009-10-28T10:59:00.004-04:00

"Ever heard of Matisyahu?" Josh asked me about a year ago.

"Who?"

I hadn't.

After a conversation with him about the name Jerusalem, he emailed me a youtube link which I innocently clicked on. It was Matisyahu's video of his song 'Jerusalem'. I was undone.

Born Matthew Miller to two Jewish parents, this now famous music artist went through the usual religious rebellion growing up, considered himeself a Deadhead, followed Phish and was a 'trouble teen'. At one point during his teenage years, however, he reconciled himself with Judaism, became Hasidic, went to Israel, changed his name to Matisyahu (which is Matthew in Hebrew). This 30 year old guy is married with a handful of kids and lives in Crown Heights, NY. He also beat boxes and sings about justice and how it relates to traditional Judaism, all with a reggae beat. I cannot paint a vibrant enough picture of who Matisyahu is or what he can do, so you're just going to have to listen. In fact, here's that same link Josh sent me last year: Jerusalem

I had no idea when I was planning my trip to Colorado (been here 9 days and LOVING it) that Matisyahu would be coming through Denver on his Light tour. Many people may scoff at Facebook, but as I was browsing photos last week, an add popped up on the side saying that Matis was performing here, at the Fillmore down on Colfax and Clarkson, Tuesday, Oct. 27th. I went down to the box office that same day and bought a couple of tickets. My good friend Christine and I went last night.

Oh my word.

The Fillmore is a beautiful old indoor venue that looks like a gently refurbished roller skating rink with balcony seating. The open hardwood floors make it easy to find just the right spot to listen to music and groove. Which I did for the full 3 hours. And so did Matis. He is beautiful to watch as he intuitively moves with the music surrounding him. At one point, during an extended play on the song So Hi So Lo, he walked to the back of the stage to adjust the sound equipment to enhance the various intruments. He stayed back there for about 10 minutes playing with the knobs so that each musician was pushed forward in intervals. The weave of it all was mind-blowing. Then he crowd surfed during his last song One Day.

I am still on a Matis high.

My Dad was John Doe

2009-10-16T23:17:00.002-04:00

We got a call from a detective this morning, a detective telling us, well, telling my mom, really, (since its she whose number they had on file and whose number they dialed), that yes, the California Drivers License number that she'd somehow rattled off from memory to them brought up files, brought up records of fingerprints, fingerprints that matched those of a body they had found in a place I don't want to name over three years ago; a body they'd already burned and sent out to sea.

Over three years ago we were still waiting for him to come back. Over three years ago no one had made a report because we thought he'd gone on one of his longer walks and would eventually call and have someone come pick him up-- surely he'd call like he always did. He didn't call, but we still waited. Over three years ago we were still talking like he'd just show up one day, walk into my work to surprise me. "He's probably on his way down here, " my mom would say, hopeful. I had my doubts, but wanted to hope all the same. Even when he was a less deluded man he rarely came to visit us; even when he still had a car and would drive; before he set out on his walks. He was kind of over family. Except when I'd go see him from time to time, just after a holiday so it would seem like I wasn't visiting because of a holiday, yet I'd still bring him a present. One year I even knit him a scarf and cap. When I visited the next year, he was still wearing them, only they'd never been washed and smelled like something you don't want your face next to, but I put my face next to them anyway because they adorned him and him is where I wanted to press my face. He held me close and even though he talked of the world ending in ten years, of how aliens created us, of how he didn't feel safe sharing what he believed with anyone anymore because we were all against him, I knew he loved me and wanted to make things right. He just didn't know how. He could never forgive himself for not being a good enough dad (from a man who never hit us, never hurt us, made us laugh all the time and saw us as people) and no matter how many times he apologized, he'd never let me respond-- he'd just keep on talking so he couldn't receive the atonement. Nothing was more frustrating to me than to hear him wander off at the mouth when all I wanted was for him to really really hear from me, "Dad, I forgive you for not being there all the time. I forgive you and I love you." And then he wandered away.

I didn't know what to do for the longest time. What do you do in a situation like this-- where your father, who has been hospitalized because of a psychotic break, is given meds to stabilize him, is sent home with prescribed drugs, never takes them because he believes he's on a spiritual journey and won't accept that you can be both on a spiritual journey and have a mental illness, starts preparing to 'walk the earth' and then disappears without a trace? How do you search for someone who says he does not want to be found? In the month between his leaving and his death, we were still here waiting. No one made a report because we were convinced (in denial?) that he would come back. Finally, a missing persons report was filed. But it was too late. He was already John Doe. Only we didn't know it. We didn't know it until today.

I have been in a state of delayed grief for over three years. Most of these years I assumed my dad was dead. It's easier to assume than to know. It's easier to go on living just thinking your favorite dad is in Never Never Land and that maybe one day you'll see him again in Heaven, without ever really having to deal with the reality of his death. Sort of like the Rapture, but not.

My dad was Fred Babb. He played air saxophone at the dinner table in Cambria's nicest restaurant. He made Easter baskets out of chocolate and shredded wheat emulating rabbit turds. He made everyone who walked through our family door take the Myers-Briggs personality test because he was fascinated by the hearts and minds of people. He made the best Tuna Runners in the world and painted a fake fireplace for us for Christmas just so we could pretend we were warm in our one-bedroom shack. He always told me I had a beautiful neck and wanted me to keep my hair short just so I could show it off. We would sit together, mute 90210 and make up the dialogue until we laughed so hard we peed. He was an amazing artist whose one desire was to use his art to validate people in their true selves-- to free people from the man-made traditions that bound them. He lived to speak truth and to love others despite his struggles with depression, grief, loneliness and eventual spiral into schizophrenia.

I am angry about the way my dad died. I am angry I couldn't save him from his pain. I am angry that my kids will never know him, that he'll never walk me down the aisle (though he probably would've done interpretive dance down the aisle, but anyway...), that I'll never get to share my joys and woes with him.

For a while I will probably continue to look hard at scraggly, homeless men, searching behind all the grime and overgrown hair for my beloved father's face. I will continue to pray for them, for their families who are out there waiting, wondering. I will continue to see the nameless, faceless Jane and John Does out there as mothers, fathers, brothers, uncles, sisters and ask God to not let them go on unnamed, to not let them go unfound.

C'mon, Guess!

2009-10-10T23:57:00.002-04:00

Much has happened since my last blog entry. Much I wasn't necessarily anticipating to happen so quickly. I am pregnant. I jumped out of a hot air balloon. I rode shotgun all the way down to the southern tip of Mexico with a random stranger and caught Swine Flu. I got accepted to the Academy of Art University Fine Art program. I am moving to Denver. All my hair turned white. I had a vision of the four living creatures.

Two of the above things are true.

I'll let you figure out which ones.

Refresh Me

2009-09-16T19:54:00.002-04:00

The last two days have been really hard for me-- hitting a wall of depression that is a mix of crazy grief missing the DR and all it held for me, feeling out of place where I am, and a general malaise of the emptiness that comes from not knowing where you're headed. Everyone keeps telling me to 'rest', but to rest the soul is much more challenging than resting the body.

After having breakfast with a loving friend this morning, I was invited by some other friends to go on a ride out to See Canyon to go buy apples. Hmm, go on a long drive through beautiful country, letting the ocean breeze whip through my hair as I breathe deeply the spicy scents of scrub oak, eucalyptus and fresh orchard apples, or sit at home and mope. I went for the windy road adventure. As I sat in the back seat and let the conversations of others mill around my head, I silently put my mind and soul on cruise control. Meanwhile, my spirit prayed. God, I love you and I just want to feel you close. God, I'm scared and I need you. God, I miss my friends. God, thank you for making me the apple of your eye and for caring about me even like this. God, thank you for all this beauty. God...

After a few hours I felt a bit of the heaviness lift. My migraine went away. Instead of taking a nap, I am blogging.

Today my soul, echoing the Shulamite, cried out to God, "Refresh me with apples, for I am lovesick!"

He answered me.

I am my Beloved's and He is Mine

2009-09-01T13:31:00.002-04:00

The hand-woven hammock chair beckons me to come sit in it this morning. "Amy, the sun is shining! Come, let me rock you and hold you while you dream and feel the warmth on your face and listen to the wings of birds!"

How can I resist?

It has been days since I arrived back in Cambria, the little town that helped raise me, and these few moments in the swinging sunshine are the first in which I feel rest.

I have been going going going for a really long time. Going for God, going for others; going because of good things and should things, could things and would things and I'm so thinged out that my mind has become like the web of the chair beneath me. Today, I start unhooking the corners of that web so that I can see the landscape behind it more clearly.

This corner represents serving God out of fear. Unhook.

This corner formed when I adhered to the idea that to die for others meant forsaking my soul. Detach.

This one over here is just physical stress. Rip.

Down here are the hidden agendas that drive my will. Major undo.

Upper left is uncried tears, unanswered prayers, earth-shattering disappointments, disillusionments, anger. Gently lift off and offer to the Wind.

The process of undoing and relearning who I am-- why I do things, what it is that motivates me--will be lifelong. I know this. I understand it. But today...today I am committed to it because the process is not separate from me. The process IS me; and it is God, and it is He and I together in the deepest, most honest, most vulnerable places that exist. He is still hovering over the face of the deep. He is still crying out, "Let there be light!!" He is still forming boundaries around me, proclaiming what is good about me and resting in what He has made. I want to rest in that goodness, too.

I climb up in His hammock, let the Son shine down on me. I enjoy His creation and I breathe in and out. I allow the Master Craftsman to put His hands all over me and laugh along with His joy in forming me. I give thanks for what was and I let it all go, knowing that when I am still, I will know He is God. I will know that He will be exalted among the nations, He will be known in all the earth. And I can just be His Beloved.

I carry you

2009-08-17T12:08:00.003-04:00

5 of my friends and I just spent an entire week at the beach. We rented two condos right on the sands of Cabarete. We cooked together, got sunburned together, took naps, read books. It was wonderful (despite the fact I was still fighting the bacteria blues). We ended our week at an annual staff retreat at Hacienda Lifestyles Resort just an hour down the road in Puerta Plata. My yellow plastic 'bracelet' allowed me to eat or drink all I could (sadly, my battle-weary stomach didn't allow for much), plus access to their 5 pools, and the beach. The best moments were watching one of my Dominican nieces (Priscila) swim for the first time, the other niece, Ysmayar, swim toward me, learning how to bring her head up and breathe, and watching Natan, my nephew, dunk his head under water for 2 seconds over and over again. Amazing.

I don't have kids of my own. I want some-- very badly, but God hasn't allowed that to happen, yet. But, He gives me other kids. Lots of other kids and today was a day of saying my last goodbyes to some of them. I didn't cry in their presence, but I bawled as I drove my roommate's Jeep out of El Callejon for the last time. I hate this. No amount of money in the world is worth the same as when a little girl of 10 whose mom has cancer and who is helping her older sister to take care of her little brother look up at me in the eyes and say, "I'm never, never, never going to forget you." I was struck today by just how much loneliness is the greatest poverty. Relationships are food for our souls. Families are what keep us alive, even if we don't have a roof over our heads. There is something innate in humans that needs other humans. Even God said, "It is not good for man to be alone."

He wasn't talking about just men (as much as women like to joke that this is true). Humans need each other-- not just to survive (look at Nebudchadnezzar) but to maintain our 'humanness'. I saw in this little girl's eyes a sadness of knowing that the place that I filled in her heart would not be filled by another. She, as well as I, will both experience a loss that is greater than the loss of any material thing. I will never again be able to rejoice with her over her good grades. I will never again feel her sneaking up behind me and wrapping her arms around my waist for an extended embrace. I will never again see her pushing other kids off me so she can have me all to herself. I am not saying I am her world. What I'm saying is that we each make a difference when we extend ourselves and give of ourselves. We can give things and it helps a little, but when we give of our time, our hearts, our listening ears, our shoulder to cry on-- when we give a relationship, it changes lives forever. S

he and I have become one in a sense. I have become part of her story and she has become part of mine. I cannot change her circumstances, but I can leave behind an imprint of love and acceptance that she will 'never, never, never forget."

El Callejon: "i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)i am never without it" e.e. cummings

Just Another Saturday

2009-08-08T12:53:00.007-04:00

Saturdays can get kind of boring around here. So, I decided to do something a little different today. Since I've been (almost) violently ill with some kind of aggressive parasite for two straight weeks, I thought it might be fun to be hooked up to IVs all day. Just for kicks.

But seriously...where else can you have a doctor come ove

r to your house and hook you up to IVs just so you don't have to sit in the hospital all day staring at chipping paint on the walls? Now that I think of it, probably lots of other countries have this more easy-going policy, but not America. I cannot imagine calling my doctor in the States, telling him my symptoms on a daily basis without having to pay for consult, gi

ving a poo sample for only 3 bucks, then having him tell me which antibiotic I could go buy over the counter at the pharmacy (which, by the way, didn't work--

either one!) and then having him say, "You know, Amy, I really feel terrible that you are still sick! How 'bout I come over to your house on my day off, make sure we get you fully hydrated and put a direct drug line into your veins-- and I won't even charge you for my time!"

God bless the Dominican Republic. God bless, once ag

ain, Dr. Fernando for being a servant of God on behalf of t

he sick. Here are some pics of how I'm spending this Saturday afternoon...

Seis Mas

2009-07-11T10:16:00.003-04:00

It's a rainy Saturday morning and I am sitting on my bed in my robe looking out the open door to a moss and lichen-covered tree filled with limes. I ache sometimes when I catch these glimpses of exquisite beauty, knowing that soon and very soon I will not have the privilege of seeing this same view again.

I am leaving 6 weeks from today. Writing it gives me a suffocated feeling.

I am going back to America, LAND that I LOOOOVE (from the mountains, to the valleys...) and I often ask my God

WHY?

because I basically have the most awesome life ever. I get to look out my bedroom door at lime trees; listen to children laughing while the rooster crows atop his perch on Ysidro's lawn mower. I get to roll my rumbly old jeep down the ragged road of El Callejon, crammed with 6 or 7 people, a lunch box and some water jugs while kids run toward us calling out my name, "EMI!!!" I get to spend hours mixing paint colors, encouraging muralists to keep on painting amid the heat and bugs and rain and dirt. I get to take profound truths leaving in Spanish from Francisco's lips, translate them and send them on to English hearing ears, watching eyes widen or close depending on how the words are received in the hearts.

Martina squeezes me tight in the mornings on my way to the breakfast line. Natan rolls his eyes and shakes his head, not quite ready to greet the day with cheer (or my smile).

I have an incredible life.

Only 6 more weeks of Chinola juice. 6 more weeks of Sancocho. 6 more weeks of dodging motorcycles, of passionate worship, of kisses on the cheeks, of brightly color-coordinated women and waxed and preened men, of copy shops being out of paper and grocery stores being out of bread, of ice cream shops being out of ice cream and restaurants being out of cheese.

6 more weeks of junky old pick-ups loudly selling mattresses, platanos (a do' peso') and mother-in-laws.

And 6 more weeks of my beautiful friends.

O Jarabacoa, what am I going to do without you? I have loved you and I have hated you and I have laughed at you and also with you. I have cried with you, turned my back on you, invited you back in and spilled my heart onto you. I will never be the same.

i like to paint

2009-06-21T13:54:00.001-04:00

and i like to draw.

I Feel Like...

2009-06-13T10:39:00.002-04:00

While taking siesta out on the balcony at the Escuela d'Arte Vocacional de Jarabacoa one humid afternoon, Vanessa, a visiting volunteer from California brought up an interesting topic/discovery: how often we tend to over use the phrases "I feel like...", "do you know what I mean?" and everyone's favorite, "like". She used an example to illustrate what she meant. After biting into a chip, she said, "I feel like these chips are too salty". I had to laugh. Are salty chips a feeling? Somehow, 'I feel like' has replaced 'In my opinion' or 'From my perspective'. I asked her and our other volunteer, Denisse, if they thought it was because 'tolerance' has become the pervading value of modern American culture. Vanessa suggested it came from the whole psychology office phenomenon of being asked 'how do you feel about that?' I started thinking about Jerry Springer, Ricki Lake, Geraldo and all those other 'talk shows' where people sit up on a stage and share how they 'feel'. I thought about all the training I've had in communication skills in where I've been taught to express my emotions in a conflict situation without falsely judging the other person: "When you said... I felt..." instead of "You make me feel..." Anyway, the overall conclusion of our conversation was that we, as a society, are losing authority in the things that we say. We have become afraid to speak our mind in the event we might offend. We question our opinions or avoid conflict by preempting our opinions with a non-confrontational 'I feel like...' I told them, "You know, if I were to eliminate the phrases that take pressure off of my being 'wrong', I would probably think more before I speak and say a whole lot less. And, what I would say, would have authority or impact. I would sound like I knew what I was talking about."

Ever since this conversation, I have been extra aware of my tendency to not speak with authority or confidence. Often times, I actually DO have a strong opinion, but to avoid conflict, I will mask it behind the phrases, "I feel like" or "do you know what I mean?" (this is used to draw the other person into a place of harmony in agreement).

This also got me thinking again about a conversation I had a while back with a friend about blogging-- how everyone is blogging/twittering/facebooking these days, wanting to have a voice in this world. However, so often we use these platforms for being heard to say nothing of importance or real significance at all: Amy Babb is soooo tireddd! Amy Babb is going shopping. Amy Babb...fill in the blank.

What is the deal with wanting to communicate so much without actually saying anything?

"Do not be rash with your mouth, and let not your heart utter anything hastily before God. For God is in heaven and you on earth; therefore let your words be few. For a dream comes through much activity and a fool's voice is known by his many words." Ecclesiastes 5:2,3

"He who has knowledge spares his words, and a man of understanding is of a calm spirit. Even a fool is counted wise when he holds his peace; when he shuts his lips, he is considered perceptive." Proverbs 17:27,28

Thanks to Vanessa, Denisse and Josh for bringing my attention back to the power of speech.

All for Love

2009-05-27T14:32:00.002-04:00

I've been laid up for a month now after having had surgery to have a Plantar wart extracted from the bottom of my right foot. I wasn't even going to mention this in a blog cuz I honestly thought that it was a small enough thing of no consequence. It has turned into...bah. Long story. Without going into details, the healing process has taken a really long time. I have been stuck in the house for a month and only got off crutches a few days ago. I even had to miss working our first outreach of the summer :(
All this to share that I have been doing a lot of reading. As you may have read below, I finally finished all of my required discipleship reading. Then I started reading a book I picked up when I lived in Kansas City 5 years ago and had never read. It's on Mike Bickle's top 10 books to read list. "When Jesus Returns" by David Pawson. AWESOME. About a third of the way into it, I stared having dreams again. I get dreams from the Lord in cycles and it had been a while. However, these dreams were full of symbology and needed some more paying attention to. So, then I got out my book called "The Seer" by Jim Goll to see if I could glean any dream interpretation wisdom from it. Not too much. It had been a while since I'd read it, so I kind of skimmed through it. I love Jim Goll's writing. He wrote a great book called 'Kneeling on the Promises' which I wish I had brought down here with me, but... sidetrack.
Okay. After two weeks of reading informational books, I confess I just wanted some fiction. So, I had my roommate Amy go borrow some from our boss's house. I ended up with Brock and Bodie Thoene's book series the A.D. Chronicles (missing book 2, however). I'd heard of the Thoene's before, but had never really been interested in reading any of their stuff. If for no other reason, I am glad that the surgery aftermath caused such intense boredom that I decided to read these books. They take place during Jesus' time and are so full of history and are just, plainly, anointed. I have been so deeply moved as I encounter the love and mercy of Christ on every page.
As I've mentioned before in earlier posts, I have a tendency to get 'religious' on myself-- and subsequently on others. I have that inner drive to be perfect before the Lord; so desperately want to be pure and shining, and then become incredibly disheartened when I fall short. I don't think this is necessarily a bad quality, however what has struck me is just how easily I can fall back into a 'works' oriented way of operating in my spiritual walk. Ten months of reading books on holiness and fear of the Lord left me feeling so unholy, so self-absorbed. With each book I read, I would be convicted of sin, feel utterly repentant and grieved at my inability to change myself. I would read, feel horrible, ask God for forgiveness, forget about it a few days later, read the next book, feel convicted, etc. In just a few days of reading these fiction novels, I have been transformed. What I mean is: encountering the presence of Jesus can, in an instant, bring healing, bring revelation, bring comfort, bring repentance, bring WHATEVER it is that we truly need. I have just been blown away, as I always am, when I encounter the love of Christ in such a way that it sidesteps what I think the real 'issues' are and goes straight to the heart of the matter. The ways that I act out are always rooted in something I am usually unaware of. But, Jesus is aware. Intimately so. And, He loves me so much that He goes right past all the shame I have about sin and touches on the places that need His healing touch so that I have no desire to even act out in the ways that I was. Am I making sense?
There is a time and a place for being convicted of sin. I believe the 10 months of discipleship reading laid the groundwork for Jesus to then just come in and love me into more wholeness. Hosea scribed, "He has torn us, but He will heal us."

In the book of Revelation, an angel says to John, "The bride has made herself ready!" I have often wondered what that meant. How can we, as the bride, make ourselves ready for communion with our Bridegroom? I finally feel like I am getting a picture of what this means. In the last year, I have been actively pursuing more training, more discipline, more teaching. I have been asking God to take inventory of my heart, to shine the light on areas that don't please Him. It has been incredibly painful and uncomfortable-- definitely confusing at times. What I didn't know was that I was preparing myself to meet Him at a deeper place of communion. I was making myself ready to meet Him. He tore me apart, ripped me open, exposed things I didn't want to deal with, just so that He could then come and love me tenderly in the deepest, most wounded and ugly areas of my heart. His love for us is so fervently jealous that He comes to burn up everything that hinders love in our lives. He so desperately wants to 'catch the little foxes that spoil the vines, for our vines have tender grapes'. Those little foxes, all those little things that we allow to linger-- sins, attitudes, judgments-- spoil the abundance of fruit He wants to grow in our relationship with Him.

I now have about a hundred other Scriptures popping into my mind that relate to all this... I better stop while I'm ahead.

Make yourself ready. Seek Him while He may be found. Catch the little foxes. Let Him tear you, and then heal you.

Ya, Terminé! I'm Finished!

2009-05-09T08:43:00.003-04:00

It's only the minimum, but I finally finished reading the very last book for my discipleship class at Fraternidad Cristiana Amor a Quisqueya!! We still have about a month left of classes to attend, but yesterday evening I polished off the very last book. Discipleship class at my church here is a 10 month commitment-- we meet every Saturday evening from 5-7 and receive great teaching from our pastor, Popín. Within the first 10 weeks of class we are required to read the entire Bible, starting in Matthew and ending with Malachi. The rest of our 'spare' time is spent reading a minimum of 12 assigned books the pastor has read and picked out for us. Then we write reports on each one. For the most part, I really liked his selection, though I was realizing the other day that every single book was written by a man. I don't believe this was intentional, just interesting. The principles of discipleship aren't sex-related, though I do enjoy hearing a woman's perspective, too.

Anyway, here is a list of the books I had to read and I put an asterisk next to my faves:

Causa de una Tirania (this is a book in Spanish about the Dominican dictator Trujillo)
Stop Flirting with the Church and Fall in Love with the Family of God-- Joshua Harris
A Tale of Three Kings-- Gene Edwards
El Martir de Las Catacumbas (only available in Spanish and the author didn't have his name on the book)
The Heavenly Man-- Brother Yun *
Spiritual Warfare-- Dean Sherman *
El Clamor en el Barrio-- Freddie García
Not Even a Hint-- Joshua Harris
Fear of the Lord-- John Bevere *
Undercover-- John Bevere *
The Prayer of Jesus-- (can't remember the author's name, but it was my least favorite)
The Twelve Transgressions-- Sergio Scataglini *

After reading all these books and taking this class, the overall resounding theme is: I am not my own. It has been both hard and good to have the Light shine on weak and sinful areas of my character these last 10 months. It has been both frustrating and a relief to know that these areas do not just 'go away' and that I will continually have to go to the Cross with them. I both hated and loved acknowledging that I, truly, can't do life on my own-- I literally need the Spirit of God to transform me and enable me to do the things my flesh doesn't want to do. I have discovered just how much I cling to 'religion' (doing godly things without God-- spirit of independence) and reject 'relationship' (humble surrendering to the One who can actually do godly things because He IS God). Sanctification is a fiery process that I both desire and want to run from. But as Paul exhorts in 1 Thessalonians 5:19: "Do not put out the Spirit's fire;" and 4 verses later, "May God himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. May your whole spirit, soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. The one who calls you is faithful and he will do it." !!!!

I am so thankful for God's faithfulness to us, the promise that he will do it as we continue to believe in and walk in Christ. I can't make myself blameless, I can't be perfect, but Christ in me, the hope of glory, CAN and WANTS to as long as I keep myself yoked to Him with a broken and contrite spirit, desiring communion.

Being a disciple is being broken at the feet of Jesus.

Things that make you laugh AFTER the fact

2009-04-25T10:32:00.002-04:00

"I have two letters for you: D...R..."

This comment made by my boss a while back was immediately followed by an eruption of laughter. The laughter erupted from us Americans. This comment has since become our signature statement whenever something transpires here in the DR-- things that make you go 'hmmm'.

I had one of those somethings happen just yesterday.

After a 3-day staff retreat where God just blew us open, I dragged my very tired body to work in the morning. Francisco I don't think even made it out of bed because his bright face never showed up. Anyway, after sitting there at the school for a bit, I promptly fell asleep. This never happens to me. Never. I can't even fall asleep on airplanes-- and often it takes hours for me to pass out in my own bed! I was that wiped out. I somehow jerked myself awake in time to greet a student who dropped by to show me some drawings she had been doing. After she left, I felt the call of the sandman lulling me back to sleep and I thought-- NO! I must be productive! I decided it would be a good time to go make photocopies I had put off for too long. So, I gathered all the materials, locked up the school, hopped in my jeep and drove around town in circles for a good 15 minutes. The town was packed and there was nowhere to park. Nowhere. At this point I had developed a good sized headache and decided it might be best if I just went home and finished sleeping. On the way, I saw a little photocopy shop I'd never seen before and THERE WAS PARKING OUT FRONT! I grabbed my books, other sheets of paper and my purse and sauntered into the little store. The minute I walked in, the girl from behind the counter asked me what I needed. I said I needed her to photocopy some stuff for me. *This is one of the reasons I put off getting copies for so long-- you can't just do it yourself and the majority of the time your copies come out looking terrible (not good for an art school)*

She just looked at me and said, "You have to go to the other photocopy place. We don't have any paper."

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!!

This wasn't so funny at the time.

I just smiled and thought, "Of course you don't have paper. What was I thinking?"

Instead of driving circles around town again in search of a copy shop who actually HAS paper, I decided to stick with the original plan and just go home and sleep.

I have two letters for you...

2- Second Encounter

2009-04-17T15:25:00.003-04:00

This afternoon on my walk to work, I passed two light- blue and tan uniformed high school girls giggling and gossiping with eachother. A normal sight. However when they reached the corner, one of them looked into our yard, ritually crossed herself, kissed her fingers and just kept walking. I had an inner chuckle thinking about when I was in high school and my friend Kelly would interrupt a conversation to kiss her fingers and touch the roof of her car every time we went through a yellow light on the drive to school or passed a cemetery.

As I continued my stroll in the spring heat, I pondered this young girl's action, wondering how religious or devoted she really was. Obviously she was brought up Catholic and had been taught these little rituals of reverence (oh, by the way, we have a shrine to the Virgin Mary in our front yard-- well, the owners do). Then one of the military guards who sits in front of a rich person's house with a rifle asked me why I was walking on such a hot day. I smiled, telling him I liked the sun and then I forgot all about the girl. She came back to mind, however, on my trek back home. In my mind I started having an imaginary conversation with her. I asked her why she crossed herself and kissed her fingers. Her imaginary self told me that she was blessing the Virgin Mary and God and recognizing that a shrine was a place of holiness. I nodded to her and then shared with her the Scripture about when we believe in Christ, our bodies become temples of the Holy Spirit, so just imagine crossing yourself and kissing your fingers all day long because YOU are that holy place where He dwells! That's when I gasped. All of a sudden I had an instant revelation of how much I do not reverence the Holy Spirit who lives inside of me. I can go a whole day complaining, daydreaming, thinking about Him, asking Him to bless my food, etc, but how often do I take time to stop and recognize His holiness within me? Ew. I felt like both Peter and Isaiah when, in the presence of holiness, exploded with "I'm not worthy! I'm unclean!" sentiments. For a split second I was taken into heaven before the throne where all the angels cry 'HOLY!' and the elders throw their crowns. Powerful.

I often make my living relationship with the Living God a common thing. I take for granted that I am saved by grace through faith and that I have eternal life. I often forget that I have the only holy presence that exists inhabiting this earthly frame. That is His mercy.

I am not sharing this because I feel condemned. I am sharing this because I was awesomely humbled and, today, fell in love with Him just one more time.

What may have been a mindless ritual, God used to awaken this sleeping bride.

MMMMM

2009-04-13T18:02:00.000-04:00

Yep. First cup back was awesome.
But Jesus is more awesome.

Sobering Up

2009-03-20T12:49:00.003-04:00

I'm fasting from coffee. I'm not gonna lie, it really sucks. Don't get me wrong, when God asks me to fast from something I get filled with this tangible expectation of Him doing something wonderful because of it. But coffee?? I'm not a pot-a-day drinker like some people I know. I just like to have a tall, piping hot cup in the morning while I have my devotional time with God. Sometimes I like a little 'pick-me-up' in the afternoon, too. So, when God nudged me to get off coffee for a while I didn't think it would be too big of a deal.

It's a big deal.

The first few days were the worst, physically, as I endured migraine-level headaches that no amount of medicine could take away. After that passed, it was the struggle of wanting something warm and creamy instead of something hot and watery (tea). After a couple weeks of tea drinkin', I just gave up having a morning beverage, except for the occasional hot chocolate (which isn't too exciting if you use Dominican Cocoa). The physical cravings for it have ceased. The emotional cravings persist. I find myself being envious in the mornings when my roommates are happily sipping away on their joe. And last night at Bible Study, I had to control the urge to knock a cup of coffee out of Ruth's hand. I don't even drink coffee at night! What is the issue? As I've shared with several people that I'm fasting coffee, I've had intense reactions from other coffee drinkers that (1) help me not feel so alone and (2) scare the **** out of me. One friend even said that Jesus asking one to fast coffee is like having Jesus ask you to drain all the blood out of your body.

Everyday, I tell God that I hope he's going to use this time for incredible breakthrough in my life. It's a two month fast that, ironically (?) ends on Easter Sunday. And, no, I'm not doing it for Lent-- I started it before I even remembered about Lent-- but I like the idea of Lent.

Have I noticed a change in my intimacy with God because of this fast? Actually, yes, though I didn't make the connection until now. I have become much more whiny, much more desperate, and much more dependent. I have also become much more sensitive to the Spirit and stronger in my walk with Him. Taking away something that I depended on to help me enter into my day has caused me to become more in touch with my fears, anxieties, hopes, dreams, insecurities and longings. I still long for that coping element, that numbing element, that soothing element that I can control and take whenever I want, but I feel the trade-off is worth it. I want coffee to be something I can enjoy with God, not something I need to get through my day. I don't want coffee to become the substitute to God's very real presence in my life. I am looking forward to April 13th, when I can have my first cup of coffee, but I have a feeling that the lust will have gone out of it for me and that is a blessing.

A Step in the Right Direction

2009-03-07T16:23:00.010-05:00

Today my good friend Arlene invited me to come over and make stepping stones with her. Though I've stepped on my fair share of these garden adornments, I've never actually made one. Arlene, being her awesome self, went around town and bought some gravel, some sand, some cement, and some diesel fuel (to line our containers so that the cement mix wouldn't stick). We proportioned out the ingredients and hand mixed our own 'stuff', including a bit of blue dye to make the stones a little better looking. Arlene sawed off the ends of a plastic bucket to use for our molds-- we hope they turn out okay. These 'stones' will become a pathway leading up to our new social work site in Los Higos that Arlene leads. The feet of women and youth on their way to knitting class or sewing class will pass over these little pieces of art. Mine says: I am the Way. Here are some photos:

When it 'Works'

2009-02-23T14:27:00.004-05:00

Door to door evangelism.
Usually this makes one think of Jehovah's Witnesses or Mormons or an evangelical Christian technique that is antiquated and totally doesn't work. That's what I've always thought, too. When it was announced in church two Sundays ago that the whole of the Dominican Republic was going to be canvassed by evangelical (not Catholic) Christians going door to door and that our church was going to participate, my head was immediately filled with cynical thoughts. I also felt relief, knowing that it was optional and that my Spanish wasn't really good enough to make me be an effective witness anyway. And then the Pastor announced that everyone taking discipleship class would be required to participate. Uh, that means me. But, surely he won't send out the Americans! I thought, aghast. But then a little voice in the back of my head gently reminded me that (1) I'm a missionary and this is why I came here and (2) I've been speaking to people in Spanish for well over a year now and surely I would be able to get a simple message about Jesus out. Ugh. Don't these people KNOW that door to door evangelism puts people off and pushes them farther away from wanting to ever hear about the love of Jesus? Regardless of my arrogant 'expertise', I prayed, nonetheless, that God would prepare my heart to go do this thing. Oddly, as the date drew closer, I became more and more excited about going out to do it.
When all of us gathered together on Saturday afternoon at the church, it was announced that we were to split into groups of 3-- a guy with 2 girls. Thankfully a young Columbian girl I knew latched her arm into mine and picked which guy we could go with. As we set out, I made sure to let them both know that my Spanish wasn't good enough to communicate the Gospel, but they weren't having it. At the first house, we were immediately invited in to sit down and were served coffee Dominican style-- very strong with loads of sugar. We quickly discovered that they were already Christians and I was relieved. We offered to pray for the husband who had a bandage on his leg. We prayed blessing over the house and the family. We went on to the next house. Again, we were immediately welcomed in. The three of us sat down with a young mother. Laura, the Columbian girl, started to share with her about the Gospel, but having never done it before, was quite nervous and kept leaving out major details. When I looked to Angelo to hopefully take over and explain things, he just looked at me sheepishly. That's when something shifted in me. I just looked at this woman and without hesitation told her the whole story of Adam and Eve, about sin and what it means, about the debt we owe to God for our sin and how Jesus came to pay that debt for us by giving His own life on the Cross. I told her what it meant to believe in Jesus, what it would mean for her to be able to live eternally with God because of what Jesus did for her. All of this flowed out of me in perfect Spanish. And then she accepted Jesus to be her Savior and Lord.
God does not like to be put in a box. Before going out, I had limited Him in my own mind. It hadn't really occurred to me that door to door evangelism in a country that LOVES it when people drop by to visit, woud be a very effective way to share the Gospel here. As well, I had limited His power by believing He couldn't use me just because I don't speak fluent Spanish. I was so humbled, but so overflowing with joy that I could have gone door to door all night. We actually did go to several more homes and were able to pray for many people. I was again reminded why I love being a missionary, why I continue to go out to different countries: Jesus loves people and He shows up when we go to love them in His Name. If you want intimacy with Jesus, go love on a poor person, a broken-hearted person, a really down and out person, because that's where He loves to be. And healing occurs. Relationships are healed. Real transformation, the kind that only God can bring, takes place. It is exciting to see Heaven come to Earth.
God put me in my place, and I loved it.

2009-02-21T10:33:00.003-05:00

We got a dog.
Well, Katie got a dog and Amy and I just play with her.
We named her Feliz, which means 'happy'. I would never name a dog Happy in English unless I had a very young child who insisted on it and cried a lot at my resistance to the name. But, Feliz has a nice ring to it, I think.
She's a great dog. I am normally not a fan of the lab variety of dog, and so I'm trying not to hold the fact that she's 1/3 lab against her. She is also 1/3 Dalmatian and 1/3 Great Dane. But she pretty much looks all lab except for her underbelly which is white and black spotted and the little tuft of white fur on her chest. She is incredibly obedient and has the softest head of any dog I've ever petted. Plus, the fur along her back is starting to get coarse and wavy, which bears a striking resemblance to my hair, so that made me love her even more. Isn't she adorable??

Nos Hemos Mudado!

2009-02-07T10:04:00.008-05:00

Simply, Amy and I have moved.
Yes, after 17 months of living together in our little 'cottage' in the middle of a bumpy dirt road, we finally let our new friend (and SI staff member) Katie convince us that we 3 should live together and find a bigger house to let that happen. While I was in the states over Christmas, Katie looked at a house here that she thought would be perfect, but too expensive. When Amy and I got back here in January, we went to look at it, fell in love and begged the owners (Dominicanyorks-- Dominicans who live in New York) to lower the price. They refused. We were bummed. The next day they called and said they'd lower the price. We were ecstatic. The next hurdle to get through was finding people to take over the lease on Amy's and my house and keep our two brutish Dobermans. Thankfully, Josh and Vicki (who are about to join our staff) agreed to take over the lease and keep our doggies. God works all things together for the good.
So, a week ago today we moved into a palace. I'm not joking. This place is HUGE. It has 3 bedrooms, 2 baths, a dining room, kitchen, living room and a separate room just off of my room where we keep the treadmill, yoga mats and exercise balls. We have a wide balcony that goes almost all the way around. We rent the upstairs and the downstairs in inhabited by the groundskeeper, Ysidro.
At first, I felt odd moving into such a rich looking place. I mean, we're missionaries. My monthly budget didn't increase though because, even though I pay a little more for rent, we now share the cost of paying for the cleaning lady (which I was paying by myself at the old place, while Amy payed for the lawn guy, who we no longer need since new house comes with a lawn guy), and we share the utilities 3 ways instead of 2. However, just because our house looks extravagent, doesn't mean we don't still have the same issues. Our kitchen sink has been completely stopped up, our toilets don't flush well and half this week we were without water because... I don't even want to go into it. Not to mention it took the phone company a week to come out and hook up our service-- still waiting for the internet to get hooked up. Thankfully, we live near our staff pastor's family, so we went over there in the mornings to shower and use the bathroom and we used rain water to wash our dishes outside. We may live in a palatial estate, but we still live like Dominicans!!
Here are some photos of the new place, our new roomie and Amy washing dishes in our outdoor sink, using rain water! P.S. my ankle is mostly better, but my foot is still having issues. I'm hobbling around wearing an ace bandage, but at least it's without crutches!

Stripped of Independence?

2009-01-14T14:46:00.004-05:00

Yesterday afternoon I took a fall.
It was kind of my own fault, but not really.
I was in a semi-jovial mood and therefore felt like hop-skipping up a stair instead of just calmly stepping up. It was one of those times when a flash image went through my head of me totally eating it one second before I actually ate it. So, I experienced it twice. Only, the second time it hurt real bad.
Falling and twisting your foot and ankle under you at the ripe old age of 32 is not only not fun, but also slightly embarrassing. I'm sure I looked less than graceful biting the dust in front of several of my missionary cohorts and onlooking neighbors. Everything in me just wanted to get right up, brush off dry plant debris, get in my car and drive home. However the wrenching pain going up and down my leg told me to stay put. Sweet Isabel who is Willian(our caretaker's) young wife, quickly ran to the kitchen to get me an ice pack. Motherly Daisy, who runs our El Callejon social work site, quickly got down on the ground with me, took off my shoe and sock and applied the ice pack, telling me it was okay to feel like I was 6 years old. Which I did, in case you were wondering. I was trying to be very brave and not cry about it. Instead I listened to Isabel share a story about how God physically healed her once of a pain in her shoulder.
After a while I was convinced I just needed to go home. So, I somehow got myself into a standing position. Immediately I felt like vomiting. The shock was hitting me. I almost passed out, but instead mumbled something in Spanglish and got back down on the ground. Daisy reapplied the ice pack. Nate went up to fetch my car and bring it down to me. I knew I'd be able to make it home since it was my left foot that was messed up and I could drive with my right. He asked if I wanted to go to his house and have Maggie wrap it up for me. Common sense would have said yes. I said, no, it's okay, I just wanna go home. But, I do need someone to follow me, open up the gate, chain the dogs and help get me in the house. He agreed to do it.
10 minutes later, I was at home alone, laying on the couch wincing at the pain and letting the tears flow.
Hopping around on one leg for the rest of the night, trying to make dinner, wash dishes and get ready for bed took more effort than I ever could have imagined. That was when I realized how much I hold onto independence. Actually, I think being independent and capable are not necessarily bad things. Being strong and able to make your own decisions and get about in the world are positive things. But when these things keep you from being able to accept a loving, helping hand from someone else, that's when there is something wrong.
Today as I've been processing some of this, knowing that Nate would have to come pick me up and take me to the doctor, knowing that I really needed to call my friend Katie and ask her to come spend the night so that I could have help doing stuff around the house, I've realized that the deeper issue is that I don't like to be a burden. I know where the root of this comes from, but it's always hard when I come up against it. Living here in the DR has caused me to have to confront many things like this that lie deep in my own heart.
And so now I have to ask myself, where is Jesus in all of this? He told us that the second greatest command after loving God with our entire beings was loving each other as we love ourselves. That's really profound-- much more than we realize at times. Because love is active, not just a good feeling. It's a choice to serve someone else, even if we have to sacrifice our time or our agendas. I think about the Good Samaritan who stopped whatever he was doing, lifted a stranger onto his donkey, took him to a nearby inn and made sure the guy was taken care of. He didn't have to, but he did. God wants us to take care of each other, to take time out of our lives to serve someone else. He wants us to put our love into action. Robbing my brothers and sisters of following this command of God is not loving on my part either. It seems crazy in my mind sometimes that someone might actually recieve a blessing in being able to take care of me.
These are my couch thoughts for today as I give thanks for the servant hearts God has put in my life who are more than willing to stop their agendas to make sure I am being taken care of. Thank you, Nate. Thank you, Katie. Thank you, Dr. Fernando.

Delirious Assumptions

2009-01-11T10:28:00.003-05:00

In just one day I went from being in 29 degree weather to 84 degree weather. A few days ago I was wearing wool socks, heavy sweaters, a wool coat, gloves and a scarf. Today I am back to wearing a tank top and flip flops. I am also back to doing laundry in our semi-automatic washing machine (stick hose into left basin, fill with water, detergent and clothes-- wash for 15 minutes; transfer clothes to right basin for a 5 minute spin; transfer clothes back to left basin, fill with water again and let rinse for another 15 minutes; put clothes back on the right for a last spin and then take them all outside to hang dry). As I was hanging out my morning wash, warm breeze caressing my face and lifting up strands of my hair, I marveled at how just days ago I was standing in a little bit of snow; a biting wind stinging my face and threatening to blow off my knit cap. In less than 24 hours I went from icy Colorado back to the sultry Dominican Republic. I thank God for all the hours spent on airplanes and in airports, where the 'weather' is controlled and is kind of an 'anti-climate' that helped me transition back to my tropical world.
It is surreal being back here though, I have to admit. Last night as I was attempting to fall asleep (jet lag still in operation), I laid in bed semi-listening to a neighbor's party going on. Usually, typical Dominican Merengue and Bachata music are blasting during such events, but this time, for some reason, it was all Mexican Mariachi music, which was making the Dominicans hoot and holler much louder than normal. They were having their own cross-cultural experience. Anyway, like at most parties, certain people get really drunk and then get really loud and then start wandering the street being really loud and drunk in front of your house. Our two dobermans were very thankful to have something to incessantly bark at. This also was hindering my ability to drift off into no man's land. In my mind, I kept yelling at the dogs to be quiet, cuz, you know, it would have taken too much effort to get up and actually yell at them through the window. Plus, I didn't want said drunk guys to know a woman was home alone. Anyway, after a bit, the drunks got just as annoyed as I did and I heard two very loud bangs. Someone shot my dogs! I thought. My heart started pounding. I laid very still in bed. I prayed, too, not knowing what else to do at that point. After about 7 minutes or so of no dog barking and total silence outside, I crept out of bed to peek out the window to see if I had two dead dobermans laying on the driveway. Instead, I saw two quiet dobermans standing by the gate doing nothing. Weird. What were those loud bangs? Since I didn't want to walk outside in my pj's in the middle of the night to investigate, I made an assumption that the drunk guys decided to throw some fruit or heavy sticks at our dogs that hit the side of the house, making such a loud noise. This is what neighborhood kids do to our dogs during the day. I finally fell asleep.
This morning, after hanging out the first load of laundry, I walked around the house looking for evidence. You know what I found? Exploded balloons!! The guys probably tried throwing balloons at our dogs or something and our fierce dobermans ripped into them with their ferocious teeth causing majorly loud poppage. I guess balloons popping in the middle of the night can sound like gun shots. Or maybe I was just delirious.

Home?

2009-01-05T23:49:00.002-05:00

"Blessed is the man (woman) whose strength is in You, whose heart is set on pilgrimage. As they pass through the Valley of Baca (tears), they make it a spring; the rain also covers it with pools. They go from strength to strength; each one appears before God in Zion." Psalm 84:5-7

The last line of this psalm proclaims that all who trust in the Lord are blessed. I want to be blessed, but I often find it hard to trust in God. I find it hard to trust in God especially because my life seems to be in constant change, constant transition. Though in my mind I know that I am just 'passing through here' on my way to my heavenly dwelling place, I have found my soul crying out for the last several months, "I just wanna go home!" I cried that from my bed in Jarabacoa; again the cry came while on my bed in Cambria. Just this morning, in yet another bed in another location, I heard my heart crying, "I wanna go home."
A couple of years ago, I was making a visionary collage as I prayed about my next steps in life. As I flipped through one magazine, these words just jumped off the page at me, "Be a world traveler. Be a homebody. Be both at once." These words were used as a catch phrase for some product or place that I can no longer remember, but as I quickly cut them out, I remember thinking, 'yep-- that is totally me.' I have lived my entire life trying to reconcile these two realities-- I want to settle, to plant deep roots, but once I am in a place too long, I get itchy to travel to distant lands, to taste new adventures. I think I live in a perpetual state of homesickness. I am thankful for the words of comfort and promise in Psalm 84. God knows that as we 'just pass through here' keeping our hearts set on His promise of eternal rest, that there will be tears of longing, tears of sacrifice. The beauty is not just that He understands, but that He turns these times of stress and sorrow and longing into pools that refresh in the wilderness. He promises strength for the journey. He promises in another psalm that 'those who sow in tears will reap in joy, bringing their sheaves with them'.
Joy and strength await all pilgrims, all travelers, all who trust in the Lord God.

Espresso Truffle

2008-12-24T19:17:00.002-05:00

Starbucks is not my favorite coffee establishment. Today, however, I needed an afternoon joe and since I was standing in Target when the need came upon me and since there was a Starbucks within the Target, I sauntered over and ordered this holiday drink they have available. The Espresso Truffle.
Thank you, Jesus.
Thank you, Starbucks.

Being Blessed

2008-12-04T12:24:00.004-05:00

I am sitting here in my friend Cheryl's house and she doesn't even know it. I just drove over, opened her door, had a loving reunion with her yellow lab Scout, called out her name multiple times, smelled some coffee, poured myself a cup, sat down and now here I am blogging. I have no idea where she is. This is what I love about being home.
I don't know why or how I became so blessed. I had a friend come and stay with me for a couple of days this week. I met her when we did our YWAM dts together (www.ywam.org) 5 years ago. She is Australian and immigrated to the U.S. this year. Anywho, she came here to see me and all she kept saying was, 'You are incredibly blessed and I hope you know that.' She was right.
I pretty much grew up in this little seaside town called Cambria, which, in and of itself, is a bright little community. But when I gave my life to Christ just over 7 years ago, I became a part of a church community of which likes I have not encountered anywhere else. This same friend, after sitting through a church service here with me, said as she wiped away tears, 'The love of Christ is so powerful and tangible here. It feels like a family.' I was shedding tears, too, as I gave thanks to God in my heart for this body of believers who, no matter how long I am away, always recieve me back with open, loving arms, provide for all my needs and remind me of the constant joy we have in the Saviour. Truly, truly, this town, these people, my home church are the lap of God for me here on Earth.
And then there's my amazingly precocious and tender-hearted nephew, who, now when he sees me says, 'You! You're here, Auntie Amy! You want to drink some rain with me?' I taught him how to stick out his tongue to catch rain droplets the other day and he thought it was the best thing ever. Wait til he tastes his first snow.
God is good. I am blessed. Have a great day, Cheryl-- thanks for letting me hang in your house!

Finally!

2008-11-20T07:39:00.002-05:00

This morning I groggily woke up upon hearing my roommate call my name. Turns out she actually didn't call me, it was just another of God's ploys to get me out of bed. I had to take Nyquil last night and needed a sober wake-up call. Anyway, I crawled out of bed and started vigorously rubbing my arms. I quickly ran over to my fan to turn it off. I thought about my sweatshirt in the closet. These are all signs that IT'S FINALLY GETTING COLD!!! By this time last year, I had been donning the sweaters and scarves (all lightweight, mind you) for a month already. This whole global warming issue has gotten completely out of hand. I hear it's happening in America, too (or at least in California where it's been in the 80's and 90's where it's usually in the 50's by now). This is a little disappointing, I must say. It is especially disappointing because I get to go home in 2 days. All fall I have been daydreaming about getting to don my favorite wool coat, drink piping hot holiday-flavored espresso drinks and sitting by the homefires singing along to Christmas carols played by my stepdad on his old baby grand. I guess I will still get to do some of these things, except I might have to make those drinks iced and the wool coat might just be slung over the back of my chair. Boo. Christmas carols still on, though.
But, IT'S FINALLY GETTING COLD HERE!! Yes, friends, today is my first official' it's-quite-possible-I- may-be-able-to-wear-this-hoody-all-day' day! Woo-hoo! It's also pouring down rain, which might also mean I won't want to wear my hoody all day since it'll probably get soaked. Sigh.
HAPPY IT'S FINALLY GETTING COLD HERE DAY!!!!

Why I love the Dominican Republic

2008-11-15T11:28:00.003-05:00

Yesterday I was sitting out front of Martina's house after lunch. The sun was shining, Venicio and a couple of Haitian guys were pasting cement over a concrete wall that borders their house making it look more adobe style. Yeimi, Fran's wife and daughter of Martina and Venicio, was sitting in the chair next to me, picking the paint off her fingernails and Natan, Fran's littlest, was sitting on top of Bo-Bo's dog kennel rocking back and forth violently while he told me a story I understood little of. It was one of those moments in life where I inherently knew I needed to soak up every detail because I knew I'd never get this day back. Then something more wonderful happened. One of the Haitian guys turned from his work to ask Venicio a question about his shoes. I didn't really hear the question, but I did hear Martina run from inside the house and start publicly 'telling' on her husband some anecdote regarding the shoes. She made fun of him so loudly and they were both laughing and then they started pinching, tickling and hitting at eachother playfully. A husband and wife in their fifties, married for over 26 years, acting all giddy and silly, laughing hysterically. Then Venicio grabbed her in his arms, hugged her tight and said, "Mujer!" (woman). I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I laughed.
There are moments like these that come and renew my spirit, that lift up my heart and when I think to myself, 'I love the Dominican Republic'. Shortly after I headed back to the art site to open up for our afternoon students. I got there a little early and so decided to start back on a painting that has been giving me trouble. I have some how lost communication with the originial idea and it keeps transforming, yet not yet into what it will be. Anyway, I took it outside to spray another layer of gold spray paint on it to subdue some of the other colors. As I was shaking up the can, three of our new teenage art students loudly barged in. "Amy! Que tu haces? (what are you doing?)" Jose Daniel asked and so I explained and then he patted me on the shoulder and said to his friends (I'll just write it in English for y'all), "See! I told you guys she was amazing. You're even better than Profe (Francisco). You are such a Tigeraza (have no idea how to translate that except to say a combo between 'fierce' and 'the bomb') !" I gently full-nelsoned him, commanded them to 'get to work!' and we all laughed.
Francisco finally came in to work. He had vertigo yesterday because of an ear infection (or rather, water had gotten in his ears when he went swimming in the river). I poured in some Hydrogen Peroxide mixed with water (something he'd never heard of) and he delightedly giggled at the sound of it fizzing in his ears. He felt almost immediately better and then we started joking around. He playfully teased the art students, I told him all the 'bad' words I had learned since I'd been here (I didn't actually know they weren't appropriate until I said one and he, with shocked expression, asked me where I'd learned that word). He thought it was hilarious.
What a jovial day.
I love the Dominican Republic.

The All Consuming Fire

2008-11-13T09:47:00.005-05:00

Are we comfortable with God's jealousy? Do we understand His passionate love that burns continually, constantly and is directed toward us? I know that it is often hard for me when He comes with that burning, searing fire of purification, of sanctification. My flesh and its desires writhe in pain, crying out for it to cease. I want to run and hide, find refuge among the familiar systems that I've built to keep myself 'safe'. At the same time, my soul craves His touch, no matter what form it comes in and my spirit cries out for completion; to be redeemed and restored to its perfect likeness, made in His image. We who are born again, who have been born anew of His Spirit and who have been given freedom to choose Him, receive His jealous love as those inner fires of transformation, trials, persecutions. His passion is fierce, relentless. He is all-consuming. I imagine these are what the fires of Hell are. Un-renewed people standing in His fire of love, yet unable to enter into its full embrace. He is everywhere and there is nowhere one can go to escape His presence. The presence of the Living God is a fire that consumes everything it its path. It is a love to be consumed by, but those who do not have His life-giving Spirit will never be able to enter into that consuming love. They will feel it on them, burning, but will never be able to be transformed into it. This is torture. An unquenchable fire. We who have received Christ and position ourselves before Him become those very living flames of love, both purified and purifying; being sanctified, yet already holy.
This is our privilege.
Let his holy, purifying, perfecting love come in and chase out all fear, all foe, all sin, all death.

"Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom which cannot be shaken, let us have grace, by which we may serve God acceptably with reverence and godly fear. For our God is a consuming fire." Hebrews 12:28,29

The Things We Don't Understand

2008-11-01T20:17:00.003-04:00

"...being confident of this very thing, that He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ;" Php. 1:6

He's never done. And even though I have the above scripture pretty much memorized, He still catches me off guard when He comes in to complete more of the work.
I remember thinking back in 2005 when I was going on a short-term trip to Nigeria to administer Polio vaccine that I was entering the last 'promise of God' that I knew about in my own life. What I mean is that throughout my growing up years, every so often I'd get these flash visions of myself as an adult standing in Africa, holding a baby and talking with some women. In my mind, that was the be all, end all. But, as I was standing in Africa just 3 years ago, holding a baby and talking to some women, I felt fulfilled. I didn't feel called to move my whole life to Africa. I remember coming back to California feeling confounded and a little lost. Silly, I know. Just months later, our church decided to establish a missions program and I lead an 8-person team down here to the Dominican Republic. While here for two weeks, God resurrected this old dream I'd had as a 15 year old, to live for a couple years in a Spanish speaking country, get fluent and make art. I had let that dream die due to many factors and had a hard time reconciling myself with it as God kept moving my heart around, opening a desire to come and serve here. And, still, within my first year here, I kept asking God, "But, what next? I mean, I've been in Africa, I'm doing the Spanish/art thing now, but what comes after, God?"
It's amazing what things we forget, what things we don't understand. But, God never forgets, nor is He short on understanding. Not only did He form me in my mother's womb, He chose where I would live, what I would do and the kind of relationship I would have with Him.
Ever since I was little, maybe 5 or 6, I would tell people that I was going to write a book one day. As I grew a little older and learned how to write, I was always penning short stories, TV scripts, poems. I even had a dream as a teenager where I was reading at the title of a book and when I looked to see who the author was, it was me! Something in me has always known I was made to be a writer. Yet, a different something in me felt like it wasn't noble enough. But, this last year, God has been, once again, coming in to remind me of the work still left uncompleted in the life He designed for me. And the ways He comes in to lovingly remind me, to encourage me as my adoring Father... well, he just knocks me down every time.
Tonight I was feeling discouraged for various reasons, but as I took my seat in the front row of my weekly discipleship class at church, I set my mind to glean all I could from the teaching. The pastor at one point asked a question, which I answered under my breath not intending to be heard, but he did hear it and he pointed at me and said, "Amy Babb. Amy Babb. You have the name of an author. 'Written by Amy Babb.'" He giggled, I answered the question so everyone could hear and he moved on. He didn't know it, but God had just used this man to affirm me in something that I so long to do, so long to be.
I think that it's hard sometimes to believe that the things we most desire are really God's desires for us. I often struggle with the seeming contradiction of: "Delight yourself also in the Lord, and He shall give you the desires of your heart" and "The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked, who can know it?" I realize these things are not in contradiction because God is completely true always, but I have still gotten caught in the trap of believing that my good desires are not necessarily good. I think part of this comes from walking through fires and trials that God has called me into, things I didn't desire, but were from Him.
Okay, I admit it. I want to be an expert on the ways of God. It's true. I want all understanding, all knowledge-- just overall omni-whatever. But I also love surprises. I beg God daily to reveal His will in my life, but when He actually does it, I get that same excitement of receiving an unexpected present. That's how I felt tonight. God has been telling me, through my desire, through encouragement of others, that yes, writing is something he wants me to do. But He went the extra mile tonight and caught me off guard by using someone who barely knows me. I don't get it. I'll never get His love that continually works on my behalf. I'll never understand why sometimes He talks to me non-stop and at others is silent for too long (in my opinion :) ).
I want to be complete, yet I love that there are things left for Him to do. I want to be in the fulness of His presence, yet I love it when He shows up unexpectedly after a long absence. I am addicted to the mystery.

Indulging

2008-10-25T15:15:00.002-04:00

I do not have discipleship class tonight and so I am indulging. Indulging in enjoyment of the day. It's been a while now since I've had an ENTIRE day free from some kind of obligation. I am not saying obligations are bad and I myself made the choice to obligate myself to take a discipleship class at my church here. But, I have to admit, today just feels luscious. It feels luscious even with a headache, which usually ruins my day, but my soul is so relaxed, I don't even mind it so much. Plus, last night God told me I'd have a headache and that I'd need to drink lots of water today. Last night, I indulged, too.
I have a good friend here who I love and it has been a long time since I've spent time with her and her boyfriend, who I also love. We made plans to hang out and watch the World Series at her house (since I have no cable at my house), but plans changed and so we went out for pizza and I asked the boyfriend to tell me his side of the 'how I fell in love with her' story. The beauty is that he was eager and willing to tell even though there was a boxing match on and his mouth was filled with pizza. Claro esta, we had to take breaks every now and then as his eyes wandered to watch some guys throw some punches, but that was to be expected. After dinner we actually ended up back at her house where there was wine and chocolate. I don't drink wine all that often and especially not living here because we need to be careful witnesses in an alcoholic culture, but when I do get to have a glass, I savor it. And with dark chocolate. Why is God so good? Anyway, then my friend put on some rich tunes to go along with the rich evening and THEN... pulled out the art supplies. Talk about indulgence. I grabbed some conte crayons and just started drawing what was right in front of me. It happened to be my glass of wine. As I was drawing, I thought about Jesus sharing his last meal on earth with his disciples before he was crucified. I felt his tension as he was reclining at the table, a glass of wine before him, thinking about what he was about to go through. Would his closest and dearest friends understand the symbology if he tried sharing with them? Would they understand the connection between his blood and the wine they were drinking-- a common thing? I saw his fingers lightly touch the stem of the cup, his eyes gazing into the deep dark. "I will not drink of the vine again until I come..." Catching the sound of his voice, his fellows turn their heads to look at him. What was he saying?
I can't imagine how Jesus felt on that night. How he must feel now, waiting in anticipation for the day when he will again drink of the vine with his companions at the wedding banquet. What seemed like a simple indulgence to me last night, turned into a deep longing to be intimate with Christ, the lover I am waiting to see, with whom I will share a cup of the vine-- the best wine which he saved for last. I am my beloved's and he is mine; his banner over me is love.
Today feels luscious as I indulge in the love of the one who is, who was and who is to come...

Hop, Skip, Jump

2008-10-15T14:03:00.005-04:00

I had the most wonderful birthday (it was on October 2nd for those who are wondering). Just kidding. The day of I was actually really sick and slept through most of it, but the following night, some friends came over and we watched Amelie, one of my favorite movies. And Katie made this decadent chocolate dessert from scratch that was the best thing I've ever put in my mouth.
And, because we only get mail once every two weeks here, I finally got my birthday packages yesterday!!! I already thanked my mom, who sent cool stuff, but especially great was a framed photo of my bro and best-nephew-in-the-whole-world Gabriel. I love him. Them, I mean. And THEN I got to open a package from a woman who was here on a team back in the Spring. Marilyn. She's from Connecticut and so encouraged me when she was here. She sent me a book from 1947 from a wise saint that I cannot wait to start reading. As well, she sent me...A BRAND NEW PAIR OF CONVERSE!!!! I still can't get over it. For those of you who know me well, I live in Chuck Taylors. Lo-tops, not high tops because hi-tops are too hot and you can't wear them with shorts and dresses well. Anyway, the ones I brought down here with me, my beloved burgundys, have gotten completely thrashed from being worn in El Callejon all summer (if you don't know where El Callejon is, you need to be reading these blogs more, really...). They are still so very comfy, but are caked in mud and paint, etc and so are no longer church-worthy. Many of you may be thinking that wearing Converse to church is a little bit, um, not pretty, but whatever. I sometimes wear girly shoes to church, too. I actually just got a pair of coppery-metalic sandals that are really cute and...
But, I have a new pair of Converse and I love them so much I almost slept in them last night. I used to always sleep in my new shoes when I was a little girl. In fact, 'shoe' was my first word. I was four months old. My dad says that I was laying on my stomach on the carpet right in front of his size 11 Clarks and very clearly said, 'shoe!'. I didn't speak again until 7 months later. I always say I was prophesying over my own life: "Go into all the World..." "How beautiful on the mountain are the feet of those who bring the good news". Hey, if God can use a donkey, surely he can use a four month old.
I still like shoes a whole lot, but since they are not as easily accessible down here and I live on a healthy budget, receiving a brand new pair of my favorite kind of shoes is an incredible blessing.
Thank you Marilyn for the love.

The King's Table

2008-09-24T12:24:00.004-04:00

Back in January, our church hosted a group of prophetically-inclined brethren from a church near Chicago. It was an awesome few days of fantastic teaching and personal ministry. During the first night, one of the women on the team pointed at me and started sharing some spot-on things about who God has made me to be. It was very encouraging. After affirming by spiritual personality, so to speak, she shared something that I also felt comforting: that God was going to start bringing together all the seemingly random bits of my call together to form a tapestry that would finally make sense to me. I have never made sense to myself, which is one of my hugest struggles in life. All of my strengths, talents and gifts seem to not really go together, or rather, God seems to highlight certain ones at certain times while the others take a break. It's often quite frustrating for me. Upon hearing the promise of clarity that night, I relaxed a bit, knowing that God would soon bring some kind of grand revelation.
I'm still waiting.
As I contemplated the idea of writing an update here, images of my life started spinning around my mind like a lazy Susan. Should I write about the corn, the salsa, the mashed potatoes, the meatloaf, the mint chutney or the blackberry cobbler? There are so many little things going on, each one so incredibly flavorful in its own right, yet each one feeling incomplete on its own. I feel like God is giving me tastes of all different kinds of things, both satisfying and causing hunger. How is this possible?
This morning I woke up early to join two sisters from church to pray over a location where our church will be hosting a concert tonight. The town is celebrating its sesquicentennial (150 years) anniversary and each night of the week, a different concert is going on. The stages are being sponsored by Brugal Rum, and each night so far has been an alcoholic frenzy. On the property, which is probably a half-lot size, there are literally 8 alcohol booths, each one standing about 4 feet over from the next one. The stage itself is made up of plastic banners advertising Brugal Rum. Francisco, who I work with, is busy at work painting a huge backdrop to hang over these ads that announces God's love for the city. The church is bringing in 4 very well-known Christian Dominican music artists and some of the youth will be performing a powerful dance/drama. It is also pouring down rain. I give you this background to let you know a bit about what I am participating in here outside of work and also to share how praying over an outreach like this leaves me in the place of 'already, but not yet'. I can go with a few believers and in the name of Jesus, ask for souls to be liberated from the bondage of alcoholism and hopelessness. I can pray the tearing down of modern sacred pillars (Brugal Rum booths). I can proclaim the righteousness of God and the reign of His holiness over an area and in this way, I get a taste of the everlasting Kingdom. But, I still feel hungry. The concert hasn't happened yet. None of those who will come to the Lord tonight have yet come. Right now, someone who God plans to set free tonight is still bound. Those prayers that we prayed this morning have not yet found their release and I still carry within me that tension. I am hungry to see the outpouring of God's mercy in this place, knowing that the prayers that have gone forth in faith will bring this outpouring
And so goes the rest of my life here. As I set out to do things, whether in my quiet times with God or in ministry, I feel as though I am being both filled and poured out all at once. I feel satisfied and glad, yet starving for more. I feel I am in a perpetual state of holy angst where nothing makes sense, but all of it seems worthwhile. I like to have things orderly, set in place, confirmed and clear. There are decisions to be made that I feel I can't make because this merry-go-round of the Holy Spirit won't slow down for me to make a choice! My tendency to judge things as better, worse, more or less valuable, good or bad is being challenged to the utmost as God continues to show me that every single nook and cranny of His Kingdom has innate and eternal value. The minute before I try to set in stone something that makes sense to me, God comes and spins it all around, stopping it only when He wants it to and says, Amy, take a bite of this. And, just as I'm enjoying that bite and start to reach for another, he spins the selection around again and asks that I taste something else. They are all tasty and all nourishing, but each time I feel I'm about to be satisfied on one thing, he laughs and throws everything into a colorful whirl until I've tasted it all. Does this make any sense? If not, you know how I feel : )
And so, I'm teaching bi-monthly art classes in El Callejon to girls ages7-11; I'm painting some of my own prophetic art; I'm assisting Fran in the art school and helping some of our students make the transition from pen drawing to watercolors; Saturday nights I'm taking a discipleship class at church and am having to read huge portions of the Bible at a fairly rapid rate (in the last three weeks I've read Matthew thru Leviticus) as well as read a book in Spanish on the history of the DR and why the people are the way they are and then write a report on it (due next week); Monday nights I'm tutoring a new American teacher here with her Spanish; Monday mornings I am now prayer walking with my dear friend Elizabeth in the community where she leads a home group. So much is going on and each thing is so fulfilling to me. And yet, I know that it's for a time and a season.
I will soon have to make a decision regarding whether or not I will be staying here past my two year commitment. It is a decision I cannot make based on how well things or going or on how I feel in any given moment. I struggle because I know that whether I am here, in the States or in another country, God is there, working and I will get to partner with Him. I cannot place any kind of better/worse value on 'where' I am. If I could, it would make this decision easier. I would appreciate any prayers and/or wisdom if you feel so lead to share.
"Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think..."

The Old Man is Snoring

2008-09-07T09:05:00.003-04:00

Rain, rain go away...
It's officially hurricane season. I think we've got some of Ike raining down on us, or then again, it could just be a random tropical storm. It will be raining almost constantly until January. Which brings me to avocados.
Now, avocados have nothing to do with the rain, it's just that I've been meaning to write about avocados for a while now, but just as I sat down to finally do it, I thought I might mention the fact that it's raining cats and dogs. Some dogs like to eat avocados. Back to the point...
Last year when I moved into this house, my roommate Amy, upon giving me a tour of our yard, pointed out the various fruit trees. "This one has some kind of fruit, I'm not exactly sure what kind it is yet; this one grows these big spiky-skinned things; this is an avocado tree that doesn't produce any fruit; this one--- wait a minute, did she say AVOCADO??? Those little green things that are traded for gold in California? Those precious little fruits that, when cut open, scooped out, mashed and mixed with other things makes one of the best foods ever invented by man, GUACAMOLE??? And it's growing in MY back yard!! Yum, oh yuminess, oh, sweet green goo of yumness. I just could not, would not tolerate the fact that she said this tree did not produce. It couldn't be! God did not make avocado trees to just stand there and torment me with promises of goodness. Later on that month, unbeknownst to my roomie, I went outside, laid hands on the trunk and prayed for God to bring forth fruit. "God, I'm not asking for a scorpion! I'm asking for avos and you promise in your word that if I ask anything in Jesus' name, you will give it! Bring forth fruit!" I did something similar a few months later, thinking about that parable where a king comes to eat fruit off a tree and it doesn't have any and then orders the gardner to chop it down and make room for fruit trees that work and the gardner makes him a deal: give it one more year. If it doesn't produce fruit at the end, I'll chop it. So, I prayed that prayer, asking God to give it another year to produce fruit. I also prayed the prayer in relation to Jarabacoa, proclaiming God's ability to form fruit out of death. Then I forgot all about it.
Sometime during the beginning of summer, I got a word from the Lord about the next season I'm about to enter: Lift up your eyes and see! The fields are white with harvest!
I started contending in prayer for that harvest, praying that our eyes, as workers here, would indeed look UP and see what God has prepared and not to let the enemy come and steal any part of it. Shortly after, as I was hanging out my laundry to dry on a nice sunny Sunday morning, I lifted up my eyes and, lo and behold, there were avocados growing on that tree!!! I am not kidding you. And not just one or two, like two or TEN! Amy and I danced a joyful jig to the Lord and have been waiting and waiting for them to ripen. We just picked about 6 of them yesterday, which should be ready to eat sometime this week.
God promised that if we have even the faith of a mustard seed, we could do great things. God cares about the harvest of souls that, to us, appear dead and worth chopping down. He wants us to press in, to have faith and to exercise that faith in praying His promises and awaiting the fruit that will come forth from those faithful prayers. He even cares that I love avocados so much.
Pray to God for the 'impossible', believing in His power and desire to do so, and watch Him bring it about.
We serve a living God.
Come on down and share in God's harvest with me!!!

And the Vacation Begins...

2008-08-09T12:39:00.002-04:00

Last night I said goodbye to the last team of the summer. Feeling exhausted, yet content, I drove home late with thoughts of vacation sugarplums already dancing in my head. I pulled up on the curb in front of my house, left the car idling and gracefully jumped out (I was wearing a dress) to unlock the sliding iron gate that borders our front yard. Our two dogs were whining happily in eager expectation of sniffing the tires of my jeep to see where I'd been. After I got them chained, I slid the gate open, only to have it get stuck a second later. I walked around the other side to figure out the problem. Our dogs were the problem. At the bottom of our iron gate, we have foot high panels of chicken wire held on by other wire to... why DO we have wire down there? Well, I didn't have time to contemplate the why. As of the last 5 months or so, our Dobermans have decided to dig a gigantic hole under this gigantic bush we have growing just inside the gate. Their belligerent digging has caused minor problems in the past with getting the gate open: huge rocks in the path or piles of dirt blocking the tracks the gate rides on. This time is was a bent-out-of-shape panel of chicken wire. For half an hour in very dim light, I tried pounding the darn thing back into place with a trowel we always have nearby to clear away other debris. It was too strong and I was too tired. I finally just lifted the gate off it's track and little by little moved it through the narrow opening. I rolled the car in, let the dogs off their chains, they sniffed the tires, I fell into bed.
So began my vacation week.
This morning I awoke (much earlier than I wanted to), had a leisurely morning starting a new book while drinking my first cup of vacation coffee. After a while I decided I needed to tackle the 'uh oh, the corrugated tube that drains the water from our washing machine to the great outdoors has holes in it and is now draining into our laundry room' problem. I took off the tube, looked at it, discovered the holes were made by voracious rats, and decided I could probably fix it with duct tape. Knowing we did not have duct tape, I nonetheless opened the 'kitchen drawer of randomness' in hopes God might have put some in there overnight. No such luck. However, I did spy a half-used tube of silicone that Amy and I had used to fix our front screen door a couple of months back. Desperation caused me to take out the knife. I shouldn't have done it. In the process of trying to pry open the top of the tube to perhaps get to some not-yet-dry plastic goo, I sliced open my left thumb. I quickly put it under running faucet water and cried. I knew I didn't have band-aids, so I wrapped it in paper towels, elevated my arm and thought about my mommy. Then I realized I had to get going to go meet my friend Daisy and go with her to the church's 'pulga' (yard sale) to buy clothes for the girls who live in El Callejon. So, I pulled myself together, grabbed my money, chained up the dogs and started to open the front gate. I then remembered I had not fixed the problem from the night before, I had just sort of worked around it. I studied the chicken wire praying it would miraculously disappear. It didn't. So, I decided to try what I did last night: lift up, push a little, let down. On the first go, one of the panels decided to come undone at one end. I undid the other end, ripped it off, pushed the gate open and then realized my thumb had opened up again and was bleeding all over the place. I think I said a bad word. I went back inside, got more paper towel, came back out, drove the car out onto the street, hopped out to close the gate and unchain the dogs. As I went to let Snickers off, he decided he might just want a bite of paper towel. I almost lost my thumb. I yelled at him, got in the car and took off.
In the ungodly heat of mid-morning, Daisy and I quickly went through the piles of kids clothes. "Erika. Noelia. Eh, Claudia, no, Kati, si, Kati." We held up clothes, trying to figure out who they'd fit. Fifteen minutes later I was back in my car and on my way into town to buy groceries and duct tape. The town was packed, there was no where to park, I may have said another bad word and then decided to go over to where my roommate is house sitting to see if they had any duct tape. After telling her my woes, I decided to go to the other market, park and walk around the corner to the one that sells the bread I like. It was sneaky, but I did it. Luckily the bread market didn't have the meat I wanted, so I actually did shop at the market I was parked in front of. I even bought a vacation bottle of grape soda. It would go great with the avocado, Camembert sandwich I was going to make on that yummy, crusty French bread I just bought. I started feeling better. When I got home, the gate slid open okay, Snickers didn't try to eat my hand and the pile of toothpicks that had gotten knocked over when I cut my thumb didn't bother me too much. I made my sandwich, popped in a dvd, and twisted the cap on my soda. Unbeknownst to me, it had rolled around a bit on the ride home and so proceeded to erupt all over my sandwich. They didn't go as well together as I originally thought.
I think I'm gonna go take a vacation nap.

Year in Review

2008-07-28T09:05:00.018-04:00

I am not one of those people who is motivated by the setting of goals and accomplishing them. For me, success and fulfillment is measured by how many people I get to love. Today, as I celebrate my first year being on the mission field, thoughts of challenges overcome, everyday victories, and 'fruitful' seasons of ministry don't even come to mind. I don't care about these things. What I care about are the faces that are flashing through my mind as I think about my year in Jarabacoa. If it weren't for the people, being here wouldn't be worth it to me. So, here they are, the ones who have made a difference in my life and made being a missionary worth it (let it be known that many people aren't on here either because I don't have a photo or because my computer was too slow in loading!):

A Friend of the Bridegroom

2008-06-24T21:01:00.003-04:00

"He who has the bride is the bridegroom; but the friend of the bridegroom, who stands and hears him, rejoices greatly because of the bridegroom's voice. Therefore this joy of mine is fulfilled. He must increase and I must decrease." John 3:29

John the Baptist was an influential man. Though he didn't dress, eat or act like 'normal' people, he was nonetheless respected and followed. The man had disciples and an incredible ministry. There John was, baptizing people who had heard his charismatic yet intense message and wanted to be changed, cleansed, prepared. People were traveling from all parts of Israel, even from surrounding nations to hear this prophet speak. His 'voice crying out in the wilderness' was convicting many people and he was seeing much success. Enter Jesus.
John can hardly contain himself. Excitedly he cries out to his followers: "Yeah! This is the guy I've been telling you about! You think I'm great?? I'm not even worthy to untie his shoelaces! He's the Lamb of God; he's come to take away all your sins! Follow him!"
Most of John's disciples took his advice and left his side to pursue the new guy. Some of the ones who stayed behind got together with some of their Jewish brothers, approached John and started tattle-telling on Jesus. "Hey, you know that guy, the one you were telling us about, yeah, well he's like taken over your job baptizing and everyone's following him now!"
I wish I had the same heart as John in this moment. Unlike me, this man was truly humble and not only knew his rightful place in the kingdom-- he rejoiced in it. He was just happy to hear his friend's voice. He knew that his specific ministry had been given to him by God and that it had been fulfilled. He let it go. I am more like those 'loyal' disciples that complained and whined.

Two days ago one of the American high school students who is here on outreach openly confessed for the first time years of sexual and emotional abuse she had endured under the roof of her mom's house. Stepfather, boyfriends, men parading in and out of her mom's broken life had all taken advantage of this precious girl. As deep, gut- wrenching sobs shook her whole body, the release of years and years of anger, fear and aloneness, I smiled in my heart and said, "Thank you, Lord, I can finally be used in the way I like best. " As I looked at the somewhat shocked and forlorn faces of the other 4 teens gathered around her, I rejoiced that all my years of training to minister to the broken could finally be put to use in this place. God had used me many times in the past to minister healing to the broken places of the heart. I was ready to share biblical words that would help restore. I was poised and ready to lay hands on her and speak mighty deliverance. What I was not ready for was the Holy Spirit to say, "Go get her some toilet paper to blow her nose and let the students minister to her."
What?????
After months of being in the hidden place with God, struggling to learn a new language, adapting to a new culture and not being able to use the gifts that God had let me use in the past, I was aching to minister in my own language, in a territory that is totally comfortable for me. My soul was clammering for the spotlight. But the Spirit would not let it be. I sat by in silence, handed her the toilet paper and watched these doe-eyed high schoolers get down and dirty with the love of Christ. They all hugged her, affirmed her and prayed mighty, encouraging prayers. I sat by silently and watched God build unity in the way that only He knows how to do. And though I was joyful that God had opened the door and had begun the healing process, part of me was like John's disciples saying, "Um, they don't know what they are doing. They aren't gonna do it right and she's not gonna get the complete oil change that she needs." I kept waiting for an opening when I could saunter in with my expert background in how to properly minister to those falling apart and there never was one. Praise God.
When God called John to prepare the way, he gave him quite a ministry. But when it was time for Jesus to take over, he sauntered into John's territory and-- took over. And that's what Jesus did with me. My job is to be in the place where God has called me. My job is to talk about Jesus and then just be there, standing by, hearing His voice as He saunters into my space and takes over.
Someone once told me that God was preparing me for a forerunner ministry. It sounds so exciting, you know, foraging ahead, fighting battles, proclaiming the name of the Lord, preparing the way for Jesus' return to earth. What I didn't take much time to consider was that a forerunner is just a nameless, faceless messenger who is sent in advance to prepare the way... yes through prayer and worship and battle and proclamation... but also one who must step aside once the King arrives. I am no one. A voice crying out in the wilderness. A forerunner's job is to know when to decrease and to truly rejoice when Jesus increases; when my tantalizing message about the profoundness of Christ becomes a living revelation to all those who've heard.
"...Yes, He is altogether lovely. This is my beloved and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem."
"Where has your lover gone, most beautiful of women? Which way has your lover turned, that we make look for him?" (Song of Solomon 5:16-6:1)
The goal is to sing his praises and then watch as others turn to follow after Him. The goal is for them to stop listening to you and start being intimate with Him.
Prepare the way.
Decrease that He may increase.

Reflections on Love

2008-06-07T15:51:00.000-04:00

He is worth it.

When He Steps In

2008-05-24T09:23:00.002-04:00

What do we do when Jesus shows up in a place we kinda wish He wouldn't? This is a question sparked by our last week's staff Bible Study and I've been meditating on it ever since. The passage we studied was Luke 5:1-11. The fishing disciples had been out ALL NIGHT casting their nets, bringing up nothing. In early morning, they pulled back to shore, unloaded and were starting to clean their nets. Tired, probably hungry, feeling discouraged.
In walks Jesus. In walks 'multitudes' of people, invading your space. You're kneeling down, using a somewhat dull knife to scrape old smelly fish scales off your hands, when a shadow passes over you. Squinting, you look up and there hovering over you is this man you've heard about, slight in posture, browned by the sun, a sparse beard-- nothing noteworthy, yet who has a commading presence. He tells you He needs to use your boat. For some reason your body obeys. You and some of your mates step in with this familiar stranger and push off from shore a bit. People are thronging, grasping, calling out. The man in your boat starts to speak. A hushing silence on shore. The rumbling in your stomach fades into the sound of his voice, your heavy eyelids are no longer weighing you down. You are moved in some inexplicable way, his words rising and falling as the gentle waves lap against the side of your boat. Conscious that your God-fearing father is nearby fuming at the words of this--prophet? you massage your already arthiritic hands and contemplate what's being said.

Suddenly the crowd is being sent on its way, your hunger pains come back and your eyelids, once again, threaten early dreams. You are aching to leave, nay run, from this place, to find solace in the arms of a wife who hadn't heard. To bury your head under blankets that will lull away the change that has started to occur. But this man, this irrationaly rational man, turns to YOU and says, 'Push out for deeper water'. Frustrated, tired, confused...yet you set out. The man's silence unnerves you and you try with all your might to gain back all you know you just lost. You roll back your sleeves, puff out your chest, bark out a few orders to your friends. And then, this skinny, dark Hebrew man whose obviously never spent a night of fishing in his life tells you to cast your net. This is just too much. You look at him bewildered, angry and arrogantly remind him that you spent all night expertly fishing and there ain't a fish out there. Yet, because he said to, you'll do it. With aching muscles and disdain in your heart, you lift your freshly cleaned, heavy net over the side of the boat. What's happening? You start to lose your balance as your humble fishing boat starts violently thrashing around in the water. Help me lift! you cry out to your astonished co-workers. The once empty net, now breaking its seams with fresh catch barely makes it back into the boat. You fall down is astonishment and horror at the feet of this man, prophet, king. Get away from me!! I am sinful! Somehow your sinking ship makes it back to shore. Someone's counting how many fish there are. Your whole world is swirling around your head as your heart pounds its way out of your chest. The man speaks. "From now on I will make you a fisher of men."

What do you do when God steps into your reality, your job, your fatigue, your hunger, your ministry? What do you do when you have been working endless hours with no fruit, when you have moved on to other things, when you've made plans to sleep, to eat, to travel, to whatever... and the Holy Spirit says, "Hey, I need to use you for a little while longer. I need your job, your resources, your time, your energy, your strength, so that I can speak to these people invading your 'space'. And then after that, I want you to work some more in the area that isn't bringing forth finance, or fruit. In fact, I want you to leave this shore and the hope of rest and push out even farther than you were before. What's more, I want to break your pride and your self-sufficiency by showing you I can do what you spend your whole life doing, in about 2 seconds. And with the blessing of abundance that I bring to you, I'm going to change the course of your life and take you even further away from your comfort zone."

Just five minutes before our Bible Study started, I was sitting in a secluded area, trying to hold back tears of fatigue and frustration, angry at God for bringing me here, reminding him that I am an introvert who needs lots of quiet to create and refuel, telling Him that I can't take it anymore, fearing that if someone approached me in that moment they would see the sinful monster I really am. Knowing that I couldn't run home and hide under my blankets, I asked God for strength and grace just to make it through the next two hours. In dry obedience I worshipped in Spanish. The Holy Spirit commandeered my voice to sing praises to Him. And then this passage of Scripture...

The questions we were asked to answer were: What is your shore? What are the things that keep you from leaving shore? Once you do leave shore, what are the obstacles that keep you from continuing in obedience?
In my soul I cringed. My heart cried out, "Oh God! I am sinful!" Truly, truly, I cling to shore. I cling to comfort, I cling to dreams, I cling to my temperment, I cling to things I don't have. Once I follow, sometimes grudgingly, in obedience, my heart is often full of complaint, full of excuses, full of dread. I count the seconds until work is over. I fantasize about food, about sleep. I don't trust God.
Everyday my faith gets challenged. Do I really believe on Him? Do I really want Him to take over? Do I really think His ways are better than mine? When He enters my boat to do what He wants to do, do I rejoice? Do I welcome Him and pray that His Word saves the throngs of those listening? Do I with bright eyes, say "Sure Lord! Let's go do deeper waters and do the impossible?"
Usually not. But because of His faithfulness and love for me; because He knows me and wants better things for me, He continues to pursue me. He continues to climb in my boat and ask me to shove off into deeper water. Because He is confident in himself and knows that my tired, aching, weary self needs what He has; needs what He is.
He doesn't look at our weakness, our physical limitations, our talents or abilities. He always sees who we are in Him and loves to bring the natural into the supernatural. When we are broken down and at the end of our rope, He sees the door opening for miraculous opportunity.

May God reach into you, into those places that you believe you still own, grab hold of your heart and take you into uncharted waters where eternity meets the temporal and magic happens.

The Way it Went

2008-03-29T10:00:00.000-04:00

March 2008, a record month. A visit from my roomate's family, two short-term ministry teams, murals, signs, a move to another location, lots of donuts, 4 amazing interns...
As I sit here in my jammies on this bright Saturday morning, body exhuasted from going going going, and think back on this last month, all I can see is a swirl of colors.
A high school team from Jupiter, Florida flew in on March 8, initiating my official role as 'outreach staff'. Francisco and I hosted 4 uniquely diverse teens for a week and a half at the art school. This would be the last team to enter those doors. We painted murals at the new Special Ed school, we played with kids and did an art project in the squatter community of El Callejon, we went to the local park to draw and ended up making friends with some of the shoe shine boys. And on our last day we cleaned the new art school. Yes, it's true, we have moved to a better, brighter, cleaner and less expensive location. God really answered our prayers and gave us more than what we had asked for. We live above a family and have turned the upstairs of their house (a 2- bedroom, 1-bath, living room, dining room, sitting room, patio and balcony--accessible only by an outdoor staircase) into the most beautiful art school. Our students LOVE it and so do we.
My second team of the month was from San Luis Obispo, CA!!!!! God really blessed me big time by bringing a team from my home county. They were here for only a week, but we had a blast putting together the new art school, painting signs for our Special Ed school, face painting in El Callejon and drawing in the park. We ate lots of ice cream and donuts and dove into the deep things of God with Francisco. I was reminded of the beauty and authenticity of Central Coast culture and was refreshed by their presence. This month has been so reaffirming in my call to be here and it has been redeeming as well. The last eight months have been good, but really tough for me. The language barrier has been especially difficult because I so love to share one-on-one on deep levels. This month, and in this last week especially, I have been able to be totally myself and to share from the heart. Thank you, Father.
April will be a bit slower for me as I have no teams coming to my site. I am taking April to get some medical testing done, hopefully get my car fixed, host my mommy for a week and attend a staff retreat. May 5 starts the oncoming tidal wave of summer teams. We will have 7 two-week teams back to back.
I am asking for specific prayer regarding a health issue I am dealing with. Getting testing done down here is better than it could be, but it's definitely not like in the states. I get easily overwhelmed by the whole process. Thanks be to God, He sent a recent medical school graduate, and now friend, to help me walk through a bit of the process. He is writing a list of tests he thinks I need to get done based on the symptoms I have described. Please pray that whatever is going on will be discovered quickly and accurately diagnosed.
"Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us, to Him be the glory in the church by Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen." Eph. 3:20,21

Day at the River

2008-02-27T07:49:00.007-05:00

This has been a mellow time, a calm before the storm so to speak. In two weeks we will have teams coming down from the States to work with us which means I am about to get busy busy busy. I've been enjoying the 'down' time, though there is much preparation involved.
This last weekend I went to Salto Jimenoa, one of our waterfalls, with my roommate Amy and her family who is visiting and with Andrea, one of the missionary 'kids' (she's 19 now, but has lived here almost 6 years). It was a gorgeous day and it felt good to take a leisurely walk and rest by the water.
Here are some pics:

my roommate, Amy

Andrea and me

Recommeded Reading

2008-02-03T10:16:00.000-05:00

I usually don't comment much on anything other than how I'm doing emotionally, mentally or spiritually save an occasional cultural anecdote. Today, however, I want to mention a couple of books I've read or have been reading that are affecting me greatly. One that I am still reading is called Messy Spirituality by Michael Yaconelli. When I started reading this book plans to put quotes from it onto this blog began forming in my mind. However, it turns out I just want to quote the whole darn thing. At one point I actually DID underline something before I realized that I'd be underlining everything if I kept at it. Here is what I underlined: "Jesus responds to desire. Which is why he responded to people who interrupted him, yelled at him, touched him, screamed obscenities at him, barged in on him, crashed through ceilings to get to him. Jesus cares more about desire than competence. My hunch is that most of you reading this book feel incompetent and you can't let go of Jesus. Jesus sees right through your incompetence into a heart longing for him." Though so simple, it is bringing me face to face with my desires to be perfect before him and others. For whatever reason, Jesus is allowing me to face yet more layers of my own inadequacies and the self-hatred and fear of rejection it causes. Though I find it easier to have grace for others who are struggling and 'fall short' I am constantly sitting in the judgment seat over my own life. And, though reading about God's love and grace makes me cry with relief, I still can't believe it wholeheartedly. Which leads me to the next book: The Shack by author William P. Young. Wow. This book is revolutionary. It is a fiction novel written as though it were based on a true story. I don't want to give even the slightest bit away because I want everyone to go and read it. All I can say is that it is deeply challenging the strongholds of religiosity that plague my life to a point that is making me really uncomfortable-- not because I don't agree, but because such knowledge is too wonderful for me. It's like I'm coming face to face with a freedom I find is easier to talk about than to experience. Everything in me, though indelibly drawn to it's magnitude, also wants to repel every bit of the truth of it. Come face to face with the profound love of God for you. It hurts so good.
Ironically, I am reading these two books at the same time as another: Chosen for Life by Sam Storms. The subject of this book is simply predestination. Not a simple subject for the human mind, however. I've never believed in predestination, but starting about 7 months ago, it became almost all I could see in Scripture. I have felt God nudging me to explore this idea and since I have never studied it or heard anyone talk about it, it's been slow-going. I came upon this book while I was back home in the States. It discusses both traditional sides of predestination (Arminian vs. Calvinism), but is written to support the Calvinist view-- that, yes, indeed, God predestines some to receive salvation, not based on what decision He knows they will make, but based on His sovereign choice or election. I am slowly reading through this book, trying to keep an open mind. I have always held the Arminian viewpoint without knowing that's what it was: that we are chosen to be IN CHRIST, whoever believes-- not only those God has chosen beforehand. Today, as I write, I am undecided in my heart. As I read The Shack, I am tempted to remain a wholehearted believer that God would never choose only some to inherit salvation, but that Jesus' death on the Cross was for EVERY man, woman and child and that WHOEVER believes will inherit eternal life. However, I must admit that in reading Chosen for Life, I am swayed to believe that it is true, without God pursuing me and choosing me, I would have never chosen Him. Without faith being given to me to believe, my sinful propensity toward darkness would have ensued. I am comfortable saying, "I dunno", knowing full well that God wants to grant me both knowledge and peace in this area. But that's His doing.
In the meantime, I am a mess. But I am His mess.
I love you.

In Love

2008-01-19T11:51:00.000-05:00

Perhaps it is the weather or the fact I got to sleep in on my most amazing new mattress. It could also be that Coke Light was finally restocked in the fridge at Supermercado Jarabacoa or that Oliver, our prodigy art student showed up the other day filled with joy, awe and wonder by his 50-piece set of colored pens that he received for Christmas and his relief that, finally, the art school was back open and he could continue learning how to draw fruit.
It could be that God my Father just feels like pouring out his abundant, radiant, beautiful face on me...
but whatever it is, I am in love.
There have been times in the last 5 months that have been good, where warm feelings have sprung up and filled me, but for the large part, I have felt really dry, spiritually, as I've struggled to understand, accept and integrate into this new culture.
I dunno (and I probably never will) why our spiritual lives move in seasons and while I appreciate every season and what it does for me, this season is my favorite.
"See ! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land. The fig tree forms its early fruit; and the blossoming vines spread their fragrance. Arise, come, my darling; my beautiful one, come with me." Song of Songs 2:11-13
How can I resist such a call? When 'deep calls out to deep' there is nothing one can do but surrender to it. It is times like these, when circumstances haven't changed and there is no possible explanation for why all of a sudden I should be feeling so overwhelmingly enamored with life, that I fall in deeper awe and love with the Lord. It is times like these that keep me going in drought, that keep my soul waiting for Him, longing for him.
My heart is filled with singing. I laughed at the traffic jam in the street today. I thought birds looked especially bright and colorful as I stared out the window and my neighbor's car alarm which always goes off at random hours and usually makes me want to throw and break things filled me with delight today.
I can't explain it.
I'm just in love.

Back

2008-01-10T19:43:00.000-05:00

It was a long travel day. But let me just plug Jet Blue for a moment. Posh leather seats, enough leg room to CROSS MY LEGS, personal TV and lots of snacks. I had empty seats next to me all the way and so I stretched out. However sleep evaded me. I arrived in Santiago mid-morning. It was hot and humid-- quite the transition from 43 degrees in LA and New York. I arrived home and was greeted by our brutish Dobermans, who were covered in ticks, and also by several cockroaches. I was not greeted by our dear kitty Shiloh. He got out while we were gone and our brutish Dobermans killed the little guy. Sniff. Such is nature.
I fell into bed almost immediately after arriving,rested a bit and then headed off to have a delicious home-cooked soup with my friend Arlene. Then there was staff Bible Study. It was wonderful to see everyone again, to be welcomed home with strong hugs. But it felt weird. Driving, buying milk at the store, listening to voices singing praise to the Lord in Spanish, all so familiar, yet I felt lost. Not sleeping for a really long time had an affect, but my heart, in many ways, had already started reattaching to American life.
Today, I slept a good portion of the day and really prayed through the transition sadness.
A good friend came at just the right time and I was able to pour out my heart to her. She read me the lyrics of a Spanish worship song and also some exerpts from a book written by Graham Cooke. The theme was about remaining in the hidden place with God, letting yourself be formed by the Master Craftsman, allowing His hammer blows and refining fire purify you so that you may shine and endure even when it seems he is not 'moving' or speaking. I basically needed to be reminded again that "I am crucified with Christ and it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me."
Leaving behind family, friends, church and the ease of ministering in my own language is hard to bear, but if I follow Christ to the point of death, He will resurrect something holy and wonderful because He is good.
I am excited to be here. I know God has great things and I am ready to jump in wholeheartedly.
Keep going.
If there is anything I would want to encourage any believer with, it is KEEP GOING. Christ is faithful, He is good and His reward is with Him.
Here's to a new year looking toward the unfolding plans of God in each of our lives as we pursue Him.

The Angels Rejoiced

2007-12-08T16:31:00.000-05:00

In my last newsletter, I mentioned an art student I have been working with named Sandi. Sandi is a 33 year old mother of two (Albert, 11, and Sindi, 9). She started coming to our art school at the admonition of her therapist: she needed to get out of the house and so something creative. The beginning weeks were difficut as she tried and tried again to draw the basic glass bottles and teapots we have all beginning students start with. She couldn't do it. I have never seen anyone in my life draw almost the complete opposite of what they're looking at. She was frustrated, I was frustrated, but I talked with her, our semester students Tyler and Michelled talked to her, Fran encouraged her and over time she began pouring out her heart. She has suffered from severe depression and anxiety for the last 9 years. For part of that time she was hospitalized and put on heavy medication. She has tried to commit suicide multiple times. She sleeps everyday between 12 and 6 pm. She lives in despondancy, despair and darkness. As she began tearfully revealing these things to us, we just loved on her. After about a month of her coming to our school, I asked her one day if we could pray for her. She said she was embarrassed, but I knew that we could not let her go. We gathered around her and she just grabbed our hands and Francisco began this beautiful, yet fervent prayer in Spanish. We all wept with her. Then she asked if she could come to church with me on Sunday!

Sandi had studied with Jehovah's Witnesses for many years and even tells people that she was one. But, she shared with us that she was never able to completely believe in it and she didn't know why.

I took her to church. She cried during worship. She listened intently to the sermon. And, at the end, she asked me to stand up with her at the altar call. She confessed her sins and accepted Jesus into her heart. Our church is really good at following up with those who stand up and she was hugged by one of our ushers and taken downstairs to give her name and address and to recieve some written material about Christianity. One of our other art students, Andrea, went down with her so that she wouldn't feel alone. It was an amazing night.

The next weekend our church was having a retreat/conference and Sandi wanted to go, so I picked her up Friday night and we went. This time, she put out her hands during worship and sang at the top of her lungs as she cried and cried. She listened intently again and afterward wanted to meet the speaker who is a Puerto Rican pastor. She told him her story and he lead her through another sinner's prayer. In the car on the way home, she asked me why tears uncontrollable flowed out of her during the singing. She said that at the Jehovah's Witness Kingdom Hall, that had never happened; neither at the Catholic church she had attended as a young person. I began to tell her about the Holy Spirit. She was overwhelmed by all that had happened, so we didn't talk too much that night.

The next week she came to the art site and told me she had something to share. Here in the Dominican Republic exists 'Brujeria', or, witchcraft. Though most Dominicans never confess to believing in them, many of them will secretly consult with witches to perform spiritual things for them. Sandi had done just that. And recently. Though she has made a decision for Christ, she is still bound by so many other things. After sharing what this witch woman had her do, I prayed and prayed. Because my Spanish isn't good enough to explain a whole lot, I asked her to please share with Francisco. She did and he talked to her about the difference between Satan's power and the power of God, but she didn't really understand. In her desperation to relieve this constant pain in her life, she is grabbing at whatever she can. But she was able to acknowledge that ever since she had been meeting with this woman, she has been constantly sick with headaches and vomiting. Please pray for her. She has said that she will not see this woman again (the main reason being that she charges too much money), but Sandi is still having a hard time. Our church has an integration ministry set up and so I went with my friend Elizabeth, who is now head over that ministry, to go visit Sandi in her home. Elizabeth is a fluent Spanish speaker and Sandi really trusts her. I am praying that as the church gets more involved, Sandi will begin to realize that she has a family around her who will walk by her as she gets set free.

There are so many more like her in the DR. Depression, hopelessness, drug and alcohol abuse, prostitution and belief in superstition and witchcraft are major strongholds here. Please pray for us as we continue sharing Christ's redeeming love with her.

Dia de Accion de Gracias, a.k.a. Thanksgiving

2007-12-08T16:07:00.000-05:00

Well, I've had a lot of quesitons asking how we celebrate Thanksgiving in the Dominican Republic. I regret to inform all Americans that America is the ONLY country that celebrates this holiday since, you know, it originated with Pilgrims and Indians. Theoretically. Giving thanks actually originated a long time before that, but that's beside the point.

Having said that, I will gladly share that Students International put on a Thanksgiving for all of our staff and their families and for our semester students the night before Thanksgiving. We worked Thanksgiving day since it is not actually a national holiday here.

A traditional, yet somewhat Dominican, meal was prepared (pineapple jam instead of cranberry sauce) and enjoyed by everyone (though the Dominicans found the food to be kind of bland). We had a live worship band playing and we spent meaningful time giving thanks to God for specific things. We danced our puritan patooties off as we worshipped the Lord with Thanksgiving for all that He has done. It was the best T-day I've ever had.

On a funny note, we at the art site decided to dress up as Pilgrims and Indians (though we didn't catch a shot of Francisco wearing his construction paper headdress). All the Dominicans thought I was a nurse and were very confused.

Meet Tyler and Michelle

2007-12-08T10:33:00.000-05:00

Francisco and I have had the incredible privilege of hosting these two students from Bethel College, Indiana at the art site for the last two months. Tyler and Michelle came on a semester program with 19 other students to study Spanish and work in occupational ministries with Students International. Originally, each were assigned to a different work site-- Michelle at education, as she is an English major and wants to teach, Tyler at medical, as he came to find out if nursing was something he'd like to pursue. Due to overbooking, these two were placed at my site. It was the hand of God. Tyler and Michelle are both very talented artists and each have the spiritual sensitivity to go along with it. They immediately jumped right in to what we were doing at the art site: hanging out with our students and building relationships with them, making art of their own, cleaning up when it needed to be done, running errands with me, and teaching two mornings a week at a local school.

Along with teaching art at our art school, Ty, Michelle and I spent 5 weeks at Jarabacoa Christian School teaching art and how God feels about art. Our lessons were as follows: Week 1-God as Creator: we read the first few verses in Genesis and the beginning of Psalm 19, talked about creation, shared about Vincent Van Gogh and his life, and we did drawings in crayon based on his Starry Night painting. Week 2- Bezalel and Oholiab: God's Skilled Artists: Exodus 31, talked about our gifts and callings from God and how we are to practice them, become skillful and do them excellently. We shared about artist Cezanne and how he saw everything as though it were encased in shapes. We drew glass bottles, starting with rectangles. Week 3- True Worship vs. Idolatry: the Golden Calf story (how art was used to worship false Gods), talked about how we can use the gifts God has given us in ways that don't please Him; God's perspective vs. man's perspective; featured artist M.C.Escher who was an expert in perspective drawing and then we taught them how to draw some basic perspective. Week 4: Being Made in the Image of God. We talked about what it means to reflect God's image. We showed the self-portraits of Van Gogh, Cezanne and M.C. Escher and then showed the classes Michelle and Tyler's self-portraits that they had worked on. The art project was to draw a self-portrait based not on appearance, but on who they are as image bearers of God. Week 5- God's Love for Cultural Diversity: Tower of Babel (God confuses languages, causing humanity to become different and spread out) and how the 'glory of the nations' will be brought into the New Jerusalem (art being some of that glory). We showed students different art from around the world and then we taught them how to make Origami cranes.

What an amazing time it was. We really bonded with the kids (ranging from 2nd grade to High Schoolers). Here are some photos:

Ashli showing off her self-portrait

Me showing off some African art to the 5th graders

Tyler, Michelle, the 2nd graders and I showing off their origami cranes

A fun time was had by all.

Tyler and Michelle are finishing up next week and I am really sad to see them go. They have each brought with them some amazing reflections of Christ in His splendiforous array and I will miss them terribly.

Rainy Sunday Afternoon

2007-10-28T14:08:00.001-04:00

I feel delicious today.
Deliciously happy, that is. I was afraid that fall wouldn't feel like fall here simply because I live in the tropics. But thank God for rainy season . All these dark, cloudy, stormy days have been stirring up nostalgia in my heart and I have been filled with joy at the season. Yesterday, for example, was so cozy my heart is still overflowing! After going with my roommate to take one of our semester students to the clinic to get his blood tested (yes, he too contracted The Dengue, dunh, dunh, dunh) we took him back to where he is recuperating (which, for the time being, happens to be at the Entrekins'-- one of our SI families). Sissy and her girls Mary Emily and Isabelle were busy at work making Christmas ornaments out of these plastic things that you later melt with an iron. We were graciously invited to participate and were even offered hot chocolate. It was almost more than I could handle. I realize it's only October still, but I could not help the fact that "Just hear those sleigh bells ring-a-ling, ting-ting-ting-a-ling too!" escaped from my lips. Much to my delight, Sissy, the girls, Amy my roommate, Jim the Dengue dude, and Fernando, one of our Dominican doctors on staff all joined in without missing a beat and for once in my life I finally understood the true meaning of the word 'glee'.
And, I must confess, that after making dinner last night (pork chops, ratatoullie and garlic mashed potatoes), Amy and I put on Narnia and I made Snickerdoodles Dominican-style (with lime peel).
I am learning the beauty of retaining my culture while adopting a new one. I am learning that it's okay to speak some Spanglish. I am learning that the real reason I never thought rice was that great was because I didn't know how to make con-con (crispy rice that cooks too long at the bottom of the pot) and I could have only and ever learned that here. I don't have to start dressing Dominican-style in skin-tight clothes to be beautiful. Nor do I have to live with the constant pressure of having to be skinny, because that does not define beauty here. I can simply be myself, in the season I'm in, wearing my converse tennis shoes, gray hair growing out, baggy pants and still turn a head.
There is joy to be had in the imperfections, in the miscommunications, in the ambiguities, in the homesickness and the transitions. The joy comes not from circumstance, for this world is just shifting shadows. The joy comes in knowing, over and over again, that I am simply a pilgrim on earth, on my way to be married to the most amazing Man for all of eternity, having total security in my end, peace in His love and a daily walk with the Holy Spirit of God.
Passion. Inspiration. Life exploding onto canvas.
Love.

Adventures in Driving

2007-10-06T10:06:00.000-04:00

Because I don't have a photo of all three of them together, here are separate pictures of Fransisco's kids. The top is Ysmayar, soon to be 8 years old; the second is of Priscila, 5 years old, the third is Rembrandt Natanael (Natan), 3 years old and the bottom is one of Prisci and Natan with a cousin.

I love these kids. Ysmayar is a typical first child-- a little mother who knows everything. She is very sweet and inquisitve and helpful. Priscila is the typical ballerina princess who is snuggly and giggly. Natan is a completely impulsive little boy who cries when he doesn't get his way and who LOVES to play. All three of them are completely themselves which I appreciate and they are all very patient with me as I try to understand them when they speak to me. Priscila, especially, draws out her words when she speaks to me so that I'll understand. She and Ysmayar also attend a bilingual school and so Prisci will speak to me in English when she can. They are a joy and I love it when they come to the art school or when I get to have lunch with them.

Yesterday, I got to spend a lot of time with all three of them. Let me share about this cultural adventure:

So, Jarabacoa is a lot like my sweet home town of Cambria in the sense that we only have two little markets and no movie theater, etc. The nearest city is Santiago and is about an hour drive north of here. Santiago has just about everything and part of my job is going there once a month or so to buy supplies for the art school. It is also an opportunity to buy bulk foods, cat litter, etc (yes, although we have two pet stores in town and two markets, why would they carry cat litter?? We've been using dirt for over a week, and, well, it's disgusting). So, anywho, I've been avoiding the Santiago trip simply because Dominican driving is insane and nothing is easy to get to in that city. But, alas, the time to go buy art supplies was upon me. As well, the art site has a kitchen that someone else was renting, but hasn't used for a few months, so we decided to start renting it to make lunch everyday and we needed to go buy food to stock it. Yesterday was the day.

The plan was that Fran's wife, Yeimi, and I would 'do' Santiago sometime this next week. However, after lunch yesterday, she decided it would be a good time to go. I was fine with that since we didn't have any students coming that afternoon. Well, then it was decided that we would take all three kids. Then Fransisco decided, hey, I want to go too! But, before we left town, we had to stop by Yeimi's folk's house to pick up some stuff and while there, Yeimi's mom, Martina, decided she needed to go too. Trust me, had anyone else known and wanted to go, they would have crammed into my car-- it's the Dominican way. Now, there are no seatbelt laws here, so you can imagine my anxiety about driving all day in a country where everyone ignores road rules with three little kids in the back. We began our drive. Did I mention it was raining, too? Yes, it had been raining for over a week and no knowing when it would stop. Anyway, the drive to Santiago wasn't too bad, but once in the city, you have to be incredibly offensive and defensive. Two lane roads turn into 4 and 5 lanes. Most cars don't have working blinkers and many of them are missing headlights and/or tail lights. My windows were fogging up and the three adults all had different ideas about where we were going and all three of them were trying to tell me all at the same time in Spanish and then arguing with eachother about it. I made a lot of wrong turns or I missed turns and had to back track, which is not easy. Honking is a language in and of itself and I had to learn it very quickly. Well, we got to the first place in one piece, spent almost two hours and then we got to the second place in one piece and spent about the same amount of time. Instead of three, it was like being with 6 kids in a candy store. Lots of fun, really, and I did get to buy cat litter, the things I needed for the art site and a cute hat for two bucks. We somehow managed to get it all packed into the way back of my car ( blocking all rear visibility) and I was like, oh, good, we can go home now. I didn't know that a trip to Santiago included a stop along the highway (on the opposite side of the highway) to have stewed goat for dinner. It was pouring down rain and nighttime at this point. Since I couldn't see anything, I kept having to ask Fran, who was in the passenger seat, to look out the window for me to see if I could get over into the other lane (because often you have to pass cars that are pretty much on the verge of death, but still driving). Every time, I'd ask him, 'Can I go?' and he'd say, 'yes, if you want' and I'd be like, 'yes! I want to, but are there cars coming!!?' It was frustrating, but God got us home alive and I didn't even get a migraine. I knew at the beginning I'd just need to 'go with the flow' and for the most part I did, but toward the end I was really ready to never take 6 people to Santiago with me again.

Ironically, I'm going back to Santiago today to tour the Mirabal sisters museum (3 sisters who stood up to the Trujillo regime and were murdered).

Someone else is driving.

Happy Things

2007-09-29T08:25:00.000-04:00

Many of you have been requesting more photos on my blog. It's understandable. It just took me a while to remember to buy batteries for my camera, but I finally did and so here are a few brief glimpses of life here in DR: (1) -at the bottom-meet Shiloh. Two nights ago, Amy and I were eating spaghetti when we heard some incredibly loud and very pathetic yowling. I tried very hard to ignore it because I know that this country is full of homeless animals. In fact, a month ago we had a stray puppy crying in front of our house that I rescued. She was SO cute and I named her Ella and she lived at the art school. But, one day she found her way off the property and never returned. My heart has been broken over it. Anyway, so there we were, eating spaghetti, when I couldn't stand it any more. We walked down the street and lo and behold, there was this tiny, tiny kitten crying in front of a neighbor's house. We both instantly agreed that it needed to be ours, so I went back with a plate of tuna and lured him home with me. He's a little lover. (2) above Shiloh is a plate of tostones, garlic rice and fresh avocado. This is a typical Dominican dish. Tostones are fried and pressed slices of green plantain. To make them, you have to peel the plantains which skins are very tough, slice them in rounds and then toss the rounds into a pan with about a half inch of very hot oil. You cook 'em for a few minutes, then scoop them out and put them into a wooden press thing (also pictured above-#3), one at a time, to smush them. Then you put them back into the hot oil for a few more minutes, take them out, salt and eat. I took this photo because, well, it was the first time I have ever made garlic rice and tostones and was very proud of myself. (4) last night, Amy and I had a group of 9 girls over for pizza, brownies and a movie. 7 of the ladies are part of the group of semester students who are here from Bethel College in Indiana. They will be here in Jarabacoa until December 11. Their first 5 weeks are spent in Spanish class, then they have a week of traveling around the island, then they work at our ministry sites (I'll have two of them at art!) for 8 weeks. They are all delightful. The other two girls are Mary Emily (8 yrs. old) and Isabelle (6) who are the daughters of two on our staff, Sissy and Brian. Sissy and my roommate work together. It was a very fun evening. (5) second to last, a photo of my bed replete with mosquito net. In the beginning, I did not sleep with the net because, really, we don't get too many moquitos in the house and when you sleep with a fan on (every single night), they can't land too easily. However, we have another pest problem: lizards, geckos and anoles. These guys are absolutley colorful, beautiful, quaint. They also leave their droppings EVERYWHERE. One night, I was sitting on my bed, reading, when a fresh lizard dropping fell on me. That was the last straw. Up went the moquito net. The way many of the houses are designed here, our house included, is with tin rooves that are not secured against the top of the walls. Between the roof and the wall is like a 4 inch gap that things like lizards, bugs and mice can crawl through and leave a trail behind them. I don't like to sleep underneath the net, but it gives me a semblance of peace and therefore is included in the 'happy things'. Last, but not least, the happiness of paint. One of the many joys of being here is the time I get to spend making art. I don't do it everyday, but I have the freedom to do so whenever the mood strikes. Yesterday, Francisco and I were discussing the Great Comission: "Go into all the world and preach the gospel, make disciples and baptize them in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, teaching them all I have commanded you." That is an Amy paraphrase. Anyway, I asked Fran: "There are like an abundance of missionaries here. And, there are enough Dominican believers to share the gospel with their neighbors. So, why am I here and not in some jungle where they've NEVER heard?" He just smiled and said (in Spanish), "Yes, we have many believers here and many missionaries. But we don't have art missionaries." Then he threw back his head and laughed with pure joy. That is the happiest thing of all.

The Dengue Diaires

2007-09-23T11:05:00.000-04:00

Many of you heard, many haven't, that, yes, within just two months of being here, I contracted Dengue fever. Dengue (pronounced Dayn-Gay) is a tropical fever that is passed around by those pesky little buggers Australians like to call Mozzies (a.k.a. Mosquitos). There is nothing you can take to prevent yourself from getting Dengue-- no injection or handy little pill. You just cover yourself with bug spray and hope for the best (but for those of you who know tropical mosquitos, they'll eat through even the strongest bug repellant, so it's not a surefire way to avoid getting bit). Just over two weeks ago, while I was mindng my own business, a dengue-carrying mosquito decided to dine on my feet and get me sick. It takes about 3-5 days after getting bit for the symptoms to show up, but when they hit, boy do they hit.
Tuesday, September 11 (wow, 9-11, hadn't realized that til now) I awoke with the slightest tinge of a headache. Nothing major, it's common for me to get headaches, so I didn't think much of it. I had breakfast, went to the art site, greeted one of our students and went into my office to pray and look at some art books. Within an hour I started feeling really weepy and homesick-- more than normal-- and I remember thinking it was weird. In about another hour, all of my joints felt like they were on fire. At about this time, Francisco (who had been sick for a few days) showed up with his family and I proceeded to play with his kids for about another hour, all the while feeling incredibly weak and with a headache on full-blast. Thankfully, it was time for lunch and I told Fran that I wasn't feeling well and was going home and reminded him that I had Spanish class in the afternoons now, so I wouldn't be back that day. He said he wouldn't either, so we locked up and left.
I did make it to Spanish class, but I only lasted about a half hour and then had to go home. A few people speculated that I might have some kind of virus, but in my spirit I knew I had Dengue. I tried not to panic, but just went home, slept, tried to keep hydrated. My roommate was away kidsitting for the week, so I was all alone *sniff*. By Wednesday afternoon, everything hurt. Not only did I feel like my joints were on fire, but it felt like I was being pulled limb from limb and I had a terrible pain behind my eyes. Luckily, at this point, Cheryl, our field director's wife, called and said she was coming to get me and take me to her house. Thank God, too, because when we got to her house, she took my temperature and it was 103 ( I do not know what that is in celcius for all of my foreign friends)!! She also called Alba, one of our doctors on staff, who had me come right away down to the local clinic where she works to get a blood test done (this would determine whether or not I had Dengue). Alba said she could tell by all my other symptoms (fiery joints, achy muscles, headache with extreme pain behind the eyes, crazy high fever) that I had it, but the blood test confirmed it. Though my blood platelette count was normal, there was something else that was low (can't remember) and so I was ordered to bed (duh) and Cheryl was in charge of trying to get my fever down by pumping me full of fluids and giving me Tylenol every 4 hours, plus some other powdered medicine every 12 hours. For the first 24 hours I drank Gatorade and water, but apparently the dye in gatorade isn't good when you are sick, so then it was water and (yuck) Pedialyte. Now for anyone who has been subject to Pedialyte... my sympathies. For three days I layed in bed in constant pain, fever spiking up and down and delirium dreams to boot. I had one dream where a group of Haitian women ghosts were telling me I hadn't paid my rent on the right side of the bed and they needed the space to braid hair. It was hours of arguing and I finally got out of bed and went and sat in the chair in the room, I was so out of it. Finally, on day 5, the achiness started to lessen and my fever was staying at 99. I thought I was over the worst. I was wrong. Apparently, I had contracted a string of Dengue that causes you to break out in a rash on your hands, arms, feet and legs and cause an itch so bad you want to die. I had to go down to the clinic again to get another blood test, a shot of hydro-cortisone and get a prescription for hydro-cortisone pills. None of this worked. I didn't sleep all that night. The next day I had to go down to the clinic to have another blood test (they monitor your blood every day to make sure your platelettes don't crash) and, sure enough, the rash had caused my platelettes to dive bomb. This is when I was admitted to the clinic to be hooked up to an IV. I was in the clinic for two days. I had people staying with me round the clock (which was a huge blessing). Right when I was admitted, Alba authorized for me to get a shot of Benadryl which would (theoretically) knock me out and help stop the itching. No such luck. I am one of those weird ones who can resist the powers of Benadryl apparently. I just laid there in bed feeling like I had cement poured over me. I couldn't really talk and I couldn't really move, but I was wide awake and every tiny sound seemed EXTREMELY loud. And the itching... the benadryl seemed to exacerbate the problem... which, without being able to move my hands to scratch was absolute torture!! The Benadryl wore off after a few hours and I was able then to talk with Alicia, 16-yr. old daughter of our field director. She kept me company until her mom arrived with dinner and to stay with me the night. Did I mention I had people with me around the clock? We have an incredibly faithful staff here with Students International. Not only did I always have someone staying with me, many of the staff came in to visit and pray for me. Thank you, Jesus. Well, I was in the clinic for two days getting my blood platelettes back up and getting routine injections of hydro-cortisone which slowly but surely reduced the itching and enabled me to sleep. Dominican clinics are very loud places. They are also, for Dominican standards, kept fairly clean. But, the best thing about being in a Dominican clinic is the tea they serve you in the mornings-- it's sort of Chammomile/cinnamon/anise-y. I do miss that.
So, I've been back home for the last few days mostly sleeping. I have had a normal temp, no achiness and no itching, but have been incredibly weak and tired. I have been told it can take up to a month to get my normal energy back. And I've also been told that once you get Dengue, you are immune to it for up to a year. Let's pray this is true. I wouldn't wish Dengue on anybody.
As for other stuff... transistion to life here continues to be hard for me. Please pray for me in this area. I have never done well with any kind of transition in my life-- I like to be rooted, comfortable, and be surrounded by the familiar and predictable, where I have control over the spontenaity in my life. While I can appreciate many of the new things here, it gets waring having so many little things be different. Mostly I miss my family and friends and the ocean. At the art site, Fran and I are in the very beginning stages of planning a new art program. He has been dreaming of this for over a year now, so I am just jumping in and trying to figure out my role (which mainly is being his assistant-- getting the curriculum together, signing up new students, etc). Dominicans don't take art very seriously, so it is hard to get and keep students on a regular basis. We do have a couple of students who have progressed to the point where they can make paintings to sell. Fran's wife, Yeimi, has a store in town where these paintings are on display. However, when it is not tourist season (i.e. summer) things just don't sell. It can be discouraging for the students who are really looking forward to selling some of their work. As well, they need to sell some work in order to buy paints to paint more stuff, so a couple of them are just 'waiting' and come in on occasion to draw and improve their skills. Anyway, you can pray for Fran and I as we prepare this new program to draw new students.
Because I have missed the first 2 weeks of Spanish class, I am not going to continue (since it's only a 5 week program). My roommate is taking it and so I will study with her in the evenings to hone my skills, but basically, it is just going to take time to pick it up. Spanish is one area where I am still struggling. There are many different accents here and it is very challenging for me trying to understand. For example, Fran, who is very expressive in his speech, I can understand well. His wife I can't understand at all. It makes getting close to her very difficult because communication is nearly impossible. I thought I'd be picking it up fast, but I'm not. This is perhaps the most frustrating part of being here. I love language. I love to communicate and when I can't express myself, I get very frustrated and I feel very isolated. Our staff pastor, Nate, just keeps saying to me: "This too shall pass." And so I keep holding onto that, knowing that no dark night of the soul lasts forever and that, one day, I will be on those mountaintops with the Lord again looking back at everthing He has done during this period I'm going through. My prayer as of late has been, "Lord, put a new song in my heart."
So, to all you singers out there, join me in singing praise to our King who is Worthy. Jesus is coming back and we will stand before Him on that day, pure, spotless, with a beautiful history, with a grand love story to sing about for all eternity. He never said it was going to be easy, but He did promise to be with us. And I know He's here.

Alegrense! Rejoice!

2007-08-27T17:10:00.000-04:00

Well, I survived the hurricane.

It actually wasn't hard to do because it never came near us. We had some heavy showers offset by forboding cloaks of charcoal cloud, but everything stayed in tact. Thank God, too, because it would have affected our yearly staff retreat. Staff retreat at the beach. Staff retreat at a beach resort. I know.

Before coming to the Dominican Republic, I had heard a little bit here and there about these resorts. Apparently celebrities like to come to them for R&R. What I didn't know was that DR beach resorts are a culture unto themselves. Some people come to them and never leave the compound to see what the country looks like outside the walls. For $35 a night, you get a luxury room, all-you-can eat buffet almost 24 hours, all-you-can-drink mini-bar (alcohol included) and access to all the pools, snorkling gear, kayaks... and well, there's the beach.

I shared a room with my roommate, Amy, and Elizabeth who I mentioned in my previous blog. We didn't spend much time in the room, you can understand why. We had perfect weather. The resort is in Puerto Plata, a beach town about a 2 and a half hour drive north of here, where the weather is significantly hotter than in Jarabacoa. Which is perfect because it makes getting in the water that much more wonderful.

The minute we arrived, I headed straight for the ocean. It was a sight for Pacific-starved eyes. Being accustomed to seeing the ocean everyday back home you can understand why standing before the Carribean felt like I could breathe again. Anyway, I ran straight into the water. Now, unlike most ideas we have about the Carribean (translucent shallow water that goes out for miles), Puerto Plata looks more like San Simeon Cove: Dark blue in the distance with that undertow brown along the shore. Mixed into that undertow brown is all kinds of what my roommate likes to call 'Jazzety-Jazz' (seaweed chunks, gravel, and, well, who knows what else). Regrdless of the yuck, I floated along happily in the waves like a little sea otter, soaking in the salty-mineral nourishment. After about 10 minutes, though, you want to jump out and run quickly to the nearest pool to de-yuckify yourself (after rinsing under an outdoor shower, of course). There were several pools to pick from, but I nearly always ended up where the kids were. It was a great weekend to bond with the kids on our staff (all Dominican-- the two American kids are in the states on holiday). I learned a lot of Spanish as they continually yelled things at me. 'Orilla' means bank or landing, 'Onda' means wave(created by waterfalls,'cascadas'). I was a water horse for two days straight. Anyway, all was good times.

So sad to leave it behind.

Today, it was back to work. My day started off, much to my joy, with Elizabeth picking me up on her motorcycle. I confess, I've been converted. For those of you who know me well, you know that I have a terror of things I feel I can't control. Motorcycles have been one of those things. Dominicans live on 'motos'. I knew this coming in here. I knew that, at some point, I'd have to ride on the back of one. What I didn't know was how exhilerating it would be and how much I would want to own one. I dream almost daily of riding my own bike around town, wind in my hair, dodging traffic. It is liberating. Selah.

Anyway, we drove on over to the art site, greeted Fran and set about to more 'training'. Elizabeth has been showing me the ropes. How to sign up students for class, how to pay bills, where to buy art supplies, etc. And, she's been teaching me Dominican-style cooking during our daily 2-hour siestas. Chicken, rice, beans, pasta. Yes, we actually bought a whole chicken, feet included, hacked it up and cooked every part of it. One day we cooked it with garlic, cilantro and a whole bunch of other Dominican spices that I can't remember the names for. The next day, Elizabeth fried up the remaining pieces. I must stop talking about it cuz I'm getting hungry and our gas is leaking, so we can't use the stove. We are waiting for someone to come look at what the problem might be. Anyway, overall training has been basic, but good. I won't be doing much for the first few months here as I get adjusted and figure out the routine at the art site. Beginning September 10 I will start 5 weeks of Spanish class. We have a group of college students coming down for a semester here and their first 5 weeks will be studying Spanish in the afternoons. My roommate and I are both going to jump in with them to hone our Spanish skills. My ear is starting to adjust a bit better to the Dominican accent, but I am far from being able to make myself understood. Major frustration for me. Starting next MondayI will be on my own at the art site... on my own meaning Elizabeth won't be there to translate for me. Scary. But, this is how we learn. Trial and error. One day I will be past the shrugging and shy giggling and will be pouring out a fluent stream of this beautiful language. Keep the prayers up.

As I ride the waves of insecurity, as I am tempted to look down at these waves and panic, I am constantly reminded that to walk on water, to live by faith is to look into His eyes. He is our substance. He is my worth, my strength, my song. I have been reading Hosea. It's all about God's redeeming love. It's about His mercy toward us. Even though my sins are as scarlet, yet He will make them white as snow. It is easy to see my sin as I am constantly being broken living outside of my comfort zone. But as I cry out to Him to deliver me from my own wretchedness, he comes in with His cleansing love and restores and renews me. I love and serve such a God and my desire is to know Him more and more so that others around me might come to know Him. Time is short. And so I pray, I read the Word, I cry, I ride on the backs of motorcycles and give thanks and I wait for Him.

Love and peace to you.

The Lord is Near

2007-08-12T07:40:00.000-04:00

In all reality, I love being here. After a fairly good night's sleep, I awoke a little after 7 (which is sleeping in for me), poured myself a glass of pina guayaba juice, crawled back into bed and now here I sit to update my blog.
It has been a roller coaster first 2 weeks. I arrived just days before the last outreach of the summer here. Students International hosts teams for 14 straight weeks in the summer time (usually about 50 people per outreach) and so I was able to jump in on the last one as part of a team. Seven incredible people from my home church in Cambria were here as well and that made my transition both wonderful and heartwrenching. I spent my days at the art site, where I will be working, observing, participating, praying. We helped Elizabeth (the woman of God who has been at the art site for the last 3 years) finish up an art class for kids that used Bible stories to teach them about God. All of their projects were based out of these stories and all of the children LOVED their time. On the last day of outreach, we held a litte art show for them-- invited their family members, had snacks... it was really a great time. We also took this art class 'mobile' into 3 of the schools SI operates here in Jarabacoa. Outside of spending time at the site, I was able to join the Cambria team on some excursions-- my favorite being a trip to two waterfalls. I unfortunately forgot my camera on most of the outings and so don't have glorious photos to post, but I promise you, the waterfalls here are gorgeous. It was soul-enriching to climb to the top of Salto Baiguate, lay on the rocks next to my close friend and listen to the powerful water plummeting down. I felt like an eagle soaring the high places with God.
It was an incredible two weeks.
These are all things I've done.
But how am I doing?
Yesterday, as I accompanied the Cambria team back to the airport to say goodbye to them and send them on their way, I felt like my heart was being ripped apart. I felt sick, vulnerable, scared and abandoned. I also felt comforted by God, peace, and an inner joy knowing that I was in the center of His Will. I cried many buckets of tears. I kissed them many times. And I left the airport feeling hollow inside. I am in a new country, surrounded by people I don't have long-term trusted relationships with, no church family and a very limited ability to speak or understand Spanish. I knew that as I hopped into the SI van to head back to Jarabacoa without my friends, that I needed to dive right into what God was doing here or else I wouldn't make it. Lowell, our field director, was the one driving and on the way to PriceSmart (a huge Costco type place that is in Santiago-- a city about an hour from here), I asked him point-blank: what is God saying? What is God doing? How is SI praying? Basically, God has called me here for this specific time and season and I want to know what season the leadership here believes we're in. He recounted to me a vision some visiting saints had shared with him about revival fires starting all over the place here. I do not have the patience to go into detail, but what it did was confirm to me that I am in the right place. My heart's cry for the last 5 years has been to be in the midst of revival. I do not know what this will look like, but what I do know is that all of the churches here are on the same page and that revival is already starting here in Jarabacoa. As I learn and discover more of what this is, I will share. For now, I am taking this week (we have a week off) to seek the Lord and pray. I want my heart, not just my body, to be positioned before Him so that when He moves, I am right there with Him. He is already moving and I am here with Him, but I want to be wholehearted. It isn't easy.
Gloria a Dios!
Last night I made pizzas with Arlene who is another single staff woman here. We had a great time of fellowship and it was neat to be able to cook for 13 guests. Everyone really enjoyed themselves (and the pizza) and it was nice for me to be able to spend some time with more of the leaders of SI and their families. Everyone here has been so encouraging and supportive and I am so thankful for that.
I am tired again, so I think I'll turn my fan back on and go back to sleep.
Love to you all.

Home again, home again, jiggety-jig

2007-07-17T17:33:00.000-04:00

Okay, I'm back in California, unwinding and getting prepared to make the big move to Jarabacoa, Dominican Republic. My brother is watching Star Trek, my nephew is taking a nap and I just finished an ice-blended mocha (the likes of which I will not see for many months on end). All is relatively well. Here I have included some last pics of my experience in Guatemala. From the top down: me with my Spanish teacher Noemi, an older beggar woman (it cost me 20 quetzales to take this photo!), one of the 'personajes' of Antigua-- the blind guy who begs enough money to be a lender!, me and Alejandra-- the 12-yr old girl who works in the house where I stayed (her father abandoned the family and she and her older sister had to quit school to work), me in front of Cerro de la Cruz-- a beautiful spot that overlooks the city, a wall of chairs, another personaje-- Dona Tonita, frying up dobladas, me trying my hand at mixing clay in the 200- year old tradition of a family of artisans, one of the family-- a man in his 80's mixing lead-based glaze by hand (a job he's been doing 8 hours a day for his entire life), and a cool shot of some of the family's pottery. I have so many more photos, but these are some of my favorites. At the end of my stay there, I had the opportunity to spend more time with the SI staff as the president of SI, Dave Hansen, vistied on a vision tour with about 17 other people. It was an awesome time of getting to know staff from California, Guatemala and soon to be Costa Rica staff. I also was able to make an awesome connection with Ginny, the manager of the YWAM coffee shop. We are hoping that she might be able to come spend time in DR in the future. Overall, Guatemala was a great experience and my Spanish greatly improved. Please continue praying for me as I make the transition to living more permanently in another culture. I will have to learn a whole new way of hearing and speaking Spanish, all the local slang terms and customs and learn how to live away from my family for an even longer time.

It Rained on Our Parade

2007-06-18T18:27:00.001-04:00

Yesterday the Catholic church around the corner from me celebrated the last day of Corpus Cristi (the Body of Christ). As I mentioned before, each church celebrates this event at different times throughout the year. No one we asked could tell us the purpose of this celebration, seeing as how Good Friday, Easter and Pentecost are already over, but it has been a long-standing Catholic tradition in Latin countries. I should do some research on it. Anyway, the house where I live was one of the houses chosen this year to recieve the Body of Christ and the blessing of the priest. It is a great honor here and doesn't happen often. All day Friday, my Papa and some neighbors strung the yellow and white streamers over the top of our street and all day Saturday was spent turning the garage into a sanctuary with an altar. Early Sunday morning, all the neighbors lined the street with fresh pine needles, adorning this path with rose petals, daisy petals and eucalyptus branches. Several houses had this strong smelling insence burning all day, filling the neighborhood and our lungs with billowy smoke. I did not attend mass yesterday, opting to attend an evangelical charismatic church instead, but I did return home at noon to await the Corpus Cristi procession coming down our street. This procession is quite long and includes little children dressed up as angels, all of the altar boys, old faithful widows and people who have paid money to participate. The priest walks amid the procession under a canopy carrying the 'custodia' which holds the 'santisimo', or large-sized communion wafer which represents the literal Body of Christ. The priest's hands can't even touch this sancitfied object, so he wraps the bottom in a blessed white cloth. The priest holds the custodia before his face so that you can't see him, only the host. Anyway, the procession ended up coming down our street at around 1:30 pm. They walked in the middle of the pine needle path (intended to stir up the wonderful fragrances) and turned into our garage where the host was placed in a pocket in a sheet that hung and the priest prayed a blessing over the house. The entire street was packed with people singing and kneeling before the host. White and yellow tissue paper squares fell from my bedroom window as the second oldest daughter poured them over the priest's canopy. It rained on us as we worshipped the Lord together.

Ahhhh, Antigua

2007-06-11T16:17:00.000-04:00

This morning I awoke at a quarter to 6 to the sound of fireworks going off in front of the nearby cathedral, La Merced. We are in the time of Corpus Christi and fireworks have been going off at random times ever since I arrived here in Antigua just over a week ago. Every village and subsequent Catholic church celebrates Corpus Christi at a different time of year, but this is Antigua's time. Really, it went off without a bang(save the incredibly loud fireworks)-- though I was fortunate enough to glimpse a few sand paintings in a village on our way to one of the local volcanos. Antigua is surrounded by several volcanos: Fuego, Pacaya, Acatenango and Agua, to name a few. Only Fuego and Pacaya are active, Fuego (Fire) being the most active. I was invited to join a group of other students to hike up Pacaya-- no easy feat, I tell you. We arrived at the base of the volcano at about 9 am. Young kids were there offering to sell us walking sticks (roughly sanded sticks about an inch and a half thick) for 5 quetzales (about 70 cents). Too, there were several men standing by with horses in tow ready to take us lazy ones up the mountain. Two girls from our group opted to take horses for the fun of it. We were told as we began our trek up that the first 200 meters were the hardest. Now, I don't know meters from miles or feet, but what I do know is that after 5 minutes of walking, I wanted to die. Talk about an intense incline! I never do well, anyhow when increasing altitude, but really, being as out of shape as I am... I ended up on a horse after about 10 more minutes of intense pain. This was no easy decision, let me tell you. There are only two times I have ever tried to ride a horse and both times the horses spooked and tried to buck me off. So, I was between a rock and a hard place: either attempt to get up on the horse or keep trying to drag my body up this mountain (that appeared as though it would never even out). I was right. It was a two-hour hike UP. I loved my horse. I chatted up a storm with the guy leading the horse and was able to enjoy the view. After about forty-five minutes or so, we on horses were dropped off and left to trek the rest of the way up (another half hour). Up until this point, the trail had been dirt and leaves. From there on, it was all lava rock. I've never walked on lava before. It is sort of like walking on charcoal briquettes that are really sharp and rough. We slipped and slid a lot and one girl cut herself pretty bad and had to get stitches later that day. Anyhow, all this to say that I got within a hundred feet or so of hot, flowing magma. Others from our group opted to go up the rest of the way and get within a foot of it, but the walk there was almost like scaling a wall of slippery sharp rock and it was really hot. The bottoms of their shoes melted a bit. I was content to stay behind and and just watch it from afar. After a picnic lunch of granola and sandwiches, we walked back down the volcano (this time I went without horse). I am so incredibly glad I went, but here, two days later, I'm walking around Antigua grimacing every time I have to step up or down because my legs hurt so bad.

Yesterday, Sunday, I went with several others to a mega church in Guatemala City (about a 45 minute drive from here) to see what that would be like. It was exactly like an American mega church and I didn't care for it at all. I like the intimacy smaller churches have. Anyway, it's good to have different experiences...

Today, I began my second week of Spanish class. I received a new teacher today (my other teacher had a previous obligation) and I LOVE her. She is a wonderfully passionate Catholic woman who was practically preaching the gospel to me. We got along famously and she is incredibly encouraging. Every time I pronounce something correctly she practically does backflips. Plus, she told me I'll have no problem picking up all of the grammar, etc.

My family here is really great. I am living in a huge house with 10 other students of various ages and all of us have pretty big rooms. Our food portions are small, but Antigua has every kind of food you could possibly want to eat, so my other roomies and I have been gnoshing around. Last night a few of us went to this legendary place called Dona Tonita's to have Dobladas de Queso (sort of like a fresh cheese Hot Pocket), Taquitos de Papas and Atol (sort of like a hot horchata). We were in absolute heaven. Basically this woman sets a little awning out in front of her house in the evenings and just fries up a storm. All of us students laugh about how the constant topic of discussion here is food and we share our favorite finds. However, I did go to an art exhibit yesterday that was amazing and thought- provoking (photo and sculpture). Last week, our school went on an excursion to a local village where there is a cooperative of women who do weaving for a living. I am really blessed to be here.

On Thursday, I will be picked up by the field director of Students International, Antigua, whose name is Fernando. He came to the school today to meet me and asked if I'd like to attend a staff meeting on thursday. As well, SI just began an art site here in Antigua this week, so I will get to meet the woman who is running that and they have asked for suggestions from me. We'll see if God gives me any becuase I really don't know what I'm doing...

Thank you for all of your prayers. The grace of God has been keeping me well and through your continues prayers, I will stay healthy, learn Spanish and return safely home mid-July.

Peace and Grace to you in Christ Jesus.

La Casa de Amy

2007-05-16T20:44:00.000-04:00

Hola Amigos!
I may have recently shared with you that I have a roommate and house waiting for me in the DR. Well, tonight I went onto her blog in hopes of seeing if she'd posted photos, yet, and sure enough... so, I took them off of her site and put them on mine for all of you to see. The first pic is the front of our house, the dog came with the house and her name is Rosy, next to her is a photo of my room, then you will see the living room, dining room, bathroom, front yard and backyard. We get all of this for about $300 a month including utilities. Of course, there are always some unexpected expenses that come up (like the inverter was recently stolen and had to be replaced). Anyway, I am really excited that I have such a beautiful home to go to and apparently we live very near several other of the Dominican staff. Plus, another missionary family lives across the street. Amy (my new roommate) said it is a very quiet street.
Enjoy looking and getting excited with me. The car in the carport is hers. I will also have to buy one, so be praying for that last amount of support to come in!

Leaving on a Jet Plane

2007-04-26T20:15:00.000-04:00

The restraining Hand of the Almighty God finally lifted off of me this Monday and all I can do is praise Him. After 6 very trying weeks of God refining me while I squirmed in impatience, He finally released me to purchase tickets for language school!!! Hallelujah! I am scheduled to leave on June 2nd, learn as much Spanish as possible for six weeks, fly home on the 14th of July, spend two weeks with family and then head down to the DR with our church team on July 29th. And then I hope to stay.
Many thoughts and emotions, like falling autmn leaves, swirled around me during these last weeks as I pondered my call in God. Had He called me to the Dominican Republic? Was He going to provide it all? Was He going to change His mind and call me to stay here? Excitement, fear, confusion, emptiness, all paraded one by one before me. Each one I was tempted to believe, to cling to, until, one by one they all fell away back into the silence where God's Spirit just smiled. How many times has He heard these things? How many children has He counseled through these dark times? How many hands has He had to hold as one by one His servants tried to find their own ways? "I will perfect that which concerns you". "I will remain faithful even when you are faithless because I can't deny Myself". "I love you".
These precious words from my Father sustained me like the manna that fell from Heaven. And then, in the twinkling of an eye, He said, "Okay... NOW!"
Colors, sounds, joy rushed around me as I danced in abandoned worship. He meant it!! I'm going!! He's faithful!

I bought my tickets today.

The next task is to see the rest of my support come in ( I need $205 more a month pledged and about $10,000 more for my one-time budget). I know God will provide miracles for me because those He predestines, He also calls and those He calls He also justifies and those He justifies He also glorifies (Rom. 8:30).

Thank you for your prayers and perserverance in the Spirit for me. We are all in this together. Please pray for me as I begin saying goodbye to precious friends and family and as I prepare to absorb another language.

Until next time, peace be with you in Christ Jesus.

Resting Between His Shoulders

2007-04-21T13:01:00.000-04:00

Since my last blog update, not much has changed. I prayed about some dates that I could possibly leave for language school, checked them out online, but didn't feel peace about purchasing tickets. Within days, as has been in the past, the ticket prices went out of my range. As I wait, somewhat impatiently, I have been helping to organize our church team's upcoming service trip to the Dominican Republic. It is a privilege and a joy helping others get to the place I will one day be living. It has been fun reuniting with last year's team (all of whom are going again!) and sharing stories with the newcomers. It looks like we will have 12 going this year! You can be praying for them as they each prepare in their own way (passports, immunizations, etc). My goal has been, through this whole process, to leave with the team and then just stay down in the DR. To have this accomplished, I will have needed to complete language school (6 weeks) and have all of my support in. Currently, I need $220 more a month pledged to me and around $8000 for my one-time budget. God has done miracles in this area and I am watching for more. Thank you for all who have given and I ask for continued prayer in these areas.
One awesome gift that God is blessing me with is an upcoming visit from my friend Amanda! I met Amanda in Colorado at our pre-field missions training. She is a young woman from North Carolina who has been raising support for 2 years in order to get to Italy. Unlike me, she is planning on moving there indefinitely. She is working for Greater Europe Mission (GEM). I have a link to her blog that I encourage you to check out. She is in great need of R&R and Cambria is just the place for this!!
Actually, I encourage you to check out all the links I have posted, especially the Slabach Family blog. Nate Slabach is our staff pastor down in the DR and he continually posts goings on, ministry stuff, etc that I will eventually have on this site once I am down there. In fact, there is a story he posted about a young boy and a bicycle. You can't imagine how overjoyed I was to read about him, but especially to see his photo. I carried that young boy around on my back for hours one night when we were doing an outreach in his community. As we walked around his village, he just laid his head on my back and rested there, pointing out different friends' houses. Occasionally, because of the heat, my glasses would slip down my nose. I would say, 'Gafas!' ('Glasses') and he would push them up for me, since my hands were in use trying to hold him up. It was easy to love him and then, months later, to see his picture on Nate's blog and to hear his story...
I so look forward to being able to share more stories of my own, with beautiful photos once I am there.
Peace and blessings to you all as you rest between the shoulders of Christ.

She is Healed!

2007-04-03T21:08:00.000-04:00

Thanks to a group of faithful brothers and sisters in the Lord who, in obedience and love, laid hands on me and prayed, I experienced a miraculous healing of 'The Pleurisy That Wouldn't Go Away'. Many prayers leading up to this paved the way for breakthrough and so this is to say 'muchisimas gracias' to all prayer warriors and caring friends.

But now what do I do?

God, through various circumstances (namely, I was eagerly attempting to get to language school sometime before Easter, but the plane tickets kept doubling and tripling in price every time I was about to make a purchase), has hemmed me in for a little while. I am in the prayer process regarding when I should get down to Guatemala and I'm thinking it will be in mid-May. With all this beautiful time on my hands, I have been making some art, trying really hard to finish the last book I am required to read before I leave for the field (Walking With the Poor by Bryant Myers), and spending time with my 11-month old nephew who is precious beyond words. Due to some hard circumstances, my brother has relocated here to the Central Coast with his baby and it has been a sanctified time of restoring family relationship (thanks be to Jesus). If it is for this reason alone I was kept here, it is the most valuable thing to me and I don't want to leave too soon. Of course I know that the Lord promises 100% reward for those who leave behind family, but I'll take as much time as I can get!!

As far as support, I am currently at 90% of my monthly budget and need about $12,000 more for my one-time budget. Keep praying with me!

Spicy Spiritual Gumbo

2007-03-17T01:17:00.000-04:00

"For My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways My ways," says the LORD. Is. 55:8

True dat. As I zipped up my suitcase for the last time and plopped myself into bed with excited anticipation, I little expected that within a few hours I would be caught up in a wholly different kind of whirlwind. All through the night, as I battled head-on with The Stomach Flu With a Vengeance, I cried out to God to save and deliver me so that I could get on the plane for Guatemala the next day. I tried taking authority over the sickness. I rebuked every spirit I could think of. I threw up. Toward morning, I realized I wouldn't be making it to church. I called a few close friends to have them pray. One faithful saint was actually prompted by the Holy Spirit to leave church, drive to my house, anoint me and proclaim healing. It was an awesome, powerful time of prayer. Full of faith, I rose up and walked to the bathroom, had myself a shower, got dressed and passed out on my bed. My mother finally showed up and after looking at me for about 2 seconds said, "You're NOT getting on that plane." I argued. I told her about my prayer warrior friend coming over and that God had healed me. She just looked at me with those mom eyes and I started crying as she called the airlines to cancel my trip.

And, I'm glad she did.

That same night I awoke with excruciating chest pains that lasted all through the morning. Turns out I developed pleurisy, which is an inflammation of the lining of the lungs. I had started off the week with strep throat, caught a little head cold, then barfed a lot and this was the result. How bizarre. Across the board, everyone's reactions were, like the Body of Christ itself, completely varied. Whether it was an outright demonic attack, God's perfect protection, just a fluky, weird time of catching EVERYTHING that's been going around or a spicy gumbo of all three, it has kept me from going to Guatemala at this time. I thought I might be able to go in a week or two, but even if my lungs were miraculously healed by then, the nightmare with ticket prices, etc ... it's not even an option. So, I wait.

In the meantime, God has just completely blown my socks off. Tonight I received a message that I will be getting quite a hefty monthly supporter and that puts me up to 81%. Woo-Hoo!!

Who Prayed?

2007-03-09T23:08:00.000-05:00

I am glad to announce that, due to some fervently righteous prayers, my passport came on time. Yippee!! See, a while ago, God had given me the dates March 12-April 23 to attend language school. I was quite forlorn because of the passport delay, wondering if I had, indeed, heard the voice of my Shepherd or not. When my passport came early Thursday morning, I felt the tender nudge of that same Shepherd to go ahead and call the language school and see if I could by any chance register for school for Monday morning. Normally they ask for 2-3 weeks advance notice so that they can find a family for the students to live with and get the right teacher. But, see, we have an amazing God. I called the school and Gerardo at the other end said in beautiful English, "Of course you can come Monday, we have space AND a family! Not only that, but we will come pick you up at the airport when you arrive at 4:35 a.m." How humbling. The next best part is this: when I went online to see how much the plane tickets had gone up in price, I thought my eyes betrayed me when I saw that the price had gone DOWN almost $100 !! I quickly booked my tickets and ran to Wal-Mart to buy everything I needed to go cross-cultural for 6 weeks. I will update next time from Antigua, Guatemala.

P.S. I am at 48% of my monthly budget and 35% of my one-time budget. Keep those prayers coming!!

mustard seed, partially chewed

2007-02-26T20:00:00.000-05:00

"while we do not look at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen."
2 Cor.4:16

This is the scripture that God has given me to hold onto this week. As I check each day to see how much support has come in, I am tempted to look at how much more I need before I can leave for the Dominican Republic. The amount seems large to me, insurmountable, and the resources around me, so limited. But, this is not what God sees. "Look to Me!" He beckons. With eyes of faith, I crane my neck in the general direction of heaven, squinting with all my might, and gasp, "Okay, God! I can't see it, but I believe you have everything in Your hand." If only I did not have to do this every 10 or 20 minutes, I might be able to boast about my gargantuan storehouse of faith. Thankfully, He asks for only a mustard seed. At times, I feel like that's about all I have and, sometimes even less. As I wait for the promises to be fulfilled, I often chew the ends off that mustard seed in anxious tension.
Between chews, I await the arrival of a renewed passport. This has been an unexpected hang-up in my plans. In less than two weeks I was planning on flying down to Antigua, Guatemala for 6 weeks of Spanish language immersion. I eagerly gave notice at my jobs, started sorting through 'stuff' I'd accumulated to take to a local thrift shop-- you know, all the things you do to get ready to leave the country. But, where is my passport?? I called the Passport Agency only to discover that they have no record of having received my passport and was told that they are 6-8 weeks behind schedule. I even checked at the bank to today to see if the check I sent had cleared. Nope. I know God 'has a plan' in all this, but I have started to feel like a quickly deflating baloon. And not the kind that makes the high sqeaky noise. The other kind. As the words to a powerful worship song flood through my head ('mold me! break me! love me and make me more and more like you! I've come to worship you!) I wonder, how, in this circumstance, is He molding me? How will I come out of this looking more like Him?
Hmmmm.
So, as it stands, I am at about 27% of my monthly budget and about 28% of my one-time budget. Praise God and muchisimas gracias to all who have given so far.

In Preparation

2007-01-13T20:38:00.000-05:00

My next stop along the road to glory is Jarabacoa, Dominican Republic. I have joined up with a wonderful missions organization called Students International (www.stint.com) and told them I'd come work at the art site for a minimum of two years. I realize that most of you already know this info because you got this address off of my prayer card, but, hey, I like talking about it. Anyway, I took this pic while in the DR this summer. Jarabacoa is nestled in this beautiful mountain valley. I will be surrounded by palm trees, banana trees, avocado trees, mango trees and, yes, pine trees.

God loves the Dominican Republic. I know because I just had to read a book about the DR and God began imparting His heart to me for the people and I am exicted to get down there and watch Him do what He does best: love and redeem.

So, I'm about to start raising support for my living expenses for two years. I cannot leave even for language school until I have raised my support. I will keep a regular update on here regarding the progress. My goal is to get to the DR by summer. Thanks again for sharing in my excitement as I prepare for this next leg of the race.