My God will provide....

When I finally realized I had all the funds I needed to spend the next two years of my life in Portugal, I was stunned. It's one thing to think God is leading and opening a door for me...it was a completely different thing to see Him say, "Yes." or more like "YES!"

From my perspective, all my funds were raised (a large portion of them being already collected), and money would no longer be a concern. Little did I know that the dollar's value would soon plummet, insurance costs would increase, monthly needs would increase, and monthly supporters would forget.

As I began looking over finances, numbers were discouraging. Yes, I would stay regardless, but how on earth would I do it? The longer I looked at the numbers, the more I realized that during the month of May it was possible that I would barely have money for gas and food, let alone rent, and all the other expenses...

I debated for a long time what I should do. I did communicate with my home church about the needs, but no changes were made. So I decided I'd just pray. Pray that somehow, God would remind monthly givers of their commitment... that God would supply the lacking funds even IF all my monthly supporters gave... and that in the end, He'd get me through in a way that would again show me this was His idea from the beginning, not mine.

Fast forward to the month of December. I stopped logging into my account at ABWE. It was a constant reminder that I didn't want to see. But, one day... the day of reckoning, I decided I needed to really figure it out. As I logged in I noticed a large increase in my support account. When I checked into it, I was shocked. Sitting in my account was exactly enough to cover me for the month of May.

It should go without saying that God will provide for all my needs. And yet, some days, when the numbers are tight, or when they come out with a negative sign in front of them, it's hard to remember. Here's what I'm learning...

It would have been really easy for God to have brought all that money in from the beginning. He knew the increases were coming. He wasn't surprised... So why didn't He?
Because He knows and loves me. He knew I would be mentally freaking out about how to find a job after this.... or what I would do if I can't find a job when I come home. And He knew that I needed a reminder that God provides. He provided for me in May, He'll provide for me in June, July, and every month after that.

Right now God is asking me to walk very blindly into something I am totally and completely new at. It's terrifying. Yet, seeing that God cares for ALL my needs, watching Him do this for me again reminds me that He is concerned about my heart. Whatever the outcome, He cares more that I look like Him at the end of it. So I don't need to rush ahead and worry about the outcome, I simply need to walk by faith trusting that God is providing what I need at this moment.

He's so good. He doesn't just provide. He uses His provision to humble, to remind, to restore, and to refresh.

Thank you, Lord, for a providing not just money, but a reminder I so desperately needed.

A well built fortress...

I've really tried to blog lately. Countless times I've logged in, started to try to put my thoughts into an entry...and felt far too exposed or bare...and quickly deleted my thoughts to maintain a privacy that for some reason feels necessary right now. And to be quite honest, I haven't even decided if this will make it to a post...

God has been teaching me so much lately. And so much of it, I'd rather learn another way. He's confronted me with how I have tried for so long to guard against any type of hurt that I could. When the possibility for it arises, I flee. I say, "no." I run. I try my hardest to protect what seems so important to me, refusing to trust that God could use hurt for my good. I somehow have justified that I could trust God, but never anyone else...and that that was Biblical, because the Bible says, "guard your heart..." I took this verse to an extreme and began to use it as a right to build an impossible defense system to keep people from penetrating to the deepest parts of my heart. Mainly, because I was afraid.

Afraid to allow people to see ME...and reject ME.
Afraid that if I didn't...my heart would be broken.

But what God is showing me little by little is that what I have offered in return to people is not love. Because love is risky. Love is messy. And to truly love is always to hurt.

And I have sat, eyes wet with tears, asking God if I could really do it. Could I really open my heart up? Could I be that? And be okay if I was broken, hurt, and rejected?

And He has answered...
"Do you trust me? Do you take me at my Word? Because I have already told you I work all things for your good? Remember, I said that nothing could separate you from my love. Not even hurt. Not even rejection. My love would restore. My love would heal. My love would. I gave my Son for you. Won't you trust me with the heart I created and redeemed? Won't you love like me? Because I want your heart to look like mine...and that means you must love. Willingly. Sacrificially. And recklessly."

So I'm trying...little by little to tear it down. But I need God to pull a Jericho to make this thing come crashing down. Patterns and habits are not easily broken. I'm just begging God to help me. Little by little...step by step...

He washed my eyes with tears that I might see,
The broken heart I had was good for me;
He tore it all apart and looked inside,
He found it full of fear and foolish pride.
He swept away the things that made me blind,
And then I saw the clouds were silver lined;
And now I understand 'twas best for me,
He washed my eyes with tears that I might see.

He washed my eyes with tears that I might see,
The glory of Himself revealed to me;
I did not know that He had wounded hands,
I saw the blood He spilt upon the sands.
I saw the marks of shame and wept and cried,
He was my substitute for me He died;
And now I'm glad He came so tenderly
And washed my eyes with tears that I might see.

By Ira Stanphill

Ran across this poem and loved it...

Decipher this...

Lately I can't write on this blog. It takes too much work...and this will most likely be the last for a while.
My heart can't be deciphered into words...let alone words that sound coherent and captivate a reader.

But let me make a lame attempt.

I guess lately I'm learning that just because God has always done something one way doesn't mean He will continue to work that way in the future. I've found with several things in my life that I have assumed that God would never answer according to what I desired...because history has proved from my past that He never has. Therefore I assumed He never would. So somewhere, somehow I did the most obvious and most reasonable thing I could think of: I shut down those desires. I removed hope. I stopped asking. I said, "no" to my heart. Because hearing Him say it repeatedly was far too painful.

And somewhere in the past six months, God undid me. He whispered to my heart that trying to control my life was useless. He showed me that deep within those desires could never die, no matter how hard I tried to suffocate them by refusing to waste my breath praying for them. He broke me. He showed me that I couldn't master my heart. I couldn't lead it and control it.

And in complete brokenness... I started asking God to work, against everything my heart told me.
And now... as I see Him gradually beginning to work, I can't understand it. It makes no sense to me. He isn't supposed to do this. He was supposed to say, "no." And every little "yes" that He gives terrifies me. It undoes me. Because I don't know how to walk this road. I don't know how to handle a hope I've crushed being restored. I keep waiting for Him to do it. To rip it away. To tell me, "no, never..." I keep waiting for disappointment. It's what I know.

But it hasn't come...

And I've realized I understand very little of trust and very little of God's love.
Regardless of what God does, this is the journey of trust I know He wants me to walk through. Am I willing to risk stepping out in faith? Am I ready to trust Him with what I value more than anything else in life?

So... that's as much as I can get into words tonight... although, I'm not sure if those words even made sense...But it's as good as it's going to get tonight.

Two Roads...

Two roads diverged and I
Stand fearfully and utterly still
Straining to see further down the roads
Yearning to know where each leads.

Two roads diverged and I
Beg for direction and cry,
"I want the one You want for me!"
Yet silence looms eerily here.

Two roads diverged and I
Try to figure out which is His will
Could one leave me broken? Or one leave me empty?
These paths seem so different to me.

Two roads diverged and I
Pray God would close at least one.
Bring up a wall or remove the path
Anything but ask me choose.

Two roads diverged and I
Question why God brought me here.
Doesn't He want the best for my life?
Doesn't He hear when I cry?
I want to obey him,
I want to walk with him,
I want His will and not mine.

Two roads diverged and I
Remember the Good Shepherd promises,
Not one of His sheep will He ever lose,
Not one will He let go astray.

Two roads diverged and I
But really, not simply "I"
I stand at the paths held firm in His hand
Assured of His presence for both.

Two roads
Diverged
and I....

Were destined to eventually meet.


They're refining and testing this faith that I claim.
They're asking me to walk
A road so very well-traveled by all,
By all who would call themselves His.

So I'll look at you, Roads, though diverged you may be
As nothing more than you are:
A simple chance to walk by faith,
To see more clearly my God.
And a little journey that regardless the path
Clearly leads to my Home in heaven.

Two roads diverged and I,
I saw them begin to converge.
The journey of both being utterly the same:
To make me more trust Him,
To make me more love Him,
To make me more clearly see Him.

One simple road and I
I told my Father, "Yes...
Less like me I yearn to be,
More like You I long to be,
Even if two roads diverging it takes..."

When worlds collide...

It's such a weird thing when worlds collide. I remember Charity talking about how strange it was to have a team of people from her world back in the States come visit her world here. I didn't really understand that until today.
It's so odd to see them here... and it's only the first day.
It's also so fun to be reminded of all the things that are now normal to me but are new to them. Figuring out how to flush the toilet, walking on cobblestone, the crazy parking, all the cars (ok, this never really meant anything to me...because I judge cars by color...but apparently it's interesting to my dad), all the marble and tile in the buildings, seeing rows upon rows of apartment buildings and a landscape of tile roofs, listening to my mom and dad gasp as I enter roundabouts, and cling to the side of the cars as we maneuver through streets that make no sense to the American mindset.

I'm so grateful they could be here. It means so much that they will be able to understand what has become so much of my heart and my life. To have them be able to see my life here, meet people that I have grown to love like family, and experience what I have adapted to is priceless. Knowing that whenever I return they will understand perhaps to some extent what I mean when I say I miss this or that...or this person or that person is just comforting in a weird way.

I'm excited to be able to show them more, introduce them to my church family, and hear even more what they find fascinating.

I talked at length with a dear friend of mine the other night. We shared the latest things God has been doing in our lives since we last chatted in August.
God divinely arranged it. As I poured out to her my heart, my confusion, what God has been doing, and explained the puzzle pieces of it all, it was such a comfort to hear her say, "I remember that exact same feeling, Erin. And I don't get why God does things like this either...but He does."
She's been in my shoes. She's lived in another country. And she's fallen in love with it. She's walked through deciphering why God was allowing and leading in directions that didn't make sense to her at the time. She's walked through leaving and pursuing a direction that seemed to be illogical and even absurd. She's had to answer people's questions, and deal with all the emotions of being torn from something she loved while being excited for the next path God had for her.

Friendships are a beautiful thing. Just knowing that there was someone who understood in a small way what I was praying through was an unexpected blessing. To hear her promise to pray and remind me of the truth of God's Word left me blessed and overwhelmed with gratitude.

And as I began to reflect on our friendship...I realized the most incredible thing. God brought our paths together during a year of my life that made absolutely no sense to me. I never understood why God made me walk through that difficult year...and why He led me to that place to begin with only to have everything fall apart...Yet without that year I would have never forged an incredible friendship that has lasted four years later. God's plan is so perfect. While I know there are many lessons I learned there and perhaps a million reasons why He led me there that I am unaware of, perhaps one was for such a time as this. Because the Lord knew that four years later I would need her counsel, her advice, her ear, and her understanding.

It was just another reminder that I am trusting in a sovereign God. One who plans for my good and His glory. One who knows me, inside and out. One who loves and understands me. One who desires for me to experience life abundantly in Him. One with whom no tear is wasted, and no pain left unused. He has blessed me beyond measure... and I am forever indebted to Him.

A weekend...

It's Monday...
and I am exhausted.
Let me recap my weekend as best I can:

1)Prayer meeting
2)Baking cookies till 1:30 in the morning
3)Last minute decision to go sight-seeing
4)Crazy car rides
5)Getting lost
6)Driving on train tracks
7)Nearly driving off a bridge
8)Hiking through a beautiful park to find a castle
9)Touring a castle and beautiful monastery
10)Getting locked out of the park we needed to go through to get to the car
11)Walking for an hour in the dark trying to figure out how to find the car
12)Praying that I wouldn't have to call the police to help me find the car
13)Finding a man and working up the courage to explain the predicament in Portuguese
14)Hearing him promise he'd help us find the car...and then mutter the word, "matar" which means "to kill"
15)Deciding not to tell my colleagues (who didn't understand Portuguese) that we may or may not live through the night
16)Replaying the conversation with the word "matar" in it about forty-five times in my head...and finally figuring out that he meant a dog...not us.
17)Finding the car after walking what felt like an eternity in the dark
18)Praising the Lord for the kindness of random Portuguese strangers
19)Church
20)Lunch with my friends...lots of Portuguese...
21)Trying to concentrate on Portuguese while my brain is desperately wanting to shut down and sleep
22)Coming home from lunch and realizing I had ten minutes until I had to leave to go sing at another church
23)Realizing I couldn't find the lyrics to the song I was supposed to sing
24)Running through the song with my friend one time
25)Driving an hour to the church
26)Walking in and realizing it was utter chaos
27)Singing without ever running through the song, or even checking sound...or for that matter even knowing when I was supposed to sing
28)Kissing and hugging all sorts of people I didn't know (it was like the Portuguese version of "I'm so glad I'm a part of the family of God..." when we all used to hold hands...only not so much hand-holding...and much more kissing and hugging)
29)Feeling very American and trying to force myself to be okay with tight spaces, no personal space, and loud noise...and chaos.

And here I am...Monday morning. Tired, but alive. Grateful to have this time here. And wrestling deep in my heart with what feels like my heart being broken in two. I'm so in love with people here...and my life here... and yet I can't figure out all that God is doing or why He is allowing certain things.
I don't know.
But I know He does.
And in time...He'll show me when I'm ready.

Upon turning 28....

Yesterday I turned 28. TWENTY-EIGHT.
Seriously, how is this possible? Didn't I just get a baby-blue Schwinn bicycle with a white a floral banana seat for my birthday a few years ago? And how can I be closer to thirty than I am twenty when I still feel like I am 18 trying to figure out what to do with my life?
28.
It's ridiculous and absurd.
Year 27 taught me a lot...more than I've ever imagined I could learn in one year. I learned how to cook, shop, drive, and survive in a foreign country. I learned a foreign language. Correction: I started learning a foreign language. I learned more about myself than I cared to know. I learned that I really am pretty outgoing...and not nearly as shy as I thought I was. I learned that I love diversity, and that I thrive under high expectations. I learned that I really am more indecisive than I ever thought I was. I learned that life truly is about people...and watched God create in me an intense love for people here.

I'm anxious and nervous for year 28. Life is far more uncertain and unpredictable than I thought it was supposed to be at this age. I log into my finance account and am daily reminded that I live by faith. Faith that God will provide now...and faith that at the end of this He will provide my next job, my next paycheck, my next housing, my next country, my next everything. I pour through God's Word begging Him for direction for my life...and I imagine He smiles...because He knows why He has not revealed that to me yet. I know that right now He is preparing me for my "next."
Deep in my heart I know this year will require more of my faith than I think I am ready to handle. While I seek Him, I know He has asked of me exactly what He has asked of his servants..."Go. Go where I lead. Follow Me."

I am finding comfort in the rarest of Scriptures. Every time I read through the Old Testament I find men and women, far older than I, who were asked to live lives that made no sense. Most of their ministries started when they were near retirement age. And while I'm not there yet... I take comfort that I don't need to have this all figured out. God, the only One who can discern my heart, has created and designed me for His glory. And He knows how and where I can best give Him glory...and because He guards and protects His glory...He will lead me to the place where I can best glorify Him. Ironically, He's been simultaneously teaching me that HE is the determiner of the value of a life...and that I can't think one profession, or one path is the ultimate "glory-bringer" to God. If Joseph spent years of his life as a slave bringing glory to God... why should I think I could craft the perfect scenario to bring God glory?

Regardless of what 28 brings, I know it will be an adventure.
So, ready or not, here I come...

My apologies...

Dear Portugal,
Yes, I am the idiot. I forgot that when it starts raining, flip-flops get put away, dark colors come out, and dresses are banished to the back of the closet.
I am sorry. Please stop staring. I know it might look as if I will catch a cold that will kill me. I promise, I'll be alright.
And I'll never wear a bright pink summer dress with a floral sweater and pink flip-flops again until at least April.
Just please, stop staring.
A Stupid American

Tears.

"What is it? What is it?" he said. "I do not wish to leave the jungle, and I do not know what this is. Am I dying, Bagheera?"

"No, Little Brother. That is only tears such as men use," said Bagheera. "Now I know thou art a man, and a man's cub no longer. The jungle is shut indeed to thee henceforward. Let them fall, Mowgli. They are only tears."

So Mowgli sat and cried as though his heart would break; and he had never cried in all his life before.

"Now," he said, "I will go to men. But first, I must say farewell...
You will not forget me?"

"Never..."


I read this selection to my students today. I fought viciously to not cry in front of them. Now, as I am typing it... the tears are flowing freely. Because I understand what it feels like to realize that doors may be shutting...no matter how hard I wish and hope that they won't. I understand what it feels like to feel as if I fit better in a place that isn't made for me than I do in the place that was. I understand that I have goodbyes that will come...and when the time comes...I don't really know if I will be able to make them. I understand what it feels like to not understand myself...and like Mowgli...I've been asking God over and over, "What is it? What is this that is going on inside of me?"

So today...I am just letting the tears fall.
Because I don't have an answer as to why I feel like the doors are shutting.
Because I don't get why God brought me here to lead me away.
Because I don't understand what on earth He is doing.
Because I don't know what to do next...
So the tears fall...
And I am letting them.
After all... they are only tears.

ESL... ;)

I have started teaching an ESL class in a small community every Thursday night from nine until eleven. If you had told me ten years ago I would be standing in front of ten woman from the ages of forty to sixty and teaching them English, I would have laughed in your face. Every week I stand in front of them I feel like Moses, quietly whispering, "Oh, Lord, I think you have the wrong one for this."

Regardless of how nervous I am, I really love doing it. The women are so much fun.

This week was nothing short of hysterical. I have been trying to teach them the present continuous tense. For example, "What are you doing? I am studying. I am reading. I am sleeping."

After we practiced, read, and did some activities, I decided in the spur of the moment to do an activity with my ladies that I had read about online. The idea of the game is that they have to create as many excuses as possible to explain why a friend can't come to the phone. For the most part, they were basically the same. "She's sleeping. She's working."

Until I got to one student. She makes me laugh every week. She loves to practice what little English she knows, and often it comes out far from perfect. All of her examples were great until I got to the last one. "I'm sorry, she's to suck."

I looked at her, looked at the other women, and then asked her to repeat herself. Surely I heard that incorrectly. "I'm sorry, she's to suck." Ok. That was what she said...

I asked her what she meant, and she smiled and said, "You know. 'To suck.' When you have the baby and you..." she then proceeded to act out nursing a baby.

I looked across the room to see if my male colleague was listening to any of this. Thankfully, he was fully engaged with his student. So, I discreetly wrote the word, "breastfeeding" on the white board (for some reason the term, "nursing" did NOT come to me...until another colleague mentioned it after I told her the story). I quietly said, "We don't say, 'to suck.' We would say this word." I made sure I didn't say it. After all, I didn't want to draw the attention of the men in the room.

Sure enough, five, loud, Portuguese woman looked at the word and simultaneously said, "BREASTFEEDING!" as loud as they could. My male colleague instantly stopped, turned, and covered his ears. I tried to quickly move on, but all of them kept repeating the word. And then proceeded to write it in their notebooks.

:)

I love my crazy, ridiculous life.

Safe

"To the one who's dreams are falling all apart
And all you're left with is a tired and broken heart:
I can tell by your eyes you think you're on your own,
but you're not all alone.

Have you heard of the One who can calm the raging seas
Give sight to the blind, pull the lame up to their feet?
With a love so strong he'll never let you go,
oh you're not alone.

You will be safe in His arms.
You will be safe in His arms.
'Cause the hands that hold the world are holding your heart,
This is the promise He made:
He will be with You always.
When everything is falling apart,
You will be safe in His arms

Did you know that the voice that brings the dead to life,
Is the very same voice that calls you now to rise?
So hear Him now, He's calling you home.
You will never be alone.

These are the hands that built the mountains,
the hands that calm the seas.
These are the arms that hold the heavens,
they are holding you and me.

These are hands that healed the leper,
Pulled the lame up to their feet,
These are the arms that were nailed to a cross,
to break our chains and set us free."


This morning I walked into my classroom and pulled up some music that a friend recently gave me. I opened up the artist, and randomly selected a song I thought I had never heard. As the music started playing, I started crying. They were words that I desperately needed to hear today...

I don't think following Jesus is safe...at all. In fact, I think it is in all worldly thinking the most dangerous thing one can do. And there are days when my heart fights against the surrender to which I know Christ has called me. It's unsafe. It's scary. It's uncomfortable. And yet I know... the day I met Christ is the day He started redefining my definition of "safe." Safe means I trust Him. Safe means I believe there is One who can work anything for my good. Safe means I go where He wants me to go and do what He wants me to do because I reverently adore and fear Him. Safe means a broken heart...because to love anyone this side of heaven means hurt. Safe means surrender.

And this morning, as the words to this song confronted me with the struggle deep within, I could feel that tugging on my heart. He will be with me. When my world is in utter chaos, my future uncertain, my heart torn, I am still safe. Not because I will choose to stop loving people that I know I may have to leave, or because I will choose to shut off my heart to what God may be doing that feels anything but safe...but because He is with me.
And I am in His hands.
Para sempre.
Always.

Moving on up...

Tonight I went to language class. Sometimes, when I am tired or frustrated, language class makes me cry. Actually, to be correct, no tears have actually fallen. But they have come awfully close.

The new class I am taking started off to be a big disappointment to me. I was clearly behind everyone.

Enter two men from Guinea-Bissau.
From the moment they opened their mouths and slaughtered the Portuguese language, I knew things were looking up for me. The professor started slowing down and methodically sounding out new words. I was excited to have some companions on the lower level.

Then, an unexpected change. Four new Pakistani men walked into the room knowing little to no Portuguese.

Suddenly I have moved to the high-level. :)

And can I just say, nothing feels weirder than sitting in the midst of four Pakistani men and communicating with them in English about how to speak and say Portuguese words.

Which then made me wonder, what on earth are they thinking? American WOMAN telling them how to pronounce Portuguese words. And to make it worse, the professor kept using me as the example for America. "Ela é americana. Os americanos, como Erin..."

That was the only time in my life I wished I was Canadian.

My life is so weird.

"Looks...interesting."

Today I brought treats to church.
I was excited, because I knew it was something I could do.
Then, I walked in with my treats.
I brought mini chocolate chip banana muffins and miniature chocolate chip scones.
And as I walked in with my treats, I got questions.
"Wow. What is that?"
"Looks good. What are they?"
"So are these cookies?"
"Huh. Did you make them?"
"So...are they cakes?"
"Banana what?"
"Sconesh? What are those?"

And I simply smiled.
Because moments like this make me laugh on the inside. Who would have thought my treats would be unrecognizable to half the congregation?

All in all... I think people liked them.
But next time...I may do some research before I bring something else to church.
Or maybe not.

Maybe I'll just research how to explain what it is that I make next time.

Tired, tired, tired...

I am absolutely exhausted. And it is only October. :)
My schedule feels crazy and my weekends seem almost nonexistent.
But can I be honest?
That's the way I want to go out. I want to spend and be spent. I want to look back on these two years and know that I was a steward of every dollar someone sacrificed for me to be here. I want to finish my time here knowing I was faithful... I don't want regrets.

Because looking back over the past few years of my life after college...I have many. I regret not volunteering my Saturdays at Bethel Mission like I had every good intention of doing. I regret wandering around countless malls feeding an insatiable hunger to accumulate more. I regret spending hundreds of dollars on food and coffee when missionaries around me were trying to raise more support.

I have such a little bit of life left, in all honesty. And that's if I live to be the average age...which is certainly not a guarantee. And I just want to use it up...I want to finish dirty, tired, exhausted, and spent.

One of the guys from my church told me a story about a missionary he met on a missions trip to Mozambique. Even though I've never met her...her story bothers me. She left her home country to be a missionary working with the least of these: orphans in Africa. She lives on very little, and every night brings home around 15 children to sleep in her room because there is no more space for them in the orphanage. But what struck me more than anything else was when he said, "She looked exhausted. And she had no teeth...she just looked so old..."

And it hit me then...
That is beauty. True, pure, unadulterated, magnificent, radiant beauty.
And I want that.

Sometimes I wonder about myself. Have I become comfortable here?

Because my days are numbered. And I want to be sure they are spent well...in the place the Master wants me.

Dear Lord... Don't let me get comfortable.
Don't let me choose something because it is easy...and I know I can handle it.
Stretch me. Challenge me. So I know it is you alone that is doing the work.
And Lord... Make me beautiful in your eyes...with or without teeth.
And at the end of my life, let me be found faithful.

Great Expectations...

I've been having such a hard time blogging lately. Everything around in my head feels like too much to try to write...too personal...or just too unresolved. There are so many things I feel like I am wrestling through...

And in the midst of all this...God has brought up such deep, deep things.
Things I feel like I at one point in my life had figured out...but now seem more confusing than ever.

So here it is...
One of the scariest parts of missions to me is singleness. Not necessarily that I will be single the rest of my life if I head towards missions, but that people won't understand if I do marry after heading in the direction of missions. And that is not something I know if I am ready to accept. Honestly, I know I could serve God anywhere...I also know if I am single, I would choose that to be overseas... but if, and IF is huge here, IF God brought the type of man I have prayed for, and he was just living and serving in the States, that wouldn't bother me. I would serve alongside him there.

Yet I feel like that answer would not be acceptable to anyone. And that scares me.

But what I don't understand is why? God moves people at different points in different directions. Why would it be "life" for the single missionary, yet acceptable for any person actively involved in serving in the States to marry whomever and change ministries as a result? I just don't know if I get it... and I don't know that I am ready for the fish tank lifestyle that I know will come with this...


I love Portugal, and I love my life here. But I've also prayed to be a wife and mom. And for whatever reason...God hasn't brought the two together...or, for that matter, given me complete peace about either. So here I am, for probably the millionth time in my life, trying to figure out how to once again give God complete control and hand over to Him the dreams that I have in exchange for what He says is best for me. And I am trying desperately to hear His voice above all others, including my own.

I just feel like I can't get past this...and I don't know the answer.

If I was ever part of a medical study, I would be the one that was convinced I had been cured by the placebo.
And this is why I believe that:
Lately, I've been drinking smoothies for breakfast. They started out as normal drinks. A banana, a few berries, Greek yogurt, and some ice cubes. But like any new thing I try, I became obsessed. It was longer sufficient to settle for regular smoothies. I had to master them, learn everything about them, and try as many different combinations as possible.
My research on smoothies (yes, I did legitimately research them) led to an amazing discovery. It is possible to throw vegetables into a smoothie...without making it unbearable.
For the past two weeks, I have bought more fruits and vegetables than I have all other food combined. I've added tomatoes, spinach, carrots, and cucumbers to my usual apple, pinapple, banana, berry base. I read that by adding these vegetables to a blended smoothie, the body can then absorb much more of the vitamins than it would normally absorb if simply chewed.
And I believe every single word of it.
I am convinced my skin is more radiant, my hair looks better, and my energy... well...would be better if I wasn't staying up so late. But just imagine how horrible it would be if I wasn't drinking my daily allotment of vegetables in the morning.

This past Saturday and Sunday, I didn't make them. I chose to drink coffee and have a piece of toast instead. And you know what? My skin looked duller, my hair limper, and I felt horrible. Coincidence? I think not. :)

Please, if I am ever sick (which will probably never happen again if I simply keep drinking these smoothies), somebody just give me a sugar pill and tell me it's an extra-strength antibiotic. My mind will do the rest... :)

I remember when I decided to come to Portugal I knew my life would never be the same. I knew I was making a decision that would rip my heart apart. I knew it would be dangerous...not for my personal safety necessarily...but for a heart that would probably fall in love with a people and place that isn't my home. I knew I would fall...

But I didn't know how hard. I didn't know how much I would fall in love with my church family, learning Portuguese, my students, my ministries, my friends, this culture... I had no idea how quickly my heart would begin to weave into the fabric that is Portugal. I didn't know how alive I would feel...how at home I could become...and how full my heart would be.

I know God has a plan for how this...this love. I know it won't go to waste. I know that regardless of where God puts me next, He'll use it.

Right? ;)

Rumblings...

I've heard that before a volcano erupts, rumblings can be felt. Tremors occur for days, sometimes even weeks before the actual eruption occurs.

Right now my life is full of tremors. Tiny rumblings that remind me that God is on the move. That He is not silent...and that He is working. These tremors aren't big. Some days they are subtle and barely noticeable. And just when I think perhaps things are calming down, and I've misread it all, I feel it. God moves in a way I can't deny as coincidence or circumstance...and I stop, slightly perplexed and fearful, and acknowledge that He is indeed up to something. And I realize that life as I know it is about to change dramatically.

God has burdened my heart to start praying very specifically in relationship to my future. I am praying He will show me two things by a certain date. Both of them terrify me. Both of them seem impossible. And yet I feel the rumblings of God about to work.

So be warned. It's coming...

RE:

Dear Pat Robertson,
The word was crushing. Or at least, I would imagine it to have been. I don't remember. I was too young. In fact, I don't remember very much about my grandfather at all. I remember tractor rides...and donkey songs...and falling asleep in chairs...but other than that, much of my memories with him were stolen by the word.
Alzheimer's.
The word conjures up images I'd rather forget. Every year things grew worse. Finally it was inevitable. My grandma just wasn't enough...he needed more care. We visited the nursing home as much as we could. I hated it. The person he was ceased to be. He didn't know me...and I no longer knew the person into which he was daily deteriorating.
I remember it bothered me. I would watch my grandma go every time hopeful...that maybe THIS day there would be a moment of clarity...a spark of recognition. And when we went with her, she treated him as if nothing was wrong. She told him about her day, about the garden, and the neighbors. And she fed him. Everyday. Month after month. Year after year.
It took me a long time to grasp what I saw...and to process the significance of it. It took an unsaved nurse to make me see the beauty of it all. She worked in my grandpa's nursing home and had observed my grandma with my grandpa. She watched her faithfully care for him...and at his funeral she said, "You taught me what it meant to love my husband. You showed me the definition of true love."
And that is the heritage I have been given. That love doesn't quit when it hurts, gets ugly, forgets, or ceases to be what it once was. That love always believes and hopes...even when it is beyond hope of a cure and has no doctors left to believe in. That love doesn't cease giving because it no longer receives. That love is not diminished by a diagnosis. And that love doesn't end when "happily ever after" does. It endures.
Alzheimer's may have robbed me of more tractor rides and stories...but what it gave me is far greater. It gave me a great respect for marriage...and it will be with a solemn and sincere heart that I say, "in sickness and health..." because I know what love through sickness looks like. I know what love through death looks like. And it endures.
I only wish you knew the beauty of a love like this...a love that had the courage to walk through the valley of the shadow of death
unscathed....a love that stood firmly behind every word that was promised in wedding vows long ago, never seeking a technicality for an escape.
Because this, Pat, this is what marriage is all about.

"Are these my glasses?"

Sometimes writing is clarifying. It is in writing that my mind organizes emotions, thoughts, and words. All day long I've felt like I need to just sit and write. As if somehow putting everything on paper or "screen" will make everything come together and make sense...but there are some things that I know are just meant to be blurry right now. In some odd way, I feel as if God has put glasses on my eyes that aren't my prescription. My eyes are straining terribly to make sense of the blurriness...but no matter how hard they try, they just won't bring the picture into focus. And what makes absolutely no sense in all of this is the tremendous peace I feel in knowing I'm supposed to be temporarily blinded. I know right now my vision isn't supposed to be clear. Things are supposed to be hazy. I'm not supposed to recognize the objects in my path yet.

I've spent today pondering Scripture. All day I've been craving it... and any free moment I've had I've been in it. I just feel like I can't move...can't function...can't do another minute without it. I wish I could say I was always like this...but more than ever I've been drawn to it.

I think more than any other point in my life I've been realizing that I have no hope and no future apart from God. I have no plan. I don't know anything. I don't even know what I want. He's stripped me of plans, dreams, and ambitions. And just when I thought I'd perhaps figured out one thing...he's shown me another that makes no sense...to me.

I'd love to believe that God is up to something big. That at any moment he's going to rip off my coke bottle glasses and yell, "Surprise! See what I've been up to?" But deep in my heart I feel like I've lost hope in that. Or maybe it isn't even a loss of hope. Maybe it is an acknowledgment that I don't deserve any dreams I've ever had. The clay doesn't ask the Potter to make it a vase. The sheep doesn't tell the Shepherd where to lead it. The servant doesn't tell the Master what he wants to do. So why should I even hope? Or plan? Or dream?

And that's my heart. Numb. Naked. With nothing but God's Word to cover, protect, guide, and lead it...

I think everybody has a wilderness. We might not spend forty years there (at least I hope I don't have to spend forty years in mine...), but at some point in our lives I think we all pass through. And while we have no promise or direction as to when it will end, we can be certain of this: We are never alone. And peace is promised.

So, I do what I know I am called to do today: Love God. Love people. Serve God. Serve people. And his peace, which far surpasses any minute claim to understanding I might make, guards me as I walk with coke bottle glasses through the wilderness.

Who is that girl I see?

Can I tell you something? Something odd? Something weird is happening to me...and I can't figure it out. Maybe you can. And maybe you can tell me what it all means...
Today...I went to church, tried to talk unsuccessfully to a visitor (I asked her a question, couldn't understand her response...and felt like I might do more damage than good by trying to follow up without understanding her), made lunch, went grocery shopping, unloaded my groceries, cut up another whole chicken (which...went MUCH better than last time), made more chicken stock, made muffins, made a pumpkin spice latte with real pumpkin, cleaned my bathroom, cleaned my bedroom, and then skyped with friends. My friends were in the middle of enjoying a weekend of shopping. As I skyped with them between stores...all the sudden I realized...I wouldn't trade my day to be there shopping and buying stuff. I actually enjoyed every part of my day. Even pulling the legs of the chicken out of socket (and that's saying something). What is that? And who am I?
This is not Erin Wahlstrom from three years ago. Or even one year ago. But you know...I like this me better. And I don't know what on earth this is all preparing me for...I hypothesize that I'll either be living in a foreign country the rest of my life, extremely poor, or somewhere far from civilization, or D...all of the above.
I guess time will tell...and only God knows. :)

Kids say....

I love teaching. Life is never dull...and I am always surprised by things my kids say and do.
Today during Bible class we were reading through Revelation 21 and 22 and discussing what heaven would be like. When we got to 21:22 where John describes that there will be no temple because then Lord is the temple, I asked, "So what is the significance of these verses?"
All the sudden one of my boys shouted out, "I know what that means! NO CHURCH! Sweet! I can never sit still in church...it's so LONG."
Heaven from the eyes of an eleven year old boy.
:)

Day-Makers

Lately I have been wrestling so much with discouragement. I feel more and more that there is a very, very small handful of people, both here and in the States that I truly connect with. I knew that would be part of this life...and to some extent I was ready for that to happen in the States. But more and more I find that I don't necessary connect well with the people I think I should. Which, to some great extent has been a huge push for me to delve into Portugal...the language and the people. For that I am grateful...

But, nonetheless it has been at times disheartening. What I love about God today is that, while his Word is absolutely sufficient, and his presence promised...sometimes he knows when we need more. And the Lord knew how badly I needed that because he gave me three huge gifts this past week that just made my day. Well.. days... :)

1) a letter from a national that I will value more than anything else I've ever received or bought here in Portugal

2) a weekend of two nights spent with Portuguese friends...

3) and this conversation today at school...

Student 1: "So are you leaving after this year?"

Me: "Ummmm.....well.....I mean, I would need money to stay..."

Student 1: "Because it would be a waste for you to go back...you've learned so much Portuguese...."

Me: "Yeah...I know....but I--"

Student 1: "You should stay and you could teach us in high school!"

Me: "This is your second year with me as your teacher...are you sure you would really want me again?"

Student 2: "Actually...I prayed you would be my teacher again..."

Student 1: "Yeah...we want you."

Probably the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.... Granted, it is the FIRST day of school. Give them a week... :)

How 'bout them....chickens? ;)

Today I lost it. And by "lost it"...I mean my mind. I was walking through the grocery store mentally calculating how much things were. Then, I went for my last item: chicken. I scoured the chicken section for the best deal. Spend 7.80 euros for chicken breasts? Or 5.30 euros for shredded raw chicken? Then I started calculating how many dollars that would actually cost me...$11.12 for chicken? You have got to be kidding me!

I kept searching for a better deal...when this caught my eye...



I walked away. Because, let's be honest...I've never had a great relationship with meat. It just makes me sick. But I kept looking at the price per kilogram. Six euros per kilogram...or two? How could I pay four euros more?
So I put it in my basket and darted to the checkout before I changed my mind.
I got home...stared at the chicken...googled "how do I cut up a whole chicken?"...stared at the pictures...stared at the chicken...debated if it was really worth the savings...grabbed my apron, three knives...and took this picture...just so you'd know approximately how I was feeling. :)



Other than a few screams when I had to pull the legs out of socket...and pluck off a few remaining feathers...I handled it pretty well, considering.
AND...not only did I save money...I also made my own chicken stock out of the carcass for one of my meals this week. :)

Oh the life of someone getting paid in the dollar...and living on the euro.
It's making me do things I never thought possible. :)

A Letter...

I've officially lived in Portugal for over a year...which seems entirely impossible. In celebration, I wrote a thank you letter to the country I've called home for 12 months....

Dear Portugal,
I don't even know where to begin. It sounds ridiculous to say it, but thank you. Thank you for patient people that smile. Thank you for loving tourists, Americans, and English. Thank you for introducing me to pasteis, roundabouts, a galão, and a million other things that I've been blessed to consider normal for the past year. Thank you for teaching me what diversity really looks like. Thank you for gently showing me that much of the world views things very differently than the majority of my family and friends...and that "different" isn't bad. It's simply different. Thank you for making me feel alive again...and reviving desires in my heart that were nearly dead.
I don't know how things will end between us... But know I'll always love you...and that wherever I end up, if it isn't with you, part of my heart will always long to be.

Love,
Erin

:)

Silence reigns...

I've tried to blog the past few days...but every time I start to... I edit myself. The following have been potential posts, but were cut....due to obvious reasons...
1) Yes, I know I'm tall...please stop staring...
2) 100 things NOT to say to a missionary
3) The next man that ogles my chest will get a kinesthetic reproduction of what the Philistines did to Samson...
4) 200 things you just shouldn't say to a single girl...unless your goal is to frustrate or humiliate her...
5) How do you say, "Get your nasty eyes off my chest." in Portuguese?
6) When you know you are surrounded by women...
7) So why can't we cast lots anymore?
8) My life in the fishbowl...
9) I don't know if you realized this...but I'm the GIRL. You telling me I should be with ____________ is pointless. Because I'm the GIRL. And I don't chase boys...
10) Didn't I tell you to get your nasty, filthy, trashy eyes...

Nope...just didn't think any were blog worthy.

Let me preface this post with the following statement: People are strange...and I include myself in that group.

Thankfully my journey home was much less exciting with the exception of a few odd moments.

Odd moment number one happened on the first flight to Chicago. I am fairly sure the girl in front of me was trying to market every skill she had to the whole plane...because we all heard about her "vast experiences" and everything else about her career. I know our plane was a little loud...but yelling wasn't really necessary.

Odd moment number two quite honesty left me speechless. As we were getting settled in for the nine hour flight, I looked over to find my seat mate undressing. She undid her bra, unbuttoned and unzipped her pants, took her shoes off and went to sleep. I was flabbergasted. Shoes...I understand shoes. But if your pants are that tight and uncomfortable, maybe you should wear different pants. And the bra...don't even get me started. When we were getting ready to land I got worried she was going to ask for help because she had some trouble redressing...

Odd moment four occurred with every Spanish old man. I recognize that some cultural differences occur between us...that being said, I've never fought the urge to yell quite so much. Anytime and every time I stood in line during my seven hour layover, I was cut by men. It didn't matter that there was a line behind me...they would simply walk around the barrier, right up to the agent and ask their question while I stood jaw-dropped that they had the nerve. It wasn't just with airport personnel either. When I went to order food...same thing. There I would be, next in line...and out of seemingly nowhere a man would skip the whole inconvenience of waiting and cut me off. I can handle it a few times...but I felt like after 24 hours of travel on little to no sleep I was going to lose it. I do know at one point I said, "Am I invisible? I AM in line..."

Odd moment five keeps happening. It's odd. I'm odd. But it smells like home here now. (I told you I was weird...) When I walked in yesterday, it was the weirdest thing to recognize smells here. I guess I hadn't ever been away long enough to notice what my home here really smelled like. It's just odd...but kind of fun to feel at home here.

And I am sure odd moment number six will occur when I visit my classroom and realize school starts in two weeks. Wow...how am I starting my second year here already?

I spent a lot of time praying before I came home that God would use this trip to really show me what He wants me to do in a year. I prayed that He would show me if I could return to the States and plug right back in to life and ministry...or that my heart had forever been altered to love serving and living overseas.

I don't think I quite expected God to answer. Or at least not to make it quite so obvious. Maybe what He is showing me is just temporary...or maybe He is going to teach me to once again be content where He puts me...even if it isn't necessarily what I love or want. I am not exactly sure...but I know He is making it so clear to me that I could be content the rest of my life to live in a country that is not my own. I really would be fine being an ocean away from everyone and everything. Because although there are people here that I love...I feel like I no longer fit...and honestly, I have no desire to fit back in. I don't really value what I used to value...and I can't imagine ever being back in that place again.

So what does it all mean? I don't know yet. I know for now it means the awkwardness of recognizing that things will never be "normal." I know it means I feel like I'm losing anything that would have previously tied me down or made me long to return to the States. I know it means that sometimes when I'm with people here I wonder what's wrong with me...why am I so alright with disengaging from what used to be so comfortable and important to me?

And while sometImes it has been overwhelming...I know it's really just answered prayer....and God working. And with so many other things in my life...sometimes He has to bring death before He can bring life. So once again...He's walking me through another process of death...and I am learning that in the valley of the shadow of death there is great joy...because He is always beside me, quietly leading....patiently listening...and sweetly understanding the things that no one else will ever understand. And the valley always eventually leads to the mountaintop...

Excess...

I feel like that could describe America...simply put: excess.
An excessive amount of food, space, cars, and churches. Everywhere I look it just feels like excess. There are so many other things I'd like to write...but some things are better left kept unsaid.
Why do we need so much? Or feel like we need so much? Acquiring things is a way of passing time... A hobby, and even a justified excuse for not being more involved in things that actually matter.
I feel like in some ways God has used this trip to show me who He saved me from becoming...
And for that I am grateful...

A Material Girl

Today I probably cried the dumbest tears I've ever cried. In fact, I was mad that I would ever even consider crying over such a stupid, ridiculous thing. I hated that it mattered to me. I hated that it bothered me. I hated my heart. And I'm pretty sure my tears were sin....if tears can be sin.

Coming home has been a weird and odd thing. The things that I thought would be awkward have been completely wonderful. It's been other things that have caught me off guard. For instance, I walk into my room and open up drawers and see all the things I left behind. I look in my closet and see piles of shoes I haven't worn. I walk around my house, and I see all my things that used to hang in the room of my very own apartment. I drove my car...my first car that I paid for and loved...but is no longer mine. All my "things" are now either someone else's, hanging on someone else's walls, or occupying space and collecting dust.

And I have found that this has started such a war in my heart. As I drove home from the dentist in my old car...it just got to be too much. I miss "my things." I miss getting to be a materialistic American with money to spend on clothes, shoes, and things for the house and having it be completely acceptable and not bother me or anyone around me. I miss disposable income.

And more than anything...I hate that about me. I hate that I miss that. I never, ever think about that when I am in Portugal...because I love where God has me. But coming back and seeing friends who don't bat an eye about dropping money here or there on ridiculous, frivolous things...and can shop without really considering whether or not they can truly afford something... it makes me frustrated. Because I used to be able to do that...but can't anymore.

Isn't that stupid? And sinful? Ugh, wretched, wretched girl that I am. Who will rescue me from this mentality of materialism? Christ Jesus...

Today I found a book and started thumbing through it. Ironically (or perhaps I should say, divinely) this is the quote I read:

"We rationalize these passages away...'Jesus wouldn't really tell us not to bury our father, or say goodbye to our family, or actually mean we needed to sell all we have and give it to the poor. What Jesus really meant was...' And this is where we need to pause. Because we are starting to redefine the Jesus of the Bible and twist him into a version of Jesus we are more comfortable with...a nice, middle class, American Jesus. A Jesus who doesn't mind materialism and who would never call us to give away everything we have. A Jesus who would not expect us to forsake our closest relationships so that he receives all our affection. A Jesus who is fine with nominal devotion that does not infringe on our comforts, because, after all, He loves us just the way we are. A Jesus who wants us to be balanced, who wants us to avoid dangerous extremes, and who, for that matter, wants us to avoid danger altogether. A Jesus who brings us comfort and prosperity as we live out our Christian spin on the American dream."

I know how good it felt when I was getting ready to go to Portugal to purge my life of things...and to know that I was following Him. It's interesting that now, a year later, when faced with them once again...my heart is a little torn. Am I really alright with this life? Could I really "do" missions? What is my heart really craving and desiring...a life of radical abandoning of self? Or my own Christian American dream?

Home...

I'm finally home from a journey of which I would very much like to never repeat again.
After starting out thirty minutes late from leaving Lisbon, I managed to run for thirty minutes through Madrid's airport only to find I had missed my flight by five minutes.

As I stood at the gate panting (yes, that is quite possibly the longest I have run in a long, long while) and trying not to cry, I managed to finally find the airport counter for "customer service." I put "customer service" in quotes, because let's be honest...customer service in Europe...really isn't customer service at all.

I tearfully explained what had happened to him in Sportinglish (a lovely combination of what little Spanish I still remember, Portuguese, and English). He listened, took my ticket, and for the next hour communicated nothing to me as he typed away on his computer, made phone calls, did a few texts, talked with his colleague, and typed more on his computer. I stood, reminding myself that it wasn't like I was in a rush, I'd already missed everything. Finally, he gave me a hotel, a new flight itinerary, and horrible instructions for how to claim my luggage, get out of the airport, and find the hotel. I walked away, once again tearing up because I knew there was no way on earth I was going to find my way out of this ridiculous airport and then find my way to the hotel. After wandering for what felt like an eternity, I finally found the baggage claim, where I then waited another hour for my luggage to appear. Then I wandered outside praying I would somehow find the "white bus" that would take me to my hotel. Sure enough, as I imagined was going to happen, I exited the airport and saw approximately fifteen white buses all lined up. Once again, I waged a day long battle with my tear ducts and started making my way down the line of white buses. Eventually I found four guys with the same papers in their hands as I had, and they kindly helped me find my bus.

The next morning, I got on my bus and headed to the hotel four and a half hours early. I knew Madrid was a mess, and I wanted plenty of time to find the right gate. Sure enough, right off the start I was dropped off at the wrong terminal. I finally found a bus that would take me to my terminal. When I arrived, I was told three different instructions about where to be and what terminal I was supposed to be in. Once again, I tried hard not to cry and to figure out what on earth I was supposed to do. Eventually, I found my line, made it through and took my train to the right concourse.

After finally getting to Chicago, I had to locate the correct agency to reissue me a new ticket because I missed my original itinerary. God was so good in placing it DIRECTLY outside of passport control. I made it to my gate with plenty of time to spare. Once at the gate, we received the announcement that our plane had mechanical problems and most likely would not be flying...unless they could locate another plane. Praise the Lord, I was sitting next to a young man who was reading a Bible. We started talking and when he found out I was delayed, he handed me his phone and said, "Call. I won't take no for an answer. Call your mom... tell her what's going on...she's probably flipping out." Fortunately, after I called we were told they had located another plane for us, and we would be able to get home.

I had about thirty minutes to talk with my new friend. He and his wife lived in Germany working for the military. We shared frustrations with living in Europe, frustrations with all that comes from cultural differences and a million other stories. I was able to share how God led me to Portugal, my purpose in being there, and my walk with the Lord. I don't know whether or not he is a believer...he never said. But he shook my hand when he left and said, "Thanks for all you are doing..." To which I replied, "Thanks for all you did for me today...and all you've done for our country."

I've been thinking a lot about that divinely appointed meeting. There were a lot of things he shared with me that I now realize I needed to hear. He talked about the things that overwhelmed him and frustrated him when he came back to the States. He shared with me about the strange familiarity yet out-of-place feeling he had...and told me of the three things he thought I'd struggle with...

I've been home less than twenty-four hours...and it's interesting to think on all that he shared. Again...I don't know if the point of our meeting was for me to share with him...or him to share with me...but I know it was of God. And I'm grateful.

Now if only he could have been scheduled to fly on my original date of flight... :)

Is he really gonna eat that?

I have seen a lot of odd things. I have seen some disturbing things.
But this...this tops all.
Last night I went to an ice cream shop with a few friends to celebrate the end of camps. While we were eating our ice cream, the man sitting across from me received his order of food. On his plate was a ginormous hamburger. This hamburger was still completely raw. In the center of the hamburger was a raw egg. All around the sides of the plate was Worcestershire sauce, garlic, and other seasonings. The waiter then took the plate with the meat and turned it side ways so that all the sauce and seasonings would drip onto another plate. He then scooped the raw egg from on top of the raw meat. He began to mix the egg with the sauce. I kept thinking that SURELY they would take the hamburger back and cook it. Nope. After thoroughly mixing the egg with the sauce, he then scooped up the raw (did I mention it was COMPLETELY RAW HAMBURGER MEAT??????) meat and began to mix it into the sauce.
When he had thoroughly mixed the two together, he grabbed another plate with a leaf of lettuce on it and then reshaped the raw nastiness into the appearance of a hamburger. And then...then he handed it the customer. And he ate it. All of it. Raw. Blood, red, raw. And I sat staring at him with a look of disgust...and began to watch him for signs of death. He didn't die. Yet. But he might. Because that whole thing was raw. All of it.

Doesn't everyone else know that raw things, ESPECIALLY RED MEAT, are not good for you? Surely that's not just an American thing....right?

Oh man...I thought I was going to vomit watching him eat bite after bite of completely raw meat.

You seriously couldn't give me anything that would make me do that. Ever.

From my head to the keys...

There are a few things I want to blog about tonight.

1) Skin. I keep wondering if the tanner I get the more Portuguese I'll look. I've decided it just isn't going to happen. We've got different skin bases. I'll always look more red/pink. Bummer. Cause their skin is so beautiful...

2) Lips. Apparently their lips are stronger too. Because mine are continually burnt...peeling...or in a perpetual stinging stage if I am not constantly applying sunscreen...to my lips, mind you. I've NEVER had to do that before in the States. Maybe theirs develop differently because of all the kissing they do...what with beijinhos and all...

3) Beijinhos (kissing). I'm terrified I might accidently do them to people in the States. Yesterday, I awkwardly greeted an American friend with them...and we both looked at each other like, "Were we supposed to do that? Do you feel weird?...because I feel weird." My apologies if a few slip out while I'm home.

4) HOME. Seriously...wow. Where do I begin? I am so excited. Beyond excited. I feel like I'm five. And it's Christmas. And I just found out I may be getting a puppy...yeah...about that excited.

5)Puppies. I really want one. A pug, actually. There's a really cute one at the pet store in Dolce Vita. I stood staring at him for about an hour the other day...along with two small children who kept shoving each other to get a better view in the tiny space that is the store front. I didn't move. I was there first. And I'm bigger. And, let's be honest, who would look more likely to buy the dog? Me. So I kept my spot and let them duke it out for the remaining view. Besides...were they even really ready to be dog owners? Would they clean up after it like I would? Walk it? Train it? The dog would clearly pick me as it's owner if given the choice...which really means I should be allowed the better view. :) But seriously, what is cuter than a pug? A PORTUGUESE pug. ;)

6) Portuguese. I decided tonight that if I leave here speaking Portuguese at the level of a four year old, I will have succeeded. Four sounds like a pretty lofty goal. I'm wondering if I should aim for three...

7) Three. That's about my average bedtime right now. I can't figure it out. It's like my body knows that jetlag is coming...so it's responding early.

8) Early. Tomorrow morning begins another week of camp. The last one to be exact...which means...maybe I should at least TRY to get some rest.

Bacalhau a Bras...

It's something I swore I'd never do. For six months, I inhaled the smell of it every time I entered the store and was positively convinced the smell alone might possibly kill me...but after being up to my elbows in it during camp...it won me over. And today, as I was walking through the supermarket, I did the unthinkable and bought a bag of frozen codfish. So I got home and decided that this was it. Do or die. Actually it was more like "do this or I might not remember how we made it during camp."
So here it is...you are witnessing a major step in my life here in Portugal...are you ready for it? :)


First, the balcalhau, onions, and garlic simmer in lots of olive oil...




Next, potato strings are added....



The finished product...after guessing the quantities of eggs and parsley :)



And for an added bonus, check out what I got for free at the store today. That's right, a hat that says, "Sanex, for Men." I'm not sure I know what Sanex is...and I'm not sure I want to know...but the two construction workers in front of me were pretty excited about it. I was rather confused when she gave me one too... I do look like a girl, right? :)

I made it through another week of camp. It was exhausting...but so much fun.
I don't even know how to put into words really the way I am feeling now. In an odd way, I kind of feel like I'm a bit in love. Maybe "at peace" would be a better way to describe it...I don't know really. I just am so in love with where I am. I love getting to know people, being able to communicate with them, laughing with them, and working side by side with them.

I love that my world is getting bigger here. I love that I am getting to the place where I have actual friends that aren't with my mission. I love that I am getting the opportunity to hang out with them. I love discussing things from the Bible with them. I love feeling like I have friends outside the bubble that has been my world for a year. And when I'm with them...I just feel so happy...so content...so grateful.

I'm excited to go home in just a little bit...I truly am. But underneath...there is this slight fear that if I leave, all the work it's taken to get to this place will come undone... and I'll have to start all over again when I come back. Part of me just wants to stay, just to make sure everything stays the same...which I know is ridiculous.

Nonetheless, I'm so grateful that God has brought me to this place...and given me such a tremendous peace and love where I am.

Large piles of pots and pans stress me out.
Getting yelled at for cleaning them because it is not my job but the job of the workers also stresses me out.
But seeing them grow to mountainous heights with no sign of them stopping stresses me out more.
So...I've been getting yelled at a lot.
But...in the long run...I feel so much better when I see the piles decrease.

Also...juice and blood from raw meat stress me out.
Seeing the juice and blood from the raw meat left on the counter tops freaks me out.
Watching someone lick their hands after touching the raw meat grosses me out.
I don't care who's job it is...I don't trust anyone but myself to clean up after raw meat. Why? Yes, that's right....because I'm a little OCD. As was pointed out by at least three people today.

But you know what? I'd rather be a little OCD than die of Salmonella, or Hepatitis... or whatever other diseases raw meat carries...

I'd better stop or I'm just going to start gagging...
Bleck.

Rantings...

Maybe I shouldn't...but I'm going to....
Can I just say...
Don't come to a foreign country for six days and complain about what you miss "back home" or talk about how much you can't wait to eat such and such and drink all your favorite beverages or how hard it has been to be away from family for all this time...

It just doesn't sit well with me.
Ok?
Ok.

Glad we got that cleared up.

Coffee Grounds...

For some reason, I've been thinking a lot about Amy Carmichael and the coffee grounds. I told the story to a group of teens one day when we were standing around talking and they looked at me incredulously and asked, "Would that really work? Are you sure it would make her dark enough to pass for Indian?"

So...last night...it was too much. I had a huge tub of coffee brewing cold (for iced coffee....because that doesn't exist here....and I miss it oh so much). I finished straining it and then looked at the remaining tub full of grounds.

And then, because my curiosity was out of control, I dug my hand into the wet grinds and started rubbing them all over my other arm.

It works.
But man...she really would have reeked of coffee.
Because I still do...
:)

Going to the Chapel...

Yesterday I sang at a wedding. I'd never met the bride. Or the groom. But I picked out their wedding music...helped translate their vows...and sang at their wedding.

I've been to a lot of weddings. I've been in at least nine. Let me tell you...this was unlike any other wedding I've been to.

The invitations stated that the wedding would start at two in the afternoon. At 1:55, I rehearsed the songs in the auditorium....in the presence of a handful of people. At 2:30...there were still very few people...and no sign of the bride or groom. At three o'clock, the family of the bride began to arrive. At three thirty, the bride and groom showed up.

The wedding ceremony itself was fairly traditional, with the exception of Portuguese vows and an English translator (for the groom...who didn't speak Portuguese). After the wedding ended, we all walked outside for a group photo with the bride and groom...and then we all had to take individual photos with the bride and groom. Which...felt kind of awkward since I'd never officially met them. Thankfully, Cal and Joyce let me slip in with them right as the brother of the bride started trying to insist that I needed to go alone and have my photo taken with them.

Then we all walked into a feast of appetizers. We stayed there and talked with people for about an hour or so. When we realized this was only the beginning of the night, we decided to head out since part of my ride wasn't feeling well. Rumor has it, the wedding was not over till midnight...

Just another interesting experience... :) I feel like life is full of those here.

I think it is absolutely fascinating when I see a small, tiny piece of God's plan. It amazes me. For example, I was asked to step into a roll that, were God not amazingly sovereign, would have been impossible for me to do.

Monday morning when I arrived at camp and began to freak out about the responsibilities that I had, I remembered: I worked at IRBC...I can do anything camp related. Toilets, pots, pans, mops....you name it, I've cleaned it. Multiple times.

Sure enough, Pastor Phil and Pastor Dave's words and expectations came to my mind. While I sincerely loved working at IRBC, I really never thought it would play a part in preparing me for my future ministry (other than giving me a high expectation for cleanliness and a burning conviction to "see the need and meet the need.") As people started coming to me in English and Portuguese and asking me what I expected them to do and how everything was going to be organized, the IRBC in me took over.

When Monday ended, I sat on my couch in shock that:
1) Contrary to what I thought would happen, things actually went fairly well.
2) I actually loved what I was doing...even though I was in charge.
3) God gave me IRBC experience to prepare me for a ministry I never thought I'd do.

Pretty amazing to see just a small part of how God used my past to prepare me for my future...which...honestly makes me thrilled to know that regardless of what is next for me, these two years in Portugal will never be wasted, even if I never come back.

And the walls come a-tumbling down....

This week has been so good for me. God is very gracious in giving me exactly what I need. While I was petrified walking into the role of leadership when I really had no idea what was going to take place, or how to communicate clearly with half the staff, God has giving me strength, grace, and patience.

I am amazed at how much I am understanding this week. As I do what my team did here two summers ago, it's interesting to realize just how much and how far I have come. I remember sitting in on the services and not getting anything but a few words...and yesterday, I was able to listen and understand nearly everything.

I am having a blast getting to know my Portuguese co-workers. It's been so fun to joke around with the cooks and helpers.

And I'm learning a TON in Portuguese. And being corrected a TON. And laughed at a TON. But...I like it. It's good for me.

And I accidently asked the cook, "So, where do I find all the cute guys?" Problem is...I can't remember what word I switched around. No worries, though. Apparently it only means that in Angola. :)

Here We Go....

Today will be an interesting (to say the least) day. My volunteering to help wherever needed for camp has turned into heading up the cleaning/cooking crews. It's going to be stretching, exhausting, and altogether challenging. But, by God's grace, I'm kind of excited to be thrown in and just have to sink or swim. I'm grateful for past experiences at IRBC....although...I never thought I'd really use all that I learned there here in Portugal.

God is graciously helping me with my attitude in Portuguese. Last night as I lay in bed thinking about how crazy this is going to be....Portuguese started running through my head. I'm sure today will be a massive game of Guesstures as I try to communicate standards and expectations...but I'm also praying it's the beginning of the end to the walls.

My Jericho

Walls. Big. Insurmountable. Tall. Overwhelming. Unexpected.
My journey throughout this year has been full of them. And every time I've come to one, I've been able to push through and past what has felt like a massive wall of frustration. But I'm beginning to wonder if this one has an end.

Up to this point, I feel like I have genuinely loved learning Portuguese. I've loved trying. I've loved being surrounded by it. But for the past four weeks...I just don't want anything to do with it. I don't know if it's because I so desperately want to be able to be unhindered in my communication, and I know how far I am from that...or if this is just a normal part of language acquisition....or if this is just another phase of transition stress.

I don't know...but I know that I hate being here...surrounded by what feels like suffocating walls. I hate that I don't want to even try. I hate that I feel repulsed by what I used to love. I hate feeling that expectations, my own and others, are crushing me. I hate that people want to talk with me...and I'm stuck behind this wall of confusion. I hate that it's June, and I am dealing with this. I feel like I should be so, so far beyond feeling like this...the emotions and the struggle with Portuguese.

I recognize that this is a "downer" of a post. But this isn't really for you. This is for me...because I am desperately praying that God pulls a Jericho. And one day, when I'm on the other side of this wall...I want to remember where I was and what He brought me through.

One Thing Remains...

Can I let you in on a secret? Sshhh... don't tell anyone else...
but my life isn't really what I imagined it would be...
And some days...many days...maybe even most days...I love that.
But other days...I wrestle. I struggle. I long. I ache.

But those days God always does it. And for some reason...it always surprises me when He does. Sometimes it is an answer to some little thing I've prayed...other times it is a person He uses to say just the thing I need to hear and I know it's from Him.
But this time...this time it was a song. And as I was sitting on the plane crying at what I always feel like I'm missing out on...my Ipod "randomly" shuffled to it:

Higher than the mountains that I face,
Stronger than the power of the grave,
Constant through the trial and the change
One thing remains,
One thing remains:

Your love never fails. It never gives up. It never runs out on me.

On and on and on it goes,
It overwhelms and satisfies my soul.
And I never, ever have to be afraid.
One thing remains.

Your love never fails. It never gives up. It never runs out on me.

In death and in life, I'm confident and covered by the power of your great love.
My debt is paid; there's nothing that can separate my heart from your great love.

Brian Johnson, Jeremy Riddle, Christa Black
Bethel Music Publishing
Jesus Culture

Some days I just forget. I forget that I met the love of my life at five. I forget that He truly is enough. And I entertain the thought that I'm missing out. But I love it that even though I forget...He doesn't. He never forgets. His love to me is constant. And when I remember that...it truly does overwhelm and satisfy my soul.

What's up, Doc?

I hate going to the doctor. First of all, it feels like a waste of money. No matter what they tell me, I'm going to hand over to them money. In fact, most of the time, I give them my money before they even see me. For the past four years, I paid $20 every time I saw my doctor. On average, I spent approximately four minutes each visit (one time out of frustration....I timed it...my doctor actually SAW me for under a minute). Eighty percent of the time, my illness "was a virus" which I believe is lingo for "Sorry you're sick...there's nothing I'm going to do...but thanks for the $20." There are a multitude of other reasons why I strongly dislike the doctor...but I'll refrain.

This past week and a half, I have just felt horrible. Complete exhaustion, feverish, and a multitude of other symptoms. I really tried to hold out. I drank more water than I thought humanly possibly....ate as many vegetables and fruits as I could...and rested. Finally, sickness prevailed and I caved.

But, as with anything in a foreign country, simple tasks that I am completely capable of in the States become stressful, frustrating things. How is it that at 27 I need someone to take me to the doctor because I can't figure it out? I spent Wednesday debating...do I wait another day and have someone go with me to guarantee I understand and actually find the place? Or do I listen to the stubborn, independent voice screaming, "Seriously? What's wrong with you? Figure it out yourself."

So I did the common, rational thing....and decided to figure it out by myself. Granted, I had the help of some references. So at five o'clock, when my fever kept spiking...I decided to make my way down to find the clinic.

Let me just tell you...it was, yet again, another cultural experience. I managed to communicate with the receptionist in Portuguese that I was sick and wanted to see the doctor who spoke some English. She asked me to wait...and told me I would probably be waiting a long time. I looked around at the "waiting room." There were only two other people there. Now, in the States, I've been in waiting rooms nearly filled and usually waited no more than 30 minutes. So I thought, "Well, how bad could this be?"

Bad.
30 minutes passed.
The doctor appeared. She was wearing a cocktail dress. Seriously. No professional coat...just a really nice dress, hose, and white pumps.
I heard the receptionist start talking about me, and the doctor came over, greeted me, and told me, "I can see you. But you will wait. It may be a while."

It was. I realized why all the tables were overflowing with magazines. When I realized they were all in Portuguese and Spanish, I started looking around at the walls around me. It was at this point that I, in my feverish state, started to get a little worried. The walls were covered with before and after shots of people getting face-lifts and botox. Now, I am sure I looked like I desperately needed one...but I was hoping I communicated correctly who I wanted to see and why I needed to see her.

Forty-five minutes later, the doctor emerged with the patient and called back the next. I was now next in line.

I would like to state that it was during this time period that I realized, offices are all the same. As soon as the doctor would go back to the room, the receptionist got on the phone and talked about her kids, her husband, and a multitude of other personal things. For some reason, that kind of made me feel better. At least some things are the same...

After another 40 minutes of waiting, the doctor and patient emerged, and I felt extreme joy knowing I was next in line. Just as I was sensing my period of waiting coming to an end, the door opened. A woman with very large, dark sunglasses walked in. She began talking to the doctor. My doctor. The one I had been waiting nearly two hours to see. I realized the woman was coming back to show off the results of what I am guessing was an eye-lift. Everyone raved about "how cute" she was. It was at this point that I was relieved that I couldn't speak Portuguese fluently...because they looked in my direction for my approval...but I just acted like I didn't get it. Because...I really didn't want to lie.

Finally, I saw the doctor. Now, there's a whole other blogpost I could write about that experience...but quite frankly, that's a little more personal than I care to be. Needless to say, it was at times hilarious, confusing, and an experience I shall never forget.

And today...after being on meds for more than 24 hours...I feel like me again.

Primark....

I think no matter where you are in the world, there will always be that one store that you absolutely can't stand...but can't afford NOT to shop there. In the States, it was Walmart. It's crowded, dirty, and all of last year I was afraid my car would fall into a sink hole trying to navigate through the parking lot that somehow turned into a land mine of potholes.

Here in Portugal, it's Primark. It's crowded, crowded, crowded, and unorganized. But the main frustration I have is that it's crowded. I tried really hard to look for some things I needed there today. I took a deep breath, dove into the crowds of people, and thought, "Alright, you can do this. You don't need space. You don't really need to be able to get out of the aisle. You like being stuck. Am I seriously stuck already? Is there a fire code limit for how many people can be in this place? I think we maxed the limit. And now there is a mound of clothing higher than MY head that is falling all around me taking up what little space I had left. What is that smell? Tee-shirts? People? I quit."

For the record, I made it all the way to the back of the store and in the process, I saw a girl trying on a bra OVER her clothes...and then I decided that no matter how good the deal was, there was no way on earth I was going to wait in line to purchase it.

And I've decided I will never step foot in there again on a Sunday. Not unless I get the insatiable urge to feel like I'm part of a herd of cattle being crammed into the back of a semi.

Forever Young

School ended yesterday.

One year...finished.

How on earth has time passed this quickly? It feels like just a few weeks ago I was sitting in my room packing for the eightieth time wondering how I'd adjust and what life would be like...

As I sat through graduation on Friday, I realized that in a lot of ways it feels like I'm in high-school all over again...approaching my senior year. Knowing that in approximately one year I'm supposed to have the rest of my life figured out and mapped out... being asked a million times if I know what I am doing after this...all the time wondering how I'm supposed to figure that out... Am I seriously old enough to make life decisions? As I've talked with a few of the high-school girls and have listened to them verbalize their fears/frustrations/excitement about the future...I feel right there with them. I feel eighteen...with excitement, anticipation, fear, and uncertainty welling up inside of me.

I realize that I don't miss being eighteen. When I was 25 and teaching in the States, no one pressured me with questions like, "So what are you thinking for the future?" I fully recognize and understand that it is a legitimate question for someone in my position. But it's still presumptuous...I barely understand what God's doing in my heart...and you want me to try to put into words what I myself can't quite figure out? One of these times I'm just going to say, "I really don't plan on making it that far..." or "Next year? Shoot...I thought Christ was coming back on May 21st so I haven't really thought about next year..." or "Well...I'm thinking of becoming a rapper..."

A few days ago someone asked me, "So...if you could do anything after this...what would it be?" and I responded, "I..eh...uh...hmm...well...er...that's a great question. I don't even know what I want."

Which I guess in a lot of ways is good. I've got no plans. God's going to have to make them for me.
That's IF I live for another year.
And IF Christ doesn't come back.
And IF being a rapper doesn't work out.

Just kidding... on the rapper part. :)

"God Room"

I realize over the last few months, I miss seeing God do big things. Things that are bigger than me. Things that seem impossible. Things that make no human sense.

Friday I was telling my class about some of the amazing things God did to allow me to be here. It made me long, once again, to see Him do those same big things.

Today I read in a journal about the principle of "God Room." It's a principle I firmly believe, but never named. The term was coined by the founder of a large mission. "God Room" is believing God to meet a need that is bigger than your human abilities to meet. This leader said, "Faith isn't required as long as you set your goal only as high as the most intelligent and expert human efforts can reach. You don't exercise faith until you have committed more than it's possible to give." And that's where "God Room" is... it's the gap that stands between the exhaustion of all your human effort and the desire or goal you long for. It's the place that only prayer and God can effect change.

I vividly remember so many different times when I knew all I had left was God room. He would have to move...He would have to do something...because there was nothing more I could possibly do.


I'm longing once again for more "God Room" in my life. I sat down today and made a list of all the things I know I am humanly incapable of doing...yet long to see happen. Some things are ridiculous...and truly impossible, humanly speaking. Yet, isn't that the point? These are the places in my life where I want to look back and say, "God did that...because there was no way I could have..." So here are the things I'm praying for...

1) Save Alina.
2) Change my brother.
3) Be fluent in Portuguese.
4) Use me in the cafe with the workers.


There are other things on my list...things I can't even post because they seem so ridiculous...so far-fetched. These are just a few of them. But I wonder what God thinks when I pray...I wonder if He's smiling just knowing how He's already planned to answer them...or if He gets excited when one of his children tries to think big...and then laughs when He realizes His child has no idea what "big" is...

I wonder...

A Symphony

Music has tremendous power. It can discourage, uplift, quiet, awaken, arouse, enthuse, and empower. My life could probably be described by my playlist. It wouldn't take long to figure out what I'm struggling with...what I love...or what I want. Simply look at my music...because it is the outpouring of my heart.

There are times when I hear a song, and I am transported to a time in my life when that song became significant to me. The other day, I heard a song that nearly brought me to my knees in a mix of overwhelming emotions.

I was listening to some girls around me sing. Suddenly I heard one of them quietly singing "He is Exalted" in Portuguese. Instantly I was transported to when I was sixteen and listening to a Twila Paris CD in my room. I remembered being fascinated with her recording of the song in Portuguese. I played it over and over until I had it memorized. I remembered wondering where God would one day send me...I remembered that every time we would sing the English version at church, I would quietly sing the Portuguese....just because. Because part of me knew I craved and longed for a world I'd never seen and a life I had never lived.

As I listened to her sing the words barely above a whisper...I sat in literal amazement. Who would have ever known that one day over ten years later, I'd be sitting on a bus with my Portuguese church listening to a 12 year-old girl sing that song?

What an amazing reminder to me of the incredible and overwhelming goodness of my God. Who is like Him? Who can plant desires that make no sense to a 16 year-old...yet one day begin to blossom into a beautiful part of a plan so complex that it could never have been scripted by any other? Who is like my God? Overwhelming in love, satisfying desires in His perfect time...desires that seemed elusive and impossible.

As I sat trying to remain composed, I wondered what the song would be ten years from now...I wondered how all these even more intense and complex desires will come together with God's plan. I know it's going to absolutely amaze me. I know I'll look back and sit in awe. I'll wonder how He did it once again...and I'll praise my God once more for doing what I never thought possible...

"Your love is a symphony all around me, running through me. Your love is a melody, underneath me, running to me. Your love is a song..."