Come

I think one of the things I like the least about missions is the long, drawn-out process that is known as the "good-bye." I hate it.

This week, I started that process by saying first of so many goodbyes with my class of women that I teach every Thursday night. They all asked when I was returning...to which I stumbled and stuttered, "Uh, well... I don't really know." They asked what I would do when I returned to the States....to which I stumbled and stuttered, "Uh...I,er,well, I'll start by moving in with my parents."

As we finished exchanging email addresses and "witching" each other well "witches" (yes, my women still cannot pronounce the "sh" sound in "wish." So... I kept hearing "I witch you many blessings"), my thoughts went to the next month. I thought of the slow, painful process that I know this will be.

I know it's healthy to do it this way, but sometimes I wish I could just hop on a plane and avoid ever having to do it. When I left for Portugal, it was hard, but it was different. There was excitement and anticipation...and I knew that I would eventually return. This, this feels different. I dread it.

Wednesday, Laura and I sorted through our entire apartment. We created piles of stuff to sell, packed more luggage, and got school furniture that we aren't using ready to be taken from our apartment.

It's odd to come to the apparent "end" of one journey. Some days I am filled with excitement wondering what God has next. Other days, all that excitement is overwhelmed by thoughts of the imminent reality of no job, insurance, or even idea of where to begin looking for those things. And all too often, I feel like a twelve year old girl entertaining thoughts of running away and never having to make another decision.

I read the passage yesterday about Peter in the boat. Before I came to Portugal, a dear friend and mentor of mine constantly reminded me to not be afraid to "step out of the boat." Those words were the strength I needed at many times to push through my fears and begin to do what felt impossible at the time.

But yesterday as I read, I noticed something I'd never noticed before in that passage. Peter didn't see Jesus and decide to take the step of faith. Before Peter ever took one step out of that boat, he wanted to be sure He was heading toward Christ, and not some figment of his imagination, or whatever it might be that speaks to men in the midst of storms. Peter asked for some clarification. He said, "Lord, if it is you, bid me to come."

My eyes welled with tears. Because in the storm that God is asking me to endure right now, not much is clear. And prior to reading that passage I had just prayed, "God, is this really you doing this? Do you really want me to step out in faith on this? Or... did I miss it? Did I imagine you doing this? Can you just show me?"

I saw in Peter such a desire to do the right thing. I saw a genuine heart cry to in faith do the impossible... but even Peter needed to be sure it was Christ...and not a disastrous step that would cost him his future and possibly his life.

And Christ answered, "Come."

That word resonated with me.

"Come."

So I'm praying. I'm praying that somehow, someway, God would whisper that word to my heart about some things. I want to be willing to step out in faith if it is truly God leading...but, I just need some reassurance that it is HIM, and not my own doing.

So I'm waiting.... listening.... and ready for the word. Oh, I know... it won't lesson the intensity of the storm. And, like Peter, it won't be easy even when I know it is truly Him I'm walking towards... but I'll be ready to take the step when I hear him say it.

Do you want to know something strange?

In less than fifty days, I have absolutely no idea what I am doing with my life. I will return, move into my parents house (at the age of 28), and... well... I don't even know, honestly.

But the strange, absurd thing about it all is that I'm getting excited. God has to show up... He has to come through... He has to provide... He has to lead... because, I have nothing. He has brought me to a place of forced trust.

And what I love more than anything, is knowing that it is His name, not mine, at stake. It is His glory, not mine, that will be displayed.

So, I'm getting anxious to see how He's going to provide for my needs. And, He's challenging so much of my American view of the word "need" that I am curious to see what He deems a "need" by what He chooses to provide for me.

I wonder if this is what Moses felt... when he reached the Red Sea and realized it was God... or else. Or David when he stood before Goliath. Or Abraham when he stood over Isaac with his knife raised.

I know my life is small and insignificant. But, I like knowing that God has brought me to the place where it's Him... or it's nothing.

And I can't wait to see what He does...

God will take care of you...

Every Friday at school the staff at GLCA gets together and sings hymns. I'd be lying if I said I loved it. Don't get me wrong, I love the staff at GLCA. And I love to sing. And I love songs. But...I don't always like every hymn. Sometimes, well... sometimes I just can't stand the melodies. Or I think there are waaaaaay to many verses and wonder if the hymn will ever end.

That being said, I do like many.

However, on Fridays we sing from a ancient brown hymnal that lacks many new "modern" songs like... "Victory in Jesus." For this reason, sometimes when a hymn is requested, I... well... I inwardly groan.

This happened Friday. The song...
"God Will Take Care of You."

I think the words are great. But, honestly, I cannot stand the melody. And when I saw it was the number we were going to sing, I inwardly wished I could hit fast-forward. Nevertheless, I sung. I may have giggled a little when Cal held the "He will take caaaare of yoooooooooou..." but I got through it.

Monday morning, when I walked into our teacher's workroom, out of nowhere, I started singing the song. Frustrated that the melody line was stuck in my head, I started belting the song out in my best church lady voice slaughtering all the words. Joyce corrected me on my poor lyric memory, and commented, "You know, maybe God has it in your head for a reason..." like any good missionary would say. (that was for you, Joyce. ;) )

All day long I've had the chorus in my head, but haven't been able to think of any of the verses. Tonight, I finally googled it. And yes, Joyce was right. Every line of the verse addresses a major fear or concern in my heart. Let me just share...

Be not dismayed whate'er betide, (even if insurance runs out and I'm jobless)
God will take care of you!
Beneath His wings of love abide, (whether it's in Portugal or the U.S.)
God will take care of you!

God will take care of you,
Through every day o'er all the way; (No matter what an emotional mess I am)
He will take care of you;
God will take care of you!

Through days of toil when heart doth fail, (This weekend...enough said)
God will take care of you!
When dangers fierce your path assail, (because if I truly follow Christ, "safe"
takes on a whole different meaning...)
God will take care of you!

All you may need He will provide, (even though I can't imagine or see how)
God will take care of you!
Trust Him, and you will be satisfied,(even if it seems impossible)
God will take care of you!

Lonely and sad, from friends apart, (Oh, so many friends I miss and will miss)
God will take care of you!
He will give peace to your aching heart, (tomorrow when I say the first goodbye of many, to two people who have become like family and best friends to me)
God will take care of you!

No matter what may be the test, (sigh...)
God will take care of you!
Lean, weary one, upon His breast, (leaning....)
God will take care of you!

Life and Luggage...

I pulled out my suitcases yesterday. I opened them up and stared into the closet that is filled much fuller than it probably should be. I began to mentally decipher which clothes I could live the remaining three months without.

I yanked shirts off hangers, and threw them, along with a vast array of dresses, into a large pile on the floor. And then, I sat down in the midst of it all. I looked at the suitcase and the mess that was the floor of my room, and it all looked so familiar. Hadn't I just done this? Hadn't it just been a few months ago when I was unpacking and wondering what adventures were to come in the next two years?

I didn't cry. I marveled.

Life passes so quickly. Certainly some days feel as if they will never end...but collectively, it all seems to go by too quickly.

I savored the moment.
Because I knew it would pass as well. And soon, very soon, I'll be sitting in the midst of another mess with the same suitcase and a familiar floor that has weathered many a storm of packing and unpacking.

I prayed. It didn't sound very elegant. Just words...a collection of incomplete sentences that were all I could piece together.
"Thank you..."
"Wow..."
"Jesus...two years? Nearly gone..."
"How, Lord? But...thank you."

I decided I am arguably the most blessed individual that exists. God has given me so much in these two years. Experiences that are merely dreams for others have been my daily reality. I always prayed for this... I remember so clearly asking God for the opportunity to do this when I was still a teenager.

And He answered.
But that's the thing with God. He doesn't just answer... He goes so far above and beyond...He allowed me to spend two years investing in people in a foreign country. And not just any foreign country... the most beautiful place whose people and language captivated my heart.

And at the end, when I see how He answered prayers that were over a decade old...I am left speechless. Well, almost speechless...

"To God be the glory...
Great things He has done."

And somewhere in the midst of my praise that feels so sincere, I hear him... gently correcting me. Because He isn't merely a God of the past. He is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

Great things He has done, great things He is doing, and great things He will do.

And that is my peace.
My comfort.
My reality. That the God who crafted and designed the last two years of my life is leading.
And I will choose to excitedly follow.

I picked up the clothes, one by one. I wrapped precious treasures that represent bits and pieces of my heart here...trying to prevent any of them from breaking during the bumps and falls that inevitably come on the journey. And as I wrapped them, I asked the Treasurer and Holder of my heart to do the same for me. To gently soften the pain and the ache that inevitably comes with the word "goodbye." To hold me closely through the bumps and falls that always come with any transition...

And I know He's answering.
Because "great things He has done, great things He is doing, and great things He will do."

Free-fall

My heart hurts.
I don't know how else to say it. It isn't elegant, pretty, or descriptive. It's all I can muster. I've sat here trying to figure out how to write in a pretty way what feels absolutely hideous to my heart. And I can't get anything out. Because it just hurts.

It hurts to feel like relationships here are ending.
It hurts to hear others talk about the future with such certainty, knowing nothing of certainty in mine.
It hurts to watch others live a dream and take it for granted.
It hurts to feel like the people that are supposed to understand and the ones I want desperately to understand can't and just won't.
It hurts to know I have another transition to go through.
It hurts to feel stuck between two worlds.
It just hurts.

It's no one's fault. If anything, it's mine. I should accept this with joy, right? Sigh...
I'd like to say I'm there... but I'm not.
Because it just hurts too much.

Maybe joy will come after these tears.

Maybe.

Lately it's felt as if my heart is on one giant roller-coaster ride. Had I known it would have highs so high and lows so low, I would never have chosen to ride. There are moments when I am filled with anticipation and excitement at the prospect of coming home. Then, before I ever see it coming, the ride begins plummeting downward. All the sudden the excitement turns to sorrow, and I can't imagine saying goodbyes. I field questions regarding why I'm not coming back that I can't explain. I hear my students ask me when I'm coming back... and I lose it.

And it is in that free-fall that I am forced to acknowledge that I feel so very much alone.

Today, I received a note that led me on another plummeting free-fall.
I tried to tell someone what was going on in my heart.
But it just fell on deaf ears.
I tried to pretend I was ok.
But I'm not.
I sat on my bed.
And I told Jesus, "I just can't...it just hurts..."
It's all I got out.

But you know what?
It's all He needed to hear.
Because He knows.
And not only does He know, He sympathizes...

And guess what "sympathizes" means?
"To share in a feeling with..."

I love that. Because that's all I really want. I just want someone to understand what this feels like...

And Someone does.

2-1-2012

It's February.
February, I tell you.

How did this happen?
Today I got a message from someone. All it said was, "In four months you'll be home."

Four months.

Initially, I smiled. And the longer I thought about it, the more that smile turned into a nervous twitch.

And then...the immediate question came: What on earth am I doing with my life?

To which I genuinely have no answer. So, in an effort to help me stop freaking out, and a lame attempt to trick myself into thinking I may have some idea, I'm making a list of all the things I will not be doing with my life upon returning to the good Ole U.S. of A.

I will not:

be joining the military. Unless, of course, every other possible career path has been exhausted...and I include working at McDonald's as a career option.

be homeless, thanks to my parents.

be a rapper. I've thought about it.(see this post) But, word to your mother, my rhymes are just not flat out gangsta enough (see, even that horrendously constructed sentence took me five minutes to write...). And, besides that, I'm just not sure where I would fit with the whole East Coast/West Coast rivalry...I mean, I'm from Iowa.

be an Olympic athlete. Unless they enter a division for falling ungracefully up and down stairs. I could quite possibly bring home the gold in that one...

be posting any Youtube videos of myself singing in a lame attempt to kick-start my ill-planned musical career. But...if I did have a weak moment... it would involve the song "Dreams" by the Cranberries. Seriously, who does not love belting out the "ahhhh" part? :)

be a politician. Or volunteer for one. In fact, I get a general nauseous feeling when I think about the fact that I seriously considered politics as a profession ten years ago. Gag. What on earth was I thinking?

be a mechanic. Don't get me wrong, I'm not in any way belittling what they do. I'm just saying, no matter how desperate someone may be, they would never want ME touching the engine of their car. In all honestly, I don't even know how to pop the hood of the current car I am driving.

and on a more serious note...

I will not:

be worried about perceptions. Life is short. If my goal is to live for the glory of my King, then what on earth am I doing wasting my time thinking about what YOU think about me? Easier said than done, yes. But...it's a goal.

be the same person I was two years ago. And neither will you. Isn't the ability to change and grow one of the most gracious gifts God gives us, besides salvation? I think so...

be behind. It doesn't matter what everyone else my age has or is doing. I'm right on time, according to God. He knew I'd be clueless on February 1, 2012. He knows I'll be jobless on May 25, 2012. Is He worried? Absolutely not.

be worried. Will moments of doubt and fear come? Constantly. But, that's the point. It's what I DO with the doubt and fear. Do I worry? Or do I let it push me close to the heart of God? Do I stress out? Or do I hide out in God as my Refuge?

be pressured to answer for what God hasn't yet revealed to me.

or lastly...

be pressured to answer for what God has already revealed to me.

Somalian Pirates and Sixth Grade

For the past three months, my students (which now consists of just boys) and I have been praying for a woman whose name we have not known. All we have known is that she is a friend of one of the missionaries here, and that in October she was taken captive by a group of Somalian criminals.

I listened everyday as one of them would mention that we needed to keep praying. They asked questions. Hard questions.

"If no one gives them the money...what do you think they will do with her?"

"They wouldn't hurt her, right? I mean...they just want money, right?"

"If we know what city they are in, why doesn't someone go rescue her?"

During the first month, it was almost exciting to pray, because I really believed that something would happen... and soon. But the longer time dragged on... the more I almost dreaded their questions...

"Any news with the girl that's kidnapped?"
"Have you heard anything?"

Because it was a chilling reminder that sometimes God answers in ways that don't make sense to me. And his "no" and "wait" didn't make sense to me for this former missionary teacher and humanitarian aid worker that had been captured by cruel, wicked men.

But with obvious child-like faith, they kept reminding me to pray. Daily.

I remember the week of Christmas, my students were so bothered.

"What if she doesn't get home by Christmas? That would be awful..."

"Her poor family...I wonder what they'll do if she doesn't get released by then."

We kept praying. We prayed that her captors would be afraid of her and not harm her. We prayed that they would want to release her. We prayed that someone would find her.

But still... "wait."

Or worse yet... my mind went to... "No."

This morning, as I was in the middle of getting ready, I heard my roommate yell, "You've got to check the news. I think they rescued her!"

There, in front of my very own eyes was the answer.

She was rescued.

My eyes started filling with tears. Not for her...although, they definitely should have wept for her.
My eyes filled with tears because God answered the prayers of three boys who refused to stop praying for someone they didn't even know. Even when their teacher started to give up hope.

As I read the story of her rescue, I smiled. Not only did He rescue her, but He sent in a team of Navy SEALS to do it, and in the process killed all nine of her captors. Could the end to that story possibly be more exciting and thrilling for three elementary age boys? I think not.

All day long, I've been replaying their response to the news in my head. It has convicted me. I expected them, like me, to be shocked. But when I told them I had good news for them, the very first words out of one of them was, "Did they find the girl?"

They prayed believing. I...well, I prayed wanting to believe. But when the answer came, they were not surprised. Pleased, happy, and excited about all the details, yes. But surprised...not at all.

Oh Lord-increase my faith.