Uganda Be Kidding Me:

It's a life I've started living. One so completely different from the hundreds of days passed. But, one that is teaching me so much about the hundreds of days to come. To tell you that I love it here would be a lie. But, I would also be lying if I told you I hated it.

The cold showers are a shock in the morning, so I take them at night. I started working out before hand so that I would be hot enough to be able to grit my teeth and bear the daily ice bucket challenge.

I'm sure in a few days I'll have raw knuckles, and eventually calloused fingers from hand washing clothes.

I'm already surprised at the amount that I crave rice and beans come meal time. It's quite incredible the way your perspective changes when there isn't a snack aisle to walk down or a hundred and two bread choices. Just rice and beans and the occasional watermelon. The choices melt away and you resign yourself to enjoying the steaming hot food in front of you.

I've been in East Africa a little over two weeks. The first night I walked into my room after 24 hours of traveling and almost fell to my knees in a panic. I was terrified at the prospect of living in an old fashioned room with a wool blanket and barred windows, squatting over toilets and eating only starch forever. So I called out to my empty room God, be near to me. Please God and I fell asleep crying. Then things got better. There are 18 girls here and we are slowly developing a routine. I spend so much more time journaling and I am taking life by the day.

In 17 days, I have experienced powerful things. A 10 day trip to Rwanda broke open my heart and then healed it right back up again. The power of God is real even oceans away. I saw that humans have the ability to do the hardest things like forgiving and befriending men that killed their families. I've experienced meaningful, human connections with so many people like Jean-Paul teaching me a Rwandan dance without being able to exchange a language. Or participating in a nationally mandated work day which promotes peace and community.

While there hasn't been deep profound revelations  about who I am or what my future will entail, I am expecting to learn and to be influenced by the red dirt and intense rain storms. To be changed by the home-stay coming up next week and the little babies trying to fit into their mother's shoes. I expect to walk through a refining fire which will show me that after 20 years of learning things I still have so much more to discover. I am expecting that the next 4 months will decide passions and joys in my life.

"May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit"

God says he will do it. He will refine us. He will heal us. He will restore us. He will reveal his promises to us. I know this because he is doing it. I feel him doing it all the way here in Uganda. He is near and far and all around in every moment. It's like waking up to rain that sounds like wind in the trees. It's like being filled with breath. A peace that comes with trusting where he has you for the time. So go on tomorrow believing that he has you in a moment, in a place, on a path to bring His kingdom forward. Over oceans or just down the road His power is tangible.

Days:

Sometimes you just have to know what to come home to.

Today it was turning off the overhead lights, lighting candles, turning on the Christmas lights and blaring Will Regan radio on Pandora.

Today was the cry-in-the-bathroom-at-work-and-then-again-in-your-dad's-arms day.

Today I was so aware of my selfish and graceless heart. It was not giving the man on the street my lunch (even fully contemplating it twice), or rolling up my window at a red light to avoid the man holding a sign, or ignoring my co-worker because I didn't have the patience for her socially awkwardness, or snapping at someone important to me because she wasn't loving me well enough.

Today was: I worked for my lunch, I don't have spare cash because I need it, I'm better at this job than you, I'm a better friend than you.

Today was consumed with me, me, me.

But, really. Today was God knowing better than that. Selfish and graceless is the exact opposite of the picture He shows me on a regular basis. You might wonder what the first song that played off of the Pandora station? 'Set a fire' (so, today was really crying in the bathroom, crying with my dad, and now crying with my Papa). Set a fire in my soul that I can't control. A fire that burns and gives and loves and needs and hopes. A fire which finds fuel in the Holy. In the righteous. In the selfless and gracious.

Christ doesn't ask us to be these things. He requires that we are because he was (is) and we claim to bear his image.

So, be graceful and selfless to your end and then ask him for more because in him we're filled up, overflowing.

"Why do you see the speck that is in your brother's eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye?" Or how can you say to your brother, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye' when there is the log in your own eye." Matthew 7: 3-5 

"For everyone who asks recieves," Matthew 7: 8 

"The sacrifices to God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite hear, O God, you will not despise" Psalm 51: 17

Blessed by the Blue House:

             My grandmother is moving out of her house soon. This means that the Big Blue House on Oakleigh will probably be sold into unfamiliar hands. For those of you who know my family you understand this is heartbreaking news. Especially, for my little pod that lives two houses down. My entire life involves that house and the woman inside. Every coming and going, every summer day, every major family celebration has the memory of that blue house. When I learned this news I was broken, devastated, kind of lost because I didn't really understand what that meant but, I knew it would be a really hard thing for me. I started the process of grieving.

            With the help of a class at Cornerstone, I've been learning to trust in my ability to process emotional things through creative writing. Meaning not just journaling or blog posts, but through writing stories. I wrote a piece involving my memory of my grandma's house and wanted to share it here.

           Feel free to leave comments on any ways it could use improvement, or if you know my grandma and have been similarly blessed by the blue house (whether that is the pool, coffee on the porch, or just the joy of my grandma) leave a note and I'll make sure it gets to her. Thank you!

The Blue House

As the summer transformed into fall and the hot days turned to crisp mornings filled with warm sun, it waited. As the leaves changed color and fell to the ground, the house stood beside the road. As the barren trees seemingly wept for life because snow covered their branches and the shutters became coated in a thin layer of ice, the blue house watched over the familiar golf course. Then when the sun got hotter, the snow began to melt, the trees burst forth with new life and the smell of freshly cut grass filled the air, the blue house opened. The porch doors were unlocked and the woman inside readied herself for the flood of visitors.

I watched as all of this happened. I watched as the seasons changed. I watched as my grandmother opened her home again and again to the neighborhood, to friends and to family, to strangers. Over and over she served these people with the big blue house. I was one of the blessed.

My mother grew up in the robin’s egg home many years ago. When it came time to start her own family she settled into the two-story white colonial just down the road. Only one house separated my sisters and me from the always open arms of our Grandma K. but, soon this will be different, the house will change hands. Her field that was simply an addition to our own backyard will not be available for our games of hide and seek. The kitchen and den that were just an extension of our own kitchen will not allow for our search of a cup of sugar or a box of Club crackers. Soon, my Grandma will leave and the once magical, blue house will be empty—a shell of familial history.

                                                                   *

I can’t remember the first time I swam in the pool or napped in the cabana; my mother tells me it began in infancy. My childhood days were filled with the smell of chlorine, poolside snacks, and courageous dives off of the diving board. There was not a single summer day, growing up on Oakleigh, that didn’t involve waking up and looking out the second story window at my grandmother’s pool. There was not a moment in those schoolless days where my younger sister and I didn’t sit on our front step begging for permission to go swimming. Everyday our hair got crisper and our tans deeper because of our love for the blue house and the adventure it promised.

In the beginning, we were able to walk across the Collin’s backyard. We could don our bathing suits, grab a towel and skitter our bare feet through the dirt path that was lined with ivy. But, in my tenth year the neighbors re-landscaped forcing us to either sneak across their backyard or take the “long” way across all three front yards. This didn’t last long; as the neighbor boys got older we cared less about making our journey inconspicuously and more about getting to the pool as quickly as possible, with as many friends in tow as our parents would allow. As soon as permission was granted we would run over to the house and open the white gate to our heaven-on-earth.

First, we had the challenging task of uncovering the pool. Using all of our strength, we cranked the cover’s wheel, revealing the crystal water. As the cover wheeled back, we hopped from one foot to the next to keep the hot, red brick from searing the bottoms of our feet. Once we exposed the deep end of the pool, I would race my sisters or friends into the refreshing water. Once we were in, nothing could get us out of the water unless it was the promise of food. More often than not, our grandma would come out with her tray of fruit and crackers, to fill our bellies, and the green glass pitcher of lemon water to quench our thirst. Satisfied, we would dive in for another three hours spent in the swimming pool. Often our days ended with the ringing of the dinner bell from our house. If we were lucky, dessert came in the form of a night swim. My grandma would turn on the pool light, making the deep water glow, allowing us to splash in the company of fireflies. I cherished time spent at the house, the comfort of my grandmother’s smell. I would leave feeling the best kind of exhausted, smelling of chlorine and sunshine, freshly laundered sheets and flowers.

As I got older, the magic never dissipated. Granted, I spent less time in the water and more time lying beside the pool with various friends, but the feeling of peace that resonated so deeply in the blue house never left.  I was growing and changing, but the house remained constant. The woman inside never failed to make me feel remembered.

 Just as I grew and changed, so my grandmother got older. Recently an ALS[1] diagnosis has ravaged her body and left her shoulders useless. As I grow and become more of myself, she grows and loses some of herself. So she’s moving. She’s leaving behind all of her comforts and all her possessions. She’s forsaking all the memories of her husband and years spent child-rearing to move in with her daughters. The idea of this house being empty, the pool drained, and the woman inside gone is like the first time I swam without floatees. I knew I could kick my legs and stay afloat; I had done it before. But now the physical sense of safety that insured my head would stay above water had vanished. Though my dad was only a few feet away from me, I still had to make a choice. Without the floatees the pool seemed so much bigger, the world seemed that much scarier. I remember swimming into my dad’s arms, again and again until I wasn’t swimming into his arms, but to the other side of the pool and then I was racing and winning medals on my high school swim team. The pool no longer seemed scary but conquerable. I understood the way the water moved and resisted. I understood where I should take my last breath to make it through a flip turn and streamline. The pool wasn’t scary; it was familiar and normal. In the same way swimming without floatees makes the world scarier, the blue house without my grandmother, sitting on the porch drinking her morning coffee, makes the world bigger; it makes it unbeatable.

It isn’t the idea of her leaving the house to move in with family that is the most troubling, but the idea of her leaving this world altogether. Through every season, physical and emotional, that house has been a refuge for every sister, aunt and uncle, cousin, or friend who needed a place to warm their feet on a freshly stoked fire or to nap on the softest carpet known to man. When our comfort or familiarity is threatened our reaction is to cling even more tightly to that thing we love; to hang on because the world would be unbearable without it. However, the truth is the thing we love so deeply has shaped us, probably molded us to be a better version of ourselves. The thing we love so profoundly will exist eternally. For what we love is love itself and that will never be wiped from memory. Although, in a few weeks, that house will be emptied of all that gave it life and character, I can pass by believing that I am better for having known it, I am better for having a woman to look up to and to treasure. I am better for having experienced that selfless kind of love.

---

[1] Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis or Lou Gherig’s Disease is a progressive neurodegenerative disease that affects nerve cells in the brain and the spinal cord eliminating muscle function. 

When Anxiety Awaits:

Yesterday was horrible. All those bad things that make the burning in your stomach more pronounce, that make your heart beat a little faster out of worry, that cause you to chew your nails, happened.

This morning, I woke up and was perfectly on time for once. Proclaiming, "This day is going to be better than yesterday" over the dark morning. Following this sentiment I locked my keys and spare key into my running car. My brother-in-law came to my rescue. I was 2 hours late for work.

Those that know me, probably know I like control. So, this was not good. I promptly tried all the doors (a couple of times) to no avail. I knew that I had two choices: to be anxious about how not in control I was, or pray and seek His peace. I chose the second. So, while the anxiety was building in my heart and I could feel the turning start in  my stomach, I opened my notebook and wrote all the things I knew to be true about God. He is the provider of peace, he is the lover of my soul, he is righteous and sovereign in his will, he is endlessly faithful. As the calm started to penetrate my mind, I opened to Philippians.

 Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice. Let your reasonableness be known to everyone. The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me—practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you.

Choose truth. Choose peace and revel in his provision. Do this because it is so completely better than your other choice. 

Bodies Beloved

 I've had so many heart talks lately. These are the sort that ache, the ones that make you cry until you can't catch your breath because you realize the futility of the life you try to lead without the nearness of God. I have been suffocated by doubt and until just recently was without hope for what my life would be.

Today I have sat and read through old journal entries, prayers, sermon notes and been reminded of my struggle, of healing and of joy. Some specific things I wanted to share with a beautiful soul so close to mine, but I thought instead of just sending them to her I would write them here.

This last semester was marked by need. Oh how much did I need a Savior, oh how much did I need the direction and peace from the Creator, oh how much did I need the extravagant love and grace of the Father.

I am reminded, "Comfort, comfort my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem and cry to her that her warfare is ended, that her iniquity is pardoned, that she has received from the Lord's hand double for all her sins" [Isaiah 40:1-2]

In all of these months that I didn't open the Word, I am reminded that the war is won, that I am pardoned, that Christ has come and in that should be joy. In all of my distance God is as near as ever. He is the Faithful One. In all of these months that I didn't pray and I grew so tired, I am reminded, "The Lord is the Everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. he does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might he increases strength. Even youths shall faint and be weary and young men shall fall exhausted; but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint"

In all of these months that my only heavenward cry was a desperate one, I am reminded, "if you abide in me and my words in you". God asks one thing of us, that we meditate and delight in his Word.

All the time I was shown that my desperation to know God was only going to be satisfied if I took the time to know Him. Everywhere I was seeking just showed me, even more completely, that there is one thing to do and that is to know God. So, I opened the book. I rejoiced in the moment with him. I felt peace. I was overwhelmed at the prospect of being truly free from the weight of going at life alone.

So today he breathed to me, "you are altogether beautiful, my love, there is no flaw in you" [Song of Solomon 4:7] and He asked me, "Arise, my love, my beautiful one and come away, for behold, the winter is past; the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing has come and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land. The fig tree ripens its figs, and the vines are in blossom; they give forth fragrance. Arise, my love, my beautiful one and come away.

"Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you", because we are shockingly, breathtakingly beautiful. We are the sunrise and sunset, we are the prize. We are this because of Christ. We are these things because of the grace that we drown in daily. We are these things because we are children of light. I think we need to stare boldly at the shell of who we are and realize we are not just bodies but bodies beloved. We will find passion if we know God, we will find joy if we seek what He has for our lives. We will be satisfied if we align our lives with the will of God. We will be free if we face our fears of letting go and dance into the arms of the ever near God. We will be alive again and every shade of orange or yellow, or green. We will be light: pure and undeniable.

Breathe deep, be quiet now and know that He is the one that loves you deeply, "for the Maker is your husband, the Lord of Hosts is his name; the Holy One of Israel is your redeemer, the God of the whole earth he is called. For the Lord God has called you like a wife deserted and grieved in spirit" He says to us, "for a brief moment I deserted you, but with great compassion I will gather you. In overflowing anger for a moment I hid my face from you, but with everlasting love I will have compassion on you."

Be reminded that there is no life apart from the Truth and there is no living separated from our God.

Weary:

I have this pair of jeans. I've had them for probably 5 or 6 years and in the last few months the fabric has worn completely through. Yet, I still wear them. Unashamed of the growing hole while simultaneously hoping no one notices. These jeans are faded, stretched out and now threadbare. I'm feeling a bit like these jeans. More than a bit actually, I'm feeling exactly like these jeans: worn, faded, threadbare.

The thing is that jeans can't gather new material to fix their hole or make themselves clean or suddenly look new and fresh. In the same way, I lack that ability. I continually pull my strength, my love, my excitement and happiness from myself. Searching deeper and further each time to find more ounces of generosity, unconditional love, support, but, it has become clear that I am dry. Oh so dry compared to the vast well that is knowing Christ. With a new season that will bring its own set of triumphs, sacrifices, heart aches and joys coming up, it is such a needed reminder that I can do no thing apart from Him.

Seeking forgiveness for my attempt at being so in control of my own life and desiring a desperate heart. This summer that was meant to bring rest and refreshment has been chaotic and distant. We were designed to be in community to love and to be loved, but first we have to know what it is like to be loved so deeply by the One who started it all. To allow His passion and redemption to truly heal insecurities, cast out pride and devour sin. A life that is lived freely is one that is lived within the arms of the Maker of the Universe. A life that is lived joyfully is one that is lived in continual communication with the Giver of Peace.

I needed to be reminded to give up and receive it. His grace, mercy, forgiveness and that will bring the blessing, joy, and an out pouring of unconditional, irrevocable love.

Pen to Paper:

Recently, I prayed over a space in my room. One with a small seat and paper cranes hanging overhead. I asked God to dedicate that space for me and Him. So that when I would go to that corner, a small space in my whirring world, I would look and listen just for Him and hopefully he would be there looking and listening for me. That was a short time ago. Since then I've attempted to meet Him in that corner every day. Unsuccessfully. But, I get excited to know I have that space that will be uninterrupted. I did this because I lack discipline. Sometimes in my words and in my actions, but mostly in my time with God. I say, so often, that I need to spend time with him daily but I haven't given him my time. In that conviction I said a quiet prayer asking him to bless that space. Thus far, he has. 

I've realized that when I sin, I run. Like Adam and Eve hiding in the garden I try to hide. Hopefully, now, instead of running and ignoring the nagging feeling in my gut, or the glaring conviction from the spirit I will run to my space. To that small corner and find peace and forgiveness. 

In the times I've met him there I've randomly opened the word. First to Isaiah 54 and 55:

He told me,
I am your peace.
You will forget the shame of your youth
You will be challenged and stretched
"For the Maker is your husband, the Lord of Hosts is his name; the Holy One of Israel is your redeemer, the God of the whole earth He is called"
"Come everyone who thirsts, come to the waters, and he who has no money, come, buy and eat!"
"Incline your ear, and come to me; hear, that your soul may live and I will make an everlasting covenant with you." 

Then I read from Jeremiah, where he made me familiar with his wrath:
"I broke your yoke and burst your bonds, but you said 'I will not serve'"
"Under every green tree you bowed down like a whore. Yet, I planted you a choice vine, wholly of pure seed"
"Though you wash yourself with lye and much soap the stain of your guilt is still before me." 

Then Christ came. I realized I cannot hide from God's anger, but I can and am saved by Christ's unending grace with which he fully satisfied the wrath of the Father. More than anything, lately, I need peace. Which I can find in that small corner of my blue bedroom. 

I am forever grateful.