Praise God for the gospel. Praise God for the simplicity.
I had an echoing reminder today as I got in my car after work. Sometimes we over-jumble and complicate our faith. We present the gospel as a litany of arguments, apologetics, and viewpoints. I thank God all of these concepts and ideas matter nothing to to pure Gospel.
Christ came because He loved us. We are flawed, less than God. Christ died as a sacrifice, the perfect lamb. We can be made perfect through Him. Either we pay for our sins or we accept His gift. If we accept that He is our Lord and our Savior, we have the assurance to live forever in communion with God. If we don't, we will pay and we will be separated.
There are not sects or denominations. There is nothing. Absolutely nothing we can do. It is through Him and Him alone. How blessed we are!
I was talking to an LDS co-worker today. The conversation started with him saying we basically believe the same thing. But the deeper he got, the more layers of works and levels and God-ship and never really knowing where you stand. Even after you are dead, there are still works, and things and possibly moving in positions from one heaven to another. There is prison where you pay for your sins. There is another level of judgement even after you are a follower of their gospel and have done all these works. And in the end, you still don't really know. How complicated?! How hard it must be! And, to end it all and move on to eternity where you will continue to struggle for your place. And, to never really be sure when you die of where you stand with God. I wanted to cry for him.
I praised God as I walked away from that conversation.... more of You and less of Me! It doesn't need to be complicated. There doesn't need to be a lack of assurance. I rest in knowing that Jesus is my Lord and Savior. He paid it all. He knows me and He loves me. Praise God!
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Friday, December 24, 2010
Half-way There
I sit here on Christmas Eve day, with less than 3 weeks until I leave. God has been providing in some big ways and my funding is 1/2 way there. Which, essentially, is enough to get me to Australia since I have my own savings. However, I would ask for prayers for more just so I don't spend every penny I have locked away. Thanks.
Love all of you! Have had so much love and support through this process. Almost to AUS!
Love all of you! Have had so much love and support through this process. Almost to AUS!
Saturday, December 11, 2010
T-Minue 1 Month
Not much new to update on. Just 1 month left in the States before I depart. I am trying to privately journal as much as possible because it's good to look back at my prayers and see how God comes through. Always a good reminder.
Sunday, December 05, 2010
Funding Update
With promised, but mostly given funds, I currently need about $1700 by mid-December to reach my minimum goal. Pray, pray, pray. Somedays I'm at perfect peace about it, other days I'm a bit nervous. Here's the part where I continue to trust and jump in with both feet!
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Boise: 5 Years
Five years ago today (barely 22 years old), most of my worldly possessions were crammed into my 1989 Grand Marque station wagon. It was about 4 am in Castle Rock, CO and I drove off in the cold and snow. I had no idea what lie ahead but I knew I was going where God called.
I hit a blizzard outside of Cheyenne, WY. When I got out to fill up with gas, my car door froze shut. Planting my foot on the side of the car, I pulled with all my strength to get the door open and continue on my way. The next five to six hours were full of tension as I struggled to see the front of my car, let alone the road for all of the snow. The winds were harsh. I cried at a few points, tired and running low on money, I just wanted to get there.
"God, what am I doing?" I didn't have a job there. I didn't even know anyone there.... but I was moving to Boise.
I had been to Boise for about 48 hours a few weeks earlier. It was my first time in Idaho. The minute we drove into the city, I saw the desert mountains with snow lining them, the Cross alight on top of Table Rock, the sun was setting and the sky lit up in a bright pink, I knew this is where God would bring me. I did not know when or how but I knew I would end up here.
Years earlier in college, I felt called to missions. My parents were missionaries when I was younger. The closer I grew to God, the more I felt the call. The only difference was, my parents never had an anchor. They didn't have a home church to report to. We didn't have a city in the US to call home. Where we laid our heads was our home. I wanted things to be different. I knew no matter where I went, I wanted a place to call home.
A few weeks after visiting Idaho for the first time, I was back at my job as a nanny in Colorado. Before I had taken my vacation, things were not going well. I wanted to quit but felt bound to my year contract. Finally, after an accident by the five-year-old which sent the mom into an angry frenzy, I quit. I couldn't stand how the kids were treated by their parents and how I had no authority. I gave them until the new year to replace me. It was the Monday before Thanksgiving. Later that week, they came to me. "We feel it would be best for everyone if you were out by the end of the week." I had three days to pack all of my belongings and figure out what I was going to do.
I prayed. My parents were in West Virginia, my siblings in Texas, my friends mostly in the Midwest or out East, my grandmother in Arizona, and I had an offer at an old job in a resort town in Colorado. But, Boise kept coming to my head. I kept praying. My dad didn't like the idea of me moving further west. My friends were not supportive, and my grandmother wanted me back living with her. But, I could not shake that I was called to Boise. So I went.
After 15 tension filled hours of driving, I arrived in Boise after dark and found a hotel. The next morning, I promptly grabbed a newspaper and searched for a place to live. I felt defeated after a calling many places and having them all tell me the apartment was rented out. Finally, later that day, I found a place. The next day I moved in. By my second day in Boise, I was looking for a job and started at the mall. I walked into the first store and asked if they were hiring. It was Christmas season. They hired me a few hours later and I started training the next day. Three days in Boise, I had a place to live and a job.
Loneliness was my biggest obstacle at first. I had to work about 70-80 hours a week to pay my bills the first 6 months. I worked at jobs with people I really couldn't relate to. I liked them all but they all partied, drank, and smoked pot. And, I was always working. I curled up at night and prayed for God to bring me Christian friends.
But, God did more than that. He drew me closer to Himself. He used all of the silence to speak to me. I had seen God most of my life as a distant and powerful being. He could crush and destroy. In that time of silence, my heart began to be filled with a new love. Promises of who He really was. I think of Hosea where he says, "I will allure her, bring her into the wilderness and speak kindly to her."
I started to see God in a new light. A perfect and never ending love. My heart was mending. So many hurts, so many lies I had believed about myself, and bitterness was being washed away and replaced with a joy. I cannot put into words all that God did in me but for the first time in my life, I saw Him as a close, loving and intimate God who yearns for a relationship with us.
About two months after I moved here, I was hosting in a restaurant when a cute, bubbly server came over and introduced herself to me. She talked so fast I could hardly understand her. She asked me how I ended up in Boise. My response, "God."
Her eyes lit up. "You're a Christian!"
"Yes."
"I have a church for you." She told me about how a year ago, she had met some people passing through town who invited her to this brand new church. She grudgingly went, completely hungover and ready to find fault. That day, at the end of the service, she gave her life to Christ.
I hesitantly went to her church. Like her, expecting to find fault since I was pretty jaded from past "church" experiences. Instead, I found a group of people devoted to reaching others, loving, and seeking God. I found my family. Over the past five years, the church has grown from about 200 people to 2,000 impacting hundreds of lives. Mine included.
I prepare to move on to the mission field. To leave Boise and The Pursuit (my church) behind. These past five years have been anything but easy. But, I have my anchor. A place to call home. No matter where I roam, I will always know I have a group of people here devoted to praying for one another. I will still love that bubbly server, Steph, who has been an encouragement and good friend through the years. And, I will long for the beautiful mountains, the Boise River, and so much more that make this place exactly what God had intended for me.
I love Boise, Idaho. HOME.
I hit a blizzard outside of Cheyenne, WY. When I got out to fill up with gas, my car door froze shut. Planting my foot on the side of the car, I pulled with all my strength to get the door open and continue on my way. The next five to six hours were full of tension as I struggled to see the front of my car, let alone the road for all of the snow. The winds were harsh. I cried at a few points, tired and running low on money, I just wanted to get there.
"God, what am I doing?" I didn't have a job there. I didn't even know anyone there.... but I was moving to Boise.
I had been to Boise for about 48 hours a few weeks earlier. It was my first time in Idaho. The minute we drove into the city, I saw the desert mountains with snow lining them, the Cross alight on top of Table Rock, the sun was setting and the sky lit up in a bright pink, I knew this is where God would bring me. I did not know when or how but I knew I would end up here.
Years earlier in college, I felt called to missions. My parents were missionaries when I was younger. The closer I grew to God, the more I felt the call. The only difference was, my parents never had an anchor. They didn't have a home church to report to. We didn't have a city in the US to call home. Where we laid our heads was our home. I wanted things to be different. I knew no matter where I went, I wanted a place to call home.
A few weeks after visiting Idaho for the first time, I was back at my job as a nanny in Colorado. Before I had taken my vacation, things were not going well. I wanted to quit but felt bound to my year contract. Finally, after an accident by the five-year-old which sent the mom into an angry frenzy, I quit. I couldn't stand how the kids were treated by their parents and how I had no authority. I gave them until the new year to replace me. It was the Monday before Thanksgiving. Later that week, they came to me. "We feel it would be best for everyone if you were out by the end of the week." I had three days to pack all of my belongings and figure out what I was going to do.
I prayed. My parents were in West Virginia, my siblings in Texas, my friends mostly in the Midwest or out East, my grandmother in Arizona, and I had an offer at an old job in a resort town in Colorado. But, Boise kept coming to my head. I kept praying. My dad didn't like the idea of me moving further west. My friends were not supportive, and my grandmother wanted me back living with her. But, I could not shake that I was called to Boise. So I went.
After 15 tension filled hours of driving, I arrived in Boise after dark and found a hotel. The next morning, I promptly grabbed a newspaper and searched for a place to live. I felt defeated after a calling many places and having them all tell me the apartment was rented out. Finally, later that day, I found a place. The next day I moved in. By my second day in Boise, I was looking for a job and started at the mall. I walked into the first store and asked if they were hiring. It was Christmas season. They hired me a few hours later and I started training the next day. Three days in Boise, I had a place to live and a job.
Loneliness was my biggest obstacle at first. I had to work about 70-80 hours a week to pay my bills the first 6 months. I worked at jobs with people I really couldn't relate to. I liked them all but they all partied, drank, and smoked pot. And, I was always working. I curled up at night and prayed for God to bring me Christian friends.
But, God did more than that. He drew me closer to Himself. He used all of the silence to speak to me. I had seen God most of my life as a distant and powerful being. He could crush and destroy. In that time of silence, my heart began to be filled with a new love. Promises of who He really was. I think of Hosea where he says, "I will allure her, bring her into the wilderness and speak kindly to her."
I started to see God in a new light. A perfect and never ending love. My heart was mending. So many hurts, so many lies I had believed about myself, and bitterness was being washed away and replaced with a joy. I cannot put into words all that God did in me but for the first time in my life, I saw Him as a close, loving and intimate God who yearns for a relationship with us.
About two months after I moved here, I was hosting in a restaurant when a cute, bubbly server came over and introduced herself to me. She talked so fast I could hardly understand her. She asked me how I ended up in Boise. My response, "God."
Her eyes lit up. "You're a Christian!"
"Yes."
"I have a church for you." She told me about how a year ago, she had met some people passing through town who invited her to this brand new church. She grudgingly went, completely hungover and ready to find fault. That day, at the end of the service, she gave her life to Christ.
I hesitantly went to her church. Like her, expecting to find fault since I was pretty jaded from past "church" experiences. Instead, I found a group of people devoted to reaching others, loving, and seeking God. I found my family. Over the past five years, the church has grown from about 200 people to 2,000 impacting hundreds of lives. Mine included.
I prepare to move on to the mission field. To leave Boise and The Pursuit (my church) behind. These past five years have been anything but easy. But, I have my anchor. A place to call home. No matter where I roam, I will always know I have a group of people here devoted to praying for one another. I will still love that bubbly server, Steph, who has been an encouragement and good friend through the years. And, I will long for the beautiful mountains, the Boise River, and so much more that make this place exactly what God had intended for me.
I love Boise, Idaho. HOME.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Social Norm or Crazy?
I love my church. It is filled with people who truly seek God and desire to do His will. We, like so many other churches in America, still fall under some brutal problems when it comes to our faith and obedience to God. The American church seems to be fairly complacent and not willing to challenge social norms. We are comfortable. Way too comfortable.
I've become so much more aware of the issue as I read the Word, attend leadership conferences, have traveled to Nicaragua, and am now preparing to go to Australia.
I had an epiphany, if you will, on my drive home from church today. Since choosing to leave my good-paying job and start training to become a foreign missionary, I have come under severe questioning about my motives, my heart, and my calling. I have had Christians I respect oppose me.
I understand accountability and respect it. What I don't understand, is why did no one have a problem with me getting up everyday to do the corporate grind, live in a nice apartment, buy new clothes and gym memberships, go out to eat, and attend a nice church on Sunday? Did anyone sit down with me and question my motives, where my heart was? Did anyone pray with me to make sure this is where God was leading my life?
Sure, I wasn't doing anything wrong. In fact, I was paying off debt, working hard, had good relationships, and supporting my church and missionaries financially.
When I chose to move forward, give up my security and follow a calling I have felt on my life for a really long time, all of a sudden, people become suspicious, cautious, act as if I am running from something, questioning if this is really what God wants from me.
If I had chosen to follow the "social norm" for America, no one would question God's call on my life. But, when I choose to step out in faith, leave the "huddle" and act, I meet with opposition. Making $50K a year sitting at a desk is a worthy cause, but traveling into jungles to love people and lead them to Christ is a problem? Are we really that afraid? Do we really not believe in the great commission? Is it really that hard to believe my heart was in the right place when pelted by commercialism and the need for "things" but it's not in the right place now?
I appreciate all the advice and concerns people have for me because I know my motives can stray. I am far from perfect and pure of heart. But, I am frustrated that it was fine for me, as an American Christian, to live comfortably without question.
Do I fear what lies ahead.... sometimes. I am more afraid of waking up some day to realize that everything in my life was vain, lives weren't changed, people perished because I was too busy following a social norm. God can work with or without me, but I don't want to stand before Him someday to have all of my good deeds burned up because they were never really good at all. I long to follow Him to the hurt and the broken, to love the unloved. American church, shouldn't that be our social norm? Shouldn't we be questioning anything less?
I love MercyMe's song CRAZY. "I have not been called to the wisdom of this world, but to a God who is calling out to me. And even though the world may think I'm losing touch with reality. It would be crazy to choose this world over eternity..."
I've become so much more aware of the issue as I read the Word, attend leadership conferences, have traveled to Nicaragua, and am now preparing to go to Australia.
I had an epiphany, if you will, on my drive home from church today. Since choosing to leave my good-paying job and start training to become a foreign missionary, I have come under severe questioning about my motives, my heart, and my calling. I have had Christians I respect oppose me.
I understand accountability and respect it. What I don't understand, is why did no one have a problem with me getting up everyday to do the corporate grind, live in a nice apartment, buy new clothes and gym memberships, go out to eat, and attend a nice church on Sunday? Did anyone sit down with me and question my motives, where my heart was? Did anyone pray with me to make sure this is where God was leading my life?
Sure, I wasn't doing anything wrong. In fact, I was paying off debt, working hard, had good relationships, and supporting my church and missionaries financially.
When I chose to move forward, give up my security and follow a calling I have felt on my life for a really long time, all of a sudden, people become suspicious, cautious, act as if I am running from something, questioning if this is really what God wants from me.
If I had chosen to follow the "social norm" for America, no one would question God's call on my life. But, when I choose to step out in faith, leave the "huddle" and act, I meet with opposition. Making $50K a year sitting at a desk is a worthy cause, but traveling into jungles to love people and lead them to Christ is a problem? Are we really that afraid? Do we really not believe in the great commission? Is it really that hard to believe my heart was in the right place when pelted by commercialism and the need for "things" but it's not in the right place now?
I appreciate all the advice and concerns people have for me because I know my motives can stray. I am far from perfect and pure of heart. But, I am frustrated that it was fine for me, as an American Christian, to live comfortably without question.
Do I fear what lies ahead.... sometimes. I am more afraid of waking up some day to realize that everything in my life was vain, lives weren't changed, people perished because I was too busy following a social norm. God can work with or without me, but I don't want to stand before Him someday to have all of my good deeds burned up because they were never really good at all. I long to follow Him to the hurt and the broken, to love the unloved. American church, shouldn't that be our social norm? Shouldn't we be questioning anything less?
I love MercyMe's song CRAZY. "I have not been called to the wisdom of this world, but to a God who is calling out to me. And even though the world may think I'm losing touch with reality. It would be crazy to choose this world over eternity..."
Friday, November 19, 2010
Plane Tickets
I now have my plane tickets to Australia! I just need 73% of my funding to go..... praise God, in 1 week I got 12%.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Dear God, We Need This Much Money
Discouragement has been rearing it's ugly head lately. If only I weren't human and didn't have to fight my flesh!
I prayed on Thursday night as I left my life group. Should I keep forging on to Australia or play it safe, keep my job, and save more and more? So, as I drove, I prayed. Recognizing that God is so much bigger than my needs. What is any of this to a God who spoke and created the world?
But, I desire to do His will and want to make sure where I am headed is where he is leading.
An electronic billboard flashed through ads in the night sky as I headed downtown on the connector. A lottery sign flashed up. I laughed. When I was about 4 years old, my parents needed money for missions. We prayed as a family. With the absolute faith of a child, I prayed, "Dear God, we need 'this much' money." I held up my small hands indicating a large stack of bills. And, God showed up. Someone who knew my parents had purchased a lottery ticket.... a winning ticket for the exact amount of money my parents needed.
Here I am, 23 years later, praying the same prayer and God sent me a little reminder of how He always comes through.
The next day, I came home from work to find a $1000 check in the mail. I felt it was the confirmation I needed. Keep moving forward, don't give up, God is so much bigger!
I prayed on Thursday night as I left my life group. Should I keep forging on to Australia or play it safe, keep my job, and save more and more? So, as I drove, I prayed. Recognizing that God is so much bigger than my needs. What is any of this to a God who spoke and created the world?
But, I desire to do His will and want to make sure where I am headed is where he is leading.
An electronic billboard flashed through ads in the night sky as I headed downtown on the connector. A lottery sign flashed up. I laughed. When I was about 4 years old, my parents needed money for missions. We prayed as a family. With the absolute faith of a child, I prayed, "Dear God, we need 'this much' money." I held up my small hands indicating a large stack of bills. And, God showed up. Someone who knew my parents had purchased a lottery ticket.... a winning ticket for the exact amount of money my parents needed.
Here I am, 23 years later, praying the same prayer and God sent me a little reminder of how He always comes through.
The next day, I came home from work to find a $1000 check in the mail. I felt it was the confirmation I needed. Keep moving forward, don't give up, God is so much bigger!
Saturday, October 30, 2010
NICARAGUA (Part 3)
CONTINUED.....
The vendor. One man probably impacted my trip in Nicaragua more than any other. He was a slender guy, probably in his early twenties. I saw him on my first day in Diriamba. Mentally, he was a little lower functioning than most adults. He carried a bag of candy, selling 2 pieces for a small coin. As he stepped onto our bus, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. Our eyes met and locked. There was nothing physically striking about him, but there was something defining in his spirit. His gaze held an assurance, innocence, and a peace I hadn’t seen.
With street noises, vendors shouting, and people talking on the bus, he began to sing. His voice wasn’t clear or strong or even beautiful. But, I was struck again. I didn’t know what he was singing but I had to listen. Then, he proceeded to sell his candy. Most people ignored him. After he left, I couldn’t get the humbling image of him out of my mind.
Days later, on another bus at another location, he stepped on. The same bag of candy was in his hands. This time it was a lot emptier. My heart sank when I saw this. It had been days and he hadn’t even sold all of the candy in his bag. How did he live off of less than 50 cents a day? He was in the same stained white shirt. And, then he sang. Above all the noise on the bus, he sang.
I turned to Kari and asked what he was singing about. She looked at me, “He says that God is the only thing that can satisfy man. He sings praise to God before he sells his candy.”
Here was a man who rose every morning to wander the streets and vend for not even enough to survive and he praised God. I found myself purchasing candy from him. I didn’t want the candy but I had to do something.
My heart cried out. “God, he is yours! He praises You when he has nothing. I am discontent when I have more than enough.” I continued to pray as we stepped off the bus and into the streets. I found myself praying that like the woman in the Bible whose oil never ran out, God would provide for this young man. That he would always have enough. His heart was so pure.
I smiled as I thought of his treasure in heaven. How foolish are we. Those who appear of little value in our world are the closest and dearest to God’s heart.
I could say so much more about my trip, but little could a book hold what God started in me. I faced trials like getting robbed, getting a parasite, being eaten alive by mosquitoes, taking freezing cold showers, and sweating day and night. It was not the most comfortable place to be. Yet, somehow I walked away fuller. Despite all the bad, God was there. God loves Nicaragua and the people in it. God continued to put the desire of missions in my heart.
It would be easy to go home, make good money, live well, be comfortable but I would be missing the fullness of what God can do in me. God doesn’t need me to impact the world. I can offer nothing to His cause, but I am held in awe by how He longs for me. He wants to use me…. Me of all people! Nicaragua was a first step, a glimpse into what He can do.
In Plato’s “Republic”, there is a cave analogy. In it people have spent their whole lives being chained to a cave wall. Shadows from a fire cast on the wall are their only reality. They are unaware of anything outside of the cave and those shadows. I realized at that point, my life was only a partial truth. I had only lived in a fraction of what the world is really like, of what people really experience. I could crawl back into the cave and be comforted by my mere shadows or I can face the world outside. To grow in the fullness of drawing closer to the heart of God. This is where I want to live.
The vendor. One man probably impacted my trip in Nicaragua more than any other. He was a slender guy, probably in his early twenties. I saw him on my first day in Diriamba. Mentally, he was a little lower functioning than most adults. He carried a bag of candy, selling 2 pieces for a small coin. As he stepped onto our bus, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. Our eyes met and locked. There was nothing physically striking about him, but there was something defining in his spirit. His gaze held an assurance, innocence, and a peace I hadn’t seen.
With street noises, vendors shouting, and people talking on the bus, he began to sing. His voice wasn’t clear or strong or even beautiful. But, I was struck again. I didn’t know what he was singing but I had to listen. Then, he proceeded to sell his candy. Most people ignored him. After he left, I couldn’t get the humbling image of him out of my mind.
Days later, on another bus at another location, he stepped on. The same bag of candy was in his hands. This time it was a lot emptier. My heart sank when I saw this. It had been days and he hadn’t even sold all of the candy in his bag. How did he live off of less than 50 cents a day? He was in the same stained white shirt. And, then he sang. Above all the noise on the bus, he sang.
I turned to Kari and asked what he was singing about. She looked at me, “He says that God is the only thing that can satisfy man. He sings praise to God before he sells his candy.”
Here was a man who rose every morning to wander the streets and vend for not even enough to survive and he praised God. I found myself purchasing candy from him. I didn’t want the candy but I had to do something.
My heart cried out. “God, he is yours! He praises You when he has nothing. I am discontent when I have more than enough.” I continued to pray as we stepped off the bus and into the streets. I found myself praying that like the woman in the Bible whose oil never ran out, God would provide for this young man. That he would always have enough. His heart was so pure.
I smiled as I thought of his treasure in heaven. How foolish are we. Those who appear of little value in our world are the closest and dearest to God’s heart.
I could say so much more about my trip, but little could a book hold what God started in me. I faced trials like getting robbed, getting a parasite, being eaten alive by mosquitoes, taking freezing cold showers, and sweating day and night. It was not the most comfortable place to be. Yet, somehow I walked away fuller. Despite all the bad, God was there. God loves Nicaragua and the people in it. God continued to put the desire of missions in my heart.
It would be easy to go home, make good money, live well, be comfortable but I would be missing the fullness of what God can do in me. God doesn’t need me to impact the world. I can offer nothing to His cause, but I am held in awe by how He longs for me. He wants to use me…. Me of all people! Nicaragua was a first step, a glimpse into what He can do.
In Plato’s “Republic”, there is a cave analogy. In it people have spent their whole lives being chained to a cave wall. Shadows from a fire cast on the wall are their only reality. They are unaware of anything outside of the cave and those shadows. I realized at that point, my life was only a partial truth. I had only lived in a fraction of what the world is really like, of what people really experience. I could crawl back into the cave and be comforted by my mere shadows or I can face the world outside. To grow in the fullness of drawing closer to the heart of God. This is where I want to live.
Monday, October 25, 2010
NICARAGUA (Part 2)
Continued...
The kids. You had to be in Nicaragua no more than a few hours before you started falling in love with the kids. While many of the adults appeared indifferent, the kids were anything but. They all had beautiful round faces with big dark brown eyes and bigger smiles. They wanted to know you, where you were from; they all wanted to be held by you. Even the shy ones longed for your attention. I remember coming back from the ocean on my first day only to be greeted by about 6 boys and a little girl waiting at the front gate. These were the neighborhood kids. Turns out they were almost all related. The “primos” as I dubbed them. They all asked a thousand questions in Spanish. Laughing, pointing, and playing around.
Unlike my experience with American kids, Nicaraguan kids were much more independent. They wandered the streets, came in and out of the house, and looked out for each other. We spent evenings with 10 or so kids sprawled out on the tile floors, sharing a handful of colored pencils. Laughing, singing, and vying for our attention. While some got rough with each other, and they could be wound-up from time to time, they lacked the spoiled nature of a lot of kids I have been around. They had a contentment I was not use to experiencing. And, they loved. I felt immediately loved and accepted by these little people.
Fernando. The oldest of the kids was Fernando. It was love at first sight. He was the natural born leader of the group. He had one of the most handsome little faces with big dimples, a crooked smile, and an intelligence in his eyes that proceeded his years. He was small for eleven years, but most Nicaraguans were smaller than me. He had compassionate soul even though he had faced a lot of hardship at his tender age. He was special. I pray for that boy on a daily basis. People will look to him for guidance as they get older. He is at a crossroads. He will either be a great man of God or do a lot of evil. I can’t help but see God’s hand in that boy’s life. I immediately wanted to love him, to take care of him, to raise him, and to just hold him in my arms and take away all the hurt he had faced. Oh, but how much more does our God love him!
Fernando was a revelation for me. I always knew that one day I would want to adopt kids but had no idea how I could pick one when so many needed to be loved and cared for. I was made aware of how possible it was. I also realized in a heartbeat, I could give up all of my “freedoms” as a single person to make a better life for someone else.
Transportation. If going anywhere nearby, you walk. We walked all over the city, to the barrio, out to Orlando’s farm. If we wanted to go to another city, we hopped into an old van filled with people and paid about 5 cents. If you like your personal space, you will not survive. The van was crammed with people. Then, we rumbled off to the next destination, the person who collected money hanging out the window shouting our destination to anyone we passed, hoping to get a few more passengers. If we were going anywhere far away, we took the bus. Normally, it was an old school bus with painted images of saints and the Virgin Mary over the front dash. The bus didn’t leave until it was full. And, not just every seat full, but every molecule of space. Roofing materials, tires, shopping bags, pets, and people were crammed in. Three to a seat and standing room was taken. You couldn’t fall over and we bounced and fast speeds down the Pan American. The breeze blew through the open windows cooling us all down. Amazingly, there was no smell of humanity. Nicaraguans are very conscious of their personal hygiene. The bus mostly smelled of blooming plants from outside, car exhaust, and cologne.
At every stop, vendors somehow found a way to walk up and down the aisles, shouting out their goods, and selling to the passengers. How they maneuvered around people, I’m not sure but it worked.
My favorite part of the rides were when all of the school children packed onto the bus. They all were wearing their white collared shirts; blue slacks or skirts and carried their packs. They laughed and pushed. They made eye contact and smiled. Then they would reach their stop, and run off down a muddy side road or chase a soccer ball. I was amazed at how clean they always looked when the red dirt of the roads were muddy and rutted.
The kids. You had to be in Nicaragua no more than a few hours before you started falling in love with the kids. While many of the adults appeared indifferent, the kids were anything but. They all had beautiful round faces with big dark brown eyes and bigger smiles. They wanted to know you, where you were from; they all wanted to be held by you. Even the shy ones longed for your attention. I remember coming back from the ocean on my first day only to be greeted by about 6 boys and a little girl waiting at the front gate. These were the neighborhood kids. Turns out they were almost all related. The “primos” as I dubbed them. They all asked a thousand questions in Spanish. Laughing, pointing, and playing around.
Unlike my experience with American kids, Nicaraguan kids were much more independent. They wandered the streets, came in and out of the house, and looked out for each other. We spent evenings with 10 or so kids sprawled out on the tile floors, sharing a handful of colored pencils. Laughing, singing, and vying for our attention. While some got rough with each other, and they could be wound-up from time to time, they lacked the spoiled nature of a lot of kids I have been around. They had a contentment I was not use to experiencing. And, they loved. I felt immediately loved and accepted by these little people.
Fernando. The oldest of the kids was Fernando. It was love at first sight. He was the natural born leader of the group. He had one of the most handsome little faces with big dimples, a crooked smile, and an intelligence in his eyes that proceeded his years. He was small for eleven years, but most Nicaraguans were smaller than me. He had compassionate soul even though he had faced a lot of hardship at his tender age. He was special. I pray for that boy on a daily basis. People will look to him for guidance as they get older. He is at a crossroads. He will either be a great man of God or do a lot of evil. I can’t help but see God’s hand in that boy’s life. I immediately wanted to love him, to take care of him, to raise him, and to just hold him in my arms and take away all the hurt he had faced. Oh, but how much more does our God love him!
Fernando was a revelation for me. I always knew that one day I would want to adopt kids but had no idea how I could pick one when so many needed to be loved and cared for. I was made aware of how possible it was. I also realized in a heartbeat, I could give up all of my “freedoms” as a single person to make a better life for someone else.
Transportation. If going anywhere nearby, you walk. We walked all over the city, to the barrio, out to Orlando’s farm. If we wanted to go to another city, we hopped into an old van filled with people and paid about 5 cents. If you like your personal space, you will not survive. The van was crammed with people. Then, we rumbled off to the next destination, the person who collected money hanging out the window shouting our destination to anyone we passed, hoping to get a few more passengers. If we were going anywhere far away, we took the bus. Normally, it was an old school bus with painted images of saints and the Virgin Mary over the front dash. The bus didn’t leave until it was full. And, not just every seat full, but every molecule of space. Roofing materials, tires, shopping bags, pets, and people were crammed in. Three to a seat and standing room was taken. You couldn’t fall over and we bounced and fast speeds down the Pan American. The breeze blew through the open windows cooling us all down. Amazingly, there was no smell of humanity. Nicaraguans are very conscious of their personal hygiene. The bus mostly smelled of blooming plants from outside, car exhaust, and cologne.
At every stop, vendors somehow found a way to walk up and down the aisles, shouting out their goods, and selling to the passengers. How they maneuvered around people, I’m not sure but it worked.
My favorite part of the rides were when all of the school children packed onto the bus. They all were wearing their white collared shirts; blue slacks or skirts and carried their packs. They laughed and pushed. They made eye contact and smiled. Then they would reach their stop, and run off down a muddy side road or chase a soccer ball. I was amazed at how clean they always looked when the red dirt of the roads were muddy and rutted.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
NICARAGUA (Part 1)
It’s been a few months since I was in Nicaragua. Life seems to just flash by sometimes. But, I want to revisit it. I don’t want to forget. There was so much to take in, I think I’ll look back years later and fully realize the impact those 10 days had on my life.
Nicaragua was my first step back into foreign missions since I was a child. I was amazed at how many forgotten memories flashed through my mind just due to smells and hearing Spanish all around me. I was more impacted by how little I saw as a child.
We circled the Managua airport for about an hour in the plane. The fog was so thick and the thunderstorm so bad, we couldn’t land. Finally we were cleared for landing…. Right about when the power went out at the airport. We hit the ground with great force, the plane braking and a skidding sideways. I am normally terrified of flying but for some reason, all I could do was laugh as people on the plane screamed. Welcome to Nicaragua.
We passed through the dark and quiet city as rain pounded the fogged windows of the car. I saw a few billboards plastered with smiling dark-haired people who looked more “American” than Nicaraguan. After an hour drive through thick fog on the Pan American Highway, we reached Diriamba. Within five minutes of entering Kari and Andrea’s home, I saw a gecko, a mouse, and a cockroach. The first two critters did not bother me nearly as much as the palm-sized insect. Andrea stepped on it. Crunch, white ooze spilled out of the body.
The smells. Diriamba smelled like no other place I have been. The air was thick with humidity and burning. Most people cooked on wood stoves due to costs of electric and gas. They also burned their trash. If it is possible, the air smelled strongly of wet smoke. Due to thunderstorms on a daily basis, it permeated even from the water, clinging to your skin and clothes. After a few days, however, it was almost unnoticeable.
The sounds. Unlike nights in the United States with background noises of electronics and clocks or perhaps traffic on the street, it was silent. Once it grew dark, everyone went inside and it was quiet. Usually a storm interrupted the quiet to rain down into the courtyards and beat on the tin roofs. The silence would occasionally be broken by the throaty calls of a gecko. Until you’ve heard one, you can’t really understand.
Dogs would bark from time to time. Then it would be eerily silent again only to have a mango drop from a tree onto the tin roof. Bam! It sounded like an explosion, jerking me awake with my heart racing. On a windy night they would drop and roll down the roof at a frequent rate. The noise was so loud you thought a full grown person had jumped onto the roof. Finally, whistles would sound throughout the night. It was night guards checking the streets. I wasn’t sure if the whistles were to warn or something or signal that all was well.
Mornings came early. The sun came up around 5 am and so did the city. It started with cries of children awakening, dogs barking in the homes, and pigs. Oh, yes, the neighbors had a pig. The pig went through a ritualistic death squeal at just about 5 am every morning. He wasn’t dying. He was just practicing it. I would roll over and attempt to stop my ears with the pillow but it did no good. Carts and taxis rumbled by, blaring horns and people walking up and down the streets shouting out goods to buy. Someone stood out side the gate inquiring if we wanted any plantains or pico.
Since the houses consisted of plaster walls shared by neighbors, tile floors, open court yards, and tin roofs with no insulation, you had no choice but to share your life with the neighbors.
Getting ready in the morning didn’t take much. We munched on pico (a triangular refined white bread with sugar), did our best to emulate a mocha, and spread out throughout the house to read our Bibles and journal. There was a lot to journal.
Toiletry was as primitive as modern day allows. With a small broken mirror propped up on the table, we took turns doing our hair. Mine was so curly from the humidity I was lucky if I could run a brush through it. It just clung to my neck and forehead. The water rarely ran during the day, so we filled a bowl with water from the reserve and scrubbed down our faces and necks in the courtyard. We brushed our teeth over the drain which ran through the courtyard and then just spit into it…. Everything from the shower, sinks, etc ran through this open drain and out into the sewage.
Our laundry, towels and wash clothes were draped over the line in the courtyard or clinging to the metal gates at the openings of the different areas of the house. It took days for things to dry. If we were not quick enough, sometimes, it would rain on the drying clothes, adding to the days we had to wait for them to dry.
The streets. Imagine rows, upon rows of colorful but dirty houses with cracked and pealing paint. There were no yards, no spaces between buildings. All exterior walls were shared with the house next to yours.
Everything was behind metal bars. Andrea and Kari had a small front courtyard with some plants but metal gates with a bar covered roof led into their front door. The front door had another metal gate. The sidewalks varied in height and were much narrower than in the United States. The streets were paved mostly with bricks and were deeply rutted with potholes. Trash and mud filled in the cracks. Starving dogs wandered up and down the streets while people, cars, horses, carts, and bikes all avoided hitting each other. Taxi horns blared to communicate anything from “get out of the way” to “do you need a ride”. While it doesn’t sound appealing, there was an incredible charm and personality to the streets. Everything seemed so much closer, people sat with their doors and windows open, calling out to one another.
The barrio. The barrio was another story. The roads that ran through were mud and dirt. Homes were plane cinderblock with packed dirt floors. There weren’t always doors but open holes for windows and doors. They had yards in the barrio, protected by crude barbed wire fences and strung with clothes lines. A lot of their toilets were separate from their homes and their sinks were set up in the front yard rather than in the house. Barefoot children ran around in their underwear and peeped at us from behind plants and doorways.
“Adios,” they shouted and then quickly blushed and averted their eyes.
..... to be continued.
Nicaragua was my first step back into foreign missions since I was a child. I was amazed at how many forgotten memories flashed through my mind just due to smells and hearing Spanish all around me. I was more impacted by how little I saw as a child.
We circled the Managua airport for about an hour in the plane. The fog was so thick and the thunderstorm so bad, we couldn’t land. Finally we were cleared for landing…. Right about when the power went out at the airport. We hit the ground with great force, the plane braking and a skidding sideways. I am normally terrified of flying but for some reason, all I could do was laugh as people on the plane screamed. Welcome to Nicaragua.
We passed through the dark and quiet city as rain pounded the fogged windows of the car. I saw a few billboards plastered with smiling dark-haired people who looked more “American” than Nicaraguan. After an hour drive through thick fog on the Pan American Highway, we reached Diriamba. Within five minutes of entering Kari and Andrea’s home, I saw a gecko, a mouse, and a cockroach. The first two critters did not bother me nearly as much as the palm-sized insect. Andrea stepped on it. Crunch, white ooze spilled out of the body.
The smells. Diriamba smelled like no other place I have been. The air was thick with humidity and burning. Most people cooked on wood stoves due to costs of electric and gas. They also burned their trash. If it is possible, the air smelled strongly of wet smoke. Due to thunderstorms on a daily basis, it permeated even from the water, clinging to your skin and clothes. After a few days, however, it was almost unnoticeable.
The sounds. Unlike nights in the United States with background noises of electronics and clocks or perhaps traffic on the street, it was silent. Once it grew dark, everyone went inside and it was quiet. Usually a storm interrupted the quiet to rain down into the courtyards and beat on the tin roofs. The silence would occasionally be broken by the throaty calls of a gecko. Until you’ve heard one, you can’t really understand.
Dogs would bark from time to time. Then it would be eerily silent again only to have a mango drop from a tree onto the tin roof. Bam! It sounded like an explosion, jerking me awake with my heart racing. On a windy night they would drop and roll down the roof at a frequent rate. The noise was so loud you thought a full grown person had jumped onto the roof. Finally, whistles would sound throughout the night. It was night guards checking the streets. I wasn’t sure if the whistles were to warn or something or signal that all was well.
Mornings came early. The sun came up around 5 am and so did the city. It started with cries of children awakening, dogs barking in the homes, and pigs. Oh, yes, the neighbors had a pig. The pig went through a ritualistic death squeal at just about 5 am every morning. He wasn’t dying. He was just practicing it. I would roll over and attempt to stop my ears with the pillow but it did no good. Carts and taxis rumbled by, blaring horns and people walking up and down the streets shouting out goods to buy. Someone stood out side the gate inquiring if we wanted any plantains or pico.
Since the houses consisted of plaster walls shared by neighbors, tile floors, open court yards, and tin roofs with no insulation, you had no choice but to share your life with the neighbors.
Getting ready in the morning didn’t take much. We munched on pico (a triangular refined white bread with sugar), did our best to emulate a mocha, and spread out throughout the house to read our Bibles and journal. There was a lot to journal.
Toiletry was as primitive as modern day allows. With a small broken mirror propped up on the table, we took turns doing our hair. Mine was so curly from the humidity I was lucky if I could run a brush through it. It just clung to my neck and forehead. The water rarely ran during the day, so we filled a bowl with water from the reserve and scrubbed down our faces and necks in the courtyard. We brushed our teeth over the drain which ran through the courtyard and then just spit into it…. Everything from the shower, sinks, etc ran through this open drain and out into the sewage.
Our laundry, towels and wash clothes were draped over the line in the courtyard or clinging to the metal gates at the openings of the different areas of the house. It took days for things to dry. If we were not quick enough, sometimes, it would rain on the drying clothes, adding to the days we had to wait for them to dry.
The streets. Imagine rows, upon rows of colorful but dirty houses with cracked and pealing paint. There were no yards, no spaces between buildings. All exterior walls were shared with the house next to yours.
Everything was behind metal bars. Andrea and Kari had a small front courtyard with some plants but metal gates with a bar covered roof led into their front door. The front door had another metal gate. The sidewalks varied in height and were much narrower than in the United States. The streets were paved mostly with bricks and were deeply rutted with potholes. Trash and mud filled in the cracks. Starving dogs wandered up and down the streets while people, cars, horses, carts, and bikes all avoided hitting each other. Taxi horns blared to communicate anything from “get out of the way” to “do you need a ride”. While it doesn’t sound appealing, there was an incredible charm and personality to the streets. Everything seemed so much closer, people sat with their doors and windows open, calling out to one another.
The barrio. The barrio was another story. The roads that ran through were mud and dirt. Homes were plane cinderblock with packed dirt floors. There weren’t always doors but open holes for windows and doors. They had yards in the barrio, protected by crude barbed wire fences and strung with clothes lines. A lot of their toilets were separate from their homes and their sinks were set up in the front yard rather than in the house. Barefoot children ran around in their underwear and peeped at us from behind plants and doorways.
“Adios,” they shouted and then quickly blushed and averted their eyes.
..... to be continued.
Monday, October 04, 2010
HECTIC LIFE, SWEET HECTIC LIFE
Well, I just spent the weekend moving in with one of my best friends. Life has been crazy with full-time work.... aka 40+ hours, moving, raising support for the land of Aussies, getting immunizations, filling out blue cards, and visa info, etc....
God is providing. I am currently between 3.5-4% funding. It's small but it's better than 0% any day.
I'm so excited to go, sometimes I cannot contain it. I need to stop anticipating just a little because I think I'm reaching the point it cannot possibly meet my expectations. I love Boise; I must live in the present and enjoy where I am at.
This weekend was a good reminder how many amazing things God has done for me over the years. I was leading worship at Sunday school when I realized how hard it will be to leave those kids. I've been serving with them for over 4 years! I get so many hugs on Sunday. Elle made me a clay cat and drawings.
Met with a friend of mine, Christina, this weekend for coffee. What an encouragement! God totally brought her, Janat, and I together in a big way with Janat's planning to move to Krygzstan. It has spilled into our relationships beyond being Janat's accountability. Praise God for amazing people in our lives! Praise God for putting His desires on our hearts!
I wish I had something deep or more informative to say, but I am currently brain dead from a long day of work and life. Now, to eat, run, and put away more of my boxes.
Love you all. Will update more later. Need to put up my in depth post about Nicaragua soon.
God is providing. I am currently between 3.5-4% funding. It's small but it's better than 0% any day.
I'm so excited to go, sometimes I cannot contain it. I need to stop anticipating just a little because I think I'm reaching the point it cannot possibly meet my expectations. I love Boise; I must live in the present and enjoy where I am at.
This weekend was a good reminder how many amazing things God has done for me over the years. I was leading worship at Sunday school when I realized how hard it will be to leave those kids. I've been serving with them for over 4 years! I get so many hugs on Sunday. Elle made me a clay cat and drawings.
Met with a friend of mine, Christina, this weekend for coffee. What an encouragement! God totally brought her, Janat, and I together in a big way with Janat's planning to move to Krygzstan. It has spilled into our relationships beyond being Janat's accountability. Praise God for amazing people in our lives! Praise God for putting His desires on our hearts!
I wish I had something deep or more informative to say, but I am currently brain dead from a long day of work and life. Now, to eat, run, and put away more of my boxes.
Love you all. Will update more later. Need to put up my in depth post about Nicaragua soon.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
ACCEPTED!
Just got the official word from YWAM. I am officially accepted into the January course. I'm going to AUSTRALIA in January!!!
Thursday, September 09, 2010
GOD KNOWS
I'm going to have to write about my trip to Nicaragua this summer in bits and pieces. Realistically, it took up over half a journal of front and back page writing while I was out there. I felt if I didn't write every detail in my journal, it wouldn't do the trip justice..... it still didn't.
As most people know, my first day in Diriamba was more than an adventure. I got robbed. While this did not define my trip, it certainly set a tone and taught me a lot. It challenged my view to love and trust. And, it confirmed some truths I already knew.
I was having dinner with friends on the main street when I was robbed. My camera (if anyone knows me, it is my most prized possession) was sitting in my lap under the table cloth. I have been doing photography for at least 10 years and whether I am home or abroad it is on my person. We had finished dinner and were enjoying good conversation when all I remember is feeling my camera being grabbed. I reacted, grabbing onto the strap. Within seconds I was pulled backward out of my chair and into the street.... the restaurant is open-air. I kept holding on. I'm pretty sure I was yelling at the 2 guys robbing me but it happened so fast. I had a death grip on the strap but the thief was strong.... (thanks to rock climbing for the strength in my hands!) After being drug about 6 feet, the thief gave my camera one last tug and broke my hold. Feet pounded past my head as I lay face first in the street.
I had contemplated getting up and running after the guys, after all, I can run 1/2 marathons. But in a skirt and flip-flops and unknown town, catching them would be hard.... and then what, I'm not exactly a skilled fighter. It took me a little while to realize the guys I was with had run after the thieves. Andrea and Kari, my missionary friends, helped me up. I walked back to the sidewalk and started pacing, worried about Freddy and Orlando since they disappeared around a corner after the camera stealer's. Then, I started shaking. My whole body seemed to be loosing control. I sat down and just started crying. Big, heavy tears. I couldn't control it. My mind was catching up with everything that happened.
I then felt sticky, wet on my legs. I pulled up my long skirt revealing torn up knees and blood dripping into my shoes. Swelling and bruises were started to form on my legs. All of a sudden pain rolled over me. My adrenaline had been so strong I hadn't felt it for about 15 minutes. A local woman ran and grabbed napkins and water to clean up my legs. Andrea stood with her hand on my back, wide-eyed and unsure what to do or say. We had to wait for the guys to return.
I remember I was angry, so angry that someone thought they had a right to my things. Angry because they didn't know me, they didn't know the months I had saved for my camera, how hard I worked. Everything I owned I prized and took care of. They just thought they had a right to it. They thought because I was an American I just had the money to buy what I want when I wanted it. I wasn't angry at the thieves so much as I was at the sin.
I was also angry at the apathy. There were people all over the streets and only my friends did something about it. People watched me get drug through the street. Had just 1 or 2 stepped up, the thieves wouldn't have made it far. I felt convicted. How often did I stand by and not act when I knew I should? Hadn't I seen little injustices and not stopped because I didn't have the time or it wasn't my problem? One of my favorite quotes resounded, "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing." All those apathetic people in the streets were probably pretty good people by the world's standards. You don't have to be a bad person to allow evil, you just have to do nothing about it. And if you are unaware of injustice it's probably because you don't want to know and not because you just don't know.
Within those seconds, I felt so alone. A street full of people and I still was hurt. Then, I heard it. The gentle voice that stills your spirit. "But, Erin, I know. I care. I love you. You have to trust me in this." God broke in at that moment. I felt a peace I never knew before wash over me. God knows. God is here. He is present and He is active.
I recognized the creator of the universe knew this happened. He also knew the men who robbed me. He knew their hearts. I saw it at that moment. Maybe this wasn't even about me. What if no one had ever prayed for the thieves? What if they never knew love? What if this was God's way of pursuing them? So I prayed. I prayed for the young men who robbed me. I cried out to God for them. What are the odds they rob a Christian? God knew, this wasn't a chance encounter but a huge opportunity. I will continue to pray for them until I die. Let this be the turning point in their lives. I get excited to think when I get to heaven how cool it will be to run into them!
I also recognized what God has done in me. It is my nature to explode in anger. I have a flaring temper. And, certainly far from a righteous anger. God clearly has been working for me to pray for those men rather than want to track them down and make them pay. (Don't get me wrong, in the heat of the moment I wanted so badly to punch them in the face.)
A few more lessens were learned in this time, as well. I never knew how I would react in a situation like this. My dad always taught me to fight back. He use to tell me you never hear survivor stories from people who give in. He also told me if a criminal intends to hurt you, they will hurt you whether you react or not. I'm glad to know within the split second I had to react, I refused to be a victim.
When I returned to the US, I learned another valuable lesson. While talking to a wonderful woman in my church, Pam Hunt, she responded with the best reaction I had heard. "You know, everything you have is God's, right? If this is how God chooses to use His camera and the money spent on it, then you should trust Him in this." Amen. All I have is God's. He can give and He can take. Do I really believe that or do I say it because I think I should?
That Sunday, my pastor gave a message and spoke about Job's reaction. Job asked, "Should we accept good from the Lord and not adversity?"
But most importantly, God knows.
As most people know, my first day in Diriamba was more than an adventure. I got robbed. While this did not define my trip, it certainly set a tone and taught me a lot. It challenged my view to love and trust. And, it confirmed some truths I already knew.
I was having dinner with friends on the main street when I was robbed. My camera (if anyone knows me, it is my most prized possession) was sitting in my lap under the table cloth. I have been doing photography for at least 10 years and whether I am home or abroad it is on my person. We had finished dinner and were enjoying good conversation when all I remember is feeling my camera being grabbed. I reacted, grabbing onto the strap. Within seconds I was pulled backward out of my chair and into the street.... the restaurant is open-air. I kept holding on. I'm pretty sure I was yelling at the 2 guys robbing me but it happened so fast. I had a death grip on the strap but the thief was strong.... (thanks to rock climbing for the strength in my hands!) After being drug about 6 feet, the thief gave my camera one last tug and broke my hold. Feet pounded past my head as I lay face first in the street.
I had contemplated getting up and running after the guys, after all, I can run 1/2 marathons. But in a skirt and flip-flops and unknown town, catching them would be hard.... and then what, I'm not exactly a skilled fighter. It took me a little while to realize the guys I was with had run after the thieves. Andrea and Kari, my missionary friends, helped me up. I walked back to the sidewalk and started pacing, worried about Freddy and Orlando since they disappeared around a corner after the camera stealer's. Then, I started shaking. My whole body seemed to be loosing control. I sat down and just started crying. Big, heavy tears. I couldn't control it. My mind was catching up with everything that happened.
I then felt sticky, wet on my legs. I pulled up my long skirt revealing torn up knees and blood dripping into my shoes. Swelling and bruises were started to form on my legs. All of a sudden pain rolled over me. My adrenaline had been so strong I hadn't felt it for about 15 minutes. A local woman ran and grabbed napkins and water to clean up my legs. Andrea stood with her hand on my back, wide-eyed and unsure what to do or say. We had to wait for the guys to return.
I remember I was angry, so angry that someone thought they had a right to my things. Angry because they didn't know me, they didn't know the months I had saved for my camera, how hard I worked. Everything I owned I prized and took care of. They just thought they had a right to it. They thought because I was an American I just had the money to buy what I want when I wanted it. I wasn't angry at the thieves so much as I was at the sin.
I was also angry at the apathy. There were people all over the streets and only my friends did something about it. People watched me get drug through the street. Had just 1 or 2 stepped up, the thieves wouldn't have made it far. I felt convicted. How often did I stand by and not act when I knew I should? Hadn't I seen little injustices and not stopped because I didn't have the time or it wasn't my problem? One of my favorite quotes resounded, "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing." All those apathetic people in the streets were probably pretty good people by the world's standards. You don't have to be a bad person to allow evil, you just have to do nothing about it. And if you are unaware of injustice it's probably because you don't want to know and not because you just don't know.
Within those seconds, I felt so alone. A street full of people and I still was hurt. Then, I heard it. The gentle voice that stills your spirit. "But, Erin, I know. I care. I love you. You have to trust me in this." God broke in at that moment. I felt a peace I never knew before wash over me. God knows. God is here. He is present and He is active.
I recognized the creator of the universe knew this happened. He also knew the men who robbed me. He knew their hearts. I saw it at that moment. Maybe this wasn't even about me. What if no one had ever prayed for the thieves? What if they never knew love? What if this was God's way of pursuing them? So I prayed. I prayed for the young men who robbed me. I cried out to God for them. What are the odds they rob a Christian? God knew, this wasn't a chance encounter but a huge opportunity. I will continue to pray for them until I die. Let this be the turning point in their lives. I get excited to think when I get to heaven how cool it will be to run into them!
I also recognized what God has done in me. It is my nature to explode in anger. I have a flaring temper. And, certainly far from a righteous anger. God clearly has been working for me to pray for those men rather than want to track them down and make them pay. (Don't get me wrong, in the heat of the moment I wanted so badly to punch them in the face.)
A few more lessens were learned in this time, as well. I never knew how I would react in a situation like this. My dad always taught me to fight back. He use to tell me you never hear survivor stories from people who give in. He also told me if a criminal intends to hurt you, they will hurt you whether you react or not. I'm glad to know within the split second I had to react, I refused to be a victim.
When I returned to the US, I learned another valuable lesson. While talking to a wonderful woman in my church, Pam Hunt, she responded with the best reaction I had heard. "You know, everything you have is God's, right? If this is how God chooses to use His camera and the money spent on it, then you should trust Him in this." Amen. All I have is God's. He can give and He can take. Do I really believe that or do I say it because I think I should?
That Sunday, my pastor gave a message and spoke about Job's reaction. Job asked, "Should we accept good from the Lord and not adversity?"
But most importantly, God knows.
Friday, September 03, 2010
SUPPORT LETTER
THE START... Last fall I was convicted to put forth might and mane into becoming debt-free. I moved out of my apartment and in with a friend, cutting my cost of living in half. I knew this would open a lot more doors for me but wasn’t sure exactly where it was leading.
Fast-forward to January of this year. As I was exercising one evening, I was praying about where my life was headed. I knew I wasn’t intended to be handling claims for the rest of my life. I felt called to utilize my artistic talents and love for kids to work with developing countries and underprivileged children but really had no idea where to start. I thought through what the first step might look like and knew I needed to get some form of training before walking blindly into a developing country.
WHY AUSTRALIA... It became clear I was to start my training in the “land down under” after praying about it. Australia was the choice for a lot of reasons.
-When I prayed I felt like God wanted me there.
-It will get me out of my cultural comfort zone and they speak English (well, sort of). I, unfortunately, do not know any other language well enough to effectively take courses in anything but English.
-While researching, I found out only about 4% of Australians are followers of Christ. In fact, for a warm-culture, they have a very high suicide rate. I’m excited to get to know and love people who may not have hope right now. I have been convicted to be more intentional in my relationships since experiencing someone committing suicide in college.
-I know many people who have lived there. All will attest to how much they love Australians! All Aussies I know are fantastic, fun-loving people. Who wouldn’t want to be around a culture like that?
WHAT I’LL BE DOING… After a lot of prayer, research, and contacting many organizations, I decided on Youth With a Mission. The plan is to attend their Discipleship Training School in January 2011 in Townsville, Queensland.
This school focuses on our personal relationships with God, along with outreach and missions. It is about 6 months long.
We will have the opportunity to travel into the Outback to work with indigenous groups, as well as, travel to Southeast Asia for a 4-6 week long missions trip. In doing this, I will be better equipped and educated for a much more long-term life of missions.
WHAT IT WILL TAKE… A year ago, God put Proverbs 31:8-9 on my heart as a mission statement for my life. "Open your mouth for the mute, for the rights of all the unfortunate.... and defend the rights of the afflicted and needy." There is no denying this is a commitment. It won’t always be easy. All “romantic” ideas of missions were swept away on my recent trip to Nicaragua. It is hard work; it is hard to be in a new culture; it is hard to be away from the familiar; it is hard to see a level of suffering and sometimes injustice most of us will never understand.
More than anything, I need your support through prayer. We were created for community. I will need my community in Boise and around the world to love on me, encourage me, and pray for me. If you have received this letter, it is because I hold you in esteem and want you to be a part of my journey. You can follow this adventure on my blog http://huskerfoley7.blogspot.com/. But, most of all, pray for me.
Finally, this adventure and training will take money. The good news is, God provides no matter what. I’ve seen Him provide time and time again in my life. I am blessed in knowing this and hope you can be a part of this blessing.
If you have any questions on how much is needed or where the money will be going, please check out my blog.
With Love,
Erin Foley
Isaiah 43:1: …“Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you. I have called you by name; you are mine…”
Fast-forward to January of this year. As I was exercising one evening, I was praying about where my life was headed. I knew I wasn’t intended to be handling claims for the rest of my life. I felt called to utilize my artistic talents and love for kids to work with developing countries and underprivileged children but really had no idea where to start. I thought through what the first step might look like and knew I needed to get some form of training before walking blindly into a developing country.
WHY AUSTRALIA... It became clear I was to start my training in the “land down under” after praying about it. Australia was the choice for a lot of reasons.
-When I prayed I felt like God wanted me there.
-It will get me out of my cultural comfort zone and they speak English (well, sort of). I, unfortunately, do not know any other language well enough to effectively take courses in anything but English.
-While researching, I found out only about 4% of Australians are followers of Christ. In fact, for a warm-culture, they have a very high suicide rate. I’m excited to get to know and love people who may not have hope right now. I have been convicted to be more intentional in my relationships since experiencing someone committing suicide in college.
-I know many people who have lived there. All will attest to how much they love Australians! All Aussies I know are fantastic, fun-loving people. Who wouldn’t want to be around a culture like that?
WHAT I’LL BE DOING… After a lot of prayer, research, and contacting many organizations, I decided on Youth With a Mission. The plan is to attend their Discipleship Training School in January 2011 in Townsville, Queensland.
This school focuses on our personal relationships with God, along with outreach and missions. It is about 6 months long.
We will have the opportunity to travel into the Outback to work with indigenous groups, as well as, travel to Southeast Asia for a 4-6 week long missions trip. In doing this, I will be better equipped and educated for a much more long-term life of missions.
WHAT IT WILL TAKE… A year ago, God put Proverbs 31:8-9 on my heart as a mission statement for my life. "Open your mouth for the mute, for the rights of all the unfortunate.... and defend the rights of the afflicted and needy." There is no denying this is a commitment. It won’t always be easy. All “romantic” ideas of missions were swept away on my recent trip to Nicaragua. It is hard work; it is hard to be in a new culture; it is hard to be away from the familiar; it is hard to see a level of suffering and sometimes injustice most of us will never understand.
More than anything, I need your support through prayer. We were created for community. I will need my community in Boise and around the world to love on me, encourage me, and pray for me. If you have received this letter, it is because I hold you in esteem and want you to be a part of my journey. You can follow this adventure on my blog http://huskerfoley7.blogspot.com/. But, most of all, pray for me.
Finally, this adventure and training will take money. The good news is, God provides no matter what. I’ve seen Him provide time and time again in my life. I am blessed in knowing this and hope you can be a part of this blessing.
If you have any questions on how much is needed or where the money will be going, please check out my blog.
With Love,
Erin Foley
Isaiah 43:1: …“Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you. I have called you by name; you are mine…”
Monday, August 30, 2010
My Resolve... Dream Big, Act Bigger
Today I've been pelted with discouragement. Practically drenched in it. I almost let it get to me, then I thought. Really thought. My jaw clenched, my heels dug in. Resolute, yes. Stubborn, indeed.
I remember when I was little I would just decide I wasn't going to do something and use every part of my being to make that happen. I can still see my mom wielding the yard stick. I'd tense up like a board. Whack, whack. I wasn't going to wince. She'd pick me up by my fists, balled at my side and carry me. I still don't remember why I wasn't going to do what she asked. I'm not even sure I had a reason. I would not give in.
I'm still stubborn, but I've got a better grasp on picking my battles. So when discouragement reared it's ugly head, I had a choice to make. You see, I have spent my last few years convicted of how unreliable I am. I say "yes" to everything and follow through sparingly. After a few people I really admire pointed out my flaw, I decided to let my "yes" be "yes" and my "no" be "no". A few years ago while leading worship in Sunday school we sang a simple song about people being able to depend on us. I realized, I cannot expect the kids to mean it if I did not mean it. Now, I do. It took God doing a lot of work in me. It took turning down the "better" options for the one I was already committed to.
That's why it deeply discouraged me to have so many people recently look upon decisions I have made as half-thought out and unprepared. I was questioned on a laundry list of things they assumed I never considered. Little knowing, I have been praying and preparing for this decision for almost 9 months. I spent 6 months just praying about it and weighing the options. Once I decided on a course of action, I surrounded myself with knowledgeable, encouraging people to help me begin my task. This decision being the one to move to Australia and start courses to become a missionary. It hurt the most to have a good friend call it "hair brained" and tell me I am wasting my talent and God's time.
Interestingly enough, just hours before I got her e-mail I had been reading my Bible and praying. God reminded me of my move to Boise. I had nothing but people telling me it was a terrible idea. I didn't know anyone in Boise, I didn't have a job, I didn't have a place to live, but somehow I knew I was suppose to be in Boise. Almost 5 years and many trials later, I can tell you I still know without a doubt this is where I was suppose to be. Not one person encouraged me or agreed with my move. But I knew it was what God wanted.
While preparing is important, I think our culture places too much emphasis on all of the options. Are there options when God is calling? Did the disciples sit around wondering if it was better to leave their jobs or to follow Jesus? Did they call a council, look for signs, ask their parents? No, they got up and went.
A co-worker pointed out to me I may not be able to come back and get a better paying job. She's right. I make pretty good money for my age. She's right. The economy may not get better. I don't want to spend my life living for what may or may not happen. I dream big, but I want to act bigger.
Pastor Harvey Carey described the American church as a team that gets in a huddle and stays in the huddle. The church talks and talks about the action it will take but it never gets on the field and plays. What would the world look like if we really believed that God was strong enough? What if our actions reflected our words?
I appreciate people's concerns for me. But, I'm tired of dreaming big and never following through. I'm beyond weighing options. I stubbornly believe I am called to this. I am afraid at times, I've calculated the risks, but I'm more afraid of living a life and never truly acting as big as I dream.
Betsie ten Boom once told her sister after a bomb went off showering their home in shrapnel, "There are no 'if's' in God's kingdom. And, no places that are safer than any other. The center of His will is our only safety..." That's my resolve.
I remember when I was little I would just decide I wasn't going to do something and use every part of my being to make that happen. I can still see my mom wielding the yard stick. I'd tense up like a board. Whack, whack. I wasn't going to wince. She'd pick me up by my fists, balled at my side and carry me. I still don't remember why I wasn't going to do what she asked. I'm not even sure I had a reason. I would not give in.
I'm still stubborn, but I've got a better grasp on picking my battles. So when discouragement reared it's ugly head, I had a choice to make. You see, I have spent my last few years convicted of how unreliable I am. I say "yes" to everything and follow through sparingly. After a few people I really admire pointed out my flaw, I decided to let my "yes" be "yes" and my "no" be "no". A few years ago while leading worship in Sunday school we sang a simple song about people being able to depend on us. I realized, I cannot expect the kids to mean it if I did not mean it. Now, I do. It took God doing a lot of work in me. It took turning down the "better" options for the one I was already committed to.
That's why it deeply discouraged me to have so many people recently look upon decisions I have made as half-thought out and unprepared. I was questioned on a laundry list of things they assumed I never considered. Little knowing, I have been praying and preparing for this decision for almost 9 months. I spent 6 months just praying about it and weighing the options. Once I decided on a course of action, I surrounded myself with knowledgeable, encouraging people to help me begin my task. This decision being the one to move to Australia and start courses to become a missionary. It hurt the most to have a good friend call it "hair brained" and tell me I am wasting my talent and God's time.
Interestingly enough, just hours before I got her e-mail I had been reading my Bible and praying. God reminded me of my move to Boise. I had nothing but people telling me it was a terrible idea. I didn't know anyone in Boise, I didn't have a job, I didn't have a place to live, but somehow I knew I was suppose to be in Boise. Almost 5 years and many trials later, I can tell you I still know without a doubt this is where I was suppose to be. Not one person encouraged me or agreed with my move. But I knew it was what God wanted.
While preparing is important, I think our culture places too much emphasis on all of the options. Are there options when God is calling? Did the disciples sit around wondering if it was better to leave their jobs or to follow Jesus? Did they call a council, look for signs, ask their parents? No, they got up and went.
A co-worker pointed out to me I may not be able to come back and get a better paying job. She's right. I make pretty good money for my age. She's right. The economy may not get better. I don't want to spend my life living for what may or may not happen. I dream big, but I want to act bigger.
Pastor Harvey Carey described the American church as a team that gets in a huddle and stays in the huddle. The church talks and talks about the action it will take but it never gets on the field and plays. What would the world look like if we really believed that God was strong enough? What if our actions reflected our words?
I appreciate people's concerns for me. But, I'm tired of dreaming big and never following through. I'm beyond weighing options. I stubbornly believe I am called to this. I am afraid at times, I've calculated the risks, but I'm more afraid of living a life and never truly acting as big as I dream.
Betsie ten Boom once told her sister after a bomb went off showering their home in shrapnel, "There are no 'if's' in God's kingdom. And, no places that are safer than any other. The center of His will is our only safety..." That's my resolve.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
BACK ON.
I'm getting back on this to view the Getchell's blog. I didn't realize this still existed until it automatically logged me on again one day.
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