I Chose You.

If you were to ask me if Africa was everything I expected it would be, the answer would be no.

Honestly, after ten years of waiting for something, I didn't exactly know what to expect - and I thought about that a lot as checks and well wishes came in, as the team began preparing and I started praying and letting God prepare my heart, as I went out to lunch and coffee with some of you and you graciously prayed over me and that my hands would be used, as I packed my bags; but I never could quite come up with an answer?

And as I was there I found myself asking in the few quiet moments that I had

"What in the world am I doing here?"

followed each time by a shrug up to God and my semi-control-freak self left with nothing but leaving my hands lifted and open and saying, "Here, I don't know, this is Yours."

And I really didn't know. And the days never ended with clarity. The days ended with exhaustion, utter exhaustion.

Luckily I didn't have huge portions of time to figure out what my "purpose" was in Kenya between organizing medications for the clinic, blowing up inflatables for games, attempting to put together kites (I'm convinced you need an engineering degree to do so properly), and spending as much time as possible with the precious children I had the opportunity to meet, and fighting some bug I picked up on the planes over. In the absence of these things I was still in school full time - and trying to turn in assignments via Kenyan internet. So, yes, utter exhaustion.

The week went by in a blink. I met kids who broke my heart each time they hugged me. And then I was leaving. And ten years of dreaming was over. And I really had no idea how to feel about that.

For the next few days I was kind of in a Kenya blur. And my brain really started to pick apart the "Why" behind me going.

And the devil really started attacking me, making me feel like my time there was useless, like I needed to work this next year to reimburse those who supported me, like my Africa calling was a delusion and I was worthless.

And I listened to him and my heart was broken in a bad way and it was a week after I got home that I first admitted that I wasn't at peace when a friend asked if Kenya was "everything I hoped it would be" and I started sobbing as I choked out no.

It wasn't until I had admitted that my expectations weren't met that God began to remind me that His plan is not dependent on my agenda. And He began to show me moment in which He used me.

I was reminded that I didn't choose to go on this trip, that He chose me.

"...but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit and your fruit should abide..." John 15:16

He chose me. He graciously provided all my funding (through some of you beautiful people). He caused safe arrival and health and energy day after day. He kept me encouraged and ready.

And as I stopped listening to the devils lies and started focusing on God's plan I realized that I was:

Encouragement and love and thousands of hugs and "I love you"s for little boys and girls that maybe don't hear that everyday.

Energy to teach baseball and jump rope and push kids on swings. To stay up and write letters by flashlight for these kids.

 

Strength to listen to stories that I couldn't even imagine living through and the strength to not break from them, but to see strength, to give strength, and to love them through it.

A testimony on Sunday morning that spoke of God's like shining in dark times in life, that may have touched lives and shown that darkness comes in all shapes and sizes and the devil knows how to break us, but God will always be our strength and light.

 

Medicine to the most impoverished community I've seen, that maybe won't rid chronic diseases or give someone 100 years to live, but gave them today, and honestly, none of us are even promised that.

Smiles and hope to children of the God I love and serve.

 

The love and story of Jesus, and His saving grace, to people who maybe had never heard it before.

 

And really, if one ear heard that from my lips or saw that in my life than every second, every drop of sweat, every penny donated was more than worth it.

I expected to change someone or something - but instead, I was changed.

Maybe Africa wasn't what I expected it to be. But it was a story, chapter, page in my life that God wrote reminding me of His grace and how He can use broken, selfish, stubborn people who want the next five years planned out and handed to them, to live out His plans for sharing His love with this broken world. And that's something I won't forget.

Spotlight Breakdown

When I looked in the mirror last night I saw the face of an insecure thirteen year old girl looking back at me. 

It was one of those weird moments, like when you write a word so many times that you don't recognize it anymore, I didn't recognize me. I saw a little girl lost in the grocery store and the one crying on the tile gym floor and the one watching her life disappear through the rear window of an old gold minivan. 

I wasn't strong. I wasn't independent. I had eyes full of regrets and pain and unresolved brokenness. The superglue was wearing apart, I wasn't holding myself together. All the things I prided myself in being we're as worn away as the eyeliner I had put on flippantly at that morning stoplight.

And I had to admit I'm not ok. 

It's funny how Satan works. You don't even realize all the pieces are falling out of place. You don't see the shots taken at your heart, the speakers in your head, the soundtracks of all the things you never wanted to hear being put together carefully and cleverly and then all at once when you've been weakened to the point of submission, he yells action and the bright lights hit your face and you realize that your to-done list of moving on has a sequel and you're once again the star of your very own insecurities. 

Congratulations. An Oscar to you for the most realistic breakdown of the year. 

But the most twisted part of it all is that when the breakdown is over and the crew is gone and lights shut off you're left alone with those speakers they conveniently left in your head. 

I think the worst part isn't the building of the Trojan horse, it's not the betrayal, it's not the initial, blood warming attack. It's that it's left there. It's that it's written about in the history books of your head. It's that you survived it just enough to lay there at night and listen to that record playing on repeat whispering, "you failed, you failed, you're not enough and you won't be and this happy little fantasy you're living out is just going to be another disappointment in your life because that's all your worth." 

It's the twisted Grimm brothers ending to my spotlit breakdown. 

It's the voices I can't mute because I've lost the remote. 

...hey Jesus, can you mute them? 

Is there a sledgehammer handy to smash them once and for all? 

Your eyes

So around the world
I see stars
I count them

Falling asleep to
reflections
of the light

Finding beauty in
continents
moonlit nights

But of all the stars
all the worlds
all the skies

Not one I've found
sparkles quite
like your eyes