On being here.

I blinked and a week has passed, almost as if arriving at home in the car and realizing you have no idea how you got there.  It was a busy week, one full of meetings and planning and challenges and joys; also one of peace, which is truly the cry of my heart for this season.  I am so grateful.

~~

During my time away in France this summer, I spent a whole lot of time evaluating the things that went wrong last field service and what I need to do to remedy the situation this field service.  One of those decisions was I must have a Sabbath day once a week.  One full day, where I don’t do any work and I don’t do any school work.  This was nearly nonexistent for me last year, and I committed to arranging at least one day per week that was free to do whatever my heart needed to do to find peace and be refreshed for the coming week.  Reading, listening to a podcast, running, sitting by a pool, going to church; it might look different every week, but I knew it had to be a day free of school and work.

Then we landed in Benin. And things got crazy.  And two days after arrival I’m already thinking I am going to have to work all weekend to catch up.  We had literally been in country two days and I felt behind; the panic of failure creeping in the back of my mind, with a to-do list a mile long and the desperate need to achieve overriding any other needs, no matter how urgent. 

Two days in.

I took a figurative step back and said whoa.  No way.  I am not starting this way.  This is not going to be this year.  It. Is. Not.

So the weekend came and I worked hard one day to catch up on things, and then I did it. I took a day off from school, from work, from the need to achieve and accomplish and cross off to-do list items.  It was glorious and refreshing and I found that Monday morning not only was I not behind, but I was exceptionally peaceful and productive.  It makes no sense, that one.  The rational part of me says it’s a waste of time.  But I’m beginning to learn that rational doesn’t secretly mean right. 

~~

I went up to someone the other day and said “I’d like to have dinner with you, I want to hear your story.”  Truly, she lit up like a Christmas tree; she said really??? like four times and then said how about tonight? We had a great dinner and a beautiful conversation, but what stuck with me was the excitement she showed when I gave value to her, to our time, to her story.  Isn’t that truly what we are all hungry for?  Someone to tell us I see you, you have value, your story is important and I want to hear it. 

I encourage you to try it.  Be brave. They might say no.  But if their face lights up and they feel seen for the first time in maybe forever?  It’s worth it.   

~~

On Thursday we went as a team to the screening site.  In the last few years we’ve changed our screening strategy dramatically; while huge screenings with 7000 people lining up like we had in Congo has its benefits, from a public health perspective, large numbers of desperate and potentially ill people in a confined area could be a recipe for disaster.  So now our screening team holds smaller screening days over a longer period of time, and they need a lot of help with security and patient escorts throughout the day.

We left the ship long before the sun began to rise; when we arrived at the screening site, the crowds outside the gate were already loud and rowdy.  We couldn’t see them but could hear them; the desperation clear in a group of people who had already spent days in line, sleeping in the rain, the mud, the tropical sun.  It took a lot of jaw clenching and focused concentration to keep the tears at bay.

Once the police had them calmed down they started to file into the compound.  I got to greet each second person as a friend and I were giving everyone who entered a wristband.  They were so eager, the grandmothers and the pappas and the mamas with their little ones.  Some cried at the sight of our pale skin but most were just relieved to be inside and a step closer to their long-hoped-for healing. 

Some we can help; many, many we cannot, and it’s hard to see the disappointment of those who receive a no shuffling out of the compound, their faces and hearts heavy and grieving the death of hope.  Please pray for them; for the multitudes we cannot help, and for the screening team who have to deliver the news.

~~

I guess it should come as no surprise that I aced my last grad school module.  What module was it? Programme and policy challenges in low income countries. Yeah.  Like a transcript of my daily existence would probably be a suitable textbook.  In fact, I had to read very little of the actual course material, drawing upon my own experience proved much more fun and less tedious.  Now I’m struggling through Managing crises and disasters which I think I would enjoy if it weren’t for so many other things I’d rather be doing with my time. 

So I’m still managing to work and do school at the same time; I also will be leading a small group and I hope to spend some time learning the local language of Fon while I am here.  I am not sure why but something in me really wants to learn it!  It’s very different from Tcha which was the local language in my village; speaking of village, I do plan to go up there sometime in the next few months.  Someone asked me today if I had seen anyone that I knew from my previous time yet, and I replied no, but we’ve only been here a week!  

It’s so good to be here. Thank you for your prayers and support, I couldn’t do this without my funders and my friends and emails and family and letters and love.  Thank you, from the depths.  

xxk

On arrival. See me? ©Mercy Ships

On new life and mango trees.

I was teary several times on Thursday, arrival day, the day we have all been waiting for since 2014. People asked if they were good tears; I said they aren’t necessarily bad tears, just alive tears.  Most people get that, thankfully.  I was awakened by the horrid grinding of metal on metal reverberating through the walls; the pilot entrance being opened!  The usual annoyance of a sound like that was quickly replaced with leaping out of bed and throwing open my window shade – Benin, right out my window!   We entered the harbor and our berth (parking space for ships) with all the pomp and circumstance expected; singing, dancing, a ceremony attended by various dignitaries, representatives, and assorted VIP’s.  During the sail I had shared with the crew some of my Benin experiences; quite a few came around and asked me if it looks familiar.  Well, I was never in the port, so no, not really!  Let me escape these industrial barricades and I think I will feel more at home again.

And it was true.  Yesterday I got to go out and see or HOPE center, and had several meet-and-greets with hospital directors and contacts that I will be working with over the next ten months.   Aah, the familiar streets, the lively colored clothing, the massive assortment of fruits or fabrics or other paraphernalia piled on heads and babies slung on the backs of their mamas.  We pulled in to the HOPE center parking lot (a pre- and post-hospital residence for patients and caregivers) and as I got out of the Landcruiser it just smelled like Benin.  No idea what that is; some combination of the local foliage in thick, humid air with whispers of garbage fires, cooking fires, rotting fruit, and life going on all around us.  I was immediately transported back to just over eight years ago; my first steps on African soil right here in this city, taking it all in with wide eyes and an open heart.  I could feel it in my blood, the feeling that all is as it should be; that a piece of myself that was left here has slipped back into place and I am whole again.

I wandered around the compound, the reddish dirt at my feet and the honk-honk of the Fanmilk man walking just outside the wall.  Laundry hanging out to dry, and a huge mango tree with baby fruits just making themselves seen, and I remember.  So many good times under a mango tree. So many friendships forged and memories imprinted and beverages consumed and laughter and light and joy experienced under mango trees.  They’re everywhere here and they provide a really nice canopy of shade so many gathering places near my village and elsewhere were under a mango tree. That’s where you’d spread out your mat and take a nap during the hottest part of the day in the hottest part of the year; desperate to catch a breeze and unable to do anything but lie still.   There’s a deep joy that wells up in me at the sight of the mango tree; in a cruel twist of fate I happen to be allergic to mangoes, but there’s something about a mango tree that makes me feel at home. 

Today we meet our day crew, 225 locals without whom we couldn’t do what we hope to do here in Benin.  The ship is now blissfully still for the next ten months, so the work of unstrapping, untying, and unsecuring has begun.  Patient screening starts next week, with the hospital opening a few weeks later and the first of many medical training programs also in just a few weeks.  It is a lot of work; but suddenly I find myself thinking not about the work, but about the joy it is to do this, to serve here, bringing hope and healing, light and life and service to the least of these.  I pray our patients find new life, our training participants new hope, and our crew their own mango tree experience here in this incredible nation. 

HOPE center mango tree

Heroes.

After nine days at sea I feel myself getting rather… antsy, shall we say.  I’m tired of being penned up and I’m ready to hit the ground in Benin; to pour out hope and healing and love and life into the place that will always hold a special piece of my heart.  Instead of a distant point off the horizon, suddenly we are saying things like ‘tomorrow we’ll do this’ and ‘next week we have scheduled this and this’.  Finally, it is time.

This morning we started bobbing a bit more than we have been, and after a long-ish meeting in a windowless room that was rolling and swaying and stuffy, I took some seasick meds and got myself up to deck 8 for some fresh air and a long look at the horizon (the only unmoving thing in my current existence).  Sticky tropical air greeted me; we crossed the equator yesterday, that invisible line that meant exchanging winter for summer and the inevitable teasing of new crew to make sure to look for the line just under the surface as we sail over it.

I took a walk around deck 8, the wind whipping my hair and clearing out the dizzy that had built up earlier.  As I sauntered along, I came across two of our security guards; Gurkhas from Nepal, who are some of the most wonderfully kind and selfless people you will ever meet.  These are the guys you want on your team. If you’ve never heard of Gurkhas look it up; they’re fierce, they’re loyal, they would do anything to protect the people in their charge.  These guys leave their families for months at a time to serve this little crew of world-changers trying to make a difference.  I am forever grateful for these unsung heroes.

After chatting a few minutes I moved along and around the corner; there I ran into our maintenance coordinator, an amazing guy who always says hello and has a word of encouragement on his lips.  I said hi and looked more closely at what he was working on; he was making walkers from plastic piping.   He said he wanted to get a little bit ahead before getting to Benin, because once the big work starts he’d have to put them together at night and on the weekends.  Incredible.  Giving up his time and energy to help make life a little bit easier for our littlest patients; helping them learn to walk on their new legs or their new feet into the gift of a new life and a new future that surgery has offered to them.  Another hero, another world-changer, giving of himself to spread hope and healing.

A bit further along I find our transportation manager picking up a zillion little washers of various sizes that had been spilled across the deck and rolled under the vehicles secured up there. As I stooped down to help him gather the runaways, I couldn’t help but think here is yet another unsung world-changer.  I don’t know much about his job, and like many who work in service, he probably spends the majority of his time fixing problems and handling complaints; I confess, I don’t really think about or appreciate the transportation guys until the cars don’t work.

This organization does amazing things and I’m so grateful to be a part of transformation.  But even more, today, I am appreciative of the community that I get to be a part of.  It takes an incredible amount of unsung heroes to put out the stories of transformation.  Thank you, Africa Mercy Crew, for continually teaching me about selflessness, about humility, about service and loving your neighbor and the power of community, family, and faith; when all rolled together, the result is truly glorious.  

To the unseen and unknown heroes in our midst, my heart echoes His in saying well done, good and faithful ones.  Well done. 

Can you see the line?? 

May it be so.

It’s the strangest thing to look out the window and see absolutely nothing.

It’s early, the first sunbeams have yet to make their way to this side of the globe. I’ve become used to the rocking; to the unending movement, never still, always swirling and rolling and flowing our way over the sapphire blue to our destination far beyond the horizon.

I feel so small.

As far as the eye can see, rocking, rolling, white-capped water; they say it’s teeming with life, but the evidence of that has been mostly hidden from view.  A few whales have made themselves known; in the early days sea birds would soar around us, but they’ve disappeared now as we’re cruising both along and away from the land mass of Africa.

The first ribbons of light have begun to appear on the horizon; somewhere out in the beyond is Congo.  I remember, with fondness, stepping out in faith and courage to bring great ideas from the dimension of mystery into reality, running our first training courses and mentoring programs; stumbling through the unknown with grit and perseverance and a few tears but a lot of joys. 

That little program has grown; from a few part-time investments alongside our surgical programs to now a large, stable, solid program with full-time staff and international recognition.  I love what I get to be a part of.

And we are cruising towards Benin; the country where it all started for me, my first experience with Africa and her beautiful culture and people and heart and passion. It wasn’t just an experience, it was a becoming; seeping into my blood and bones and skin until I could no longer separate myself from it.  While I’ve loved my time away, and wouldn’t trade it for anything, there’s a longing somewhere deep in the marrow of my existence that needs red dirt caked around my toenails, pounded yams and peanut sauce filling my belly and the enveloping community of ‘we are all family’ that pervades the African spirit.  

One of the hardest things that I faced when I was first in Benin (as a Peace Corps volunteer, 2009-2011) was seeing so much that I intrinsically knew was not okay, but not being able to do anything about it. The baby born with a cleft lip that was abandoned. The way that midwives treated the women in labor and the way they handled the newborns.  The broken, rusty, dirty instruments and equipment used in the healthcare setting.  These things didn’t sit right with me but I couldn’t do anything about it; now I’m returning, and I can.  What an honor.

So we’re just over halfway there; in another few days we’ll enter the harbor of Cotonou; there will be drums and dancing and celebration and joy as we begin ten months of service, bringing hope and healing, to her people and her health system.  May the words of our mouths, the meditations of our hearts, and the works of our hands be pleasing to the One who knows both their deepest needs and our deepest desires, and can bring them together in a glorious symphony of new life this year.

May it be so. 

Photo: ©Mercy Ships

Citizen of the World.

Thanks to everyone who read my last post and especially those who wrote comments or emails.  I don’t mean to say all labels are bad or that we should not ever use them; on the contrary, I think some are helpful and we all need various ways to try to fit our world/life/universe that is beyond understanding into something manageable for our finite, human brains to make use of.

I just want to be careful with my words.

Someone a few days ago gave me a label that I love and will cling to:

You are truly a citizen of the world.

Oh. Yes.

It’s been a great few weeks in France; the last field service in Madagascar was exceptionally hard and I spent quite a lot of time sleeping, reading, feeding my soul and heart and mind and body with every morsel of beauty I could; lots of hikes, lots of solitude, lots of beauty, of wine, of cheese, and of dear friends.

I celebrated the 4^th of July independence day with an Australian and an English friend in France eating hamburgers on the grill and celebrating freedom, friendship, and the fact that even though we threw all their tea in the harbor we could still be friends.  I love that.  Yes, I miss my family and wish I could have simultaneously been here and there at the same time, but I love that life has brought me to France to celebrate my American-hood with English and Australian friends over burgers. Never would I have ever dreamed it for my life, but here I am. Grateful and humbled.

That’s the joy of a global citizen.

There’s also sorrow.

Every day when I look at the news I am assaulted with gruesome details of another heinous attack.  A truck in Nice.  A knife in Japan.  A gun in Florida.  Bombs in Somalia, in Baghdad, in Germany.  Just this morning a priest violently killed in France.   Those victims? They are all my people.  I don’t know every story and I wouldn’t dare claim I understand what their family feels or their friends feel or their brothers and sisters in faith or culture or race or nationality feel.  But these are my people and I grieve. 

What trumps fear, always? Love.

In the next few days I head back to the ship, travelling through Paris and Dubai… Because a few people recently have (with all the right intentions) suggested maybe I stay away from Paris I do want to put this truth out there to counteract the fear and offer a little perspective: The most dangerous thing I can do with my life right now is not go through Paris; it’s not even to move to Baghdad (although I won’t be doing that anytime soon).  The most dangerous thing any of us do is get into a car.  Worldwide deaths due to terrorism in 2015 are less than US-only national deaths due to motor vehicle accidents.  And poisoning. And heart disease, cancer, infectious disease…. On and on.  (all this info is online, try cdc.gov, or statista.com for starters). 

Moving on.

I’m heading back to the ship and I’ve been somewhat ambivalent about that… last field service was extremely hard and while I think this year will be significantly better for many reasons there is still a little fear there.  While hiking the other day I was reveling in the beauty of solitude in the woods, with the damp mulch silencing my footsteps and the birds singing loudly with the sun and blue sky peeking through the branches surrounding me as my heart was beating and my lungs filling with fresh mountain air… It was glorious.  I felt alive, abundantly.  This is heaven, I whispered… but I can’t do this in Benin.  There are no mountains and no clean air and certainly no solitude… if this is how I feel alive, how can I survive in this next field service? 

And then I remembered – I feel alive there, too. I love the African markets and the fabric and the fried dough balls and the noise and the beauty that is completely different than the beauty I experience here but it is still beautiful.

So I’m looking forward to going back, with better boundaries and priorities and with the end in mind; I really hope this means more laughing and less crying and more joy and love and life to the full. I think it does.  Stay tuned to this space to find out, I guess!

The other problem with being a citizen of the world?  As another friend recently put so eloquently: 

The problem with travelling is that you want to live everywhere. And eat everything.

Yep. The struggle is real.

xxk

Defying Labels

Several weeks ago I was having a beautiful, deep conversation with a friend about a plethora of topics; social issues, politics, religion/faith, civil rights, etc.  I say it was beautiful because even in what could be (and often is) highly emotive topics, we were both interested, engaged, free to question not out of judgement or critique but out of curiosity and a desire to understand.  We agreed completely on several issues and were fundamentally opposed on others, and there was nothing but mutual respect, love, openness, and a belief that beliefs in and of themselves matter; the heart behind them matter, and both of us will fight tooth and nail for the freedom to hold dear and respect beliefs even if they are fundamentally opposite in nature and expression.

But something did come out in the conversation that I didn’t really like; it caught me, not enough to mention or discuss in itself, but enough for me to still be ruminating on it several months later.

At one point, this dear friend said “wow, you are really a feminist aren’t you?”.  Later in the conversation she commented on how ‘liberal’ I am, “for a Christian”.

Since that conversation I’ve engaged in several others like it, where labels were also imposed on me; I’ve been called a free thinker, a perfectionist, a republican, a fundamentalist, a democrat, and an ‘old maid’.  I’ve been asked if I am pro-life or pro-choice.  I’ve chatted with people wanting to know my thoughts on gay marriage, racism, the American political system, child vaccinations, and homeschooling – not to understand my thoughts (no problem with that) but rather to give me the right label.  A hardcore republican might call me a raging liberal and a raging liberal might call me a crazy fundamentalist republican. 

I am neither.  Or both, depending on who you are asking.

If you know me at all you know I love a good discussion, and I don’t shy away from people who genuinely want to know and ask and explore differences of opinions; I also don’t know everything, I’m not always right, and there are only a few beliefs I hold that I wouldn’t be open to changing or considering alternatives if presented well.

But labels. 

What is with the need to label people?  In that particularly beautiful conversation, I was labeled a liberal feminist who loves Jesus.  She also said she didn’t think that was possible. 

What?

(all evidence to the contrary, I suppose)

Why do we need to label people? Why does everyone need to fit into a box in the grid of our worldview? 

I don’t really like that now in her mind I am a liberal feminist Christian.  I’d like to just be Krissy, if that’s okay.  Krissy, who stands for love and mercy and justice and inclusion and safety and peace and equality and hard work and relationships and strength and a pursuit of life to the full, whatever that means.  I am for medicine and for alternative therapies, for life and for freedom, for truth and science and art and music and mystery and faith and I don’t think any of those things have to be contradictory; it’s us that decide that they are and put ourselves and each other in the us vs them categories, conveniently forgetting that we are all human and we are all in this together.

I saw this a few months ago and it totally made me tear up and jump for joy at the same time. 

Yes. Can you imagine? What if we all would stop trying to force each other into appropriately labeled beige square holes, and allowed each other (and ourselves) to be who we are, shining in our respective awesomeness… can you imagine what that world would be like? Free of hatred, shame; filled with love and respect. Heavenly, in fact.

Do you think there is a place for labels? Do you think we could ever truly be free from them?  

Be the change.

Yesterday was such a lovely day. 

Bastille Day, France’s national holiday, commemorating the start of the French Revolution.  It’s a lot like our own Independence Day, with a lot of outdoor parties and the day ending with fireworks.

Lauren and I decided to go out for dinner, meet friends for dessert, and watch the fireworks together.  We went to an incredible little pizza place that was full to bursting which is always a good sign; the food was delish. I went with the gourmet pizza menu and decided on the one with goat’s cheese, cream, honey, apples, and hazelnuts – basically a dessert pizza posing as dinner.  And a Bigourd’Ale Blanche, a local craft brew that did not disappoint.

Lovely conversation and garlic bread and friends who joined us for dessert as the sun gradually made it’s way towards the horizon in cool but mostly clear skies. After dessert we wandered towards the centre-ville, where there was live music playing in the courtyard and people milling about celebrating the day.

As darkness fell, someone set off a few firecrackers.  I glanced around and remembered why no one registered any fear at that sound: no one has guns here.  It was a large crowd, it seemed all of Lourdes came together last night; it was full of laughter and different languages and a beautiful sunset.  It crossed my mind that if I was in Paris I wouldn’t have joined in a gathering this large, but then chastised myself for being silly and fearful.  Lourdes is harmless and it’s a day of celebration and relax and enjoy the moment.  I did, however, know exactly where we were and if there was a problem how to get out quickly.

The lights went off and the fireworks began; shot from a castle to perfectly timed music. I found myself blinking back tears as beauty filled my field of vision and the emotive, haunting music tugged at my heart and stirred my emotions for reasons beyond understanding. As the final shimmers faded we said goodbye to friends and headed home; chilly toes and full hearts ready to curl into a warm bed and blissful sleep.

~~~

This morning I stirred slowly, a nagging headache trying to convince me to stay in bed while a gorgeous sunny day beckoned me out. I glanced at my phone to see what time it was and squinted at dozen messages through different avenues all asking the same thing: are you okay?  Confused I glanced through and saw other words like tragic and awful and horrified, alongside we are praying for you and please let us know you are okay. My gut clenched as I stumbled out of bed, pulling on sweatpants and wondering what on earth happened, knowing it must be bad. Was it here in Lourdes? I could hear Lauren had just turned on the news in the living room; I walked out and all I could say was what happened?  

Nice. 84 dead. Terror and mayhem.

Noooooooooooooo.  (Expletives.)

We both stared numbly at the images on TV; eerily reminiscent of 9/11, of Brussels, of Paris, of Dallas.  This time it was tears of despair I found myself blinking back; grief, horror, anger, emptiness.

How?

~~~

What do I do with this?

Innocents, children, vacationers, celebrating life and freedom and summer and family and joy; blackened by hatred and anger and evil beyond understanding.  It could have been me.  It could have been any of us in any city in the world.  Senseless killings around the globe on what is nearly a daily basis. 

I wanted to reply to all the messages, NO, I’m not okay!  None of us should be okay.  We shouldn’t be okay with all of this hatred and anger and evil in action day after day.  Please, don’t be okay with this. Any of it.  Nice. Dallas.  Istanbul.  Baton Rouge.  Minnesota.  Baltimore. Brussels. Baghdad.  Syria.  Don’t just take your anger to Facebook either - get angry and get passionate and do something.  

God has put in me a heart and a longing and a love for travel; for exploring cultures and cities and nature and serving those in greatest need.  It feels deeply and loves deeply and longs for restoration of the brokenness around me. 

It’s also very stubborn.

I will not bury my head in the sand or try to find a ‘safe’ place in the world to hide away.

Love wins. 

There is more love to be spread.

Be the change you want to see in the world. Ghandi

Life wins.

such a plethora of things to be grateful for...

The ah-ha moment of realizing the difference between isolation and solitude

Dreaming for the future, not based on what I want to accomplish but who I want to become

Really loud crickets

Servant-hearted dreamers fall in love with giving their lives away.  Life is simple: make life better for others with whatever you have in hand.  Matthew Barnett

Blooming poppies along the road

Beauty heals, beauty nourishes, beauty restores.

A physically strong healthy heart... (and we'll get there on the emotional side)

Easy access to clean bathrooms when needed with running water and soap

Local honey and goat cheese spread on a warm, freshly baked traditional baguette

We hear the saying all the time: "don't get your hopes up." I've never liked that saying.  It seems to me that we should be getting our hopes up - and keeping them up all the time. Matthew Barnett

The relief on their faces when I replied in English

This climb was much easier than the last one

A very successful shopping trip with lots of sales

Blending in

Lots of reading on a rainy day

You must take the pressure off. This is essential. Pressure nearly always guarantees you will have a hard time discerning what God is saying, if you hear anything at all.  Pressure clenches up your heart and soul and ties all your insides up in rubber-band knots.  Even if God is shouting, it is unlikely he can get through to you because of the chaos.  John Eldredge

Fresh broccoli and hummus

30 km bike ride and a full body smile

An A on my last paper

I have something to offer, I am not just a consumer of life

There will always be tension between what I do and who I am, because they run so closely together.  Wayne Cordeiro

Setting boundaries and then successfully keeping them

The beauty of the mountains that catches my breath every single time

One of the best days ever - laughter, hammocks, sunshine, chatter, franglais, beauty in friendship and just being together 

Wondering what the future holds and knowing without a doubt who holds the future, and trusting that.

That I am in better shape than I gave myself credit for

Voices of reason in a world of chaos

That I still have several more weeks to lean in to the untangling, the life breathing, the gifts and the beauty that is this place

We have staked it all on this - that life wins.  Oh, dear friends - life wins.  Life wins.  Sometimes now, especially if we will pray.  But life wins fully, and very soon.  John Eldredge



Matthew Barnett quotes from "Misfits Welcome"
John Eldredge quotes from "Moving Mountains"
Wayne Cordeiro quotes from "Leading on Empty"

Welcome Back

An abundance of gratitude for…

Feeling my heart thaw and my soul breathe and my spirit whisper welcome back

In the middle of rock bottom I discovered rock bottom is not where people go to die but where people go to be recreated. Matthew Barnett

Church bells on the hour

Sheep grazing on the mountainside

Exploring a medieval castle

Red wine and Camembert

Feeling hope rise again

Hurry is the great enemy of spiritual life in our day. You must ruthlessly eliminate hurry from your life.  Dallas Willard

The smell of cut grass

The damp shade and the smell of pine while hiking

Dear friends whom I met in two different seasons and countries meeting each other and the sweet photo they sent me to commemorate the event

Fresh milk

Spinach and fresh mushrooms

What matters is not the accomplishments you achieve, what matters is the person you become. Dallas Willard

New friends exploring the possibilities of missions

I really do still love my job

Laughing at a silly low-budget movie with a friend

Easy camaraderie while making dinner together

Sunshine and blue skies, panoramic views from the top

The customer service rep who never switched to English

A straightforward, honest, no drama, mean-what-we-say friendship

Naps

Freely giving and receiving blessings

A stunning flower garden

You must arrange your days so that you are experiencing deep contentment, joy, and confidence in your everyday life with God.  Dallas Willard

Birdsong

Birds of prey soaring overhead

Fat bumblebees buzzing from one bloom to another

A long sleep after a full weekend

Coffee

Being remembered by people I met two years ago

A prayer of blessing from a pastor who understands

Your face was meant to shine. Glory always shines. Glory was meant to be shared. John Ortberg

Tractors cutting, turning, and baling hay

Open homes, open hearts, encouragement and blessing

A long bike ride, and not being too sore afterward

Snow-capped mountains in the distance

Still light at 10pm

One thing I’ve realized is that being different doesn’t disqualify you from a dynamic life. It prepares you. Matthew Barnett

Worship flowing from English to French and back again

That it doesn’t matter what language we pray in

A sunny patio with chairs and a table

Being able to help change a tire quickly with no drama and no problems

One of the greatest days of my life was the day I decided to die to my dream of being a success and become alive to the dream of being a blessing.  Henry Cloud

Freedom to dream and wonder and hope again

Friends and family across the globe who love me regardless of the monsters I’m manifesting

Surprise blessings, surprise donations, surprise favor that reminds me I’m not in this alone

That’s just how God works with us – he relentlessly pursues us because all he has ever wanted is to be with us.  He reaches out to slaves, people in prison, and people like me doing silly, foolish things and says, “Welcome back”.  John Ortberg

Quotes from John Ortberg and Dallas Willard from the book “Soul Keeping”
Quotes from Mathew Barnett from the book “Misfits Welcome”
Quotes from Henry Cloud from the book “Boundaries”

Fire.

I’ve been pretty down lately.

I look back on this last field service, and I focus my eyes on individual incidences... Like every time I walked through a fire, I see where I didn’t choose the best thing; maybe I wasn’t kind, gracious, or patient.  Maybe I said something that I shouldn’t have or didn’t work hard enough.  Maybe I missed an opportunity to speak life because I was so focused on my own self and the fire around me.  I had some really bad leadership moments and some even worse follower moments.  Maybe I took my eyes off Jesus, or the good things around me, or the tremendous favor and blessings that are all over the place.  And I see each one of those individual events as a failure.   Sure, there were some good ones in there too… but it’s the ones I regret that are the most prevalent as I look back over the field that was the last ten months, so I tend to see it all as one big failure.

But when I was running yesterday, something shifted. 

A change in perspective can change everything.

If I can swoop out; back up far away from each individual fire where I didn’t do as well as I could have or should have or wished I had…  If I can flap my wings, soar up in the atmosphere and look at the whole field service instead of each individual fire, what do I see?  I see a field on fire… and me on the other side of it. 

I did make it.  And I am still standing.  And looking at the horizon, the future spread out before me full of unknown adventures and joys and fires and freedom.  I made it through the field.  The rubber on my shoes may be melted and my eyebrows singed, but each one of those fires has made me stronger; both more aware of my own strengths as well as the things I need to work on. 

I might not have killed it in every fire I faced this year.  I know I hurt some people.  I know I could have handled some things better.  I know I missed out on opportunities to love and serve and shine light into dark places because of my own selfishness or neediness or whatever other ugly thing was surfacing.

But I still made it to the other side.  And that is pretty freaking awesome.  So instead of loitering around in the darkness of regret and failure I’m going to stand up tall and revel in the joy that is having survived, that is having friends on the journey, that is looking back on the countless lives impacted by the blood, sweat, and tears poured into this island and her beautiful people. 

You are strong, in my brokenness

Sovereign over every step

Even in the fire I'm alive in You

{Alive in you by Jesus Culture - played on repeat these days}