A Daunting Path

As I look ahead at the daunting day before me, at the daunting week that lies before my very feet, I feel my steps waver, my mind pause, my spirits drop.  I don’t want to go there.  Can’t I just skip ahead?

Rachel, Guiss and I at the Nicaragua/Costa Rica border

Today marks a big work day for the Bola Bola project with meetings and playing soccer and strategizing.  But more than that, today we are having a good-bye party on behalf of Casa Adobe for Guiss.  She leaves Saturday.  This Saturday.  Wow.  It’s not like I’m losing a friend forever or anything but it will definitely be hard not to see her every day.  You can’t be very good roommates if you don’t live together anymore…

So, yes, I would love to jump ahead and not live through this week.  But I know I can’t.  And I know it wouldn’t be wise of me even if I could. 

I read this morning a prayer from one of Rachel’s devotionals and it really resonated with me, so I thought I’d share it.  It’s from the Diary of Daily Prayer (Second Edition) by J. Barrie Shepherd:

Journey

“Another day begins, Lord,

Another journey—dawn to dusk—

In the voyage of discovery we call “life.”

As I set out, I pause to ask your blessing,

Your guidance along the way,

Your welcome when I reach my destination.

Grant me this day

The smile of a song upon my lips,

The lilt of lively companionship along the road,

The wisdom to see the way ahead and hold to it,

The strength and courage to overcome all obstacles,

And the openness to share these gifts

With all whose way is tangled and obscure.

Do not permit me, Father,

To wander from the route,

Mazing myself in the circling paths of selfishness,

Straying with pride

That always seems to dog my footsteps.

But also, Lord, do not allow me

To travel with such intense concentration on the goal

That I cannot take the time

To enjoy the wonders along the way,

The tiny, everyday marvels that call on me

To stop a while, and celebrate,

And praise you for the journey

As well as for the destination.

And when I reach the journey’s end,

Grant me safe lodging,

Loved ones to greet me,

And a place to rest and be with you again” (p. 15).

Please keep all of us in your prayers as we go through these next difficult days and help us to not get so consumed by the destination and remember to enjoy the small gifts along the way.  Stay tuned!

Not My Story

Sometimes, I just get sick of talking about myself and what I do… I live with me enough already :)  Also, lately I have been barraged with stories of friends, family, and others who have died, often unexpectedly.  But I don’t feel like talking about death.  I don’t feel like discussing a world without certain people in it.  I don’t want to go there.  So today, I’m avoiding all that.  Today, I’m going to tell a story.

Stories have the wonderful ability to bring people together, to share in our joys, our misfortunes, our loves, and our despairs.  Stories reveal truths not only about us but about the world around us.  Mysteries are revealed, created, strengthened.  Characters are designed, developed, and loved.  Humor infects us.  Joy grabs us.  Pain makes us gasp.  Sorrow makes us cry.  A story tells it all, shares it all, believes it all.  With stories, anything is possible.

So, here is a small story I have written.  I won’t divulge my inspiration, for I myself am unaware of it.  Please, dive into the words; let the images sink into your minds, the emotions seep into your hearts.  And remember, stories are for sharing.

…..

The wind brushes against my face as I gaze stoically at the beautiful sight before me.  Mountains stand tall with peaks caressing the clouds above them, tips glistening with fresh snow.  A quaint town sits at the base of those stony walls, the sun glistening off the tin roofs and making the rainbow of colored facades that much brighter.  Green foothills envelop the small town and make their way to my house here in the distance.  The world today is so beautiful…but it fails to tug at my heart.  My mind is elsewhere, caught up in yesterday.  Why? I cry to myself.  Why to him and why now?  I suddenly look around, aware that I yelled that last part out loud.  Ashamed I look down and my strong stoic face crumbles, tears rush down my cheeks.  I feel so alone.

John, my sweet John, how could God take you from me now?  With two little ones and one on the way, why did He have to take you?  They need you as a father.  I need you. 

Dark thoughts fill my mind, swirling about, its venomous poison seeping into my heart.  I cannot love again, I tell myself.  I will not love again.  To love is to lose.  Worse, to love is to hurt.

My whole body aches, trembling from his absence.  I ache, painfully and physically, for his touch, his arms around me, his warm presence at my side.  I yearn for his smile, his wry chuckle, his hearty laughter.  I long for his stubbornness, his general lack of grooming, his obnoxious intelligence—things I never thought I’d miss. 

Part of me hears his voice in the other room, leading the others in a debate on politics or laughing boisterously at a well-timed joke.  Any second he’s going to come up behind me, hug me, and tell me everything is going to be all right. Any second now… Any second…

Time slows.  Minutes never pass.  Seconds drag on.  The world moves in slow motion, as if the wheels of the world are caught up in thick caramel, though this caramel lacks any of its sugary sweetness…  And still he doesn’t come. His voice never whispers.  His arms never warm mine. His presence is nothing but a wishful phantom.

My body heaves, unable to keep the sobs inside.  Unable to hide my hurt.  Unable to stop.

My youngest hears my sobs and rushes to my side, holding my hand in his, whispering kind words of love.  He leads me inside where my family waits for me.  They embrace me in their beautiful little arms, their warm and wonderfully alive little arms.  And I realize something.  They need me too.

…..

A short story, incomplete, fractured, simple.  Death is none of this.  Death is all of this.  I hope that what I failed to capture here in the words still came through in the story underneath.  The words between the words. Or rather, the emotion and story between the words. 

I hope you took away something to chew on, to ponder, to examine, to wonder (a hope that any storyteller wishes on her audience).  Stay tuned until next time!  

Thoughts From a Bus Passenger

I’m telling you, it’s going to be weird when I actually have to fly to get where I’m going.  Going on a big trip to Honduras via bus just didn’t hold the thrill that it used to, back when I was wet behind the ears about land travel through Central America.  Now, instead of looking forward to seeing new things at the border, I look forward to eating food at my favorite food stands, especially the handmade tortillas and the freshly squeezed fruit juices, and watching all the foreigners pay way too much to use a bathroom :)

Leading a focus group

Last week I had the privilege to travel to Honduras to participate in a CRWM Latin American conference centered on youth and violence.  In total, there were 86 participants from (I think) 11 different countries—a huge and diverse group indeed!  Throughout the many sessions in the conference, we had the opportunity to worship God in three different languages (Spanish, Creole and English) as well as learn about a youth program called IMPACT (which began in Romania) and how it has spread to many countries around the world.  Rachel and I also had the brief opportunity to share what we are doing here in Costa Rica and how our model and approach is different and unique.  Initially we were going to have an hour to present but when our turn came, we were only given 10 minutes!!  Ok, so that was hard to say the least, but I think we managed and hopefully people were able to take away something from what we shared.  While learning about different youth programs throughout the world was interesting, my favorite part of the conference was meeting new and old friends from many different countries.  Consequently, I’ve been offered several times to visit friends in places like the Dominican Republic, El Salvador, Romania, and Guatemala just to name a few (and I may take them all up on the offer someday!). 

Having fun with new and old friends :)

After attending this conference, what’s most been on my mind is the idea of “missions”.  I think that over the years, this word has become so warped and changed from what it originally meant that it no longer resembles its former self.  What in the world does “mission” even mean anymore?  Thoughts jump into my mind: knocking on doors, passing out Bibles, shaking hands and preaching on sidewalks.  But is it bigger than that?  I believe it is.  Having teen bible studies is as much a mission as having a soup kitchen for the needy, or a human rights campaign on sex trafficking, or hosting awareness group to promote breast feeding—though they might not work directly under or for a church, they are doing God’s work, albeit a bit more covertly than some other missions.  While in Honduras, I got the chance to talk with Dana Bates (who has his PhD from the Oxford Centre for Mission Studies) and how he came up with the idea for the IMPACT clubs in Romania.  Ok, so this guy is kind of a big shot and he was personally chit-chatting with little ol’ me.  Needless to say, I felt pretty good :)  Anyway, he said something that really meshed with what I have already been pondering: people try too hard to separate mission work and community development; in reality, they are two sides to the same coin and cannot (and should not) be separated.  When we work together for the betterment of our communities, for the betterment of others, we are living out God’s kingdom here on earth.  And that’s how it should be.  

But who is qualified to do missions, we might ask?  Bible thumpers?  English teachers?  Community workers?  Pastors?  High school students?  Me?  To put it simply: yes.  We are all qualified, but even more than that we are all called, to mission work.  In our homes.  In our communities.  In our schools.  In our government.  In our nation.  In our world.  Not just the missionaries that are commissioned by the churches.  Not just the sociologists or anthropologists with their fancy degrees.  Not just the theology experts or Bible teachers or pastors.  All of us.

So I say: so what if the word “mission” has changed?!  In my opinion, it has become more holistic over the years to recognize that every act we do to advance God’s kingdom is an act of service, an act of mission work.  So let’s not limit ourselves and “let the experts handle it.”  Because, guess what folks, we are all called to be the hands and feet of God, the loving neighbors, the humble servants.  Let us all pray that we never forget this challenge every morning we wake up and begin our day.  Let us not forget who we are and what we are called to do as children of God.

Stay tuned until next time!