Calm the Storm

From  http://trojanhorsecollective.com/conversations-with-my-storm/ 

There’s a storm, of dust and dirt, swirling in a chaos of grays and browns.  Lightning dances within the darkness to the beat of thunder’s drums.  Rain falls like shards of glass.  The wind howls, crying out and moaning as if in pain. 

Let’s call this storm the current state of my mind.  The dirt is my thoughts, the lightning is my ideas, the thunder is my desires, the rain is my emotions, and the wind, well the wind is the voice of others calling out to me like a siren’s song.

Now, imagine this storm has been suddenly trapped inside a little glass bottle.  Cork in place, the roaring chaos is but a muted whisper.  Its strength has not gone—it rages on as if nothing has happened.  And yet, on the outside, is has been silenced.  This glass bottle is the mask I wear, hiding the reality hidden underneath.

Despite the peaceful and confident mask I wear, I feel in this very moment weighted down by the storm in my mind and heart.  I feel stalked by the dark things in this world, things we combat fiercely with news reporters, Facebook posts and #hashtags: sex slavery, gang violence, drug trafficking, hate crimes, ethnic cleansing, systemic poverty, political corruption.  I’m trapped by my uselessness to truly do anything about it.  And those are things on a worldly scale—what about the things that affect my life here and now?  In comparison my situation feels insignificant, and yet it is holding me ever so strongly in its grasp.  It doesn’t feel small to me.  How can I reconcile that when the world is literally crumbling around me?

More importantly, as a Christ-follower and imitator, what am I supposed to do?  WWJD?  How would Jesus calm the storm in me?

I’ll tell you what Jesus would do, because he’s already done it for us.  He would walk up to my storm, speak his Truth to the wind and chaos and command it to be still.  He would turn to me, kiss my forehead, and take my worries, my doubts, my sins from me.  He would remind me that my burden is not my own, that I alone cannot save this world.  In fact, I cannot save anything.  Only God can.  With his soft voice he would remind me that He is the Eye in the storm, the Peace that transcends all understanding, the Light to this dark world.  He would take my hand and say, “My child, come follow me.”

Truly, “[h]umankind cannot bear very much reality.”[1]  Even with what little we do carry we are weighed down like Atlas, knees bent and trying to carry the world on our backs.  On our own, that burden is too much.  But with God, our burden is light and our joy is great.  We need but follow in Jesus’ holy footsteps, no matter how clumsy or slow we may be.  With our eyes on Him, our feet shall not waver from His path.

Let go and let God.

Stay tuned!

---

[1] T.S. Eliot, “Dry Salvages” in Four Quartets (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1943. Reprint, 1971), 44.

Noise

Just imagine chickens clucking, diesel engines roaring, motorcycles revving, babies crying, horses clomping, dogs barking, parrots squawking, fans droning, people calling, doors squeaking, kids laughing, buses honking, and music playing.

All at the same time.

When you move to a new place, the first things that strike you as different are generally the food and the way people look.  Ask anyone, “So what was such-and-such a place like?” and they’ll say something like “Well, it was crazy, people walking everywhere, wearing these colorful dresses—even the guys—but the food was amazing!  Ok, a little spicy, but so good!”  These things seem to be easy to get used to—you find a food you like, you copy the actions of other people to fit in, you buy a new “indigenous” outfit or accessories.  To put it simply, you adjust.  

But noise, now that’s hard to get used to.  Noise is something that is constantly barraging us, whether we are aware of it or not.  Smells come and go.  Taste only happens at meal time.  And sight, well, sight can be shut out if we but close our eyes.

And I know what you’re thinking—you can tune out the world too.  You can use headphones, earplugs, or lock yourself in a soundproof room.  But those are just replacing one form of sound for another: music, muted sounds, the sound of your own breathing echoing off of the soundproof walls.

Noise never leaves us.

I don’t know about you, but I like to sleep in relative quiet.  The rhythmic whirr of a fan or the light notes of soothing music is about all I can tolerate.  Or could tolerate I should say.  I also like to work in relative quiet, focusing on the task at hand.  Tranquility, not silence, is the level of noise I love.  But living here in León, tranquility is hard to find and even harder to preserve.  Fleeting moments it’ll be here, like a breath of fresh air, and then suddenly a motorcycle will go past or a woman trying to sell tortillas or a car announcing the circus is in town. 

And for a while there, these interruptions irritated me.  I felt constantly attacked by sounds, the noise traveling up my spine like nails on a chalkboard.  I found myself exhausted, listening and mentally complaining about every little noise I heard and didn’t approve of.  Why couldn’t people just shut up for one second so I could sleep?! 

But the problem wasn’t with the people and the world living their normal lives around me.  The problem was definitely with me.  I realized that I just cared too much about everything I heard, as if it were a clue that I had to uncover and understand.  And because of this I became so overwhelmed to the point of irritated exhaustion.  Things needed to change.  I needed to change.  And so, slowly but surely, I began to ignore things.  Honestly, I don’t know how I did it, but somehow I grew used to the multitude of noises around me.  Now, when things are too quiet I get on edge.  Like, did everyone move away or die or something?  Is there something going on that I don’t know about?  Why is it so quiet?!

Do I still like to sleep in relative peace?  Yes.  Can I sleep when there’s lots of noise?  Thankfully, yes.  Even better, I have grown used to the noise around me and have begun to appreciate it.

So, when you sleep over at a friend’s house and hear strange noises coming from the walls, just remember that your friend has lived there all along and has slept soundly without any problems.  When you travel to a new place, sit for a bit and enjoy the new sounds around you and appreciate them for their uniqueness. And when you move to a new home, a new neighborhood, a new country, take comfort in the knowledge that someday, somehow, you will get used to it.

Stay tuned!

We are the Aspen

Two deaths have greeted Wayland CRC this week, deaths of two women who were dearly loved by all of us.  Judy Potter and Josie Talsma have been pillars in our church, strong in their faith, bright in their happiness and joy, tender in their love.  We mourn their deaths, the sudden holes they leave in life behind them, a vacuum that nothing can quite ever fill again.  And yet, more than our mourning, we rejoice in the life Judy and Josie shared with us.  We celebrate the time we were blessed with to get to know and love two such beautiful people.  We are thankful because we were the lucky ones to know Judy and Josie.  We were their family.

And this week, I am blessed not only to celebrate the past lives of Judy and Josie, I am also blessed to soon welcome a new baby into our fold.  Missionary friends of ours, Josiah and Sarah Bokma, are having their second child very soon and are excited to see just who this little person is going to be.

Two different celebrations, both of life: one of ending and one of beginning. 

My sister told me the other day that Jerry Zandstra shared with our church a beautiful metaphor describing the life of the Church. This metaphor struck me as so beautiful and I just have to share it with you.  Jerry described the Church, both local and global, as being like the aspen tree.  For those of you who are not botanists or biologists, aspen trees are very unique in the way they live and grow.  From wise ol’ Wikipedia (cough cough sarcasm):  

“All of the aspens typically grow in large clonal colonies, derived from a single seedling, and spread by means of root suckers; new stems in the colony may appear at up to 30–40 m (98–131 ft) from the parent tree. Each individual tree can live for 40–150 years above ground, but the root system of the colony is long-lived. In some cases, this is for thousands of years, sending up new trunks as the older trunks die off above ground.” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aspen)

And so a cove of aspen trees is a clone family connected to the parent tree—and to each other—by its extensive and life-sustaining root system that can last for seemingly forever.  How cool is that?!  And so, in honor of the Church being like the Apsen trees, I’ve written a short poem:

We are the Aspen,

Trees with roots that go deep,

             deep,

     deep,

          deep.

Roots that grasp one another,

Entwined, joined, inseparable

Connecting tree...........................to tree................................to tree

We are One.

One in body,

One in mind,

One in spirit.

When one tree cries, we all weep

When one tree laughs, we all join in glee

When one tree dies, we all mourn

When one tree grows, we all share in the new life

Storms may come,

Toppling trees from their roots,

But in their sudden absence we live on,

Our roots keeping us strong with life.

May we never forget that we are forever united,

That we reflect the image of the Father who made us,

That we are much greater than what we seem at first glance,

That our life is in the community beneath the earthen ground.

We are the Aspen.

We are One. 

I dedicate this humble piece of literature to the beautiful and inspiring lives of Judy Potter and Josie Talsma and to the little baby of Sarah and Josiah, whoever you might be :)

Stay tuned!

PHOTO (http://fineartamerica.com/featured/aspen-tree-grove-ron-dahlquist.html)

Servant Partners

So, you may have noticed that this blog post is a bit late… and by late I mean like 2 weeks late.  Sorry!  The first reason is that I was gone for an entire week at a conference, which I will share about more in a second.  The second reason is that I was really sick yesterday and writing was the last thing on my mind.  But fear not!  I have returned!

Guissell, Me, Mark, Adrianna

Last week, the Caminantes (those in the Cohort a.k.a. Adrianna, Guissell, and Mark) and I all went to a conference in Managua.  This conference was held by an organization called Servant Partners and the purpose of this conference was to train their new missionaries who are entering into the field.  Thankfully, the conference was also open to outsiders who’d like to join in on the learning.  Throughout the week we had a mini-retreat in which we were silent for 2 hours and pondered several questions, we had Bible studies every morning, and every afternoon we learned about various things from community development to spiritual warfare to Integral Mission and Theology.  I learned a lot this week and, on top of that, I met some really cool people.

Servant Partners began in 1993 and has since grown to include 81 members in 11 countries, working in 14 teams in 11 countries around the world.  Their mission is to plant churches that transform their urban poor communities.  Servant Partners’ members also live in those poor communities to live in solidarity with their brothers and sisters.  If you’d like to learn more about them, please check out their website: http://www.servantpartners.org/.

I want to briefly share with you some of the things that I learned this week at the conference, things that continue to weigh on my mind.  First: prayer is powerful.  I think that as Christians it’s easy to forget this point as we become so easily distracted by the great works we are accomplishing or saddened by the overwhelming amount of problems this world has.  In these moments, prayer seems very far off, hidden from our sight.  In reality, it should be the first thing we think of!  Prayer is a way to establish ourselves in the presence of God, of anchoring ourselves to his glory, and of remembering that our world belongs to Him.  The moment we forget prayer is the moment we forget to align ourselves with our Creator.  How are we supposed to be Christians if we don’t spend time with God?

The second thing that struck me this is week is how God’s Word is still alive.  During the conference we studied Luke, beginning with Jesus’ birth.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve read those passages, memorized those passages, sung those passages, studied those passages.  But guess what?  I still learned something new each and every time.  Every morning we would look over a section of Scripture and follow three simple steps: Observation (What does the text tell us?), Interpretation (What is the meaning of the text?), and Application (What does the text mean for my life?).  We would do this personally, then in small groups, and then everyone together.  Each time, new questions would be asked, new observations would be made, and new insights would be shared.  That’s the beauty of the Bible: it speaks to us to this very day.

The final thing that has been on my mind is how big God’s kingdom is.  At the conference, we had members from Nicaragua, Honduras, Costa Rica, the United States, and Argentina, all of whom had spent some time serving in other countries around the world.  To sit in the presence of fellow brothers and sisters who come from very different places was such a joy and a bit mind-blowing.  We often think of the entire Church as the church we attend every Sunday but multiplied a few times.  Our minds can’t grasp how big the Church is worldwide, let alone fathom the many cultures and variations that God’s people represent.  And we all belong to Him.  Isn’t that such an amazing thing?  To know that each and every one of us has been made in His image, has been saved by his Son, and has been welcomed into his Kingdom to live with Him forever? That puts things into perspective, doesn’t it?

I would just like to end with a passage of Scripture, from the words of Jesus revealing his Mission:

“The Spirit of the Lord is on me,
    because he has anointed me
    to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners
    and recovery of sight for the blind,
to set the oppressed free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” 

(Luke 4:18-19 NIV)

Let’s follow his lead.

Stay tuned!

What If?

Relaxing in the hammock

While I was working this week, Wilma had the TV on to some evangelical program.  A minister was preaching, a guest from the US, and his sermon was translated to his Nicaraguan audience.  I wasn't paying enough attention to know exactly what he was preaching on but one of his questions has stuck with me: "What would my life look like had I not met Christ and been a Christian?" 

In some ways this question is ridiculous: I've been a Christian my whole life and so how would I know? I can't tell the future (or alternate future I suppose), I can't travel to parallel universes and I certainly can't just email God and see what he thinks.

Nevertheless, I'm curious.  What would my life look like?  Who would I be?

So let's just play a bit of a guessing game, shall we? :)

I suppose that, based on my personality and family history, I'd be one of two extremes: a depressed atheist or a wandering pantheist.  

Let me flesh those two out a bit.  A depressed atheist... Well, this Kelsey happens to be quite the fine player at the doubter's game.  For those of you who don't know what this is: it's where you doubt everyone and their stories from the beginning and then can only be converted to believing them.  (Those who play the believer's game are the exact opposite.)  I judge at first sight, I'm quick to make an assessment, and I don't forgive easily.  You are a book and I will read you first by your cover and I dare you to surprise me with your pages beneath.  Because more often than not, I judge right.  This superpower makes my life lonely as I find it hard to trust anyone, let alone a deity I cannot see nor touch.  Atheism would be my only friend, and science would be my religion of choice.  If science can't prove it, it doesn't exist.  Life would be based on chance rather than design and so I would forever feel that I had no control over my own fate.  But I feel that such a critical look at the world around me would leave little room for joy and wonder and I would be bogged down by the ugliness that I see: war, sickness, poverty, abuse, lies.  A depressed atheist I would be.

On the other hand, I could potentially be the exact opposite: a wandering pantheist.  This Kelsey is a very spiritual woman, open to mysticism and wonder.  This Kelsey is moved by beauty, impressed by charisma, guided by energy, and swept up in the New Age movements around her.  I would be the pilgrim ever searching for direction, for fulfillment, for happiness.  And I would find it for a time in many things, in many religions, in many people.  I would be the person to believe that aliens have come,that horoscopes tell the truth, that all governments are covering up conspiracies and reading all my emails, that Big Foot exists, that ghosts haunt homes, that aura readings are genuine, and that Karma is just and will always find you.  I would believe it all until proven otherwise--best believe in everything than in nothing. I might settle with being a Buddhist, confident that my inner peace will guide me to enlightenment, or I might join a cult that promises me wonders if I fully commit.  And when something or someone has failed me, I'd move on and choose something else to follow.  A wandering pantheist I would be.

Thank the Lord that I have been saved and that these stories are not my stories!  My faith has softened by harsh and doubting mind and has given guidance to my spiritually curious mind.  I love who I am, a daughter of God, a follower of Jesus Christ, and a vessel for the Holy Spirit.    

What about you?  Who do you think you would be if you were not a Christian?

On a side note, this week I had the opportunity to meet one of the Dordt study abroad students here in Nicaragua.  Catherine actually studies at another university in the States but will be joining the Dordt students here this fall.  For the past few months she has been living in Nicaragua and has been working on her own service project: a library for an impoverished community.  Below you can see us standing in front of the nearly completed building.  During the semester, her service project will be to get the library up and running and have it start to host its first activities for the community.  I look forward to seeing what Catherine and her community can accomplish! 

Catherine and I in front of her library

This week has also been, to sum it up in one word, dirty.  Nicaragua is experiencing a drought right now due to the substantial lack of rain during this rainy season.  As a result, the earth is very dry.  This week we've been experiencing these dust storms (think the Dust Bowl) that have swept through town and covered everything in a layer of yuck.  The dirty dust gets into everything and is making many people sick, myself included (my throat is sick of breathing in this stuff).  To top it off, because of the drought, this entire week my house hasn't been receiving water.  At first they told us some water main was broken but we don't believe that since at random times during the night the water will come back for a little while.  Those fortunate enough to be awake take advantage of the moment and quick fill up as many buckets of water as they can, to take showers, etc.  Some people even do all of their cleaning and mopping when the water comes, sometimes at 2 or 3 in the morning!  Last night, I had a bucket shower and never have I been so thankful to feel clean again.  Oh the day when the water comes back, that will be a day for celebration :)

So, please please pray for rain for Nicaragua so that this drought will end!  While you're at it, pray for California too as they're experiencing a drought as well.  Well, you might as well pray for the entire world and that everyone who needs water will receive it and those that have too much will share with the rest of us :)

Stay tuned!

Filling Holes

I find myself dragging my feet to write this post, something that hardly ever happens with me.  Usually, writing comes as naturally to me as breathing.  And it's not just that writing comes quote-on-quote easy for me, the truth is I love writing.  

But today I don't.

I think that it's probably because my head is swimming in thoughts and feelings and ideas and emotions, so much so that I'm having a hard time finding the right words to say or write.  I've seen and done a lot this week and, though outwardly I appear calm, on the inside I'm a bundle of chaos.  I go to bed late, my mind racing, and I wake up early, my heart pounding.  I feel tired all the time.  And hot.  The best way to describe my zombie-like like presence during the day is that I'm sluggish, maybe, or mopey.  I'm not sure.

And I know it has to do with me moving here, with all the change and whatnot that finds me every day. I know it's the side effects of culture shock, but even if my mind knows it my body doesn't.  I can't just say "be calm" or "knock it off" to my body and have it obey.  It's much too rebellious for that.  Stubborn even.

Joking aside, I really am frustrated at myself for this.  You'd think that after having done this all before, I'd get used it and be over it by now.  And honestly, the thing that frustrates me most is that I am having fun! Seriously! And yet I'm anxious all the time.  I'm going nuts.

But, having admitted all this here, I already feel better.  Sometimes you just have to complain a bit I guess.  Get it all out, off your chest.  Kind of like the book of Lamentations--now there's a good read if you like melancholy and sadness. Healing begins with pain, with admitting that a problem does exist, with confessing that things aren't perfect.  Only when you see a hole can you fill it.

So, I suppose this is me asking for prayers this coming week as I attempt to pull myself together, as I search for those holes and begin to fill them.  Pray that I'll leave all my anxiety at the feet of God and go out each day discovering Him in the world around me.

On a side note, I just got a message from my mother saying that she had a visit to the emergency room this weekend.  Extreme and sudden pain in her neck and head chased quite a bit of worry.  The doctor says she has occipital neuralgia, but with medication it should go away.  I know she will have a hard time admitting it out loud but I will for her: please pray for healing for her and for the pain to go away.  

Stay tuned! 

Ama de Casa

It’s evening, the night sky dark above us, stars shining brightly though we can’t see them.  The street before us is ever busy with traffic: buses, cars, trucks, motorcycles, horses, bikes, people.  Beside me sits my host family: Wilma my host mom, Anderson my host dad, Sadie my host sister and Javier my host brother.  We are all sitting on the sidewalk just in front of the house, sipping fruit smoothies and sharing stories with one another.  Occasionally a friend will pass by and they’ll shout out a greeting in our direction.  In this moment, we are truly surrounded by community.  And here I sit, nothing more than a visitor and yet a welcome part of it all.  I’m starting to love it here :)

Sadie, Wilma, Anderson, Javier

This week I have been doing profiles of all of the families that will be hosting students this coming fall.  These profiles will be translated by yours truly and then sent to the students so they can know a bit about their family before they arrive.  The host families will also receive a profile of the student.  During my visits, I ask for the families to give a basic description of themselves and sometimes I get some pretty funny responses.  Sometimes they sound way better in Spanish but when translated into English they sound very strange.  For example one of our moms said this about herself: “She treats each student as if they were her own children, as if they had spent nine months in her womb.”  It’s meant to be an honor, to describe how much she loves hosting students, as if they were her own kids.  But to our ears, it kind of sounds creepy :)

Another common description I’ve heard from our host mothers is ama de casa.  Ama de casa translates best to “housewife” or “housekeeper”.  This is literally the job title for many women who stay at home and take care of the house, raise the children, and keep everything going.  Described this way, being called an ama de casa is a little bit demeaning, unless of course you had always as a little girl dreamed of being a housewife when you grew up.  Then again, many women do dream of this (present company excluded).  Putting aside my hyper-feminist voice, I have to admit that I see a very strong sense of pride in the women who are amas de casa—they are the ones who nourish the family, cherish the children, and maintain the home that keeps them.  They are the glue that keeps both family and house together.  Ama de casa more literally can be translated to “love of home”.  Isn’t that a more beautiful way of putting it, of describing these women whose lives are dedicated to loving their home inside and out?  Or better yet, saying that these women are the love of the home?  It’s not just what they do, it’s who they are.

And my host mom truly is an ama de casa.  Wilma takes pride in her family, in her children, in her husband, in her home.  Not her house, her home.  A house is the building; a home is the whole package.  For Wilma, her family comes first, for if they’re not together then what point is there?  Every moment they have together as a family is sought after and cherished. 

And I’m lucky enough to witness this.  Not only witness it, but be a part of it.  I’ve been welcomed into their family, a new daughter and sister in the home.  An hija that doesn’t quite know all of their history, an hermana that doesn’t quite get all of their inside jokes.  But I am welcome here nonetheless. 

Despite my newfound respect for the women of the house, I’m not saying that when I grow up I want to be an ama de casa.  I’m saying that I respect those women who are and who find fulfillment and joy in being the love of the home.  And more honestly, I’m admitting that I’m not sure I could be a very good ama de casa.  But I pray that given the chance I could grow to be a true ama de casa, following in the steps of all the women who have raised me and taken care of me in my life.  It would be my way of honoring them, I think, of thanking them for all of their sacrifice and love and for making me a part of their home. 

This week I go out to meet more amas de casa, to learn more about their families, to hear more about their homes.  Pray that I will meet them with an open heart, listening ears, and a curious mind. 

Stay tuned!