Thankful Thanksgiving

On November 1st I started counting down to Thanksgiving, picking just one thing each day to be thankful for and avoiding repetition (if not my list would alternate between my momma and Jon).

This Thanksgiving, I am thankful for...

1) My Momma!
2) My Bible study group ladies. What a supportive lovely group.
3) GPS enabled phone for when I get lost in my own town.
4) The chickens and goats I saw on my country walk.
5) Hearing from God.
6) For several people who want to bless the Micah boys with Christmas gifts - even if it is a challenge to pack.
7) Friends who help, friends who speak to my heart, friends who encourage.
8) Jon. He makes me laugh, keeps me entertained, is a good friend. He helps the work flow going. Jon rocks!
9) A packing miracle! Somehow almost everything fit in to my bags. I really don't know how it happened.
10) The salty taste on my lips from kissing the sweaty cheeks and foreheads of Micah boys.
11) A delightful day witnessing two friends become husband and wife.
12) Lives changed. David, Miguel, Wilmer, Arle, and Junior graduated. What an accomplishment! I am so very proud of each one.
13) A day spent with Micah boys is always a day to be thankful. For their lives and the joy they bring to mine.
14) Sometimes, it's the simple things in life - like a good coffee, or two.
15) A furnace that works! Warm clothes to wear on chilly days. My needs are met abundantly.
16) Marvy Jei! You are such an encouragement to me.
17) A friend who shares her Pepto to help get me through the work day with my Teguzy tummy. {blah!}
18) A settlement has been reached between me and the HOA board. It only took 6 months or so.
19) Friends are so dear and treasured, especially the ones who have walked with you for years. 19 and counting with Kim. Tears shed as we share our hearts, precious times.
20) Lunch with Miss Fire-Cracken, and her listening ear greedily eager to hear stories about Micah boys.
21) A wonderful manager. She is funny, witty, thoughtful, an advocate, and just plain cool.
22) Group Groove. It brings me joy and delight to shimmy, cha-cha, mambo, and twirl.
23) That God never stops working on me. His gentle strength continues to refine and bring growth in my life.
24) Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade! I get so excited to see the snippets of Broadway shows and watch it every year.

Most of all I am thankful for God the Father, Jesus my Redeemer, and the indwelling Holy Spirit, my family - both of blood and of the heart, and my dear precious friends.

"Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you." 

1 Thessalonians 5:18 (ESV)

Dreaming in Purple

I am all woman.  And those internal organs that make me female have been the bane of my existence since puberty hit. They have caused me problems from the time they 'woke up.' It is partly for this reason that I have always had a strong suspicion that I would not be able to get pregnant. (Before I go on, let me clearly say I do not know this as fact - it is just a strong hunch; I don't want to offend those of you who know with certainty.) The idea of being pregnant has never been particularly appealing either. But this is due to vanity. I have always struggled with my weight and the idea of being pregnant and getting fatter yet horrified me (because of course I would never be able to lose the 'baby weight'). The lack of desire to carry a child and the idea that it wasn't likely does not mean I did not have a strong desire to have children - loads of them - it just meant my plan was to adopt. At least one from every continent. In the last few years my opinions had started to change, not about adopting - I still very much want to do that, but about bearing children, about being pregnant. What caused the shift? That annoying cliche, "the biological clock." As I just passed my 38th birthday with nary a date to be had in the last year (or the last 38 for that matter), let alone a spouse, assuming the physical ability to have children - my chances are just about out. I no longer have a choice in the matter, the decision has been made for me. I do not like that the matter was taken out of my hands. This past spring-summer in particular has been a struggle. A struggle to let go of the newly accepted idea of being pregnant. A struggle to let go of the idea of having children at all, ones that I can truly call my own.

The precious Madeleine Sophia

Being a parent is not a right, it is a gift, a precious gift - and one that I will not receive. Yet realizing this has made the children and teens who do allow me to speak into their lives as friend, mentor, "auntie," "mama hennyfir" that much more treasured. A dear friend has taught me a lot about how incredible a gift children are to a family as she and her husband have walked the painful road of miscarriage with all its unmet longing, desire, and questions. And when that road took the uncertain turn towards adoption, I started to learn what an amazing gift a birth mother bestows on a couple. One day in June I sat at my desk completely distracted, fidgeting more than normal, constantly checking  for news. News of a baby to be born. News of a smooth adoption. News that my friend had been blessed with the outrageous gift of life. And when the story of that day was finally told, I cried. Big tears of joy and happiness, mixed with relief, rolled down my smiling cheeks. I have never been so happy for a baby's birth.

When it came time for the baby shower - scheduled for after the birth, just in case the birth mother changed her mind - I knew exactly what to give my friend. Two very adorable dresses had been hanging in my spare closet for the past three years. Dresses I had bought on a whim when the same friend had announced her pregnancy. Even though other friends have had children in that time, little girls too, I could never bear the idea of giving these dresses to anyone else. Hope's embers still glowed, however faintly. It was with delight that I finally took them off the rod and wrapped them in tissue paper. Looking at the size tag I had second thoughts as they may be the wrong season when they are the right size, but hopefully  this lil' girl will be petite like her birth parents and it will all be fine. Behind these two dresses was another little outfit, a romper, the cutest romper I have ever seen.  Look at it, isn't it super cute? I had bought it as a baby gift for a friend. That child should be about 18 by now. I thought the outfit so adorable I couldn't give it away. I decided to keep it for my own baby girl who certainly wouldn't be that far off in the future. For the last 18 years that little purple romper has been my symbol of hope and dreams. Hopes and dreams that were not unanswered, but shifted, and are in the process of being answered in a very different way than anticipated. With some hesitation, reticence and sadness (and a few thousand times of asking God, "Are you sure, really-really sure I won't need this?") I took that outfit, burdened with so much meaning, and added it to my friend's gift. A friend whose hopes and dreams were at long last answered, also in unanticipated ways, but answered in a beautiful brown-eyed way. I really don't know that I could have given the romper to anyone else. It would have been easier to give it to Goodwill, never to be seen again, than to give it to someone who doesn't understand the process of releasing our hopes and dreams and the heart-ache involved, who couldn't appreciate that this was more than just an article of clothing - I was giving part of my heart. As my friend opened my gift I had no regrets about passing on my symbol that I had been holding onto for so long, its time had come to an end for me, I only hoped she liked it as much as I did. I am content, my heart is full, it overflows with love for my boys - my Micah boys - and they would have looked down-right silly in a purple romper meant for a 2-year old girl.

Fear of Being Found Out!

I have joined an online book club. I don't understand how it will work just yet, but I know I need to be part of this group. God has been showing me a lot lately about myself, revealing the depths of my fear, the pervasiveness of my fear. But just as I started to get overwhelmed by the distance there is to cover to overcome fear, my mom gave me the book Dangerous Wonder about taking risks to live a faith-filled life, guess what topic the first couple chapters touches on? Yup. Fear. Then one of the blogs I follow, (in)courage, announced their fall book club selection - What Women Fear. Are you noticing a trend? I am. I am looking forward to journeying with a community of women, discussing the role of fear in our lives, and hopefully gleaning ideas of how to walk in faith and overcome unhealthy fear.

Maybe this is a crazy idea, but I thought to kick off my journey with the book club, why not write a post about one of my fears. There is one fear that I am having a knock-down, drag-out fight with lately. It also happens to be the sub-title for chapter 3 - Fear of Being Found Out. I haven't read that far yet. Maybe it would advise me not to post in a public for-the-world-to-see forum my fear of being found out. But like I said, I haven't read that far and here I am about to expose myself.

I am afraid of being found out. Being found out as a sham, a fake, an impostor, a flibberty-jibbit, a cotton-headed-ninny-muggins. Worse yet, I fear being found out as unqualified, incapable, insufficient; and the people who thought better of me being left sorely disappointed. The thing is, I am not enough for what is being asked of me - and that is a good thing. Knowing that I really can't do it in my own strength, I have to lean into Christ all the more. That is, when I remember rightly.

As I work through my Bible study, knowing that it will soon be my turn to lead, I wonder what I have to give to the ladies, whether I have what it takes. I don't know my Bible as well as I should. I'm not as faithful and studious as I ought to be, certainly not enough to be a leader. Will the women's ministry leader come up to me afterward the first time I lead and rescind her offer to be part of the leadership?

Even though I feel as though Jesus is amping up a crowd of angles chanting "Do it! Do it!" I want to shrink from the challenge of starting a new growth group at church. "I am not a charismatic person, I can't start something - it will flop."

My fear of being found out really comes alive as I try to answer a series of questions from Micah.
"Why are you interested in working with street kids in a foreign country?" -Because I fully believe God has called me to this particular ministry. That's all I've got and I know it is insufficient - just like me. My answer is insufficient, because I am insufficient. And if I don't come up with a better reasoned, logical, convincing answer to this question, and especially the next one - "What talents, skills or personality traits do you have that will play a key role in your ministry with homeless teens?" - then the director and board are going to find me out. They'll know what I already know deep in my heart, that I don't have what it takes, and I'll be rejected (That's another fear - being rejected. Two fears for the price of one trigger, lovely.) The truth is I do have talents and skills, some that can be used by the ministry; and I do have a personality, albeit a quirky one, but one that seems to be well suited for life at Micah. I could have a two page list of very convincing proofs for my interest in street kids, but the one that really matters, the one that will get me through the difficult times is knowing that God has called me.

The thing is, if I try to prove how capable, competent, and worthy I am of these roles I am going to fail. I cannot do it in my own power. I truly am not enough. But thankfully, graciously, God is enough. Even though I am full of weaknesses, His power is made perfect in weakness. His grace is sufficient for me (2 Cor. 12:9). And if God has called me to these roles, then he will provide the means and ability as well (2 Tim. 1:12).

Amongst my grandmother's things that I looked through after her passing I found this quote, which I wrote down and put on our fridge, I wish I knew where she picked it up:

"The will of God will never take you where the grace of God cannot keep you."

Heads to Keep My Head

I knew going into this trip it was going to be bitter-sweet. I would spend time with people I love that I do not see very often, be in a place I enjoy, but that it was also a time to say 'good-bye' and bring closure to the "European" part of my life. A friend asked where in the world I was, I responded "I'm in my other home from a previous life." And that is the truth of it. Strange as it seems, Brno is in a sense "home." But it wasn't until today that I got that deep pang in the heart; the realization that I really do love Brno, love being with Bethany and Gloria, which filled me with longing to return, but knowing that I am saying "no" to this option in life. And if it weren't for my plastic baggie of heads, I might waver in that decision.

It started as just a silly idea sparked by photos from Becca and John's trip to South Africa. Something that would be fun and hopefully get a few laughs. With Charissa's amazing help I came to Europe armed with 20+ "Micah boys on a stick." The hope was to take photos using the heads, show the boys that even though I am traveling half way around the world - they are still in my thoughts. Plus, it makes some of the photos more interesting, in a quirky kind of way. But who knew that my desire for gag photos would be providential - or as Natasha put it: "So glad you have your heads to KEEP your head." Even though I had no idea I would need a reminder of a greater love than I have for my friends here, quaint buildings, yummy food, castles at every turn, history that goes back multitudes of centuries and cobblestone streets that test my ability to walk, when I packed my Micah heads, they have been providential. Always carrying at least a few with me hoping to find an inspired shot, and the interaction on Facebook after I post the photos, has kept me tied to Micah and my heart on course. Who woulda thunk!? Ahh... the providence of God - what a blessed thing!

Only By Love

"The arms of love encompass you with your present, your past, your future; the arms of love gather you together." - Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Tuesday afternoon I sent my mother a link to a blog, that I picked up from Becca who posted it on Facebook. It was for a photographer who is on a short-term missions trip to Honduras at the moment and went with some people from the Micah project to visit the market district. I commented that I was kind of proud of myself for picking out JuanCa from the back of his head; the scar is rather distinctive.  Looking through the photos made me a little envious of this gals skills - I want to take great pictures like her! But it also made me homesick, on a day where I was already filled with longing to be in Honduras. 

Want to take a looksie at the photos? Start here.

Pretty great shots, right? Make sure to click on the link day one (part 2) to see more. 

The next morning - Wednesday - I found an email in my inbox at work, apparently I had sent the link to mom using my work email. 

"WOW...went through a gamut of emotions looking at the pictures.  From smiles to tears to ahhhh's back to tears.  I KNOW now that you have been called by God to go to Honduras.  You look at these pictures and you (Jenn)  are drawn in with your heart to the people and you ignore the streets and trash. (sorta)  I see how that could get to you and the work God has to do in a heart/mind to get beyond it.  Is there a smell too?  There must be.  These were really incredible pictures - felt like I was there, recognizing a few of the people.  Fab pic of JuanCa.  But when I saw that pic I realized the work God had done in his heart and life and the smile of a changed man. That going there means giving up the American life for the Honduran life, and loving a people addicted and dirty....not unlike the Hotel residents in  some ways.   I saw Honduras in a different way = a people made in God's image and a people God loves and children without many chances for a life without glue, needing someone to come alongside to help bring life to them. 

I trust in God's Name for you and in His promises to sustain you there and give you wisdom and His love to share with these wonderful people.  I love you so much and would be selfish without knowing that God is calling you and I would never stand in the way of what God is doing in your life. He has given you a heart sooo big it needs to be shared with these lovely people."

My mama! My eyes welled up and spilled all down my cheeks as I read that. And they still do. With her words she wraps her arms of love around me in the present, reminding me of my past, releasing me into my future, gathering me together in one cohesive whole. 

Gobsmacked!

[Sorry friends! This should have posted August 4th, somehow it got stuck in draft mode.]

I have been very privileged to travel to many corners of this world. I have seen many beautiful places in far flung locations. The glowing limestone walls of Jerusalem at sunset, the rolling hills outside Brno covered in red poppies in spring time, the Julian Alps freshly covered in snow, the thick lush green of Tryon Creek forest. Added to this prestigious list today is the countryside just outside Tegucigalpa at daybreak. Clouds were hanging low, hugging the curves of the hills, the sun painting the clouds in shades of pink and gold. The trees glinting in the early morning light. We left the hotel at 5 am to head out to Corralitos. I brought with me my IPhone, a book, a few magazines, all of which to entertain myself on the ride; none of it was needed - I just sat staring out the window in awe of the beauty. I had stashed my bag with my cameras in the back of the truck, out of reach, so I can't share the glory of the morning, but I don't think the magnificence could have been captured. It was so stunning!

By the time we arrived at abuela (grandmother; g'ma to Edwin and Miguel Fugon) Gloria's home in Corralitos the sun had been up for many hours. Three U-turns and a questionable road gave us the opportunity to take the scenic route which I thoroughly enjoyed. Abuela's house is on the side of a mountain, overlooking a steep valley and opposing hillside. The view was worth a million bucks, her house was not. We had come up here, to a spot that felt a world away from the city, to build her a new home - in a day. It wouldn't be much of a home by our American standards - an 18x20 square foot room, but for abuela - it was a palace and an answered prayer. The house she had been living in wasn't much bigger, if at all, but it was built on the ground, just dirt for floors, the wood had dry rot and was falling apart, the roof leaked so that when it rained instead of sleeping at night she would have to sit up in a corner to do her best to stay dry. She now has a home with a wood floor that is elevated off the ground, a metal roof to keep the rain out - a safe and dry place where she can sleep no matter the weather.

Today it hit me - between building this house for abuela and helping build the foundation for Ana's house - we are God's answer and provision to these two women. Our team isn't doing anything amazing or significant, we are each contributing a small effort, whatever we are capable of. Together it adds up to a house or a rock retaining wall. But that is the normal reality of the Christian life; being the hands and feet of Christ to this world. We are obedient in the small things, the trivial matters, we give what we can - and God works through that and converts it in His economy to create an answer to a multi-year long prayer and blesses the socks off these women. I don't know that I have ever been able to take what I've done in the past few hours and confidently say, 'I was part of God answering this person's prayer.'

I couldn't do much and felt pretty useless today. My hands were hurting and the wrists aching, hammering would not have been an unwise choice, but that is what was mostly needed for this project. While the post holes were being dug and the lumber carried down and put in place I talked with abuela, learning about the plants in her yard. She has her very own coffee plants! She grows her own coffee! The coffee addict in me really wished she would have offered a cup of her homegrown brew. But for a gal who harbors a fantasy to start an organic, shade grown, fair trade coffee co-op adjacent to Micah and VLM I was pretty excited just to see and touch a real coffee bush. I also learned about a different variety of cilantro than what I ever knew existed, tried raw sugar cane, and pure extracted cane juice boiled into a block. (Did you know I am allergic to sugar cane? I wasn't about to say no to our gracious host though.) I am so glad I got an opportunity to just spend time with her; she is a pretty incredible woman.

My two big highlights of the day:
1) Abuela must have been watching me roast hot dog after hot dog over the open fire for peoples lunch, but not see me eat the first one I cooked. As people ate their fill and went back to work, the crowd waning, I worked on repairing one of the roasting sticks to finish up cooking the dogs, abuela decided it was time for me to eat. She walked right up to me, grabbed me firmly by the wrist and pulled me into her home and motioned for me to serve myself some of the soup she had made. Although I had no idea what she was saying, unsure if it was totally safe or what the "meat" was, I knew she was going to be adamant, there was nothing to do but eat the soup. Don't mess with grandma!

2) At the end of the day we 'presented' Gloria with her new home and prayed for her. As she tried to express her thanks she was so overcome with emotion that she broke down crying. This strong, confident, capable mountain woman buried her petite head into Brian's chest like a child, using his t-shirt to daub away her tears.

Abuela Gloria cuts up some
sugar cane for us to enjoy.

The old

The new (almost complete)

Tears of Joy

August 1st Highlights

Today was the first day the team split into groups to cover three different areas: VBS, street/dump food delivery, and construction. My group started with a walk from the hotel to the market area where the boys who come to Friday night soccer typically hang out. There were not many today but we still quickly ran out of the baleadas. I took out my camera and they all wanted their picture taken - multiple times. I was happy to oblige. But at one point a kid who wasn't familiar to me was asking for his picture to be taken but he wanted to take pictures too, I think. I didn't pick up what he was saying very well. But Juan Carlos did and he quickly was at my side with his arm around my waist. Hmmm... something was up. I heard JuanCa say "mi hermana" and the guy looked at me suspiciously and told Juan he was lying. I interjected "No, Juan Carlos es mi hermano." I don't know what Juan saw or heard, but I am so grateful for my Honduran brother who is watching out for me and protecting me.

I had a moment of personal victory today. As I sat on the ground next to Michael Miller to eat lunch, little Nicole who had been my shadow on Saturday got up out of his lap and in a sing-song voice said "Jen-ne-fir!" and plopped herself in mine. My lap won over Michael's?!?! Remarkable!!!

I could also talk about sweet little Dulce who I played with at AFE, but I'll let a picture do the talking - once I can post it.

Home Coming

As we walked off the airplane and I looked out at the lush green hills, they were familiar; I was coming back, back to a place I know and where people know me. The customs guy was surprised that I was coming back for a third time, "You must like Honduras?" "Yes, very much, I have some special friends who live here." And as I walked out to the meet & greet area I got to hug and squeeze those special friends. It was like coming home.

The best hug didn't happen until later that day. We drove up to the Micah house for dinner and as I sat in the back row waiting for my turn to get out I heard from Mitch up front "Hey, there's Hauner!" I started desperatly trying to get the back door of the van open but my impatience was thwarting my efforts. Finally someone else got it open and I scrambled out as fast as I could, hitting Becca in the process. I squatted down so Hauner could see me around other people and set an extra bag down on the ground so both arms would be free. We locked eyes and burst into smiles and ran at each other. As I got close I leaped at him,wrapping my arms around his neck tight while he held me tight and swung my legs like a pendulum. "I miss you so much, mamí!" All night I could not stop hugging Hauner every chance I could. I've missed my boy.

My heart is so full.

Thanks for Siblings & Exhibiting

#64 My brother visited home for a week.

Historically, my brother and I have not gotten along. We have a fierce sibling rivalry, even as adults, although we sound more like middle school students than 30-something adults. We attribute it, in part, to the 4 ½ year age gap that led to a difference of 6 grades; so when I went off to college, Chris was just starting junior high. It makes a difference. But add in the difference in how we were raised, and most of all the differences in our personalities – and the similarities for that matter, and the dynamic can be volatile. I generally look forward to my brother’s visits with a combination of eagerness and dread. Chris is the funniest person I know, he thoroughly entertains me. But he also tends to be temperamental and moody, easily angered. Since Chris moved away four years ago he has come home to visit for July 4th every year. This year he arrived on July 5th and stayed the rest of the week. There was something different about him this time, mom and I both remarked on it, yet we can’t quite put our finger on it. He was mellow, not that he didn’t have a couple outbursts, engaged with the family, friendly, and just plain fun to have around. I was actually really sad to say ‘good-bye.’ And so, I am incredible grateful for my brother’s visit.

#65 Micah Project will be one of the exhibitors at The Justice Conference.

In February I went to the inaugural Justice Conference sponsored by World Relief and it was the best conference I had ever been to, hands down, no competition. Best. Ever. Thanks in large part to Dr. Wolterstorff. I was thrilled when they announced they were going to do a second conference in 2012. When they put out the announcement that they were opening up applications for exhibitors, I decided Micah Project should be among them. After getting the approval from Michael, I quickly submitted the application, and yesterday got the official acceptance. Micah Project will be among the exhibitors February 24+25, 2012!

Counting Down the Days

Only a couple more weeks until Honduras!

Over the last few weeks I’ve been thinking about the “why” of support raising. For those who are not familiar with this aspect of the evangelical church, it probably seems really weird to ask others to pay for a ‘trip.’ I would agree; it is a weird notion, rather anti-American as well. We value being independent, fiscally responsible, and self-sufficient. Raising support seems to be the opposite, almost downright greedy, when viewed through the American cultural lens. But how do you explain the rationale and logic if we don’t share a Biblical context? That is the crux of the question I’ve been wrestling with lately. Sure, having supporters helps alleviate the financial pinch if I had to cover the cost myself, and that is nice. But the benefit and purpose, from my viewpoint, is that I know that I’m not doing this alone. It’s the difference between an individual sport and a team sport.

 As I’m writing this I have the Tour de France coverage playing on TV. Bicycling is a unique sport in that it is an individual effort, but everyone is on a team (so my analogy may quickly break down). Each team has a “star” rider, if this person crashes the rest of the team slows down, comes around the star and helps bring them back into the pack – they are the domestiques. They’ll let the leader draft from them so that he doesn’t have to expend all his energy to get back on his own. It’s up to the star rider to catch up to the team, to put in effort, to push his limits at the finish line, but the team works together for a common goal of getting the leader to the finish line. While each rider is accountable only for himself when he crosses the finish line, he probably wouldn’t have even started the race if he didn’t have a team. The team provides the accountability to train, workout, improve technically, eat right, and be prepared when race day comes.

My analogy is getting convoluted so let me get to the point – while I could do this on my own, I do not want to, I want a team of people to come around me, support me, be my domestiques  =) , and primarily – hold me accountable. If I have people that I am accountable to, I am going to be sure to put in the hard work of preparing, of giving my all while in Honduras, pushing myself to my absolute limits and then beyond – because I have people to answer to for my choices. It is really quite humbling to ask for support, to admit that I really can’t do this alone, but I can’t – and so I am asking for your support.

There are multiple ways you can support me, the main two being financially and prayer. I received a summary yesterday of the donations thus far and I am just over half way to my $1900 expenses. The church asked that all donations be sent by June 30th – but that was a semi-soft deadline. If you believed you missed the opportunity before – don’t worry there is still time! If you would like to support me, ask for a donation form, print it out and fill in your information, follow the directions of how to fill out the check and mail it to Grace Point Community Church by Monday, July 11th. I’ll be given my final summary on Sunday the 17th and that is the real final-final deadline. Prayer support is also key and even more important than finances, even though that is what I have been focusing on. Other ways could be donations of goods or services, words of encouragement, etc.  Simply – I need your support, any which way you can give it.

Love-Laugh-Live ~ Jenn

Returning to My Heart

#63 I am soooooooooo grateful for an opportunity to return to Honduras this summer, return to my heart.

Dear Family of Friends,
What a difference a year makes! This time last year as I prepared to make my first trip to Honduras to work with The Micah Project* I had no idea what to expect and was anxious and nervous about meeting the guys. Now, as I prepare to make my third trip down, I can barely contain myself I am so eager to get back to "my boys." The Micah boys and young men have become part of my life in a way that even I didn't quite anticipate; which is evidenced by the large pictures hanging on the wall of my dining nook, decorating my fridge, the walls of my cubicle at work, along with a digital photo frame that rotates mostly snapshots of Micah, and my phone.

A week ago I wasn't sure how or when I was going to get back down to Honduras. I had been planning all year to go again with my church in August, but they had to postpone the trip. With a hope and a prayer, I contacted another church in Tigard that was sending a team this summer to see if I could possibly join them. It was a long shot, but God was preparing a spot for me on the team. What seemed like a fantasy within the last week has become reality. I am joining the team late, and now I need to 'catch up.'

Here are the particulars: I will be going with Grace Point Community Church. I am team member #19 (I like prime numbers!) - it's a large group. We will be going in the middle of the summer (for security reasons, I am leaving the dates out.). We will split the majority of our time between construction work on the new Micah home and children's ministry in the Villa Linda Miller community, adjacent to the new Micah location.  We will also join in for Friday night soccer with the street kids, and likely do some other street ministry. As always the overarching objective is to build relationships with the Micah boys and staff. My expenses for this outreach are $1900. Remember how I said that I need to catch up? Yeah... I need to have all my funding in by June 30th. I am looking to build a team of 30 people who can donate $20, 15 who are able to do $50, and 5 who are willing to give $100. If you would like to be part of my team, please email me and I will send you instructions. Finances are important, they make the plane ticket possible, but prayer is vital - if you want to be part of my prayer support team and receive updates, please email me and let me know.

Love-Laugh-Live, Jennifer

*If for some reason you are not familiar with the Micah Project, call me up, I'll take you for a coffee and tell you all about it!

Am NOT!!

I am attending my 20 year high school reunion this weekend; one of two this summer. Lucky me! I went to two high schools so I get double the delight. I actually haven’t decided if I’ll attend Lake Oswego’s reunion in August even though I spent most of my school years with them. Oddly, the school that I spent one year at, Westside, has more pull, and that is the reunion happening tomorrow. Those who I regretted losing contact with from LO, I have been reunited with through the wonder of Facebook. 

Do the math: 20 years since high school + the average age of a high school graduate (although I was not typical and was young for my grade) = 37 years. Yes, I am in my late 30’s and in a couple months that last number will bump up by one when my birthday rolls around. That is the age of someone who is mature, responsible, has their life together and knows the path they are on… an adult; words that do not describe me, yet that is my age. Among my former classmates at Westside is the current principal of the school, of the LO classmates one is a grandmother – a GRANDMOTHER!! I’m still hoping that I might start a family and someone I grew up with has a grandchild? That is more than my mind can handle. Yet, I claim a pair of brothers at age 21 & 22 as my boys. Then there are the 20 other boys of Micah that I feel like I share some partial parental responsibility for and am eagerly trying to figure out a way to do more and take on more of a share. But they aren't really my children and I am attending this reunion alone - as the single, never married, childless person that I am. The only one in my class, as far as I know. It feels slightly awkward. My method of coping - a manicure and pedicure after work. If nothing else it will make my purple toenails less horrifying. Looking down and seeing bring happy pink makes me feel good.

I suppose that I am responsible at work – I completed my annual professional goal today. A year of test building efforts are done, new tests ready to be taken by students across the nation – and the world. Today I answered a question from one of our partners in Chile. I tried to advocate that they needed a personal response and that the company should send me down for a week. But I spent this week without my partner in crime. And by the end of the week I was fried and a little annoyed that Jon has been gone for the last seven work days. In response I left him a friendly message to come back to; now is that a sign of consideration and maturity or what?

There are several sayings about age being relative, my favorite is "Act your shoe size." You can call me old, that's fine, I'll just respond with "Am NOT!"

Wednesday, really?!

This morning I woke up after an exhausting dream emotionally drained and disappointed with reality. I had been dreaming that I was at the Micah house loving and hugging my boys, but I was there for a funeral – which is what caused me to start my day zapped. As I contemplated what to wear today, I checked my calendar to see what meetings I had – can I go a little sloppy or do I need to spiff it up? As my phone opened up my list of appointments I was shocked to see that it was only Wednesday. What? How can that be? I’m spent. I’ve got nothing in my tank. How can it ONLY be Wednesday?
I trudged through the morning, mostly in a fog; sometimes spaced out and other times just wanting to curl up into a corner and cry my eyes out. I commented to someone that “…it has been a roller coaster of a week – and it’s only Wednesday.” It has been a week, five days, filled with self-doubt and frustration. The roller coaster started with totally bonking my 11.5 mile training walk on Saturday morning. Bonking as in, so severely hydrated I ended up curled up on the floor of Foot Traffic out of it. Our coach had to force me to drink some Nuun water, bring me wet paper towels to cool off, and care for me. Embarrassing! Slowly, after about an hour, I started normalizing and could sit up without seeing stars –or just blackness.  But I had to call my parents to come rescue me and take me home. This was only 11.5 miles, how do I expect to do 13.1 in a month? I’ve become this dehydrated once before, six years ago, while doing the very race I’m training for now. Self-doubt accompanied by fear about my ability to do the Flat Half this July 4th is nagging me still. The rest of Saturday and most of Sunday were spent in a haze of exhaustion. But Sunday night my blood boiled as a guy-friend and I clashed, yet once again. We have been friends for many years now, last fall the friendship took on a different nuance, one that I have not figured out how to navigate. After we both spewed words at each other sourced out of anger, hurt, and frustration, we said good-night in a huff. Monday night I was still upset, but also regretting my attitude, behavior and choice of words. But that didn’t stop me from imagining his face as the target for my punches as I powered through the end of my workout. By Tuesday afternoon I was left with just regret for my part and sent an email apology, sparse on words as my words tend to get me in trouble. Tuesday evening I went out with a group of friends from work to celebrate Michelle’s new adventure; she and her family are moving to Moscow – as in Russia, not Idaho – to teach at an International school. She met her Peruvian husband while they were teachers at an International school in Spain, had their first child while teaching in China, now that their second child is nearly potty trained, why not head to Russia? Sounds like a great plan to me. While I do not know Michelle as well as I would like, I will miss her and frankly I’m a bit jealous. I want an adventure of my own, to be moving internationally, to take on new challenges, mix up the status quo and break out of the norm. I left our party a little melancholy, wondering if I will have the guts to act when my opportunity does come. Noticing that my gas tank was nearing empty I knew just what to do to cheer up – visit my local Chevron and see my gas station boyfriend, Manuel. Ah, yes. Being called “princesa,” told that I’m beautiful, have lovely eyes, and as I drive away hearing him yell, “I love you!” couldn’t help but cheer me up and bring a smile to my face as I laughed over his antics. Once home, I had one chore to do before bed, pack up all the clothes that my mom and I were donating to Dress for Success; a couple co-workers were organizing a clothing drive the next day. I started sorting through my clothes which I didn’t think would be emotional, but I was very wrong. I have recently lost a lot of weight, I plan to lose more, and consequently a lot of my clothes do not fit anymore. I knew this, which is why I was planning to give them away to a good cause. But actually taking them off my wood hangers and putting them on plastic hangers and placing them in the give-away pile was difficult and frightening. “What if I can’t do it? What if I fail and gain all this weight back? I really like this skirt, maybe I could tailor it; maybe I should keep this just in case.” The last three months I have discovered a self-discipline and determination that I didn’t know I had, that I had always admired in my grandmother and wished I had inherited. Apparently I just needed to choose to have it. After much debating, putting things back on the closet rod, back in the pile, back on the rod, and finally in the “go” pile, I came to the conclusion that I have been doing it, I will continue to make the right choices, and I will be successful and will not need these clothes ever again. But the emotional journey to get to that decision was exhausting! I collapsed into bed an hour past my bedtime with the back seat of my car piled with clothes ready to pass on to someone else. Then that dream, both wonderful and dreadful all at the same time. My deep longing to be with my boys, hugging Miguel, taunting Joel, laughing with Hector, and in my dream there was no language barrier, but the shadow of a funeral added an oppressive feel to the dream. With all of this in the last five days, is it any wonder that I woke up exhausted, tired and surprised that it was only Wednesday?
I went to lunch with two co-worker friends and that was good to get out of the building, walk a little, talk with people, my spirits started to revive. In the afternoon I had a phone appointment. I took my laptop and phone into one of the mini-conference rooms so that I had some privacy. I had asked the leader of the Honduras mission team from Grace Point Community Church if I could join their team as River West had decided not to go this summer. Much to my surprise he was open to the idea, but wanted to talk to me about it further. After a half hour of chatting, it was decided that I would join their team. I was thrilled to have a plan for getting back to Honduras! Aaron had emailed Brian to see if adding another person to the already large group of 18 would cause problems with the logistics; Brian answered back, ‘Jenn is a rock star and we’d love to have her on the team.’ That made my day! It seems like God was making a way for me ahead of time. The GPCC team had to reserve their air tickets a month or so ago, but recently one of the team members needed to make other plans to come back early to be the best man in a wedding, so they purchased another ticket for him, which left one “extra” ticket in the group reservation.  A ticket that will now have my name on it!  My morning started with just dreaming about hugging my boys and is ending with the elation of having a date when I will actually be able to wrap my arms around them and squeeze them tight. Wednesday didn’t turn out so bad after all.

Riding in the Rapidito

The boys had spent the whole day at Villa Linda Miller, working on digging out the trenches for the foundation of Roger’s house; I had only joined them after lunch. The blister on my thumb proved I had put in some work, shoveling dirt and rocks that Miguel had loosened with the pick-ax. I even took a turn wielding the pick-ax as well, but hit a big rock and sent the head spinning. Those of us still at the work site slowly came to a halt around 4 pm, all but Axelito who had spent a good block of time after lunch lazing around was still busy. I dug into my backpack, below my camera bag, and pulled out a fistful of fun-size Skittles packages. Handing a package to David who was standing in front of me, he quietly asked for all of them. I possessed a great treasure in my hands. Too tired to stand up and hand the Skittles to the others I started pitching them. David tried to intercept them but lack of height and the need to be wary of the trenches prevented him from snagging any but those that I threw at him. Spastic Miguel managed to snag most of them, but he was good at making sure others got their share, passing around what he caught. It perked people up a little, but not enough to get back to work.

Shortly after wards we packed up for the day, loading the tools into the two wheelbarrows and slowly trekked back to the medical clinic where the tools would be stored until the next day. Having stashed the tool we walked down to the soccer court where the guys stood behind one goal watching the current game and playing with a dead headless snake. The weight of my backpack and tired arms led me to find a place to sit. Taking a cue from the Micah boys I pulled out my Shuffle and stuffed my earphones loosely into my ears. Sitting on the stone step listening to Mercy Me I admired a nearby house that is painted pink and let my thoughts drift to imagining my life in a few more years living in VLM or nearby. Ideas of how to be part of the community, having weekly dinners for smaller groups of the boys, growing vegetables, using the pink house as a base designing my house and wondering if Juanca could build a trellis, I also decided I should have a dog. My reverie and name picking for my future dog was broken by Miguel and David coming to beg for more candy. Before I could reach through the layers to fish out more the rapidito van appeared and Roger and all the guys started piling in. Since none in the group spoke any usable English I had to take that as my cue that this was our transportation back into the city. “Henny-fair, aqui! Aqui!” Miguel yelled out from the back row of the van with a vigorous patting of the seat next to him. I wrangled myself and my bag into the back seat next to Miguel who is alternately very cool and ignores me or is overly affectionate. While he had been mostly ignoring me all afternoon, he suddenly turned affectionate when I sat down. Despite being hot and dirty he sat right up beside me and pulled my arm around his shoulders. It was actually helpful as I could grab the end of the bench seat and brace myself as we went over bumps and around corners. We sat there both with our own mp3 players going. It wasn’t long before Miguel became curious about what I was listening to. Picking up the earbud that I wasn’t using, he stuffed it into his ear. His face registered complete surprise. I don’t think he expected to hear what he did. My shuffle has all of my faster, more rock style music as I use it to keep my tempo up when working out. I can’t remember what song was playing at the time, but it was one of the more driving songs that I have loaded. I don’t know what kind of music he thought I would be listening to, but it certainly wasn’t what he heard. He took control of my Shuffle pressing fast-forward after listening to three or five seconds of a song. Miguel was surprised again when he came across songs from Los Micah Boys; he actually listened to half a song of theirs before hitting fast-forward again. His face was really quite amusing as my music tastes continued to surprise him as he sampled most of my music. But Miguel managed to surprise me as well. Since I use my shuffle to workout, not all of the songs are heart-thumpers, some songs are on there for cool-downs. One song is Hillsong’s “Stronger.” It has kind of been an anthem for the Micah house this year. Michael Miller had played it for me in August and I downloaded it shortly thereafter. To my surprise this is the song Miguel stopped on. At Micah they have been singing it in Spanish, my version is in English, but no matter. Miguel didn’t push fast-forward, we listened to the whole song from start to finish. I was quietly singing along, which elicited a broad grin from Miguel when he caught me and him moving an ear a little closer so that he could hear me as well. As soon as the song was over, he went back to his speedy fast-forwarding until it was time to get out of the van.

It may sound strange, maybe it is, maybe I’m making more out of it, but the fact that he wanted to listen to all of that song, that particular song, despite being in English, caused some “motherly” pride to well up in me. I would like to think that it shows some depth, some serious connection to his own spiritual life. It’s a song he knows well, he knows the words, it would have been easy to blow by it as ‘that old same familiar over-used song’ but he didn’t. I hope it means the words still have meaning and impact, are sinking in to the deeper conscious, helping him know and believe that God is stronger and capable of doing great things in his life, that Miguel is making Jesus Lord of his precious life.

Chorus:
You are stronger, You are stronger
Sin is broken, You have saved me
It is written, Christ is risen,
Jesus, You are Lord of all.

This Sin Wrecked Chaotic World

Monday last I attended the Body Off discipleship class that Brian Wiggs organizes. It is required for the guys in the Micah Tech program, but there are others from the neighborhood who attend as well. While slightly awkward being the only girl in the room I wanted to hear the stories of the two special guests who were speaking that night, particularly Doug from Tigard. At the end of the evening Drew, the other guest speaker, asked us to each pick another person in the room to pray for before we left. He started in one corner and had that person pick someone, the person they picked chose who they were going to pray for, and so forth until everyone in the room had someone to pray for and was being prayed for. My heart melted a little when the young boy picked me. By my turn there were only two people left, so I chose the one whose name I remembered - Eduardo. His prayer request was to be reunited with his family; he was estranged from his wife and two young children. He hadn't seen them for some time and he really wanted to do what it would take to be with them again.

Last night, one week later, Eduardo was killed.

He came from a hard background- drugs, gangs, and violence. He had been in the Tech program which is how he started coming to the discipleship program, but was kicked out some time ago. Last January his friend Alejandro had completed a six month drug rehab program, paid for by Micah. He was killed last night as well. Perhaps two murders are not significant in a country with the highest homicide rate in the world. But it wasn't just these two. About a month or two ago, these two young men had gotten drunk and murdered someone. A few people knew about it at Micah but kept quiet about it. For several reasons it was wisest to just keep silent, play dumb, and continue to love these guys and try to help them make better choices and turn their lives around. It wasn't without risk, they had made "jokes" about some of the staff that could have been taken as threats. Showing grace and extending the love of Christ was a choice that wasn't always easy for the staff. Eduardo and Alejandro were truly conflicted, wanting a different life but unable to make the choices that would help them leave their current life behind. Last night they made more bad choices. Whether they were high or drunk I don't know, but the two of them murdered a second person last night, a young man named Johnny who had recently started attending the discipleship class. I don't have an explanation or a reason why. Does there need to be one? But the news spread in the neighborhood of what these two had done and the neighborhood decided enough was enough and took justice and retribution into their own hands. The police are spread too thin and too ill-equipped. Just like the first murder Eduardo and Alejandro committed went unsolved, so will theirs.

While the news this morning rattled me a little, having just met and prayed for Eduardo. What has disturbed me is that the three deaths have caused Juan Carlos to lay low. He used to run with these guys in his former life and the concern, as it was related to me, was that the neighborhood, caught up in the frenzy of fighting for a sense of safety would not remember that he is living a new life now, that they would seek revenge for his past actions. While I feel calloused for not caring more about Eduardo and Alejandro, my heart starts to beat faster at the pace of panic when I consider the possibility of Juan Carlos being killed. I dearly love Juan Carlos and treasure his friendship; his death would shake my world.

I know I must not look to the circumstances around me but turn my eyes to God, the sustainer of all life. He holds my life, Juan Carlos' life, all of our lives, in is capable hands. I must trust in his sovereignty otherwise the chaos of this world wrecked with sin is too much. Not only must I trust in my Creator, but I must do battle, for this life is being played out on a battlefield, a war is going on. Casualties are incurred on both sides; my life may be asked of me. The reminder today of how brutal this war can be makes me wish that I could protect all those I love, all of my Micah family, but I will not falter in the face of evil; in fact it helps solidify my resolve to come alongside my boys to fight over them, for them, with them. One day this war will be over and done with, Christ reigning supreme. That day has yet to come, and so onward we march, soldiering on.

Me with my Honduran brother, Juan Carlos

Choices within Choices

Today I had a choice, a choice between two competing desires and expectations. While I don't want to waste a single moment to be with the boys who I came to Honduras to enjoy, I also know that I needed rest and all too soon I'll be heading back to Portland and resuming my job for which I needed to attend a webinar this morning. I could have easily gone into Micah this morning, hidden myself in some corner for the webinar and then been around to hang-out with whoever was left at the house this morning and the Tech School guys. But I told Natasha I would stay at the house, attend my webinar, and help Daisy with the cooking for Nightstrike; although I kept the idea in the back of my mind of heading into Micah as well. When I woke up at 8:50 this morning I realized that I would be staying at the house and only had a few moments until the 9:00 webinar. My decision was made for me by the desperate tiredness of my body.

I heard the rain hitting the metal roof early this morning, a pleasant drumming sound, that lulled me back to sleep. But not once did I hear the Wiggs clan as they got ready this morning and left the house; nor did I hear the dogs bark their departure. I slept soundly, my body craving the rest it needs to recover from this nagging illness. So here I sit, still in my pj's, at my computer, the webinar over, IPod plugged into my ears, Daisy has arrived and is starting the laundry, I'll help her cook for Nightstrike later, after I put on clothes and get ready for the day. But first I must shake this sadness and regret.

A sadness at the realization that I have a return ticket that will be used in one week. That this time next Friday, I'll be starting my journey back to Portland which is home, but yet is no longer home. Regret that today and this weekend will be "wasted" in that I will not be able to build relationships with Micah guys. Today is about Nightstrike which doesn't include Micah guys, but will still be good. This weekend Roger is taking the guys on an 'excursion' so they won't be around. With the self-inflicted pressure to make every day of this short visit count, I am anxious about the weekend. What can I do to make it worthwhile? But as I think about it, why do I have such a narrow definition of what is "worthwhile" that only includes relationship building time with Micah guys? Isn't finding a way to serve, encourage, minister to Natasha and the boys of value? (Brian will be gone this weekend.) Of course it is! Who knows what God has planned for this weekend, maybe other opportunities to be with staff and develop those relationships will be possible, which is just as valuable and possibly more important. Maybe there will be an opportunity to be out and about, seeing and learning more of this land and culture, which is also very valuable.

So the question for this weekend, as it is for life, am I willing to allow God to take His proper place or will I try to usurp Him? Will I create the open space in my agenda for Him to interrupt? Will I put aside my expectations and self-made road map, and be open to God's leading, guidance, and movement? Will I take my eyes off of pinpoint specifics to take in the whole vista He has laid out before me? Will I be stubborn and unmovable, or be fluid and allowed to be moved by God?

My Heart is Home

I didn't admit this to anyone, but I was really nervous about coming back to Honduras. I was sure the boys wouldn't remember me, after all I had only been one of many, many visitors this summer. And if they did remember, that they wouldn't remember my name and only be politely welcoming. Nothing could be further from the truth. I was welcomed back with such enthusiasm that I was overwhelmed and surprised. Surprised more by some of the boys who I hadn't connected with a lot previously were very excited to see me, Miguel Fugon and Junior in particular. And the ones I had connected with before welcomed me back with so much warmth that my heart was about to burst. Wilmer is one of them. I went with the group of visitors to view two potential sites for Micah 2.0. In between the two sites we stopped for lunch at Flora's house. I found a spot on a bench and soon Wilmer joined me, sitting right up against me. After we finished eating and plates were disposed of, he continued to sit beside me occasionally trying to tell or ask me something, wrapping his arm around me, leaning his head on my shoulder, holding my arm. Michael Miller was taking a group on the tour of Villa Linda Miller and I thought for a moment of joining them, hoping that maybe we'd go to the top of the water tower and I might get some better photos than last time. But I wasn't about to bring an end to this quiet moment with Wilmer. We can't communicate much, thankfully Jeremy was on the other side of Wilmer and able to translate, but as Wilmer was laying against me I didn't need a translator when he quietly said, quiet enough that I wondered if he even meant me to hear, "Te quiero mucho." (I love you much.) "Yo tambien, Wilmer." (I also, Wilmer.) He pulled my arm against him tighter.
It's a crazy thing, I believe a God thing, that I can love this kid so much.


Wilmer, the son of my heart.

Returning to the Micah house from our tour of properties, I ended up in the back of the red pick-up. Once we pulled up outside the Micah house I was sitting on the top of the tailgate, swinging my feet over when all of a sudden, there was Hauner right beside me with his big goofy grin. I squealed, "Hauner!" and wrapped my arms around him while still sitting on the tailgate. He gave me such a big bear hug that I was pulled right off the truck and held against him with my feet dangling. When I was able to get my feet on the ground and gain some space I asked him how we was, "I'm happy, I see you!" Ahh! I had some time to kill while waiting for Brian Wiggs to finish up what he was doing and until Natasha arrived to pick us up. So I found a spot in the courtyard to sit and Hauner joined me, holding me close telling me how happy he was that I was there. We talked about the upcoming graduation ceremony, his plans for the future, and I made him promise to introduce me to his girlfriend later that night. He also started playing with my camera, which resulted in the goofy photo below. The big lug. I love this kid.

There is something about the Micah boys. They have a way of entering your heart that changes you, changes your priorities, changes your plans, changes your ambitions, changes your life.


Hauner, mi niño grande.

Love is a Many Splendored Thing

A couple weeks ago the group that went to Honduras did a Micah Team Report after the evening service. We watched the amazing video Jeremy created. After wards there was a 'townhall' style forum where people posed questions to the panel of Micah trip participants who alternated answering. We had a great time sharing about Micah and would have continued for hours more if allowed. The last question of the evening was, 'How has this experience impacted you personally and your faith?' I didn't share my thoughts that evening, but, if you'll indulge me, I will here.

The trip was a culmination of nearly a year of learning about the boys and the ministry. The story of the lives of each boy transformed from a two-dimensional list of factoids into a multi-dimensional spectra-colour person. The stories became alive and real, as if I had walked into my favorite novel and was able to interact with all my favorite characters. Actually, that is exactly what my first night felt like. As we walked into the Micah house and could take in the view, not limited by the border of a photo, and hear the boys talking and joking, I kept thinking - "This is so surreal! It's real, it's all real. The boys are real." The boys are indeed very real, and have made a significantly real impact in my life which can be summed up with one word - love.

Through their friendship my understanding of what it is to love one another has greatly expanded. But it reaches much further than that, my heart knowledge of the Father's love is so much richer for knowing these boys. Somehow in the process of learning to love the Micah boys simply because I am choosing to, I understanding in a new way how God loves me just because He wants to. It's a simple truth that has finally found its way from my head to my heart. And it has been so liberating.

God loves me just because He wants to. It isn't any inherent value of my own, not because of my potential and how I could be used, my accomplishments are not the reason; quite the contrary. If I were to be judged according to my own disposition and actions for my worthiness to be loved by the Sovereign God I would fall horribly short. For on my own I am rebellious and selfish, doing things the Lord despises. That is why God's love is so amazing! That while I was rebellious, He loved me. He loved me to the point of death so that my sins were atoned for and I would no longer be an enemy of God. Because of His love, I have worth. "But Christ did not die for us because we are valuable; we are valuable because Christ died for us. It is not for us to say to one another, "Worthy are you!"—which is the mantra of a great deal of modern psychology. Instead, we turn to God and say, "Worthy are you, O Lord our God!" (Rev. 4:11)."¹ I am not worthy, and never will be, I can set aside all striving and insecurity.

I'm discovering a beautiful cycle, that as I know God's love more, I love Him all the more, and as the love between me and my God grows, my love for Micah grows, and the more I love Micah, the more I love God. Over the past couple months I feel like the Grinch at the end of the story whose heart grew three sizes. My heart is growing and expanding, coming alive. Even on the hard days, when I say "no" to my own wants so that I can say "yes" to things related to the boys. Or when they run away and my heart aches, it grows larger still as I see myself in their rebellion, addictions, and poor choices and know that I love them still, as God loves me when I continue to sin.
I am learning that love is a many splendored thing!

"I have loved until it aches, and found that the love consumes the ache, so there is only love---much more love" Ann Voskamp

¹Love Needs No Reason by Mark Galli

No, Not the Scrooge Kind

When you hear the word "ebenezer" what comes to mind? Ebenezer Scrooge? The famous Charles Dickens' character from A Christmas Carol is the only reference most people would have for that funny word. A character who is remembered more for his miserly ways than his turn of countenance at the end of the story. Those who have been part of a church that sings hymns may remember another use of the word, a line from the song, "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing,"

Here I raise my ebenezer;
Here by Thy great help I’ve come;

The word actually shows up in1 Samuel 7:12, the Israelites defeat the Philistines, after Samuel has offered a sacrifice. Samuel puts up a stone in memorial and names it Eben-Ezer - a 'stone of help.' The name Eben-Ezer also means "God has led us thus far" or "Thus far God has helped us."

Genesis 31:52 and 35:14-15 are a couple other examples of building pillars, stacking stones - Ebenezers - as memorials to important events. There is a verse somewhere, I can't find the exact reference (if you know it, tell me where to find it please), that talks about building stone monuments as remembrances of what God has done, a testament to future generations; 'when your children ask why this pillar is here, tell them of the great works of God.' It sounds like Exodus.

Anyhow, I latched on to this idea of "stones of remembrance," collecting my own personal ebenzers several years ago. I pick up stones at the places I travel to whether it be the Oregon coast or the Israeli desert to Picacho Park in Tegucigalpa. Sometimes, if I happen to find an interesting one on a walk around the neighborhood I'll pick it up too. So what do I do with these rocks? I use a Sharpie (you know I always have at least one with me) and write a word or two or a verse to remind me of a time where God's faithfulness, intervention in my life was more palpable. I keep them in a pitcher on my kitchen windowsill so that when I need encouragment, when I need to refocus, when I need a reminder of who is really in charge, I can reach in and grab a stone and remember what God has done in my life in the past and know that He is faithful, He will continue to work in my life.

For almost a year now I have been looking for a specific stone; a heart shaped stone. I have known what I would write on this stone, but have not been successful in finding the stone itself. I started my summer at Cannon Beach and had spent quite some time searching for the elusive heart stone. I even found one that sorta looked heart shaped but I accidentally dropped it in a drive way made out of gravel and it was lost. Labor day holiday weekend found me at Cannon Beach again, it is one of my favorite places after all. This most recent trip I had success. I actually found two. The only issue is that they are not palm size, more like fist size, the fist of Andre the Giant - they won't fit in the pitcher, so they are now sitting in my front yard. But now I have two - do I use only one? Or do I come up with a second word? The word that has been mulling around in my head waiting for a stone is... (drum roll) MICAH! Not surprising, is it?

So help me out peeps - which rock is more heart shaped? Which one should have Micah scrawled on it? what should happen to the other rock? Any suggestions for another word?

What would be written on your ebenezers?

The Phantom Critic

I feel the need, the need for speed. No, that's not it. I feel the need to defend and explain myself. To whom? No one in particular. The phantom critic, the person who has read my post-Honduras update and is bashing me for referring to Hector and Wilmer as "my boy" and questioning my "motherly love." I questioned my word choices as well. I tried to think of another way to describe what I feel towards the Micah boys, because it is not just Hector or Wilmer who are "my boys" - they all are, and that really is the best way to say it. I know, I know, they aren't really mine, truly, they belong to God. The love I have for them is most akin to a maternal love, and wouldn't any mother call her sons "my boys" with the understanding that they are her responsibility, they have been put in her care, entrusted to her by God. And that is not unlike how I feel; that God has imbued me with a deep love for these boys that is motivating me to help carry the responsibility of raising and caring for them. I just can't come up with a better word than "maternal" to describe it.
I have no desire or illusion of being their mom, they have mothers. Some are involved in their lives, some have passed away, some are absent, some are a positive influence, some are not, but they have mothers - and it isn't me (we need an equivalent of the African notion of "Auntie"). What I can be is an adult figure who loves them, just as they are, who will stand beside them through their ups and downs, a stable positive constant, teach them how to navigate life, encourage them to be their best, point them to God, training them up in the way they should go, who will continue to love them even when they throw it back in my face. Why? Because that is what God does for me every single day. It's all about the love of Jesus. Because He loves me, I need to share that love. Because He first loved me, I can love my boys. Because He loves me, and has given me this love for Micah, I will do the hard work of loving. To the boys, I'm just one of many visitors that came down this summer; I'm just the crazy gringa who spoke gibberish that no one understood, who spit water on Hector, kissed Wilmer (and others), and had a camera permanently attached to her hand - that is, if they remember me at all. Before I can be that 'caring adult figure' I have to earn the right, earn their trust and respect, prove myself, before I can speak into their lives. That will take time, years, and it won't be easy. But I am driven to take on this challenge by the love of Jesus. What other source could give me the strength to sell my cute home (and my books, which may be more painful) and move to Honduras? It's all about the love of Jesus, baby!
And there I go again, talking like it's a done deal!

This is my response to that phantom critic who lives in my head, and hopefully only there.

*One more note about Hector, "the son I didn't know I had." If I had ever had a son, I'm certain that the resemblance in personality and temperament to Hector would have been uncanny. That's all I meant.