Lab Rat, Table for One!

It was probably around ten years ago now when I sat in the exam room, meeting with my Rheumatologist, discussing options and the effectiveness of the latest drug I was trying, and I asked 'Are there any recommendations for nutritional therapy?' Brusquely she answered, 'Diet doesn't have any impact on the disease.' I tried to explain that I had noticed a correlation between my symptoms and certain foods, which was quickly dismissed. Not long after this incidence the same doctor told me that I needed to go on to a level 3 drug - a biologic modifier - since I had exhausted all of the options in class 1 and 2 with no significant improvement. Considering I had been on a variety of drugs and experienced minimal, if any, benefit, but most of the side-effects, including the really odd and rare ones, I was not eager to start a new medication (Humira being the one pushed) that a frequent side-effect was leukemia.

So doc, you want to put me on a drug that may help alleviate the symptoms of the rheumatoid arthritis, but I also will have a good chance of developing cancer. Yeah, that sounds like a great plan.

I don't think so.      

I never went back to that doctor. Instead, I started seeing a naturopathic doctor. It has been helpful, but it hasn't solved the problem. While experimenting with different supplements over the past 8 or so years, I have also learned a great deal. One thing I have become convinced of: I can 'cure' myself of the rheumatoid arthritis, an auto-immune disease, through nutrition. God made our bodies incredibly intricate, and with an innate ability to heal - if we give it the proper building blocks. Yet, knowing this and implementing it is a different story; it can be very confusing to know exactly what is the proper nutrition for healing. There is a lot of information out there on the interwebs, a lot of conflicting information.  I'm sort of a weirdo in that I really enjoy researching nutrition and health issues. The list of blogs that I regularly read, the books highlighted and lining my shelves, the food based documentaries watched, the podcasts I listen to while commuting should be worthy of a degree in nutrition. Seriously. But all the information can lead to info-paralysis, a state I know all too well.

Two years ago I was stuck in a vicious cycle. The RA raised my systemic inflammation, which told my body to store fat, which raised my inflammation, which aggravated the RA, which raised my systemic inflammation, and around and around it went. Around the time I realized that something had to be done about the excess fat I was carrying if I ever hoped to get the RA under control, several friends were losing weight. Polling each of them about how they were doing it, I got the same answer: Take Shape for Life. So I jumped on the bandwagon. And it worked, for about six months and 50 pounds. Then I went to Honduras for a week, and then Czech Republic for two weeks. It was a huge struggle to get back on track that I couldn't quite master for more than a month at a time, and even during those month sprints the scale wouldn't budge like it had before. Part of this is because I started training hard and exercising too much for the program. Another part was that all of the program's foods contained at least one or multiple ingredients that I knew I reacted to badly. I have my theories about why it didn't bother me at first, but then started being a problem, but I won't bore you that much. And the stress component fought me too.

While thinking of New Year's Resolutions this past January, I asked myself the question - 'If I were at a healthy weight and didn't need to eat weird packaged powdered food-like substances, how would I want to eat for my best health?' From my research, it was pretty easy to describe what seemed to be the best way of eating, but I wanted to drop more weight before starting to eat that way. Making wholesale changes at once is overwhelming, and often not lasting, so I made a plan to adopt one change a month towards my ideal while sticking to the Take Shape program to lose the weight. Good plan, right? And it has been (except the weight loss part-that wasn't happening).

Three weeks ago I was working on my Bible study while eating breakfast before work and my knuckle was so painful and swollen that I could hardly hold a pen to write my answers. That was my breaking point. No more lying to myself, my RA was not under control, the flare-ups were too frequent, a new hot spot had developed in the last six months. In addition, auto-immune begets auto-immune, and the last time I had my thyroid checked the results had some suspicious numbers pointing to the beginnings of Hashimoto's disease, and this last winter I started having symptoms of Reynaud's disease. This is not okay.

It is time to make some changes. Time to make my health - and regaining great health - a priority. Top priority. What does that mean? No more incremental changes. I'm jumping in cannon ball style into the paleo lifestyle pool. But not just any ordinary variation of it, I'm going to follow the auto-immune paleo protocol. And let me tell you, it is going to be TOUGH. My month-by-month resolutions were leading me to a paleo lifestyle already and by March I had almost given up all sugar (my vice is Endangered Species Black Panther 88% dark chocolate bar), ditched all dairy - even cheese which I doubted I could do, and every grain & legume - including soy. And I was feeling much better. Then I went on vacation last week and after the race tossed all my good eating habits out the window - and suffered.  The auto-immune variety of paleo cuts out all nightshade plants and their derivatives: tomatoes, tomato paste, eggplant, peppers, paprika, chili powder, etc. Pretty much all of the main-stays of my cooking. Brutal. Oh, did I mention that it suggests (mandates) avoiding coffee? Shoot me now. Is this going to be the magic bullet? I don't know. This is all experimentation. But if the anecdotal results others have shared can be even partially true for me, it is worth it. Feeling good is better than coffee, right? RIGHT??!!??

I can do it.
I know I can.
Because I am Streger Strong!
We don't quit, we persevere!

But prayers are very much appreciated.
No coffee. {whimper} 

Getting Right

It is May, April slipped by with a solitary post that only taunted you with the promise of more to come in the month. A broken promise. When the words wouldn't come, the sentences more fragmented than usual, the desire to write all but entirely absent - that is when I finally knew, I was heart sick. My soul in need of some serious TLC. My heart needing balm to heal.

On the outside I looked fine. I kept "keeping on" out of sheer necessity, projects at work didn't give me an option. If I allowed myself to open up and enter in to the mess, it meant I wouldn't be able to function. So I numbed myself. I buried myself in work. I obsessively read "The Hunger Games" trilogy. I watched TV and movies. I hit the gym with more frequency. I shopped. I ate. I drank (and not just copious amounts of coffee). Feeling and processing wasn't allowed, strictly verboten. Occasionally my heart wandered when the numbing started to wear off, but it only brought tears, incapacitating sorrow, unbridled anger. I didn't know - and still don't - how to delve into the muck while functioning in life. The only thing I knew to do was shut down and ignore my heart. It is awfully hard to write from the heart, about living a life of faith, learning how to live whole-heartedly, if you are silencing it.

But this can only go on for so long. I felt the fissures in my facade creeping, making their way to critical joints, the wall separating my heart from my head was about to crack. It made me nervous. Thankfully, it was also about this time that I finished my part in a major project at work. No one was waiting on me to finish something before they could start their work; I was no longer a roadblock for others. Enough time had passed since March's escapades that some vacation hours had accumulated in my time-off bank again. This meant - I could escape!! A couple weeks ago, I took an afternoon off from work and found the brackish balm that I so sorely needed. Pulling out of my driveway a few minutes after noon, I drove straight to Sleepy Monk Coffee in Cannon Beach. (It really is the best coffee and worth the drive just to pick up a bag of beans.) After stashing my bag of beans in the car, I walked across the street and found the sand and surf and started walking south. And kept walking south. Then went a little further. Finally, I had to stop as I didn't want to go for a swim to get around the bend to Hug Point Park. Most of the way I was alone, not another person in sight up or down the coastline; just me and God, walking and talking. Pouring my heart out, needing Him to show up and care for it, to rescue me, and remind me just who I am.

And God did show up.
As I pronounced myself wretched, sinful, rebellious, and unworthy of love, Jesus said, 'No. You are redeemed, forgiven, and not only worthy of love, but you are loved.'


Presenting the 'evidence' of my single, solitary, lonely aloneness as proof of my unloveableness. God refutes me, and reminds me that I am loved. Deeply. Beyond measure. And I am not alone, not ever, that I am part of a much larger family. A community that loves me, if I would allow them.


Ranting and whining about recent events of the past six months, questioning God's goodness, wanting to know why I am being punished. The Lord, with gentle loving kindness reproofs me, 'I am good. I am the giver of all good things. I lavish you with my goodness. Don't confuse punishment with living in a fallen world.'

I have never, ever found even one whole sand dollar on the beach. I brought home over 20!

Nearing the turn to get back to my car, just when I start to question am I totally crazy for believing God would talk to me, talk to my heart, had I made it all up? He sends one more reminder.


I am understanding the verse in Philippians 2:11 so much more that says "...continue to work out your salvation..."  It's all a process. We are all in process. My afternoon and evening at the beach did a world of good for me. I physically feel lighter, as though burdens were literally taken off my shoulders, words are starting to trickle back in to my mind and are being turned over in my heart, forming into phrases. I'm getting back to right, but it's a new right as God is moving, changing, renewing me. It's a process. I'm a process. I hope to get back to posting regularly soon, and share some of my process with you, but if it seems slow, please be patient and kind - I'm in process... just like you. 

2012 - Project: {me}

I like to name things. Maybe it is inherent to being human. After all, Adam was given the task of naming all the creatures on earth. I give people nick-names. My cars have all had names, all starting with "z." I named floppy discs after tropical islands I'd like to visit... Tahiti, Kiribati, Fiji. I used to name the years and make a mixed tape (yes, a mixed cassette tape - the pinnacle of teenage self expression of the 80's). The only one I really remember because I went all out and made a great cover to go with it was "Year of the Emu." (I don't remember why I chose an emu, but I do remember the picture.)

So I am reviving an old habit and naming the year, borrowing a title from my favorite reality show. 2012 is the year of "Project: {me}."  I feel very awkward saying that. It seems so vain and selfish and me focused. Well, hello - it has "me" in the title, it is very self-focused. My conservative Christian upbringing is yelling at me that it is very wrong, prideful, and arrogant to be self-focused. But I am starting to learn there needs to be a balance, a healthy self-care in counterpoint to other care. Even Jesus would get away to pray and 'recharge.' And I'm using a lower-case "m" so that it doesn't scream ME, which makes it all okay - right? (The correct answer is, "right-O, Jennie-O!")
Recently, as I talked with my spiritual director about an incident the week before where I had been hurt, we talked about why it stung, the response, ramifications, etc. Then she followed up with this question:

"What is the first commandment of the Bible?"

Love the Lord your God with all your heart and all your soul and all your mind and all your strength. (Mark 12:30) 

"What is the second commandment?"

Love your neighbor as yourself. (Mark 12:31)

"Jennifer, how well are you loving others if you aren't loving yourself? How is serving and always saying "yes" to others to the detriment of yourself an act of love? Loving others out of an empty reservoir is not loving them well."

Well, if you put it that way... 

She did, and it made me think. My thinking has started to shift, I'm realizing that it isn't a bad thing to take care of myself, to stand up for myself, to acknowledge and pursue what I want, to have boundaries and priorities - which may contradict what someone else wants of or for me, but it's okay for me to stand my ground even though it may very well cause conflict (something I typically avoid at all costs, even if the cost is high, and at my expense). I know, I know... this is stuff that most people learn on the playground before their age hits double digits. I'm a late bloomer. But I have stumbled across some good articles to help me find my way, so maybe I'm not alone in my delayed blossoming. The big lesson I need to learn is how to stand up for myself with me, so that I can stand up for myself with others.

I'm still working out what Project: {me} is going to look like. I think there should be a goal for each quadrant that Jesus mentions - an emotional goal (heart), a spiritual goal (soul), a mental goal (mind), and a physical goal (strength).

It is easiest for me to come up with physical goals. I got a pretty good running start in 2011; I lost a chunk of weight and lost over a foot of hair. I stalled out in the fall with all the traveling and the holidays. But I'm not content with where I am at, so more weight will come off, and the hair will likely be going shorter in 2012.  I want to do four 1/2 marathons this year and get my time under 3 hours. Oh, did you hear that? No worries, it was just my toes, screaming for mercy - which they will not be shown. Sorry! The biggest physical change of all will happen this Friday with LASIK surgery - I'm getting my peepers fixed! No more contacts or glasses- HALLELUJAH!!!

Mentally, I want to grow as a writer and photographer, continue to develop my project management skill set by getting my CAPM certificate. Continue to deepen my knowledge of Honduran culture, history and current situation. Also learn more about glue addiction and poverty, and ministry in both contexts. But a girl has gotta have fun - so queue the ukulele! Yes, I am learning the ukulele! Feel very sorry for my neighbors, I'm sure they would appreciate your condolences and gifts of ear plugs.

For the other two areas - heart & soul - it becomes much more difficult to come up with goals that follow my MACdaddy rule - Measurable, Attainable, Challenging (who's your daddy?! booyah!). I can say I need to learn how to stand up for myself, that is challenging, but how to set a goal around that which is also attainable and measurable has me stumped. I have found a few resources that I hope will help. Guiding questions always help me. Yet, how do you make measurable, quantifiable, attainable goals in regards to your relationship with the Almighty Incomprehensible God of the Universe? That's going to be a tricky one.

I have set a goal, to have my goals clarified and written down by the end of January. (I am such a nerd! Who sets goals about goal setting?!) I am pacing myself, starting this week with just getting back on track with healthy eating habits which fled far far away in the presence of mom's fudge, a formidable foe. I do not want to set goals that are going to fall by the wayside like the typical new years resolutions. No way, mine are going to stick, like glitter glue to carpet, like errant red dye from a t-shirt to my load of whites. (On a tangent, any ideas on how to get the dye out? I've tried Oxyclean, Clorox2, RIT dye remover - and still my stuff is pink.)

I would love to have some companions for the journey. What potential does 2012 hold for you? How do you want to grow? How can we encourage one another so that when December 31, 2012 rolls around we can scream "Who's your daddy!?!? Booyah! We did it!"

Resources for the Road
Personal Growth:
30 Things to Start Doing for Yourself
anything over at (in)courage, but here is a place to start Who Do You Think You Are?
Physical Growth:
5 Steps to Hit Your Fitness Goals
3 Keys to Successful Health and Fitness Resolutions
Goal Setting:
20 Questions for Reflecting on Your 2011
5 Steps to Making a New Year's Resolution
And a few prompts that didn't have a link.

If I could choose my life, what would it look like?
What can I do right now to help make that happen?
What is my goal this year?
In One month I will….
In Three months I will…
In Six months I will…
In Nine months I will…
By January of the following year I will…

Tiredness is a Master Thief

Tired...

Tired. Weary. Exhausted.
Bone-crushing, mind-numbing, joy-stealing, anxiety-growing - tired.

And so I caffeinate. Sacrifice much needed sleep in order to keep my crazy schedule. Substitute coffee for water, for Living Water, so that one more thing can be done, one more commitment kept, one more, one more.

But what have I done this week for the One. The One who is my only audience. The One who this Advent season is preparing for, and is my tired hectic self preparing for him? I'm too tired.

Yet, there is grace and comfort. While my anxious heart constricts so hard I hunch my shoulders over to ease the tension, Christ is there asking for me to trust him with my burdens.

---

If I am too tired for the One and Only, then something is really out of whack. Father, show me how to find rest & rest in You.

Twinkle Toes

The black leather bucket chair which had been cool when I first sat down was causing me to sweat as I squirmed. My foot was bouncing up and down nervously; I slap-patted my thigh just like my mother does when she is highly emotional. Tears marked a path down my cheeks as I tried to explain to my counselor how I do not want to make a decision out of fear, that I’m tired of living a life guided by fear. But the fear looms so large and seemingly insurmountable. I want to live a life of faith, of radical, obedient faith, but the fear grips my heart and squeezes tight. I feel paralyzed. Much of my life has been dictated by fear. While God has been gracious to me, I don’t regret the choices and paths I’ve taken, but I do wonder sometimes “what if?” It isn’t helpful, I try to avoid hypothesizing what my life would be like if I had fought through the fear for what seemed like first choice. What if I had applied to Wheaton’s Conservatory of Music? I still doubt whether I would have gotten in, but what if I had? And if I didn’t get stopped by the fear of failing at my dream, of moving far away from home, going to unknown mid-west lands? What if I hadn’t been fearful about moving across the country and quitting the job I had been at for one month and applied to Gordon-Cromwell Seminary? Instead I went to Western, which was good and I don’t regret my time there, but how would life be different if I had gone to Boston? What relationships have I let slip away because I feared to be myself, to be open, to share myself? Fear. Fear of failure. Fear of rejection. Fear of the unknown. Fear of being known. Fear of change. Fear of hurt. So much fear. I am certain that fear is the main weapon Satan uses to intimidate me. It has been a powerful shaping force in my life, and I fear what my life will be like if I allow it to continue influencing me. 

"If you didn't live by fear, Jennifer, what do you want?"

"I want to live life with gusto!"

I heard myself say it as if someone else had proclaimed it. I sat stunned in wondered silence. Where had that come from? It was exactly what was in my heart that I had not found a way to articulate and express. For years I had been trying to find a way to express my heart cry, the true yearning of my heart as it beat against the cage of fear. The front of my fridge is testament to this, a page from my daily calendar is posted reminding me to "Live Out Loud." Next to it is a bright yellow sticker proclaiming "Live Strong." Rosie the Riveter flexes her arm, showing solidarity that, yes, "We can do it!" My favorite part of the movie "Holiday" is when Kate Winslet's character answers that she has "gumption." While all these resonate with me, they are not my own. What do I want instead of the status quo of living by fear? I want to live with gusto! It feels so good to say it!

2 Timothy 1:7 "for God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control." (ESV)

To live with gusto, means to live attentive to the Holy Spirit prodding me, nudging me, beckoning me to step out of the shadow of fear into the light of faith, depending on my Holy God to lead - and following. The fear of the unknown, not knowing where the next step might lead keeps me rooted in what feels like safety. I recently read or heard from someplace (I would give credit if I could remember or find it) that the lamp referred to in Psalm 119:105 "Your word is a lamp to my feet, and a light to my path." would have been a small clay pot; something about the size of your palm. Something like this:

http://www.trocadero.com/TheAweidahGallery/items/1073505/item1073505store.html

It would fit into your palm, a flame would come out of the 'spout' from the oil within. Can you imagine the amount of light a lamp like this would produce? I think we can all agree the answer is - "not a whole lot." Yet this is what the Psalmist is comparing to God's Word. While His Word illuminates and shows us the path, it only does so for the next step or two, not the next twenty or hundred and twenty. It shows us our feet, we can know the solid ground on which we stand, we can see the immediate area, but the rest remains shrouded - it isn't for us to know just yet. We must trust the Spirit, step forward in faith, follow His leading, one step at a time, stay close to Him - our shepherd, our guide, our Lord - for He will make our paths straight (Proverbs 3:5-6). There is wisdom in this. I often feel as though I have plopped right down in the middle of the path, stubbornly sitting criss-cross applesauce, refusing to budge until God turns on the high-beams and discloses the path for the next 30 years. Yet if He did that, I know I would see things that scare me more than what my imagination can conjure up where I sit now and I would absolutely refuse to budge. But everything comes in its own season. What may happen in 10 years time, will come with 10 years worth of God preparing me to handle it. All things in their time. And it won't all be hardship and misery, for I honestly believe God takes great joy in us and our delight (Jeremiah 29:11; Zephaniah 3:17; Matthew 7:11).

I want to live life with gusto, going after life, living it with passion and fullness, my heart fully engaged. Breaking old habits and patterns to live from my heart is going to take some practice. It starts with Bob like "baby steps." Shortly after my "gusto" revelation I wrote a list of things I want to do in life for a contest.  It seems like a pretty safe list - either far-fetched, or non-threatening, some are maybe a little silly. But there is one item that, for me, will require courage - learning to dance - #26.

When I was 7 years old, I dropped out of ballet class as soon as my mother would let me. I didn't like being the pudgy klutzy kid who didn't get it, and the teacher was mean. The only school dance I went to from 7th grade until 12th was the "50's dance" in junior high that was at the end of the swing dance unit in gym class. In seminary I had a classmate who would host dance lessons in the basement of his church about once a month, teaching us the waltz, foxtrot, swing, and would organize 'outings' to such places as the Norse Lodge for their dances. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Take note - I enjoyed it; that is not the same as being good. I haven't had much opportunity to dance since then. About a year ago I started going to a class at the gym, "Group Groove" (think modern jazzercise). But not before doing several drive-bys, going for a 'regular' workout about the same time as the class so that I could scope it out through the windows, fearful that I would be out of place, make a fool of myself. The first time I went I staked out a spot in the back corner where no one would see all my missteps. The thing is, a year into this class, I have accepted that I do look like a fool, especially when I try (and fail) to do the running man. But also because of my big goofy grin that spreads from ear to ear because I am having so much fun. The joy I experience has overcome the fears and I keep going to class whenever I can.

Yesterday a Groupon showed up in my inbox for ballet lessons. My first impulse was to buy it. I want to learn ballet, I had it on my list. But then I waffled, my seven year old self and all her fears re-emerging; all the insecurities of old bubbling up and splotching out my excitement. What if I was the only adult? What if I have to wear a leotard and tights? (Yikes!) What if I fail, and I'm just as bad now as I was thirty some years ago? What if I'm foolish looking? Fears and obstacles, trapping my heart. Once at work, I looked at the email again. And closed it down. After grabbing my mid-morning coffee I opened the email again and followed the link to the company website. I found a class called "Absolute Beginning Adult Ballet." I might be able to handle this class, I thought. But then I noticed it is only offered on Sunday and a voice told me it was wrong to do something like a ballet class on Sunday, the Sabbath - it is the Lord's day; 'how can you consider doing something like dancing and working out on a holy day?' I closed the email once again. I never deleted the email, just closed it, my heart was yearning to say "yes" to this opportunity. It wasn't long before I opened the email again, looked at the class listing one more time - yup, still only Sunday - but why should that matter in this instance? I would go hiking on a Sunday. I regularly do races on a Sunday. I fill my Sundays with busyness that is anything but holy. If I do believe that God rejoices in our delight, why wouldn't this be a perfectly wonderful thing to do on a Sunday? Here is an opportunity that will give me joy, delight, and in a strange way help to loosen the shackles of fear around my heart; give me practice at stepping out of the worries and bindings of fear and into my heart desires. A baby step. Or, perhaps, a "glissade en avant" (yeah, I looked that up online) towards living a more open, heart driven life - living with gusto.

I opened up the email one more time and clicked "purchase." A moment later I nearly skipped down the hall as I went to refill my water bottle, grinning the whole way. I am going to take ballet lessons! And if I have to wear a leotard and tights, I'm getting a tutu as well!

Wherever I go - even into ballet class! 

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. 

Today I Wear Coral

Today I am wearing a coral shirt, a rather bright color. A suitable color for this glorious summer day.

Today I am attending a memorial service. Remembering a life well lived, a life lived for God, full of love.

Wearing bright colors to a memorial service is a bit of a taboo, I know this. But I'm choosing to break with tradition, commit the taboo, because I want to celebrate Cinda. While I mourn the loss of her presence here, and I know the family is hurting, I think Cinda would want us to celebrate that she is in heaven, with her Savior, in a renewed body no longer ravaged with cancer. So while I put on my waterproof mascara and stuff my purse with tissues, I think of the ways Cinda influenced my life, how she modeled quiet loving service, small acts of grace, that reached the hearts of many. And I want to boogie and shout - "Well done, Cinda!! Well done!!" as the tears start spilling over. Joy and sadness all mixed up together.

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

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

Justice Conference - Part 3 : : Mike & Danae Yankoski : : Justice in Daily Life

I'll admit, I had some serious feelings of insignificance and inadequacy as I listened to this young couple and all that they have accomplished. They had good things to say and really got me thinking about my choices and how they effect the whole chain.

-Love is to transcend justice. There can't be love if justice is being violated. Can't have love without justice. Love is the fulfilling, completing, of justice.

-The process can be as important as the destination, the means as important as the end.

-Open you eyes! How do we respond? What is the Lord calling you to do?

-Loving our neighbor as our self means desiring/seeking their shalom.

-Characterize the journey with the flavor of the destination. {Jenn's example: If my end goal is to work with street children in Tegucigalpa who are addicted to yellow shoe glue, then my path should not include wearing shoes that use that glue, made in regions where this is a problem.}

-What are you supporting in your daily choices?

-In response to an irate demand, can we respond in love?

-When we have made a mistake, do we defend ourselves or apologize and ask forgiveness?

-How do I love my neighbor, both near and far, in my daily choices?

-What are the consequences of thinking of morality only in an individualistic way?

-We are created in the image of God to participate in the kingdom of God, not carry the weight of the world.

-As believers we are both invited and commanded to participate in the kingdom of God. The invitation is costly and will cost us everything. It is through this participation that we can find the hope of the Gospel, of life in Jesus Christ.

Mike & Danae Yankoski :: Justice in Daily Life from The Justice Conference on Vimeo.

Justice Conference - Part 2 : : Nicholas Wolterstorff : : What Is Justice?

I ♡ Nicholas Wolterstorff!

From his wild white disheveled hair, to his sweater vests, to the hankie he pulled out to wipe his nose, his demeanor screamed "professor." The introduction built him up, I was hopeful that he would be good - but could I stay awake? It had been an awfully long day already and he was just starting his talk at 8:30pm. I didn't think anyone could be that good. I was wrong. I couldn't get enough, riveted, I scrambled to take notes that I hoped would make sense later.
You are welcome to read my notes, but you'll probably be better off just scrolling down and watching the man say it for himself.

Dr. Nicholas Wolterstorff - What Is Justice?

-Ulpian defines Justice as the rendering to each person what is his/her rights or dues.

-Justice reigns when people are able to enjoy their rights.

-A right is respect to someone. They are protective autonomy actions.

-Sociality belongs to the right to be treated a certain way - normative social relationships.

-Rights = worth, value, dignity of human beings; primarily we are loved by God and redeemingly loved by God. If you are deprived of your rights, you are being wronged.

-Rights talk, love talk, moral/duty talk - they all can be abused.

What if we tossed out the question of justice? Moral order has two dimensions - actor/receiver, giver/recipient, doer/done to. Talking in terms of right and wrong enables the person to talk about how they have been wronged - their moral conviction - enables the victim. If we only use obligation/duty language a wife could only say to her abusive husband "You are not living up to your moral duty." But with receiver language, the wife can also say, "I have been wrong."

The trumping force of rights is that I must, ought, treat you this way. Rights are a brake on paternalistic benevolence. 

And this is just what I was able to scribble down. Every word he said, every phrase, had weight. There was no fluff.  



Nicholas Wolterstorff :: What is Justice? from The Justice Conference on Vimeo.

There is a reason I don't have bumper stickers

Leaving work late I hurried across the river and hopped onto I-84, looping over to I-205. Class started at 7pm, could I get there on time? As my exit neared I had to make a choice - do I get behind the Ford Explorer that is only going maybe 50, or do I speed up and hope that I could dive in front of the slow poke? What to do with 1 mile to the exit? Of course the answer was speed up, tail-gate the vehicle in front of me and then quickly cross a couple lanes of traffic to get to the exit. As my car struggled to take the sharp turn of the exit at the speed I was going I chastised myself. Was that really necessary? What did I gain by that risky behavior? I felt like God was nudging me, "Why did you drive that way? What's behind it?" My answer doesn't make me look very good - I don't like to go slow, I don't like being behind people, and I really don't like having to submit to someone else. Oh... that last part is really not good. If I were respecting those around me I would have gotten behind the putt-putt, submitted my driving preference to theirs, creating a safer road for all of us. It is so hard to give up our independence, to humble ourselves and submit to someone else. If only people knew how to drive!

A Well of Words

The last month and a half has been a roller coaster. Days filled with heartache over a friend's home-going. Days of laughter too. Days filled with the ho-hum doldrums of routine work and fast-paced new and exciting work as well. Days of reunion of far-away friends, and making new friends. Days full of learning new things, being reminded of  truths forgotten. Days filled with so much activity it has led to utter-exhaustion.
The days have been full, too full to take the time to write, and without having an outlet of expression and the time to process some of the recent events my insides feel like someone has dropped a handful of Mentos into soda and put a cap on it all.

Words are a funny thing. I like to say that words are not my native tongue as explanation for my hearing issues. In conversations with people, I'm often at a lack for words. My roommate is starting to learn that she needs to give me ample time to process, so that I can find the words to express my opinion and thoughts.Yet, without the ability to process and express myself with written words I am all out of sorts.

Words are important, but the Word of God is the most important of all. And for months now I have been given reminders from varied sources, both subtle and blatant like a sledge hammer, of how critical it is to hide God's Word in my heart. While memorization is incredibly difficult for me, I am determined to make it a habit. A daunting task. I'm starting with re-committing to memory Psalm 100. And once I have it down again, move on, maybe starting with chapter 1, verse 1 and memorize an entire book of the Bible. It feels impossible, but absolutely necessary. To live with and dwell of God's Word, letting it transform, renew, mold my heart and mind. To have a resource built in of life giving words, truth to ruminate on, words of strength for the battle, is a treasure worth the hard work required to build such a repository. With every scripture that I etch in my mind, the deeper the well of words to draw from. Encouragement and help is welcome. And so I start:

Psalm 100
¹ Shout for joy to the LORD, all the earth.
 ² Worship the LORD with gladness;
   come before him with joyful songs.
³ Know that the LORD is God.
   It is he who made us, and we are his;
   we are his people, the sheep of his pasture.
 ⁴ Enter his gates with thanksgiving
   and his courts with praise;
   give thanks to him and praise his name.
⁵ For the LORD is good and his love endures forever;
   his faithfulness continues through all generations.

Pride & Glory

Tonight. I decided that...

I AM A
Nut Case!

I have been training for a half marathon since the end of July. Not very well mind you, but at least halfheartedly training for a half. I only made it to about half of the group runs/walks. I've only logged about half the miles I should have. I've been plagued with feet issues from shoes that are just a smidge too small and toes that are just freaky weird (thanks, Dad!). But my determination to complete the race was 100%. Even though my preparation has been halfhearted (or half-witted) it has been my primary focus. I have skipped social engagements, gotten woefully behind in homework, all so that I could hit the pavement, trails and gym as often as possible.

Last Saturday was our final group walk/run before the race. Once again, I took a wrong turn and got lost, making up my own course as I went, keeping an eye on my fancy watch to gauge when to turn around to hit the mileage I wanted. My pace was easy as I was testing out new shoes, I only put in about 4 miles. I headed home determined to get some yard work done before the rains hit later in the week. So it wasn’t until the afternoon that I got around to showering, after which I started to trim my toenails. As I was clipping away my toenail on my right second toe started to move around and then lifted, flapping like a loose sail in the wind. Disgusting! I started poking around the toenail on the left foot and it too was lifting but had not separated from my toe as much. With a bad case of turf toe losing the toenails was inevitable but so gross. I wasn’t sure what to do, I was freaked out. Bandaging them up I decided to ignore them.

I knew loosing the toenails would happen eventually, but was hoping it wouldn’t be until after the race. But I couldn’t pretend there wasn’t a problem, I couldn’t just leave them bandaged until after the event. I had to call my podiatrist and see what was going on. But with that call came fear and apprehension that I may not be able to do the race. “What if Fitzy says it’s a bad idea? What if he tells me I’ll be doing much more damage if I continue with my plans?” It was then that I realized how much my ego and pride were invested in this little venture.

Doing this race was not just a personal goal, like a New Year’s resolution, this was a declaration. A triumphant return to my life. A demarcation of the official end of the recovery season from surgery. I had completed the flat half marathon on July 4, 2005 - it was the last race I did before inflicting the final injury to my back that led to the surgery. It seemed poetic justice to do another half marathon to signal my return. I have been focused on making this statement for the last three and a half months. I had been almost bragging about it in the last few weeks. I was feeling pretty proud of my accomplishment and it wasn’t even reality yet. I wasn’t sure if I could take the humiliation of backing out. Would my recovery be less true? No. Did it mean I hadn’t accomplished anything? No. It would mean that my pride would take a hit; it would not have the crowning glory I had planned. And that was almost more painful than my toes.

On Monday the doc trimmed off the old toenails to reveal teeny misshapen new ones underneath and gave me the go-ahead for the race. I exhaled relief, and signed with resignation; what can I say? I’m complicated. But I started to think about my priorities, about pride and the Biblical view of pride. I was starting to get uncomfortable. Then Tuesday came. I had my one year follow-up with the spine surgeon. He was impressed that I was doing a half marathon, but also admonished me to walk most of it, that a half should really be the cap for my distances; and then he checked that I wasn’t doing anything really crazy like bungee jumping or skydiving. I may be a nut, but I'm not stupid. I guess doing lots of halfs are not in my future, even with a bionic back. But that wasn’t going to stop me from doing this half. But Wednesday hit like a semi-truck. As I was getting ready for the day a muscle down my neck started spasming. I ignored it with the logic it would work itself out. But as I was driving to work, to see my blind spot I had to turn my whole body – not good. Thankfully my chiropractor was able to fit me in at lunch. I still had to support my head with my hands to lean my head back, but I could at least turn side to side which was a major improvement.

So despite banged up toes, warnings from the spinal surgeon, and a neck that is out of whack, come Sunday I am tackling a half-marathon. Yes, I am a nut case! But one who is going to “Run Like Hell” for 13.1 miles and feed my pride and make my statement!

Garage Sale for God's Glory

Two years have passed since the last garage sale endeavor of my mother's and I. Not quite enough time to forget the pain, annoyance, and work involved in having a sale but the stuffeth over floweth, so a sale will be had. My brother moved to New York City last week and left everything he didn't want or need (e.g., dishes, pans, etc.) with my parents to deal with, including a vehicle and a townhouse - anyone need a 4Runner and a garage in Beaverton to park it in? I keep a container in the garage that is my designated donation box. The past year I've been saving it up for a garage sale. When Janelle was up visiting over Memorial Day, she helped me purge the stuff in my garage. The box is now heaped and other boxes have been pressed into service. Unfortunately I am on my own to purge the rest of the house. It won't be very thorough, it's not as if I am moving to NYC into a teeny shared apartment, so why bother? Why, indeed. Because of God's glory.

Having a garage sale for God's glory may seem rather strange. If our purpose as Christians is to bring God glory, it requires us to be refined and purified from those things that detract us from this goal. We need to remove whatever idols and little gods we have in our lives which dilute our passion and effectiveness. Like a professional athlete who trains with diligence, perseverance and determination to receive glory in their sport; likewise, Christians should be training too for God's glory. We are in a battle, we need to be fit warriors.

Still wondering how a garage sale fits into the picture? I live in America, a culture known for it's consumerism. We are consumed with having stuff. This does not bring God glory and traps our heart. Stuff in itself is not bad. A couch is a comfortable spot to sit and write my random thoughts on this blog. Some stuff is necessary, even nomadic tribes and ascetic monks have some stuff. But what happens when a single person has too much stuff? They get comfortable, sated, complacent, immovable. Being comfortable and content isn't necessarily a bad thing, but when that is valued more or keeps a person from following God's leading it isn't a healthy place to be. I recognize that I am getting closer to that line than I would like; my comfortableness is making me uncomfortable.

As I talked with a friend last night, sharing a budding idea about moving, she asked in dismay, "You have such a great home. You would give up all of this?" I realize it is a very un-American attitude to think of selling my home, most of my possessions, pick up roots. Yet I don't want to be so comfortable that when God says, "Go!" that I stammer with excuses of being comfortable, settled, and unable to obey. My answer to the question from my friend, "You would giver up all of this?" was - "Absolutely." A conviction doesn't mean it will be done easily. I have many fine things that I inherited from my paternal grandmother, items I have never once used - they don't fit my lifestyle, but they are my connection to grandparents I hardly knew, a substitute for the relationship that wasn't there. I also have items from my maternal grandmother, not quite as fine but greater treasures because of the dear relationship with my grandparents. Passing these things along will not be easy, heart-wrenching actually as I have made them a substitute for the person they represent. Since I am not moving imminently, those items will be held on to for a little longer. I want to use the gold filigree Wedgewood demitasse cups at least once before I sell them.

Many other things have no connection to relatives that are just taking up space and weighing me down. Taking inspiration and a cue from my brother, I'm starting a purging process. Making room for something new in my life. Ironically, my new House Beautiful magazine arrived this weekend and the theme is 'small living' and each article talks about paring down to the essentials, small spaces needing to be uncluttered. How nice of God to send me another source of inspiration and instructions. I better wrap this up, I've got work to do!

The Big Red Box

Sometimes, I scare myself. Today I had one of those moments. I was wandering through The Container Store checking out what was on sale. Down one aisle I spotted a box, a big 12x17x3 red leather lidded taffeta lined box, on sale. After hemming and hawing, trying to convince myself to get the paperboard version that was a little less than half the cost of the red one, I went with the leather one. I could justify it because I plan on having this box for a long time to come. There is a very specific purpose for this box: to hold all the ephemera that constitutes the memories of my life. My memory has more holes than a fine Swiss cheese. Keepsakes of good times are stuffed into various boxes, envelopes, etc. to jog my memory, fill in those holes. But there is too much. Thus the red box, I'm limiting myself to what can fit inside this box. Plenty of things can be scanned and stored away electronically. But for those things that I want to hold onto the original, they'll go in the red box- and only the red box. Why pare down to just this one box? Simplicity, less clutter, focus on the essentials... and if I happen to move, it will make it a little bit easier.

Okay, just imagine the bottom box in a deep red.

Twilight

I really do not understand the appeal of Twilight but the vampire fever has swept through all generations of my friends. Fans come from former students who are now in high school to women my mother's age. Curiosity got the better of me and when the first film was on TV for free, I did watch it. I was creeped out. Not so much by the idea and notion of vampires but by the values and attitudes that were highlighted. Trying to explain it to my co-workers who are fans I was at a loss to articulate my opinions more than "It felt insidious." To which I was met with confused stares combined with a suspicion that I was a bit crazy. Yet I have good company. I found an article by a woman with a doctorate who was able to make the arguments I would, if I could find the words. I am by no means a women's libber, not by a long shot, but if any of my former student were to start dating some guy that was controlling and isolating her from her friends and family, subjugating her, I would throw a fit, as would you, so why is it okay for Edward and Bella? It may be just a 'harmless' fun story, but values and morals are taught through story, myth, and fairy tales. I am not saying I agree point for point with this woman, but overall I do. Find the article her:

Why This Middle-Aged Woman Loathes Twilight | Psychology Today

And this is from a secular point of view. There is an element of spiritual allusions and I think that is what creeps me out the most. How Edward refers to himself as the lion and Bella as the lamb. Ah, no... God is the lion, the Lion of Judah. Yet Edward does behave as a demi-god, a very controlling one at that. And when he steps into the sunlight and is all sparkly, my thought was, 'Yeah, and Lucifer was the most beautiful angel too.' Those are the two that stick out in my memory. Insidious. I tried to explain my point of view to a friend who is a Christian, who is a Twilight fan, her response was essentially 'It's only a story. Vampires aren't real, what is the big deal.' And the frog thought, 'It's only a pool of warm water.'

Okay, stepping off my soap box now.

Mission Connexion Connection

Last weekend was Mission Connexion NW, the largest missions conference in the Pacific Northwest. I was there to help staff the Perspectives booth for a couple hours which turned into most of the day. Towards the afternoon I was hungry, Ron was thirsty and tired, so we decided to head to the exhibitors room for a snack. Unfortunately we got there as they were cleaning up and the snacks were almost all gone, except for some pretzels. I really should have packed a lunch. We sat down at a table thankful to rest.

Ron asked me where I am at with missions, what I am thinking about it all. I gave some short answers, enough to satisfy if he was just trying to make conversation. But he probed further, so I took it as a sign that he really did want to know, and gushed everything that has been going on in my head and heart. Something about verbalizing it all, real connections between my mind, heart and reality started to develop. God is leading and directing, preparing me for something; what exactly? I'm not quite sure, but here is what I do know.

At the age of 16 I decided that I was meant to be a missionary. The summer between high school and college I had to memorize the following verse as part of a missions team. At age 17 I took the passage as my life verse ~ Matthew 16: 24 "Then Jesus told his disciples, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. 25 For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. 26 For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what shall a man give in return for his soul? 27 For the Son of Man is going to come with his angels in the glory of his Father, and then he will repay each person according to what he has done. 28 Truly, I say to you, there are some standing here who will not taste death until they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom.”"

My desire to be in ministry, to be a missionary has never waivered, despite all the setbacks, delays, and lack of direction.

In January 2009 a friend encouraged me to join her & her family for a spaghetti feed fundraiser for a ministry called the Micah Project. She mentioned that it was a great ministry to kids.

I like hearing about ministry to kids.

She mentioned it is located in Honduras.

Um, I had no interest in going further south than San Diego. I was interested in Central Europe not Central America. But I figured it's always good to hear how what other ministries are doing and glean ideas.

She even tried playing the single guy card, explaining that the founder would be talking at the fundraiser and he was single.

That gave me pause. I reconsidered attending, but ended up not going; other priorities took precedence over gathering more information about kids at risk from a random ministry. But Micah Project stayed in my mind, although it wouldn't come back to the frontal lobe for several months.

During the summer, as I anticipated and worried about the quickly approaching back surgery, and dreaded another birthday, I decided that by age 40 I wanted to be back in full-time ministry, preferably overseas. A book I had been reading made the point that most people knew what they really wanted to be when they were young, that it's as we became more aware of social pressures and have disappointments in life that we move away from our true calling. Maybe you're wondering what I wanted to be when I grew up; I wanted to be many things depending on the interest of the day. The most amusing, to me, was an attorney, which I can only explain by the fact I had been watching a lot of Perry Mason. But what I always went back to was running an orphanage. I'm not sure where that came from, but I wanted to provide a home for all the children that didn't have one. In high school as girls are wont to do, we mapped out our lives by naming who we were going to marry and how many children we were going to have. My answer to the second question was always, "at least a soccer team worth, " quickly qualifying that statement with "they'll be adopted." So as I thought about where and what I wanted to be doing by the big 4-O the idea of dedicating my life to loving children without family really resonated deep in my heart. To exhaust my days lavishing what love and care I have to give on them. To do my best to emulate some of my heroes of the faith: Gladys Aylward, Amy Carmichael & Mother Teresa. I recognize that with my health issues living overseas may not be wise in most peoples mind; it could aggravate symptoms, especially if I contract some other weird disease and possibly shorten my life-span. Yet we only have this one life and sooner than we think it will be over, so why play it safe? "When I go, I want to go out like Elijah" (Rich Mullins), with my boots on, not hanging on tight to the balance beam.

It is with this mindset that I started to think and pray about how to proceed. My current job allows me ample vacation time, once I build my vacation days bank back up (surgery was going to take me into the negative count), it seemed reasonable to visit two or so places a year to check them out. I didn't have plans as such, just toying with the idea of an orphanage in Africa that some friends had worked at previously, a boys orphanage/Christian camping center in the Caribbean I had come across during my seminary days, Lebanon has some interesting opportunities that my church partners with, going back to Brno, CZ seemed like the natural choice and then there was a vague memory of a ministry to dump children somewhere in South America that I could have learned more about if I had just gone to a spaghetti feed. Figuring out where to go, which ministries to consider, when to visit was something to do in the future. I just needed to focus on getting through surgery and healing, then worry about all of that stuff.

It wasn't much more than a month after I had started making all these mental resolutions that I got an email from the same friend as before, inviting me to a dessert informational time for the Wiggs family who were preparing to join the Micah Project long-term. As an added bonus one of the older guys from Micah would be there to share his story as well. I already had something on the calendar for that day and time. I hemmed and hawed, back and forth, and again, did not attend. But this time I had my mother pick up any material they were handing out. A few days later I picked up the Year End Report of the Micah Ministry from my mom and read through the whole thing. Then read it again. The ministry seemed pretty amazing, why had I been so reluctant to learn more about it before? I needed to learn more, so I started reading the newsletters and the blog with a greedy hunger for more information. My heart sunk as I read about three of the boys running away. Quickly scanning the next few blog entries to make sure they returned I was left without any news. I jotted an email to my friend, I had to know if they were still on the streets or safely back at the Micah house (they had come home). One day, plopped in front of my home computer, reading an archived newsletter, a voice spoke to me. Actually it was my own voice, but a phrase was uttered aloud before it ever crossed my mind, which never happens with my own thoughts, it had to be the Spirit who said, "This is worth giving your life to." Stunned, I seriously wondered if I was crazy. I couldn't argue though, Micah is worth giving my life to. Since that moment I have read every blog post, every past newsletter, rabidly follow their Facebook page, and, well, there is no other way to put this - stalk - the pages of the staff in hopes of learning what is going on in all of their lives, any morsel of news. And for the record, a couple weeks after the aforementioned informational dessert, there was another one that I did attend and was able to met the Wiggs. Somewhere along the way, it happened before I knew it had started, I became invested into the lives of the boys, developed a love for each one without having ever met them - except Oscar who I met around Christmas - and have settled that if this is truly where God is calling me - “Here am I! Send me.” (Isa. 6:8)
A bold claim, especially since I have yet to experience the ministry first-hand. I may be overzealous. I worry that I am misinterpreting what I see as "words" and "signs;" I'm scared of it being true, and of it not. I am looking forward to visiting Micah this summer and seeing where God leads from there.