I Don't Have a Favorite Color

Nearly two years ago I embarked on an adventure that changed me and the steps that I've taken since and will continue to take. I went to Guatemala and learned to love it so much that, when I left there March 2010, I was entirely ready to re-pack my bags and commit my life to living in Guatemala fully living from my Chapina soul (Chapina is Guatemalan slang for someone who is Guatemalan). When I returned to the US I started looking for year-long opportunities that would allow me to live and work in Guatemala. Several options came up; they all fell through, but, even before they fell through, something told me that I was supposed to give Guatemala back her Maker and go to Africa. And I, characteristically, was super excited to go to a new place. Little did I know that I would lose my heart to Tanzania just as thoroughly as I had already lost it to Guatemala, that I would discover that my soul is at least bi-racial consisting of a Guatemalan portion and an Africa portion and who knows what else. Or that I would learn from the experience that maybe I'm not supposed to love just one place. Maybe it's okay that I can't pick a favorite color let alone one country to dedicate my life to. Maybe I'm supposed to go all over the place and love places and people and cultures and languages until my heart breaks. Maybe that's why I want to travel the world anyway!

Now I'm getting ready to go to Nicaragua for 10 days in January, and I'm fairly busting at the seams! I'm so blessed and excited for the opportunity to join a new place and to learn to love Nicaragua like I already love Guatemala and Mexico and Tanzania. Please pray as we go.

Borders

In reading through Oswald Chambers' My Utmost For His Highest one line really stuck out to me. He said, "Never make this plea: 'If only I were somewhere else!'" Ooops. I might've done that a time or twelve this year. And, the worst part is, I justified it every time. I've not left the country once in all of 2011, and that has been something with which I've struggled. How many times have I thought to myself about how I'd rather be in Africa or Guatemala or Mexico or any number of other places? I mean, I've been called to go, so where is the going in all of the staying that I've been doing?! And this Chambers guy has the audacity to say that I'm not supposed to feel this way? But then he goes on to say that we've been Chosen...present tense. Right here. Right now. Exactly as we are, we've been chosen. So, all of this has gotten me thinking about borders and how maybe I have gone this year. Maybe borders don't just separate countries. Maybe borders are also being torn down by two people and two suitcases that deliver healthcare to homeless people. Maybe borders are being crossed when small children can lean up against their nurse's knees and say "Me gusta estar con ti!" even after that nurse pricked their fingers to check their hemoglobin levels. Maybe I'm crossing borders every day. Maybe I'm not less called just because I've been in the same place all year. Maybe I can be used here. Maybe you can be, too.

I still want to go. I'm still called to go. I'm going to Nicaragua in January for two weeks, and I'm beside myself with excitement! And I can't wait to see where I get to go after that. But I think I'm learning that I'm underestimating the One who calls me to go when I take for granted that He can use me here...when I forget that His borders and my borders aren't always the same.

Peace and Stuff

The power of the mind has always fascinated me; this has been especially true since nursing school. The fact that sometimes medicines "work" because we are completely convinced they're working is incredible to me. On the flip-side, the fact that we can convince ourselves that we are sick and in pain when the results of every test say we aren't is astounding. That's power! But sometimes it's not good power. This was reiterated to me last week.

I have been praying for guidance and wisdom for the last several months, knowing what I want but not wanting to just run ahead of my Leader and do my own thing. And, in the midst of these prayers, I've found peace. My Father has told me exactly everything I need to know for right now; He has reassured me of things to come; and, above all, He has reminded me that He knows His plans for me and that His plans are to prosper me...to give me hope and a future. But, within a few hours of finding this peace and being reminded of God's faithfulness in keeping promises, my mind would kick in and start analyzing everything again...totally independently of my heart, where the peace was residing, thus shattering the peace and leaving me feeling a bit lost and confused again. And the thing is, I'd be so wrapped up in wondering "WHAT DO I DO?!?!" that I didn't even notice the progression of how I got from peace to panic (ok, not literally panic) so suddenly. Until this weekend when a friend of mine pointed out that, while my heart had peace, my mind was generating confusion. We can't generate our own peace, but we can destroy the peace we've been given. So, now it's my job to choose the peace and to trust and follow the Peace-giver. And maybe try to not let my analytical mind take over quite so much.... That's a little scary sounding...and THAT'S a whole different topic.

Hanging On to the Best

I sometimes read the blog of a nurse who was working in West Africa with Mercy Ships. She’s now moving on to other adventures after spending several weeks in first world countries catching up with friends and family. Anyway, something she wrote recently caught my eye and put words to a lot of what I’ve been feeling during my time in the US this year. I don’t know what’s legal and what’s not as far as “publishing” what someone else has written when it comes to blogging, so I’ll paraphrase what she said instead of quoting it exactly. She said that she’s more afraid that she’ll lose her acute awareness of how out of touch with perspective so many in the first world are than she is of having to live with that awareness (which she referred to as guilt, actually); she said that she’s afraid she’ll become like so many who walk our streets and spend so much time and energy worrying about how many calories are in that over-priced latte and never once think about how many pounds of rice that money could buy in the third world (note: I am not judging people who buy over-priced lattes as that would be terribly hypocritical considering I have a definite weakness for delicious coffee myself; I’m talking perspective here). She said that losing this awareness would be losing the best part of herself.

I’ve now been home one month, and I’m determined to hang on to this awareness that I first really and truly experienced in Guatemala and then developed more acutely in Tanzania. And, you know, I really don’t think it’ll be too terribly hard for me to hang on to it; I actually think it would be harder for me to get rid of it because it is part of me now—part of who I am and part of who I want to be. I want to think of Bahati every time I make chapatis, my host family in Carchá every time I play Dutch Blitz, and my host family in Mexico City every time I sing “Caminemos en la Luz de Díos.” I want my first thought when someone says something about the game Follow the Leader to be of Sonnie, Cody, and the streets of Chichicastenango; I hope cemeteries always lead to thoughts of the bullet hole-ridden tombstones of the National Cemetery in Guatemala City in front of which people who crossed those in power were executed during the 36 years of civil war…and then I want those memories to lead to thoughts of the landfill and Zona 3 which neighbor the cemetery; playgrounds will always make me think of the hours spent pushing children on the swings at the City of Hope; I hope worship services without heart-felt dancing won’t ever seem quite complete; I pray that the song “Days of Elijah” will always take me back to a jeep filled with new friends bouncing down an unpaved road in the jungle of Alta Verapaz, Guatemala and that “Come Thou Fount” will always remind me of a welcoming church in the middle of that jungle and the circle of children who played with bubbles with us; no stunning sky will ever be able to compete with the one God spread over Tanzania, and I don’t think there could be more beautiful mountains than the ones in Guatemala. And I pray that hospitality will always remind me of the people and places who have stolen my heart--the many, many people who have so little and give so much, from welcoming, friendship, love, and acceptance to chai/coke and chapatis/tortillas, and I also pray that I will always offer that same hospitality to the people I encounter.

And, above all, I pray that all of these memories will not only stick with me close to the surface but will also make me live more intentionally no matter where I am and that God will not only allow me to make more memories but will also give me opportunities to share the memories.

Chai helps

I've been back in the US for nearly two weeks now. I thought coming back at Christmastime would make things easier because I love Christmas. I'm not sure I was right about that, but tonight I made Kenyan chai to go with my birthday dinner, and it somehow helped I think. It made me think about all the experiences at the City of Hope and the friends I have there, friends that I'm really missing right now; it made me think about all the children who come through the City of Hope and how fun, talented, beautiful, and...ordained by God for greatness they are and how much I love them all; it made me think of the team that's still there working so hard to make the world a better place for the people of Ntagatcha; it made me wonder what I'm doing here and what I'm supposed to be doing over this next year or so.

Shortly after my return I stopped by my university to talk to a professor of mine from nursing school. During our chat I realized that I spent more time outside the US in 2010 than I did inside the US...and that I prefer it that way. She described it as feeling that her soul was drying up when she's in the US for too long, and that's exactly it. So why am I here now? Why has God called me here for now after breaking my heart so thoroughly for both Guatemala and Tanzania? And why does it still have to hurt so much? But, you know, the fact of the matter is that He has called me here for now. He didn't say it would be easy, but He has promised to give His children His strength and His joy and His passion. And I believe Him because He's the Living God, and I'm his daughter! Besides, as Paul said, our circumstances have nothing to do with our joy because our joy doesn't (or shouldn't) come from our circumstances; he said that he could be joyful in chains and in freedom, in wealth and in poverty, in hunger and in satisfaction, so surely I can be joyful in the mountains of VA! I'm a nurse; that hasn't changed even if my mission field has for the time being. So, with the strength God gives me, I'm going to work as a nurse, and I'll put a smile on my face, some pep in my step, and my whole heart into it! I'll be an ambassador for Christ, not in chains, but in scrubs!!

Oh my goodness, I'm in AFRICA!!??

Wow! So I've been in Africa a little over a week, and I'm totally and completely in love already. This place is so beautiful, and so are the people. I love how you can't walk down the street without a bunch of precious African children coming out, saying hi, and holding your hand while you walk for a while. I also love how I know that this is exactly where I'm supposed to be right now. It is so incredible! And I've done basically a little bit of everything from rasslin' barbed wire to digging holes with a machete to learning to make chapatis to nursing and playing with children...and Rook...lots and lots of Rook. :) We've been busy!

So, I had all these things that I was excited to write in here, and now I, of course, can't remember most of them. But one story that must be shared is the story of how 125-pound Amy broke a trailer that was supposed to be able to hold a ton...by sitting on it. Seriously! So, we were using a small trailer to haul rocks and water because we were building a barbed-wire fence around one of our fields, and we were using this power-tiller engine thing (I don't really know) to pull the trailer (this is Africa!). One guy on our team, Daniel, jumped onto the side rail on the back, and I was told to jump up onto the other side rail to help counter the weight. So, I did. I don't even remember feeling my butt hit the rail because it London Bridge-d and bent basically in half. After inspecting the damage, it was determined that the thing was going to break (and was, in fact, already half broken when I jumped onto it) anyway. I was just the straw that broke the camel's back. A couple of the guys here came up to me and were like, "The metal, it was no good. You are not heavy. The metal, it was no good." And Kyle said that the metal they used to make the trailer was fit to be a door and basically nothing else. It was just really funny that, of all the people who have ridden in the trailer, it was Daniel and I (the two lightest ones) who broke it. Basically the fat joke of the year. :)

The Most Me

So, I started this blog ages ago (and by ages I mean about a month), and now I'm going to finish it with some minor changes, additions, and adjustments.

I had a realization earlier this summer, but first let me explain something.

I worked as the camp nurse at the summer camp where I've worked the past 7 summers. I love camp; it's one of my very favorite places on earth and will always have a special place in my heart. I'd never camp nursed before, but I loved it so much! TOkay, now for the realization. Before going to Guatemala, camp was always the place where I was able to be the most me. Something about the people and the atmosphere just let me open up and be completely me in a way that no other place would allow or nurture. That's probably one of the reasons why I love it so much, though I just realized this a couple of years ago. Initially I loved (and still love) camp because it combines three of my favorite things in the whole wide world: Jesus, kids, and running around outside. Then, last semester, I went to Guatemala, and it stole my heart. Camp felt different this year. Not bad different-- I still love camp and always will--just different, and hopefully this summer wasn't the end of my camp employment days. But I realized that last semester Guatemala became the place where I was the most me. Now I'm preparing for a month in Tanzania, and I'm so excited about it! But I'm also a little nervous that it's going to steal my heart like Guatemala did. Or, well, I was afraid of that. Now I've just come to terms with the fact that that's probably going to happen, and I'm ready for it. One of my friends described it as being the same as parents with their kids; when they have one and are about to have the second they wonder how they'll ever love another one the way they love the first one. But somehow they do; they find out that there's room in their heart to love not just one or two but innumerable people and places. I'm not being "disloyal" to Guatemala. And, I'm not expecting Tanzania to be Guatemala. In fact, I don't have expectations other than to be used and awed and poured out and broken and a blesser and blessed. I'm ready to go into this month able to give of all of me and ready to teach and be taught, serve and allow others to serve, too. I'm ready to join Tanzania for a month and let God do what He will. And it's going to be awesome.

Isaiah 6.