The Expedition

A friend and colleague shared this poem as we considered how to leave our congregations and say goodbye "well." I don't know if there is a way to say goodbye well to the people who have captured my heart and lovingly pulled me into their family so quickly and fully, but I will try and try again until I have expended enough words on these loved ones. So tonight I share not my own words, but the words of another, more poetic writer... 


The Expedition 

by Anthony de Mello

My time here has come to an end, 

And I think of the days that I have spent in these surroundings.

I see an image of myself as I was when I came here

And I look at my self as I am today

At the close of this time.

I think of the persons and places that have been a part of my time here.

To each of them I speak in gratitude.

And to each I say goodbye. 

Other places, other persons call to me,

and I must go. 

I think of the experiences I have had,

The graces I have been granted

In this place.

For each of these too, I am grateful.

I think of the kind of life I have lived here,

The atmosphere, the daily schedule.

I say goodbye:

Another type of life awaits me,

Other graces, other experiences.

And I say goodbye to persons,

places, 

things, 

events,

experiences,

and graces, 

I do so under life's imperious biddings.

If I wish to be alive

I must learn to die at every moment.

That is, to say goodbye, let go, move on. 

When this is done, I turn to face the future

And I say, "Welcome."

I think of the work that waits for me,

The people I shall meet,

The type of life I shall be living, 

The events that will take place tomorrow.

And I extend my arms in welcome

To the summons of the future.

A Reflection, a Farewell

Every Tuesday night I have the privilege of leading a bible study at the house of some of my wonderful parishioners. We start around 9pm and end as close to 10pm as I can get us without going too far into the night. Then we gather in the kitchen to continue to chat and eat whatever delicious food and sweets are present that night. By the time we leave (often somewhere between 10:30 and 11pm), I am so sleepy and stuffed that I zone out as another couple drives me home.

A few nights ago, we had bible study, realized that we only have a few weeks left together, and scheduled our very last bible study (which will end up being us gathering for food and possibly talking about Jesus a little bit). That evening as we drove home, I noticed the odd sound of country music coming over the Malaysian radio station. Thomas Rhett's "Die a Happy Man" washed over my ears and I smiled. Oo how I miss country music and seeing the stars at night and bonfires. I felt ready and eager to be "home" in the United States.

Then as I kept listening to the lyrics, I felt sorrow and maybe even regret. It's hard to name exactly the emotions that flooded into my heart, but it wasn't the joy of leaving, it wasn't the excitement of seeing my family at home.

"If I never get to see the Northern lights
Or if I never get to see the Eiffel Tower at night
Oh, if all I got is your hand in my hand
Baby, I could die a happy man"

The premise of the song is that this man has some "bucket list" items, but he sings that even if he doesn't get to do all of those things, he would "die a happy man" just because he gets to spend his days with this woman. I know this feeling all too well. Daniel and I used to move the furniture and dance in the living room. Or we would turn his small apartment into a movie theater. We went on some pretty incredible dates, but my favorite times together have been when we didn't have to spend any money at all. We were just together and happy. We have dreams and plans, but even if they didn't work out, we are still so happy simply being together.

But as I heard this song, I realized that we did get to see our metaphorical Northern lights this year. We did get to see our metaphorical Eiffel Tower at night. And while it's true that our love would be just as incredible and we would be just as happy without these experiences, the truth of the matter is that we have done things this year and seen things that we never could have imagined in our wildest dreams.

And I don't think I've been as grateful as I should have been. I took a lot of it for granted. I think part of it is because I never could have imagined being here and seeing these things this year - or maybe everything happened so quickly that I haven't had a chance to digest it- but I won't use that as an excuse. Until I started to hear that song play over and over in my head, I don't think I fully realized how amazing our first year of marriage has been. Every once in a while we would turn to one another and say, "We are living in Malaysia. How odd the way life turns out," but I don't think it all sank in the way it did the other night.

We saw the famous tea fields of the Cameron Highlands in Malaysia.
We dipped our toes into oceans and seas that I never would have thought we'd visit in our lifetime.
We rode a 40 year old elephant and fed an eight year old elephant!
We watched the sun rise over Angkor Wat.
We watched the sun set on a beach in Bali.
We rode on a crazy cable car in Langkawi and walked on a long curved suspension bridge.
We spent part of Thaipusam at Batu Caves.
We saw the giant reclining Buddha at Wat Pho.
We ate authentic pad thai from a street cart in Bangkok.
We watched a storm roll into the city, sweeping over the Petronas Towers and KL Tower, on the helipad of a skyscraper.
I've preached in three countries and had my sermons translated into several languages.
We went to Universal Studios in Singapore.
We also went to the rooftop pool at Marina Bay Sands and rode the Singapore Flyer.
We had dinner on the rooftop of the #1 restaurant in Phuket.
We shared many of these memories with my parents and Daniel's brother.

And last, but certainly not least, we spent the entire year being welcomed and loved by people who knew nothing about us and committed to helping us grow in ministry, in life, and in love.

This past year has been more incredible, difficult, and surprising than we could have ever imagined. And I think I am just now realizing that this isn't normal. This life is a privilege and an honor. This year has been such an unfathomable blessing from God and I know that we will not soon forget the beautiful memories we have shared in this first year of marriage.

It also gets me excited about what God has in store for us next. We are ready- where will our next adventure lead us?

This week in food

Malaysia is incredible. Marriage is awesome.

I'm still in the honeymoon stage. On both accounts.

So far, I have mostly documented my experience in terms of food. Unfortunately, I only have one exciting picture of our breakfast this morning. If you're not interested in food, you might be disappointed in this post and you can skip over it.

Monday: We arrived today and were whisked off to eat (because that's what you do here)! We had Cantonese food, which was new to me. It was a bed of rice (a theme you will see frequently) with various dishes - cabbage, bean curd, and chicken. It was all very good.

Tuesday: We went to the mall and met up with a friend from Daniel's church. She introduced us to delicious tea, an iced mocha, and the most incredible salted caramel cake. That night we were able to attend the weekly Bible study at a parishioner's house.  They graciously hosted us for dinner - rice, lamb curry, roasted chicken with vegetables, and so many good Malaysian fruits.

Wednesday: Our friend took us out to have Thai food - garlic pepper chicken, pandan chicken, vegetables, and a really spicy soup (over rice).  That was probably my favorite meal until this morning.

This morning we decided we should stop eating croissants and jelly every morning for breakfast. So instead we went down to the mamak (street side restaurant) not even a block from our house and had roti.  Roti is a similar consistency as a crepe and is served pulled apart with a curry sauce on the side. You can also get it with eggs, onions, and other things. It took us a while to figure out how to order, but everyone is really gracious to us foreigners. The best part was that our meal (2 rotis) costs 50 cents. So we will definitely be going back basically every morning. No more croissants and jelly for us!

Roti with spicy curry sauce!

In preparation for Haiti

Most of you know this, but I went to Honduras for eleven days in January.  I haven't been able to go more than about 20 hours without thinking about that experience and how much I want to go back.  I might not get the opportunity to go back to Honduras, but I'm hoping to travel again this January.

The professor with whom I traveled takes a group to Haiti on the years he doesn't go to Honduras.

I am elated about Haiti.

I loved my experience in Honduras so much that I cannot even imagine how much fun I'll have in Haiti.  I just want to hang out with kids again.  Sweat in the sweet heat and giggle with some kids on the front porch of a school.  I've been Googling things about Haiti for the last week in anticipation. 34% of the population is younger than fourteen.  I couldn't be more excited.

Haiti intimidates me.

I don't know how to speak even a tiny bit of French.  And French Creole sounds even more exhausting.  How am I going to connect with people when I can't understand anything? When I can't speak anything?  But if I learned anything while I was in Honduras, it's that laughter and silliness are languages without distinctions.  I might be alright.

My heart breaks for Haiti.

Haiti was the first post-colonial black-led nation in the world.  They endured so much persecution by the Spanish and French over the years that their government has been pretty unstable for its entire existence.  It is currently the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere.  Poorer than Honduras? I think to myself. How my heart breaks for the people there.

Haiti is hurting.

In 2010, an earthquake struck Haiti, killing over 300,000 people and leaving over 1.5 million people homeless.  Four years later, they still haven't recovered.  They may never fully recover.  Their environment is subject to extensive deforestation and soil erosion.  And there is barely enough potable water to provide everyone with enough throughout the year.

Haiti can teach me so much.

Over 95% of Haitian citizens are black.  Over half of the population practices voodoo (although the census says that they are 80% Roman Catholic).  I am so incredibly interested in the culture there.  Not as a specimen of study, but as people I'd love to have relationships with.

I am so excited to meet my brothers and sisters in Haiti.  I'm going to be hitting everyone up for money soon.  It makes me ill to ask for money like this, but these trips are formational and completely priceless to the ministry for which God is calling me.

My Restlessness

Restless (adj.) - unquiet or uneasy, as a person, the mind, or the heart; unceasingly active; averse to quiet or inaction, as persons.

I think my restlessness started when I was very young. We moved around a lot when I was a child and once you are accustomed to something for 14 years, it becomes a part of who you are. Every two years (sometimes sooner) I feel a type of tugging- a want for less routine, more spontaneity, something new, a purging of all that is old.

My restlessness has led me to do some silly things. I begged my mom to redecorate my bedroom while I was in high school because we had no plans of moving. When I was in college I cut off all of my hair in the quest for something new and different. Sometimes I try out a new style of clothing for a while. It's like a midlife crisis every two years.

My restlessness has also led me to do some other mildly crazier things. Like draining my bank account on a ticket to Hawaii for ten days. And writing an entrance essay for seminary.

Sometimes it's a combination of restlessness, anger, sorrow, the need for freedom - the realization of something small - for me to do the big things that need to be done. Breaking off an engagement. Ending a relationship of almost five years.

I'm afraid my restlessness will leave me alone in this life. If not alone, it certainly has the potential to leave me lonely. In my need for change, I pick everything up and move. I leave the people I love in the search for something to stop my restlessness.

I used to be afraid I would never find the cure to my restlessness.

Then I went to Honduras.

Honduras seemed to settle me. I never felt more physically healthy than when I was in Honduras. Even the things you'd expect from international travel (exhaustion, stomach issues, soreness from more physical work I'm used to) didn't bother me at all.  I have had neck and shoulder issues from being a student for 17 years and sleeping on a thin mat on a concrete floor didn't leave me aching in the morning.

I also couldn't have been happier than I was in Honduras.  I missed talking to my parents and friends, sure; but I don't think I've ever laughed for ten days straight and I was filled with so much joy while I was there.

I felt filled with the Holy Spirit on a moment to moment basis in a way I've never felt before. I could see God in every child's face and every evening worship service.  I felt God's touch every time a six year old held my hand and in the mornings when the weigh of the mist in the mountains was heavy.

I wasn't restless there.

It took me about 4 hours in the country before I felt as if I belonged there. I've never felt so at home. We had something to do every single day and there was a new adventure around the corner of every dirt road. If I ever got bored in Honduras, I was doing something wrong.  There were endless things for me to learn there.

I miss it every day.

I'm no longer afraid that I will never find a cure for my restlessness. I know that God will lead me back to a place like Honduras. I feel the workings of that every day as I sit in class and as I talk to professors and pastors about international mission.

But it's really hard to wait. I'm doing everything I can to convince myself to stay in seminary and finish my degree. But it's so hard when I'm restless here. Especially restless here. I'm comfortable here and I hate being comfortable.

I long for poverty and adventure and challenge and love. I long for the faces of children and laughter surrounding me every day. And I don't know what that means for my future or where I'll be in the world, but I know I won't settle until my life is consumed by it.

Growing Pains

I don't know if any of my friends have noticed it, but the past year has been a trying one for me. I have had to grow up quickly and sometimes unwillingly.  I've had to deal with heartache, loss, and a lot of changes that I'm not sure I was ready for. To top it all off, God decided I was going to start a whole other roller coaster called seminary. As if I needed more reasons to be emotional and moody.

I'm having some issues (try not to laugh too hard) with growing up.

A lot of people go through this phase when they are in high school. They want independence but safety.  They want their own car to go wherever they want but they want mom and dad to pay for it and fix it if it breaks. They want to do what they want when they want, just as long their parents keep paying for their recreations.

I didn't really go through that phase too hard in high school.  Even when I was a senior getting ready to leave my parents' house, I wasn't going crazy with rebellion. I am thankful that my parents never drowned my brother and I with house rules and regulations. We have pretty awesome parents.

I had some fun in college, but I knew I had about two or three years to play around until I got really serious about life. My parents paid for some things, but I was working and school was all paid for by scholarships and loans. I didn't have any huge responsibilities.

Well, I have been out of school for a year now and I am just now starting to figure out what it means to be an adult. And, um, I don't like it.

I am having to say goodbye to my best friends on a pretty regular basis. And I'm tired of it. I am surrounded by people getting engaged and married and trying not be jealous. I see people going on mission trips while I barely have money to pay my car insurance and it sucks. I am nervous about the future because I don't know exactly where God is taking me or how I am going to get there. I miss my parents and my brother and the rest of my family. I miss my churches in Ohio. And I'm just tired of it all.

It's times like this when I really wish the Gospels included years 10 through 30 of Jesus' life. What kind of issues did He deal with? He experienced all of our want for sin, right? Was He tempted to get drunk with His best friends? Did He have to learn how to get a job and pay the bills? Was He the best man at any of His friends' weddings? Did He ever fight with His parents? Did He have to do His own laundry?

Some of my favorite parts of the New Testament are when Jesus seems really human. He cries. He is tempted by the devil (and resists). He mourns the loss of His friends. He sleeps.

I wish I knew something more, though. Am I asking for too much? Probably. But I wish I knew how Jesus dealt with getting older and leaving His parents and His friends. Was He just content because He knew traveling and preaching was His destiny? Did He have divine comfort because of the God part of Him? He would be a homeless, poor traveler for His entire life. Was He nervous?

I want to know because if I knew Jesus was nervous and went through the same things that I am dealing with now, I might not feel so sorry for myself. I might be able to look to stories about Our Savior and how He said goodbye to His mother before He went out to preach. Or how He fought with His earthly father Joseph or His little brother James.

Give me 21 year old Jesus and all of his adolescent craziness. Then maybe my life won't feel like it is in shambles.

Boxes

I am a conservative.

I am a liberal. 

I am a tree hugger. 

I am an army brat. 

I am a hippie. 

I am a lover. 

I am a hater. 

I am a child. 

I am an adult. 

I am a sister 

I am a daughter. 

I am a prude. 

I am a slut. 

I am a princess. 

I am a country girl. 

I am a feminist. 

I am old fashioned. 

I am new-age. 

I am a Lutheran. 

I am nondenominational. 

I am a book worm. 

I am a movie lover. 

I am a photographer. 

I am a student. 

I am a teacher. 

I am young. 

I am old. 

I am American. 

I am a citizen of the world. 

I am a fighter. 

I am a victim. 

I am classy. 

I am trashy. 

I am modern. 

I am antiquated. 

None of these labels are me in my entirety. 

All of my labels that I put on myself come with explanations because I can't fit in the box of everyone else's expectations.

I am not the labels I put on myself. 

I am not the labels other people put on me. 

I have only one label that does not require an explanation: 

I am a child of God.

I am more than what the world sees in me. I am even more than what I see in myself.

The only person that knows everything about me and can read all of my thoughts and feelings- the only one who knows everything that has, is, and will happen. Is my God. Why do I keep imagining that if I can just fit into one of these boxes perfectly then I will be happy?

I know that I won't be. God didn't make me like that. God didn't make you like that. He didn't want cookie-cutter beautiful little creations as the world would like to see "beautiful."

He made each of us unique. He made each of us with flaws and scars and birthmarks and a history.

We are told that we are made in God's image. Think about that. What if we tried to fit God into a box. It's not easy- I've tried. He's mean, cruel, forgiving, loving, powerful, let willing to give us free will.

We can't put God in a box. So we have no business trying to put ourselves or each other in boxes. 

Roots

When you're a freshman at a big school like Ohio State (or any college for that matter), people tend to ask you a few basic questions:

1. What's your major? (Which will almost definitely change by the time you graduate.)

2. Where are you living? (If they are upperclassmen and/or have older siblings at the school, they will almost certainly have an opinion about where you live.)

3. Where are you from? (The answer to this question will immediately make you interesting or realize common friends.)

My answers to the first two questions were always somewhat basic. I'm thinking of majoring in Political Science. I live in Nosker House on North Campus since I'm in the scholars program (humble brag).

The third question was where I always got tripped up. So I varied it.

"I'm from a small town in Virginia."
"I'm not really from anywhere... my dad was in the military."
"I was born in Hawaii, but I don't really claim a hometown."
"Where do I look like I'm from?"
"Here. Columbus. I've just been gone for a while."

I didn't have a good answer for anyone who asked where I'm from. My dad was in the Army, so we moved around every two or three years until we moved to Virginia in 7th grade. I spent the most time there, but it didn't feel like any more of a "hometown" than did Ft. Kobe, Panama or Ft. Riley, Kansas.

My family was a troupe of wanderers. And I was okay with that. In truth, the most accurate thing I could have said when people asked me where I'm from would have been, "I'm at home at the kitchen counter watching my mom make dinner with the hum of my dad watching football in the background."

Although some of that is still true. I love watching my mom make dinner. I love watching the latest Netflix movie with my parents on the couch with my feet stretched across them. I love following my mom around the house and annoying her by "being bored" while she cleans and does laundry. That will always be my home.

But something strange has happened in the past year. When I was a freshman in college, I was afraid of putting roots anywhere, lest it be an angle for people to judge me. It was better if I was a wanderer and I was convinced that I could not be a wanderer with roots.

"Wickedness never brings stability, but the godly have deep roots." -Proverbs 12:3 

As I started my long process of leaving Ohio in my rearview mirror about three weeks ago, I got to thinking about roots and wings. Was it possible for me to have both? And could I have roots in more than one place? I don't think I would be satisfied if I was anchored to one place my whole life.

I think God has a funny way of filling us in on exactly what we need to know at exactly the right moments. (Omnipotence, maybe?) But as I was saying goodbye on the night before my departure, I knew full well that I could have roots and wings. God had given me beautiful people to help shape me, challenge me, and love me in Ohio. He had done the same thing in Virginia (and apparently they weren't done!) and I have a feeling there will be amazing people waiting for me in South Carolina when I arrive at the end of July.

I want to be able to put down roots in different places. It's okay to. No, I think it is best to. Because no matter where you go, you'll always feel at home. You'll always be establishing new roots while expanding your wings.

Home isn't four walls and a door. It's not a sticker on a map or a destination on a GPS. Home is where you feel loved. Where you feel welcome. Where you want to come back to. Where you can cry and laugh and celebrate. Home is not a place, but a people and a community.

And no matter where I go, as long as I can talk to Jesus, I know I'm home.