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?

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.

A Million Different Pieces

I spent ten days of January in Honduras. Everyone has asked, "What was your favorite part?"

Easiest question in the world.

The kids.


We spent six days in Santa Cruz- a small village of about 120 people perched on the side of a mountain.  It was on the side of this mountain that I fell in love at least a half a dozen times.

Toya. Maria. Margarita. René. Nelson. Cecilia. Mariven. Belkis. Karin.


I wish I could have taken them all home with me. I was absolutely torn in half to leave them. There is nothing I wouldn't give to be sitting on the front porch of the school, giggling with the girls and waiting for them to tickle me and whisper silly Spanish things to me every time I looked the other way. I'd give everything to see Nelson smiling at me before breakfast in the morning. I can't describe how much I wish I could see René's silly smile after he pokes me during worship service.

Everything was amazing in Honduras. We couldn't have asked for better weather, we were in the most beautiful mountains I've ever seen in my life, we ate incredibly good food. Serving people in the clinic was really awesome. Watching the men redo everything Aly and I contributed while doing construction was hilarious.

But nothing compares to the kids. Their joy and smiles and laughter have split my heart into a million different pieces. Even Jesus is going to have a hard time putting me back together this time.

Why it hurt so bad was hard to put my finger on at the time. It had everything and more to do with the fact that I just adore children, plain and simple. I'd start adopting them now if that was legal (or logical), but the adoption laws in Honduras prevent me from adopting children until I am 25 years old (yes, I researched this).

But the other part of me knew there was something different about these kids.  I am heartbroken over the fact that Cecilia should be having sleepovers and being silly at 14 years old instead of taking care of her three younger siblings, cooking for her family, and realizing she only has a few more years until she will be married and raising her own children.

I am heartbroken over the fact that Mariven was the only person around to care for her almost deaf and blind grandmother. She will never have a normal childhood. She is only eight years old.

I am heartbroken because many of the young boys who should be playing soccer all day long are working in the fields owned by wealthy men. Spraying vegetables with pesticides that are likely to kill them or give them chronic health problems by the time they are forty. Earning about a dollar a day.

I am heartbroken because they haven't named the precious two month old that they brought to the clinic. They would wait to be sure the baby lived a little longer before naming her.

I am heartbroken because I have lived 21 years on this earth without knowing them and loving them. I have lived a comfortable life and it makes me hurt for them. It makes me hurt for the entire world, because this is not the only community or country with such poverty and oppression.  I am heartbroken because my church ignores it.

The same people who call themselves Christians elect corrupt politicians and buy their food from places that use a cushiony version of slave labor. I am that Christian. I am that person that doesn't deserve to be called a Christian.

I haven't been living my life the way Christ wants me to be living my life.
I don't know how to fix it.
I wish I had a good solution.
I know it is not as easy as people wanted it to be.

But I know that it starts with exactly what happened in Honduras. It starts with falling in love with Christ and falling in love with your neighbor.

I just don't know where to go from here.