Unchanging

From way back in the corner of my closet, I unearthed it yesterday. I had been cleaning, sorting out the things that I use and the things that I don't, to get ready for this upcoming new year.

It's shabby looking and the title page is torn off of this notebook that has travelled the continents.

My Grandmother first gave it to my Dad, many years ago when he was young.

It encompasses three generations of handwriting:

My Grandmother's handwriting

My Dad's handwriting

And then it merges, between my Dad and I:

I was given it mere months before I turned twelve, and not very long after my baptism. As I flipped through the study of Romans that I had completed from where my Dad had left off, it was amazing to see myself as a little child again, writing these thoughts down that are foundational to who I am today.

But the most precious part came when I flipped towards the back.

There, I had started a spiritual journal, and it was amazing to see what He was already doing through such a small child as I was.

And as I read of hours spent digging in His Word, of meetings between my Dad and I to study it together, of church groups joined, of convictions to witness to my African friends, of moments when I felt like everything was good, and moments when I was numb, I was amazed. Simply amazed at how He had started working in me at the age of 12.

But age is no limit. He worked great things when I was small, and He works them still. I wonder at the childlike faith that I did not realize at the time was so precious and foundational.

As I flip to the end, my eyes catch words, and they bring back memories long hidden.

Memories of my naivety regarding the seriousness of my sister's illness. Of hastily said good-byes on the very little chance that we would have to leave. Of days spent in limbo until my future was flipped.

It only took two days.

It brings back the bewilderment and the utter displacement that I felt.

And as I sat there, looking at those words, and reading on to see what else I had written, it struck me.

He's never changed.

Not once.

He was good before, and He was good after...

But it has taken me so very long to see that He was good at that moment, when my future was changed.

He truly does *work* for the good of those who love him.... even when we can't see it at the time.

And His purpose never wavers.

He Is Good.

And as I face an uncertain year, filled with diplomas, decisions about summer and college, figuring out finances, leaving a family, and everything else that graduating entails, this promise remains true.

He is unchanging... and HE IS GOOD.

A Whole New World

I remember that night... wondering why I had ever gotten myself into such a fix. Entering the door, writing information down, singing and then dancing.

And then it was over.

Until I saw the list on line. And I can't describe the mile-wide smile that split my face. My parents can tell you how I danced down the hallway.

I grew up without a lot of opportunities. And for so long... I have let that define me.

I never thought that I would have a flair for performing. But that thought has grown into a boundary that I haven't let myself cross... until now.

Now there's this.

A whole new world... and I sure don't know what I'm digging myself into. But maybe I don't want to...

Then, meeting there together tonight, watching the videos that made me glad that I had tried out, talking to friends who I'll get to know even better through all of this.

And thinking... maybe, just maybe... I am also one of those artsy-fartsy people.

Fluid Joy

I remember the very first time I saw it... as mine. As something belonging to me... that I could own.

Mr. J opened the case, and I caught a glimpse of gleaming silver, and I remembered all the other people I had known who could play the flute. And I was scared. Scared of trying something new. I didn't think that I was musical, besides being able to sing.

But the shine of the silver, and the velvet of the case was only the beginning.

He tenderly extricated the pieces, pushed them into one another and played a simple scale.

And I was hooked.

That sound... like liquid silver moving through the atmosphere to reach a listener's ear with a message of pure beauty.

Yes, he was a master, but I knew that I wanted to be able to do that.

And I learned to. It took work, but under his gentle hand, my fingers started moving faster, my eyes recognized the notes more quickly, and my tone came more smoothly.

Soon, I felt confident. I owned the sound that I could make on the instrument. I felt like I had mastered it to some degree.

And then I saw the Senior High Band playing, and learned that the next year, I would have to learn to improv.

My heart sank. I started to dread.

But I trusted him when he said that I would pick it up, that it wouldn't really be that hard at all.

He was right.

I remember the first time I closed my eyes and improved off of a blues scale... one note with different rhythms.

And I was hooked.

Besides writing, being musical is one of the ways that I express myself, and I had never realized the invisible boundaries I had formerly felt myself acquiescing to.

But now those boundaries were gone, and I felt free. Sometimes, when I get tired of playing the same songs over and over for practice time, I still just play a song I make up.

It's just like poetry.

It's fluid joy to hear a flute played well.

And for so long, that joy has been missing. It hasn't only been with the absence of Mr. J, although that does contribute.

It has to do with life getting busier and busier and my priorities looking elsewhere. Soon, Band practice became more of a duty than a joy.

It didn't help when I got braces and couldn't play until my mouth had learned how to readjust my embouchure.

But as I played Christmas carols tonight, and sang a trio with my father and sister, that joy came springing back. We have more complicated pieces to work on now, and I find myself returning to my love of my instrument.

I think it has to do with my viewpoint as well. I'm starting to return to seeing the little as significant, and the looming as little. And I play... for fun.

To hear a simple C, and at the same time physically hear the sound of fluid joy.

Paths

It was a cold day, and at last I had to tell her that we couldn't take the bike.

And we stood there, surrounded by coats and hats, as I tried to make her see that the snow was deep and her mother was tired, and there was only one way.

To walk.

And it took awhile to make her see the sense in all of it. Her kindergarten brain trying to take in my logic. But she got it, she understood. And as she signed for "mother", pointed at me, and then wrapped her arms around herself, my heart melted.

She wanted to go see my mother... to hug her.

To be enveloped in the embrace of someone who's taken her in with a smile, no matter the inconvenience or the bustle. My mother... who is now just like her own. And so, as we bundled up, pulling on fleecy pants, adjusting coats, wrapping scarfs, and grabbing hats and mitts, I braced myself.

It's a long climb to my house from where hers is. She lives near main street, and I live closer to the hills. But that light in her eyes as she asked if my mother would be home, and as I answered that I didn't know, was enough. Enough to face wind that cut through layers, ice patches that required maneuvering, and walking slowly.

Because she has a limp, this loved one of mine. She shuffles as she walks, and scars trace her body from surgeries, but it only makes the walk even more an act of love.

And as we come up to that one light in town, she pulls me forward, remembering with that brilliantly exact mind of hers how to get to my house. She has a nack for remembering, for knowing exactly how to get to each of her loved one's houses, but she was following the route that we normally took on the bike, and not the one that was the easiest to walk.

And so I tugged back, trying to use my weight to my advantage, because we almost weigh the same. And she followed.... reluctantly.

She kept on pointing  to the direction that she was used to taking, the one that was known, and as we walked down a different sidewalk, she would pause and try and make me understand that we were going the wrong way. And I would calm her down, assuring her that I did really know where I was going.

And as I said those words... they reminded me of Another.

He says those same words to me these days: "Don't worry... I know where we're going."

And I pull and tug and point, saying, "I know what's best. Can't you see? This is how it's supposed to work out!"

I shuffle, I move slowly. He is capable of going so much faster than me.

But He waits... patiently.

And as she and I turned that corner and started walking up the hill that I traverse every day to school, we started going in the direction that she wanted, and she started to relax.

We finally arrived at our destination, and as I pulled off those boots, scarfs, mittens, hats, coats, sweaters, and other layers that we had put on, it was brought to my mind once again.

This year, with everyone asking what my future is looking like leaves me struggling to find peace. I squirm, feeling as if I should have a satisfactory answer, but having none. I have ideas, but I also have the distinct impression that He likes to blow those ideas out of the water with the ones that He has in store for me.

And I know that I won't understand. I'll want to take the conventional route, to do it the easy way. But I'll have to struggle, to stumble, to shuffle, to wonder why He's taking me in a direction so opposite to what I had planned.

And then I'll understand, when we finally turn that corner, and when we reach that place, wherever it may be.

But He does know my way. And I hope that I will remember... and go more willingly.

Until It Hurts

Growing up overseas, many things in life were seen with a different view than they are here. Say, food, for an example. You were not safe eating anything unless there was some plantains, or another kind of starch sitting nearby, in order to cool your tongue once you figured out just how many pepe peppers they had put in this time. Another thing: the host always takes the first bite. Not for politeness' sake, but instead to prove to you that they haven't poisoned anything. Such was the reality I grew up with.

As I look back now, these lessons, which taught me to take a different view of life than most, are so important and influence so much more of my actions than I thought that they did. The biggest one is money.

I never thought that we were poor. In fact, to everyone around us, we were the "rich white people." I was fed, clothed, got some gifts for Christmas and birthdays, and was loved. What else did I need?

Nothing... but that's not what culture over here tells me now. It says: "Store up, you never know when you might need it!" or "Splurge... you're worth it!" And with these voices inside of my head, I find it harder to adhere to the things that I learned about money while growing up, which were: always save, always tithe, always give away freely.

Often, people would come to the door, wanting some cash to supposedly take someone to the hospital, or buy some important medicine, or the taxi cab fare in town to see some relatives. And my parents gave. Not all the time, especially when someone was a notorious drunk,etc., but even when there was some doubt about the legitimacy of the cause, they gave. And they weren't always paid back (although, there were often repayments in fruit or chickens, etc.). The thing is... they knew that when they gave the money.

I think the biggest thing that has changed between Cameroonian culture and the North American culture is the importance that is placed on money. Because money really only holds the importance that you give it. Overseas, money is often seen as a means to an end, such as feeding the family, expanding the farm, paying for an education. But here? Too often, money is an end in and of itself.

And how that has affected me comes to show now... when I have money.

I am so thankful for my job... for how much it's not a job. And as I receive a pay cheque, I'm so glad that I can easily tithe. But give away? No.... what about college? I mean... debt is a no-no, so I've got to save. But there again... the means to an end. When I'm saving money to feel secure, money becomes my security, the end, instead of the means. But when I give away? It goes freely, to accomplish whatever can be bought or given with it.

And it leaves me struggling with how to give and how to save.

 But I am reminded about the *widow's mite*.

Might the secret be not to give as much as I can, but instead, to give until it's not the extra, but the necessary? To give until it hurts? To have a pinch because of generosity? Because that's when money has no importance, no hold on me, except the ability to help others in whatever way that it can.

This Christmas, can you give until it hurts?

Patter

It was a new sound around the house, a different rhythm from the normal traffic. The patter of toddler's feet...

It's been so long since I've held a little body, smelled Johnson's Baby Shampoo hair, and lovingly plucked dangerous toys from little pudgy hands. I've missed that, since starting my job. I've missed the fun it is to have a little person running around.

And as I get into the swing of watching over this little one once a week, I find the joy it is to watch the antics of a small child. The delight she finds in little things like bubbles, the cat, or objects that make noise. The way that she sways to music, and reaches up her hands to be held. How we re-discover snow together:

I can't wait... I really can't... to be blessed with one of these for my very own.

Risk

At last week's Colombia meeting, S showed us some pictures from the Colombia trip last year. I'm already starting to get excited as the date creeps closer and closer (less than 75 days!), but as she neared the end of her pictures, she brought up something that I hadn't been formerly informed about. She turned to a few pictures of kids playing around in a yard, a big imposing house in the background and then explained... that we're visiting a physically and mentally disabled holding house.

As S was telling her story of seeing things that white people aren't normally allowed to see there, my heart tugged and I wanted to change it. Wanted to make all the boo-boos better. Because, people who have nobody else is a very real *passion* of mine. And I'm so excited to see how He's going to grow and make that passion flourish when I'm surrounded by those in need. I love playing with kids, getting them to laugh, making up games, passing the time marveling at the world with them... but I'm also scared.

Scared that I will crawl back into my old shell, will be introverted, will not plunk down and feel instantly at home and start playing with kids. Because... I've always been afraid of getting hurt. Not physically, but emotionally. Of heartache, of pain, of sorrow, of tears.

I've had a lot of that in my life. A lot of pulling away, being uprooted, saying good-bye. Or.. even worse... not being able to say good-bye at all. Of having to leave a country where I grew up and never get to go to my childhood haunts and say good-bye. And I'm scared to bare my heart for all to latch onto, and then to be ripped away again. But... maybe He's calling me to that. Maybe... just, maybe, He's calling me to let it hurt. To let Him work through a passion and calling strong in my heart. To allowing Him to work through my affections to craft me into a more caring and affectionate person. But it hurts.

And these thoughts brought to mind something that I wrote less than a year ago. Because these struggles will come back time and again, when I'm faced with loving those who I think are unlovable, with those that I don't want to risk having my heart attached to. When I love.

Love (March 20th, 2011)

So often when I look around
there are people
without a sound
longing to be loved.

But when I'm among them
Only casual greetings pass my lips
And when alone I search
and find
that I'm afraid.

Afraid of what might happen
if I let go
Fearful of the repercussions
of letting my heart show

To open my arms
and heart to a world of need
Takes one who is higher than me
I am so used
to saying good-bye
Of tears and uprooted feelings

Through it all,
My heart's gotten wise
And built a wall
Tall and wide

So each day I work
Taking, brick by brick,
Apart this wall of
Shelter my heart has built.

 And with new eyes enter
A world that is pleading
to know the One above
So, taking my chances...

I let go of fear
Of reproof, dismissal, disdain,
and open wide a helping heart
Realizing what love's really about

It's not about feelings
although those play a part
It's a choice to let go
Of getting dirty and low...

 And allowing the hurt,
The pain and the dirt
Finding that love...
is about holding nothing back.

Wrestling

I pulled it out of my pocket just now, a reminder of you. That small, neatly wrapped piece of chocolate that we fought over last night.

It was lying next to my plate, ready for consumption, and then your hand sneaked over to grab it.

You... with brown hair all mussed up, sparkling blue-grey eyes, a mind that's constantly whirring, and a voracious love for books, Lego, and chess. You... my little brother... my only brother... my Buddy.

You had that smile on your face. You knew that I would react. And react I did. I pounced on you, we wrestled on the floor, scrabbling for a hold on each other.

After a few minutes, it was still going on. And it wasn't about the candy anymore.

No... it was about you. You... the one that is growing, that is already up to my nose, who is only 10 years old and is destined to be a giant when older. You.. the one that I won't be able to pin to the ground much longer.

It was because of you that I wrestled. I don't have much time left with you. To see your smile, your mischieveous glances, that face so full of dramatic effect that's bound to elicit a fond smile. I'm gone next year. If not gone from the house, gone from the familiar routine. It won't ever be this way again.

And I'm beginning to be okay with that. But I want to treasure every moment. That's why the chocolate, just pulled out of my pocket, sits on my desk... and reminds me of you.

You... who wakes up early in the morning to spend time reading books way beyond your grade level. You... who fight and battle with those 7,8, and 9 times tables. You... of the lashing temper, the words that sting, and the voluntary hugs every morning that make up for everything.

You.. with the heart that is already seeking Him. You... who are destined to become an engineer or something else of great magnitude as exhibited by your skill with Lego. You... with your electronically controlled helicoptors, your love for soccer, your passion for life.

You... whom I held in my arms for the first time, what seems not that long ago.

I hope you realize how much I love you. And how that love leaves me wrestling with how to show you in how I respond when you are angry, when you are bright, when you are sad, when you are you. 

I love you.

Love

I sat there on the bed, curled up in my blankets, yawning at the dark sky outside. The bright red book in front of me beckoned me to open up my mind, to see beyond, to grasp. My mind was fuzzy. I read, skimmed, acknowledged, but didn't hold on.

Until I reached that one sentence.

I'd read this book before. Was enthralled with the dreams that my mind created once shown the vision of what He could do through me, if only I would purpose to "Do Hard Things."

But, apart from the message that the book was giving, this one sentence grabbed hold and did not let go.

"He will never-- could never-- love you any more than He does right now."

Read it again... I sure did.

And my thoughts ran something like this: Never? That's not an easy word to toss around. As in... He loved me this much when He formed the sun, guided Abraham, called David a man after His own heart, and died? He loves me exactly the same as He did when hung on that cross? Was beaten, ripped apart, mocked, died, and then came back to life?

Think about it.

This truth has trouble finding a resting place in my heart. I am the kind of person who would rather do something so that I can be saved, rather than resting in the promise that He has done everything.

But, then again, when I fail and fall, it's such a relief to know that He loves me no matter what. Is this a license to sin? Nope... it's a licence for gratefulness.

And as I set the book down and thought about my attitudes, actions, thoughts, and everything else from the day before, I found myself so glad to claim this promise. He doesn't love me because of my actions, where in the world I was born, who my connections are. He loves me because I'm me. And that's hard to grab ahold of... but I'm so glad that I can.

I ate breakfast, opened up the windows, and saw this sunrise. He didn't have to.... But He wanted to. Because that's who He is...

Love.

Arrogance

What? Did I just write that as the title? Me... arrogant? Pshaw... never!

But I am just that. My heart is full of the dark desires that cause me to act in ways to draw others to me. To me. To ME. To what I can do, what I can accomplish, what I can provide, to what I can give. To... oh, how horrible... how much of a "Christian" I am.

There was a Bible Quizzing Tournament this past weekend. We travelled for hours, tires spinning against white roads. We arrived, and I fell into that most-comfortable-of-all embrace of fellow believers. Others who, like me, had spent multiple hours memorizing verses, or even chapters. Learning questions, key words, and where they could jump and answer the questions without a doubt.

Now, I don't prepare for Quizzing as much as I would like to. When I'm excited about it, it becomes something that I latch onto and make into a huge undertaking. But, when life seems like a more exciting alternative, it hangs over my week like a dark shadow, reminding me that I better get those verses memorized, that chapter read, those questions filled in, those chapters reviewed, those verses gone over, etc. It could become all-consuming if I let it.

And this being my last year... Even now, it's hard to say that. I've been in the wonderful program for five years... FIVE years. Years of memorizing verses, going to tournaments, meeting new friends, becoming versed in the rules of a sport that many people never know about, learning how to jump on either clicky-seats or pads, accumulating bookies and workbooks, gathering a ribbon here and there. And all for what?

I wish that I could say that the biggest effect was on my spiritual life. But it hasn't been. Up until now. Sure, it's helped me be able to memorize like a whiz, and take Bio because, hey, why not? since memorizing is so easy and all. I've never realized how arrogant I was about being involved in this sport, about my abilities.

"I'm participating in a Bible Quizzing Tournament this weekend. What are you doing? Sleeping in?"

It's one of those things that you do at first because you know that you should, or your friends are involved, or just maybe because you are a MK and everyone already expects you to do something so strange and out of the ordinary that it would be in keeping with your "unique" ness and would be an involvement in something becuase you have no sporty skills.

Plus, this being my last year, it's the last year I have to excel. To make a name for myself. To go to Great West (top 25 quizzers from Alberta go). To show that I have worth.

And that's what it comes down to, isn't it? I don't feel like I have enough worth in other things. In... Him.

I don't realize how preciously He has made me to do everything that I can do. I don't fully grasp the importance of the VERY WORD OF GOD that I am memorizing. The nuggets of truth that I'm tucking away. The lasting friendships that I could make if I stopped making my focus on how well I do, but turn that focus on to meeting and getting to know others.

And it brings me to the question: how can I do well without being arrogant? How can I excel and bring Him every single shred of glory?

I've been given such a unique opportunity, and it's sad to me now, to look back on years past and to realize all that I have failed to do in this area. I could've done so much.

And yet... I use the word "I." That word that pervades my actions, thoughts, and words. Instead of "Him."

He could've done so much. And now with realizing this, I also realize... He can still do much. Through my arrogance, through my weakness, through my failings, through  my sinful human nature, He is strong.

As I write these things, these verses that I have stored away in the past few weeks jump out at me. Words that I have spoken time and time again, but never taken to heart, sadly enough.

"Young men, in the same way, be submissive to those who are older. All of you, clothe yourselves with humility toward one another, because 'God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble.' Humble yourselves, therefore, under God's mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time." (1 Peter 5:5+6, NIV)

And as I struggle to bring these words to fruition in my life, I'm ever so grateful for another verse.

"The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance." (2 Peter 3:9, NIV)

Crazy Peace

Oxymoronish, is it not?

These days I find myself scrambling, strings left hanging, the tapestry of my life unraveling, knots appearing here and there, other places still left intact, but threatening to start disintegrating.

I didn't think that Grade 12 would be that much of a jump. And it hasn't been. The only thing is, I was only looking at it from the academic perspective, and not from the relational or extracurricular point of view.

As I started off this year, I struggled with being *ready* to face everything that would come. Because this summer, my perspective shifted. The conscious effort required to do crazy and silly things with friends is well worth the consequences of slightly dropping marks (still trying to get that through to my over-competetive brain of mine). As I've pursued filling up hours that could be spent with doing extra homework with friends instead, I still stress. I still worry that the tapestry that I've woven up until now will come crashing down.

That the image that I've portrayed of little Ms. Perfect will fade and people will really see my inadequacies and failures. Yet, that's what I've committed to doing... to *finding myself*.

And as I take steps to put myself out there, open up my heart to wounds, listen to other's grievances, make mistakes, fail to get marks that make me feel utterly pleased, I feel peaceful.

My world is shifting, spinning, whirling on a new axis, and it's taking some time to readjust. But in experiencing the crazy, He brings peace. He knows what it feels like to have everything stripped away, He knows the end results.

And He holds my hand, giving me peace, as I cause the craziness in my life. Crazy stuff, this peace.

Serving

I came home that day, longing for peace and quiet. To go to bed early on this first night of a long weekend. To prepare for a strenuous, time consuming life to be played out through the next three days. I open the door, and find three giggly girls set up in the livingroom. I groan to myself.

Then I look closer, and see them in sparkly dress, with stations set out in little girl fashion. One for hair, one for nails, and one for "makeup." They pull on our hands, my Boo and her friends, me, J, and our friend.

She pulls out that little girl voice that bugs me so much. "Chwisty.." Goodness gracious, I'm thinking to myself, you're eight years old... a lisp is anything but cute at your age.

But then I had to pause. As I took in the scene, it made me travel back many years ago, to when I held such parties. I never had an older sister. I always wanted one. Still want one. I've always wanted someone who's gone through the exact same things that I have gone, can give me advice, can make me feel pretty, can encourage me, who can spend time with me.

And it hurts to turn that expectation and see it from her eyes. The Boo that looks up to me. The one with golden hair and blue eyes. The one that is obsessed with the cat. The one who longs to be a princess and look pretty all the time. The one whom I don't spend enough time with on her own level.

And so I took off my coat... and delved into Little Girl Land one more time.

 The Hair

My Boo...

 

She has some of the most beautiful hair I have ever seen...

She was so patient...

 

The Details

 

And then they did something totally unexpected (in the moment)... they wanted to do my hair.

I'm being taught daily, these days, about how much different thing really mean. Serving... It's a tough thing. It doesn't only require doing when you're feeling adequately rested and prepared. No... It calls when you are broken and tired, drained and grumpy, in the most un-servant like attitude. Serving is only serving if it hurts, if it digs, if it takes up time, if you give. But as I serve... something happens. The joy in their faces transfers to mine, and I get caught up in the frilly whirlwind of yesteryears as they pick a dress for me to put on and call me to their world.

Because it was mine not so long ago. And as I look back on those years, it's amazing how fast they flew past. And soon she will be grown, too, my little Boo. The one who looks so much like me, and yet is so very different in personality. These years... they are to be cherished, not rushed. Dragged down and held, sprinkled with memory glitter and treasured. I'm learning to serve... and dance with Cinderella.

Catching Up

With a little bit of time on my hands, I've had time to update the Colombia tab up above. Take a peek! Well, actually, you should read all of it! I'll hopefully be pumping out a few more blog posts today, but we'll see...

A Weekend in Pictures

Starting a new form of communication and hoping that a point and shoot camera combined with picnik will do the trick. Enjoy!

 
FRIDAY

Rolo icecream and chocolate sauce shared with a dear friend

SATURDAY

Right across the street

Patterns in the snow

In my yard

Lovin' the contrast...

Work (hers are the brown gloves, mine are the blue)

The bike that makes transport possible {oh, I love the stares and looks that we get!}

More patterns... (a ladder)

Eating homemade pumpkin pie (made by J) while doing homework

Roasted pumpkin seeds... so good!

 SUNDAY

Making crepes with the little bro

 Didn't turn out perfect, but still tasted great...

LOVELY lasagna.... makes me so happy!

Skyping with R (friend who I grew up with in Cameroon)

Have a great weekend!

Stretch

I've been stretched a lot recently, in many varying ways. I feel like a ball of tortilla dough being rolled to different corners in the hope that I will eventually round out.

Thursday was nerve-racking. Mix together one unprepared Band and choir, a flute that stopped functioning, a band director who was always forgetting to get me another one, having a Colombia meeting that morning and therefore feeling a little scrambled, and walaah... you have my Thursday.

Thankfully, a new flute arrived in time for me to put it together, play a few scales and perform. Yikes. There were also mistakes and glitches in performances, a crowd that giggled at the bumps and people who were new to each program.

But it happened, and getting used to having a new Band and Choir director is easier every day.

Then, English class. Mix together Hamlet, me and my friend M, a group assignment, and her choice of the operatic duet (picture: "Please?? Christy, please!!!" "Fine...."), minor preparation, a CD that was burned with the theme song to the Phantom of the Opera only minutes prior to class, dressing up, and not being able to hear the music and therefore turning it into a gong show. Yes.

Next, this last Saturday. Now, I love my job, don't get me wrong. But expecting to work five hours (the most I had every worked in one stretch with her - normally it's around 3), and then getting it changed to around eight hours? A lot of learning. Huge learning curves, having to work through frustrations with sign languages, having a messed up nap time and bed time (my own fault) and having to detail all the mistakes I had made at the end to her parents (so they would know what was going on... she still wasn't asleep).

Humbling... all of it.

I like my plans, my agenda, my spic and span life, and the way that I think things should go. Perfectly rational, I tell myself. Until He shows up. Ohh.... that sometimes brings me to a screeching halt.

He doesn't want me to be comfortable. Never. Ever.

And I constantly fight that. At every corner, He's dragging me, fighting tooth and nail to stay where I am. But He loves me too much to let me stay where I am. I'm thankful. It hurts. I learn. I grow.

And as soon as I think it's getting easier, He throws something else on my plate. Loverly...

But I wouldn't want it any other way.

Magical

Rewind six years. Picture a little ten-year old Christy running around, twirling in the front yard under the sprinkling snow. It had been four years since I had last seen this white, chilling stuff known as snow flakes. Mysterious little flakes that landed and then disappeared, but at other times piled up to become huge snow banks.

Christmas in Cameroon is so different than here. I grew up singing Jingle Bells in 30 degree weather, for goodness sake. It's still celebrated, but in a completely different fashion. The missionary families were the only ones with Christmas trees up and gifts under them.

Shopping for those gifts was half the excitement of the season. Piling into the Land Cruiser, we would travel to the nearest town (about 40-ish minutes away in dry season) and arrive at the outdoor market. As soon as you arrive, your ears are full of vendors' cries, the smell of frying food, the bright colors of plastics and people moving everywhere.

You squeeze among the congested pathways inbetween vendors selling everything from underwear to luggage. The tricky thing is to switch off parents at the right time, so nobody completely knows what you're buying. Plus, then you don't get ripped off because you're white.

But my best memories of Christmas was dancing madly to the Nutcracker and making up my own ballerina moves. I thought that I was so unbelievably cool.

Now, zoom back to present. I've lived here three years. If I was interview myself for each of those three years:

First year: "Magical! I mean, snow... what a concept! It really isn't coconut shavings after all!"

Second year: "Sweet... I get to wear a coat to school and walk/beg a ride (please read the sarcasm into this). It'll only last a whole six months of the year. Maybe I'll get to do a Winter Olympics Theme for my birthday (which is in March), like I did in Grade six!"

Third/this year: "Are you SERIOUS!?! Okay, snowflakes are cool and all... but really??? Flip-flops, runners, you are now condemned into the shed. Fuzzy sweaters and boots, your time has come..."

Once again, the old adage "Familiarity breeds contempt" comes into play. Even though I've only lived here for three years, the snow is starting to grate on my nerves.

I'm learning to take a step back and to realize how amazing it really is. I mean, seriously? Snow! What a cool concept, God!

This Christmas, I want my amazement and credulity to be not only at the snow and the changes in nature all around, but also to what the season focuses on.... Him. Now, that is truly magical.

Passion

It's been growing gradually. Taking over my heart. Moment by moment, smile by smile, incident by incident. It's only now, as I read a *blog post* that challenged my very core, that I was faced with something breathtaking. I have been given a passion.

I have always cared for others. I love to work in the background, surprising others by anticipating their needs and fulfilling them. But now a new kind of care has been placed on my heart. One that has snuck up on me, and yet is not a huge surprise.

A passion for the helpless.

They're all around.

Everywhere you look.

Helpless in different ways, but helpless none the less. I've gravitated to a certain brand, however. Those sometimes completely misunderstood because of their differences. Disabilities.

I say it again... disabilities.

I raked leaves at her house today, and it wasn't very long before she was knocking on the window, wanting to see me. She had seen my bike, it was revealed. Her arms opened wide, and she hugged. Oh, does she ever hug. She's the perfect height for it, too. She nestles right in and we just stand there, my head upon hers and my heart feeling oh, so happy.

Why? Because of a passion.

A passion to see the inside, that spark in her eyes, to dig it out and to hold it up proudly to everyone around. A passion to help others see what I see.

I read her *blog post*, having already heard it once. But this time it dug down deeper. Now having worked with someone that requires digging out and refining, I can only appreciate this program so much more. PLEASE read her post, because she puts it so much more eloquently than I could ever say. I will be contributing, if that's the least that I can do.

I logged onto FB, and the very first thing that met my eyes was the encouraging news that one of my classmate's younger sibling's adoption was coming along swiftly. I smiled and replied enthusiastically. But it wasn't just because one more kid was to be given a home to grow up and feel safe in.

It was because he has Down Syndrome. I can just imagine the love and safety that that family holds for one such as him, and I just want to wrap my arms around him, to watch him grow, to see him triumph, to see him LIVE.

A passion.

It scares me. To the VERY CORE. What might a passion do to me? I had it all planned out, little as the planning was. I was going to be normal, follow safe routines, not drop any surprises.

But this? This opens up a door to so much more. Where might this lead me?

I'm almost scared that He's answering my question of "What do you want me to do?" Scared and yet terrifically excited.

Cheerio!

Top o' the morning/afternoon/evening to you, Mr. R.! Glad to see that you've made it this far... (ooo... that rhymed).

To get to my portfolio, please click on the "Literacy Portfolio" page link up above, but before you go, there are some things that you should know (the rhyming is an epidemic!). Except for the items that are included, the rest of the items are through links on the web. Whenever a title is in a slightly different color, you can click on it to get to the link.

To make sure that this is apparent, I will also write the word "link" in the explanation of what you will find. Although I will mention what my item is inside of my rationale, I will also put a small parentheses statement before the rationale to let you know what the item is and how it is represented.

I think that's all... Enjoy some chocolate-chip brownies as you peruse!

~Christy

Quizzing and Surrender

It hurts...

It really does...

This weekend was the Quizzing Tournament that was held in T-Town. I anticipated much and was not disappointed.

Friday night was both the worst of times and the best of times. I started out the night with a self-glorifying attitude and it wasn't long until I fell flat on my face. I wanted to jump fast, get the answers correct and do it so that everyone could see how good I was.

But I didn't... and I wasn't.

That night though, we lead worship with a team that had first practiced only a few hours before. New people, new cohesiveness... things weren't looking pretty. But when we stood up there, it came together. Not perfectly, not seamlessly. Stitches were hanging out here and there. But when you're leading a group of kids and adults who have devoted their weekend to reciting His Word, it doesn't matter how good or bad the musicians are. You still praise.

So with a cleaner heart, I lifted hands toward heaven and just sang. I let it go and something happened.

You know those times when everything's going good and then it just gets better? Like there was a film and now it's evaporated and everything seems clearer and brighter and just plain better?

Yeah.

Then they all had fun getting to figure out what Quizzing was like. It made my day to see my friends and classmates taking an interest in what consumes a few weekends of my year and hours throughout the week. To see them jump with anticipation and answer silly questions. To laugh and to know that I am loved.

Saturday morning was even better. Things had started coming back and my new perspective was really helping things. I found myself giving more to others, encouraging and lifting up instead of figuring out how I could answer more questions correctly.

And it lead us to the Finals. Consolations, yes, but Finals no doubt. I was SO happy...

And then winning!

And then getting a prize for being 3rd top quizzer in Consolation. It's never happened before in all my five years of quizzing. EEEEKKK!!

Then to go home and to see that life is still the same... it's just me that's changed... although temporarily. Sooner or later, I will find myself falling and then clearing away the mist before my eyes to see what truly matters.

Because surrender can never really be complete here on this earth. Just as the trees are shedding their leaves in anticipation for winter, so I shed myself that I may become more like Him. And even as I am dying, He gives me life that may take time to blossom, as do the buds on the trees. And it's a cycle... like everything else. Yet, each time I will recognize my sin more readily, find it just as hard to give up and then breathe even deeper when I do.

It reminds me of Eustace and Aslan in the Dawn Treader of the Narnia Chronicles. Eustace is trying desperately to tear his dragon skin off, but each layer that comes off shows another fresh one underneath. Finally, Aslan steps to his side and says, "Only I can take it off."

From there, he proceeds to gouge his claws in deep and begin the agonizingly painful business of pulling the skin off from the inside.

And I can't do it. Nope. Not a chance...

But He can... if only I surrender.

Day by Day

I found myself in a desert, flailing around to find any source of water or any sign of an oasis. But the horizons were bare and my tongue was parched, and He was not near.

I turned to my Bible, knowing, as always that it is not Him that is not near, it is me. So often, I have to remind myself that "I am as close to God as I choose to be" as the sign on the back of my door persistently proclaims. It's not in the least surprising that when I turned to my place in the Word, He was there.

He was there with food and sustenance and life.

Psalm 37 filled me with hope because I have always been a check-listy girl and this psalm fulfilled that need in a very real way:

¹ Don’t worry about the wicked
      or envy those who do wrong.
 ² For like grass, they soon fade away.
      Like spring flowers, they soon wither.  
³ Trust in the Lord and do good.
      Then you will live safely in the land and prosper.
 ⁴ Take delight in the Lord,
      and he will give you your heart’s desires.
 ⁵ Commit everything you do to the Lord.
      Trust him, and he will help you.
 ⁶ He will make your innocence radiate like the dawn,
      and the justice of your cause will shine like the noonday sun.
 ⁷ Be still in the presence of the Lord,
      and wait patiently for him to act.
   Don’t worry about evil people who prosper
      or fret about their wicked schemes.
 ⁸ Stop being angry!
      Turn from your rage!
   Do not lose your temper—
      it only leads to harm.
 ⁹ For the wicked will be destroyed,
      but those who trust in the Lord will possess the land.
 ¹⁰ Soon the wicked will disappear.
      Though you look for them, they will be gone.
 ¹¹ The lowly will possess the land
      and will live in peace and prosperity.
 ¹² The wicked plot against the godly;
      they snarl at them in defiance.
 ¹³ But the Lord just laughs,
      for he sees their day of judgment coming.
 ¹⁴ The wicked draw their swords
      and string their bows
   to kill the poor and the oppressed,
      to slaughter those who do right.
 ¹⁵ But their swords will stab their own hearts,
      and their bows will be broken.
 ¹⁶ It is better to be godly and have little
      than to be evil and rich.
 ¹⁷ For the strength of the wicked will be shattered,
      but the Lord takes care of the godly.
 ¹⁸ Day by day the Lord takes care of the innocent,
      and they will receive an inheritance that lasts forever.
 ¹⁹ They will not be disgraced in hard times;
      even in famine they will have more than enough.
 ²⁰ But the wicked will die.
      The Lord’s enemies are like flowers in a field—
      they will disappear like smoke.
 ²¹ The wicked borrow and never repay,
      but the godly are generous givers.
 ²² Those the Lord blesses will possess the land,
      but those he curses will die.
 ²³ The Lord directs the steps of the godly.
      He delights in every detail of their lives.
 ²⁴ Though they stumble, they will never fall,
      for the Lord holds them by the hand.
 ²⁵ Once I was young, and now I am old.
      Yet I have never seen the godly abandoned
      or their children begging for bread.
 ²⁶ The godly always give generous loans to others,
      and their children are a blessing.
 ²⁷ Turn from evil and do good,
      and you will live in the land forever.
 ²⁸ For the Lord loves justice,
      and he will never abandon the godly.
   He will keep them safe forever,
      but the children of the wicked will die.
 ²⁹ The godly will possess the land
      and will live there forever.
 ³⁰ The godly offer good counsel;      they teach right from wrong.
 ³¹ They have made God’s law their own,
      so they will never slip from his path.
 ³² The wicked wait in ambush for the godly,
      looking for an excuse to kill them.
 ³³ But the Lord will not let the wicked succeed
      or let the godly be condemned when they are put on trial.
 ³⁴ Put your hope in the Lord.
      Travel steadily along his path.
   He will honor you by giving you the land.
      You will see the wicked destroyed.
 ³⁵ I have seen wicked and ruthless people
      flourishing like a tree in its native soil.
 ³⁶ But when I looked again, they were gone!
      Though I searched for them, I could not find them!
 ³⁷ Look at those who are honest and good,
      for a wonderful future awaits those who love peace.
 ³⁸ But the rebellious will be destroyed;
      they have no future.
 ³⁹ The Lord rescues the godly;
      he is their fortress in times of trouble.
 ⁴⁰ The Lord helps them,
      rescuing them from the wicked.
   He saves them,
      and they find shelter in him.
*Psalm 37 (NLT) {underlining and bold facing mine}

There's so much in there that gave a spring to my step. And yes, it does look like I only underlined the "good" promises that He is giving in the psalm and I do realize that there are consequences as well as gifts, but what I needed that day was hope. And He gave fully.

Some thoughts:

He's so good at surprising me... did you see that be still in there? Here I was, frantically searching for water when all I had to do was be still and accept what He was waiting to give me. So often, I am so blind.

I find it so wonderful that the Lord laughs. The Lord... the God of creation... Majesty... Glory... Yaweh... Father... Son... Holy Spirit... they laugh! And yes, this is alluding to knowing the evil's future and laughing at how cocky they seem now, but just think about it. Our God is a jovial God... he loves to laugh!

He only gives me strength day by day. More than that, and I would be cocky. I already am... He knew that and so He only provides for today. I whine, I snivel, I complain... but it's for my good. It's so encouraging to think that every day He is waiting to give me the sustenance I need for just one more day.

I often wonder about the seeming incongruity between God the Father and God the Son. How one is Creator and Sustainer, and the other is a close Friend. And yet, He delights in every detail of my life. He enjoys it when I have cute shoes on. When I feel happy about autumn leaves. When I sing my heart out. When I am alive in the purpose that He has given me, in the place that He placed me, among those He has given me.

I am such a little child. I am still learning to walk. I want to be on my own, independent, without any help. But if you see a small baby toddling down the hall, who's right behind them? The parent, obviously. And here's where the analogy breaks down, because I don't think that He ever does stop holding our hands. We never grow out of needing help.

Let me encourage you to "be still in the presence of the Lord and wait patiently for Him to act." Who knows what could happen?

One Month

It's month since I've met you, beautiful girl. You have a smile that could light up a ballroom and eyes that twinkle with mischief. You have an unbreakable spirit, but you get easily down. You love to have fun and joke around.

I'm so glad that I took that *leap* not so long ago. It's been a wonderful adventure and as the leaves turn crisp and shrivel up, I look forward to it continuing. You're not always easy to be around, you must realize. You throw fits, mess up my schedule and don't always make the best first impression. But I'm on your side.

Sometimes, when you have a one-track mind, I catch myself looking around and wondering Who's watching? Then I look back at you as you dip your head forward and look at the floor. I respond by turning my head upside down to meet your eyes, and you smile. And that smile is what it's all for.

Some may not understand you, but that's alright. I've been so privileged to know you beyond your actions. I'm so glad that I look forward to being with you, that it doesn't seem like a job at all.

I love that you love my family. From the very first, you hugged my mother and that meant a lot to me. It also means a lot, Mom, that you let her in that very first day with no if, ands or buts.

You are capable of so much more and I want to see you grow. I want to push you to where you feel uncomfortable. Never hide behind the title "disabilities," because it's not who you are. You're smile is not disabled and your laughter is most definitely not.

Some may see you as you walk down the street, thinking Wow, what's wrong with her? She's drooling and doesn't walk straight. She'll never be worth anything. Nothing could be less true.

When I see you walking down the street, do you know what I see? I see a heart that is so full of life and laughter. You give so much to your mother and father, I know that you are the apple of their eyes. You give so much to me in allowing me to find my gifts and work along with you to bring you to fuller independence.

You know what? I think God's using you in a mighty and powerful way in my life. Yup! You teach me about patience, *promises* and unconditional love. He is using you mightily as a "grace grower" in my life.

Who am I that I should be ashamed of God's creation? Sure, you don't always act the way I want you to, and I find myself explaining you and your actions more than I want to, but you are so worth it!

I would cover you in stamps and "kisses" if I could!

Your Rose