By My Side

Project-oriented.

A new word I have recently found to describe myself.

How? I like to fix things and to get things from start to finish. That includes school projects, situations in other people's lives, other people themselves and my own spiritual life.

Yup.

Doesn't work so well with those things that refuse fixing. Things that undulate up and down and never seem to hold a steady place because, I need to face it, humankind is humankind.

We have our up days, we have our down days, we even have our inside-out days.

And when it comes to my spiritual life, I wish that I could go from area to area, or spiritual fruit to spiritual fruit, work on one until it comes to fruition and then move on to another.

But I find that as soon as I try to do that, I look back and see that the area I just left has already fallen into dis-array.

I'm not perfect.

You don't say.

And being home has had it's ups and downs as well. One one side, I'd say that I adjusted to being home the best out of any break so far. I feel as if I'm back in the home groove once more. One the other hand, the struggle of bringing Millar habits and integrating them into my home life.

I fail. I fall.

And I beat myself up until I remember.... it's not about me.

If I was enough to make myself perfect, there was no reason for Him to come. I am striving to earn grace, and that doesn't work. So as I listen to words of truth, I bask in the knowledge that I am not enough, but that He is. And He is always by my side.

At Home

It's at times like this that I don't even know what to think or feel.

Home is such a complex word. It embodies a sense of comfort, familiarity, a homing point and being with those who mean the most to me. And this home has been my home for the past 5 years, but before that the jungles of Africa were home, and now Millar is my home for months at a time. Over all, this earth is not my home.

And as I walk through the door and get greeted by the familiar faces, hugged by familiar arms, see the changes in the house, move into a bedroom I've never slept in before, get used to the feel of my house again, to the rhythm of this family of mine, it is home.

There is home in the fact that I don't need to explain myself or why my thought process works in a certain way. There is home in the moments where sibling torture ensues, when I chase my little brother in a droid machine while playing Star Wars III Wii games, and in putting Boo to bed. There is home as I sit here, curled up in a chair, watching my sister do homework while I spend time on the crazy fast internet here.

There is home in the chaos here. There is home in the chaos in my heart. There is home in Him, in the way that He's shaping and molding me. There will never truly be a place when I am most at peace and most comfortable and most familiar until I reach heaven, but here on earth that place comes when I rest in His will.

And as I'm at home, I choose to make memories that will last. I choose to not spend my time on this amazingly fast internet and to get involved in my family's life. I'm not here to rest, although I am. I am here to serve, to be pro-active, to live out what I've been living like any other place I could go. And I'll fail, and fall, but He'll pick me up and set me back on the right track and help me to see that I'm here to learn lessons as well as encourage and teach others. This time at home? It's only another learning stage of life. I've learned that there is no such thing as rest in God's eyes. Yes, there is struggle and triumph and failure, but there is always learning.

I want to spend this time at home in the best way possible.

It's actually harder when it's a place where you feel so... at home.

In the Changing of the Seasons

I walked slowly, feeling the crisp autumn breeze on my sweater-less skin, hyptonized by the crisp whisperings of the leaves beneath my feet.

It's snuck up on me, that fall is here. And as I walked downtown that afternoon, I realized that more than just a season has changed for me.

A season of life has come and gone. I'm a college kid now and even being at home doesn't mean what it used to. I'm so glad that I can slip back into the family and feel comfortable but I'm not as involved in their lives anymore.

It's dying to a certain season, and yet the birth of another. I'm so glad that I came back this weekend, because since the moment college started until now, I've felt as if I had pushed a "pause" button on my family life. As if they were on hold while I experienced something new that they didn't have a part in.

Only now am I starting to realize that I'm away from them for a whole year, instead of it just feeling like a youth retreat or camp. This is permanent, and my relationship with my family will never be the same.

At the same time, they're still my family and I will fight hard against anything that wants to tear us apart. Coming home for the weekend helped me realize that I need to take a more proactive stance on Skyping them or even just taking time to wonder how life's going on this end of things.

They don't understand my life as well as they used to. I have to explain friends and events, college life that they don't see everyday. At the same time, I'm not involved in the stuff they do around here.

But nothing can change that this is home.

As we drove into town late last night, that feeling of comfort as I recognized landmarks and knew my way around was so nice. This is *my* town. And there are so many things that make it home.

Things like talking to my mom and J until late at night about life and saying, after seeing my dad's gaze wander to my backpack, "Take a look at my textbooks... I know you want to."

Things like crawling into my old bed and falling asleep remembering life lived in that room.

Things like hearing the door creak open in the morning and little girl whispers outside, then a little warm body pouncing on top of me as my 9 year-old Boo crawls on top of me. Lifting up the corner of the sheets with my eyes still glued shut, she slips inside and we talk, all cuddled up, about life.

Things like having J show me her choir songs and having my little brother show off his skills on his tenor horn.

Things like going for a walk downtown and enjoying the day, entering *my* bank and then heading across the street to say "Hi" to a family that misses me and ending up chatting for an hour as their daughter plays peekaboo with me and the conversation ranges from pregnancy to church to college to business.

Things like going to Boo's friend's fundraiser bake sale, and having her hug me as I pick out a cinnamon bun and pay for it, realizing that too often I am ashamed to put myself out there for causes such as this but she is right out there, running along the highway with a sign, raising money for water filters in Cambodia. Feeling proud.

Things like seeing my little brother play Minecraft, hugging my dad good morning, seeing my mom biking around town.

Things like seeing J working with my Monkey and hiding behind trees as they go by on that big red bike, not wanting her to see me and get distracted.

Things like watching the news while eating lunch, and the fact that my mom cracks open a bag of tortilla chips, knowing that they are my one big weakness.

Things like biking around town with my best friend, racing each other to hit the crispiest leaf piles, then heading to Macs to grab slushies, and then watching two episodes of MacGyver.

Things like constructing the Ikea island for our kitchen with the entire family (my best friend's included in my definition of family) and stealing tools from each other.

Things like having my Grandma's birthday celebration moved up a day just because I was home and watching my younger siblings banter over the "treasure" cake and how much money each got in their pieces (and strategizing what pieces they should choose next in order to ensure more booty).

Things like my mom letting Boo stay up late in order to spend some time with me browsing ridiculous Youtube videos.

Things like eating homemade baked oatmeal again, and watching everyone head off to church.

Things that being home mean.

Redefining

Returning home has brought a lot of change. Change, neither good or bad, rather a morphing of previous views. There are so many things in my life that I have stuck into boxes, letting my life be defined by them, rather than allowing them to define my life. A few of these are definitions... Definitions such as family or home. And both of these definitions have changed.

I left Camp, surrounded by people I had come to know closely over the last five weeks. My own family came to see me and I felt a disconnect, because there were two different parts of me in one place. Two different families. And for so long, my immediate family has been my only family because of the uprooting that has happened multiple times in my life. They were the only ones that knew me well.

But I returned from a Camp full of people who I now call my family, to a town full of people that have also become my family. Part of working with my Monkey entails going to different businesses in town to get her hand stamped or other such things (at the grocery store, she gets a free cookie). Today when we went into the bakery section of the grocery store, I met up with one of my fellow graduates who is also going to same college as me. The ease with which we picked up conversation and made plans to get together and go out for coffee later on was amazing. Just to see the light in her eyes and to hear her ask how my summer went... it was amazing. Then, Monkey and I returned home from my home and after she was given her dinner, her mom and I sat down to chat. And we talked for about half an hour about how my summer had gone and what her summer had looked like. Monkey's house is like my second home, because I've had to prepare meals there, put her to bed, get her up in the morning, the whole bit. I know where everything is, and I know all the rules and in a way, her family has become my family. And I can't wait to go to church this upcoming Sunday because I know that I will experience family like nothing else there. They'll be glad to see me, they'll ask me how my summer went, they'll give me hugs, they'll care.

Also, this afternoon, I received these:

Held in the hands of a little boy wearing blue overalls. He explained that they were as a thanks for when I babysat him and his brother occasionally this past year, and that they were from his mom's garden. The gift of blue flowers. It's so simple... and yet it meant so much.

And this town as a whole has redefined another word. I don't know if I've ever really realized how truly blessed I am to call this place home. Not only do they welcome me in... they welcome my Monkey in, too. And as we pedal around town on that big red bike and the sun is shining and trees are whispering and the the grass grows green and people walk and greet and smile and say goodbye and move along... I am blessed to have this place as my home.

Then comes the time when I'm watching the Olympics and I'm cheering for the Canadian contender to win, and I stop. Since when did this country become my home? I remember when Canada was as foreign to me as Cameroon is as foreign to most of you. Where it felt like we were delving into the deep unknown (at least to me) and who knew what we were going to encounter? Cannibals? Not likely, they told me. Although, I found that the cold was just as formidable.

All joking aside, it's crazy amazing to look back and see all that God has brought me through, to this place. A place where I have multiple families and homes. A place where I feel like the future is bright, where I am finding out more and more who I am and what He has made me to be. A place where {dare I say it?} I am so thankful for the pain that has happened in the past to bring about today:

His blessings have been so good, so great, so beyond anything that I could've planned. And who I am is being daily broken, shaped, and put back together. Today, He showed me a glimpse of all that He's doing. He's been refining my heart all along the way... and redefining me.

In the Deja Vu

As I'm packing up, stuffing things into nooks and crannies and checking my list twice, the sense of deja vu hits hard.

The very last time I was on an airplane was arriving in Calgary after flying home from Cameroon because of a medical emergency.

And it feels so wrong to be packing up and getting ready to board a flight headed somewhere other than Cameroon.

It took me awhile to get over my feelings of doubt.

Doubt that this trip will impact me in a huge way because of my past.

Doubt that I would be shocked by children scavenging in the gutters and people scraping a living off of the streets.

Doubts that I would learn to love another third world country.

Doubts that He's shown me are so unfounded and ridiculous when compared to the hugeness and awesomeness of who He is.

And I am still scared that going through this process will bring up that longing. Longing to go to my other home, to be surrounded by all the things that I hold dear.

I don't want to re-say everything I said back then... so just read it.

But He's greater than any longings or any doubts.

And I know that He will also implant in me a longing to make Colombia my home, to be able to stay and love these people with the fullest extent of my love.

And through all of this, I'm learning that my longing should be for Him, above all.

But also, for wherever place that He has called me to share His love.

And even though I have memories, I'm heading out the door to create new ones.

Please pray... and get ready for some blog posts once I get back! :)

Waiting

I tacked it up there just a few days ago... that paper torn out of a coloring book. The edge ragged, the colors pre-painted on so that even the most unskilled child could create a masterpiece. Belle and the newly changed Beast-to-prince dancing with a rose above their heads. Their smiles, the evident "ever-after" feeling of the picture always makes me smile. It hangs there on the wall... right beside the little card that is headed "True Love Waits." I couldn't think of anywhere else to put it... but after awhile, there seemed a home for it right there.

I find it hard. My heart goes to so many over the course of time. Attaching to some hope and feelings, others a pedestal that was never there. My heart gets bruised, but it's only my own fault, I know. And yet, as I look in the mirror every morning, my eyes are drawn to that card and to that picture. True love not only waits to share itself physically, but mentally, spiritually, emotionally, and that is something I have to work on.

Waiting is not something I like to do. I want the answers now, and I want them to be what I expected. But what I find my eyes drawn to the most is the rose. Some know, others don't, the importance of a rose to me. A rose means the very deepest, most romantic, most intimate part of me. It's my middle name. Although I love the flower because I am associated with it, I love it for other things. The way that it smells, for one. The deep, lingering, sweetness that is evident to anyone even anywhere near a rose. The way the color shifts in different parts of the flower, going from deep to light, to deep again. The variety in the flower... one to suit every mood.

Someday, he'll come. Hopefully sweep me off my feet... the shy romantic that I am. He'll pursue and woo. Show himself to be a man of godly character who loves kids and missions. He'll take the time to uncover all that I am.. every shifting shade, every color, every scent.

But until that day... I wait.

Would I?

On the last night of camp, one of the senior guy counselors got up to share during the fireside and what he said hit me hard. He had been struggling with the question: "If I had the choice right now to go to heaven or not, would I?" It hit me hard because I've struggled a lot with this in the past. I have so many dreams and yet I know that what He's got in store is so much better.

I went to a wedding today, saw all that happened, closed my eyes during the music and dreamed. Someday... I want these things. I want to fall in love, deeply, madly, wholly. I want to smile and feel accepted by the one that He will give me. I want to hold hands and walk down streets talking about anything and everything. I want to get married, join in a union before Him and my family and friends. I want to celebrate. To be known and to know fully of that one. To travel the world.
To swell with the gift of children. To have sticky fingers holding my own. To gather my arms full of those that He has blessed me with. To see them off to school, to make their lunches. To someday see them graduated, to be proud of everything that I have done, even though at times I will feel as though I have failed. To present to the world children who are not ashamed of who they are in Him, but will share it in the way that they live.  To grow old and gray. To visit my grandchildren. To someday say goodbye and go home to be with Him.

All this talk of going home yesterday made me question where my home really is. Am I so attached to the earth that I truly and really think of it as my one and only home? Or do I give it only the importance that it is due as a temporary resting place before I pass on? I have so many dreams. And yet, do I envy those who are already in His presence? Do I long to be held in His embrace. I came home today to a father back from a long trip. Do I long to hug Him as tightly as I hugged my earthly father? Sometimes that answer changes. Sometimes it's yes... and sometimes it's no. But what should it be? I know the right answer. Yet, my vision is so often skewed. We're brought up to think that this life is what we're living for, instead of only a mere training phase before the real thing happens. We're taught to think of life as a good thing and death as a bad thing, when really it only opens up the doors to even more. Sure, we mourn those who are gone, and yet, if they are passing on to joy, we will see them again. It's not really passing on.. more like passing forward, while we are left behind. Do I feel left behind? Or do I feel ahead? The question remains... would I?

Longing

We pulled up to the airport with its blue signs and white arrows. The hustle and bustle of people destined to move great spaces in a very short amount of time. The sound of that mechanical voice announcing flight arrivals and departures. And a wave swept over me. A wave of longing.
Longing that I had my suitcases with me, and a passport and ticket in hand.
Longing for watching airplanes, trying to figure out which one was mine.
Longing for perfume browsing with a father who delighted in making forever memories with his daughters.
Longing to load that plane, to see if maybe, oh, maybe.. there might be movies on this leg of the trip.
Longing to see if I got the window seat.
Longing for that snack tray.
Longing for trying to sleep on an upright airplane seat.
Longing, even, for hour long layovers in a foreign city.
Longing for my eyes to brighten with anticipation.
Longing to walk out and have that warm wave of humidity stifle me.
Longing, that now, even now, brings tears to my eyes.
Longing to go home...

Longing that has to wait. Too often, it hides in the back of my mind, those memories of before. It seems like all my past has been divided up into before, during and after. After the Thing That Took Me Away. But when it comes forward, with news of a family pet killed, with hugging Rachel and saying hello after three years, with telling others of my past and future dreams... it comes forward with force. My throat tightens, my eyes water, and I have to breathe deep. Because, buried deep under African soil... is my heart. It is content here, as long as I ignore the past. But inside of me, that longing is there and I miss it, so very, very much.
The safety that I feel in the embrace of the warm atmosphere and the wide sky. The palm trees, lush forests, banana plantations, rubber tree groves. People with dark skin willing to take me in. Traditional cloth that embodies so much history in its design. Celebrations with parades. Roasting corn over an open fire. Conferences with other missionary families. Homeschooling. Traveling to the black and white sanded beaches. Saying names and places that others would recognize.
Our white landcruiser. My bunkbed. Our house. My Anne of Green Gables series sitting on my shelf. My many stuffed animals. A bookshelf full of assorted books. Climbing trees. Eating fruit.. mangoes, bananas, guavas, oranges, and many more. Going to church for three hours on a Sunday. Matching as a family in traditional clothing. Open air markets. Shopping for Christmas presents when it's sweltering outside. Madly dancing to the Nutcracker. So much more that cannot be expressed...

I can hardly wait for two years to be over.