There Is A House

There is a house. Every misshaped stone set in place with course mortar and weathered hands. Thatch spills over the rooftop, shading the blossoms and herbs. A creeping vine winds its path up the side of one wall, finding a home in every crevice of chipped stone. A cobblestone pathway leads to a large wooden door, beckoning the friend and stranger alike. There is a home. A kitchen with a brick oven. Every pot is cast iron and every pan is made of copper. All the spoons are wooden, absorbing the flavors of the food. An old woman is there, with a kind, wrinkled face. Her face, arms, and apron are covered in flour, and she kneads a lump of dough with expert hands while humming a tune. A loaf of fresh bread rests nearby, waiting for the expected, yet unknown visitor who would next enter the doorway. A basket of fresh vegetables waits to be blended into a hearty soup.

Peek around the hallway. An old man sits in a chair with an even older book on his knee. He lifts his pipe and ponders life. A map and a telescope are placed near the window, hinting of someone still young at heart. A cup of tea half drunk and a pair of wiry spectacles are nestled among papers on the table. The song of a bird drifts on the breeze through the open window. Tiptoe around the corner. The wooden floor creaks beneath soft feet. A wardrobe, a dim mirror, peeling paint, a lace duvet. What memories are to be found here? Follow the hallway to the back door. Step outside again. The morning mist is gone, the countryside alive. A well pump still flows, and white linens dance up and down the clothesline. The days drift by slowly, contentedly; speaking of a life well lived, well shared, well served, well loved.

One carries a beautiful face who has lived long in hardship, yet whose heart still beats with dreams. Dreams of love and joy and unseen things. A life who gives and pours and loves will leave behind a legacy. There is a house. It is more than sticks and stones. It is a labor of love to those whose lives the dweller touches. There is a home.

The Fragrances of Jesus

Last Sunday night at youth group, we talked about the fragrances of Jesus, as mentioned in the Song of Solomon. Every attribute of Jesus is the exact opposite of every struggle in our lives when we turn to them instead of Him to fill the desires inside of us. For examples, when we long for love, we turn to lust. The good news is, is that as His beloved ones, we bear His fragrance now, and our identity is not in our sin but in Him and His attributes. So when God looks at us, He doesn't see lust, but His own Son's love. He understands our struggles, but they don't define who we are anymore. So, we went around the room to different stations, and relished in our new identity in Him.

3-2-11

It's a peaceful day.

The sun is shining,

The warmth is slowly moving in,

The aroma of baking cookies fills the air,

Soft music is playing in the background.

I hugged my mom today.

Between work, I'm contemplating my life,

Thankful that when God looks at me, He sees Jesus...

...Not my failures

Been dealing with anger lately,

And self-sufficiency.

I'm not who I want to be yet;

Don't feel much like trying.

Just want to soak in His presence

and let His love wash the stress away.

Well, God has surprised me...

I am not a kid person-whether that means baby, in-between, or teenager. I admire people who can laugh and play with children and actually enjoy it. God must have given those people a special gift that He didn't bestow upon me. Well, a little over a month ago, between the inspiration of a rare spontaneity, the Holy Spirit, and the testimony of a servant-hearted friend, I decided that I wanted to volunteer at our church's youth group until I left for grad school this fall.

The weekend I was planning on talking to the youth pastors about it, I had the whole house to myself. "I'll just relax at home on Sunday morning and read my Bible a little," I thought. But I woke up early from natural causes like usual, and by the time I had done a load of laundry and showered, I noticed that I still had time to make it to church. With a beating heart, I decided, "Okay, I'll do it." At the end of the service I forced myself to introduce myself to the youth pastors and express my interest. She gave me a funny look, and I thought, "Oh good, they don't need me". But she said, "That's funny, we've been wanting people who will help serve the youth."

Tonight was my third night. Every Sunday morning I dread having to spend my day off at church, but every evening I come home full of God's presence and totally glad that I went. I'm a naturally shy person, even around kids 10 years younger than me. I've been trying to observe the dynamics of it all. It's not the best youth group I've ever been to. The first hour we play games and hang out, the second hour there is a message, but the third hour...that's what makes it all worth it. The third hour is devoted to worship and ministering to one another and intentionally listening to what God is speaking to each one of us. It is amazing how much farther ahead spiritually some of these kids are than I was at their age. They actively listen for God's voice, then journal it or encourage another with the word they received. They are practicing and living out a multi-dimensional relationship with the living God, and they act as if that's normal! 

The other kids I pray for. A and A didn't show up tonight, they're the type who dress in all black and don't talk much. Then there are D and C, who need to stop worrying what the other thinks about them and focus on what God thinks of them. E is in the shadow of his spiritually-mature brother, still trying to figure out if he really believes in all this. S is new, but he will do anything to fit in...kinda reminds me of my littlest brother. In fact, this experience has helped me much more in knowing what to pray for my brothers. When I walk into youth group, I feel like every kid is wearing a mask. If only they knew the freedom they could have if they dropped the facade and decided that they must get a hold of God's presence in their lives...no matter what. What can we do to get them to open up and be real? How do we get past the surface into what they're really dealing with in their lives? A smile doesn't mean everything is okay.

I am also not a very expressive person...especially when it comes to dancing. But I've been realizing more and more lately, "What have I to lose?"...well, only more time that I could have in the abundant life with Him. So I danced tonight, and to some Scottish highland music, no less-haha!! Okay, so maybe it's easier in a group of kids than with peers or those older than me. They already think I'm crazy or super spiritual or something. I don't have to live up to a preconceived notion with any of them. They don't know me yet, so I can be who I want to be. I want to be real and genuine. I just want to be available. I know I only have a few months with them, I know I'm not going to revolutionize the youth group at True Life Fellowship, but I'm here for the time being, and God can use me if He wants to.

I think that is one of the reasons ministry wasn't successful for me in Kenya. Instead of being willing to be used where I was at, whatever that looked like, I kept trying to "find my nitch". I never found it, and I wasted a lot more than time there. The reality is, is that here at the youth group, the situation is not much different. Youth are most definitely not my "nitch", and I'm still not some super spiritual person. In fact, the only difference between here and Kenya is that we can speak English and have air conditioning. Oh wait...but one more thing...I'm making myself available.

Tonight a young girl came and sat beside me while I was worshipping. Seba (pronounced "Shaybah" which is Hebrew for "daughter of royalty") asked, "Is God speaking anything to you?" I answered, "Yeah, well, He is more, like, washing over me. I've had a pretty stressful week, and He is just filling me with His peace." She nodded and went quiet. "What about you?" She shook her head. "No, I'm trying, but I just can't hear Him." "Do you want to?", I asked. "Yes." So I prayed for her. "Do you think you can hear Him now?" "I think so a little." She thanked me and returned to her seat. I kept worshipping, but looked back a little while later to see her filling her journal with His words to her.

During the week I'm busy. It is hard to have a genuine time with Jesus every day besides a short Bible reading. I'm learning how to walk with Him and be faithful in the everyday tasks of life, and to truly listen for His voice, expecting Him to talk with me. On Sunday nights I don't come to youth group with a huge revelation or extra spiritual power...I just come available. If God wants to use me, He can. And these kids who are struggling to walk this path and figure out their relationship with God, well, I can pray for them.

a couple of the youth during worship

Broken

Rough hands, worn face

Tired lines, blank gaze

Aching bones, back bent

A pain that stole the innocence

Trails of tears stain pale cheeks

Old eyes betray her youth

When "promises" flash all around 

Look close to see the truth

Strife and worry, fear and grief

What can mend a broken heart?

Valleys etch a weathered face

For too long it's been dark

Too young to learn not to love

Who hides behind the mask?

She must have been a pretty girl

In the mystery of her past

What made her hard and filled this sea

Of discouraged, broken dreams? 

What caused her to preserve herself

With sure, but shallow things?

A search for meaning in this life

A "why" to live or die

A shattered vessel, a million pieces

Do you hear her cry?

Fall away you old woman

Your time has not yet come!

There are still years to live and laugh

And taste the breath of freedom

A heart was meant to beat with strength

Cheeks were meant to bloom

Legs to dance, a zest for life

Eyes to sparkle through

Trade bitterness for quiet beauty

Shape a vessel from the shards

Others still desperately need you

A once healed heart is twice as strong

A Girl Writing

I'm thinking about writing...

Well, really I think about it every day, but that doesn't help much when it comes to actually doing it. I have faithfully kept a journal for years. I started a historical-fiction book in high school, but set it down after a year or so for personal reasons. Throughout college I began to write short poems on my inner musings. After I got back from Africa, I was determined to publish my journal. I was "supposed" to have it done by last fall. I haven't gotten very far. I didn't make any New Years' writing resolution for fear that I would fail. But that doesn't keep keep me from the desire to write! But why, when I get the time, do I dread it?

I read an article today that inspired me a little. First, commit to write at least 150 words a day. If you write 350 words a day, you'll have a whole book within a year! Second, DON'T edit while writing! I've heard that before, but it's hard for me as I like things to be just perfect.

I sit in the little nook at my writing desk. Something distracts me from my work at hand, a nuisance...or an inspiration? The amber liquid in my delicate cup carries an aromatic fragrance with the steam. I write a word...then stop. What is it I am trying to get across to my readers? I breathe deeply, and my story spills out from me like the ink on my paper.

picture by Henriette Browne

The Dream Deferred

Right now I am scrambling for scholarships for graduate school. Most of the times it feels like I'm shooting in the dark. I mean, how many other people are entering the random drawing for $10,000? What am I up against? What are my chances? Who knows. But..I came across something that seemed right up my ally. It was a short essay scholarship about relations between America and the Middle East. Well, since that is exactly what I want to do, to be a sort of bridge between the two, I grabbed at it. The theme was to be centered around this poem, which was equally fitting for my life story. I thought you might enjoy it...

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up 

like a raisin in the sun? 

Or fester like a sore-- 

And then run? 

Does it stink like rotten meat? 

Or crust and sugar over-- 

like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags 

like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

-Langston Hughes, 1951

10-23-10

After discussing my blog with my dad and step-mom, I came to an interesting realization...I usually only write when I'm depressed. I guess it's some kind of coping mechanism or a stress releaser. Anyway, if my blog has been making you concerned or depressed, breathe a little sigh of relief for me. My life isn't all that bad, I just usually write about it when it is! I'm thinking about giving my blog a much-needed makeover soon anyways. Merry Christmas everyone!

Never Forget...

This is my last night in Minnesota. I don't know where my life is going from here. All my plans have fallen through. Now it's up to God to show me the way. As I move back to Texas, I just want to contemplate on a few things to never forget. I don't want my life to get caught up in my culture and lose what I've learned.

• Snow can be beautiful if you just stop and be quiet for a while to watch it.
• When you see sunlight streaming through a cluster of trees, get in it!
• I actually enjoyed my job, even when I didn't think I did...appreciate what you have.
• Don't rush life.
• Don't forget your priorities, values, and dreams-know what you want and who you are, and stick to it.
• Learn from your mistakes.
• Fully enjoy wherever God has you right now, if you don't, you'll recognize the blessing after you don't have it anymore.
• Spend time with friends.
• Love and serve other people...it will make you happier.
• Remember that God loves you, even when you're doing a crappy job of loving Him back.

I'm sure there's more, but that is what's on my heart right now. I guess it is summed up in this, to embrace your season with a thankful heart. If you live like this, you won't regret wasted years. It seems like I have to learn that lesson a lot.

One Nigerian Night

Another night. Another village. By this time we had traveled through so many villages, bowed before multiple chiefs, interviewed hundreds of local people who didn't have a Bible in their mother tongue. We were on a mission-to analyze the language of the Koro Wachi people, and the dozens of dialects within it, to determine whether or not a translation was necessary. I can't remember what village we were in that night. I was just a young white lady in the middle of somewhere Africa, trying to discover my part in God's bigger plan.

Our work completed for the day, we were ushered through the creaky aluminum gate into the compound of the local pastor. A cluster of tall papaya trees grew near the back. Goats and chickens settled down for the night while a kitten and puppy drew near to sniff out the newcomers. Small concrete and mud rooms surrounded us on three sides in the large open courtyard where the family gathered.

While the women took out the mammoth-sized mortar and pestle to begin pounding the yams, I slipped away with my toiletries to take a bucket bath in the outhouse. Those kind women, of course, insisted on heating the water for me first over the fire. As the water splashed over my dirty, tired body, I felt a sense of peace and renewal. Although I did not particularly like taking bucket baths and using squatty potties, I had grown accustomed to it, and for some reason this night I felt quite content with the simplicity. I combed my hair and wrapped a "kanga" around my waist, and stepped outside to join the rest of the family for dinner.

The night air was perfect. The fire blazed, and oh, how those women laughed and sang as they pounded the yams with their strong arms until it became as smooth as butter! They were giving cheerfully of themselves to honor us. As I sat back in my plastic chair to watch the billions of stars twinkling brightly in the sky, I felt so small yet so loved. Even if no one knew where I was in the world, even myself, God knew and He was watching me. The yams were bland of course, but I ate the meal, thankful for their labor of love. Eventually they noticed my fatigue, and ushered me through the darkness into a small room that was filled with freshly harvested ginger root. The pungent odor filled my nostrils and cleared my head. I crawled under the mosquito net and glanced once out the little window before closing my eyes.

My prayers were different that night. I thanked God for a bath and toilet paper. I thanked Him for a bed and food. I thanked him for people who love other people and for God Himself. I will never forget that one night in Nigeria.

Crying Heart

Spontaneous crying. Excitement at the new possibilities. More crying. The feeling of nothingness. A dull, aching heart. Wanting to do nothing. Wanting to do everything. Sleep. Feel better. Tired. Feel worse. Want to eat. It doesn't satisfy. Feel sick. More crying. Hope. Second-guessing myself. Remembering the good times. Crying a lot! Remembering the not-so-good times. Knowing that I made the right decision. Wondering. Fear. More crying. Sorrow beyond explanation. Trusting. Praying. Loneliness. Emptiness. Cold. More crying. So, this is what a broken heart feels like.

I just want to hug him. To make sure he is okay. To know that he is looking to God to find healing too. I was the one who called it off. But I can't bear the thought that I have caused him so much pain, and myself too...more than I ever thought.

Someday...

Someday I want to get my Master's degree in Islamic Studies at Columbia International University in South Carolina.

Someday I want to teach college students about Islam from the Christian perspective.

Someday I want to trek through the Middle East.

Someday I want to play the cello and classical guitar.

Someday I want to garden.

Someday I want to make natural beauty products and host tea parties.

Someday I want to write a book.

Someday I want to learn to speak another language.

Someday I want to trace my ancestry.

Someday I want to marry and have children.

Where has God placed me today? And can I enjoy it? Will He give me greater things when I am so faithless with the small things? And what do I do while I'm waiting?

Photograph © 2007 Margeaux Davis

Snow!

I woke up this morning and looked out my window, and this is what I saw...

Dreams & Visions

God speaks to me through dreams.


Okay, so you know when you have a regular dream (I have at least a dozen every night!). But you know when you have a dream that is anything but regular? It feels different. You know it holds some meaning.


Well, God speaks to me through dreams. I used to only have a really special dream once or twice a year. But I've been having a lot more of them lately. Other people have also been having visions or pictures in their heads about me too...

(from Christine R.)

She saw a picture of...me...over my head. She started crying and told me that she felt like I was really on the heart of God at that moment. He wanted me to know how much He notices me and He loves me.

(from Amanda S.)

"I saw you sitting on the floor, you were surrounded by all this 'stuff' and you were looking at it all feeling overwhelmed...knowing you had to go through it all, but not sure where to start and just feeling defeated. But in the picture Jesus was sitting on the floor with you...facing you...and He wants you to look at Him. When you looked at Him, He started to pick up the 'stuff' one thing at a time and discard it. 

Psalm 22 :8 also came to mind. Seems to be talking about Jesus and his sufferings...but also seems that it could apply to you 'she trusts in the Lord; let Him deliver her; let Him rescue her, for He delights in her.'"

Photo: David Bowman’s painting titled Security

When Selfishness Paralyzes

Argh!!!!

I can't stand myself lately! I have been noticing more and more how SELFISH I am! At first it started out with a little discontentment, that turned into depression, that turned into a huge blowout! Then it smacked me in the face that sometimes I can just be a self-centered little brat who pouts when I don't get my way!

Problem #1-Even though I recognize this, it doesn't make it any easier to get out of it! I am in a funk. I want to run away, I want to go off and have a little adventure. I don't want to buckle down and humble myself to get this thing out at the root. First of all I'm too tired. Second it's cold out, and that makes me a little cranky because I can't go out and have a nice walk while complaining to God about my woes. Third, well, I just want to have it MY way!

Problem #2 - My spirit won't let me have it my way! It wars inside of me. Because just as much as I want to do what I want to do, my spirit knows better and won't let me go and do it. I know I should be thankful for this, but sometimes it's just plain annoying!

And so...I'm sitting in a funk. Waiting to get out. Waiting to find contentment in God. Waiting until I give in and let go of my stubbornness to fully rely on Him and find my fulfillment in Him.

Family?

It's hurting. Why did I ever move away from home? Why did I ever have to have an adventurous spirit? My family thinks I am running away or building walls between me and them. The more I feel their disapproval, the more I feel I have to protect myself. I'm forgetting what it's like to have a family. I don't even know who they are anymore. And they don't know who I am. We are like complete strangers, strangers who somehow I'm strangely related to.

I can't live in my parents' house forever. I can't structure my life based on what they think of me. I love them, but I've hurt them. I've been absent in their lives, and it's eaten away at our relationship like an undiscovered cancer. You wake up one morning late in the game, only then realizing that the effects are irrevocable. I didn't mean to, I didn't want to-it just happened. Who am I and where do I belong? I feel like an orphan. My life has been so full, yet I feel so empty. What am I supposed to do?

Indian Summer

The last of the most brilliant-colored leaves have fallen to the ground, leaving behind a set of deeper, purple hughes among the thinning branches and evergreen pines. A crunchy brown carpet announces my arrival, causing squirrels to scamper away with the last of their winter store and tiny birds to flit in and out of red berry-laden trees. Geese honk the last call for their journey south. The sweet scent of pine fills my nose as I walk underneath a low-lying bough, and my footsteps are suddenly muffled by the soft needles on the path. This is Indian summer, a brief respite from the first chills of autumn before the real frost sets in, which will soon shut us indoors for many months.

Relationships & Communication

So this post isn't as whimsical and poetic as most of my previous ones, but I just want to get it out. I've always heard how crucial communication is in a relationship, but I've never had to really practice it...until now. I always thought I was the easiest person in the world to get along with, that is, of course, when it was just me. But now that I'm in a relationship with a significant other, I've realized quite a few new things about myself.

1. I tend to keep my thoughts to myself
2. I tend to keep my thoughts to myself...until they build up
3. When they build up, they tend to come out at the most inconvenient times in the most unpleasant sort of ways
4. I don't like thinking I'm at fault
5. I want to memorize Philippians 2 again

Okay, maybe those aren't hugely new revelations to me, but they're just in my face a lot more nowadays. This has been a sort of learn-as-you-go-along experience for me, which totally does not fit in with my organized little personality! My life isn't "perfect" anymore, but maybe if we learn to let "iron sharpen iron", we will come out as genuinely better people than the "perfect" people we were before.

Death Is In The Air

Red, orange, and yellow autumn leaves are swirling around outside my window, laughing and calling me to join their dance up…down…around. Fall is here, and while it is beautiful, a slight twinge of sorrow in my belly reminds me of what this season is signaling. Death is in the air. Everything that was once fresh and full of life is coming to an end…again. Funny how the literal seasons often reflect the seasons of a soul. Stranger still is how God uses sorrow, death, and distance to make us hunger for Him even more intensely. Death is in the air. But it is good, because with death comes the promise and hope of new life.

A Dream...

My Dream (night of 8/20/10)

There was a dark forest with scary, scraggly trees. It represented my depression. There was a girl next to me, and she asked something like, "Why are you afraid? Why are you afraid to love?"

It upset me, and I was frustrated with myself because I knew I couldn't love. So I ran hard and fast towards the dark forest.

For those who have not experienced chronic depression, it may be difficult to understand someone who lives with it. While it is utterly paralyzing, it is strangely comforting. While we hate loneliness, Loneliness is our friend. Depression is an escape inside ourselves. And when I don't want to muster up the courage and energy to face the world, I run away inside of me. But God gave me a word for this fall that I would find rest in Him, and that He would give me courage...courage to love.