That eyes-can’t-stay-open, can-hardly-walk-in-a-straight-line, or-talk-and-make-sense, sueño. A tiredness that comes only with a richness of life.
A wise mentor once said, “if you aren’t wearing your day, at the end of your day, you haven’t had a good day.” My, does that reign true here. Despite the showers, feet rinses, and heavy storms that have been passing through, I usually end my day caked with dirt. Literally head to toe. Sweat and dirt from traipsing through gorgeous family gardens and up city streets where the road is being torn up to put new sewage in. More bites than the day before, because, as they say, my blood is too sweet. No matter how tightly we shut the screen door, baby frogs and small toads are found leaping. I’m not really sure what type of bug is buzzing outside our window.
But I will sleep soundly, even before my head hits the pillow. Because the days are without time. I write this exactly a week after my take-off from PDX.
Here is a sneak peak of what the current week has looked like:
Ran errands with Yefrin, Director of Little Hands, his sister Blanca, a nurse, another volunteer nurse, Karen, Yefrin’s 7-year-old son Jack, and Johno, photographer and videographer. Filming a bit throughout the city to see some of a typical day’s chores to keep Little Hands Big Hearts running and to get whatever is necessary for the health of the children.
Returning to the foundation, I got to spend time with some of the special needs children. It’s honestly amazing to see the difference one or two days can make. A woman who I spoke with yesterday, mentioned that the teacher’s of the preschool had began teaching her daughter the vowels. This little girl had a tumor in her brain, and now most of one side of her body doesn’t move well. Her mother said she has never tried to teach her, because she didn’t think she understood. I sang a little vowel song with her and she loved it. Back today, it is obvious that the mom is inspired to teach her daughter!
In the afternoon I headed over with Johno, videographer, to Filomena and Johnny’s house. Johnny is a little boy who had two holes in his heart as a little baby. Now he is 14 years old, is going along very well in school, the first hole Is closed, the second is almost entirely closed. Filomena is very responsible for her family, she bakes bread, sells eggs, and sometimes a few other crops when her garden is producing. We interviewed her, and I translated the beautiful story of how God brought Little Hands to help heal Johnny.
In the evening I met up wiith the teachers at Little Hands and a missionary who works nearby for a little Insanity workout and a run around their large yard, jungle mountain on one side, ocean-side view on the other.
Past the city center, we attended a very small church, and since we had so many gringos, I was asked to translate the message. Aftrwards, we went next door to another missionaries house. There is a woman who sells licuados from their kitchen window, and we had the joy of supporting her business. Half cappucinno, half cookie milkshake. Delcious.
Our friend Jonatan lives just around the corner, and he asked Tabitha to come look at his grandmother’s knee, because she has arthritis. It was another beatuficul experience to meet someone, be invited into their home, and help them with life while doing life with them.
As my eyes fade away, a little gecko chirps in the corner.
Last year, I helped build a Pila for Jose Ricardo’s family. He is a young boy suffering from hydrocephalus. It was especially powerful because the young boy was not doing well. Each day we were in deep prayer for his healing, and some days we were just awaiting the news of his death. But the glimpse of hope was in the boy’s smile. His whole body lay swollen, in a twenty by twenty room with ten others in the children’s ward. But his smile never lost its light. One year later, Jose Ricardo is reading, and his joyful smile remains.
My first days in Honduras taught me the joy of hard work alongside others. Of joy not due to circumstances, but on the posture of the heart. To this I was ready to return. A renewal of a pure heart. Arriving at the compound at Little Hands Big Hearts, the word that filled my spirit was home. I felt like I had arrived home after a long journey away. And it was a long journey, a year of rethinking how I view myself in light of God’s never failing grace and never ceasing faith, despite the doubt and frustration that leaks from my pours. When I leaped out of the van after two days of traveling, breathed in the salty air, and looked out to the jungle just beyond the property, I felt connected to what the Spirit was about to do. And the truth is, he never fails.
8:21pm 03/29/2015 exactly one week ago: sitting with 18 other people inside a single hotel room sharing life
8:21pm 04/05/2015 currently: eating chips and salsa at the kitchen table, preparing for the week of teaching ahead
The contrast is enough to be overwhelmed and terrified, or bored and unsettled.
There are an incredible amount of things to say, to speak to, to debrief, so many questions to ask. Many things within me are brewing.
But above all the anxieties, one truth remains. One truth that presented and presents itself constantly.
The Spirit of the living God is here and active.
I believe this because I am a witness.
I translated love letters and heartfelt goodbyes. I watched growing depth in friendships and relationships, despite language barriers.
I held hands and saw hugs, comforting the family of a woman on her deathbed. I experienced emotional understanding at the core of our humanity, despite contrast of life circumstances.
I heard joy as water was carried from the source to the homes of an entire community, for the first time. I watched a seemingly impossible task become a beautiful reality.
I watched grown men cry, and laugh hearty laughs. I saw the weakness of humanity become a strength as we worked alongside one another.
The Spirit is strength. Strength which overpowers not only evil, but apathy, and lack of hope.
This is truth. This is hope. And I am so very joyful to be in this space. Join me.
“Therefore, since we have such a hope, we are very bold.” 1 Corinthians 3:12
This morning, Mt. Adams is peeking out from the few low clouds that cover its summit. On the other side of the old school building I’m staying in is a range of low, arched hills, deep greens clearly marked by cloud shadows, and olive-toned greens bouncing off the rays of the sun. A mostly blue sky is an incredible way to wake up. Getting to sleep in helps. Especially after a night of deep thinking and friendship work and life-changing decisions. The clouds are moving fast, and I hope to see a clear view of the mountain, before our bus pulls out later today.
It’s mid-January, and the year is already well underway. There are many things to account for my lack of posts: the events of the final days of 2015, lack of clarity.
But fog has played a great metaphor into my life.
Every day I drive down I-205, along which the Willamette River runs. As my wheels race past the pavement, I pass layers of evergreens. In the winter months, when Portland decides to be a bit drier, and a lot colder, fog settles between and among the pines. The same metaphor always enters my mind.
It is easy to be consumed by worry of the future, lack of clarity for what’s next, and begin each day in a sour mood. Often, I have struggled to keep the tears away, or push them out – whichever clears my vision.
But then I noticed the dense layers of fog. The front row of mossy trunks almost completelyvisible, fine detail of each needle apparent. This is my today. My morning, my afternoon, my evening. My tomorrow. My week. What is in the very front of me, laid out before me, to work and to act.
In the next grouping, a blur of a creamy-hued green. This is my next month, my six months from now, my one year from now. Simple lines of self that structure who I have become an am becoming, but who do not reveal the results of such work.
Finally, the silhouette of the deeper recesses of the urban forest, near white. This is my five years from now. My ten years from now. They continue through my hoped-old-age. My dreams, and my hopes, which swirl into the thick journey of the fog, just as cream warmly settles into a dark brew of coffee.
And here in Washington, in my retreat away from the suburban daily grind, it’s the same. Friday night the hills were completely black, nearly all the clouds covering any moonshine. Saturday and Sunday, shades of blue created dense levels of clouds and shadows. Saturday night, a hike in an old cheese cave provided the quiet dark, echoing only the voice of those around you. Providing moments to listen, to absorb, and to respond, without the distraction of a million bytes of information.
But Monday. An extra day off of work. To spend with friends and family. To sit down and talk, and lean on, and celebrate. A weekend of fog, awoken to a morning of clarity. The rich sound of a high waterfall, the soundtrack to a blue sky and a clear view of the mountain. It’s not any old Monday.
Now, as we pull away from Washington, and inch closer to our home, I think of the observance of Martin Luther King. And I think of some truths:
“We cannot walk alone”.
“…continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive”.
“With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of home. With this faith, we will be able to transform the dangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day”.
And I think of a word that marks my heart as 2015 unfolds: t r u s t.
There are days when true responsibility is to be forgotten and soul-filling things become the focus.
During the month of November there was and is much to be thankful for, and many things to share. But the busy December days have kept me from expressing all those small adventures.
So in the meantime, enjoy a few finds that inspire and fill the nooks and crannies:
Loneliness: feeling trapped, and then not doing a single thing to escape. Finding frustration in lack of simplicity, or too much thereof.
In even the littlest of decisions, movement propels full-fledged action.
Sometimes the hard part is finding inspiration for decisions. It’s often easier, albeit exhausting, to be indecisive in nature.
There is something to say about flexibility and going with the flow of any given day. Flexibility allows you to be a much kinder and more peaceful person, it creates space for humility, but also leadership. But often a flexible being allows the lives of others to rule their thoughts and dreams. To ask of themselves, and of their Creator, less than what they require, less than what is available, and less than what they are capable of.
But how long can you sustain this seemingly simple exhaustion? The exhaustion that comes with indecisive frustration requires everything. It drains every last sip of energy, and intrudes on human nature’s desire to deeply understand. This is a dark exhaustion.
I desire an exhaustion of light. When you are asleep before your head even hits the pillow in your still unmade bed, because your day has been full of life-filling work. Perhaps seemingly unimportant work, but actually work that reaches the depth of souls.
And so daily I decide to create a treasury of moments. A collection of soul-lifting seconds that make every lonely and frustrating moment a passing and unimportant event. A discipline of thankfulness that inspires.
“I miss you” texts from far-away friends.
The beauty of sitting outside in the cold, safeguarded from the pouring rain.
A smile from someone who doesn’t often gift smiles.
I’ve never been one to read or recommend a romance novel of any kind, whether literarily praised or trashy novella. I love my mother, but I’ve always asked her why she would read such nonsense when there is a plethora academically-claimed non-fiction, and artistically-created literature. I mean, when I was little, I would walk into the library and cry, ball my eyes out, because I saw the amount of books, and new I would never in my whole entire lifespan be able to read every book on every shelf. And I wanted to read every single one. Fortunately, with some great mentors, a lot of travel, and some education under my belt, I have matured into a woman who understands that there is a lot of junk out there that shouldn’t ever be read, by anyone. And a lot of things I have no interest in. But, I digress.
The point is that I read a romance novel. A Christian romance novel, nonetheless, which I usually find even more over-the-top, more far-fetched than your typical sex-centered, steamy Harlequin.
And guess what? I not only liked it, I loved it. I read it within the span of two hours in the morning, two-hour delay, fake out snow day, and two hours after dinner in the evening.
It’s called Unshaken by Francine Rivers (and, no, I’ve never read Redeeming Love, swore I never would, perhaps I’ll rethink it, with a really good review because someone just gave me a really good review). Historical Non-Fiction, it is one of five novellas that she has written recounting the unconventional love stories of women in the lineage of Christ. Unshaken details the life of Ruth, her original story being four short, yet richly built, chapters in the self-titled book of the Old Testament.
Alongside her mother-in-law Naomi, both of these widowed women experience extensive grief, a treacherous journey, the pangs of hunger, working to survive physically and emotionally in a foreign culture and land, and consistently seeking God, all at once seeing his blessings, yet doubting his presence, and questioning how and when he will deliver them from their struggle to survive and thrive.
Ruth consistently devotes her life to the needs of her mother-in-law, but in Unshaken we have a glimpse into her personal life of prayer, reaching out to God. Thanking him. Questioning him. Needing discipline to do whatever it takes to provide. Yet desiring so much what any young person desires. Love. Family. A way to make a worthy living. A clean name, to be respected. How to balance taking care of others and become a hopeful character of perseverance. And despite our humanly limited perspective, that our creator can sort it all out.
“In the confusion of her feelings, [she] could not be sure about her motives. She knew only that the Lord could sort it out and make things right”.
Without spoiling the entire story, for those who are not familiar, we end knowing that Ruth becomes the mother of Obed, who is the father of Jesse, who is the father of David, one of the greatest kings to have ever lived.
Moving beyond what we read in Unshaken, David is both a strong warrior and a deep thinker, as writer of the Psalms, all at once praising his Creator, and asking the wretchedly agonizing questions of our existence. He had so incredibly much to offer. Yet his misled actions could have been completely debilitating and paralyzing, were it not for the redemption of a Creator, who uses not only powerful people, like kings, but also seemingly small people, like the Unshaken widows, Ruth and Naomi.
There are always moments in life where things seem lonely and slow, like you’ve missed something, like you closed your eyes for a second, and you’ve missed your chance.
But I think that notion is quite mistaken. This year has been a journey of rest for me. Getting off the high of go-go-go, travel as much as possible, meet as many people as possible, do as much as possible. Those were moments full of growth and blessing. And I believe they have prepared me for such a time as this.
A time to slow down. A time to invest. In friendship. In conversation. In passion. A time to question. My deepest values. My next action. My next step. A time to stop worrying so much about life’s path, but rather to take care of others where they are at. To be a heart of support, and genuine love. And in that process, to let them soften my heart at the very core. To let others take care of me.
While it’s true that it takes time to develop deeply invested relationships, whether within the family, in friendships, in dating, or in marriage, with people that surround your week, your day, your hour, even one small moment or action of kindness can be life changing.
These are the people you do life with, after all.
The extremely-early-morning coffee date, the muddier-than-expected trail run, missing out on a few hours of sleep. These become marvelous adventures that develop trust. Trust is a foundation for connection, for being in touch with those that surround our moments, for finding joy.
Even in these dreary Portland days, endless drips landing perfectly in puddles, permeating the seemingly solid surface, we realize that this rain purifies, and prepares for growth. And though painful, growth brings joy.
Investing in people is one of the greatest joys to be found. It means leaving chunks of your heart behind.
But that’s the thing about love: it’s only something if you give it away.
roam&wander 