True Confessions of a Dreamer

Dare to dream!  If you did not have the capability to make your wildest wishes come true, your mind would not have the capacity to conjure such ideas in the first place.  There is no limitation on what you can potentially achieve, except for the limitation you choose to impose on your own imagination.  What you believe to be possible will always come to pass - to the extent that you deem it possible.  It really is as simple as that.  - Anthon St. Maarten

Most mornings, I wake up in another country.

Each morning is different, although I'll admit it was easier when I was living in my last apartment.  The high vantage point made it easy to imagine quaint Italian villages, or I could just as quickly find myself among the rolling hills of Ireland or between volcanoes in Latin America.  My current apartment has bedroom windows that open to another building.  It's not the best, but I can still envision a small, sparse apartment within a bustling city in Africa, or a sleek high rise in Australia.  It doesn't have to be a country I've visited before, and for a while, it was a treat to wake up in the morning and open the blinds.  I wasn't sure what I would find.

Yesterday morning, I woke up in Nicaragua.  It was early in the morning, somewhere around 6:30am, although it felt more like 5:30am with the recent time change.  I'm almost never up at this hour, and although my mind was alert, my body was tired.  I laid in bed, listening to the birds chirping outside my window, and I held on to the idea that, if I opened my eyes, I would suddenly find myself back in 2009 on La Finca Magdalena.

My cozy, fluffy bed became a cot, the fabric tight and covered with my orange twin extra long sheets.  It's one of 15 exactly like it, but mine is positioned in the middle of the hardwood floor of the girls room.  The room has wide wooden doors that slam shut in the wind, and not enough electrical outlets to meet the demands of the American visitors.  There's space between the walls and roof, allowing in light and air and all sorts of four legged visitors.

It was easy to imagine waking up, stretching, and opening the heavy doors as quietly as possible.  The wind is warm, rustling the hammocks that hang on the porch.  My eyes are assaulted by the vibrant colors - green, red, and yellow cover my field of vision.  My ears perk up at the sound of happy morning chatter coming from animals and people alike, languages mixing among one another.  My stomach is tempted by the smell of breakfast - gallo pinto, tortillas con crema, huevos, and fresh fruit juices.  My coral colored Crocs squeak across the white tile floor of the co-ed bathroom as I head in to wash my face in the cold spring water.  I'm careful to keep my eyes down, not wanting to unknowingly step on a wandering critter.

The day is pregnant with possibility.  We don't know our schedule beforehand and operating on "Nica time" often means things don't happen as planned anyway.  I remember to step down as I make my way to the picnic tables, covered in blue tablecloths, that will serve as our dining room table for the week.  Many travellers are already awake, and I am welcomed with a "good morning" and the offer of coffee.

Just as I begin to invest in the moment, my eyes open and I realize I was dreaming.  My chest gets a little tighter when I come to and see I'm not in Nicaragua.  Instead I'm cocooned in my cozy, plush bed, the light streaming in between the blinds and the birds singing in the day.  While it's not a bad place to be, I am starkly aware of my heart's desire to return to small cots, crowded rooms, excitement and adventure.  I know my time will come, so for now I will sleep well and wake up to something unexpected each day.

Wait for the LORD;

be strong and take heart

and wait for the LORD.

-Psalm 27:14

A Desire to Serve

At the end of life we will not be judged by how many diplomas we have received, how much money we have made, how many great things we have done.  We will be judged by 'I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat, I was naked and you clothed me.  I was homeless, and you took me in.'  -Mother Teresa

Let's suppose you were sitting in church one Sunday, any Sunday, listening to the sermon.  Perhaps you have to catch your mind from wandering every so often.  You're making a note in the back of your notebook as the service comes to a close, but you overhear the pastor as he shouts out one last announcement almost as an afterthought.  He says there is a bus outside, waiting to take whoever wants to go on a mission trip.

He does not tell you where you are going or when you will return.  You will need no money, no tickets.  All travel has been arranged for you.  You do not have time to go home and pack a bag.  You can not tie up loose ends at work, or say goodbye to your family.  To say yes, you simply have to board the bus.

Would you get on board?

This was a situation presented to me in a sermon this past Sunday and I haven't been able to get the scenario out of my head.

"Yes" can be a scary word.  It can open a lot of doors and take you a lot of places, but it can cause discomfort as well.  There's a level of trust involved and oftentimes we are slow to trust.

I think here I would have said YES.

It's well known to most of you that I have a huge desire to travel, to touch the world and make a difference.  More often than not I feel stifled in my hometown, pigeonholed by many of the comforts held so close by so many.  The desire to serve overwhelms me sometimes, a constant weight on my chest that reminds me that my heart craves something more.

Pascuala, Somotillo, Nicaragua

I long to be challenged, to go on an adventure and to learn to fully rely on the Lord for my needs.  No doubt, it would be the hardest thing I've ever done, getting on that bus.  But nothing about the idea turns my stomach.  While many of the people in my life might not understand why I said yes, I would hope they'd know how much I love and care for each of them.  I strive to live my life in such a way that if I was whisked off one day, there would be no doubt from anyone how I felt about their presence in my life.

I am currently searching for opportunities to serve overseas this summer.  My heart longs for the chance to hold and love on children who have no mothers.  I have seen the power a simple touch can have on another and I want to be the one to touch heads and hold hands.  I want to serve the least and the lost, and to me that doesn't just mean sending money somewhere once a month.  Presence is key, a willingness to share life. I want to alleviate suffering, to meet basic needs.  I want to be the hands and feet.

People often ask me why I don't invest my time in an organization here in the US; there is so much need here at home.  My answer - not everyone is called to go.  I have that desire, and I am capable.  What happens if no one goes?  What would have happened if Jesus stayed in his own hometown?

Pascuala, Somotillo, Nicaragua

It will not be easy.  An experience like the one I'm seeking, be it for a summer or for a lifetime, will challenge me every day.  Some days I think about how things could go and I don't feel strong enough, but I recognize that I am not the one who needs to be strong.  The Lord uses the weak and the small.

I am nervous, anxious, about how things could play out, but I'm also excited.  Currently I haven't found an NGO to serve with but I'm exploring some options.  I hope you will join me on this wonderful, life changing adventure.

Come visit!

I'm writing today over at 

 with Growing Up in the Valley!

Head over to read a bit about my recent trip to Nicaragua with Because We Care Ministries

and I'll be back here next week!

The meaning of [my] life

I've been doing a lot of self-searching lately, trying to figure out where I want to be in a year.  Where I could, realistically, be in a year.

I just moved into this apartment.  I like its location.  I just started this job, and I [usually] like going into work every day.  So why am I looking ahead; why am I thinking of moving on already?

For many years, I have seen myself leaving town and moving abroad.  It's only been in recent years that the dream has begun to be fleshed out, but I still lack the courage to go.  It's a scary thing, especially when you've lived your whole life in one town.

What if I go to a country where I don't speak the language?  How do I open a bank account in a new country?  Can I even work for wages?  What would it be like to uproot every significant relationship I've ever known?  Everyday things would be new - laundry, cooking, getting from one place to another.  And don't even get me started on the idea of my travelling alone, as a single white female.  The idea of completing ordinary tasks seems exciting and new, giving me a chance to marvel at the simplest of things.  But without warning those same tasks can change to objects of paralyzing fear.

But it seems that everywhere I turn, particularly in church and small group, I keep getting the same message:


Go.  Love.  Be.  Travel.  Orphans.  Fear not.


And yet I fear.  Still I doubt.  Is this really where I am called to go?  Is this really who I am meant to be?

Last week, an interesting idea was presented in our small group.  The quote -

"We were created to glorify God"  [John Piper I think although I can't be positive]

What would it mean to embody this idea, to really live it out every day?  I know that the work I'm doing now is meaningful [actually, it's pretty close to what I would want to do as a career.  I think I only want my location to change].  I also know that one's calling is not necessarily the same thing one does as a vocation.  So why do I still feel so called to go?

That same night, a second question was posted.  This is not the first time I've been presented with this inquiry, but it's not one I find terribly realistic so I've never truly considered it.


"What would you do if you knew you could not fail?"


[Who can imagine a world without failure?  Failure is always a possibility, a scary one.]

What would I do?  I would travel the world, write, create art and not worry about how it's not perfect right away.  I would work with orphans, see and do things, leave a notable mark on the earth and the lives of its inhabitants.

And then tonight, a final thought, related to our small group study of John 6:1-25.  Mission [the work and opportunities we are given by God to accomplish, partnering with Him as His kingdom is realized, whether or not we choose to accept them] precedes faith.  Contrary to our belief, we don't have to have a certain amount of faith before setting out on mission with Jesus.  We don't have to have certain skills perfected; we don't have to have it all together.  Faith is the expectation that God will show up.

Perhaps my calling is not overseas.  Perhaps I am called down the street, to the orphaned of this community.  Perhaps I am called to a community in another state.  I don't know yet [does anyone ever know for sure?], but I'm eager to find out.

Silent Spectators

The Word became flesh and

made his dwelling among us.

-John 1:14

But you are not alone in this

And you are not alone in this

As brothers we will stand and we’ll hold your hand

Hold your hand

--“Timshel,”  Mumford and Sons

Two are red.  These tall patent leather ladies take me to networking events and nights on the town and often accompany a black-and-white striped dress for an added touch of color.  I have two that are orange and they might be my favorite even though they are a little too small.  In a style that never goes out, they compliment my dark jeans and carry me through lots of days at work.  I even have two that I’ve had since high school – old white ones that have tasted the dirt of four countries and countless miles of treadmill.  While I have lived in all these moments myself, the perspective my shoes have to offer would surely be different than my own.  After all, they can look around, see and smell and be aware of things that escape me while I’m engaging in whatever activity I’ve chosen.

Have you ever thought about where your shoes have been?  Coffee shops, kitchens, vacations, cars, bathrooms, bars, sidewalks, festivals, work, dates, the gym, restaurants (and that’s just a few!).  Almost everywhere you go, your shoes go also.  Think of all the things they’ve seen, smelled, heard and touched – the good and the bad. 

Before my trip to Ethiopia, we were prepared for some of the hard things we would see.  I looked at pictures and read as many personal accounts of others’ visits as I was able.  I had a pretty good idea what the streets were going to look like – rocky, with dirt packed down from the weight of the people that walked them daily, littered with the contents of life.  I knew I would need sturdy shoes for the journey, ones that wouldn’t be afraid to face the elements but would also maintain their integrity when faced with some difficult challenges. 

I chose a sturdy pair of New Balance sneakers.  I’ve had these shoes since high school and they still are one of my favorites.  White with some pink accents, I haven’t seen these shoes on the market since I bought them.  They have travelled with me domestically and internationally and have gotten down and dirty in three other countries.  They have wandered through cow pastures in Ireland and explored an abandoned castle, spent time tapping along to music at a Nicaraguan elementary school, and walked every inch of a rubber floor at a medical mission’s clinic set up inside a small church in Ethiopia.  I am proud of these shoes, of all they have seen and experienced.  I hope to take them on many more adventures.

But I was thinking, before and during my time in Ethiopia, about the significance of these shoes in my life.  While planning my 10 day wardrobe, I was conscious of the ability to leave things behind, clothing and toiletries, to be washed and used by missionaries and locals in the area.  Many things I packed I did so with the intention of leaving them behind.  Shoes are bulky and hard to pack and many times I thought about leaving these beloved world travelers behind to make someone else burden a little lighter.  They are good sturdy shoes, comfortable, and would certainly be a blessing to anyone lacking any sort of protection from the elements.

I even thought about what it would mean to bring them home.  These shoes would have trudged through dirt and mud, trash and other things I’d rather not think about.  Would it be sanitary to bring them home?  I suppose I could always wash them, but would any contaminants linger?

In the end, those white sneakers came home with me.  I have not washed them.  I can’t bring myself to do it, too much of that country remains with me.  Come to think of it, I don’t think I washed them upon my return from any international visit.  I’m not worried about any lingering impurities, knowing that it’s not only microscopic pieces of this adventure that remain with these shoes but the memories of those I touched while wearing them. 

Today’s message in church came from Romans 10, verses 8 to 15.  Here are just the last few verses:

¹⁴ How, then, can they call on the one they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them? ¹⁵ And how can anyone preach unless they are sent? As it is written: “How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!”

Those shoes have brought some good news; news I’m probably not even aware of, presented in a way I never would have expected.  So today, I’m thinking about shoes.  Not just the money it takes to get them and how I am blessed to have different shoes to accompany me to different occasions, but also the impact going somewhere can make.  Think of all the places we go every day, all the impact we could be making in those places.  And the impact we are making, whether we realize it or not. 

So go. 

Let your shoes take you somewhere today, foreign or familiar, and make an impact.

James 1:27

This week has felt crazy.  I've had things going on before and after work almost every day and it wasn't until Thursday that I got back the apartment before 11pm.  Although the days felt long and I was tired by their end, there really wasn't anything special about them.  Most of the activities were just life.  But it sure felt like I had a lot of life pushed into only a few days.

One of the more notable events occured on Tuesday evening, when I met with the nurses at RMH to pack 6.5 totes for approximately 5 hours. 

With our 6 team members, we're able to bring a total of 12 totes, each weighing in at 50 pounds a piece.  Once we get on the ground in Ethiopia, we'll have over a ton of supplies with us. 

I'm holding my heart out but clutching it too - Nickel Creek "Reasons Why"

This part of the process affected me more than I thought it would.  I've been excited about the trip from day 1, looking forward to experiencing something new, fulfilling a dream I've had for a long time, and learning many new things.  But seeing some of the things we're taking, and hear what some of them could be used for, really struck a chord with me.  I knew this trip would be hard.  There's no denying that.  But having talked about it with some of the nurses, it has potential to be a lot harder than I could have thought.  Of course, the unknown leaves things open to your imagination, which often translates (for me at least) to thinking of the mroe than worst case senerio.

I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you - John 14:18

It's a bit like the beginning of a new relationship.  The honeymoon phase is gone and its almost like I'm done dreaming.  Reality is starting to set in and I realize this is going to be hard.  Perhaps the hardest thing I've ever done thus far in my life.  I will have to physically put myself lower than probably everyone that comes to the clinic, something I've never had to really do before.  I'm going to have to work hard and learn hard and pray hard and play hard.  And I'm a little scared.  What if I discover I can't do it (anything medical) and I hate it (Africa) and I just want to go home?  What if I fail?  I'm not sure that I really can fail because I know God is preparing and using each of us differently.  And I know this is a trip I need to go on.  I've known that since March when the idea first started floating around.

I don't know what's going to happen, but I do know my senses are going to be assailed in a way they never have been before.  Not to mention my emotions and my spirit.  But I also know that my God is a loving God and is holding me through all of the pre-trip emotions and unexpectedness and dependency.  And I know he is growing me (I might be feeling some growing pains!)  But I'll be walking taller soon, more confident too I'm sure.

The King will reply, 'Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.' - Matthew 25:40

Leap of faith

It's funny, I didn't sit down on this couch after dinner last night with the intention of making this decision.  It's one I've thought about for a long time but I was still on the fence for a while.  First, perhaps, I should explain.

Around the first of the year, I fell in love.  He's the most beautiful boy I've ever laid eyes on, and it only took one look from him to steal my heart.  His name is Juddah.



He has these huge eyes that just light up whenever he looks at you, and his smile will make your heart flutter every time.  Juddah is just here in the USA for a short amount of time but the story of how he got here is amazing.

Juddah's hometown is in Korah, Ethiopia, a city not far outside the capital of Addis Ababa.  What makes Korah unique is the fact that it houses the city's landfill.  Korah is a city populated by the undesirables of society - widows, orphans, people affected by HIV/AIDS and Leprosy - who make their living by foraging through the trash heap, looking for food.





Baby Juddah was found by Cherrie, a missionary with Project 61, lying on top of urine soaked rags with his twin sister Sarah.  The infants felt so cold, Cherrie thought they were both dead, but after some warmth and care from Cherrie and her friend, the twins opened their eyes.  It was obvious that something was different about baby Juddah - his head looked too big.  It turns out he had a life threatening condition called hydrocephalus, literally, water on the brain.

Juddah was granted a medical visa and a chance at life in the States.  This is the first visa of it's kind for someone in Korah in 10 years.  The local Carilion Clinic has done surgery on Juddah for free, and he is now resting comfortably at home with Cherrie in Oregon until he is able to return to Ethiopia to live with his mother, grandmother, twin and 5-year old sibling.

During his time locally for surgery, Cherrie lived with a family from our church, and had mentioned that some of the Carilion staff was taking a medical missions trip.  While I desperately wanted to go, I'm not medically trained and I don't even like going to the doctor (who does, right?).  I didn't think I'd be given access to go.  But after talking with Cherrie and attending an informational meeting in May, I was told I would be welcome to come along. 

The planning has hit some bumps along the way and our team of 10 or more is now down to 4.  I was waiting to fill out my application and arrange to spend more than $3200 in travel expenses until I read Cherrie's blog last night.  Only 2 non-medical spots were still available!  I grabbed my wallet faster than I ever have before and sent in my non-refundable application fee and arranged to have my references send in papers.  All in all a rushed feeling but I woke up this morning feeling very at peace about all of it.  I have wanted to go to Africa since I was 12, and I feel like this could be it.  God is calling me here for something.  Another country, in more poverty and disease than I've ever seen in my life.  And all because one little boy looked at me.



All photos courtsey of Cherrie Cornish and her blog.