“I will give thanks to the Lord with my whole heart; I will recount all of your wonderful deeds. I will be glad and exult in you; I will sing praise to your name, O Most High.”  Psalm 9:1-2

Antigua, Guatemala. It's been a good month.

It's been a month of worship. It's been a month of aching to just be with Jesus. It's been a month of daily handing over fear and anxiety and choosing instead to take the hands of trust and joy.

We've worked in schools, teaching Christian values and talking about life with Guatemalan teenagers. We've shared about love, discipline, kindness, and honor- easy half hour lessons that have made me step back and rest in the simplicity of what Jesus calls us to. Love.

I danced with BP at 3am during 24-hour prayer, and then a few hours later I frolicked on a mountain welcoming in the Easter sunrise and rejoicing in the miracle of Jesus' resurrection.

I sat in the park, in the middle of the Semana Santa craze, watching Kirsten paint beautiful art, singing while Heather played her guitar, and playing volleyball with street kids.

I met Rufina, Lupita, Titi, Paula, and Jessica- beautiful women with cerebral palsy and contagious joy. I danced between and around hospital beds, surrendering inhibitions because I would honestly do anything to see them smile. I sang over them with Jenny, and we speculated about the angels the ladies had to be seeing because of the way their faces would spontaneously light up.

I held precious Sandra in my arms for hours- her two-year-old body fragile from malnutrition and cerebral palsy. I stared into her dark brown eyes, overcome with the emotions and depths of the Father's heart for His beautiful daughter. I stretched out her tense limbs and tickled her sides until sweet laughter bubbled out of her mouth. I prayed that she would be healed and that she will never ever feel a moment of loneliness, only the Lord's presence enveloping her.

I had dinner for the last time with my girls, and then walked home in tears and arm in arm with Kirsten and BP. I worshipped and danced on a rooftop, thanking my Papa for all that He is and all that He has done in my heart this year.

Sisters. Gosh, I love them. I have two fabulous sisters. I'm counting down the days until I can see them, hug them, just be with them (34!). I haven't always been the best sister… many of my childhood (and teenage) memories include screaming and fighting with Mariah, chasing each other around the house with sharp objects, and arguing over who gets to push the elevator button. Sometimes I don't know how my parents put up with us. They did always say we would be best friends later in life. I'm so thankful that time has come. 

My sister Carrie...

My sister Mariah-------->

I've also had some incredible new sisters in my life this year. Being on a team of all women for nearly all of the race has resulted in some very close relationships. I love my L'Chaim, Wellspring, and Beloved ladies.

<-----L-Chaim

(Logan's taking the pic)

<----Wellspring<---Beloved

And then there's Gabo (Gabriela), my newest sister.

Whoa, do I love this girl. I've known it since day one. Gabo is 14 years old and has been living at Mi Casa for six years. She's the oldest of the girls in the house and plays the role of big sister well. We've truly been like sisters the last three weeks… we hang out, have slumber parties, critique each others' outfits, eat junk food together, talk about boys, read each others' diaries and we even went to see the Justin Bieber movie (my penance for being an ornery big sister all those years).  I've told her stories about my life, sharing the lessons I've learned with the hope she won't make some of the same mistakes but rather see all that the Lord has for her life at an early age. We pray together and for each other.

Gabo is an incredible young woman of God. She is a gentle leader, full of grace and compassion. She loves deeply and faithfully. She has a joyful spirit and spreads the Lord's light to those she encounters.

Dinner at Burger King

Beautiful Gabo at the park

At the Children's Museum

Gabo showing me her journal entry

Watching Justin Bieber in 3D

I think I've realized (definitely not to the fullest) just how much we miss out when we think we don't need to depend on God. A beautiful thing that I have witnessed around the world is a desperation for God like I've never seen in my life. I've seen people in great need, usually because of poverty and even many who choose abandonment, who choose to be in a place of utter dependency because they know that's what's best. They cry out to God when they are sick, when they are hungry, when they are broken because they have nothing else to turn to. And the Lord shows up. Miracles happen.

Maybe it was years of watching Touched By An Angel that did it to me, but I've always leaned toward thinking that miracles were cheesy, cliché, and unrealistic.

Wrong.

God wants us to depend on him. He wants us to look past the illusion of control and independence that creates pride and the desire to be self-sufficient. He wants us to come to him with everything.

Our second day here in El Salvador I witnessed a miracle. I've been on cloud nine since arriving here at the children's home. I love everything about this place- nine beautiful girls, six lively boys, staff that love you like their own children, Tio Bob, and countless other “family members” that come in and out of the home. On the morning of our second day, Tia Suyapa (one of the aunts that cares for the children) was sick and had completely lost her voice. I had walked past her several times and offered my condolences on her illness, but otherwise I was occupied with preparations for the beach trip that day. I walked by her once more and thought-  shoot, I should just pray for her. Usually I only think to pray when someone is really really sick, but I'm working on putting into practice this belief that God cares about every aspect of our lives, even lost voices. So I asked her if I could pray for her, and she eagerly led me into the storage room to find some quiet (there's that desperation I was telling you about). I prayed something simple since Tia Suyapa couldn't understand any of my English, just asking for her health to be restored. We hugged and started to head out the door, when Suyapa said loud and clear “Gracia a Dios!”- “Thanks to God!” We both looked at each other a little shocked and then started cheering and hugging, rejoicing in the miracle of her restored voice.

I've never seen instantaneous healing like that. God is so good. He does care for us deeply and he absolutely wants us to cry out to him for everything.

(Side note: The perks of allowing the Lord to use you in people's lives… especially ones working in the kitchen… extra cheese on your food and an abundance of mangos with chili. I love this lady!)
The fabulous Tia Suyapa...

March 17^th, 2011

I saw Hector in Los Pinos today. We passed him on our way in and I gave him a high five out the window. On our way out I watched him hide the bottle of paint thinner in his pocket and crush his soaked rag in his hand as we drove up. The car stopped in front of him, his face just a foot away from mine through the open window. Tony tried to coax him into conversation, but Hector stood silently. Snot poured out of his nose and his glazed eyes held mine hardly wavering. He appeared physically unable to speak- his mind too muddled to form words. He just stood there. We stared at each other as Tony continued to speak. I looked at this soft-spoken, gentle 18-year-old kid who just two weeks ago was walking with me on the farm patiently and with laughter teaching me Spanish.

I thought of his sweet smile that instantly melted my heart; now my heart jumped into my throat as I realized just how high Hector was. The car started to pull away, and I quickly asked Tony if I could get out. Flustered, I struggled to open the busted car door, so Tony got out to help me. I walked back to a motionless Hector and put my arms around him. His arms didn't move for several long moments until I said “Te quiero Hector” (I love you) four or five times, and then he slowly returned the hug.

I held him tightly for a while then told him I would see him Sunday. Finally I let him go, wishing I could just stay and sit with him. Tears welled up as I got back in the car. I love this kid. My heart aches for him to know that he is loved, for him to feel loved.

March 19^th, 2011

I went into Los Pinos to say goodbye today and to pick up the girls for our girls night. Hector was there. I jumped out of the car to go to him, and when he saw me he turned and started walking away. I quickly started saying “it's okay, it's okay” and rushed over to hug him. I asked how he was and he said “mal” (bad). When I asked why, he pointed to the thinner in his pocket. I told him to come and talk, and he actually got in the car after me. As we drove a little further I breathed deeply and silently thanked the Lord for giving me one last chance to see this kid.

Saying goodbye was tough. Maybe my toughest goodbye on the race. I told him I loved him several times and he repeated it back, adding that I would be in his heart forever. I cried hard as I watched him walk up the hill.

Our month working with the community of Los Pinos in Honduras was deeply impacting. A community displaced by Hurricane Mitch several years back, the people of Los Pinos are heavily burdened with poverty and a lack of hope. Many spend the day in bed, finding no purpose in ever getting up. There's no food to eat. No money to go to school. No jobs to be found. Nothing to do. Many roll out of bed long enough to sit on the corner with a bottle and a rag- to get a high that numbs, reduces the appetite, and makes them forget for a few moments that they have nothing.

But Tony has hope for these people. Some days I felt like it was a wildly insane hope. But after holding a very high Hector and feeling a fight in myself to love that kid and want so much more for his life, I realized that it is the hope of the Lord. A hope given by God who redeems the life of the kid that the world labels as having no worth and no potential. A hope in the blood of Jesus, which washes away all our failures and makes us new and whole. A hope that comes from the power of the Holy Spirit and his ability to wreck and restore the heart in a moment.

I have this hope for Hector. I believe that Romans 8:38,39 is true for him; nothing can separate him from the love that God has for him. Please help me continue fighting for this kid by praying for him.

 “We don't want anything to alter our course, even if we know there is something beautiful on the other end of the interruption. We'd rather just keep to the daily grind and meaningless toil that is familiar and humdrum, rather than have our rhythms broken”

-Follow Me to Freedom by Shane Claiborne

I think I'm a creature of habit. I figure out something that works for me and then I tend to stick with it. I get my usual order at Mr. Goodcent's, though every single time I stare at the menu as if I'm honestly considering getting something else. I inevitably listen to the same music, leaving 92% of the stuff on my ipod completely untouched. The list of routines goes on much longer. I'm drawn to what I know and what's most comfortable. I like what's quickest and most convenient. I create this little bubble of control; it makes me feel like I've got things figured out, like I'm running the show.

It's come to the point on the Race where I'm starting to imagine going home. I see myself back in old scenes, typical scenarios, and I feel sick to my stomach. I guess stepping away from comfort and control for a year has made me realize how dissatisfied I was. I think I knew it all along. I always felt like I was missing the point, like there was so much more to life than making it through my routines of the day. Nevertheless, for the most part I struggled to snap myself out of it and do something different.

There was a morning back in Cambodia that has been burned into my heart. It was just a simple morning- the start of our last day out in the village.

My alarm went off at 5:45am, and I rolled out of bed groggy and cold. I swiped Jenny's jacket since my only long-sleeved item was drying out on the line, and I slowly shuffled outside to meet Nary. We said morning to each other though the sun had yet to break past the horizon, then we hopped onto her motorbike in sleepy silence. We huddled down against the chilly wind as we made our way to the market- a walmart sized area under shack roofs, with only sparse cracks letting in dim sunlight.

We weaved and tiptoed in and around mat after mat of vegetables, fruits, beans, and heaps of unknown items. Nary asked what I needed; I was getting supplies for my team to cook our going away dinner for Roselette and Nary. I told her we wanted to make a stir-fry with chicken and vegetables and rice. Nary quickly shot down the chicken idea. You must get it in the city about 45 minutes away. We won't find it here. Shoot. Okay, what meat can we get here then? She led me to the opposite corner of the market to the meat section. Animal heads of every variety (except the poultry kind, of course) hung from hooks within inches of my face. Raw meet, hooves, feet, and blood were perched all around us as we searched for a place to buy beef. Nary led me to a woman tucked behind a few rather large hanging carcasses, standing at a wooden table covered in chunks of meat, blood, and dirt. She asked how many kilos I wanted. Kilos? Uhh, I have no idea. Nary can you choose for me? The woman grabbed hold of a nearby carcass and sawed off a generous slab for us. Flicking away a few flies, she bagged it in flimsy plastic and handed it to me. I handed her what was probably the equivalent of a five dollar bill and she shook her head, leaving her hands by her side. Nary asked if I had anything smaller. Nope. Nary took out her own money and paid the woman. Then she led me back to the other side of the market. Nary chatted a moment with a young teenage girl, then told me to give her my money. The girl handed me back a stack of smaller bills, keeping a small fee for her services. We headed back into the dark dirty chaos to hunt for veggies.

Nary stopped and bought a bag of fried, round miscellaneous items. She smiled sweetly and handed one back to me. Recalling all the times around the world I have been handed something unknown to eat for the shear amusement of the giver, I hesitantly took a nibble. I continued munching on what is either mystery meat or old mushy fruit and continued behind Nary's quick pace. We stopped at a mat and picked out a variety of vegetables. I started to grab some cucumbers and Nary motioned for me to put them back. She stood there with a grin on her face as I picked out peppers, green beans, carrots, and onions. I looked up at her and admitted I had no strategy in my selecting, and she burst out laughing. We moved to another area and grabbed some less expensive cucumbers. Next began the hunt for fruit. There were piles of bananas everywhere but they were all a brilliant green. We blazed around the place like early-bird mall walkers, checking prices and ripeness. Pineapple is a rip off Nary tells me, so I remorsefully relinquished my favorite fruit back to its place on the mat. Apples are pricey as well (for Cambodian standards) but we're almost out of options, so I cut a bargain for six that keeps us in budget. Finally some yellow bananas are located and we make our way back to the bike.

To my surprise, Nary told me to rest and wait for her with the bags, she had to grab a few more items. I laughed and leaned against the bike and to wait like a child left in the car so mom can get her errands done quicker. For the next ten minutes I received the typical blatant stares and smiles I've grown accustomed to while traveling around the world. Nary returned with her hands full of bags and we loaded up the bike. With stuffed bags precariously hanging from the handlebars, a pile in front of Nary, and my own hands too full to hang onto anything, we took off with a teeter-tottering start and made our way back home. The sun was beaming warmth down and had nearly eliminated all of the morning's chill. On the ride home I thought back on the chaos and inconvenience of our trip to the market. What would have been a fifteen-minute Dillons run, took two hours of my morning. I realized that I wouldn't trade that opportunity for anything. My morning with Nary is something I will cherish always- sweet time with a precious friend.

I wonder how much life I have missed out on because I've chosen comfort, convenience, and routine. These things that make me feel secure and in control suck the joy out of living and blind me to opportunities that would bring authentic love and life. I don't want to go back to a life of mundane habit. I don't want to be so focused on my plans that I miss out on what matters. I want to live. I want to live expectantly… waiting to see God at work, always asking to be a part of what He is doing.

Nary and I at our going away (wear your craziest outfit) party