The Perfect Christmas

A couple of weeks ago I attended a Women's Christmas Tea at TCBC, my home church in Champaign-Urbana. Katie Hubbard spoke about the "Perfect Christmas" and whatever that may mean and how we have captured the idea of Christmas and tried to turn it into something "perfect." I've been thinking about this notion since the tea and God has brought it to my mind time and time again in the week leading up to Christmas. The following is simply a mix of Katie's talk, my thoughts and other reflections...

We really do expect Christmastime to be perfect... the season is supposed to be magical. And why shouldn't it be? We have gifts, food, family, friends, music, and the holiday cheer... or at least most of us do. It's easy to spend time planning the "Perfect Christmas" and making sure that will happen... whatever that means.

But for some people, Christmas isn't only full of laughter, smiles and warm memories. For some, there are painful anniverseries that are relived, others spend holidays far away from family. Though it isn't a crisis by any means, this is the first Christmas I spend without my brother. I miss him terribly and I couldn't help thinking Christmas could have been "a little bit better" if he had been here.

And as quickly as that thought crosses my mind, it comes to a screeching halt. Christmas could be "better" if... Fill in the blank. I don't think it really matters what replaces the ellipses. Christmas isn't about the family or the friends or the food or the trips or the gifts... it's not about having a perfect Christmas and orchestrating a perfect family reunion.

This morning I was overwhelmed... simply overwhelmed by Jesus' enormous sacrifice. He really did come from heaven to Earth-- stripped himself of glory and clothed himself with human flesh. Though his hands belonged to those of a king, he touched no gold. These majestic hands would touch the rotting flesh of lepers; they would wipe away the tears of sinners. His eyes-- glorious eyes-- would look upon our broken state and pierce our heart. How did it feel to walk this broken shell of an Earth? What was it like to know what it should have been like and only see remnants... only see the mess we had made it?

Jesus didn't come for perfection.

No, he came for the broken, the sick, the lonely, the lost, the ugly... the sinners. He didn't come for the righteous and religious. He didn't come for those who have it together or try to have it together. He came for those who cannot stand and simply fall on him.

As I prayed this morning and thanked Jesus for his enormous sacrifice, I was burdened by my own sin. I felt smothered by the weight of my own selfishness, pride and stubborness. I struggled to whisper prayers of gratitude because I was so aware of my own depravity. My need for him felt abysmal-- a gap seemingly impossible to fill. My shame wanted to push Jesus away... I wanted to clean myself up before he saw me. I wanted to fix my broken desires and align my flawed will to his. I wanted to do it all... and then come to the precious and holy feet of Jesus.

But in the stillness of the morning he quieted my weary and anxious soul once again. He reminded me that grace finds me right where I am. Grace doesn't hand me the soap and then ask me to wash up. Grace is Jesus washing me with his blood. Glory!

The perfect Christmas is spent on those who are in desperate need of a savior... on those who can't save themselves-- and on those who don't try to. It is perfect because his blood perfectly washes our sin. It is perfect because it perfectly completes our weaknesses. It is perfect because it perfectly redeems us.

It is perfect.

Happy Birthday, Mom

Today is my mom’s birthday…

I never know how to surprise her enough, get her a good enough gift, make her enough “coupons,” spend enough time with her, write her enough letters to express how much I love her. Oh, my beautiful, beautiful mom.

I know she’s not perfect and she’d be the first to humbly admit this. But for some reason, as I was growing up, I found it impossible to find a flaw in her. Well, sometimes she lost her patience when my brother and I would fight. And then there was that one time she responded coldly, hurting my feelings. I’m sure that at some point she has offended someone, somewhere. I know that she is all too aware of her own sin and seeks to put it to death every morning. She has a holy discontent that compels her to seek Christ more diligently. Her incredible humility encourages her to seek constructive criticism and grow from it. Integrity marks her heart and stability in Christ holds her life—and the lives of those around her—together.

This incredible woman reminds me of the Proverbs 31 woman. She really is worth far more than rubies—her noble character a rarity. I am blown away time and time again by how holiness guides her life. Her dedication and supreme love for Christ pushes her into a deeper relationship, resulting in more sanctification. I have never doubted Christ’s primary place in her heart, knowing that all else she holds dear isn’t even a close second. Her godly character has stood as a beacon in my life. I’ve seen her righteousness shine and have found myself asking, “What would my mom do?” more than once.

Her love for our family is so evident. Like the Proverbs 31 woman, “she sets about her work vigorously; her arms are strong for her tasks” (v17). She diligently and affectionately works hard to care for our family well. If I am ever to even be half the mother and wife that she is, I would consider that an accomplishment. I remember how she’d wake up early to prepare a big breakfast every day so that we would enjoy eating meals together as a family. I remember many long nights where she would help me fill out applications, edit papers, pack for trips or plan crazy ideas. She acknowledged differences between my brother and I and loved us the same. Her kind words and wise heart guided me time and time again.

But her compassion and seemingly endless love don’t end with our family. “She opens her arms to the poor and extends her hands to the needy” (v20). Does she ever! My mother is also one of the most generous people I know. She isn’t put off by poverty, but seeks to find solutions that will benefit the people in the long run. When I came home sobbing from an orphanage, my mom would comfort me, pray with me and then brainstorm ideas with me. I remember walking past beggars, knowing my mom would buy them food on the way back.

One verse in particular sends goose bumps down my spine is verse 25: “She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come.” She truly is clothed with strength and dignity. My mother is one of the strongest people I know; quiet strength leaks out of her pores. She walks with dignity, covered in humility.

A couple verses down, it reads, “She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue” (v26). Perhaps one of the things that I have enjoyed most about getting older is enjoying this fruitful friendship with my precious mother. I enjoy bouncing ideas off her. I love having her ask me questions that I normally wouldn’t have thought of. I appreciate her kind words and her profoundly wise heart. I have asked for her advice and prayers more than once.

She is a woman who fears the LORD and because of that, I want to praise her—to honor her. And so, “Her children arise and call her blessed” (v28).

Happy Birthday, Mom. 

He's not finished with me yet...

I knew this Thanksgiving break in Canada would be a blur. I knew that I’d struggle to remember what I did yesterday and certainly where I was. You see, visiting four friends in eight days and being in five different cities can be quite the whirlwind. I kind of expected to switch into my default “go” mindset and go… go and love people, go and listen to friends, go and see their worlds, go and reminisce memories and create new ones… go, go, go.

And while I have been “going” quite non-stop, I’ve also been blessed with time to “stay” and slow down. I’ve noticed that being away from Illinois and my friends there and my surroundings that have become so familiar, has allowed me engage my semester from a distance and actually process what I’ve been learning… what God has been teaching me this semester. So far, I’ve been able to pinpoint three main things.

1) Once again, I’ve seen a lack of joy in my life. I can look back on this semester and see where I’ve failed to be content. Oh, and I’ve realized that it’s quite easy to justify. “It’s been a really hard semester,” I explain. That simple sentence does bring a rush of emotions, because quite honestly, it has been a rough semester. But even as the words are out my mouth, I am convicted by the complacency that dangerously allows me to slip into a pity party. I’m reminded of a friend’s blog… he admitted that pity was easier to feel than grief—that it’s easier to wallow in pity than allow Jesus to sit through our pain with us. Oh, how those words resonate so clearly with the state of my heart. I’ve struggled to find my joy in Christ, choosing to look back at “the good ol’ days” or urging myself to plan and anticipate “the days to come.” I’ve been so eager to fast-forward OR rewind, that I’ve failed to see God bidding me to sit… to be still. Because when he does beckon me to join him in stillness, I’m reluctant to sit through sadness… I rather sink in pity… because grief feels so weak, so crippling, and I hate feeling so weak.

But when I listen to the still small voice rushing through me as a comforting whisper, I must release my grip on this senseless and selfish pity. Like Paul, I have to cling to the secret… knowing that I can be content in wealth and in want because I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

2) I’ve noticed my reluctance to “settle down” or to “put roots in.” I blame it on my third culture kid (TCK) complex, but really, knowing its laziness and fear. I don’t bloom where I’m planted, simply because I don’t like where I’ve been planted or because I don’t feel… planted.  I came to the United States telling myself that I’d only be here long enough to get a degree and then before the ink had dried on the diploma I’d be boarding my first plane going anywhere… outside of America. I told myself that I didn’t have anything against the United States, per se; I just preferred to live elsewhere. But I’ve learned that what I thought I knew about myself just isn’t correct. God has revealed prejudices and a tendency to judge in me. I’ve been reluctant to invest in certain friendships that may take more work because I don’t think I’ll be here much longer. I withhold love and friendship, because I’m scared of another person leaving me… or because I don’t want to see the look on their faces when I leave. And I try to downplay this fact by blaming my TCK upbringing… after all, how constant could I even expect friendships to be?

Yet, I was on a retreat recently and was having a conversation about this topic with someone I had only met one other time. He stopped and said, “Viv, you have to live and love like you’ll be here forever.” My mind instantly rejected that thought. I’ve never thought I’d be anywhere forever. My thoughts swirled… Like I’ll be “here” forever. This current “here,” however, turned out to be America… Illinois… Champaign-Urbana. Did I fear growing attached to this place that I’ve spent the last year and a half at? Was I refraining from too many ties to make it easier to pick up and go at the first sight of a tassel and diploma? Am I hesitant to feel “home” in America, stubbornly clinging to Colombia?

I sense the necessity to finally let myself settle. Instead of fighting the feeling of “home” in America, I need to embrace it. I can’t spend my energy fighting attachment.

3) God has forced me to release my fierce grip on my dreams and passions… he’s asked me to give him my deepest desires to work with the poor overseas, and let him reshape them. He’s asked me to let him shape my understanding of poverty and to re-imagine my role in this massive, beautiful, divine plan of redemption and justice.

When I lived and served in Colombia, I struggled to come to terms with God’s goodness and mercy when I saw the poor surrounding me. This frustration and confusion often would motivate me to go and be with the poor. I’d go on all of our school’s service days, I looked forward to service trips and would fit loving the poor—both through time and resources—into my schedule. It was there, in those moments when I wondered if I’d come home with lice or knowing that I’d have to throw those clothes away, that I knew God was working. I could see it because I could feel it. I could touch the kids he hugged. I could kiss the children who were fatherless, yet had a heavenly Father. I was able to be the hands and feet of Jesus with my own hands and feet. Did I still question God’s justice? Absolutely. But somehow, it was more “bearable” being able to channel my questions into action.

However, living in the USA has removed me miles away from that lifestyle… a lifetime away. I’ve cried through videos and movies displaying the world’s most vulnerable. I fight the urge to pick up and go daily. I struggle to be still when God seems to be so still. I cry out and ask God where his justice is… I ask him to reveal his goodness to them because He’s certainly poured it out on me. And I feel powerless. I know that poverty exists in America—trust me, I know this. But I’m so removed from it… it isn’t as near to me when I’m in Champaign-Urbana as when I was in Colombia. And I fear that when I’m not busy loving and serving the poor, I’m losing my passion and becoming cold and indifferent.

Instead, I’ve found that instead of calling me to busily pour out my life, time and resources in this season, God has been asking me to sit still… Behold his majesty and sit still in total surrender.

Even as I write this post, thoughts rush through my heart… wondering who will happen to stumble upon this page and who will sit still and read through the entirety of this novel-like post. I feel slightly uneasy, but I know that when I’m learning something, I must share it. Dear friends, if you read this, please continue to lift me up in prayers… and thank God that he isn’t quite finished with me yet :).

Cities and Change

The swift walking, the sound of traffic, the blaring sirens… ahh, I was definitely in a city. I walked through Toronto with Naomi and simply let my senses take in the sounds and smells of a city. I smiled as I heard a dozen different languages; my heart felt heavy as we walked past the homeless. I really do love cities. They’re busy and crowded and the traffic is awful and they’re dirty and everyone hates city drivers… but I still love cities. I loved watching Naomi navigate through the streets of Toronto, refusing to wait at stoplights for the walk signal, grabbing my hand and forcing me to run even as the hand blinked orange. It was so clear she loved cities… maybe even more than I did.

We were hungry and in search of a Thai restaurant, because she was determined to have me try one of her favorite dishes. We wandered into Chinatown, our hopes high that we’d find a restaurant that sold Thai food. Sure enough, we finally found one. Over dinner I laughed and smiled… cherishing this time with my dear friend whom I hadn’t seen in over a year and a half. Our conversation was sprinkled with memories from Africa… had it really been two and a half years since we had travelled to Uganda with Teen Missions when we met? I laughed, knowing that our friendship had been forged through the most challenging trip of my life and endured because of the bonds that were formed that rough summer when Cami and I met Naomi.

I sometimes still have trouble formulating why Africa was so pivotal in my life… I struggle to articulate what was so difficult about that summer and how it changed me. Reminiscing with Naomi only reminded me that it had changed me and that it was difficult, but again, I was at loss as to exactly how and what had changed. And sometimes, my heart still hurts because of that summer… I find that I still grieve and mourn because of the way that pain shaped my heart…

And when it hurts, I am reminded of Lilia, my dear friend and mentor. I remember crying in her room in the weeks that followed my return from Africa. I was angry and unsure of where my anger was directed. I was disappointed and frustrated. I wanted people to stop asking, “How was Africa?” but more importantly, I wanted to be able to say, “It was so amazing!” But it wasn’t amazing… and Lilia reminded me that missions and ministry weren’t always “amazing.” She sat me down and drew out a spiral on the black board. The center was Africa, frozen in the summer of 2009. The spiral was the imprint of Africa on my life. As I lived my life, I would travel from the center of this spiral, outward. And each time I hit one of the spiral lines, I would mourn and hurt, and I would heal and move on… And each time the spiral lines were farther and farther apart… but they never disappeared altogether.

That summer—summer of 2009—squeezed my heart and stretched me and hurt me and grew me. Melinda, my discipler here in Champaign, reminded me that this is how we ought to live our lives. If it doesn’t change us… if it doesn’t shape us and leave a lasting imprint on our hearts… why do we do it? The things that matter are the things that change us. And those most special people are the ones who make it impossible to be the same again.

Beloved, God Still Feels

Perhaps one of the questions I ask God most frequently is, "Why?" I see the pain and suffering around me and in the world and my heart tightens. I feel nauseous and I don't understand how I can literally be curled up in a blanket as I write this, comforted by the the beautiful Christmas lights and know that millions are cold, hungry, sick and dying... knowing that women are being raped, men are being tortured, children are starving and all of creation is groaning. Do we exist in parallel universes? Sometimes I wonder... we might as well. How can it be so drastically different, yet confined to the same planet?

Last week I read an ethnography about slums in Brazil... and how mothers are literally put into situations where they have to choose which child to starve to death. The systems and structures that are in place force her to make these decisions; the death of hundreds of children can be traced to selective neglect. The anthropologist (Scheper-Hughes) wrote about her first encounter with a child who was wasting away. As a survival instinct, the mother chose to let him starve, lest he literally suck the life out of her withered body. Scheper-Hughes swooped in and took the child under her own wing. She nursed him back to life and watched his hair grow, his eyes gain life and skin look healthier. When she succeeded in convincing the mother that he was worth investing resources into, the mother finally took him back. He became her favorite son, only to die from gang violence as a teenager. The entire article was depressing. Class the next week was very similar. Our professor Tomi shared other stories from her own fieldwork in the slums of Brazil. She recalls a time when she was robbed at knifepoint and her aggressor apologized, "I'm sorry, but I need this money more than you do." She remembered when a mother begged Tomi to take her baby, recognizing that she'd never be able to give own daughter the kind of life Tomi would be capable of providing.

I struggled through that week of class. I breathed a sigh of relief when the week was over only to come into class the next week and watch a horrifying documentary about the violence against women in Ciudad de Juarez, Mexico. In a span of less than 20 years, over 400 women were abducted, abused, tortured, raped and murdered in Juarez. The families of the victims clamored for justice, but found none from the government. Instead, the government itself was often responsible for acts of violence as well. Family members would desperately pull together neighbors and friends as they went out into the desert looking for a corpse. Time after time, they'd come back empty handed only to have the authorities find a skeleton the next day. Mothers refused to believe that their daughters who had disappeared only weeks before would already be reduced to a bag of bones. Dozens of women later and by the end of the documentary, justice had still not come. My heart ached.

During these two weeks of depressing and painful anthropology classes, I found out about two neighborhoods in Colombia that are in need of your prayers. The first is Ciudad Bolivar, a barrio alto of Bogota. It lays to the south of Bogota, nestled in the mountains. Living conditions are less than acceptable and the poverty and violence statistics are through the roof! Our school has partnered with a beautiful ministry there, Forjadores de Aguilas, to help bring justice and healing to this neighborhood. I honestly have not been to Ciudad Bolivar since 10th grade, but have beautiful memories from the kids there :) However, recently a new wave of violence has swept through the city. Women are raped, men are senselessly killed and children are orphaned. I haven't been able to get much information about what exactly is going on or for how long it has been going because the press is silent. When I find out more information, I will certainly update you guys :).

The other neighborhood is Barrio Egipto. If you've been following my blog, then you certainly know plenty about it. If you haven't been, however, feel free to check out this post to get some background information. I must admit that much of the ministry going on with the Fundacion Buena Semilla inside the neighborhood had fallen into the background for me. I prayed for it occasionally and read the updates, but other than that, I kind of had forgotten about the situation to a great extent. However, my mom reminded me how I need to KEEP PRAYING for this neighborhood. One of the six gang members who was involved with robbing the GEBC team was stabbed to death a couple of weeks ago.  He appears in this video next to Elias. Please, watch that video! It tells you ways you can partner with this incredible ministry to continue bringing light into Barrio Egipto. Though much has happened in the last six months within that neighborhood, greater things are yet to come... I have to believe that.

During my devotions this week I was comforted by the fact that God feels. He hurts and is grieved when his creation suffers. It's easy for me to shake my fist at God and point to the suffering all around me and ask, "Where are you?" It's easy for me to judge his justice and question his goodness. It's easy to do that. It's hard to believe in God's compassion sometimes. So many times I cry out to God and ask why this is happening to "them"-- forgetting that he knows each one by name. One of my Beth Moore Bible studies concluded by saying, "Beloved, God still feels."

And that... that is overwhelming.

Beloved, God still feels.

The Game of Life

I happened to be on a retreat this weekend with InterVarsity. On Friday night during the first track session we were asked to make a board game... like the Game of Life... but we had to make it be our own lives. I was intrigued and excited about this, but I found out that once I started getting short strips of paper to make my little "stepping stone" pieces, I wasn't sure what to write.

Our instructions were to make sure we included milestones or events that had spiritually shaped us in one way or another. I wasn't sure where to begin, so I ended up writing, "Birth in Colombia." Now, at first glance, that doesn't seem terribly significant. But in the last year and a half, I've come to realize how extremely significant that small fact has been. It has shaped who I am and how my heart loves; my dreams and passions are deeply rooted in the experiences I've had growing up in Colombia. I continued writing and I scribbled out several places: "Cienaga," "Amazons," "Africa," and "Medeba." One word encompassed so much... so many memories were trapped in those simple letters. No other word could describe what those places meant. I wrote down experiences: "Creative Outreach," "SSLT," "furlough" and others... How to explain Creative Outreach and the profound impact it had on me and the way I viewed poverty, service and sacrifice? How do I explain SSLT and the critical influence it had in my life and the development of my spiritual disciplines?

But as I wrote and pasted these board game pieces on my piece of paper I, my thoughts drifted to how odd it was to reduce your life to a bunch of words on paper. Trying to pinpoint those critical moments and then figuring out what to write was so odd. One or two words could not possibly do justice to the change that "tile" was responsible for in me.

I sighed and wrote my final tile piece: "Hello, America."

Oh, hello America... hello.
Life in America for the last year and a half has deeply, deeply molded my heart. I've seen a new America that I had never known-- that I could not know from summer visits and a semester-long furlough. I've been immersed-- or submerged-- in American college culture. I've learned to swim through that... or at least how to keep afloat.

And though I wrote "hello," I often feel that I still have yet to fully... enter.

I have struggled to adapt to life in America, longed for home more than I thought possible and have never felt so out of place before. My heart has been deeply shaped by where I grew up and the people who surrounded me. My ears still perk up when I hear Spanish spoke around me and I can't stop laughing when I'm confronted with Latin humor. I love it and I miss it. And coming here has been harder than I could have ever anticipated. I've always thought I was pretty adaptable and flexible, but my inability to "adapt" to life here has caught me off guard and left me scrambling to figure out how to live here. I've had to cling to Jesus in ways I've never had to before, trusting in his goodness and faithfulness through every season. My heart has been broken time and time again for the pain, sin and brokenness that I see all around me. I've been stretched to step out of my comfort zone day in and day out. My eyes have been opened to the least and the lost.

Oh, yes... Hello, America.

Study Abroad

I finally opened my study abroad application. I've been putting off for a while now because I was unsure of exactly what program I wanted to apply to! But I finally decided I just had to choose one and go with it :) I've been contemplating this program in Alexandria, Egypt for a while, so I finally settled on it. The school I'm applying to is called the Middlebury School of Languages. Apparently, this school has different branches around the world and is known for it's incredible language classes. You can read more about the program here. Upon arrival I'll have to sign a "Language Pledge" that commits me to only using Arabic for communication (except corresponding back home) for the duration of my time. CRAZY :) Well, I do want to learn Arabic!!

I'm applying for the Fall 2012 term and also hope to apply to a program in Kenya for Spring 2013 :) I cannot wait :)

It's crazy to think that a year from now, I could be finishing up a semester in ALEXANDRIA!!!

Still Homeless

"We looked for the homeless here," I said. Not really to anyone in particular, but not exactly quiet enough for no one to hear.

I haven't been able to shake the homeless surveys yet. I walk down Green Street and I see the places we looked. We turn corners and I see the abandoned restaurant. I see the bridges we looked under and the dumpsters we opened.

It looks different in the daylight.

It's funny how something that used to just be part of the landscape suddenly became real and... alive. Those just aren't street corners anymore... they're "homes"... and that changes the scenery.

Yesterday I was walking down Green Street with a friend and we walked by Walgreens, a typical panhandling spot. I saw Ben, one of the homeless men I befriended. He was sitting with his friend Matt and they were surrounded by cops. They seemed to be arguing and trying to prove something. I saw Ben reach into his wallet to pull out ID.

I wasn't sure what to do, but I wanted to do something. And instead... I did nothing. Oh, if my loose change would change anything, they could have it all. I wish that buying them a meal or sitting and talking or carrying out surveys would DO something...

But it doesn't. They're still homeless.

Keep your coins... we want change

My heart rattled violently inside of my chest. The door opened easily and Jason and Justin stepped right into the abandoned restaurant. I took one look at the dark alley behind me and decided I'd take my chances with the creepy old restaurant. We stepped over cardboard and jumped into what used to be the arcade area of this pizza place. Our three flashlights suddenly didn't seem so bright. The ceiling seemed very tall.

"Hello? We're not with police. We're conducting surveys and have a $5 gift card to a restaurant," Jason called.

Silence listened.

This is how scary movies begin. The thought crept into my mind and the realization of where we were hit me... like a punch in the stomach. I don't watch scary movies, but I was pretty sure that this is how they began. Three curious, altruistic people climbing through abandoned restaurants... I swallowed, though my mouth felt like cotton and tried to think rationally.

I tried to pretend I was brave, but in reality, I ended up following Jason into every room he entered. I was unwilling to shine my flashlight into corners-- by myself.

I was relieved when Justin and Jason felt satisfied that no one was in the restaurant and headed toward the door. I was only too ready to exit... after all, we had only found evidences, but no people.

Have you ever been in those situations when you know that no one could imagine what you were doing in that moment, even if they tried? Have you tried put together facts and impressions with what was currently happening, and struggled to find coherence? I feel like I get that way too often.

This week I have been volunteering with an NGO in Champaign (C-U at Home. Check their website out here). According to their website, "C-U at Home will be administering a very detailed vulnerability index survey in Champaign County [...] The goal of this survey is very specifically to determine who, among the homeless population, is most at risk of dying if their housing circumstances do not change." They have been (and will be) conducting surveys at various shelters and soup kitchens in the surrounding area, but none of those shifts fit my schedule. One shift, however, fit fine... ish.

I was placed on the "street teams" from 4:00 to 6:00 am on Monday and Tuesday mornings. Our goal? find the homeless in Champaign who were unable/unwilling to sleep in shelters during the night. Apparently, if someone is on the streets between 4:00 and 6:00 am, they are most likely homeless... and so we went, carrying our flashlights, searching for the marginalized.

Monday was pretty unsuccessful as far as numbers were concerned. We had four street teams out, and only one (my team) found any homeless individuals. We asked if we could survey him and he consented. His answers saddened me, knowing that his simple "yes" to hypothermia screamed so much more than a small check on a box. Affirmative answers to alcohol/substance abuse, being the victim of violence and more than 10 years on the street squeezed my heart and made it ache. A final reply to the question about dreams and ambitions made it hard to breathe.

"Death."

And the whole experience of searching for humans in bushes, under bridges, in and around dumpsters and in dark alleys was extremely unnerving. I suppose I knew that the homeless had to find SOMEWHERE to sleep if they weren't in shelters... but actually going through the motions of going to those places really shook me up. Every time I opened a dumpster, my breath caught in my throat, as I imagined opening the lid and finding a human huddled inside. I tried to imagine shining a flashlight under a bush and finding someone curled under the foliage.

This morning we walked over a small hill and found two men inside of sleeping bags. The scene felt unreal. We gently woke one of them up-- he gladly and excitedly agreed to answer some questions in exchange for a food gift card. Homeless by choice, he was on his way back home via hitchhiking. His cardboard sign read, "Pls. EAST." His passion and joy was apparent. He shared amusing anecdotes and told us jokes. He spoke of his children fondly. And he even wanted a group picture with us. My heart swelled.

Later, as we headed back toward our car, I spotted a man crumpled up against a wall. My heart sank. We approached him and saw him shivering. Jason ran back to the car and retrieved some gloves. As I initiated contact, he agreed to be surveyed, but his answers were hard to decipher due to mumbling and extreme quietness. He's one of the most vulnerable, I remember thinking as we walked away.

...One of the ones who is at risk of dying if something doesn't change... soon.

Calling

"You choose to allow your calling to be shaped by those with whom you enter into relationship with," Melinda, my mentor, explained. It sounded so basic, so elementary, and yet... so new. My calling isn't  some pristine concept that can't be touched or changed? Oh wait, people influence and even change my "calling?"

I nodded my head a lot more convincingly than my heart was feeling. It made sense... I mean, it seemed like it should make sense. Of course what we do in life is heavily influenced by who we interact with.

"That's why knowing Jesus changes us... because we're in a relationship with him... relationships transform," she continued.

But that fear was there... I didn't want my calling, my dream, my desire, my passion of working with the poor outside of America to change. That wasn't in my plans. But really, when does God do ANYTHING according to my "plans?" Not often.

Maybe he isn't going to change that passion... maybe he is still going to send me deep into some slum or away to some remote village. Maybe. But maybe, he'll shape my desires and change my heart, through my interactions with people... people I allow to come close. And maybe its not about the poor... maybe its about my grip on this dream. Maybe that's what its about.

God didn't promise he wouldn't ask for the dream back.

Because in the end, its a lot more about following him, then following my "calling"...

Desire

My heart catches in my throat and tears fill my eyes. This is beautiful.

Tyler informed me that she had found my life story online and she sent me the link. I opened it and couldn't stop reading this blog. Kisses from Katie. You can read it here. Katie's 22. She's lived in Uganda since graduating from high school. Since then she's adopted 14 girls and runs an NGO that supports over 400 orphans. It was so beautiful.

I kept reading while tears streamed down my face. The usual questions flooded through my mind. What am I even doing here? Why am I receiving a world-class education? When will I be there-- with the poor? And, I find that usually... I know the answers to those questions. I know that God has asked me to be here, in the middle of wealth and privilege, because he's preparing me. He's molding my heart. He's sanctifying me. He's challenging me. He's purifying me.

I know that he is.

Over the last year, I've struggled with this passion of mine a lot. I've prayed through my motives and struggled through my fears. I've tried to figure out if this desire is just a desire for adventure and an aversion to America. But I don't think that's what it is...

I want to live with the poor. I want to love and serve them. I want my ministry to be my life. I want dirty children clinging to me... I want to teach them to cling to Jesus. I want to have a home open to all who are thirsty... all who are hungry... all who are in need of love. I want it to witness redemption everyday. My heart cries out... to be there, to love in that way.

You are an instrument and God is the conductor

I love seeing the trees turn into a magnificent explosion of color. I love hearing the fallen leaves sweep across the pavement as they're blown and tossed in the wind. I love the cool breezes and warm sunshine. I love the smell of fall.

I love fall.

Fall means sleeping with the windows open. Fall means barn dances. Fall means pies and warm drinks.

Fall also means the semester is halfway over.

If I allow myself to dwell on that fact for a little too long, I have moments of panic. The list of spring courses came out yesterday, and course selection is coming up. Of course I haven't even opened the website. Study abroad applications are due in two months. Haven't started that application yet. Plane tickets to Colombia aren't getting cheaper... should probably get on that.

And time keeps ticking... it doesn't feel like it simply passes on by... it rushes and surges through us.

In the midst of busyness and to-do lists, it's hard to find rest in God's presence. It's easy to get discouraged. It's easy to fall into simply going through the motions. It's easy to focus on my mistakes and shortcomings.

A good friend of mine sent me this today:
It's as if you're an instrument, Viviana, and God is the conductor. You have the opportunity to play a variety of selections, and as long as you continue to follow God's guidance, you won't even notice the occasional missed beat. The mistakes will blend in with those around you who are making music with God as their conductor, and it will all become a beautiful chorus of praise.

When words fail...

They sat sobbing on the steps of Greg Hall. My heart swelled with compassion-- just not enough to stop. Besides, I was already late to Arabic class. My mind swam with questions wondering why these two girls were so broken... why were they crying? My pace slowed until I couldn't bring myself to put one leg in front of the other. I had to go back.

I had to.

And do what? I wasn't sure... they probably wouldn't want to talk, I tried to convince myself to just keep going. But I couldn't. Before I knew it, I was walking away from Arabic class toward these two girls. I came up to them and simply asked, "Hi guys. Is there anything I can do for you? Can I help in anyway?" They shook their heads and burst into a new set of tears.

I set my backpack down and sat on the steps with them. The tears flowed from a pained heart-- a raw heart.

"Our friend from home just died... brain damage... car accident..."

I sucked in a breath and placed my hand on her back. At my touch, a fresh round of tears erupted. I sat with them... mostly in quiet... at times responding to their comments. Not sure how long it was... could have been minutes, could have been a quarter of an hour, they stood up and said they were going to head back home.

In between sobs they thanked me and turned to leave.

My heart twisted inside. I wish I could have done something... they were on my heart all day and I couldn't get them out of my mind.

I turned and headed toward Arabic class.

Hugging Students?

"What's your name," she loudly whispered across the carpet. I smiled, "Miss Viviana. Pay attention to Miss Lowe!" I was attempting to help maintain order during second grade library time with Miss Lowe. It generally doesn't go so well. Today wasn't an exception to the norm. I sat on a corner of the library rug and had three girls leaning against me. I wasn't sure if Miss Lowe was okay with them leaning on me, but I figured if they were quiet, she wouldn't mind too much.

Meanwhile, other kids were crawling around, giggling, yelling and jumping up and down. I couldn't wrap my head around the chaos. Why did it always feel so chaotic during library time?

I found myself calling kids names and putting my finger to my lips constantly. Those who sat around me quieted down fairly quickly, but it was hard to keep them sitting still. They usually got bored of the book or the lesson and would stand up and start jumping around.

As the young girls leaned on me, it occurred to me that they weren't so different from my precious Recycler's kids in Colombia. Here at Booker T. Washington, 93% of the kids live below the poverty level. Virtually all of them have free lunches and most have free breakfasts as well. One girl was showing off her "new" shoes to me... given to her by a ministry that gives clothes away to impoverished families. The way the girls leaned into me and rubbed my legs, I knew that they craved that healthy physical touch as well. Many lack affection and don't have stable homes to come home to every day.

I just wanted to pick them all up and give them huge hugs. Several of them tried climbing into my lap, but I was slightly uneasy... I figured that here, in the USA, in a school... I wouldn't be allowed to hug and hold kids in my lap.

However, later, one girl ended up bawling and she ran out of the library. I followed her and found her crumpled on the floor. I said her name and gently told her to come toward me. She came near and when she felt my arms were willing to hug her, she released and sobbed into my lap. I just held her and tried figuring out the "right" way to handle this. Eventually we talked through it and figured out what was going on and she was able to rejoin the group.

I love my kids so much and I just want to give them all hugs. I want to play games with them. I want to color with them and cuddle them when they cry. I want to let them play with my hair and I want to help them understand their math homework. Gah. I really love them, but I'm trying to figure out how to connect with them at a deeper level within a school setting.

"Should I not be concerned about this great city?"

[[Thoughts and reflections about today's sermon]]




Perhaps Jonah chapter 4 is one of the weirdest chapters in the Bible. Here we have Jonah, a prophet, angry because God relented and turned his wrath away and was gracious and compassionate. And then, when God allows a big leafy plant to grow up and provide Jonah with shade, and then just as quickly, withers the plant, Jonah is furious. And this whole time God was just trying to get Jonah to be concerned about 120,000 "Ninevites" living in spiritual darkness. I can almost picture God saying, "JONAH!!!! I'm trying to show you my desperate concern for these people who are so lost... and what are you concerned about?"

Ahhh... aren't we like Jonah too often? Hopefully we aren't ANGRY when God is merciful, but its way too easy to get caught up with this inward focus and with our concerns and our comforts and our wants and our desires and our "needs" and meanwhile, God is inviting us to join him. He wants us to be concerned about the lost around us... to love them... to be burdened for them.

I love this sooo much. It really is so convicting. What am I concerned about and distracted with while God is jumping up and down, waving, trying to get my attention and capture my heart to transform it into one that reflects his for the lost? And what about your great city? My great city? The great city where God has placed you... what of that city? Where is your heart?

What if God were trying to tell us of his desperate concern for the lost and then turned and asked us, "What have you been concerned about?

Maybe God was just as concerned about saving Ninevah as he was determined to rescue Jonah from his own selfishness. Maybe the 120,000 people in Ninevah were a way of getting Jonah to see God's heart. And that, that... is just so encouraging to me. God isn't simply in the business of saving souls "out there," but he's also so interested in transforming lives "in here"... in the Church. And I simply love that.

The Bellybutton of September

Half-way through September already. SOOOO crazy!! I thought it might be a good time to give a practical update on my life here in Illinois.

I'm still living with the same two roommates from last year (Chrissy and Tyler) and I love them SO, so much. We still have tons of fun together, but interestingly enough, spend less time together this year. It seems that we have fallen into our own schedules, our own rhythms and have our own friends so we just move in and around each other more than interacting WITH one another. Its kinda sad. We're still living in the same room. Me, the restless one, who kind of always needs change... here I am... same roommates and same room. Who would have thought :)

I'm taking 17 credits at the moment. My classes are the following:

1. Arabic- I have a new teacher. I believe he's from Morocco because his accent is a lot harder to understand. I still enjoy class, but I miss my dear old teacher, Ola, a lot!
2. Sociocultural Anthropology- A Global Studies requirement, but quite interesting. We have lecture in this big lecture room and the professor isn't the most interesting, but my TA is really fascinating so she redeems the class every Friday. I've enjoyed anthropology tons.
3. The World Food Economy- Here we talk about food and how it fits into the global economy. We talk about food shortages, famines and food supply. I have realized that my high school economics class didn't cover enough material, because I find myself lacking most of the economic terms used in the class... but nonetheless, I enjoy this class a lot.
4. Narco-Narratives and Drug Economies- This literature class is probably my favorite this year. My teacher is married to a Colombian and enjoys comparing different works of literature. We have been looking at books written by people heavily involved in the drug trade (cocaine, mostly) and then will move on to look at stuff written by consumers and other people involved. I really enjoy our discussions.
5. Latin America to Independence- This gen ed reminds me why I hate gen eds. Our professor is not very interesting. The text book is not very interesting, and because it is 100 level class, no one cares. I was excited about the class, but day 1 changed that for me.
6. Modern Dance- Yes, I'm taking a dance class again. I love it this semester. Our teacher is fabulous. I really enjoy it a lot :) Its so much fun and its really relaxing!! I love spending this time with Chrissy twice a week as well.

I'm leading an InterVarsity small group here in Busey-Evans. We've had between 5 and 10 girls each time and have had really great discussions. I really enjoy this inductive Bible study method. Please pray for this ministry in specific.

I currently have two jobs. I still tutor at an elementary school in Champaign. I get to work with kids in smaller settings and help them catch up on things they didn't understand in class. I have been working with first graders most, and I LOVE THEM. They're so cute. I also read library books with the kids. I love this job.

My second job is really interesting and really different. I work for Mark Frobose Enterprises. Its a company similar to Rosetta Stone, but much smaller. Basically, we sit and record Spanish lessons for those interested in speaking Spanish. Its a lot of fun and a different experience. Soooo... if you wanna learn some Spanish, be sure to get a copy of Mark Frobose's Spanish lessons and you'll here me on one of the CDs :)

In addition to this I'm working with the junior high girls at Twin City Bible Church (TCBC). I'm still not sure if I'll be helping out in Sunday School or Bible Study, but I definitely hope to be involved with them.

Thanks for your prayers and support!!

Also... I've been craving some handwritten letters recently, so if you're that letter kind of person, I would LOVE hearing from you =) And I promise I'll write back! Let me know if you need my address =)

your waves and surging tides sweep over me

I've struggled to know what to post on this blog about college life... my only updates since leaving Colombia have been, well... when I was in Panama. I'm going to resist the urge to make this post highly informative, but not very deep at all. Perhaps I'll write another post some other time detailing my classes and the what's going on... but I guess this post will be the other stuff... the stuff you can't simply see.

The truth is, I'm tired.

I'm really tired.

The last weeks in Colombia were really tiring as I spent every other day at someone's house in an attempt to spend time with everyone. And of course, goodbyes are draining. From Colombia, welcome week at U of I began... and was that ever tiring! Welcoming the incoming freshman took a lot more energy than I was expecting. The first four days weren't too bad because classes hadn't started yet, but nonetheless, it was give, give, give... and I was beginning to feel depleted. Classes started and the feeling of hectic-ness that seems a little too present in my life returned. And then I was off to Panama (read about that in previous posts). Not even 20 hours after arriving from Panama, I was on my way to Memphis, TN to visit some GREAT friends. It was wonderful seeing the Pinedas, Sierra and Matt again :).

And now, I've been back in Champaign-Urbana for a week. A week in Panama put me a week behind classes. And now I feel months behind in sleep.

A couple of days ago I walked into my friend Karissa's room and when asked how I was doing replied, "I'm okay. I'm tired... too tired and soon, that's going to open the door for a lot of discouragement."

And then came the discouragement.

I've been so overwhelmed by the emptiness and brokenness surrounding me. My heart feels heavy for those around me. I feel powerless to make any real difference. And quite frankly, half the time, I simply feel out of place. I wonder why I'm in America when my heart so strongly desires to live with and serve the poor around the world. Though God has enlarged my heart and is giving me his heart and showing me how to love America, I still feel like I don't belong in this world more times than not. I'm overwhelmed by the amount of friends who are seeking God and how little time I have. I'm not sure how else to spend time with people... and I know that the weariness has already settled in.

I was reading Psalm 42 today and I'll just quote verses and some of the thoughts that followed...

As the deer longs for streams of water, so I long for you, O God. I thirst for God, the living God.
I feel so thirsty... so desirous of God to quench this thirst... to give me rest. I want more encounters with this God-- the living God.

My heart is breaking as I remember how it used to be: I walked among the crowds of worshipers, leading a great procession to the house of God, singing for joy and giving thanks amid the sound of a great celebration!
ECA feels worlds away... when I walked among crowds of worshipers... when this kind of fellowship was so welcoming and so encouraging and so refreshing. Worlds away.

Why am I discouraged? Why is my heart so sad? I will put my hope in God! [...] Now I am deeply discouraged, but I will remember you-- [...] I hear the tumult of the raging seas as your waves and surging tides sweep over me. But each day the LORD pours out his unfailing love upon me, and through each night I sing his songs, praying to God who gives me life.
Ah, praise Jesus. I loved this part. Sooo good :)

Prayer changes things. Pray for me. Pray for those around me. Pray for strength. Pray for rest. Pray for joy. Pray for hope.

Thanks for all your prayers and support :)

Panama: A Father to the Fatherless

“And life is more beautiful now that I’m with You,” their voices filled the barren basement room, “You’ve filled my soul and fixed my heart.” The voices of 50 young orphan girls singing these words brought tears to most everyone’s eyes. There was no music, but none was needed. As the song ended, their soft crying could be heard once again. Some of the girls clung to each other, attempting to hug the pain away.

Before they sang this song, we had wheeled Nick into a basement room and they were all lined up against the wall. He spoke words of love… of encouragement. He assured them that God was their Father, even though they had no earthly father. He promised them that God was their comforter… that God was their healer. He paused and took his time looking at each of them, “I love you, but more importantly GOD loves you.” At this, sobs ruptured around the room. My heart broke imagining the experiences they had lived through for the words “I love you” to elicit such a reaction.

Then… then, they sang for us. They sang for God. They sang of comfort and joy. Of hope. Of love. They sang loudly and they sang beautifully. Tears blurred my vision more than once.

“I’d like to hug you… all of you. I don’t care how long it takes. I want to cry with you. I want to pray with you. So, if its okay with the staff, I’d like each one of you to come up, one by one… take your time hugging me,” Nick said after the beautiful song.

And so they came. One by one. Some in their later teen years, others barely ten. One by one. Some sobbing with such pain, I had to look away. Others, with simple, detached hugs. I’m not sure which was more painful to watch. And though they were the ones with arms, Nick definitely held them. His love embraced and comforted them so clearly.

You really don’t need arms and legs to love God and to love one another. 

Panama: 800 Photos

“If you think that I would be ANY happier with arms and legs, then you’re wrong… To God be the glory because he didn’t give me arms and legs so that I could be here today, so that one of you may come to know Him,” Nick declared. A bold statement to say the least. Extreme. Unnerving. One look at his eyes let me know that he was dead serious. He couldn’t be any happier and he did praise God for giving him the chance to share the Gospel—without arms and legs.

We were sitting in a nice room in a fancy hotel with about 300 individuals from Panama’s upper class. We hoped to influence the influencers. And did God ever influence. Tears streamed down faces. “Amens” resounded around the room. Sporadic applause. Nick captivated the audience.

At the end, he stood on a platform and asked everyone to form a line. He would hug everyone and take a picture with whoever wanted one. My analytical side immediately began thinking about how the best way to do this was. We soon had a system set up where people would hand me the camera, I’d snap the shot, and they’d be on their way out the other side. It worked fairly well. I’ve never taken so many pictures. I’ve never used so many BlackBerrys. I couldn’t imagine being in Nick’s place. That morning my mom and I had decided to count the number of pictures he took that day. By 10 am we had passed 200. I lost track at 350 while I was taking pictures. Really, I wouldn’t be surprised if by the end of the day it was close to 800 photos.

After Nick was pictured-out we headed upstairs for him to meet the Colombian ambassador to Panama. She passionately encouraged him. She really enjoyed his talk. He signed some books for her and then she went and talked to my parents, saying that she wanted to partner and help plan and promote Nick’s future events in South America. Wow!!

I headed back down to the lunchroom and grabbed some food. I sat down with my mom and sighed. Phew. What a LONG day. We had toured the Panama Canal from a navy helicopter that morning, landed at a naval base where Nick spoke to the soldiers there. We then arrived at the presidential palace where we were expecting to meet the president, but didn’t. Instead, we received a private tour and then Nick was surprised with a room of 500 prominent leaders waiting for him to talk. Of course, he did. From there we went straight to the upper class event. And that night was the event in the baseball stadium.

I checked my watch. 3:30 pm. Ah, late lunches... oh well :). About this time a lady approached my mom and me and introduced herself as Misty. She sat down and we began talking. She’s a missionary in Panama and works with orphans. Her husband and her just adopted a five-year old boy, Peter, who is HIV positive. They feel that God has been laying it on their hearts to open a special needs orphanage and they hope to start that project in the near future. Somewhere in our conversation we found out that she was bringing 50 orphans to the stadium that night. How exciting!

On our way to the stadium, I let Nick know that they were going to be there and he said he wanted to meet them all after the event. Ah, I love Nick =). We got to the stadium and though it wasn’t full, there were still thousands of people there. A band made up of police officers sang salsa songs and then a couple of other singers presented some songs. Then when Nick got on stage, the Panamanian soccer team came up and gave him an autographed soccer ball, a soccer jersey with his name and an ID card as an honorary member. Cool :).

He preached boldly and the Holy Spirit was definitely moving. He spoke against church division and greed. He challenged people to truly love others. When he had the altar call, 80% of the people stood up. He patiently asked them to sit down and explained that this was for people who were making a first-time decision to follow Christ. This wasn’t a recommitment or anything else… it was for those who had never decided to follow Christ before. Then he asked those to stand. Again, 80% of the stadium stood. Hallelujah!! Church members went through the crowds collecting information to do follow-ups once Nick left. What a rich harvest of souls :).

Thank you so much for your prayers. This trip wouldn’t have been the same without your support from wherever all of you are. I still have one post to write… about Nick meeting the orphan girls after the stadium event, but I’m still trying to put the beauty of it all into words!

"Panama Loves You!"

Beautiful music filled the church. The violinist passionately played "How Great Thou Art" and somewhere, in the back of the church, you could hear someone singing along. Slowly, the entire congregation began to sing along, "Mi corazón entona la canción// Cuan grande es Él." I closed my eyes and let the music carry me in... the sound of voices rising up to heaven.

As the last note faded, I opened my eyes and felt goosebumps running up and down my arms and legs. The Spirit's presence was so real, so tangible. And for a moment, praying came easier--more naturally-- than breathing. Oh, how I love worship. Nick began speaking and I kept having flashbacks of another church we were at two years ago in Barrancabermeja, Colombia. The setup was similar. The room we had waited in was similar. The people and their faith was similar. Nick shared funny anecdotes and soon captured the crowd. His random phrases in Spanish were charming and the public adored him.

Once he had their attention assured he began preaching boldly. Never give up. Failure = education. Obstacles = opportunities. Be grateful. The greatest purpose in life is to love God and to love others. I loved the "amens" and "hallelujahs" that resounded throughout the church. Honestly, I had goosebumps most the the evening. Lives were being impacted-- eternally.

After the final prayer, the band played "How Great Thou Art" once again and the sound of voices was overpowering. It was beautiful.

Before Nick exited, the entire congregation yelled, "Panama loves you!" and it was evident, that truly, they did.

Prayer Requests:

1) The two events tomorrow are running low on ticket sales. Pray that God fills both venues-- that the maximum amount of people would hear the gospel.

2) We are meeting the president tomorrow morning. Pray for God to give Nick wisdom and discernment.

3) The massive event in the stadium is tomorrow night. Pray, pray, pray, pray :)

Panama: "Your name is Nicky?"

"The point is not for you to look at my life and say that you're never going to complain again," Nick explained at the press conference, "No, that's not the point." I thought about the validity in his explaining himself, because as his translator in the past, I have heard plenty of people tell him that they'll never complain again, because Nick has bigger problems than they do. But that, he said, was not the purpose of his visit to Panama.

"The point, you see, is to bring the love of God... to break down limitations through his power." He continued answering questions and sharing God's message of hope for the next hour. The media was clearly impacted. I loved how Nick encouraged journalists and the press to FIND encouraging stories and to write about those. Its easy to find negative stories and those will always sell... but to find inspiring stories-- that's true journalism. It was a great press conference. I'm excited just thinking about the thousands upon thousands of people who are going to hear, read and see the results of this interview and be encouraged :)

Right from the press conference we were ushered into a conference room where we had lunch and discussed possibilities about Nick traveling around South America. Dream big, guys. Pray harder.

After lunch we headed over to what I had understood was a paraplegic home. But it wasn't. Nick was speaking to over 400 children, teenagers and adults with various handicaps-- physical, mental or both. The First Lady of Panama joined us and we were able to share a message of hope with her as well. As we entered the room, my breath was taken away by the beauty of the people surrounding me. I loved the innocence shining through the faces of children with autism and Down Syndrome. I smiled as the deaf waved their hands in the air to "clap." My heart softened as my gaze fell on those in wheelchairs. One child captured my heart. His arms stopped at his forearms and his legs were a little more than stumps. I wanted to hold him so badly.

At the beginning a couple of individuals came forward and thanked Nick. They were all mentally or physically disabled and were so thankful for his presence. Nick gave them all hugs and smiles lit up their faces. One man came up, trailing behind-- clearly not supposed to come forward-- and walked straight up to Nick. He was determined to hug him. He gave him a big hug and kindly asked, "What is your name?" Nick smiled and told him his name. The man cocked his head and asked, "Your name is Nicky?" I smiled and cherished the interaction.

Nick spoke. He shared from the bottom of his heart. He shared his difficulties, his challenges, his fears and then how-- by the grace of God-- he was able to overcome and live a life without limits, full of joy. He spoke about the pain of bullying. About the fear of the future. About the injustice of discrimination. His words resounded deeply with the people. Many had been rejected. All had faced intense difficulties. Nick offered living water... he offered hope.

My heart sang with joy throughout the entire session. I absolutely loved watching the deaf raise their hands to clap. I loved watching those in wheelchairs reposition themselves to see him better. I love seeing the blind sit still, catching every word.

It was so beautiful.

Tonight we're off to a church of about 5,000. Its called the Hosannah Church. All your prayers would be appreciated.

Nick in Panama: Day 1

I've never been in such a small plane before, I thought to myself as I took my seat in one of four passenger seats. When the doors were shut, the heat was unbearable. The engines started up and the noise was overpowering. A bug. That's what we'll be. We'll be a bug in the sky.

Nick gave an enthusiastic "woot!" and I couldn't help smiling. I swallowed and began to laugh-- maybe out of nervousness. As we turned on to the runway, I gazed out the window and tried to get my mind to catch up with my body. Yes, yesterday I did wake up in my dorm room in Urbana. Yes, I was sitting in a four passenger plane with Nick Vujicic (you can see his website here), my mom and Nelson (the Kuna-English translator). And yes, we were on our way to visit two Kuna villages.

I guess I'll back up and give a little bit of background information first. I am currently in Panama City, Panama serving as Nick Vujicic's translator on an evangelistic four day tour through Panama. I have translated with him twice in the past and have been blessed with the opportunity to join him again-- this time in Panama. Yes, I am missing four days of school to do this :)

Today was incredible.

First we went to Panama's police and military department. Nick shared a message of hope and encouragement there. It was beautiful and inspiring.

Then, we took two tiny planes across the jungle to Kuna territory. This indigenous people group is absolutely beautiful. They wear brightly colored clothing (lots of red) and the women have huge bead bracelets up and down their arms and legs. Beautiful nose piercings characterize older women. All the women and girls wore brightly colored skirts, that to the westerner's eye were extremely unmatched.

We flew over the Panama Canal and then landed on a strip of concrete in the middle of the jungle. I kind of felt like we were in a movie. We got on to some boats and headed over to the first community. I was overcome by the community's love and welcome. It was beautiful. After Nick's sermon they couldn't stop giving gifts. They were overcome by gratitude.

We were ushered into the church building and fed some rice, lentils and lobster. It was actually pretty good lobster!!

After that we went back to the planes and headed to the other community. Landing on this island, we were told, was like landing on a aircraft carrier. The dimensions of the landing strip were comparable and water surrounded it. Thankfully our pilot was excellent :)

A couple hundred indigenous members warmly welcomed us. Nick joyously preached the Gospel... explaining that Jesus was more than a good teacher. You see, all other teachers say that they know the way, they know the truth and they know God. But Jesus said that he is the way, he is the truth and he is God. Again, he was showered with gifts and we finally headed back to Panama City.

We just got back from dinner overlooking the ocean with huge, beautiful boats in the bay. Carlos Ivan, the organizing pastor shared his testimony with us. He grew up on the streets of Bogota and soon got involved with the drug cartels in Cali. When he was sick of those we went to Bolivia and started his own. However, he ended up owing TONS of money so was kidnapped by the Bolivian drug lords. Through a series of events he came to know Christ as savior and his life was totally transformed. He now works with gang members and slum dwellers in Panama and Haiti.

Once again, I was amazed by the transformative power of Christ in the lives of hearts that are open to him.

Continue praying for this trip!!

Prayer Requests:

1. That souls would be ripe for the harvest

2. That the logistics would fall into place

3. For the health of everyone on the team-- especially Nick's

4. That God would be glorified

The Next Rung

Throughout the summer, an image has continually showed up in my prayers, my thoughts and my processing.

A ladder.

I have been learning that to reach the next rung, I have to let go of the previous one. I can't keep a firm grip on one rung and expect to get a tight grasp on the next one. I either release one to hold on to the other, or cling to one and never fully hang on to the next.

A lot of last year was spent on me holding on to my rung of comfort, familiarity, and old friendships. I was unwilling to let go of Colombia, of ECA, of my friends there. I carried past pain or guilt that I hadn't let go of yet, unable to find healing while still holding on. I didn't adjust very well to life at the U of I, because I was still holding on so dearly to life at ECA.

But throughout the summer, God continued to show me the importance of letting go so I can reach and hold on to the next season of life.

I'm releasing my grip on my beloved Colombia and learning to embrace America.

Chains are Broken

"I once felt shame talking about my mother. I was ashamed that she used to be a prostitute. Then I came to understand that she only did it for us-- for her children," Marta explained. We were all huddled in her bedroom, listening to her story. Minutes ago, her mother, Cecilia, had shared her story with us-- an Opportunity International team from the USA.

I had a hard time assimilating everything.

The tall building with several different rooms-- each occupied by an entire family. The moisture that permeated everything. The dank smell. The crowded rooms. The poverty.

Then there was the pain that they carried in their hearts. And then, then the healing they had experienced after an encounter with the living God.

Cecilia and Elenita are both former prostitutes. Opportunity International, through their micro-credit program, has helped them leave that life behind and find a new source of income. Cecilia realized that by working in prostitution she was taking money away from her client's family to give to her own. She wanted a new way of earning money.

Elenita shared her story with us:

She came to Bogota when she was 14 years old because her mother had died and she had no one. She had an infant with her and was hoping to find support from the deceased father's child. Little did she know, her mother-in-law and all the women in that family were involved in prostitution. Her mother-in-law hated her and finally kicked her out of their home. Her sister-in-law went with her, not wanting to leave Elenita on her own. Every day, her sister-in-law would go work and bring back enough money to support them. Elenita felt ashamed that she wasn't working so she begged to go work with her, but her sister-in-law refused.

One day, Elenita followed her sister-in-law to work and saw her stand outside a door way, scantily clad. Elenita followed suit and stood next to her. Her sister-in-law begged her to go back before it was too late. She explained that they stood out there to sell their bodies... Elenita refused to go back. She had nothing else... she had a body, so she figured she could sell it to provide for her own child.

After a couple of months her mother-in-law became jealous because Elenita was making much more money. Her jealousy drove her to take Elenita's son away from her and she also began stealing her income. Several weeks later, Elenita was able to take her son back and get away from her mother-in-law.

She was involved in prostitution for over 30 years. She had six children, and three of them have died-- two of them were murdered.

I couldn't imagine the pain she'd been through... and yet, she spoke of Christ's comfort and hope. She talked about the transformation she had experienced, thanks to the work Opportunity was doing. She knew that Jesus was the only way she could have left her former life behind.

She knew chains had been broken by the power of the cross.

An Aching Heart

Down feathers were everywhere. Kids were running around shrieking. We were looking for two missing jackets. A wrestling match broke out to my left. I shook my head and sighed.

What in the world is going ON? Why does this feel so chaotic?

About five of us from my graduating class got together yesterday and went to visit our beloved Recyclers' Ministry (their parents pick through garbage and find recyclable material to sell to factories and that's what they live off of). I was super excited. I had seen them last in May, but was really excited to go back with people from my class. We quickly put together a Bible story and a short application. We decided who was leading songs and then we headed over to the neighborhood.

When we reached their corner, three of the kids started sprinting toward us. I stopped my conversation in mid-sentence and ran out to meet them. Soon, I was overwhelmed with hugs and kisses. Ah, I love them so much.

We started playing some tag and then sang some silly songs with them. Then we began acting out the Jonah story. After one time, Natis and I figured we should do it again, in Opera style (thanks, Medeba!). After that we did it super slowly... and then super quickly. The kids LOVED it! And, having seen it four times, they remembered the story well =)

After story time we gave them a cup of milk and some bread for snack. They loved the milk and kept asking for more.

During snack time one six year old came up to us and asked if we had seen her jacket. We shook our heads, but Natis started looking for them. They were no where to be found. Since we weren't doing organized games anymore, the kids began running around. Two of them pulled out toy guns and started shooting everyone. I cringed at every gun shot. One little girl kept crying because she kept getting hit by the boys. I went to talk to one of the seven year old boys and had to take a step away when I saw him pull out a switchblade.

I felt my mouth go dry and I wasn't sure what to do.

Meanwhile, the other kids kept playing with a down pillow, by shaking it in a dog's face. The dog soon tore it apart and feathers were flying everywhere. The little boy with the blade kept coming toward us as if he were ready to hurt us.

My mind kept spinning and I felt nauseous.

Why were they so aggressive?

When I got home, I shut the door to my room, turned up the music and started crying. My heart ached... it still aches for these children. We started working with these kids four years ago... I know God has used our ministry to bring forth fruit in that neighborhood, but I felt extremely discouraged. I was sick knowing the kind of lives these kids were living... the adulthood they were walking into.

August?

August.

Really? Are we really in August already? I can hardly believe it... I've been in Colombia for two and a half months already... and now I'm leaving next Friday.

It's been a good summer... and a different summer. I haven't really had anything specific to do, so I've just been doing a little bit here and a little bit there. I'll try and give a brief summary:

- Like I've mentioned before, I've been tutoring quite a lot. I'm starting to wind down this week so I can have my last week with no tutoring.

- I've been leading a Bible study for high school girls at ECA and that has been so much fun. We've been going through the book of Philippians... ah, I love it so much! I've enjoyed spending time with them and learning from them as well :)

- I've been playing basketball once a week with some friends and it has been marvelous. I want to try and keep playing during the school year back at U of I.

- I translated documents and videos with World Vision for three weeks. Thought it was a good experience, I didn't enjoy dressing up and sitting in an office for five hours. I don't think I'm cut out to be in an office all day :)

- A couple of trips here and there... I love seeing Colombia and serving in various areas

And then, I've simply been hanging out :) Good summer...

But believe it or not, I'm really excited to go back to school this fall. I'm excited for what this year holds. I'm excited to see how God moves. I miss my two amazing roommates terribly, and I'm excited to live with them again this year. I'm ready to go back for a whole new year in America... :)

Bio-luminescence :)

I just got back from Taganga, a beautiful city on the Caribbean. Oh, how I love Colombia :)

I spent the week scuba diving and relaxing. We played plenty of card games and took naps and read... and of course, went scuba diving!

I absolutely love scuba diving. I love seeing the beautiful and unique creatures under the water. I love floating above corral. And, if I were to be completely honest, I love the weightless feeling best. If you know anything about scuba diving, then you know that the correct position to assume is a horizontal swimming position. I rarely swim horizontally. You're more than likely to find me floating upside down and spinning in circles. I love "laying" on my back and watching the bubbles float to the surface. I love the silence... well, hearing myself breathing and then being surrounded by the ocean's silence. I feel like every immersion is like pressing the "mute" button on the rest of the world.

Our last immersion was on Thursday night. Yup, night :)

I was the first one ready and rolled into the black water while I waited for everyone else to jump on in. As soon as I looked down and realized that I couldn't see anything... even seeing the faces of those in the boat. I started giggling like crazy, realizing that I was going down without a flashlight. You see, there were seven of us, but only four flashlights. My partner would have a flashlight, but I wouldn't.

Since I had to stay close to my partner the whole time, I was limited in my underwater acrobatics, which didn't help me stay warm at all. I was completely dependent on where he pointed the flashlight and I found myself getting slightly bored. I wondered how far from the group I could wander before I couldn't see them anymore. Luckily, I didn't try that one out. However, when the light wasn't shining my way, I'd just float and wave my hands back and forth, playing with the bio-luminescent plankton.

At one point, our leader had everyone turn off their lights and we just began waving our hands, kicking our legs and basically doing ANYTHING to get the water around us to move. The water was glowing green. Unbelievable.

Oh, how I love green glowy things :)

Monteria: An Overview

We arrived in Monteria around 10:00 am on Friday morning. Martha and her husband, Alfonso, were there to pick us up. Immediately, we were welcomed by their loving, latin hospitality. As we drove through Monteria, Martha began telling us about the city and the work that World Vision is carrying out there.

I was shocked to hear that 74% of the population live in slums (they call them "communities"), suriving in absolute poverty. I looked out the car window and saw nice houses, nice cars and nicely dressed people. And these are the 26% who are rich... I thought to myself, feeling slightly nauseated by the contrast. She continued to tell us that Monteria was a microcosm of the problems Colombia faces-- the corruption, the poverty and the violence. Every day, she told us, there were deaths. Drug trafficking was quite common and most deaths were related to the cartel.

Though I learned in my classes this last year that Colombia had achieved universal primary education, I saw first hand that many children roam the streets, unable to enter the overcrowed public schools and incapable of affording private schools.

We visted ASODESI, a World Vision sponsored school where Martha is the director. There, she gave us a tour and told us more about the work they do. From there, we went into one of the slums, La Candelaria. One of the school staff members accompanied us and we visited a family whose children went to ASODESI. They graciously welcomed us into their humble home and offered us chairs to keep us from sitting on the dirt floor. They shared with us the difference World Vision has made in their lives and their gratitude toward God and the work that they do. Polo, their 12 year old son, proudly sang a typical coastal song for us. He then told us that his dream was to one day become a veterinarian.

I later asked Martha if this was an attainable dream, or if that's all it'd ever be... a dream. She fervently shook her head and assured me that because of his education at ASODESI there was definitely a possibility of him one day becoming a veterinarian. I smiled.

Saturday and Sunday we traveled with Martha, Alfonso and their 13 year old son Felipe, to Tolú and Coveñas-- two coastal cities. We were able to spend time on the beach and swimming together. My mom and Martha were able to talk for hours. It was clear that she was often lonely and didn't know who to share the struggles of her job with. She was able to pray and share this burden with my mom. I know she was deeply blessed by this time together.

Monday morning we on our way to ASODESI bright and early: 5:30 a.m. The weather is incredibly hot all year round, making it impossible to do much in the afternoon. Most schools start at 6:00 a.m. to take advantage of the coolness of morning. The temperature easily reaches 40ºC (99ºF) every day for a couple of hours... finally cooling down some by 8:00 p.m. But even then, I slept with a fan on and absolutely no sheets every night, still waking up warm.

At 6:00 a.m., we participated in a teachers' meeting at ASODESI. They had a small devotional and then shared with us more about the school. Of the 650 students, the vast majority sponsored by World Vision. The kids still pay a small amount every month (about $15 USD). However, there are many who still can't afford to attend. These $15 obviously don't cover the costs involved with running a school. Martha continuously worries about the sustainability of the school.

Around 8:30, my mom was given the floor... she began speaking to the 48 staff members about the importance and value of their jobs. She then asked me to share 15-20 minutes about what kind of impact my teachers had on my life. Believe me, I had plenty of material to fill. She continued speaking about education and personal development for the next five hours. I was amazed at their ability to focus for seven hours (6:00 am to 1:00 pm), sitting in a room with the temperature steadily rising.

After the "conference" we met with the English teachers for a while. One of the school's emphasis is English as a tool to break the chains of generational poverty. The English teachers were all from Monteria and had learned English at the university there. However, their English was quite limited. One of them had never spoken to a native English speaker before. I was shocked. They had no text books, yet were expected to teach poor children English in crowded classrooms with little to no materials. Wow.

The next day was pretty similar to the first. We shared ideas about how to make classes more didactic. I was able to share a lot about my teachers' teaching methods and we played a lot of games. It was quite fun.

On Wednesday morning we were invited by Samuel (the music and art teacher) to visit the community with him. I was ecstatic. We weren't sure, however, if we were going to be supporting an event his church was having or if we were actually running the event. We arrived at the community and found dozens of kids waiting inside the church for us. Turns out, we were running the event :).

We quickly got organized and split responsibilites. Thankfully, we had bought 90 eggs and the church had hard-boiled them for us. We brought an Easter egg decorating kit with us and decided that would be our hands-on activity. Samuel and I sang songs with the kids in 90º weather and then my mom shared a Bible story. We then broke up into groups and had them color eggs. They absolutely loved it and then were able to bring an egg home with them to eat later.

Wednesday was by far my favorite day of the trip. Samuel insisted that we were always welcome there. His dad was the pastor of the church and they are committed to seeing transformation and redemption in the lives of the community members.

Thanks for your prayers :) I'll continue sharing reflections about specifc parts of the trip in time.

Monteria

As I type this, I'm wearing a hoodie and socks.

I'm almost in shock that I'm wearing that much clothing... I just got back from Monteria, a coastal city in Colombia where the heat in unbearable. Wow, I really am heat intolerant. No joke, it was 30 C (about 87F) at 6:00 or 7:00 pm. Sitting felt like a task, because the heat simply drained any and all energy I had. Days began extremely early due to the heat... my COLD shower at 5:00 am felt refreshing because I felt HOT as soon as I woke up.

Anyway, it's nice to be back in Bogota again, though I loved Monteria.

I'll be posting several posts (every couple of days) about different aspects of our little missions trip to Monteria. The first will probably come some time tonight :)

With that, I shall conclude :)

Thanks for your prayers these last couple of days!

Get Involved with Egipto

True to my word, here I am sharing with you guys how you can get involved with what God is doing in Egipto.

They have finished bargaining for a piece of land within the neighborhood. The dream for this lot is to have the following

1. A rehabilitation center for gang members (art and other activities)



2. School reinforcement, homework support and cafeteria for children



3. Crisis attention center for women and children



4. Church

The 300 meter lot costs $52,000,000 Colombian pesos (about $30,000 USD)... Each square meter costs $176,000.000 Colombian pesos (about $100 USD). If 300 people purchase one meter, then the Buena Semilla can begin developing the projects mentioned above.

Get your youth group involved, your student organization, your family or your friends... buy one square meter and be part of the work God is already doing in Egipto!!

If you're interested in purchasing a square meter (or meters!!) ... let me know, either through comments, Facebook, email (vivi.afanador@gmail.com) or any other way. I will let you know what to do next :)

Criminal

"Un criminal-- criminal-- de las calles de Egipto... criminal..."
I shivered, not knowing if it was the cold or the lyrics... either way, I zipped my jacket up some more. A criminal-- a criminal-- off the streets of Egipto... criminal. That line kept repeating itself over and over and over in my mind.


NOTE: This post is sort of a continuation of several posts. To get the most out of it, I recommend you go back and read "A Spiritual Diagnosis," "Half-Human, Half-Monster," and "Wow, Wow, Wow :)."


I sat there trying to wrap my mind around the situation. Yes, I was really sitting in Egipto-- one of the most notoriously dangerous neighborhoods in Bogota-- after dark. Yes, I really had walked up the hill, greeted gang members and entered the Buena Semilla. I really was watching three gang members perform a song they had composed: "Criminal." Yes, Elias really was preaching the Gospel to gang members and their families in Egipto. What ever happened to normalcy? I whispered this to my mom and we started laughing... I tried imagining explaining this to friends... Maybe during the "what I did this summer" talks once I was back at school... I couldn't quite imagine it.

So, I'm not even sure how to explain what happened or what we did because I feel like the focus of activity was much more internal than it was external. But oh well, I'll try... and of course, there will be plenty of my processing going on as well :)

True to latin schedule, my parents and I arrived at Las Aguas Transmi station around 5:50pm-- 10 minutes before the program in Egipto was "begining." We figured we'd still be fine, considering it was a five minute taxi ride. However, no taxis were willing to take us to Egipto. Really? I gave an exasperated sigh and suggested we walk. The look my dad gave me was enough to let me know that I should keep my dumb suggestions to myself. Eventually, we caught two different buses and got to Egipto... at 6:30.

I was really worried we had missed most of the program, but my worries were in vain, because they hadn't even started. As we walked up to the Buena Semilla, I saw several men standing outside the door. The smell of cigarettes and alcohol was undisguised. I unwillingly admitted that if I encountered any of these men on the street under any other circumstances, I would be terrified. Anyway, we were warmly welcomed and we entered the Buena Semilla. There, Elias gave us a small tour of how it has changed. The patio had about 70 chairs (I'm REALLY bad at estimating, but that's my guess) set up in front of a big screen.


My mom then introduced me to Andres, one of the six who mugged theGEBC team. He's an artist and painted a mural in the Buena Semilla home. One quote caught my eye: "Porque la buena semilla es la palabra de Dios (Because the good seed is God's word)."I smiled. We talked for a while and he told me about his one-year old daughter.

Later, I was introduced to Emiliano (AKA Niga) who is the gang leader, seeking peace. He had a scar running down the left side of his face and he was missing several teeth. Though his appearance was quite intimidating, I felt extremely comfortable and welcomed in his presence. My mom later shared with me that he had been abandoned in Egipto's park as a small child. One of the gang's decided to care for him and would bring him food. For much of his early childhood, he grew up under makeshift structures in the park, depending on the gang for food. The gang leader during that time was Victor (recently killed in January). Victor became much like a father to Niga and took him under his wing. It wasn't long until Niga fully joined the gang, and recently becoming the new gang member after Victor's death.

Soon, the program began. Elias shared the Gospel... he assured these men and women that God was searching for them... he was pursuing their hearts, with arms wide open, ready to welcome them into his family. He promised them change and redemption was possible. I looked around me, my soul consumed by prayer, but my mind trying to gage how many were listening to these words of Truth.

Then, Niga shared that while in prison most recently, he was able to learn a lot about music and he began composing songs. They made a music video (you can watch it here) with the help of a man from Elias' church. He shared about the violence and the criminal activity that they were surrounded by.

Then... then they began rapping. They apologized for growing up on the streets of Egipto. My heart broke. As if they even had a choice. I watched these men and tears blurred my eyes. They were all under 30 and had literally witnessed nightmares. The lyrics spoke of blood running down the streets. I wondered how much of that blood belonged to their loved ones. I asked myself how many deaths they had been part of and how many widows and orphans they had comforted. These questions pained my heart.

This... this was their existence. A miserable life. They admitted that they had seen and experienced things that should never happen--ever-- and yet... they do.

At the end, Andres walked us down to the bottom of the hill. I smiled, comforted by the presence of our "bodyguard." During our conversation he said something heartbreaking... "But you need money... because in this world, without money... you're nothing."

My first reaction was to fight that comment. Money ISN'T everything!! I wanted to tell him... I wanted to make him see. But then, another thought popped into my head. And who are you-- you who have never been hindered by a lack of money-- to tell this to Andres? Its true... I've never been hindered. Sure, I can't afford to go shopping every weekend, or buy the nicest brands, or go on expensive cruises or buy fancy makeup... but those aren't limitations. These men truly have been limited in their life, their choices and their opportunities because of a lack of resources.


I really don't understand hunger. I don't understand cold or sickness. I don't understand poverty or desperateness. I don't understand violence. I don't understand death. And not only do they understand these profoundly and intimately, but its all they've ever known.

Why?

Why have I been blessed so much? Why do I have two, healthy parents who love me? Why do I have the privilege of higher education? Why have I been gifted with bilingualism? Why do I have the capacity to think analytically? Why was I born into a Christian family? Why have I been so sheltered from death? Why can I afford vacations? Why do I have a laptop, camera and an iPod? Why am I literate and own a Bible in various languages and translations? Why can I go to a doctor when I'm sick?

And this list could go on, could it not?

Probably one of the most frightening verses (for me, personally) is in Luke... "To those who have been given much, much will be required." I cannot deny or ignore that I-- and if you're reading this, then you too-- have been given much!

I feel overwhelmed. I feel that I have been given sooo much, and I struggle under the weight of those implications. My talents, my gifts, my blessings MUST be invested in the Kingdom. It cannot be any other way. I don't want to cheapen the significance of Christ's death by simply "living abundantly" and serving and filling any desire of my flesh. Oh, our Savior died for so much more than that!!

May the blessings I have been given be used to bless others. May those in Egipto be blessed through our lives... and through the redemptive work of Christ.

Note: As I learn of more ways you can help the ministry in Egipto, I will certainly let you know! But for now... prayer is vital!