Seeing God

I set my Bible down and tried to just picture the scenario.
A mountain.
A cloud.
The awesome glory of the LORD looking like a devouring flame.

"There they saw the God of Israel." (Ex 24: 10)

My mind started wandering and I couldn't help but ask myself, "If I had seen this, if I had witnessed this, if I had seen the God of Israel, how would my life be different?"

And as that thought just sat there, I couldn't help but have fanciful thoughts of my different, passionate, on-fire life; of course, it would be. How could it not if I had seen the God of Israel?

But quite honestly, I'm not sure how different their lives were. This verse comes before Israel doubts God in the wilderness (multiple times); it comes before the golden calf where they worship an idol and give it credit for their exodus from Egypt. It comes before all of these massive failures in Israel's past. So what makes me think that if I could just see God, then clearly, many of my spiritual struggles would disappear?

Simply seeing God is not enough. Seeing him-- even in all his glory and splendor-- would not be enough to permanently change my life on this Earth. My sin is still too deeply engrained in me and my habits have a fierce grip on me. Oh, if my eyes could behold and retain that image, forever etching it in my mind and my heart, then perhaps-- just maybe-- would I be capable of seeing this permanent change I so deeply desire.

But I must move past the desire to simply see him, and begin to crave experiencing him. I need to feel, taste, know, touch and believe with every fibre of my being that he is a good God. He is who he says he is and he is worthy of every ounce of my trust. I cannot just see him to know that; this level of belief, of faith, comes from experiential knowledge. I must remember the times that I have felt God in tangible ways and have seen his power... like a devouring fire.

Lord, help me to remember.

Looking back... a year later!

It seemed like it'd take an eternity and that the months would slowly inch by... moments slowly turning into minutes and then days, and then weeks... but now, a year has gone by.

A year ago I moved to Canada, and in September 2013, submitted my paperwork for permanent residency. I was told it would take 11 months for the first stage to be completed. At that point, I could apply for a work permit and enjoy the benefits of having an OHIP card.

Eleven months of no employment and no education seemed like a really long time. And it is-- don't get me wrong. I certainly had many days of watching the clock and wondering when the day would finally be over. I struggled with my identity in the midst of inactivity. I wrestled with where I placed my confidence. I learned, for the first time, what a struggle against depression really is like. I've never had to fight more for my motivation, my desire to get up, my confidence or my joy. But this year I've learned how to fight for them.

I'm still awaiting my work permit. I am expecting it next month. But as I prepare to leave this stage of transition and seemingly useless and petty activities to fill my days, I have to stop and be grateful for this time. I'm thankful for this time where I've been able to read over 20 books in the last 10 months. I'm grateful for the opportunity to get involved with non-profit after non-profit, truly getting to know the individual community I live in. I'm thankful for the time to invest in children and youth who are desperately lacking role models and individualized attention. I'm grateful for the diverse network of social connections I have become part of. I was blessed to journey with friends on a spiritual journey that I was able to invest much time into this year.  I'm so blessed to have been able to travel to Michigan, Kentucky, Illinois, Texas and the Amazon Jungle without having to request time off. Because of it, I have attended a missions conference, two out-of-country weddings and have participated in a beautiful medical missions trip.

Had I been blessed with a job a year ago, I am certain my experiences would be different. I am sure I would have learned much and have grown tremendously. But I cannot take for granted the beautiful experiences and lessons I have been able to acquire because of this unique time off.

How We Spend Our Lives

I volunteer at a high school every week and as I leave, I walk by a church. I’m used to seeing churches with their signs on the front lawns either posting their worship service times or usually, some cheesy quote for the city to see.

But this church’s quote has made me stop and think more than once.

“The way we spend our days, is of course, the way we spend our lives.” –Annie Dillard

My first, superficial reaction is to nod and think: Of course that’s the way it works. Our lives are simply days strung together. But then as that truth sinks in a bit further, I feel a bit of panic. My thoughts retrace my steps for the day and I try to think about what I did yesterday and find myself asking: Do I like how I spend my days? Am I okay with my life being spent like this? If this quote is true, then wouldn’t every one of my days be lived more intentionally? But it’s so much easier to allow the routine and the norm just flow from day to day, until suddenly, I realize that I’ve spent a year or two… just days strung together.

I think back on and cringe because of the countless minutes spent on Facebook the last month. I remember the hours spent watching TV and I feel the tiniest bit of desperation beginning to creep up my spine. I cannot spend my life like this.

So I reach out for Lucas’ hand and I give it a squeeze. I call my parents and tell them I love them. I invest my time to serve others. I log off of Facebook and go for a run; turn off the cell phone and enjoy my friends who are with me.
 

Am I Unworthy?

 

He believed it. 

They really read the Bible and believed it. 

Their obedience cost them much.

And will continue to cost them...

"If anyone comes to me and does not hate [...] wife and children [...] cannot be my disciple."

I like to skim over those verses. Or skip them altogether. Or if I can't skip them, then I like to think of hypothetical situations to see what this could look like. But I spent a week in the Brazilian jungle and these verses came alive. I met a man whose name is Jhon and who showed me what this looks like... in real life. No hypothetical situations. He certainly never skipped over those verses.

Jhon and Danelvis have been living in Guanabara 3 for seven years now. They have a beautiful seven-year old girl and a tiny four-month old daughter. Two other women, Marta and Estela, also serve alongside them. They have struggled to adjust to the culture in this Tikuna village, but more than anything, they have struggled with the language barrier. For years they have worked tirelessly to learn this language that will unlock the culture, but the Tikuna people jealously guard their language, believing that knowledge is power and refusing to share this powerful key. They've learned that they've been mislead and purposefully mis-taught words in order to complicate their language learning process. In December, they were just about ready to pack up and go home.

But they stayed. Their calling to the village was no different seven years later, regardless of the frustrating language-learning process.

However, one month ago, they found out that a man they had trusted to come into their home to teach them the language had molested their seven-year old. The sense of betrayal was excruciating. Deep fear began to settle in, knowing that sexual abuse and incest are rampant in this village. Instead of discussing whether or not their daughters' were abused, would they now begin asking how many times?

But still... they have decided to stay. Their calling to the village is no different now, in spite of their daughter's abuse.

Insane? Absolutely.

What could possibly drive a couple to continue living in this hazardous environment? What could possibly allow them to sacrifice their daughters' well-being? How could they choose to raise a family and establish a life for themselves in this village?

A living hope in Jesus. A strong belief in the truth that every life is precious... not just his daughter's, not just his wife's, not just his friends'... but every single life. The safety and protection of the children in this village matters to him... matters deeply.

Emotionally speaking, this decision makes no sense. We are talking about his daughter. The idea of a "good parent" is turned on its head. How is Jhon being a "good husband?" But I believe that when Jesus tells us to love our neighbours it will come at a great personal cost... we aren't to love them less than ourselves, than our families. So, if Jhon simply packed up and left (oh, so understandable!), he'd be leaving a village full of vulnerable children and women who cannot simply leave because their home is home to rape, incest and child abuse.

Jhon and Danelvis know what it means to hate your family in comparison to how much you love Jesus. This passage isn't asking people to actually hate their families, but simply to love them less than they love Jesus; it is language used to illustrate priorities, a hierarchy. Read this short article for a more detailed explanation.

But didn't I pray for a man like Jhon? One who would love Jesus more than he could ever love me? Oh, and God has been faithful and given me a man more in love with Jesus than I could ever imagine! But loving Jesus more than loving me, doesn't mean he'll protect me at all costs because of Jesus. It doesn't mean he'll fight for my comfort because of his faith in Jesus. It doesn't mean that we'll raise a good, Christian family and live a good, comfortable life because Jesus is his "priority."

It means-- in a very real way-- that everything is on the altar. Anything, anywhere, anytime. It's all on the table, and nothing is withheld. Not my health, not my sanity, not my well-being, not my security... not my life. It's all there.

Feeling good about this is not the point. My emotions don't always connect to my faith immediately. My emotions are volatile, manipulative, insecure and ultimately, selfish. My emotions cannot drive my faith.

Hating my family in comparison to how much I love Jesus is a prerequisite to being a disciple, not the final exam to see if I really am. Jesus didn't bait-and-switch people into following him; he was up-front and told the crowds who were interested in following him that forsaking family, friends, comfort, and even life, was required to follow him. He encouraged the crowds to count the cost before following, and many turned, knowing that the cost was too great for them. If you want to hear a great sermon on the this topic, check this one out by David Platt.

Loving my family more than Jesus means I am unworthy of him.

It's hard to always come up with a tangible application... a real-life scenario where I can say, "That's what that looks like!"

But Jhon showed me one very real option.

NOTE: I am in no way advocating child abuse; I am in strong opposition of vulnerable children being exploited. In my original post I didn't mention the precautions that Jhon and his family are taking to minimize the risk to their daughters. They are currently saving up money to build a large fence around their property, so that the only way someone can enter their home is through the front door. They are saving up to buy a boat so that they can have means of evacuating, should the situation intensify in any way. They have stopped working with the language tutor and are finding ways to teach their daughters more about abuse. They live in a village where rape, incest and child abuse are very real. They are seeking to change the village culture surrounding sexuality in order to prevent abuse to the village women and children. They are not deliberately offering up their daughter to be abused.

Comments: Please keep comments positive or constructive. Even if you disagree with me, please use respectful language. Any vulgar, hateful or crude comments will be deleted.

Fruitful

A week ago we were saying goodbye to the Tikuna village of Guanabara 3. A week ago we packed up our bags and loaded up the boat and headed back to Colombia. A week ago, with tears in our eyes, we prayed with the four missionaries who have sacrificed much to be there.

 Today, as I sit on my comfortable bed in Canada and find myself bundled up because, yes, it is still cold here, I find it hard to believe that a week ago I was in the Brazilian jungle. The two worlds could not be any more different.

Yesterday morning I was asked what some "highlights" of the trip were. How to explain that this was one of the most difficult trips I have personally ever been on? How to describe the feeling of helplessness that surfaced every time I tried explaining the need to boil water, and have the villagers smile and nod? How could I capture the incredibly deflating and dis-empowering feelings I experienced when huge blocks of time were wasted and I sat around doing nothing? How do I share the strong doubts that ravaged my mind as to why I was even on the trip to begin with?

It was a difficult trip. I don't know if the trip itself was the issue, or if I've become more critical of short-term missions over the last many years. I struggled with the size of the group (25 people!) and with the activities planned for the day, and with miscommunications, cross-cultural misunderstandings, and feelings of frustration and uselessness.

But even so, I shared the highlights.

I also experienced God in powerful ways. I was incredibly amazed by the missionaries we got to know; their faith in God and radical obedience was humbling and so convicting. I was completely in awe of the way God moved supporters to give generously. Verses in the Bible came to life in front of me and took on human flesh as I saw people living in complete obedience to the Lord. We were able to witness physical lives saved and see how the medical brigade build bridges for the missionaries already serving there.

And so when people ask, "How was your trip?" I'm able to confidently answer:

"It was fruitful."

PS- My friend Lauren wrote a beautiful post about the trip. I encourage you to read her thoughts and enjoy the pictures on her blog.

An Enormous Thank You!

At the beginning of March I was really humbled and was learning some big lessons about trusting God when it comes to fundraising.

Now, I can look back and really say that I have been floored... utterly astounded. For two and a half months we really struggled to see how God would provide for our trip to the Amazon. We had sent out prayer letters and money barely trickled in. However, in the two weeks leading up to the trip, supporters sprung up and gave quite faithfully and generously.

The day before our trip, I was able to get final numbers from RCE and my mind was blown. You guys gave above and beyond what we could have ever expected.

From the bottom of our hearts, we thank you for your generosity! We are safely back in Bogota after a week in the Brazilian jungle. We will be sure to post some thoughts regarding the trip.

Thank you!

Inconvenient Service

A couple of weeks ago I was in Chicago for an Urban Project with InterVarsity. We spent three days serving with local ministries there and I had the privilege of partnering with Grace and Peace, a Christian church in Hermosa, Chicago. It is located in a primarily latino neighbourhood and truly seeks to meet the needs of its community.

For three days, we served and helped them run their after school program for children in the Chicago Public School system. I loved speaking Spanish with the children and encouraging them to finish their homework.

One day, we also helped the church run their food pantry. We helped them set up and brought clothing out for the clothing closet as well. As we set up, I struck up conversation with several of the volunteers. I learned that they traveled to Hindsdale, a city over 30 minutes away to pick up donated food from a grocery store there. I asked why they didn't turn to grocery stores closer by, but they explained that all the closer grocery stores were already donating their food to other food pantries in the area.

And so, this church decided that a food pantry was a necessary service for those in their community and committed to make the drive on a weekly basis in order to serve their community better. I was so impressed. This attitude of service reminded me that serving others is rarely convenient. If we wait to serve others when it fits into our schedule, when it doesn't take too much time, when I can squeeze it in, then we will serve others rarely.

This church was a beautiful example of inconvenient service. They opened up their building five days a week to dozens of children. They had to schedule worship practices and weekly meetings around this after school program. They drove to Hindsale to pick up groceries. They made hospital visits to church members and refused to stay only 15 minutes. This church practiced inconvenient service every day of the week.

I was humbled and blessed to serve alongside them.

Growing up, race wasn't talked about very often. We didn't think of people as black, white or brown as much as we did American, Colombian or Korean. The idea of being a minority was new to me until I got to university.

I stood out in Colombia, that's for sure. My light colored hair and my green eyes were definitely rare. I was quite a bit taller than most women and my pale skin didn't help me blend in with the beautiful brown skin tones. I was used to being in a room where I looked different than the people around me. But I didn't feel like a "minority."

Then, at the University of Illinois, I self-identified as Latina, but my Caucasian features never set me apart as one. If not for my self-identification, I'd easily pass for a white girl from the Chicago suburbs. And so, my "minority status" really didn't have much of an impact on my daily life.

But last week I spent the week at the Chicago Urban Project (CUP). I was a volunteer staff leader and joined dozens of university students on the west side of Chicago. Including staff and students, there were five of us who were ethnically white. There were three black individuals, eight latinos and the rest of the individuals were Asian or Asian American. Certainly, it was a feeling of displacement.

I felt like a minority.

Did people make comments about me being white? No.
Did I ever feel insulted because I was white? No.
Was I discriminated against? Absolutely not.

And yet, the whole time, I was so aware of my skin color.

I was able to identify with friends who have shared with me that they are the only brown or black person in a certain environment. I'd instantly jump into a protective mode asking if they felt discriminated against, or excluded or anything. The answer was generally "no," but it didn't stop them from being extremely aware of their own skin color.

I began wondering whether I would become less aware the longer I stayed in that environment, or would I only be less aware in white-majority environments? Could this be something I got used to? Would it wear off? Did I want it to ever go away? Could I even live in a majority-white environment and be aware of my white skin or would I sink back into a complacent hole of normality?

And while I was hyper-aware of my skin color and of those around me, I was also sensitive to the strong love and acceptance in the room. Our differences didn't separate, didn't divide; there was a breakthrough from tolerance into love. Watching that happen confirmed the beautiful them of the week: "God's Good News for our Broken World." My awareness of race and ethnicity that week certainly opened my eyes to a lot of the brokenness in our world, but I was able to personally experience some of God's news... and that was great news!

Humbled. Still Need Him.

I've been humbled over the last two months. Really humbled. I've come face-to-face with my own inability to get it done or to make it happen and have really had to step back and ask God, "Now, what are you thinking? What now?"

You see, Lucas and I are going to the Amazon in April. He'll be serving on a medical team, and quite honestly, I'm the least useful piece in the puzzle... but I'm sure I'll find a way to help through translating or getting odd jobs done. We'll be leaving about one month from today. We've been fundraising and trying to get our support in. And it has barely come in. Slowly.

In January, I just figured we needed more time. People had only just received our letters and the trip wasn't for several months, so maybe the idea of supporting the trip was simply put on the back-burner. I figured that once I talked to my family's home church, when we contacted Lucas' church and when we approached our current church's leadership, then the support would start streaming in. But sadly, we still find ourselves at four percent of our fundraising goal.

Looking back, the pride is so easy to see. I think back on previous mission trips I've served on, and remember how quickly the funds came in. I remember Lucas' trips to Kenya, and am also amazed by God's provision. I thought that fundraising for this trip would be "a breeze." You see, the entire trip only costs us $5,000. Of those $5,000, at least half is going to be used for medications and supplies and supporting others on the trip. So between two of us, with twice the network, I figured it'd be easy. Sadly, I admit that I didn't really pray for our fundraising process much. Wait, I lied. I didn't pray for it at all. I didn't have faith because I didn't think faith would be necessary.

And as we prepare for this trip, knowing that a hit of $5,000 will be hard on our finances at the moment, I am brought to my knees. I need Jesus to raise $200 or to raise $20,000. The amount being raised is really inconsequential; it doesn't matter. The faith behind it must be the same. I cannot assume that $5,000 will just "simply come." I'm getting ready to buy our plane tickets this next week and have been reminded over and over and over again in the last weeks of my deep need for Jesus.

Yup, I will never never outgrow that need.

I Lack Nothing

I've been on a spiritual journey since September that's been nicknamed "A Year of Spiritual Disciplines." Each month I (along with several friends) have focused on a certain spiritual discipline and really tried to incorporate it into my lifestyle.

This month I focused on simplicity.

Beginning this month I felt like I had a pretty good grasp on this discipline seeing that Lucas and I already lived pretty simply. I began the month by reading 7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess by Jen Hatmaker (I cannot say enough good things about her or her book, so please, just check it out yourself!!!) and as I read it I prayed that God would open my eyes to areas of excess in our lives. Bouncing off of Jen's idea for clothing, I decided to only wear 7 outfits of clothing this month (including my at-home outfit and my workout outfit, leaving me with 5 out-of-the-house outfits). However, once I read her chapter, I realized that five outfits wasn't going to be that difficult, so I narrowed it down to three.

And so this month, I've been wearing the same clothes over and over and over and over again. I've greatly reduced my time getting ready and figuring out what to wear, and that, I've enjoyed. But then I've struggled with simply wanting to wear something else. I wanted to dress up and wear something different when Lucas and I celebrated Valentine's Day and even asked Lucas what he thought about me "cheating." Seeing the honest man that he is, he replied, "I don't really understand the whole purpose anyway, but if it's supposed to be a struggle at all, tonight would be one of those times." So nope, no sympathy there.

I've become more and more comfortable realizing that people don't spend nearly as much time thinking about me than I think about them thinking about me! I was both relieved and humbled. Relieved to see that no one cared what I wore nearly as much as I thought they might care. Humbled, because people thought about me less often than I thought about them thinking about me. I've been challenged to re-look at my wardrobe and see what's excessive. It's easy to feel inadequate when it comes to fashion and often find myself thinking that I lack in some way. Yet, one look at my closet tells me that I lack nothing.

And I've seen this over and over and over again.We've been eating meals only from my Less is More cookbook or vegetarian recipes I've found. I've loved the obvious grocery bill decrease, but also have enjoyed trying so many recipes that are less taxing on the environment and our resources. And though we've cut back and our diet has changed (slightly), I realize again that we lack nothing.

The topic of simplicity and stewardship is one that weighs heavily on my heart. Sometimes I find myself slipping into complacency, patting ourselves on our backs because-- compared to others-- we live quite simply. We don't indulge in many things that people consider "the basics" or "givens" like cable, Netflix, unlimited internet usage or cell phone data. But I glance around me and I see a furnished, beautiful home; a thermostat set to a comfortable temperature; a generously stocked kitchen; a full fridge and the list could go on and on and on and on. Could it not? I don't have to think real hard to see that I lack nothing.

Oh sweet Jesus, teach me to live simply so that others may simply live.

Birds of a Feather...

"You have the most... umm... diverse social connections," Lucas told me as I shared about my day. Sure, there's the lady my mom's age I met who now has taught me to knit. Then there's my little five-year old buddy who brightens my week. There are my Middle Eastern ladies with whom I enjoy seeing and getting know their culture more. There are all my friends suffering from dementia at the retirement home. There are the adult learners who access services at the literacy centre. There are the at-risk teenagers with whom I try to connect with. There are the families living in poverty and fighting to escape it. There's my friend I met through baseball. Simply put, I see people in a variety of contexts; it'd be quite difficult to pin down my "group."

And I like that. Most days. Sometimes, I hate it, but usually I like that.

I like spending time with people so different from myself. I enjoy finding points of connection from the strangest experiences. I enjoy trying come up with a variety of conversation topics and learning that at the base, at the foundation, of all these things we see and all these categories we use to classify people, at the base of all of that... we're just so human. The human-ness is so real, and so raw, and so different, yet so the same.

I'm reminded of how similar I am or how closely my life would resemble theirs if not for a few fortunate changed events. I can see life in Guelph through their eyes, or at least I can ask how it is, and try to understand. I learn to understand social interactions differently, not constantly seeing the government, the cops, social assistance, church, friends and family through the same lens. I'm challenged to not be bird that flocks with those of my own feathers.

And then other days, it's the most lonely experience. I cry out for like-minded community and I thirst for people with similar life experiences, world views and perspectives on life. I crave the comfort that comes from familiarity and I want the ease associated with sameness. And though I believe balance is healthy and necessary, simply reading the previous sentences reminds me why I fight so hard to engage with those of different backgrounds.

I don't want my choices to be driven by ease. I don't want comfort to be a deciding factor.

A Gift that Cost me Nothing

So, I gave a homeless woman my hat last week.

I spent a day in Toronto, visiting my dear friend Naomi. I had to walk to get to her place, so I definitely passed many homeless individuals. I had no food with me and felt overwhelmed; there were too many. Too many cold, homeless people. Too many wealthy ones walking past.

I stopped when a young woman approached me. Her legs were like toothpicks and she wore an over-sized coat.  Her hair was dark and matted on her head. Her face was covered in scabs. "Excuse me. Hi. I'm homeless. I weight 68 pounds and have lupus. I'm cold and I'm hungry. Can you help me?" Her voice was high-pitched; was she even out of her teenage years?

I wasn't sure what to do, so the first thing out of my mouth was, "Do you want my hat?" She smiled faintly and said that'd be great, but wondered if I had anything else. I didn't-- or so I said and then I went on my way, hatless.

I instantly felt colder and had to pull my hood over my head. I shivered and felt good that I had given her my hat. She probably needed it more than I did. And this good feeling lasted a whole three seconds.

Why didn't I give her my scarf? Or my gloves? Or even my coat? Why the hat? And it didn't take long for the answer to become quite clear. Too clear. Clearly, not the scarf. It was my favourite scarf and certainly my warmest one. My gloves? No way. My grandparents gave those to me for Christmas, and I hadn't found gloves this warm before. Why not my coat? That'd be crazy. I'd be coatless walking around Toronto and besides, it was my warmest winter coat. My only winter coat. I didn't give her my other articles of clothing because they were my favourite and/or my warmest. Yet, the hat was an easy gift. It didn't take much thought, effort or sacrifice. I had seven others sitting at home in my closet, and besides, I didn't even like that one that much anyway.

Is this what most of my giving is like? Do I give away things that cost me nothing? Things I'll never even miss? Do I even know what it's like to give away something that I'll miss dearly? Something that I can't replace? Something that I only have one of?

Jesus calls us to sacrificial giving, but I wonder if I've ever done that in my life. Ever given until it hurt? After it hurt? I can't possibly be surrounded by so much excess so that I can simply enjoy a comfortable life. That cannot be why.

Why I'm Thankful for my Liberal Arts Degree...

"So, uh... what do you want to do with that?"

"What kind of job do you want to get?"

"What can you do with a degree in Global Studies?"

Yeah, yeah, yeah. If you had a liberal arts education, I'm sure that these questions are way too familiar. Maybe you've spent family holidays dreading when the question will pop up at the dinner table. Maybe you've spent some time coming up with an answer that sounds logical, purposeful and perhaps all-encompassing enough to avoid further questions. Maybe you've resorted to grad school.

I relate. I really do. With a Bachelor of Liberal Arts and Sciences in Global Studies and a concentration in Arabic and the Middle East and a focus on Wealth, Poverty and Development, I really don't have a clear career path set out before me. Too bad there's no such thing as a Global Studyarian. I'd be a prime candidate, I tell you.

And while it sounds like I'm bemoaning my education that gave me very few tangible skills and an extremely vague career path, I can tell you quite confidently that I loved my liberal arts education (LAE). And I'll tell you why...

I learned to read and to read well. I've read anthologies, research papers, novels, poetry and ethnographies. I've learned how to learn from a variety of sources-- not just text books. My classes explored documentaries, novels, TV shows, fiction and non fiction alike. No, not always the most "reliable" sources, but we were encouraged to figure out what we could learn from unlikely sources.

I had the freedom to explore my interests. Okay, so I understand that my specific LAE is not necessarily the norm... but I loved when it came time to pick new courses. Other than making sure that I got into the Arabic class I needed, I would sit and browse through all the courses. If one looked even mildly interesting, I'd write it down... and then when I was through, I'd figure out how to get into as many as possible. It was fabulous. I was excited for all my classes every semester. Only twice did they disappoint, but even then... hey, everyone has to take a class or two you didn't like, right?

I had time to learn a foreign language. So huge. I loved this. I took Arabic every semester I was in university. I was able to take Portuguese for a semester and no, it did not set me back on my graduation timeline. I'm grateful for that opportunity and I already miss the ease that existed in taking a foreign language.

I learned to look into a topic, find an argument and then make a point. Though I wrote plenty in high school and I have always enjoyed writing, my university education helped me come up with my own topics... form my own arguments and make my own points. I wasn't writing a paper on what my teacher wanted, rather I was structuring a paper on what I wanted. I learned to present information, not just in way that made sense to me, but in a way that others could follow well.

My education changed they way I think. I've learned to process the world apart from simple formulas or equations that should work, but rarely do. I've learned to see the world from an extremely interdisciplinary perspective. Our society's problems cannot be pinpointed to a single discipline. Poverty? Definitely more than economics at work there. Oppression? Whoops, more is needed than social justice. Lack of education? Yup, building schools won't fix it. This complex world was explored in and through my classes.

Oh, and... I was able to graduate in three years. Sure, I didn't do a double degree, I didn't get a minor and took some summer classes. But I was able to finish early! Enough said :)

The hardest part about not having a job or an occupation is not the free time. The problem is not not having things to do.

You see, there are many things that I can do and that I do do. I've been extremely involved with several non-profits here and my volunteer experience in Guelph will be enough to fill a resume by the time this year is up. I have cooked much, translated much, read much, slept much and have certainly found things to do. I have crocheted a scarf and I'm learning to knit. I've tried yoga and currently manage six Facebook pages. I've patched clothing, made homemade flour tortillas, have dreams of starting to garden and keep up with many blogs. I don't sit around with nothing to do. Sure, I have days where I do absolutely nothing, but that's not because there is nothing to do. I just chose not to do it.

The hardest part, then, is having nothing that must be done... No schedule that must remain fixed, no deadlines that cannot be moved and no appointments that must be kept. And with this, comes the assumption that my time is free... cheap... usable...shareable...and expendable. Since none of my commitments are pressing, they're rarely seen as true "commitments." Since my tasks are not jobs, other tasks can take their place.

That... that is the hardest part.

Restlessnes... Better When

I will feel better once I get my work permit.

I'll definitely feel less lonely once I make friends here.

We'll be happier once we're plugged into a church.

My thoughts wander along these thoughts and many other similar ones... consistently. I find that this is a well-trodden path. Definitely not the path least traveled. I know I'm stuck in a season of much waiting and have plenty of extra time, and I know that moving to a new country and new city takes many, many long months of transition, and I know that getting plugged into a church takes time and I know that not having a job is simply something I cannot change. I know all of these things. I know them full well.

And though having a job, making friends and getting connected to the local community are all good things and will all be welcomed blessings, they cannot be the things that bring me joy and purpose. My ultimate joy and purpose come from the Lord, not my occupation. My joy and purpose come from Jesus, not my (lack of) social connections. My joy and purpose come from God, not my church community. 

The New Year is a time of many goals and anticipation as we look ahead, but lately, I feel that's all that I've been doing. I've been waiting for each new milestone, as if that one will bring more contentment. In no way am I trying to discourage New Year Resolutions or the beautiful gift of making goals and looking forward, but for me, right now, in this time, I need to look here. 

I need to see the beautiful gifts that Jesus has given me right here. Right now. I must  smile with gratitude every time Lucas comes home and his simple presence makes me burst into laughter. I must enjoy our beautiful home and find the ways to bless our community today. I have to choose to be thankful for Skype, Facebook, What'sApp and every other service that allows me to communicate with my friends and family  that live thousands of miles away... instead of being bitter about the distance.

I still have New Year Resolutions, believe me, I do. I'm too much of a goal-setter to drop them altogether... but I'm certainly looking forward to loving this season instead of waiting it out, hoping it'll be over soon.