atothem

[atothem]

whatever song comes to mind first

what do you do when your two toddler boys refuse to sleep? you rock and sing and stand and swerve and rock and sing some more. whatever song comes to mind first. "you're a good, good Father, it's who you are... and I'm loved by you, it's who I am..." this was normally first to come to my mind and heart.so I'd sing it over and over. sometimes it helped, others, it helped me to remain patient as they fought sleep. after a day filled with shots and questions to answer and sleepy car rides and new clothes and hand-me-down toys and trying to figure out day care, we found something like normalcy. we also found out that, in a turn of events, these boys that we had poured love and hope into would be leaving us sooner than expected. "but they've missed so many milestones. the doctor seemed concerned with this too," I thought to myself, and aloud to Winston.

this whirlwind of reaching out for clothes and books and toys, of setting a schedule and introducing our new family members into the fold of people who already loved them. this maniacal week of cancelling plans and praying for patience and big laughter and intense closeness- this was how it would end?

we buckled two fussy boys into car seats and handed the backpack to the social worker. and as we walked away, the tears fell down my cheeks. later that night, I went to bed, the first time in a week without having the giggles and splashes of bath time, and the first night without the smell of lavender diffusing as we read goodnight moon. i thought I heard the noises the eldest waking himself up with screams and tears, and I would have rather been right than the silence I was met with this night. I didn't cry myself to sleep, but it was close.

the song that had been on my mind for the past nights did not leave.instead, a new line came to mind. "you are perfect in all of your ways, perfect in all of your ways to us..." perfect to give us sons for six days. perfect to make me someone who doesn't love with half a heart. perfect to create love in our home and room in our souls for two more. perfect to not give me answers, to keep from my mind the long term plan. perfect to keep the baby inside me healthy and kicking. perfect to provide me with a husband who prays and laughs with me instead of resorting to anger. perfect to give us a village full of people to help in the whirlwind. perfect to give and take children away when he pleases.

I've sung this song probably a thousand times, aloud and to myself. in sanctuaries, and at concerts, around bonfires, and in my car. and now to two babies who don't even know what the words mean. but, then again, maybe I didn't either. that night, in my bed (and tonight, too), I will have to choose to trust those words to be true. 

is he a good father? am I loved by him? and is he perfect?

because, if so, he holds me in the sadness and worry. and he knows better than I do for these boys' lives and the lives of the child who I'll hold in march. and, if I choose to trust him, then this is where the real worship begins. not just with my words or song, but in the depths of my soul.and so, in a way deeper than ever before, my soul is singing the same song I sang to two precious boys as I rocked them to sleep every night they were in my care. it is a deep, yet imperfect trust in the most deeply-loving, perfect Father, my God. 

He is who He is, and that's more than enough for me tonight.

#thisisfostercare thishasgottobethegoodlife

[atothem]

the struggle still is real

Do you want to know what I have struggled with most since returning to America? Scratch that...what I have struggled most since my sophomore year of college? I joked about it with new friends at dinner a few weeks ago. I tell my co-workers about it when we have idle moments in the office. My husband I laugh together at old photos from time to time.

"I used to be... really. Fat."

Most people laugh when I tell them stories about growing up in a home where the answer to any ailment or heartache was a deliciously filling meal, or have a tinge of jealousy when I tell stories about my Dad's amazing baked goods, all made from scratch, or the lunches my Mama made me (bagels with peanut butter and sprinkles...sometimes I envy my younger self). Some people look me, shocked, when I tell them about eating whole pizzas in one sitting in middle school (like a whole pizza...not this "personal pan" shenanigan...THAT was a rough phase, no doubt). I tell it with humor now, and people sometimes sympathize and tell their own "chubby" stories, sometimes with photographic evidence. Other times, people simply chuckle and ask the rest of the story.

I loved soccer, but wasn't in shape or confidence enough to continue playing. I loved dance, but I loved volunteering and youth group more. Let's not even discuss basketball (far too painful).

In college, a new friend asked me to do her a favor. She asked me to learn to row with her. Uncomfortable that her new lifestyle as a university student would cause her to become out of shape, she sought rowing as a solution. I told her I'd join her while she learned, but made no promises to stick around. In my head, I was intimidated- I had never heard of this sport, and had never been particularly great at any sport, and I had no confidence that this would be the one.

Oh, how I was wrong.

Rowing is such a beautiful sport that teaches so many incredible life lessons. I sat in the boat, and was criticized at almost every lesson and practice, but for the first time in my life, as I hit the water with the crew, I had a stake in something, I felt equal to every other person in the boat with me. There were some very intimidating varsity teammates- one who will forever remain in my memory for cursing me out when I said three words in the midst of an evening workout. But the crew and I, we became very serious very quickly.

{This glorious photo, taken for the University of Tampa Sports PR archives, has taken itself out of retirement multiple times on the internet. I can't complain. Is it strange that I take pride in this photo? The answer is yes.}

I found myself going for workouts late at night on my own, wanting to work harder and harder, and not willing myself to miss any practice. By springtime, I had earned a seat in a varsity boat. (If you're wondering, the first race didn't go so well; nevertheless, I was hooked...) In the midst of all this, my body (and mind) was changing. My first summer home, I vowed, with the rest of my teammates, to workout as often as we did at school, and so I joined a gym. This venture began with a consultation with Frank. (I feel no need to protect this person's identity, sorry.)

"What do you hate about yourself?" "Hmm...I'm not sure." I was proud of my body, in its current state. It had earned me medals. Gotten me good seats in boats. Made me new friends, teammates. Given me confidence. Been a vessel to worship the Lord in new ways. It had pushed me past the limits of what I thought was possible for me. "There must be something. What about your stomach? Arms? Thighs? You can hate more than one part..." I was proud of my body. Before I walked in that room. I walked out, wondering why it was so easy for a complete stranger to have the power to see me feel so terrible and confused.

Now, before any of us go damning Frank, I can assure you there were many people who asked me these questions before. Maybe not in the same way. In middle school, I was constantly teased and harassed, sometimes by people who were my own "friends", because of my weight. I wanted to be smaller, thinner, and look like my other girl friends, but I honestly couldn't figure out how to do so. (I was NOT going to be a cheerleader, I couldn't play basketball, and there was no soccer team at school.) In high school, people left me alone, but only because I used the defense of becoming a shape shifter, changing my opinions with the wind, and being kind and sharing gossip to feed my own needs and ego. People asked the question before, in much louder voices, but it was my new sense of "confidence" that it hit hard.

The message I heard in my adolescent life is that my physical appearance, specifically my weight, made me flawed. This message carried over into my adulthood, leaving me anxious, for the first time, about every single thing I was putting into my body, and counting the time spent in workouts a week. I vowed to continue the practice of keeping the fat off my body, fighting genetics, and continuing to live in my newly found "confidence". I had to do this delicately, without overworking myself, sans talking about workouts to others, and certainly without developing any sort of eating disorder, as I'd watched one of the closest people to me struggle with this affliction- I wanted to remain who I had become physically, without destroying myself as a means to this end.

This isn't anything new. We hear it every day. Women now, more than ever (or more than I've ever noticed), are fighting against "conventional beauty" in a host of ways. So many hash tags and articles about. While so many women as free with their bodies, proud of a few "extra" pounds over the suggested "beautiful", comfortable to pose in their underwear for the world to see, the struggle is still real.

I know this isn't news. I just need to share that, for me, the struggle is still real.

In the midst of trying to be our best selves, I find myself looking at other women for my own direction. Social media kills me. So many #inspiration and #motivation photos of women with six-pack abs and #progress photos. If only I had that body. If only I ate clean for a whole thirty years... I've got to get my best mile time lower. {In Africa, "fat" was a compliment. Having enough food and not having to work your body into being slim and lacking body fat is an honor that garners respect, not ridicule. Women who are noticablely muscular, are so because they work full-time, walking miles to do chores or haul goods, and then head home to hold babies and do the same tedious work. I've never heard a working African woman boast about her physical strength, her toned biceps, her incredible abdominal muscles, although she undoubtedly has all of these. Although I was not always surrounded by African voices, the dulling of the voice asking the question, "What do you hate about your body?" was good for me. Now, immersed again in American culture, able to tap social media and be bombarded by e-mail, the question is much louder.}

{Seriously. Beautiful. Women}

Maybe I'm just over-competitive, or, let's be honest, ridiculous (this is probable). Regardless, the struggle is real.

Here is the truth I missed long ago... I am flawed. But it has nothing to do with my weight, or frizzy hair, awkward posture, or gap teeth. It has everything to do with a man and a woman and a tree when the world had just been made.

Here is the bigger truth, the best truth, the truth that I also missed, and still ignore, many days... "You are altogether beautiful, my love; there is no flaw in you." +Song of Solomon 4.7

This is what my Maker says to me. {If only I would listen more to His voice.}

One of my favorite things about rowing happens while we race. One of the worst things you can do for yourself and your crew is look in the other boats of the race. You lose focus on your own race. You lose track of the rhythm of the strokes being taken in your boat. You forget to listen to the voice of your coxswain, leading you through, telling you when to drive your legs, how close you are to the power strokes, and yelling, "YOU'RE STRONGER THAN YOU KNOW. TRUST. BELIEVE!"

{I love this photo and all, but- broke college kid, paying money to SportGraphics? No thanks, I'll just take the sample, watermark and all, from FB.}

{The glorious moment when our coach's parting words to us in a big race were, "Row it sassy now." So. much. joy. And row it sassy, we did.}

It's one of my favorite things, because it's the thing I forget most in life- the thing I struggle with most. Comparison robs us of the truth of who we truly are, comparison robs us of hearing the real truth. That our flaws are not our identity. And that our flaws- in the sense of physical imperfections- are the things that separate us from God. When I sit where I've been placed and focused on someone else's strength in comparison to my own, I miss out on the fact that, because I am loved by Jesus, I am seen as beautiful, without flaw or blemish.

It's powerful stuff, when you keep your eyes inside your own boat, focused on your race, listening only for the voice of your Leader.

I grew up learning to give something up each year for the season of Lent, a practice of fasting that should ultimately draw the follower of Christ closer to Him as we journey to the cross together. I've given up sweets so many years, it's far too easy. I've given up social media, too. The real thing I need to give up is the constant critique of my own, God-given body.

"It is exhausting, being around someone who is so unkind to herself so often." "It is so hard to love you when you insist on seeing yourself the way that you do." {These are real words. From a real man. Who loves a really self-conscious woman.}

I am beginning the practice of giving thanks to God for my body, being thankful for rolls and muscles and all the parts I have learned to love and been taught to hate. I want to draw closer to Christ, my identity found in Him alone, and in doing so, help others to live in a way that is gracious, redemptive, creative, and still challenging. I think I'll begin by meditating on the Gospel of John, as well as finishing the book Eat With Joy by Rachel Marie Stone (I recommend it!). I am praying for strength to accept the gift He has given me as it is, and to love it well. I am looking for friends who can join me in this, pray together, friends who I can encourage and who are willing to be honest about their struggles.

Because the struggle is real. But He is the truth.

{This is just the part where I affirm everyone who is on an exercise regimen, posting progress photos, eating "clean", and whatever else there may be out there that I haven't seen yet. You do you. In full disclosure, I have no intention of changing my habits- I will still exercise daily, not touch standard French fries (yet, they truly are yucky to me... if you only knew what they do to my insides), and each way too much fruit in one sitting. I am simple desiring to learn more about how to focus on my body as a vessel of bringing redemption and restoration, and not as an ornament or thing to be critiqued. And in the end of the day, no one really needs to see my abs anyway.}

[atothem]

every day is my wedding day

       I still remember the little details. Flowers made of ribbons, the yellow and green accents, and the prettiest girl in the world walking down an aisle in a flowing white dress, being handed once and for all to the man who had won her heart.             The day my sister and best friend, Jessalynn, got married was, still, to this day, one of the best days of my life (and hers, we hope!). Jess and Omari had dated for years, been through high ups and low downs, but, ultimately, there they stood, hand in hand, surrounded by a garden on a summer afternoon, in front of their family and closest friends.  There are so many parts of this day I could never forget. (It was such a significant occasion, I pretty much ugly cried through the whole ceremony.)           “Be sure that you stop. Take the chance to look around. Breathe. Look at all the faces- at everything around you… because it all happens so quickly.” She said it to me firmly, tears in her eyes, clasping my hands in hers. A family friend, perhaps married fifteen or twenty years, gave me her own advice, just a week before my own wedding day.            After my sweet man kneeled down before me and a school of little and big wonderful people, I all the sudden felt so overwhelmed. Not only was pinterest constantly calling my name, but for the first time in my life, I was facing the thing that terrified me the most- a human, outside of my blood lines, wanting to see the good and the bad and the ugly, for life. Everything of it’s kind before it ended in “I just can’t love you”, or, perhaps worse, “You just won’t let me love you.” I was terrified that I might live my whole life, walls up, this time with a ring on.           The next months were filled with meeting one another’s families, counseling, regular arguments, struggles, planning, confusion, excitement, gratefulness, dreaming, along with the other parts of daily life. And so we ran on empty, ran on the fullness of the promise that God had brought us together and it would all work out, and just…ran.            We almost ran away. Six days before our big day, after tackling stressful issues such as the cost of one day of celebration, raising our salaries for the next year, our living situation for our first year of marriage, and more trivial matters like the price of wedding cake and corn hole, we almost ran away from one another.

            It is only by grace we didn’t.             (It is only by grace we didn’t. I can’t say it enough.)

            I had so much expectation for my life and our wedding day. I wanted the perfect dress, and the beautiful but simple decorations. I wanted good food and a place for our dear ones to sit and dance and celebrated where they felt comfortable. I wanted everything to be blissful and without hiccup, and for little events to go just as I had planned.             But so much felt broken. A rift had been created between myself and people I considered close to me. All of my running left me exhausted, feeling alone, and not fully feeling.             The day itself was a blur. An early morning alone, makeup and hair and girl talk, and a muddled mind. Constant prayer and worries that everything would be in order for our guests. Dresses and tears and laughter through tears and more prayer from faithful friends and sisters. Little heartaches and longings. These were the things that stuck when we drove away for the first time with the same last name. I was so full and yet so exhausted and longing all at once.              And soon enough, we were on a plane, headed to tackle the world (this is not a cute metaphor, if you know us and our first year of marriage) as Mr. and Mrs.             “Be sure that you stop. Take the chance to look around. Breathe. Look at all the faces- at everything around you… because it all happens so quickly.” Recently, I clasped the hand of a sweet friend who was just days away from her wedding day. I said the words firmly, and prayed that she really would take the advice that I tried to hard to live but missed completely.              Days later, on a frigid evening, my husband and I had the honor of attending her wedding. She walked down the aisle, tears in her eyes. She danced, visited with guests, and enjoyed many kisses with her newly minted husband.             I couldn’t help but apologize to myself in the quiet hours of morning following their celebration, for not taking my friend’s advice for myself, for not ignoring pinterest more, for not taking wedding planning very seriously (at all), for forgetting to love my husband and the people around me, for shutting my eyes and my heart so much. For being terrified of being loved so much.             Since those quiet hours, I have spent a considerate amount of moments pouring over the photos of our wedding day.             And I can’t help but hear the laughter of so many close friends, together like this for the first, and perhaps only time in life, inflating balloons, and stringing them together to create simple beauty.

            I smile and remember one of my dearest friends laughing at my emotional tears, another close friend recounting our whole journey through Tanzania and praying for me just moments before walking down the aisle, my best friend’s goofy retelling of the whole day, and I give thanks for my sister, who held my hand then, and does so now.

I feel the embraces of friends from all over, covering us, holding us tightly.

            I hear the voices of the congregation singing, “You make beautiful things, you make beautiful things out of us….”             And his face. Oh, do I see his face. The moment he first saw me walking down the aisle. I look at that picture the most. (And almost never without tears.) 

            I may have missed it that day. I may have forgotten to look around and take it all in. Much of it may have felt broken to me. But I am praying in the late nights and many moments spent with a grateful heart that I will stop and take it all in now- the love that went into the day, and that goes into encouraging us still, and the joy that we share with so many to be in love and be loved by the greatest Lover.

            Today, I know more than I did that August afternoon (and still so little!). A year and a half into the marriage journey, I look at these photos and see the thing I barely understood (and am still just scratching the surface of) that day- two people, so blessed to have been given each other for this adventure.              I look at my wedding photos, and I am brought back to a day wrought with expectation, filled with brokenness, and yet boasting of redemption. There was so much that seemed broken that day. Now, those same things appear to be in the process of healing and redemption.             When I look of the photo of my husband’s face on our wedding day, I see his sheer and overwhelmed joy, but now I can see his moments of patience with me when I am a nervous wreck, his tenderness with me when I am in need of grace, and his love for me when I feel so misunderstood.            What I see, too, is my Savior, when I come to Him with all I am, overwhelmed with joy. I know his patience from the countless times I’ve faltered and He’s remained, his compassion when I am lost and searching, and his great desire for me to just come as I am.            This is what we weren’t meant to miss. This is what our eyes and hearts desperately need opening to- the Lord waiting for us daily, and receiving us with great joy as we walk with him. And it’s easy to get lost, in all the planning, and dreaming, and expectation of what life should look like.

            In the book of Hosea, a wedding is happening, too. Hosea is asked by God to marry a prostitute, mirroring God’s love for Israel as they consistently turn from His love.  “The Lord says, “Then I will heal you of your faithlessness,  my love will know no bounds, for my anger will be gone forever. I will be to Israel  like a refreshing dew from heaven. Israel will blossom like the lily;  it will send roots deep into the soil like the cedars in Lebanon.  Its branches will spread out like beautiful olive trees, as fragrant as the cedars of Lebanon. My people will again live under my shade. They will flourish like grain and blossom like grapevines. They will be as fragrant as the wines of Lebanon." +hosea 14:4-7                      This is not a gamble or a love to be terrified of. This is love that heals, knows no bounds, refreshes, and transforms us to blossom into something beautiful. This is a Love that waits for us, knowing us deeply, and deeply desiring to be known.               Because when we are seen in the eyes of Love, He has no false expectations. He knows us through and through. He takes our brokenness, our doubt that it could ever change, and brings on redemption unlike any other.             “Be sure that you stop. Take the chance to look around. Breathe. Look at all the faces- at everything around you… because it all happens so quickly.”              This is Love that wants us to look at what we have, and our world, to stop and take notice, to breathe it all in, to live life like every day is our wedding day.

#reflection #thank you jesus!

[atothem]

all those times you just didn't belong

                  We walked up and down the deserted aisles, full only of too much discounted Christmas candy and fruit snacks and boxes after boxes. Finally I took a deep breath and looked at him and said, “I am just worried, because I feel like I don’t belong anywhere. There’s no where I quite fit.”  Tears streamed down my face, and he pulled me into his arms and quickly responded, “You belong here with me.” In the seconds that followed, we both knew this response may have been adequate for an eighteen year old me, but now older, yet still foolish, these words gave me no peace.                   As we continued through the aisles, my tears grew thicker and my soul heavier. Here I am, broken hearted, confused and conflicted, a puddle in the middle of Walmart (this happens a lot, but normally only because, hello, Walmart is a crazy, overwhelming place).                   As a teenager, I had always been overwhelmed by the heaviness of my body and the awkwardness of myself. During my college years, I was dissatisfied with the life of parties and false friendships that seemed to surround me. After graduated, I was able to be content, but couldn’t seem to understand why I felt like “home” was also somewhere tens of thousands of miles away, where the people didn’t look like me or speak the same language. And when I finally arrived in that “home”, surrounded by people who didn’t look like me and speak the same language, there I was, a “mzungu”, just a foreigner, trying to prove this was where I belonged. Now, here we were, in my original “home”- struggling to find community, feeling so different from the girl who once knew how to get anywhere using back roads and knowing the people everywhere I went.                  This fall, I took a difficult journey through the book of Jeremiah, after spending a little time studying this book while learning about community development. Jeremiah, a man chosen by God to tell his neighbors and fellow citizens just how far they had strayed, spends a lot of time as an exile, lonely, losing, and sad for what’s happening all around him. As I read through each page day by day, I often found myself turned off to the story and reluctant to read another passage about how far God’s people chose to be from him.                 I don’t know why I’m so reluctant. I found solidarity in these chapters- a little too much solidarity, I suppose. An uncomfortable amount of far-ness from God. Embarrassing amounts of jealousy, waywardness, poor choices, loneliness. I identify with this Israel- unrighteous, unfaithful, unloving, dangerous- in a way that is unflattering and unhappy.                And Jeremiah complains (Jeremiah 12, for example). Oh, how I understand this. During my life, I have learned to grit my teeth, or even smile with an unmatched heart, all the while stewing in my head about my unhappiness, my discomfort, my annoyance with what is going on around me or inside me.                A favorite tender moment occurs in chapter 18, when God literally wakes Jeremiah up, and tells him (quite randomly, I’d say) to go to the potter’s house. Jeremiah observes the work of this artist and his craft; it becoming spoiled, and the artist patiently working and reworking it into a masterpiece. God uses this as an illustration. “Behold, like clay in the potter’s hand, so are you in my hand.” (Jeremiah 18.6)                But perhaps the part that gripped me the most comes from the chapter that holds one of the most-quoted Bible verses in our culture today. Jeremiah 29 is actually a letter written to people who have been sent away from their homes, and are exhausted from constantly losing in war. God has some pretty clear instructions for the people… “But seek the welfare of the city where I sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare.” (Jeremiah 29.7)                It’s good to know I am not alone in the struggle to belong. The struggle to fit. Too often, I catch myself looking around, and perceiving that others are comfortably full and satisfied, when we are all more messy and broken, more unfaithful and unkempt, than we’d ever like to admit to ourselves or to the people around us.  In the past year, I have seen my own ugliness and inconsistency in new and startling ways- I don’t know quite why I’m so surprised by the fact that I’m a mess, but I always seem to be.               God tells his people through Jeremiah to build houses, to get married, start families, and to flourish and live fully wherever they are- not longing for what has been or what is to come. Not to lose hope, but to seek him right where they are- even if it is difficult or unknown, even if it is so painfully uncomfortable that it feels unbearable, even if it is lonely at times, even if it is not the place they would have chosen or the way they would have made it.                 And here is why we can do the same.                 “…I will fulfill to you my promise and bring you back to this place. For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a hope and a future. You will seek me and find me, when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you, declares the Lord, and I will restore your fortunes and gather you form all the nations and all the places where I have driven you, declares the Lord and I will bring you back to the place from which I have sent you to exile.” (Jeremiah 29.10-11,13-14)                 We know where He has us is where He wants us. Not with evil intentions or to harm us, but rather to teach us. And we can also live with the certainty that the Lord desires me to seek him out, and He makes himself able to be found by me. Not only all this, but His plan is to bring us back home, to the place where we belong, to the place where we can be completely ourselves, and fit perfectly.                 I still am who I am- messy, intensely emotional, easily excited, extremely eager. I still will trade in a night out to spend three hours staring at my best friend on my laptop, Sundays still seem to lack a lot without our hundred brothers and sisters at our sides, some days I forget which language I should be speaking- is it English today, or why am I mixing my Spanish with Cantonese, and no, I cannot tell that joke in Swahili. But I do know who has brought me to the place I stand, and, although I’m still quite a bit foggy on the details, I know how the story ends. I know there’s a place I belong completely, and because of this I can live without fear of fitting in, confident that, in the end, the story’s not about me.                {Thank you, Jesus, that you bring us to wonderful and uncomfortable places to grow us and make us the masterpieces that you already know us to be. Thank you for the amazing gift of a husband who understands where I’ve been, and wants to be where you want us, no matter how challenging that is. Thank you for providing for us through every step of the journey. Thank you for your plans that are better than my wildest dreams- always, always- and thank you for your patience with me when I complain, your strength in my weakness, and your love in the midst of my ugly.}

{winnie and me in one of our "homes"}

{brandi carlile, wherever is your heart}

#things i'm learning #stateside #wise words #jeremiah

[atothem]

he knew we needed gangnam style

"What have I gotten myself into?"  This has become the all-too-familiar question in my job, traveling from place to place, meeting people who speak Swahili too quickly, or use slang I just don't, or speak a more tribal language, or just a language I altogether don't know and trying to figure out how I am supposed to interview/design/photograph/use the bathroom in each place. I know, my job sounds glamorous, I'm sure you envy my jet-setting from Zanzibar to Nairobi to Addis and smiling with the locals or telling the exciting story or showing the lovely new item, but please know that each journey starts with, "What have I gotten myself into?" We sat on what we would later hear described as a "prison bus", three to a seat. Myself, that handsome husband of mine, and a stranger-artisan to his side. The stranger spoke no English and mostly sat, staring forward, as we waited for the bus to leave the dark Addis bus station. Soon, the sun rose, and we were still not in motion. Finally, about an hour later, we were ready to take off. My tailbone already hurt, but this was nothing compared to the experience of sitting. The screaming of passengers in Amharic to one another, the vendors on-and-off the bus with stale cookies and tissues and phone vouchers, the jarring of the engine beneath us, and the chill of the breeze outside, mixed with the begging man by our seat, crying, saying things we could not comprehend, a tired mind, and the reality that we had no idea what to expect was enough to bring us both to the end before we even left the station. As we took off from the city, we bounced around and Ethiopian music blared over our heads. I looked over at my travel companion, who was obviously weary and wondering what I had gotten him into. Normally I have no one to answer to, so the response, "...this is just something I have to do..." is enough. Not this morning. We had no idea where we were going, or how long it would take to get there. We knew maybe two words in the language our guide spoke. We didn't know where we would stay, or how much it would cost, or how safe the journey was. My attitude turned pretty sour as we tumbled down streets I'd never seen before and began to climb a mountain to lead us away from Addis Ababa. I looked to my right and saw a very tired, very unhappy, very ready-to-be-back-home-in-Dar-or-maybe-just-America man. That's when it happened. The beat was unmistakeable. The Korean words, neither of us knew. But the song began and my laughter was uncontrollable. Neither were our dance moves. I'm sure we were the only people looking like us riding a bus like that on that day. We both smiled like kids who had just received pillowcases filled with only the best Halloween candy.

God knew we needed Gangnam Style. Right at that very moment. And He was merciful to deliver it to us.

It's funny to me, because in all honesty, it's not just within my job that I ask the all-too-familiar question, but it's pretty much everything. Where I am physically, where I am emotionally, where I am spiritually. My marriage. My friendships. What I am making for dinner. And more deeply, just me in general. "What on earth have I gotten myself into?"

I want to be on to what's next, what ever what's next is, because this couldn't possibly be where/who/what I should be. It creates a pretty silly, sad, unsatisfied me. I will spare you a lengthy description of the ugliness, because I think you may have an inkling of what it looks like (hint: you've seen it in yourself...well, maybe not you, but perhaps you have a "friend" who is like this...).

Let's get to the good part. I am so thankful that my God, my Father, has a sense of humor, and he shares it often.

Let me be real. The bus ride did not stop, and really, nothing changed. In fact, it lasted seven more hours. Two of them on very harsh, extremely bumpy roads. I didn't magically learn Amharic. The stranger didn't magically learn English. The music only got louder. The bus only got hotter.

But we had Gangnam style and a beautiful view.

Our minds about the whole day were being changed, moment by moment.

Sometimes in our waiting, it is hard not feel sadness/anger/confusion for why we aren't on to the next one. And sometimes we wait a really long time, just searching our way through the dark. But I am convinced that the Creator of this big and beautiful world, who also knows the number of hairs on my (and your) head, just loves us even tenaciously through the stage. It's hard for me to think He just lets us enter these parts of our journey for nothing. Doesn't mean he changes it. But maybe, sometimes, in the waiting, He gives us a familiar song to sing or a new view to keep our attention for the main event- the lesson He is teaching. Because, ultimately, He wants to change us.

{And the LORD will guide you continually and satisfy your desire in scorched places and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters do not fail. +isaiah 58.11}

It is difficult to be teachable (and I need desperately to be teachable). It is easy to become frustrated. God is merciful. Our needs, and even our dreams and desires are not foreign to Him, and He does not see them as hassles or hurdles. Instead, he gives us just what we need at the right time. Sometimes we don't even know what that is. Sometimes what we need is money. Sometimes its a good old-fashioned bear hug. Sometimes its silence. And sometimes, it's a laugh.

On that Wednesday morning, that was it for us. God knew we needed Gangnam style. We got it.

He got us. Not by our own decision or a change in the circumstance, but just by God being God. Funny-generous-loving God.

I suppose that's just how it works.

{About the rest of our trip...it was AMAZING! (spoiler alert: they ALWAYS end this way) For more travel stories, check out www.karamagifts.com}

[atothem]

you know better.

“I have lived long enough to pray for things, get exactly what I asked for, and see it turn into a huge disaster. So I learned that my prayers need to go like this: ‘Lord here is what I want, I want it so bad can’t even stand it. I want it, I want it, I want it. But, you know better than I do.’”

—Unka Glen Fitzjerrell 

This describes my (past,) present(, and future) prayers more adequately than my own words can right now. It is oh, so true, and He is oh, so good. Better than my plans, bigger than my dreams, more present and powerful than any fear.

[atothem]

happy new year

There’s a rhythm in rush these days Where the lights don’t move and the colors don’t fade Leaves you empty with nothing but dreams In a world gone shallow  In a world gone lean Sometimes there’s things a man cannot know Gears won’t turn and the leaves won’t grow There’s no place to run and no gasoline Engine won’t turn And the train won’t leave Engines won’t turn and the train won’t leave I will stay with you tonight Hold you close ‘til the morning light In the morning watch a new day rise We’ll do whatever just to stay alive We’ll do whatever just to stay alive Well the way I feel is the way I write It isn’t like the thoughts of the man who lies There is a truth and it’s on our side Dawn is coming  Open your eyes Look into the sun as the new days rise And I will wait for you tonight You’re here forever and you’re by my side I’ve been waiting all my life To feel your heart as it’s keeping time We’ll do whatever just to stay alive Dawn is coming  Open your eyes Dawn is coming Open your eyes Dawn is coming Open your eyes Dawn is coming Open your eyes Look into the sun as the new days rise There’s a rhythm in rush these days Where the lights don’t move and the colors don’t fade Leaves you empty with nothing but dreams In a world gone shallow In a world gone lean But there is a truth and it’s on our side Dawn is coming open your eyes Look into the sun as a new days rise

{stay alive by jose gonzalez}

#today's anthem #jose gonzalez

[atothem]

"now...anything is possible for me..."

in coaching and cheering on our incredible athletes from haven of peace academy at an international school sports weekend the past two years, i have had the privilege to watch and enjoy as a group of young women and men from a school situated in a majority-tribal area compete and delight in athletic competition. i could go on and on about how quick these kids are, how hard they play, not to mention their outstanding sportsmanship and ability to play each sport humbly. it doesn't go unnoticed by my friends at hopac, or anyone else, as this school went away with fourteen trophies at the end of this weekend.

here is one of the students' stories...

there is so much good happening in this country, yall. oh Lord, teach me never to take school or sport or supportive family or shelter for granted. i have been truly blessed.

#africa #maasai #education #empowerment

[atothem]

the plan.

this is the plan. other than this, i don't really have one.

#sketchbook

[atothem]

lots of little things

it's november already? the rains keep falling, and all the red dirt cools down for a moment, but only a moment, and then the humidity rises and the ants and mosquitoes invade our home and we know that soon enough the little fan in out bedroom will be a laughable attempt to keep us from sweating through our clothing.

but while the rain falls for five or ten minutes, i enjoy its tapping and coolness. i enjoy the breezes before and the brief cool that follows.

its the little things. here are loads of little things i'm loving lately... 

on being high maintenance ... i read this and was so relieved to read someone else saying what i feel so deeply so often.

keller blue's sketchbook ... i thoroughly enjoy her monday section on hellogiggles, and love her gem of a sketchbook. lovely through and through.

the five pound bag of pecans that we brought with us from america to make this...

 my first pecan pie (ever!). winston's favorite. a (healthy) recipe- it. was. delicious.

the harvest scarf by sabahar, sold by karama. gorgeous colors, amazingly soft ethiopian cotton and silk, providing women and men with fair paying jobs and the opportunity to save money, and sending african teenagers to YoungLife camp. (yes, i love this scarf, and i love my job!)  

every day with these kiddos is a day i love...

the fact that less than a year ago, this boy with a burned face and a scratched up body was throwing sand in the others' eyes and kicking and screaming. he spent the better part of his days pushing away any love or affection given him. and now he is welcoming others into the orphanage he calls home, and running into my arms with laughter.

 (i know, redemption is no small thing.)

marriage is not for me ... real. good. stuff.

the encouragement that comes when people give so i can travel and live here and do the work that i love...

{and now for little things i don't love...

 this little scorpion guy right here...}

i guess i'll take that with all the lovely little things the good Lord gives me every day... its the little things. and there's thousands of em each day to give thanks for. 

#thingsilove #photos #kurasini

[atothem]

this song and its lyrics keep making their way through my brain... some things never change...there are still days when it'd be really nice to just hug my mama, drink almond milk, run at midnight, call my best friend on the phone just to say hello, and eat pho with my husband. but every day, i'm grateful because i am walking with my Creator and Love...and there's so much growing to do. so much to see. and the adventure doesn't depend on where i am or even who i am, only whose i am. (and the great I AM.)

"...as long as we're together, does it matter where we go?"

[atothem]

zanzibar + iringa : thousands of words

a picture says a thousand words, and there are plenty of stories to go with these... a ferry ride to a gorgeous island filled with five groups of delighted and hard-working artisans, eating lunch on the floor of a workshop with new girlfriends, pursuing new products, loving time with zanzibari YoungLife staff and leaders, relishing stories of dignity being shared... and an adventure with winston, a night market, and enjoying my job togther. only to leave the next day on a ten hour bus trip to a land of beautiful hills, big farms, metal workers, and proud masai mamas... hearing about how making ornaments from scrap metal paid for one young man's college education, and how making ornaments from beads is paying for masai babies to go to school and widowed women to make their homes and buy food. along the way, i got my hands on a thought-provoking book, and couldn't stop turning the pages. toxic charity by robert d. lupton is a must-read for anyone who spends any time concerning themselves with poverty, disease, community development, economic freedom, and freedom in general.

here's a little snippet that got me going... "little affirms human dignity more than honest work. one of the surest ways to destroy self-worth is subsidizing human responsibility. and the creation of productive, meaningful employment fulfills one of the Creator's highest designs." -robert d. upton

can i get an amen? ...so today, as i rest, i am filled with gratefulness work i've had and the work i get to do now, as well as the work i've seen over the past two weeks- of visionaries, daughters, mamas, teachers, and friends...all fulfilling one of God's greatest plans for us.

#travel #karama #africa #recommended reads! #photos

[atothem]

rhythm

i'm living.

after three months of working, planning, sharing about tanzania, running (and not running...and then running again!), weddings (yes- we had multiple weddings. ;)...), packing, family-ing (it doesn't get better than the price/ly families...), catching up, celebrating, moving, flying, and anything-else-ing...

i am living! i am married to a wonderful man. the most wonderful man. (along with my dad, of course... HI DAD!) we have traveled thirty thousand-plus miles, including a four day stint in four different continents (THAT was exciting!). we traveled to a foreign country (imagine that) for an amazing adventure of beaches and cities and bellies and hearts being filled up to overflowing (well...our bellies didn't literally overflow. that would be gross). we have moved into a home that is "ours" (for this year...). i have begun a new job. we are both learning a new rhythm of life. i am trying to get little bits of cantonese lessons...as well as cooking lessons...as well as anything-else-domestic-i-may-need-to-know lessons...from whoever is willing to teach me... can i just tell yall, the learning curve is MASSIVE right now? do i even NEED to tell you that, or could you just assume it?

because, to be honest, i don't know what i was thinking, but i wasn't expecting THIS much learning. phew! there are SO many lessons packed into every. single. thing. i'm experiencing right now. but here is the biggest.

i am living fully when i am appreciating fully. contentment. i've written copious nuggets about learning this, thinking i've gotten to some level where i'll never learn it again or more deeply and then- i do. 

because i have this bad habit of looking around and not wanting what i have. i mean bad, yall. only amplified when someone has made a decision to spend life standing with you on mountain peaks and in valleys, and can see you looking and wanting something else and not wanting yours. it has become such a temptation for me to judge others' lives by seeing little snippets, or even big bites.  i loved being single. i love being married, but i also loved being single. so much so that i chose it for quite some time. i didn't really pine away for a husband, although i did pray for one (ironically enough, after two of my best friends- one of them being winston, encouraged me to...). but while knowing the challenges of marriage were very real, i still assumed married life was still easier. i looked at my married friends and assumed that they snuggled all night, every night (bahahaha), that they never were alone, that being on a team was such a dream come true. and then i got engaged. and i LOVE winston, but i missed making choices without the repercussions- how they would effect him. i looked at my single friends and thought about how easy they have it- no one to wait for, no one else to consider while cooking dinner, no icky things revealed under the magnifying glass of a "significant other" you admire and adore. i want it all. i want it every which way- as long as it's best for me.

this was how i scheduled things, too. i would choose to be this, but want to be that. so i do this, that, and the other thing (and that thing over there...and the after hours thing...) to ensure i got to be a part of everything. on the off chance time got the best of me and two things were scheduled at once, i would choose just one (much to my shegrin...), and watch someone else doing theirs, joy stolen from my own.

that's really what happened. joy was stolen. completely! this is NOT a new lesson. and it is NOT an easy one (clearly...that's why the good Lord has to keep spending time on this with me.)

i am living most fully when i realize God does not love me more because i am single or married or showered or stinky. i am not more valuable because i can be in "a million places at once". a job does not define me. nor does how much money i make determine my worth. how fast i run can't either. the dinner i make tonight or whether or not people could eat off our floors is of no consequence in His book. what He DOES desire is my satisfaction in Him, and along with that, the things He has given me. because He's GOOD, and the things He's given me, they're His for my enjoyment! yet all too often i chase the things of the former. anybody with me on that?

this is a work in progress. probably for the duration of the time i'm on this earth. i am living... and learning to live more fully, satisfied in whatever He gives!  {ps- to all our supporters, specifically those of you who are giving to my salary/travel budget for Karama, thank you. we are so blessed by your love and faithfulness. i start my travels to meet with artisans with a trip to zanzibar this week! check out Karama's facebook for updates on all we're doing... and i'll be sure to share some here, too!}

#reflection #karama #simple things

[atothem]

learning meekness from a police man {sort of...}

"you see, we just assume that you white people have money. that you dig into your pockets and they are full..." the police man said to us, assuming that this was to fix the unfair price or the throwing of money in our faces.

i looked down the street as motorcycles whizzed past and others' days continued, while ours had stopped. how has this become home? angry. frustrated. hurt. sad. confused.

it is easy, when something is challenging, to take one or two, or even a handful of negative experiences and either (a), shut down, or (b) consider these few experiences sufficient to describe the larger picture. it is alot harder to continue on, to forgive, to give thanks, even, and to decide that the good Lord has made this day to be beautiful. i am learning this in marriage, in some of my closest relationships, and in this place we are calling home. 

i am learning that assumptions hurt, and yet, it's such a temptation to assume. each moment is proving itself an opportunity to offer grace, speak truth, and, by doing those things, become more of who i was made to be. thankfully, this is not all even remotely on me.

{to men and women everywhere Jesus says, "come unto me, and i will give you rest." the rest He offers is the rest of meekness, the blessed relief which comes when we accept ourselves for what we are and cease to pretend. it will take some courage at first, but the needed grace will come as we learn that we are sharing this new and easy yoke, the strong Son of God Himself. He calls is "my yoke", and He walks at one end while we walk at another. .aw tozer.}

let me be clear, i do not like that the color of my skin already gives me an identity.  it hurts me that people i love have been harassed because they are different, whether because of their skin or the way they speak. it is uncomfortable at times to realize that because a person is born somewhere, they are naturally given different opportunities. i am very much looking forward to that sweet celebration where we dance on streets of gold, and don't even notice the value of the streets or find value in the color or size or ability or whatever of each other, because we are so enamored with the King whose streets we dance on and who made us all. that is home. 

all of this, it is temporary. and so i can both fight for truth and forgive. although it is not my natural choice, i can practice meekness.

and so we kept walking, heaviness still there, but only holding one edge of the yoke, and found ourselves in red dirt dust, crowded by little and big brown hands all over our porcelain-tan skin, their precious voices screaming our names. for me, it was like coming home. and we laughed. and shared photographs. and played with cows and footballs. we made new friends. we talked about how expensive cell phones are and how tanzania may never win a football game. because the good Lord made us to be meek and to rest in Him, and He made this day beautiful. and that's exactly how it was.  

#africa #A.W. Tozer

[atothem]

girl power.

{disclaimer: i do not consider myself to be a "feminist". i do really love being a woman, think that women are incredibly essential to societies worldwide, and i haaave been known to use the phrase "girl power" in all sorts of different scenarios. pre- and post- spice girls...}

it all started yesterday morning. i went to the craft store to buy a couple crafty things, and found myself overwhelmed and googly eyed in the stores adjacent to my original destination. a young boy whined to his mother, "well, i can buy these shoes while you buy the dress you need, and tim, well, he can buy something too, if he wants...see? everybody wins!" another woman picked up a steel rooster and said to the teenager accompanying her, "do you want this, too?" the girl looked a bit annoyed, and as she turned her attention to her full cart and said, "you've already bought me plenty...", the woman shoved the rooster into the bottom of the cart. shopping has become recreational for most, therapeutic to some, and overwhelming to me...

fast forward to yesterday evening.  my parents are fortunate to be part of the world's fifteen percent who own televisions, and tonight my mom and i watched another part of half the sky, a documentary telling the stories from the identically named book about women all over the world who are enslaved, undereducated, impoverished, and/or oppressed. while i have not yet taken the opportunity to read the book, i have viewed two episodes of this documentary with high school friends during our service emphasis week.  to say the least, it is enlightening. it caused me some heartache. i got frustrated. i prayed. girls who are sold into slavery, girls who have no choice but to stay home and care for family members, girls who are raped, girls who are mutilated, girls who strive and starve and struggle... and these girls become women, and the cycle continues.

but it doesn't have to. and this is what millions of women living in poverty (on less than $1 a day) have to do with my neighbors in the store...

every time we buy something, we have a chance to provide a woman with a job. not just any job, but a job that pays a fair wage. we have the opportunity of using our money to fuel corporations that pay less-than-living wages to who-knows-who, or to pay a living wage to a mother, a daughter, a wife, a sister on the other side of the world, and in some cases, just a drive away. yesterday solidified why i am so incredibly grateful to be a part of the movement that is karama. to be able to share the stories of my friends and sisters living in east africa- mothers who have adopted children out of painful situations, wives who want to make money because they dream of someday buying a home with their husbands, beautiful daughters of God who embrace their disability and are perfectly able to create wonderful things their their own two hands...this is just a taste of the stories we impact when we think twice about where and how we spend our dollars.

we get to be inspired and inspire. we get to share dignity. we get to intersect stories.

our worlds don't have to be so far apart. and because of this, i am both grateful and hopeful.

{for more information on karama, please visit karamagifts.com or e-mail me!}

#karama #girl power #half the sky #reflection #america #africa

[atothem]

every morning and afternoon/evening, i make my way past a quarry, hustling and bustling with families, mamas making chapati, kids screaming and playing, men carrying heavy loads. the girls have become my friends and frequent dance partners. the moms, i think, are amused by me. and when i walk past, they all scream, "ALI..." repeatedly, as they await a wave or nod or hello. lately, i've been running wild. from this thing to the next, without so much as a breath or a pause. a few mornings ago, i had my breakfast in one hand, tea in another, and a full bag on each shoulder. my feet were heavy, as were my eyes. i was dodging piki piki's (motorcycles) and saying my hellos to passersby. i was thinking about the reports yet to be filled, lessons yet to be planned, wondering if there was too much avocado in that breakfast burrito i made for him... and then i saw her. i could not mistake her height, the shape of her head, her unique swagger and stride, the way her skirt fell on her. it was anna. there was no distance or dust, no way the amount of stuff i had in my hands or hanging from my body could undo my knowledge of this little girl. i knew it was her. i knew where she was.

which reminded me of something so simple, yet so hard to get through this head of wildly curly hair... no matter how much i am juggling, or how alone i feel; no matter how uncertain the future is, or how close to exploding my heart may be because of joy or pain or unknown, He is forever aware of my position.  He sees my little frame in this big world, knows my heart when the corners of my lips are turned that certain way. He loves me, even the dark side, this love displayed in the Son, taking on darkness for me.

{draw near to God, and He will draw near to you.  +james 4.8} 

#jams #africa #sala sala

[atothem]

on smiling, being married, and true love...

{Let us make that one point - that no child will be unwanted, unloved, uncared for, or killed and thrown away. And give until it hurts - with a smile. Because I talk so much of giving with a smile, once a professor from the United States asked me: "Are you married?" And I said: "Yes, and I find it sometimes very difficult to smile at my spouse, Jesus, because He can be very demanding - sometimes." This is really something true. And there is where love comes in - when it is demanding, and yet we can give it with joy.}

-mother teresa, national prayer breakfast (1994)

i have more to digest as far as the rest of this speech, but God is using this part to make me giggle, challenge me, and make me desire to be more like Him. i want to give, give, give to my very demanding Lover. with a smile. because He gave. with love truer than anything any of us could ever imagine. so thanks, mama t. 

#mother teresa