Wednesday, November 25, 2015

The Little Boy in the Grocery Store

This semester, my students in Lead 212 chose to study the issue of food insecurity by jumping in with both feet and living on the budget of food stamps for a week - $4.16 a day. They opted out of the canned food drive that is generally done by the class, and came up with this project instead. When we discussed the idea of this in the classroom, I could see the excitement in their eyes. They were excited to make a difference in what was clearly a big issue, get their feet wet in a real world problem, and do something that was entirely their idea. I, however, was interested to see how it went. Although I figured they knew they would be very hungry for that week, I wasn't sure they knew exactly what to expect... and neither did I.

Although I chose to participate, I chose to only join them for a few days, knowing that my allergies to processed food would bring me problems for weeks after the project was finished. (But what an interesting thought - certainly I am not the only person on the planet with allergies, and I am blessed to have the choice of whatever food I want to eat) The biggest thing I noticed, starting on Day 1, was that I couldn't have coffee, it was just too expensive. Not having coffee both gave me a caffeine withdrawal headache, and also left me tired and lethargic most of the day. My morning classes, where I generally learn best, became a place where I just tried to stay awake.

And I only did this for three days.

My students started the project on a Friday and ended it on a Friday, and since our class meets on Tuesday afternoons, I got to see them right in the heart of their tough week. The group I usually see has a positive attitude, works together, listens to each other, and manages to work through issues and discussions in a way that helps them learn better than I could ever facilitate on my own. But that week, I didn't get that group. The group that surrounded me was tired, irritable, had a much more difficult time focusing, and it seemed like our conversations that were supposed to be about leadership and inclusion constantly traced back to food. After the week was over, they talked so much about how the food actually affected all the parts of their lives, not just the fact that they were hungry. They talked about how it affected their test grades, their study habits, and their sleeping patterns. They were more irritable, less focused, and realized that the lack of nutritious food suddenly affected much more than they thought.

One of the common myths about food insecurity that my students certainly destroyed and now understand better is that obesity and food insecurity are problems that exist at opposite ends of the spectrum - when in reality, they go hand in hand. My students discovered this as they had to consume so many more calories to even be close to full, but they couldn't afford fresh fruits or vegetables, let alone any amount of protein. Their diet consisted highly of ramen noodles, canned foods, or frozen meals. (See a picture that one of my students sent me after she went shopping - this was her food for a whole week.)



Today, my mom sent my sister and I to the grocery store to do her Thanksgiving shopping. We weren't overly excited about going to the grocery store the day before Thanksgiving, especially since some of the things on my mom's list were things like "water chestnuts" and "sage" and I'm in college so I'm used to buying "cereal" and "noodles". I was hoping to make the trip as painless as possible, so my sister and I split up and got through as quickly as we could.

I got to the snack aisle though, and there was a little boy who I could hear yelling at the man he was with. Then, I heard the man say "I know. I know you want popcorn. But I only get paid once a month, and we can't have that right now. You're going to have to wait." And my heart broke. I thought about the way that my sister and were running around the store, mostly concerned about getting through quickly, not at all concerned about adding up the price of the things we were buying and worrying about shopping on a budget.

I've always told people that the Christmas season is not my favorite simply because of the culture we live in, and I wondered: what would life be like if instead of being concerned about ourselves, or gifts, we started at the bottom just to be sure that our neighbors had enough food on their table everyday? Nutritious and whole meals, and never having the stress of not knowing where tomorrows dinner is coming from.

What would happen to our society if everyone had a place at the table?

Thursday, November 12, 2015

My Father's House

Let's face it - we all like to dream. Most preschool aged children have imaginations that are crazy big, and it's easy to overhear them playing pretend; about house, construction, teacher, etc. When I was little, I remember dreaming a lot; about getting married, being a mom, and even at one point in life, being an architect so I spent my free time in class drawing sketches of houses on graph paper.

One dream I remember specifically that I had as a child was about heaven. People ask little kids about heaven a lot, maybe because their answers are cute, but if you ask me, I just think they have the best ideas. I remember picturing heaven as a city made entirely of gold, and it looked somewhat like Oz. There was also a St. Louis arch in that picture, don't ask me why.

A verse that aligns with this dream that I really like is John 14:2 "My father's house has many rooms, if that were not so, would I have told you that I was going to prepare a place for you?" So basically, when I was little, I pretty much imagined living in a castle. Like the one at Disneyworld. As I've gotten older, it's been less about Disneyworld, and more about home. Like maybe my senior pictures are in the hallway, and the kitchen always has chocolate, and that really good corn flake chicken my mom makes. Another translation of this verse uses the term 'dwelling places' instead of rooms. I like this, too, because I picture that as one of those big comfy sectional couches that you can sleep comfortably on. God probably has a lot of those.

When Brenna died, I loved this verse (and still do) because it helped give me a visual of where she was. I don't exactly understand all of heaven, but I liked the thought of her having her own room and then an extra room for her clothes since she would definitely need it. I liked the thought of her being 'at home', with her picture in the hallway, and the idea of Jesus greeting her joyfully at the door when she arrived shortly after what I could only imagine was an incredibly painful death.

Being on a college campus one thing that I hear a lot is people who came from a religious home and later decide they want to leave it behind. Others might suggest that they 'love God but not religion', and then there are the people who are not religious at all. I have met people of all beliefs, nationalities, ethnicities, political affiliations, and much more during my time in college, which has expanded my daydream of what my father's house really contains.

I hope that it is like the buildings I've lived and found as home in during my weeks in Hong Kong. They are large, multi-story buildings that sit in large cities. They have many corridors, many rooms, and open areas similar to a courtyard. The malls that we walked through in Hong Kong are some of the most confusing places I've ever been. (ask my teammates, without them I'd still be wandering around inside those malls)  There are escalators, hallways, everything is in a bright color, and the thing that the malls and the schools have most in common is that I can't read a lot of the signage.

I hope that my Father's House is that way. I hope that it is large and confusing, but is filled with people I have known, people I have not known, and that I often feel like the place is too big for me. I hope that there is familiar things, like chocolate in the kitchen, and unfamiliar things, like that dish I had in Hong Kong this year that one of my friends identified had 'chicken blood' in it. I hope that they happen at the same time, like when we sing songs in church in Hong Kong in English and Cantonese. As I roam through the world I live in (which right now is mostly just a college campus in Manhattan, Kansas), it brings me joy and comfort to dream about the things, the people, and the events that take place now and for eternity in my Father's House.

One of the hardest things about a trip overseas is making friends and having no idea if you're ever going to see them again. This summer, I taught two classes of four year olds, and during VBS one day, they learned the song "Big House" (YouTube it, or attend Sunday School long enough and you'll hear it) and it brought tears to my eyes to think that even if I do not ever see them again in my lifetime, I get to see them there. Where it matters. In my Father's House - which has many rooms, and He has gone to prepare a place for us.

John 12:24 "Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds." 

Wednesday, October 21, 2015

The Hermit Crab and the Yellow Lanyard

This morning in one of my classes, we read a story about a hermit crab. One day in January, the hermit crab realizes that he is too big for his shell- and he needs to move on. Although he is afraid of the big fish that are outside of his shell, he steps outside and finds a new one. Over the course of a year he finds new friends to decorate his shell and navigate the ocean with him - once he is satisfied with his new home in December, he realizes that he has outgrown that one, also.

After we read the story, my class of seniors sat in silence. For the past semester, we had thought that we were in different places. Some graduating in December (in a few weeks) and some in May (still light years away... right?) Some going to grad school, some finding jobs, some taking time off, and some not having a clue what they wanted to do. We sat stone still as we realized that we had one thing in common - the outgrowing of a place we've called home - which was downright terrifying. As we left class, I heard someone say behind me "Wow, shit just got real" and another person "Yeah, I was not ready for that today" and I realized that my future is approaching at a much more rapid pace than I would like... sort of.

I currently sit through classes that I no longer have interest in. I walk around a campus that is sometimes too familiar, and participate in clubs where I have heard the guest speakers, done the activities, and, essentially, am outgrowing it. I am ready to move on and start a career in the health field, and if I can't do that for a few more years, then at least go to a new school, make new friends, and find new challenges. I've always said that Manhattan, Kansas is way too small for me and I currently feel like I'm busting at the seams. We talked in class today about how one of our biggest fears about moving on is "what if I don't find this anywhere else?" We concluded that as different as we all are, we managed to find ourselves at K-State, however we got there, and we were afraid that the next part of the journey would only leave us lost.

But then, I reflect back to the person that I was freshman year. I remember the night that I moved to K-State. I worked my last day at my favorite job in the whole world, said goodbye to almost 40 kids as each parent came for pickup, and then toted home with me the memory book, blanket, and signatures from my daycare parents that I was sure I would keep forever. I cried the whole way to Manhattan, riding with my friend Natalie who came because we were going to separate schools, hers without cell phone service, and I wouldn't see her again until Thanksgiving. My transition to K-State, mostly smooth, was interrupted by the death of a friend seven weeks in, and dealing with the loss of Brenna just before moving in the first place, by October, I felt like I was hanging on by the skin of my teeth.

I think about the dorm room that I lived in freshman year - filled with pictures of friends, memories, and daycare kids that I promised myself I would never let me less important to me. I kept every picture of Brenna that I had on the wall, terrified of forgetting. I made some awesome friends, many of which I still see, and one of whom I live with now, three years later.

In the last three and a half years, I have attended football games, house parties, and played intramural sports. I have sat through classes where I felt like I could have been doing a thousand other things and classes where I felt like I just found the answer to life. I have had more than one great friendship begin and end. I've been overseas twice, watched my sister transition to college, and thought over and over about how freshman me would never have thought that senior me would be this happy with the way life is going.

I read a quote once in high school that said "bloom where you are planted." and it has stuck with me over the last several years. In high school, that was the kids I did laundry for, put down for nap everyday, fed snack to, and cleaned up after. But eventually, I could feel myself growing out of that, too. In college, it was with people - in my major, minor, residence halls, and with Christian Challenge. But I can feel myself being a bit 'uprooted' and beginning to be moved somewhere else - a somewhere else that I don't know yet. And when I think about the way K-State changed me and helped me learn who I am, I find myself terrified about what's to come.

A few weeks ago, I lost my car keys. Much to my dismay, I never found them and had to pay a good sum of money for a new car key and house key. When I got both new keys, I decided to go back to using a lanyard because my key ring didn't (obviously) do a good job of helping me keep track of them. I figured it would be temporary, but I've been carrying them that way for almost a month.

When I was at home the weekend after I lost them, I dug into the box under my bed that contains the few keepsakes I have left of Brenna. I am always proud of myself when I am able to get rid of things that were hers that hold no other meaning, trusting myself that she cannot and should not be contained to materialistic things, and one by one, they've gone over the last three years. One of the things I've hung onto, however, is the lanyard that was made right after she died - mostly for the lifeguards to use in her honor that summer, but also for her friends. I honestly don't know that I ever used it, but I put my key ring on it and it hasn't come off yet. I love carrying her around with me and knowing that my 'roots' will always stay the same. I will be rooted in a community who values the idea that 'it takes a village to raise a child.' I will always be rooted in a graduating class who knows pain and the value of family more than any 17 year old ever should. I will always be rooted the knowledge that I was raised in a family of people privileged enough to have the Phelps protest a funeral of someone I loved.

As I can see the bright yellow lanyard with the black initials swing back and forth in the cup holder of my backpack, I think about the person that I was when I moved to K-State, the person I will be when I move to graduate school, and hopefully, an even better person when I finish with another degree in three more years. I am learning to understand and appreciate the beauty of outgrowing things - understanding that all the growth and giving that can be done here is done, and it's time to move on. I never thought that moving on could be a positive thing, especially since I felt like I left Topeka in such a tough place. But over the last few months, I have realized that I, like many of my friends, am outgrowing my 'shell' of K-State - and am more than ready to see what else is out there - even if it might be some really big fish.

Sunday, August 16, 2015

What I've Learned So Far

Today, I helped my family move my little sister into the dorms at K-State for her very first year of college. She is living with our cousin, who often feels like our third sister, and they are living in the same hall where I spent my freshman year - one of the most memorable years of my life. Spending time doing that today made me think of all of the things that three years of college and being on my own has taught me, and I'm primarily writing this for the benefit of my 'two' little sisters, although I'm hoping they figure out most of it for themselves.

1. Call your mom, call her often, and do exactly what she says. She is always right.
For probably the first six months I lived in the dorms my freshman year, I could call my mom when I couldn't find something and she would remind me where we had packed it before I could even think about it. She always knows how to fix things when I'm sick, the answer to my friendship problems, she proofreads important e-mails, and helps me when I have to learn how to do adult things, like shop in sections of the grocery store that are not cereal and noodles, get a stain out of a shirt that I was sure I had completely ruined, and she even gives her opinion on outfits via text message when I have a presentation.. or a date.

2. Contrary to what the six year old you says, you cannot have ice cream at breakfast. 
Okay, at least not everyday.
Occasionally I go to my old high school and speak with seniors who are preparing to transition to living in a dorm and the one question I can always count on is - how is the food? I am usually faced with a room full of wide eyed seventeen year olds when I even begin to list the options available to them - but just because your mom is no longer preparing healthy foods for you should mean you stop eating them. You should only have ice cream for breakfast, at most, once a week. Otherwise, stick to cheerios. Also, eat fruit.

3. Accept the fact that honestly, the little things don't matter all that much. 
I guarantee you that at least one of the following things will happen to you over the next nine months:
-you will oversleep and miss a class
-your printer will decide to go on strike at the most inopportune time, forcing you to admit to your prof that you did, in fact, wait until the last minute to write that 12 page paper.
- you will get caught in the rain and show up to class looking and smelling like a wet dog.
Accept that these things will happen to you, and you could either let them ruin your day, or you could be thankful for extra sleep, the opportunity to show your professor how respectful and adult-like you are when he turns you away, or a nice shower on a hot walk to class (or at least deodorant).

4. Accept the fact that you will mess up. 
Along with the above lessons, accept the fact that you will forget an assignment, you will miss a meeting, you will forget to take that stupid online quiz that's due at midnight (me for the entirety of my time in sociology 101), learn how to make yourself better, and move on. Use a sticky note, an extra alarm, a reminder on your phone, but figure it out and don't worry about it.

5. Accept the fact that your college best friend will not know everything, or really anything, about you, until you tell them. 
It is very difficult to transition from being with your high school best friend, who likely has known you since at least middle school, if not before, to someone who you may meet in a dorm or Greek house. You will live with this person and they will see your ups and downs, but they do not know all the things about you like the embarrassing person you were in middle school or that one guy you had a crush on all the way through high school. Realize and appreciate that new friendships require work.

6. For the love of all things good and holy, at least skim the book. 
The amount of reading that is listed on the syllabus alone in some of my classes is enough to make me want to drop out, but please do not assume that you can get by without reading like you did in high school. You probably don't have to read all of it, but make sure you read enough of it - because a 42 on your first psych test might be a hard hole to dig out of.

7. Do fun things. Specifically, intramurals. 
My freshman year I got stuck on a volleyball team because they needed an extra player and it ended up being one of my favorite times of the week - a time that I was REQUIRED to stop doing homework and go play an active and participatory sport. We ended up winning semi-finals with only five people, one of which was struggling from a very late night out the previous evening. Hey, even if you suck, that's the point.

8. Take at least one road trip during your college career.
Seriously, everyone needs the opportunity to bond with others by cramming people into a car, sleeping on each other's shoulders, navigating with your cell phone loses service, (even though grandpa always lectures me about bringing an atlas, which I can barely fold properly, let alone use) and seeing your gas light come on an hour from the nearest rest stop. It's a good time.

9. Find at least one type of event, sporting or otherwise, that you enjoy watching or doing and go watch it or do it. 
It is truly amazing what a sense of school pride does - if you're feeling a little lost on a big campus, it's easy to meet people with common interests if you just start showing up to things you either like to watch or participate in, and then do those things.

10. Do not, if at all possible, burn popcorn in your dorm room.
All those friends we just talked about making in #9? You will no longer have them. Burnt popcorn in a dorm is like a dirty diaper on an airplane. It just lingers.
*Note: If you do find yourself in this situation, put the popcorn in the refrigerator.

11. Germs are everywhere. 
I shouldn't even have to say this, but if you drop your toothbrush in the community shower, go buy a new one. That day. Before it's time to brush your teeth again.

12. Embrace the utter chaos that is now your life. 
For some people, it's extremely difficult to let go of the scheduled day and predictability of high school and get used to having so much time to yourself and being on your own to get things done- (I am one of those people) but believe me, you will find an independence you never thought you had, capabilities you didn't know existed, an appreciation for your family at home, and, with any luck, a fire to try new things and be prepared for new change ahead.

Thursday, August 6, 2015

Inside Out [Hong Kong, 2015]

One of the toughest things I think I learned during my time in Hong Kong this week was that things didn't work the way I expected them to. I didn't have culture shock going over to Hong Kong, but I definitely have it coming home. I expected this trip to be easier since I've been there and done it before, but I should have known better. I should have known that God always has big plans when I think things are going to be easy.

Since I've been home, many people that I've seen in the last three days I've been home have approached me excitedly with the phrase "Tell me about your trip!" and as much as I appreciate that -  I always find myself at a loss for words. It is easy to think of the fun sightseeing things we did, the funny stories, the embarrassing encounters, the tough language barriers, but it is hard to truly tell them about my trip. About what I did, what I learned, where I really was, but most importantly, where God was.

When the term 'missionary' is deemed upon you, by yourself or others, several stereotypical pictures enter your mind and likely dictate the way you live life for the length of your trip. I carried a backpack everywhere I went. I expected a lot of language barriers, I expected trying new foods, I expected uncomfortable sleeping arrangements and long, tiring days. What I didn't expect, was how much easier it felt to be a missionary in Hong Kong than it would be in my hometown of Topeka or even in Manhattan, Kansas.

As I'm writing this, I'm sitting in a coffee shop in Manhattan, and I look like those around me. The people in this shop are a combination of students, people here for lunch during their work day, and people who are likely retired and catching up with friends. The diversity of America makes it common to see people of different races and ethnicities in coffee shops, restaurants, shopping malls, and other places, and you probably never give them a second glance. If I were sitting in this same environment in Hong Kong, I would immediately look different because my skin is a different color. I would stand out from the crowd, and I would likely be stared at. We experienced that quite a bit in Hong Kong (Chloe and Izzy can tell you about their experience at the temple we went to where they were asked to take pictures with group after group of people - solely because they looked different than those around them) In Hong Kong, I stood out everywhere I went because I was white, because my choice of clothes was different than the millions of people who seemed to surround me at all times, and because I had frizzy, curly hair instead of dark, straight hair.

When we were in the market, I watched seller after seller try to show me the many different styles of necklaces that are popular in Hong Kong specifically for the Buddhist religion (necklaces that are analagous to a cross for Christianity) hundreds of them lining the walls of the shops. Upon asking, I would find one or two at the end of each row that were crosses - showing the mere unpopularity that it was to be a Christian in Hong Kong. When I wear that cross necklace on the MTR, shopping, out to eat, or even just walking down the street, it makes me different from 80% of the people of Hong Kong because I did not choose the most popular necklace - I chose the one that did not look like everyone else.

This morning, when I woke up, took a shower in my own, warm shower, got dressed in my room larger than some Hong Kong apartments, and put on my silver cross necklace from home, I realized that I look like most of Manhattan - because crosses here are more of a fashion statement than a way of life.

I've heard for years that God made me to be different, that the idea of being a follower is that you are not 'one of this world' and in Hong Kong, I could attest to that. When I was in a temple, I saw people practicing a religion that didn't make any sense to me. I didn't understand the complexity of the worshipping of different gods, offerings, or burning things. But I was a missionary - and I wasn't supposed to fit in.

Upon coming home, I've found myself to almost have reverse culture shock. It's hard to realize that I'm not supposed to fit in here either, but I do, most days. It is easy to let Jesus shine through you when you are the odd one out, the one who looks different, the one who doesn't know what's going on. People think you are interesting, uncommon, and fun, and they want to know about you. It is easy to teach children who are interested in you because your hair is curly and they have never seen curly hair before.

It is hard to come home and teach children who do not find me as interesting because they've seen me before. It is hard to find the patience some days for those children when they have seen hundreds of other teachers that look like me, act like me, and for all intents and purposes, I am one of the crowd. It is hard to let my life live through my actions when I am one of the crowd in America and know that very rarely will people notice me before any other one person around me. Now that I don't live with a mission team in a Christian school anymore, it is hard to need God. Please do not think I am saying that I can handle things on my own - because I am not.

There is a song on the radio right now called "Glow in the Dark" by Jason Gray, and a line in that song says "The more broke you are, the more light shines through." It is 'easier' to need a God when I am alone, when I am the minority, when I am constantly humbled because I can't even talk to those around me. It is easier to need God when I have no idea what I will eat that day that won't make me sick, how I will work when my body feels like it is shutting down, or how I'm supposed to play with four year olds who don't speak English, let alone tell them a Bible story. Once I got home, I found that my to-do list hit me in the face. My graduate school applications are waiting, I am helping my sister get packed to move to school, I need to order my own books, and society tells me that I can essentially do 'this life' on my own. I am excited to start classes, see my friends, and they are already asking about celebrating my upcoming birthday, and to be honest, my daily worries and problems are few and far between - my immediate 'need' for God is very small. It is easier to the missionary in Hong Kong who feels like I can only rely on God to do daily tasks than it is to be the daily missionary in Manhattan, Kansas who finds things occasionally that require God's help, because then I end up having to reconnect with Him first.

In Hong Kong, I learned that it is not hard work as a Christian to stand out - although being an overseas missionary brings challenges that I cannot even fathom, I simply learned that the work becomes harder than I realized when you look and act like everyone else on the outside. I think that the idea of being a missionary at home (reaching people through your chosen profession, and place in life) is the place where an equal amount of work is required - you have to work very hard to be different.

Although I would love to go back to Hong Kong (I left most of my heart there the first and second visits) I cannot see myself ever serving overseas for an extended period of time. I do not think God made me to do that, but I am okay waiting for that instruction if it comes. God taught me over the last few weeks about the importance and difficulty of working for Him when I do not look different or dress differently than those around me - working from the inside out.

Sunday, July 5, 2015

My Grace is Sufficient for You

Over the last few weeks, many people have been asking the question about what we will be doing when we land in Hong Kong next Friday night. I have found it difficult to try to sum up the two weeks that I've been so excited about since July 28, 2014 - when we got home from Hong Kong the first time. We will be spending a week doing two sessions of Bible School, one morning and one afternoon, with sightseeing and time with friends from the school in the evening, and then a week working at a kindergarten camp at a different school with afternoons and evenings to sightsee or do as we so choose. This looked slightly like our schedule for last summer when we left, and I expected it to be nothing more than that - a few sessions of bible school, and maybe meet some new Hong Kong friends along the way. I was very wrong, however, boarding the plane in tears on our way home - knowing how big of an imprint that city and it's people left on my heart. I felt like I had 'unfinished work' to be done there, and I wanted nothing more than to have stayed longer.

As next Thursday, July 16th, has crept closer and closer, I haven't truly thought much about the trip. I've felt God put it on my heart to pray for a 'thirst' to learn about this place and it's people - last year and in almost all other situations in my life, I've found that I'm almost always most comfortable being in the background - listening to others talk and tell stories, and just simply watching. This year, I've realized my 'want to want' to make friends, learn about a new culture, and truly leave pieces of my heart in a city I may never return to.

People often seem shocked when they hear about this trip - they comment on the long plane ride, teaching kids who may not speak the same language that I do, and the true uncertainty of what lies before me in the next two and a half weeks. What people do not ever seem to grasp, however, is that it has nothing to do with me. People don't understand or don't know how much courage God poured into me before we left on our first trip - and how much I am hoping and trusting he will give me again. They don't grasp how much patience he gave me when I spent so much time trying to talk to kids who only knew a few words of English, where my strength came from on days that I did not think I could chase one more child down the long hallway or handle the heat and humidity anymore - but people will also never understand the pure joy that God filled my heart with when I watched my friend Natalie explain the gospel to Hong Kong first graders in broken English and lots of charades.

Last year during our time in Hong Kong I was given the opportunity to lead a devotion on our last morning there. My name was chosen randomly out of the three teams there and I was the only person from my team that was to do it, probably for fifty or sixty people. After a few months of thinking it over, I decided to share the story of how God had worked in my life over the last two years between high school graduation and then traveling to Hong Kong - those in between events of which included losing a friend to murder, watching my favorite five year old in the whole world battle cancer, and try to figure out why a heart that had never had a desire to go overseas for any reason, suddenly, in November of 2013, wanted to go with seven people I didn't really know, and maybe a little because of the requests from my friend Natalie.

As I was preparing for the devotion through the week, I could feel myself getting more and more nervous - those what if questions ringing in my ears so I couldn't hear anything else. What if I get up there and forget everything? What if it doesn't make any sense? Worst of all, what if I start talking about these people and these challenges and I start crying and don't make it through?

The night prior to the devotion I had skipped out on a dinner with the rest of my team simply due to exhaustion and one of my teammates stayed back with me. When he asked what I was planning on doing for the devo the next morning, I began sharing - and we talked for about four hours that night before the rest of our team got back - he asked question after question that pulled things out of me that I hadn't really thought about; all circling back to how losing a friend to murder in early 2012 got me to Hong Kong two years later. The next morning, he motioned me over before we went downstairs and he had found a verse to share with me; 2 Corinthians 12:9, the verse that reads "For my grace is sufficient for you, and my power is made perfect in weakness" - and I immediately felt the pressure to be perfect release from my shoulders. He prayed with me and then sent me on my way to get ready.

The devotion flowed that morning perfectly. Maybe because it actually went well, and maybe because I was too nervous to remember any of it, but regardless, it worked. I had spoken with the pastor ahead of time and he was translating in the event that some of my story didn't make sense to my new Hong Kong friends, or if I was speaking too fast (which likely happened) and I did not shed a single tear or really feel anything until I was done and seated - and then it felt like the floodgates opened. I felt both of my temporary 'parents' arms around me and I breathed a sigh of relief - it was over, and I could practically feel God working to unfold things - both in my heart and with new relationships being formed.

Looking back on the situation, so many things about that span of 24 hours have God's working hand in them. The very next morning, our last morning in Hong Kong, the passage in 2 Corinthians was 'the' verse for church that day - of all the verses in the bible they could have picked, it was that one. I can still see the look on his face when Ray turned around in astonishment and smiled at me. Looking back, while he was sharing with me and praying with me in my time of fear, I remember thinking about how he seemed like he had it all together - surely he knew this verse from other times in his life and was only sharing it with me knowing it would help. Later, he told me that that wasn't the case at all - as I was frantic for my devotion to go well, he was frantic to find words of comfort for me - and that is what he found - our weakness being made perfect in God's power.

This morning in church, 8,000 miles away from Hong Kong and almost a full year since that devotion, that verse came up again and I realized it was exactly what I needed to hear before leaving in just ten short days. Our Gospel reading this morning was out of Mark 6, where Jesus instructs his disciples how to go out - by taking nothing with them, and being dependent only on God's grace every day. The combination of the two passages seemed like a perfect idea to take as I was packing and preparing to head to Hong Kong in ten days. Although I've been there once, the worrier in me does not find that sufficient evidence to not think of every single thing that could go wrong while I'm there. What if I get sick? What if I find that I cannot eat the food there? What if I don't discover that until the food is already in my body? What if I have trouble adjusting to sleeping there? What if I don't jet lag well? What if, what if, what if?

Our pastor talked this morning about how God is most present and brings his deepest blessing when He seems most absent. I thought of my first time out of the country, with people I didn't know, thoughts of loss and grief still in the back of my mind, and then thought how God managed to bring his blessings in that situation. He continued to talk about how people truly do not know the redeeming power of being broken and weak.

Truthfully, that is the best thing I could have heard this morning as I am preparing travel overseas for a few weeks. The mental packing list paired with the 'what if' list seem to be at the forefront of my mind all the time and until the plane actually leaves Chicago O'Hare next Thursday, I'm really not sure I'll feel any better. But when Pastor was talking this morning, I thought of the little girl in my class last year, Faye, who I held such a strong bond with even though I only got to be in the classroom for three days. Faye spoke very little English, but she would contentedly sit next to me and color, asking for 'blue' or 'green' usually not even using the right color name. She held my hand whenever we walked anywhere, and God gently reminded me then that He doesn't need a week of me - as I thought of Faye this morning, I knew that I do not need to bring lots of material items, my very best teaching skills, or honestly, even a bible. I learned that these kids only expect my presence, and with that, God will work through me.

So for those who have been asking - we will be teaching Bible School, we will be working in a kindergarten camp, but we will mostly be relying entirely on God's grace and strength for day to day interactions. For those who have been asking, I know I speak for myself and a few others when I say that we are at least a little nervous. The only thing that has changed for me this go around is that I know to not expect to 'only' go through the motions of what's on my schedule - knowing my God will do much, much more. For those who have been asking, we would love prayers over the next few weeks for health, safety, patience, and bodies that feel well rested even when they aren't. We are expecting to be tired, we are expecting to not really know what we're doing all the time, and we are expecting to feel out of place.  However, we are so excited to go back to a life changing place and do life changing things with the only One who really changes lives.






Sunday, June 28, 2015

Hope for the Journey (Camp Hope - 2015)

I remember getting the very first phone call where cancer affected my life.

When I was in the seventh grade, my 'family', the group of people I had grown up with in my neighborhood - jumping on trampolines, swimming, and playing hide and seek, grew by one. Our
'Baby Luke' was born in October of 2006 with a heart condition that caused him to be put on the transplant list. When he was put on that list, I remember impatiently waiting for the phone call that he would have his heart. That phone call came one morning when I was already at school - that Luke was in St. Louis waiting on his surgery to be done that very morning - I remember feeling anxious for this little tiny baby, that I still had yet to meet. I learned so much about family during this time - Luke's two older siblings spent substantially more time with us and my parents would accommodate having four kids instead of just two since Luke was spending so much time in St. Louis. When Luke came home from the hospital right before Christmas that year, I held him for the first time when he still had an oxygen tube in -  I remember thinking how valuable and beautiful he was as his eyes stared back at me - how he had been through so much in life before he was even eight weeks old.

Five years later, the phone call came with the news that Luke had cancer. Although always knowing it was a possibility after a transplant, it broke my heart knowing that the little boy who loved Starburst Jelly Beans just as much as I did and could get so much joy out of confusing the older kids with his imagination games when we 'couldn't follow the rules' would have this terrible label on him.

Luke went into remission in the summer of 2012, right before I started college. The last time I saw him was on his first day back at church after several months off - I tried to snap a picture on my phone of his very first day - he had been unable to be out often because of his suppressed immune system, but on his first day back at church, he essentially sprinted down the aisle to get to the children's sermon. In fact, the picture was blurry. If there was one thing about the kid that never changed, it was his determination.

In October of 2012, after an infection, Luke passed away nine days after he turned six. The little boy who taught me about strength, love, and still makes me partial to anything Spider-Man had only had six years to do his job here on earth - that phone call came late Monday night during my freshman year of college, and by Wednesday afternoon I was packed and on the road - back to the family that had been together to see this little boy since day one. We had so much fun watching old videos of him singing in the car, telling knock knock jokes, and talking about his dreams, his personality still seeming to fill the room.

A year and a half later, I applied to volunteer at Camp Hope for the first time - a friend from high school had recommended it to me, but other than that, I knew nothing about it, only that it may hit me a little close to home, as it was a camp for kids who had or have had cancer. I thought about Luke, often struggling with the idea that he would have loved camp - it wasn't fair that I could go and he couldn't. The camp also had to be relocated because of a fire my first year, the chosen relocation onto a college campus - admitting to myself that I was a little more than scared to go is probably an understatement. Would I possibly be able to handle seeing so many kids like Luke, and they weren't even at a camp? Thankfully, I couldn't believe how wrong I was. The week was filled with games that seemed to make camp stand out - bubble soccer, hamster balls in the pool, a mobile game den, and even a color run and a paint fight. I was truly amazed, both my first and second year, what can be deemed magical when you are in the presence of a child.

On Wednesday morning of this week, mid camp, I had taken a trip into Great Bend to run some errands and was sitting in a coffee shop when the song Long Black Train came over the speakers - I never hear that song on the radio, but I could feel the tears well up in my eyes as I could hear Luke's tiny but bold voice singing one of his favorite songs in the back seat of the car - one of the many videos we watched to put together a group of videos for his funeral.

This fall it will have been three years since Luke passed away - and I know for a fact that he is a huge part of my fuel and love for Camp Hope. Whenever I spend one on one time with a camper I can still hear his little voice asking 'will you play trains with me?' and when I watch a camper do something for the first time, I remember seeing Luke learn to jump for the first time - we were playing a game on Xbox Kinect and he was trying to help - he got so excited his feet left the ground - something he had never been able to do before because of some delayed motor skills development. Jumping had always seemed so trivial to me, but we screamed and yelled like we had just won the lottery.

As the week went on, I paid special attention to the fuel of each and every person working or coming as a camper - most of them vastly different. During my first few days at camp last year, I thought it was the 'camp' atmosphere that drew these kids back year after year - at home there is no way to play hungry hungry humans, have a color run in your back yard, and you don't see a mobile game den very often. But after awhile, I realized that although that makes camp exciting, that isn't the root of it.

The root of it is truly hope, and that's all. The games, the friendships, the lack of bedtime, it's all grounded in hope. My first year I wondered how on earth it was possible to be a counselor at a camp where kids were sick - watching Luke be sick and remembering seeing him like that broke my heart, and I was afraid that it would be a week full of 'fake' hope - but that is certainly the last thing I found. I found that the hope really has nothing to do with 'hoping everyone will be perfectly healthy and everyone's lives will have no flaws' - but it has more to do with finding hope in a place you never expected to find it - these kids find hope on the journey, they don't search for it as an outcome.

I saw kids find hope this week as they got to run through stations of paint being thrown at them, and then have a paint war with their friends with essentially no boundaries. I saw kids who got to swim three or four days in a row and have a water fight in the dark, and kids who got their faces painted and hair done for the dance on Friday, find hope in that chosen day and the activities that lay before them. I saw kids of all ages who seemed to be able to share their hope with others - I know it certainly worked on me. The kids decided that it was not about the next treatment, test, or result, it was only about the next five minutes, ten minutes, or hour of life. I saw younger campers develop relationships with older campers who no longer struggled daily with the affects of their sickness - offering, possibly indirectly, a relationship of empathy and love in a friendship that could only be truly understood between them.

I went to camp expecting it to tug at my heart strings knowing the journey that some of these kids had before them, but I found that they mostly were teaching me about my own journey, why I want to work in the medical field, and why working with kids is important to me. They taught me about tough situations, being thankful, and the importance of laughter. They reminded me of the way that being around Luke could make me forget about any stress I had in my life - his wishes to help and do things himself and his constant pleas for more games were a true example of how sometimes, it's really not about the destination, only about the now. I was reminded about the value of family at camp - Luke had a way of bringing everyone together, ever since he was born, and at camp, I had that same feeling of family, even though I've known everyone there for a whole two weeks. Although all the kids in the camp had one major life illness in common, I found that the hope at camp stretched far beyond the six letter word 'cancer' that had gotten me there in the first place. Many people, campers and volunteers alike, were dealing with other trials and tough situations in life. The more I listened to people's stories, the more I found other people, not just the kids, who were coming to camp and finding hope in the journey instead of at the destination.

Monday, May 25, 2015

The Angels in my Path (5/25/12 - 5/25/15)

Sometimes I wonder how many situations I've been in where I've been unkind to people. Sometimes I wonder about it, and then sometimes I actually THINK about it, and when I actually think about it, what I come up with can be quite depressing. Perhaps many of my Seaman friends reading this will remember the pain that May 25 holds for us - or maybe you won't, because I know in my brain, things seem to be fuzzy and kind of in a weird order. Maybe you have certain parts of your memory that are especially vivid and you don't want them to be, or maybe you have some that you've struggled to remember for three years and have only faded more. Many of my memories from May 25 have started to fade, or are completely gone. But what I do remember after three years: the Jimmy John's guys and the lady from the news station.

Three years ago yesterday, my life felt like one of those thousand piece puzzles that you just finished and is resting peacefully on your kitchen table. I felt like all of the things in my life made sense - I had my high school diploma, knew where I was going to college, knew what I wanted to do, and was excited about my future - a future still distant enough that I didn't need to be nervous for it.

Three years ago today, it felt like someone took that puzzle and dumped it, face down, and I watched the pieces scatter as a big wind picked up. The next two and a half years were spent picking up the pieces and figuring out where they went. I was at work when I got the phone call that Brenna had gone missing - but unable to leave, as the time passed, I felt more and more weary about the situation at hand. My phone continued to buzz from friends who were in the same situation - trapped at work and worried sick, wondering if anyone had any more information. I was able to leave work early and I joined hundreds of others as we walked up and down streets, searching through ditches, fields, and shrubbery, alternating between being sad, but then going back to talking about college because we were sure this wasn't real. By the late hours of the evening, hundreds of people had migrated slowly to the caution tape that had been posted where her glasses had been found on the side of the road. The feeling of hearing police yell into an abandoned building for my friend and seeing a helicopter swoop low over the field to search for her when she had sat the row behind me at graduation just days before is engrained deep into my brain, but also my heart.

I remember vividly getting the phone call from my mom where she told me that Brenna was gone. My phone was on it's last leg of battery by that time of night and there were surely close to 1000 people out searching - making it near impossible to stay near my parents. I was, quite literally, knocked to my knees and I only remember hitting the side of the truck that was parked next to where I was standing. I remember getting through the sea of people and the only two people on the planet I wanted to see were my parents, but it felt like it took hours to find them - when in reality it was probably only a few minutes. As we stood in the field that was filled with my best friends, I watched them, one by one, get similar calls from their own parents who would show up shortly after. Many staff from our school were out there and I saw my best friends fall sobbing and shaking in the street.  The next morning, I woke up and it took all the energy I had to move myself to the couch. My mom came in and she made a comment how it was probably time I try to eat something - I truly admire her for her patience with me during that time of convincing and the car ride across town. I know 17 year olds can be unpleasant, but I know for a fact that day that I had long surpassed the grounds of 'unpleasant'.

Please note that I do not share this so that anyone has to relive it, or that I think these are important details three years later. What I do think matters, however, is the boldness of the situation compared to the seemingly small acts of kindness that follow it.

It wasn't until we walked into Jimmy John's that day until I realized that I was still wearing my pajama pants, hadn't combed my hair, and my eyes were still swollen with tears from the night before. The guys at Jimmy John's that day showed only genuine kindness - continuing to comment on the beautiful weather, asking about our plans for the weekend, and seeming to not notice that we were probably very unkind, and possibly very checked out. When my mom paid for our sandwiches, they made manual change and never touched the register. With her questioning look, he responded that the shop wasn't actually open - but they had bread ready and were happy to serve.

It is possible that them making our sandwiches outside the normal store hours meant nothing to them; they weren't intending to be especially kind, or maybe they were but it was only because the weather was gorgeous and they were in a good mood. Maybe they and seen the news. Maybe they guessed who we were, or maybe I had a Seaman shirt on. Maybe the pajamas and tear stained face gave it away. All I know is that they didn't have to, and they did.

Later that day, people flooded in and out of my house to make scrapbooks and watch the news together. Among those people was a woman from a local news station. I don't remember her name, or what news station she was from, or really anything else about her. What I do remember about her was her genuine care for our situation. We had been contacted by several other stations over the course of a few hours to be interviewed, and none of them struck me as anyone who cared about our hurt for more than anything but a good news story. What I liked about her was that she asked several times if I wanted her to leave, or get out of the kitchen, and she asked politely more than once if it was okay we be interviewed. When a few of us agreed, she patiently moved all of her equipment to the front steps per our requests to give us our privacy in case a breakdown occurred. Her questions revolved around our memories, giving us a chance to share the things we loved most about Brenna,  not the case, the situation, or any opinions of things that would have made a better 'story'.

To the blonde woman from the news station who covered this story three years ago - thank you for your genuine care for my friends and me. Thank you for not pushing us, and truly caring to develop the story of my friend as a person and not just as a news story. I never thought that would be hard to find, until I was in that situation, and I realize we were very lucky.

Over the course of that summer, it was easy to see hundreds of cars throughout the day with the letters "WWBD" printed in the back - the letters we had picked a day before her funeral after finding out the the Phelps had decided to protest. the phrase "What Would Brenna Do" became a sign to be printed on cars, among other things, to show a member of our family, and someone that you could catch a smile with in a parking lot - knowing that you had shared the same pain only a few weeks before. I now know how important the example set by the Jimmy Johns guys and the lady from the news station really was - Brenna wasn't a miracle worker, barely had her high school diploma, but she definitely would have made someone's lunch when having the ability. She definitely would have gone out of her way to treat them with kindness. And she definitely would have taken extra and gentle care for their situation, even if she didn't understand it.

People always say that the first year of a loss was the hardest. If you prove to yourself that you do everything once, then surely you can do it again. For us, though, the first year, or at least the first nine months, just meant getting past the legal side - It was not until January of 2013 when it was truly 'over' and I came home from work that day to read an article on CJ Online that tore me to pieces - but I could also breathe a sigh of relief because there would be no more court dates or hearings - it was finally over. Additionally, when the grief journey came to an abrupt halt in October with the loss of our sweet Luke, I felt like raising the white flag with God. The sweet boy who had won my heart with his life sized imagination and our shared love of Starburst jelly beans was suddenly gone - two people who loved life with their whole hearts - suddenly gone in five months of each other. God, where are you in this? I knew this meant that our 'one year clock' was potentially starting over - but this time, I didn't have much confidence in it's ability to keep ticking.

I wish I would have known in those really terrible first months with the court dates, another funeral, and days when seeing a K-State rowing shirt on campus nearly ruined my day that the best really was yet to come. I wish I would have known that grief would not always have such a stronghold on my life, and that I would eventually make it to the other side and would eventually lead a bible study, find the best group of friends I'd ever had, and be a part of a mission team to Hong Kong the summer after my sophomore year of college where I met a family who continues to impact on my life and journey with Christ. I wish I would have known that helping write an obituary in a yearbook for my friend would have helped fuel my love for writing three years later.  I wish I would have known that the Jimmy John's guys and the lady from the news had it right all along.

To the guys at Jimmy John's that day, and to the lady from the news station who covered our story - Whether it be considered a 'random act of kindness', just going out of your way to make an extra sandwich when you didn't have to, just the way you did your job, or true care for a hurting group or kids, I still appreciate that three years later. I know for a fact that the actions of complete strangers got my day started off on the right foot - the first day on a very long road of emotionally draining days. Your kindness was the very first of many footprints of the angels in my path that has helped me accomplish so many things that I could have never, ever done on my own. To the guys at Jimmy John's and the lady from the news- thanks for starting out that journey with a perfect example of how to make it through. Nothing big, nothing hard, but definitely something important.

Wednesday, May 13, 2015

To The Nostalgic High School Senior

I remember my last week of high school very vividly - starting Monday morning thinking about how this was probably the last time my mom would ever make my lunch, and how it would be exactly how I liked it, before I started having to eat the 'dreaded' dorm food, before living in a room the size of a coat closet, and before sharing a bathroom with 40 other girls. I remember going to my senior breakfast where we 'tailgated school' and played frisbee in the parking lot, my last day of dance team where I got to hand down my treasured job of co-captain and prayer leader before each game. I remember riding my bike to school with 30 or so other seniors on my last day, and crying my way through the halls as I found each individual teacher to get my infamous 'yellow sheet' signed stating that I had no unreturned books, missing assignments, or unresolved squabbles and was good to go for Sunday at 4:00.

I remember driving home from my last graduation party on Sunday night around 2:00 and seeing the sign at Mother Theresa Catholic Church that simply read 'Congrats to the Grads" - it was dimly lit and one of the letters was crooked, but as I finished my drive home, I realized how incredibly content I felt with my life at that very moment. That week I started working for the summer at my favorite job - not too concerned about college, mostly worried about what that evening or weekends' plans were. But I remember, as August crept closer, feeling more nervous. What would happen to the family that I had been apart of for 13 years? Would it feel different to go home again? Would I still be close to my sister? I had been saying that I was 'ready to move on' for months, but what if I didn't like college?

To the nostalgic high school senior; I promise it will all work out. That dorm room you are about to move into seems small now, but within a few days it will seem like the homiest place in the world. That bathroom may seem scary, but I promise you will be forced to bond with those other girls by brushing your teeth in the morning together or trying to figure out why there's a red velvet cake on the floor in the bathroom (yes, that happened). You will meet your RA and they will be your 'mom away from mom' when you need them, but your real mom will still always your number one phone call away, and trust me, you will utilize that. You will learn to appreciate your car when you have to park it three miles away from the dorm and that run to the store is unavoidable at 2 a.m. because you NEED Chinese (and it's probably pouring down rain). You'll learn how little time it actually takes you to get ready in the morning when you've been up since two studying (or listening to your roommate talk about her date last weekend)

To the nostalgic high school senior, your high school will always hold a special place in your heart, and trust me, nothing is as special as reuniting with your high school friends and catching up on significant others, who has changed their major the most, and who hasn't actually ATTENDED their sociology class this semester. It will feel different to go home, but it will feel like the most comforting thing in the world - after being away for a few weeks, Betty Crocker couldn't make anything as good as your mom can and suddenly YOU are the one annoying your younger sibling because you want to spend time with THEM.

To the nostalgic high school senior, suddenly, your college friends become a part of your family. When you run out of gas, suddenly they are a lot closer than your parents. The first time you really, really mess up anything on your own, they are the ones you run to. And when the fire alarms go off every hour and a half because of a leaky pipe during finals week, THEY are the ones who truly understand your pain.

To the nostalgic high school senior, I promise you that the best part about college is choosing your own niche. Choosing the people you hang out with, the classes you take, the way you spend your weekends. Your freedom dictates your happiness and success, and you have the opportunity to choose whether or not you will 'like college.' I promise you that your professors are nothing like the English version of Professor McGonnagal.

As I'm writing this post, I'm sitting on the floor of the library, drowning in my own physics and neuroscience notes. I have dishes from dinner three hours ago that need to be taken home and washed, a cup of sweet tea that's getting me through tonight, and a Royals game to watch with some friends that I'm pretty excited about later. College is a little less predictable than high school, we just got kicked out of the library for an hour because of a 'leak' (whatever that means) with nothing but our phones. But, hey, memories, right?


To the nostalgic high school senior, I promise it will be okay. You will make friends, some for keeps and some not so much. You will make grades, some for keeps and some you could have done better. But I promise you that the memories, whether it be a college game or a Chinese food run at 2 a.m., will be well, well worth the nerves.

Tuesday, April 7, 2015

To my Favorite Guardian Angel - Happy 21st Birthday, Brenna

I think that of all the days in the world after someone dies - the anniversary of that day, the holidays without them, the everyday things that make you think of them - birthdays are definitely the toughest. Today would have been Brenna's 21st birthday - the last of the milestone birthdays we would have all celebrated together.

This day usually falls each year right around the first thunderstorm, when the trees are changing, and as the weather is finally starting to warm up. (emphasis on finally) The first year, I remember thinking a lot of "Will this ever go away? Will it stop being the first thing on my mind in the morning? Will I stop being reminded of it every time I see the Lion King or Tangled, or hear any words associated with loss, or drive anywhere in Topeka, or see a K-State rowing shirt on campus? - everything seemed to remind me of her.

There was a time in life when I wondered if we would attempt to do something in her honor for her birthday, but it hasn't happened. We've now all moved on to college and her day falls in the middle of the most challenging part of the semester. I made it to the cemetery once over Memorial Weekend the year after she died with a few friends, but otherwise, I know there's several people who have never been out to see her, and I usually just drop by on my way back to school. One of the hardest lessons I had to learn through this process was that everyone grieves differently - and for us, 'different' meant 'not together.'

The trickiest concept to grasp, I think, is that loss is the tough part - not death. It is days when you would be celebrating (like their 21st birthday) that hit you like a ton of bricks. It is getting used to the fact that they are not there - and sometimes, that takes a lot longer than you 'think' it should - and the world is still spinning. It is seeing the articles that catch you off guard on Facebook, like the ones I saw today, written by people so very far away who never heard her positive and yet demanding requests to take a picture, or heard her contagious laugh, write about their thoughts on the death penalty.

Over time, it gets easier though - her birthday tends to resurface all the old pictures that I forgot about - some memories that have even left my mind. That night at the lake, the time we went on a scavenger hunt and managed to fit six people in a porta potty, and even pictures at events that had no reason for photos - but knowing her, the camera was always there.  I've never been so thankful for a friend who required so many pictures at so many annoying times. My favorite picture of Brenna and I was taken seconds before I walked on the basketball court for a half time routine during a Hayden game. I was thinking, 'uh, Bren, I kinda gotta be somewhere?' and she kept saying 'no, it'll just be a quick second!' And I'm so glad she was so insistent.

My favorite memories of Brenna may be that time that someone unintentionally called her fat in eighth grade English (it seriously was unintentional) and she promptly slapped him in the face with a binder.  Brenna got a high five from our teacher and the boy got sent out in the hall for insulting a girl. Later in eighth grade, she was over for New Year's, and my mom offered her some Sparkling Cider, to which Brenna told my mom that she didn't drink, not realizing it wasn't real. (The girl knew how to stick to her values and I always admired her for that) I think our whole class of 150 knew when she got a discipline sheet and did it in the bathroom so her parents wouldn't find out (we all knew those weren't fair or a good form of punishment anyway, right?) She also tagged my car junior year (when some other friends found out she had never been tagging) ... in the rain... to wish me luck on the ACT. She was a true friend - through thick and thin. :)

This weekend I went home for Easter and on Sunday night went up to the high school to run the track - a place I hadn't been in several months. There was a long time after Brenna died when I didn't like going to the high school. The familiarity of it used to make me sad - knowing that for future reunions or really anytime we get together, there would always be a hole, and not just because she already had earthly plans. I would think of our desks pushed together in seminar to 'do math homework' - or mostly just laugh and giggle and get ourselves in trouble. I thought of her familiar face always sitting front row of the band section at the basketball games and it made her easy to pick out while I danced at half time - the comfort of knowing that even if I messed up, she would still think I was great just because I could spin in circles without falling over.

If I could ask her anything today - just have a five minute conversation with her - it would be How? How did you do it? The positive attitude, the consistent shining of the light of Christ, the constant happiness, that huge smile. How can I be like you? When we went in the Monday after she died to work on the yearbook and begin putting together a memorial page/article for her, that how question sat in my heart like a huge weight. How were we supposed to contain her in one page? Most of the school knew her, so how were we supposed to portray the person she was to each of them? And for those who didn't - what could we possibly say in one page? Pastor Cogswell made the gentle suggestion at her funeral that the letters on our cars should not be What Would Brenna Do, but instead, What Would Brenna Want?

Perhaps I should work so hard to live a life like that  - where I could not be fit on a page, not because I am important, or well known, but because the investment in others stretches far beyond what I can see.

Happy 21st, Brenna - you are loved more than you could have ever known.

Sunday, March 22, 2015

A true re[treat] - To my Christian Challenge family

This week, I had the privilege of taking a true 'week off' in Buena Vista, Colorado to go to a retreat with my ministry from K-State. Although I think I could sleep for the next ten weeks and not be rested from that, and my duffel bag smells like a combination of sweat and farm animals, the reflection that has come from the last week has made me feel very, very blessed to find the family that I did.

We started our week with three of our four cars leaving Manhattan mid afternoon on Friday.. and making less than an hour before Emma blew a tire. We stopped in Salina for a new one, and thankfully, were back on the road after relatively short wait at the tire center at Wal-Mart. I sincerely could not have been more thankful for Isaac, Ben, and Ryan's knowledge and ability to get us back on the road quickly. Soon, we were back on the road, stopping for dinner in Hays, and arriving at our hotel in Denver around 11 to unpack and send the boys to their dwelling for the weekend at Jeremy's sister's apartment.

Five o'clock came incredibly early the next morning as we met at the apartment where the boys were staying to eat breakfast and pack the cars to go to Loveland to ski. Breakfast sandwiches flew across the room as they came out of the microwave, hitting someone in the head occasionally to wake them up. Orange Juice was passed around, and we soon packed the car and headed for Loveland - only stopping once when the cooler in Jared's truck tipped over and gave a miniature Niagara Falls affect out of the bed. I had never been skiing before and could feel myself getting more nervous as the traffic got heavier and more and more cars had skis or boards on top of them.

As I got my boots and skis on, and sort of waddled and slid towards the lift on the bunny slopes. Snow, coats, and bundling up are not my forte and I felt beyond out of place. To put it lightly, skiing was not my thing, and I didn't do much of it that afternoon. My friends were more than patient with me during that morning as I learned how to move, and mostly learned by falling. They helped me up each time and never mentioned (at least in front of me) that I was clearly the rookie of the team - but made sure that I was never somewhere where I shouldn't be by myself.  That night we went back to the hotel, all got through the shower, and drove to the apartment where the boys were staying and had already put lasagna in the oven ready for dinner. We all crammed into the living room, decorated with Christmas lights and not made for more than five people, trying to find a position comfortable to sit in after a day of skiing. The room soon filled with the smell of warm food from the kitchen (I felt like my body was never going to fully warm up) and one of the guys stopped pray and two pans of lasagna, a salad, a a bowl of corn were gone in a matter of minutes.

When we arrived at Frontier Ranch in the late afternoon on Sunday night, I was flooded with memories from my first time there. As Kaley and I unpacked and waited for the rest of our group, I thought about all the things I learned last year - I have over ten pages of notes in my journal, but I learned a lot about community too, and how lucky I was to find Christian Challenge.

When I came to K-State, I first started at a different ministry ... that I'm really not sure I would call a ministry, if I had to define it now. I definitely was not accepted for who I was and who I wanted to be, and they questioned my life and priorities - the few things in my life that I felt like made sense at that time. Looking back, I feel like I got out just in time, but then still felt like I was one person roaming around a campus of 25,000. I was working through the loss of one friend to murder and a family friend to sickness, and I consistently wondered, who would take me and all this baggage? In January, a friend invited me to Christian Challenge, and the first time I went I knew I found my answer.

Between January of my freshman year and March of my sophomore year, I found friends in Challenge and even got up the nerve to join a bible study. Somehow, I found that I had the desire to go to Colorado for their annual retreat over spring break, something way out of my comfort zone, and I ended up going only knowing my life group leader and was blessed to get to know Hannah, another girl in my life group, as she became one of my best friends over the next few months. After Summit, I applied to lead a life group (looking back I'm really not sure what my thought process other than that it was God directing my feet each day to find the application, fill it out, and turn it in - I certainly lacked the desire and confidence) - and now, I find myself completely at home with Christian Challenge.

While at Summit and with my Challenge family, I find few places on this earth where I'm more comfortable. At Summit one of my favorite things is watching people dance into the dining hall and having to scream to introduce myself at whoever happens to be sitting at my table, which is okay, because they're family anyway. I love that no matter what outfit you're wearing, regardless of how hideous it is by society's standards, if it involves chacos or flannel, it's okay. I love worshipping with 300 of my closest friends, and then turning around and playing the most violent and bruise worthy game of volleyball I've ever played in my life. I love the way that this family is so eager to help, encourage, and love one another in any way possible.

I really can't thank my Challenge family enough for their love over the past two years - I already know that when I graduate in a year, Challenge will be what I miss the most. I've loved getting to know people on such a true and deep level. This year when I started leading a bible study and I was put onto a ministry team (a group of other leaders who meet with a staff member once a week to have an opportunity to connect, share, and work together to discuss how leading is going.) I felt incredibly undeserved of the company I found myself in. By mid-year, we were in the midst of sharing our 'stories' with each other and I found myself telling my 'story' of the first time about losing a friend to murder, a close family friend five months later, and moving to college and trying to pick up the pieces of my life. My friends sat patiently around the room, some with tears in their eyes, as they waited for me to finish - and then they began to ask questions that I realized I had been needing to answer for months.

This year as I went back to Summit, completely comfortable with being away from home, I loved being surrounded by 'my people'. The people who fully consider bananagrams and Nertz olympic games, who wear Chacos in the snow, who 'dance' for things to get them back from the lost and found. - The people who I know will love me and accept me for whatever life brings - but challenge me to continue to be better every day, and who would no less than expect me to do the same for them.

Sunday, March 1, 2015

Joy in Waiting

Those of you who know me know how much I struggle with winter. Every year, too, it seems like we get a tease in January - several days that almost hit 70 degrees, and every year, I get my hopes up. It usually doesn't even start snowing until after Christmas, and it is around this time every year that I have to say "God, you are testing my patience. I cannot handle one more snowflake, one more patch of ice, one more day of carrying kleenexes to class because this weather makes my nose run. I. Am. Sick. Of. Waiting."

This winter, or at least the first few months of 2015, have been a rather difficult one for my family. We lost my uncle just a few days into January and took an unplanned trip halfway across the country to see our family.  It seemed like we had only just gotten home and semi-adjusted to the real world again when we lost our treasured family pet of 16 years, meaning there was no more warm laps in the evening, hearing the subtle sharpening of claws at 5 a.m. when he was ready to go outside in the morning, or him following my sister and I aimlessly around the house begging for our attention.  Finally, last week, a dear friend of my mom's went home after battling cancer for over a decade. I came home on Thursday night for the funeral on Friday, trying to squeeze in homework when I could, but also wanting nothing more than to just be with my own family.

Friday morning we sat down in the church, the only noises to be heard were the shuffling of coats and scarves being removed and the occasional, louder, blowing of a nose. Although I know there's not much you can do about it, I've always hated that part about funerals. A few minutes after we got there, a man walked up to the people sitting in front of us. He got a big smile on his face as he said "Hey! Mind if I join you here?" The man and his wife willingly scooted their coats and belongings over to make room - and I thought 'this guy has it right - shouldn't we all have such a joyful attitude for our sister in Christ?'

My friend Natalie said it the best when she described how difficult it is to be in your twenties. I really only just got here, but for the first time, my decisions and responsibilities hold actual weight. I enroll for my senior year of college this week, and as post-graduation plans creep up on me, I can't help but think about how for the first time in my life, my those ideas, goals, and dreams and are truly on ME to be carried out. If I don't get into graduate school, it is on me to find a plan B and no one else. But so much of my life right now also feels like it's out of my control. After this winter, I often wonder, do I have control over anything?

Our message at church over the last three weeks has been about service - what we are called to do, do often and do well. I often find myself slipping into the mindset of "once I graduate from K-State..." or "Once I have a job..." but I know that's exactly the opposite of what God wants - He wants me serving in my waiting - whether I feel 'in control' or not. He wants me to be like the man I heard at the funeral - alongside my brothers and sisters in Christ in the good, the bad, and the waiting. Although I often think of it as waiting for that 'next thing', He wants me serving while I wait for that eternal "something better."

One piece from our message in church this morning that stuck with me was that "we are called to serve competently" - the idea that yes, we are called to serve, but we are called to do it well using the gifts we already have. That can both be scary and comforting - scary because I know that God knows what I do well, and there's no hiding from Him - but comforting knowing that things I'm good at are usually things I enjoy, and, quite frankly, I would rather serve doing something I'm good at than doing something in an area in which I have no skillset whatsoever.

On Friday when I made my visit to my daycare kids and I heard the voice from the bathroom "Emmy, will you please come wipe me?" followed by the requests for help because she couldn't reach the soap, or the faucet, and we were out of paper towels. I hadn't felt that competent in months. Although recently I have doubted (more than once) my abilities to comfort those around me who grieve, and my post-graduation plans are sneaking up on me with an entirely new set of fears, I am content with knowing that for the time being, if God wants me to do nothing more than help my three year olds reach the sink, I would be more than happy to do so.

Sunday, January 11, 2015

How I Know There's Ice Cream In Heaven

This past week, I was reminded again how quickly life can change. I'm starting this post from Virginia, hundreds of miles away from my home, and a place I never expected to be this week. My plans for this week included working part time, lunch with a friend, and possibly driving up to Snow Creek to ski. Monday night, however, we got a phone call that made that all disappear.

My mom answered the phone last Monday night with the news that her uncle had collapsed and was without a pulse. We had been watching Full House and we sat with the TV on silent as we waited for another phone call to update us. Turning the TV up didn't seem right, but turning it off didn't either - almost like we were frozen in time.

Two days later, early Wednesday morning, we were sitting in KCI waiting to board at 6:45 a.m. headed towards Dulles to get to a grieving family - a family we hadn't seen in over a year. After two plane rides, one layover, and eight long hours, we arrived at a household full of food and a teary eyed family. I have flown so many times in my life - at least once a year for various trips we had taken as a family, but I had never flown in the winter, and Mother Nature didn't hesitate to remind me that this trip was vastly different from those before it. Walking down a jetway in single digit temperatures, not seeing the sunshine in more than a week, and having to wait on them to 'de-ice the wings' (yeah, sounds really comforting, right) gave us consistent reminders of where we were going.

The two deaths that I had the best memory of were both under the age of 18 and people that I was close to - I remembered the seemingly unbearable pain that comes with dealing with each separate aspect of loss, and I knew I wasn't ready to watch my family go through it. I wasn't sure how to help, how to act, or how to be. Little did I know, it would mostly be them teaching me.

I'm now sitting back in Kansas finishing this post. 1100 miles away from the family I spent all week with, realizing that although I still have a week before going back to school, my family goes back to the 'real world' tomorrow morning. Although I knew that arriving in Virginia would be hard, and dealing with each of the things that came with the week would be hard, I guess I didn't think about the fact that we had to go home eventually. As I'm sitting here reflecting on the whirlwind of the last week, I don't think I've ever been more thankful for my family and all the things they've taught me.

I'm thankful for a family who made having 30 people in one house for an entire week enjoyable. I'm thankful for the friends and neighbors who dropped off plate after plate of food, (the little kids - and maybe Chris and Eric too - would put their two cents in for the plate of chicken nuggets that came that was roughly the size of my bed) so we never had to worry about how to feed such a number of people at such odd times of day. I'm thankful for my mom, my aunt, and their cousins, who work so well together, read each other, and kept the house running this week - a true example of servanthood. I'm thankful for my younger cousins, whose consistent [high] energy level, curious questions, and genuine giggles kept the house going. I'm thankful for Josh (pausing for the smiles of my family reading this), the staff member from the funeral home who was assigned to our family, and who's genuine heart really helped our family - when we needed him, he always seemed to be there, whether we were looking for our coats, a kleenex, or a TV for the younger kids to watch - but when we needed our space, he seemed to disappear into the woodwork. Phrases of "I just love Josh." would be heard through the house for days to come.

Although I was definitely not excited to go and endure such a tough week, (who would be?) coming home was definitely the hardest part. The freezing temperatures and blowing snow only made our tearful goodbyes worse last night while we were packing to head to the airport. However, I am so incredibly thankful for the relationships and values that have been instilled in my aunts, uncles, an cousins that make our time together so worthwhile and our relationships truly more than just 'extended family.' Coming home, and even going our separate ways once we hit Kansas, I know that because of my family's example I will be looking out for those around me, hugging a little tighter, and of course, eating just a little bit more ice cream - and maybe licking the bowl, too.

Sunday, January 4, 2015

Road Work Ahead

When I look back over the last few years, a great deal of my favorite memories are all kept during the last week of my senior year of high school. During that week, our senior class had a tailgate breakfast in the school parking lot before school on our last day, and we also had "alternative modes of transportation day" where I rode my bike to school with about 20 other kids from a friend's house. (Which was surprisingly more difficult than I predicted.) I have fond memories of police stopping traffic to get us across Topeka Blvd, knowing this would be the only time I would ever ride my bike for any such distance.

These are two of my favorite pictures I have from graduation week. They display perfectly the carefree attitudes, the excitement about new beginnings, and most importantly, the closeness that our class always had. Another photo taken that day was this one: 
This photo would prove to mean more to me than I ever thought it would. Although that orange sign was probably one of thousands seen around Topeka during the summer (otherwise known as 'road work season'), that one now seems symbolic of the loss of a classmate and close friend we would face exactly a week and two days after this photo was taken. 

Tonight I had dinner with one of my best friends from high school. After that loss, we didn't talk much - it seemed as though no one, including my close friends in my same situation, knew how to handle the situation, or even each other. We went almost a year and a half into college without truly 'catching up.' In high school, we bonded over similar dislike of a certain teacher, homework we could only figure out together, and our Friday night bonfires at the lake or pickup games of baseball. Now, she was playing college soccer and I was at a larger university and involved in entirely different things. It seemed like the only thing we had in common was our grief, and there wasn't much to talk about. 

One night last summer she came over and we talked about all the things it seemed like we had missed out on over the last two years - the professors, dates, our favorite places to go out in our respective towns, new friends, living on our own, and a little bit of reminiscing here and there too. We talked, for the first time, about our own experiences with loss and how it affects us now.

Tonight at dinner, a passerby probably wouldn't have known whether we were juniors in college or juniors in high school - We ordered the same enchiladas with cheese sauce and split queso at the best Mexican restaurant in Topeka that neither of us had been to since senior year. After, we wandered around Wal-Mart just looking for trouble, and as usual, ended up playing with the toys instead. As usual, Mal drove and I manned the iPod. When we talk about school, Mal will always be better at math and science, but I'll probably always have to edit any paper she ever writes. As expected, she likes the math classes, and I'm going into the health field. As usual, both of us weren't bothered by the children running and screaming by our table in the restaurant but were ready to offer them some salsa instead. 

At a time in my life when I feel like things are changing faster than I can blink, I'm thankful for nights with a friend where it seems like nothing's changed - especially the fact that she will always be there to eat queso with me, give me advice, and remind me that no road work lasts forever.