moments.

we all have those moments. those moments that you cannot create but are simply stumbled upon. those moments that change everything. they come in all shapes and sizes, these moments. sometimes they bring unbearable pain. other times, insurmountable joy. but one thing these moments promise: you will never be the same.

I remember it well. I remember it as if it was yesterday, forever in the back of my mind, filtering each of my thoughts.

I can still hear the sound of water being poured down the toilet because there was no such thing as running water.

I can still smell the giant pot of rice and beans cooking in the kitchen because this was all that was affordable.

I can still feel the ungodly amount of heat that engulfed us, swelling my feet and drawing me into a restless sleep.

I can still see the joy. the hope. the light. the humility. the content. the love.

We only spent five days here. Five days that changed me forever. Five incomprehensible days. For five days we lived liked I had never lived before. No running water. Constant lack of electricity. No sheets on the bed. No car. No food I was used to eating. Sharing one tiny room with four girls.

And for five days we lived like I had never lived before. Uncontrollable laughter late into the night. Deep, meaningful conversations in broken Spanish. Learning through experience. Processing the discovery of joy in this tiny, concrete house wedged between two buildings with its barred windows and no AC.

At the end of the week, we all crowded - over twenty sweating bodies - into the tiny living room, spilling over onto the floor and out the door. People weren't the only thing overspilling that day. Tears. Joy. Confusion. Grace. Pain. Overwhelming emotion. Exhaustion. The kind of exhaustion that hits you to the core. We took the time to share.

What has this week meant to you?

I don't even remember my response. Because it didn't matter. My eyes were on her as she began to speak. I couldn't take them away. Her words reached clear across that room and grabbed my heart. And they haven't let it go since.

This woman. This single mom of three, all with different fathers. This cross bearing lover of Jesus, constantly reading her worn in Spanish Bible. All week I had been watching her. She gave up her bed for us. She gave up her time for us. She gave up her food for us. She gave her all for us. All week, all she did was give, it seemed. And all with a smile and with a joy I could never belittle to attempt to explain in words. With indescribable joy, she gave.

But she stood there, at this sharing time. And after all the ways she had unknowingly given to my soul, she looked at each of us, with tears flowing freely down her face and said:

"I just hope that, if you return, I can give you something more."

My mind refused to comprehend what she is saying. How can it be, that this woman, who washed more then her fair share of feet that week, wanted to give something more? 

I lost it, right then and there on the concrete floor of this beautiful, grace filled home.

As we pulled away from their house to head back up to the camp, I knew. I knew I had just experienced one of those moments. I knew that I would never be the same. 

Looking back now, that was the moment that changed everything for me. That was the moment that drew me down this path towards Latin America. That was the moment I saw Jesus more clearly then I had ever before. A life changing, life giving, grace moment. Because in that moment, little did I know I was beginning my journey of the discovery of what it means to be fully alive.

summer of 2011, working at the Young Life camp in the Dominican Republic.
here we are on the home stay.
the woman I wrote about is in the orange.

back again six months later because we couldn't get enough of this joy.
here she is on the right.

series.

Not up, but out.

Not down, but around.

In explaining the path of the Christian life, a wise man makes these claims.

That so often we judge our lives in steps, these series of ups, downs and leveling. These attempts to make it to the next goal. To become more spiritual. To climb closer to God.

I imagined a little stick figure (me), on some steps, trying my hardest to reach up to the next...but it's just out of reach.

Always reaching up. Always trying. Always climbing. Always failing. Always stuck.

But no, I am told.

The Christian life is a different kind of series. It's a series of circles - shapes, really -  maybe even paths - where Jesus is in the middle.

And we are constantly in this movement of wandering from Christ and being drawn back into Him.

I am struck by this thought and cannot stop thinking about little stick figure me - reaching up for the next step but never quite making it before I fall back.

Then I see the other option, the other way. The wandering way. I am always wandering. And He is always binding my heart back to His.

And once again, I realize: this too is grace.

oh, nica.

Here in Managua it was a brisk 70 degrees this morning (21 degrees Celsius for you mathematicians out there...no, I did not do the math myself; yes, I googled it) - I got so chilled in fact that as I sat at the table drinking my delectable cup of steaming hot, made in Central America (aka the good stuff) coffee, I had to run upstairs to thrown on my most-comfy-of-all-time grey sweatshirt. I giggled to myself I imagined the wintry blast that has thrown itself across the United States, causing certain states (cough cough South Carolina) to go into an arctic meltdown and shut down the entire state for days at a time - while I have to snuggle down into a copious amount of clothing when the thermometer (or let's be honest...everyone just uses their smart phone weather app these days) hits below 80. Don't worry though, folks - the chilly, crispy morning I just described lasted all of an hour before the heat made its debut and decided to bring the sweat along with it.

As I sit here now, after a day of running errands and checking finances (you know, all that adult stuff I'm suppose to do now), I keep thinking back to this weekend and how wonderful it was, so I thought I would share it with y'all! So to my twenty loyal blog followers - this one's for you!

Well, let's back up to last Tuesday. Last Tuesday I had one of those culture experiences I set myself up for and all you can do is laugh about it later. Jen (my teammate), Meredith (her roommate) and I ventured out into the unknown territory of the musical harmonies of Marc Anthony. Yes, we attended (or rather, attempted to) the Marc Anthony concert. Right here in our very own country of Nicaragua. The night started out great with some cheap Nica food called papusas (actually the staple food of El Salvador, not Nica but still cost about 3 dollars, coke included and delicious) and of course the typical  North American McDonalds drive through for a McFlurry (note: not actually a McFlurry, but soft serve ice cream with MnMs or Oreo on top none-the-less). This additional dessert necessity caused us to show up at 9:30 to the 8:30 concert. Uh oh! We may have missed the opening act! We thought to ourselves as we searched for parking. Well this just in team: parking lots are for wusses and here in Nica the main road that goes through Managua becomes the parking lot when needed. A short hike up a dirt hill and some 30 minutes standing in winding lines later, we make it to our $18, nosebleed section to prepare ourselves to be bewitched by the smooth, Latino melodies of Marc.

Don't worry everyone, we made it into the concert just in time for the opening act! Which happened to be a woman (Meredith swore "she" was a "he" due to her low voice octaves) who decided the best way to open for a Marc Anthony concert was to sing us some lullabies. Literally, every slow song she could possibly think of, she sang - and along with the language barrier, it was enough to make the cement benches we were sitting on feel like a great place to lay my head for a nap. By 10:15(ish) the first act wrapped up her last song, giving Jen, Mer and I a second wind, ready for some Marc Anthony! ...who did not begin singing his first song until 10:54pm. You heard me, the 8:30pm concert began at 10:54pm. ON A TUESDAY NIGHT. You'd think we would have been prepared for this - you'd think we would have learned by now - we knew the concert wouldn't start right on time but almost two and half hours late was a shock to us all. The below picture proves it:

To make things even better, we knew one Marc Anthony song. Count them: o-n-e. Did we think that through before we subjected ourselves to Marc blowing awkward kisses from stage to his faithful fans (one who decided it would be a good idea to take off her shirt and throw it on stage)? Nope, we didn't. All we wanted was the one song. But it was late. And we are old. And we were tired. So we left. We listened to Marc and awkwardly swayed back and forth as we pretended to know the lyrics for about an hour and then decided it wasn't worth it anymore. So like the good gringas we are, we left the concert early to find solace in our beds. The next day, I was talking to a friend at Young Life club. He also had been to the concert. Do you know what time it ended? 2:30 AM. And do you know what the last song he played was? THE ONLY ONE WE KNEW. The one we were desperately waiting for all.night.long. Needless to say, it was a failure of a night. But yet, we laughed. we pouted. we swayed. we pretend-sang. we almost fell asleep. we made memories. we experienced culture. and did all this in the midst of failure. So really, it was a success of a night. Cause in my book, the glass is half full.

Fast forward to Thursday. Thursday was a glorious day. It was one for the books. A day to celebrate! Why? Because after a 6 week search, after buying one and then having to return it...a final, official car purchase was made and she's mine all mine! 

What a beauty, huh? Now, she's got big shoes to fill from the car I sold in the States but so far she's doing great. I cannot even begin to explain the thrill of freedom it felt driving her home from the dealership. I love her and the gift she is!

Next comes Friday. I can't even explain the greatness of what Friday was - I will spare you the gory details and skip to the good stuff but it includes: buying car insurance (by myself!), eating a delicious salad, and an hour and fifteen minute car ride to a coffee shop (that usually takes ab 7 min) with some crazy girls. And then we arrive at Kermesse, on Friday afternoon. Kermesse is a (weirdly enough) German word but it is basically a giant carnival put on by the school. Each club has a different game that you buy tickets to play. There is food, entertainment and carnival rides galore.

After meeting up with some freshmen ladies, I somehow got persuaded to ride one of the carnival rides...this was the result:

You may not be able to see it but that is pure TERROR on my face right there. I do not (I repeat DO NOT) enjoy heights...much less in an old, rickety, set up in a hour ride...in Nicaragua of all places! But I did it. And I survived (hence the writing of this post). We spent the rest of the night running around from carnival games to photo booths to...you guessed it: snow cones!

 Oh yes. And yes we did run around with purple, blue and red tongues for the rest of the night. #winning.

The rest of the weekend was spent working on homework for a Young Life training class, searching all over Managua for some Greek food with Jen (which we found...at the mall food court, no less), an earthquake (all is well, don't worry!) at three am to jolt me awake (and jump out of bed ready to run out of the house...which later was learned is not the correct response to an earthquake) and attending Spanish church on Sunday morning. It was one of the weekends where I laid my head on my pillow on Sunday night and thought to myself: this is my life. and it is a good one. (after swatting away multiple mosquitos and killing three spiders in my room within fifteen minutes, no less).

Oh, Nica. You are stealing my heart.

forgotten.

"Draw upon the resources of My grace." 

My souls breathes this in as if its very life is on the line.

Forgotten. I've forgotten to count.

When I stop counting His grace gifts, the air my soul breathes runs low.

When I forget to count, when I forget to seek, when I forget to truly see through a lens of grace...

I forget everything.

And then, once again, I hear His sweet and gentle voice, an extraordinary Savior in the midst of drowning in the mundane:

"You are my precious and beloved daughter. Nothing can change your standing with Me. I love you and I am always with you, yes even in the ordinary. That's why You must continue to seek My grace gifts - so that you know I am there - waiting in the little details all around you. Open your eyes, My beloved - and see."

My mind wanders to the story in Mark 8 where Jesus led a blind man, by the hand, outside of his village to heal him. I am this blind man, desperate to truly see but unable to see past the distortion, grasping the strong hand of the One who truly heals. First, Jesus puts His healing hands on the blind man, and asks: "Do you see anything?" He responds: "I see people; they look like trees walking around."

"Once more Jesus puts his hands on the man's eyes. Then his eyes were opened, his sight restored, and he saw everything clearly." (v. 25) Sight is grace. But blindness is also grace. Because how can I truly appreciate what it means to see, unless first I am blind. How can I truly know what it means to look through the lens of grace, unless I first confront my distorted vision?

I had forgotten.

But Jesus is always reminding me.

"open your eyes, My beloved - and see."

This is grace.

the big dream.

Wanted to share this great video, set to audio portions of Jim Rayburn's (founder of Young Life) speech "Big Dream" at his final address to the staff in 1970. I love being a part of such an amazing, long-standing ministry that now stretches to over 90 different countries.

"So the big dream stated another way is this: it's a group of people bound together in the single minded purpose that there's no price too high to pay to see to it that young people have a chance to know the Savior." - Jim Rayburn

{click here to view video}

or watch it here!

lately.

Y'all. I was greeted this morning with one of the best texts ever from my teammate:

Happy one month officially in Nica and one year since we both moved to Central America!

Can anyone else believe that it has been that long? This time last year I was hopping on a plane to Costa Rica for one of the most unexpectedly beautiful adventures ever. And this time last month I was hopping on a plane to Nicaragua for round two of said adventure.

I won't lie to you...the first couple of days, I was in what I can only explain to you as "the fog". I slept until 2 PM my first day in Nica. Waking up, I remember sitting on my bed, not exactly sure which way was up, saying to myself over and over:

"I just moved to Nicaragua."

I am not sure if I even remember those first days in the country because looking back I feel like I was just a zombie going through the motions. But one night, as I was falling asleep, I asked God for clarity and told Him I was ready to face reality. And the next morning, I could actually think clearly! "The fog" was lifted.

All that to say, Nica living has definitely been filled with many different types of adventures. Like the adventures of opening a bank account (in Spanish), car shopping, learning directions, phone plans, getting used to a different type of currency, making new friends, attempting to decipher the Nica-Spanish accent...the list goes on and on.

And so lately, life has been spent on a lot of "figuring out". Figuring out how to do life somewhere new is a big task and one that will continue, I am sure,
through the next days, months, years, ect.

So while I continue to figure it all out over here, I thought I'd share some pics of what I have been up to lately...enjoy!

Valentine's Day "cabin time" (aka campaigners aka Bible study) with some of the Central Managua chicas.

Jen and I's alter-egos at Young Life club...the Duck Tape Sisters. (we may or may not have made entire outfits out of duck tape...) 

Young Life leader retreat with our student and adult leaders...at the beach! (I know, I know - rough life.)

Publicizing our first Young Life club of the year at the high school...

...Russian Family Olympics club! (hence the mustaches in previous picture)

manipulate.

It hit me there, sitting around in a group of 15 other women whom I had known for just over two weeks now. Beth Moore coming through the speakers, recreating the story of Nehemiah with only the scratching of pens heard in the fleeting moments of silence.

"Give Him your heart completely and allow Him to manipulate your thoughts and emotions."

I pause and immediately my guards go up. Manipulate? Allow myself be manipulated by someone or something? It seems so wrong.

I scribble it down, intrigued by the thought but allowing it to pass by focusing on the rest of the study.

It's not until after, hands cramped and mind full, that I look back and allow myself to ponder this thought. In true womanly fashion, we split up to process together. Groups of women sharing their hearts, sharing what was impressed on their soul.

My mind replayed this word in my head: manipulate.

I can't get a grasp on it. It sounds so wrong.

Later, in the quiet of my home, I search the word using one of the most handy websites I know: dictionary.com.

ma-nip-u-late: [muh-nip-yuh-leyt] v. to adapt or change to suit one's purpose. synonyms: shape, wield, form, mold

"Give Him your heart completely and allow Him to adapt or change your thoughts and emotions to suit His purpose."

I'll take it.

But what really struck me fell under the opposite of manipulate. The antonyms:
leave alone
idle

"Give Him your heart completely and He will never leave you alone in your thoughts and emotions."
"Give Him your heart completely and He will never stand by idly and leave you to drown in your thoughts and emotions."

It's a promise, this word manipulate. A promise to shape me, wield me, form me, mold me for the plans and purposes of Jesus. A promise to never leave me alone, to stand by idly.

He always working, this God of mine. Always manipulating this heart to clear away the blemishes, to break away the strongholds.

That same night, after sharing these thoughts, a friend spoke directly into my soul: "Yes. And what happens to clay when it dries up, becomes hard? It breaks. It falls apart when you try to mold it. If we harden our hearts, when God begins to mold...we break."

And I have never been so thankful that, in all His goodness, God's grace covers the inevitable brokenness too.

"Yet O Lord, you are our Father.

We are the clay, you are the potter;

we are all the work of your hand."

-Isaiah 64:8