This Was My Favorite Blog to Write (Part 1: I Don't Know)

Why?
 
Because I love asking for things.  I love needing people to do things for me.  I love not being a capable woman.
 
I couldn’t be more stoked about telling you that I still need $2,176 to stay on the World Race.
 
No, but seriously.
 
These last four months have been many things real life.  I have slept, eaten, worked, relaxed, laughed, cried, resolved conflict, made great friends, and drunk obscene amounts of coffee.  Really, so much of the World Race thus far has felt pretty… normal. 

I mean, of course some things are different.  I wear the same clothes all the time, am never physically alone, spend significant amounts of time talking about food and bowel movements, and do a lot of country hopping.  I’ve learned a few things here and there, like how not to gossip or hold grudges or feel entitled to anything.  I’ve heard God’s voice every now and then, still and small in my mind; in Scripture; and in the waves crashing onto a Haitian shoreline.  My vocabulary includes a whole new set of frequently-used words and phrases, like walking in freedom and don’t have any expectations and offenses and preference.  And I’m slowly learning what each of those things mean and look like in my own life.  But, as I look at what I’ve done and who I’ve become over the course of my World Race (“pretend”) life, I feel like I haven’t changed all that much. 
I want to tell you that I’m drastically different – that I’ve learned how to hear the voice of God loud and clear, fed 700 babies, led someone to salvation, become completely secure in my identity in Christ… all those magical things at the pinnacle of missionaryism that people dream the World Race will do for them.  And, honestly, I feel like a lot of supporters expect to hear those kinds of things.  Instead, though, I find myself resounding more with Henri Nouwen in Reaching Out:
 
When after many years of adult life I ask myself, “Where am I as a Christian?” there are just as many reasons for pessimism as for optimism.  Many of the real struggles of twenty years ago are still very much alive.  I am still searching for inner peace, for creative relationships with others and for the experience of God, and neither I nor anyone else has any way of knowing if the small psychological changes during the past years have made me a more or less spiritual man.
 
So that’s where I am.  
 
I’m a confused, tired, but certainly hopeful World Racer who is staying I still need you.
 
I need you so that I can keep trying to figure this whole thing out.  So I can learn how to love people better and find God in both the ordinary and extraordinary and learn what it means to walk in the Spirit and let Jesus navigate me through crazy land.
 
I need you because, really, it’s not about me.  So I can go serve the servants and measure lots of bricks and pray with families who don’t speak my language and teach English to kids who might forget it and cook meals, sweep floors, entertain children, wash dishes, paint walls, lead worship, plant potatoes, pick lice out of my squadmates' hair… and, at the end of the day, maybe not make the biggest difference in the world – but know that those people are probably glad that at least that day ended up being a little better than it could have been without us. 

 

Like I said, I still need to raise $2,176 by July 1^st to stay on the World Race.
 
Would you be willing to be a part of this – by keeping me here?
 
You be the hands; I’ll be the feet.
 
We’ll navigate crazy land with Jesus together.

Of Squatties and Sobriquets

A couple of weeks ago, our team split for a couple days to be involved in two different ministries.  Rebekah, Rachel, Chris, and I went to one village to work with Campus Crusade students/leaders, while Abby and Suzanne went somewhere else to help a charismatic church hand out tracts and tell people about a Power Team event and learn how to interpret tongues or something.  My group, after a long day of finding people out in their yards and asking them if they needed help with anything around the house (all a ploy to tell them about Jesus, of course), we slept in a school overnight so we could do the same thing the following day.  [Side note:  Moldovans will not sit or sleep on the ground.  We were told they believe sitting on a cold floor will freeze your genitals and make you infertile.  So the four Americans slept very comfortably on our sleeping bags on the floor of the classroom, while all the Moldovans fashioned beds out of tables and chairs and slept horribly.]  
 
Rebekah and I decided to explore the school in order to find the bathroom.  After asking a couple different people, who each spoke very broken English, we were led to an auditorium that had a row of sinks along one of the walls.  We asked again about the bathroom, and the girl just pointed to the sinks.  After trying to envision myself positioning my body over one of the sinks, and what do I do with the toilet paper, and what about things that come forth from my lower half that aren't fluids, I finally used enough charades to explain that we needed a toilet.  They finally understood and just told us to go out in the woods.  
 
Dumbfounded, I asked, "So, you don't have a bathroom here?"  
 
The girl shook her head.  
 
"So, what do the children do when they need to go to the bathroom?"  
 
Shrug.  
 
So Rebekah and I ventured forth from the school building to the very dark, very cold great outdoors, intent on finding the perfect spot to do what we needed to do.  We ran into a couple of other Campus Crusaders, and after trying to explain again that we were looking for the bathroom (while they were looking for a translator), I finally had enough sense to ask for the "toalet!"  

"Ohh!  Okay."  

And they lead us to where the concrete building of death/squatty potties lived.  And I was so thankful I had just enough toilet paper in my bag to get us by.  And all was well.

After three months of no one being able to understand my name, I’ve finally been given the Russian (they speak that and Romanian here) equivalent:  Regina!  It’s refreshing to finally feel like I’m not on the outside looking in, since all three of the other girls on my last team had universal names (Rachel = Raquel, Rachelle, Rahela; Rebekah = …Rebekah; Suzanne = Susana). 
 
Other than my new Russian name, it’s pretty impossible to blend in around here, try as I might.  In the last hour, we’ve been called out as Americans/English speakers (among a country of white people, mind you) at least four times, without even saying anything.  We asked Fanel about all the ways people could tell that we’re foreigners, and he said it probably has something to do with the way we dress (hats, UGGs, sunglasses), our overall volume level (loud), the way we take pictures (smiling), walking around inside without socks on, where we choose to sit/stand outside (both cold floors and the sun are supposedly detrimental to your health)… among a plethora of other things. 
 
Being clueless about everything Moldovan can be pretty annoying.  The good thing about it, though, is that people ask us a lot of questions.  “Where are you from?” and “Why are you here?” are pretty typical, and I don’t know how many times a day we find ourselves explaining the World Race.  But if simply existing as a weird-looking American is enough to get quality conversations going with complete strangers, then... well, I think Jesus can work with that.  

We Are Six

Don’t forget what is behind; look forward to what is ahead. 

Team Mosaic has been laid to rest in peace, and now Team Oasis sets out with the land of Moldova beneath our feet.
 
C squad had teams changed and new squad leaders appointed at a “mini debrief” at the end of our ministry month in Romania.  As much as I knew I’d love my new team, the realization that I wouldn’t be able to hold on to all of “my people” any longer didn’t come without… a lot of feelings.  Team Mosaic was a safe place, my family.  We learned, we strived, we grew, we trekked the terrain of three nations as one unit.  I love them.  And the transition is hard.
 
But my new team is incredible.  A team of six women now constitutes Oasis:  a refuge from trouble; a greenhouse for development in every aspect.  I got to keep Rebekah (now a team leader!) and Suzanne from Mosaic, and I gained Abby Steverson, Rachel Rush, and Chris(tina) Schlabach.   Read their blogs!

 

Our first ministry site as a female dream team is in Cahul, Moldova, living and working with a YWAM team.  They all live Friends-style, migrating from one apartment to another to eat, take showers, do laundry, and have meetings.  It has been such a blessing for my team to do sort of “real life” living as we adjust to the newness of everything else.  We’ve bonded exponentially over feedback, Bible study, late night conversations, and all 3-6 cups of tea we drink per day.
  
We answer to Fanel, who is the only male on the YWAM team, but makes up for his minority status with his sizeable personality.  He is tall, dark, soft-spoken, attentive, and genuinely loves hanging out with us.  He regularly verifies that all his American females are present (“We are six?”) before heading out to wherever it is he decides to take us each day, although it would make a lot more sense checking along the way, as a few of us often get stranded somewhere behind.  We basically have to jog to keep his stride as we follow him around like little ducklings, going where he goes, staying where he stays.  It’s good exercise.  But the greatest part about Fanel?  Humor and sarcasm translate.  No matter what we’re doing, whether it’s planting potatoes, attempting to hitch hike, teaching English, playing Phase 10, or waiting an ungodly unexpected four hours for a meal to be ready, he has us in a constant state of hilarity. 

 

It’s hard to believe we’ve already spent two weeks here in Moldova.  We have loved every minute of building relationships with this community, eating strange foods, helping the helpers, learning about all the ways we’ve been culturally inappropriate – and seeing what God is doing in and through all of it.  Please keep praying for us as we embrace where we are, prepare for where we’re going, and learn how to love each other (and everyone else) well.  Thanks! 

Apostle-Style

Working alongside the missionaries here at Hope Church in Drăgăneşti-Olt (“Dreh-geh-nesht-Olt”) Romania was incredible.  We spent two hours each morning in prayer for the ministry here and the people of Romania.  Our daily projects ranged from children’s ministry with Gypsy kids, organizing donated clothes to give to the poor, doing administrative work for the pastor, teaching English to teens and adults, buying and delivering groceries to widows, helping kids in an after-school program, handing out tracts at the market… and generally just being available for whatever.
 
Prayer was the breath and the pulse of our life there.

I have never witnessed a church becoming – being – the way the Body of Christ was purposed to be more than this one.
 
These people care about talking to God.  Hearing from Him.  Lifting the needs of the church up to Him for hours each day, and expecting Him to answer.
 
These people care about the widow, the orphan, the poor, the needy.  They clothe the naked and feed the hungry and visit the lonely and extend grace to those hardened by all things encompassed by a life that just isn’t easy.  They want to see the real gospel spread to every inch of Romania and beyond, and they are taking strides in faith and deed to make that happen.

 
These people are always on the move.  They serve, they love, they go, go, go.  And yet, at the end of the day, they always asked us, “What can we do for you?  How can we pray for your needs?”
 
I have a few things to learn about loving God and loving people – for real.
 
Pastor Raul Costea (as shown below, with his wife Ana) was one of the people who made my time there.  He challenged us in our faith and biblical knowledge.  He inspired us to listen for the voice of God.  He made us actually think about what we knew – and what we didn’t.  He is a man of love, joy, relationship, and legitimate discipleship.  Not afraid to share his faith with strangers.  A friend to all.  He once went to another village to show the Jesus film and share the gospel, and he ran into “the worst man in the town,” who was known for abusing his wife and hating Christians.  Raul was intent on building a relationship and sharing the gospel with this man, but every time he returned to the village to meet with him, the man hid in his house or in the woods, and threatened to kill his wife if she gave him away.  Finally, he met with Raul – and was saved.  He has now become the St. Paul of his village, pastoring a church and working with Raul to start kids’ clubs throughout the community.

 
Kevin and Michelle Weppler (below) are two of three Canadians on the mission team with Hope Church.  Michelle disciples several pre-/young teenagers in the community and leads a couple of groups that meet Saturday afternoons to bake, make crafts, sing worship songs, pray, and learn Bible stories.  She has been teaching a few girls for up to three years, and at only 12 years old, they are ready to start raising up disciples on their own.  Many of these kids are the only Christians (i.e., “repentants”, as opposed to Orthodox Christians) in their families.  One boy’s abusive, alcoholic father remarked to Michelle about the change he saw in his son – how happy and joyful he had become since attending her group.  He was so affected by the boy’s changed demeanor, the generosity of the Wepplers, and conversations with the father of another one of the kids, that he has since stopped drinking and abusing his son.

 
So many more stories to tell and highlights to share…

• 
  We spent a total of 36 hours traveling from Grand-Goâve, Haiti, to Drăgăneşti-Olt, Romania.


• 
  We wore donated clothing all month because we didn’t bring giant coats and snow boots in our packs.  We spent one Sunday afternoon dressing up in the most ridiculous clothing and doing a “gypsy photoshoot” at different sites in our town.


• 
  Out of everyone on my team, I became the most fluent in Romanian.  And, by fluent, I mean that I knew at least ten words/phrases.


• 
  Biblical discussion and theological questions took up hours of our days.  Raul assigned us Bible homework and probed into our respective pasts and plans for the future, and we each wrestled on varying levels with truth to be discovered.  We questioned, we answered, we grew.


• 
  A group of us were kicked out of a village apostle-style by the Orthodox priests and the cops for putting on a kids’ program in public (i.e., teaching them fun worship songs, playing games, talking to people about Jesus).

 
And if you want even more…  Check out the Mosaic diaries.
 

Rachel Williams
Matt Blair
Tyler Hamilton
Rebekah Clark
Suzanne Bradford

 

 

 

Quality Time with a Hoe

I spent this morning raking leaves in a Romanian woman’s garden. 

Actually, I was using a hoe to scrape up damp, compacted layers of leaves from the surface of the ground so that we could put them in piles and relocate those piles to another pile in a distant corner of the yard.  

 
It’s mundane work like this that typically becomes prime breeding ground for revelation.  As my mind drifted toward thoughts that lived beyond the shallow end, I pictured myself working alongside Jesus Himself, hoeing away at the ground.  I wondered, if I could have a conversation with Him right now, in person, what would I want to talk about?
 
My memory hearkened back to a certain Panera date with Him several months before.  As I camped out at one of those four-person tables near the window, reading my Bible and sipping hazelnut coffee, I was captivated by John 14:17 – “But you know [the Spirit of truth], for he lives with you and will be in you.”  I sat, paralyzed by epiphany, wondering what it would be like to actually live in that truth all the time.  What if I really believed that the Holy Spirit, the presence of Jesus, lived with me and in me at every moment?  What would it be like to sit across the table from Him now, enjoying the liquid byproduct of what must be His favorite plant as well, chatting about life? 
 
“Alright, Jesus, let's get in line and order our sandwiches…  You want a Bacon Turkey Bravo?” 
 
“Someone needs a ride to church today?  Jesus and I’ve got that.”
 
And what would it be like if someone came up to our table and just ripped into me, tearing me up and down about something that may or may not have been true, and would I care about it at all if Jesus were sitting right there with me?  Would that person’s opinion of my value even matter to me if I had the Lord sitting right there, pouring His love and grace and affirmation and life into my soul? 
 
There have been a lot of spiritual conversations, full of spiritual questions, floating around the mission house here lately.  The questions have been eye-opening and faith-wrenching, but – Lord willing – fruitful.  Questions about prayer, healing, how God speaks and how and why He does or doesn’t answer…  Good, challenging things.  Things I’ve been wrestling with, knowing I will come out blessed.
 
But, as I thought about Jesus and I spending our quality time with a hoe, I knew that asking Him those questions wouldn’t be important to me.  In fact, I don't think I would want to say much at all.  I would just soak it all in.  Enjoy the mundane labor of the day-to-day with Him.  Ask Him, “So, what do you think about everything?  Romania, the world, the questions we spend so much time fretting about…  I don’t know, everything?” 
 
And I would just want to be like Mary, sitting at His feet, listening to Him talk for hours, absorbing as much Truth as I could possibly hold… then following Him around like a toddler, desiring only to be around Him, resting in the confidence that He didn’t think I was obnoxious.  Knowing that He was enjoying that time just as much as I was.

I Made a Deal with a Muslim

As far as free amenities go, Turkish Airlines wins.  My travel experience from New York to Istanbul included two delicious meals, a fantastic movie selection, and a neat little pouch filled with all kinds of necessities like a toothbrush (especially convenient once we realized our bags would be delayed indefinitely), toothpaste, earplugs, an eye mask, lip balm, and pretty green socks.  My seat buddies were two highly considerate Turkish men who weren’t bothered at all by having to get up at least four times to let me go to the bathroom over the course of the flight.  And given the amount of water, tea, and coffee I had consumed over those nine hours, I was highly grateful.
 
On pretty much every flight I have ever taken, I would rather say almost no words to the people sitting next to me, unless they are attractive males my age-ish.  That was my plan on this one as well, until my seatmates decided they wanted to be my friends.  Our topics of conversation included, but were not limited to…
 
…observing differences between Americans and Turks:
“Your people are unhappy.  And they all have pets.  And they put all their happiness in their pets.  In Turkey, we have neighbors, and we talk to them and eat with them.  Your people don’t talk to their neighbors.  It’s very bad.”
 
…explaining the World Race and reasons I actually trust these people:
“You just met these people, and you trust them?  If you were my daughter, I would not let you go.”
 
…discussing differences (and similarities) between Islam and Christianity:
“We remember God a lot because we pray to Him 5 times a day.  Not everyone is like you.  They don’t believe in God, or they only remember Him 1 day a week.”
 
It was the first time I had talked about my faith extensively with someone who didn’t believe me.  It was great and hard and stretching and enjoyable... and essentially inconclusive. 
 
Throughout the course of our discussion, they told me I ought to read Rumi’s Mathnawi.  I had been reading through my paperback copy of Donald Miller’s Searching for God Knows What for the second time, and I felt like God was telling me to give it to them.  It’s one of my very favorite books, bearing marks of love and evidence of time spent with various underlines and comments scribbled in the margins.  I didn’t want to lose it, so I told God that if they asked about the book while I was reading it, I would give it up.  After about twenty minutes, of course, one of them asked. 
 
It led to a very involved discussion about Jesus.  How my new friend sees Him as a great man, a wonderful messenger from Allah, as a prophet—but not as God.  I talked about how Christians see Him as so much more than a messenger:  the Son of God, the sacrifice for our sins… the only way to get to heaven.  How God knew that just doing enough good things wouldn’t cut it, so He made another way for us to be with Him.  How He took our punishment for us.  The meaning of the Cross.  The necessity of it.  The reason it saves us. 
 
And that was hard, because who really enjoys telling people that what they believe isn’t true?  That, according to my religion, your religion isn’t enough?
 
So we made a deal.  I would read his book about Sufism and inner purity, and he  would read my book about how Jesus is all that matters.  We promised to exchange thoughts via contact info we had swapped in the beginning of it all.  He said he would be open.  And I said ‘yes’ to that.
 
The other invited me over to his family’s house in Turkey once I finished the Race in December.
 
“No, I can’t.  I have to go home in December.”
“What?  Why can’t you come in December?”
“Because it will be a year since I’ve seen my family!  I have to go see my family first.”
“Okay.  Well, next year, then.”
“We’ll see.”
 
And I sincerely hope we do.

Pouring Into People, and Also the Ground

Well, we’re down to our final week in Haiti.  It’s amazing how fast time has flown over the past 2 months.  When I think about when I left my house in Oklahoma at 5:30am on that chilly January morning, though, it almost seems like a lifetime ago.  And I guess, in a sense, it was.
 
Our month in the DR was entirely relational, filled with home cooked meals at church members’ homes, playing with rowdy kids, teaching English and Bible stories for the Compassion International school, church services, and an embarrassment of coffee.  While it drove us crazy to not be able to get anywhere in any efficient amount of time, I was always floored by the kindness and love extended by those who barely knew us but called us brothers and sisters anyway.  Pretend Time became the norm, and it wasn’t unusual to hear, ‘You’re leaving already?’ when we had already been sitting in someone’s living room for 2.5 hours.  We went there to serve, and I think we at least provided a break for the Compassion teachers, and a few laughs and fun times for Noky and the church folk – but we were definitely the ones who got served.  My team has agreed that we couldn’t have started the Race better off.

 
This month, however, has looked a little different.  Johnfrank (watch his videos - they're awesome) summed it up well in a conversation one day:  “We spent last month pouring into people, and we’re spending this month pouring into the ground.”  We minister with bricks, concrete, and broken Creole.  We love the Haitian staff workers who cook for and clean up after us, and we’ve made a few friends with workers and school kids on the construction site, but we keep to ourselves for the most part.  Scratches and cement burns have become the norm in the life of our group of 45 (which is an adventure in itself).  All passive-aggressive hell breaks loose when it comes to the shower line and food portions, and alone time is scarce.
 
It’s been a hard month for me.  But God has been dealing lovingly and graciously with my exhausted and introverted little soul, and I am now thankful for this opportunity to connect with other people on the squad.  In light of the craze, I’ve needed every verse I’ve so conveniently “come across” about fear, peace, and being loved by the Father.  Thank God there is a God.

 
All that said, moments of greatness exist here as well:

Each Sunday night, they let our squad run an English service from preaching to worship (I’ve even gotten to sing!).

We picked up a free puppy while walking through town with the pastor’s daughter one day, and now Bailey lives with us at the compound.

I celebrated my 24^th birthday (a little different than my 23rd) with the squad a couple of weeks ago, and my teammates performed a special “birthday rap” written just for me.  And Michelle fashioned my name out of spare wire.

One little 14-year-old girl named Denise from Hands and Feet Orphanage knows me by name, and it’s always fun to see her in passing at every place we frequent.

It’s also been cool to work alongside other Americans (short- and longterm missionaries alike) and hear about their hearts for this country.  Husband and wife Lex (Haitian) and Renee (American) began MOHI and have such passion and influence for and on the Grand-Goave community.  Kim, our ministry coordinator, loves Jesus, construction, and Haiti a lot, and she has the sweetest dreadlocks I’ve ever seen.  Travis was called to Haiti after the 2010 earthquake to do construction and disaster relief training, and he’s staying until God calls him somewhere else.  Another Haitian and American married couple, Gama and Angela, are planning on being the longterm on-site missionaries at the Be Like Brit Orphanage once it’s constructed.  Super neat.

 
So here we are, with only 3 full days left before heading out to Romania!  Please pray for physical, emotional, and spiritual refreshment as we wrap up this last week during.  Also, for safe travels and sanity as we travel for a very, very long time this weekend.  Merci!