The Next Step

As I sat on an outdoor stage in the middle of some obscure village in India, I listened to my squad leader Rachel preach the Gospel to the large group of men, women, and children gathered in front of us.  

I sat, and I reflected.  I thought about how crazy this whole thing was:  ten Americans randomly showing up in a tuk-tuk, singing English songs to little Indian babies, being forced to sit in chairs six feet above the locals, praying over people who had no idea what we were saying.  It all felt a little ridiculous.  And, really, it was.

India (unlike every other month) was a month of processing for me.  Over the last couple of weeks--or the last year, really--I observed how my teammates seemed to thrive at everything I really didn't like.  Specifically, anything that had to do with small children.  Especially if they knew no more than two words of English and just wanted to stare and wave at you.  I was over it.  I had made a list of all the things I pretty much sucked at.  And then I wallowed in all my spiritual failure.

I had been trying to figure it out for awhile.  Wondering why it seemed like everyone else has the same talents, except for me.  Asking God what the heck "my calling" was, whatever that means.

But, as I listened to Rachel, and I thought some more, I realized this is the stuff I'm passionate about.  

I'm passionate about the Gospel.
I'm passionate about sharing it with those who have never heard it or maybe just forgot what it meant.
I'm passionate about people getting it.

And that's super cool.

But, God, I wondered, How will I ever get to do something like this back in the States?  

And then He reminded me where I had done it before.  A place where I had grown and taught and loved years ago.  But, since then, I had never felt like it was the right time to go back.  

Until now.

This summer, I will be returning to Juneau, Alaska, to serve as a camp counselor at Echo Ranch Bible Camp.  ERBC offers weeklong camps to nearly 1,000 kids each summer that belong to four different age groups:  7-9, 10-11, 12-14, and high schoolers.  Each week, the kids have the option to participate in all kinds of fun stuff, including ziplining, canoeing, horseback riding, put-putt…  And then, of course, the stuff that really matters, like chapel services, cabin devotions, and Jesus conversations around the campfire.
 

 
I was a counselor there during the summer of 2009, and it was one of the best and hardest things I’ve ever experienced.  After only two days of counseling my first group of kids, I was done.  I sat bawling in my cabin, reeling with the fact that I would eventually have to let these kids go home.  I wouldn’t be able to shield them from all the woes of the world, the abuse some of them would experience, the lies they would hear…  I wouldn’t be able to remind them of the Truth, of the God who loves them, of the things that would keep them going. 

I would have to trust their Creator with those things instead. 

I would learn to trust Him again and again and again when I felt like my body, mind, and soul couldn’t function anymore, when "I couldn’t possibly be more exhausted than I am right now"; when I felt completely alone; when I knew I didn’t have all the answers I thought I had.  I would see Him work miracles, like provide the hands to actually make the camp run when we were short-staffed, the male counselors to lead those rowdy boys when there never seemed to be enough, and the friends I needed to encourage me at all the right times.  It was so hard.  But it was so good.
 
More important than my experience, though, is that those kids learned the Gospel.  That was the focus of the whole camp.  They may have shown up with zero knowledge or only a faint idea, but they left hearing it again and again.  They heard, they received, and they were changed.  Maybe only for a week…  Most of us know how those things go.  But the seed was planted.  And that’s all we could do.  I loved getting to hear every time a kid decided to give their lives to Jesus.  To see their eyes light up when they finally got it.  To be a part of what God decided to awaken in them.  It was beautiful.
 

 
This is my passion.  Sharing the Gospel.  Teaching the Truth.  Seeing people get it.  Sitting at that prayer meeting in India, I realized God was inviting me to go back to Alaska and do it again.  I always figured I’d go back one of these days…  And now, I am.
 
As we real missionaries and pretend missionaries do, I threw together a little fundraising page for the $1500ish I’ll need for this summer.  That money will cover airfare, food, and housing.  If you’re interested in partnering with me in this ministry, you can go here.  You be the hands; I'll be the feet, remember?
 
If you’re interested in reading any of my stories from my experience in 2009, there’s a blog for that too! 

Those kids' lives weren't the only ones changed that summer.

Mine world was rocked, too.

And I can't wait for it to happen again.

Re[ag]-Entry

It’s happened.  The frenzy and reality that is re-entry has, after 11 months, finally occurred.
 
I arrived at Will Rogers International Airport to 20 smiling faces I hadn’t seen in nearly a year.  Faces who got merely a glimpse of what I had been through over those 11 months.  Faces I hadn’t seen since before… everything.
 

 
My mom ran up to me with tears streaming down her face.  She threw her arms around my neck. 
 
“Are you happy to see me?” I asked with a quiet laugh.
 
I felt the need to perform.  To entertain.  To affirm everyone in my appreciation of their presence at my arrival. 
 
“Thank you so much for coming!  Hi!  So good to see you!  Thank you so much…” 
 
I didn’t know what to feel.  I wasn’t excited, but I wasn’t sad.  I just was. 
 
I tried not to have expectations.  I had heard all kinds of World Race re-entry experiences of nobody understanding them or knowing what to ask or how to be.  I figured that would be the case for myself as well.
 
Family members asked a few questions about things I had seen or eaten or things like that.  In the car, few questions were asked.  I talked about traffic in India after someone cut off our suburban.  When we got home, we ate dinner.  I shared a few pictures.  And then we watched a lot of videos of our pets.
 
I had a long and intimate conversation with my sister that night.  I felt connected.  I felt alive. I felt inspiring.   I felt like I really had changed.
 
More conversations followed over the next few weeks.  I was encouraged.  I was surprised.  I cocked my head in wonder at things about which I saw others get irritated.
 
Okay, plans didn’t work out the way we had scheduled.  It’s okay.  We’ll just do this instead.
 
Okay, I might have to wait an hour instead of five minutes.  It’s okay.  I’ll just find something to do in the meantime.
 
I wasn’t trying to go all when I was a kid, I walked to school barefoot, in the snow, uphill both ways on anyone.  But as I observed, I thought about things that were worse than not getting an omelet for breakfast or an immediate ride home.  Things like Mozambican women having to mash up corn all day to make porridge for every meal or our squad having to wait eight hours for a big enough bus to Swaziland.  And really, still, those things didn’t matter all that much.
 

 

 
But, as I lounged on the living room couch or drank coffee in a Panera Bread booth or watched Skyfall in a comfortable, cushioned seat… as I had honest conversations with people who no more understood my experience than I fully understood theirs…
 
I noticed things that did matter.
 
Things like settling for mediocre relationships, spiritual walks, and purposes in life.
               being entertained by stories about abandonment, revenge, and abuse.
               looking for value in people
                                          food
                                          appearance
                                          drugs
                                          money
                                          performance…
 
Things like 20 elementary-aged kids being shot and killed. 
Things like your co-workers who, having been caught up in a cycle of less-than-perfect decisions, are now scraping to get by.
Things like shutting God out based on false delusions of who He actually is.
Things that wreck us. 
 
I sit across the table from these stories and yearn.  I yearn for their storytellers to take a step back and examine the direction of their lives.
 
Is this choice, this thing you can’t seem to live without, this thing that has you transfixed…  Is it taking you somewhere you want to end up, or not? 
 
When you look at the big picture, is this really working for you?
 
There are things that matter.
 
And there are things that don’t.
 
And then there are things that should matter.
 

 
But something weird has happened over the course of the last 79 days.  Something I feared but didn’t really expect.  Because I had been wrecked.  Figured out how to live with open hands, not fists clenched around my ideals and ideas of pretend American dreams.
 
I’ve slowly found myself migrating to the other side of the table.
 
I’ve become discouraged, defeated, heart riddled with anxiety and mind bogged down by all that I do not know.
 
I’ve forgotten what it’s like to breathe.  To embrace each moment infused with the beauty and glory of the God who gave it to me.  As I lie on the floor and cry out to God in the midst of the confusion and unknown, I ask Him questions like, ‘What do you want me to do?  Are you really telling me to do ______ a year from now?’  Which is funny, because God usually gives us the next step, not the next five.
 
I’ve curled up on the sofa of a shrink’s office and recounted the woes of my past and present.  I’ve sat in a car with my best friend and tried to predict my future.  I’ve lain in bed and cried with my face buried in a pillow.
 
And when I look at the big picture, I realize that this isn’t really working for me, either.
 
And then I realize that, through it all, God’s been saying the same thing over
and over
and over.
 
Trust Me.
Cling to Me.
Walk in the Light.
You don’t know the next step.  But I do.
Stop obsessing over everything else.  Fix your eyes on Me.
 
And this makes sense, because I’ve done it before.  When I’ve stopped focusing on all the crap that is rigged for failure anyway and started seeking Him, things just kind of fall into place.  Not always right away.  Not usually in the way I expect or desire.  But they do.  Eventually, they do.
 

 
The things that don’t matter fade away.  The things that do, the things that should matter, those come into focus.  Because all those things are Him.

Back to Camp, Back to Camp...

Happy February!

The month of four family birthdays, black history, and obvious(to everyone but me)ly, the Super Bowl. 

After another hum-drum week of taking customer service calls and trying to honor my new “old person” bedtime schedule, it was nice to spend a relaxing weekend at home.  How was your weekend?  What did you do for the Super Bowl?

It was so good to hear from several of you after my e-mail last week!  I love hearing about what you’ve been doing lately.  Keep those replies coming!

In my previous message, I told you I’d be announcing “what’s next” in a later update…

Well, here it is!

………

This is an excerpt from the "Missionary-ish Tales" e-news.  Read the rest here.

Greetings from... America!

It’s been awhile, but I thought you might like to stay updated on my missionary goings-on via this fancy new e-newsletter!  Also, now you can opt out without hurting my feelings by clicking the “unsubscribe” link at the bottom.  Thank you, first-world technology.

Since I’ve gotten back from “the world,” I’ve gotten a lot of questions from people.  Here are a few I tend to hear the most…

How was the World Race?

What was your favorite country? 

Did the experience change you a lot?  What did you learn?

What’s it like being home?

………..

This is an excerpt from the "Missionary-ish Tales" e-news.  Read the rest here.

Tea-chah, I am (not) finished.

The World Race will be over in two days.

TWO DAYS.

It's hard to believe that this weird, awesome... all the things journey will be coming to an end so, so soon.

Remember when it was only thirty days until Launch? It wasn't so long ago. I remember typing that blog on my beautiful MacBook with a screen that was intact, sitting on the floor in front of my fireplace, trying to avoid doing important things like... Well, figuring out how many containers of floss to pack, writing 'thank you's to supporters on those dinosaur cards, and preferring my family members when it came to that dang chicken chili.

It wasn't so long ago, and even then I knew time would fly once the Race started. I knew I didn't want to come back anytime soon because I had no idea what to do with my life when the time came.

And it's just about here.

Oddly enough, I'm not flailing around in Crazy Land about it anymore. That's how it was for a long time, but not now. I think the revelations started to solidify while I talked aloud to myself and pushed kids in wheelchairs around the orphanage campus in China.

The main one? The World Race will not transform me into the best Christian ever. For so many months, I had Ideal Reagan pegged to appear in Africa, then Asia... She had her moments but was never as fully present as I expected. I was determined to have this whole preferring everyone 24/7, listening prayer, squad leader worthy faith thing figured out by Month 11 at the LATEST. And each time I would finish another month with a deep sense of failure and regret for not becoming all that I was surely meant to be.

"But perfect Reagan isn't the goal," I told myself. "If that's what I'm striving for, I will always fail, because that 'ideal' - based on my performance, being good enough, earning great faith - that's impossible."

"Perfect Reagan isn't the goal. Jesus is. Strive to be like Him, not an ideal image of myself."

Taking that pressure off myself to do and be all these things was a big step for me. And it allowed me to listen to a Voice other than the frustrating, critical one in my mind.

A Voice that reminded me that He loves me. That if I ever feel far away or haven't intentionally pursued Him in awhile, I can always start NOW. Not after I feel like I've gotten all my crap together. Right now.

And this was so freeing because it allowed me to do things like stop freaking out all the time.

Stop being afraid of going home.

Discern between the things that matter and the things that don't.

Love my family.

Trust that God will lead me every step of the way.  Not just say it.  Really trust.

Invest deeply in every moment of life because I will certainly miss a lot of beautiful things if I'm focusing on every other moment but this one.

And it's a good thing, too, because Month 12 of The World Race deserves all I've got.

This is not the end.

Wrecked

One week in the Philippines has landed me in the prayer room about every two or three or four days.  Being the highest point on the grounds of the YunJin Lyso Ministry Center, its glass walls enable a bird’s eye view of everything around you:  the dilapidated village of tin-roofed shacks next door, the glistening structures of downtown Manila in the distance, the people milling around the pool or dining hall or lounge areas below.  You can see while staying removed.
 

 
In spite of all expectations, the Month 11 high that was supposed to carry me through these final days of the World Race never quite made an appearance.  Instead, it’s been a battle against heat, irritability, distractions, introversion, and burnout.  The guilt that comes when I compare my Fancy Land life to what I see when I walk outside this gate every morning.  The feeling that I’m never doing enough, even though I know that the doing is not what it’s about.

This month, our squad has been given the absolute privilege to reach out to nearly every kind of need in the surrounding community.  Through the seemingly countless ministries of YMC, we are able to feed people who have been displaced by typhoons, teach orphans and abandoned children, encourage girls who have been sexually abused, disciple expectant mothers, and share the love of Jesus with street kids…
 

 
The harvest is plentiful.  But feels entirely overwhelming.  There are so many people, so many needs, so many everything… and no way fix it all.  What do you say to the woman who was flooded out of her home and is now living under a tarp in a school gymnasium?  How do you even begin a conversation about healing with a girl whose story of hurt is more despicable than you can fathom?  How can you adequately explain a loving heavenly Father to the fatherless children huffing glue on the streets?
 
How do you be?
 

The beautiful conglomerate of factors that drives me to that sacred nook time and time again.
 
While I’m up there, I pray.  I play guitar.  I cry.  I don’t typically do all three in one sitting, but that was the case this time around.  I was sick of everything inside and around me…  And I had to go. 
 
Do you ever randomly open the Bible and ask God to give you the passage that will explain your whole life?  Isaiah 35 was the wish-for prophetic passage, so I read.  I got a couple of verses in and then felt like I should read it aloud.  I started over, using my inside voice this time.
 

 
Right now, I want to type out the entire thing for you.  But I won’t.  I want you to read it for yourself.
 
And while your eyes soak in the words, I want you to experience it.  I want you to allow images of yourself and those you love or like or have met only once – I want those images to flood your mind the way they did mine.
 
I want you to strengthen your weak hands and make firm your feeble knees.  I want you to tell everyone who has an anxious heart,  ‘Be strong; fear not!’
 
Why?
 
Behold, your God will come with vengeance,
With the recompense of God.
He will come and save you.”
 

 
Everyone who has ever been abused,
abandoned,
told they are worthless,
treated as though their bodies were simply objects for another’s pleasure,
forgotten;

everyone who has ever been plagued by fear,
felt like a failure,
forgotten that the same God who raised Christ from the dead lives in them:
 
Be strong. 
Fear not.
Your God will come and save you.
 
The woes of the world kept my heart reeling.  But I kept going.
 
As my lips gave voice to the future of the blind, the deaf, the lame, the mute, my mind was barraged with visions of people whom I have been blessed to encounter over the past eleven months.
 
A picture of We Tao, a precious two-year-old little boy from China, blind and deaf since birth… whose eyes will be opened and ears will be unstopped.
 

 
A picture of Old Man August, a kind old man from Mozambique, paralyzed by a stroke years before… who will one day leap like a deer.
 

 
A picture of my Josie’s Angels, beautiful and unbelievably joyful girls from the Philippines, rescued out of sexually abusive homes…  whose haunt of jackals will one day be driven away forever.
 

http://instagram.com/amybook

 
One day.
 
One day, there will be a place where they – where we – will be safe.
A place that will belong to us.
A place where we will belong.
A place where no lion, the Devil, will be allowed to walk, because only the redeemed will walk there.
A place where gladness and joy are the norm.
A place to sigh no more.   
 
I was broken for the brokenness; wrecked for the ordinary.  I wanted that day to come now.  I was tired of the world.  I am tired of the world.  Of it, for it, in it. 
 
But one day… one day Our God will come.  Our God will come and save us all.

That is the promise that will keep me going until the end.
 

Martian Children

Commencing a 2-year-old’s fit.
Please leave me here, God.  Don’t send me to a rural village in China to work at a special needs orphanage. 
That literally sounds like the worst ministry ever.
I told You the other day that that is the one thing I just can’t do:  work with special needs kids.  You already know I can’t do kids.  Why do I have to go there?
I don’t want to redeem all the past children’s ministry months.
I don’t want this to be what leads me to greater dependence on You.
I don’t want this to be the area where you break me down.
I don’t want to be miserable.
But I don’t want to choose joy.
Why, God?  Why?
 
This was a prayer I wrote the day Summit team leader Ah-be-guy-ul sat us all down in a living room in the middle of the Nepali foothills and announced our ministry for the following month in China.  The day I decided God clearly must not like me that much after all, let alone my squad leaders.  I’m not a kid person, in case we all forgot, and special needs sorts of things have always made me uncomfortable.
 
Turns out, my expectations were crushed like dust beneath the feet of reality, as usual. 
 
Our “rural village in China” is a city of 500,000 or so (classified as small, by Chinese standards), with a sky you might occasionally see if you can wait out the smog. 
 

 
We live on the tenth floor of an orphanage among the children of Eagles Wings, a program of six family group homes.  Each home is run by a staff of ayis (“aunts”) and contains ten or so kids with various mental and/or physical disabilities.  Our ministry assignments included assisting at the Eagles Wings school; helping with the day-to-day things like feedings, changing diapers, and entertaining the kids; and taking them outside (or to McDonald’s).
 

    

 
Of course, the first day we walked in and met the kids, I felt a little like an astronaut on some obscure alien planet…  But once we started hanging out with them; learning their names; getting a feel for their quirks, habits, and hang-ups… the game changed.
 

 
These kids are awesome.  Their joyful, hilarious, sometimes bratty but mostly sweet personalities were unhindered by the slightly to severely modified bodies that housed them.
 

    

    

 
It didn’t take long to fall in love with them. 
 
To learn that Ji Lan likes playing in the dirt, scooping it up and pouring it out with whatever tools he can find, so grab some plastic cups from your kitchen and bring them outside with you.
 

 
Ja Ni likes holding flowers, breathing in the scent of each one, rubbing the petals between her fingers, so pick a bunch of them for her.
 

 
Fu Chang likes building LEGO formations and has a very specific idea of what he wants each one to look like, but cerebral palsy keeps him from being able to accomplish the vision himself, so be his body for him. 
 

 
Li Ju is a little stand-offish but will sound off an enthusiastic (and contagious), 'Wooooo!' when she gets excited,
 

Sha Li will use your chopsticks to pick the gross ginger balls out of your rice bowl,
 

 
and Yue Zhang will be more than happy to share her sunflower seeds and her lice.

  
 

It’s funny, the way God works on you and changes everything.  The way that, when you ask to be more like Him – really ask – He answers you.  Every time I exhaled a brief God, please help me to love the kids today prayer, it happened.  Every time I thought, Well, I could either be doing this sort of annoying, inconvenient thing, or I could be watching TV, I then thought, I’ll be doing something either way, so it might as well be something worthwhile.  Every time I stopped and wondered How would Jesus love this child right now?  What would He do? He gave me His eyes to see.
 

 
And, really, isn’t that how it should be all the time?