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Family & Friends,

I have arrived at Echo Ranch!  Just wanted to send a quick update to let you know I’m safe and sound in the middle of nowhere.  In fact, I’m so deep in the depths that there is no phone signal, and they will soon be blocking Internet connection to pretty much anything but e-mail because it hogs all the bandwidth.  Good times.

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

Here We Go

Greetings, family and friends!  Apologies on the lack of follow-through on these "weekly" updates; but don't worry, you haven't missed too much.  Here are a few cool-ish things that have happened in the past 3 months, though:

• I gained a year of life.  #25 is looking to be another adventurous one.
• Jesus had a resurrection anniversary.
• I had the opportunity to attend a Project Leader Training weekend at Adventures in Missions.  This certifies me to lead any short-term (under 1 year) trip that AIM offers, domestic and abroad.  
• I took a road trip across the mid-Eastern side of America to visit a bunch of close friends, most of whom I hadn't seen since before the World Race.  
• I started a real, live, grown-up blog!  ReaganTaylorGoes.com.  Check it out.  (Update on 6/22/14… this blog no longer exists.)

I'm only a few days away from heading out to Echo Ranch Bible Camp!  People have been asking me if I'm ready/excited, and the answer is yes.

………

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

Fear Addicts Anonymous

I am a believer in Jesus Christ who struggles with fear, and my name is Reagan.

Sometimes it’s hard not to let my fear shape my decisions.  My beliefs.  My perception of God, His will, everything.

When it comes to any decision more life-changing than do I want Chick-fil-A or City Bites for lunch? here's how the process normally goes:  I want to explore/make a decision, but I don’t feel total certainty or peace about it, and I’m not really sure if that’s what God wants anyway, and then I start believing He must not want that, because where’s the peace? but the thing really seems to make sense, and the door is wide open, and I know it would bring about good, glorifying-to-God things, and everyone who also loves Jesus is affirming it, and really all signs are a go except that peace, but I can’t pursue it because I’m not quite sure what the will of God is, so I wait and wait and the fear of making the wrong decision builds and builds until I feel sick to my stomach thinking about it and become convinced that I’m walking in disobedience by not choosing to walk away from it and I’m now inviting the discipline of the Divine.

Original photo source

I made a decision once.

I had been wrestling with this particular choice for months, primarily for those reasons.  But I was ready to put my foot down and make a decision.  I wasn’t sure it was where God was leading me.  I sort of stopped asking Him (and other people) because I didn’t want to analyze it all anymore (or be told I was wrong).  I wanted to dive in “in faith”, hoping God would reward it if it was right and make it pretty clear if it was wrong.

I kept coming across things talking about how we let our past sabotage our future, define ourselves by our patterns, and those things weren’t okay.  Yeah!  That’s what I’ve been doing!  No more of this.  It’s a new day.  I want to start new and fresh.  I’m ready.  This must be a sign from the Lord.

I still wasn’t sure sure.  I feared that my feelings and confidence would falter once the decision was made.  That all the same junk would resurface, and that I was just having a particularly good day before.  But I still wanted to try.

So I made a decision.

The result?

No.  Not now.

Original photo source

That’s the funny thing about making decisions.  Sometimes, the thing you choose after months and months of praying and over-analyzing doesn’t work out.

And that sucks.  A lot.

I wasn’t sure what to do with the pseudo-confidence I had before.  Or with the suffocating fear that had been prevalent for months, that fear I so often confused with the voice of God.  What was the truth?  Had He been saying no the whole time?  Did He say no this time to prepare me for a yes later?  Was that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach His voice?  Or was I creating that for myself out of a false belief about who He is?

But don’t forget, there’s always the Donald Miller approach of living a great story and "breaking down the door".  Was that the answer here?  Was the door being slammed in my face the will of God, or was it just a plain old closed door that could be opened a different way?  Was it supposed to present me with the opportunity to know what I actually wanted instead of floating around in la-la-I-don’t-know-anything land and motivate me to actually pursue it?

So there I stood, staring at the empty palms of my hands, thinking, What now?

Original photo source

From what I’ve gathered from being alive, I’m not the only one who wrestles with this.

And that’s a really, really important truth to grasp.  Because way too often, I act as if I am.

No one else struggles with this the way I do.  I’m just being dumb and need to make up my mind.  Jesus will eventually make it clear; I don’t need to ask anyone else’s opinion.  Besides, everyone is sick of listening to me process through all this junk anyway.

The lies and the fear frolic around, hand in hand, and my paranoia of both disobedience and insignificance envelopes me in a toxic, lonely fog.

Original photo source

It’s no wonder the most frequently given command in the Bible is “Do not fear.”  I mean, besides fearing God (not just the reverent kind) and anacondas, what good does freaking out really do?

But how do you give it up?

What the heck does it look like to trust in the Lord with all my heart? 

To not be anxious about anything?

To take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ?

I don’t have the formula for this.  I wish I did.  For myself, and for those that find themselves in the oscillating, never-ending cycle of fear and decision making.

But in the middle of my personal Crazy Land, I’ve been hearing God say things like this: Reagan!  Look!  See how I am in control and you are not.  See how much you can trust Me.  I’m taking care of you.  You are not lost.  You are not a failure.  And this is only the beginning.  I have so much for you.  I’ve got you.

What I know is that God is trustworthy.

What I know is that He is capable of accomplishing His purpose outside of our intentions.

What I know is that we were made to thrive in a community where we can be encouraged to keep fighting the good fight, finish the race, and keep the faith.

At the end of the day, that’s what it really comes down to.

I don’t have all the answers for my fellow fear addicts.  But I can extend the hand of someone who gets it.  You are not alone.  And together -- guided by the all-surpassing grace of the God who is our Shepherd -- we can probably work through some of that junk that would otherwise keep us from doing anything at all.

Because who can stay out of Crazy Land all by themselves?  Really?

Original photo source

My People

The rain poured heavily outside as we sat cozily inside her kitchen.  A sharp contrast to the cold, dreary, wet outdoors, the room was warm and colorful, rich with an ambiance that simply made you feel at home.  As I relaxed comfortably at the table with my legs propped up on the chair in front of me, my friend spoke of her life’s goings on:  adjusting after transition, learning a new role, and moving into the future.  I soaked in each second, but I’m not sure how well I actually listened.  All I could do was look at my friend and grieve for the time to come – for what would no longer be the same.  Not just for her.  For all of us.

Over the past seven or so years, I’ve acquired a handful of “worlds” that have gifted me with some of my favorite people.  Olivet Nazarene University:  seven girls who went from college floormates, to college roommates, to real life best friends.  Anderson, IN:  people with whom I worked, lived, watched The Bachelor, and learned to be vulnerable.  The World Race:  those traipsed across the planet alongside me, saw me at my best and my worst, and encouraged me to just be.  And then all the “miscellaneous-es” who changed my life along the way.

It had been over a year since I had seen many of them; it felt like both yesterday and forever ago.  It wasn’t that hard to leave.  It was time.  But I also knew I would be coming back to visit “sometime after the Race,” so really, it wasn't like I would be gone for good.

After seemingly countless hours of car time, I finally made the roundtrip across the mid-eastern side of the country to find my people once again.

There has been a great deal of surprise and pain in my life over these last few weeks, and I found myself emotionally whoring myself out to these people, my people, who have deeply known my heart at one time or another.  We had shared stories of failed relationships.  We had held each other during heartache.  We had counseled each other through difficult decisions.  And we had simply listened when answers seemed elusive—an act that was often more significant than the answers themselves.  Confiding in them once again felt simultaneously refreshing and completely exhausting, and the retelling of the trials and tribulations never lessened the pain.  But there was a freedom there.  An affirmation that were meant for community, bearing one another’s burdens, and not navigating life on our own.  There is healing out in the open.  Out in the light.  Maybe it has something to do with being fully known and loved anyway.

Chalk writing on wall by Kylee

It’s times like these when I want to gather those I love into my arms and stick them into my bright blue Gregory Deva 70-liter backpack so I can take them with me wherever I go.  Some of them might have to share sides of the packing cubes, because honestly, I’m running out of compartments.

Who can say that they have even one community where they are always loved, accepted, and treated with utmost grace?

My heart aches with loneliness, loss.  But I know, too, that I can’t walk away without feeling unbelievably blessed.

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.