Time to Party

I was well into my teens before I realized that the Bible sitting on my bookshelf could be opened more often than once a week at youth group. At some point I decided that I should probably read every single word of this book I claimed to believe, and so I set out to read it from start to finish.

As I began reading straight through from front to back, my progress naturally slogged during the Leviticus-Deuteronomy-Numbers cluster. Even the second half of Exodus is pretty dry, after the excitement of the Israelites fleeing from Egypt (spoiler alert-they escape). I mean seriously, how could one God have so many weirdly specific rules to share with these people?

What struck me as even odder were the number of festivals God commanded the Israelites to hold every year. It seemed like every other day they were supposed to stop working and eat special food together. How did anything get done? I wondered to myself. Not wanting to prolong my time in these tedious verses, I shrugged and flipped the page, deciding that God just really likes to party. And for the record, I still believe that.

To be fair, humans like to party too. We have parties for anniversaries, holidays (like Thanksgiving!), birthdays, weddings, baby showers, or for no reason at all. If you can put it on a cake, you can definitely have a party to celebrate it. My friend Shelby and I were once volunteers together at El Sembrador, and we somehow managed to throw a party at least once a week while we were here for one reason or another. That was a pretty great summer.

It wasn't until I moved to El Sembrador a few years ago that I started connecting our tendency to throw parties with God's mandate for specific festivals thousands of years ago. Every year, El Sembrador celebrates Donald Hawk's birthday (the man who started the school in 1954) in July as our school anniversary. For two or three days, everyone stops their normal activities and we spend it together playing, celebrating, and of course, eating special food (usually a water buffalo feast-if you haven't been here for one, it's worth the trip!).

The first time I took part in the anniversary celebration as an employee, I remember standing in the chapel with all of the staff and students singing the school hymn together as one body. I remember looking around at all of the faces who make up El Sembrador, and reflecting on the thousands of people who have stood in this very chapel before us, singing this same song, and celebrating the same God for his faithfulness to us. It reminded me of my small place in this long history, and that I am a part of something bigger than myself.

I should have been working that day. I should have been in my office on my computer, trying to raise more money for our students, or thanking a donor for their support. But our leadership decided that this moment, together, in the chapel was more important than any classes or work that we would have accomplished that day. And they were right.

By establishing this day as a celebration day, the space was opened for us to stop, reflect, and participate in a moment that I would dare to call sacred. From the outside it might look like we are just taking a few days to compete in fun games and relax a little bit, but there is so much more going on.

I finally understood why God told the Israelites to have those festivals. We need those regular opportunities to stop our everyday tasks and remember what our labors are for. It is in those moments that we can be renewed, and return to our work afterward with a fresh enthusiasm. Tears come to my eyes during every anniversary at El Sembrador, because I remember what all of this work accomplishes, and it makes me proud to be a part of it.

Maybe I'm being overdramatic. But maybe I'm finally understanding that our hearts are beating to an ancient rhythm of life-a rhythm of regular work and celebration, a rhythm of family and community. Remember that God didn't tell people to observe the festivals alone in their homes. They were supposed to gather together as one people for days at a time. We are no different today.

It's hard for some people, in the US culture in particular, to stop working, especially to do something as frivolous as celebrate. But sometimes it's good to take a pause in order to take joy in an important milestone. Sometimes it's good to get up from the computer and just sit with others, sharing stories from the past. Sometimes it's good to look up from the well-worn path you've been walking and watch the fireworks your school director set off for the occasion, together with your dear friends and coworkers.

The celebration of hard work and accomplishments is just as important as the accomplishment itself. Can you imagine how dull life would be without it?

I hope you take time, today and every day, to celebrate the things happening in your life and in your community. And if it's been a while since you've celebrated anything, maybe it's time to buy some fireworks and buffalo meat to enjoy together with your friends and family.

P.S. I wrote this a while ago but it seems appropriate to share today. I wish you all a happy Thanksgiving!

P.P.S. My team (the red team) won first place during the anniversary celebration. I’m just saying.

The Power of Words

I remember one day when I was pretty young, my mom and I were in the car and she was telling me about the women's retreat where she had been a speaker for a group of ladies.

"For my talk, I decided to share one thing that I've learned from each of my kids," she said. Naturally, the first thing I asked was, "What did you say you learned from me?"

She smiled and looked at me as she said, "From you, I've learned compassion."

As she continued to explain why she chose that word for me, my little soul was quietly glowing. My mom thought I was compassionate! What a lovely thing for a mom to see in her daughter. Little me thought I was just hearing nice things about myself from my mother. I didn't realize until much later what was really happening.

My mom was speaking identity into me. She was telling me who I was, and for years I defined myself by that word, compassionate, and the many other words that my mom (and others) shared with me as I grew up. I've never forgotten that conversation even though it happened so many years ago. 

Do you know what that means? It means it was really important to me. Looking back, I see the power that word had on me. Though in reality, it wasn't the word specifically, but more the decision of my mom to speak it over me. My mom had the power to help me define who I was, and to figure out who I wanted to be.

Why has that long ago conversation been coming to mind recently? It's because I'm realizing that I have that same power my mom had, and still has, in my life. The older I get, the more I realize that my words mean something. I see the same group of kids every day, and I have the unique opportunity to speak identity into them. This year more than any other, I've tried to be very intentional about the words I speak over the students here at the school. I make sure to tell them how much their smile shines, or how I love to see them happy. I tell them thank you for their kindness, their willingness to serve, and for their friendship. There are so many wonderful things I see in each of them, and I want them to know it!

It took me by surprise to find that they were not only listening to my words, but that they were starting to see themselves how I see them. Obviously I am just one of many people who are speaking identity into these students, but I was blown away that my words had any power at all.

God gave us all an incredible power, the power of words. Think about it: we all have the power to make or break someone's day. We can smile and share something kind and good that we see in someone else, or we can be short-tempered if it hasn't been the best day and we decide to take it out on someone else. Or we can simply be silent, and miss an opportunity to be used by God to share some truth and joy.

And the craziest thing about all of this is that it's so easy! It took basically no effort for my mom to explain how she saw compassion within me, and her words have stuck with me for close to twenty years. To this day I still strive to be as compassionate as I can be, because that word is ingrained in my identity. There are other words, some hurtful words, from other people that have stuck with me for just as long. Words are a simple power to wield, and that's why we should take special care to say things that matter, things that inspire goodness and not bitterness.

So let's all be more like my mom today. Let's all pick at least one person in our life to uplift with our words. Because whether you believe it or not, the people around you are listening, and your words have power. So go use it!

Here With Me

I see you.

My little teenage self, just 10 years ago. 

I see you, about to take that little step. The little step that feels like a giant leap, because it's a little step into eternity.

I see you, in anguish, standing alone in the back of your dad's coffee shop, waiting for your shift to finish and waiting for life to make sense. Waiting for things to click. You are so close, dear one. 

I can see you even now, as I sit at home with tears in my eyes, listening to the Honduran birds chatter, and the boys you will come to love so fiercely playing in the distance. If only you could see everything that is waiting for you, and it all begins in just a few moments. 

Soon your wandering mind will spiral with thoughts about the future, and your place in it. You will hoist the world onto your 15-year-old shoulders and feel every bit of its weight. You will start to wonder what you were put in that world for. You'll feel like all is lost, and that life has brought you to this point and no further. And while your head is spinning with where to go from here, you will go back to that mission trip you took with your youth group, just a few weeks earlier. You will silently wish your life could be just like that perfect week full of worship and service.

And then that moment will happen. 

The moment God speaks, or rather, the moment God moves you so that you have no doubt as to your purpose here.

The moment God calls you to the mission field. 

Your head will clear, your heart will calm, and your soul will dance with joy as you realize that life will never be the same. A smile comes to your face that won't be wiped off for some time. Cherish that feeling of overwhelming peace, my friend. You have yet to feel it quite like that again, but you have the memory to reassure you.

You will make the silent drive home with your father, almost bursting at the seams with the news, because you want to tell your parents together. You will sit them down and announce that you have changed your life plans. They will patiently listen, and pledge their support to your dream, a support that will never waver. A support that will eventually spur them to leave everything they've known to come and help you make your dreams come true. But that is a different story, a story for another day.

I told you to cherish the peace of that day, dear one, because there will come other days in which the memory of that peace is all you have to keep you moving forward. Hard days are coming. People who doubt you, situations that break you. You will face your fears and develop new ones. You will be brought to the brink and back again, only by the grace of God. 

But for now, life is perfect. You will leave the country for the first time, and it is everything you imagined and more. Still just 15, you will vow to learn a language and become an interpreter so no one else will have to feel the frustration you will feel as you try to communicate with the little Costa Rican children attending Bible School. That dream comes true, too.

Your grandmother will pass away the day after you come back from your perfect trip, and you will learn the hard lesson: that being a missionary means giving up a lot of precious things. Not things like fast internet and air conditioning-things like being able to say goodbye to a loved one before they pass away. Your aunt will tell you how proud your grandmother was that you decided to become a missionary, but the loss will still sting.

Time will march on and you will become anxious to finish school and move on to the rest of your life, but you're not ready yet, dear one. There are things you need to learn, but more importantly, there are people you need to meet. Like the heroes you came to look up to on your first trip to the Dominican Republic, and the team of Dominicans who quickly became your family. 

Oh, there's nothing like that feeling! The feeling you will get when you walk out of the Santo Dominigo airport into the Dominican sunshine for the first time. It will truly be love at first sight, just wait and see. You will question your feelings for several years, but it really is in that instant that you will have known: you would be coming back here, and you would call it your home.

The moment you will decide to move to the DR (June 2010)

The path will seem long, and sometimes unnecessary, but it is all so vital. You will graduate from high school and and count down the days until college. You will watch your dad close those coffee shop doors forever, and observe from a distance while he begins his own journey to full-time ministry. Someday you will learn that your mom already received her own calling to the mission field years before you, but by faith she waited, waited until her family was also ready. You will mourn the loss of that shop, the place that witnessed so many important moments (especially the one you are about to experience), but in time you will truly see how God can work everything for good. 

During college you will meet people who are very important in your life. You will meet true friends who will last a lifetime. You will meet professors who challenge you and encourage you to be all who God is calling you to be. Soak up what the wisdom they pass along to you, because when it's over you will be wishing for more.

 

 

You will miss these people! (May 2011)

And then the day will come. The day you have been preparing for, the day for which your soul has been crying out. Your parents will have decided to join you, and together you will strike out on an adventure together. And on that day, that special day, the day you will finally become a true missionary-

-you will show up at the wrong airport, and miss your flight.

Don't fret, dear one. You may never know how such an important detail escaped you, and your entire family, but you will discover that it was another small step leading you toward a more relaxed way of living. You see, during your first year on the mission field you will come up against challenges you never thought possible to endure. Friends will hurt you, self-doubt will cripple you, and Satan will be there, lurking and finding ways to make you fail every day. You will cry more in that first year than you have in the past five years put together. The stress you put on yourself from all of the problems you encounter will cause even physical sickness, and you will finally realize something:

A missionary that frets will either become broken beyond repair, or she will leave the ministry.

Neither of those options will be acceptable to you, and so you will change. You will calm down. You will let things go. You will laugh when everything goes wrong, because everything will go wrong. You will feel broken beyond repair, but you aren't. You will be okay. Remember that, alright? You will be okay.

You will have happy days too. You will have days where you can't imagine how life could get any better, because everything seems so perfect. And the amazing thing is that it does get better, and every time it will surprise and delight you.

These are some people who will surprise and delight you the most.

Your time in the Dominican will be shorter than you planned, which will be devastating, but it will also teach you important things, like how to kill cockroaches without having to call your dad, and how to see people with the intense and deep love that God has for them. Your Dominican coworkers will become your brothers, in every sense of the word. In the sense that you argue together, laugh together, cry together, and drive each other completely insane, but at the end of the day, you will have their backs and they will have yours. Those are the things you will think back on long after you have left. Not the struggles and the pain, but the overwhelming joy, and the unbreakable bonds that were formed even during the short time on your beloved island. 

A couple of your brothers (December 2014)

You will celebrate your first Christmas ever without the rest of your family. It will feel like a normal day, and that will make you a little sad.
 

Some presents under the Christmas fan (December 2014)

Your niece will be born, and you will finally understand the full sacrifice you have made by choosing to follow your calling. You won't say it out loud, but you will feel the loss of every birthday, every graduation, every holiday celebration, and every family get-together that you just get to witness from afar. You will watch your niece grow up before your eyes through Facebook and Snapchat, and you will wonder if she will even remember your name or know who you are. Don't fret, dear one. You have a beautiful family who will go to great lengths to make sure you still feel a part of it. She will know you, and you will have your time of adventure together. Just wait and see. 

Road trip! (April 2017)

Catching up on FaceTime  (September 2015)

 

 

 

 











You will experience re-entry into the U.S. and feel the full weight of reverse culture shock. It will feel like no one understands the loss that you will experience after saying goodbye to your Dominican family. The painful process of moving on, paired with the uncertainty of the future will cause anxiety to take hold of your life for a time. You will feel weak-but you are not. You will feel like a failure-but you are not. You will hold on a little longer, because life is about to make another surprising change.

Somehow, seemingly miraculously, you will find yourself back in Honduras, where you will have spent a summer in college, and where you will find another whole family to be a part of. At first you worry that every step you take towards a new home will take you one step further from the Dominican home you left behind, but it's not true. You will be amazed at how big your heart grows to fit everyone inside. 

I go back to that night sometimes, and stand in awe of all that has passed since then. A lot has happened in ten years, more than you will ever know or be able to recall, or write in a short blog post. And it's all about to begin. I see you struggling now but I’m rejoicing for it, because I know your life is about to transform. You’re about take a big leap in becoming the person God has been shaping you to be. In just a short amount of time, you won’t even recognize yourself. The quiet, unsure girl will be gone; in her place, a passionate and confident young woman ready to take on the world.

Are you ready? 

No, you're not. But that's the beautiful part about it. 

Are you ready?

Three...

Two...

One.

Limitless

As I was talking to my dad a few weeks ago, we got on the subject of when my parents will be coming to Honduras to visit me. They don’t have any set plans to come, but at this point in our family it’s pretty much assumed that if one of the children moves somewhere, our parents will be visiting them, no matter where on the globe. They’ve gone from Seattle to Austin to Kenya, all just to share in a little part of our lives. And then you know, the whole moving to the Dominican Republic with me for a couple years. What can I say? We are adventurers.

Personally I love this unofficial tradition. I love being able to show my family the work I am a part of. One of my favorite memories in my entire life will always be walking through the Santo Domingo airport with my grandparents who just a year prior didn’t even dream of coming to visit me in the DR. And there they were for two weeks, living life with us and participating in the work we were doing there. For weeks before they came I had announced to my Dominican friends that my grandparents were coming. I think they were probably just as excited as I was when the time actually came for them to arrive. I will always remember when they met all the people I had come to love so dearly. Swelling with pride, I would introduce my friends, and then with an equal amount of pride I would say, “This is my grandma and grandpa.” They colored with my neighbor kids and played cards at our friend’s house. We sat around our plastic table in our plastic chairs and laughed, and they helped us hand out the food from our ministry truck. Watching my grandma interact with Ariel, our ministry driver, was just as entertaining as I knew it would be. I wouldn’t trade those days for anything.

So naturally when I moved to Honduras I was waiting for a day to be set for my parents to come visit. There are so many wonderful people here at El Sembrador that I can’t wait for them to meet. I already know where I’m going to take them in town to eat baleadas and which friend’s house we will visit to drink coffee and play Rummikub. I know the places I want to show them around campus and the stories I will tell about each place. I know exactly which students will come up and want to meet them without acting shy. I know that after I introduce them to everyone my friends will each pull me aside and say that my dad looks very young and that my mom looks just like me.

I’m excited for my parents to come, but I was a little worried about what I would do to entertain them. Don’t get me wrong, I love El Sembrador and I never have a dull day. But I was worried my parents would get bored of my normal, everyday life. When I mentioned all this to my dad, I said we might spend a few days here at the school and then travel a little bit to other places. And then my dad said something that surprised me, and then it surprised me that it surprised me.

“Well, is there a work project or something that we could help out with while we are there?”

Huh.

Why didn’t I think of that?

Why did I automatically assume that my parents wouldn’t want to help out and join the work that I am a part of? Suddenly I realized that while I was worrying and making plans for my parents to enjoy themselves, I was actually limiting them and their experience here. My dad wanted to get involved, and I almost missed the opportunity to let him. And that would have been a shame; a shame for my dad and a shame for El Sembrador.

And then an even bigger thought struck me: how many times in my life have I limited somebody’s chance to get involved in something great or something important just because I thought they wouldn’t be interested? I can think back to the many times I got to be a part of something awesome. What if whoever had gotten me involved had chosen not to include me because they didn’t think I would want to be included? How sad that would have been.

I’ve decided, after this small off-handed comment my dad might not even remember saying, that I’m not going to keep my ministry and my passions to myself anymore. God has put some cool stuff in my hands and I want to share it! Maybe first I will share it with my parents. Then who knows? There’s a lot going on here at El Sembrador, a lot of great things. Do you want in on the action? You’re totally invited. All you have to do is ask, and I will also keep inviting you as things come up. Even if you can’t come for a visit there are other fun things you can do to get connected. And I hope you will do the same for your passions! Keep inviting people to join you (invite me too!), because you truly never know who burns with the same passion and who would love to help you along the way. 

Let’s stop limiting each other! We need to follow God’s example; he is constantly inviting us to join him in whatever he is doing. He always wants to show us around and introduce us to the people he loves. When I think about that it makes me feel limitless. There is so much we can do in this world, and we can do even more when we work together. 

St. George (Jessica) and the Dragon (Cockroach)

Over the past few years several people have told me that I would make a good pastor. While I'm flattered, I really don't think that's the direction God is calling me in. That being said, however, I find myself agreeing with them to an extent. The idea of having a captive audience for an hour every week does sound appealing to me. Plus, I think I have the proper skill and finesse to offer up the prayer for the church potluck after the service. Let's see, what else. Oh-I love the taste of communion bread, and I'm really good at finding the right hymn number quickly as the organist plays the intro to the song. 

But I think what makes me most like a pastor is that I can find a sermon illustration in literally everything. Maybe actual pastors can relate; it's like I really can't help it. A little incident will happen like a butterfly landing on a flower or me tripping over a branch on a sidewalk and suddenly I have enough material in my mind to speak for twenty minutes straight. Once in college I joked about giving a sermon comparing the body of Christ to the piece of chicken I was eating for lunch. Maybe it's a gift, or maybe I think way too much. Either way, it is what it is. 

And that's why two nights ago as I was squirming and shuddering while I swept up the cockroach I had just killed, this post popped into my head. Of all the things, a dead cockroach was able to give me spiritual insight. I think I have a problem. But I might as well share what I learned.

It was the biggest cockroach I had ever seen; I'm talking prehistoric size. It's back was so unbelievably wide I could probably have set a cup and saucer on top of it as it it were a coffee table. Like it was so big I was actually offended as I watched it amble slowly across the curtain rod hanging over my bedroom window. Normally these agents of hell move pretty quickly when a light is turned on suddenly. Not this guy; he knew his girth had rendered me motionless. He had all the time in the world. 

I put down the things I was holding and began live-texting the scene to my best friend so someone would know the battle I was currently engaged in (and just in case it ate me someone would know where to find my body). I think I remember lamenting not having a husband to take care of monsters like this. When I came back into the room after leaving for two seconds the beast was gone, and I learned what real panic feels like. For several seconds I debated leaving the room and pretending I had never seen him, but I knew I would never get to sleep again if I left him to his own devices. Slowly and with calculated movements I picked up a shoe, sent my last text to my friend and then put my phone down so I wouldn't drop it in a moment of terror and have to explain later how a run-in with a bug cost me a brand new cell phone.

Inch by inch I shuffled forward, looking around at all angles to make sure he wasn't planning an aerial assault while my back was turned. After an eternity I found myself right next to the window, studying the curtains blowing lazily in the breeze, as if they weren't concerned at all about the villain that was currently inhabiting their threads. And suddenly-there it was! He appeared unexpectedly from within the billows. Fear gripped me, but I knew if I didn't act now I would lose him. With an embarrassingly girly squeak I slammed my shoe into the curtain and the beast fell, defeated. I couldn't wait to pick up my phone and safely brag to my friend about the kill.

What happened next was so disappointingly anticlimactic. 

The cockroach ended up on his back, as most dead cockroaches do. And you know what I saw beneath his giant covering? I saw the smallest, weakest, puniest cockroach body I have ever condescended to squish. His outside shell was just to throw me off-this cockroach was pathetic, and it was all too easy to destroy him. All of that stress and build up for nothing. 

As I swept him up and deposited him outside I couldn't help thinking of all the other times in my life when I was faced with a problem that seemed too big to deal with, too scary to try and tackle. Most of those occasions I ended up realizing that it wasn't so hard after all, once I took that first initial step. How much stress would I have saved myself if I had just went straight for the shoe to take care of the monster, instead of letting fear paralyze me? Yep, that's a metaphor for real life.

Now, if I were a pastor I would probably take this opportunity to turn us to the Bible, and mention the verse from 2 Timothy 1:7-"For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline." 

Most challenges in life are much less challenging than we initially think. And if we start practicing handling those little problems masquerading as big problems, we will be much better prepared to handle the actual big problems when they come around. 

Don't let fear stop you! You got this, guys. 

Comfortably Uncomfortable

I had some other things on my mind today that I was going to write about, but something came up that I want to share with you instead.

Today was the day that we were supposed to go to a nearby community called La Paz to do Bible School with the local kids. For a long time in La Paz there was a church with no pastor. I don't know the whole story, but for some reason or another nobody has been coming to teach and lead worship, and so the people remained without a congregation (although we just found out today that someone has arrived and feels led to bring the services back, which is a huge answer to prayer!). For at least a year a dear friend of mine would visit La Paz every week with a couple of other ladies to share a Bible story with the kids in the area, so that they could grow up with even a little knowledge of God and his Word. There is a young woman in the community who is in charge and has organized this for the kids. Now that my friend is leaving, the other ladies and I are continuing just like she did every week.

The only difference? None of us know how to drive a stick shift. My friend was the one who would take everyone in her truck. By car it takes less than ten minutes to get there; it takes 45 minutes to an hour to walk.

I took a couple of driving lessons in the DR with my dad and good old Seymour:

but it didn't quite stick (no pun intended-well, maybe a little pun intended).

It had always been my plan to learn how to drive here eventually, but for now we were stuck walking.

We set off for our destination in the distance, and almost immediately the skies opened up and we were caught in the rain, as is customary during the aptly named rainy season. My best jeans and only nice shoes were soon soaked through because I had forgotten to change before we left, and my fancy smartphone was given to my friend to keep dry in her plastic bag. We marched through the rocks and mud as we shared stories and commented on the beautiful corn that is growing in the fields. For the most part I kept quiet, taking in my surroundings and thinking about when Jesus began his ministry and did the same thing then that we were doing now. I wondered how many miles Jesus walked just to share a word from God with the people in different communities. And suddenly I felt incredibly blessed to be able to share this walk with my sisters in Christ.

Nowadays most people aren't accustomed to having to exert themselves so to share God's word with their neighbor or their community. We can sit in our comfortable cars in the AC, closed off in our little world until we arrive at where we are going. We drive instead of walk, take planes instead of boats. The ability to get ourselves farther faster has most definitely helped the Gospel spread to previously unreached places, but I'm afraid we have grown too used to this newfound ease of life and have forgotten the joy of being uncomfortable as we serve God.

What a special time Jesus got to have with his disciples as they traveled from town to town! What great conversations I bet they had since they didn't have the option to pop in some headphones or turn on the radio. Sure, I bet Jesus sometimes wished for some headphones to shut out all of the arguing and complaining the disciples were known for, but overall there is something special about putting yourself in uncomfortable situations in order to share God's love with others. It creates a special bond with your fellow brothers and sisters that are serving alongside you. I got to know my two friends today in a way I haven't been able to so far. We helped each other carry the Bible School supplies and all agreed that the rain was a blessing because it made the air cool.

My friends and family know what an adjustment living in El Sembrador has been for me for the past month. I truly love the work I do and I love the people I work with and the students I work for, but when my biggest struggle of the week was that one of my ceiling fans broke and I had to spend one night without it, I sometimes find myself yearning for the days when I had to use a bucket of water to shower and an oil lamp to see at night. Call me crazy, but there's just something about the discomfort that brings you closer to God and closer to the people around you, who are experiencing the same thing. And the even crazier thing is that when you're serving Christ it doesn't even register as discomfort. You become comfortably uncomfortable. This is kind of hard to explain, but I know there are other people who feel the same way.

These were all of my thoughts even before we arrived at La Paz. After an hour of walking my reward was many little hugs from the kids who were waiting for us to come and spend time with them. If anybody ever wondered why Jesus took the time and effort to travel like he did, I know why. There is no better feeling than coming a long way just to tell someone (and show them) that they are dearly loved. 

As I write this I am sitting on the floor because all my chairs are covered with drying clothes. I had wisely decided that today was a good day to start hanging my clothes to dry, and if you look back up at the beginning of my story you will remember that it's the rainy season. But even now I am filled with the joy that comes with being comfortably uncomfortable. I hope I never get so comfortable that I forget the joy of exerting myself to share God's love with the people around me.

Since I don't have a car I don't leave the El Sembrador campus as much as I normally would, which means I don't often get to experience the quiet relief that you feel when you finally find yourself back home after a long journey. But today as I walked through the gate into the now nearly-empty campus because the boys left for break today, and ambled up my road, taking in the familiar sounds and admiring the buildings and trees I have come to love so, I finally felt the contentment that I hadn't had the privilege of feeling until today.

I am home.

And on a completely unrelated note, please keep me in prayer next week as I begin my first Honduran driving lessons :) 

That One Day on the Bus

There is one day in the Dominican that I will never forget.

My parents and I were taking a bus to the capital to go to a conference. For me, the bus can either be an introvert’s sanctuary or an introvert’s nightmare. Most of the time I would put in my earbuds, turn on the special bus playlist I made just for this occasion, and let the music wash over me as my brain checked out for a few hours. Complete bliss.

But in the DR it’s totally normal to talk to the person sitting next to you on a bus, whether you know them or not (hence the nightmare). To be honest, making small talk with the guy next to me is usually the very last thing I want to be doing. Like getting a tooth pulled seems less painful to me than trying to carry on a conversation with a stranger. I would take awkward silence any day.

My parents sat together while I took the risk and sat in a window seat alone. As soon as I sat down and got my backpack situated on the floor I began the desperate race to put in my earbuds before anybody had the chance to interrupt my long-awaited solitude. I only barely succeeded; just as I was turning on my music a kind-looking middle-aged man asked to take the seat next to mine. I gave him a quick smile and nodded my assent, knowing that would be the last time I would have to engage him during our journey.

The man had a piece of paper in his hand, and I frowned as I saw what it was. There was a person in our city who occasionally handed out a “tract” to the people waiting in line to ride the bus, but it was filled with lies and confusing statements. I didn’t like what the paper had to say and I was sad that this man was now reading it. I was hoping he wouldn’t buy into the lies or have doubts about God and who He is.  For a while I watched the man as he read the tract slowly and carefully.

And then I felt something that made my gut instantly clench up and my heart beat faster.

As clear as day, God spoke to my heart and said, “Ask that man about what he’s reading.”

…......

……..

Anxiety started bubbling to the surface and I sat as still as I could, as if God would stop looking at me and go ask someone else to do something for Him. He didn’t.

The man continued to read as I remained motionless. I watched the trees and concrete buildings race by, and wished I could hurl myself out the window and seek their asylum. Finally I worked up enough nerve to say something, and pretty soon we were engaged in a deep conversation. By the time we had reached his stop to get off, he had accepted Christ into his life and he walked away a changed man.

………

Actually,

Actually.

Actually, that didn’t happen.

Actually, I stayed silent as my heart burned, unable to form a single word to say to the man next to me.

Actually, I fixed my gaze out the window and stared at the world passing by until he finally put the paper in his bag and went to sleep.

Actually, after twenty minutes of excruciating silence God spoke again, with absolutely no condemnation or disappointment in His tone. He was simply stating a fact:

“You disobeyed me.”

And I had three hours on a quiet bus to think about what that meant.

________________

That day, all pretense and good intentions were stripped away, and I was finally shown the glaring truth: after a lifetime of following Christ, three years of attending a Christian university and one year of serving on the mission field, I, Jessica Marie Hogan, was still afraid of sharing my faith with others.

There, I said it.

You can go ahead and stop reading, or feel free to unsubscribe from my blog. I think I have officially earned the title of “Worst Missionary.” The guy was sitting right there, with absolutely no chance to go anywhere, and I couldn’t even say one thing to him about Jesus Christ the savior of my life. In that moment I knew that it was a test, and that I hadn’t succeeded.

Here’s the part where I need to make sure something is clear. Remember that God most definitely does test us, but he never tempts us. God tests, and Satan tempts. By testing us God wants us to see how we can make our faith stronger. By tempting us Satan tries to destroy our faith. Maybe they sound similar on the surface, but the two motives are completely opposite.

What am I so afraid of? I continued to ask myself as I reflected on the bus. Why wasn’t I able to say something? Was it the feeling of inconvenience, of having to pull myself out of my own bubble and engage with someone? Was it a fear of looking foolish? Was it a lack of confidence? I think in a way it was all of those things, and even more things that I will never be able to quite put into words.

I believe there is value in every experience, so I invite you to learn from my failures and shortcomings. Maybe I really was supposed to lead that man to Christ that day. Or maybe the man just had a simple question that I would have been able to answer. Or maybe God wanted me to initiate a conversation that would have ended up being a blessing to me. It doesn’t matter what would have happened. The point is, if God told me to do something, it’s because 1.) He wanted me or someone else to learn something and grow from the experience, and/or 2.) He was going to equip me with the ability to handle it.

I have always considered myself a humble person (wait, does it make me not humble anymore if I admit that?), but as with every other good thing, we humans can easily corrupt humility and turn it into hesitancy, self-doubt, and a feeling of inferiority. Deep down I think I’m waiting to become the “perfect” missionary, and until then I don’t want to get my hands dirty and mess a good thing up, so instead I stand back and wait for someone more capable to take control.

Here’s what my little mind needs to understand though: I am so far from perfection that I will never achieve it in this lifetime. Which means, if I follow my own logic, I will keep myself on the sidelines for the rest of my life and never give God an opportunity to produce anything good in me. Is that what I want? Is that what anyone wants?

God knows me inside and out; He knows what I’m good at and what I’m terrible at. He knows where I shine and where I stumble. And in spite of all that, He will still push me to do things that make me uncomfortable, things that don’t come naturally for me. Even when I keep trying to pull myself out of the game, He will never stop urging me to come back into play. Ok, I think that’s enough of the sports metaphor for today.

If you have ever read any part of the Bible you will quickly see that God specializes in accomplishing things through unlikely, weak, sinful people. Enter Jessica. That is most definitely me. But I don’t have to believe in my own abilities to accomplish what he asks of me; I do have to believe in his ability to work through me. And after a lifetime of following Christ, I have enough examples of that to encourage me forward the next time he gives me a job to do.

I wouldn’t go as far to say that day was a turning point in my life, because in reality I have failed and succeeded since then, just as I had failed and succeeded before I took that bus ride. But for me it’s a reminder to reflect on once in a while, to spur me to keep going and to be obedient when I feel the call. Just last week I was given the opportunity to share my faith with someone here on campus, and I was able to share boldly and without hesitation. Instead of wasting time worrying if I had done well enough or if I had sounded stupid, I spent that time praying that God would use my imperfect words to reach my friend. And you know how I felt after that? I was just as delighted to be given that opportunity to share as God was delighted to give it to me.

Stop second-guessing yourself when God asks you to do something. Stop hesitating, or you will rob yourself of the great privilege it is to be obedient to God.

Let’s live boldly today.