Wednesday, December 26, 2012

Christmas in a Brothel

   It's Christmas Eve and I lay in bed, curled up under a pile of blankets and my head resting on a fluffy pillow. I close my eyes and begin to drift into a shallow sleep, the place where, on previous Christmas Eves years ago, my head would be filled with dreams of twinkling Christmas lights and beautifully wrapped gifts.

   But not tonight. Tonight, gruesome images startle me and I jerk awake quickly. I calm my breathing and my heart rate slows, but my mind continues to race with unstoppable force. The images flash in my mind's eye and sorrow fills my heart.

   An eight-year-old girl is crumpled in a corner, broken and bloodied, but her heart is too hardened against the world to care. A young teenager struts across a Las Vegas street to meet a customer and slides into the cab, uncertain of where it's taking her, of where she'll end up at the end of the night, of whom she is leaving with. A 20something young woman lays on a table, the tears silently falling from her eyes as a doctor removes the child growing inside her womb, her fourth abortion, because her pimp considers these precious children a hindrance to his business. 

   And then my own tears fall and I squeeze my eyes shut, guarding myself against the harsh thoughts that assault me. 

   I pray and I cry and I fall asleep soundly within the comfort and safety of my home. 

*     *     *     *     *

    Throughout the Christmas Day festivities with my family, the images reappear at times and I cringe, but they disappear as quickly as they come and I do my best to ignore them. I talk with my relatives, laugh with my cousins, and eat my grandparents' amazing food, almost successfully evading thoughts of children being sold and women my age servicing dozens of men a night. 

   Tonight, I sit on my aunt's couch, surrounded by my cousins and their children and dogs and four different types of desserts. And I think again of those images that swirled in my head on Christmas Eve and my heart is heavy because I suddenly realize that Christmas has come and gone. 

   What about them? 

   My heart lurches and I wonder what Christmas is like for a girl being sold every night. Is it just another night? Does she know it's Christmas? Does she know what Christmas means? Is she filled with sadness that she cannot be with her family on this day? Or maybe anger that her captor keeps her well within his tight grip? 

   And then I feel sick as heat washes over my body, and I wonder who comes to a brothel with money burning in his pocket on Christmas Day? I imagine the state of mind he must be in to do so. I imagine his family and wonder if they know. I ache for the wife he may have, for the children that may be anxiously awaiting his return. I wonder what drove him to that pay-by-the-hour motel that he so often frequents and, yes, even for him, my heart aches.

   I know that each and every day is an unimaginable nightmare in the lives of these about whom I dream. I don't overlook every other day of the year for these for whom my heart breaks. But Christmas is a special time of the year; a time when magic seems to fill the air alongside the bell chimes and Christmas carols, when love and kindness abound more than ever before, when the human race as a whole is reminded of the reason for life and we are more gracious and forgiving and loving than usual. Christmas has always seemed a bit mystical to me and I cannot imagine not feeling that way when the snow begins to fall. 

   But for them, oh, how much different it must be . . .

   Christmas. In a brothel in Cambodia. In a pay-by-the-hour motel in L.A. In an abandoned apartment in Ohio. Christmas. As an object of pleasure. As a non-person. As a slave.  

   Tonight, my prayers rise to the cloudy sky for these whom I describe. Tonight, my heart lies with theirs. 

Thursday, November 29, 2012

Oh, the places we go...

   I am in the process of writing a book.

   Wow. Written out like that, it sounds frightening and intimidating. It also seems a tad self-righteous. I mean, who am I to think that I could write a book? I have no degree in English, Journalism, or Creative Writing . . . in fact, I am not even majoring in any of those areas. Who am I to think that I could write a book about sex trafficking, such a complicated and touchy subject? My Social Work degree is not even halfway complete. 

   These thoughts plague me day after day as I struggle to complete this book by the contest deadline. Even now, I'm not certain that it will be done and polished and perfected and ready for the critiquing eyes of others besides myself.

   But even if I hide these pages away from the world, allowing no one but myself to see them, they will still be there. And the characters I have created will still live in my head. And the places that I have described will still exist in my heart. Because places are meaningful.


*     *     *     *     *

   I stumbled across a friend's blog today; her latest post is about places and how we leave a part of us in each place that we visit. I know exactly what she means. 

   She and I have always been similar in our thoughts and ways we enjoy spending our time. ***I am about to embarrass both myself and her immensely (sorry, Noms!).*** I can remember countless days that we played in the woods behind my house, pretending to be Indians and Laura and Mary Ingalls and runaway slaves working our way along the Underground Railroad (only us . . . I don't really know where that one came from). We would rather run around barefoot outside than sit in front of the television (then again, neither of us had cable . . . maybe that's why we were - and are - the way we were . . . ). We may not have been the most talkative pair when it came to "real life", but our imaginations made up for that. We became the characters that we imagined and lived the stories we created. Creativity was always our outlet.

   Now, we both still remember those days; I long for those times where my imagination was vivid and alive and I hope that I can tap into at least half of that creativity that I know is hiding within me somewhere for this book that I am penning.

*     *     *     *     *

      She writes of places she's been, places she's cried, places she's dreamed, places she's prayed . . . and I can identify. As she describes the rusted fire escape on her college campus, I see the tree-stand in the woods behind my grandparent's house. As she talks about the spot in the ivy that is still indented even though she's been absent all summer long, I think of my own spot in a tree by the creek behind my house, a place I haven't visited in years. As she writes of the road engulfed in a tunnel of trees, I imagine the path snaking through the trees that I have walked so many times before. As she shares about the dark field that visited when she needed to clear her head, her Super Secret Stargazing Spot, I think of my horse pasture that I frequented when I needed to be alone, yet longed for silent company, which Annabelle and Emily (my ponies) provided. 



   And then I think of places that technically do not exist . . . not outside of my mind, that is. The room a seventeen-year-old heroin addict lives in to avoid her abusive mother. The small house built upon the red Ugandan dirt of a young missionary, scared to death, but more scared of what will happen if she does not follow where God leads her. The drive-in theater parking lot where teenage boys go to smoke weed because they want to escape the chaos that is their lives. The natatorium where Olympic dreams are built and worked for, and often crushed. The warehouse full of drugged underage girls being raped five, ten, fifteen times a night by men old enough to be their fathers. 

   These places are those that I have created in my head and heart. Some for stories I've thought up, some for poems I've penned, and some from the book that I am currently pouring my heart and soul into. These places truly and vibrantly exist for me; you cannot tell me that they are not "real". 

   I have left pieces of myself in each one of them. I have cried in that young woman's room . . . I have dreamed in that missionary's home . . . I have cursed the nightmare that I am living in that theater parking lot . . . I have worked harder than I ever thought possible in that natatorium . . . I have begged for mercy in that warehouse . . . 

   Because I am a writer and I am a dreamer and my imagination flies freely when I let it. 


*     *     *     *     *

   She's right. We do leave part of ourselves in the places that we visit and cry in and dream at. 

   And, in my opinion, that includes all places. The ones that you physically visit and the ones that you go to mentally and even the ones that you emotionally create in your heart.

   Places are places. And places are meaningful.

Friday, November 23, 2012

And I give thanks for:

1. Life; that I was given a chance to live and that I still am being blessed with life to this moment. 

2. Love; that I am blessed with friends and family that love me more than I will ever know.

3. Being born in America. Lately, I've heard plenty about how we as a nation are destroying America and all it has ever stood for . . . but I am so thankful that I was given this life in this country, free and happy.

4. Opportunities; that I have been given the chance to finish high school and attend college (complain as I may about it . . . ), that I was able to get a job when I turned 16 years old, still have that job today, and even work a second job during the summer. And, may I add, I job that I love!

5. Compassion. This may seem like an odd thing to be thankful for, but I truly am. I've heard people talk about having to work to become compassionate towards people. God has blessed me with a sense of compassion that is almost second-nature (though it is difficult at times - I am no saint)

6. Freedom. Isn't that what this blog is all about? Freedom from captors, from circumstance, from addiction . . . I am thankful for my freedom.


   Though I know that this is a few days late, the past few days I have been thinking a lot about my life and how much it differs from others. 

   My life is a blessing in and of itself, and I think that's worthy of my recognition. I want to (and need to) understand how blessed I am and the best way I could think of to do that was to list what I am thankful for, especially those things that weigh heavy on my mind: life, love, opportunity, circumstance, and freedom. 

   These are the things that separate me from those that I long to help. If any one of these things had been compromised during my life, I could have been any of those people that I live to love.  

   I could have been aborted as an unborn baby had I not been given the chance to live. I could have been an orphan or ward of the state had I not been blessed with the love and circumstances I've been given. I could have been a prostitute surviving on drugs, believing there's no other way for me to support myself, had I not been blessed with freedom and opportunity. 

   I could have been in so many different situations, yet God blessed me abundantly. And for that, I am thankful beyond words.

Sunday, November 4, 2012

The Forgotten People of the World

"When we got here, we felt..." and, among a dozen other adjectives she listed, I heard one louder and more clearly than all the others: forgotten.

   The word resounded in my heart and mind as tears flooded my eyes and I willed them not to overflow.

   Forgotten.

   What a powerful word. What a powerful feeling.

   And, as I sat in that community room in that building decorated with colorful, hopeful banners surrounded by fences lining the premises with razor-sharp barbed wire looped around the top of them, I understood.

   Not that I really understood the extent at which she meant it...I know I probably never will. Not that I really understood her circumstances...I know I probably never will. Not that I really understood her...I know that I never will. 

   But in that moment, I felt like I connected with her. I felt like I understood a small part of what she was trying to get us "outsiders" to understand. 

   And besides, I've always been one to notice the forgotten people of the world

*     *     *     *     *

   Today, I had the priviledge of visiting the Marysville Women's Reformatory during the closing ceremony of Kairos. Some of the residents got to go through a retreat of sorts the past three days and the closing ceremony is where they have an open mic and they stand up and talk about their experiences. 

   It's amazing to hear their stories. I've always been fascinated by stories in general, but especially people's life stories. I think it's utterly astonishing to learn what some people endure and even thrive during and after. I think people's stories shed more light on why they are who and how they are. I think it's essential to know a person's story as you get to know them. And these women...wow. They are some of the bravest, strongest, most beautiful, most intelligent, most loving people I've ever met. 

   And you know why no one knows about them?

   Because they are the forgotten people of the world. 

 

   I've always said that I care about the people no one else does. I care about the ones that others look down on. I care about the people that others question my (I'll admit it) sometimes seemingly obsession with. 

   Simply put...I have odd passions surrounding subjects that others my age don't even know about, let alone care about.
  
   How many of us think daily about those confined within the fences of Marysville Women's Reformatory and so many others like it all over this nation? And, let's face it, even when we do think about them, how often are our thoughts surrounding it caring ones filled with love rather than fear and hatred? 

   How many of us think daily about those children in Uganda, Africa (or anywhere else in the world, for that matter) who have no family, no food, no love, no hope? And even when we do, do we care enough to do something about it? Or even just stop and pray for them?

   How many of us think daily about those chained to their circumstances and paralyzed by fear in brothels and pay-by-the-hour motels all over the world? And, again, even if we do...are those thoughts ones of love and compassion or judgment and scorn?

   How many of us think daily about those in bondage to their addictions, fighting each and every day for a way to get money in order to score their next supply? And even when we do think about them, do we think of them as people who need help but are too deep in their addictions to realize it? Or do we dismiss them as the scum of this earth?

   Today, I realized something. All of my passions can be summed up as one.  

   My passion is for those who are the forgotten people of the world. 

  












Sunday, October 14, 2012

Building a home there...

   Katie Davis writes the most beautiful blog. Her love of the Ugandan people is so evident and I can just imagine her sitting among those lovely people, telling stories and reading Scripture as the grace of God flows from her lips. In her latest blog post about the people of Masese, Uganda and how they have become her friends though they turned away from her and seemed to even hate her when she first arrived in their community with a pot of bean soup, ready to feed the starving, she quotes Nouwen: 

   "Compassion is not a bending toward the underprivileged from a privileged position; it is not reaching out from on high to those who are less fortunate below; it is not a gesture of sympathy or pity for those who fail to make it in the upward pull. On the contrary compassion means going directly to those people and places where suffering is most acute and building a home there." 

   How beautiful those words are and how accurately Katie Davis has lived them out, and continues to do so. She didn't learn about the countless orphans in Uganda and decide to send money to an orphanage. She didn't see a man struggling with alcoholism and decide to volunteer some of her time at a treatment center. She didn't hear stories about people with no food and decide to donate canned goods to a food pantry. 

   No. 

   She learned about the countless orphans in Uganda and adopted thirteen lovely girls who have become her daughters, showing them just how much they are worth...the body of Christ broken and the blood of Christ poured out for them. She saw a man struggling with alcoholism and invited him into her home, helping him detox, showing him that someone cared for him and breathing purpose into his life with every word spoken of the God who could heal him from the battle raging inside him. She heard stories about people with no food and went to them, giving them her own food so that they may have the strength to live a little longer and with a little less pain. 

   Katie Davis truly doesn't offer fake compassion...she's the real deal. She made a home in Uganda, among the people she now calls friends in order to give them hope of a better life and pour God's love down on them to show them that life doesn't end with one's last breath. 


*     *     *     *     *

   As a sit here and mull over this quote, listening to the wind howl and the rain pound on my roof, my thoughts drift to where they always seem to: the children huddled on the floor of an abandoned warehouse, chained to the walls, dreading the next time the door swings open...the girls hanging their heads in shame and despair on a street corner, popping just a few more pain killers so they won't have to feel the pain so intensely, waiting to be bought... These thoughts seem to live in my head, constantly plaguing me, prompting me into action. 
   But tonight I'm not satisfied in writing a heartfelt blog post about my passion for justice and dream of seeing the end of this atrocity. Tonight, I'm wondering what it would look like for me to "build a home there". There...in the midst of the commercial sex industry? There...on the street corner with the least of these? There...with those who take drugs to evade the constant pain they feel? There...?
   How do I possibly build a home there where my heart lies? The fear of the danger that there brings paralyzes me. The fear of the unknown that there brings terrifies me. 
   Yet, I know that there is my calling. 
   How could I ever build a home there, where I know I am supposed to be?

Thursday, October 11, 2012

They are SURVIVORS!

   President Obama recently spoke about human trafficking and is attempting to make some changes as to how victims of trafficking are viewed and treated in society as a result of a petition that International Justice Mission drafted and I signed.

   In his speech as said, "We'll treat victims as victims - not as criminals." Wow. I honestly think this is one of the greatest quotes I've ever heard. 

   Can you just imagine what would happen if we didn't arrest girls for commercial sex and put them in jail because we understood that they are being forced to do so? Can you imagine what would happen if survivors of trafficking knew that they could confide in and trust the police, the people who are supposed to keep them safe but so often hurt them further? Can you imagine what would happen if we viewed them as people who need help and a way out rather than as a threat to our society? 




   I can.

   I believe these survivors would come forward and speak out against their traffickers and what has been done to them. I believe they would realize that there are people in the world who long to help them and not all people want to hurt them as they may have been lead to think. I believe they would begin to view themselves as survivors rather than someone who deserves what has been done to them. 

   If we treated them as victims, better yet as SURVIVORS, I believe we could end sex trafficking and the commercial sex industry.

one word
one word to describe her:
strong.
though it seems she's victim to her own circumstances,
she's a survivor.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Too Dangerous to Try?

   There was a time that I was too afraid to raise my hand in class, let alone venture into the dark, dangerous corners of the earth.







 I think I'm overcoming that fear. But then that presents an entirely new issue because now there are times that I don't fully think through the situations I may one day find myself in. People have called me naive because I act like I'm invincible. People have called me crazy because I choose not to think about a lot of the dangers that my life work will probably place me in. People have told me that I cannot succeed and they don't understand why I even try to take on such an impossible injustice as human trafficking or orphans in Uganda. 

   Luckily, I don't really like to listen to people...especially when they tell me that I can't do something. So I will continue on this journey...wherever it takes me and into whatever situations it leads and to whomever I may meet along the way. Because, yes, it's scary sometimes to think about certain situations that I'm likely to end up in. And, yes, it's hard to think about the fact that I can't do everything and I can't save everyone I want to. But I also think it's worth it. Because if I can rescue one person and give them back the rights that were taken from them and show them love that they haven't known maybe ever before in their lives and introduce them to the King of the Universe...I've done my job and I will be satisfied. 

   And as to the dangerous part: I think Christine Caine says it best in this video. 

Monday, September 10, 2012

Mishpat and Tzadequh: Biblical Social Justice

***My devotional with the high school youth***

   How many of you guys have heard about or talked about "social justice"? 

   I often talk about "social justice" - my term to describe making things right with the world in areas where injustice resides. I'm going to school to be a social worker because I want to better society for the people living today and also for the next few generations that will be coming in. I don't want my children and grandchildren to have to worry about these injustices and problems in the world that I worry about today. 

   I've used the term "social justice" so many times, but I just recently discovered what it means in the biblical sense. There are two Hebrew words used in the Bible that are tied together over 30 times: mishpat and tzadeqah. When tied together, the English expression that best conveys the correct meaning is "social justice".
   Before we start talking about mishpat and tzadeqah, we're going to listen to a song by Sara Groves called "When the Saints". It's kind of like my theme song because it's really inspirational and encouraging even when I feel like I'm drowning in all the injustice of the world. 

(Listen to this song.)

   Also, if you guys have any questions while I'm talking, just let me know and we'll talk about it.  

   Mishpat simply means to treat people all the same no matter what. This includes both punishment and protection and care. If someone does something wrong, they should receive the exact same punishment as the next person and the person after that; no one should get a harsher treatment because they are not as important in the eyes of the world and no one should get a more lenient treatment because they are more important in the eyes of the world. Everyone must be given the same penalty. But mishpat also has another side: giving people their rights and caring for them. 

   When mispat is talked about in the Old Testament, there are four groups of people who come up time after time: widows, orphans, immigrants, and the poor. These people were so often talked about in the Old Testament because these were the ultimate vulnerable populations during that time because they had no social power. Today, we could include the refugee, migrant worker, homeless, single parents, and older adults. Mishpat means taking care of them; if we were to neglect them, we would be violating justice because we would not be giving them the rights that they deserve. 

   Tzadeqah means being righteous in relationships; the way you conduct all relationships in your family and in society. They must all be treated with fairness, generosity, and equity - in short, being kind and good in your relationships with everyone. In your family, that may mean helping out around the house; in your friendships, that may mean keeping someone's secrets when they confide in you and not spreading it around to other people; in society, it means to speak up for those who cannot: the unborn baby, the girl forced into prostitution, the man receiving unfair wages...ANYONE who doesn't have the power to defend themselves. 

   Tzadeqah also means being in a right relationship with God. If everyone were in a right relationship with God, can you imagine what would happen in the world? If everyone had tzadeqah, everyone would treat everyone else with fairness and love, which means there would be no injustice in the world. If all injustice was eradicated, we would no longer need mishpat because everyone would have the rights that they deserve and no one would need punished. 

*  *  *  *  *

    So, how many of you guys have a group of people or a population of people who you are passionate about helping because they are vulnerable and cannot speak up for themselves?

(Make a list on whiteboard/paper.)

   Now that we have the people we're passionate about helping...how can we help them?

(Make another list on whiteboard/paper.)

   Okay, now I am going to share with you guys what my passion is and what I am planning to do to help. 
   Some of you who have known me for a few years might know that I am really passionate about helping those who are trapped in human trafficking. At first, it was all forms of human trafficking: labor, sex, and domestic. Over time, however, I have become more and more focused on sex trafficking and forced prostitution so now that is my first and foremost passion. 
   Before I tell you all what I am doing to help end this, I want to show you a short video that will show you what I'm talking about. This is a promo video for an organization called The A21 Campaign, which is the organization that I will be sending the money I raise to. The lady talking in it is Christine Cain who is the founder of the organization and a huge abolitionist. 

(Watch this video.)

   I love this organization because they know what they're doing. They have both the mishpat and tzadeqah; they have lawyers that punish the traffickers and they also have the safehouses where the survivors can go to be cared for and their rights are restored to them. 
   Does anyone have any questions about the video or sex trafficking before I go on?
   For a few years, I've just been talking to people about it, making sure the people in my life know about it and are at least somewhat educated about it. A couple of years ago, the youth group raised about $500 for the Loose Change to Loosen Chains campaign, which helps end human trafficking. And then I graduated high school and went to college and I kind of forgot about these people that I was once so passionate about helping. One day, I suddenly remembered the plight of these girls and women and my heart broke all over again. So, I talked to Josh about an idea that I had and the ball started rolling. 
   We are making Freedom Birds, which we will sell to help raise awareness and remind people to pray for those enslaved in the sex industry. If any of you would like to help sew these, please let me know. 
   So, I was pretty content to just do little fundraising things like this until Kathryn Sabine came to me and started talking about starting  nonprofit organization to raise awareness about sex trafficking and eventually open a safehouse to restore the survivors. We're really focusing here in Pickaway County, in Circleville and Ashville because we are convinced that it's happening here. The police may not know about it - actually, I know they don't; they told me it's not - but I want to teach them if I have to because I do not want people to have to live through this horrible reality any longer. When Kathryn told me about her idea, I actually thought she was crazy. I mean, both of us are social work majors, which is great, but neither of us know anything about running a business. But Kathryn thinks that nothing is impossible, so we are doing it! And I am really excited about it, though sometimes it still overwhelms me when I think about it. But I'm learning that big dreams are exciting and so worth the worry they may cause. 
   I'm telling you guys this because I want you all to find something that you're passionate about and do something about it. And don't be like me and be content to settle for something smaller because you think it's not possible - it is. 
   And if you aren't sure what your passion is, pray about it. Pray that God will break your heart with what breaks His; that's the prayer that I prayed and then I learned about human trafficking. He will honor your prayers.
  
  

Sunday, September 2, 2012

Most of you don't even care...

   "You know what's a shame? That 50,000 people have died of hunger today.
    You know what's an even bigger shame? Most of you here don't even give a ****.
    And, you know, most of you are probably more upset that I said **** than you are about the fact that 50,000 people died today of hunger."


*  *  *  *  *

   My pastor told this story today at the end of his sermon on Acts 6:1-7. He heard Tony Campolo speak once and this is a quote from him. Acts 6:1-7 is about a problem...and a solution. 

   In those days when the number of disciples was increasing, the Grecian Jews among them complained against the Hebraic Jews because their widows were being overlooked in the daily distribution of food.

   The problem: People were going hungry because of injustice in the area. 

   So the Twelve gathered all the disciples together and said, "It would not be right for us to neglect the ministry of the word of God in order to wait on tables."

   The disciples knew that they needed to help these people but they also knew that they could not let themselves be distracted from the task that God had entrusted them with: to spread the Gospel. 


   "Brothers, choose seven men from among you who are known to be full of the Spirit and wisdom. We will turn this responsibility over to them..."

   The solution: They chose people to make sure that these people would get food and not go hungry any longer. And, when they chose people to give this mission to, they had high expectations: for them to be baptized in the Holy Spirit and have godly wisdom. They chose people that they knew they could trust. 

   "...and will give our attention to prayer and the ministry of the word."

   They refused to be distracted from their calling...even by something great!

   This proposal pleased the whole group. They chose Stephen, and man full of faith and of the Holy Spirit; also Philip, Procorus, Nicanor, Timon, Parmenas, and Nicolas from Antioch, a convert to Judaism. 

   As my pastor pointed out, these names don't mean a whole lot to us because we don't know these people, we don't know what they mean. However, all these names are of Greek descent, meaning that all of the people that the disciples chose to oversee this mission to feed the hungry were Greek...just like those who needed help. They were so sensitive to the needs of the people they were trying to help and realized that they may have felt like outsiders and needed people who could identify with them!

   They presented these men to the apostles, who prayed and laid their hands on them.

   They did everything with prayer!

   So the word of God spread. The number of disciples in Jerusalem increased rapidly, and a large number of priests became obedient to the faith. 

   As a result, they had SUCCESS!

*  *  *  *  *

   How tragic to think how true this quote really is... How often do we get stuck sweating the small stuff? We get hung up on denominations...the way people look and dress...pastors cursing during a sermon...kids playing (maybe a little too wild of) a game... There are so many things that are just not THAT important. When it comes down to it, the real question is: Are we showing people who God is and what His love is like? Are we living out our lives for Jesus? Are we being good examples of Christ? 

   The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me, because the LORD has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners.

   This is Isaiah 61:1...and it is also Luke 4:18. When Jesus went to Nazareth, we was taken to the synagogue and stood to read. Out of all of the passages that he could have chosen to share with the people gathered there that day, he chose this. This...which told them that he had not come for the popular, the privileged...but instead for the poor, the brokenhearted, the captives, and the prisoners. Because God loves and cares about those people, the least of these, that we so often brush to the side, to the far, dark corners of the earth. 

   But because God has a heart for the broken, we should as well. We should care for them and help them because we have been blessed with so much. God has given us more than some can ever even imagine...why? I don't believe that God wanted anyone to go hungry or live in such extreme poverty. So why are we so content to allow it to happen, day after day?

   And it isn't just those who are hungry either. That's not where God's love and compassion ends, and neither should ours. His heart also breaks for the unborn child about to be killed in that clinic; for the little boy in the orphanage in Uganda or Ukraine, or in a foster home only fit on paper here in America, with no one to love them and show them how wonderful and lovely he is; for the young girl who should be dreaming about being a teacher when she grows up but instead she is not even enrolled in school herself because her parents do not have the money to pay the school fees; for the 21-year-old young woman who has been raped more times than she cares to admit, to think about, because she's been enslaved by her pimp for the past 12 years. 

   These situations are so incredibly unjust. Some of them are too difficult for us to even imagine being in because we live in such extreme wealth, whether we realize it or not. But it's time to stand up and refuse to allow this injustice to rule our world. 

   We need compassionate generosity. We need to share what we have with everyone else. Why not? If we have to have a little less so someone else can stay alive? 

   Really, how big of a sacrifice is that?
 

Thursday, August 30, 2012

Sometimes, I don't want to hurt anymore...

   I honestly thought that my heart could not be broken further, could not be shattered into any more pieces...I thought I was as broken as broken can get. 



   I was wrong.

   I feel that each day I am broken even more. When I first learned about sex trafficking, I thought that was the most I'd cry for those women and girls that my heart hurts so much for. When I first realized that there were children who had no family, no one to care for them, I thought that was the most I'd feel for them. When I realized just how much injustice there really is in this world, I thought that would be the angriest that I'd be.

   But each day, it hurts more as I realize that it's just one more day that over 100,000 girls in America must live through the unimaginable as men use and reuse them over and over; just one more day that millions of children in Uganda (and all over the world) must live with no one to love them, no one to show them how lovely they are.

   And that utterly and completely shatters my heart.

   Sometimes, I find myself asking when this pain will cease, when I will be able to make it through a day without hurting for these people that I feel so deeply for. Sometimes, I don't want to hurt anymore.  
 
   But then I stop and really think about it...and I'm glad that it has not ceased yet because it motivates me, spurs me to move and work to end these cruelties. And that makes me hope that I will never stop feeling this. 

   Good things will come from my pain. 

Sunday, August 26, 2012

This is her story...

   She stands on the street corner just outside of the small town. Her clothes reveal who she is, what she does, to those passing by. 

They think I'm worthless...nothing...worse than dirt. In their eyes, the world would be a better place without me in it. 

   She is glad that the dark veil hides her face so that they cannot see who she really is. They can glare at her and they can judge her, but really they don't know her true identity. 

If only they knew...

   She is young in years on earth but old in life experience. She's been in love, been married twice; both times her husband has died.  

God must be punishing me.

   A man approaches her and she knows what he wants. 

That's why I'm here...to service men like this. 

   He tells her that he has no cash on him at the moment, but is sure that they can come to a compromise. She knows she has no choice. 

He'll just take what he wants without paying me if I don't agree.

   They barter for a few minutes and finally agree on the terms of service. He hands her his expensive watch and chain necklace for her to keep until he returns with his payment, and she takes him to a room. He seems eager for this exchange and it sickens her to think about. 
  
If only he knew...

   And then it's all over and the man is gone and she is left all alone in the world, surviving only by selling what she has...the only thing that she has to offer. 

He never even realized...

   A few months pass and she finds out that she's pregnant. 

What am I going to do?

   She's scared and alone and doesn't know who to turn to. And then it gets worse. Word gets around town that she is the prostitute that has been spending time on that street corner - her identity is revealed and her reputation is completely ruined. 

Oh, the judgment...the condescending looks...the degrading remarks made in passing...

   And one day, she is arrested and taken to prison for the solicitation of commercial sex - as if it's all her fault. Nevermind the men who have been with her countless times. Nevermind the man who has gotten her pregnant. Nevermind the circumstances that have forced her into that situation: selling her body just to get by. Nevermind the fact that both of her husbands have died and she is still in immense pain and confusion because of that. Nevermind the fact that her family kicked her out because her husbands died, which has only reinforced her fear of abandonment. 

Nevermind... Because she is the guilty one.   

If only they knew...

   The day of her trial comes and there are people all around her, surrounding her, who are condemning her because of what she has done. She looks around at the crowd and she recognizes man after man who have bought what she's been selling.

How do they sit there and judge me when they've done something just as wrong?

   And then her eyes come to rest upon one particular man and she is filled with hate and disgust and contempt. He is the one who got her pregnant. 

He doesn't even know...

   And she vows to never allow him to hurt her again, no matter what, as she stares with complete and utter hatred at her father-in-law. 





   Despite my changing a few details...this is the story of Tamar from Genesis 38. My eyes were opened to this story that I'd never heard of (or at least never really paid attention to) while reading From Congress to the Brothel by Linda Smith, founder of Shared Hope International. She relates Tamar's story with the stories of thousands of others around the world and, in fact, right here in America. 

   I'd like to point out that yes, this isn't just happening in India or Cambodia; it isn't just happening in L.A. or Las Vegas (although it's certainly happening in all of these places). It's happening here in Pickaway County. In Ashville. In Circleville. 

   There are girls being sold for sex as if they were objects simply to be used for mens' pleasure. There are girls fighting to survive and, in order to do so, must sell their bodies to meet their basic human needs such as food, shelter, etc. 

   These girls are not the criminals. They do not intentionally corrupt our community. They do what they do as a result of the already corrupted community...because they know that they can survive by doing it. Sometimes pimps keep them scared and brainwashed to the point that they will never even think about leaving because they know what the consequence will be. Sometimes their circumstances lead them to this situation and they know that they will die if they don't find a way to make money. Sometimes it's a desperate act. But it's still slavery...they are still trapped by something that they cannot control. 

   And that is the heart-breaking truth of our society today.

Monday, August 20, 2012

Holy Discontent

Holy discontent.

    This is a phrase I had never heard until last night, yet it so fully describes what I have been feeling the past few years. At my life group at church last week, Suzy began talking about holy discontent. She describes it as when you are so uncomfortable with something in the world that you have to do something about it because you can no longer stand it being tolerated. Holy discontent does not mean something you simply think is wrong and disagree with; it does not mean an injustice that you are aware of. It means action. It means that you are so utterly uncomfortable with an injustice that you simply have to do something about it. It means a literal ache in your heart an dyour soul and your very being about something that you know is wrong. It means a call to action that you are so willing to take because you know exactly whta is at risk if you don't: a LIFE.

Human trafficking.

   Three years ago, my heart was completely and utterly shattered. And I thank the Lord that it was.

   When I was sixteen, Linda was teaching the high school Sunday School class through the book "Do Hard Things" by Alex and Brett Harris. It is about teenagers being expected to do literally nothing during their teen years because it's their time to have fun before they have to enter "the real world". These brothers defied that stereotype and challenged themselves and other teenagers to do great things for the Kingdom of God during their teenage years. 

   As we read through this book together, Linda challenged us to pray and ask God to break our hearts with what breaks His. I decided to do it and prayed daily for God to show me what He wanted my heart to break over. It turns out that you should be careful what you pray for...God just might do exactly what you ask. He did for me. 

   But it took a while and just when I began to get discouraged because I didn't think that He was listening, He answered. One Sunday morning, Linda read from "Do Hard Things" and it was about a boy named Zach Hunter who had begun a campaign called Loose Change 2 Loosen Chains, which empowers students to raise money and awareness about modern-day slavery. I was shocked. As a history and book lover, I knew about slavery in the 1700's and 1800's and I knew about Abraham Lincoln and the Emancipation Proclamation, which supposedly gave all human beings in America freedom. I did not know that there are still over 27 million slaves worldwide today.

   That day, I went home and did extensive research about human trafficking. I ran across story after story of trafficking survivors and I cried as I realized that this was happening in America. Most of all, I was devastated that no one had told me about this before then and, as I began talking to others about human trafficking, I became angry that no one at all seemed to know about it. I knew then that this was something that I was designed to be broken by, that I was designed to do something about. 

   Sometimes, I get so overwhelmed by this injustice that I just want to find the people who are in bondage and free them myself no matter what I may have to do in order to do so. I just want to go looking for them because I so desperately want them to know that someone loves them, that they are worthy, that they were created by Him for a purpose, that everything that they have endured is not their fault. 

   Sometimes, I even want to find the traffickers because I want them to know the love and grace of God as well, as twisted as that sounds. When I say things like that, people get so angry with me because they think that I'm condoning what these people have done, the heinous crimes that they have committed. I'm not. I simply don't think we are anyone to judge them. Maybe we haven't sold a ten-year-old into a brothel where she's raped fifteen times a night. Maybe we haven't tricked a sixteen-year-old into leaving the only home he's ever known for a "good job" only to enslave with a lifetime of debt, which he will pay off making bricks in a crowded factory where the death count grows at a tremendous rate. Maybe we haven't forced a seven-year-old to roll cigarettes for eighteen hours a day while she's chained to the table and given only a cup of water and a few crumbs of bread. Maybe we haven't committed these crimes.

But we have been tolerant of other people committing these crimes.

Do you really think your hands are clean? Mine aren't. 

   But I refuse to allow this kind of atrocity to prevail in this world in which I live any longer. I am sick of it and I will work to end it. People have asked me if I really think that I can make any different in such a big world and such a big problem. My answer is simple: I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me, because He has deemed human trafficking as my holy discontent for a purpose - and I will honor that.

Thursday, August 16, 2012

I dream...

   A few days ago, I created another blog. I just deleted it.

   I thought that if I had something else, another social justice issue, another passion, to write about, I needed to create another blog. I thought I needed to keep my passions separate because they don't belong together because they are so different from each other.

   At first, this blog dreaming of a far away land was about Uganda and its people and my intense longing to go there, to experience life the way that they do, to help...to bring the love of Jesus into their lives. The description of this blog used to read: "Slowly, but surely (and definitely not all at once) I began to fall in love with Uganda. I fell in love with its people who love Jesus with all their hearts but own almost nothing, who put their trust in Him though they sometimes don't know where their next meal will come from. It's odd that I can be so in love with a land and people that I have never met. But all of my uncertainty is overpowered by my love of the Lord who has given me this strange but wonderful love for these people."

   My second blog's description said this: "Three years ago, my heart was completely and utterly shattered. And I thank the Lord that it was. I asked God to break my heart with what breaks His - and He did. Three years ago, I did not know that there are over 27 million slaves in the world right now. Three years ago, I thought America was the land of the free; I thought everyone was treated equally and fairly; I thought our days of owning one another had ended with the Emancipation Proclamation. I was wrong. But I refuse to allow this kind of atrocity to prevail in this world in which I live any longer. I am sick of it and I will work to end it. People have asked me if I really think that I can make any difference in such a big world and such a big problem. My answer is simple: I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me, because He has deemed human trafficking as my holy discontent for a purpose - and I will honor that."

    The people of a country I've never seen and people whose freedom is locked tight by another. I thought that these two passions were way too different to combine together, to share a blog. But then I started thinking. I have one purpose when working with both of these communities of people: to bring the hope and healing and love of God into their lives.

   I have two passions...so what? I have no doubt - in fact, I have complete faith - that the Lord will use both of them for His glory. I used to think that I had to choose one because I needed to give my entire life to one certain thing. I was wrong, again. My one purpose in life is to live for God and to work for the glory of His kingdom. I can do that wherever I am, in whatever I am doing. I know that there's a reason that I have a heart for both the people of Uganda and victims of human trafficking. If there weren't, God wouldn't have laid both so heavily on my heart.

   So now dreaming of a far away land is about more than just Uganda and its people. This blog is about me living for Jesus, however that may be.

   I dream about Uganda. I dream about the red dirt that covers everything that I've heard so much about. I dream about children playing in the streets, waving to passersby. I dream about women gathering to make beads to earn a living. I dream about all of these beautiful things. And then I think about the reality of most of the people in this foreign country...and my heart breaks. I think about children, starving to death because they were abandoned two years ago. I think about mothers being forced to sell themselves on street corners to earn enough money to feed their children. I think about fathers leaving and never coming home to their families. And I realize how broken the world is. And I long to jump on a plane and go to Uganda and see these children and mothers and fathers that I dream and think about so often.

   I dream of a ministry that shelters those rescued from sex trafficking and prostitution in Pickaway County. I dream about room after room of nice beds and bathrooms in a safe place so that they may sleep soundly. I dream about Christian social workers and psychologists and doctors and lawyers coming together to help these women and girls overcome their fear of the world. I dream of people coming to Christ and learning to love again, softening hearts. And then I think about the circumstances that these people first must be in to fuel this kind of ministry...and my heart shatters. I think about girls who have not yet reached puberty being raped twenty times a night. I think about women who have been enslaved more of their lives than free. I think about girls being beaten, physically and emotionally, until they are no longer human, until they are just a shell of the person that they used to be...because its easier to sell something that's submissive and obedient rather than someone who will stand up and refuse to be broken.

   In short, I dream of heaven. I dream of a new earth. I dream of a world free of sin and evil. And I know that it will come; that I will no longer have to dream one day because it will be a reality. When Jesus returns, He will create a new heaven and a new earth - and it will be beautiful. 

 

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Homesick for a foreign land...

   “Every dreamer knows that it is entirely possible to be homesick for a place you've never been to, perhaps more homesick than for familiar ground.”

   This quote by Judith Thurman caught my eye because it so entirely fits the theme of this blog. I don't know who Judith Thurman is, I've never even heard of her...but I love her thinking!

   All my fellow dreamers out there, you know what homesickness we are talking about. That feeling that you get right after you finish a really fantastic book that you never wanted to end because it was just so awesome...that's what I'm talking about. That intense longing to go back to wherever it was that you were within those pages. When you look up after you've just read and read and re-read yet again the last few lines of that novel because you can't believe that it's really the end, and you realize that you've just taken that whole journey all by yourself despite the wonderfully magical friendships you've made with the characters along the way. And as much as you want to talk about it with someone just as you would after you've gotten home after physically going somewhere...you can't. Because no one else has been where you've been and they don't understand. I often try to tell my family all about my journeys through book after book, but they don't understand because they haven't gone on it and, until they do, I'm on my own. I've longed for the prairies of Minnesota (just to be with the Ingalls family...), for the bush of Africa, for the busy-ness and anonymity of New York, for the carefree-ness of California...I've longed for many places. Only, my homesickness transcends just place to interfere with time as well. I've dreamed of the Wild West, of Victorian England, of the 1930's in Virginia (just be with the Walton family...). 

    And sometimes, when my imagination is really running free, I find myself homesick for places that don't even exist; places that you could never find on a map because they simply are not there. They are in my imagination and I love these places and I sincerely wish that they were real because I would just spend my life there, in the land that I've created in my mind. I tried to create one of my places that is in my imagination once. I went out into my woods where there is a little creek bubbling through the long grasses and tall trees and wild flowers. When the sun hits the greenery just right, I swear it's like magic. It's the most magical place I've ever seen...and it's just yards away from my house. So, I decided to build a little house out of tree branches and braided grass and decorate with flowers and old glass jars. Unfortunately, it didn't survive the next summer storm...but it was so wonderful while it lasted. And, surprisingly, it actually did resemble the land in my dreams. 

   This feeling...this longing...this homesickness (which is just the greatest way to describe it, though I'd never thought of it until this quote came along)... It's happened so often and intensely to me that I'm getting used to it. I'm kind of glad because it's like I am constantly being ripped apart at the hands of a paperback. But at the same time...I hope that I never get entirely used to it because that means that part of my imagination would become average, and average is definitely not my goal. Maybe it was once. But not anymore.

   And so this is the way that I feel about Uganda. Though I've never been there, though I've never set foot on that land, I long to be there. It's strange and it's confusing, even to me, but I know that it's somehow so right. 

Sunday, July 8, 2012

Oh, the mystery...

   I want to know the woman who made this bracelet I now wear. 


   I long to know her story, her life. I want to know the good and the bad. I want to know what circumstances she has been in, the hardships she has endured. I want to hear the pride in her voice when she tells me that she can send her children to school now because she has a steady income from these bracelets she makes. I want to see the relief on her face as she tells me that she doesn't have to brew alcohol or sell her body to put food on the table anymore. I want to sit with her and just talk. I want to see her home, however small and barren it may be. I want to spend a while with her, living the life that God has so graciously, for some reason, spared me from. 

   I want to become uncomfortable. I want to become so uncomfortable with my life and the way that I am living; so frivolously, in such incredible abundance. I want to understand the condition some people live in so that I may be more thankful than I am, so that I never again take the things that I have for granted. 

   I want to see her smile when I tell her the bracelet is beautiful. I want to look her in her eyes and tell her that SHE is beautiful, that SHE is lovely. I want to speak words of love into her heart, I want to be an instrument the Lord uses as He breathes life into her soul.

...the LORD, who remains faithful forever. He upholds the cause of the oppressed and gives food to the hungry. The LORD sets prisoners free, the LORD gives sight to the blind, the LORD lifts up those who are bowed down...
       - Psalm 146:6-8

Saturday, July 7, 2012

Just show up...

   "I don't really know what's going on, I just show up," he said with a smile as he climbed onto the block, preparing himself for the race ahead. 

   This wonderful sentence came out of one of my swimmer's mouths this morning at our swim meet. And so I began thinking. How often do we all feel that we need to know EVERYTHING in order to do ANYTHING? For example...

   "I can't work in the nursery - I don't even have kids yet." 
   "I can't write a book - I don't have a degree in English or Journalism." 
   "I can't teach Sunday School - I'm not a teacher." 
   "I can't sing/play in the praise band - I haven't had music lessons." 
   "I can't help with the youth group - my kids aren't teenagers yet, I don't know how to connect with them."

   Seriously? We don't have to know everything (or even ANYTHING) about what it is that we are led to do. Like my swimmer understands (at least partially), God isn't going to not use us just because we don't know everything. He just wants us to show up and let Him work through us. 

   If I was too afraid of going to Uganda just because I don't know things, I'd never go. Let's re-cap everything I don't know that has to do with going to Uganda:

1. the language
2. BABIES (I'm going to use the "I don't have any yet" excuse here...)
3. how to board a plan (seriously, I should've paid more attention on those mission trips...)
4. how to make my own food (most of what I eat is prepackaged and frozen)
5. how to do my laundry in the sink (I did this in Dominican...I might remember?)
6. how to live without electricity for long periods of time as often happens there (longest time without power: 8 days)

   So, yeah, it's scary leaping into the unknown and having to fully trust that God is going to take care of you. But it's so worth it! I think I'm ready to try just showing up and letting God do the rest.  Because, seriously, what am I going to do that God can't do better?
  

Friday, July 6, 2012

Christians don't have fun...?

   I don't know where we get the idea that Christians don't have fun. I mean, seriously? And yet, I find myself thinking that often. When I was little (fine, I'll admit it...I still do sometimes), I dreamed of being a singer (country, of course!). I never thought of being a Christian singer because "they don't do fun stuff with their music and shows". Right. You clearly haven't been to Icthus. When I was twelve, I dreamed of being a writer (still dreaming...) and, again, I never thought of being a Christian writer because I wanted to write "exciting stuff". Go read a Terri Blackstock or Ted Dekker book. Exciting enough for you? 

   We, as Christians, have the best, most exciting story to tell and song to sing. And it all points back to the One who created us and gave us our talents, whatever they may be.

   To everyone who is still convinced that Christians don't have fun, I have a few suggestions for you:

     1. Icthus Festival (http://www.ichthusfestival.org/) and/or Alive Festival (http://www.alive.org/) - it's Woodstock BUT Christian!

     2. International House of Prayer (http://www.ihopkc.org/) - go to a worship service. Most amazing worship EVER! Or just live stream one on your computer and have your own little worship service.

     3. Go on a mission trip. Period. It can be anywhere - outside of the States, in the States, whatever. Truthfully, it does not matter. God will use you (and the people who - apparently - you are supposed to be ministering to...oftentimes, I've learned more from them than I think they learned from me). Some of my favorite memories involved mission trips.

     4. The Way Skatepark (http://thewayskatepark.org/) - I have NO idea how to skate and, truthfully, it scares me to death every time I go and see these kids flying around the building. But they love Jesus and they love to have fun and it's a blast to see them doing so!

   So, here's to the music video that inspired this post. Do you see how much fun these guys are having, performing their music and giving all the credit to their Lord and Savior? And, let's face it, this is one of the coolest songs I've heard in Christian music in a while.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=he32vwlKQPY

All i know is I'm not home yet 
This is not where I belong 
Take this world and give me Jesus 
This is not where I belong
     - "Where I Belong" by Building 429

Thursday, July 5, 2012

When I feel too much...

   I've always known that I wanted my life to be different. I've always wanted to be vibrant and outgoing, drawing others close to me so that I may touch their lives in a significant way. When I was little, I think I was closer to this dream of myself than I have been since. Before I started school, I was the oldest in my family, which meant I had a lot of authority (or so I thought) over my little sister, Kenzie, my best friend, Stephen. Those were pretty much the only friends I had before school (along with my new friend from preschool, Jess), and I was perfectly happy with it. 

   But then I started kindergarten and I made friends with Tricia and she kind of took me under her wing because at school I wasn't the girl I was at home. I was surrounded by new people and in a huge school I'd never been in before. It was a whole new world, and I was frightened by that. Tricia, Jess, I ended up all being in Brownie Girl Scouts and there we made friends with Dani. In first and second grades, we all became friends with Kara and Naomi - and that formed what my mom calls "The Six". We became best friends and we did everything together from Girl Scouts to campouts to birthday parties. Our mom's all became friends, and this new friendship was a great blessing to us all. 

   We began middle school the same close-knit circle of girls, but soon started making new friends. Throughout middle school, there were people we befriended and drew very close to, others we befriended and eventually drifted away from. I think middle school was when I began to lose myself. It's no one's fault at all and I blame absolutely no one. I simply started to fade into the sea of faces I joined as I walked those crowded hallways; I was quieted by the loud drone of voices that seemed to follow me everywhere. So, I became shyer and quieter, and that's how people knew me. 

   As much as I wanted to be more vibrant like Jess, more outgoing like Kara, more outspoken like Tricia, more everything like everyone, I found that it was just too hard to do, so I decided not to. And so I remained quiet and shy and I think I became more painfully so before it began getting better. 

   With the beginning of high school came the frightening realization that I was going to high school. Once I got there, I quickly understood that being different was not a good thing. You could be made fun of for anything that was out of the ordinary and, while most people say that middle school is the worst time of a person's life, high school beat out middle school for me. I was ostracized by many for "being a Christian" and, while I was taught to be proud of that and not care what others thought of me, being 15 and being told two totally different things by my parents and church and my classmates and society, I was hopelessly confused. I decided that I didn't want to be different if this was the price I'd pay, so I tried to blend in. It wasn't hard per se, being as shy and quiet as I was, but it's hard to change a reputation after you've gotten one. My reputation wasn't bad; I was known as "the Christian", but sometimes it seemed more like a death sentence than the life sentence that I knew that it was. 

   As I write this out, I laugh because all of this really doesn't seem that it should have been such a burden for me; it doesn't seem like it should hurt as much as it did. But I guess 15 years old is young and naive and tender, and I've always felt things deeper and stronger than most other people. And I've decided that that is not a bad thing. I always thought that it was because I cry at EVERYTHING - sad movies and books (or incredibly happy ones...?), emotional songs, etc. I hated this about myself for a long time, but now I don't. This deep sympathy and feeling has allowed me all kinds of blessings through the Lord. 

   I have cried as I discovered the plight of over 27 million modern-day slaves around the world today. I have laughed with children in the Dominican Republic as I made balloon animals and giggled with children in Mexico as I lay on the cement floor of their church, coloring countless pictures with them. I have cried as I prepared to leave both of these places for my far too comfortable home here in America. My heart has broken for the women in the Marysville Women's Correctional Center as they have apologized to me for corrupting the world in which we live. I have felt my heart swell to the point of bursting when I got to hold little Nakiah, a toddler that my friend Stephen's parents adopted from an orphanage in Uganda, and let the truth of what they have saved her from sink in. 

   I think that there are far too many people who care less in this world. I will care more. I don't care how many times my heart has to break in order to do so - I will do it. And, after all of the drama of middle school and high school that I so desperately wanted to escape but now laugh at despite the hurt it caused me, I am ready for my life to be different. 

   "For I know the plans that I have for you," declares the Lord. "Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." 
                       - Jeremiah 29:11

Monday, July 2, 2012

What would you do without...

   I am currently reading a book called The Missionary Call: Finding Your Place in God's Will for the World by M. David Sills. (I'd really recommend it, by the way. P.S. Before you refuse to read it because you are afraid that God will call you to become a missionary, which of course MUST mean moving halfway around the world, remember that missions doesn't always look like packing up and moving to a foreign country - you can be a missionary ANYWHERE you are!)

   Ironically, that is exactly what I was going to write about anyway. Sills writes about when he was in seminary and he had several friends who refused to go to chapel on "missions day" because they were so afraid that God might call them into missions. "They already had their life planned out and their plan did not include missions." He writes again about when he worked with the youth in his local church and many of them said that they were nervous to surrender to God 100% because, "I am afraid that if I do, then God will call me to be a missionary in Africa and I don't want to be a missionary." 

   I have to admit, I laughed when I read this. I really don't understand at all. If God told me to move to Africa and be a missionary, I would be so incredibly excited! I don't understand how some people are so scared to go to foreign countries. When talking to people about going to Uganda, many of them have made comments about how I would survive with no air conditioning, internet (mostly Facebook =]), television, and my cell phone. I finally started to think about it after enough people asked, and I realized that those things don't really matter all that much to me. Yeah, all of those things are wonderful to have (and I have been slightly uncomfortable and irritated with the lack of them lately with all of the storms - our power was out for almost 3 days...), but so what? People survived for a long time without all of those things. 

   I think my lack of cable TV, internet, and air conditioning throughout my childhood and most of my adolescence, may have something to do with this attitude. I used to be annoyed that my parents wouldn't pay to get cable, but now I see just how much that benefited me. Instead of sitting inside and watching TV or spending hours on MySpace (never had one of those either!), I spent every minute of daylight - and many of nighttime as well - outside. My imagination was wildly crazy! And when paired with my good friend, Naomi, well, we came up with some pretty great stories and games of "pretend". We were slaves navigating the Underground Railroad to freedom in Canada, we were pioneers on a great adventure as we rode our horses for miles and miles westward, we were Indians fighting off the white men who were stealing our land and moving us to reservations, we were..., we were..., we were... We were anything we wanted to be, and that is a wonderful feeling!
   My point of this post is that I truly WANT to go to Uganda, at least for a while. I don't think that God would call us to do something that we hate; He is far to loving. Psalm 37:4 - "Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart." Sills writes about how this verse teaches two things: "One is that the source of the desires in the heart of a person who is delighting himself in the Lord is God Himself. When we are delighting ourselves in Him, He places desires in our hearts that He wants to fulfill. ... The second truth is that God gave us the desire because He wants to fulfill it. So, one can legitimately say that God guides us by our desires when we are delighting ourselves in Him." God may be calling me to Uganda because I have a great desire to go there.

   In all honesty, I have no idea what God has in store for me, but I'm learning to trust Him and follow Him wherever and to whatever He calls me. I was watching an interview with Katie Davis (author of Kisses from Katie - read it! It's definitely one of my favorite books ever!) and she was talking about how her plans for her life don't really count for much because (she writes in her book) "Jesus wrecked my life" and how God's plans also tend to be much better than her own. I think that's the most wonderful things I've heard in a long time. It's not that I exactly like the idea of not knowing what is going to happen in my life, but I do like the idea of an all-knowing and all-powerful God planning my life for me rather than going along with my plans. 

   Right now, I am exploring the possibility of going to Uganda to work in Sanyu Babies' Home in Mengo, Kampala, Uganda. I really hope that this is part of God's plan for me because I am already so incredibly excited and we're still just exploring the idea! But, you know, I think God kind of likes keeping us guessing. 

http://kissesfromkatie.blogspot.com/