Journey...

Spiritual foundations are laid in many ways throughout a person’s life. As a small child I attended a Christian daycare where my mother taught Kindergarten. Each week we would have chapel with “Aunt” Pat, an older lady who is an ordained reverend in the Nazarene faith. I accepted Christ at age seven during a Vacation Bible School program at the Nazarene Church. My family never attended church regularly until I was twelve. When we began attending Alpine Valley Social Brethren Church I rededicated myself to the Lord with a much greater understanding of who God is. The church was really small with regular attendance of maybe 40-50 people, on any given Sunday I would look around and see that I was related to most of the congregation. It was a very comfortable place with an eager young pastor and a mix of both young and older parishioners.
My spiritual journey hit the gas when in 2005 we began planning for a mission’s trip to the Philippines to visit the denominations sister churches there.
I remember the stillness the most, the immense peace in the midst of the endless noise, the plane ride- long and lonely, the people always smiling, their large dark eyes seeming to see right through you. For two incredible weeks I was a World Traveler, Teacher, Dancer, Singer, Worshiper, Prayer Warrior, Daughter, Cousin, Friend, Skeptic, Photographer, Public Speaker, Exhorter, Listener, Peace Keeper, Celebrity, Scholar, Missionary.
There is nothing quite like jumping on a plane, flying around the world, working knee deep in sewage and turpentine, breathing in dense, diesel fumes, holding tiny malnourished infants, eating fish eyes and yes, even balut (eggs with chick embryos inside), singing to the Lord in a language not your own, and being surrounded by people who thank you endlessly. It is so hard to describe in words how amazing those two weeks in October of 2005 were for my soul. Webster’s doesn’t have the right words to encapsulate the emotion, the complete paradox of it all, the vast beauty amidst the squalor, skyscrapers surrounded by squatter shacks, six story malls surrounded by children selling flowers for food, palm trees and tropical paradise engulfed with grime and horrific smells. That was the Philippines, those were the people who have touched my life forever, changed who I am and who I will become. I am different now; one cannot possibly stay the same after an experience of that magnitude. In fact I sincerely believe that my mission trip to the Philippines was a rescue mission for my soul.
When the eleven of us that comprised the mission team came home, tensions that were already brewing came to a head, and the “Church Wars” began. Our Pastor resigned shortly after, and my teenage cousins and I were placed in the middle of it and were forced to stand up for ourselves, to not only our churches elders but also the denomination elders. We received threatening emails and were attacked for doing jobs and holding positions that those same elders voted us into and encouraged us to accept.
Since then I have been trying to find my new place at my home church with our new pastor and new congregation. I attended a year at Northern Michigan University and transferred to Hope last year. I have re-learned how to love my little sister for who she is despite how her biological parents effected her development. I have longed and prayed for acceptance of what I call my pedestal problem, (placing others on pedestals and coping with how they always eventually fall). I have learned on my spiritual journey so far that there are no guarantees except that God is good and He is always waiting for us to acknowledge Him. I believe that the journey we take alone and how we journey together is what makes the difference in life. The strong falter, the weak rise up. There are times that we must fall apart, knowing that distance from others can be a gift, but as someone once said; “You can no longer separate one life from another as you can separate the breeze from the wind”. I feel blessed to be able to come to a college that is expanding my horizons and taking me to places I never dreamed of.

one of my many mission trip reflections from 2006

Tears and White Roses

Tears, a simple salty substance that is intended to clean the eye and remove foreign debris to prevent infection. When has science ever steered us wrong? Tears do cleanse. They cleanse our eyes, but more so they cleanse our hearts.

In the seventh chapter of Ecclesiastes, verse three, King Solomon wrote; “Sorrow is better than laughter, for by sadness of the countenance, the heart is made better.” That is probably the greatest lesson I have learned throughout this experience.

Tears, lament, sobbing, wailing, weeping, though these things we are allowing our heart to reach out and be healed. For, although no one can feel our pain, they can receive a visual reference to the magnitude of it through the link of our tears.

“We thank our American Missionaries with a great gratitude this morning as we lift our voices in a song of farewell to our friends,” Laia tearfully spoke into the microphone in the freshly painted church – our home, our project, our baby. The band began to play the sweet and simple tune as the petite, darkly tanned woman approached me with a single white rose in her hand. She beckoned me to stand and we linked arms back to the front of the room. My feet clad in pink flip-flops, sloshed through a thin layer of mud from the early morning rain. I was really confused! After a moment I realized what was going on, other Filipinas began to come into the church with roses and escort members of the team up to the front one by one. The eleven, bulky and gawky, were wrapped in a mass of bodies and love. Gentle gusts of cool wind blew from the buzzing fans. The sway of palm trees and tropical paradise engulfed with grime of exhaust from too many engines. The band crescendoed into the chorus of the song, “We thank you.”

Chickens and roosters clucked along on the street outside. I looked out upon the people squished together on hard church benches, the heat, unbearable, magnified by their closeness. Their faces glowed. I could feel the presence of something Holy weaving it’s way though the beauty HE created, straight into my heart. I glanced at the team next to me, people who had become more than just fellow churchgoers, people who had become my family.

As my eyes scaled the surreal, scene unfolding before me I caught a glimpse of Brandon, tears flowing unhindered down his face, His dirty fingers made muddy streaks across his cheeks as he wiped away the salty wetness. This boy of ten years, a football player, a drummer, a well-known tough guy, cried. That’s when I lost it. I immediately joined in the waterworks around me, my own brackish tears landing at the corners of my mouth, my heart in anguish. I will never forget that scene. I will never forget his face. I will never forget seeing his pain.
There is power to heal in tears, they speak in the silences and drown out the pain. Washing it down in great rolls of slippery wetness. It was over, our journey of finding ourselves, of understanding our connection and purpose with each other, the journey of seeking the face of God. Missionaries sucked back into America’s time warp. Removed from the splendor and squalor of that incredible place and dropped, like aliens, in a land called home, a place we don’t belong anymore.

3 years ago...

I wrote this three years ago in response to a mission trip.... this is the rough draft i have since created an 80 page memoir and 200 page scrapbook of the event....

mission trip reflection -written at 1am this morning.....
“Sorrow is better than laughter,
for by sadness of the countenance,
the heart is made better”
~Ecclesiastes 7:3

World Traveler, Teacher, Dancer, Singer, Worshiper, Chef, Janitor, Prayer Warrior, Daughter, Cousin, Sister, Friend, Missionary, Skeptic, Photographer, Public Speaker, Exhorter, Listener, Peace Keeper, Celebrity- I have been all these things in the past two weeks. I have left my heart in the Philippines...

The plane ride was long and lonely, surrounded by hundreds of people, yet very alone with your thoughts and tray table. desperately needed sleep did not come easy for everyone, the engine roared on for hours before touching down. We anxiously awaited what lie ahead.

Early, very early, every morning I awoke to the sound of an old rooster crowing. most days I was the first one awake. I’d sit in the living room and write as the sun arose over the buildings, listening to the delicious sounds of the city. The Tricycle engines rumbled, Jeepney horns squeaked as the colorful contraptions rushed by. People stood in doorways scratching their heads. Children ran in the streets. Soon pastor would quietly creep out of his bedroom with his bible in hand, grab a cup of coffee and join me in my people watching. not too long after i would here the clacking of Diane’s laptop computer keys from the kitchen table. Six am- the rest of the team began to stir, anxious to begin the busy day ahead. Seven am- breakfast was served in the classroom. Eight am- we began work inside the gates.

Working was like being in a zoo, we were locked in the gates and people on the outside stared at us as we worked. The paint was oil based and stained my fingers as I worked. stagnant water covered the ground. Big, ugly bugs crawled around. the sun warmed my cheeks and the humidity caused sweat to form large beads down my back. Tools were scarce, so we had to be industrious, using tree branches, and scraps to make ladders and extension pools. the young men gracefully scaled the roof to reach high places. Grateful teenagers glanced up as shirts came off of powerfully built bodies in the midday heat. Barefooted children gleefully created mud cities in the dirt with water used to clean paint brushes. Lead paint, automotive putty, and turpentine soaked our skin and seeped into our lungs, the morning noise ensued.

Lunch, something new everyday- Tilapia, squid, shrimp and some sort of rice concoction were offered. The brave attempted to eat what was served. After lunch was siesta time, sleep was welcome for many team members, fellowship was desired for others. We slept together under the fans to keep cool, we talked together, cried together, laughed together, thought together and journaled together. ties were connected and walls were torn down. Sometimes we shopped at the nearby mall.

Most evenings we had church services - absolutely incredible worship services disguised as “prayer meetings”. People of all ages lifted their voices and hands to the Lord. Church benches were cast aside to make room for dancing. I was forced out of my comfort zone, and spoke at many services. I offered up my testimony and used my voice to bless others. Pastor preached amazing messages that my heat was open to hearing and understanding. Delighted church members joyfully showed off the cement walls and swept dirt floor of their churches. Families spent a months salary to feed us. Traveling to the churches was incredible, Paradise and squalor met in beautiful harmony- the giant mansions arose from the squatter shacks. a family shared a queen sized bed under an overpass. Babies were toted around by siblings not much bigger then they. Children sold flowers in the street for food. A man lay dead on the sidewalk. Family members attended a wake under an awning, the open casket was lit with the flickering glow of white candles. The constant noise of engines and horns continued.

After assessment we lied down in out respective beds to sleep, donning headphones to drown out the off key karaoke coming from the night club down the street. The rooster still crowed. Each and every day was filled with incredible experiences, sights, and encounters with God. I will never forget the naked children playing in the rain, in metro manila, or the look on Rosalie's face when she put on her new glasses, or the joy on every Filipino's face during the water fight. I will never forget watching a pastor who sacrificed so much for the Lord, play with his children in the dirt, and tuck them in at night with ratted blankets on church benches. I will never forget the story of the night that same Pastor watched his child take his last breath, as he willingly offered him up to the Lord. I will never forget how small the new baby felt when I held him close. I will never forget the precious gifts I received both physical and spiritual. I will never forget the love I felt from the people and the Lord. I pray that I will never forget the emotions I faced and the fears I conquered. I will never forget how good it feels to throw myself into worship, draw up to the throne of God, not holding back but offering every part of me. I will not forget the too short night when we stayed up and sang love songs through the night. I will not forget hugging my brothers and sisters goodbye and sobbing with the team to the airport. I will not forget the look on pastor’s face- the look that said I know how you feel and I knew this would happen, we are in this together forever connected by the pieces of out hearts abandoned in the Philippines. I won’t forget the peace I felt in the arms of Jesus. I won’t forget being in a thirds world country, breathing in the diesel fumes, kneeling in the dirt, sleeping with cockroaches, eating god knows what and absolutely loving every emotional minute of it. I won’t forget watching a ten-year-old boy give into tears as he held a single white rose in the completed church. I won’t forget the “scars and stories” too numerous to mention here in this forum; the taste of Balut, the freedom to be myself I received at Mt. Olives. the ultimate understanding that “all things work together for good” in Christ Jesus. I will cling to the spirit I felt with my entire being. I will surround myself with people God has purposely put in my life to help me to grow and who refuse to allow me to falter in my steps. I vow to never, ever be the same person I was when I boarded the plane. I promise to return to the Philippines to rejoin the part of my heart I left behind. I will let myself, let myself go; cry when I need to, laugh when I want to, and share my heart with others even when it’s hard.

I am having a really hard time adjusting to a world that has not changed just because I have changed. I pray that I will not fall back into my old ways just because I am in my comfort zone. I pray I will have the courage to step out of my comfort zone daily to bless others and draw closer still to the throne of God.