The Ordinary Ones

His sign said, “Hungry, anything helps.” He was standing at the corner of a street. I was in my car, driving from grad school to my elementary school where I was supposed to teach in a few minutes. Of course, I looked away at first, trying to justify myself because I was in a hurry and didn’t have much to share. Giving a man some granola just seemed like an insult. A few weeks before, I had passed someone and tried to give them half a cup of coffee and an apple, which they refused rather bitterly. Admittedly, half a cup of coffee is not the best gift, and an apple will not do much if you are hungry. But it was all that I had at the time, and the rejection left me a bit sour and hesitant to possibly be rejected again. “I never know what to do in these situations,” I thought to myself, frustrated as I oscillated between my instincts to help and my fear and questioning. But when the traffic was too heavy and the light turned red again, leaving me at the same corner for a couple mi

This month marks a year since I left Haiti. It has been a year of aching, restlessness, discernment, confusion, and re-discovering truths about the Lord and His love for me in the midst of all the chaos. He has never left me. God is here. He is Father. He is good. In the past year, I have moved three times (four if you count a move from a dormitory to an apartment in the same town). These moves began when I moved from Haiti to Florida to spend time with my parents, then from Florida to Kansas to work at a boarding school, then from Kansas to Nashville, Tennessee where I have been for about a month and a half (with a quick flight to Uganda in the middle of the move, leaving all my personal belongings both in my car and at a friend’s house). This past year has felt crazier and more difficult than the three years I spent in Haiti. I have slept in many places, bought a car, paid my taxes, switched jobs and locations, and most recently started grad school. I have met new people, upon ne

At the risk of sounding like I have it all together (because I don’t), here are some things I have learned in the past almost seven months of being out of missions. 1. Everyone needs some humble pie... even me. I have learned that I was never holier or better than anyone else just because I had the title of missionary. Since being in America, one of the most encouraging things has been meeting other Christians who are living with missionary hearts in the midst of the world. God very quickly showed me people who have deeper and more committed prayer lives than I do, and who have been living lives of evangelization much longer than I have. So alas, I must confess, I am not the bomb diggity that I thought I was .. unfortunately. 2. I will never stop being on a wild adventure with a loving Savior. Despite leaving a life of frequent transition, lots of community, multi-cultural living, and radical amounts of prayer . . . I am not done being a Christian. Jesus has never left me,

Mariah (one of our summer volunteers) & Niva It is hard for me when we talk about the poor. I wouldn't want to be characterized and defined by my financial status, because there is more to me than how much money I do or don't make. So why do we do that to some people in the world? To be honest, I sometimes wonder if “the poor” or “people in 3 rd world countries” or any of those phrases should be used at all. Saying “the poor” is actually very impersonal. So I want to break that open today, and shatter it a little bit. Let me introduce you to some people I love. When I try not to waste food at a restaurant, it is not the poor that I am thinking about. I am thinking about Niva. Niva is a sixteen-year-old girl who lived a couple miles down the road from me in Haiti. Niva is very shy and sometimes covers her mouth and hides her face when she talks to me, which means I can’t hear what she says. I have to ask her to repeat herself often. When she repeats herse