Posts From Friends and Family

Somewhere inside of me, in that mysterious place between soul and mind, there's a box. I think it looks rather like an old steamer trunk - nondescript and capacious - and an old-fashioned skeleton key stands in the lock, ready to be turned at any moment.

This old trunk is where I keep beautiful things. Memories, thoughts, songs...stored away in a golden jumble of emotions and laughter and awe. They are all there, gleaming nostalgically, ready to pour out at a moment's notice. The warm glow. The light of other days. Beauty and truth to illuminate seasons of gloom.

Many people are in this box. People of varying skin colors and backgrounds, but all with one thing in common - the positive impact they've had on my life. Whether I've know them for ten years or ten hours, they've all contributed to making me a better person. I wish there was a way to let all of them know how wonderful they are...

Words and phrases are also stored away. Some of them spoken by close friends or family, others by complete strangers. Most of them are simple and (seemingly) unimportant: 'You've encouraged me.' 'Good job.' 'I love your hat.' 'Please don't leave...I'll miss you.' 'You can do it!'

Acts of thoughtfulness: A friend mailing an unexpected package. Kind notes. Gifts that truly come from the giver's heart. Prayers. Guys that go out of their way to open doors for me.

Books, songs, and poems that contain beauty and truth.

Things God has said to me.

The stubborn, quirky, hilarious, and affectionate creatures that have come and gone at our farm.

And last but not least, the experiences: Hiking at Bolton Abbey. Practical jokes. Riding horses with friends. Easter in Mozambique. Fog and mist. A Shakespeare play at the Globe Theater. Dancing. Long talks with wonderful people. Sunrise. Sunset. Watching green things grow. Colorado. Camp 2008.

I am blessed.

...especially the lyrics‎!

'Me, I imagine places
That I have never seen -
The colored lights in fountains,
Blue and green
And I imagine places
That I will never go.
Behind these clouds that hang here,
Dark and low.'

'So we carry every sadness with us -
Every hour our hearts were broken,
Every night the fear and darkness
Lay down with us.
But I am holding half an acre
Torn from the map of Michigan.
I am carrying this scrap of paper
That can crack the darkest sky wide open -
Every burden taken from me,
Every night my heart unfolding...
My home'

'The starless night come fall around me
Over all we've left undone.
I know a light that shines forever
Howsoever we may run.'

'I'm a king at night
And a poor man in the morning
How will anybody know me?'

'Every mystery grows like a vine;
Reaching out to the sun for a while
And holding the soil
Forever and ever.'

See? Wonderful!

You should come listen to my Hem playlist on Spotify.

Have you ever noticed that a lot of people regard themselves as being odd? I didn't become aware of this trend until I joined HSA, and started noticing that well over half of the blogs have the word 'odd' in the description. Maybe it's mainly a homeschooler thing, but I think that other pieces of society have also embraced the word 'odd'. People have taken to wearing the rather derogatory term as a badge of honor. 'Look at me! I'm odd! You want to get to know me 'cause 'odd' really means cool...or something.'

Why is being 'different' so hip? Why do people want to stand out? For me, it's simply that I've gradually gotten the courage to be myself. I've always known that I'd stand out if I talked and dressed and acted the way I really wanted to. That used to terrify me, but now I've decided that when I feel the urge to dress like a gypsy or talk with a funny accent, I should just go for it. And you know what? People love it. Or they think I'm just totally crazy. I'll say right now that it does take a certain amount of bold-faced pluck and careless defiance to persist in being the 'real me'.

Most of the people who label themselves as being 'odd' really do not seem very strange to me. I talk to them, I read their blog posts, and think 'hmm, interesting.' But I don't think 'strange'. I don't think 'shocker!' I don't think 'woah! That's a completely foreign concept!'

It seems to me that there are two possible options. Option One: We're all odd together, and therefore view each other as normal. Option Two: We're all much more normal than we are inclined to think.

If everyone is odd together, then no-one is really being odd, because odd has become the new normal. If everyone's much more normal than they think, then I know several people who are going to become very sadly disillusioned - 'I've put so much work into polishing up my little Odd Person Badge...you're trying to tell me that it's pointless?' *sniffle*.

My question is this: who determines what is 'odd' and what is 'normal'? If 'normal' is always determined by some vague 'society' that's floating about somewhere, then it really doesn't exist. I bet everyone has a different idea of what being a 'normal person' entails. I think it means wearing boring, skimpy, fashionable clothes, being content to live in America, listening to popular music, being in and out of relationships since middle school, and using a hair straightener. None of that is at all 'me', so therefore I'm odd. Or am I? Maybe I'm someone else's idea of normal. Could it be that most of us are measuring ourselves against standards of 'odd' and 'normal' that do not, and never truly have existed?

Anyroad, I think I'll take the word 'odd' out of my blog title. I might replace it with 'normal'. Then I'll be truly unique.

Have you ever stopped to consider the many different kinds of fear and bravery? I think there are as many definitions of bravery as there are people in the world. Most people are afraid of something, and therefore consider that the people who do those things must be very brave. Personally, I think that the bravest people are the ordinary, everyday folks who are afraid of a thing, yet face it and overcome it and go on. I think that the bravest people are those who do what needs to be done without fuss or complaint or praise.

I have never considered myself a particularly brave person. I know how many varieties of fear plague me, and I know how many times I allow those fears to hold me back. There are many times when I despise myself as a miserable coward. Therefore, it comes as a big surprise when people comment on how brave I am. 'You ride horses? That's so brave!' 'You went to Africa and ate street food? That's so brave!' 'You've gone rappelling? That's so brave!' And I look at these people, and blink in astonishment, because it has never occurred to me that any of these things require bravery.

Of course, I could turn around to just about anyone I know and tell them how brave I think they are. I could say 'You can be at ease while talking to strangers? That's so brave!' 'You can drive up to a stoplight without panicking? That's so brave!' 'You can honestly say that you don't care about someone else's judgment of you? That's so brave!' And, no doubt, these people would blink in astonishment, because it has never occurred to them that any of these things require bravery.

Of course, there's still another kind of bravery. The 'perfect love casts out fear' kind. The kind that has been shaking the world for centuries. The kind of bravery displayed every day by thousands of Christians who are dying, witnessing, and travelling to the remotest corners of the globe on a mission from their Savior.

I've thought a lot about the reason why Christians are so hated and persecuted. Besides the obvious reason that Satan hates us, I think it's because our faith makes us so brave. Our bravery terrifies and threatens those who do not understand how we can stand up in the face of persecution and say 'we must obey God rather than men.'

So, those are my thoughts on bravery and fear. I'd love to hear yours.

So, I had just reconciled myself to the sad truth that I am not, and never will be, very good at writing novels...when I started working on a novel. That's right. Another novel. That I'm determined to finish. Same old story as all my other unfinished novels.

The intense urge to write has grabbed me in earnest, so I'm working on a story line I came up with last year. I refreshed the plot with a few twists that really, if I do say so myself, make a pretty darn cool story. I'm worried that I'll end up jinxing myself if I divulge too much, so I'll just say this: picture ancient Irish mythology happening in modern-day Missouri. Yeah. Weird, but I think it really might be very cool.

I'm still not under any delusions about my writing skills, and I don't really have any plans or ambitions for this story. I've just decided that I'm going to have fun making up characters and writing about them and not worrying about anything else. And hey, at the very least I'll have an excuse to dust off my Irish mythology books and have a good read of some of my favorite myth cycles. Sounds win-win to me!

I may or may not keep you posted. I also may or may not post the prologue for your perusal. Not sure if I'm really brave enough to do that yet. ;-)

Yes, this is probably a strange thing to write about. But I've seen a big problem. I've seen several intercessor/servant/encourager types (self included) get burnt out and lose their spiritual energy because no-one was around to build them up when they needed it. And, after a lot of thought, I've decided that maybe it's time to shed a little bit of light on this situation. I can only speak for myself here, but I think it's a safe bet that there are several people like me out there who are also feeling the need of someone to come beside them and encourage them. Here goes...

Here's what floats my boat: Helping people and making them happy. I want to see sad people smile, hurting people laugh, discouraged people find hope. I tend to identify hurting people very quickly, and, as soon as I identify them, I want to help. Seeing anyone suffer is emotionally painful for me, and I want to help in the most meaningful way that I can - whether it be praying for the person, washing their dishes, or just giving them an understanding ear to vent into. I don't like being out in the open, doing things in front of the crowd. I prefer to be behind the scenes, quietly making the little differences in people's lives. And I really don't care about having recognition or big rewards. A grateful smile, or merely the internal knowledge that I've really made a difference is enough for me.

Somewhat related to that is my burden for intercession. And it really is a burden, albeit one that I'm glad to bear. God will lay a person on my heart, and I feel this driving compulsion to pray for them. Not just generic, 'God, please bless so-and-so' prayers, but very specific things. God talks to me, and tells me how I should pray for people. He often gives me people to pray for that are going through something that I have experienced. Then, my prayers take on a whole new level of urgency, as I not only feel their pain, but also remember my own. I love to pray for people, because it gives me the opportunity to not only encourage them, but also to be a part of what God's doing in their lives.

But here's the bad part: I have a really hard time saying 'no', or refusing anyone who needs anything. I have also discovered that constant giving of myself often tends to lead to complete exhaustion. I will keep giving and giving until I've run myself into the ground, sometimes physically, but usually in an emotional sense. I'm honored that so many people come to me when they need to talk about their problems, but sometimes I feel like I'm getting buried under an avalanche of outside emotions. Sometimes, I feel a compelling need to talk about me - because I have problems too, you know! I want someone to pray passionately and earnestly for me, or do something that shows they really care about me.

That's where I sometimes start feeling guilty or selfish. I feel like I shouldn't really bother other people with my problems, or that it was unpardonably self-centered of me to say 'no' to so-and-so. That's why relationships - the deep, meaningful kind - are very important to me. I want to know that someone really cares about my problems, and that I can trust them enough to say what's actually going on deep down inside. I want people in my life who have seen the ugliest side of me, but love me anyway. I want people in my life who want to encourage me.

So, with all of that being said, here are some basic things you can do for people of my spiritual personality:

Ask how they're doing, and really mean it. Be prepared to hear the sometimes shocking truth of  'I'm having a horrible day, and all I really want to do right now is curl up in a corner and feel sorry for myself.'

Pray for them. Out loud. With some sort of physical touch (if they're comfortable with that). I'm not sure why physical touch is so important, as I'm a strictly non-touchy-feely person, but it really is. Ask God to give you prayers that will encourage them.

Don't pressure them into saying 'yes'.

Listen, listen, listen. Sometimes it may take awhile for them to open up and tell you what's really going on, so be sensitive to that.

Be on the lookout for ways to encourage them. Sometimes that can be as simple as coming beside them and helping with the dishes. Let them know that they're not alone, and that other people care, too.

And this would conclude my thoughts about the traits, downfalls, and needs of the intercessor/servant/encourager. I hope this didn't come across as sounding too selfish. I thought about trying to write it in third person, but I didn't want to take the liberty of speaking for all people of this personality type. By the way, if you have any thoughts on this particular topic, I'd love to hear them.

  

I'm not really sure where I'm trying to go with my photography and poetry anymore. I've decided that I just don't have enough ambition or determination to make it to the top (wherever that is). I don't care about fame or fortune, which is a good thing, because I doubt that I'd have the skill to achieve either of them.

I have messed around with photography for several years now. I'm a fairly decent photographer. People say that they like my work. Maybe they're just being polite, or maybe they really do like it. But I think I've reached a point where I'm going to have to start investing a lot more money into my photography if I want to progress any more. Do I really want to do that? Is my photography even worth it?

I have toyed with the idea of trying to publish some poetry, but I don't think that I really have the guts to try. I'm fairly certain that it would be rejected by a publisher, and I don't have the money to self-publish. But maybe that's okay. I will always write poetry. It makes me happy, and I really don't care if other people read it, since I'm writing for myself.

For myself. That's the real reason why I do what I do. Purely selfish pleasure. But that means that I am also trying very hard to please myself, and that poses some difficulties. I am definitely my own harshest critic. Perfectionism tends to be the bane of my creative existence, sometimes making me want to give up entirely because I know that I will never be able to be one hundred per-cent satisfied with my own work. I have to keep reminding myself how terrible it would be if I achieved the perfection I crave. Think of it! Nothing left to strive for. I'd just sit there - plateaued, stuck, and bored out of my mind - to be worshiped by a thousand aspirants. What a dreadful existence!

But that leaves me with the question of exactly what I am aiming for. Trying to please other people with my work is stressful. Pleasing myself is impossible. I'm a bit lazy, and completely free of ambition. Maybe I should resign myself to the fact that my hobbies are just that - hobbies. Purposeless things I do in my spare time, for the simple reason that I find enjoyment in them. Maybe I should lay aside my incessant quest for some higher purpose or meaning, and be content to accept things as they are.

I can't remember exactly when I first met her. But I vividly remember my feeling of utter panic when God told me to go talk to her...

I'm on the praise team, so I always spot the new people when they come into church. I saw her walk in, and sit shyly down at the back. I saw that no-one else was really stopping to spend time with her. And then I heard God telling me "you need to go talk to that girl."

I hesitated for several minutes, hunting for an excuse to not go. "God," I said, "You know I'm terrible at chatting with people. I can't make small talk to save my life. What on earth am I going to say to her?" But God wouldn't accept my excuses. I could feel the pressure of His urging, and I knew that I needed to obey. "OK, God. Here goes. Please give me the words to say."

So I walked up to her, shaking like a leaf, and introduced myself. She said that her name was E--, but volunteered no other information. This conversation was completely up to me.

I sat down, and started to talk. Most of what I said was probably quite silly, but at least I was able to say something. Before long, I had her laughing, and even volunteering a bit of information about herself. No, let's rephrase that. Before long, God had her laughing and talking. I am quite sure that I really had nothing to do with it.

We talked for a few minutes before heading into Sunday school, where she clammed up again. We may or may not have talked again afterwards. I can't really remember. I was so relieved and grateful and excited that the rest of the day passed in a kind of haze.

Fast forward several months, to another Sunday morning.

I had dragged my protesting body out of bed at an early hour, and stumbled to the shower. I was standing under the water, blearily scrubbing my hair, when E-- suddenly popped into my head. I hadn't really thought about her in a long time, but I spent some of my shower time in praying for her.

Imagine my surprise when E-- walked into church that morning! Again, I spent my spare time talking to her. This time, she was a bit more outgoing. She kept up her end of the conversation, and, right before she left, she said that she'd look me up on Facebook. I waited eagerly for the friend request. When it was not forthcoming, I even spent some time searching for her. All to no avail. I didn't see her or have contact with her again for over a year.

Fast forward to the Wednesday before Easter.

We normally have a church prayer meeting on Wednesday night. That Wednesday it was a bit different than usual. We prayer-walked the church and the parking lot, interceding for all of the unsaved newcomers who would be at church on Easter, and asking God to send His Spirit in a mighty way. As I walked and prayed, I heard God telling me that I would be reaching out to someone on Sunday.

I was, naturally, quite excited to see who it was going to be. And yep, you guessed it. While I was up in front, practicing with the praise team, I saw E-- walk in. Instantly, I knew she was the person God had told me about. I went and found her as soon as I had finished practicing.

She had changed - dramatically - since the last time I'd seen her. She had changed her hair color and cut so much that it had taken me a minute to recognize her at first. But the changes went much, much deeper than that. Before, I'd sensed that she was shy, unsure, and maybe just a bit depressed. Now, she barely took her eyes off the ground. She answered questions as quickly and evasively as possible. She said that she never went to church unless she was staying with her grandpa (who comes to my church), but it was not just a careless statement. There was definite hostility in her tone. Everything about her was hostile. She was pushing everyone away just as hard as she could. Was she afraid? Angry? Convinced that no-one cared?

We sat in awkward silence for a moment, as I groped for something to say. I was determined not to be pushed away. Somehow, I knew that she desperately needed someone to love her, to care about her. And I did love her. My heart was about to burst with God's love and compassion. I had sat in the same place where she was sitting...afraid, lonely, judgmental, angry at everyone (especially God and the church), daring anyone to try and care about me...secretly hoping that they would. I prayed, "God, help me!"

Our conversation was very slow in getting off the ground. It was stilted, and I was still nervous. I didn't want to say too much, or too little. How could I express my concern without driving her away? If only she would look me in the eyes - read me and allow me to read her.

Slowly, cautiously, she began to open up. She told me a few things about her life. Nothing important, but I sensed that she was beginning to let me in. Maybe, just maybe, she would accept and trust me. It all ended abruptly when the rest of the class came into the Sunday school room. E-- shut down again. Her walls came back up. She answered everyone's polite questions with short, evasive, rudeness - shoving them away again. I don't think she said more than two sentences during the entire class.

I talked to her a little more in the interval between Sunday school and church. She voluntarily introduced me to her dad. I felt that this was another tiny step of trust, but I didn't have time to wait for anything more. That was the last time I got to talk to her. She and her family left immediately after the service. I didn't even get a chance to wave goodbye.

I still have no idea where God wants to go with all of this, but I'm sure it's leading somewhere. Something about E-- has grabbed my heart. God has given me His eyes to see through her withdrawn facade to the beauty and hunger that's beneath. I'm as concerned about her as I would be about a member of my own family. I can't get her off my mind.

Please, God, guard E-- and keep her safe. Show her the hope that can only be found in You. Please overwhelm her with the love that only You can give. Thank You for bringing her into my life, and giving me the wonderful opportunity of loving like You. Lord, even if I never see E-- again, I know that I was somehow part of Your plan for her life. I trust that You will work Your perfect will in her life. I, by myself, can do nothing to help her, so I commit her to Your loving hands.

I've debated a long time about whether or not to write this post. It seemed like a kind-of silly thing to write about, but it kept coming back to my mind. So, I decided to go ahead and spit it out. If you think it's silly, please know that I'm somewhat inclined to agree with you. ;-) However, I have had the thought that there might be someone out there who is like me. Someone who may read this and feel a little less alone, or perhaps be challenged by one of my points.

Maybe no-one told me. Or maybe I just didn't listen. Or maybe it was some of both. Anyroad, here are some of the lessons I've had to learn the hard way. I'm sure some of them are things everyone learns in the 'growing up' process, though many of them are probably unique to my personality.

1. Learn how to listen to God. Learn what His voice sounds like, and what you have to do to hear Him. Once you've established a 'talking relationship' with God, you won't settle for anything less.

2. It's usually a good idea to listen to your parents. You don't have to agree with everything they say, but being respectful will make your home life a lot more pleasant.

3. Learn how to say 'no' in a very firm, but also very respectful manner. This skill will come in handy.*

4. Give a lot of thought to the things you say and write. They will define you, not just in other people's eyes, but also in your own.

5. If you make a mistake, apologize for it as soon as possible, learn the lesson it has to offer, then give it to God and move on.

6. Figure out who you are. Don't change your personality and tastes to please other people. Don't feel obligated to follow in the exact footsteps of your parents or older siblings. At the same time, don't shove your individuality down other people's throats.

7. Keep your focus on God. Don't worry about what other people think. Remind yourself that, in the end, God's approval is all that really matters.*

8. Learn how to laugh at yourself. Most of the world takes itself far too seriously.

9. It's really okay to be 'just friends' with guys. Yes, people will tease you about your 'boyfriends'. Grin and move on.

10. If you complain about every little hardship, no-one will pay attention when a legitimate problem comes along.

11. Be willing to step out of your comfort zone.

12. Avoid stereotyping people or judging on appearances. Ask God to let you see people through His eyes.*

13. Accept the fact that emotions and tears are part of being female, and aren't all bad. Remember that 'tears aren't a sign of weakness - they're a sign that someone's been strong for too long'. But, for Heaven's sake, exercise some control over your emotions. Random emotional breakdowns and sob sessions are just awkward.*

14. Surround yourself with spiritually mature people whose opinion and advice you respect. But remember that God should be the ultimate authority.

15. Learn how to debate intelligently and unemotionally, but don't debate about every little difference that comes along. Save your energy for really important things. Also learn how to live in harmony with people who are different than you. 'Different' doesn't necessarily mean 'wrong'.

16. Life is tough. You can't go it alone. Swallow your pride and ask for help, accept help when it's offered, and don't feel guilty about it. Being a 'Lone Ranger Christian' doesn't pan out too well, either. You can only give of yourself a certain amount before you're empty. Take time to be refilled.*

17. Good relationships call for trust, transparency, and vulnerability. Guard walls are all well and good, but you'll find yourself alone if you keep them up all the time.

18. Money isn't really as important as most people think it is.

19. Don't let perfectionism or fear of failure demotivate you. *

So yup, I think I've at least touched on all of the major life lessons I've learned so far. I'm sure that, in another 19 years, I'll have quite a few more to add to this list.

The * denotes lessons I haven't quite mastered yet.

We couldn't Skype with Dad today. Mom and I both tried to call him - multiple times - but the call just wouldn't go through. So Mom (naturally) started wondering out loud why we couldn't get ahold of him. My thought: It's pretty amazing that we can get ahold of him at all!

Think about it. He's in Japan. We're in the U.S.A. That's a 14 - hour time difference. We are separated by an ocean (North Atlantic or North Pacific, depending on how you look at it) and yet, we can both talk to and see each other pretty much any time we choose. Amazing, no?

I think we tend to get pretty darn spoiled by our modern technology. We start to think that our priorities are of utmost importance, that the world revolves around us (because, most of the time, it does), and that the things we want to accomplish have to be done immediately. I became painfully aware of this mindset while I was in Moz. The internet on the base there would pack its bags and leave nearly every time we had a substantial rain. At first I was pretty bummed. What? I should have internet! I need internet! I deserve internet! This is sooo ridiculous! Thank goodness, I got over my irritation rather quickly. I spent my time doing other (probably more productive things), and getting myself back into perspective. And guess what? I survived!

Though it can be terribly inconvenient when our technology fails us, it can also be very refreshing. Sometimes its good to realize that the world doesn't have to revolve around us, to get our 'wants' and our 'needs' into proper perspective, and maybe just sit down and read a good old-fashioned book.

The singing and dancing started on Saturday, and carried on after I went to bed. I envied the Mozambicans' ability to seemingly sing and dance forever when I woke up in the night and heard the drums and voices still going strong. A part of me wanted to go out and dance with them (even though I'm pretty abysmal at that sort of thing), but I knew I'd be dog-tired if I did. I'd had a lot of trouble sleeping at night, so the few hours I was able to snatch were very precious to me. I figured I'd better be boring and sensible if I wanted to get up early to do baptisms the next morning.

Soo...I've been rather neglectful of this poor little blog. My neglect has not been caused by business or even a lack of things to write about. In fact, I have had several ideas for posts. I've thought about writing a post about how much I hate clothes shopping, or what I think about introverts, or how guilty I feel about spending money, but all these posts struck me as being too negative, or too self-centered, or too...something. So, I deleted them.

Here is something I wrote awhile back. I briefly entertained the idea of writing a collection of my thoughts in book form, but decided that was a very silly, me-centric thing to do. So, here is the thought I had one day around twilight.


   The world darkens more and more, as Earth sinks into her slumbers. The elfin magic of twilight deepens into a more mature, brooding sleep-spell. Nursemaid night stoops low over her charge and covers her in the black velvet cloak of night. Watching, waiting, sleeping, ‘til the sun returns to claim his own. 

I smelled Africa tonight. I was driving through Washington in an old, boxy van with a pleasantly rumbly engine. I was just thinking how much like a choppa it was (minus a lot of extra passengers), when that smell wafted in through the windows. In my mind, the smell was linked to somewhere in Africa. I couldn't quite remember where (still can't), but a long, long chain of good memories was attached to it. It wasn't a particularly good odor, but I leaned back, closed my eyes, and drank it in like the finest perfume. In a way, it was perfume - perfume for my soul.

I suppose God works through smells the same as He does through anything else. When I scented my 'Africa smell', a big weight of uncertainty and discouragement lifted off of my heart. I felt immediately more peaceful than I had in...how long? I think that smell was God's way of renewing my hope, courage, and trust. It was His way of saying, "You're as much My child here as you were there. Do you remember all of the things I did through you there? Have a little faith, and I will do that much...and more...here."

I know that I have probably succeeded in weirding you out with this post. You're probably thinking 'she remembers things through smells?' (weird) 'AND she thinks God sent her a smell to encourage her?' (even more weird). All I can say is: God knows me and the workings of my odd little brain better than anyone. And I'm honestly far happier after I got my whiff of Africa than I've been in at least a week. I'd say that's a win-win, wouldn't you?

As an artist, I often wish that there was a place where I could go and get artistically re-charged. A place that was full of all the music, pictures, and poetry that made me feel like 'I can actually do this'. So, my thought was, 'why not create a blog?' Yes, ANOTHER blog. I guess I should just face up to the fact that I have an addiction. ;-)

Anyway, this wonderful new blog would be a place where I could collect all of the things that inspire me into one organized, easily accessible place and possibly also post some tutorials, articles, or other kinds of what-not that I find interesting.

But, of course, I must be a visionary. Whatever ideas I have must immediately be expanded into some big, grandiose dream. So, I decided that it would be really amazing if other artsy souls could contribute, and the blog could turn into some sort of place where artists could just hang out and be inspired. This idea is still very much in its infancy, but I'm pretty sure that it's one that I want to pursue. Basically, I'm wondering if any other artists out there would be inspired by a blog of this sort, and/or would be interested in contributing. I would, of course, set up some guidelines that would keep things clean and decent. What say you, fellow artists? 

Secrets. Everyone wants them. Not the nasty, gossipy kind, but the deliciously thrilling kind. Secret thoughts, secret places - things shared only with the trees and the wind. I am feeling a bit nostalgic tonight, so pardon me as I take a look back at some of my secret places.

I had many secret places as a child. I delighted in the thought that I, and only I, knew where to find them. Of course, looking back, I am sure that others had found them before me. There are not many places on a 30+ acre farm that go unexplored by a family of adventurous children. But, at the time, they were my secrets, and I guarded them zealously.

A lot of our land is covered in a bewildering growth of cedar trees. One day, as I was crouching, ducking, and dodging through the dense, low-growing cedar branches, I came upon a lovely little clearing. It was carpeted in brilliant green moss, and if I stood in the very center and looked up, I could see a patch of clear sky. It became my secret place. I did not go there often, but the thought of it always lingered contentedly in the back of my mind. I haven't been back to that spot in years. I suppose I'm afraid that some of the magic will have faded, and that the beautiful secret of my memories will be nothing more than a prosaic hole in the woods.

Pine trees are secret-tellers. Just listen to them, and you will half-hear the secrets of all the things they've seen in their long vigil. There is a path cut through some of our pine woods, and though others use it, I consider it one of my secret places. The needle-carpeted ground hushes every sound except for the whispering of the pines and perhaps the occasional drumming of a woodpecker. It is one of those places where I always feel alone, even when I'm with others. The pines are whispering to only me, while the rest of the world strains to listen in.

Of course, some secrets are meant to be shared. I have always been mildly obsessed with codes and detectives, so one time Natasha and I set up a secret mailbox. We hid a film canister in a hollow log, and left each other notes in code. We had an amazing time...until my little brother spied on us and found our mailbox. After that, we tried (unsuccessfully) to re-locate and conceal it, but eventually gave up. We were probably getting a little 'old' for that sort of thing, anyway.

I could go on to talk of more secret places I had, but the hour waxes late, and I should probably betake me to my slumbers. I've got most of the nostalgia out of my system now, so I should be able to sleep peacefully.

Boa noite!

OK, this is weird! Why did this randomly re-post?

'Beep! Beep! Beep!' I rolled over, pawed blearily at the snooze button on my watch, and the morning debate began. To get up, or not to get up? Sleeping in sounded amazing, but I knew I probably wouldn't be able to focus on my devotions once everyone else was awake and stirring. I got up, and I had no sooner stepped out the door, Bible in hand, than I was glad I had decided to get out of bed.

It was light, but the sun couldn't truly have been called 'up' yet. The world was illuminated by that early morning half-light that lends an air of other-worldly mystery to everyday objects. I walked along the pristinely swept sand of the walkway. My feet marred its smoothness, leaving behind bare footprints to be erased by the hustle and bustle that would take place later in the day. I turned off at the orange guest house, and rustled through the dew spangled grass that grew right up to the edge of the veranda. I sat down in a corner of the veranda, and the tall bushes reached up to screen me and the rest of the world off from each other. I was in my own private place of chilly concrete and busy black ants, but my devotion time was still a little unfocused this morning. I got distracted watching a gecko hunt the ants swarming around my feet. I have gotten quite fond of these geckos in my time here (in fact, I've become fond of anything that hunts ants). I'll miss the geckos' slim, smooth bodies and impertinent black eyes when I leave. When I leave. That thought had been lurking at the back of my mind for a week, and it rushed forward and tinged everything I saw with a little regret. The Mozambicans are firmly convinced that I will return, but will I? Was this morning the last time I'd ever watch a gecko stalking ants? Was it the last time I'd ever look out through a gap in the bushes and watch a Mozambican bent over, sweeping the sand clean with a twig broom, and wonder how on earth he could ever get his back straightened out again?

It seems that all of my recent blog posts have been loaded with questions. Questions that do not, as yet, have answers. Someday, though, the answers will be clear. Someday, I will know whether I am to return to Mozambique. Whether or not I ever come back, one thing is certain: Mozambique will always hold a special place in my heart. The Janie who is leaving Africa is a vastly different Janie from the one who entered it two months ago. Mozambique has my gratitude for effecting that change. Mozambique and, of course, God. And so it is farewell, at least for the present. Farewell to geckos and crows. Farewell to magical mornings and breathtaking sunsets. Farewell to all the lovely people I have come to know. Farewell to Mozambique.

"How are you?" 

Have you ever struggled to answer that question? I'm really glad that no-one has asked me lately, because I would have had a difficult time answering.

In all honesty, I feel as if someone has chucked a huge bundle of spiritual and emotional junk in my lap, and, frankly, I'm not quite sure what to do with it. My glowing self-image has been marred, and I've come to realize that I'm not quite the great Christian I was beginning to view myself as. It's been a rather rude awakening. Or perhaps I should say re-awakening.

To start with, I experienced a violent attack of discontent over my status as a very single girl. This was a first for me, and when it descended without warning from the blue, it took me totally by surprise. I am tough. I'm not emotional, I'm not romantic, and I don't understand people who are. I've taken pride in that fact. I've mentally looked down on the emotional romantics I've met. In fact, I have been an unbearably self-righteous snob. It was terribly humbling to suddenly be standing in the shoes of the people I'd despised. I hated myself, I hated the feelings I was having, and I hated the fact that I was no longer trusting God with my future.Without going into too many gory details, I'll just say that I was rather a spiritual and emotional wreck for several days, until God got me sorted back out again.

Now that I'm coming out on the other side, I've begun to see the good in it all. I have realized that I now have an inkling of the desperate loneliness that so many girls must feel a lot of the time, and I hope that my days of looking down on such girls are now over. I am slowly but surely learning how to put the relationship/marriage aspect of my future into God's hands and leave it there. This whole thing has also convinced me that I'm not nearly mature enough to even consider being in a serious relationship, and it's not until I'm completely content with living whatever life God has in store for me that I am truly ready to share life with another person. Yes, I can honestly say that I'm glad it all happened.

But that was really just the warm-up round.

There are some things I've been praying about for so long that I've stopped really thinking about them. Today I started thinking about them - really thinking about the enormity of all the issues involved - and I felt the cold fingers of despair clutching at my soul. I realized with a jolt that I had managed to lose my faith.

I'd figured that, if anything, I was doing quite well in the faith department. When people asked me if I truly believed God could work in those situations, my response was always a quick 'of course!' But I realized that I'd been lying to myself, to God, and to other people. I'd gotten in the habit of saying that I trust God, but had stopped really trusting. I had to come face-to-face with God and realize that, if Jesus asked me "where is your faith?" I would have to respond with, "uhhh, I don't really know. I think it's probably sitting on a couch somewhere back in 2011...or maybe 2010."

So, now I have to face up to the fact that I've been rather a fake with all of my talk about faith. Though I have made great leaps of faith in some areas of my life, I've been completely blind to other areas where my faith had slowly ebbed away. My pride had seated me on a great throne and held me up as some Christian paragon...and so God had to boot me off and let me spend some time in the dust. Will I never learn? I can't quite comprehend why God doesn't just give up on me and find someone more suitable. 

I haven't really resolved this latest crisis. In fact, I'm pretty sure that I can't resolve it. It's far too big and too terrifying for me to handle. I must simply gather the pitiful shreds of my faith and place it all in the hands of a just yet merciful God.

So now you know. You know what a nasty and unpleasant and sinful person I really am. I have let down my righteous facade and let you see a bit of the pitiful me. I didn't want to do this, but I knew that I needed to. I knew that it was high time I started being more real. This is really a bit of an easy out for me. I'd far rather blog about something deep and personal than have to talk it out with a real person, though I'm sure God will have me do my share of talking in the future. More than all of that, I hope that maybe, just maybe, God will use this to encourage someone else who is struggling. Someone who needs to know that they're not alone and that we serve a God who doesn't give up.

A gusty wind fluttered the cloak of the lone figure standing at the crossroads. It toyed with the loose strands of hair around her face, and brought her the scents of rain and grass. The lonesome music of the wind-swept pines whispered all around her as she looked out over the twinkling lights of a small town. She watched as, one by one, the lights blinked out. Quiet, innocent people were going to their beds down there, but sleep was not for her.

She knew that she had become a legend to the people of the scattered towns. She was the guardian, the night-walker, the one who stood between them and some overshadowing dread they dared not name. Now she stood, silent and alone in a rapidly darkening world, with the crossing of four roads beneath her feet. North, South, East, and West...the possibilities were endless. She knew that adventures and danger lay along each gloomy path, but as she felt the steady strength rising up from her booted feet, she knew that she was ready to go wherever the roads might take her. She needed to go on, to reach some final destination she was, herself, not yet aware of, but still she lingered. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the peace of the night. When she opened them again, her gaze was directed towards the glistening stars...her constant companions through so many long travels.

 As she stared into the heavens, she sensed that something in her world was shifting and slipping away. She had experienced this before, and was not surprised at the subtle changes that began to take place. Some of the life faded from the wind. The gloom and mist lifted from the roadways. And the girl herself transformed from a heroic wanderer into a very ordinary and prosaic sort of person. The spell was broken, and the last shreds of imagination were carried away on the breeze. The girl looked around at the familiar surroundings - a grove of pine trees, the lights of a farm in the distance, the mailbox of a neighbor - and sighed. She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. She must go home. The hour was late and she would soon retire to sleep, where she hoped she might re-capture in dreams the magic of wind and stars and pine-songs.

I have a lot of stories - humorous, thought-provoking, scary, nasty - from my trip to Mozambique. The vast majority of them have gone untold, or only roughly recorded in a hastily-typed email. So, I have decided to write down some of my favorites and share them on here in the hopes that someone will enjoy reading them.

My spirits were at a low ebb. The first excitement of living in a foreign country was beginning to wear off, leaving me a little bit homesick. I wondered why I was even here. How was I supposed to minister to people when I didn't speak their language or know their culture?

I was also in poor shape physically. I hadn't been sleeping well at night. Darkness seemed to bring a heavy sense of doom and fear that pressed down on me and made me restless and uneasy. I knew that Satan was attacking me, but I wasn't exactly sure what to do about it.

On top of that, it had been raining almost non-stop for several days, so none of the clothes I'd washed and hung on the clothesline would dry. The rain came in through holes in the roof, making puddles on the floor that teemed with mosquito larva. However, in spite of all the rain, the water pressure was down and the showers weren't working at all. I had been taking cold bucket baths for several days. Individually, the lack of clean, dry clothes, the rain, the bucket baths, the wakeful nights or the doleful thoughts would not have phased me too much (I discovered this from later experience). But put all together, they were gradually sucking away my joy.

I lay down, exhausted, in my bed one evening. Listening to the 'drip, drip' of rain splashing on the floor, I gloomily faced the prospect of yet another wakeful night.

"God," I said, "I just don't think I can handle much more of this. I'm really discouraged right now. All I want is to sleep through the night, then wake up to a hot shower and sunshine. Actually," I quickly amended, "I don't even need sunshine. A good, strong breeze should dry my clothes out well enough."

I had been hearing a lot about praying in faith, but I wasn't really sure what it was supposed to sound or feel like. Was I supposed to believe that God was going to answer all of my prayers the way I asked Him to? That didn't sound right. What exactly was faith, anyway? 'The substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen' was not exactly helpful to me. I was horribly confused. But that night, as I prayed my very simple, very self-centered prayer, I felt as if God was saying, "Trust me. Have faith that I will answer."

'Alright. I will.' I decided, and I was immediately filled with more joy, contentment, and peace than I had felt in days. I quickly fell asleep, and slept through the night. The next morning, I awoke to bright sunshine streaming through my window, and the sound of the shower running. I sat up in bed and looked out the window at my clothes. They were almost dry - flapping in the breeze as the last bits of moisture steamed away.

'God is awesome!' I declared as I got up and headed to the shower.

They were such small things. A sunny day. A shower. Nothing compared to some of my other answered prayers. But somehow, those simple answers stand out to me as some of the brightest moments of my trip. I can see now that God was building me up; showing Himself faithful in small things so that I would be prepared for the bigger tests ahead.

I guess I should have lumped this in with my previous post, but (obviously) I didn't, so you'll just have to deal with two posts from your favorite crazy blogger girl. ;-)

As some of you may know, my dad's working for Samaritan's Purse in Japan. He's helping rebuild the homes destroyed by the tsunami. Apparently, Samaritan's Purse likes him. They talked him into staying an extra month and upped his pay. So now Dad's asking if the rest of us want to come to Japan so we can help with the re-building/cleanup/whatever needs to be done, and have the added bonus of getting to see him before his homecoming on March 1st. We're talking a free trip to Japan. Free plane tickets. Free food. Free lodgings. And, get this, I don't want to go.

Yeah, I'll run that by you again: I don't want to go to Japan. Me, Janie, the globe trotter. The girl with itchy feet (and we're not talking about my athlete's foot, just so you know). The girl who will go anywhere. I'm turning down a free trip to Japan. Am I crazy? I don't really know for sure, but I think I might be.

Admittedly, I've never really wanted to go to the far East. China, Japan, Korea...none of them have ever been very interesting or exciting to me. I also had a rather unpleasant experience the last time I volunteered for Samaritan's Purse. I went to Joplin and did tornado cleanup. The scale of the disaster was discouragingly huge, the weather was blisteringly hot, and I got some sort of weird, extremely painful muscle spasms that kept me up at night. Not the most pleasant experience, but I've had worse, and been able to laugh about them later. Also, there's a very slim likelihood that working for Samaritan's Purse in Japan will be very much like working for Samaritan's Purse in Missouri.

So, why don't I want to go? I still don't know, and that's what's bothering me. I like to have reasons for the things I do. My reasons don't even have to be terribly logical. As long as they will serve to explain my actions, I'm satisfied. This is all very perplexing to me.

I suppose the real purpose of this blog post was three-fold: 1) To let you know what's going on in my life. 2) That, by writing my perplexities out, I might be able to understand them a little better. I think, though, that this almost-infallible method of sorting out my thoughts has proved to be sadly fallible. 3) To ask, if you're a praying kind of person and you're reading this, that you would pray for direction for me and my whole family. It is very troublesome that I, who want to be an international missionary, would feel totally unmotivated to jump at such a golden opportunity.

I want my desires to mirror God's desires. I want to be in tune with His master symphony. I realize that I am called to be His hands of compassion to my corner of the hurting world, and, whether that corner is in Japan, or Africa, or right here in Missouri, I want to be His faithful messenger. I realize that my unwillingness could be a signal that Japan really isn't 'my corner'. But it could just as easily be a result of my stubborn heart.