Showing posts with label remembering. Show all posts
Showing posts with label remembering. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 4, 2015

Photo Challenge

There was that moment. When my camera had gotten stolen for the second time, and I realized that thanks to Wycliffe’s great insurance, I could get a much better camera half-paid for (instead of replacing the old, smaller though good point and shoot). I did research, picked out a camera, and then realized that (one of) my good photographer friends in Musoma had the same camera. I ordered it, had it carried over by friends who were coming back from Christmas in America, and started shooting.

One of the first photos I got to take with my new camera, untouched.
Thanks, little monkey, for coming and posing as we left the restaurant after lunch!
I was pretty excited with the detail in the shot.

And suddenly, I realized that all the things I had wanted to do with my camera before, and couldn’t, wasn’t perhaps because of my lack of ability, but potentially because of my lack of adequate equipment. Apparently the things I wanted to do with pictures, the ways I wanted to capture the world around me – were possible. I was shocked, delighted, and so excited.*

My friend with the same camera and I set to work trying to figure out the technical aspects of our camera, without a lot of luck. We took some amazing photos, which I loved, and the auto-setting served me/ us well. But I still wanted to learn more.

Fast forward about two years. I’m in the States now; previously mentioned friends are still in Tanzania. Another photographer friend submitted the idea of a 30 Day Photography Challenge Project he’d found online, and I was hooked. Finally I had a good reason, excuse even, to pull out my camera every day, go outside, shoot, look up information, and play until I figured some of the technical details out.

In 3 days I’ve learned more than I ever have about the technical details of photography. I still have a TON to learn and a LONG ways to go. But I’m excited. I’m glad to have more tools, more “informational equipment” in my bag that I can pull out and use to capture the shots and images I yearn to share with others. And I’m thankful for the chance to be stretched, challenged, and grown in new ways through this time.

So with that, instead of sharing 30 separate posts with pictures, I thought I’d share a weekly synopsis of the pictures I took and what I learned. If you don’t care about the details, just check in for the shots. Or better yet, go to #nov30dpc on Facebook to check out all the shots my super-amazing friends (and some of their awesome kids/my previous students) and I have taken. We have a long ways to go, and I’m hoping I don’t get too stuck along the way. But I figure as long as I'm learning something, I'm on the right track! :)

*Not saying that camera equipment is the end-all of good picture taking. Just that I was thankful for more challenges and for opportunities to play with settings/get clearer pictures!

Thursday, April 9, 2015

Scripture Celebrations Close to Home

When I was in Tanzania and got the chance to go to a Scripture dedication, I thought it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. And it pretty much was. Nothing can compare to being with a group of people in person who have never had the Scriptures in their own language before get them for the first time. Or watching as they see the Jesus Film in their own language and huge transformations take place.

So when I got invited to a Scripture Celebration at Wycliffe USA today, I was both excited (mostly to see my dear friends the Bitikofers, who were on my team in Tanzania,) and a little hesitant that the event itself might be a letdown. I was pleasantly surprised, however. While it definitely wasn’t quite the same as being with a language group in Tanzania, it was still an amazing example and celebration of 27 Scripture Projects that have been completed and dedicated in their local communities throughout the world over the past six months. (I was excited to take pictures of a few of them, since I have friends working (or from) many of these countries!
This New Testament translation had to be written in two versions, since the language group lives across a country border and the people have learned to write their language in two very different scripts!
What a blessing to see some of the things I’ve been involved in coming to fruition – and to see how great God is using ordinary little people like myself and my teammates to bring about transformations in hearts and communities around the world, in ways we could never do ourselves.

It was also certainly a pleasure to take part in a celebration where I could actually understand the Scriptures being read - though half the fun of not understanding what's being said during a Scripture dedication is knowing that the words I don't "get" speak to the hearts of so many who haven't "gotten" God's Word before this time. With over 100 English translations of the Bible available, we are beyond rich in our ability to read and comprehend the story of God's grace, if we choose!

One of the interesting aspects of a people group making choices about the book they are translating and dedicating is the unique design and colors they choose to use for the published book. Oftentimes Christians in highly Muslim areas will choose a green cover with a gold border, which is the clearly accepted style for any "holy book" in that region. Another group that lived in the arid desert chose a brown color for the cover of theirs, to show the dry, desolate area that they live in... but made sure the outside of the pages were colored with a rich water-blue to show the contrast of God's ever-flowing, never-running-out Living water that was there's to drink of in God's Word. What a clear picture of God's salvation!

Despite being close-to-(American)-home in Orlando, I had to smile as I heard the chosen song that the recently-translated Bibles (and flags, and individuals representing each country) marched into with. It was a Swahili worship tune that I've sung so often in the past, both with my kids church in Michigan and more often in churches across Tanzania!

And despite having been in the States for about 9 months now, I was still nearly in tears (as I often am) worshiping in English, my own heart language, with a sea of others as we will someday all do around the throne. So many beautiful ways that my heart was captured today, and so thankful for the things I’ve been able to be a part of!

Sunday, April 5, 2015

"So, there's this guy..."

I can’t tell you how many conversations and emails have started with these same words over the last year. But before I get to that, let me give you a bit of context for the story.

Once upon a time (about three years ago), I came home on furlough from Tanzania hoping and praying to go back. I’d been teaching at an international school, and was excited to fill a different need at a two-room school-house of sorts where 8 families were working with 9 language groups and needed a second teacher for their kids. (Things have changed a bit since then, but that was the idea!) I came home struggling with the beginnings of asthma from all the dust in Dar, to the point where a grad professor told me that if I went home and discovered I had TB, I should let her know and she’d extend my due dates for papers. Yep, I was coughing. A lot. I was pretty sure I knew what I was supposed to do (in going back to Musoma), but I had my doubts. I doubted as I went to NC and had plans for meetings with small groups and churches fall apart. And then I watched as God provided amazing communities for me to connect with anyway. I doubted as I got home after being on 4 continents in two months, and decided I could NEVER.MOVE. AGAIN. (haha… right.) I doubted as I tried to take 3 masters classes, substitute part time, AND raise support to go back… and didn’t see much of the support-raising thing happening! But the desire to go back was still strong in my heart, and I kept praying, and kept seeing little and big encouragements along the way that gave me hope. A family down the street that “adopted” me and encouraged me on my journey. An amazing connection with a family that was from Holland, MI that was headed to the same place as me in Musoma. Kids giving their missions’ box money to me to support me, and the chance to connect with kids at GraceSpring Church about missions. Watching said kids get excited and pray regularly for the language groups I’d soon (hopefully) be serving in Tanzania.

Throughout this time, we moved my “leave” date back a couple of times. Email conversations with my missions travel agent sounded something like, “Could we please change my ticket date again? I'd like to change it from the imaginary date of March 3 to another make-believe date of April 25... I don't care what airline you put me on for now since it's all going to change again anyway!"

Right. I’m sure they appreciated that. But then, I wasn’t overly thrilled at the situation either. I’d moved my leave date back three months already. And then about that time, my supervisor in America gave me an ultimatum. I had something like 5 weeks to raise the final $900/month I required to meet my budget, or I wouldn’t be able to get back to Tanzania in time for language school and starting to teach when they really needed me.

And that, as they say, was that. At least in my mind. I’d spent 9 months working hard trying to raise support and seeing almost nothing change. There was no way that I’d make it now. Maybe God was saying it was time to get a job in the States and stay here for a while. My mom can attest to the many drenching tears I shed on the couch the day I received the news, and the super-fast “walk” (she’d call it a jog) we took around the neighborhood a few times to help me de-stress. And through this time, I started to see God changing my heart. I was forced to open my eyes to new possibilities and what God might be doing in my life. I realized that helping kids at GraceSpring connect with missionary kids and life around the world had become just as dear to me as teaching kids overseas. I loved having opportunities to help kids see what they could be doing TODAY – not 25 years from now when they had a steady paycheck – to impact the Kingdom around the world. And then three weeks (or whatever the dates were) later, I sat at Panera watching text after text and email after email come in on the final date that my funds were due, all from people asking if they could still contribute to my ministry. At the beginning of the day, I was well-below what I needed. And by the end of the day, I had more than the minimum required! I was going!

…about which time I realized, I wasn’t sure I even WANTED to go back. (These are the things you can’t say, but oh so feel… I had spent so much time talking to people over the past year about how it seemed God was calling me back to Tanzania, and how I was needed there, that I hadn’t had time to let myself entertain any doubts myself. But when the support all came in, I suddenly realized that all the “funny” stories I’d shared about tarantulas on walls and jumping spiders, malaria and language issues were oh so much more funny when sitting in someone’s air-conditioned living room sipping on icy lemonade. It was a totally different story to live it, in hot, interesting but sometimes miserable places.
I think it was actually harder to go back to Tanzania the second time, in large part because I was “starting over” in a new place with a new community… so I didn’t have a support network to go back to. I didn’t know all the good things about the new place, but I did know about the hard stuff, the stresses, the exhaustion and sickness and spiders and everything else that I was sure were there waiting for me. I saw all of the negative, and none of the good. And I made my trips to Meijer to stock up on supplies, packed my suitcases, and prepared to go anyway.

(More to come... don't worry! It's hard to compact a three-year story into one blog post.
So just go get a drink, sit back down, and click here to learn more about "this guy"...)

Thursday, March 12, 2015

Musoma Miracles

I may not be living in the Land of Tanz these days, but many of my heart’s prayers (and so many dear friends) are still very much there. In Tanzania, a good bit of our lives were focused on survival, on the work that we were doing at the office, or on the support work we’d gone there to do (eg. teaching missionary kids). But in-between and in the midst of these things, we became the lucky recipients of great Tanzanian friendships with neighbors, coworkers, and employees at our houses and in our communities. Many families and individuals have done this well, much better than this introverted, lacking-Swahili-skills girl ever did. One teammate in particular shared an amazing story recently that I wanted to pass along.

On January 25, she posted:

"We're so excited! This past Tuesday our outdoor worker (the one who keeps our yard from looking like a jungle and also takes care of our dogs) announced, "My wife and I have been talking about you and we have decided that wherever you worship, we want to worship from now on!" We were stunned because Karume is Muslim but he was very serious about what he said and today he and his wife and new little baby joined us for Karume's very first Christian church service! Please be praying for him as he learns more about the Savior!"

In a place where everyone is "born" Christian or Muslim - and these are more often than not mixed together with traditional beliefs or visits to the witch doctor - any change is a huge deal... and this announcement shows 1. Just how much God is working through my friends to shine His light in very real ways, and 2. Just how much God works in hearts in ways we wouldn't necessarily expect.

Then today, I read:

"Some of you might remember my excitement over Karume, our outside worker who made the decision to start worshiping with our family each Sunday. Since that time he and his family have experienced a miracle. After searching and praying for his missing son (missing for over 2 weeks) the boy was found this past Friday!! Ends up he was abducted and taken to a town quite a distance from his village but somehow managed to escape, PRAISE GOD. Karume can't stop talking about the way God protected his son and everyone in church got to hear all about it this morning. Eleven-year-old Wambura is in the center of this picture - pray for him as he is still really shaken up by this whole thing."

This last post really got to me - not only because Karume was someone I saw around Musomaland on a semi-regular basis, and because I know that abductions do happen - but also because I recently finished reading The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency: Tears of the Giraffe and had read about something similar happening in Botswana... but in a fictional tale. This, on the other hand, is very real. I'm smiling from ear to ear, though nothing like Wambura's parents - and I am just so thankful for this happy ending - and beginning - for this very special family!!

Thursday, January 8, 2015

The Sequel

You know that magical moment, when you finish the last page of an incredible, epic story that made you laugh, cry, connect with incredible character-friends and wish and hope and pray for them (wait, am I the only one that ends up doing that?), and you sigh, wishing you could start the whole thing over again from the beginning? Except, you know without a doubt that a second reading, while good, would never be the same. Ever. You have already been changed. You know too much, the surprise will cease to catch your heart, and the story will be too easy to read from an outsiders’ view instead of being wrapped up in the midst of the moment.

And then there is the sequel. You know it’s coming, or is already out, yearning to be read… and you desperately hope for the best. And yet, I’m not a big fan of sequels. They always leave me… disappointed. The original story that I loved so much, the character’s ambitions and ideas, are all changed and different and they just.aren’t.the same as before. And it makes me sad.
This is pretty much where I am right now in life. I had a hunch when I left Tanzania, and realized more and more over the subsequent months, that not just a chapter, but a whole novel of my life was finished. I had turned the last page, said some final (and some not-so-final) goodbyes, and it broke my heart to let go of a story that had brought tears, laughter, runs in the rain with friends to in hot season, teachable moments with incredible children from who I see pictures of regularly on Facebook and just want to reach out to and give hugs and be a part of their lives again. Families that adopted me when I most needed a home and traditions created that will never resonate quite the same way again.

I realized recently that I would be more than willing to hop on a plane and go back to Musomaland again where they STILL NEED ANOTHER TEACHER. This is the reason I struggled so much with leaving this place that had become home in the first place – I knew there were elements of this life that I would carry with me and be changed by and forever recall and wish for again. The team I served with, the real, really-shared-on-all-levels prayer and Bible Study times, the kids and the laughter and the transitions and the understanding and deep bonds that form in hard places… these can’t just be recreated and reread and experienced in the same ways again. And while I’d love to pick up the story from those days in college when I yearned for Africa and had but am glad I did… I’m not there. I’ve learned, I’ve grown, I’ve been changed from the inside out over five or eight or ten incredible years. I know too much, and I know for a fact that I’m supposed to be in the States.

And so I hold memories and people in my heart and wonder hard about the sequel. One which can’t be a disappointment, because the writer of this story is way too Great for that. And I look forward to the next story, where I’ll go, what characters I’ll meet and cry and laugh with and pray for (legitimately, this time) and experience grace with all along the way.

Sunday, June 15, 2014

Across the Miles

A few of my most-favourite moments here in Tanzania have been spent facing a computer screen, skyping with someone across the ocean.
Things like...
  • Learning that I was going to be an aunt
  • Worshiping weekly with an amazing family in the States over Skype in English 
  • Joining a friend’s newly-adopted kids at the table for their breakfast (my dinner)
  • Playing hide-and-seek via an ipad with a 2-yr-old friend and her sisters in Kalamazoo.
  • Seeing a kids' church group raise over $500 for the learning center here in Musoma, gather amazing supplies, and pie their leader in the face on our behalf.
These kids (and their leaders) ROCK!!!
  • Answering questions (at 2:30am my time) from kids about the weather (is it like Mexico?), whether I have elephants in my yard, and why I have guards outside my house.
  • Being prayed over by great friends and feeling equipped for the next week by prayers across the miles.
I don’t say this meaning that I haven’t had amazing moments here in Tanzania. I've tried to fill a blog with all the moments I treasure with people here, both with Tanzanians and amazing teammates from other countries - and have only begun to scratch the surface. But the support/encouragement of people over skype and being included in life events from afar has made being here all the things I’ve missed (by being here) more doable – and encouraged me immensely along the way when I felt alone, or when everything here was overwhelming. So I thought I'd share just a bit of what I've learned over the past 5 years for the next person headed this way.

(Just A Few) Ways to Encourage Your Friends on the Mission Field

  • Send them invitations to events like weddings. Even if you know they won’t be able to attend, it makes all the difference in the world. (A huge thanks goes out to the amazing people who did this for me.)
  • Send Christmas cards. It doesn’t matter if they arrive in February – they’ll still love and treasure every one, hang your picture up on their wall to look at the next three years... and smile. 
  • When you get a newsletter emailed to your inbox, take a second, read it, and then write back. Even just a sentence or two. If you’re praying for them, tell them. Write your prayer out in an email. If you liked something in particular or want to learn more, they’d love to know!
  • Find out if your missionary has a wish list. Skim it every now and again.
  • Ask for information that you can share on their behalf with your church, small group, Bible Study, etc. If they’re going to miss missions Sunday at your church, ask how you can represent them in their absence. They'll be honored to be remembered.
  • Decorate a pillow case (or table cloth, or blanket if they live someplace cold) with verses, prayers, outlines of hands, pictures, etc using sharpies and send it to them. Have your kids work with you on the design. Your missionary, young or old, can fall asleep each night being reminded of God’s Truth and that people believe in and support and love them.
This case (and others) are hardly readable after all the love they've received the last two years!
  • If you haven’t heard from them for a while, ask why. Chances are that’s when they need your prayers more than ever.
  • Share your prayer requests. Some of my dearest encouragers have been those who have shared their needs with me too. Being able to “live life” together and pray from across the miles makes fellowship all the sweeter… and allows missionaries to feel comfortable truly sharing what’s going on knowing it’s a two-way street.
And with thanks to FB, I just came across a site that has a few more ideas of how to encourage missionaries HERE for your reading pleasure... :)

Sunday, March 9, 2014

It's NOT that time again, but...

(from Christianity Today)
I recently heard about Joni Eareckson Tada for the first time when her picture made it on a magazine at our one-and-only local wazungu-type cafĂ©. True, I’m probably the only person in the greater Christian community that hasn’t heard of her, but I’ll attribute that to my not growing up reading biographies as a kid. For some reason, I was way more interested in epic stories of kids in far-off lands!

Back to the point. I heard a brief synopsis of Joni’s story – how she was paralyzed from the neck down in a diving accident, and how she has been used in powerful ways over the years by God. With her name in hand, I set off to find her biography on Kindle… and sat down to read in-between letting bread dough rise for dinner.

And then, I kept reading. And reading. Through the second-try of rising bread dough (the first one was disgusting, thanks to a bad batch of flour!), and more reading in bed that night. Yes, it was really good – but in some ways, I kept reading because I wanted to get past the uncomfortable, difficult bits of what happened and on to what God is doing now. While Joni’s experiences were nothing like mine, her story all-too-clearly whispered back memories of a story of my own.

A story of facing death, wondering if I would wake up unable to use part or all of my body for awhile or forever. A story of a teenager who lived life through movement and saw the possibility of this all being taken away. A fear of what we can’t control, a reminder that life is short, that what we have we take for granted, and that God is in control even when it seems all is wrong.

As I read, I could clearly imagine the feeling of lying in bed staring at a ceiling, unable to move a muscle. The possibility was once all too real. It’s not out of the scope of my imagination to know the dread of hoping and praying and having no idea what the outcome might be. And yes, for some reason my ending was not in a Stryker bed and wheelchair, but in a recovery room playing with the oxygen monitor on my finger, years more of dance and competitions and eventually living on another continent teaching kids.

It’s funny, how these feelings sometimes creep in unexpectedly, sliding under the door unannounced but all too real. I used to worry about “what might happen if” and dreaded checkups. These days, my biggest thought concerning this time of my life is the reminder to save up funds towards my next MRI. While once fears were real, now I consider my check-ups a great (though loud) nap time and am not surprised when I get a clean (though expensive) bill of health at the end. But then there are moments like reading Joni’s book, moments that bring me back to that time and make me realize just how very different the result could have been.

And while I try not to wonder “why” anymore, “Why did my story turn out so differently from so many others…?,” I do count my life and breath and being and ability to move and love on kids and teach with song and dance a privilege, just a little bit more, when I’m reminded of the gifts I’ve been given, while fully knowing God would have provided exactly what I needed even if the results had been different.

In any case, whether you’ve heard of Joni (or not), I definitely recommend her first book. The story of her healing and understanding of God is incredible. However, just a word of caution to anyone with a history of head trauma or brain/spinal issues… if that describes you, I’d recommend possibly skipping the biography and reading her more recent writings instead!

Monday, January 31, 2011

It's That Time of Year...

Disclaimer: I wasn’t going to post this, but after reading a few real, honest, unmasked posts by people today, I decided why not.  Sometimes, it’s good to see what’s really happening on the inside of people. So here I go.

(And, just in case you don’t know the significance of Feb 1 and my story as a 16-year-old, click here for my thoughts from last year.  Which, as I look back over it, looks a lot like this year's post... but oh well!)

Tomorrow is always a weird day for me. 

On the one hand, it should be a day of celebration, thanksgiving, joyfulness.  And in many ways, it is. 

But on the other hand, Feb 1 still stands to set me apart from others.  Makes me feel alone.  And yes, just a bit weird. 

Who talks openly about having brain surgery?  And yet, I have to ask, why shouldn’t I?  If only for the glory of God it’s worth it.  And it really was (and is!) all to His glory that I’m even here teaching and dancing and living in Africa – even here – at all.  For bringing me the parents, friends, coach, teachers I had… for the surgeon He placed in our path… for bringing me out and away clean and clear… I know that, I see it, and I rejoice.  But when it comes to anything medical with the brain, the stigma clings firmly on.  And just having gone through some of this stuff makes me feel… different. 

Many people haven’t faced death at 16.  And while I know I’m better for it, stronger, I also know that there were years of worry and doubt and fear accompanying this day of the year over the past 11 years.  Accompanying any MRI results I might be getting back each year.  Accompanying the question of, “what if it happens again?”  Even though I “know better.”  And it stinks.

I know I’m not supposed to live in fear.  And ultimately, I don’t.  Not of dying, anyway.  I know that I’m going to be here as long as I’m supposed to be, and I know what’s going to happen (or at least, a bit of it!) when I do get to join Jesus in heaven, celebrating Him and who He is and what He has done with all His children from Earth.  And I want to enjoy and live fully the life He has given me here and now without wasting a precious second.

But there’s still a “down-and-out” feeling that comes along, even when I don’t see it coming. 

I wonder what the future holds, and why in the world God chose ME…  because that’s what it comes down to, really.  In a lot of ways, that’s where I wonder why I’m different.  Different because this happened, but also different because I came through (mostly!) unscathed.  Whenever anyone else talks about someone they knew with a brain tumor, the results were tragic.  The person died.  Or they never spoke again.  Or they couldn’t move, or couldn’t see right, or looked funny, or SOMETHING.  But then there’s me… who has been dancing and living and learning and falling flat on my face and getting back up and learning some more and teaching and traveling for the past 11 years, just like any other “normal” person on earth.  And I just don’t see how it all fits together.  I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.  And I don’t know whether to celebrate or sit still and be thankful.  And even as I have a lot of yet-unfulfilled hopes for my future, I wonder whether I should hope for these specific things to come my way, or just to accept that His plans are best, come what may.  Or, somehow, both.

So, here’s to life.  One that I’m not really sure why… why me… but I’m here none-the-less.  And I’m thankful for it!  And here’s to all the people who have surrounded me, loved me, encouraged me, propped me up, and let me be “me” over the past 11 years, whatever that might look like.

Monday, February 1, 2010

Where Does the Time GO??? and Ten-Year Celebrations

Look at the clock. Sigh. And any child from my classroom can say with me, “Where does the time go?” It’s a common phrase in my room, but more than that, I’m realizing that it’s true of my everyday life, as well.

10 years ago today, I was sitting in a hospital bed in California, at a place called Cedar-Sinai. As a 16-year-old, it seemed proper for me to be out with my friends, or at least enjoying my new-found freedom driving my sweet blue minivan around Comstock! But instead, I was laying in a bed with green fruit-loop-looking things stuck to my face, with Dr. Black and others removing an unwanted tumor from my head.

It’s funny how time flies. At the time, I never thought I’d take things for granted. I’d had brain surgery – and had seen my life pass before my eyes. I learned to live in the moment, dealt with “baby bird” hair, stopped taking it for granted that I could express myself through dance, lived for six difficult months without driving (tough for a 16-year-old with a newly acquired license!), and saw that life was truly a gift… to be given and taken away as God desired. I learned that He would never give me anything I couldn’t handle, with His help!

It seems like only yesterday. I still remember playing with the heart rate monitor on my finger in ICU, and realizing it freaked my brother off when I took it off – and then doing this over and over again. (I was still pretty groggy from the surgery; I’m sure that’s a viable excuse!) I still remember coming home (to Kalamazoo) to see our table laden with food, balloons galore, and lotions to last me through high school… and realizing just how much I was loved. I still remember my youth pastor coming over before we left, and praying with my whole family – and hearing in awe how people around the country were lifting me up as well.

Yet it didn’t take long for me to get back to my normal, worried self, wishing I could know the future and planning accordingly. And I did, or at least, I tried. It seems most of the things I thought I’d be doing at this point in my life – marriage, kids, maybe coaching baton twirling – aren’t yet here. But, in the meantime, God’s provided some amazing opportunities, a passion for kids and a place to teach MKs in Africa, and the support from all of you to live in a different country loving and serving Him.

In the last ten years of life, I’ve finished high school; gone to Hope College as a Pre-Med student – and come out with an El-Ed Teaching license!; learned and grown abundantly in my faith and knowledge of who God is; moved home, then to NC to teach and learn – a lot! – with some wonderful people at Stocks Elementary; and headed out to yet another unknown land (much like Abraham) in Africa. And, praise the Lord, I’ve had ten clear MRIs since that day of surgery in Cedar-Sinai.

I wonder, sometimes, why I’m here. Why it was me that God chose to cure through doctors’ hands, and not the many people I’ve prayed for since my turn on the table. And why I, of all people, am sitting on my bed in Africa learning about God’s grace and provision, and how to TRUST Him, for the millionth time. But I AM learning, slowly but surely, that we can’t control the future. That we don’t know what’s coming. And it’s in the God of the Universe, the God who has our lives in His hands, the One who’s in charge of it all, that I can trust the future to in totality. In the end, we’ve been given this time to live, and I want to choose to live fully along the way.

Came To My Rescue Lyrics, by Hillsong

Falling on my knees in worship
Giving all I am to seek Your face
Lord all I am is yours
My whole life I place in Your hands
God of mercy humbled I bow down
In Your presence at Your throne
Chorus (x2):
I called You answered
and You came to my rescue
and I want to be where You are
My whole life I place in Your hands
God of mercy humbled I bow down
In your presence at Your throne
Chorus (x2)