Unwritten.

It has been more than a hot second since I last blogged.  I don't share my thoughts often, in person or on paper...most people know by now that vulnerability gives me hives. But sometimes, every once in awhile, I need to pour out the overwhelming amount of chaos that feels like it's constantly in my brain, swirling around, begging to be identified, and validated.
I don't know what prompted me to pull my journal out today, to flip through each page and remember what prompted each sketch, each quote. A lot of the quotes are from a few months ago, when I was in a very different place in my life. I haven't felt like sketching anything in awhile. I got to the front page, and my breath caught a little. Out of all of those Pinterest quotes, about love, friends, life, family...this was the only one that was mine. A prayer I prayed every day for quite a few months, until it felt memorized, ingrained in my brain. It didn't "work," not the way I wanted it to when I wrote it out on a flight home from a mission trip.  It worked out just a little differently. It was not a mantra to be quoted. I couldn't even read it at first, too afraid to remember the confidence in which I wrote these words, so sure of what was going to happen, how thing were going to work. I never shared these, not with anyone ever. So here they are. Ready to be shared.

My prayers for us are many

For purity of mind, body, and soul.

For a heavenly focus,

for ears that hear God's plans,

for eyes that don't stray,

for hearts that seek each other

but, more importantly, for hearts that seek God.

For wisdom that rebukes outside expectations,

for minds that dwell on what is lovely,

for souls that search for depth.

For bodies that find solace in each other,

for hands that hold each other,

for feet that guide one another closer to God,

for legs that will walk the miles.

For trust that will weather the storms,

for a love that finds the silver lining,

for mouths that speak only what uplifts, 

for tongues that don't lash out.

For peace that passes all understanding.

For hope in the future.

For work that will provide.

For joy in the provision.

I still don't feel these words. There's a lot in this world that absolutely negates them. But it's one of those things that you know to be true, regardless of your flighty, ever-changing, day-to-day feelings. I know, very deep down, in the recesses where there's still some untouched part of my soul, that these are real, true, valid, and God-ordained. 

Survive.

The world - and those who are of it - does not love Him, or you.

It will despise and reject you.

It will despise your heart, yes even your very soul,

And it will despise the One who created it.

The world will seek to beat out of you the very things that make you, you.

It will not get better, but you will get better.

You will learn love, though the world may not.

The world will not be able to teach it's children how to love others,

But you will.

The world will ignore the plight of the downtrodden,

It will exist for the here and now,

And it will look ideal.

But if you, precious friend, can survive, 

You will appreciate these experiences.

You will stand for His heart.

You will see Him through the flaws, 

through the dirt,

through the shame. 

And you will know how to love the least of these, 

Those who are what you once were.

And you will never be the world.

You will never be of the world.

The Basic White Girl

We’ve all seen the articles circling the internet. “28 Things Basic White Girls Do,” or “10 Basic White Girls that Need to Be Stopped.” They’re funny. I laugh at them. And I also find myself sinking down into my seat a little. Because, like the “Basic White Girl,” I too enjoy Pumpkin Spice Lattes. They’re like heaven in a cup.  They’re warm, and spicy…to me, they taste like fall looks. I also love to wear leggings. Those things are stretchy and comfy and warm but simultaneously breezy. They could possible be the most perfect article of clothing in existence.  And don’t even get me started on Instagram. I love it…all those filters at my fingertips. It’s a whole new world of possibilities for my photos.

And yet, I feel ashamed of these things.

            In a society where we condemn slut-shaming and bullying, where we preach acceptance, I’m afraid to stand up and say “Hey! I like everything pumpkin flavored! I’m wearing leggings and a flannel! My favorite instagram filter is Walden!” because I will be called a basic b***h, and mocked because of what I wear, what I enjoy doing, and how I talk.

            I remember being mocked as a kid. I liked to read. I wasn’t good at sports, nor did I ascribe to the football-is-life lifestyle. I didn’t party, didn’t drink, didn’t do drugs. I baked, I played the piano, I read 3 chapter books a week. I liked going to church! And I was made fun of. I was called goody-two-shoes, prude, and naïve.  Because I didn’t like what other people liked. I was different. But not the “cool” kind of different that deserved to be given a place in society. No, I was the kind that people tried to change, tried to conform to the ideas of society. Because of the things I liked. And the hobbies I enjoyed. And the activities I chose not to participate in.

            In the midst of trying to make the world a safe place for everyone to be themselves, we have started to shame those people who we view as “basic.” Why? Because they’re different from us? Or because they’re not different enough? Because they identify with a group other than our own? So they aren’t “real” hipsters...that doesn't mean they can't wear flower crowns, sun dresses, and ankle boots. So what if they wear Ugg boots with their nike shorts? They like to keep their feet warm while wearing what I think we all can agree is one of the most comfortable pieces of clothing currently available. So what if they didn’t like Lana Del Ray before she made it big? I don't really think Lana cares when her fans jumped on board. AND SO WHAT IF THEY DRINK PUMPKIN SPICE LATTES 3 TIMES A DAY? They like pumpkin. A lot.

Who are we to mock someone for that?

Epilogue.

I love flying. Think about how many millions of people underneath you that you can’t even see, the rolling hills of Europe, the dry savannahs of Africa, the seas teaming with life. The map of highways amongst the groves of trees, the turquoise shallows in the middle of the cobalt ocean. God created all of that. I am in awe of His creativity. He looked at the world and thought, “not all of it has to be the same.” And he created a vibrant, ever-changing planet.

As I look back on my time in Kenya, I am overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of God’s power. Seriously, we serve an awesome creator.

He looked at each person as he created them and thought, “they don’t all need to be the same.” So he created quiet Rehema, mischievous Steve, and crazy Beatrice. He created artistic Onesmus, silly Teresia, and shy Zippy.

No day at MITS was the same. Every day was filled with new adventures, new opportunities to learn and serve. They were filled with laughs, intern family dinners, hours of playing with babies, and so much love. They were filled with the Holy Spirit, who made himself evident in the mundane and the extraordinary. I have been forever changed by the humbling experiences I had at Made in the Streets.

“He raises the poor from the dust and lifts the needy from the ash heap; he seats them with princes and has them inherit a throne of honor. For the foundations of the earth are the LORD's; on them he has set the world.”

- 1 Samuel 2:8

Change.

When you go to college, a lot of people will reminisce about how they “found themselves” in college. They tell you that you will discover more about yourself than you ever thought possible. I didn’t really experience that. Sure, I changed a lot. I was on my own in a big city, and I had to learn how to take care of myself.  But my college experience, wonderful as it was, was also unsatisfactory. It was so fast, and when I graduated college I felt just as young and untried as when I graduated high school. There isn’t much difference between an 18 year old and a 20 year old.

I was 20 when I graduated college, I was 20 when I moved to Kenya, and I’m still 20. Yet all of a sudden, I feel like I’ve grown leaps and bounds. I wrote a blog not too long ago about how moving here wrecked all my life plans. It’s because moving here, I felt a complete peace that I had not yet felt. When I made all those life plans, I was wracked with worry about the future. I’m not saying I have zero difficulties here…on the contrary, I have faced more issues than I ever have before. But I go to sleep every night happier than I have ever been. I work with some of the best people…they are like my family. I live next door to people who I now consider to be some of my best friends. And I get to go to work with them every day. I love these kids with all of my heart, and I cannot imagine my life without their sweet faces, bright smiles, or their voices singing praises to God. My life in Kenya is far different than my life in America, and I think I like it even better.

Connected.

Have you ever though about how your life depends upon the fact that the moment that you send that text or your Macbook/iPhone makes that “whoosh” sound that indicates an email has been sent, the reply is almost instant. No matter where you are, you are connected with your loved ones.

When you live at the intern house, you find out the definition of the word disconnected. It’s a total dead zone. No internet or mobile network. You have to sit in the yard with the hordes of mosquitoes just to get mediocre internet, and sometimes your phone doesn’t even connect at all.

In Kenya, it can be very difficult to get ahold of someone. No one emails anyone back, and seldom are phone calls answered. If you need to contact someone imminently, you just have to walk to their house.

How often are we disconnected from God? Do you answer God’s calls? How many times has God had to literally come knocking at your door before you finally acknowledge his presence in your life?

Discomfort.

When you live in Kamulu, there is something so satisfying about going to bed at night and immediately falling asleep. It feels so peaceful, going to bed and not having a million things running through your mind. Pleasant exhaustion.

After you spend a day in Eastleigh, your sleep may be a tiny bit more interrupted. For those of you who don’t know, Eastleigh is the place where runaways run to. It’s where they join a “base,” a location usually at a street corner, by a tree, in the middle of a roundabout. This is where they deal/purchase drugs, pay for sex, and sleep every night out in the elements. When you spend a day in Eastleigh, you go home to Kamulu, and the exhaustion keeps you up. You’re physically, emotionally, and mentally exhausted, and if you feel one more emotion, your brain might just explode.

I don’t have a moral for this post. I don’t have a lesson I’ve learned from going to Eastleigh, I don’t have peace in my heart knowing that I’ve made a difference in a street child’s life. Because it feels like there will never be an end to the number of hopeless, unloved street kids. There will never come a day when my heart stops weeping at the thought of those precious ones sleeping on piles of trash. No matter how many street kids I’ve come in contact with, I don’t think I will ever know what to say to them, how to look them in the eye, how to comfort them. I have not found a way to deal with these realities. I will forever be uncomfortable with the situation.

Maybe that’s ok. We should never become complacent with our days, and if living in a state of discomfort keeps us from that, then bring on the awkward stares, the cat-got-your-tongue moments, and the resulting soul-searching.