thrown in head first

- written May 1st -

I have lived in Pune, India for a week now - and it’s had an incredible power of getting under my skin. Instead of coming as an outsider looking in, I’ve been thrown into the midst of all that is real, the brokenness and the redemption of this city. I want to illustrate a picture that God has been walking me through, and how the people here are changing me.

We climbed the dark, narrow stairs to the top floor. I took each step slowly round the twisting wooden staircase, stomach turning from the stagnant air and mind racing as dark eyes in doorway shadows met mine with an empty stare. I shouldn’t be here, I thought. Nothing in my spirit was settled. But I knew it wasn’t enough just to hear the stories. Just to read the statistics. I sat down in a small room, furnished with thin mats, dirty pans and suitcases stacked high against the wall. The girls woke from resting through the afternoon and welcomed us into their home. It was an afternoon I will never forget, my first visit to a brothel.

The girls at the brothel are so much more than the label they wear. They are kind, with compassionate eyes, and heart warming laughter. Many of them are teenagers, small framed and dangling with bracelets, left alone or sold into this life without hope of a better future. As I held the hand of an 18 year old girl with a bright smile and painted lips, I prayed that God would show her exactly how he sees her. That her value not come from the words or dollars of men, but from a Father that knows her true beauty, and all that he has created inside of her. These girls are becoming my friends, my sisters. We drank sugarcane juice together, while hiding from the cops underground, all the while laughing and singing and bridging the gap between us and them. I am starting to cherish time spent at the brothel, but always walk away with a pain that slices into my chest. I come home to the safety and security of my apartment, and these girls begin their work. But my real joy comes from the redemption I see every night.

There is a little girl named Monica who was born in the brothels. Her mother was a prostitute and died of AIDS when Monica was just a baby. The owner of the brother, Ma’am, decided to raise her in the business to take her mothers place. Workers from the Hope of Glory Foundation (HOGF) would come and ask to care for this child, but Ma’am refused. This beautiful little girl was her guaranteed retirement plan.

After years of visits, relationships developed in the brothel, and the workers pleaded again to let them take Monica to their children’s home to care for her. In a moment of tenderness, Ma’am agreed. She said that it was the one good thing she has done with her life, to let Monica go.

Every day I get to hold this incredible, nine year old girl in my arms. My team is working in direct contact with HOGF, and do everything from go swimming and take trips to the zoo with the children, and eat meals together every day in the children’s home. There are 32 kids living there now (separated into a boys and girls home - but eat, worship and play all together). Each one has an unbelievable story of redemption from the streets or brothels of Pune. As I hold Monica and sing worship songs with her, I can’t control my emotions when I think that her little body could be working on that top floor of the gray cement building. She has seen so much in her few years.

But her innocence is being restored. HOGF is giving Monica her childhood back, along with dozens of other children who would never of had the chance to play sports, eat healthy food, or get an education. In one week these children have changed me, and I fight the thought of saying goodbye to them in a few short weeks. Please pray for these kids. They are saved from the street, but still battling a lot of emotional scars and memories. Also, only a few of the 32 kids have sponsorship for food and education, so funding for the home is very limited.

I feel like I have been thrown headfirst into the unbearably hard.
And with that I’ve been flooded with overwhelming good.
Through all of which I’m learning what life really is.
It’s love.


fake it till you make it

. ramblings of the heart on a hard afternoon .

- - - don't worry. it was days ago. my life is put back together for the next few hours. but I thought I'd share, in belief that someone will relate. & I cut the profanity in hopes not to offend. be encouraged. - - -


Life is not about faking it till you make it. It’s real, and it hurts. My logical mind can never control my emotional heart, and I hate that. I hate the loss of control. But life has nothing to do with how well you control it, it’s how well you experience it.

It sucks to say the hard is good. It doesn’t make the hard any easier. It doesn’t bring any comfort at all, except in hindsight.

I write vaguely. It makes things easier to theologize and generalize, but impacts few. Let’s ungeneralize a little.

I’m in love, and it hurts more than anything I remember feeling. It is the hardest thing to control, and the easiest way to cut into me. I am in one country, he’s in another, and the only way I can reach him is through the moon.

I cry in the middle of the afternoon. Independent, world traveling girls do not cry over distant lovers. But I do. So what does that make me?

Broken. And feeling every poke and prod that life has to offer.

If I fake perfection, will that eventually make me perfect? Or more empty than when I started?

I don’t want to fake my way through life. I want a real story - a blood, sweat and tears kind of story. I want to make people turn the pages so quickly they can’t wait to find out what happens next.

I win their attention with how great I am.
But then I hook them when they discover how screwed up I really am.

Will I choose to write a comedy or a tragedy? I think the transition begins as soon as I start faking it.

Life is real. Love really hurts. And God is the most beautiful thing I can attempt to wrap my mind around.

Every day is a learn-as-you-go shot at creating a remarkable story.

more questions than answers

I’ve come at this trip from a different angle than ones before, and because of that have seen the country from a very different perspective. I’ve come with more questions than answers.

Writing has opened up a lot of different opportunities for my team here in India. A main role for me has been interviewing. I’m in charge of collecting stories. If people aren’t met, and questions aren’t asked, what will there be to write about? My preconceived ideas about this country have been shattered.
Well, except for the traffic - it’s all I imagined and more.

I’ve talked with some pretty incredible people in the last two weeks, and have felt honor and humbled to be entrusted with their stories.

o Daisy has a heart for street children, and as a 24yr old single started a ministry reaching out to kids in the most dangerous parts of Chennai. Now her and her husband have a home that cares for 35 children, to rescue them off of the street and restore them into the children God created them to be. Their giant family is a blessing to be apart of, even if only for a week. In the last 20 years Freddy and Daisy have changed the face of their city - ministering in the slums, caring for abandoned children, teaching, training, and serving with their whole hearts. I’ve been living with this family and am praying a vacation is in their near future - it would be their first in 18 years.

o Wilson prayed to God that he would never work with people with AIDS, which is exactly what God asked him to do. He spent the first years with his team cutting bushes, cleaning sewers and chasing wild pigs out of a hospital before the Hindu owner allowed him to talk to the patients. Now he has ministered to over 5,000 people, building friendships, caring for their children and starting support groups for people living with AIDS. I was amazed at all of the ministries that have come out of this project, but cut the deepest when he told me the hardest part of his job, “burying your friends every day.” Working with the sick and dying means Wilson does funerals 3-5 times a week. “The hardest was doing four in one day,” he said in a soft, shaky voice.

o Jayaseely was born and raised in a leper colony, losing both of her parents to the disease at a young age. She made a goal to help the people her country was ignoring, and dedicated her life to holding medical clinics in every leper colony in Chennai (a seven-million population city). I sat and talked with her as her team scraped deformed and decaying feet, washed and wrapped them in bandages. My heart broke as I thought of her service day after day, year after year, to the people most call “untouchable.” But her purpose through it all, she told me, is evangelism. “In a world of suffering, that’s all that really matters.”

These are a few of the people I’ve met. Just a slice of their stories. And it can be overwhelming for me to know just how to capture them in words. But what I do know is that India is not broken. They’re not helpless people, waiting on street corners for hand outs. They are strong, smart and intuitive people who dedicate their lives to service. They are teaching me what it looks like to love the way Jesus spoke of. Without glamor, without attention, without recognition. Without a giant salary that dictates their commitment level.

Coming to a country full of questions means an immediate openness to learn, and a humbleness to realize (yet again) that I don’t have it all figured out. Not even close. But living here, I think I’m getting closer. Closer to understanding love, faith, and God.

One small step at a time.

a day in the emergency room

Yes, the rumor is true. I have an addition to my headdress - 5 pretty little stitches, just a few inches above my right ear. How did this happen, you ask? I would love to tell you the story of how I fell off an elephant in the Indian jungle, or was chasing down a rickshaw to rescue a stolen child. But the truth is, my friends, in simplest form:

I fought the fan...
and the
Fan won.
(best if hummed to the tune, "I Fought the Law")

My team has been incredibly blessed since we arrived in India Monday morning. We have delicious rice dishes prepared for us everyday, a freezer where I make my own ice trays, and a huge open roof perfect for worship and writing in the night air. And to top things off - us girls found an AC box above one of the bunk beds! It doesn't get much better than that.

The first night it was about 103 degrees in our room as we tried to sleep. Turning on the AC the next night was glorious, but soon froze us as it dropped lower and lower in temperature. Being the smart, intuitive person that I am, I knew there was a way to set the temperature. I crawled up on the bunk bed, searched around the sides, poked buttons, and finally came to the conclusion that the controls had to be on the top. As I stood up, I was immediately whapped with a few hard blows from the fierce, iron ceiling fan.

Of course my roommates start to panic, when I assure them,
"I'm fine guys, really. It's not like I'm bleeding." Just then I reached up to find my hair covered in blood, and dripping down my forehead.

They proceeded to take excellent care of me while I bled all over the bathroom, and decided this might be a case for the pros. I argued, but my persistence was low. I have never had stitches in my life. Never gone to a hospital in any of the 10 countries I've traveled to. And I'd definitely never been taken out on my 2nd day of a trip. By a ceiling fan.

But rest assured. The fan is fine.
and so am I.

(me in the ER holding cotton gauze on my open head wound)

The hospital was like nothing I'd ever experienced before. After traveling by 20 min via bumpy rickshaw (holding cotton swabs to my head to stop the bleeding) we made it to the ER. I laid on an oversized plastic serving tray as dozens of doctors and nurses came in to look at me, bobble their heads hello, then exit through the dull gray curtains. After a couple hours of waiting, they agreed that stitches were what I needed - but would not do anything until I first purchased the materials. My leader Brooke graciously took my shopping list to the pharmacy to buy ethilon, needles, a syringe and rubber gloves. Then we were in business. There was an American doctor who stopped in, whom I graciously appreciated, for he insisted that the doctor didn't need to shave my hair off. They stitched me up for little more than my pharmacy bill, and I was out the door feeling good as new.

(my pharmacy shopping list - in the emergency room)

There's the story of my day in the emergency room. Do not fret - I am doing well. Finally able to shower and wash the blood out of my hair, 24hrs later, with little to no pain at all. Ministry started today, and my team is excited for what's to come. Hopefully that doesn't include any more hospital visits :)

all my bags are packed...

I'm ready to go!

What an incredible semester it's been here at YWAM Resonate (http://ywamresonate.com). It's hard to believe how fast the school changed into memories past. I know I learned a lot, but still don't feel like I have a strong grasp on what my writing will look like, sound like. But that's about to change.

I'm putting my skills to work - for a three month internship - in India. My flight leaves this afternoon, and will land me right in the center of the most unbelievable stories. But they're not just stories - they're people. I'm going to meet them, play games and drink chai, and listen to them share about their lives. I know I'm going to fall in love with these people, and have my heart broken over and over again by the stories they tell. My goal is to be a voice for these people. Even a tiny voice - so at least for a moment, the world notices them.

Legistics:

I’m working with Streams of Mercy (http://streamsofmercy.org/) and their contacts throughout a number of orphanages and ministries in India.

- My team will be living in Chennai until April 29^th – working with an AIDS ministry, leper colonies, multiple orphanages and in remote villages.

- The second half of our project will be based out of Pune, getting to know the street kids, orphans, and the women and children living in the red light district.

- I fly back to Texas May 19^th, and will finish the remainder of my internship here. A lot of our time in India will be spent collecting stories, doing research and adjusting to the culture. The three weeks in Texas will be extremely valuable for writing, finishing projects and debriefing the trip.

- I’ll be home in Nebraska June 12^th, for those still trying to keep up with me :)

I'm so thankful for everyone who has been praying for me and encouraging my team. We really need it! This ministry has been praying for a writing team for years, and there is a huge opportunity to change this community through our works. But that also means there are a lot of challenges ahead of us to face - and we really, really need a team of intercessors to stand behind us.

I plan to post weekly updates - so stay tuned for more stories!

Never doubt that a small group of committed people can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has. - Margaret Mead

encouraged.

Writing is something I have grown to love.

Learning to write on the other hand. Incredibly discouraging.

Now I can't say that the past nine weeks have been all hair pulling and torturous - but more like a big dose of real life struggles. For now I'll try to focus in on the writing struggles.

This course is incredible, because it offers a wide variety of skills taught by experienced professionals. On the other hand, it can be overwhelming to take in and apply so many different formats.

Novels.

Screenwriting.

Magazines.

Non-Fiction.

I want to take each one and run with it. To be the best. To be so skillful and creative that the first draft goes to the publishers. But instead I've felt beaten down. Defeated. I've questioned coming to this school, going to India next month, my ability to write. How do I apply all of these structures? Every timeline and outline and still find the perfect premise statement? Why pursue this if it isn't something I enjoy?

Writing easily becomes an assignment, to meet the grade criteria more than a creative outpouring from the spirit. And when I trap myself in my own head, it's easy to become incredibly discouraged.

BUT ->

I usually steer clear from blogging until I'm on the other side of the tunnel - I like some light in an article instead of ending in tragedy.

I gave myself an extra homework assignment tonight. I went online and started reading articles. I picked a website I had never visited before (relevantmagazine.com) and started reading. and reading. I found articles from around the world. About justice issues and the environment and faith. I set down my computer for dinner with the excitement and passion I'd been lacking.

I'm going to India next month to write stories like these. To write about hope through the eyes of an orphan. Love through the eyes of a prostitute. Joy in the the midst of a leper colony. And what scares me more than anything is that I'm not enough. If I can't write, if I can't do this task expected of me, what good am I? [ Time and time again I have to lay that down. ]

Reading those simple articles tonight gave me a lot of encouragement. I could see the formats from my notes fleshed out onto the page in a real, tangible way - and I know it's not impossible for me. Right now I'm just acquiring the tools I need - and some are much heavier to pick up than others. But the more I work with them the lighter they get, and the more skilled I become in my craft.

I pray that if you are struggling with something, you take a moment out of your own thoughts - and allow room to be encouraged. Sometimes it comes in the most unexpected ways, but it is the sweetest thing you can receive.

(photo from Stream of Mercy, India)

writer's block

I'm trying to find a good balance in my blogging at this writing school. In attempt to post every week, I find myself already falling short. I started working on a short story painting a picture of us girls, laying on the dock watching the stars and talking about life. It was beautiful, really.

Until about 3 paragraphs in.

... when the critic came out to investigate

* what is the takeaway you're trying to accomplish?

* are there two strong forces? where do they meet?

* am I writing strong characters? or just figures?

* are narrative and thematic formats colliding?

* which viewpoint is the strongest?

As you might have guessed, that story never made it past paragraph 3.

I am learning so much at this school, it has been incredible. frustrating. exciting. stressful. affirming. and more relational than I could have hoped for. Each day is loaded with its own set of adventures - from writing a 10 page story 4 hours to climbing trees in the forrest. I haven't done this much homework since my junior year of high school. Yet in a month I've also spent more time at coffee shops, around bonfires and on lakeside docks than I can remember. Each day is new in its challenges - and in it's blessings.

I have a quick praise report I want to add in. The past two weeks my biggest prayer has been for contentment -- to be completely satisfied in the here and now of life. to find joy in the day to day blessings. to let tomorrow's worries come tomorrow and yesterday's memories push me forward instead of pull me back. & every day God has been faithful. If you're curious how you can be praying for me during this semester, that is my biggest request. It amazes me

what a difference it makes just being content and how fulfilling life really is when I'm in that place.

I want to give out a big shout-out of thanks. For reading my poor sentence structure. and improper adverbs. and letting me put dashes in wherever I don't feel a comma or a period do justice. and not having a strong takeaway or rising action or conflicting forces. and loving me anyway.

I promise I don't write like this in class.

[but I hope you can see the heart of my words through the bulk of imperfections]

he makes all things new

A new year. A new city. A new school. A new beginning that is painfully sweet. So much anticipation, dreams that are taking more shape in my spirit every day - and yet a distance from loved ones that can easily blur my vision and shake my heart. When my mind spins to find just the right words to describe every transitioning emotion, I find myself coming back to praise. It's all I truly know in this whirlwind of things - God is so good.

After more than 10 hours on the road I drove into the bright skyline of Dallas, TX. The drive proved to be much smoother than I had expected, with clear roads, TomTom to guide the way and a wonderful boyfriend to keep me company. (via phone of course - but don't worry Denny - no texting!) I left with tear streaked cheeks and arrived with excitement. After some great fellowship with an old friend, I pulled into campus early Wednesday afternoon with butterflies in my stomach. And so my journey begins in the School of Writing at the UofN Woodcrest Campus.

No matter which campus you go to, YWAM always seems to invite in new students with open arms. I'm learning how to make this place home. 3 roommates, 10 students, a bunk bed and a lap top, welcome to my new world! Class starts on Monday, so the first couple days of orientation and down time have left ample amounts of time to think. Maybe more thinking than I've done in months past. God, what do you have in store? I know I'm here on purpose, for a purpose... but I don't have the hindsight advantage of knowing exactly why.

Writing is becoming a part of my life again. A big part. Hours and hours will be spent every day dedicated to this one thing that I'm growing in passion for. So in all of this time spent brainstorming and creating and typing away, I promise to dedicate a little time specifically for blogging. No guarantees that my thoughts will be in any specific form or even fully take shape, but see it more as a window. A look in on a whole new adventure, from one humble perspective.

life is good. God is great. and as I sit here on the floor writing, all I can do is smile at the things to come.

last cup of coffee before our separate journeys

first cup of coffee with goofy new friends

3D movie goers at their finest