Hello Again

Wow, I didn't realize how long it has been since I last wrote.  Since my last post, I have traveled to Europe, graduated high school, and started college.  These are all huge milestones that haven't fully sunk in for me yet.

I have learned quite a bit though.

First and foremost, I loved Europe an inexplicable amount.  Most of you probably know that I've been dying to travel to London for a long time.  It was everything I'd dreamt it would be. In just ten days in Europe, I tried more things than I have in my entire life.  There was my first experience riding the tube - basically picture a can of sardines.  I ate snails, which was great with all the garlic and butter.  I rode on a night train; contrary to popular belief, it was NOTHING like the Hogwarts Express.  I learned and spoke and heard a cacophony of different languages, which was fun until I didn't know how to order a cheeseburger and people yelled at me.  I was cleansed by a hippie at Stonehenge.  I spent Easter morning on the coast of the Mediterranean Sea.  Through all of this, I saw an inkling of how diverse and beautiful the world is.  Even in London, where we spoke the same language, the people were so different than they are here - I am not saying they were better or worse, just different.  In France and Spain, it was so strange to hear people speak and not know what they were saying.  It was beautiful and terrifying and eye-opening.  The new experience, different cultures, and foreign languages made me feel alive, like I'm not the most important thing in the world. Everyone has stories to tell; my brief ten days in Europe taught me I want to listen to them for the rest of my life.

I read Paper Towns right before gradation, which was fitting.  The main character, Q, makes the point that leaving somewhere is exhilarating and sad and terrifying only if that place mattered.  High school was difficult, and part of me was completely ecstatic to be leaving it behind...but another part of me knew that things would be different from then on.  Leaving high school meant that I would no longer be surrounded by faces and thoughts very similar to mine; much like Europe, going to college bombarded me with new ideas and perspectives on the world.  High school was a cocoon of safety (mostly) - I was a big fish in a small pond.  With adulthood lingering above me and college surrounding me, I realize that I am a very very small fish in a massive pond.  There is nothing wrong with that; it is very exhilarating...but also completely terrifying.  Leaving high school mattered - it meant leaving a part of my childhood and comfort zone behind.  But if I didn't have the childhood and experiences I did, I wouldn't have the capacity or the will to accept things different than myself.  I am thankful that I was raised to be respectful and open-minded, but also to stay true to myself and my beliefs.

I don't really know the purpose for writing this blog, other than to tell you that just in the past six months, I have learned and grown more than I ever have.  I learned that the only constant in life is change, which is beautiful and exhilarating and terrifying and sad.  But how boring life would be without all of those emotions.

There are No Supermarkets in the Desert

The bright African sun reflects off the desert sand as sweat drips into his eyes. He can scarcely see the faces surrounding him.  The men have rich olive skin with coffee-colored eyes and chocolate hair; he can only see the dark brown eyes of the women- the rest of their bodies are covered by black cloth.  Everything around him is dark - except the sun.  It beats relentlessly.  Josh and his wife, Liz, moved to a 99.8% Muslim city in Africa a year ago, choosing to surround themselves with these people in hope to share Christ with them.  Venturing into the Unknown, they left everything familiar behind to become the only Americans for an eighteen hour radius.  From the moment they stepped off the plane, people noticed them.  Liz, her long brown hair hanging freely on her shoulders, and Josh in his new khaki pants, stood out in the city of poor Muslims.  Some men kept their distance while most were receptive because “in their view, you’re the American.  You’re smart, you’re rich, you have the American dream and you have chosen to take interest in their lives and their culture.”  Spending over a year there and completely immersing themselves in the Islamic culture brought this couple a different view on the people Americans so greatly loathe.

 Being the only Americans, they were forced to learn and embrace Arabic.  Every form of communication, besides talking with their boss, was in Arabic.  For Josh, this was one of the most difficult parts of adjusting.  “I’m not a language guru,” he sighed. “I still struggle with the language. It also makes it hard to form relationships when you can only speak certain words.” However they learned it because that was the key to unlocking new friendships and insights to the Muslim thought process.  If, through this language, Josh and Liz could form new relationships with a people that are so demonized by Americans, then they could overcome any obstacle the language presented.  The people were patient with them.  Laughter over misused words at the souq, the local marketplace, brought about conversations and friendships that would not have happened otherwise. 

Culturally, the Muslims are governed by all things Islam.  “Everything they do is Islamic to the core.  The way they raise their kids, the way that they do business is based on Islam.”  Americans say that this is a terrible and radical way of life.  In some ways, there are negative effects from the Islamic worldview and thoughts.  Women are persecuted greatly. Men always eat before the women and children.  Perhaps the most recognizable degradation to women is the covering, or jilab, they have to wear.  The men cannot “control” themselves so women cannot have any part of their body exposed in public.  Besides his wife, Josh never saw a woman’s head uncovered.  “Not being able to walk down the street and talk to a lady is really different from our culture.”  Beating of women is a norm to the Muslims.  If the woman does one thing wrong, men have the right to hit them.  Very rarely would Liz ever walk the streets by herself.  “In the few times I did go out by myself, I would cover my head and try to blend in more.”

In contrast, while Americans focus on their jobs and professions, the Muslims concentrate on relationships.  “You could be invited over to someone’s house for tea and end up staying three or four hours because it’s not about the time, but the relationships.” Work and schedules are not priorities to them; rather, the men will work in the mornings, then come home for a few hours for lunch with their families and neighbors.  The interaction between people and friends govern their day to day lives.  Although food is limited, Josh and Liz’s neighbors would invite them to their houses almost daily to mingle at dinner with their families.  The evening would often fade into night as conversations between friends were enjoyed over pots of tea.

            Because of their illiteracy, Muslims tell stories of their families or of their religion in order to pass down their traditions and wisdom.  Much like in Appalachia, oral storytelling imparts the history and beliefs of generations of Muslims to younger family members. These times of socializing and bonding with the locals provided perfect opportunities for Josh and Liz to tell “stories” about their faith.  Hoping to share Christ in a way that was natural for their friends, Josh and Liz incorporated stories of the one Lamb who was slain to rescue everyone from a terrible eternity.  They also told several simple Bible stories such as Noah’s Ark or Daniel and the Lion’s Den in order to pique their interests in Christianity. Although the language continued to pose a bit of a problem, their friends began asking pertinent questions about why they believed in God and His Son.  Some chose to reject Josh’s answers because they did not align with their Islamic faith held all of their lives.  Others would sit in quiet reflection, soaking in the new point of view the strange English-speaking outsiders told.  Despite the danger that comes with turning from Islam, Josh could tell some were hungry for more than their culture provided.  The Bible stories bestowed a means to escape a lifetime of Islamic culture and open their eyes to a new Hope.    

Josh and Liz may consider their struggle at language, the strange way of cooking, or people not relating to their stories failures. When they moved, they realized they had to redefine their definition of failure and success.  “If you’re scared of failure, you should never move overseas because you fail every day.”  Even though they were incredibly afraid, they moved to the Muslim city in Africa daring to reinvent the American thoughts of Muslims and to share the Gospel with people who desperately need it.  They learned that there are many faults to the Islamic religious system.  More importantly they learned that all Muslims are not the radical terrorists Americans make them out to be.  They require the exact same necessities Americans do; they want to love and be loved and share in the everyday experience that is Life.     

For the Least of These

So funny story about how God answers prayers.  This year for my birthday I was considering not doing the offering for missions because I was afraid we wouldn't receive as much as we have in years past. (That was stupid because God can achieve mighty things so who am I to doubt His power?)  Anyway, I was talking to Him, and I said, "God, if you want me to do this so I know it's in Your will, send someone to ask me about it. If they ask me about it, I know they are still interested in giving." I waited, honestly not thinking too much about it.  Then Miss Flora Carter, a friend of my grandma's who has been reading my blog and one of the sweetest ladies I've ever talked to, inquired on my timeline if I would still be receiving offering for missions.  I immediately knew this was God's answer to my prayer.  Thank you Miss Flora, for asking me about it.

I tell you all of this for two reasons: one, to share the wonderful power of prayer and the Will of God.  And two, to let you know that Abby and I will be receiving donations for our 18th and 16th birthdays.  We have not yet decided what organization we are giving to, but I will let you know as soon as God tells me :)

Thank you to everyone who has given in the years past.  It truly warms my heart to know that I am surrounded by people who support that calling God has given me.  I know this season is incredibly busy with Christmas shopping, Lottie Moon Christmas Offering, Shoeboxes, and family get-togethers, but I ask this of you because I know we all want to give to people who are so much less fortunate than ourselves.

"Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to me." ~Jesus

Almost Heaven

I have dreamt of visiting the bustling city of London and the rolling pastures of Dublin ever since I was a little girl.  Book after book I've read, transporting me to faraway places that seem so much grander than my home nestled in the West Virginia hills.  This state is my home, generations of my family hailing from the deep “hollers” of Logan and Wayne Counties; but part of me believes I’m not meant to stay here.  This part of me knows that my childhood dreams of England and Ireland will someday be realized.  Little did I know, however, that before I could branch out to these faraway places, my roots must grow stronger in this intimate place of Almost Heaven, West Virginia.    

Deep in the heart of my lovely state stands a town where time has stopped and melancholy memories drift down from the mountaintops.  Lonesome train whistles echo off the mountain passageway as the Shay locomotive rolls down the tracks.  Years after the actual operation of the railroad has ceased, the town of Cass still clatters with excitement as the Iron Horse grinds into the station.  Here, in a town frozen in time, my family spent our summer vacation – not the normal choice of ocean-side views, but one of rolling hills and quaint little towns.  What I would soon realize is the town of Cass and our other excursion sites through West Virginia held stories they needed to tell me.  A bright, summer sun glinted off the coal-coated black train engine, casting murky shadows on our upturned faces.  Tickets in hand, my mother, father, sister, and I boarded the locomotive with anticipation.  All of the covered cars quickly became crowded, so we made our way to the open car beneath the smokestack spitting out layers of speckled coal dust.  I located an empty bench, my family following suit.  A sharp whistle rang from the train, and with chugs and puffs, the steam engine hauled her passengers away from the station on the same track where she hauled tons of timber thousands of times in the years gone by. 

No more than five minutes after pulling away from the station, the tracks to the side of the main line were scattered with broken locomotives, only shells of what they once were.  Seeing the bodies of the Iron Workhorses which transported tons of timber from the mountains to pulp mills forced me to realize how much times have changed.  My ancestors depended on these trains to maintain their lifestyles; today they are simply a scenic destination for tourists.  Life existed in a simpler form then and the nostalgic graveyard of antique trains made me long to be a part of it.  The history of the place stirred a hidden feeling in my heart, calling me home in sepia tones.  A heartbreakingly haunting train whistle hung in the air as we passed, our steam engine paying homage to her fallen comrades. 

Further down the tracks as the slope began to rise, the silhouettes of the company houses came into view.  Blackened with coal soot, the white houses slumped under some hidden weight.  All across West Virginia, families of coal miners and loggers lived in homes identical to the ones standing before me.  The heartbeat which kept West Virginia alive dwelled here.  It occurred to me that coal mining and logging weren’t only occupations, but ways of life.  They were the industries that built and shaped this state – and the people in it.  These coal-blackened company houses represented the hardworking, unbreakable men and women who resided in them, standing strong despite numerous adversities.  My heritage is wound and threaded in humble abodes quite like these.  The houses caked with coal dust seemed to stand much straighter and gleam much whiter, embracing the qualities of perseverance and determination they embodied. 

As civilization faded into the distance, the train slowly ground her way up the mountain.  Lush trees provided shade the majority of the time, specks of sunlight dancing through their green leaves.  Black coal dust pirouetted from the hiccupping smokestack, littering the treetops and train cars like forgotten snowflakes.  I dozed as the birds composed a sweet lullaby with the rhythmic cadence of the industrial steel wheels of the train.  A feeling of peace that I hadn’t felt in a long time enveloped me as the scenery of the summertime hills drifted by the train.  The higher we climbed, the more I knew my lungs would always yearn for crisp mountain air.

Finally, after hours on the train spent daydreaming and reminiscing, our Shay locomotive reached Bald Knob, the final stop at the top of the mountain.  Here the tracks ended.  All of the weary passengers unloaded onto the cool stretch of grass, wanting nothing more than a bathroom and food, but what we saw when we stepped off the train took our breath away.  For miles in every direction, hills and valleys cascaded into a work of art only God could create. Shadows bounced and played over the landscape of farmland and forests, content to tease the shimmering sunshine and soaring clouds.  The varying hues in the landscape below looked strikingly similar to the patchwork quilt my great-grandmother hand-stitched, each square a special piece of clothing from every member of the family.  On cold winter nights, it is under this quilt I find comfort and security.  The view stretched out before me shifted suddenly; no longer did I see mountains and farmland, but a colorful patchwork quilt draped across a bed frame.

You will run for home when your heart is broken, when you long for familiarity, and when you are simply tired of saying goodbyes.  Without a home, you become a hopeless wanderer.  For the longest time, West Virginia was simply a place where I’d grown up.  Now, as I prepare to leave it for the first time, I realize this place, these hills, and the people here have found their way deep into my heart.  With lightning bugs twinkling off the silhouettes of trees and the fiery mountainsides in autumn, I have seen more beauty in my backyard than some see in a lifetime.  The hills are my comforting blanket – they have seen me broken, triumphant, and torn; they have rejoiced with me and they have cried with me.  My roots are now so deep into the mountains’ soil that no matter where I may roam, I will always return to Almost Heaven.   

Through Painted Deserts

Recently, I finished Donald Miller’s Through Painted Deserts.  I would highly recommend this book to anyone – and just saying, I wish I could write like him.  Anyway, in reading this book, I discovered a few parallels in what God is and what He created. 

On the first day of creation, God spoke light into existence.  All he did was say “Let there be light,” and there was light.  He saw that it was good. (He created it, so how could it not be good?)  I know I put this quote on Facebook just a few days ago, but it is the basis for how I came to see things a bit differently.  Donald Miller writes: "Consider the complexity of light in light of the Hebrew metaphor: we don't see light; we see what it touches. It is more or less invisible, made from nothing, just purposes and focused energy, infinite in its power...How fitting, then, for God to create an existence, then a metaphor, as if to say, here is something entirely unlike you, outside of time, infinite in its power and thrust: here is something you can experience but cannot understand. Throughout the remainder of the Bible, then, God calls Himself light."  He is exactly right here.  Light, as scientists define it, is not really matter or waves, but somewhere in between.   Through centuries of study, scientists cannot fully explain the phenomenon of light; yet, even with its unexplainable properties, light is the sole purpose by which we see everything.  Without it, we would be lost in total darkness.  Its importance can only be magnified in the fact that it was the first thing God created.  He did not need it, but He knew that humans would come to depend fiercely on it.  So is the same with our Creator.  We cannot fully understand Him or explain His omnipotence, but we realize He is the Light by which we see everything else.

The second parallel I noticed was love.  Here is another phenomenon, if you wish to call it that, that we cannot fully explain. Some scientists say the feeling we experience as love is triggered by a series of chemicals in the brain.  These chemicals start a chain reaction when we see someone or something that triggers their release.  The mystery is why people experience the feeling of love to different objects or people.  Perhaps it is our genetic makeup or certain environmental factors, but the fact of the matter is, love is the driving force behind the majority of our actions. For Jesus, it was the sole purpose He gave His life for His people.  Several times, the Bible states God is Love.  He is the embodiment of the feeling every human so intensely craves.  We go through this life looking for love, which we usually find in the form of lust and sin.  What we so often miss is that our one true Love is longing for our hearts and souls in a way that cannot be explained.  All the chemicals in our brain and DNA are trying to point us to Love, if we would only bother to look in the right direction. 

Another paradox I believe God intentionally created was the sensation of beauty.  Here is yet another thing we cannot comprehend. They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I think that’s true.  For me, beauty can be found in an infinite number of places in this universe.  Some people claim true beauty is a sunset on the horizon of ocean waves.  Others may say it is the fiery treetops of West Virginia in the fall.  A baby’s innocent laugh or a pure smile is beautiful.  Regardless of what the beholder deems beautiful, I believe God created the feeling of beauty solely to bring glory to Him.  I don’t know about you, but when I marvel at the starlight in a summer sky, God is in that beauty.  Everything beautiful is touched by His fingertips, and you can feel that in a breathtakingly stunning moment.  He created beauty so we can simply relish His perfection.

There are so many other feelings and sensations that I believe God created to eloquently display His wisdom and grace, to make us feel His presence in each of them – feelings of peace, hope, joy, happiness, and faith.  I’m not a theologian so I can’t claim that any of these statements are correct, but I feel deep in my heart that my God knew what He was doing when He spoke light into existence.  Everything is so perfectly mapped out and planned that it’s almost impossible to ignore Him in Love, Light, and Beauty.  In so many ways we as humans have twisted these feelings into worldly and selfish desires.  I wish we all could take a step back and ask why they were created in the beginning instead of how we can reach them.  If we do this, hopefully we can find our way through all the muck and mire to the true definition of Love and Light.

Greater Love

As everyone knows, Thursday was Valentine's Day.  Personally, I hate the holiday and think it is ridiculous.  My thoughts are, if you can't show someone you love them the other 364 days of the year, why change for one day?  That being said, I have a challenge for you.

I want you to make a list of the people you love - the people you would literally do anything for...the people you would lay down your life for.  When I say that, I don't mean it metaphorically.  I want you to write down the people who, if there was bullet coming towards them, you would jump in front of it without hesitation.

Now, make a list of the people you know love you, who would die for you.  Which list is shorter?

For me, the people I would die for is much longer than the ones I know would die for me.  Perhaps it's because we don't express how much we love someone enough.  But I think it's more because people, especially myself, have a hard time accepting love freely because we don't think we deserve it.  We think we are so broken and ruined that we can't possibly be loved.  We really do accept the love we think we deserve. 

But love is the sole reason Jesus died for us.  His profound Love is what saves us from an eternity of suffering.  He showed us the extent His love in giving us everything He had, including His life.  He even says, "Greater Love has no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends." (John 15:13)  It's true that we don't deserve anyone's Love, especially His, but if the Creator and Sustainer of all things still loves us, even with our failures and sins, it's okay to let other people love you.  And it's even better to love others without exception.  Because true love is knowing all a persons fears and failures, yet still loving them.  Jesus showed us that quite plainly.

So for every day of the year, even Valentine's Day, let Love rule. The Bible says,  "If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing."  I guess I'm trying to say is above all else, love unconditionally.  It is what humans long for the most because we are nothing without love. 

Star Breather

Have you ever sat outside and watched the night fall?  Have you ever watched the stars slowly appear in the sky like they were breathed from a thin wisp of smoke? Have you ever seen the moon journey over the treetops, going nowhere in particular?  Have you ever wandered through the lonely winter sky, breathing in the cool, crisp air?  Have you sat outside and simply marveled at the beauty and splendor of God and His Creation? 

It is in those times that God shows Himself to me.  Those times where I lay outside under the winter sky beneath a full moon in total silence, God speaks the loudest.  His voice is but a whisper on the winter's evening, but I can feel Him, I can breathe Him in.  My heart beats slower, overflowing with love, as I can literally feel God's wonderful embrace.  The Star Breather and the Kings of Kings sits with me as I gaze at His vast Creation, and the millions of stars that He knows by name.  Simply, it is breathtaking. 

Honestly though, I'm not sure which is more breathtaking - the vastness of God's creation on display to worship Him or the fact that out of all the beauty and glory and perfection, God still chooses to love me - a tiny, insignificant speck on a small blue dot surrounded by millions of glorious stars...