in the storm

I was dreaming about a puppy.

Actually.  And it was a tiny, adorable chocolate lab that my dad had brought home after work.  We named it Yukon Cornelius, even though it wasn't a Golden Retriever (the true plan in the Thompson house right now in our search for a new dog).  Little chocolate lab Yukon was sitting on my lap and I was trying to get the Wii to work, and in a strange combination of the past day's events, Steve Job's resignation altered our Wii's ability to function properly and so I hopped into my little electric motor Jeep, Yukon in tow, and away we went to fix the Wii. But the battery was dying on my "car" so I had to stop at the charging station, but again, Steve Job's resignation altered the charging station's ability to properly charge my toy Jeep's battery, so I went to plug it in again and

Content

Content.

Read that word again.

Do it. Look up, and read it again.

How did you pronounce it?  What meaning does it hold for you right now, in this moment?  Content or content?

Interesting, eh? How those words are the same, yet, not.

Question: Are you content with the contents of your life, right now?

Hmm.  I dream a lot.  I don't mean daydream of things to be or what I want/wish for, I mean I dream, a lot.  Most of the time it's foolish nonsense like oodles of sawdust coming out of my mouth, flying frogs living in the tree house, or how I've become a world-renown baker because of my amazing chocolate cake.

But lately, I've been dreaming about other places.  Places I've been before - Asia, Haiti, Tour.  I'm talking obscene amounts of dreams about other places.  I regularly wake up wondering where I am - not an uncommon thing for me, since on tour I rarely knew where I was at any given moment of the day, let alone when I woke up.  But these dreams are so real, I feel so much like I'm in this other place... and when I realize I'm just at home I find myself disappointed.  Then I ask myself,

"Am I content?"

Truthfully, I don't even know.

Four nights ago I dreamt I was in Asia.  Once again visiting Missy & Carly, taking part in their daily tasks, joining in on the ministry and loving every second I got to participate in the work that they are doing.  We walked through the burned out section of town, talked with a few locals, I went to Russian with Carly, and went to another M's house for church.  When I woke up, I was lonely.

Three nights ago I dreamt that I was on tour again.  I was with our beautiful children of ACC 35, geared up for a concert in Colorado.  Together we had devotions, freaked out because one of the costume bags was missing (which wasn't uncommon in real life), and I made a concert order with Uncle Tony.  We then walked in our two concert lines to the sanctuary where hundreds of people had gathered to enjoy the beauty that is Choir 35.  When I woke up I cried - because it wasn't real.

Two nights ago I dreamt that the compound in Haiti where I lived was trying to integrate itself more into the town around it, and so they were selling the missionary houses, opening up the gates all the time, and putting in another community garden.  I had gone down with Missy to purchase the house I had lived in before, so that I could join in on the projects.  I walked around the house and found myself thinking back on the days when I called that place home - and was so peaceful knowing that I'd call it home again.  When I woke up I was sad.  What a lame adjective - but for the truth.  I was so sad.  I want to be there again.

Often I look around at the people here and I wonder how they don't get bored.  People that have done the same thing every day for years.  Even my dad just celebrated his 25th year at his work.  It's incredible - really, that doesn't happen very often.  But I can't imagine.  It's just not for me.

With all the struggles I endured in Haiti (you won't find them here, but ask me if you like) I thought I learned a piece of what it meant to be content.  In my own words:

It's times like these when the verse, "Be still and know that I am God" are what you need to hear the most, but want to hear the least. One of the biggest lessons I learned during my six months in Haiti was to be content. Content with what I'm doing, with what I'm not doing, with where I am, with where I am not. I spent a lot of time in my house while I lived in on that island: and was it in vain? Certainly not. God taught me more in those early morning hours, as the sun peeked through the palm trees behind my house and into my living room where I sat and read my Bible with a lovely cup of coffee. The warm Caribbean sun in its orange glowing beauty poking through the slats in my windows; God beginning yet another day with his warm breath gently blowing my curtains, whispering to me, "I have a plan... just you wait."

Pfft.  It's awfully poetic as I read it now, but honestly.  I'm not done learning that lesson, and I probably won't ever be.  I do know, however, that I'm more "content" when I'm overseas.  Missy has often said, "If I lived in the states, I'd be miserable." It's not what she's made for.  Built for.  She thrives, and I mean THRIVES when she's overseas.  Asia. Where she is now.  Thrives.  That's not to extinguish a desire to be "home" - with family, friends, in a "world" where people speak your language, you can buy fruits and veggies at the store even when they aren't in season, and where you can worship freely.  But it's just not where God has called her to be.  No sense pulling a Jonah and spending three days in a whale.  Gross.

I'm finding myself more and more realizing that desire and calling God has placed on me to be overseas.  And I know that it's not time to go yet.  And that, my friends, is paining me.  I'm struggling to be content in a place I don't ultimately want to be.  I'm learning how to be content in the waiting.

Content with the contents of life, right here, right now.


"Strength will rise as we wait upon the Lord, we will wait upon the Lord, we will wait upon the Lord..." 

Asia with Missy:

 ACC 35

 Haiti, with my Advanced English Class

You know if you...

... live in NY when there are only two seasons: winter & road construction.

You hate those lists too, eh?  They drive me crazy.  Mostly because they all list the same things, but are about a different thing.  Winter & road construction: True of just about any location north of 38º?  Exactly.

However, in my re-entry, I've thought, "I'm clazy.  Nobody here understands."

So I'm pulling the hypocrite card here and making my own, "You know if you've traveled with the ACC if..." list.  For us Aunties & Uncles out there, you know what it's like.  Now is when you nod in agreement.

Ready?  Alright.

You know if you've traveled with the ACC if:
1.  Long calls and short calls have nothing to do with the phone.
2.  "Countdown!" may be any assemblage of numbers 1-23, give or take a few, on any given day.
3.  You went to Vegas with your own poker chips, except you're cool, so you call them tokens.  You even signed them yourself - and they were used, and they were worth something.
4.  You start many sentences with the word "Even."
5.  "Bag checks" are not verbs, they are nouns. Running, skipping, singing, dancing, lovely wonderful nouns.
6.  You have shaken your cabina in praise to the Lord.
7.  You know what a cabina is.
8.  When you are asked, "Auntier may you pray with me?" you go find a game.
9.  You don't go shopping for khakis, you go shopping for travel pants.
10.  You can hold your susu for exactly two hours, as scheduled.
11.  You have slept in a luxurious bed, on a leaky air-mattress, a couch, a cot, a bus seat, a pew, & the floor, in one week.
12.  You have sung and danced to the same songs every day & night for 16 months straight, and you still love them, somehow.
13.  You were completely lost the first week you went without a minute-by-minute schedule handed to you on Monday.
14.  You had 23 children at age 23.
15.  You want to go to Africa.  Every day. Want to go to Africa.  Want to go... to Africa...
16.  Your current "address" has been two simple characters: V1, V2, V3, or V4.
17.  When asked, "Where are you?" the only answer you can give with confidence is "V1," "V2," "V3," or "V4."  And if you've recently switched, sometimes even that you don't know.
18.  You have translated English to... English.
19.  You have been greeted in the morning by dozens of warm, joyful hugs and asked, "Are you fine?"
20.  You were blessed, challenged, and loved, daily, by a beautiful group of little African children - and they meant, and mean, the world to you.

Yes?

cause for celebration

This life is temporary.

What's that? You knew? You mean, you were previously aware that the fountain of youth doesn't truly exist?

Well, phew. Glad you're in the loop.

So then, death. How's that one go? Permanent, you say? (Insert loud, annoying buzzer to indicate that you are wrong. No money for you, no prize, Vana isn't going to wave her dainty manicured hands in front of a new RV that is soon to be yours.)

Media, phone calls, Facebook statuses, you name it. It hasn't been twenty-four hours yet, and the world is talking about the death of one man. When was the last time that happened? Hopefully you say, "Last weekend!" But for the truth. Probably not since Saddam was killed on December 30, 2006 (and yes, that is my birthday). I hear tell of people in New York dancing in the streets, newspapers claiming victory, a time of celebration.

I must ask though, what events must occur for your celebration meter hit a high ten? When someone diagnosed with cancer is healed, is the meter going up? When you get a new car, are the numbers high? When your friends get married, dial pointing to the right? When one starving child receives food to sustain them, is it a ten? Chances are, no. You may think yes - and go ahead. Argue with me. Sure. Do it. But you know the truth. Because those things, like it or not, are not permanent. You know it's possible when someone is declared cancer free, that it may come back. Your new car isn't going to last forever. You know that the divorce rate is higher than ever. You know that a starving child who receives food will likely be hungry again. Your meter is probably higher than normal, but I'm guessing only an eight or nine. Those things aren't always permanent, and you know it.

But death.

Surely, that's it. The Osama Bin Laden problem is solved simply because he is dead. Over. Fini. The End.

Was evil defeated? Was justice served? Why yes, yes it was. Two-thousand years ago.

Now, I'm at a high ten.

Bin Laden wreaked havoc on our country, our people, our families, and now he is dead. Are we so confident to celebrate, thinking that another will not rise in his absence? Last night a man faced judgement greater than any other. Heaven? Hell? You don't know. You cannot deny that Osama Bin Laden may be in heaven right now. You don't know what happened in those last hours, minutes, even seconds before his death. Jesus uses dreams and visions in the Islamic world in powerful ways, often called hallucinations over here in the West. We can be so pathetically scientific.

And if he is in Hell, dare we celebrate at the face of a man now suffering eternal damnation? Sick.

Is it possible to pray for the soul of a man to be saved - quickly - before the troops we're also praying for shoot him dead? Was Jesus kidding when he said, "Love your enemies, and pray for those that persecute you"? Did Solomon have a momentary lapse in wisdom when he wrote, "Do not rejoice when your enemy falls, and let not your heart be glad when he stumbles"? (Luke 6:27, Proverbs 24:17) I agree with the criminal justice system. I believe it is God's place to judge. I believe justice must be served. I believe forgiveness is required. I believe there is a time for peace and a time for war.

This, friends, is not the end. For us, for them, for him.

So will I celebrate?

Christ defeated death. Through him there is eternal life in Heaven.

How about we celebrate that.

around the world and back again...

And now I have culture shock.

ish?

Dear Peter Jordan, would you consider revising your Re-Entry book so as to include a chapter called "How to Talk to People You Might See Again"?

That's right, I've completely lost my ability to talk normally with those that I could potentially see on a regular basis. Tour life has conditioned my social skills in such a way that I've become excellent at talking to those whom I know I will never see again. Why? Because I don't have to remember what they say. Call me shallow? Okay. But I challenge you to stay in a different stranger's house almost every night for sixteen months and remember everything you hear. Ooooooo.

Now, quickly, if you're looking back on my last post and wondering what has happened to me in the past few months since my children went home... know that I miss them and the team more than I'd miss my toes if you cut them all off. There's a reason I didn't "blah-g" about it... okay? Okay.

But now that I'm home for good (mini-jaunt to Asia for a month post-tour was lovely but totally postponed my "re-entry" period), I feel like a fish out of water, or better yet, that bird from Rudolf that swims: I'm most comfortable/I belong on the island of misfit toys and yet Santa has taken me away to live in the real world! I'm completely lost in my own town.

So if you've talked to me in the past week or so, the conversation may have gone something like this:

You: "Amy! Hi! Are you back now?"

Me: "Hi. Yep, I'm home, this isn't a hologram."

You: (awkward laugh) "Well it's good to have you back."

Me: "Yep, good to be home.... "

You: (feeling a bit awkward due to the lack of normal conversation, you're probably wondering why I'm not asking you how you've been etc., but truth be told I'm probably so antsy in my fear of what you'll ask/say that it hasn't come to mind to ask you anything, let alone how you are) "Ooooh-kaaay... Well have a great day!"

Me: "yep, you too, k bye!"

----OR----

You: "Amy! Hi! Are you back now?"

Me: "Hi! I am back! So how long have you been around here?"

You: "Um... well I've been here since 1823..."

Me: "Oh good, good, so is your family around here too?"

You: "Um... my kids..."

Me: "That must be nice to have them close. How old are they?"

You: "Amy? Amy? Are you okay, Amy? You've known me since you were 5, Amy? Earth to Amy?"

Me: (run.)

Observations?

From the first:

1. I probably forgot your name. OR, I never knew you and you just saw my name/face somewhere and are kind and brave enough to come talk to me and welcome me home. Either way, I salute you. I apologize for my memory failures/lack of social courage.

2. If I forgot your name, or if I never knew you, I probably feel like at some point I knew your name and you, but, I've forgotten, therefore I'm afraid to ask questions that I may or may not be expected to know the answer to, and am therefore afraid that I'll offend you by exposing the fact that I actually know nothing about you.

3. I get really excited when I'm uncomfortable in a conversation and it ends. Don't be offended, please, Oscar the Grouch was less grouchy when he said goodbye, and it was nothing personal, it was just him.

From the second:

1. I've reverted into tour-mode.

2. You may wonder if I'm really listening to you. Rest assured, I'm listening. The conversation may have gone on for a while with me asking great questions. I am definitely listening. I may even say a prayer for you before I go to bed, I may remember some profound truth from the conversation and write it down. No doubt about it, I'm listening.

3. Tomorrow, or perhaps the day after, I may not know you from Adam (or Eve).

So note: I believe I'm experiencing culture shock in an incredibly odd way. Please don't hold it against me that I might be awkward or rude or even stand-off-ish. I'm working up the courage to come and say hello to you, but I'm like the Cowardly Lion and I haven't quite reached the Wizard for my courage. I'll get there, the yellow brick road can't go on forever.

(Side note: If you know who I am but you know I don't know who you are, please, I beg you, pretend like you don't know who I am, or you'll just slow this whole re-entry process down and I'll probably pretend my phone is ringing or I'll suddenly really have to go somewhere or something will happen to get out of the conversation. Just so you know.)

ouch, my heart.

I successfully woke up at 4:58 this morning. I went to the boys room to greet, and went up the stairs wondering, "How? How does this go? How many times can I hug them before they actually have to get in the car?" Haha. Several hugs from ALL the boys and about 6 hugs from Jonah and Reagan later, the two piled into the car and I got in the driver's seat and said, "Who's ready to go to New York!" Jonah shouted out, "ME!" I wish. I stepped out and waved goodbye with tears in my eyes, as the rest of the chaps and I watched Uncle Craig pull away to the airport with two huge pieces of our hearts. Stacy and I then got in the van to start a mad shopping trip to fill all the holes in the children's suitcases. The combination of over exhaustion and being emotionally drained led to some very hilarious situations, for example... I laughed so hard I cried when Stacy didn't think Target was open because the lights on the sign weren't on. The sign doesn't have lights, and upon this realization, we spent 4 or 5 minutes sitting in the car laughing so hard I had to use two napkins from my bagel to wipe away my tears and blow my nose. We then walked in and noticed the phone books sitting next to the automatic doors, so we delivered them along to Customer Service. We also chatted it up with a man from the UK in front of the un-open Payless across from Panera. I asked him if he wanted to make the store clerk feel pressured to open up early with us as we stared in the windows, he just said that the store here wasn't as good as the parent store in the UK. Maybe that meant no?

All in all we had a successful shopping morning and the children are fully equipped to go home. Their bags are almost all packed, their things are getting in order, God is preparing all our hearts for the days to come. We can do it. We have been blessed with these children: to teach them and train them and love them so that they can go back to Africa and do the same to others.

Stacy also told me that the reason the pages in the book from last night were missing:

Some of the boys wanted to write Jonah and Reagan notes before they left. And they didn't have paper, but they had a Madagascar book.

I love our kids.

the end has come

The night should be over.

I should have been in bed hours ago.

I shouldn't be writing this right now.

I'm getting up in 4 hours to say goodbye to two of my children. And yet, it's like I can't go to bed. I sort of figure... that at this hour, if I sleep for more than 4, I'm going to get further into a rem cycle and it's going to be harder for me to wake up. It might however, be hard for me to fall asleep... as I've been sick lately and Nyquil makes the night so peaceful :) But I actually want to wake up to see the boys off in the morning.

I don't know how to say goodbye. I'm 24 years old and I'm about to experience an "empty nest" as I learn to adjust how to live without children that weren't mine in the first place. My face is stained with tears from this morning that I've been too busy to wash off. The house is a mess, there's a cake sitting out on the counter uncovered and the ant/fly problem in this house will automatically deem the ginormous platter of chocolaty sugar inedible by morning. It's okay though - we wouldn't have eaten it anyway. Just like the cake I made the other day... when I made two cakes instead of one. What was I thinking? And why do we use cake to celebrate? Fireworks are so much better. And how many people actually like cake? If it doesn't come with ice cream, why bother? And the ice cream just makes it soggy. But this is not about cake.

Tonight I went up to the boys room to say goodnight and I found myself climbing on the top bunk with 6 of the boys to read a "Madagascar" story book that at least three of the pages were ripped out of. The story made almost no sense, and it was part of a little kids mini series, so it didn't even end: the story just kind of.... stopped. It'd be like the story of the three little pigs, and the book ended on "He huffed and he puffed and he blew the." House down? What? No. The End. But the boys and I were nestled all in as I read the book, and I loved every second of it. Come Monday night, I won't get to read with them anymore. I won't get to climb onto the top bunk and be surrounded by six of the boys as I read a book that doesn't make sense. I don't know how to handle that.

I think about home and I am so excited to get there. I'm excited to sleep in my own bed. I'm excited to throw/give a ton of my stuff away (living out of a carry-on size piece of luggage has been lovely, and though I wish I had thought about the color selection a little more [almost all black....] ... simplicity is lovely.) I'm excited for Christmas at home. For freedom to do what I want when I want. Bathroom stops are no longer scheduled. Woah.

We are all ready to go home: but that doesn't mean it's easy. Aslan, it makes me think of Aslan. Is He safe? No, but He's good. Is it easy? No, but it's good.

Lord, give us the strength to get through these next few days. Help us persevere. Help us be strong examples for these little children we love so much, in our times of weakness see us through. Thank you for what you have given us. Thank you for Choir 35.