I can't wait for peas to grow

(I wrote this over the summer, and was gently reminded of it by one of my kids a couple days ago. So here it is.)

For the record, what was once a forest in our back yard is now a mildly-successful somewhat recognizable as a type of garden-ish space.

Of course, given that I planted everything so late and since the weather has been exceptionally warm lately, perhaps I can decorate the Christmas tree this year with pumpkins?? Maybe I could even carve an angel into a pumpkin and place it atop the tree?! And you thought angels glow. (Glew? Glowed? What should that tense be?)

This is why people in Upstate New York plant gardens before mid-June. But I lived on a bus, and it's not about the final product right now; it's about the process.

[normal people don't do this]

October 26: Had a surprise interview with Asante in Kampala, Uganda

October 27: Was asked to join a tour for Asante, beginning November 5.

October 29: Packed my bags to leave Kampala, found out that because of the hurricane I'd be delayed two days.

October 30: Asante, yes.

October 31: Actually left Uganda. Spent the night in UAE on the way home.

November 1: Arrive in JFK and learn I indeed do NOT have a flight to Rochester. Bum a ride off friends of my mother.

November 2: Arrive home. Unpack. Repack. Sleep. Laundry. Decide to throw a thank you dinner for my supporters, make a bunch of phone calls, run errands. Fill out paperwork and application for a job I already have a flight booked to get to.

November 3: Unpack more. Repack more. Sleep a little. Prepare for the dinner.

November 4: Church. Make oodles of chapati and other prep stuff for the dinner. Have the dinner. Visit friends. Go home. Finish packing. Sleep.

November 5: Fly to Portland, Oregon. Spend the afternoon with a friend, then get dropped at an address. Knock on the door. Ask, "Am I supposed to be here? I'm Amy." Am welcomed in and later ask, "So, who are you and why am I here?"

November 6: Picked up by Asante director and taken to airport to pick other chaps. Training.

November 7: Training. Ha. Training.

November 8: Pile on bus and head to Idaho. Sleep in hotel.

November 9: Pile on bus and head to Wyoming.  Bus dies. Sleep in hotel.

November 10: Wait in the hotel to hear about the bus. Get flights arranged to fly to Minneapolis the next day.

November 11: Leave hotel early and fly to Minneapolis. [END TIME CHANGES FOR TWO MONTHS.]

And.... now I'm sitting in the airport waiting for the Choir to arrive!

Phew.

i can't think of a decent title for this

Alright, friends.

Here’s the scoop.  If you have been following me on Facebook, you have probably been wondering what on earth is happening to me, and where on earth I am.

Let me tell you: I wake up at what I think should be morning [2am, 4:30am…] and ask those very same questions!

Well here we go, friends, hang on to your seats because it’s been a wild ride! (Actually, you will be fine. I’m the one that needs to buckle.)

here in your courts

Devotions in the African Children's Choir are beautiful times of being together. I miss them. Twenty to thirty to forty or more people; our ACC family, hosties, friends, church members - singing songs they know, learning new ones, and looking around smiling as Luganda or Kiswahilli words unite to praise God and we are reminded of the beauty of culture and language and God's sovereignty and grace that brings us together.

One of my absolute favorite devotion songs has lyrics that decorated my sound board on tour and now my garden at home. 

"Here in Your courts where I'm close to Your throne, I'll find where I belong." 

Where I belong. We spend countless hours trying to figure out where we belong. As if the lyrics implied that the time at His throne would give us an answer like "home" or "tour" or "Africa" or "Haiti" or anywhere else on this earth. 

No. You find where you belong as your knees mark the floor because you are already there. At his feet. In His courts. Where you - where we - belong. 

I love Africa. I have more than loved my time here. I wish it wasn't so quickly wrapping up. But being here does not put me "where God wants me." Being home does not put me "where God wants me." Being on a bus does not put me "where God wants me." 

Living my life with Him in His presence at His throne listening to Him and following where on this earth He choses to place me - 

That is where God wants me. 

tick tock

Time.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.  A couple weeks ago I was convinced the wall in my hostie was ticking because I could hear the clock... but it was nowhere to be found.

Time.

I spent time looking for that clock.  It was driving me crazy.

I heard ticking on the bus a few days later, right after Uncle Garry threw away the clock that didn't work. After roaming around the bus with my ear to everything possible, I discovered the clock.

In the dashboard.

Always ticking.  Oi da.

To God, a day is like a thousand years and a thousand years are like a day.

On tour, a day is like a thousand years and a thousand years are like a day.

February's Support Letter

(Keep an eye on your mailboxes!) 

Dear Friends,

I’m sitting in a warehouse turned Youth Center in northern California while fourteen Africans play what I think is baseball…? But there are no bases, no baseball, and no bat. There are instead four pairs of sneakers in four corners, a tennis ball, and twenty-eight bruised forearms.  In Creole there is a word, “Degaje” – which means to make due with what you have.  I think they’re pretty good at that.  Not always because they have to be – but because they don’t allow their circumstances to dictate their abilities. 

This is the African Children’s Choir at it’s best. 

Time to Hit the Road!

Have you ever sat by your phone and simply waited for it to ring? I mean seriously. Staring so much that your eyes glaze over and your phone ceases to be one and morphs into a blurry mess of many.

But you have no idea if someone is going to call you.

So do you sit by your phone and wait? Or am I alone in this one?

"We used to go to church, but then they started using the Bible SO MUCH."

This past week someone asked me, "Were you the one up there singing last Sunday?"  And so I said yes, that was me.  And he said, "Ahh, yeah, I thought so.  You know we haven't come to church a lot lately, last week was the first time in about 8 months." And I answered, "Oh yeah?" Then came the answer that made me so proud of my church:

"We used to go a lot.  Back when they did more sketches and they didn't use the Bible so much.  But now, it's just not the same.  Bible, Bible, Bible."

And a great big high-five to every single staff member at Crosswinds.

Church should be that way.  It should use the Bible.  "Bible, Bible, Bible."  That's the point.  Learning about it and being challenged by it and worshipping the God that wrote it all.  Together, one big giant family.

I encouraged the person that told me this to keep coming back to church.  I said the Bible is good, it should be used so much - and he said hesitantly, "yeah..."

Dear Crosswinds, kudos to a job well done.

the emotions of fall

I think about my children every day.

No, forget that.

Every hour.  My beautiful African babies that I was so blessed to spend 16 months with on the road.  I miss them terribly, and I have an extremely hard time accepting that it has been nine months since I have seen them.  Time flies by in ways I'm just not willing to accept.  Soon it will be one year since tour.  How does that even happen?

December 6, 2010 we North American Aunties and Uncle stood in the DC airport waving at the top of the escalator as our children disappeared out of sight, and we stood there. Helpless. Tears flowing, hearts full from our time together but completely empty as our precious babies were now on their way back to Africa.  It was cold outside - freezing actually. I remember walking around downtown DC in my ginormous Kermit the Frog coat, enjoying every last moment I had with the Aunties before we too parted ways.

December 6 was easily the single hardest day I've experienced.... maybe ever.

But the days leading up to it, the months, they were beautiful.  Wonderful.

Fall, 2010. It was the best.

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

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.)

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.

I like rocks.

Priscillah Grace Nyambura. The girl loves rocks. Loves. And we've spent a decent amount of time trying to convince her that she doesn't need to pick up rocks. I think as of late, it's been a pretty successful mission.

But she's passed on her affinity for these rocks...

to me.

Currently, there are four little rocks in my coat pocket (the ACC coat pockets are deep - it's cause the manufacturers knew we have children?) Anyway. Four little rocks. And they are special to me. And for a while, I hid the fact that I had these little rocks in my pocket, because I didn't want Little Miss Prisc to regress into her habit, plus, I felt kind of silly keeping rocks in my pocket. My bags are heavy enough on their own, I don't need someone to pick up my coat too and say, "What, are you keeping rocks in here or something?" Because then I'd have to say yes.

But today, reading Joshua, I realized - liking rocks isn't so weird. And holding onto rocks that are special or symbolic to you isn't so completely bizarre. Why? Well, dear Joshua, tell us the story again, will you?

"And Joshua said to them, "Pass on before the ark of the Lord your God into the midst of the Jordan, and take up each of you a stone upon his shoulder, according to the number of the tribes of the people of Israel, that this may be a sign among you. When your children ask in time to come, 'What do these stones mean to you?' then you shall tell them that the waters of the Jordan were cut off before the ark of the covenant of the Lord. When it passed over the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off. So these stones shall be to the people of Israel a memorial forever." (4:5-7)

Then, you see, it occurred to me: God used rocks to help people remember things. "Build a memorial" "make an alter" "sleep on this stone then name the place it rests on because of what happened here" and it goes on. God used rocks. And if I even recall correctly... the 10 Commandments were written on... um... pieces of plywood? Oh, no wait, rocks.

One dear little rock in my pocket is in the shape of an arrow. I found it the night that Faith, Priscillah, Naomi and I were on the bank of a river skipping rocks across the water. Or should I say, the night that Faith and I were skipping rocks across the water and Priscillah and Naomi were finding big rocks and hucking them about a foot into the water (their muscles grow bigger each day, rest assured). And this tiny rock in the shape of an arrow is special to me, because I think of those girls doing those things. It's also special to me because it reminds me of where I'm going. See, on this stay with these girls I had a mini-panic attack in that after tour, I have no idea what I'm going to do. I don't have a job, I don't have plans. I'm going to visit Missy, then... what? I don't know. Collect rocks or something stellar like that. Maybe open a rock shop and make all kinds of money - or rather, open a rock pawn shop. I'll trade you my pretty blue-ish rock for your pretty diamond rock. I'll be rich.

Seriously though. I have no idea what I'm going to do. And so this arrow-shaped rock reminds me that even though I'm completely clueless, God has a purpose and a plan. He knows which way I'm going to go. It's peace in a promise I'm reminded of constantly, thanks to this tiny little rock.

So. Rocks. Cool? Sure. Do I like earth science? Why, no. Not even a little. So why is one of the rocks that I carry white with a blue shimmer? I don't know. But I think it's pretty, and when I look at it, it reminds me of the time when Ruthie picked it up and said, "Auntie, a gift for you!" The same night that I was reminded of the beauty of God's creation as we walked along the shore of the Alaskan Pacific and saw a bazillion magnificently colored starfish littered across the rock wall of the ocean at low-tide (that was tonight... but doesn't it sound more epic if it's worded as though it was long, distant past?) I think so. So that little gifted rock from Ruthie stands to me as a "memorial" of this night.

And I no longer think it's weird, because God used rocks as memorials too.

a holiday, of sorts

(I began writing this when I was home nearly three weeks ago, and just remembered it today...)

Unrest. Peace. Love. Hate. Joy. Sorrow. Goodbye. Hello. Fear. Calm. Worry. Trust. Excitement, anticipation: Relief.

All these things I have felt in the past month and a half - on extreme levels. Learning to trust God with more than what I ever thought I could even experience.

I sit here in my living room at home with my family, getting ready to join my African Children's Choir family tomorrow. For about ten days I have been on the East Coast, visiting my very best friend after she has left her side of the world - about as randomly as I left mine. Together we have laughed, nearly cried, gone canoeing, planned our lives and envisioned what life would have been like if things had actually gone the way we planned them to go. Thank the Lord that He is good and He knows what is truly best for us.

God never gives us more than we can handle - but he knows that we can handle a lot more than we think we can. In His strength we will soar on wings like eagles, we will run and not grow weary, we will walk and not grow faint. How true that is - when the world crumbles around us our strength found in Him never even falters. Matthew 5 and Psalm 91 continually remind me of that truth from Isaiah. Blessed are the persecuted, blessed are those who mourn, they will find shelter in the Lord's tent - all will be well.

I have experienced many things in the past couple years. The joys and sorrows of parenting children that had long, rough histories before I even knew about them is indeed rewarding as well as difficult. My heart burns for Mari Tarez, the dear girl I came to love so much in Haiti. My mind swirls each day with the children I am with now as well as with her. Jumbled in are thoughts and prayers for my best friend, my family, and what on earth I'll do when I get off tour. Fortunately as I soar on wings like eagles, God knows the plans he has for me - so He'll continue to push me with His powerful wind in the direction I need to go. Storms will come and go, the winds get rough and there are times when the skies are clear and the soaring is smooth.

Trials are what make us strong. Going through the fire. Rejoicing in the painful purification process because looking back we can see how far God has brought us. Those shiny spots of silver that were once tarnished reveal just a tiny bit more of the Silversmith's reflection in us.

So with a multitude of emotions, of things these past couple months have presented themselves with, I am thankful. All the time, God is good, and God is good all the time!

inspired

Today I watched a large portion of the movie "Julie and Julia" and though I'm still deciding if I actually like it enough to want to finish it, I'm feeling inspired to write on my blog. Cliche? Yeah, totally. My ways are changing. oi.

It's almost as though I've just finished watching "You've Got Mail" and the sound of Tom Hanks & Meg Ryan's voices slowly speaking as their fingers click through the words are luring me into typing away as though a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils really is that inviting.

Alas, here I am with what I feel is nothing too significant to write about. I cut my lip on a gum wrapper about an hour ago, and I believe that to be a sign of pure talent. I changed the layout of my blog (isn't it pretty?). And I spent almost the entire morning sitting on a couch in a church lobby frittering away my time in the best possible manner, as can only be done on a day off such as this.

The iron is sitting next to me with the sewing kit, two costumes, and a ripped pair of trousers -all begging for my attention. And I think, and think. Technically I suppose I don't know what I'm doing. I hear the church receptionist mumbling away words that surely mean something to those close enough to hear the consonants. The children are downstairs in school, and in an hour I'll have rehearsal with them. I love rehearsal.

There is a certain joy that comes in teaching. Especially when you teach things you love. Lately my main goal in rehearsals is to teach the children to love music. I've been playing songs for them - last time the variety went from Josh Groban singing Ave Maria to the Super Mario Brother's theme song. Training their ears to hear the perfect fifths and the majors and minors and the sevenths and the rhythms - the beauty of the invisible that captivates so many and pulls us into this world of perfect amazement. Like following the wind - you can't see it and you don't know where it's going but the breeze is lovely and carries with it this romance, giving you goosebumps and that breath of fresh air your lungs crave. Music.

Now I should watch August Rush.

I want them to love what they do. Every time they step onto the platform I want them to sing their hearts out - singing the same songs they've sung for a solid year with joy and adoration to the God that created the mystery of music and the beauty that is found therein. Love. Joy. Fascination. Amazement. I want them to have it - for music, and for God. I want them to love what they do.

So... now that I've written something and my inspiration is dwindling... there you have it. A point.

I want our children to love what they do.

one Vine, many branches

Q: What is the difference between an African man and an American man?

A: One man was born in Africa, one man was born in America.

Q: What is the difference between a believer on one side of the world, and one on the other?

A: One believer is one one side of the world, and one believer is on the other.

Q: What is the difference between one branch that is connected to the Vine and another?

A: Nothing.

This struck me the other day as extremely profound. John 15: One Vine, many branches. I think of the grapevines that we have at home - a huge vine with so many branches and delicious grapes that my dad makes into a SWEET grape pie (yes, grape PIE!). One Vine. Many branches. And I picture the grapevines in my head: and I think, "Gee, I really like picking the grapes from the side closest to our house, rather than the ones on the side that faces the neighbors." (Yeah, I have this weird neighbor-phobia thing I inherited when I was little and the neighbor kids threw rocks at my sister and I.) But are the grapes on the side next to my house any better than the ones on the other side? Well, no - so long as the grapes on the other side didn't get squished by flying rocks. Some grapes grow in the shade. Some grow on the top of the vine - some grow on the bottom. Some grow next to thorns. Some grow next to the lilac bush. But all the branches are connected to the same vine. The same Vine. The SAME VINE. One Vine. Have I said it enough? do you get it yet?

What vine? oh, that's right - the same one!

And so I propose to you that in the body of Christ, cultures of this world are about as worthless as a speck of dust in my nose. Are you following me? Grab the tissue box and let's go: (when I was in Geometry my mom said that "proofs" would help my logic skills - and now, I think, I still don't care why that triangle is that way because of the square.... a2'd + b2'd = blah blah. So here is some non-geometry related logic for you.)

If the branch that grows next to the thorn bush is connected to the grapevine, it's still going to grow grapes.

If the branch that grows next to the lilac bush is connected to the grapevine, it's still going to grow grapes.

A fig tree can't produce olives, and an olive tree can't produce figs.

So if the branch by the thorns grows grapes....

And the branch by the lilacs grows grapes...

Don't you think it's safe to assume that they are both the same kind of branch? Quite possibly connected to the same vine? OH. Whhhaaaaa?

I have become a fairly accurate people watcher and people predictor. I could pretty accurately tell you five things about a persons house or personality just by the kind of air freshener they have in their car. I have watched and watched and figured out and made lists and done ethnographies and made predictions and watched them come true. Yet in all my thoughts and processes and lists - one conclusion is the only necessary one. One Vine, many branches. So many times on the drive home I try to make a mental list of the things I think I have in common and can easily talk about with the host - and sometimes I can think of absolutely nothing save our faith. Is that bad? No.

One Vine. Many branches.

Romans 12 puts this into perspective, combining in perfect words the struggle I've had living on a multi-"cultural" bus: "I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual act of worship. Do not be conformed to the patterns of this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect. For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of himself higher than he ought to think, but to think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith that God has assigned. For as in one body we have many members, and the members do not all have the same function, so we, though many, are one body in Christ, and are individually members of one another. Having gifts that differ according to the grace given to us, let us use them: if prophecy, in proportion to our faith; if service, in our serving; the one who teaches, in his teaching; the one who exhorts, in his exhortation; the one who contributes, in generosity; the one who leads, with zeal; the one who does acts of mercy, with cheerfulness."

In Haiti culture shock hit me hard, and in that I had a choice of how to react.

Option One:

Freak out. Take in all the things around me and freak out because I didn't understand them. Then, block them out. Accept the fact that I didn't understand them and tick them off as wrong because as far as I saw past my nose, they were wrong. Then freak out some more, for like, four more months, then fly home and be done.

Option Two:

Freak out. Take in all the things around me and freak out because I didn't understand them. Then, make lists. I made lists in my head of things that I saw in the culture that I did and didn't like. Then I had to take ALL of them and put them through the Bible test. Did what I saw line up with the way God intends us to act and live? If so, who was I to argue with it or dislike it? One Vine, many branches. I could go through and give you examples but I'd rather just get to the point.

Living on a bus with people from four countries can clearly create some worldly culture confusion - even strong disagreements. Recognizing that we still live in this world and we are by nationality Ugandans, Kenyans, Canadians and Americans, we are different. If branches could talk, I'll bet the ones growing on the top of the vine would say different things than the ones growing on the bottom - but only because of their surroundings. Be in this world - not of it. How many vines? Oh right - just One.

Christ gives us unity in the very way that the Church is set up - disunity comes when we get stuck on our surroundings - the way I do things vs. the way you do things. Be in this world not of it, remember? Do not conform any longer to the patterns of this world. One Vine. We are many branches, all connected, working together, raising these children - striving for unity and we are only able to find it when we look to our roots that can't be found in the patterns of this world.

How many vines?

One.

big lessons from a little man

His name? Nehemiah.

God has a way of putting things on our hearts at what we feel are the most random times. Like a few days ago when He said, "Hey Amy, why don't you open to Nehemiah tonight?" and I said, "mmhmm, ok, but I don't see what building a wall has to do with the African Children's Choir..."

Oh my, I mean this short little man and I are like twins, metaphorically speaking.

Reading through the chapters, Nehemiah finds out about the destruction of the city wall, he feels a call to rebuild it, he asks the king to go, the king says yes, he goes, he plans, he builds, he faces opposition, he keeps building. He keeps building. He keeps building until the work is done.

Do you see it yet? Do you see how we're twins? No? yeah. Took me a while.

It clicked in my head when I got to 6:3, where Nehemiah says these words: "I am doing a good work, and I cannot come down."

A few years ago my pastor did a sermon series on Nehemiah, and that verse is what I remember from it. Occasionally it runs through my head when I maybe don't want to do something other than what I'm doing, and I say the verse in pride. As if to say, "ha, as if, I'm busy doing good up here, so too bad, I cannot come down." But sometimes I say it in humility as a personal reminder. "I am doing a good work, and no matter how tired I am, no matter how much I may want to go back home, no matter what anyone else says, I cannot come down."

Building a wall around Jerusalem surely wasn't an easy task. Fifty-two days, chapter six tells us it took. Fifty two days - God had a pretty big part in this - because fifty-two days for a wall around a city is making quick work. (If only road construction in the 21st century could go as quickly.) But the stones were still heavy, the work was hard, with it came blisters, sweat and pain as they worked to restore the wall. But the joy they had in amidst the difficulties, the sense of accomplishment they must have had when they stepped back and saw just a little bit more of the wall completed. Isn't it worth it?

And I look at my life right now; I look at the beautiful faces I see each day, the joy and the hope that is in the eyes of each and every one of those kids, and I see my wall. I am Nehemiah, and the ACC is my wall. Some days the work is easy, some days it is hard. Sometimes I feel that the section I built yesterday came crumbling down today. Some days the work is quick and the party at the end of the day is a grand celebration of the accomplishments. Some days are just average - but I must rejoice in them all. For God has called me to this work - and when I continue to rely on Him, the wall will get bigger. It is good.

I won't be home for Christmas (this year you can't count on me, despite how much I would love to go home for Christmas) and I won't be home for Easter, Thanksgiving, my sister's birthday, New Years, or anything else for a while, but I am where God has called me to be. My wall right now is here, on a bus. I am doing a good work, and I cannot come down.

So you see? Me and Nehemiah, we are twins.

in the course of a year

One year ago today I woke up at the dreadful hour of 3:30 am, boarded a plane and moved to Haiti. Has it really been a year since that day? I remember the moment I stepped off the plane onto the tarmac with no idea where I was going – knowing only that when I got out of the airport I was to look for the tall white man. Crazy? Absolutely. Then together the tall white man (Dan) and I would travel to the guest house where the rest of the whites were, and wake up the next morning only to hop into a blue taxi van and travel to an island where I would make my home for the following six months of my life.

It was on that island where I learned to be content with where I was, what I was doing, where I wasn’t, and what I wasn’t doing.

On that island I couldn't go anywhere alone. I made wonderful friends – some whom I could easily communicate with; others, mmm, not so much.

On that island I learned a new language – seventy-five percent Haitian Creole, twenty-five percent “make noises and hand motions until they know what I’m trying to tell them.”

There I went without the Internet, a phone, television and radio, and sometimes electricity and running water.

Sometimes I think my life was completely crazy.

From that island I boarded an eight-passenger boat with twenty-five other people, four suitcases, a keyboard, a giant bag of charcoal and a pile of tied-up chickens; then watched as the shore got farther and farther away and the man behind me quickly bailed water from the boat with a five gallon bucket.

Perhaps “crazy” isn’t an adequate enough word.

This year on that island I fell in love with an orphan girl named Mari Tarez. She stole my heart away with her broken spirit and her deep, lonely eyes. Through her I was humbled. With her I learned a sliver of what it means to have God as my Papa. Because of her I feel as though those six months of loneliness, frustration, restlessness and growing were completely justified and worthwhile. I’d do it again for her in a heartbeat.

On that island I learned that wonderful security and comfort comes in the simplicity of a mosquito net.

This year I walked the fence between principles and love. What kind of thorny fence is that??

This year Acts 3:6 has made me dance with joy and weep with brokenness. “Silver or gold I have not – but what I have I give to you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, get up and walk.”

This year I spoke the following sentence: “Mom! When I get a bowl of cereal, I don’t have to look for worms in it before I pour the milk!” Funny, the things we get used to doing.

This year I went on a fantastic road trip with my best friend all over New England. Together we spent a day driving & $30 in gas to find a Ben & Jerry’s so we could get a free ice cream cone for lunch, only to wind up at a sketchy gas station in Maine. On this trip we went to Yale. We camped in Cape Cod. We slept in the parking lot of a gas station just inside New Hampshire because we hated Vermont that much. We saw a show on Broadway. We got lost in Boston. We had the time of our lives.

This year I graduated from college. Before April, I couldn’t even remember what it’s like to not be in college.

This year my roommate got married. My sister started college. My best friend moved to Asia.

And I started living my dream.

This year I took up residence on a bus with twenty-three beautiful African children and seven other adults.

This year all the things that God has given me passions for have come rolling together to form the first stepping-stone in my life as a “grown-up” – and it is happening here, with the African Children’s Choir. Music, children, traveling, global ministry, choirs, it’s all here in this one thing. Could it get any better than this??

Looking back at where I’ve been in the course of just twelve months, I can’t believe the kinds of things I’ve done & learned. I feel as though I’ve become an expert at sociology & ethnographies (it’s amazing the kinds of things you can tell about a person by their car). I’ve slept in so many different places & houses I often wake up and have no idea what town I’m in – let alone where the bedroom door is located (an extremely odd, semi-uncomfortable feeling…).

This year I am thankful for opportunities, for the people that God has brought into my life, for the things I have learned, and for the places I have been.

It has certainly been quite the year.