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.

Vaseline.

Ew. That clear petroleum jelly known for its moisture locking-in qualities, slimy gooey-ness that makes me think of dancers and teeth.

This is Faith.

Notice the shine on her lips? That's right, it's vaseline.

And today, my lips are just as shiny, because each time Faith stays with me in a host family, she makes sure I'm all glossed up. If it makes her happy, I'll dab that slimy stuff on for her. Dear Faith, I love you.

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!

a world of strangers

I'm craving a life I'm not currently called to live.

Each night I climb in a car to go home with any number of complete strangers. We are introduced, but conveniently enough because of the children, 'Auntie' and 'Uncle' are the names they usually go by (which saves the embarrassment I have had in the past by calling tonight's host by the name of last night's host). It's a life full of strangers, every minute characterized by a very obnoxious, talkative worm that seems to live in my head - always saying things like "Why does it matter, when tomorrow you'll be gone?" There's a new kind of wall being built up around my heart - for better or for worse - because when I become "friends" with people I meet - in a matter of days or even hours, they go back to their normal life and I climb on a bus - and we'll probably never see or hear from each other again until we are together in Glory. Perhaps even, I think we've gotten along really well and as I'm contemplating giving my email address to them to keep in touch - they casually wave goodbye and once again I am a passing phase. It's not easy (being green - especially now, and yes, I use plastic water bottles, but thirty people on one bus - how many emissions are we saving the planet by carpooling across North America?) Anyway, it's not easy living this life. Almost every night a new house, a new family, a new set of names, a new bed, a new bathroom, and a new set of stairs.

Stairs. How bizarre that I notice the stairs. I'm one of those people that counts steps. Does that make me OCD? Perhaps. At home there are thirteen steps, a set of eight, a landing, then five more. And as I walked up the stairs at my host family today, arriving after a lovely day off - I carried my bag up to my room for three nights - and I didn't count eight and five. And as I counted I thought to myself, "This is something I always did at home. Got home from work, brought my bag up to my room, counted the stairs on my way, then went down to sit with my family." People I knew. People that when I sat around the table with, I could call by name. "Hey Miss, can you hand me the chicken?" instead of my now formal and impersonal "Excuse me Uncle, would you mind passing me the chicken?" My cordialness leaks a sense of oddity as my bag sits on a stranger's bed that's wearing sheets and a duvet cover littered in large, brightly covered flowers. I miss my solid colored walls and my snow white comforter at home - the lack of patterns and visual business that cloud my head and eyes with rainbow vomit. Who thought floral print was a good idea?

I think about all this today, because I had an absolutely lovely day off with very wonderful people I know from home. Though it's been a long time since I've seen them, it was a breath of fresh air and a taste of home. I climbed into the car with them this morning and immediately felt as though I'd stepped back into my other "life" - driving through the streets of "Canandaigua" with two friends that I have looked up to greatly for as long as I can remember. It was familiar.

"Familiar" I've come to learn is a very powerful, very important word. And how nice that it's so close to "Family" - Familiar. Family is familiar. The twenty-nine other people I live with and the bus we all live on right now is the only close "familiar" that I have - and they have become to me a very special family. Here. But every now and again I wish that when I got "home" at night I'd count the same eight and five and sit down with people I've known for more than nine months. Living through each day knowing exactly where I was and where I was going to rest my head that night. Someplace familiar.

And yet each night as I lay my head down in whichever house I happen to be in, I know that God has called me here for such a time as this. Though sometimes I think I'd give just about anything to go home to the familiar, I'm not willing to give up this family. I, along with eight others, are interim parents for these beautiful children and each day is an opportunity to teach and train them in the way they should go. The craving I have for a life of non-nomadic "normalcy" is significantly dwarfed by the craving I have to be with these people, these children: this family.

And so I pray, "Right now, Lord, here I am, for such a time as this."

Michael W. Smith!

Last night the choir got to sing with Michael W. Smith! They did fantastic a fantastic job, and we all had so much fun!

this always makes me smile.

My favorite part is Stella at the end... seeing what she would look like if she was large. This may be her only time to see that. Ever. And she's hilarious.

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.