Homeward bound.

“It is no bad thing to celebrate a simple life.”

-J.R.R. Tolkien

When I wrote the first blog of this journey to South America, I had just finished crying about how I didn’t want to go, wiped the tears from my eyes, pulled myself up off my mother’s lap, and wrote a brave blog post.

Now I sit in a plane taking me home, 7 months earlier than expected, and trying to find that same courage.

You see, I painted a picture for all of you of my YAV year while I was living a different story. Everything I told you is true, you can be assured of that. But I was trying to paint a picture of a brave YAV, a strong YAV, a YAV who looked a crummy situation in the face and said “No job, no friends, no conversations—no problem! Even when my intestines are spilled out on the side of the road, multiple times, I’m laughing!”

For the past four months, I have been living in obligation and shame, trying to create the perfect YAV year. I thought that because people had donated money to support my coming here, that I was letting them down if I was serving God in a country other than Colombia. Although when I arrived, I simply wanted to turn around and head back home, I tried to engage community members, family members, and church members while myself wanting to pull out my hair. I ate all the food that was hospitably offered to me even though I knew with every bite that it was going to be far more painful coming out than going in. And of course, I laughed and I enjoyed many moments here in Colombia. But I struggled far deeper.

I struggled to wake up in the morning. To get out of bed. To take a shower. To go for a run. To smile. To have a conversation. To make it out of the house. To eat.

To put it simply, I was miserable.

The YAV program supports putting participants in challenging, eye-opening situations. Situations that force participants out of their comfort zone. I can, with full confidence, say that I was out of my comfort zone. I was out of my comfort zone when I was asked to pluck the feathers out of a dead chicken we were going to eat in 2 hours. I was out of my comfort zone when I pulled a cucaracha out of my skirt pocket and when fellow YAV Alex and I performed a skit in front of 100 eager youth. But as I stared out the window to a beautiful, warm, sunny day, full of potential, and could only think of how I hoped no one would ask me to do anything so I could just sit on my bed all day, I realized I was not only out of my comfort zone, but I was breaking.

Even though I would have insisted otherwise four months ago, I came here with the weight of obligation already on my shoulders. It’s not something that anyone put there, I loaded it upon myself. I convinced myself that to serve God I needed to be bold, to be extravagant. And so I flew to Colombia, came to live in the little town of Dabeiba. But four months later, I recognized the signs of complete burnout. As I have shared in previous posts, I didn’t have a steady job, nor did I have much to do on an average day. The simple act of taking steps in a direction (in this case, toward staying in Colombia) when my heart and soul were being called somewhere else, led me to the point of breaking.

God used this time that I have been here. And he does not mess around. In the midst of being completely stripped of myself—my personality from comfort of language, my normal outlet for talents and skills, my long-established friendships—I found God. I also found more of who He has created me to be. I learned how to say yes when an opportunity presented itself, even when that opportunity threw me out into the waters. I learned about justice and peace in a society that has been battered by war. I learned about a different sort of vulnerability—vulnerability that comes through not having words, through trying to adjust gracefully to a culture and climate that is different from the one in which I grew up. I was also blessed by a few patient and loving Colombian friends and amazing teammates. God gave me opportunities that opened my eyes to new ways of living, and is making it a bittersweet good-bye. But through this time, I’ve also learned about the destructive power of obligation and shame, and the overwhelming reality of trying to give from a dry well. Although it is hard to leave Colombia (and I hope to return one day!), I know that God is leading me on a new adventure.

I made pros and cons lists that could compete in length with a greedy kid’s letter to Santa. I worked effortlessly to play out every scenario in my head…should I stay? …should I go? But I realized that in all my thinking, in all my praying, I forgot to be silent. After emailing a random friend who I met in Austria about my situation, desperate for wisdom, I sat. For hours. In silence. I realized in that silence I had finally found my answer. In the blankness of mind, when I finally stopped writing mental lists and asking rhetorical questions to God, I found my heart and soul being pulled toward the U.S.

You can be sure, I could have hunkered down and made it through. I could have moved to a new city—a fresh start. But for me, the journey wasn’t about completing the year. By choosing to go home early, I opened my soul, I bore by honest struggles and let God work. I asked for help. I admitted that I came here with wrong intentions. And I let myself be helped.

Getting on planes is one of the hardest steps I ever take. When I stepped onto the plane in Miami, the plane that carried me to Colombia, I was a wreck. My fearless YAV and faithful friend, Sophia, helped usher me on, in spite of my tears and objections, but it was a pesky flight attendant who delivered the final blow. “Bogotá has a much more agreeable climate than Miami!” she enthusiastically shouted at me through perfect red lipstick. Thank you very much, Barbara (I have no idea what her name is), I do not live in Miami nor is my final destination Bogotá, I wanted to snap at her. Why do you have the right to be so nosy?

But getting on this flight to take me home, I found myself alone. After months of this feeling, I am getting fairly accustomed to it. There were no YAVs by my side. No flight attendants injecting themselves into situations where they may or may not be welcome. And yet, I took the steps. They weren’t painful. They were freeing. There were no tears falling from my eyes. As I sat in the darkness of the plane, I realized that we were flying into the sunrise. A fresh start. A new beginning.

This friend who I cornered on Facebook and forced into my situation offered me wise words. She reminded me that we are free in Christ. Life lived in Christ is life lived to the fullest. And it is LIFE. I had already made the decision to return home early by the time I read those words, but I knew that they were words I needed to hear. Life in Christ is free. Context matters to us humans, and recognizing that I need a change of context is an opportunity for Christ to make perfect my weakness.

Although my YAV year looks a little different than most, I still think I am living it. And I intend on keeping my blog. I know that God continues to work in me regardless of if I choose to live in Colombia or the USA. And there will always be adventures to share. I am going to start a new page, “The Beautiful Ordinary” where I share my beautifully ordinary life with you all. I hope you will stay invested. God knows I still need prayers, and I thank you for all the ones you have sent out for me thus far in my life. Moving to Colombia, even if only for four months, taught me a wealth of knowledge I am still processing and will be for years to come.

“Therefore since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. Through him we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God.” 

Romans 5:1-2

Peace.

This word carries a lot of weight around this time of year. It’s an idea that we seek after, something we know is coming, and a concept difficult for us to grasp. We have no trouble singing about it in Christmas carols such as O Holy Night, Hark the Harold Angels Sing, and Silent Night. We toss it around in church: peace be with you, and also with you! This whole season is wrapped around the idea of the Prince of Peace being born in a manger. As some get sucked into the hustle and bustle of the holiday, they still long for a peaceful season. Others focus on creating this peaceful season—bringing family together after a long year apart, taking time off work, building a fire in the fireplace, and playing in the snow.

But what United Statesians (generally) take for granted is the idea of a peaceful society. Here in Dabeiba, we have been celebrating the Christmas season a little differently than I am used. Namely, not at all. My host mom whipped out some top-notch, worthy-of-a-Macy’s-window-display, decorations one night while I stood with the hot glue gun and some sticks I’d found in the street in hand, staring in amazement. I heard mention of Advent in church on Sunday. But in my little town of Dabeiba, there are no vendors selling cinnamon-roasted almonds, no Christmas carolers, no Advent wreath at church, no frantic present shopping, and no children’s Christmas musical. In fact, there has been no change, other than the random Christmas decoration, between September and December. It’s still hot. It still gets dark at 6 and light at 6. There are still mandarins to be picked at the farm and we can still paint the outside of a building. And yet, there is still talk of peace.

It will be of no surprise that Colombia is a country that has seen violence. La Violencia raged through Colombia about 50 years ago and still affects lives today. I cannot pretend to know the details of this period, but I have been able to see, although small, some of the ripple effects. I have seen individuals torn apart and I have seen these individuals’ efforts to work toward peace.

“The work of peacemaking is not about ending conflict, it is about approaching conflict in ways that are constructive instead of destructive.”

David LaMotte

Since arriving in Colombia I have had the opportunity to travel to different peace conferences and see individual Colombians fighting to bring their nation to peace. Colombia has not seen peace in decades and will likely not see peace for decades more. Many Colombians have never lived a day in their life in a society devoid of military presence, displacement of farmers, and land mines. But the citizens are not discouraged. They take steps, they talk, they fight for a country that they can comfortably call their home.

By far the most creative approach I’ve seen is a program designed after award-winning international film Los Colores de la Montaña. Set in the mountains of Colombia, this film accurately describes the haunting brutality of La Violencia. This program, named Los Colores de Mi Escuela, travels to rural mountain schools advocating for peace. After devotions and songs, the students are given a piece of paper and coloring supplies and asked to draw a picture representing their future. Psychologists are there to judge the winners of this coloring competition, but also to help those students who reflect suffering from conflict within their drawings. We play games with the students, we host a talent show, and we show the students that the hope for peace begins within each of us, but it must not end there.

“For the mountains may depart and the hills be removed, but my steadfast love shall not depart from you, and my covenant of peace shall not be removed,” says the Lord, who has compassion on you.

Isaiah 54:10

As we were sitting on my front porch in September, enjoying the breeze and looking forward to the bike ride we had scheduled within the hour, my site coordinator here in Colombia, Sarah, passed out a piece of paper entitled “The Emotional Stages of a Service Year.” I scanned through it quickly and being somewhere in between the phases of “fear/anxiety about what the coming year will bring” and “initial excitement of arrival wears off,” folded it in half and stuck in a folder. The very folder that never made it out of my suitcase. My emotional stages were not going to be defined by a piece of paper. During our Thanksgiving retreat, where the other two YAVs, Sarah, and I met in Bogotá, Sarah asked us to pull it out again and see what we found.

The “Survival Phase” lasts from September to December and is full of new awareness of ourselves and our failures to create the change we envisioned, frustration with community members, and an understanding of the depth of injustice in the world. As of late, I am feeling far from peaceful. Attending peace conferences and visiting displaced farmers has me up in arms, although unsure where to turn with my new fiery passion. I feel even more unsettled as the holiday season is approaching and all businesses and clubs are shutting down for vacations. I spend the large majority of my days reading. When I ask for work and find nothing but a lazy trip to a farm I am annoyed that I am not changing the world. Although I can communicate with others and have almost worked up the courage to answer the home phone when no one is around, I am now able to recognize how far my Spanish is from being perfect.

O come, O come, Emmanuel

And ransom captive Israel

That mourns in lonely exile here

Until the Son of God appear

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel

Shall come to thee, O Israel.

I find comfort with the Israelites. Although my situation pales in comparison to the years spent waiting, I find that I am able to understand the boredom, the hopelessness, the frustration, and the directionless passion they must have felt. And yet we are reminded to rejoice, for the covenant of peace will never be removed.

May we all—from the United States to Colombia and everywhere in between—during this Advent season, be reminded that Jesus is the Prince of Peace. From activism to candles to books to laughter, may we find in our hearts the peace of Christ and may we have the courage to share this with others.

May the peace of Christ be with you all.

Attending a Presbyterian women's conference in Eje Cafetero, the coffee region

Eating coffee ice cream with friends!

Milking a cow at a friend's farm

Learning how to make cheese

Colombians pick out the bad coffee beans and send the perfect ones to the US and Europe, but it sure it delicious!

Feeding a calf!

Was able to join a group of Peacemakers from the US as they travelled to different communities

Spent the Thanksgiving season in Bogotá, so grateful for jackets, pumpkins and mini ovens!

So wonderful to spend time with the other volunteers and our coordinator in Bogotá

Visiting the ocean again with the ladies of the Health Club--we helped some fisherman bring in their catch

Sitzpinkler

Sitzpinkler

[masculine noun] a man who sits down to urinate; a wimp; powerless

origin: german in public bathrooms it was being reported that uric acid was causing damage to the floors. Toilet seats were locked. Men were forced to acquiesce to a higher authority. This has now often been seen as a sign of powerlessness. Or more accurately used in a German insult-throwing context, a wimp.

Why am I telling you a German insult as I am living in Colombia, speaking Spanish, while working for the Presbyterian church to spread love and justice to all corners of the world?

     1. It’s an awesome word.

     2. As I was having a conversation with my host dad/boss, Diego, this week about what my work would look like for the next year, he looked me in my tear-glazed eyes and said “Tú tienes miedo de tí mismo.” You are afraid of yourself. A wimp. Powerless, not because of a higher authority, but because of myself.

Much of my last month has consisted of a combination of sitting, reading, thinking, moping, and random adventures.

I read a book in two days. I visited four farms and picked passionfruit, bananas, mandarins, guava, oranges, and ciruela. I visited Medellín, the second largest city in Colombia, climbed a gigantic rock in the middle of nowhere, spent the weekend staying in a cabaña, and crashed a family reunion. I have been surrounded by kids all asking me to say their names in English. I have watched countless chickens being murdered because word spread through town that, although I am not a big fan of red meat, I like chicken. I have walked to the same bridge countless times at 6:00 am and had interesting conversations along the way. I visited a butcher shop and was so shocked by the culture differences that I wrote a rap about it. I have had amazing conversations with friends from home on Skype and wondered why I ever left the United States. I often have juice at the same restaurant twice in one day. I have participated in many political rallies and have even donned a shirt stating “Soy Larist” (I am a Larist—a follower of one of the candidates). I now have a grand total of about six men with whom I could marry if I so choose, all of them well outside of my generation (older and younger). I went to two different rivers and spent the day splashing about, jumping off bridges, and diving behind waterfalls. I spend the majority of the seven “cultos” (yes, we do indeed call church services here cults) during the week clapping my hands and pretending like I understand when is the proper time to sit and stand. I have found a new love of “motos” (motorcyles). I read a second book in two days. I have started to consider a day without crying a success. I was thrown into the middle of a parade. I stayed with Alex, another volunteer in the YAV program, for three days and considered seriously the possibility that Diego forgot about me. I have been cared for by a group of older women in a Health Club and found friends in them that I did not expect. I read a third book. I have sat for hours and wondered, in my year of service, my year of growing closer to God and loving on the people that He so uniquely and carefully made, where He went.

Each of these snapshots carries a great and wonderful story. A story that, for the past month, I have been unwilling to see. I have been so caught up in saying that “I don’t do anything. I wish I had a real job, with real hours, that impacted real people; all I do is sit on the porch and take coffee at 3:00 pm and read all day.” I have been unwilling to open my eyes to the fact that my presence, walking around the streets of Dabeiba, literally living life with people is in fact what I came here to do.

During the church services that I spoke in before I left for Colombia, I shared this quote by Henri Nouwen:

“More and more, the desire grows in me simply to walk around, greet people, enter their homes, sit on their doorsteps, play ball, throw water, and be known as someone who wants to live with them. It is a privilege to have the time to practice this simple ministry of presence. Still, it is not as simple as it seems. My own desire to be useful, to do something significant, or to be part of some impressive project is so strong that soon my time is taken up by meetings, conferences, study groups, and workshops that prevent me from walking the streets. It is difficult not to have plans, not to organize people around an urgent cause, and not to feel that you are working directly for social progress. But I wonder more and more if the first thing shouldn’t be to know people by name, to eat and drink with them, to listen to their stories and tell your own, and to let them know with words, handshakes, and hugs that you do not simply like them, but truly love them.”  

Although I do not want to admit it, I have been caught in the trap – the trap of planning and organizing, of wanting to see my impact. It is a dangerous trap to fall into. A trap that causes pain and questioning and hurts others just as much as myself. And I think Deigo hit it right on the head. “Tú tienes miedo de tí mismo.”

You are afraid of yourself.

I’m afraid that if I dive into life in Dabeiba fully, I will enjoy it. I’ll make friends. I’ll have to practice more Spanish everyday and won’t have time to Skype friends from home. I’m afraid that if I find God, he will use me. He’ll use me in the ways that I am uncomfortable with. That I’ll be forced out of my comfort zone even more. Isn’t being in Colombia enough? Do I have to interact with people too? I’m afraid that if I take initiative and declare that “Yes! This is an area that I am interested in helping with/planning/participating in/learning” that I will be held accountable to my skills. And what I am most afraid of is that God did not equip me to come here and serve his people. I’m afraid that I am truly am alone. And in that aloneness, that I am not good enough.

But the hope and the truth is that God has never and will never leave me. He lives in me and is constantly empowering me to do good work. The smiles that I somehow muster even though my heart is crying or the patience to listen to another “Ay! Una gringa!” as I walk down the street is Christ in me. I am not here in Colombia alone, without family and friends (although at times that is the easiest thing to believe). I am here with Christ, to do good and simple work.

Do you not know?
    Have you not heard?
The Lord is the everlasting God,
    the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired or weary,
    and his understanding no one can fathom.
He gives strength to the weary
    and increases the power of the weak.

Even youths grow tired and weary,
    and young men stumble and fall;
but those who hope in the Lord
    will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
    they will run and not grow weary,
    they will walk and not be faint.

Isaiah 40:28-31

 

My little town of Dabeiba, Antioquia

View from the top of La Piedra

Friends from Medellín

Sunset in Guatapé, where we stayed in la cabaña

One of the helpers as we were picking maracuyá (passionfruit)

View from the bridge I walk or bike to most mornings

Group of ladies from the Health Club, on our outing to celebrate Amor y Amistad

Using the carruche to cross a river on the way to a farm-my host mom and sister at the front

Bridge I jumped off at a river, to the enjoyment of so many Colombians

Waterfall I dove behind at the river

Some of the ladies dressed up for the parade

Heading out to the pool while visiting Alex in Carepa!

Speed bumps and Mountaintops

Back in Idaho, we call these irritating inventions speed bumps. Here in Colombia they are better known as policías acostados, or sleeping police. They are pretty much everywhere and they come in threes.

"In solitude, we become present to ourselves by creating an open space in our heart in order to understand who we truly are in God; through the service of hospitality, we become present with, to, and for others as we create a friendly space wherein we can reach out to them as hospitable soul hosts; by prayer, we become present to the Divine Presence by creating a free space for God so we can understand and experience God more intimately.”

-Henri Nouwen

1)   Present to ourselves

2)   Present to others

3)   Present to God

1.     Present to ourselves

After a day full of driving, swimming, eating, learning about Alex’s job placement, sweating, and extended hospitality from Alex’s host family, Sarah, Sophia, and I said our goodbyes to Alex, who will be spending the year in Carepa. We hopped on a bus, which took us to Apartadó, from here Sarah and Sophia would be catching a bus at 6:00 am to take them back to Barranquilla. I was having my first lesson of patience in the Colombian culture. Contrary to the original plan of driving back to Dabeiba that night, I was instead staying the night in Apartadó. Looking back, my host mom did warn me that morning that I should bring what I thought sounded like “interior and exterior clothes” in case we didn’t make it back. Assuming the worst and not being able to ask specific questions in Spanish, I figured she meant that the car was old and we would be climbing up a mountain in the dark so I should be prepared if we broke down. As such, I packed nothing more than my glasses and a jacket (which is definitely my Idahoan instincts coming out—there is no need for a jacket at any point in the day around here). After sweating in my clothes all day in the Carepa heat, I continued to sleep in them and wake up in them. I said a sleepy goodbye to Sarah and Sophia and then crawled back into bed, already feeling the effects of leaving my Colombian YAV team. The next morning Diego (my host dad/boss) and I, slowly, made our way back to Dabeiba.

            That is where my exciting and adventurous stories end. Well, this is not entirely true, but what is true is that I have about 6-8 hours everyday to spend doing whatever, alone. The picture above is of my street; I spend a large majority of my days sitting in a picnic chair on the front porch reading, writing, and practicing Spanish.

            This is not the exciting and fulfilling life that I had envisioned when I signed up for the YAV program, and in all honestly it is likely to change. Within two days of my arriving, Diego took off for an international conference leaving me with a couple of phone numbers, some books, and a promise to return in ten days. Before I came I envisioned a full schedule. Now that I am here I am having to figure out what it means to be alone, present to myself. And not only physically alone, but also figure out what it means to exist in a world where I cannot communicate. I am isolated, even when 15 year olds who think it’s hilarious that I can’t speak Spanish surround me.

            
Prayers that in this time of solitude, no matter how long it would last, I would be able to truly understand who I am in Christ.

2.    Present to others

Yesterday afternoon I frantically ran out of the house, hopped in a little taxi, and was driven up to the court where, every Sunday, a basketball tournament takes place. Part of my work here in Dabeiba consists of helping out with the weekly times of recreation that are available, this Sunday afternoon tournament being one of them. As I sat on the sidelines, watching the game and observing the surrounding activities, I saw a chunky boy fall off of his bike a couple times and some oh-so-cool kids shooting off bottle caps from homemade rockets. I saw couples stopping by to say hi as they rode off into the sunset on their motos and I saw a community that laughs and fights and plays together. Walking around the neighborhood surrounding the court, I saw underwear hanging on the line across the street to dry and people out on their front porches fanning themselves and drinking juice together. This is a community where people don’t have secrets and they offer themselves, all or nothing, to the fight to stay alive and thrive.

            Sitting on the sidelines, I was welcomed into this community—welcomed as an English teacher and loved for being one of the first white people to come to Dabeiba and stop to say hello. Although my hospitality is limited—and I often find myself in the home of someone else taking home oranges from their tree because, out of all the plants in their backyard, the only one I knew the name of was orange—I am being present to this community by just being willing to sit and have them laugh at my Spanish and tell them that Manuel in English is still Manuel.

            
Prayers that I would feel a sense of purpose, although at times it feels like I am more of a burden than a blessing.

Thanks Alex! For this picture and the next :)

3.    Present to God

On the road from Apartadó to Dabeiba there is a little wooden structure on the side of the road. There, four or five little munchkins live with their mamá, selling bananas. Every time Deigo and I drive past, we stop and by a bunch. We sit in the car, eating banana after banana and enjoy the beautiful and eye-popping green scenery out of the open windows, feeling like Donkey Kong as we throw the peels out the window.

Before we dropped off Alex in Carepa, we were able to stop at the river to swim. This little oasis awaited us as we got out of the car and walked down a path, crossed a little stream, and climbed a rock. The air was the perfect temperature; the water was perfectly complimentary. And the laughter and joy floating across the water was almost tangible.

After we were pruney and happy, we sat down in the sun to dry off, have a devotion, and eat another banana. God is gloriously creative. He made the trees and he made laughter and he made bananas. And He made all things good. On this drive, on that rock, with a banana in hand, I find that I am intimately aware of the presence of God. Of all that He has done, and all that He will continue to do in this world.

Prayers that I would see God and be intimately connected to Him in all situations, at all times. That I would be able to see God in the speed bumps and on the tops of the mountains.

The Hope to Belong

Update:

We are a little over halfway through our Colombian orientation process and plenty has happened.  We have met with many different leaders within the different presbyteries and enjoyed many fruitful conversations over delicious meals. We have attended a conference on climate change and met with a human rights defense attorney to learn more about conflict within Colombia. We stayed with a host family one night and then attended church with them the next morning and we even swung a vacation day in Santa Marta where I swam in the ocean for the first time! It has been a wonderful and often overwhelming first couple of weeks in Colombia. But I think it is easier to tell the stories through pictures, so I hope you will enjoy the ones below!

Encouraging word:

“Most of us use the terms fitting in and belonging interchangeably, and like many of you, I'm really good at fitting in. We know exactly how to hustle for approval and acceptance. We know what to wear, what to talk about, how to make people happy, what not to mention—we know how to chameleon our way through the day. 

One of the biggest surprises in this research was learning that fitting in and belonging are not the same thing, and, in fact, fitting in gets in the way of belonging. Fitting in is about assessing a situation and becoming who you need to be to be accepted. Belonging, on the other hand, doesn't require us to change who we are; it requires us to be who we are.” –Brené Brown

I have spent the majority of my life fitting in. I know how to make people laugh; I can order at a restaurant without causing a scene. In all honesty, nobody turns their heads when I walk down the street. The desire to fit in here in Colombia is overwhelming. I want to speak the language so I can both understand and communicate with the amazing and inspiring people that I am meeting. I want to wear the right clothes in order that I might not be oppressed by the heat and humidity of Barranquilla. I want to have the courage and knowledge to walk with confidence across the streets so that locals won’t laugh me at as I hesitate too long and then dart across to avoid being hit.

Here in Colombia, I have not yet found a way to fit in. And no matter how intently I listen to the language and attempt to pick up a few words and mash them together to make a point, or how many times I wipe my face of sweat so that others will think I somehow am immune to the heat, the truth is that I will never fit into Colombian culture.

And yet, here I am, in the midst of it all.

And there is hope.

As Brené Brown states in her book The Gifts of Imperfection, life does not become more full or easier simply because we can fit in. In fact, there is a strong distinction to make between fitting in and belonging. As I continually live into Christ and become more of who He made me to be, my hope and prayer is that I will continually feel a sense of belonging within this new community and context.

Thank you for your continued prayers, encouragement, and support. Specific prayers for clarity in God’s will and direction and for joy in the unknown.

Waiting at the Newark airport...

Finally in flight to Bogotá

National Museum of Bogotá

Visiting campesinos who came to protest in Bogotá

Alex buying cheese to make authentic arepas!

El Caribé - first time swimming in the ocean!

Visiting displaced farmers outside of Barranquilla

Well, the adventure that we’ve all been waiting for begins at 7:00 am tomorrow morning. As the goodbye tears are falling fresh every few minutes, I can assure you that deep down I am excited to see what God has waiting for me in Dabeiba, Colombia. He has prepared the way and I will follow. All the details are still fuzzy, but I will keep everyone as up-to-date as I can once I know more specifically what my next year entails.

As for now, I will, despite what so much of my upbringing has taught me, have to be content with getting on a plane that will take me to live in a completely unknown town with strangers for a year. It’s mysterious. It’s thrilling. And it’s terrifying.

My prayer is that each day will be long—full of good conversation and laughter and moments when I am awestruck by the power of God—but that the year would be short. I am taking a step into an exciting adventure prepared by God, but I will never forget my roots and the people that made me who I am today, at this moment, ready to step into this new chapter.

I surrender all, Lord.

I surrender all.