Floundering by grace.

"But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weakness, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weakness, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong." (2 Corinthians 12:9-10, ESV)


Flounder, v: to struggle with stumbling or plunging movements, to struggle clumsily or helplessly.

Also known as...

Flounder, v: the story of my life back in America.

I can't tell you the number of times I have walked away from an encounter and been horribly embarrassed. Either because I didn't know the appropriate way to respond in an American culture, or because a machine or device bemused me more than my brain could comprehend.

Like the time I tried to park in a parking garage, and instead of pushing the clearly labelled button for a ticket, I chose to stick my debit card into the ticket dispenser. Obviously that was the only logical thing to do! After over a minute of panicking, the parking attendant came over, rolled his eyes at me, then fished my debit card out of the machine and got me a ticket. I was mortified.

But no matter how many times I do silly things, or how many times I see the blatantly unnecessary and luxurious things Americans have and do that make me feel even more out of place, God has been good to show me his grace every step of the way.

And he has been determined that I understand his persistence to be faithful to me, and to bless me beyond my wildest dreams. He has given me a place to serve in my church, he has given me a community of incredible people to grow alongside, and he has given me a full time job that I have done nothing to deserve.

Even though these last two and a half weeks have been full of floundering, I have come to see this floundering as a gift of grace. God has allowed me to grow to love a people on the other side of the world, who are so different than what I was used to. He allowed me to fall in love with Nepal, with the culture there. And he gave me my kids, the greatest gift of all.

And so it doesn't matter how hard it is to adjust to America, and believe me it's hard, or how many times I feel dumb for not remembering how to do something. It's all a part of the incredible journey that he has me on. And if he was faithful to get me through the navigation of a foreign culture, I believe that he will get me through the uncomfortable task of relearning my passport culture.

God is always good, and he always warrants glory. I can only hope that somehow my floundering can bring him the glory he so deserves.

Home, sweet Seattle.

God bless America.

When I stepped off the plane into SeaTac airport on Tuesday afternoon, greeted by glorious gray drizzle, one of my travel companions turned to me and said, "Can you smell it, Megan? That's the smell of freedom and indoor plumbing."

Freedom smells good.

But it also smells intimidating. Unfamiliar. Advanced. Different than I remember.

I came home prepared for a fierce battle with reverse culture shock and re-entry struggles. I anticipate days when I sadness and anxiety will leave me crippled on the couch with no ability to function normally for that day. I am prepared to deal with difficult situations where the changes that God has made in my life come head to head with American culture and consumerism.

However, I have been unprepared for the most simple of things that I face everyday that are both intimidating and frustrating.

Things like the shower. It's strange, but I have to admit that the shower in my childhood bathroom is a bit scary! There is one knob, and trying to remember how to use it to make the warm water come out, and to come out of the shower head not the faucet, was a bit trickier than I thought it would be. And goodness, does that water come out fast! And it's everywhere. Once you're in the shower, there is no where to go to escape the fierce water pressure. The practice of continual spitting throughout showering won't be easily eradicated, either! My brain tells me the water is safe here, but my body acts otherwise.

And light switches. They are the opposite in America as they are in Nepal. My brain is trained to flip down to turn the lights on, and the many seconds it takes my brain to remind itself to try an upward motion with my hand can be embarrassing!

Driving is a whole different beast here than it is in Nepal. For the last year I have been living with few to no street rules. You bob and weave when and where you'd like, following the chaotic ebb and flow of traffic. You honk at anyone and everyone, and you have the choice of driving on the left or right side of the road, though technically the left side is the correct side. But here there are wide streets with dotted white lines that are more than suggestions, stop lights and stop signs that must be obeyed, and speeds that, in my mind, border on insane.

I am looking forward to experiencing more "America-isms" that will present themselves with time.

Readjustments will be made, however slowly, and my old normal with eventually become my new normal once again. And throughout this whole process, I can't ask enough times, in enough different ways for your prayers and patience. I will need your help to fully re-enter my passport country and it's now foreign culture.

93 pieces of my heart.

"As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you. Abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father's commandments and abide in his love. These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and your joy may be full." (John 15:9-11, ESV)


I don't know about you, but I like to try my hand at reasoning with God from time to time. I like to let Him know that my way would probably be better than His way. Because, after all, I know my life better, right?

I did a lot of that this last week. A lot of yelling at God. Making sure He knew how I was feeling. What I was going through. I did my fair share of crying, too. Pouring out my broken heart to the only One who can mend it. And most of the time, it felt like a futile mission.

I repeatedly told God that it was HIS fault I was here. I came to Nepal because of Him. He made me do it. I didn't even want to come at the start of it all, but I followed through with it because I could feel God calling me to this place.

During my time here, God had changed my perspective. He gave me friendships to cherish, kids to love on, ministry to do. And I fell in love. I grew attached.

And now that the time for me to leave is drawing near, I have become angry with God again. I can't tell you the number of times that I told God, "You brought me here. You caused this. It's Your fault that this hurts to much. And if You made me do it, then You need to take the pain away!"

It seemed logical to me for a split second that, if God called me here, and made me do this, it shouldn't hurt so bad. He should have protected my heart, shielded it from growing roots here.

It was easier to throw the blame on God, to have scapegoat, than to actually face what was happening to me. To deal the with situation and the emotions I was feeling.

Amid all my yelling and blaming, God reminded me of a very important word...

Free-will.

He didn't MAKE me come here. He didn't FORCE me to form friendships and love on my kids. Yes, God called me to come here and serve, but I was the one who chose to follow through with it. I was the one who chose to leave my home and forge a new one. I was the one who decided to love these kids recklessly.

So, who is to blame for the heartache, but me?

And who is to say that heartache is a bad thing?

Winnie The Pooh once said, "How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard?"

These kids and widows have absolutely stolen my heart. And now I'm leaving it here in 93 shattered pieces.

But looking back on the time God has given me to love on them, there's not one hug, one smile, one giggle, one tear, or one relationship that I would trade for the world. Let alone 1/93rd of my heart.

How lucky am I?

Ups, downs, and lasts.

"But I will hope continually and will praise you yet more and more." (Psalm 71:14, ESV)


What a whirlwind week it's been! Sunday, my roommate returned home from a 3 week trip out in some surrounding villages. We were able to spend the next few days together catching up, having fun around town, and making up for lost time.

As the week progressed, I found myself becoming more and more despondent. I watched my temper fuse shorten to a dangerous length. Thoughts of leaving Nepal filled my mind.

The people I will miss, the experiences I won't get to have another time, the culture I will be leaving behind.

It all came to a head Friday morning in grand fashion.

My roommate had gone to her office for the first day this week and that left me by myself at the flat. That's never been a problem, I have always enjoyed what we call "i-time." Or, the time I have to relish in my introverted nature.

I was working on my computer one minute, and next thing I know, I was a puddle of tears on the living room floor. No clue how I got there, no idea what triggered my dramatic flare of emotion. All I know is that it was brutal.

The next several hours were spent in vacillation between complete calm and indifference, and sobbing uncontrollably. It was exhausting. And quite confusing.

I attempted to sort through some of my clothes to try and distract my mind. I ended up sitting on the floor with a glass of water.

I survived the rest of the day in relative peace, only to be bombarded by the same emotions the following day.

Saturday was yet another last for me... My last girls club. This youth group has been my baby, my pet project. The highlight of every month.

To celebrate our last time getting together, I invited the girls over to my flat for a different kind of girls club. We ate snacks, did facial masks, and had a grand time.

My girls with their mud masks. I've never looked so white.

At the end of our time together, they all stood and sang me the sweetest song. It talked about how sad they were for me to leave, and that they will hold our memories in their hearts forever.

Oh, the emotions.

These girls are my heart, and yesterday it felt as though it was being ripped out of my chest.

They made me a poster with sweet notes from each of the girls. This has a prime real estate spot on my bedroom wall.

I know that all good things must come to an end at some point. And girls club was a VERY good thing. But that doesn't make it hurt any less. And it compiled more unpleasant emotions in my heart.

If leaving is this hard already, I can't imagine what heart ache the next 3 weeks will bring. I wish I could slow down time. I wish I could stop the painful process of leaving. But I know, and trust, that behind every challenge and trial is a lesson. Something that will help to form me more into the woman God desires for me to be.

T-minus 30 days.

I will be leaving Nepal in ONE MONTH. I don't think that I have words to describe or express to you how incredibly bittersweet that is for me. Yes, I will be returning to my passport country, my first home. To family and friends and familiarity. But I will also be leaving behind my adoptive country, my second home. My new family and friends, my new normal.

There were many moments, and some times those moments lasted days, over the last 11 months when I thought I would never see America again. When it felt like the end would never be in sight. Yet, here I am. Almost finished with my time here, and far more captivated by the terror that it's actually ending than the terror I felt when I thought it never would.

But instead of wallowing in fear, anxiety and trepidation, I want to celebrate. Celebrate the amazing people I have met, the incredible experiences I have had, and the unforgettable memories I have been given.

So, to highlight my new normal, here is a list of things that I will no longer be doing in a month....

• Chatting with my Didi over chiya every Tuesday and Thursday
• Riding, un-seat-belted, in taxis barreling down narrow alleys
• Letting my girls play with (really, pull out) my hair
• Bartering for EVERYTHING I buy
• Trying, and failing, to eavesdrop on the Nepali conversation happening at the next table
• Teaching English to my kids
• Being ogled by Nepali men
• Catching up with the corner grocery man when I go shopping
• Visiting with our widows while they bake (and sneak me treats)
• Using my pinky finger to indicate I need to use the restroom
• Closing my eyes, holding my breath, and saying a prayer as I cross the street
• Bouncing around on the back of a motorbike with no helmet
• Waggling my head to indicate assent
• Talking to my kids about Jesus
• Feeling outrage at the price of a can of tuna ($2.50) vs the price of a kilo of asparagus ($1)
• Entering the shotgun seat of a car on the left side of the vehicle
• Pointing at things with my lips and nose instead of my fingers
• Watching the regularity of (or lack thereof) my bowel movements to determine my health status
• Buying out the grocery store's entire stock of refried beans, who knows when you'll see them again?!
• Falling asleep to the symphony of barking dogs, honking horns, and restaurant karaoke 

What an incredible gift I have been given, to spend the last year in Nepal. To grow in ways that weren't feasible to me before. To be closer to becoming the woman that God desires for me to be!

There have been good days, bad days, days when I just sat and cried, and days that I never wanted to end. And through it all, God has been my Rock. My fortress. My joy, shelter, friend. My Lord.

As it comes to an all too abrupt ending, and I face the uncertainty of what comes next, I believe that God will continue to be those things for me.

I am forever grateful for the friendships I have formed, the cultural mistakes I have made, the kids and widows I have loved on. These are memories I will carry in my heart. And memories that I will continue to make until my last day.

The brightest blessings.

"The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace." (Numbers 6:24-26, ESV)


Holy heartbreak, Batman.

Today was my last day of teaching English. The day that Megan Miss went into retirement. Easily one of the toughest days I have faced during my time here in Nepal.

The hard part wasn't that I had to stop teaching, honestly it's a bit of a relief to have the weight of their English education lifted off my shoulders. The hardest part was walking out of that school knowing the impact those kids have made in my life, and realizing that there is no way I could ever repay them.

When I started teaching back in April, I went into it with the attitude that I could really teach these kids something. That it was good they could have a native English speaker to teach them proper grammar. I allowed myself to believe that somehow I could be a blessing to them.

And little by little, incident after incident, God humbled me. He showed me that while I had the intention of blessing these sweet kids, He had the intention of smothering me in blessings more numerous than I could count.

The cunning wit of Class 5, who never fail to bring a goofy grin to my face.

The smiles and nervous giggles that were responses to jokes my kids didn't quite get.

 

The wildly enthusiastic greetings I received when I walked in to teach Class 6.

The days when it was more fun to tease each other than it was to learn.

The catch-phrase Class 7 and I would say when no one wanted to answer the question. "Anybody? Nobody?"

The hands I got to hold each morning when I walked our Nursery kids to class after chapel.

The obvious desire for knowledge that class 8 showed on a very regular basis.

The bliss that filled my heart whenever I was with my kids.

These kids taught me about patience, compassion and having a thirst for God. They made every moment I had with them memorable. They brightened each day that I was able to spend with them.

And as I walked out of school today, and resigned from, quite possibly, my favorite job, I found myself smiling amidst the tears. The time I had to spend with them was a very special gift from God. Time that I wouldn't trade for anything in this world. I am so beyond thankful that God called me out of my comfort zone to step in front of these classes and assume the roll of teacher.

And I am more glad that He has given me peace in the ending of it. It feels finished.

Here's to the next month of loving on my kids, and the blessings that it will bring.

Initiated, at last.

"Two are better than one, for they have a good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow. But woe to him who is alone when he falls, and has not another to lift him up!" (Ecclesiastes 4:9-10, ESV)


This week, a childhood dream came true. I joined a gang. And not just any gang, an exclusive Nepali gang.

Over the past year, I have seen this gang of four hanging around my neighborhood. They lurk behind people, wait for them outside of stores. But people seem to ignore them. Turn their heads when the gang approaches, pretend to not notice they are being followed.

Let me explain.

This gang is made up of four very young street kids.

I see them around in my neighborhood maybe once every month or so, and they stick around for a day or two. Each time I see them, I make a point to buy them a juice or some cookies, and we sit on the curb together and chat while they consume their treat.

What they really want, and what they ask for, is money. But I'm not comfortable just handing out money, and they have never said no to a snack!

This week I saw them for the first time in almost 2 months. I was so excited that I crossed the street to go talk with them. They recognized me right away, quite possibly because I'm the only white person who comes running up to them yelling things in Nepali.

We all held hands as we walked to the corner store, and they waited outside while I bought us all mango juice boxes. Then we sat together on the sidewalk while we drank.

I had never asked them any personal questions before, I didn't want to make them uncomfortable, or get too deep too soon. But this week I decided to dive right in and see how comfortable they are with me now.

I asked them how they knew each other. The oldest, a boy, and the youngest, a girl, are brother and sister. Krishna and Vishnu. The two boys in between are friends. They met when Krishna and Vishnu's parents passed away, and they went to live with the family of one of the other boys.

That was two years ago when Krishna was 6, and Vishnu was only 2. Both of the other boys are now 6. Neither of their families can afford to feed all of the kids, so they send this gang of four out each day to beg for food and money to feed their families. Whatever they bring back that day is what they have to eat.

They carry the weight of their families well being on their little, tiny shoulders.

None of them go to school, even though Krishna and the younger boys should have been attending for several years now. According to them, they have more important things to do.

While we were talking, Vishnu crawled onto my lap, and snuggled up with her juice box. I chatted with the boys a bit longer, then noticed that the young girl was fast asleep, drooling mango juice that she apparently forgot to swallow.

As she slept, we talked about important things like their favorite kind of candy and who their favorite soccer player is. After about fifteen minutes of hanging out, it was time for me to go. We woke up Vishnu, I took their trash to throw away, and then I started to say goodbye. Before I could finish my first sentence, Krishna asked me a very important question...

"You are our friend, no?"

I assured him that we were friends, and that we always would be. He looked relieved.

As if that wasn't enough, he proceeded to teach me their secret handshake. After I memorized a series of snaps, claps, jumps and shakes, we parted ways.

It's funny how God can give you some of the most unlikely friendships in the most unlikely ways.

And how, at the end of it all, you might find yourself a part of a street gang.