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.

Reckless uncertainty.

"We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain, where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf, having become a high priest forever after the order of Melchizedek." (Hebrew 6:19-20, ESV)

"I have one desire now -- to live a life of reckless abandon for the Lord, putting all  my strength and energy into it." ~Elisabeth Elliot



I'm at a point in my journey in Nepal where people are constantly asking me the dreaded quesiton of "What will you do when you get home?" Fair enough. I see the logic behind that question. I understand the curiosity of what do people actually do when they come off the field?

If the roles were reversed, I can almost guarantee that I would be asking the same question.

I try to always be prepared with a viable answer or two in my back pocket. I try to say something that will make people nod in agreement and have kind words to say like "yeah, that's a great plan" or "it sounds like you've got it all figured out."

Basically, I will say anything to satisfy them and get them to stop asking.

Not because it's an annoying question. Truly, it's not. I enjoy that people care enough and are curious enough to ask. But, rather, it's because I actually don't have an answer to that question. And it fills me with anxiety.

I have never developed an affinity for the unknown. I have never enjoyed spending much time there. But that is exactly where I find myself.

I have no idea what I want to do with my life.

More importantly, I have no idea what God wants me to do with my life.

There are endless possibilities. Literally. And He hasn't shown me even the slightest bit of direction or preference as to which path He would have me follow.

Maybe I'll live in America happily ever after. Pick up where I left off on the quest for the proverbial American Dream. Perhaps He's calling me to the mission field full time. Whether that's here in Nepal or off in the deserts of a remote country. Fingers-crossed and prayers sent that I'll be married and have kids some day. But what if, down the road, God asks me to be single?

The possibilities are overwhelming. They make my brain hurt.

But I do know this one thing, this is the answer that has become my new response to my least favorite question...

"I have one desire now -- to live a life of reckless abandon for the Lord, putting all my strength and energy into it."

Elisabeth Elliot did just that. She lived out her live with a fierce love of the Lord, even when things didn't unfold the way I'm sure she had planned.

And I plan to follow in her footsteps. Wherever God puts me next, whatever vocation He calls me to, whoever He brings into my life and my heart, I will always pursue Him. I will always trust that He knows better than I do. No matter how hard, stressful, exciting, confusing, or enthralling my life becomes.

Shouldn't we all live like that? With God at the center of our lives, we should have the ability to live with reckless uncertainty. Because we have access to the single most certain thing in the world...Christ Jesus.

He is the anchor for my soul. And I will rest in Him. And I will trust in Him. I will pursue Him.

I will live with reckless abandon for HIM.

Shattering perceptions.

"For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus." (Romans 3:23-24, ESV)


In this weeks blog, I am setting out to bust a myth. One that I was well aware of before I joined the missions community.

Myth:
Missionaries are perfect, godly, wholesome, daily Bible reading Christians who know God more intimately than "regular" Christians.

First, I would like to start off by saying this... I personally know many missionaries who possess these qualities! They inspire me everyday to know and love God more. They are people I look up to and want to be like.

But there is one really important detail about missionaries that most people seem to forget... We are real people. We sin. We mess up. We disobey God. We can be unkind and unholy. We are learning. We are growing everyday. Just like you.

Since this is my blog, I will willingly throw myself and, with permission, my roommate under the bus to prove the point that missionaries are just average people. Please pardon my sarcasm throughout this process.

I'll begin by spilling the beans on a few of my guilty pleasures.

Sometimes, at the end of a long day, my roommate and I enjoy sitting in our living room sipping on a homemade alcoholic beverage while we debrief on the craziness of our lives. Now, we aren't alcoholics. We don't go crazy and drink too much. But it is nice, on occasion, to kick back with a cold one. Or to have a cocktail with dinner.

Another guilty pleasure of mine is my choice in movies and television shows. There are days when I'm perfectly happy watching Frozen or Pride and Prejudice. But there are also evenings when I can't go to sleep unless I have watched The Heat, which happens to be littered with profanities. Or 300, which boasts half naked men and plenty of violence. I like to get inside the heads of psychopaths with Criminal Minds, and laugh along with shows like Friends and The Big Bang Theory.

Here's one that might be shocking for some people... I don't read my Bible everyday, and neither do a lot of other missionaries I know (gasp!). There are days that I use the excuse of being too busy or too tired. Mornings when I spend more time perfecting my coffee and breakfast rather than spending time being fed spiritually. There have been weeks when I couldn't even stand to pick up my Bible, let alone read anything out of it. Times when God seemed a million miles away. I make a marked effort to carve out time each day to spend with Jesus, but I'm human. And it doesn't always happen.

And there are many a Sunday when my roommate, and others we know, spend the morning at home lazing around rather than in their designated seats in front row of the church service.

Also, just because we are on the missions field does not mean that our speech is always wholesome and uplifting. Some times we get angry and we yell at those around us. Or we fling a profanity or two out of our mouths. Occasionally we gossip. Instead of responding in a godly way that would make Jesus smile, we can be selfish and needy, responding in the flesh rather than the spirit.

And a real kicker... I, along with many other missionaries, tend to rely on myself more than I rely on God. I make plans on my own. I decide things without consulting God. I get angry when God throws a wrench into my plans and it messes up my design. I would rather take credit for the things I do and experience than give God props. And I hate it every time I do it.

Praise God for new mercies every morning.

Now, there are two things that I am NOT trying to say here...

One is that these things are not regular occurrences. I don't know many people over here who swear like sailors, or drink in excess. It's just that we are normal people, too. We mess up, we loose our self-control. We are under a lot of pressure to be shining examples, but the reality is that we don't always live up to that expectation.

The other thing I'm not trying to do here is condemn all missionaries. There are SO many people I know who fit, to a T, the mold of the model missionary. But it's so important to me that you realize not everyone fits the stereotype. That we are regular people, we struggle with things just like you.

We are still a part of progressive sanctification, right alongside you.

We still hang out with friends, have fun, and experience life. We still love God, love others, and serve. We have just been called to do those things in a different part of the world.

Partners in crime.

"Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus." (Philippians 2:3-5, ESV)



I bet I can guess some of the first images that come to your mind when you hear the phrase "partners in crime"...

Your best friend.
Your sibling.
Bonnie and Clyde.
Your spouse.
Timon and Pumba. You know it's true.
Batman and Robin.

Since moving to Nepal, my new top picture is Evil and Apathy. They are a caustic duo that is ravaging the world.

It seems as though every day another tragedy has occurred. Whether it's in Missouri, Ukraine, Israel, Iraq, Liberia. You name it, something horrible is happening. We are encountered by evil every day, whether or not we choose to see it.

And it continues to be appalling.

Appalling that these things are happening. That people are capable of actually enacting and enabling these horrific things. And appalling that so many more people are sitting around watching it happen.

Sure, we feel outrage when someone is killed unjustly, whatever the circumstance. We feel angry that countries can't seem to work out their problems peaceably.

And yet there we sit. On our couch. At our desk. At the kitchen table. In a coffee shop. Some of us trying to wrap our minds around the evil we see so blatantly played out in front of us. Others turning the newspaper page to read the comics or the sport articles. Trying to push the atrocities from our minds.

Because it's easier. It's more comfortable. We don't have to become involved or get sucked in.

Sure, we know that South East Asia has one of the largest sex trafficking trades in the world. Sure, we know that people are being stolen, then bought and sold into slavery. Sure, we know that people are dying every single day from very curable diseases. Sure, we hear about children being abandoned because their parents don't want them anymore.

And we turn our heads to shield our eyes. To guard our minds. To forgo the breaking of our hearts.

We have become apathetic. We have become partners in crime with the evil around us.

We pretend that having the correct perspective on an issue is good enough. That being cognizant of current events will suffice. We want to have an opinion, and to let everyone around us know what that opinion is. But we don't want to be involved.

We don't want to get our hands dirty.

We enjoy residing in our bubbles. They are safe and comfortable. Easy and enjoyable.

But we forget a very important detail...these tragedies effect real people.

Imagine if it was your spouse who was killed in a bombing. Your child who was shot by a police officer. Your house that was destroyed in flash flooding. Your country that was ravished and torn apart by your neighbor.

Imagine that you couldn't escape. You couldn't just flip the page, or click on a different link.

You would want someone to care. You would want someone to take action to help you.

Now, I know that you probably can't garner a peace treaty between Israel and Gaza. I know you probably can't cure Ebola. I get that you can't single-handedly stop sex trafficking. That you can't adopt every orphaned child.

But you CAN do SOMETHING. You can start to peel away the guard of apathy that has been placed on your heart, and that society has condoned. You can do more than just care. You can take action.

There is no way that these people can be freed from this evil unless we carry them to Jesus.

Together we can give evil and apathy a swift kick in the butt.

Like a real child.

"But when Jesus saw it, he was indignant and said to them, "Let the children come to me: do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God. Truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it." And he took them in his arms and blessed them, laying his hands on them." (Mark 10:14-16, ESV)


Growing up in the church community was one of the greatest blessings I have ever been given. It also has turned out to be one of the greatest obstacles in my walk with Jesus. From as far back as I can remember, words like "propitiation" and "sanctification" and "intercession" were thrown around. But, growing up in the church, it's just assumed you know what those words mean. Like, when you're born, they are engrained in your brain. Etched into your mind by some doing of the Holy Spirit.

No one takes the time to explain them. And I'm not sure that some people who actually use those words understand what they mean. Which really complicates matters when you're trying to fit in, to play the part, and you can't correctly execute the use of the vast vocabulary.

And I found that this same thing, the lack of explanation, rolls over into religious phrases as well. We throw them around because it's expected of us, without fully understanding what we are saying. We may have some idea, but we haven't grasped the full concept yet.

For me, one of those phrases or ideas has always been coming to God with faith like a child.

It's been explained to me this way... Children are trusting by nature. They can't do things on their own, they need to rely on others to help them. We need to trust God implicitly and rely on Him in all things.

Which is true! And great. And I agree completely.

BUT.

It never sat right with me that, that was all there was to it. There had to be something more, right?

And this week it clicked.

Three mornings a week, all the students at school gather together and have chapel. We sing, pray, and hear a short message or story. And every week I watch with a beaming heart and a thankful spirit. These kids love God more than ANYTHING. And they aren't afraid to show it.

Especially one little girl in the preschool class. Silisa is maybe 3 years old, and full of sass and spunk. And she worships God like nobody I have ever seen.

She yells the lyrics rather than sings them, like she can't proclaim the truth loud enough. She claps her hands no matter the speed of the song. God loves a joyful noise, right? She jumps and dances and lifts her hands, like she was King David himself.

She has such reckless abandon when she worships. Like, so reckless that she regularly loses her balance and falls over, or hits the kid next her to her while dancing.

Isn't that one of the greatest things about kids? Their excitement and enthusiasm? Their sheer joy about even the smallest things?

So, if we are told to come to God like a child, shouldn't we be portraying that same level of ecstasy? Shouldn't we be beside ourselves with how much we love God and want to praise Him?

Why aren't we?

Why can't we seem to muster the same abandon that Silisa does? The same joy we feel when we find the perfect shirt to complete our outfit? Or buy a new car? Or sip on a Starbucks at the end of a really long day?

If we claim to be Christians, and we claim to put Christ first in our lives, it should be our deepest desire to praise him completely and wholeheartedly. All the time. No matter what.

We shouldn't be ashamed of being Christian. We shouldn't be concerned with what the person next to us at church will think if we should lift BOTH hands in worship instead of just one. We shouldn't care how desperately the devil tries to distract us.

Because we GET to worship JESUS. Think about that for a second.

Let it sink in.

How COMPLETELY INCREDIBLE is that thought?!

Jesus. Like, THE Jesus. And we get to come to Him and worship Him. Be with Him. Experience Him.

Now, I'm not saying you need to jump around during the next worship service you attend. Or that you should start interpretive dancing in the middle of the mall to show how much you love God.

What I am saying is this... God chose you to be His. He saved you from utter darkness. He desires, and more importantly deserves, your praise. Completely and unashamedly.

So come to Him like a child.

Changing my eyes.

"But to all who did receive him, who did believe in his name, he gave the right to become children of God, who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor the will of man, but of God." (John 1:12 ESV)


A few weeks ago I had coffee with a friend of mine. Just to catch up and chat and see how everything was going for the other person. At least, it started out that way. But by the end, it turned into her placing a huge challenge in front of me that seems insurmountable. And the funny thing is, I'm not sure she even realized it.

We were talking about me finishing up my time here. The things I'll miss, the things I'm excited for, the anxieties I have.

I shared with her my biggest fear about returning home...

That I won't be able to love on any kids in America the way that I love on my kids here in Nepal. That I'll be detached from serving them, which used to be one of my favorite ways to spend my time. I'm terrified that I'll always compare them to my kids, that I won't be able to minister to them because I'll size their problems up to the problems that my kids are faced with.

When I was finished, and I stepped down from my soap box, she looked at me and hit me with it. "You are going to have to start seeing them as GOD'S kids, not YOUR kids."

GAH.

Right in the kisser.

When she said it, I immediately stored it away in my "don't think about it" box in the back of my mind. It rang so true to me, and revealed such an ugly spot in my heart, that I didn't want to dwell on it. I wanted her to take it back, or at least to pretend like she never said it.

And I did just that. I pushed it out of my mind and continued on calling them my kids. Laying claim where I have none, and ignoring the title that I should be giving them.

Until this last week, when I broke some hard news to my class 5 students. I knew that, being a bit younger, they would need a little more time than the older students to understand what I mean when I say I'm returning to America in October. So I decided to tell them on Monday.

I drew a Hangman's Noose on the whiteboard and a series of blanks next to it to form a sentence. And one by one they guessed letters to fill in the spaces. I could almost hear the wheels in their heads turning as we played their favorite game. When it was complete, the phrase read "After two months I will return to America."

This class tends to have a flair for the dramatic, but I had no idea the emotional train that was barreling down upon me.

Angry eye daggers thrown my way. Questions of "Why?" and "How come you don't want to stay with us?" And tears. Oh, the tears.

After doing my best to explain the situation to them, I left the class quite frazzled. And on my walk home, I spent a lot of time talking with God about my hurting heart, and all of theirs. I really thought they would brush it off, thinking that two months was a really long time away. But I was a bit off on that assumption.

Their hurt made my hurt multiply. I knew it was going to be hard telling my kids that I was leaving, but I had not anticipated this level of difficulty.

As I talked with God, I could feel him speaking to my heart. Not in the I-heard-God's-voice-in-an-audible-way kind of way, but in the His-truth-rang-true-in-my-heart kind of way. And my friend's words came back to me. These children are HIS kids. Not mine.

I knew she was right all along, but I didn't want her to be. I wanted to hold on to these children with everything I have. But instead, I am choosing to lay them at His feet. Even though they were never really mine to begin with. I'm giving up the hold I had, the claim I laid.

Not to say that I don't love my kids, or want to spend every moment I can with them. Just that I am beginning to see them differently. To see them through God's eyes, not just my own earthly ones.

What an incredibly beautiful sight that is.

Fear not.

"Peace I give to you; my peace I leave with you. Not as the world gives to you do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid." (John 14:27 ESV)


I always thought that William Shakespeare was a wise man. Granted, I didn't understand most of his material that I read in high school, nor did I spend the time in the attempt to understand it.

This last week I started a poetry unit with some of my English classes, which drove me to look back at those famous poems and plays of Shakespeare. During my research, I continually felt connected to his words. The way he expressed an idea, the connotations behind what he said, the impact he conveyed with so few and simple words.

In the play Hamlet, he wrote "we know what we are, but know not what we may be." Oh my gosh, that is so my life.

I know exactly who I am. I am Megan. I am 21-years old. I am an expat living in Nepal. I am a chosen daughter of God. I am an heir with Christ.

And for a while, that was enough. It was enough to know who I am. What I have gone through, who I have become, and to whom I belong. But the past few weeks, as I have begun to think about what life will be like once I return to America, I found a serious sense of restlessness. A lack of contentment settled into my heart that seemed so foreign.

I became afraid that I will no longer be Mags, or Megan Sister, or Teacher. I won't be the crazy Auntie who tickles kids until they pee, or who kisses their paper cuts and wipes away their tears. I won't be there to challenge my girls to know Jesus more and to love Him deeper.

And, quite honestly, that was one of the most terrifying thoughts I have ever been faced with.

I love the life I have here. In act 5 of Macbeth, Shakespeare wrote "I bear a charmed life." Indeed I do. The fact that I'm able to be in Nepal, serving God and loving on these kids is evidence enough.

But the biggest piece of evidence, which I think I overlook far too often, is that I KNOW who I am. Whether I am in America, Nepal, Paraguay, or Senegal. I am a child of God. I am a chosen heir. Part of a chosen generation. A royal priesthood. I have been called out of darkness into the most marvelous light.

And THAT is what matters. Whatever comes my way, whatever challenge or struggle or victory or change, they all still in the presence of my God.

And despite everything that will come my way, I will choose to live in the light of who I am, who I have become, and who God desires for me to be.

I won't fear the future, or be weary of the big changes that are coming my way. I will choose trust.

And I will choose adventure. "Why, the world's mine oyster," as Shakespeare said in The Merry Wives of Windsor.

Too busy to be still?

"But the Lord answered her, 'Martha, Martha you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her.'" (Luke 10:41-42 ESV)


Yesterday marked my eighth time having girls club. So to celebrate, I promised the girls that we would learn about not just one woman, but two.

Sisters. Pretty famous sisters.

They lived in a town that Jesus was passing through with his disciples, and once they heard he was in town, they were quick to invite him to their home.

The older sister, Martha, busied herself cooking a meal for the Lord and for his travel companions, slaving away in the kitchen. And when she looked around, she noticed that her younger sister, Mary, was missing. She had been so distracted with doing things to serve Jesus that she hadn't even noticed her sisters absence.

But when Martha realized she was by herself, she was quick to right the situation.

She marched right out to the room where Jesus sat and saw Mary sitting at his feet. Soaking up every single word he said. Hanging on every lesson. Leaning in closer so as to not miss anything.

Outraged that her sister had abandoned her, Martha looked to Jesus and said, "Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Tell her then to help me."

But Jesus, being Jesus, saw the beauty of what Mary did. He didn't see her actions as abandonment, or neglect, or carelessness. He saw her obvious love for God. Her desire to be close to him. Her seeking heart longing to learn from him.

He also recognized the flustered anxiety of Martha. Her heart for service, her gentle spirit. Her troubled mind from being so busy.

And Jesus knew the importance of both the sisters' actions. But there is one that is more important.

"Mary has chosen the good portion."

Oh, to be like Mary.

To sit at the feet of Jesus and listen. And adore. Glorify and honor.

To take the time to be still before him, instead of busy herself with works and good deeds.

I cannot begin to tell you how deeply this lesson for girls club convicted me this week. I love serving, that's why I'm here in Nepal. I love doing things that help other people, and benefit them. And I love doing things for the Lord.

And I find that quite often, like Martha, I get caught up in doing things. Being busy.

And I so often forget the spirit and wisdom of Mary. To just sit. To be still. To bask in God and in his glory. To take time at the end of my devotions to talk with him, not just ask for things. To appreciate HIM, not just the things that he can do for me.

I'm not sure that I articulated enough to my girls how critical it is to be still and silent before the Lord. But I sure tried. We spent time talking about Psalm 46:10 "Be still and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!"

And then we put our excitement into action. They were all given sketch paper and crayons. They could draw or color or write anything they wanted, as long as when they looked at it, they would remember the spirit of Mary, and they would be reminded to be still before God and to wait on him and listen.

At the end of each girls club, I always ask them to tell me what lesson we should have learned from our time together. And like a sweet song, they all said "be still before God and spend lots of time with him."

An inside look.

This week's blog is a little different... My roommate is guest-posting! She thought you all needed to know a little something extra about me. So, here it is! Enjoy.


Like you, I read Mags' blog posts every week. I appreciate her openness and honesty with what life is like in Nepal. But, unlike you, I have the inside view on what her life is really like. And I feel as though she humbly leaves out some details. But don't fret, I'm here to set it straight. There are two main components to Mags living in Nepal that, based on reading her blog, you may not fully grasp: Her ability to love and how much it hurts.

Mags shows love more overtly than most people I know. I could tell heaps of stories where she's taught me about love, but this blog can't go on forever, so I'll just share one: We were in the village together and Mags wasn't feeling well. In fact, she was feeling absolutely rotten. Sharing a tiny wood planked bed with me, eating nothing but rice, feeling dirty, and living out of a backpack is hard enough when you're healthy. But she was doing it all and woke up feeling wretched. If it were me, I'd shut myself in a tiny dark room and demand to be left alone. (Be honest, that's probably what you'd do, too). But not Mags. When an old Christian woman came to the house and asked us to walk across the village to her home for tea and fellowship, it was without hesitation that Mags agreed to go. There is loving your family, and there is loving your friends, and then there is showing love to a complete stranger under the most uncomfortable circumstances. And that's that kind of love that Mags shows.

But in a place like Nepal, you can't love the way Mags does without also feeling the hurt. Mags is tough. Impressively so. But inside that tough, I-can-handle-it-all facade, there is one of the softest hearts. The day that two little girls were dropped off at the orphanage and she had to hold one of them as their only known guardian turned and walked away - that broke her heart. And though she tries to explain what it feels like through her blogs and sharing, we, as listeners, can't image the hurt that she feels. But, knowing it hurts, knowing that every child she holds has a story and every day might bring a new wave of emotions that she doesn't want to deal with, she goes and loves and holds and hurts for those kids.

That's the Mags that I see every day. That's the Mags that she has become, or maybe always has been. And as you read her future blogs, as you connect with her, when she returns home and you ask her questions, don't forget that the events she tells you about aren't ever just stories to her. They're people. They're emotions. They're love. And they're hurt.

Doing life.

"And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him." (Colossians 3:17 ESV)

Every Sunday afternoon, I sit down in my flat and write out a blog post. Some weeks there are too many cute, funny, inspiring, life-changing stories to choose from. And some weeks it's hard to come up with anything to write about at all. My problem today is the latter.

As I debated what circumstance I could pull a story out of, or what God has taught me this week, I realized that one of my favorite things about living here has been completely overlooked...

Doing life. Just normal, everyday life.

Sometimes my life is boring. Sometimes a day passes uneventfully.

Well, uneventful in my eyes, anyways.

Yes, I still gamble with my life when crossing the street. I still barter with Nepalis over unreasonably small amounts of money. I memorize our daily power outage schedule. I get down on hands and knees to scrub my clothes in a tub of soapy water. I still tell my kids stories in Nepali. I recognize which street dogs belong in my alley, and I trust them to keep me safe.

Yes, I still pass by butchered chickens and goat heads on the street corners. I dodge rocks in the middle of the road that are deemed "holy" covered in tikka. I still hunt mosquitoes like a psychopath. I look out my kitchen window to try and catch a glimpse of the Himalayas. I shower several times a day to try and stave off heatstroke.

But to me, that's my normal.

Not everything thing I do is new and exciting anymore. I've adjusted, I've adapted, and I've made this place my home. And so some weeks are mundane. And I love that.

But I have been afraid to admit that. I don't want my life to seem average, or anything less then exceedingly exciting. I don't want anyone to think that living here can seem stagnant. Or that some days I would rather laze around in my pajamas, eating nothing but potato chips and cupcakes, watching movies instead of going out and experiencing everything that Kathmandu has to offer.

I like doing life here. I like how average it has become. And it no longer matters to me to make everything appear riveting and enthralling. Because it's not. And I'm thankful for that.

Free to forgive.

"Then Peter came up and said to him, 'Lord, how often will my brother sin against me and I forgive him? As many as seven times?' Jesus said to him, 'I do not say to you seven times, but seventy-seven times." (Matthew 18:21-22 ESV)


In Kathmandu, women, especially foreign women, are sometimes grabbed inappropriately by motorcyclists driving by. We are also subject to unbefitting conversations with taxi drivers, and are occasionally touched inappropriately by the same men.


To the two men who grabbed me inappropriately last night;

You have stolen my sense of security.

I no longer feel comfortable leaving my flat by myself. I am afraid that if I find myself alone again, you will come back. And that, once again, I will choke. I won't be able to scream. I won't be able to punch you, which wouldn't compare to the actions I wish to take against you. I won't be able to fight back like I had always planned to.

I no longer feel safe in the dark. I am constantly listening for your motorcycle and your taxi coming from behind me. My ears are alert to every sound. Every drop of water, every dog bark, every horn honk, every revved engine. I don't even feel safe walking down the hallway in my flat without the lights turned on.

I no longer casually walk down the winding alleys of my neighborhood. Every few steps I check over my shoulder to see if you are there. If you are coming again. I don't trust the street lights to illuminate my surroundings.

I don't trust the innocent drivers just trying to get to their next destination. I don't even trust the people walking towards me, and most certainly not the ones behind me. And I refuse to walk with the flow of traffic, for fear that you will ride up behind me one more time.

Yet, despite all that...

I forgive you.

Both of you.

I am angry. I am hurt. I am disgusted that you thought that kind of behavior was okay. And I am fearful that this won't be an isolated incident.

But I forgive you.

Because who am I, a sinner, to hold back the grace that was so freely given to me? Who am I to decide your judgement?

My God is a jealous God. He protects what is His, and I am His. I know that He will place his judgment on you.

And because of that, I am free to forgive. And I am free to pray. And believe me, I'll pray.

I'll pray that God captures your hearts. That He will invade your lives and your spirits with His undeniable presence. He has the power to change the hardest of hearts, to redeem the most sinful of lives.

I know because He did that for me. And I can only hope and pray that you can experience the same all encompassing love that I feel everyday.

And I truly, truly hope that someday we will meet again. Not in this life, that might be more than I can handle. But again in Heaven, where our sins have been erased, and we can sing to Jesus as one family. Alive again, redeemed, forgiven.

Yours in Christ,
Megan

Kid, you'll move mountains!

"For you were called to freedom, brothers. Only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another. For the whole law is fulfilled in one word: 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.'" (Galations 5:13-24 ESV)


One week ago, I was on a public bus sitting next to my roommate as we bounced along a pot hole infested road coming down off the "hill" (truly it was a mountain) where we had stayed for a week in a small, remote village with a team of college students from America.

Here's a glimpse into that crazy, adventurous, challenging week...

We started off with big smiles plastered on our faces as we hopped on the public bus at 6 am for a 10 hour bus ride into Dhobi. During that long, bumpy, smelly ride we slept, laughed, danced in our seats as we lip-synced and rested up for the long day we would have after a rough night's sleep on a rock hard "mattress."

There were moments on our 6 hour hike under the hot sun in the hills when my roommate and I weren't sure we were going to make it! Well, maybe just me. She's pretty tough. It was up and down, and up and down, and up and down. And then just up. And, man, was it brutal. I knew I was out of shape, but this really proved it!

I was given the responsibility of being Dr. Mags on this trip...and it's a good thing I was there! One of the students took a tumble down a hill and gashed open his knee. So there was a brief pit stop for some neosporin, bandaids, and the forced, slightly painful removal of small rocks and dirt. He was a trooper! And now he has a sweet scar to show off to the ladies. Our Nepali guide kept asking me if I was a doctor and was incredibly eager to watch everything I did that made me open the medical kit!

The first three days in the village we worked in the local school, which had maybe 70 students in it. My roommate, another expat, and I did the translating for the team. We taught about colors, body parts and geography. 

These boys were so sweet! They are incredibly bright, and caught on to everything we taught very quickly. I loved getting to talk with them about what we were doing and helping them with their work in class.

At the end of every day we taught the kids a silly American song. Songs like "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes" and "The Hokey Pokey". The first time or two we tried the songs, they would just all stand and stare and the crazy white people wiggling around yelling words they didn't know. But then one of us would make them giggle and they were sold! Their favorite was a song called "Aroustasha" where we said made up words and did crazy body motions. Getting to translate for this part of school was by far my favorite!

One night, we caught the village ladies as they were grinding corn to fry the meat in for dinner. The other expat and I jumped in right away to "help." We soon gathered a crowd of snickering women as we valiantly attempted to grind the corn. To no avail. Apparently it's not an inherent skill for the two of us! But it did make for some good laughs and memories.

Since we only brought two outfits with us for one week, laundry was a necessity! My roommate and I found ourselves squatting down in the rain scrubbing our clothes at the public tap with a bar of soap and a metal bowl. One of the village ladies came over and asked if she should wash our clothes for us, seeing as how we clearly didn't know what we were doing. After we assured her that we were fine on our own, she suggested that standing up might be better for our weak backs. After our conversation, she stood and watched us for several minutes laughing to herself at the sight of the two of us!

What village trip isn't complete without snuggling a baby or two? This little guy, Nissan (yup, just like the car brand), belonged to one of the ladies who was in charge of our food and lodging while in the village. He's only 6 months old, but quite the chunker.

The village is situated on top of a hill (seriously, it's a mountain) so we were blessed with some of the most incredible, breath-taking views I have ever seen. Everyday was a picture and masterpiece made just for us. I loved just sitting outside our little room and looking out over the rolling hills as the clouds rolled through the village.

Saturday provided an opportunity for us to attend Nepali church in the village! The team got up and sang a few songs for the congregation. Little did they know they were being recorded for posterity sake by one of the villagers! The team leader, Chris, gave a message on spreading the gospel throughout the village. A sermon that could have very well gotten all of our visas revoked on the spot, and we would have been sent back to America. That's how you know it's good preaching. 

This was truly one of the most incredible experiences I've ever had. Exciting, frustrating, rewarding, breath taking, trying, energizing and draining at the same time, and body-aching. All for the glory of God. And all by the grace of God.

"And will you succeed? 

Yes! You will indeed!

(98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed!)

Kid, you'll move mountains!

So...

be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray

or Mordecai Ali Van Alenn O'Shea

you're off to Great Places!

Today is your day!

Your mountain is waiting.

So...get on your way!"

Dr. Suess, Oh, the Places You'll Go

Something more.

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you." (1 Peter 1:3-4 ESV)


So many times this last week I longed for my "passport home." The place where I grew up. The place where my loved ones are. But every time I did, I longed to stay in my "adopted home" just as badly. The place where my kids are. The place that I have been integrated into.

And it left me in a bit of a confused place. Where exactly is my home? I'm not sure that right now I can label either America or Nepal as my "home." But there is one place I can assuredly call home...

Heaven.

Cliche. Corny. Whatever. It's true.

There has never been a time in my life where I pined for that home so much as I did this past week. A flurry of activity that sent my head spinning, feeling like I can't get my feet steadily under me. I wanted the simplicity of sitting at the feet of my Savior. Spending all my time praising him, without another care.

Everyone has their "heaven is like this" list. You know, cheap Starbucks and air conditioning, or comfy couches and grandma's home cooked dinner. At least that's what my list looked like.

And then I came here. And my list changed. Things like water pressure and paved roads topped the list. Closely followed by constant electricity and organized traffic with a few less honking horns. I have to admit, Starbucks stayed on the list.

But this last week it began to change yet again. I wanted to be in the REAL heaven. Not my silly, made-up, convenience-driven heaven.

I wanted something more.

I wanted a place where the pearly gates will be a one-stop immigration office, instead of the weeks it takes for the visa process here. I wanted a place where it doesn't matter if you like the worship song your singing, your heart is so set on Jesus that you can't hold in your love for him. I wanted a place where my kids don't have to feel the hurt and betrayal of being left behind or discarded by loved ones.

I wanted the real deal. I still do.

And while I can't wait to be there, to see my Jesus and to spend eternity in the place he has prepared for me, I know that I'm meant to be here for a little while longer. Here in my adopted home loving on my kids, and eventually back in my passport home loving on those near and dear to my heart.

My prayer, however, is that I never lose the longing for my real home. That I always desire to be there. And that in the in-between, hair-pulling-out, nail-biting, tear-shedding life I have left to live, God would give me more opportunities to serve him, to love him, and to shine his light in this dark world.

Ripe for the asking.

"In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace, which he lavished upon us in all wisdom and insight." (Ephesians 1:7-8 ESV)


This week at girls club, we tackled a topic that was near to my girls' hearts.

Forgiveness.

Something that many of them have been told to do over and over, but not something that they necessarily understood. Or even wanted to do.

I told them the story of Hephzibah. The wife of King Hezekiah. An idolater.

King Hezekiah made reforms in Judah that drew his people back to God, after his father had driven them as far the opposite direction as he could. And his reforms were applicable to his wife as well. Hephzibah came from a pagan family, and she worshiped idols like Baal and Asherah.

The King told her that she could no longer worship her idols. She could only worship the Living God. Hephzibah quickly agreed, eager to please her husband.

But she lied.

After King Hezekiah found out, he divorced her and sent her away. He didn't want a pagan queen setting that example for his nation.

Many years later, the prophet Isaiah set Hezekiah straight in his thinking. Who was he to hold back forgiveness? Wasn't the King just as much an idolater as Hephzibah? Didn't he sign a treaty with Egypt and Babylon because they fattened his ego?

The King's heart was so convicted that he went back and asked Hephzibah's forgiveness. And because of that act, Hephzibah was shown the love of God. She renounced her idols, became a believer, and was remarried to King Hezekiah.

How often do we act in the same manner as the king? How quickly do we point the finger at something else, and hold a grudge against them, but fail to see our own retched hearts? How earnestly do we want to be forgiven for our sins, yet can't seem to extend that grace to someone who has wronged us?

It's part of this condition we all have called sin.

But God commands us to forgive one another. Not just when we feel like it, but all the time. Even when we don't want to. Even when it's hard. Even when it seems impossible.

My girls have a lot of people to forgive. And a lot of things to be forgiven for. We all do.

I explained to them that God is ready and waiting for us to come to him humbly, and to ask forgiveness. He isn't stingy, and won't hold out on us. He will give us the grace and freedom that we don't deserve if we just ask. Because Jesus died on the cross, we are given unconditional forgiveness and love.

We just have to ask.

So that's what we did. Maybe a bit unconventionally, but we did.

I drew a large cross on a poster board. Then I tore up paper into small pieces and scattered it around the room. I told my girls to pick up several pieces of paper and a pen.

I told them to write one of two things on the paper. Either someone they need to forgive for hurting them, or something that they have done that they need to be forgiven for.

They were a little timid at first. One of my girls, Premshila, told me that she thought it would be too hard to forgive those who had hurt her. She was afraid she couldn't do it. I told her that the cool thing is that we can't do it. Not on our own. We need God's help to forgive others.

I told them that once they put a name or a sin on the cross, it was forgiven. God knows their hearts, and he knows their need to forgive others and to be forgiven. Once I told them that, they all scrambled for the paper pieces to write on.

These girls are amazing. They wrote down sins like having an angry heart and being disrespectful to their teachers.

But who they forgave was more amazing.

People like mom and dad, who either abandoned them, gave them up, or passed away. Aunts and uncles who may have done the same things, or who may have hurt them in other ways. Friends who had lied to them and teased them.

I so badly want to be like these girls. Who forgive easily, even when it's hard. And who feel the weight lifted off their shoulders once they have.

Forgiveness is waiting for us in the arms of Christ. We just have to run to him and ask for it.

If not you, then who?

"For there will never cease to be poor in the land. Therefore I command you, 'You shall open wide your hand to your brother, to the needy and to the poor, in your land.'" (Deuteronomy 15:11 ESV)


Normally I'm not a shameless promotion kind of person, but when it comes to my kids, "shameless promotion" is my middle name.

In the last month or so, we have received 14 new children from all across Nepal. They all have different stories, different hurts and heartaches, different smiles. And each one of them is so precious to us.

But with new kids comes new costs. We have more hungry mouths to feed, more sweet heads to shelter. Out of the 14 new kids we have, only 5 of them have been sponsored. That means we have 9 left who have yet to get sponsors.

Here are 5 of our kiddos who need sponsors. From left to right: Sabita, Prem, Jeewan, Khem, and Bharpur.

This is Khem! He is our newest little boy, he's 5 years old. He arrived this past week from the Everest region. Social services brought him to us.

 

This is Manisha! She is 3 years old. She lives at our campus with her mom and older brother. She has been with us for a while, but still needs a sponsor!

Now that I have inundated you with cute faces, I have a very serious question to ask.

Would you consider sponsoring a child? 

We have full sponsorships and half sponsorships available. Not only for the kids in the pictures, but for numerous others that God has brought to us. I want to answer any and all of your questions about our kids who need sponsors, what being a sponsor entails, how to go about the process, and anything else you want answered.

This ministry provides food, a safe place to live, private schooling, and more Jesus than could be imagined. It's so important for us to help these children. For us to be the hands and feet of Jesus. But we need sponsors so that we can continue to do this. 

Would you pray and ask God if you should sponsor one of our children? 

I know this is a big commitment, but consider this...

If not you, then who?

Finding rest.

"You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you. Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord God is an everlasting rock." (Isaiah 26:3-4 ESV)

Before I begin this post, I have to admit something to you all. The last few weeks I have been dealing with Culture Shock. Basically, what that means is I have hit the phase of living in Kathmandu where I just can't handle being here.

With culture shock comes feelings of depression, frustration and despondency. And I just couldn't seem to shake it, no matter what I tried. 

It impacted my life in a lot of ways. It made me irritable with just about everyone. I became much quieter and I didn't want to leave my flat to go do anything.

It also effected my relationship with Christ. I can't tell you how many times in the last month I have read my Bible (or not read it) and come away feeling more empty that before. I didn't understand anything God was trying to tell me. I wasn't even understanding whether or not he was trying to tell me anything. It seemed to me like he was some distant figure who was watching me struggle, and who had no interest in coming to my rescue.

I don't care you who you are... That's hard.

A few weeks ago, my roommate and I had planned a short weekend get away to a town in Nepal about 6 hours away called Pokhara. I'm convinced that it couldn't have come at a better time.

I dedicated my weekend to spending time in the Word, spending time talking with Jesus, and trying to remember how to have fun. I knew I needed a time to rest and rejuvenate, but I'm not sure that I realized just how badly I needed it.

When we hopped off the public transportation on Friday, we were met with this view. Already I could begin to feel my spirits lift! There's something about being from Washington and seeing the water that causes instant revival. Rolling hills surrounded the lake and were covered in green trees. Not quite like home, but I'll take it.

 First thing Saturday morning we rented a scooter from a local store and went exploring out in the hills. My roommate had ridden before, but it was my first time. As I wobbled and swerved our way down the roads, we laughed and screamed and garnered a lot of attention from the locals. Just remembering to laugh was some of the greatest medicine for my heart.

After several hours up in the hills, we rode out to a lake and rented a boat. We rowed our way, quite slowly, to the middle, and jumped in! People stared and laughed at the two white girls swimming around in the murky lake, but the cool water was so refreshing in the hot sun. After we had spent time in the water, I spent some MUCH needed time with Jesus. Reading through 1 Corinthians, then starting Isaiah, looking out over the water from our rowboat, with the hills in the background. Listening to giggles and laughter from other boats, and singing along to our Christian music mix. Now THAT is what I call refreshing.

 

This woman right here is one of the only reasons that I'm still standing on two feet. She has been a listening ear, an encouraging heart and a joke cracker at just the right moment. I loved spending this weekend away getting to know her better, talking about Jesus and laughing at the ridiculous situations we found ourselves in.

I'm so incredibly thankful to be here. To be in Nepal. I KNOW that this is where I'm supposed to be. And I know that culture shock, and everything involved in it, is a struggle I will need to battle through. And one that Christ will be victorious in. 

But I am also incredibly thankful for opportunity to get away and regroup. To take time for me, to address the spiritual needs I have and to remind myself who I am in Christ, what He has done for me, and why exactly He has me here.