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.

The strength to be weak.

"Blessed be the Lord! For he has heard the voice of my pleas for mercy. The Lord is my strength and my shield; in him my heart trusts, and I am helped; my heart exults, and with my song I give thanks to him. The Lord is the strength of his people; he is the saving refuge of his anointed." (Psalm 28:6-8 ESV)


It's hard to believe, but this past week marked seven months of living in Nepal! It's unreal how quickly the time has flown, and how, at the same time, it seemed like the slowest seven months of my life.

A million things were running through my mind to post about in this week's blog... But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I need to take time and reflect on what has happened since I've been here. What I've experienced, who has impacted me, the lessons I've learned.

Let me start by saying that the biggest lesson I have learned since being here is this...

I am not as strong as I once thought I was.

I used to think that I could handle anything God threw my way. That no matter what situation I found myself in, I was strong enough to tough it out. It was to the point where I didn't rely on God. Where I found self-sufficiency to be my safety net.

Living here, God has given me no shortage of opportunities to learn the lesson that, in fact, I am not strong enough to handle most of the things that are placed in my life.

I don't have the strength to survive living in Nepal. To show grace, love and kindness to everyone I meet.

I don't have the strength to not judge those who post on Facebook  and complain about the small inconveniences of their days. Not when I know so many people, when I've seen so many faces of those who barely have enough money to feed their families each day.

And I didn't have the strength to be the person who ripped a young girl out of the arms of her guardian. I didn't.

I don't.

But praise God that He does. That He did. That He always will.

Praise God that self-sufficiency is not something He requires of us. Because I can't do it.

In a million ways I wish that I could have learned that lesson an easier way. And in a million more ways I wouldn't trade each and every experience, each and every person, for anything in this world.

I wouldn't trade the tears that I've cried. I wouldn't trade the laughter I've heard. Nor would I trade the looks on the faces of my kids when they see me at campus. Not the relationships I've formed. Not the heartache I've felt. Not the simple joys of living here.

I wouldn't give up the hard days when I just wanted to quit. When I wanted to give up and fly home. Not even those times when I didn't have power for over 12 hours and my patience was stretched to it's max.

Not the time when I sat in the dirt on a sidewalk with a beggar child while he ate an orange and let me practice my Nepali with him.

Not the day that an old woman threatened my girls with a stick and rock because they were talking about Jesus.

I wouldn't trade the countless times I've felt welcomed by our widows, on days when, quite honestly, I didn't want to be at campus.

And I would NEVER trade the struggles I've had with God. The wrestling I've done. The selfish, impulsive nature that seems to flourish whenever I'm upset at something.

God blessed me with each one of these situations. Each one of these people. No matter how hard, how frustrating, how many tears I cried, or how many smiles I shared. I'm thankful.

I get that this is all easy for me to say in retrospect, but I'm learning to say these things amidst the storm itself. When I feel like God is being silent. When I don't understand why it had to be ME. When I feel inadequate. When I'm not sure that my presence here in Nepal is actually making an impact.

THOSE are the times I'm most thankful for. They are the moments when I'm forced to remember that I'm not strong enough. That I don't have the ability to be self-sufficient.

When I realize that I am desperate for my Jesus. For THE Jesus.

As hard as these last seven months have been, no one could convince me to exchange them for anything in this world. And I CANNOT wait to see what the next five months will bring. What challenges I will be given. How God will answer my cries of desperation. Who He will bring in my path. And How He will use me to bring Him glory throughout it all.

Because I know that my God is for me. I know that He will never forsake me when I'm weak. When I mess up. When I would rather trust my own intuition than His will for me. And I know that some how, in some way, He is using my messed up, turned around, sinful, redeemed life for His glory.

Thank you for being a part of my journey. For loving on me when I needed it most, even if you didn't realize that that's what you were doing. For praying for me. For sending me letters and packages to remind me of home. For supporting me while I try to live in the will of God.

I couldn't do this without you.

New chapters come with new challenges.

"Everyone to whom much was given, of him much will be required, and from him to whom they entrusted much, they will demand the more." (Luke 12:48b ESV)


What an exciting few weeks I've had! My parents came to visit for 8 days over Easter, which also happened to be my birthday. I loved showing them around my home and getting to experience everything with fresh eyes! I was sad to have them leave, but life must go on.

And go on it did!

My time here has been fruitful. I have grown immensely in my faith as I have seen God at work in my life, the lives of my friends and the lives of my kids. And every time I get to a point where I am content with what is going on, He likes to throw another challenge into my pot. Just to keep things interesting.

And my newest challenge is a big one.

The ministry I work with started our very own school the last week of April. That way all of our kids could attend the same school, we could cut costs for tuition, and offer sound, Godly schooling for our kids, as well as some from the community.

About a month back, Pastor Samuel, the Nepali national who runs our children's home, asked me what classes I would like to teach at the new school... I was a caught just a bit off guard. I'm not a teacher. And I don't have the time to try and pretend like I am.

So, I told him that if the school could supply me with a VISA, sign me up! But as of yet, they don't have the government clearance to do that. And unfortunately, I just don't have time to juggle that with the rest of my responsibilities.

But he was having none of it.

So again, about two weeks later, Samuel asked me what classes I could teach. Highly recommending that I teach English to the older kids.

I made sure he knew I have zero qualifications. But to him, speaking English as my mother tongue is all the qualification that I need!

So early April 28th, I found myself at our new school. In a classroom. Facing twelve 6th graders. Armed with some blank printer paper.

All of a sudden, I became a teacher.

Now, I teach English to grades 5-8. I get each class for one 45-minute period on Monday and Wednesday mornings.

With no curriculum, and basically no clue what I'm doing, I'm positive that I have never enjoyed something so much.

I get to spend extra time with my kids each week! What more could a girl want?

After much research, talking with good friends who are REAL teachers and spending a lot of time talking with Jesus... I think I just might be able to do this.

The first day of classes, I walked into the 8th grade classroom and was met with some confused stares. And almost in unison they all said, "Megan sister, what are you doing here?"

In the vein of being honest, I simply replied, "I have no idea! You'll have to help me figure that out."

In all of my classes this first week, we laughed, learned, played games and endured those awkward silences that I'm sure teachers have nightmares about.

And I loved every. Single. Second.

That being said... any teachers out there... tips, tricks and fun classroom games are most appreciated!

For good and glory.

 "Not to us, O Lord, not to us, but to your name give glory for the sake of your steadfast love and your faithfulness!" (Psalms 115:1 ESV)


There will always be things in life that you don't see coming. That smack you square in the face and leave you stunned silence. And sometimes it seems like a gamble, whether or not those things turn out to be good or bad.

But, regardless of how we perceive those things to be, God always intends them for our good. For our good and for His glory.

Tuesday I held on to that promise for dear life.

It started out an average day. There was a group of teenagers helping to put on a sports camp for our kids in the morning. We laughed, played, and cried when contact was made between rogue Frisbees and faces. And as I was being joyfully distracted by my kids, I noticed that there were two young girls I didn't recognize sitting off to the side.

I found out that they had been dropped off the day before by a woman who had been caring for them, who wasn't their mother. They seemed to forlorn, although who can blame them? As I was looking at them, their faces suddenly lit up, and they were off in a dead run.

They collided in an embrace with an older woman I didn't recognize. It was their guardian, who had come back to sign some papers.

My heart sank as I realized that these young girls thought they would be going home with her that day. When, in fact, they wouldn't be.

They accompanied the woman to our financial office, and then, all too quickly, it was time for her to leave. Again.

They clung to her as she tried to pry them off and leave through our gate. It was clear that none of the three of them wanted to be parted. Deepak, one of our house dads, had come to help with the situation. The woman who had looked after these girls was his mother.

He grabbed the youngest girl, who is maybe 5, and tried to hold her with one arm as he reached for the older girl, who is no more than 9. He quickly realized that he couldn't hold them both, and his mom desperately needed to put an end to this situation.

He called me over and asked me to grab the older girl.

Not what I signed up for when I came to Nepal.

But I did what needed to be done. I circled her waist and pulled her back, so that she was sitting in my lap, on top of my folded legs. She screamed.

And screamed. And screamed.

And I just held her, unsure of what to do next.

There was nothing in English or Nepali that I could have said to make the situation any easier. And even if there had been, I wouldn't have had the presence of mind to speak it. Her cries wrenched my heart clear out of my chest.

Deepak and I sat there for what seemed like an eternity. Truly, it couldn't have been more than 10 minutes.

We tried to give them something to drink. Something to eat. Anything to distract them from their anguish.

After several valiant attempts, Deepak walked away with the younger girl to try and put her to sleep. I was left alone with a slip of a girl who I didn't know. Whose face was twisted up and stained with tears.

I'm not sure that I've ever felt quite that helpless. So I did that first thing that came to mind, the only thing that I thought might offer a small amount of comfort.

I sang her a song.

The first song that came to mind was the River Lullaby from The Prince of Egypt. I don't know if it was because I find the song soothing, or if God spoke to my conscience. But I didn't have time to stop and think.

"Hush now, my baby. Be still, love, don't cry. Sleep as you're rocked by the sea. Sleep and remember this lullaby, and I'll be with you in your dreams."

As I went on and sang the other verses, slowly rocking this young, hurt girl, I couldn't believe what my ears heard.

 Nothing.

Silence. Save for a few sniffles and sighs.

She had stopped crying.

It worked! It really worked! I could have cried myself. Even though she couldn't understand the English words, and I was singing just louder than a whisper, it worked.

I finished the song, repeating the last verse... "God has a plan just for you." When I was done, we sat for a few more minutes. Then I stood and took her hand and led her over to Deepak.

His frazzled look mirrored my own. We both took a deep breath, I gave her hand to him, and I walked away.

Not what I signed up for when I came to Nepal.

I never expected to be holding a young girl back form, quite possibly, the only woman who ever cared for her. I never expected to be the one thing that stood between two people who clearly needed each other and wanted to be together.

It's not a position I would wish on my worst enemy. What I experienced are not emotions I would want anyone to feel.

There are some things in life that smack you square in the face. Tuesday, I desperately needed the promise that God works all things together for the good of those who love him. Not only for those little girls and their guardian, but for myself.

For our good. For His glory.

Wowed and oh, so proud.

"And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up. So then, as we have opportunity, let us do good to everyone, and especially to those who are of the household of faith."  (Galatians 6:9-10 ESV)


Do you ever have those moments when you think your heart might burst? I've had a few of those this week. But don't worry, they were all good moments!

This past week we had a team from Australia in the city putting on a vacation bible school for the kids at our campus. It was so much fun. The kids had a great time singing, learning about Jesus, and playing games. And the team really began to bond with some of our kids!

And it was during the second day of VBS that I felt my heart beginning to swell.

I saw Sujan, one of our older boys, seek out and walk over to the only guy on the team from Australia. He proceeded to exhaust his English knowledge having a conversation. And that was a sweet sight. But what impressed me the most, and made me most proud, was that he walked away from a group of the other older boys who were playing a game together.

He left something that he enjoyed in order to care for someone he barely knew.

How often do we do that? Stop what were doing (especially something we like to do) to make sure that someone feels loved and important. I know that I don't do that nearly as often as I should.

The next day it swelled a bit more. I saw Saroja, one of our teenage girls, give her craft to a younger girl who didn't get one. Soroja had worked hard to make her craft, and she was very proud of it, showing it off to the house moms and me. But as soon as she saw the downcast look of Sapana, she walked over and gifted her the craft.

When is the last time you gave something to someone who had nothing? Whether that's one dollar of the fifty you have in your wallet, or the last cookie in your pack of Oreos. Something so unimportant as that seems to be hard for most of us. Let alone something that is important to you, like Saroja's craft. I'm learning little by little the importance of sharing the blessings that God has given to me.

And I thought it might actually burst on our last day of VBS when I saw Premshila, one of our older girls who is a constant inspiration to me, helping one of our new little boys with instructions for a game they were learning. So simple. So easily unnoticed. But so important.

I can't remember the last time that I stopped to help someone who didn't understand what was going on. I tend to find it frustrating, and I don't help them with a kind heart. I do it out of selfish intentions. What a lesson I learned through Premshila.

These kids are always teaching me something. Always giving me little glimpses of Jesus. Always showing me how to be a better person.

I could not be more proud of who they are choosing to be. And I hope that someday I can be just like them. I can take the time to make someone feel important. I can give, not just out of my excess, but out of my everyday necessities. And that I can take the time to make sure someone who is falling behind begins to understand.

I want to be like these kids when I grow up. And I am beyond blessed to play a very small part in their growing relationships with Christ.

It's pretty cool.

The least of these.

"And the King will answer them, 'Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.'" (Matthew 25:40 ESV)


These past few weeks have been filled with a flurry of activity. A lot of work, a lot of planning for my next VISA, a lot of trying to have some semblance of a social life. Honestly, a lot of trying to keep my eyes above the waves that are valiantly trying to swallow me.

A lot of my focus the last few weeks has been on me. Me, me, me. Where I need to be next. Who I need to call next. What I need to do next. And it finally dawned on  me this week how many "least of these" I have passed by without a second thought.

I'm not sure what's in the air, but it seems as though this last week everywhere I looked there were people begging on street corners. Out in droves. Every time I left my flat, I encountered at least three beggars on my way to wherever I was headed.

There was a mix of small children, women, and women with small children.

And I found myself brushing by them. Not looking at them or acknowledging that they were there. Not taking the time to care about anyone except myself and what I needed to accomplish right then.

Until my roommate and I were out grocery shopping and a young boy, maybe 7 years old, came up to us. He was wearing tattered rags for clothes, he had discolored skin due to malnutrition, and his stomach was swollen from hunger. He wasn't invasive. He didn't cling to us like most children in his situation do. He seemed resigned to the fact that no one was going to help him that day.

And I was ready to walk right past him, just like every other beggar I had seen the past week. But my roommate looked at him differently. She saw a hungry boy who could use some cookies to brighten his day. So we took him to the corner store and bought him some overpriced Oreos. On the way there, we asked him his name and how old he was. We talked about his hat, which he was very proud of. Then we gave him cookies and sent him on his way.

I know it's not much, but it was a much needed reminder that they are people, too. They are "the least of these" that God calls us to care for.

So the next day when I was out and a young boy came running up to me, I didn't look away and pretend I didn't see him. Before he could say anything, I greeted him and asked how his day was. I asked him if he liked fruit, or if he would rather have some juice. I bought him an orange and asked him to sit with me while he ate it.

I asked him if he went to school. He said no. I asked him if he lived nearby. He said no. I asked him where his mom was. He didn't say anything. I asked about his dad. Nothing.

I'm not sure what his story is, but whatever that young boy has encountered in his short life, it has led him down a path I wouldn't wish on anyone. The pained look that crossed his face when I asked about his family was almost enough to make me bring him back to my flat and keep him forever.

But instead I just put my arm around him.

And we sat. Not talking. When he was finished with his orange, I took the peel from him, gave him a hug and told him that I needed to get home.

My new friend stayed on my heart for the rest of the week. I prayed for him often. And whenever I saw another person sitting on a street corner, I remembered that young boy. I remembered that they're people, too. That they hurt.

And I know that oranges and Oreos can't change their lives, but I do know that it can brighten their day. It can remind them that some people do care. And that's a start.

I didn't give those boys food to make myself feel better. And quite frankly, it made me feel worse, being that much closer to the gravity of their situation. I didn't do it to make a show in front of the Nepalis who were around. Their stares made me a bit uncomfortable.

I did it because I believe that's what Jesus would have done. He would have seen those boys and dropped what he was doing to give them a little love.

And I want to be like Jesus.

I know that loving on those who don't receive much love was a big part of Jesus' ministry on earth. Think of Nicodemus, and of Zaccheus, of the bleeding woman. People that were dismissed, maybe even despised. Jesus took the time.

I want to take the time.

I'm not on a crusade to rescue every beggar from their current lives. I'm not trying to change the world. I'm simply trying to love like Jesus did. Like Jesus does.

To see all these people through Christ's eyes.

And I hope that you will all take time this week to do that too.

The begging man on the Seattle street corner... ask him his story. Buy him a coffee.

The musicians playing on plastic pales outside the mall... stop and listen. Be interested. Give them a tip.

The single mom at your church... offer her free child care for a night. Help her buy some groceries.

The young man with a disability... be his friend. Get to know him.

Take the time to love people like Jesus loves them. Take the time to care for "the least of these."

Strong like a rock.

"This God--his way is perfect; the word of the Lord proves true; he is a shield for all those who take refuge in him. For who is God, but the Lord? And who is a rock, except our God?" (Psalms 18:30-31 ESV)



At one point or another in our lives, each of us faces something difficult. Something that shakes us to the core. Something that makes it hard to get out of bed each morning. Something that will drastically change your life.

And when those times come, we are given a choice. We can run and hide, not facing what's coming at us. Or we can stand up and take it, knowing that if our God is for us, nothing can be against us.

This week at girls club we learned about a young woman who was put in this exact situation. She could either sit back and not say anything, letting things get out of hand but being herself untouched, or she could stand up for what was right, even if that meant risking her life to save those she loved.

That girl was named Hadassah.

Well, at least at the beginning. She soon changed from her Jewish name to a Babylonian name you are probably more familiar with...

Esther.

This story had a lot of connection points for my girls.

Esther was an orphan; most of the girls who come to girls club are orphans. She didn't choose to be sent away from her cousin Mordecai; most of my girls didn't want to leave their families behind. She was a Jew in a time when Jews in Persia were despised; my girls are Christians in a Hindu nation that doesn't look kindly on them. She was given a challenge that required her to make a hard choice; someday my girls will face those hard decisions outside the walls of our campus.

I shared the story with my girls, pausing every now and then to remind them that Esther was a real girl. She was scared at times, angry, sad, and overwhelmed. Just like them.

At the end of the story I pointed out something that seemed a bit odd...God was never once mentioned in the book of Esther. You don't see Esther speaking to anyone, not even Mordecai about God. And the only mention of prayer is when she asked the Jews to fast and pray with her.

But God is never named. You don't read of her begging and pleading with God, asking for strength and courage to face the King.

As I did research about this, thinking that it was an interesting, maybe important, part of the story, I found a lot of different speculations on why God wasn't mentioned in this story. But I didn't agree with many of the articles I read. And the more I read through the story, the more I began to form my own speculation...

Esther didn't ask God to give her strength because she knew that He already WAS her strength.

She knew that God had raised her up and brought her to the palace to be Queen of Persia for a very, very specific reason. So when that reason came to light, she didn't question God. She didn't tell Him that she couldn't do it. She didn't petition for a different person to do the deed.

She knew it was her. All along. God had planned for HER to save her people.

And she knew that God was her strength. That the only way she would be able to face this seemingly insurmountable challenge on her own was if God was her strength.

I asked my girls what things came to mind when I said the word "strong." I got answers like a lion, a mountain, a man with muscles.

My answer was a little different.

A rock.

The Bible tells us that God is our ROCK and our salvation. That He is our mighty fortress. So I gave each girl a rock that had been washed and bleached. And I told them that, just like these rocks, each of our relationships with God is different.

Some of the rocks are big, some are small. Some are tan, some are black. Round, or dented. Striped, or speckled.

And, just like these rocks, each of our testimonies will be different. God will bring us through different trials. We will have to face different hardships.

BUT.

No matter what our rocks look like...they are still rocks. No matter what your testimony looks like...we still have the same strong God.

I encouraged the girls to paint their rocks. To put something on there that would remind them that God is our strength whenever they looked at it. Here are some of my favorites...

 Premshila wrote "My God is rock" on the front, and Psalms 18:31 on the back. "So that I won't forget this verse. So that I won't forget how strong God is."

 Saroja put "God is love", and colored it green with hearts and stars. She wanted to remember that God is strong, and He is love. Because "we need to love people strong."

Pampha decorated hers with a cross and different colored polka-dots to "remind me that God is the strength for all people."

At the end of the lesson, I wanted to make sure that my girls had understood the point. So I asked them "What do we need to remember? What will these rocks remind us of?" And collectively they all shouted "God is our strength!"

Music to my ears.