Pressing on toward what lies ahead

Okay..yes, this is my cliche "end of the year" post..but there's something to be said for reflection, revision, and refocusing goals. There are so many rhythms in life and taking time to recharge and plan are pivotal parts of it.
   Now, many of my highlights of this year can be found here, but since that only goes up til my 25th Birthday in August..I'll add more here. This year was full. 365 days of joy, sadness, fear, worry, and hope. Oh, so much hope not only because of realized dreams and milestones, but also because of the milestones and even in the midst of loss. 2012 marked the goodbye of so many people who touched my life, and I'm not naive that 2013 will bring some of the same..that's what life is about--ebb and flow, birth and death. If anything, the deaths of many I knew helped me to take time to think about the reality of death and the temporary time we each have on earth. I want to look ahead and live each day knowing it could be my last. I dont want to go into a detailed account of the year..but here are some photo highlights that sum up 2012

January                                                                     

 
February- art show

\

Safari

The sweet kids in kibera

 

October time with the Family

Cousin's wedding in Mississippi

 

 Overall it has been an amazingly blessed year. I press on toward 2013- a year of new beginnings, goals, dreams, and milestones.

Treasures of Darkness 27 December 2012

                Today is significant. Not simply in light of “every day matters”, but because it is a personal marker. December 27, 2007 was the day my acknowledged journey with hearing loss began. A scared twenty year old feebly attempting to find security and identity while fighting the tail of a tornado that unforeseen disability brings. Thankfully, I didn’t stay a terrified twenty year old—in five years I’ve grown into an acceptance and hope-choosing 25 year old. There are so many treasures in the darkness of disability.

                I have had time for my eyes to adjust to the room I was thrust into—and it’s not as scary as it used to be. The things I used to blindly bump up against, flinch, and scream at—hearing aids, audiology tests, captions, and loud rooms of muddled sounds—well, they’ve stuck around enough to become familiar friends. Just like flaws in furniture or imperfect architecture. I acknowledge them with a stubborn smile and a nod of triumph. Similarly, my eyes can now see that the room filled with dark obstacles and seemingly broken dreams, was actually full of treasure. Oh, its taken time and work; and I know there’s so much more to be uncovered, dusted off, cleansed—but I can now approach those unknowns with confidence. As I began to move in this dark room, I discovered that it was really about growth, not a shattering of dreams but I refining of them.

                Thankfully and blessedly I have the same amount of hearing as I did five years ago—but even more importantly—I’ve grown. I have learned so much as I’ve unpacked the room of disability—that asking for help is a sign of strength, not weakness. I found my voice in this darkness, and it’s enabled me to speak for the voiceless and to share joy and pain. I hope I’ve become more compassionate and accepting—knowing that with our various abilities we all want to be loved, to experience and give joy, to be celebrated.

                To close, these five years in the room of disability have been so full of treasure in the darkness. I give thanks for them today and look forward to the next five years. There is so much more to be found—I don’t want to miss it.

Isaiah 45:3—I will give you treasures of darkness, that you may know it is I who call you by name.

A Lot Can Change in 5 Years

              5 years ago today I was in a very different place. I had 5 semesters of college ahead of me, was living in Canada, had blonde hair, and felt like I had “my whole life ahead of me”. Most impactful, however, was that 5 years ago today, my world was forever changed—an appointment at a ENT confirmed my parents suspicions and slapped the denial out of my head—in the muffled sound I had grown accustomed to, I was told I had genetic bilateral hearing loss.

                Five years ago today I was scared, lonely, blurry-eyed, and terrified of the life ahead of me. I was terrified of becoming a burden, an invalid, a pitied member of society. I blubbered my way through a blood test where the friendly technician attempted to ease my apparent fear of needles when really I was just trying to grasp the reality of the last half hour.

                Five years ago today—I sat on Alki beach with my Bible, journal, and a pen in hand. I made a choice. I made a choice to have hope in loss, to choose life. I chose to continue to walk and to see this as an opportunity, not a sentence. Through the tears I wrote a prayer—a prayer for hope, for clarity, for security, and a plea for healing.  I didn’t want to have hearing loss, to have to get hearing aids, to have my life rocked when it seemed like things were falling into place. No, I liked my normal life and the plans I had, thank you very much, so if we could just rewind and get back to that, that would be great, thanks God. I finally closed my journal, stared out at the Puget Sound that reminded me of my nature, my size, the lack of control I have, I stood up, and began to walk quite feebly into a future I didn’t want but I knew I had to embrace—whatever that was supposed to look like.

                Boy, what a difference 5 years can make!

                Today, I am back in Seattle, I graduated university, I am planning on a Master’s program next fall, I have brown hair and bangs, and I just had my world changed again—by living in Kenya for 3 months. Today I know that I do have “my whole life ahead of me” and its not as scary as I thought it would be 5 years ago. I know that my hearing loss doesn’t define me, it shapes me. It has shaped me into a person who is more humble, compassionate, and understanding—asking for help is a hard fight—and this is all by God’s grace.

                Today I sit at home, still with my journal, Bible, and pen. Today I still choose to have hope in this loss, and I am thankful for the clarity that the past 5 years have brought in, and hopefully through me. Today I am thankful for my aids, and so thankful that I haven’t been healed yet—because I know it is still teaching me. Today I have a new normal, and good plans, and I’m so thankful for the future God chose for me—one that includes hearing loss.

                Today, I celebrate, rather than despair. I celebrate where I’ve been and where I’m going. I know that the next five years will continue to be ones of change, more events that rock my world, but I can look forward in hope as I look back and remember. 5 years makes a difference—and that’s a really blessed thing.

Lessons from a Pair of Gold Shoes- December 25, 2008

This is a post from about 4 years ago. I think it's close enough to Christmas to repost it. 

This Christmas has been different: snowy, out of order traditions (we still haven't opened our stockings!), and a whole lot of giving.
                For the first time since I can remember my parents and I chose to give more than we recieved and as a result, have had the best Christmas ever. Today we spent Christmas with a family we just met whose faith and exemplary trust in Christ emulated Abraham. They moved thousands of miles to Seattle and changed their way of life because they felt the call of God.
              Throughout the last few weeks, since we met this family, my parents and I have come together in prayer and faith in countless ways asking God how he wanted to use us to demonstrate his love to them as well as our community. It resulted in a ton of elbow grease around our house as well as braving the weather and malls with more joy then I've experienced since my last service oriented trip.
               Today we were able to see the fruits of our labor and God's work on our hearts by having the family over for lunch and dinner. In addition to to the "planned gifts" God open so many doors for us to give of ourselves. For example, I have way more clothes than I wear or need and for the last couple of days I'd been asking for an oportunity to give them to the two girls who are 8 and 13. After a fun round of "Apples to Apples" the youngest had a drink spill on her shirt and I was able to "see the window" to ask if she wanted to wear one of mine. She readily agreed and asked "so, when I leave where should I put it?" To which I was able to reply "well, actually, you can keep it. And, you can try some of these other ones if you'd like..." A closet riffling later resulted in two garbage bags full of clothes I no longer need being hauled out of my room by two very excited girls...even my hemmed pants fit!!
               But what really stood out to me from the clothes, was a pair of gold chuck taylors I impulse bought at walmart about a year ago. As the family walked out, with the oldest wearing the shoes; not only was reminded of a portion of one of my favorite quotes, "God is in the recycling business..." but also overwhelmed by the truth that God really is in control and has plans for our life. My "impulse buy" turned into a blessing and a very tangible reminder of how I really can trust Jesus' plan for my life.
               What caused the differences this Christmas? The sermons on giving I heard on several occasions? The weather? A change in outlook? Being thankful? The fact that my hearing loss has taught me the hard way that nothing really is ours and that only God really is in control and caused me to be more grateful for what I have? Regardless, Christmas 2008 will forever be etched in my memory as the one where I truly learned that its more blessed to give than recieve.

Since Its the End of the World as we know it...

                I’ve been really blessed this week—even in the midst of sadness, grief, and in the joy of holiday preparations.  One thing, especially today that has stuck out—is the need to choose contentment. Daily, hourly, it is a fight for joy. A conscious effort to choose to see the glass as half full; to have hope for a future I cannot see or control. I have to opt to be optimistic. Not in a careless or heedless way, but an optimism rooted in the reality of an omniscient, omnipresent, and omnipotent Pappa Daddy who wills and works.

                  Dreams may be unfulfilled today, innocent lives may be lost, I may still have waves of grief…moments where all I want is to book a flight back to Nairobi or at the very least have a deep conversation with someone who understand the beautiful brokenness of Kibera.

 But in those moments, I have a choice…I can choose to let the not given spoil the given (paraphrased Jim Elliot), or I can choose to remind myself of the hope I have. The same hope that fulfilled the dream of Kenya is still working, providing, and preparing the way for my next steps. I don’t want to be so rooted in the future that I overlook the blessings of today. Blessings such as sitting next to a writer with a past similar to mine, running into old classmates, and meeting new friends, or the laughter and smile of the precious boy I work with…to name a few.

                There has been a ton of hoopla (and hooray for an opportunity to include a word that is fun to type and say) about the “end of the world”…and it’s been an interesting juxtaposition (an equally fun word) to the outpouring of “26 acts of kindness” in memory of the lives lost last week…we should live each day with that perspective—that it could be our last, that we should seek to do the “golden rule” along with helping our fellow man. So tonight, potentially the last night, I want to live rooted in joy and hope, not because I know what tomorrow will bring, but because I know that the Heavenly Daddy who brought me this far will bring me safely home.

 

Hope from a Yellow Lion King Umbrella

                The sidewalk is drenched. The Christmas lights are sparkling, and as I look up from my reading—a preschool-aged boy skips by, sheltered from the rain by a bright yellow Lion King umbrella.

                In light of yesterday’s tragedy—I cannot smile at the sight without a twinge of sadness. Innocence is lost today for many children—lives taken away on the brink of their interaction with the world. We are grieving—and we should be.

                Yes, this boy reminded me of loss, of the pain of the assumed safety of innocence and elementary being wrenched away. It also caused me to sigh in empathy for the educators, first responders, parents, and families of Newtown. Yet it also reminded me of hope. I saw a picture of God’s love and protection, like that yellow umbrella, shielding us from the full reign of evil—and there is so much grace in that. We skip and grasp tightly to the handle of hope his salvation brings. We cannot forget that this Christmas.

                President Obama rightly stated that “these are our children” and reminded us that “the Lord is near the brokenhearted to bind up their wounds”. In the midst of recovery and asking why—we have to remember that this points us to hope—the One who can bind our wounds. He alone can heal a generation of angry, violence saturated minds, and aimless early-adult drifting and restore them to be adults of integrity, with determination to live out goals for good. By His grace we will heal, we will have hope. We will skip under His faithful umbrella of love and peace.

In the Valley of the Vision

                I cannot believe it is December 13^th—where did this year go? It has been a tumultuous and momentous year of firsts and with its share of pain. I have held newborns and mourned losses many times over. I lived out a lifelong dream—Kenya, and today I am still “experiencing” many things as I process, mourn, and move forward. In hindsight, I was reluctant to return to Seattle—I didn’t want to stop “livin’ the dream” in a very literal sense. Now that I have been back, I know I can’t spend my days in reverie—I need to refocus and cast a vision.

Over the last few weeks I have had glimpses of being future oriented again—grad school plans, a second job coming through, and an even clearer picture of what my time in Kenya means for future plans. This has been difficult—a harvest, yes, but one that requires intentional effort to glean the good lessons and form new goals. I don’t have the “now what?!” mentality I did in September, and I am so grateful for that.

My “now what?!” is submission today. Just like before Kenya—I have to walk each day in trust, hope, and faith. The new goals intermingled with old dreams are real and present—having a family, returning to Kenya—but I do not need to be frantic, fearful, or so future oriented that I forget about today. Today I have purpose—a job I love with an amazing family, friends here, and so much more.

                Today as I read in Isaiah I was struck by the 5^th verse in chapter 22 which relates:

The Lord of hosts has a day of tumult and trampling and confusion in the valley of vision, a battering down of walls and a shouting to the mountains.

This verse is a beautiful picture of the last two and a half months for me—they have been confusing, tumultuous with grief and joy; but they have also been the valley of vision. I am not naïve to think I’m out of the valley, especially as materialism rears its ugly head around Christmas, as I remember friends and family lost this year, and as I still wait for the fulfillment of the dreams of marriage and a family. I know this valley is purposeful—it IS battering down my walls—cultural frameworks, idols of proving myself and of control. It has caused me to shout to the mountains. But—it is the valley of vision. The valley is sanctifying, a sure part of God’s promise to work for my good and His glory, always.

   As I walk through this valley, as I see paths and begin to cast a vision in faith—I walk in hope. I trust that the sovereign Savior who has led me to today will faithfully lead me into a thousand tomorrows.

Longing and loving December 8, 2012

   This has been a heavy and full week….I was SO blessed to be entrusted to watch my Pastor’s kids for several days and that experience was so fun—it also taught me a lot about myself and just how precious children are. But, in the midst of playing “soccer mom” I was also burdened by the weight of processing—my hearinglossiversary is the 27^th…that will be 5 years since I discovered I have bilateral genetic hearing loss…and the reminder of that, as well as seeing first-hand how it will affect my parenting/sleeping habits…. is always bittersweet. Yes, painful because I am still able to look back and remember life before hearing aids…but also so sweet—I have grown so much because of my loss, not simply in spite of it—and I think this year I want to celebrate that—to celebrate that God uses hard things to humble, He hurts to heal. That my life changed inexplicably 5 years ago—but it hasn’t been as horrible as I thought it would be—in fact, it has brought a lot of hope. I have hope that I can persevere, that I can adapt, that I can ask for help and it doesn’t mean I’m helpless.  Additionally, this week was weighty because grieving, like ogres, is like onions…lots of layers  some of which choose to expose themselves very much like onions—causing you to tear up randomly while sipping a seasonal latte at Starbucks.

                With all that said—the rest of this post will be more of a list; my personal Pollyanna “glad game”. But I also want to remember the things I am longing for….not forgetting all the things I love.


Longing: fire pit bbq’s and laughter with old friends, movie nights, the smell of fresh Kenya rain, monkeys crossing my path, having to watch my step on a “sidewalk”, children calling out “how are you?!”, walking everywhere, street side markets, volleyball nights, acoustic worship, sleeping under a mosquito net, being able to call getting groceries exercise because of carrying them the 15 minute walk back, badminton, tree house Bible study and reading time, communal dinners, Masai markets, crossing the street like frogger, hiking up my skirt to leap over a puddle, greeting everyone with handshakes, mendazi, chapatti, instant community, the sound of a good Kenyan downpour, living within walking distance of all my friends, beautiful vases by dusty roads, red dirt, Habeshas, pizza-flavored bagel chips, …

 

Loving: holiday decorations, cinnamon scented—everything, evening drives peppered with Christmas lights, reading The Best Christmas Pageant Ever and sharing it with kids, gingerbread lattes and cookies, Acoustic Christmas Music, Advent Carols at church, re-reading the Anne of Green Gables series, holiday movies, skype, finding and re-reading old letters,  crisp air, chunky scarves, surprising sunny days, children’s honesty and joy…