Just Don’t Stop

                I ran (okay, honestly, walked half of) my first 5k this week. As I trudged up a long and steep incline (a 325ft. gain…) my only thought was to just not stop. I kept walking, wiping raindrops out of my eyes, and putting one foot in front of the other. I finished without stopping.

                Today, several days away, and no longer sore—I’m starting to see the application of that race for where I’m at in life. Not simply because I have to “keep walking” but because the last two years have been a lot like the course of the race—steep and difficult in the beginning—feeling like I’ll never make it through the twists and incline of re-entry, grief of so many family and friends dying, entering a crazy busy year of school, friendships changing—but I had to keep walking knowing the hill of those things wouldn’t last forever. Life has a way of leveling out—there is calm after the storm. Additionally, just like I didn’t run the race alone—I was a part of my church team—Team Taproot—I haven’t been on this journey alone either. I’ve had supportive friends, family, and mentors walking this journey with me. It’s seemed impossible, like the incline would never stop, like I would never be able to set to level ground, to be able to look back at how far I climbed—for the hard walk to be hindsight.

                But just like that hill, the hard times may be rollin’ but they don’t last forever. Today, in the middle of my two week break from school, I was having coffee with a friend and surprised myself by saying that “I can’t expect my walk (with Jesus) to look the same after what I went through (in 2012) and it shouldn’t”. Life-changes change life. Relationships ebb and flow, people and seasons change. I can’t expect what “worked” in the past to work now. You walk/run differently on an incline than you do on the plateau. Admittedly, it’s been a very dry and dark season. Life’s gotten busy, I’ve let what others think become too important to me. I’ve drifted, doubted—but I haven’t stopped walking. So as I keep walking, I change my pace, my perspective, and persevere in faith that the race of life takes a lifetime—I don’t have to run the whole way—I just can’t stop til He calls me home.

Wanting to be noticed

               It was while I was scrolling through my pinterest boards, looking for some witty quote or funny picture; something that grabbed my attention, made me laugh or think about a profound truth—that I realized the action was a glimpse of how I want to be noticed.

So much of what we do in life is to be applauded, to be noticed—to get a pat on the back, a “like”, a recognition that our presence is perceived, appreciated. I’m willing to go so far as to say that EVERYTHING we do is to be noticed—we gain or lose weight, change our hair, write a blog post, pursue that degree, date that guy, whatever it takes to share life with someone. We yearn for unity, common ground, a group, a message, a place in the world.

The sad truth is that each moment of attention is fleeting—“the Rachel” becomes a 90’s-has-been-fad, the relationship sours, the weight comes on—and we’re left back at square one. Now what—how can I grab people’s attention, how can I keep it, how do I know I am valued, when have I done enough? These questions plague and drive us. What’s the point?

As I bit into a burrito, the simply profound, and maybe ridiculous thought hit me—I am noticed and loved—Jesus knows I love chicken burritos, he knows my desires, my heart, my motivations (the good, bad, the downright ugly) and still keeps me as the apple of his eye.

I may not have the flattest abs, the letters in front of my name, the family I hope to have—but I am still loved, cherished, noticed.

“It’s not you, it’s me”—February 8, 2014

                It’s me—writing in sweats, watching soccer on a Saturday. It’s me, wondering how many more single Valentine’s days I’ll have—made brighter from the hugs of the children I work with and the annual bouquet from my Dad. I sit here writing instead of studying—I can’t clinch my fists when my heart needs to breathe. It’s me, looking back at what I could have said or done differently—knowing I grasped at straws, said stupid things, took that extra sip. It’s easier to look back and regret the smallest things that must have doomed instant connections, instead of brushing them off and knowing that “tomorrow is always fresh, with no mistakes in it”. So, it’s not you, it’s me.

                It’s not you—the ones that I look back and give a grateful sigh that a conversation or a friendship was all that I have to regret. It’s not you—the ones who sat in friendships, didn’t clarify—or couldn’t because you did even know. Naw, it’s not you from the past that I miss —everything happens for a reason.

                It’s me. Knowing that my life HAS started—it has purpose, joy, and so much love—right now. It’s me knowing that God has blessed me in numerous ways—and someday, maybe, you’ll be a part of that. It’s me, not expecting prince charming or a romantic comedy—although, let’s be honest—there will be lots of romance and comedy. I know you’ll have chinks in your armor and I’ll have jewels missing from my tiara. I know that it will be a beautiful battle to fight for unity, clarity, honesty. I know there will be days that are more comedic then romantic—where a glass of wine and a prayer are the ways to end the chaotic and clumsy day. But today, it’s me—single but satisfied that someday, maybe—it’ll be we.

When a Diagnosis Re-directs your Dreams—January 31, 2014

                I’ll never forget sitting in that doctor’s chair, my head spinning as I strained to hear the kind man in the blindingly white coat speak the words that changed my life forever—you have degenerative hearing loss. Those words changed everything. It was a pivotal moment in my life that was the end of the beginning. It was the end of a relatively “care-free” life, the end of feeling normal, facing rainy days and swimming outings without anxiety. The end of throwing my hair in a ponytail without a thought, of noticing how quiet my world is when I sleep without aids, the end of life as I knew it.

                Oh, but that day was also the beginning…

                It was the day I began to understand that life is frail, fleeting, that my body will fail. It was the beginning of accepting disability as a part of me not something that dis-ables me from life. It was the beginning of asking for help, of being an advocate for myself. It was the beginning of a new normal—one that has ended up a lot less scary than I imagined.

                That Thursday afternoon I thought a lot of my life was ending—would I have to leave Trinity Western to afford the hearing aids I would need? Would I be able to keep studying psychology—how practical is that when I wouldn’t be able to hear my clients? Who would want to date, much less marry me now—now that I for sure have less and no one seemed to want me before? Where can I go from here? What about my dreams?

                But what I’ve come to realize over the last six years is that the afternoon diagnosis wasn’t when my dreams died—it was when they were refined. I still studied psychology and two years later graduated with an honors degree. I may have dropped the Spanish minor, but I ended up with a Human Services certificate—which was the primary way the path from psychologist turned to behavior analysis—and working with children with disabilities. At the time it sure felt like the end of the world—but so many beginnings start that way. The dead leaf is pushed off to make room for the bud.

                Tonight, in the midst of my second quarter of graduate school—with 6 year anniversary of hearing aids falling on Super bowl Sunday (Go Hawks!)—I read this story and was reminded of and prompted to write about my own. What felt like the end my dream of helping others by listening was actually the beginning of discovering my passion and my mission. My dull ears allowed me to hear so many things—the encouragement of others, the reality of disability and the ability to thrive within it, and the voice of my Father who calls me and comforts me in the midst of storms and strife.

                My hearing loss may have ended life as I knew it—but the life I love now was actually made possible through it—I’m not puking rainbows and saying life is easy and beautiful with hearing loss—it’s often scary and difficult—but a life worth living is one that has valleys and mountains.  I love that I can relate to the families I work with, that I can “turn my ears off” to annoying sounds, that I can sleep like a rock. So, what seems like the end can actually be the start of a beautiful beginning.

I am not a single woman—January 14,2014

                “Whatever it is that is holding you back, you have to let go of the old patterns and replace them with a new one”—Jillian Michaels prodded a teary-eyed contestant. As I watched from my couch I was struck by two things—one, the ever increasing awareness of just how much the principles of my master’s program really are applied in real life—and two, how much Jillian’s words were applicable to me.

                It is so easy to get tunnel vision—to get in a rut of the days, the degree, the routine introduction you roll out at parties or when you run into a blast from the past. I’m in a master’s program at the UW, yeah, it’s busy…nope, still single, yeah, living with my parents is alright, yeah, definitely saving a lot of money. 

                What you choose to say when you first meet someone or are describing your current life to someone from the past, says a lot about how you define yourself.

                Those conversations echo your self-talk, self-concept, and what matters about you…”student, still single, still at home”—we all have mantras that hold us back.

                As the contestant conquered her fears, Jillian’s words encouraged me to remember I am more than the meet and greet conversations. My status is not my worth. They things I tell about myself are just about me—parts but not everything. I realized that my descriptions, and more importantly—my self-talk—were holding me back from really appreciating the gift that this season is.

                I am in the season of being a student, single, still at home—but those things are where, not who or what I am. The reasons are valid—something I, and many other twenty-somethings don’t have to feel embarrassed about or victimized by.

                Tonight, I am choosing to not be defined by where I am. I am so much more than the status of my career, my relationship, or my address. By the grace of God I am not my past and by his sovereign grace I am not defined by where I am. I am not a single woman, I’m a woman who is single, a student, a woman saved by grace. I can look ahead to the future and choose contentment today—not for where I am but whose I am.

Forward in ‘14

Forward: adverb- onward so as to make progress. Synonyms-onward, moving ahead

Adjective-relating to or concerned with the future.

                Periodically, since 2005, I’ve attempted to begin each year with a theme, a word, rather than an “I will do it!” resolution, it’s more of a mindset, an aim, a direction. The last week, as I’ve relished in the break from work and school, I’ve begrudgingly looked ahead to the next quarter—I can be a perfectionist with school and the fact that last quarter’s busy schedule put me through the wringer as far as focus and diligence goes with really studying, not just finishing things—I was discouraged.

Sometimes, looking back is a lesson, sometimes it turns you into a pillar of salt.

In the midst of wallowing in “I wish I had…” I realized I had a choice—I needed to look forward. I made a study plan, and devoted the rest of the week to relaxing—reading books I wanted to, for FUN! There are seasons in life for a reason—we need the trees without leaves to make room for new growth, the time of growth leads to the harvest. As I look head to 2014—I want to move forward. Yes, there are the concrete things in front of me—graduate school, the board exam, looking for a job to start the BCBA career. But I also want to live in light of this last year—the growth, the regrets, the good memories—but in a way that is onward, progressing, moving ahead—forward. I can’t change where I’ve been, the hours I didn’t study, the words I wish I didn’t say—but I can allow those things to propel me to a healthy concern for the future.

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Strive for progress, not perfection. In education, exercise, relationships. As life as slowed down the last couple of weeks, I’ve realized there are things that I would like to change—go to bed and get up earlier, listen more to others, ask questions, take constructive criticism with more humility, pretend to like black coffee, to name a few. Each of those are progressive—not destinations—well, the coffee one is debatable. But anyway, I want to remember the last year—the blessing of jobs I loved with kids and staff I will never forget, road trips with windstorms, moving on from just missing Kenya like a “has been” to letting that drive me in my decisions today and to make future plans, was financially able to buy my own hearing aids (since no insurance company covers the cost—but that’s for another post…), spontaneous trips to Portland, and likewise—the ways I was shown that the world is such a small place. I can see how I’ve moved forward—starting grad school, exercising regularly again, admitting what I would like to change, and putting that blasted cellphone/ipad down to actually engage in life.

Most recently, the idea of moving forward was shown by the fact that the 6 year anniversary of finding out about my hearing loss came and went—it wasn’t until half way through the day that I remembered—and I’m so grateful. Last year, I rightfully celebrated—that while this has shaped my life it in no way ended it. This December 27^th demonstrated that I have moved forward—hearing loss is a part of my life—it has changed my routines and my outlook, and rightly so; but over the last 6 years I’ve moved forward from the everyday fear.

As I “move forward in ‘14” I pray that I continue to look ahead, to strive for progress and not perfection, and to take each day one step at a time.

Walk with Uzima Outreach

“The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step”— Lao Tsu

Life is a series of journeys that all have to start somewhere. Uzima is the Swahili word for “life” and the organization, Uzima Outreach, is one that for the past 3 years has brought life and healing to those in areas of Nairobi, Kenya, where many people live with substance abuse. Three years ago Steve Turner walked into one of the slums in the area knowing there was a great need. It was a dangerous place that few Kenyans were willing to step into. Today, that same place is unrecognizable. Turner relates “Sodom is not what it used to be…[it] was known for murders, rapes, muggings, and serious drug abuse. There was a group of guys, around fifty strong, which ruled the area. Even police were afraid to go there”. Today, the gang has dispersed and several of the men who led the gang are now on the team of Uzima. The slum was changed by men walking away from addiction and walking the hard road of recovery.  Through Uzima’s outreach program—daily men make the choice to walk away from substance abuse and to walk in a new way—in life and freedom.

The ministry’s purpose is twofold—to reach the addicted adults and the orphaned and neglected children of the addicted (who are often themselves addicted to substances). Uzima hosts an outpatient program involving counseling and Bible studies. The next phase is a live-in program for those who show progress in the outpatient meetings. In this phase the men, and often their families, are further counseled and the men are also taught life-skills through the “Business as Missions” model. The ministry has grown tremendously over three years—one man’s first step and the leadership of other faithful leaders—such as Fred and Washington, became a strong team created by God to change the walk of many men.

Uzima’s other primary ministry—caring for and teaching the orphaned and abandoned children affected by substance abuse—grew from the outreach program. As Turner and others walked through the slum, they met many children who were orphaned or abandoned by their drug and alcohol addicted parents or caregivers, and who were sometimes addicted themselves. Once again, the ministry stepped into the lives of many who needed hope and help. Uzima has opened a Children’s Home that now cares for 34 children. Uzima works to clothe, feed, and educate these children—changing their lives by paving the way for them to grow in a safe and caring environment away from the streets.

 

In three short years, Uzima has walked into the slum and walked alongside the journey of recovery of many men and children in the harshest parts of the slum—but this would not have been possible without others walking with Uzima. Many visitors have walked through and ran with the children in football games and in meeting educational and physical needs. Turner’s friend, Steve Wescott, is literally walking across the USA—from the Space Needle to Times Square with a goat to raise awareness and funds for Uzima to build a new Children’s Home.

Today, Uzima needs you to walk with them. This life-changing and life-giving ministry is possible because many people walk with the leaders. Presently, there are many immediate needs—from monthly expenses to one time gift opportunities. You don’t have to walk into a slum, across the continent, or fly across an ocean to make a difference. The reality of Christmas is that our gifts echo the greatest gift—supporting the abandoned children and recovery of men enslaved in addiction is a beautiful way of walking alongside them. Uzima Outreach has brought life and hope to many men and children—we can help sustain the life of Uzima and equip them to change lives—one step at time.

If you would like to walk with and support Uzima Outreach, there are several ways to give:

By Mail:                                                        Or Online:  https://secure-q.net/donations/Uzima/1494

Uzima Outreach
P.O. Box 350
Spokane Valley, WA. 99037

Here are some specific ideas to bring Christmas to Uzima Outreach by financially walking with them:

Monthly needs       

Fees for all Secondary school fees: 27,000ksh ($311) for all the children! Or ($77 per child)
Rent for the Children’s Home - $230
Children’s Medical expenses (broken down monthly) $57
Utilities at the children’s home (Approximately) $50                          

And here are some current, one time donations needed:

Curtains and curtain rail for the Children’s Home - $45
Medical check-ups for all the children - $400—for all of the 34 children who call Uzima home
Extra water tank (we run out often) 5,000 liters - $400

If you want to give towards one of these specific needs, you can write it in the memo line of the check, or in the “comment section” online.

     

 Please check out Uzima’s website: http://uzimaoutreach.org/