This week marks the half way point in
my 6 month commitment working with Adventures in Missions in
Gainesville, Georgia. It was two years ago in April that my journey
with Adventures in Missions began, and so as I step into this month,
I am reflective of my time with this organization.
It was April of 2009 that the Lord
really started pressing missions on my heart. I was teaching 8th
grade in East Chicago. I loved my job, I loved my students and I
loved my life- for the most part. There was, however, a part of me
slightly dissatisfied. I knew that God was calling me into a
different season. Not something bigger, but something different. I
think its often easy to say that the Lord calls us into bigger
things, but I am confident that He used me at Westside Junior High
School as much as in the bush of Africa.
That spring God spoke to me in various
ways and eventually confirmed that I needed to take a step of faith.
I remember thinking, "I can't do that. I
can't just leave my job that I love and live out of a backpack for
one year." But I
could submit an application. I could take baby steps. I applied. I
was interviewed. I was accepted. It all happened so fast, but in
the whirlwind of the process, I had peace knowing this is what and
where and who
God had called me to.
Similarly,
I find myself in a whirlwind here in Georgia. The first 3 months
have flown by and although I don't always see the fruit of my
efforts, I know that God is doing big things here at AIM. While my
attempts to recruit young people to take advantage of an amazing
opportunity to serve the Lord
may at times seem futile, I know the Lord is working through that. I
know that as AIM is about to send out their 90,000th
missionary over their 22 years in existence, God is alive and working
through AIM.
Life
here is not easy. In many ways, it was easier living simply when
everything I owned fit neatly into a 65 liter backpack. My daily
responsibilities included things that I felt alive in. I was able to
use my gifts and I saw the fruit. I had limitless opportunities to
play with children or have a
conversation with a local.
It's hard to make 20 phone calls an hour from
an office and feel like
you've made no difference.
But
just as I start to feel discouraged, the Lord so graciously provides
me with that one phone call that holds me over, that keeps me going.
Just last week, an 18 year old recent high school graduate reminded
me that ministry is not about where, but
who. And so I keep
persisting and the Lord keeps blessing me with opportunities. Like
the sexually abused college student from inner city LA who after
telling me her horrific story prayed for me in
Spanish. Or
the young lady from Wisconsin who emailed thanking me for the
encouragement I gave to her earlier that week. Or the laid off
teacher who told me I was an inspiration to her and applied to the
World Race. These are the people I am here for.
So as
I enter my 19th
month serving with AIM, I find peace knowing that Lord has not just
called me here, but as
called me to specific people. I will admit that I often have to
shift my attitude from worry and stress to a heart of gratefulness
and honor. It is an honor to work her at Adventures in Missions, an
honor that I ashamedly have taken for granted at times.
My
work here is not alone and I have relied on faithful supporters to
join me in this ministry. I simply could not have continued my work
with Adventures in Missions without the financial support of people
whom I love so dearly. I am still in major need of support and
specifically need $1000 a month to continue receiving a paycheck. I
know the Lord will provide, but I know that He uses faithful people
like you to join in this ministry!
I am
humbly asking that you would help support me in my last 3 months with
AIM. Would you consider a monthly donation or a one time gift? If
only 20 people committed to give $50 a month for the next 3 months,
my work here at AIM could be continued. Please pray about this
opportunity to support the work AIM does.
The
support I have received financially, emotionally and spiritually over
the last 2 years have been absolutely overwhelming. I am forever
grateful for the close friends, family and complete strangers who
have joined me in this ministry. I pray that God will continue to
use you in this way!
When I was a little girl I always looked forward to Missionary Sunday. I remember being so intrigued by these families or single women wearing colorful clothing from faraway lands that I had never heard of.
I watched attentively as they projected miniature pictures onto a giant white screen behind them. They narrated with stories that sounded as unbelievable as Aesop's Fables. With each click my heart raced in anticipation. What would the next photo reveal about this secret world? I saw images of people who looked much different than me, children in tattered clothes, babies with flies swarming around their faces.
Afterward, I would race to the tables where they displayed their treasures on brightly colored cloths. I looked at photos pasted on poster boards of families who reminded me of Swiss Family Robinson. I collected prayer cards like baseball cards. I studied the family photos and wondered how those MK's got so lucky.
As I grew older my childlike wonder faded, but my respect for missionaries only burned brighter. I've always had a special place in my heart for people who in their radical obedience leave everything behind to follow the Lord. My limited and false perception of missionaries has changed and I realize now that mission work can look very differently depending on what the Lord calls one to.
What I haven't realized until now is all the work that goes into sending God's people into the nations. I started working at AIM just a week and a half ago and everyday I learn more about the need for the "behind the scenes" work. The AIM office is full of people, who like overseas missionaries have radically obeyed the Lord and responded to His calling. Like traditional missionaries, they have left their homes, their families, their friends, their jobs, their careers, their health insurance, etc. all in the name of Jesus. They work very hard to ensure that everything goes smoothly for those who are called to serve overseas.
My coworkers and I work voluntarily, relying on the financial support of God's people. Our paycheck is dependent on faithful donors who have caught the vision of what God is doing at Adventures in Missions. We all pay our own rent, have bills, and have other financial obligations. I've been reflecting lately on last year and the work that God did in me and in those around me while I served on the World Race. I have an entirely new appreciation for those who worked incognito to keep me safe. And while working in an office or typing away on a computer all day isn't nearly as glamorous as holding baby orphans, it is all God's work and I am so honored that God has called me here to be a part of it.
And so, I humbly ask, would you be a part of what God is doing at Adventures in Missions? Would you partner with me specifically and commit to supporting me for the next 6 months? I ask that you would really seek the Lord and pray about supporting me monthly for $30, $50, or $100. The support I received while on The World Race was overwhelming. It was so incredible to see how God used His people to provide. I am in need of that same support, both financially and spiritually.
It is a humbling thing to ask for money, but I've learned that this is God's money and the Lord's work. I have to change my mindset and know that I am not just asking for money, but I am asking for faithful people to join me in this ministry.
I need $500 by the end of this week in order to receive my first paycheck. That's only 20 people committed to give $25 this month, or 25 people giving $20, or 10 people giving $50. I know that the amount of money is meaningless to the Lord and I have faith that He will provide no matter the amount. But would you please prayerfully considering being used by God in this?
You can donate by clicking on the Support Me link on my blog page or by sending a check directly to Adventures in Missions (Adventures in Missions, P.O. Box 534470, Atlanta, GA 30353-4470). Please put my name in the memo. It would be especially helpful if you would email me (emilygearhart@adventures.org) to let me know you are donating so I can appropriately account for how much more I need.
Above all, please continue praying for me!!! I need your support more than you could imagine. It has been a particularly tough transition for me, but I find peace knowing that this is where God has called me. Please pray that God will give me the strength to carry on His work. Thank you so much for your prayers and support. I love you all so much!
For the next 6 months Georgia will be my home. It's no secret that God had to give me a little more than a nudge to get me here. I wonder what is next and it equally scares me and excites me. But I wonder how much more of myself I have to give. I have given so much of my heart to different places and different people. Sometime I have given it away gladly and other times it was stolen from me without me ever realizing that it was happening.
I'm scared that I will never be content knowing that my heart is torn in so many directions. A part of my heart was left in Indiana with Mikayla and Noah and Hannah. In the sweet moments we share playing outside or baking cookies or cuddling into what is considered late hours. A piece of me stays with my mom, my dad, my sister. I want to be so much more to them and my human limitations break my heart. A piece is left with Garry and the times we laughed so hard our bellies hurt while watching Are You Smarter than a Fifth Grader or the late night talks about how we want to change our little corners of the world.
I left my heart behind in Terre Haute with Jamie and Devin and Andie. Three people I consider family and who have supported me through all my crazy wild rides. Part of my heart is divided among dozens of close friends who love me with a love that could only come from Jesus. My heart is separated into 150 pieces and divided among my 8th grade students in East Chicago whom I miss so dearly.
My heart is scattered still across continents; in the Massai village in Tanzania, with Betty and Lucy and African dancing, in Turkey with Sezen and her family, in the Philippines with Tan Tan and Hannah Leah, in the bars in Thailand with Om the prostitute, with the Sudanese refugees in Israel, with Amalie in Bulgaria, with Pastor Johnson and the Bishop and Mama Emily.
My heart still longs for the places and people I have loved so deeply. I struggle knowing how all of these passions God has given me can coexist. How can I make crafts with Mikayla while ministering to Cambodian students? How can I use my gift of teaching and my love for Kenya and women and children all while being within arm's reach of my family?
I believe that God has given me this heart, has blessed me with the gift of mercy, but sometimes it all feels like a bit too much to handle. I worry that I'll never be satisfied unless I could somehow freeze time and be in more than one place at once. I pray that God would give me the faith to know that He has good things for me, that this is a part of a much larger picture and He wouldn't break my heart for so many people and places without a reason. And so now I wait on the Lord to reveal to me what is next and I trust that one day I will look back and get it.
I often find myself asking this question. Wondering how I ended up in a place where "y'all" and "fixin" are just
two words in a much larger vocabulary that I don't quite understand. The weather is warmer, the people are kinder, and sweet tea is served everywhere.
This isn't my first time in Gainesville. I was here just a few months ago to help out with a training camp for upcoming squads. During those 10 days, the Lord really began speaking to me about moving to Gainesville for a season to work full time for Adventures in Missions.
I remember one night crying and begging the Lord not to make me go. I couldn't fathom leaving my family again. My mom was scheduled for major surgery at the beginning of December. There was no way I could leave her. I couldn't possibly leave the kids.
I grieved so deeply because here I was again, being asked to give up what I loved the most in this world. My idea of what 2011 would look like is not what God has for me. It took me a long time to accept that-to finally sacrifice my Issac. And it didn't come without kicking and screaming.
There were countless obstacles that showed their ugly faces prior to my move. My mom's recovery was more intense than we had expected, I had unforeseen car problems and financial issues. So after a long (in so many ways) journey, I am finally here.
I don't understand all the reasons I am here, but I am 100% confident that this is what the Lord has for me. I find peace knowing that I am acting in obedience even though it freaking hurts. I am learning (again) that following the Lord is seldom easy, often painful, doesn't usually make sense and involves a great deal of sacrifice.
So for now this is home. And I can say with sincerity that I believe the sacrifice is worth it and I am excited to see how the Lord will use me in this season.
Our team spent the month of April on the Filipino island of Mindanao. We were settled on the mountains in a city called Malaybalay. We lived, worked, ate, slept, and played at an orphanage for young children. One of the first Sundays we were there, we were given the option to visit the city prison. I decided to sit that one out. I do not feel particularly called to prison ministry, in fact, I avoid it. I have the utmost respect for those who feel called to it, but to be honest, it intimidates me. I've always struggled with the idea of prison because most institutions do so little to rehabilitate the prisoners. Also, it just plain depresses me, so selfishly, I try to avoid those things which make me sad.
Later that week, one of my fellow squad mates, Jodi Greenlee who had visited the prison approached me about an idea she had. She told me about the cell of minors that they visited and how she would love to visit regularly throughout the month to teach English. Knowing my passion for teaching, she invited me to come along. I excitedly agreed and we immediately went to work lesson planning. The next two weeks were so incredible and I can't begin to write about all the amazing things that God did. Maybe I will save that for another time.
It was an honor and a privilege to work alongside Jodi. Her love for the boys was unlike anything I had ever seen. God has given her a beautiful heart for these minors and I can't wait to see what the future holds for her. She is planning on going back to the Philippines after the race to work with the boys again. You can stay updated through her blog.
I have such fond childhood memories. I often reflect on my younger years and feel like the luckiest little girl in the world because my parents did everything in their power to make it great for me. And it was great. I remember pretending to be pioneers with my sister. We would journey through the cul-de-sac in our Radio Flyer covered wagon and cross through the Pacific Northwest of our backyard. We hunted for food and sloshed our oxen through rivers; if we had money we would take a ferry, but if not, we'd risk it. We narrowly escaped death by dysentery, exhaustion, typhoid, cholera, or snake bite.
It makes me sad when I see my niece grow up so quickly. Instead of pretending to be Annie Oakley, she becomes a teen sensation pop star. The living room sofa becomes her stage and the television set is her audience. I want so badly to protect her youth. I find myself sympathizing with the Duggar family, and the idea of sheltering Mikayla through a life of living in a protective bubble is so appealing. If only it weren't so creepy.
I've tried desperately to hold on to my own youth throughout my adolescences and young adulthood. And I've been fairly successful. But today I was given an entirely new appreciation for that.
Our team loaded into a mini van and drove to a government relocation community for slum dwellers just 20 minutes outside the capital city of Cambodia. We joined a Cambodian man named Tim in his weekly ministry that he had established to help the impoverished. He took us to the Community Center where we would be teaching English, washing lice out of the hair of locals, and hosting a Bible study for the next two days.
The first morning, we split into smaller groups and then set off to peruse the community. We would spend the morning interacting with the locals. Our first stop was a family whose small business was at risk of closing. To supplement their income they (along with the majority of their neighbors) work for a nearby sweatshop. Loads of jeans are delivered to their homes each day and their job is to cut loose threads from the seams. They are compensated one dollar for each set of 100 pants they complete. On a good day, they can complete fifty. If the children are old enough and can be trusted (families are fined 10 dollars for each pair they lose and 5 dollars for any holes they may cause), they help in the work.
Next our small group made our way through an abandoned market place. Tim explained that most families have stopped selling their goods at the market because costs were too high and profit was low. We were met by a small girl- about the age of my niece. She was caring for her younger sibling, or maybe her younger sibling was caring for her. It's hard to tell most of the time. Tim translated as we chatted about life and shared our sticky rice bananas. Her mood quickly changed when we asked her what we could pray for her about. We learned that her deepest desire was to go to school, but she was unable to because her mother was in the HIV hospital and she now has to care for her younger sister. I wondered if what her mother wanted more than anything was to protect her two little girls. I walked away feeling sad that all we could leave her with was prayer.
Later that day, children of all ages lined up outside the community center waiting for a hair washing. My teammates and I scrubbed their scalps, trying to rid them of lice. A few of us braided the little girl's hair when they were finished. They were elated when they saw their smiling reflections in the mirror. I remember feeling like a movie star when my mom French braided my own hair. We spent the remainder of the afternoon playing games, singing songs, and drawing pictures. These children were so full of innocence and joy, yet they had so little.
It got me thinking again about my own childhood again and how undeserving I am of the upbringing I had. I often struggle with these thoughts. Why was I born into a privileged family? I will never know what it means to care for a younger sibling at the age of 7, I will never know what it means to have the pressure of providing for my family. I will never know what it means to live in fear of disease as a child. I will never know what it means to wake up hungry.
I recently read, "For you have been my hope, Oh Sovereign Lord, my confidence since my youth. From my birth I have relied on you; you brought me forth from my mother's womb. I will ever praise you." Psalm 71. I can't remember a time in my life that I have not known of God's love. I have in the past carried around a guilt that I have grown up in such a way. But I am learning that God does nothing without a greater purpose. I am learning to use this and to not be crippled with guilt, but to share the love of Jesus to those I meet. I am still trying to figure out how best to do that...
on the road again...and again...and again... (continued)
Month 6. Very few moments this year have been more awkward than our first day in Kenya. We were met at the bus station by a large African Bishop who warmly welcomed us to Mpeketoni. We were led to his church and home where we would be living and serving for the month. Straw mats and foam mattresses were brought in and sprawled over the church's concrete floor. Crates of warm soda and plates of Nice Biscuits were waiting for us but it wasn't long before we all crashed for hours. That afternoon, the Bishop shared with us his vision and his dreams for the community. Not so subtle hints were dropped about being able to help him financially. It was awkward and uncomfortable. In order to clear up any confusion, Hope told the Bishop that we would be able to help with physical needs, but were not able on our limited budget to fund his projects. He paused for what seemed like eternity, brought his hands slowly up to his face, shook his head as he looked to the ground and said, "oh...I see." I still would bet a bowl of Chilli's chips and salsa that he was crying. Bless his heart, he sincerely thought that our purpose in being there was to fund and work on his projects. We also found out that he had borrowed money to begin plastering the church walls in expectation that we would be bring money for the project. So, not only had we shattered his dreams, but had indirectly caused him to go into debt. Thankfully, it wasn't long before we cleared everything up. It was a huge misunderstanding and in no way to we blame the Bishop (he is one of my favorite contacts and we email regularly). But in those first few days, we felt so awful.
Month 7. For months we had all been hearing the African bus ride horror stories from veteran racers. There were rumors of live chickens scrambling under the seats, bare breasts nursing crying naked babies, and smelly, sweaty Africans who refuse to open the windows. I probably wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't lived it myself. In transit to our ministry, we stopped in Kampala to stay the night. We arrived (as seems to be the pattern) in the middle of the night. We were warned repeatedly by many different people to guard our bags with all our might. We were told that people would steal our bags without hesitation. We even heard stories of people reaching in through bus windows and grabbing bags off the laps of the passengers. The Kampala bus station is without a doubt the most chaotic and craziest place I have in all my life been. As soon as we arrived, people started grabbing our bags and taking off with them. We had to stop them and claim them as our own. A crowd of people started forming while waiting for the bus. Twenty people soon doubled to forty and before we knew it, over 60 people formed ready to fight for a seat on the bus. The bus pulled up and everyone took their position. A very disorganized line (more accurately, a mass) formed and people started rushing the door of the bus. Our bodies were all crammed together and were pushed to and fro in one motion. Luckily I've had a little practice in my day of working my way through a mosh pit, so these skills came in handy. I worked my way to the door, inching closer and closer. Strangers were cheering me on telling me to "PUSH!" An African woman named Grace (whom I had met earlier) yelled at me, "EMMA! SAVE ME A SEAT!" I've never seen such aggression- it was survival of the fittest at its finest. People were pushing and shoving. Hope's shorts were ripped as one African tried to pull her down off the stairs of the bus. Finally, we all made it (including Grace!) Just as we had been warned, there were chickens and babies and bare breasts everywhere. It was unbearably hot and our bodies were soon drenched with sweat without any relief from the heat (not even a crack in the windows). But no one warned us about the grandma who would puke in her hand the majority of the bus ride sitting in between Michelle and Brandy.
Month 8. We were told that we would be staying in a Maasai village in the middle of the Tanzania bush. We were all dropped off at the edge of a cornfield and led down a narrow dirt path. We walked for more than a mile in the hot African sun before we were greeted by a swarm of smiling tribal Maaasai people. They went straight for our bags without hesitation and insisted in Swahili that they carry our luggage. We could all read each other's expressions as we silently wondered if these were our hosts or were we just getting high jacked? At the village we were welcomed with traditional song and dance. Everyone was so genuinely happy and excited to see us. They all stood in line to shake the wazungu hand. We were exhausted from travel, but had no choice but to be shown around the small village. Mary, the pastor's wife proudly showed us their river, which turned out to be a small hole in the ground that stretched two feet wide and two feet deep. A small boy demonstrated their filtration process which was skimming the debris off the top of the water with a dirt crusted plastic jug. Over the next few hours, we toured Mary's home and she served us ugali and beans. Our bellies were full, but she persistently insisted that we eat more. Finally we made our way back to the main meeting place where we sat and stared at a crowd of curious African girls. Not knowing what else to do, we began singing songs in our off key a cappella. They listened patiently and then stole the show by belting out beautiful melodic tribal songs. It wasn't long until they arranged themselves in a dancing line and moved to the beat of a rhythmic drum. We politely ate our dinner of goat liver and brains served on a bed of rice. We washed it down with their most famous treat- warm goat's milk. Choking down dinner about wore us out, so we were all more than ready to retire for the night. As we walked to our tents, our contact stopped us. "So, we will have church at 10 and we need a pree-cha." O.K. No problem. "We will be ready to preach tomorrow at ten. What time will breakfast be?" Hope replied. "No...not tomorrow" Our contact clarified. "What?" "TONIGHT!" He said in a drawn out raspy voice as he looked off creepily in the distance. So half dead exhausted, we put our best faces on and stayed up past midnight preaching, singing and dancing all in the name of Jesus.
Month 9. Our flight from Thailand to the Philippines was one of our shorter flights, but we still arrived at 4 AM. We were met by an American missionary who brought a cooler full of juice boxes, a box of blueberry muffins and a several bags full of Quaker Oats Chewy Chocolate Chip Granola Bars. Its hard to say whether or not I would have thought much of eating granola bars and muffins at 4 in the morning after a sleepless flight, but I've learned to soak up any opportunity to have a small taste of home. We were elated to have something so familiar. After we all fueled up, our contact, Jeff told us that we had a two hour car ride ahead of us. I was actually looking forward to the car ride- two hours seems like nothing now that I have survived countless African bus rides. Then we learned that we wouldn't all fit in one vehicle. Someone from the group would have to drive through Manila's bumper to bumper rush hour traffic. Adam courageously volunteered and Jeff warned him that it was extremely dangerous and asked if he would be able to "keep up." The two hours I expected to sleep were spent hanging on for deal life and we weaved through traffic and dodged semis. I still really don't know how Adam did it. This will always be one of my fondest memories.
Month 10. Kampong Cham is just a three hour bus ride from the capital city of Cambodia. We left mid afternoon and were surprised to see a air conditioned bus waiting for us! The ride was pleasant and we arrived promptly at 5pm. Our contact, Cecil met us with two Tuk Tuks (these are hard to explain, but they are basically a carriage attached to a small motor bike) to take us to our accommodations. She took us to the place we will call home for the next 3 and a half weeks to drop off our things. She told us to hurry because we would attend a cultural dance performance that started at 5 PM. We were all excited to jump right in and even more excited to experience the culture in this unique way. It was 5:20, so we all hurriedly piled into our Tuk Tuk and sped off. Being 25 minutes late, I expected to walk into a crowded auditorium and have to tip toe through a crowd of people to find a seat. Instead we found one row of plastic chairs set before an outdoor stage. There was exactly enough chairs for each of us and that's when we realized that the performance was for us. The act was absolutely unbelievable. Unlike anything I had ever seen in my life. The performers wore brightly colored traditional costumes and the dancing was slow and deliberate. Cecil told us that this was part of a monastery and these dancers were orphans ranging in age from 12 to 18. Following the performance, we were taken to the ministry center where dinner was set and waiting for us. We ate a delicious Cambodian dinner outside which was the perfect way to end our travel day.
Travel days are full of the unknown. We've all learned early on not to ask questions, because chances are no one (including the leaders) know the answers. There are mixed reviews throughout the squad about these often chaotic days. Some have come to really love the unknown adventure, while others are simply tired of the stress and never knowing what is going on. It's hard to believe that we have only one more month to experience travel days. I've been reflecting on these special days and I think I'll really miss them...
Month 1. Upon arriving to Ireland, jet lag and nauseated with exhaustion, we were told that we would not be going to sleep or even resting in the afternoon (as we had expected), instead we would spend the day trekking around Dublin. We were given instructions for our "Race Day" scavenger hunt. There were several tasks to be completed by each team. The winning team would receive a prize. Still traumatized from training camp, we suspected that the prize would be eating dinner (consequently, the losers would not be eating dinner). So needless to say, we took up the challenge. Our teams set off literally racing around the city, checking each task off the list. Visit the book of Celts...what if only one of us actually goes inside? Buy a leprechaun hat for $2...does a small pencil topper count? Eat Irish stew for lunch...we can only afford one bowl, so we'll have to share. Finally after we completed each item on the list, we ran back to the campsite hoping and praying that our efforts would pay off. The anticipation grew as our tummies grumbled. The winner was announced (it wasn't my team). The prize- a box of Lucky Charms.
Month 2. The flight to Romania was filled with excitement as we anticipated the unknown. A new country, a new culture, a new ministry. My imagination wondered as I pictured Transylvania and the colorful culture of Eastern Europe. In my mind's eye, I saw the little cottage we would be living in. Complete with a garden. The house would be full of those little wooden Russian dolls. We landed sometime after midnight and then all crammed into a bus, completely unaware of where we were or where we were going. We traveled for hours and I'm told that there was confusion and disorganization concerning the place we were heading. Apparently no one really knew. I was completely oblivious since I was drifting in and out of a deep sleep. At one point, I was abruptly woken up and told that we had arrived. We stumbled off the bus, grabbed our packs and stood in front of our host family's house dumbfounded. The house was small and unkempt. There were flies everywhere buzzing around the dusty furniture and feeding on the sticky counters. Our host "mom" served us what she considered to be coffee. It tasted like lukewarm coffee flavored wet socks. We choked it down the best that we could and I realized two of my teammates were silently crying (I'll protect their identity, but we now joke about it).
Note: Later we found out that we were dropped off at entirely the wrong place. We were supposed to be living in dorm style accommodations and working for a church.
Month 3. We were told that our job this month was to pioneer Bulgaria. We were in charge of finding our contact, arranging ministry, and securing a place to live. Our team leaders frantically emailed strangers they Googled from a McDonald's in the Bucharest train station. With only a few minutes to spare before we departed, we received a response from an American missionary. We didn't have time to work out all the details, or any details for that matter, so we set off in hopes that it would all work out. I remember the leaders telling our teams that "probably" someone will pick us up from the train station and "hopefully" we can find a place to stay. Barely surviving on no more than 2 hours of sleep, we arrived safely at 6am on a Sunday morning. We waited for a while, losing hope with every passing minute, when finally a beautiful Bulgarian woman approached us and introduced herself. She told us that we would be going straight to church (don't worry, we'll stop at McDonald's to freshen up). We were filthy and haggard from an over night train ride and not in any condition to go to church. At McDonald's she casually mentioned that we would also be attending a wedding ceremony that morning. She was in fact a bride's maid in the wedding. We didn't believe it until we arrived at the church and were immediately put to work blowing up hundreds of yellow balloons. Sure enough, in the middle of the praise and worship set, the wedding procession began flowing out of the pipes of an organ. The bride was escorted down the aisle and we watched (wearing our sweat stained t-shirts and cut off shorts) from the very first row.
Month 4. By month 4, I had gotten used to all the unexpected incidents that travel day brings. But absolutely nothing could prepare me for the very worst day (so far) or the entire race. We were driven to a campsite from the Tel Aviv airport and told that we would be sleeping there just for the night (a matter of a few hours, at that). In the morning, we would all pack up and set off for a day filled of site seeing and tourism. I was excited to sleep under the stars on the north shore of the Sea of Galilee. While preparing for bed, it was clear that the squad was divided- the practical and the risk-takers. The practical wisely decided to set up tents to comfortably sleep in for the night. The risk-takers decided that the hassle of setting up a tent was just not worth the few hours of sleep. They would take their chances and sleep under an awning or some kind of open porch roof that was found on the campsite. I was in the latter category of people and set up camp on the edge of the awning. I woke up to the sound of people moving around frantically. Then I realized that my entire sleeping bag was soaking sopping wet. There was nowhere to go. Why was I so lazy? I should have just set up my stupid tent. Hope and I decided that our only alternative to escape the torrential downpour was to retreat to the community bathroom (it was a really low point, ok?) The rest is unspeakable. Suffice it to say that it was the most miserable night of my life. (Also, Hope still got rained on the entire night).
Month 5. My squad mate Beks and I decided that we would have plenty of time to rest later. Instead we wanted to explore Istanbul while there was daylight. We walked out into the crowded streets and weaved our way through bumper to bumper traffic. We walked past a small café that displayed several works of art. We curiously peeked in through the half opened door and were quickly invited inside. A Turkish man insisted on showing us around the studio/coffee shop and proudly introduced us to several people I can't remember. "This is so great!" We whispered to each other. We had both been talking about how badly we wished we could visit a museum. This was close enough in our present lifestyle. Our unofficial guide introduced us to a wild hair with crazy eyes. We soon found out that he was a famous Turkish artist who had traveled all over the world displaying his works. After chatting for just a few minutes, he handed us two tickets for the Istanbul art exhibition. Beks and I were absolutely elated.
So as some of you may have noticed, I've taken a hiatus from blogging. Believe it or not, its been intentional. I haven't stopped writing about my experiences, I journal almost everyday. I guess I just felt like blogging on a public site for everyone to read somehow meant that I was something special. I realize I am doing what most people would consider to exciting and adventurous and I'm sure there are even a handful of people who would enjoy reading about it. But I never wanted to glamorize my experiences or take credit for the work God is doing. After all, we are all living a life of ministry and purpose. My life is in no way more important than the next person's. I've recently had some regrets about not blogging. My teammate, Hope Mendola and I were chatting one night about these regrets. She has committed to a goal of one blog a day. (She is an incredible writer, I highly recommend reading her blogs). This has inspired me greatly. I've felt convicted that I haven't kept in touch with my supporters and friends and family as well as I could have through writing blogs. So please accept my sincerest apologies (especially to those who have been bugging me about blogging) for keeping you in the dark about my World Race. And so, without further ado, I have decided to post some past journal entries as well as write some new blogs for those of you who are interested.
Also, thank you thank you thank you to everyone who has been on my case about not blogging! Stay tuned!
Afterward, I would race to the tables where they displayed their treasures on brightly colored cloths. I looked at photos pasted on poster boards of families who reminded me of Swiss Family Robinson. I collected prayer cards like baseball cards. I studied the family photos and wondered how those MK's got so lucky. 
ng how I ended up in a place where "y'all" and "fixin" are just
The first morning, we split into smaller groups and then set off to peruse the community. We would spend the morning interacting with the locals. Our first stop was a family whose small business was at risk of closing. To supplement their income they (along with the majority of their neighbors) work for a nearby sweatshop. Loads of jeans are delivered to their homes each day and their job is to cut loose threads from the seams. They are compensated one dollar for each set of 100 pants they complete. On a good day, they can complete fifty. If the children are old enough and can be trusted (families are fined 10 dollars for each pair they lose and 5 dollars for any holes they may cause), they help in the work. 
