Lessons Learned the Honduran Way: Part 1

Disclaimer:  I've stared at the flashing typing cursor for about ten minutes now trying to figure out what to type or how to even begin to put into words the experience of this summer and all that the Lord taught me through it.  Just now, as I sit in silence, I realize... I can't.  If it could all be put into words, I'd have a better response when people ask me how my summer was besides "awesome" or "soooo good" or "life-changing."  While all of these things are good, they only begin to scratch the surface of what I saw, what I felt, what I experienced, and what I learned.  So, please know that a short response, a simple response, is not meant to be a cop-out on sharing my experience.  I want to tell you what happened.  I want to share.  And I will-- little by little.  If you'd like to know more than what I give, please feel free to ask questions.  Good ones to ask would be-- "Tell me about a moment you'll never forget."  "Tell me about _ (fill in the name with a child)." (**Note:  If you're around me for long enough, a sweet name and probably an irresistibly adorable picture is certain to come up.) "What is one thing the Lord taught you on this journey?"  "How has adjusting back to life in the States been?"... etc.  There are so many more questions that you could ask, and I will be happy to answer any and all that you'd like to know.  I'm fully open and would LOVE to share.  Let's have coffee, let's have dinner, and let's chat.

In the meantime, I'm going to write a series of blogs on the big things that the Lord taught me this summer -- the incredible, the good, the bad, and the ugly.

So, without further ado, here's blog one. (At this point, I don't know how many there will be.  I'm just going to write until I run out of stories to share.)
....

I was sitting on the porch listening to the mountain rain.  It had quickly become one of my favorite things.  I loved the way the rain sounded as it pounded on the tin roof, blew through the trees, and settled on the green mountains and valleys that seemed to run forever in all directions.  The power was out as it was almost every day of our first week in Honduras.  No power meant no wi-fi.  No wi-fi meant no connection to home.  No connection to home meant no reaching out to friends or family for comfort in moments of loneliness or fear.  No friends or family to run to meant that I could no longer run from being still and quiet in front of the Lord.  Sitting on the porch, listening to the rain, watching every aspect of creation move in worship to its Creator, the Lord broke me.
For months as I was preparing for the summer, I had been so caught up in planning every little detail that I'd missed the most important part.  I'd praised God for His faithfulness in fundraising.  I'd praised Him for His guidance in every step of the journey.  I was so very careful and so very quick to give every ounce of glory for the journey to Jesus; however, somewhere in the midst of all of the interviews, and fundraising, and packing, I'd lost sight of the fact that this journey wasn't about me.  It wasn't about Rancho Ebenezer.  It wasn't about the kids.  It wasn't about Pinelake or WGO.  It was about Jesus.  Every part of this journey was intended to draw me closer to His heart.  Yet, until that day, sitting on the back porch, I was so caught up in myself and my flesh that I'd missed it.  I'd missed the fact that Jesus didn't need me to be awesome or extraordinary or a superhero.  Jesus simply needed me to be obedient to His call.  But this obedience was not for the sake of my own glory or for me to "help" those less fortunate, no, much bigger, much more important, this obedience was for the sake of the Kingdom, for God's glory.  So, I dove in, I dug deep into the word.  I prayed big and bold prayers.  I sat in silence.  I listened.  God spoke.  He comforted me in my anxiety.  His perfect love cast out my fear.  He silenced the doubt.  He reminded me of His promises.  He covered me in His love.  He washed over me with a renewed sense of peace and contentment in Him.

For so long, I've lived a life concentrated on the next big thing.  Over the past few years, that's been moving to Oxford, Grad School, Mexico, Honduras, and so many other things.  I've lived a life of jumping from one super focused thing to another, and, in the middle of the mountains, as I fought hard to discern what that next big thing just might be, the Lord spoke loudly and clearly through His Word.  Cease striving.  Be still.  Rest.  Trust.  You don't have to know the next big thing.  The Word doesn't say be still and stress out about what you don't know.  It doesn't say cease striving but panic on the inside about the "what ifs" of the future.  Quite the contrary, it says:

God is our refuge and strength,

a very present help in trouble.

Therefor we will not fear though the earth gives way,

though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea,

though its waters roar and foam,

though the mountains tremble at its swelling.     Selah

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,

the holy habitation of the Most High.

God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved;

God will help her when morning dawns.

The nations rage, the kingdoms totter;

he utters his voice, the earth melts.

The Lord of host is with us;

the God of Jacob is our fortress.     Selah

Come, behold the works of the Lord,

how he has brought desolations on the earth.

He makes wars to cease to the end of the earth;

he breaks the bow and shatters the spear;

he burns the chariots with fire.

"Be still and know that I am God.

I will be exalted among the nations,

I will be exalted in the earth!"

The Lord of hosts is with us;

the God of Jacob is our fortress.     Selah

-Psalm 46

He is our fortress.  He is our refuge.  He is fighting for us.  He is over and above it all, and He is victorious.  He has defeated my giants, including the giant of anxiety, so why should my fear of the unknown keep me from walking boldly in victory?  It shouldn't.  I'd love to say that that porch moment changed me so much that I have not had a moment of anxiety or fear since then, but that would be far from the truth.  I have struggled.  I have panicked.  I have been so quick to forget.  But another thing that God made so very real to me on the back porch in Honduras is that His grace always has been, is, and always will be sufficient for me (and you!).  We will fall.  We will mess up.  Our drive and ambitions will fail, but He's always there to pick us up, dust us off, and walk with us as we pursue Him once again.  So, here's to the journey.  Here's to chasing after Jesus with reckless abandon-- not for my own glory or accolades, but simply for Him.  I'm not chasing after a destination.  It's not about where I end up.  It's about meeting Jesus along the way and following him step by step... (to be continued...)