One of Those Days

Today has just been one of those days. It actually started yesterday when I had trouble falling asleep (which I’ve had way too much experience with the last few months). I woke up this morning, tired, groggy, joints achy. My hair was misbehaving and everything I tried on looked wrong. My brain fog kicked in and it took me over an hour just to get ready. I totally forgot to pack a lunch. I was running late and as I gathered my stuff up, I noticed my bright orange cell phone holder, which is conveniently attached to my keys.

Apparently noticing it was not enough to actually make it get into my bag. I ran downstairs, firmly shut the locked door, and hoped that I had remembered everything I’d need for the day. (Yeah, right) Got to my car—no keys in the bag. What?! This must just be “purse panic” and they’re buried somewhere in my bag. Nope. I emptied my bag out onto my car hood twice. No keys. No cell phone. Locked door. Quite a conundrum, right?

I remembered that my Dad had put a magnetic key case under my front bumper somewhere when I first bought my car at age 16. It’s been 6 years and I never needed it. Now can I remember where it is? If anyone was watching from their home window, I’m sure it was quite a sight. I’m in a skirt, crawling around my car, looking underneath, praying that little black box will show up and save me.

I don’t see it and I give up for a few minutes, sitting on the curb, looking equally ridiculous. Should I knock on a neighbor’s door and ask for help? Should I just start walking to the office? Should I just hang out on the Barnette’s back porch all day? Thankfully my “can do”-Africa personality came through (and the Holy Spirit helped too) as I wracked my brain for where that key case was supposed to be. I decided to get my hands dirty and start feeling around underneath the front bumper of the car.

Lo and behold, I felt a little plastic box and after yanking on it—found it to be the box of my salvation (just kidding; nothing heretical here)! Again, if anyone was watching or listening, I’m sure they were entertained as I did a little dance in the street and yelled “Thank you Jesus!”.

A year ago, I’m pretty sure this morning would have set a frazzled and annoyed tone for the whole day. But perspective changes, thank goodness. Instead of panicking, I found myself praising Jesus for being with me in a sticky little predicament. I wasn’t particularly bothered by the whole thing because in the full realm, it’s not even a blip on the radar. Much worse things have happened. And I also found myself praising Jesus because the whole situation proved that I had begun living again. a) I had somewhere I need to be b) I had the energy to get out of bed and get there and c) stress is proof that you’re alive. If you have a completely stress-free life with no sticky situations, you are either not living, you’re in denial, or you have the most boring life ever.

So as strange as it may sound, today I am thankful for getting locked out of my car. For seeing a change in my perspective and for seeing life again. And of course—as I arrived triumphant at the sending center, the elevator refused to work  :)

Wishing for Omnipresence

If I could have a super power wish list, I’m pretty sure omnipresence would be high in the ranking. I’m highly skilled at not living in the moment and being discontent. I’ve learned that I am a future focused person, which can be channeled for good, but often leads to me fixating on “what ifs” and continual anticipation rather than joy in the moment. I’m also quite good at being discontent—aren’t we all? Whether it is over something as small as wishing you could indulge in a food craving or wanting an entirely different life, we all experience different moments and levels of discontentment.

Right now, I wish I could be about four places at once. Probably more if I had the option (I’ve always wanted to visit Greece and Morocco :) Anyway, of course I wish I was in Uganda with my team, serving and living that crazy lifestyle that makes most people cringe a little. I wish I was in Kenya, with Anna and Jessica right now, experiencing a new part of Africa but mostly just being with them. Right now I’m in Philly and I don’t want to leave, despite the appointment I have to be home for on Thursday. And no matter where I am in the world, I always have a wish in the back of my head to be in Maryland with my family.

I’m pretty sure a large part of being a missionary is learning to be okay with feeling torn between a lot of places. I think it certainly makes me look forward to glory in our True Home—a place with all who are in the body of Christ; a place of total contentment; a place without tears; a place with an omnipresent God.

Paradox Continues to Ring True

Today I sit in a Panera, on the outside looking much like a typical 20-something American. Earbuds in, listening to the Avett Brothers, wearing jeans, mascara, and flip flops with pedicured toes. I edit photos of my nieces and nephews that were taken a week ago at an amusement park—family tradition since before I was born. I peruse facebook and finally decide to look at some photos from the interns’ summer in Uganda. It hurts, like I thought it would. I download the most recent version of iTunes. Sipping iced coffee, chilly from the air conditioning and the cardigan goes on. I sit alone, ignored by the majority of white faces around me.

Rewind exactly 6 months. I walk along a dusty, bumpy road to the market. Sweaty and sticky, long skirt swishing, hoping for a breeze. Toes have dirt between them, heels so callused they laugh at the prospect of a pumice stone. I ignore the staring eyes, greet some fellow pedestrians and thank women carrying massive loads on their heads “Webhale milemo”. I expect the shouts of “Mzungu!”, “How are you? I am fine!”, and “I love you!” and practice selective listening. I leap out of the way of massive lorries barreling by—if they are speeding unsafely, I shout and wag my finger. I peek into Bahati’s shop to see if she is there; we chat. I enter the market, searching for green peppers, knowing it will be like looking for a needle in a haystack. I haggle, refusing to pay 25 cents for a shriveled little pepper.

Rewind another 6 months exactly. I move in a bit of a frenzy. I have about two weeks until I leave for a place I’ve never been. It’s got a great name though—Bundibugyo. Packing, frantic emails with lists of questions, trying to preserve memories with friends and family that can last for the next two years. Struggling to enjoy last moments in America, grieving good-byes, facing the total unknown. So busy I choose to ignore the dry mouth and trouble I’ve had swallowing lately. It’ll go away on its own.

I’m not sure what the scene will look like if I was to fast forward 6 months from now. I guess that’s something I’m learning—God guides my steps, even if they end up going in directions that I don’t expect, want, or to really painful places. And right now, each day is one step—where it takes me, I don’t know but I think it’ll be okay.