Quick Thought

I know I have not written in awhile, and I don't plan to say a lot at this moment. I just wanted to share the fantastic fact that if you ask God to show up, If you ask him to move or to speak to you, he will. And I think that's pretty cool.

A Letter to a friend

There is something that connects us, That I can't describe
something that lasts, though the distance between us is wide
I don't know what you do now, or how you spend your days
the only memories I have are jumbled in a haze

This thing that connects us, will let us meet again
in the meantime I wait, happy to call you friend
when my day is ending yours has just began
its crazy what can happen when you let go of your plan

A year ago I didn't know you exist
instead of faces and names I saw only an empty pit
the chance to come and meet was what I long dreamed
time spent with you was more valuable then it seemed

so long I had to spend, being pushed to go on
but what i wouldn't give to get back whats gone
each laugh, each cry, each and every night
was a blessing, a miracle,, a shinning light

A place I didn't believe as I planned to start
would be able to capture a piece of my heart
and yet here I am with one piece gone
it was left in that shack, in that kid, in that song

Africa, I don't know when I'll return
but my love for you will continue to burn
Africa, I'll come back to your land
but its all in his timing, its all in his plan

How will I make my mark?

However small it might have been, I have made a mark on the hearts of children in Deipsloot, a squatter camp in South Africa. It was a smile, a funny dance, and a hug to tell them they are worth loving. I’ve made a mark, on Rita, 12-year-old AIDs orphan from Zambia. It was holding her in my lap, and crying with her as she shared her story with me. I’ve made a mark on the Esther school in Chongwe by cutting trees and moving cinder blocks for days in the African heat. It is by looking at where I have been, and the impact that I have made that I know I was put here for a reason. I was put here to change the world. 

Often when I say that people are taken back, it’s not exactly something the average 16 year old expects to do. I can read the doubt on the faces of strangers who hear my claim, but those who know me are excited about my plans. Plans. That implies I have an outline, a roadmap to a destination, but I have nothing of the sort. I have no idea how I will be used to change the world or even what that change will look like. So how do I know I’ll change the world? Let me explain.

I have a passion for people, especially the people often forgotten or looked down on by society. The homeless, orphans, widows, abused and those trapped in poverty have all captured a piece of my heart. It is this passion that has led me to promoting hunger awareness in my own community by not eating for 30 hours, and has led me to the villages and streets of Africa. It is this passion that has forced me to question my society’s views of success. Why would I be happy with millions of dollars if I know other people don’t even have access to clean drinking water? It is this passion that will not allow me to settle with a “good life” but strive for a meaningful one.

          My life will mean something by focusing on individual people rather then statistics or numbers. One child dies every 12 seconds from poverty related causes. That’s not just a number! That is a child that was carried for 9 months in it’s mother, breathed, cried and felt the pain of death. Alone I can’t end hunger, end poverty, disease or human trafficking, but I can help individuals who are trapped in these circumstances. I’m called to use my gifts and resources to help PEOPLE, not organizations or myself. 

The beauty of not having a plan is that I get to dream. I still have a year until I graduate high school. That means I still have a year to dream and plan. I still might not have a plan when I graduate and that is okay. I might leave behind everything that is comfortable and that I know. I might end up in a rural village to open a school or a community center to teach English and sexual education. I might stay here and open a business in which all the money is donated to a humanitarian organization. I might simply join a non-profit focusing on homeless youth in America. These are things I think about and consider doing, but whatever I do, wherever I go, I will make a difference. I will leave my mark.

I give you all my life

Always look toward the future and always move forward, that's what we are supposed to do right? Time is precious and can't be wasted, not when there is so much to do be done both in the moment and for the future. I believe That God will use me to change the world (however big or small) but I don't know how and that has been a struggle. Not knowing the path you are being led down is scary, but is it the same as being lost?

I just got back from a weekend retreat up on mount Baker. I was expecting fun with friends, good food and to maybe meet a new person or two. I was expecting God to meet people right where they were, but not me because I have heard all the camp talks a hundred times over. I wasn't expecting God to reveal anything to me, and in a way, I was right.

The second night the speaker left the path of basic, expected topics. Instead he talked about us being made to do something, having a purpose. Something that I strongly believe. He talked about a desire to leave a mark, a desire for our lives to mean something. This is a desire, I can definitely say,  that we have. He talked about God wanting to tell us what it was he was calling us to, and asked us to commit to that (whatever it might be) by dipping our hands in paint and leaving our mark on a piece of canvas; creating a work of art together.

I began to get excited, God was finally going to tell me what I'll do! The worship band started playing, and it was obvious that the Holy Spirit was moving. People began to make hand prints, large groups at a time. God wasn't speaking to me. As the first song ended, it felt like everyone had left "their mark" and I began to feel like I wouldn't. Not only that I wouldn't leave a hand print but that desire to mean something would never be fulfilled. Desperate for answer, i practically begged for an answer as I sang the worship song

"I give you all my life, I'm letting it go. A living sacrifice, no longer my own.All I am is yours.All I am is yours. I give you everything, to you I belong. Every beat of my heart, the breath in my lungs. All I am is yours. All I am is yours."

And I finally heard God's voice! But it wasn't an answer I liked. He told me, "If you really want to follow me, to give your whole life to me, your timing isn't important! I'll tell you when the time is right so for now, I want you to wait." At this i became slightly frustrated, but recognized the truth in these words, I walked to the front and left my hand's print on the cloth. I know there are great things to come, things no one can imagine, but for now, I wait. 

Who needs water?

I've always tended to save quotes and files in my email drafts so I wont lose or forget them. I was going through and cleaning it out when I found this that I wrote back in 2009.



So much running through your head you cant focus on anything else you know both what you want and what you need, but you cant take the steps to get it, its like your in the desert weak from dehydration, you know you want and need water but your not sure how to get it, and even if you found out your are too weak to get there; so you just sit and wait in the midst of the sand storm all around you.

You block it all out, pretending that since you cant see water there is none. but you know there are people who can help, but you are to tired to reach out. Your afraid if you do your open hands will stay empty and you'll look like a fool. so you sit alone and wait, each minute of each day the thirst growing stronger.

You are so afraid of being rejected, you never try to be accepted. instead you wait by yourself and try to find a way to make your own copy of the real thing. When you know deep down it's impossible; you just keep trying. Every time you fail makes you feel thirstier and more lost and helpless then ever. you still don't reach out, you never do. you continue to grow thirstier and more lost and helpless until you finally die. All because you were too afraid of looking like a fool, and being rejected, to ask for help.

Pushing and Pulling

It is difficult when a friendship you expect to last a lifetime manages to fade away. No fight, falling out or even upset emotions, just a silent distancing. I tend to wonder if I did something wrong. It's a battle to know when to pursue that laid aside relationship and when to let it go. Since there was no official end, can we still hope for a revival?

I supposed it is these kind of endings that can hurt the most; somewhere so deep inside you can only recognize it flipping through photographs or as you toss and turn on sleepless nights. Remembering laughs, adventures and growth causing conversations. The what-ifs plaguing your mind with "If only we saw each other more" "If I had called more" " If we had figured out a way to talk more" or, the worst of all, "Do they still think about me?" No matter what we believe it to be the answer to this can be detrimental. It can lead us to a harsh realization its over or to a false sense of hope. However that hope is short lived as we realize they ignore out facebook messages and over thought texts.We can't tell them what we've thought about, cried over, and prayed for. If the opportunity to talk was there how would we use it? What could we say to fix months of not speaking and return to normal?

I'm forced to recognize that in my situation there is nothing that can complete this task. The connections I am missing were built so strong from being pushed outside of our comfort zones and needing a friendly face. Formed over being cut off from everyone we knew and needing someone to talk to. Seeking someone to laugh with, share with, confide in and vent to. I need to face these facts, and that if a continued friendship is not mutually desired, the ones that i formed will remain in that place and are gone from me today.

Rita's Story

I went to Africa expecting to see the things Ive read about and seen in documentaries. I had done my best to prepare myself for the poverty and the sickness, the things people may share with me. However, on one of the first nights in Zambia, I asked God to "break my heart for what breaks his". (WARNING: DON'T ASK FOR THAT UNLESS YOU ARE SURE YOU WANT IT!!) Trust me, he did. The biggest way was through a little girl, Rita.

In Zambia, for one week we did a out reach camp, "Camp hope". One day while my team members were playing games with the rest of the kids, I grabbed our translator and asked Rita to sit and talk with me, in a more personal setting then the whole group. I asked her a simple question, just small talk.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"
"No, they all died."

She then proceeded to tell me her story. She had used to live in the city, in Lusaka. She used to have brothers, a big sister, and a mom and dad. A happy family. Her brothers died a long time ago. Then one day, her father was walking home from work when he was hit by a car. He was in the hospital for a little while, but didn't make it. Then one day Rita was with her sister, when her dress caught on fire and burned up to her chest. She was scared but could not do anything as she watched her sister burn to death in front of her.

At this point, Rita started to cry. She quickly wiped the tears away and looked in the other direction clearly embarrassed. As I assured her it was OK to cry she continued talking. Her mother was still alive, however she had been diagnosed with AIDS. The AIDS had gotten very bad recently, and the Doctor didn't expect her to live throughout the week.

When Rita was finished talking, I told Albert (the translator) he could go if he wanted. (I was told later that he had walked away with tears in his eyes). And I just sat, and held Rita in my lap.

  As I continued to go over her story in my mind, my own eyes began to water. Rather then wipe them away, I pulled back, wanting to remind Rita, that it is okay to cry. She looked up at me, and smiled, a real smile, and reached up to my face and wiped off my tears as  her own spilled down her cheeks.