“Time is free, but it's priceless.
You can't own it, but you can use it.
You can't keep it, but you can spend it.
Once you've lost it, you can never get it back.”
~ Harvey MacKay
To me, time is more valuable than money. I'd rather be give someone's time than money. I'd rather receive the gift of time more than any other gift that I can think of (that could be partly because one of my love languages is spending quality time with loved ones...). I'd rather spend my time investing in other people's lives because in the long run, I believe that relationships are what matter, not how much money you have in the bank, or what brand of clothing you wear, or what fancy gadgets you own, or whatever else money can buy.
Time is short and seasons pass. We can look back and see how we invested our time. Can we really say that we did the best we could with the time that we had? I know I can't. As we draw out of the holiday season, ask yourself if you actually spent your time wisely. Were you wrapped up in getting decorations up, searching desperately for the "right" gift to give that special someone, frantically wrapping presents, and dashing from one place to the next in this whirlwind of a season? Or were you spending quality time with friends and family?
Even people whose love language isn't quality time can testify that spending time with friends and family is an important matter that often gets pushed aside.
Can we really say we spend our time in the right way, or do we waste it on frivolous things? I'm not sure what the "right" way for me to spend my time is, but I know that of the time I have spent, it has not all been spent the "right" way.
Ask yourself that question...
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Friday, December 26, 2008
TV Series and Relationships
I was talking to someone the other day about TV series on DVD. He had watched the first season all the way through while it played on television, somehow missed the second and third seasons, and caught the tail end of the fourth.
And while the first few seasons were a while ago, their content was still relevant to the current season. He felt compelled to go back and watch the seasons that he missed to truly appreciate the season he was watching at the time.
It occured to me that this is the way that we treat our relationships with people. Personally, I watch a few select shows--NCIS, CSI, Boy Meets World (when it was on), Survivor--and you can't just jump in the middle of the season and expect to know what is going on, how different relationships between characters have evolved, etc. Well, I mean, you can, but you will be confused and need to view previous episodes, if not seasons, to catch up.
Similarly, we approach relationships in the same manner. We jump into a person's life and try to pick up where they are right now, not giving any thought to their past. We can't just go out and buy that person's life on DVD and "catch up."
And hey, we might get lengthy narratives and a pretty good idea of what happened in that person's life, but that is similar to reading a summary of an episode in a season. You get the main idea, but the character's (or person's in this case) facial expressions, actions, tone of voice are lost. The majority of what we understand is based on non verbal communication--what we see, what we hear. Take away that component, and you miss out on that woman's heartfelt glance toward her coworker or that man's look of contempt, all the richness that existed at the moment that the action took place.
While these two events are different--one is a TV show and the other is reality-- I stilll see similarities between them. It's so interesting that we are drawn to this idea of getting the full-length, uncensored background of a story when it in no way shows how we really live. We can't punch the rewind button in a person's life and get the full experience. Yeah, there's pictures and stories and sometimes home movies, but even all these together only give us a glimpse into that person's life. The only way for us to experience events with people is to be there when they happen.
We would never even dream about becoming addicted to a TV show without watching the previous seasons, but we find it perfectly okay to live our lives and form relationships with people in this way...
And while the first few seasons were a while ago, their content was still relevant to the current season. He felt compelled to go back and watch the seasons that he missed to truly appreciate the season he was watching at the time.
It occured to me that this is the way that we treat our relationships with people. Personally, I watch a few select shows--NCIS, CSI, Boy Meets World (when it was on), Survivor--and you can't just jump in the middle of the season and expect to know what is going on, how different relationships between characters have evolved, etc. Well, I mean, you can, but you will be confused and need to view previous episodes, if not seasons, to catch up.
Similarly, we approach relationships in the same manner. We jump into a person's life and try to pick up where they are right now, not giving any thought to their past. We can't just go out and buy that person's life on DVD and "catch up."
And hey, we might get lengthy narratives and a pretty good idea of what happened in that person's life, but that is similar to reading a summary of an episode in a season. You get the main idea, but the character's (or person's in this case) facial expressions, actions, tone of voice are lost. The majority of what we understand is based on non verbal communication--what we see, what we hear. Take away that component, and you miss out on that woman's heartfelt glance toward her coworker or that man's look of contempt, all the richness that existed at the moment that the action took place.
While these two events are different--one is a TV show and the other is reality-- I stilll see similarities between them. It's so interesting that we are drawn to this idea of getting the full-length, uncensored background of a story when it in no way shows how we really live. We can't punch the rewind button in a person's life and get the full experience. Yeah, there's pictures and stories and sometimes home movies, but even all these together only give us a glimpse into that person's life. The only way for us to experience events with people is to be there when they happen.
We would never even dream about becoming addicted to a TV show without watching the previous seasons, but we find it perfectly okay to live our lives and form relationships with people in this way...
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Running
I had not gone for a good distance run in nearly two months, since the end of the cross country season and I went for an easy four mile run yesterday.
Even after not running in so long, it felt so great to just run, to hear the pounding of my feet on the road, to the rhythmic sound of my breath, and to feel the cold wind slapping my face. Yes it was cold...about 35 degrees, but for once, the cold air didn't bother me. It could have been the fact that I was running for pure pleasure (I know that's hard to imagine for some of you) instead of being under the command of Cummings (cross country and track coach) or the fact that I hadn't run in so long I had forgotten how good it makes me feel.
Whatever it was, it was AMAZING! It's kind of like those commercials that tell you to find your anti-drug. Well I've rediscovered mine...
Even after not running in so long, it felt so great to just run, to hear the pounding of my feet on the road, to the rhythmic sound of my breath, and to feel the cold wind slapping my face. Yes it was cold...about 35 degrees, but for once, the cold air didn't bother me. It could have been the fact that I was running for pure pleasure (I know that's hard to imagine for some of you) instead of being under the command of Cummings (cross country and track coach) or the fact that I hadn't run in so long I had forgotten how good it makes me feel.
Whatever it was, it was AMAZING! It's kind of like those commercials that tell you to find your anti-drug. Well I've rediscovered mine...
Monday, December 22, 2008
Desperately Searching
"I'm desperately wanting to just find a way
Searching and seeking for someone to say
That it's alright and it's okay"
The opening lyrics to the song "You Alone" by Echoing Angels mirrored my feelings last week. I wasn't able to sleep more than four hours at a time and kept waking up in the night and not being able to go back to sleep, I was falling asleep in classes due to this lack of sleep, I was not doing well on tests (with the exception of my math test), I was irritable, my close friend was held at gunpoint, one of my classmate's dad passed away, and I had so much to do and no time to do it.
Frankly, I just wanted to sit down with a friend, not have to go anywhere, say anything, or do something. I just wanted someone to tell me that it was going to be okay, like the lyrics in the song. I longed for an inner peace that I know only God can give me. I have searched and prayed for this peace but I've had no luck yet. I am hoping that with the break from school I will find it.
Searching and seeking for someone to say
That it's alright and it's okay"
The opening lyrics to the song "You Alone" by Echoing Angels mirrored my feelings last week. I wasn't able to sleep more than four hours at a time and kept waking up in the night and not being able to go back to sleep, I was falling asleep in classes due to this lack of sleep, I was not doing well on tests (with the exception of my math test), I was irritable, my close friend was held at gunpoint, one of my classmate's dad passed away, and I had so much to do and no time to do it.
Frankly, I just wanted to sit down with a friend, not have to go anywhere, say anything, or do something. I just wanted someone to tell me that it was going to be okay, like the lyrics in the song. I longed for an inner peace that I know only God can give me. I have searched and prayed for this peace but I've had no luck yet. I am hoping that with the break from school I will find it.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Letting Her Go
Already he is trying to blink away the salty tears forming in his eyes
As together, they begin to walk the crimson path,
The path he has been so terrfied of taking ever since he first held her in his arms,
The path lined with beautiful flowers, illuminated with white candles.
Her face is painted with colors of happiness and joy,
And it's the only thing that keeps him walking down that aisle.
Although he tries not to think about it,
The memories of past years nearly drown him.
Before he can think to stop them,
The years play before his eyes in slow motion.
He looks through that hospital window,
Past all the other newborns, and without any hesitation,
Picks out his precious black-haired baby girl.
Subsequently, he walks that same dark-headed, green-eyed five-year-old
Into her first day of kindergarten,
Sending her off with a butterfly kiss on the cheek.
Suddenly he remembers
The countless times he awoke during the night,
Only to find her her standing patiently by his side
Wanting a glass of milk.He considers the many nights
Spent in her room with the hand prints on the pastel-colored walls
When it was stormy outside, snuggling close to his little girl,
So the thunder couldn't hurt her.
Just like that, he finds himself coming home from work
Greeted with a bear hug from his baby girl,
Who waited at the window for him to come in,
When she heard his car pull in the driveway.
He yearned for the sound of her laughter
When he played Barbies with her
Or made her stuffed animals talk.
Longing for the, at the time, dreaded shriek
Of "Dad!" stretched into more syllables that the word contained,
When he had accidentally washed her favorite white shirt
With the colored laundry and turned it pink.
His heart aches when he thinks of
Wanting desperately to spend time
With his beloved teenage daughter
Before she left for college.
But she pushed him aside, saying,
"Not now, Dad, I've got other things to do."
Before he realizes it, he summons up the memory
Of teaching her to drive, in a lonely parking lot
On a Sunday afternoon.
He recalls her innocent giggle as she got behind
The wheel of the car for the first time
And inched slowly across the lot.
Unwillingly, he calls to mind her first date,
The boy he automatically hated,
And the embarrassment he had caused her
By calling 15 times during the date--
Just to make sure she was okay.
A smile flitters across his face as he recalls
The joy in her voice when the letter came,
The one announcing her acceptance
Into her first choice school.
He feels pained remembering the drive across town
To her first-choice college with all her belongings
Crammed in the back of his SUV,
And almost breaking his back unloading everything
In the empty thrid floor dorm room.
Presently he sees her marching across the stage
In her cap and gown to receive
That ever-important sheet of paper.
All too soon, she brought home a boy for him to meet
For him to approve of and give his blessing.
"A very special man," she called him.
He knew at that very moment,
By the way she looked into the boy's eyes
That it was the end of the man she called "Dad"
The end of him being the only man to comfort her broken heart,
The end of him acting as Superman and saving her from dangerous situations.
The end of him playing the role of Mr. Fix-It and attempting to fix her every problem.
Those moments suddenly mean absolutely nothing to him
And he tucks them away in a corner of his heart.
Together they approach the altar
Where the groom--his replacement,
That "very special man"--
Stands ready to snatch his baby girl away.
He holds on to her arm as
They take the final steps up the few stairs.
After all the years that he held her,
Comforted her,
Helped her,
And most of all,
Loved her with all his heart,
She was leaving him.
He prayed the groom
Would take precious care of his baby,
Loving her more than he himself did,
If possible.
Never could he have grasped,
Comprehended, imagined, nor fathomed
The sharp pain that traversed his whole body,
But mainly his heart,
As he heard the words, "Who gives this woman?"
As he responded to the question,
And as he stepped back from the center of the altar,
When he let her go.
As together, they begin to walk the crimson path,
The path he has been so terrfied of taking ever since he first held her in his arms,
The path lined with beautiful flowers, illuminated with white candles.
Her face is painted with colors of happiness and joy,
And it's the only thing that keeps him walking down that aisle.
Although he tries not to think about it,
The memories of past years nearly drown him.
Before he can think to stop them,
The years play before his eyes in slow motion.
He looks through that hospital window,
Past all the other newborns, and without any hesitation,
Picks out his precious black-haired baby girl.
Subsequently, he walks that same dark-headed, green-eyed five-year-old
Into her first day of kindergarten,
Sending her off with a butterfly kiss on the cheek.
Suddenly he remembers
The countless times he awoke during the night,
Only to find her her standing patiently by his side
Wanting a glass of milk.He considers the many nights
Spent in her room with the hand prints on the pastel-colored walls
When it was stormy outside, snuggling close to his little girl,
So the thunder couldn't hurt her.
Just like that, he finds himself coming home from work
Greeted with a bear hug from his baby girl,
Who waited at the window for him to come in,
When she heard his car pull in the driveway.
He yearned for the sound of her laughter
When he played Barbies with her
Or made her stuffed animals talk.
Longing for the, at the time, dreaded shriek
Of "Dad!" stretched into more syllables that the word contained,
When he had accidentally washed her favorite white shirt
With the colored laundry and turned it pink.
His heart aches when he thinks of
Wanting desperately to spend time
With his beloved teenage daughter
Before she left for college.
But she pushed him aside, saying,
"Not now, Dad, I've got other things to do."
Before he realizes it, he summons up the memory
Of teaching her to drive, in a lonely parking lot
On a Sunday afternoon.
He recalls her innocent giggle as she got behind
The wheel of the car for the first time
And inched slowly across the lot.
Unwillingly, he calls to mind her first date,
The boy he automatically hated,
And the embarrassment he had caused her
By calling 15 times during the date--
Just to make sure she was okay.
A smile flitters across his face as he recalls
The joy in her voice when the letter came,
The one announcing her acceptance
Into her first choice school.
He feels pained remembering the drive across town
To her first-choice college with all her belongings
Crammed in the back of his SUV,
And almost breaking his back unloading everything
In the empty thrid floor dorm room.
Presently he sees her marching across the stage
In her cap and gown to receive
That ever-important sheet of paper.
All too soon, she brought home a boy for him to meet
For him to approve of and give his blessing.
"A very special man," she called him.
He knew at that very moment,
By the way she looked into the boy's eyes
That it was the end of the man she called "Dad"
The end of him being the only man to comfort her broken heart,
The end of him acting as Superman and saving her from dangerous situations.
The end of him playing the role of Mr. Fix-It and attempting to fix her every problem.
Those moments suddenly mean absolutely nothing to him
And he tucks them away in a corner of his heart.
Together they approach the altar
Where the groom--his replacement,
That "very special man"--
Stands ready to snatch his baby girl away.
He holds on to her arm as
They take the final steps up the few stairs.
After all the years that he held her,
Comforted her,
Helped her,
And most of all,
Loved her with all his heart,
She was leaving him.
He prayed the groom
Would take precious care of his baby,
Loving her more than he himself did,
If possible.
Never could he have grasped,
Comprehended, imagined, nor fathomed
The sharp pain that traversed his whole body,
But mainly his heart,
As he heard the words, "Who gives this woman?"
As he responded to the question,
And as he stepped back from the center of the altar,
When he let her go.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Unconditional Love
Lesson(s) Learned was the first essay topic for my English class this year. I chose to write about unconditional love...
Scorching hot and muggy, I stepped, already sweating, off the bus two different times, in two different countries, during two different summers. Not sure what to expect either summer during my weeklong mission trips working with children: the first in Knightsville, South Carolina, and the second in St. Peter, Barbados, I anxiously boarded the bus those fateful Monday mornings.
The first time I descended the bus in Knightsville, I found myself clueless as to what to do with the kids who came in for the day camp we were working. I stood to the side, not sure how to act or what to say. Splitting the kids up into groups based on age was the first priority that sweltering morning. Assigning two or three students to each age followed. Placed to my greatest dismay with the youngest group, the tree-year-olds, I found myself oblivious as to what to do with them. I hadn’t had much, if any, contact with kids under the age six.
Most of the children were crying because they missed their mommy and didn’t want to be at some day camp with total strangers. I couldn’t say I didn’t blame them. I wanted to sob my eyes out too because I was scared and anxious about working with this age group. What to say to these children or what to do to console them completely evaded me. I observed my peers as they began to comfort the terrified kids. My friend shot me a look that clearly demanded why I just stood there, watching. I hurriedly located an adorable blond, curly-haired, blue-eyed three-year-old named Aiden who was a little upset, but not crying—at least not yet—and pulled him into my lap. That was all I had to do. After a few minutes of just sitting there, allowing him to become comfortable around me, he started to talk to me. I struggled to understand him at first, with his toddler babbling, but I soon caught on.
Each day, Aiden wanted to do more and more with me. Slide down the slide, build castles in the sand box, and kick a soccer ball back and forth. The last day, Aiden brought one of those foam baseballs and bats from home and made a beeline towards me as soon as his mom dropped him off. He came toddling over, arm outstretched with the ball in his hand, struggling to hold the bat and the ball and run at the same time. “Play with me?” Aiden asked, his big sapphire-blue eyes staring up, unblinking. “Of course,” I told him as I took the ball and backed a few steps away from him. I tossed the ball to the young boy again and again, until he finally began to tire of the game. Aiden was a boy of few words. He grabbed the foam ball from my hand when he was bored and placed his little hand in mine and led me to the water cooler, where he wanted for me to get him a drink.
In Barbados, I had the privilege of working with kids aging from four all the way up to eleven. I had had such a good experience with the younger kids the year before in Knightsville that I looked forward to working with the four-year-olds. Because we went a little bit earlier in the summer, the kids there were still in school. These kids seemed different from the start. Excited to have all the attention directed at them, even the shy, quiet children became loud as they tugged at the bottom of our T-shirts to get us to notice them. Eager to become like us, the children wanted to wear our nametags, hats, sunglasses, necklaces…anything they could get their hands on.
Quick to introduce me to all his classmates and tell me everything about his school, Tyreece soon became my ‘little buddy.’ Each day, I would eat lunch with my fellow World Changer companions in a room off of the courtyard. Tyreece rushed through his meal to come stand at the open doorway of the room I dined in and patiently wait for about five minutes. Then he politely asked when I planned on being done so I could come play with him. As soon as I stepped outside, a swarm of four year-olds surrounded me. Tyreece, unfortunately for him, found himself on the outside edge of the entourage, so he pushed through and crawled under his friends to get to me. From there, he grabbed my hand and led me—and my horde of children—out to the field. Tyreece, a little on the bossy side, told everyone what to do and what game we were to play, but no one seemed to mind.
When I had escaped from the wild four-year-olds, I managed to socialize with some of the older girls who loved playing with ‘white people hair’ because it was so soft. One girl, Courtney, had no hair. I’m not sure if that was her choice or if she had some kind of illness that caused her hair loss, but she loved playing with my hair more than any of the others. She told me she wanted my hair. A little confused at first, I became torn by the desire to somehow grant her wish and by breaking her sweet ten-year-old heart by telling her she couldn’t have it. I repeated the question back to her and she nodded her confirmation that I had indeed heard her right. I didn’t know what to do, so I raked my fingers through my hair, pulling out all the loose strands. I held them out to her. So happy to receive those few locks of hair, Courtney thanked me profusely and engulfed me in a huge bear hug. She told me excitedly that she was going to tape those wisps in her diary and write about me and remember me forever and ever.
Some people say that all kids, all over the world, are the same. I’ve discovered, that in a way, they are. They all crave love, simple, unconditional love. Keenly reminded by young children that I came in contact with on mission trips of this unreserved adoration, I realized that I had grown away from this amazing admiration. Teens and adults alike, tend to judge first and love later rather than the other way around. The kids I had the privilege of working with longed for someone to play with them, to read with them, to talk to them, and in essence, show them unrestricted love.
Scorching hot and muggy, I stepped, already sweating, off the bus two different times, in two different countries, during two different summers. Not sure what to expect either summer during my weeklong mission trips working with children: the first in Knightsville, South Carolina, and the second in St. Peter, Barbados, I anxiously boarded the bus those fateful Monday mornings.
The first time I descended the bus in Knightsville, I found myself clueless as to what to do with the kids who came in for the day camp we were working. I stood to the side, not sure how to act or what to say. Splitting the kids up into groups based on age was the first priority that sweltering morning. Assigning two or three students to each age followed. Placed to my greatest dismay with the youngest group, the tree-year-olds, I found myself oblivious as to what to do with them. I hadn’t had much, if any, contact with kids under the age six.
Most of the children were crying because they missed their mommy and didn’t want to be at some day camp with total strangers. I couldn’t say I didn’t blame them. I wanted to sob my eyes out too because I was scared and anxious about working with this age group. What to say to these children or what to do to console them completely evaded me. I observed my peers as they began to comfort the terrified kids. My friend shot me a look that clearly demanded why I just stood there, watching. I hurriedly located an adorable blond, curly-haired, blue-eyed three-year-old named Aiden who was a little upset, but not crying—at least not yet—and pulled him into my lap. That was all I had to do. After a few minutes of just sitting there, allowing him to become comfortable around me, he started to talk to me. I struggled to understand him at first, with his toddler babbling, but I soon caught on.
Each day, Aiden wanted to do more and more with me. Slide down the slide, build castles in the sand box, and kick a soccer ball back and forth. The last day, Aiden brought one of those foam baseballs and bats from home and made a beeline towards me as soon as his mom dropped him off. He came toddling over, arm outstretched with the ball in his hand, struggling to hold the bat and the ball and run at the same time. “Play with me?” Aiden asked, his big sapphire-blue eyes staring up, unblinking. “Of course,” I told him as I took the ball and backed a few steps away from him. I tossed the ball to the young boy again and again, until he finally began to tire of the game. Aiden was a boy of few words. He grabbed the foam ball from my hand when he was bored and placed his little hand in mine and led me to the water cooler, where he wanted for me to get him a drink.
In Barbados, I had the privilege of working with kids aging from four all the way up to eleven. I had had such a good experience with the younger kids the year before in Knightsville that I looked forward to working with the four-year-olds. Because we went a little bit earlier in the summer, the kids there were still in school. These kids seemed different from the start. Excited to have all the attention directed at them, even the shy, quiet children became loud as they tugged at the bottom of our T-shirts to get us to notice them. Eager to become like us, the children wanted to wear our nametags, hats, sunglasses, necklaces…anything they could get their hands on.
Quick to introduce me to all his classmates and tell me everything about his school, Tyreece soon became my ‘little buddy.’ Each day, I would eat lunch with my fellow World Changer companions in a room off of the courtyard. Tyreece rushed through his meal to come stand at the open doorway of the room I dined in and patiently wait for about five minutes. Then he politely asked when I planned on being done so I could come play with him. As soon as I stepped outside, a swarm of four year-olds surrounded me. Tyreece, unfortunately for him, found himself on the outside edge of the entourage, so he pushed through and crawled under his friends to get to me. From there, he grabbed my hand and led me—and my horde of children—out to the field. Tyreece, a little on the bossy side, told everyone what to do and what game we were to play, but no one seemed to mind.
When I had escaped from the wild four-year-olds, I managed to socialize with some of the older girls who loved playing with ‘white people hair’ because it was so soft. One girl, Courtney, had no hair. I’m not sure if that was her choice or if she had some kind of illness that caused her hair loss, but she loved playing with my hair more than any of the others. She told me she wanted my hair. A little confused at first, I became torn by the desire to somehow grant her wish and by breaking her sweet ten-year-old heart by telling her she couldn’t have it. I repeated the question back to her and she nodded her confirmation that I had indeed heard her right. I didn’t know what to do, so I raked my fingers through my hair, pulling out all the loose strands. I held them out to her. So happy to receive those few locks of hair, Courtney thanked me profusely and engulfed me in a huge bear hug. She told me excitedly that she was going to tape those wisps in her diary and write about me and remember me forever and ever.
Some people say that all kids, all over the world, are the same. I’ve discovered, that in a way, they are. They all crave love, simple, unconditional love. Keenly reminded by young children that I came in contact with on mission trips of this unreserved adoration, I realized that I had grown away from this amazing admiration. Teens and adults alike, tend to judge first and love later rather than the other way around. The kids I had the privilege of working with longed for someone to play with them, to read with them, to talk to them, and in essence, show them unrestricted love.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Summer 08
This summer God has definitely been working in my heart. I started out the summer working for Chris Causey as a middle school intern, looking forward to the six trips I was going to be going on. I had no idea what God had in store for me.
The first week of summer, I went to Fort Caswell, North Carolina, with about 40 middle schoolers for beach camp. This was my first church trip as a leader and I had no clue as to what I had gotten into. It was a mish-mash of late nights, early mornings, little sleep and enough fun activities for a week all crammed into four very short days.
I had so much fun at camp as a leader, I can only imagine the fun the middle schoolers were having as campers. The camp was an old fort from the war (I forget which one exactly, but ask Chris Causey if you really must know) so we could climb and crawl and walk through the forts scattered throughout the camp's campus. Chris had planned a game where the leaders hide numbered tennis balls in the forts for a variety of points. We got to be creative in hiding the balls: digging a hole and burying the ball, pulling out loose bricks and then replacing the brick in front of a ball, crawling to the end of a tunnel, tossing a ball behind a really tall wall that no one can get over, you get the idea... Just think, if we had so much fun hiding the balls, how much fun did the middle schoolers have searching for points for their team?
Our last night at camp, Chris preached an amazing message on the quest for the King and God really worked in many students' lives that night and the next morning before we left. My eyes were really opened during this trip to how much work really goes into getting ready and planning and then actually carrying out the plans for beach camp goes. I had no idea that so much work was put into these retreats. I mean, I knew someone put in some time, I just didn't know how much time it took to prepare for these kinds of trips.
The day after I got from middle school beach camp, I had to get up at 2:30 in the morning so I could be at church at 4 to leave for Atlanta to catch our flight to Barbados. I was still on an emotional and spiritual high from Fort Caswell, so the lack of sleep and getting up early didn't bother me...at least not yet. The flight to Barbados was thankfully on time and we safely made it to Bridgetown, Barbados, a beautiful island full of friendly people. We got off the plane outside and had to walk across the tarmac to the airport to get through customs and immigration. I breathed in the hot air and took my hat off to let the warm breeze ruffle my hair. We hadn't even made it inside yet, and I already loved the island. Once we got through, a few World Changers staff were waiting to escort us to the Barbados Baptist College where we would be living for the week.
Once we were on our way, I was a little confused at first, because we were driving on the left side of the road! It seemed like there was no speed limit on the narrow roads and instead of traffic lights, round points replaced them. Our thirty minute bus ride across the island allowed us to see different parts of Barbados. Some areas looked really poor and the houses were falling apart, while others, still not well off according to American standards, were beautiful in my eyes with the brightly colored walls and open windows with curtains blowing out in the wind. The complaints from my fellow companions about the heat and lack of air conditionning faded as I took in everything that we passed. We went by fields upon fields of sugar cane and coconut trees dotted the horizon. We finally turned onto a very narrow gravel road that appeared to lead to nowhere except more sugar cane fields. As the road turned, I saw my home for the next week. A sign announced that we were entering Barbados Baptist College. It was nothing like a college campus here in the States. No big buildings, no paved roads, no football field.
The college was an old plantation home. The building we met in for worship used to be a stable. The dining hall and office was the plantation owner's residence. The meat hall was the guys' dorm. The blacksmith's shop was a girls' residence. A few extra buildings were added to the college later: the Chattle House, the girls' dorm, and the staff residence. I stayed in the girls' dorm, a long pink building with six rooms, each with it's own bathroom. Each room had four girls staying in it. There was of course no air conditionning in any of the buildings so many people complained about this. I tuned them out just I had done earlier on the bus and I concentrated on taking in as much of the beautiful scenery as I possibly could.
Dinner that night was flying fish, cooked by a native lady who was hired to cook for us. Along with the fish, we had macaroni pie, rice with beans, and a cup of mystery juice. I'm sorry to say that the food all week was pitiful, the fish being one of the worst meals. To top off the bad cooking, it felt like we were rationing food because we had such small servings.The next morning, Sunday, World Changers split us up to go to three diferent churches. I went to Redemption, which met at Bayley's Primary School, where I'd be working later that week. It was a little awkward at first because our group outnumbered the natives. The way the Bajoans held their service is/was so different from the way we do it at Taylors (which was to be expected): the only instruments were a tambourine and occasionally the piano; the church body was for the most part older women and young children. The message was also quite different: here I was, used to hearing Dr Page's 15-20 minute message and Bajan preacher spoke for almost 45-50 minutes! The pastor was a little hard to understand at first because of his strong accent but after a few minutes I got used to it.
That afternoon we were taken to the beach. The beach they took us to was so beautiful. We had to climb down rocks to get to the beach and the view from the top was absolutely breathtaking. The clear ocean water close to shore, then gradually getting darker, turning into a deep blue-green color as it faded into the blue horizon with a magnificent cliff on one side and a jagged rocky descent on the other. I just don't understand how people can say there is no God after seeing His awesome handiwork like that.
In the days that followed at Bayley's Primary School, we taught the kids hand motion filled songs (and they taught us a few), read Bible stories to them (there's no separation of church and state there), and played games with them outside. Their favorite, no matter how old they were, was definitely the parachute...
The kids had an hour for lunch so when they finished eating, they'd come stand outside the room we ate in and watch us till we finished then they'd beg us to come play with them. As soon as we stepped foot outside that door, swarms of children flocked around each of us. My favorite, Tyreece, a little four year old boy, everyday would come and find me, fighting his way through the throng of kids to get to me. Then he'd grab my hand and drag me through the crowd, out to the big open field and inform me of what game I was supposed to play with him and his cohorts.
The children there are just so thirsty for love and attention that they adore it when we would talk to them one on one. Katie, a World Changers staffer, and I was talking to one girl, who was in what we would call fourth or fifth grade and she was telling us how much she loved 'white people hair' because it was so soft. She had been playing with it as many young girls like to do and made that comment a couple of times. Finally she told us she wanted our hair. Katie and I looked at each other, confused. "You want my hair?" Katie had asked, to make sure she heard the girl correctly. "Yes. Your hair." The girl told us, pointing to our hair. "We can't give you our hair" Katie had told her. "I think she just wants a few strands" I said quietly to Katie, as I ran my fingers through my hair to get all the loose strays out. I held out the strands to the young girl. "Is this what you want?" I asked her. "Yes! Yes! Now you!" she said pointing at Katie. Katie repeated what I had done and held out the few pieces of hair. "Tank you! Tank you! I put in my diary and remember you forever!" the girl said with a lisp as she sauntered happily off. Tears filled my eyes as she ambled off.
It was such an eye opening experience to see that these children, not only this young girl, were so happy to receive any kind of gift, no matter how small or how strange we thought the present was. You don't see that kind of simple love in America. Kids always want the biggest and therefore the best toy available to show off to their friends.
Another example of this simple love is my little buddy Tyreece (and the kids his age...). He always wanted to wear my name tag or borrow my bracelet or put on my hat or fill my water bottle for me or just sit in my lap (this was more the little girls than the boys) and play with my 'soft white person hair.' It amazed me to see that these children were so thrilled with the small amount that they do have.
The ride back to the college on the last at Bayley's was almost silent. I don't know about everyone else, but I was thinking about the kids at the school and how I would most likely never see them again or have contact with them or that they would even remember me. It broke my heart when we had to say good bye to them. They all had those really big, pitiful eyes that just work wonders when they want something. It makes me tear up just thinking about that last day.
The next night, our last night, on our way back to the hotel, I had such a hard time accepting that the next day, I would be gone. Back to the States, where everyone wants the biggest and best-est whatever around. Back to the States, where simple love does not exist. Back to the States, where there is air conditionning and heaters. Back to the States, where you don't just need clothes for one season. Back to the States, where I would never see my friends from Bayley's Primary again. It bothered me to know that I'd never see these kids again, to not know what kind of home situation they face, to not know what they'll turn out like, to not know if I really made an impact in their lives.
Our flight home was delayed two and a half hours from Bridgetown, which only made it harder to leave. When we finally arrived in the US, it was past 11 at night and for me, that's really late because I usually go to bed by 9:30 or 10. We had to wait a long time for our luggage in Atlanta before we were able to leave for Greenville on the bus. I should have been grateful that we were almost home because the other groups, the Texas group and the Ohio group had to spend the night at the airport because they had missed their connecting flights due to the delay. But as it was, I was ready to either be home in my bed, or back in Barbados with the cool night breeze blowing gently across the room and the quiet chirp of crickets and croak of frogs that had become my nightly lullaby. We finally arrived home around 3:30 Sunday morning.
Once I got in my bed and tried to fall asleep, I found that I couldn't. I hadn't slept at home in over two weeks and the eerie quiet freaked me out. I was used to middle schoolers whispering back and forth, then the crickets and monkeys and frogs and wind and fans and the simple noise that others make as they drift off to sweet dreams (Julz, Brit, A.R.). I reflected on the two trips I had just returned from, mostly the Barbados trip for almost an hour before finally drifting off to sleep, with my face wet with tears.
I thought (and still think) about Barbados a lot and the first 2-3 weeks back, especially at night, I would cry for the people in Barbados, specifically the kids at Bayley's Primary School. My heart yearned to be back there, serving God, playing with children, teaching songs, reading stories, worshipping with friends, and fellowshipping with other believers from throughout the U.S. I even longed for the bad food, the amazing blistering heat, the lack of air condinioning, the breathtaking beaches, and the never ending fields of sugar cane.
A few weeks later, I went to high school summer camp at Seesalt. It was my first time there, so I had no idea what was to be expected. I had a friend who works there in the summer and she comes back with the most amazing stories so I knew that it was going to be a blast. I just didn't know how big of a blast...
Seesalt takes place at Coastal Carolina University, and students stay in the dorms and eat in the dining hall. Unlike Barbados, the food at CCU was so good and there was so much! I loved the way that Seesalt split up groups into small groups. Each small group had kids from different churches from SC, NC, and few from KY. It was a great way to get to know people that weren't from Taylors without randomly approaching someone and introducing yourself. I mean, there were a few kids from the same youth group in the small groups, but no more than 4 or 5 in a group of 30ish. Each small group is led by a Seesalt staffer, mine in particular was led by EA.
The theme this year was the Trail West and what we need as pioneers to prepare us for the long, hard trail. One of the main passages we focused on in our small group Bible study was that of Abram and how God told him to leave his country, his friends and his family and go to the land He would show him. I felt like God was really talking to me through this passage and calling me to foreign missions. My heart was still in Barbados (and Summerville from the year before) and I longed to go back, or at least somewhere that I could do the same type of work--just reading Bible stories and teaching songs and showing love to kids.
I prayed long and hard, and late into the night each night while we were there. I talked to Rachel one afternoon about it, and I talked to EA as well one day over lunch. Even though I had been praying so much about this calling and had talked to two different people, I was still unsure about the decision. I asked God to give me a clear sign that foreign missions was what He wanted me to do and I didn't just feel that way because I loved Barbados so much.
That day at lunch, EA encouraged me to come down during the invitation to pray with a leader. That night, during the invitaion, I could feel butterflies in my stomach, my legs felt weak, my hands got really sweaty. I knew it was God talking to me because the previous nights, I had not felt that way at all. I had been calm and collected and I wasn't nervous at all. The youth group from Taylors had sat in the second row that night. The 8 steps it took to get to EA felt like 50 yards.
EA took my hand in hers as she prayed for me and my willingness to serve God and leave my comfort zone. I felt a peace wash over me as she prayed. It was like God's hand was soothing the butterflies in my stomach and making my legs strong again. When she finished praying for me, Rachel and I went backstage, to the Chat Room, as Seesalt called it, and she prayed for me as well. The peace inside of me became even greater and I knew I had made the right choice in following God.
The rest of the summer has flown by, but in the short time that I had left, it was truly amazing. Chris's "Extreme Makeover:Apex Edition" dream was almost complete by the time he returned from his trip, the middle school End of Summer Splash was successful, the parent rally was a good turn out, sleepover with friends, a couple of days at the pool, a trip to the Georgia Aquarium, my last day of work was Friday, I beat my reading goal from last year (at least 35 books)...and school starts tomorrow...
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