And then we prayed (Week 1)

So while I should be working on homework, I am instead writing a blog post.

Week one of the program is done.  I was in spanish class for 15 hours this last week.  Then, on Friday, I had the honor of getting rocked by my first test, which served as a pleasant reminder that I actually have to pass these classes (wait... what?).  Our class is nice though, three hours can feel a little long, but the professor gladly follows grammatical rabbit trails, which excites and fascinates me.  Below is a picture with our professor.

Our group is getting along really well.  The 10 girls to 3 guy ratio at some points feels as if I'm swimming in a sea of estrogen, but the girls are awesome and a couple of days my cheeks have started to hurt from laughing so much (what a wonderful problem to have).   And Mom... I haven't run into any Ecuadorian dream girls yet, feel free however to continue holding fast unto hope.

On a vaguely related note, and more so than my spanish skills, I've been growing greatly in my cooking abilities.  Both of the guys I live with enjoy cooking, and so I've been able to soak up some of their knowing.  Tonight we made chicken and shrimp fettucini alfredo with garlic bread and some blue cheese and onion finger salads.

And I thought this was fantastic...

         A story with which to leave you:  Friday night our whole group got together for a family dinner night, and two of the hosting girls had a great idea for each of us to share the ways we had seen God's faithfulness recently.  One by one, we went around the table and shared stories from their summer or the last couple of weeks, and slowly the conversation moved into the general direction of people confessing their desire to see the Holy Spirit move.  Which, led us to decide to clean up dinner, and then watch the movie Finger of God (a really cool documentary about miracles).   

         While preparing for that, someone started playing guitar, and prayer and worship just started happening all over the apartment.  After an hour or so, another person came forward with a prayer request for the whole group.  She had been having pretty bad neck pain that night, and wanted to know if we'd pray for healing.  Excited and apprehensive, we all gathered around and lifted her up in prayer, just praying that Jesus would heal His daughter.   People prayed with courage, and asked God boldly for the removal of her pain.  "Its pretty much the same" she said after we where done.  To which someone replied, "Then, we need to pray again."  That caught people off guard, you could almost see the thoughts on people faces 'it didn't work  though...'  Tentatively, our group gathered around her again.  One by one we laid our hands on her.  Suddenly, one of the girls started laughing and then explained that she felt like the Holy Spirit had been asking her to pray, but that she had been too scared so she hadn't.   Following her confession, she asked God to heal my friend and guess what happened?  All the pain immediately left her neck.   

What if God is real?  

That's the question I've been asking a ton these last couple of weeks.  What if God is real?  What would change in my life?  How would I live differently?  Pray differently?  Think about His kingdom coming differently?  Maybe I don't see big things happen because all my prayers are centered on myself, and I only ask for things in ways that I can easily back out of.   I mean, how often do my prayers end with "however if _____ is not in your will, that's okay" type caveat, which is honestly less of a declaration of God's right to do whatever He pleases, and more of a lack-of-faith-backdoor through which I can retreat if nothing happens.

But, what if God is real?

Quito, Ecuador

         Everything is different this time.  There was no hunger or desperation.  I didn't need to come here like I needed to go to Uganda.  Honestly, this whole thing started as a "what if" followed by a whole string of "I guess I'll do this just to keep the door open.  No explicit call from God, just jumping through hoops until lo and behold I was boarding my first flight.
        All along the way, I knew my motivations for this program were mixed.  Part of me desired to participate in the program because I wanted/feel led to learn Spanish, so that I might be able to love more.  Another part of me hungered for accomplishment: one more semester could result in another degree.  The last part of me didn't want anything, and that frightened me.  The growing apathy, the disappearance of dreams that had occurred throughout my time in college, has not gone unnoticed.  I hope Ecuador can be a place where I can remember how to dream.  Maybe I can find the part of me  I've sacrificed for the sake of obedience and a commendable GPA.  Maybe I can find my heart here.
        Orientation is over now.  Classes start today.  For the next month or so I'll be taking three hours of spanish every weekday.  After some testing, the program coordinator placed me in the more advanced class, a decision about which I am simultaneously excited and apprehensive.  I crave to be able to speak Spanish, and yet I can't stand feeling inadequate and like I am failing (things I will most likely feel often.)  My class will focus less on grammar and rules, and more on the production of Spanish, namely speaking.  People are funny.  As soon as we get what we want, we start doubting ourselves.
        I just pray that the Lord would use Spanish to teach me humility, discipline, grace, as well as use it to equip me for more ministry.   One of my leaders down here constantly reminds us that our ability or growth with spanish has no reflection on our identity or value as child of Christ.  I'll probably have to return to that encouragement many times throughout the semester, as epic, embarrassing failures seem unavoidable as I try to learn this language.
         Note: I want to learn Spanish because I have seen/felt what happens when somebody speaks your first (or as I prefer to call it your heart) language: you feel at home.  There are so many people in America who are hurting and never feel at home.   If God would use me dedicating a part of my life to learning another's heart language, then any time or effort spent working on it will be worth it!   May the Lord multiply my natural abilities and study skills.

Macchu Picchu (Peru Final part)

        On what would have been on our third day of the hike we went into the sacred valley to see Maras and Moray.  Maras is a giant salt mine/field.

          Moray, on the other hand, was a spectacular experimental greenhouse at which the Incas used multi-leveled, concentric terraces to create microclimates.  They used this system to hybridize and acclimatize different agriculture so the plants could grow in diverse conditions. 

        On the way to these sites, we stopped in a small village where some micro-enterprises had been initiated to teach some of the local women traditional weaving techniques.  At this place, we saw beautiful clothing, blankets, and table runners. The colors they're able to produce from local ingredients blew my mind!  Then, topping off that whole experience I met my friend Packy the Alpaca.  Don't you just want to hang out with him!?

        

        The next morning we awoke at 4:45am to try to make it to Macchu Picchu for the sunrise (which we did!)  Hiking up, my Dad was still breathing a little hard, but overall he was doing great!  Then we turned the corner and BAM! There it was: Macchu Picchu.  As we sat and watched the sunrise fall on the ancient city, guess who walked up!?  Our original hiking group.  They happily invited us to join them on a guided tour of Macchu Picchu, which was so good.  Macchu Picchu truly is fantastic, and honestly I could go on and on describing it, but instead I'll just throw some pictures up here and summarize random thoughts. 

Sunrise!

          In the middle of Macchu Picchu stands a lone tree. 

          A view looking up at the sun temple.  Notice how fantastic the stonework is. 

        A part of the mountain that the Incans carved into the same image as a neighboring peak.  Fun!

Hello Friend!

         After the tour, we hiked back up to the overview.   I realized we might never be back there and so we just sat down and tried to absorb the moment as much as we could.  I tried to suck in every detail about the place and our trip and sear it into my mind.  The mountains.  The breeze.  The sweet smell from the flower, and the way the sunlight fell on the walls and courtyards.   Beautiful.  Sensational.  And then I started to wonder, why?  Why has God given me so much?  So many stories, countries, and adventures?  Such incredible friends and family?  It seems unfair that I have been given so superfluously.  Other people lack food or suffer without companionship, but not me.  Not only do I want for nothing, but the Lord continuously and extravagantly showers me with new mercies and more gifts.   I've been given more than I deserve, and every time the Lord just says, Yes you have been.  It's because I love you.  It is because He loves me.  I don't understand why.  Why would God ever favor me so much?  It doesn't make sense, grace doesn't make sense. 

         I know that to him who has been given much, much will be expected, and that's me.  I owe everything to the kingdom and its King, and I just hope that He will take this boy that I am and change me into a man.  A man that will praise His name when suffering comes.  Who will wake up and see God's goodness, no matter if there is Macchu Picchu up the hill or an empty pantry.  A man who can never stop boasting of what the Lord has done in his life: the results of an extravagant grace that flows from His wasteful love.   For even if God took away all the opportunities, memories, friends, and families.  His love would still be infinitely beyond what I deserve.  

          He has given me so much.

        

Higher Mountains (Peru pt. 3)

       The next day we took it easy.  At one point my Dad went to change some money, and on his return he seemed different.  He quietly entered the room and sat on his bed.  Hands together, elbows on his knees, he leaned forward and said that God had been talking to him.
      What?  This wasn't something I heard everyday from my Dad, or really hardly ever.  I flipped of the Spanish version of Friends and asked him what God had been saying.  Tears filled the corners of his eyes.  "God told me that I've been carrying too heavy of burdens, and if I hand them over to God, then the left of my life will be easier and He will show me more beautiful mountains than Peru or I could ever imagine.  God's provision are already in place and all I need to do is slow down as His provisions go in front of me and await me."  Now, tears filled my eyes.  "I think you should listen Dad."

The Inca Trail (Peru pt. 2)

           The day had finally come.  Following a late night meeting, a scramble to collect some last minute supplies, and an extremely early 3:45 pick up, my dad and I were headed to the Inca Trail!  The tour company's bus slowly picked up our other four teammates from around Cusco and then we began the 2 hour drive up to the trail.
          Needless to say, our spirits were high.  As the dark mountains came into view with the morning light, all the apprehension or questions concerning whether or not we had trained enough slowly faded into the background.  Such questions were of no use at this point.  Unloading the vans my Dad and I saw we were the only two people in our team carrying a full load of gear.  Maybe we'll get some help later.   For now though, this is for what we had trained.

     The trail is beautiful.  On first day of walking, one is only a little above 9000 feet, and much of the vegetation appears almost subtropical.  Birds fill the air with their music, and the river gurgles on the left.  As we walked we saw flowers, and cacti, and homes scattered along the trail.  The path was wide and always seemed to be rising in elevation.  Our guide Erik has fourteen years experience and knew exactly the pace at which he'd like to go: fast.  After forty minutes of hiking, and a two minute break, sweating, I glance back at my Dad.  His smile told me he was feeling the same thing.  We were already feeling it, but excited for the next six hours, we pressed on.  

      The trail only became tougher.  After two or so hours of pretty continuous hiking we began clambering over our first pass.  The way was steep, as apparently the Inca people thought switchbacks were only for the weak.  I felt good hiking, tired, but good.  Nearing the top, I kept checking in with my Dad.  He labored up the mega-hill, stopping occasionally, breathing heavy, but upon reaching the top, he tossed off his backpack and gave me a big smile. "Awesome isn't it?"  And it was.  

From the top of the mega-hill we could also see our first Inca Ruin, Llaqtapata, a trading community located at the juncture of two valleys.  Needless to say, it was pretty cool.

         Following the above view, the trail plunged down a little over a thousand feet before starting to climb again. As we hiked, we thought we were getting close to village where we were going to stop for lunch.  Erik informed us we weren't.  Up and up and up the trail climbed.  I was feeling it more.  We would stop and catch our breaths for 15 seconds and then keep going.  At one of the spots a solitary tree towered above the valley.  Our group stopped to look at it, drank some, water and then proceeded to move on.  My Dad didn't stand back up though.  In fact, he made no effort to stand and didn't look well at all.  Glancing up towards me, "I can't," he said.  "Hold up!" I yelled up to the group. "My dad just needs another second".  I looked in my Dad's eyes: they were red, and and I thought I saw fear in them.  I knew this was serious.  He held up his hand it: it was shaking.   His breathing was quick and shallow.  After a minute or two, my Dad said, "I just can't get my breathing down.  My heart rate is decreasing, but I feel like there's indigestion in my chest or something."  I was scared.  Our guide came over, "What is wrong?" and after I gave him a quick explanation, he said, "I think it is the altitude."  I wasn't sure.  As my dad drank more water, I asked our guide we could do.  "For altitude," he said, "you must go down. You can go up, but, its dangerous." 

         My Dad started rubbing and squeezing his arm.  Instantly, heart attack symptoms flashed through my head. Scared, I asked, "What are you doing Dad?"  "My arm keeps tingles or something."   I turned to the guide, "Dangerous you said? What are our options?"  "Yes dangerous, when people with altitude go up, some get more sick, some die." "Well that's not happening" I interjected, meagerly trying to force a laugh.  "You can either go up rest and then hike back.  Or you can hike back now," he concluded.  I looked at my Dad.  "We'll go down."

        Three hours later we were halfway back to our starting point, and my Dad wasn't doing well.  We needed to stop often and he seemed to be growing paler and more fatigued.  His focus seemed to be in and out, and so I tried to keep talking to keep him involved.  I wasn't sure if we were going to make it back, so I started praying even more.  Jesus, help us. Please. Hear my cry.  Then, suddenly a guy rode up on a horse guiding two donkeys, and after a series of broken questions, we agreed to pay him to let us borrow his horse.  The Lord had heard and provided.  My dad at first refused, but I convinced him that I would ride on the man's donkey in a moment or two (which I had next to no intention on doing), and so he consented to ride it.  

         Two or so hours later we arrived to the town.  The timing in our arrival was perfect as the last bus for the day was leaving as we walked up.  Thing after thing clicked into place.  A man helped my dad carry his pack and then helped us barter a taxi driver down to a price we could afford.  At night when we arrived into town, our hotel still had a vacancy.  While we had started the day with extra money, by its end we were back in Cusco, safe and fed, with only cents left in our pockets.  "I think it was just sheer exhaustion" my Dad said. "Too much weight, too fast, too high, and too little sleep."  I told him its okay, we'll take it easy the next day.  Then, we collapsed on our beds, exhausted, and talked about how the Lord is faithful. 

        

To Feed a Llama (Peru pt 1)

       I wasn't sure how seriously he took me, which seemed fair: I wasn't sure how seriously I was myself.  An offhand comment, "Dad we should go to Peru and hike the Inca Trail to Macchu Picchu," pretty much was the entirety of that initial conversation (which uncharacteristically for me was actually a rabbit trail in a conversation about something unrelated).  I honestly didn't even think that much about it until a month later when I picked up the phone to hear my Dad saying, "Alright Drew, I'm in."  Confused, I asked, "In what Dad?" "I'm in for the Peru trail or whatever its called." "Oh. OH!"
       Six months later, here I am.  Sitting in my new apartment in Quito, Ecuador trying to figure out what just happened in the last two weeks.
       The trip that began as a joke evolved into a full-fledged two country, twelve day adventure.  My Dad and I left the USA on August 24, one week after my 23rd birthday. First we stopped through Quito for two days, and spent a considerable time walking around (and above, note the pictures below) the city.  Its bigger than I expected! (I think technically it is approximately 2 miles wide and twenty something miles long with a population a little over 2.5 million. Tulsa all the sudden seems small. )  I'm pretty pumped to continue exploring; there is just so much of it!

        Our time in Quito quickly came to a close.  I'm glad we came so my dad could see where I would be living.  We were excited to go, for we had our sights set on a different fish: Cusco, Peru.  

        We came into Peru slowly.  Customs twice over, check-in twice, four hours waiting in airport lines, but we finally made it to the Rumi Punku (our hotel) on the night of the 27th.  

      We spent the next two days exploring the ancient Incan capital.  Cusco is a beautiful city!  The historic center of the community is lined with extravagant old cathedrals, craftsman, and masseuse parlors.  Most of the buildings are set upon Incan foundations, and some even have integrated the ancient Incan walls into the modern buildings.  In one of those walls lies the world famous 12 point stone.

        At night, everything comes alive in Cusco and the mountains surrounding the city twinkle with house light after house light, climbing towards the sky until they blend in with the stars. (FYI! We found out Inca culture did not have constellations. Instead, they found representative shapes in the few dark spaces in between the stars of the milky way. I guess living at 11,000 feet means you have too many stars to connect.)  Can you see the llama, man, turtle, and fish in the stars below?

       One story to end this post with...

       On Tuesday (the day before we left for the Inca Trail) we visited the Incan Sun Temple, the ruins of which are now located inside a convent.  The site was really impressive.  Inca stonework involves huge rocks cut with such precision that mortar becomes unnecessary.  It astounds me to imagine the skill and patience it would have taken to get those rocks to fit so perfectly.  After my dad and I left the sun temple, a girl ran up to me and asked me to take a picture with her baby llama.  At first, I refused, but realizing that I only encountered baby llamas once every 23 years, I turned back around figuring I would be willing to pay a buck or two for the opportunity.  Then, right before we took the picture a lady, whom I presume to be the girl's mother hobbled over and jumped in with us.  Alright! Peruvian, llama flavored Drew-wich. 

       We took the picture and I gave the girl (on the right in the picture) some soles (local currency).  She proceeded to ask for more money, a request I denied, thinking what I had given was fair.  Then with her head down and a tug on my sleeve, the women (on the left) held out her hand and begged me for more.  My head start shaking no as I followed her gaze down to her foot.  The slow limp I had noticed when she hobbled over was the result of a serious foot infection.  The skin of her swollen foot was stretched tight, and flesh resembling raw ground beef burst through in several spots.  My heart caught in my throat. I didn't know what to do or say.  Horrified, I gave her another coin and started to walk away.  Coins clicked in my pocket with each step I put between us.  Ashamed of my miserly generosity, turning around, I walked the twelve steps back and gave her the rest of my coins (bringing the total money given to about three dollars.)  Feeling like I had done all I could, I walked away relieved. 

      I walked down the hill and further down the street. Theories of community development crashed through my head.  Questions of theology bounced around my heart.  Still, I felt fine.  I passed my mental check lists: I think I done all I could.  Time to move on. 

      Avoiding a taxi, I crossed the street and continued my day. The sun shone brightly. Spanish bubbled through the crowds of people filling the sidewalks.  I felt fine, in fact good: I had done all I could.  I mean, maybe God would even use those three dollars in some miraculous way.  Yeah, that would be cool.  I wonder what he could do.  I mean, I had done all I could. 

      I walked further down the chaotic street, a restaurant owner invited me in to look at his menu.  My smile said no.  Then, with that distinctive peace, things became a little quieter.  A small voice tugged at my heart saying, "Yes you did all you could do.  But what if I wanted to do something?"  When I tried to ignore the prompting, it repeated itself.  I protested, "But I don't even know how to say that in Spanish. How do you say, excuse me random llama lady, I think maybe God wants to heal you or something." Instantly, the question "Puedo orar?"(Can I pray?)  leapt into my head.  That would be enough. 

      However, my feet kept walking away.  "Drew" the peace said again, "What if I want to do something?"  Still protesting, I thought, "Well, I'm too far away now God.  It would be ridiculous to turn back now." What if I want to do something?  "Come on God, I'm embarrassed to ask my Dad to walk back four blocks with me to pray with someone."  I understand. You can keep walking or you can see what happens if you act like I'm real. Learn to live with me. What if what I want to do isn't about you?

     I stopped walking. Alright.  Nervous, I called out to my Dad. I want to go back and pray for her foot.

     She was at the same spot.  Kneeling, I looked into her eyes, and asked "Puedo orar a Jesus por su pie?" (Can I pray to Jesus for your foot?)  Slowly, she smiled, nodded her head, and closed her eyes.  I had seen people who seemed to know what they were doing touch the afflicted part of a person's body when they prayed.  But I was afraid to touch that foot, so compromising, I lightly rested my hand on a safe section of her shoe.  Follow me.  Okay. I slid my hand onto her foot and prayed that Jesus would bring His kingdom here and for His glory and heal my sister.  I looked up and smile into the woman's eyes.

     Then I quickly stood up, side-stepped a police officer who had come over to investigate what was happening and walked away.  Right before she was out of view, I glanced back at her.  She was slowly running her hand over her foot, staring intently. I ducked through an alley and smiled.  

     

     Did God heal her?  I don't know, one way or another, and in many ways I'm not sure it is mine to know.  Not everything that God wants to do through me is about me.  I do know this though, I want to learn to walk with the Holy Spirit.  To know what prayer that doesn't center around me feels like.  I want to live like God is real, and I want His kingdom to come. 

A New Adventure Begins

As you probably know I never really wanted to go to college. After a rough beginning to high school, all I wanted to do was love people. In my mind if the point of life is to love people, then why would I waste my time writing papers or reading stuffy overly expensive textbooks? However, as I graduated, and my parent-approved college alternatives all fell through, I quickly find myself unexpectedly college bound.
Freshmen Year
If you take a moment and imagine combining the image of horses exploding from their gates down at the race track, dirt flying, people yelling, muscles pounding, and expectations risings, with the image of an ADD social butterfly, flitting from here and there, not fully remembering where exactly its supposed to go but still trying, that might be a close approximation of my first semester in college. It was a blur. As the weeks went progressed, I quickly realized several important things about myself: 1) I had no clue how to write research papers. 2) It is much harder to follow Jesus with chronic sleep deprivation. 3) Girls had somehow once again become scary, mysterious beings around which I was clueless.
The weeks of classes quickly turned into months and a feeling of restless grew within me. I wanted to get out and love people and have some adventures, not just sit here and learn. Then, one day a chapel speaker spoke about the need for missionaries all around the world, and something within me snapped. What was I doing here??? I ran back to my room and started throwing whatever I could into my duffel bag. My roommate came in and asked what was going on. After listening, he told me to chill out, not to do anything brash, and go take a walk. Frustrated, antsy, but excited about the idea of dropping out, I took his advice. I figured I’d take a walk and then drive away. As I walked, however, I eventually ran into a familiar upperclassman who asked me what was going on. Our conversation continued like this:
Me: … so that’s why I’m leaving.
Him: Because you want to go love people?
Me: Yeah, and I just can’t do it here the way I’m supposed to. Classes and all that stuff just drags me down and is a distraction you know?
Him: So you’re taking every single opportunity to love people that you can, and you just run out of time because you have to go to class right? You’re taking every opportunity Drew?
Me: Well…no, but…
Him: I think you should be faithful where you are first. It sounds like your running.
Boom! His piercing comment found its home in my heart. I think He was right. I was romanticizing an idealistic life of ministry, while I wasn’t even being faithful where I was. Still, I had to do something. I felt like a bird who had an untried set of wings, and so I devised a plan. If I took a semester abroad, I wouldn’t be quitting this whole college thing, my parents would still be happy, and I could get out and do something.
Sophomore Year
I hugged my mom and dad for the fourth time, and went through the airport security. My friend Josh Weed and were doing it. We had tickets to a great adventure: a month backpacking across Europe and then three months studying in Uganda. This was it! Giddy and scared, but walking tall, we left.
How could I ever describe the next fourth months? I can’t capture the beautiful people we met and with whom we shared lives. Nor am I capable of communicating the joy of paragliding in the Swiss Alps, seeing the sun set behind the Coliseum, walking across London Bridge, hearing fellow travelers’ stories, living with a Uganda family, learning how to sit still, or coming over a hill in the early morning light to see a family of Giraffes walk all around our car. I am also unable to express the torment I felt when juxtaposing my European travels with meeting people who couldn’t afford shoes, the horror of holding the gaze of someone while they spoke of watching their loved ones be butchered by machetes, or what its like standing in a room that is piled high with broken skulls, remnants of a genocide. The intense contrast of beauty and joy as well as brokenness was unlike anything I had ever encountered in the sterile world of South Tulsa.
Halfway through that semester I knew I wanted to return to JBU. God had worked on my heart, and I was excited to come back and live differently. Plus, getting a degree seemed like a good idea, and I knew I had much to learn. In many ways I never understood my situation at JBU until I left, but I returned hopeful. I laughed a little when my professors in Uganda warned that Reverse Culture Shock could be more jarring than the initial adaptation to a second culture. I shouldn’t have though.
To put it gently, spring semester of my sophomore year was the worst of college. I came back to everything being the same, except for the vacancy of where I used to belong. The excitement and hope I had concerning my return were replaced by loneliness and a pervasive feeling that I didn’t belong (and never knew if I would.) To cope with these feelings I threw myself into my schoolwork. I found it to be something I could control, and soon receiving A’s became a major source of comfort. As the semester continued, the disconnection with God and friends continued and depression began seeping into my life. Our Lord is faithful though, and he heard my prayers. Through counseling, getting involved in a local church plant, and the Holy Spirit, He turned my hopeless into joy and the feeling of social homelessness as an opportunity to start again. Our God is so good!
Towards the end of my sophomore year, I decided I wouldn’t drop out of school, but instead I would finish it. I had a problem: I still had not declared a major. So what did I do? I copied and pasted all the classes offered at JBU into a word document, highlighted the interesting sounding ones, deleted the rest, and then figured out to which major I was the closest. A week before summer I declared Family and Human Services with an Intercultural minor, then headed off to work at New Life as a Nehi Leadership Counselor.
Junior Year
Following a summer at New Life Ranch I was exhausted, and quickly found myself in the busiest time of my life. Whenever I decided to stay in school, I suppose my mind also decided that I would do it 110%. So returning in the fall, I became an RA, a member of the men’s ministry core team on campus, and the worship leader for the church plant I had joined. On top of these responsibilities, I guess I thought it would be fun to take 17 hours. It was insane. I worked harder in those semester than I every have in my life. Looking back though, and at the risk of sounding cliché for utilizing an overused literary reference, “It was the best of time, it was the worst of times.”
Right from the get go, the guys in my suite and I decided to create an atmosphere that would encourage us to follow Jesus more. So what did we do? We threw most of the beds into one room. We created a study room and a room reserved solely for spiritual disciplines and the occasional movie night (christened the “Prayer room”). We then created a common library and, to the chagrin of some, a community pantry. Furthermore, we committed ourselves to keeping each other to a higher standard, as well as praying together every morning and every night. It really was an incredible time. We saw God move in some crazy ways, and I was stretched as a leader and an individual through unwanted opportunities that always seemed to come at the worst of times. I wouldn’t have changed any of it though. Even the fighting and occasional tension was somehow good. Throughout the year as my crazy schedule pushed me to the brink of burnout, my suitemates supported me and the Lord breathed strength into my weary heart. There’s no way I could have survived without His grace!
Before I move on I’d love to share a story with you. The summer before my Junior year I saw a video titled, “Validation” and I loved it! (If you haven’t seen it, you should stop reading this and look it up on youtube. The picture related to the video should be a black and white shot of a guy with curly hair.) So, when the J. Alvin (the all-male dorm where I’ve lived the last four years) threw a Christmas party I knew what I wanted to do with my suitemates. We decorated our main living room nice and festive and scheduled a jazz band to play Christmas songs for the duration of the party. What made our suite special was that we would invite guest one by one back into the “secret room!” Once an individual would walk in through the sheet tunnel he or she would be instructed to sit in a comfy chair across from a panel of 4-5 guys. As soon as they felt led, one of my suitemates would start affirming the person. We would tell people everything beautiful we saw in them. We would talk about the things we appreciate about the way they each lived his or her life, or how we saw the specific ways he or she shined Jesus. (Remember that our campus isn’t huge, so at least one of us would usually know the person pretty, and if we didn’t we would just affirm their identity in the Lord.) Our goal for the night was to listen to the Holy Spirit and simply be open for God to use us to affirm his children, both in their spiritual identity and individual uniqueness. Soon the line for the secret room went out of our suite, down the hall, across the way, and down the next hall! It was crazy seeing people’s reactions to simple truth being spoken over them. Some laughed, some cried, and other people, who came in with snarky attitudes, left befuddled. What a beautiful night!
Senior Year
After Junior year I knew I wanted to switch things up. So I went and lived on a farm with people from all over the world and studied community development. Then after that program was over I traveled out to take an Internship in Fresno, CA working with gang members. While in Fresno, I also took classes from InterVarsity on racial reconciliation. The entire time I was in California I was being stretched. As a part of the program I shared a two-bedroom apartment with six guys (and one guy, who lived there his whole year, had his own room) and I was paid $35 a week. Like I said, it was challenging, but in a really good way. The Lord humbled me a lot in so many different ways and I was able to experience a life so different than the one in which I had been raised.
The program ended, and later, while driving back from California, I had one of the most impactful experiences of my life. My friend and I had been driving through Colorado for a couple of hours when he fell asleep. While I continued to drive, my mind drifted to wondering about the upcoming year: my senior year in college. What would I do? How could I make a difference? What kind of legacy would I leave? What would my suite be like? How could I lead even though I wasn’t an RA again? If I received an opportunity to speak in the student led chapel what would I say? All of these questions buzzed around my head, when all of the sudden a dense silence entered the car. The air seemed thicker and the noises from the engine grew quiet. My brain calmed down and stopped racing (which almost never happens). Slowly, the peace that comes with the Spirit of the Lord washed over me and I felt God ask a question in my heart:
Drew, if you never became who you wanted to be, or accomplished anything great, if no wanted to be like you, or even remembered your name, would I still be enough?
Adrenaline shot through my heart, and my soul leapt. “Yes!” I wanted to cry. Then stunned, I thought “Did I just say that? I can’t say that. I’ve never felt that way.” But I had said it. Unknown to me the Lord had been doing some major work on my heart all summer. Other questions started pouring into my head. What if the Christian life wasn’t all about making a difference? What if I had let loving people become more important that loving God? What if Jesus not only loved me, but He also liked me, celebrating who I was regardless of my attempts to please Him? Grace. A word that had lost meaning became beautiful once again. Relationship. Not one based on the fear of being unworthy, but on the trust that when He says He will never let go, He means it.
Coming back to school, that question God asked me in the car never left my head. As I spoke in the gathering, mentored freshmen, completed my senior thesis, represented my school at conferences, it was always there: “Will He be enough?” When the church I helped lead didn’t have enough money to pay the rent and had to shut down, when I struggled with loneliness in a sea of “friends”, when I was rejected for opportunity after opportunity, or when I had no clue about what I should do with my life, the question was still there: “Will He be enough?”
This year has been crazy, and it is crazy that the end is so near. The Lord has blessed me with an incredible community here at JBU. Looking back, I can see the ways He pushed me through my experience here. The ways He humbled me, as well as the extraordinary ways He gave His blessings. The Lord has been so faithful, and in two weeks I’ll hopefully get to experience the joy of that faithfulness bringing this season of my life to fruition.
The Future?
So what’s next? Great question. I found out earlier this year that I could earn another bachelor’s degree if I added just one more semester. At first I thought to myself, nah. However, I discovered that my last semester could be taken in Ecuador, learning Spanish and doing an internship. Needless to say, I thought that was a swell deal, especially since I have been feeling led to learn Spanish. So I decided to go to Ecuador. Then, in preparation for the semester I joked with my dad about flying down to South America with me and hiking the Inca Trail in Peru (it’s a rigorous four day hike that ends at Machu Picchu). A couple of weeks later he called me back and said he was in. “Excuse me?” I said, not understanding to what he was referring. “I’m in for the Inca Trail, let’s do it!” So now, I’m hoping to travel with my dad on August 24th to Ecuador and Peru to hike the Inca trail. After hiking, he’ll return and I’ll remain in Quito, Ecuador for the next 3 months! Crazy huh?
Once I return, I have no clue what I’m going to do. Go to graduate school and earn a Masters of Social Work? Maybe. Just buckle down and get some work experience? Possibly. Join some sort of innercity missions? That’s a possibility as well. Whatever I do though I want to do it with that question in mind, “Will God be enough?” Will He be my joy and my peace, or will I be like the seed that falls among thorns and let my anxiety or desire for accomplishments consume me (Matthew 13:22)?
Conclusion
I’m sorry this was so long. I care about you guys a lot and wanted to give you a brief overview of what’s been going on the last couple of years. Obviously, I couldn’t include all the details, so just know that if you have further interest concerning anything I mentioned, I’d love to talk to you more about it. As I wrote this, I have felt like I have been writing a missions update letter. I recognize though that this is probably a fitting feeling, as regardless our occupation or place in life we are all missionaries fighting for the further establishment of the Kingdom of God.
So thank you. Thank you for caring about me. Thank you for reading this letter. Thank you for the difference you’ve made in my life. In big ways and small ways I would not be who I am today without you being apart of my life. To conclude this letter, I’d like to share two quotes:

The best thing you can do is the right thing; the next best thing you can do is the wrong thing; the worst thing you can do is nothing. -Theodore Roosevelt

Wherever you are, be all there. Live to the hilt every situation you believe to be the will of God. -Jim Elliot

Sincerely,
Drew Duffy