Two Questions (aka the I Don't Know post)

I realize I haven't really been praying for what the next step in my life is, so I've started to try to do that. (Good idea right?) In these times of prayer, two questions keep presenting themselves.  The first is a reactionary question to Matthew 10:39:

What does it mean for me to lose my life? 

For me.  To lose my life. What would that mean?  My possessions don't mean that much to me (I mean I like them), but could it mean giving up friends and family? Would that ever mean to say goodbye to the ones I love, or to give up my dreams and potential for the sake of seemingly menial things. Maybe. On a related note, I ask myself "How am I like the young rich ruler?"  What excuse would I want to give Jesus if right now He showed up and said come follow me? I don't know! I'm not sure what excuse would attempt to come flying out of my mouth, and not knowing is not comforting:  for whether or not we know what it would be, I think we all have our excuses we would want to give Jesus.  Jesus, just let me finish this before I do that.  Jesus, I'll follow you, but only if I can still be relatively comfortable, I mean, I promise I won't ask for that much.   Jesus, I'm totally on board, but can we share that wheel? I've just got some ideas as well that I wouldn't want you to miss.

The second question I have comes from the idea that God wants to give us the desires of our hearts.  Correspondingly, I ask:

What are the desires of my heart?

 This is a simple answer  "I don't know".   I don't know what is would mean for me to lose my life.  And I don't know the desires of my heart.  Most days I think I have lost the ability to dream in anything short of abstract conceptions.  Most days I'm a stranger to my own heart.  Conditioned (by myself and others) to follow duty over desires, my heart no longer surges with specific visions, only general principles I can vaguely imagine myself embodying.  It's weird.  I want to have a dream, and I long to know how I might live in the Kingdom, how I can join in with what God is doing, and how I can use my head, heart, and hands.

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On a slightly different, but obviously related note, isn't it crazy that these two questions aren't mutually exclusive?  God wants, but does not need, our sacrifices.  In fact, He often uses our sacrifices to turn around and bless us more.  So as much as I search myself for answers and insights, I recognize that finding them falls a distant second to knowing Jesus.  Jesus Christ the risen one, the lover and maker of that heart I don't even know.  Together with the Father and the Holy Spirit He promises to finish what He starts and to lead me through this crazy thing called life!  So while I continue wrestling and asking these questions, I can also chill, He's got it. 

(Although, if you know the answer to these questions for me, feel free to share!)

There and Back Again

For all practical purposes there is no rhythm to this semester.  After finishing our Spanish crash course on Wednesday, my group packed it up and took a four day trip to Misahualli (a small town five hours away, located smack dab in the jungle).   On the way there, we stopped and explored one of the biggest caves in Ecuador.  Now imagine the following scene.  There is a dense forest with a with a cave.  The pitch black cave has a river that runs through it, and at one point the underground river has a waterfall.  In the waterfall, our guide showed us a hole through which one could dive, swim down fifteen feet or so of a slightly twisting tunnel all to grab a rock from the bottom.  It was terrifying thing to picture doing what our guide was talking about, so when I found myself being the gringo who said,   "Sure yeah I'll go for it.  Just going down until I reach the end right?" I think I slightly surprised myself.  I went for it though, and it was just as freaky as I imagined it being.  Still when I came back up, I held a rock in my hand. 

While we were in the jungle town of Misahualli, we learned about Youth World's understanding of short term mission trips (based on mutual reciprocal blessing and partnering with local Christians), put on a day long VBS, played basketball, played soccer (!), and helped finish some woodwork on a house.  (Note:  I didn't bring my camera on this trip, so atypically all of the pictures on this post were taken by other people.)

Yo y mi amigo nuevo


We all made some animal masks

In case your interested: we saw a multitude of bullet ants while we were in Misahualli.  Bullet ants, or paraponera, are over an inch long and have received their names for their bites, which supposedly can be as painful as getting shot and cause over 24 hours of uncontrollable seizures.  If these facts have peaked your curiosity at all, you should look up how bullet ants are utilized in initiation rites of the Satere-Mawe people of Brazil.  Crazy stuff!

Before leaving the jungle, we went and played at a waterfall.  It was really fun to rockclimb, laugh, and cliff jump (Don't worry Mom, there was substantially more water than there appears to be in the picture).  The bus ride back consisted of rain, cliffs, car sickness, and a couple rounds of Mafia. 

Today, I began teaching english at a school called San Francisco at Quito.  In the morning I have two elementary classes and in the afternoon I have two middle school classes.  When I arrived at the school this morning, I had no clue where to go or really what I was doing.  So, after wondering around for a while and asking the same people multiple questions, I found the teacher I was supposed to help.  She immediately gave me the following orders: talk to the kids in English.  Problem: the kids don't really speak English, so what ensued was an hour of Drew smiling, nodding, and asking what is your favorite color twenty different ways.  At lunch I was ready to quit.  For real.  I literally walked over and hung out by the exit door while trying to figure out how to get another internship placement without inconveniencing everybody involved.  The break was short however, so before I knew it I was heading apprehensively to my even longer afternoon classes.  They went great though!  I had a different teacher who handed me a book with the day's lesson plans.  She even remained engaged during the whole lessons, helping trouble shoot a couple of confusing exercises and generally just encouraging me with little smiles and nods.   As a result, the day ended up being mostly in the positive.  Below is a picture of me on my first day of school as a teacher.

Something to munch on as I leave.  A couple of days ago I was given the opportunity to switch internships, but I have come to a realization: more than my 16+ years of education, a degree, spanish classes, random trainings, and whatever else I have worked so hard on in an attempt to equip myself for life and ministry, in Quito, it is my ability to speak English that might be the most valuable thing I can offer people.  English.  I could be in an internship where I could feel more gratification or get to know people on a more personal level.  I could work in an orphanage or with a Compassion International project down here.  But it might just be that the best way I can actually serve for this next season is by asking what a kid's favorite color is twenty different ways.  I am uncomfortable with this reality, somewhat frustrated, and certainly humbled, yet I rejoice.  To God I ask "knock me down, and build you up."

Adventures of a Manboy and his Father

Time to explain how my blog design relates to what has been going on inside of my heart.

First of all, the title: "Not all who wonder are lost."  This is a fragment from a poem by J.R.R Tolkien (which appears in the Fellowship of the Ring).   The stanza from which I snatched my title follows:

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

 I chose that line for two reasons.  First, my older brother once told me it was one of his favorites, and so in many ways it reminds me of him and even his story.  Second, the line represents my story as well.  I wander in more ways than I can recount.  I strive to wander from the normal American story.  I lament how I wander from Jesus.  I am constantly tempted to wander from the challenges He allows to come before me.  Still, despite these wanderings and the others unmentioned, I never feel like I'm lost.  No matter how many times I see the disappointed or chastising look in others' eyes when I say "I don't have a clue what the future holds, I just want to love God and people," I don't feel lost.  Yes, I might be a dreamer.  No, I don't have a clue about my future, but I have a feeling I'm right where I need to be. Besides,  you probably need to have a direction before you can be lost.

The subtitle: Adventures of a Manboy and his Father.  It started in February while the light outside my window had just begun to fade.  I remember sitting in my dorm room, melancholy, reflecting on on a recently butchered social interaction.  Previously lost in my thoughts, I suddenly jolted up on the couch with a realization, "Wait a second... wait one second.  I'm still struggling with the same crap I did in highschool.  I am ridiculously tired of this same old stuff.  Jesus, I'm ready to start dealing with this. Let's go."  In that moment, I saw really clearly that I was still just a boy, and do you know what I wanted to be?  A man.  A man abandoned for God, and yet, I wasn't.  Instead, I was scared of relationships.  Preoccupied with the fear that I was ugly.  Worried if anyone actually liked me.  Anxious about my to-do lists.  In a word, pathetic.  Now, I know that might seem like a harsh judgment, as pathetic truly is a strong word, but it really is stupid.  It is stupid to let fear run my life.  It is stupid to worry about things that Christ has promised He has already taken care of.  And its pathetic to still be acting like a highschool boy when I'm 23.  I know culture tells me these are perfectly reasonable struggles and that I shouldn't be so critical, but well... for me... I think that's stupid as well.

Which brings us to today.  I want to be a man of God.  I want to have deep roots that cannot be reached by the frost.  Most days, however, I still feel stuck somewhere in between the man to whom I've been called and the boy I used to be.  However, I'm tired of being scared, preoccupied, insecure, worried, and anxious.  God has already redeemed me from that crap.  He has stripped away those slavery inducing emotions from my heart, so why do I keep returning to them?  Yes, the road away from these things is hard, but it is straight.  And I praise God, for the hope of my maturation rests not in my ability to overcome, but on the faithfulness of my heavenly Father.  And when I pray, I know can ask boldly for I know these things because I have certainty that they are in His will.  That being said, I also long to couple my prayers with action.  Not letting a day go past without being in the Bible and hitting the floor in prayer, refusing to let fear dictate my social interactions, and fighting my old childish habits until they die, these are the actions that I want to be able to reflect on as I go to bed each night.

The best part of it all?  It is not just for me.  The fight for manhood is for my family, my future spouse (if God brings one), and the Kingdom of God.  And that reality gets me jazzed up.  Plus, I know He's got it! The Holy Spirit doesn't start something without the intention of finishing it.  I just ask that you would have patience with me, knowing me its still going to be a long road!

Lastly, The background: the background of my blog is white.  White represents simplicity and purity, both of with which I long to characterize myself.  I don't need to be a mystery anymore, and I am learning that not every part of me needs to say something.  Furthermore, the color white seems like a static color.   There is no question of gradation or shade with it: it just is.  I want to be like the color white.

Sidenote

I forgot to mention that last weekend we went ziplining in the rain forest.  It was pretty cool. 

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.