Week One.

         Well, let’s see, it’s been about a week, there were some nifty dinners and game nights with the team, an overload of adorable kiddos, a trip to the beach, a pirate birthday party, the arrival of a friend from Tana to stay for a few weeks, a Scot’s short visit to see Hannah, some blessed time with the youth group at the Independence Day fireworks that involved some language barrier breaking communication, and a Malagasy concert featuring Madagascar’s top Christian artist.  A wee bit busy to say the least!

         Now blog, I have to admit to you that we simply aren’t close enough for me to want to share with you the most inner workings of my mind, and I don’t think we ever will be, unless I find a way to share them in some cryptic, poetic form.  This is a complication because that is where most of my thoughts and adjustments have been over this last week.  The culture shock of being in Madagascar and living a different sort of life that I went through last summer only slightly reared up its nasty head, taking the form of blisters on my toes.  My shock this year was more from all the people who now make up the Toliara missionary team.  Last year it was just me and Tessa, now: me, Tessa, her roommate, two families, and two journey guys.  And in the next few weeks several more folks will be arriving.  It has been great to get the chance to live in community with all of these folks!  But it was a bit of an adjustment at first to be so busy spending time with everyone.          

         Thus, all the adjustment has hung out inside my head, and I will willingly admit that it has been slightly more involved than I have let on here.  The result has been conviction about the way that I have my hands wrapped so tightly around my life.  Who am I to hold onto what I had already claimed to have surrendered to my Savior? To lean over His shoulder while He writes the script and keep suggesting lines and entrances and full scenes, getting all in a huff when it doesn’t go my way on opening night.  I am so busy trying to be the director that I neglect playing my part as the Ransomed One, the Child of God.  How foolish I am when I give up that blessed role to fill one for which I am not suited.  

So there you have it blog: a week of Independence Day fireworks, group dinners, jetlag, guests, a birthday party, and a trip to the beach have begun to teach me to live with open hands and a heart of surrender.

Oh and there are a plethora of dandy photos on Facebook for your viewing pleasure. 

92 hrs.

-the full account

From brotherly love to real love in 7 hours flat.  That there about sums up the first bit.  This trip started out with a 7 hour flight from Philadelphia (the city of Brotherly Love) to Paris (the city of Love).  That flight was lovely and I landed in Paris in the morning.  I made sure all was in order for my flight the next day, bought food and then went and waited for the shuttle to the hotel. There are my knees and feet waiting....a thrilling piece of photography I know.  

Once at the hotel I slept. It was great. Of course this meant no sleep during the actual nighttime hours.  Not being able to sleep is a very unfamiliar concept for this kid, on the whole, I would say I’m not a fan of it.  Then there was breakfast.  I have a great fondness for french hotel breakfast, they have cheese and bread and ham and jelly and croissants and hot chocolate and yogurt and fruit and wonderfulness, all so grand.  This time I even found applesauce!! Then it was back to the airport for the flight to Madagascar.  

I think it would be very interesting to interview people about their interpersonal communication on flights.  Especially international ones.  You sit down next to someone knowing that this is the person you will be sitting with and who’s shoulder you may be sleeping on, for the next 9 hours.  In my case there was an added language barrier and a lengthy conversation with the middle aged french couple I was sharing a row with seemed unlikely.  I generally like to talk to the people on planes, but this time I settled for a few deeply meaningful smiles and nods and occupied myself with taking a slightly obsessive amount of could and sunset pictures.  

We landed in Madagascar's capitol around 10 pm and I was met by the hotel shuttle and went to the hotel for more sleeping.  My final flight was originally set for the next evening but it was delayed until the next day so I had some extra time to spend with the missionary families in the capitol city, a true delight.  Then a 3:45 am wake up call, a 4:30 am taxi, and a 6:20 am flight got me to Tessa.  I arrived with my body and my French and Malagasy vocabulary all completely exhausted.  But I did arrive in time to go to church!!   It was so great to see everyone who I had hung out with last year.  Then there a grand time of cooking for dinner with the the rest of the team and getting to know Tessa’s Australian roommate, Hannah.  So much goodness!!  

I truly saw the provision of the Lord over this trip.  Every flight had seats for me, even the one that was delayed resulted in blessed encouraging time with friends in the capitol.  Communication with mom and dad went smoothly.  My biggest fear, staying at the hotels alone, wasn’t even an issue at all, I felt safe at each of the hotels, everything went smoothly with my rooms, and there was always breakfast!  I praise Him for watching over me in this, for starting the trip off with such encouragement.  I can’t wait to see what the the next weeks will hold.  

Tomorrow's Tomorrow....again

346 days and 18 hours ago I posted a blog titled Tomorrow’s Tomorrow.  Here I am again posting just about the same blog.  I will hit the road on Wednesday and start the trek to Tessa’s house.  

.....And that’s about all I had to say with this one.  The Malagasy adventures are about to begin and this blog is about to get reacquainted with being interesting.  I will be doing the final packing tomorrow with Toto Rains Down in Africa and Shakira’s Waka Waka playing in the background.  I will be living in Tulear, Madagascar for about 6 weeks doing whatever is needed of me.  I am stoked to be going back and full of anticipation for the chance to see my sis again.  Please be praying for peace and safe travels and smooth connections.  But above all please be praying for a heart within that is surrendered to the work of the Gospel this summer!  

“For what we proclaim is not ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, with ourselves as your servants for Jesus' sake. For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.  But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us.  We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies.  For we who live are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh.  So death is at work in us, but life in you.” ~2 Corinthians 4:5-12

Going back?

Guess what! As of today, I am planning a return trip to the little island nation I love so much.  In fact, we bought a ticket for part of the trip today!! I am really excited for this, just dropping a line to say that, if all goes according to plan, there will be a few more updates on this here blog this summer :) Happy travels.

One Week.

Well, I’ve been home for one week today.  It feels like longer.  At the beginning of the trip I was obsessed with looking for what the grand life lesson that I was going to take away from this trip would be.  Tessa told me that sometimes you have to walk away before you know what you walked away with.  And you may have to go a little beyond just walking away.  I know I did learn a lot.  I learned about what a life of missions looks like.  It doesn’t look like what we all see on little one week mission trips, because it’s not a week, it’s a life.  I learned about the power of relationships, and the effort it takes to build them.  

I also learned what a powerful thing language is.  It is mighty to separate when there is a barrier, it is a mighty tool for the Kingdom when that barrier is crossed.  The only way someone will ever listen to you is if you put in the effort to speak their heart language.  I met people who spoke English as their 2nd or 3rd language.  It was enough for chatting about the weather or the activities of the day.  But I learned that if I was really going to touch their lives on a heart level, I would have to speak the language their heart spoke.  It would be like someone trying to really know my heart using Spanish, it’s not the language my heart speaks.  And I’m coming to realize that that isn’t just a lesson for people serving among members of a different people group.  It’s for us all, you have to care about what that other person cares about for them to care about what you have to say.  It takes the effort to learn the language.  

I will also admit that I saw myself not making the most out of the trip.  Not really seeking God with all that I was so that I could see all that He wanted accomplished.  I saw my laziness.  I learned that in whatever God calls a person to, wherever He puts them, constant discipline and work is required to truly be all that He created us to be.  I guess I already knew that, I just saw it played out a bit this summer.  And it’s really easy for satan to come in and make this lesson look truly burdensome.  But it’s not, it’s the realization that God has something more for His children than drudgery and constant mess ups and “I don’t feel like it days.”  It is a life of learning to love God so fully that the work required to maintain our faith and our spirit of service to the Father is our highest joy.  God exposes where we still need work not so that we can hate ourselves and give up, but so that we can acknowledge our need for a Savior and rejoice in the fact that the Father is longing and able to do this good work in us.  “Being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” Phil. 1:6.  So friends, be confident.  The Father is faithful.  Rejoice in His ability and willingness to grow us and mold us into the image of His Son, and seek each day for the evidence of this good work.  And revel in learning to love your Abba more and more.  God chose us who are not perfect, that His glory might be revealed in His ability to work in us and through us, how great is that!?

[As always, I’m a big fan of comments]

Trains, Planes, and Automobiles: the journey home.

And here we are, in the US, and here we have been for the past three days, but posts that are just a tad late add spice to life right?  We left Tana on Tuesday morning at 12 am on a huge, nice, empty plane that meant everyone got a row to themselves so we actually did sleep a bit.  Then there was Paris.  I paid for a bathroom for the first time and was quite surprised that such an expensive WC smelled like that...  Then there was the purchasing of train tickets for the next day and getting to the hotel via the metro, a grumpy taxi driver, some suitcase toting in the rain, and an almost wipeout in the middle of the metro station on my part.  Our hotel room looked out right on the back of the train station, the rows and rows of platforms made a really cool view.  The next morning we took a train from Paris to Frankfurt Germany.  Most of the seats on this train were in rows, facing one way, however there were the unlucky few of us who were in the sets of four that faced each other with a table in the middle.  Mom and dad had a row, I had a table.  No one came for the seat next to me so I was at my leisure to lean over and enjoy the great big window.  Across from me sat a pretty blond girl, probably in her early 20’s.  She seemed nice enough but I couldn’t ever determine if she was French or Germany or if she even spoke English, so there was no conversation to be had.  Then, just before departure the seat beside her was filled by a young, towering, handsome, blond haired, blue eyed, German fella.  I decided his name was Hans, and since none of us started a conversation with the other two for the whole 5 hr ride, I never had to be disillusioned by the fact that it was not.  It was at this point that I decided that the girl needed to be German and planned a brilliant love story for the two of them, I mean, meeting on an international train on the way home from some adventure, what more could you want.  They failed to cooperate.  They never talked to each other.  From what I could see they never even looked at each other.  When they both nodded off I thought, Great! Their heads will bump, they will wake up, start talking.... Never happened.  Thus love did not bloom on that train, what a shame.  

There were times along the ride that the scenery became monotonous when I tried and failed to study Biology or thought about writing out a blog to transcribe later only to decide that that would be too awkward facing to strangers.  Hans had a newspaper but asking to see it after he was done would have been futile, since it was in German.  

Getting off in Frankfurt City and finding and boarding the train to the airport may have been the hardest part of the trip.  Dropping three small-towners into a metro station in a different language with huge suitcases should be the next reality show.  But we made it.  At the airport we called to hotel we had a reservation for, since our flight to the US wasn’t until the next morning.  They sent their shuttle to get us and we had a lovely drive through a suburb of Frankfurt that looked like the set of the first Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, a delicious dinner in the hotel restaurant - a restaurant that came complete with dark wood furniture, stain glass pictures of German beer, and a group of men in the corner having a pint - ‘twas as quintessentially wonderful as can be.  

The next day was the flight home.  It was so weird walking to get inline with a slew of other Americans after being around quiet Malagasy and reserved Europeans for so long.  We are quite a loud culture my countrymen.  When we landed and walked into the Charlotte Airport a wall of heat and humidity hit us, welcome home.  Then a long trip through international security and a short flight back to Jacksonville sitting next to a kindly old man who told me of his life of traveling and advised me about future travel. Home.  

[Over the next few days I will be getting all the pictures up on Facebook and maybe a post or two more summing up what I learned and such. Stay tuned and thanks for reading]

The Great Forest Adventure!!

Hi friends!

The puppy seems to be on the mend and we are in the capitol city until our flight home tomorrow night.  Thus it is time for the great, gargantuan post detailing our adventure in the forest.  

Day 1-Monday

We got up around 5 this morning to get to the taxibus station by 7.  The trip is only about 40km but, because of the condition of the road, the breakdowns of the bus, and the number of stops the trip can take anywhere from 4 to 9 hrs.  This time it was just 4hrs so we got to Ankililaoka in time for lunch- chicken and rice in the hotel’s restaurant- and then we slept most of the rest of the afternoon.

Day 2.3.4-Tuesday.Wednesday.Thursday

Each of these days followed the same sort of order.  We would get up, walk to a coffee stand outside of the hotel to sip tea and coffee and eat boko-boko- little fried doughballs that America needs to start importing asap.  Then it was a 4km walk from town of Ankililaoka to the little village where we were actually working.  There are a few different ways to take this trip: there were two paths, one through the rice fields that included wadding though knee deep black water, the other seemed a bit longer but was dry, cutting through tall grasses, or, you could go by ox cart.  During the week we did all three multiple times.  

Now, I know that I have made reference before to the way that white people, vazaha, are an exciting rarity, called out to at every turn, and starred at wherever they go.  Well in the rural areas it’s even more dramatic.  We were the only two white people in town for the week and I would just walk down the street - with 10 kids following behind - imagining dinner table conversation that night.  “Well kids, did you see the white girls today?” “Yes daddy, I saw them, one of them was singing while they walked and then she tripped and fell over.”  “I followed them till they reached the edge of town daddy!”  “They were stopped waiting for the ox cart so I stood nearby and imitated the sound of their english dad.”  “That’s all great kids!”  

Out in the village I would sit while Tessa would teach.  It was an interesting feeling for this girl who loves to talk to be forced by the language barrier to sit still and smile at all of the children who came from all over town to stare at the white girls.  There were tons of children and most of the girls mine and Tessa’s age were already toting babies of their own around.  These girls were all very sweet but having them all crowd around you, yelling questions to you in a different language, thinking if they just speak loud enough you will understand, is a bit overwhelming.  The idea that I don’t actually speak their language, that I speak a different one, was completely foreign to them.  Sometimes they would give up on asking me and just try to find out for themselves.  For example, they were wondering why I had worn two shirts and, after asking me why a few times, they just grabbed the shirts to investigate.  They did the same to satisfy their curiosity about my freckles, asking Tessa if they would go away when I went back to America.  One afternoon they offered to braid my hair, which I really wanted since it meant no more washing my hair with freezing cold water out of a bucket.  I didn’t really know how that was going to go, since earlier that day they had asked why I had cut my hair short, since boys cut their hair short, not girls.  When I sat down on the mat to let them start braiding I was surrounded in seconds by all of the women and children, there was a long discussion about just how to brain it, and then combing and pulling in all directions.  But the results, though unlike any brains I have ever seen, did make the rest of the trip easier.  

Day 5-Friday

We got up at 7 to catch the bus home, this bus was much bigger, since it was going to the big city, not from.  The floor of the bus is covered in bags of beans and rice, so your feet don’t actually touch the ground and your legs are all scrunched up.  Also, since the bus is going into the big city we would stop in every town and village along the way to pick up more cargo, people, mail, you name it.  There is no refrigerated transport so animals, except for fish, travel live.  There was a chicken two rows ahead of us, he looked friendly enough, but I didn’t start a conversation or anything, since I’m pretty sure I ate his brother for dinner the night before.  With all of the added stops and a breakdown or two we got back to Toliara in 8hrs instead of 4.  Just in time to clean up, eat dinner, and then realize that the puppy was sick.  

I know that there is so much more that I didn’t mention, as soon as I get back to the states I’ll get all the pictures up on facebook.  Dear reader, please find it in your heart to be proud of me for finally getting this written after nursing a puppy back to health, weaving a rug, helping my parents get across the world for a visit, saying goodbye to Toliara, and riding backseat-middle for two days straight up to the capitol on the bumpiest, curviest roads in the world.  We leave tomorrow night to start the trek home, me, mom, and dad.  We are all ready to get back but I know I’m gonna miss this big island when I get back to my little one.  Please keep us in your prayers for the rest of the week, that sicknesses and tummy troubles would leave us all and stay away, that flights would work out and connections would be smooth, and that we would all have the energy and spunk needed to make this doozy of a trip!  Misotra!