Get Busy Living AND Get Busy Dying??

Their faces follow me everywhere.
          Sometimes I feel HAUNTED, but mostly it just fills with JOY.

I wake up in the middle of the night, and all I can remember from my dreams are their faces. I know that in my dreams, I was back in Honduras, listening to the children--Carlos, Dunia, Dulce, Joel, Norma--chatter away in Spanish or spinning in the dizzying heat as the children--Pahola, Angel, Noe, Dilcia, Yareli--tug at my hands.

          "A dream is a wish your heart makes."

Cinderella sang it to the accompaniment of cartoon mice and birds so it must be true, right? Usually, my heart is not really wishing for the bizarre dreams that I have (you know the ones where you're flying on a penguin because you're running late and you can't exactly put your finger on where you're going or how this penguin an fly? Yeah, not exactly my heart's wish.). But I know that in this case, I do wish to be back in Honduras where I was forced to rely on God, where I was loving those kids, and where (this is such a selfish but real reason) I felt needed. I get frustrated when I wake up with their faces burned in my mind and yet find myself in my own comfortable bed (technically it's a futon, but I suppose that's irrelevant here...) with air conditioning, running water, cell phone service, and a family who loves me immensely.

         "Get busy living, or get busy dying."

I recently watched The Shawshank Redemption. And those are Andy's words of wisdom to Red as they converse in the prison yard. How can you make statement like that while you are in prison for a crime you didn't commit? Actually, a better question: How can you make a statement like that while you are living in your comfortable suburban life? I went to Honduras and got busy living. I spent time with sixty-three children who, like Andy, didn't deserve their circumstances, but who where busy living. In my mind, they had every right to give up, to sigh and ask themselves, What's the point? I watched them LIVE, though. I heard them laugh. I held them while they cried. I squinted in the bright, unashamed joy of their smiles. And I joined in. We were busy living!

Now, however, I am home. I am uneasy because, in all the comforts of suburban American life, I don't want to catch myself getting busy dying. I love dreaming about their faces, Pahola's in particular. [I cannot escape her melodious and carefee laughter.] I see their faces in the children at Target and my church...and I do a double take as my heart first misses a beat, then just starts terribly missing my brothers and sisters in Honduras. Where do I draw the line between lovingly missing them while still living in the present and excessively missing them while slowly dying as I forget about the tireless phrase "Carpe diem"?

Tonight, when I wake up with Pahola's laughter echoing in my mind, I will lift my love of Honduras and of those children up in prayer, trusting that God Almighty, Rock and Redeemer, is busy living and watching over them. Tomorrow, when I wake to the sunlight streaming through my blinds (I'll be realistic, the obnoxious alarm on my phone will wake me up), I will get out of bed (futon) and get busy living.

I've been flirting with the phrase "living martyr." That's what I want to be. I want to sacrifice every day of my life, every breath of my life, and every adventure of my life (emphasis on "life") to God. It's martyrdom--giving up my life--while still living. Paradoxical, I know. But it's what following the Lamb is all about...being a living martyr.

Can I get busy living for Christ while simultaneously getting busy dying to Elizabeth? Heck yes. Did Elizabeth really just talk in the third person? Of course she did.

Me and Pahola

Missional Living in Greenwood, SC

A couple weeks ago, I visited the lovely town of Greenwood, SC. Believe it or not, the Southern city that is home to Lander University, a Wal-Mart, an O'Charley's, and not much else is one of my favorite places to spend time. I was born there and my grandparents still live there, so it's like a second home. I went with the intent of spending some quality time with my grandparents, but other opportunities arose, too.


Just after I returned from Honduras, my grandpa sent me an email asking if I would be willing to speak to his Sunday School class about my experience. I'm not one to keep up with email and I planned my trip to Greenwood without even imagining I would have the opportunity to share about Honduras...so a few days before embarking on my journey to Greenwood, he asked me on the phone if I was interested in speaking. Of course! The only thing I love more than actually experiencing missions is sharing my experiences with people, in hopes that they will embrace missional living in their own lives. What do you say to a group of senior citizens who are probably smarter and wiser than you? Only the words God gives you. As I was preparing, my grandmomma sent me a text (yep, my grandparents are pretty tech savvy) asking if I would also be willing to speak to a group of college kids. Now that one was right up my alley. There were a lot of things I wish people had told me about how you can live missions in your everyday life, how you can travel with a group of nonbelievers to do service and make it a mission trip, how God works in funny ways to get you where He wants you, how a little faith can go a long way (ever heard the one about the mustard seed?). So I put together a pretty presentation with the help of Prezi (check it out: http://prezi.com/hha0mjroq0es/honduran-adventures/), packed my suitcase, made a mixed CD for the roadtrip to Greenwood, and headed out.

It was so good to see my grandparents. It always is. I love talking over a cup of coffee, waking up early, going on shopping adventures, being crafty, and just hanging out. I swapped summer stories as they fed me entirely too much food and spoiled me in ways that only grandparents truly can. I loved every second of it! But it was so awesome to also have the opportunity to speak to two very different groups about my experiences in Honduras. I'm not sure if the group of college kids from Woodfields Baptist took anything away from my talk other than the baffling fact that I ate a LOT of beans and tortillas, but my prayer is that their eyes were opened to a world of missions to which all Christians are called, though each in a different, unique way. And even though I spoke very loudly, I don't know that the Sunday School class I spoke to at Rice Memorial Baptist really heard and understood what I had to say about life in a foreign country where corruption and chaos lurk around every bend in the mountainous roads, but I hope they now have a new perspective on the importance of supporting missionaries through prayer and donations...and how supporting missionaries makes them missionaries, too! It was good closure for me. It forced me to think about my trip as a whole and to face the fact that I am no longer in Honduras. I am in South Carolina, and there are so many ways I can serve here. 

While in Siguatepeque, I learned that mobilizing the church to embrace missional living begins with changing your own personal lifestyle. When you start living with a passion and drive for God's work, the believers around you will do the same in response. It starts with me. It starts with you. Individuals make the difference. Individuals start every revolution. 

Life in America is painfully different from the Honduran lifestyle I grew to adore. Being spoiled by my grandparents in the little town of Greenwood, SC is a far cry from eating beans and tortillas in San Buenaventura, HN. But wherever I am, I am called to be a missionary. I am called to live my life for God's purpose. Missional living, here I am.