Falling Asleep On God's Couch

I was born with a deadly combination of genetics. First, I have a strange love of couches. I realized this after moving into a dorm room with no couch. Aside from my family, the things I truly missed most were all somehow related to the couch in my living room: watching sports with my dad, having a place to sit and read in comfort, taking Sunday afternoon naps. I began at once to seek out friends that possessed couches. Ok, not really...but I did begin spending a lot more time NOT in my room so I could enjoy the couches of others. A solution arrived during spring semester when my parents showed up with the best charcoal gray futon IKEA could offer. I fell immediately in love. Second, I was born with a superpower that is more of a curse than a blessing most times: I can fall asleep anywhere after 9 PM as long as I'm sitting down. I have missed the climaxes and resolutions of countless movies because of my superpower; I have failed to do some of my homework due to droopy eyelids and the inability to stay awake; I have fallen asleep in odd places as a result of the curse my father bestowed upon me.

A love of couches does not mix well with an inability to remain conscious after 9 PM. That's typically when I find time to study or watch movies or hang out with people and just talk. It's a predicament.

It can also put you in a slightly awkward position when you are a freshman in college making new friends while simultaneously lacking a couch. Luckily though, I discovered that I have to reach a certain level of trust with people before I doze off on their couch. Thank goodness my superpower has one Achilles' heel! Along with the realization came a new measurement for how much I trusted the people around me. It was great. And I love my friends who have allowed me to fall soundly asleep while watching movies and episodes of "The Office" with them...and then have promptly woken me up when it was over, sending me back to my own room.

I like to carry on conversations with God as I'm climbing into bed. We talk about all sorts of things because we can. And like many people, I frequently fall asleep while praying. My prayer for that evening just fades out, dangling like a misplaced preposition ("Where is that preposition at???") or an incomplete....... No "Amen." No "In Jesus's name I pray." Not even a "Goodnight, sleep tight." I think a lot of people feel guilty leaving God hanging like this. Maybe they equate it with hanging up on someone or closing the door in someone's face while they are mid-sentence. That would indeed be rude. Especially when done to the King of kings and Lord of lords. It's different for me, though.

For me...

It's like falling asleep on God's couch.

It's trusting that even though I neglected the proper farewell phrases, God will still be there in the morning when both my phone and the quiet sun remind me that there is still life to be lived.

It's knowing that the Almighty is going to protect me as I sleep, vulnerable and helpless.

I mean no disrespect by it. He knows I am human and He created me with this incapability to remain awake. It's just that as I sit on His couch and talk with Him, I cannot help but feel safe and secure, trusting Him with all that I am. And so, I fall asleep. 

Do they have bacon in Honduras?

I am going to Honduras.
I've declared it before and I'll probably declare it all the way there, but for the first time, it feels official.

I didn't want to go to Honduras this summer initially. I desperately wanted to be a counselor at SummerSalt, my younger sister's favorite summer camp, where I would be teaching middle and high schoolers about what it looks like to follow Jesus passionately every day. In my mind, it was the perfect way to spend the summer after my freshman year. So I put hours into the application and fretted over my interview, which much to my distress was rescheduled at least three times. And then I got the letter. I knew as I held it in my hands that I wouldn't be working at SummerSalt this summer, and that realization brought me to my knees. I spent the weekend after receiving the letter at Converge, a weekend of worship for the BCMs of South Carolina, where I decided that no matter where God was calling me for the summer, I would say yes and go. It's not like me to put that much faith in anyone other than myself, but who better to have control over my life and to have my complete submission than God? I thought it would be an easy road from there, but it wasn't. I watched my friends find out about the summer missions they'd applied to, and I searched. I envied the ease with which they chose to go and I lay awake at night repeating my promise to God that sounded a lot like a Brett Younker song: "I'm saying yes to You, wherever you call me, whatever you lead me to." It is not easy to agree to an unknown calling. Some days I trusted God immensely and I found freedom in this new concept of allowing Him to call all the shots. Other days, I wanted to scream at my dad for asking me so many questions about the summer and I doubted that God even cared enough to guide me in the right direction.

But God put unexpected clues in my life. I found myself admitting to my adviser what I really wanted to do with the rest of my life instead of giving her the "acceptable" answer. She directed me to several Hispanic ministries both here and abroad. As soon as she said the word "Honduras", though, I was sold. I knew that I wanted to go there. I prayed about it and finally found the time to send in my application. Without even hearing from anyone at the organization in Honduras, I also applied for a summer stipend that would assist with the costs...and I got it. Can you believe the College of Charleston is paying for my mission trip to Honduras? It's beautiful.

I didn't realize then, though, that I was just beginning the fight to get to Honduras. I had applied online with the LAMB Institute to spend part of my summer in Tegucigalpa, Honduras; I had secured a stipend to help cover the costs of airfare and other expenses; I had begun to tell people that's where I was going this summer because I felt so strongly called there. But I didn't hear back from LAMB. I waited and waited, reminding God of my promise to go wherever He was calling me. I finally emailed the volunteer coordinator and discovered that LAMB was actually creating an internship for people interested in mission work as a potential career to participate in during the summer. The more she told me about it, the more I fell in love. I felt like everything was falling into place. This was the perfect opportunity for me. But again, I met silence and was forced to be patient...these things take time, right? I wanted confirmation that I was going to Honduras this summer for a specific amount of time doing specific things there. I longed for details. Apparently, though, details and missions don't go hand in hand. I got commissioned at River Church alongside all my friends who were doing BCM missions this summer. But as I stood up in front of the congregation and declared that I was going to Honduras this summer, part of me wanted to cry because I still didn't feel certain that I was going. I think I did cry when a lady from Roatán, Honduras in the congregation prayed over me. To me, faith looks a whole lot like getting up and telling a hundred people you are going somewhere when the only real confirmation you have is that God makes you feel really excited whenever someone says, "Honduras." That faith was not from me that morning. It belonged completely to God and He had just loaned it out to me for the time being.

I finally got to meet with the volunteer coordinator to talk about the internship. All the interns would apparently be living together in a house where all the cooking and cleaning would be their responsibility. We would be working with LAMB's children home and at-risk youth project. We would be  digging deeper into the life of missionaries with the lady who had started the entire ministry in Honduras--a missionary from Charleston named Suzy. Sitting in Starbucks that day with the volunteer coordinator, I wanted to throw down my coffee and immediately book my flights so I could GO. She advised me to pray about how long I should come and talk to my parents about the whole thing. I prayed. Oh man, God and I have never had that much constant conversation before. It was great. After a lot of prayer and thought, I felt like three weeks would be the perfect amount of time for me. I longed to go for the longer term of six weeks, but I realized that desire was selfish. There were other things for me to do this summer. I told the volunteer coordinator my decision and waited for more information.

None came.
I waited longer, feeling summer's breath at the back of my neck as finals came and went and I still hadn't heard anything. Back at home, I finally emailed her, trying to keep the impatience from screaming out behind every word of my brief email. She was shocked to hear I had never received the email she'd sent weeks ago. At that point, I didn't have a lot faith...I sill felt so insecure about it. But the next day, she sent me an email with everything I needed to know about my trip to Honduras in it. I was ecstatic. There was the security I felt I needed. It was real to me finally. I booked flights, I filled out forms, I got travel insurance and found my passport, I began reading the list of books all the interns were told to read as part of our discovering what it looks like to be a missionary.

So I've been reading, gathering clothes to pack, and praying for God to prepare my heart. I've been asking questions about Honduras: Is the coffee good there? Do they eat bacon there? What is it like to live there? Are the mosquitoes bad? Will I be able to blog while I'm there? Will I absolutely love it there? I still don't feel completely secure because I am human and I have very little faith in the Creator of the universe most of the time. But I have already learned that being a missionary means that you say yes to God's calling no matter what, that you have to step out on faith even when you really don't have any, that you have to fight all opposing forces to answer God's call, that you have to trust in God when it's all coming together and when it's all coming apart, and that you pray...a lot. I've never had my faith tested quite this much before.

Whether or not there is bacon there, I am going to Honduras on June 13th for three weeks. I don't pretend to fully know or understand God's will for my life, but I still wake up every morning and say, "Yes." Honduras, here I come.




http://www.lambinstitute.org/

Thoughts on Leaving Charleston: Goodbyes

The goodbyes of my freshman year lasted for an eternity.  I feel like the goodbyes began a month ago when everyone began to see the light at the end of this semester's tunnel.  It began with the last BCM, my last day at the Children's Museum. my last ESL class, my last time doing discipleship with Katie (we ate at Poe's and talked...it was a good last).  I know that I'll return in the fall to do it all over again, but it still felt like too much closure all at once.

And then it came time to say goodbye to the people in my life. Some of them I knew I'd see this summer. Some I knew would be mostly absent from my life for the entire summer.  And some I knew would not be returning in the fall.  I hate goodbyes.  If we're being completely honest, though, few people genuinely like goodbyes, right?  I avoided them as much as possible during my last week, carefully selecting the phrases "I'll see you later" and "I'll talk to you soon" instead of submitting to the goodbye.

An incredible last day in Charleston surpassed my expectations: Star Wars marathons, sushi, sitting in my car just talking with my roommate for hours in the dark.  But the next morning, when my roommate and I stood outside our dorm room which had been completely emptied of our stuff but not our memories, the goodbyes hit hard.  I just stood there, clutching my fish bowl and a broom as she pulled the door of Buist 404 closed for the final time.  I drove out of Charleston blasting the Passion Awakening CD.  It was unbelievably dusty in my car and I involuntarily teared up a little. (That's a lie.  I cried like a baby through the first six songs on the CD and then sniffled the rest of the way home.)

Freshman year was over.

I happily said goodbye forever to chemistry, math, the semi-warm showers of Buist....

The rest of my goodbyes, though, were a little more bittersweet.  I don't know what next year will hold.  But I've officially given in to the goodbyes of freshman year.