"Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose!"

Freedom.

This word has been indiscreetly stalking me for the past month or so. If I'm being honest with myself, it's actually been stalking me for much longer than that. As an American, perhaps a reluctant one, "freedom" is a word I casually throw around. YES. I take advantage of my freedoms...in regards to speech, religion, voting, education, you know what I'm talking about. I wasn't necessarily born with a silver spoon in my mouth (that's a thing, right?), but I have been given some of the most incredible opportunities in my life. I grew up well fed and loved. I never worried about where money or meals or rest would come from. I have had the joy of traveling to San Francisco, Costa Rico, Honduras, Puerto Rico, and all along the east coast of the States. And most importantly, my parents raised me to love God and to seek His kingdom first in all things. Why am I saying all this? I think it's to remind myself that I am FREE.

I'm a college student. I feel bound by budgets and homework. I feel bound by the 24 hour day that is always, without fail, much too short. I feel bound by the knowledge that I have and by the knowledge that I lack (Sophomore=wise fool). But I have been set free.

Guess what.
In case you haven't heard, there are more slaves today than at there were at any other time in history. 27 million is the number people keep shoving down my throat. Or attempting to shove down my throat. 27 million is quite a bit to swallow. For me at least. I knew human trafficking was an issue in our world today, but that was just head knowledge until Christmas break. First, an alternative break trip to Puerto Rico made me question where goods I use everyday (particularly coffee) come from. A lot of them aren't exactly rainforest friendly, which was disconcerting to me after spending several days working closely with El Yunque, one of the most diverse rainforests in the world. A lot of them are also not human friendly. For instance, coffee is grown in areas where the rainforest has been cleared so that the coffee plants can get full sun. Much of the coffee produced is harvested by people who are underpaid and ill-treated, many of them children. Coffee is one of the major products that people in the first world can enjoy at an inexpensive price because of the slave labor involved in the process.

A couple weeks after Puerto Rico, I went to a huge worship gathering in Atlanta called Passion. Let me rephrase that: I joined 46,000 other college kids and leaders in overtaking downtown Atlanta, the Georgia Dome, the CNN Center, the Georgia World Conference Center, and all surrounding areas. And in case you haven't heard yet, our focus was freedom. Here's a look at the happenings:
http://268generation.com/passion2012/#!/freedom/
http://thecnnfreedomproject.blogs.cnn.com/2012/01/05/
(Sorry. They refuse to be hyperlinks. Be old school and copy paste.)

Yeah. It was awesome. But it was also heart breaking. I see things in black and white. I firmly adhere to the idea that if you aren't part of the solution, you're part of the problem. So I thought that because I wasn't consuming only fair trade products or working to rescue girls in a red light district, I was enslaving people, stealing their voice, being an oppressor. It broke me. I felt the need to act on my brokenness but didn't know what to do, which just made me feel more broken. I then made the mistake of being too down and out to do anything. Awareness of the problem didn't lead me to bold advocacy; it led me to curl up in a ball and do nothing. Not literally. I am not a cat. But I did figuratively curl up in a ball. I enslaved myself in my inability to save all 27 million. How stupid is that?

I'm trying to see shades of gray. Coffee is a social drink for me. If I stop drinking coffee, then I'm less likely to spend as much time talking with my mom, my grandparents, random new friends. But I can spring for fair trade, shade grown coffee. That's action without complete inaction. (Does that statement make sense?) I realize that I can't save all 27 million on my own. Mother Teresa once said, "If you can't feed a hundred people, then feed just one." And my beloved suitemate Megan thinks Mother Teresa is one of the greatest people ever, so I'll trust that I can just feed one or, in this case, just free one. Also, I'm not alone in trying to free people. There were 46,000 other people who collaborated to give over $3 million to freedom organizations at Passion with me. That's huge. Even huger (in Charleston, we say that word like "you-gee") is that God is also on our side. Isaiah 58:10-12 have been the driving verses behind my life since spring of my senior year in high school (I did the math just now...that's two whole years). Those verses plus some kept surfacing during Passion--on Rebecca's (my dear friend who likes kittens a lot) and my white flags, during a panel discussion with inspirational freedom advocates, in one of the main talks. God is all about some freedom.

6 No, this is the kind of fasting I want:
Free those who are wrongly imprisoned;
lighten the burden of those who work for you.
Let the oppressed go free,
and remove the chains that bind people.
7 Share your food with the hungry,
and give shelter to the homeless.
Give clothes to those who need them,
and do not hide from relatives who need your help.

8 “Then your salvation will come like the dawn,
and your wounds will quickly heal.
Your godliness will lead you forward,
and the glory of the LORD will protect you from behind.
9 Then when you call, the LORD will answer.
‘Yes, I am here,’ he will quickly reply.

“Remove the heavy yoke of oppression.
Stop pointing your finger and spreading vicious rumors!
10 Feed the hungry,
and help those in trouble.
Then your light will shine out from the darkness,
and the darkness around you will be as bright as noon.
11 The LORD will guide you continually,
giving you water when you are dry
and restoring your strength.
You will be like a well-watered garden,
like an ever-flowing spring.
12 Some of you will rebuild the deserted ruins of your cities.
Then you will be known as a rebuilder of walls
and a restorer of homes.

And if God is all for freedom, I should be, too. I found a lot of hope in the last few verses. For a while, I've loved the image of being a "well-watered garden" and an "ever-flowing spring," but I never took the time to read on. In my state of brokenness and despair for the enslaved people of this world, I needed to know that God could use me to be a "rebuilder" and a "restorer." I pray now that I will be broken enough to care, but not too broken to be effective. I want to be a rebuilder and restorer because I have been rebuilt and restored!


So now I have some questions for you:
Have you acknowledged that modern day slavery is happening? Because ignorance and indifference are not options.
Have you enslaved yourself to something?
Are you singing "Me and Bobby McGee" by Janis Joplin? If you aren't, you should be. So here you go:
Now to get that song out of your head, enjoy some All Sons and Daughters:

Adventurings in Puerto Rico

A Week in the Jungle, the Mighty Jungle

I was sick almost the entire week. A sore throat drove me to bed early every night and then a cough woke me up early, early in the mornings. I didn't mind so much. I just sat on the little porch at the Evangelical School for the Deaf where we were staying and watched as the wind rolled in off the coast and pushed the dark clouds away towards the lush mountains. And so a new day was born to the sound of Gungor (their new album "Ghosts Upon the Earth" pouring through my headphones) and a gusty breeze.

Puerto Rico: The 51st State

As I prepared with my fellow freshman and sophomore Bonners to travel to Puerto Rico for an alternative break trip, I kept asking what it meant for PR to be a US territory. No one, not even the Google Machine, could give me a satisfactory answer. The realization that, in an almost paradoxical way, PR is its own country while still being part of the United States gradually rolled over me. Alright, mystery solved for me...I doubt I could adequately explain it for anyone else. Perhaps this is mostly because you should go and uncover the answer for yourself! I fell in love with the place. It tasted strongly of plantains, Spanish, and the unique flavors that I love of Hispanic culture, but it was also oddly like home.

"Put your faith in what you most believe in."

The interesting thing about Bonner is that the only thing we all have in common is our love of service. We all believe in service, in the power of community. Other than that, we're all fairly diverse. And as far as service goes, we all have our various reasons for even doing it.
But it's what we do. We all get together and serve. On this trip, we worked at multiple service sites, which is always lots of fun. Different people shine in different places, and it's always exciting to see people shine in places that aren't necessarily in their comfort zone. We spent the first two days working at El Hogar de la Serenidad, a home for boys with substance abuse problems that is trying to get off the ground. People scraped paint off the banisters of the many balconies attached to the house, preparing them to be painted (which we did on our second day there). Others cleaned up the outside, using everything from a power washer that sounded perpetually angry to a very sharp machete, the choice of the Puerto Rican natives. I worked with a couple others on cleaning the six bathrooms. Memorable moment from that service site: I learned what a bidet was in a very close encounter while cleaning one. I'll let Wikipedia explain it for you if you're confused.

It's often hard to do what seem like menial tasks that aren't really helping people. So while we were scraping, sanding, scrubbing, and shearing, we smiled but whispered questions as to why this was so important for us to spend so much time doing. Once I read a mini devotional on a mission trip called "Mopping for Jesus." I don't remember exactly what it was about or what the scripture was that accompanied it, but I do know that it asserted that no act of service is too small. Yes, mopping may feel menial, but you can still do it for God and it won't be a waste: With all this going for us, my dear, dear friends, stand your ground. And don't hold back. Throw yourselves into the work of the Master, confident that nothing you do for him is a waste of time or effort. (1 Corinthians 15:58 MSG) I was reminded of this while I impatiently painted and had to pause to consider why I was painting. It wasn't for me. It was for God and it was for the people who would be helping the boys. How can a painted balcony or a clean bidet help boys overcome a substance abuse problem? Shoot. I didn't know, but it didn't matter because it wasn't a waste of time or effort. Later, after posing with an inflatable Santa for a group picture at the end of our time there, we discovered that to get the license they needed to really get started, they had to pass an inspection that focused heavily on an absence of chipping paint (lead hazard?) and on a generally clean atmosphere. I'd say that's proof that our service wasn't a waste for them. And our group got fun bonding moments out of it. It was an experience that made me think about the ability of a mini community within a community to overcome problems and birth fresh starts. Why aren't there more homes like that in South Carolina?

Our third day was spent painting the gate to the school where we were staying. Sorry, I don't have a moving motivation behind that task, but it was a way for us to give back to the people that so graciously let us eat, sleep, and play (yes, we played...I realize we're all 18+. So what?) at the school while the kids were on Christmas break. We battled scattered showers and emerged victorious, although perhaps with a little more paint dripped on us than we intended. The afternoon gave way to "cultural activities"...aka shopping at a strip of kioskos and exploring the Puerto Rican beach.

The next day we drove for hours into El Yunque, the tropical rainforest in PR, to work with a native named Ben on rebuilding a trail up the muddy slopes of the mountainous jungle (Is there any difference between a jungle and a rainforest? The jury is still out on that one...). It was messy work, which I loved, but some of my fellow Bonners did not. Whether or not working outside in the mud was our forte, I think we all had fun with it. I learned so much from Ben. He went to school in California to become a teacher, and even though he is working in a rainforest instead of a classroom, he still finds ways to share his wealth of information with those who are eager to learn. There was somethng very satisfying about swinging pickaxes, hailing logs, and squishing around in the mud once we could step back and see the trail we created. It was even more satisfying when we hiked the two miles up to the end of the trail to see the nests of the Puerto Rican parrots that scientists and other specialists were diligently studying. Technically we built the path for the humans, but essentially, it will help the parrots, too. And that's pretty awesome if you ask me.

When we had finished, I was sad to leave Ben and El Yunque behind. As we drove away, I couldn't help listening to this song:



"Christmas time is here..."

I didn't get to spend the first week of my Christmas vacation doing Christmasy things at home with my family. But what better way to spend that week than serving alongside my Bonner family, thinking about how much mankind needs love?

Does anyone know what Christmas is all about?
Linus asked. And we've been asking ourselves that for so long it seems... Many have decided it's not actually about presents and Santa, but instead about more permanent things like family and traditions. And even though family and traditions are very good things to have around Christmas, it's not actually about those things either. It's much bigger than that. It's about celebrating the Savior that came because mankind isn't good enough. I can't serve my way to heaven, but I can trust in the greatest Servant. And as I painted banisters, cleaned bidets, and laid a trail through the rainforest in PR, I was reminded of why I serve: We love each other because he loved us first. (1 John 4:19 NLT) Whatever I do out of love (i.e. serve), I only do it because He first showed me love and taught me how to love.

The Joyful Blogpost

I revel in Isaiah 40:


"Comfort, oh comfort my people," says our God. "Speak softly and tenderly to Jerusalem, but also make it very clear that she has served her sentence, that her sin is taken care of--she is REDEEMED! She's been punished enough and more than enough, and now it's over and done with."

Thunder in the desert! "Prepare for God's arrival! Make the road straight and smooth, a highway fit for our God. Fill in the valleys, level off the hills, smooth out the ruts, clear out the rocks. Then God's bright glory will shine, shine, shine and everyone will see it. The LORD has spoken."
A voice says, "Shout!"
I said, "What shall I shout?"
"PEOPLE ARE NOTHING BUT GRASS, THEIR LOVE AS FRAGILE AS WILDFLOWERS! The grass withers, the wildflowers fade, under the Lord's breath. True, the grass withers and the wildflowers fade, but our God's Word stands firm and forever. I'm sorry, did you not hear me? OUR GOD'S WORD STANDS FOREVER."

Climb a high mountain, Zion. You're the preacher of good news. Raise your voice. Say it good and loud, Jerusalem. Don't be timid! Tell the cities of Judah, "Look! Your God!" Look. At. Him. Look at him! God, the Master, comes in power, ready to go into action. He is going to pay back his enemies and reward those who have loved him. Like a shepherd, he will care for his flock, gathering the lambs in his arms, hugging them as he carries them, leading the nursing ewes to good pasture.

Who else held the oceans in his hands? Who has measured off the heavens with his fingers? Who else knows the weight of the earth or has weighed out the mountains and hills? That's right. NO ONE.
Who is able to advise the Spirit of the LORD? Who knows enough to be his teacher or counselor? If we think we can advise the Holy Spirit, we have inverted our relationship with God.
No, for all the nations of the world are nothing in comparison with him. They are but a drop in the bucket, dust on the scales. We are mere emptiness and froth. That stuff that washes up on beaches, disappearing into nothing.

So who even comes close to being like God? To whom or what can you compare him? Some no-god idol? Ridiculous! Do you want a "god" that can't even stand up on it's own?

Have you not been paying attention? Have you not been listening? Have you listened but not truly heard? Haven't you heard these stories all your life? Don't you understand the foundation of all things? God sits high above the round ball of earth. The people look like mere ants. He stretches out the skies like a canvas-yes, like a tent canvas to live under. He ignores what all the princes say and do. The rulers of the earth count for nothing. Princes and rulers don't amount to much.

"To whom will you compare me? Who is my equal?" asks the Holy One.

Look up to heavens. Who created all the stars? Who brings them out one by one, calling each by name and counting them carefully to be sure none have strayed?

O Israel! O Charleston! O Church, brotherhood of believers! How can you say that the Lord doesn't see your troubles? How can you say God refuses to hear your case? God is rolling his eyes at your ignorance. Haven't you heard? Don't you understand? Don't you know that the LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of all the earth? He doesn't grow faint. He never becomes weary. No one can measure the depth of his understanding.

He gives power to the tired and worn out, the burnt out. He offers his matchless strength to the weakest of men. Even youth and college students become exhausted beyond the assistance of espresso. Even young men give up. But those who wait upon the Lord and delight in him will find new strength. They will fly high on wings like eagles, running and never growing weary. They will walk the narrow path with enduring energy.

So get excited!

White Garments and a Post-It Note Jesus

Blogging feels overrated at times. But then again, so does everything in my life.

I have been a bug. Not a cute ladybug with carefully colored polka dots or a butterfly who has spread her feathered wings to take flight. I have been that bug on the windshield of your car, hanging on for dear, dear life while you repeatedly try to squash me with your windshield wipers. There was literally a hurricane threatening to demolish my life (and her name was Irene), but more importantly, there was also a metaphorical hurricane that was bringing so much rain and high speed winds to my life.

The good news: I am not a bug anymore.

A couple weeks ago, I went on a fall retreat with BCM. I had no expectations of insane experiences, but I should have. I was expecting late night Waffle House excursions and light-hearted conversations on the beach. And I got exactly that. But I also experienced God in insane ways. I was singing loudly Saturday night during our time of worship when I just felt the need to leave. Like get up out of my seat and walk out of the room. You just don’t do that in a Baptist group. People look at you and either think you’re crazy or you have problems controlling your bladder. But I couldn't sit there and let people's perceptions of me become more important than experiencing God. So the first chance I got, I jumped up and darted out the door, walking until found myself sitting in the sand, looking up at the cloudy sky and hoping to see God. And in that moment, it all spilled out. All the angry words I had for God burst from my mouth and exploded in the chill of the salty air. And God was there to take them all and reveal Himself to me in spite of my anger. He showed me the shadows in my life (yeah, it scared the mess out of me), and then allowed me to see the beautiful worship music my fellow BCMers were singing. Suddenly Jesus was sitting on the ground next to me giving me white garments to wear (Revelation 3:18) and I felt whole again. You can't wake up the next morning and be a bug when Jesus himself has clothed you in white the night before. 

The best part about seeing Jesus was His eyes. They were so colorful...but they reflected the faces of all the people He loved. That, my friends, is true beauty.

Pretty bizarre/awesome, right?

It gets better.

Jesus left my roommate and me post-it notes. We found hers as we strolled down King Street while avoiding a Western Civ study session. We had been talking about things she just felt like she couldn't do, settling back into that bug groove, when we spotted a random yellow post-it note on the wall of one of the buildings. It read: "You can do anything. I have faith in you. <3 J" Yeah. Crazy. It caught us both off guard. We both wandered, shell-shocked, down King Street. Jesus just wrote Courtney a post-it note. He's so real!!! It was really exciting. How do you go from that to studying?

Well, you don't.

I needed to calm my brain down, so I pulled out the book I was reading (Going All the Way by Craig Groeschel) and flipped through the pages. I came across a random blank post-it note stuck to one of the pages. Wait a second. Last time Craig Groeschel and I had a reading session, I wrote down a lie that I had been telling myself on a post-it note and stuck it in the book. And now, in addition to my lie, there was a blank post-it note? Yeah. Say whatever you will about it....what matters here is that in that moment, looking from my lie to the blank note, I realized that God erases lies. That’s what He does! That’s why He sent Jesus (John 3:16, 1 John 1:9): to erase the lies we tell ourselves. He FORGIVES.

So what do I do with that?

Philippians 2:5-13

In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus:
 Who, being in very nature God,
  did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage;
rather, he made himself nothing
  by taking the very nature of a servant,
  being made in human likeness.
And being found in appearance as a man,
  he humbled himself
  by becoming obedient to death—
     even death on a cross!
Therefore God exalted him to the highest place
  and gave him the name that is above every name,
that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,
  in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue acknowledge that Jesus Christ is Lord,
  to the glory of God the Father.

Therefore, my dear friends, as you have always obeyed—not only in my presence, but now much more in my absence—continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose.

(Thanks to my lovely roommate for reading me these verses as I asked, in my bewilderment, “What do I do now??”)

Experiencing God is incredible. It transcends words. (Ironic then that I should be writing about it, right?) Whether He reveals Himself to you in a vision or in a post-it note, the important thing is that something changes as a result. I witnessed God’s unconditional forgiveness in two somewhat crazy and bizarre situations. And as a result, I am called to leave the heaviness behind, to walk around with the joy that can only emanate from Him, and to work out my salvation with fear and trembling.

I am also called to share it with others. Our greatest witness, as Christians, is our stories. We serve a personal God. So here is my story; here is my personal encounter with the Creator of the universe and the Author of my faith.

Acts 4:20
“We cannot stop telling about everything we have seen and heard.”

Guess what. I have seen and heard the living God. I have experienced His forgiveness in an unbelievably real way. And it’s AWESOME.

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.

A Poem from San Buenaventura

"Rest"

Thundering rain
On a red metal roof
Calls us outside
Away from a bowl
Of our freshly chopped salsa
Towards the smell of fire and renewal
We yell over the reverberations
But it is in vain
The heavy black clouds
Release their raindrops
And become a muted gray
Anger released
Turns into a moment of pure happiness
In the feeling of
Wet hair, goosebumps, salty avocados
And peace
The world is hidden away
In metal-roofed houses
From oppression and sadness
Song breaks through with the sun
It seems like dawn
Yet it's three in the afternoon
Thundering rain
On a red metal roof
Calls me to remember
God's power and grace and compassion
Rain is rest