This World is NOT My Home

This summer has been one of the craziest summers of my life.  I have only spent 30 hours inside the United States in the past three months.  I lived in Sang’alo Kenya for two months before going to Catacamas, Honduras for another month.  As I’m sure you can imagine, I have many experiences to share from the past three months.  I have walked miles and miles down the red dirt roads in Kenya.  I have paddled 28 kilometers down the Nile River in Uganda.  I explored some ancient caves that were found in Honduras that have been dated to times before the Mayan Indians.  I have eaten many things that I would never like to taste ever again, and I also dream of eating Chapati with my friends in Kenya and Tortillas with my friends in Honduras.  I have stories upon stories that I can’t wait to share as soon as I get back to my friends and family. 

After 88 days outside of the United States, I have had some of the best days of my life as well as days when I just felt miserable and wanted to catch the next flight home.  There is one day that I vividly remember from my time in Kenya.  This was a day that the Lord was speaking very clearly to me, and I will never forget the things that he taught me through this experience. 

It was a Sunday morning in Kenya, and we were told that our friend Joseph was coming to pick us up from a little store about a mile away from our house.  We were told to be at the meeting place at 8:30 sharp, and after waking up with plenty of time to walk there, Joseph of course he didn’t show up for about an hour after we got there.  We knew that he was taking us to greet the people at a new church, but other than that we had no idea what to expect.  Our job that day was just to encourage our brothers and sisters in Christ. 

We had been in Kenya long enough to know not to expect a fancy building or even a roof over our heads, but when we got to the church, it was one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen.  It’s probably not what you’re thinking, though.  Remember that I was in rural Kenya, so there were no stained glass windows or beautiful buildings with incredible acoustics. 

This church building was made of sticks and mud.  The church pews were tiny little slivers of wood being held up by twigs, that I was sure wouldn’t hold one person, much less me and my roommate.  It was built on land that the church members had bought with their own money.  They had plans to buy the surrounding land and build a larger more permanent building.  After talking with some of the members, I was amazed to find out that their dreams for the church were bigger than I would have dreamed for that specific church on my own.  They want to build a school for orphans and a place for families to live that don’t have a place to call their own.  Their faith amazes me, and I know that God will bless their plans.

There were so many people crammed into that tiny mud building, simply because they all loved the Lord.  There were newborns and 90 year old men, and there were also two white college girls from America.  Anywhere I went in Kenya, I almost immediately spotted a baby, but instead of noticing the precious children that Sunday, I first noticed a man’s feet.  He has probably never had shoes on his feet for a day in his life.  His feet were swollen and cracking and made my own feet hurt inside of my $105 Chacos.  Despite the pain that he had to have in his cracking and bleeding feet, he was fully dressed with a smile. 

The sermon that morning was about love.  Romans 13:1-3 talks about how we can do great things, but if we don’t have love then everything we do is meaningless. 

We can speak in English, Kiswahili, Kalenjin, or even in the languages of angels, but if we don’t have love it sounds like a resounding gong or clanging symbol, or maybe even the annoying alarm clock that wakes me up every morning.  I can have faith larger than a mustard seed; one that will move mountains, but if I don’t have love, the size of my faith will never be big enough.  We can be members of a church with a multi-million dollar yearly budget, but if we don’t have love, what are we really preaching?  Love never fails, for God is love.  The love of God is complete and not lacking anything. 

During the sermon, I couldn’t help but think of the man sitting across the aisle from me.  It struck me that Jesus loves that man with no shoes just as much as he loves me.  Jesus didn’t just die for those who can afford to live in a mansion, or even the ones that have clean running water.  He didn’t just die for the ones who can wear nice clothes to church on Sunday mornings.  He didn’t just die for those who speak English.  He didn’t only die for the ones that have a refrigerator and a dish washer.  He also died for that man that walked barefoot for miles and miles to attend church with other believers.

Isn’t it cool that a Church of Christ doesn’t have to have a kitchen in order to feed their guests? Isn’t it cool that God understands the languages of praises even when I can’t begin to pronounce the first word in the song book?  I also think it’s cool that Kenyans are always willing to pass their baby to the white girl three rows in front because I can’t help but smile?

As Christians we come together as one body every Sunday no matter what time zone you live in, language you speak, or clothes you wear.  We all meet together, whether publically or in secret, in a house, a two story auditorium, a one room concrete building, a beautiful cathedral with stained glass windows, mud hut, or under a tree to praise the one true God.  What a privilege. 

Every Sunday in Kenya different groups of people from within the church walk to the front to sing for the others in attendance.  It’s definitely awkward when its two girls singing by ourselves, but we managed to make it through.  There are a limited number of songs where one of us doesn’t have to echo the other one.  This particular morning in the mud and stick hut we sang “This World is not my Home”.  To our surprise, some of the Kenyans even sang along with us.

Neither Christi and I, nor the Kenyans are at home on this earth.  We are just passing through.  The angels are beckoning us from Heavens open door.  I long for the same things that my friends in Kenya long for.  We long to be with Jesus.  Please be praying with me that there will be more Kenyans in Heaven tomorrow than there would be if Jesus were to come back today. 

These people aren’t just pictures that you see in commercials on TV or on Pinterest with a sad statement reminding you that you will likely have food for dinner tonight.  These are my friends.  They came to my house every night before dinner just to talk to us because they thought I was funny.  They begged me to teach more classes than I could handle in a day.  They kill spiders for me and tell me not to be afraid of the bats that lived in our ceiling.  We sat under the stars together and they walked me back home because I was scared to walk by myself in the dark.  They invited me into their homes and allowed me to be a part of their lives.  These are real people and they are my friends. 

Living in Kenya for two months was a huge adjustment in almost every way possible but I wouldn’t trade that experience for the world.  The place is beautiful, the people are incredibly kind, and I learned every day how to walk closer with the Lord. 

            After having time to reflect on the past three months of this journey, one of the things that was made clear to me is that this world really is not my home.  I will never feel completely comfortable in a place where I may or may not speak the language.  I will never feel at home knowing that I have family living on the other side of the world.  The only time I will ever feel at home is when I am in the arms of the Living God.  He has gone to prepare a place for me, and I know that because he has told me. 

            Now that I know this, it is impossible for me to live my life without telling others.  It is hard for me to not love, because I know that Jesus first loved me.  Join with me in declaring the love of God and the hope that we have in him to all of the nations.  Let’s go into all the world, and show others the way home. 

 

The Honduran Way

Today marks day 24 of being in Honduras, and oh, the adventure I have had!  After the HU softball team left, I embarked on a five hour bus ride with my good friend Edwin.  I'm pretty sure we talked about every topic under the sun, and it was so great to hear about all that he has done since I've seen him last.  He also made the bus ride a lot more fun.  Without him, I would have been by myself, in an empty school bus, listening to Spanish radio stations, with nobody to entertain me.  So he saved me from complete boredom, and for that I am thankful.

In the past six trips I've made to Catacamas, I haven't stayed for more than 10 days at a time, and I've always had really good friends with me.  The next two weeks in Catacamas were completely different than the days I had experienced before.  I was the only American (that I knew of) within five hours of Catacamas.  Just me. I lived with, and still live with, Wilmer Espinoza and his family.  Wilmer is the man in charge of Journey Mission Camp, so I have been working with him for the past five years.  It was definitely comforting to live with a familiar face, so I wasn't completely by myself.  In previous years, I have only had small interactions with his family, and I didn't really know what life was like in Honduras when a group of Americans wasn't at camp with me.  After living in Wilmer and Karla's house for three weeks, I can't imagine not living here when I come back.  Wilmer and his wife, Karla, have taken me in like one of their own, and their kids, Donna (6) and Jefferson (10) are pretty much my Honduran siblings. 

Wilmer is such a hard worker.  He makes sure everyone is on time and has a job to do.  After we are taken care of, he goes to work and works hard all day long.  He has been my personal translator for when I don't quite pick up on everything that the preacher says about me (the only American in the Church) on a Sunday morning.  Wilmer is a great dad to his kids.  He teaches them English every once in a while in their daily conversations.  He absolutely can't say no to Donna when she begs for chocolate at Texaco.  He just tells me, " I just try to be the best dad I can be."  He doesn't leave the house without running into a good friend even when we are four and five hours away from home.  He is a great man of God, and a great leader of his family.

Karla is just so much fun to be around.  She speaks about as much English as I speak Spanish, but that is plenty for us, thanks to her superb facial expressions.  She is only eight years older than I am, and we have so much fun together.  She is the first to roll her eyes when Wilmer can't say "no" to Donna.  She claims to have three kids: Donna, Jefferson, and Wilmer.  She is always up for a milkshake run, and she also does a great job at pointing out all of the cute Hondurans for me to choose from.  Aside from her just being a joy to be with, she is one of the best cooks around, and she makes sure I never go hungry.  She washes all of the family's clothes by hand in the pila, and I haven't heard her complain once about it.  Karla is someone that I want to be like when I grow up.

Donna and Jefferson could not be more different.  Donna is absolutely crazy.  She never stops moving or talking and is always in the middle of everything.  Every morning before school, we sit at the table and drink a cup of coffee together, and every afternoon when I am trying to hold my eyes open I regret that coffee that I let her drink with me.  She never stops, but her energy is contagious.  Jefferson, on the other hand, is pretty laid back.  He is perfectly content to watch SpongeBob and play video games all day.  He is just like any other ten year old boy that I've known.  He loves to just chill in front of the TV, but he also loves to play soccer with his friends.  Every morning when I stumble through the house with my ugly bed head, he says "good morning, Jenna" in English and I am so proud.  It has been an honor to teach them at school, and it has been great fun living with them.

The reason I decided to come to Honduras for five weeks instead of one is so I could get more of an idea of what long term missions would be like.  I know that five weeks isn't considered "long term", but I can tell you that two weeks spent in a third world country is completely different than just one week. And three weeks is completely different than just two weeks, and so on. 

The "Honduran way" is a real thing.  At the end of a day, I cant wait to take a cold shower because its the "Honduran way".  I always expect Wilmer to honk and say "hey" to certain people as we drive down the bumpy dirt road, because its the "Honduran way".  When we don't have running water at the house for three days, we load the family up in the back of the truck and take a trip to bathe in the river because that's the "Honduran way".  When we lose power at the house on a hot and humid day, its ok to spend a little extra money to eat at Texaco so we can sit in some air conditioning because that's just how life happens sometimes in Honduras. 

I may not have all of the luxuries here that I have at home, but that's ok.  My life is so much more simple here, and I still have way more than what I need.  These people are teaching me to find the joy in the small things.  Swinging in the hammock with three or more kids is one of my favorite parts of the day.  I love hearing my students yell my name in their precious accents as we drive down the street.  I cherish the "good morning, Jenna" that I receive every morning when I roll out of bed.  A rotating fan can pretty much cure all of my needs.  A trip to bathe in the river may sound a little unsanitary, but for me it is peaceful and relaxing.  Curling up in bed with the kids to watch Netflix in Spanish is a great way to wind down at the end of a day, and their giggles bring me great joy.  The small things can make a huge difference. 

I don't have time right now to write about my first two weeks as a real teacher, but don't worry, that update will come soon.  I have more than enough stories to share.  For now I need to rest up so that we can finish laying bricks at the house tomorrow.

Please continue to pray for the work that is being done in Honduras.  Especially pray for Walter and Cyntia and their family, whom we are building the house for.  God is continuing to do great things. Praise the Lord!

Sitting in the Cleft of the Rock.

I'm not exactly sure where to begin, so bare with me as I ramble on about what the Lord is doing over here in Honduras.

Remember how I said that I was praying for this month in Honduras to challenge me in new ways? well I guess I need to be careful what I pray for.  I got the flashing billboard that I was asking for.

I made it back to Honduras over a week ago.  There are no words to describe how good it feels to be here again.  I am getting to love on the sweet kiddos that I have known for the past six years and my heart is overflowing.  There is nothing like hearing them squeal my name and then giggle with excitement as they run to give me a hug and a kiss on the cheek.  It is music to my ears.

After I jumped down from cloud 9, I looked around the orphanage and was actually a little discouraged at what I saw.  The kids aren't doing anywhere near what I want for them. Their muscles are more rigid from not moving, the back of their heads are a little flatter from laying in a bed all day, their bodies aren't clean, and several are sick.  Daniella, the girl I refused to put down last year, wasn't there.  My immediate fear was that she passed away and nobody thought to tell me.  After struggling through my Spanish I was able to figure out that she is in a hospital in Tegucigalpa, Honduras, and the prognosis doesn't look good.  There is a whole lot of work to be done but I took comfort in the fact that I had a whole month to do as much as I could to help.

Sometimes we have plans that don't match God's plans for us.  The man who runs the orphanage has refused the help of doctors, teachers, physical therapists, and many more people, and now he is refusing our help.  I was told that the groups from Journey Mission Camp were not welcome back at the orphanage again, final decision.  As you can imagine, Carlos' decision came as a complete smack in the face.  A few days before he told me that I wasn't welcome back he was practically on his knees thanking me for coming and thanking me and our group for loving the kids just as much as he does. I came to Honduras to work at the orphanage every day and after a week all of my personal plans are ruined.  This isn't the flashing billboard I was asking for but I am definitely still thankful that it is covered in glitter and flashing lights. 

I wholeheartedly believe that this is an answered prayer.  I have prayed over and over again that this trip would challenge me in ways that are beyond my capabilities to fix on my own.  I prayed that this month would show me how hard and how discouraging mission work can be at times.  I prayed that I would learn to trust God without limits and that I could develop the  mustard seed faith that can move mountains.  I prayed that I would be able to feel the presence of the Lord as I walk through each day.  I prayed for comfort and peace that is beyond my understanding. I prayed to learn to love people like Jesus does.

This is not at all how I expected this prayer to be answered, and its definitely not how I would have chosen to learn these lessons, but I'm thankful for them.  I know without a doubt that God was working in that orphanage long before I ever visited, and I am confident that he isn't leaving them any time soon.  I know this is part of God's plan because of the overwhelming peace that I have experienced in the past few days.  I have a strength that is not my own.  I know this is God because I'm not at all worried about the kids.  The best thing that could happen for them is to begin their eternal life with their new bodies and constant communion in Heaven with their Savior.  I now understand a small piece of the endless love that God has for us even when we disappoint him, even when we refuse His help and the help of others, even when we make selfish decisions, and even when we are not thankful for the things that he has given us. These are the lessons that I am being taught by my patient Teacher that speaks all languages to all people.

I am so thankful for all of these challenges and I am grateful for all of the prayers that are being lifted up for me, Carlos, and all the kids at the orphanage.  It is so encouraging to know that there are people that are praying with me and for me.  I am eager to see what else the Lord has planned for me over the next month.  I am willing to do anything and go anywhere he leads me, even if it means never going to the orphanage again.  For now, I am content to sit in the cleft of the rock, safe in my fathers arms. (Exodus 33:12-23)

A Life Changing Experience

The past few months have been a complete whirlwind. I have lived in Greece for three and a half months, traveled to Turkey and Israel with my HUG group, eaten too many scoops of gelato and not enough gyros, failed at learning to speak Greek, been on 15 flights (if I counted correctly), traveled through Europe on several trains (spending the night on two of them), walked on angient Roman roads that Jesus would have walked on, been to some of the largest churches in the world, seen three of the seven wonders of the ancient world, almost broken my leg while zip lining in Interlaken, Switzerland, spent the night in some pretty disgusting hostels, eaten meals consisting of baguettes and lunch meat for 17 days straight, and much much more. I can't believe all of the opportunities that I have been given. Never would I have thought that in my 20 years of life I would have been to so many places. 
While I was overseas I was kind of discouraged because I didn't think that I had had the "life changing experience" that everyone else seems to have after living abroad, but I was completely wrong.  Now, I see the world with completely new eyes.  The world is so much bigger than I could have ever wrapped my mind around. There is a HUGE difference between life in Searcy and life in Istanbul and Jerusalem.  People go about life in a completely different way.  Some of them may worship the same God that I worship but they don't have the relationship with God that I have.  I don't have to go to the Western "wailing" Wall to pray for something that isn't coming.  My Lord lives inside of me and goes with me throughout every day.  I am not required to pray during the Call to Prayer. I can have a continual conversation with my Creator. What a blessing that is.  The world is big and its inhabitants are many, but it is comforting to know the one who holds it all together.
I have always wanted to see the world and now that I have, I know that I am called to something more.  How incredible is it to know that God could do all of this work on his own be he chose me to help him.  I am so small. I feel incapable and unqualified to do so many things, but my Savior chose me.  He wants me on his side and he wants me to go on this journey with him.  So I am going. I am giving myself to the one who can make a difference in my life and in the lives of others through me.  He is more than able. 
This year I have spent three and a half months out of the country, and Thursday morning I am leaving for another month.  I will be spending four weeks in Catacamas, Honduras, a place that has begun to feel like home.  I cant wait to see all that the Lord will use me for over the next few weeks.  The Hondurans are perfectly capable of building houses, digging latrines, putting roofs on houses, painting school buildings, teaching at schools, and visiting orphanages, but I pray that as I do these things, I will be able to bring something else to the table.  I pray that they will experience the Lord in a new way because I was there.  I am praying for big things and expecting them to happen.  I want this next month to challenge me in new ways.  I want to come back to the states a new person, completely changed (once again) by the Holy Spirit. I know that the Lord is already at work in Honduras and I can't wait to see what he has planned for me to help Him with over the next month.  Please pray with me that the people in Catacamas will see Jesus alive in me and that they will have a desire for this Life too. 
You will hear from me again hopefully sometime next week, once I'm safely in Honduras.

Jesus Was Here

I remember writing "Jenna was here" on every dry erase board, every Camp Tahkodah cabin wall (oops!), at least one page in all of my friends notebooks, every fogged up window, and every pretty much any other surface that was able to be written on. I know it's lame and I'm not really sure why I thought that was cool, but I think it's probably safe to say that everyone did that at one time or another when they were in 5th grade.  I can't remember why I thought writing "Jenna was here" on everything was necessary, but I did it anyways.  Whether you physically saw me in those places or not, you knew that I had been there.  I left my mark.  That's kind of how the past four days have been in Israel. "Jesus was here".

It's very overwhelming to think that "Jesus was here." I can now say that I have walked all over Jerusalem, and I know that Jesus has too.  He walked on the same earth that I am walking on today.  It's not some made up story. He isn't a movie character. He is Jesus Christ, "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."  He was here.

As I sat near the Garden of Gethsemane I couldn't help but think about Jesus being there.  His physical body was here.  This is where he lived.  He had friends here.  He walked down roads like the ones I walked down a few days ago.  He performed miracles here.  He probably took naps here.  He was tempted here.  He probably skinned his knee here.  He cried here.  He prayed here. He even prayed for me here (John 17:20-26). He loved me here.  He loved me enough to die for me, and days go by when I don't even acknowledge his presence.

Who am I that The Lord of all creation would die for me? There is absolutely way that I would have died for myself, but Jesus chose my soul over his own comfort.  As I was sitting in a possible spot for the Garden of Gethsemane, I expected to feel the weight of everything that had happened there.  I expected to hear Jesus crying out to God because his soul was "overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death" (Matthew 26:38). I expected to see how tired the disciples were.  Maybe I would even picture the multitude of men with clubs and swords walking up to arrest Jesus.  But instead of feeling the weight of the story, I felt an overwhelming peace.  Why? Because satan has been defeated.  The battle has already been fought and I know the winner.  His name is Jesus.  He didn't have to die, but he chose me over himself. He separated himself from his father so that I could have an eternal home in heaven.  He chose to love me even when I don't love myself. He chooses to love me even when I lie, even when I am disrespectful, even when I'm jealous, even when I lust, and even when I fail him over and over again.  He chose to love me and Im so glad he did.  That is a debt that I will never be able to repay.

The Garden of Gethsemane has been one of my favorite places that we have visited in Israel. All of the different places where people think that Jesus was born and crucified have churches built on top of them.  They are covered with beautiful and elaborate decorations and the garden is covered in rocks, grass, and olive trees.  That's more likely the way Jesus would have seen it and I like it that way.  I find the gaudy decorations to be distracting and kind of discouraging.  They are really pretty, but I still don't like them.  I like that the garden isn't decorated with things that men made. It's decorated with things that God made, and it's beautiful.

Before I left the states, people kept asking me if I was going to blog or just stick with journaling.  I looked at them like they were crazy. Of course I wasn't going to blog.  In no way did I ever intend to do this.  But here we are.  I'm sure that anyone reading this won't want to read everything that goes on in my mind, but there are just some things that need to be shared.  I have never been very good with words so I won't blame you if you think this is horrible, just don't tell me. :)
I am spending the semester studying abroad in Greece and so far I love it.  I am here with 34 other students, most of whom I knew before we left Searcy.  We have only been here for two weeks but we have already been through a lot together.  Within a week of being here we have traveled across an ocean to a completely new continent, cleaned hundreds of dishes, taken lots of pictures, began learning a new language, bought flight and train tickets to Italy for spring break, shared our testimonies with each other, prayed with and for each other, read our Bibles together, laughed together, and cried together. I am incredibly blessed to be here with all 34 of these people.  We are on this journey together and I can't wait to see the ways that each one of us will grow over the semester.  The Lord is definitely working in all of us over here in Greece.  Exciting things are happening!
I know that I am already two weeks into my trip, and I have a lot to catch you up on.  Just hold your horses and give me some time.  My blog may be a little scattered until I can get caught up.
Well, my backpack is packed, and in a few short hours my friends and I will be traveling to Israel for the next ten days.  Please be praying for our minds to be open to all of the new things we will learn, and of course for safe travels.  Thanks for taking your time to read this (for the 3 of you that actually read it) and I will do my best to post again soon!