kristiapplesauce

To be known.

There was a big tree that covered most of our front yard growing up. There was that and three really tall palm trees. You could see them from the end of the road. I used to lay on my back in the grass and try to count the leaves as they would bud to see the tree grow and then one day I would come home from school and [poof] there would be like 300 leaves. What? Just like that. Then at the beginning of fall, I would try to count the leaves falling or try to count how many leaves there were left...to see if I could capture the last leaf dropping. I never could. The other day Daniel and I were in a park, laying, reading under this tree and I remembered doing that as a kid and thought about how I had tried so many years to do that...so many failed attempts. But the other day as I was trying to count as the leaves were falling around us, I was made happy because God was whispering to me that He was way too big to be counted or to be "known";there are way too many leaves for that.

Carry my burden please.

On the last night of the camp; Schaun, our fear-less leader had us and all the campers write down sin and other garbage that had been cluttering up our lives. We were to write it down on pieces of paper then attach it to the cross in front of the stage. I was able to write down a major "thing" that God has been speaking to me about but then before we were to go and attach it, one of the girls in my cabin got sick. So I had to take her to the "nurse station". Before I did, I handed my piece of paper to one of my friends Teresa (a lady on the team) in case I needed to stay with the girl. But I was able to make it back before everyone was carrying their sins to the cross but I didn't want to (in the movement) go and "grab my sin back", so I just walked to my seat. I was then able to watch as Teresa and everyone else walked and attached their papers to the cross. It was so powerful. But what blew me away the most was that God was saying to me...."look...you are so not alone". It was so clear as anything I have ever experienced - she was literally helping me carry my burden to the cross. She was attaching it for me. Not that she can confess my sin, and not to get into the logistics of it. But He was answering such a sweet prayer of renewal and encouragement. It was refreshing and made me feel alive to know that our Holy Father loves us, loves me that much to bring people all the way across the world to carry our, carry my burden for me. Thank you Teresa. Thank you Friend. Thank you Father.

Psalm 104:1

I wonder what will be caught in my web this week. What will become important? What is already or to be added to the list? I am always (or it seems) on the go. Something to get done. But today was a reminder that some things can wait. Today we prayed and read scripture together. We spent real time and relaxed. I was refreshed and able to rest. Now my focus turns to the next five days and I choose to surrender...not react. I will patiently and decisively respond to what He is calling me to do, rather then get my own agenda accomplished. I love reminders like this photo. It was waiting for us by our front step. Thank you Lord.

Home

I don't know much. This simple truth...I know to my core. But I know that we are home. What do I start writing about now that we are back? Do I write about all the everythings that happened while we were in America? Do I write about the lessons I learned in the last 6 weeks? The last 4 days? I think that will take a few more days to process. But what I will tell you is that when I stepped off the plane and breathed in our Beloved African air, we were back-smack in the middle of the right place to be. So then fast forward to me going to the woman's restroom (as soon as I was able) and on the back of the toilet was a red purse...so I quickly looked out to see if I could hand it off to the rightful owner. No, she wasn't there. So I would take it to the front when I was done washing my hands but when I came out of the stall there was a rather large African lady in all her glory (jewelry, African clothing, head wrap) and there she was hugging me and kissing me and telling me "thank you" for finding her purse. There is just nothing like getting kissed and hugged (picked up off the floor) by a big African lady. Yup. I am home.

Here's what I think...for the last 5 minutes anyways...

I have been more encouraged this past week then I have been in probably 5 months...by friends, people who have been encouraging us, supporting us, people that love us unconditionally...but there is that stupid doubt that keeps creeping up inside of me because of that one or two things that somebody did or said that I can't shake. Seriously, this is the best week that I have had in so very long and yet I continue to do what I hate. "For I do not understand what I am doing,  because I do not practice what I want to do,  but I do what I hate. And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree with the law that it is good. So now I am no longer the one doing it, but it is sin living in me. For I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my flesh. For the desire to do what is good is with me, but there is no ability to do it. For I do not do the good that I want to do, but I practice the evil that I do not want to do.  Now if I do what I do not want, I am no longer the one doing it, but it is the sin that lives in me. So I discover this principle:   when I want to do good, evil is with me. For in my inner self  I joyfully agree with God's law. But I see a different law in the parts of my body, waging war against the law of my mind and taking me prisoner to the law of sin in the parts of my body. What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body  of death? I thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord! So then, with my mind I myself am a slave to the law of God, but with my flesh, to the law of sin."

Yup, me and Paul

4,3,2,1

We are finishing up our Christmas shopping and packing, paying bills for the time we are gone and getting things together. I am so ready for home. I am ready for my family and our stocking tradition. The familiar of home. The smells of home. Hannah and Kacey (my niece and nephew) asking to snuggle-bug, the incredible way Mom makes snow ice cream taste so yummy with hot chocolate. Being so comfortable with my sister and laughing at the stupid stuff. I miss my friends and drinking Starbucks 'till our stomachs hurt...not because we don't have self-control, but because we don't want to leave one another. But the more I miss home, (and am thrilled to come home and see and spend real time with friends and family), the more I am already missing my family here. These kids who have captured my heart.

Blame and Justification

The American way. If you were cut off or if somebody treated you like crap at work. If your spouse hurt you, or your boss was a jerk. We all do it. We all react and then retaliate. Blame the other person. They did this, they did that. Then we rush off to wherever we are going to tell whomever we can the injustices we faced to gain their sympathy for the whatever it is that happened to us. We tell the same stories over and over and the stories get bigger and bigger. We sometimes do nothing in "retaliation" to justify our inaction. "They" didn't whatever so therefore, I'm not going to do whatever it is that I'm supposed to be doing...just to prove a point or to show them.

Here, it is no different. We blame and justify. We hurt and get hurt.

The difference? Here, we miss the connection. Daniel and I say something and there really isn't a connection to people. I say "Wal-mart" or "Starbucks" and people look at me like my head is spinning....the other day it was hot, and said something about a snowcone and had to explain what a snowcone was...so there is a whole process to connecting to people. But you see...that initself has become my excuse, my blame and justification. It takes 10 extra minutes to have a conversation about stuff we in America takes for granted. But I have come to resent that. I have come to anger and mean. How sad.

Really, after thinking about all those things I have realized that it has absolutely nothing to do with those petty and little things. Nothing at all. Those are just excuses that I have given for separating myself. What I am really upset about is so much more. I haven't been proactive in seeking or loving. I have been waiting for what? I don't know. For leadership or direction. And when it didn't come...I blamed and justified. I got distracted on the things that didn't matter. I got mad at the little. The very thing that will destroy a ministry. That will destroy a marriage. That will destroy friendships. I buried myself in the things that I "expected" now it is time to be proactive. It can't be everyone else's fault any longer. There is no excuse for my bad behavior. The blame falls on me, no matter what else is spinning around me.

Motherwell Cemetery

Today we trekked down to the Motherwell cemetery with Brooke and Destiny to show them the devastation and havoc HIV/AIDS has had on this society and we came across this plot. There really wasn't anything to say when we all came upon it. I prayed for this family and then I prayed for the 4 of us...

Today, this means more

Here, have a dollar, in fact no brotherman here, have two Two dollars means a snack for me, but it means a big deal to you Be strong, serve God only, know that if you do, beautiful heaven awaits That's the poem I wrote for the first time I saw a man with no clothes, no money, no plate Mr.Wendal, that's his name, no one ever knew his name cause he's a no-one Never thought twice about spending on a ol' bum, until I had the chance to really get to know one Now that I know him, to give him money isn't charity He gives me some knowledge, I buy him some shoes And to think blacks spend all that money on big colleges, still most of y'all come out confused. Go ahead, Mr.Wendal. Mr.Wendal has freedom, a free that you and I think is dumb Free to be without the worries of a quick to diss society for Mr.Wendal's a bum His only worries are sickness and an occasional harassment by the police and their chase Uncivilized we call him, but I just saw him eat off the food we waste Civilization, are we really civilized, yes or no ? Who are we to judge ? When thousands of innocent men could be brutally enslaved and killed over a racist grudge Mr.Wendal has tried to warn us about our ways but we don't hear him talk Is it his fault when we've gone too far, and we got too far, cause on him we walk Mr.Wendal, a man, a human in flesh, but not by law I feed you dignity to stand with pride, realize that all in all you stand tall Mr.Wendal, yeah yeah yeah, Lord, Mr.Wendal.

Making excuses.

Day three of this head explosion…I can’t think, or see or lie down or do anything because my head hurts. It hurts and then it hurts, it hurts. So as I was lying in bed praying after my second bout of throwing up in the designated puke bowl - nursing my head and waiting for it to come again…I was pleading to God to make it better. Please God, anything. After for however how long of that misery, I began to earnestly pray. Not for healing, but for clarity and for direction. Of course I would love to be healed of this crazy. As I have asked for a million times since puberty (when the migraines hit) but this time, it was something different. I started wondering over to other things. I began to pray for other people who have “these ailments” that plague their lives. My friends that have children who have “situations”, the kids here that genetic issues or diseases. I just started praying and then thinking about them. Are they any less because of what they are dealing with? Are they not whole? Am I? God IS the Author and Healer, right? So why is it that we second guess these things and make excuses, wondering what? – When our prayers go “unanswered”…we make way by saying, “Oh, we will be whole in Heaven”. All the while praying for healing, making up something to say if it doesn't happen. Like we have to cover for God or something when people give us that "I'm so sorry look". Then I was also thinking about what if we are whole. What if God made us this way, and we are the “normal” ones? Like my friends who has an autistic child or my other friends whose kid is HDHD?? Maybe they don’t need healed. Maybe we all just need to relax.