The Most Human of Holidays

I have such a deep love for the Christmas season, I always have. I have a collection of ugly Christmas sweaters, I know where all the best Christmas lights are, and most Christmas songs will make me cry if I listen to them enough.

But lately Christmas has taken on an entirely new depth of meaning for me.

It has become less about cheer and more about chaos...
Less about expectancy and more about defying expectations...
Less about holiness and more about humanity...

There is a certain absurdity and grittiness to the Christmas story. The world expected a messiah who was a warrior, they expected prestige and purity. Instead we were given a child from a nowhere town, born into a shameful engagement and fleeing an oppressive government. It’s messy, scary, and not at all what anyone expected it to be.

But isn’t that usually where holiness is found? In the places that we are most afraid of, where we come face to face with our brokenness, when no one else understands... that is where Christ is found.

Because Christ is so much more than a baby in a manger. Christ shows us that it is possible to be fully human and fully divine at the same time. Christ is evidence that God is found in all of the wild beauty of our humanity.

Christ is holy human.
Christ is wholly human.

My dear friends, I pray that in this Christmas season you find the holiness of your own humanity.

For Those With Eyes To See

I've been struggling a lot with the anxiety of being myself.

I'm learning a lot about who I am, the fullness of myself. I am learning about my fears and my desires, my hurts and hangups. I am realizing that I am so much more than the person I was trying to be. I'm finding a lot of freedom and beauty in showing up as all of me. In this newfound freedom, I am finding I want to tell people more about who I am. I want to stop hiding.

But I'm also realizing that when I step into the light, some people won't be happy with what they see. There is this urge to explain myself to people, to turn the situation just enough that they'll understand it. To say it in a certain way so that they are more likely to be okay with me. I don't want all that I am and all that I've done to be written off because one part of me is out in the open.

I spoke with my Spiritual Director about this today. We talked about Jesus during his ministry. So often he would retreat, he would separate from all of the crowds and go find a quiet place to pray. I imagine in their eyes it looked like he was turning away from ministry, he was running away from people who needed his help.

The reality is that he knew his priorities, he knew that no amount of helping would matter if he wasn't connected to God and himself. None of it means anything without the Source.

So what the crowds saw as a turning away was actually a turning toward what really mattered.

And I was thinking about how he didn't explain this to them. He never had a big sermon explaining and defending why he needed to step away from ministry sometimes. He didn't hide it either though, he would walk away as the crowds watched him. He did what he needed to do regardless of who was around or what they had to say.

He would often say, "For those with eyes to see..." He knew that everyone wouldn't get it, and that was okay. Everyone doesn't need to get it. For the ones who have eyes to see, it doesn't take much to recognize where wholeness and healing are found. For those without eyes to see, no amount of explanation will ever bring true understanding.

So how do I be myself fully, without needing to hide or explain who I am? How do I turn toward God when others think I am turning away? I choose to realize that how others react to me has nothing to do with who I am. It's just a matter of whether or not they have the eyes to see. 

Know

There is this great human desire to be known. We want to be seen in the fullness of ourselves. To believe that no part of us is too broken or too shameful, but that it is all beautiful and holy.

The only desire that seems to rival this is the desire to know. To see another person and know them as an entire universe. To know Love, to know God, to know belonging.

We are made in the image of God, I believe this more and more each day. Maybe more important than knowing the names of God or knowing what God is, we are supposed to know God. To know God on this side of Heaven and in the next, to know God in me and God in you.

And isn't it beautiful to experience a God whose greatest desires are to know and be known, just like us?

I want to know myself, I want to be known, and I want to know you. Because I don't ever want to miss out on seeing another variation of this image of God. 

Feeding the 4000

This came up during church today. What an absurd, beautiful story. It made me think about how the disciples were right, it would have been smarter to send the people away to get their own food. Disconnection was easier than connection in that moment.

It made me think about choosing proximity and giving all I have, rather than separation because I think I have nothing to offer. It made me realize that if I give the little I have, maybe that can be enough (or even more than enough).

I am choosing to believe in this whole thing.

Choosing abundance.
Choosing proximity.
Choosing togetherness.
Choosing presence.
Choosing to show up.  

Pieces

Healing is what God feels like on this side of Heaven. It's the brutal process of being broken open and put back together. Each time we are rebuilt we collect more pieces than we originally had, we become bigger. The old pieces are redeemed, the new ones illuminate it all. In the end we find that we are bigger and brighter than we ever could have hoped, and we slowly begin to trust the breaking.

Hope Street Blue

The first time I went to Cambodia I was 17 years old. Our team was building a house for a grandma who was living in a shack. We painted the house a bright blue color. It was stunning.

I came back a couple years later and found an entire row of houses had been built after hers. Each of those families had a house built by this same organization, each one was that same bright blue. They called it Hope Street. That street was a symbol to the community that there was hope, there are people who care for you and will love you when you have nothing to offer. That organization I worked with has now built over 50 homes throughout the provinces, and almost all of them are painted Hope Street Blue.

The time I spent with that organization sometimes seems like a lifetime ago. Lately I've been consumed with the tough work of healing, afraid I will never move past my own trauma. People have been telling me that if I want to pursue life as a missionary I will have to hide certain parts of me, and I was beginning to believe them. I started to wonder if god had a blueprint for my life and I took the wrong series of steps, now I was left carrying empty dreams.

Then this weekend I went on a mission trip to Mexico with my church of misfits. They allowed me to come with all parts of myself. None of us felt the need to hide or change to fit into this idea of "missionary". All we did was show up, embracing ourselves and each other. We gave one another hope and healing by bringing all of our hurts and hangups to the table.

As we painted a school together I looked down at my hands and noticed the paint was all over me. Much to my surprise, it was Hope Street Blue. A flood of memories came back and in that moment I realized how interconnected this whole experience is. The hope I saw in Cambodia was the same hope I saw in this Mexican school, the same hope I felt around the campfire with my church. My story has Hope Street Blue sprinkled all over the place, not a single experience has been wasted.

You see what I'm realizing is that God is not standing in the sky with a blueprint, waiting for me to make the right moves. No, God and I are creating something together. It's a grand tapestry, full of my darkness and my light... With strands of Hope Street Blue dispersed throughout.

I see now that I can keep creating the life I long for. 

I'm Ruined

One of my favorite stories came from my leader and close friend in Cambodia.

During her missionary training a teacher pointed to her and looked her in the eye, he shouted "You! You are ruined for the ordinary."

I love this more than words can say. Sometimes when we were on a crazy adventure or seeing something that was too beautiful for words, we would bring this up.

"We are just ruined for the ordinary!"

Because when something amazing has happened to you it opens you up, it makes you bigger than you were before. Even if it is the most painful experience of your life, you can see it through until it gives way to beauty and hope. Eventually you find that you don't fit into the small boxes that life originally gave you.

I've seen the beauty that different cultures bring to the world, so I'm ruined for the American Dream.
I've known the suffering that life can bring, so I'm ruined for easy answers.
I've experienced abundant life, so I'm ruined for complacency.
I've been loved for who I am, so I'm ruined for shallow relationships.

I am so very ruined, and I love it. Because all of the things I have been ruined for are so small, and what's left is fullness of life. Full of love, full of healing, full of heartbreak, full of laughter... and anything but ordinary. 

The words behind the words.

I've been thinking a lot about words lately.

The words we say, the words we don't say, the words we use to soften the blow.

Sometimes it seems that fewer words would serve us better. Yet we are afraid of the power they hold, so we add on to them to protect ourselves. Or we choose words that will make it clear what we mean, while still maintaining our plausible deniability.

It's when we say "I'll pray for you", but we really mean "I'm scared of what this means for you".
We say "I love you, but...", we really mean "I'd love you more if this wasn't between us".
We say "That's interesting", we really mean "I can't wrap my head around this".
We say, "I love everything about you", we really mean "I love you".

We all know when it's happening. We see what is meant behind what is said. Yet we keep going anyway, saying everything except the one thing we really mean, hoping someone will read between the lines.

I won't say it's good or bad, the way we use our words. Because so often it comes from a place of wanting to protect, whether it be protecting ourselves or others.

It's interesting though. 

Name It

I had a conversation with my spiritual director this week about names.

My childhood was something like falling down a mountain. It came about with such a speed and intensity that at the end I wasn't quite sure what had happened to me, I just knew it broke me. Now I've picked myself up off the ground, and I am realizing that I need to climb back up the mountain. Slowly, steadily, and naming my surroundings as I build a proper path.
My path.

I can look at the area where debris was lodged into my side- abuse.
I can see the point at which I hit my head and forgot where I was- depression.
I can find where I began grabbing at everything, looking for something to hold on to- codependency.
I can locate the exact point at which I thought it was over- fear.

As I go back to the places that broke me, I can see them for what they are. I can make sense of the situation and heal the wounds as they present themselves. Because there is a power in names, and there is a power in me that is capable of climbing this mountain. 

Who I Am/ Who Am I

"I don't know who I am anymore!"

I shouted this in the kitchen today. Then I promptly took it back.

Because the reality is I know more about who I am than I ever have. For the first time in my life, I can clearly see where I'm coming from. I see my hurts and hangups, I see my hopes and dreams, I see myself in an entirely new way.

I'm just realizing that the person I am is very different from the person I pretended to be. I am everything I swore I would never be, everything that used to scare me. I think deep down I was afraid of the fullness of who I was, so I stuffed it down and became who I was expected to be instead.

So here I am, in the eye of the storm that is myself. Everything around me is falling to pieces, but I am standing solid in the center. It's new and it's beautiful and it's me.

Question and Answer

I've been thinking a lot about this lately- questioning. My life feels like one huge question mark right now. How did the past shape me? What do I want for my future? Who am I now? Is who I am even compatible with the life I want? Where does "God" stand in the middle of all this?

All the questions.
All the time.

It can be exhausting. Because each time I think I have found an answer, that answer brings about even more questions.

I used to cling to my answers. Lately some of my old answers have finally fallen away, and I am finding that I have more space without them. There is more room to exist in questions, there is space for growth and healing and new life.

The reality is, the answers will never be enough. Answers are finite. Our answers used to tell us that the earth was flat. It was only continued questioning that brought us new, truer answers. We continue this process over and over, as humanity and as individuals, we desperately seek answers until we realize they are too small. Then we ask new questions, we make new answers, and the cycle continues.

The problem with an answer is it has an end point. Once you have reached the end of it, there's no room for anything more. That answer will keep you there as long as you let it. It will tell you what to do and where to go, it will control you.

Questions though, they are whimsical. Like a dance or like the wind, they don't tell you what you're going toward but instead call you deeper. The questions in and of themselves reveal to you who you are and what matters to you. They give you space to be who you need to be, you can hold them as you are becoming. They will be patient with you, and they will never demand that you arrive or finish your work with them. You can ask the same question for ten years, and you will find that it has grown and evolved with you. It will stay as long as you allow it.

I love when someone is in a state of questioning and allows  me to witness it. It's a beautiful transformation that happens, when people ask the questions they were so afraid of and find freedom on the other side. It's the stuff of life. I love watching it in other people, I'm learning to love it in myself.

So please don't cut off your questions, don't shut them down with easy answers. Because these questions are shaping and carrying you. They are teaching you who you are and giving you the space to grow. Love your questions. In your questions I see who you are, and with each question you are more beautiful than you were the moment before.

Unreal

Words are deeply important to me. When I feel trapped or hurt or hopeful, when I need to understand emotions I cannot express, I usually need to write it out. Because the words that flow from my fingertips tell me more about who I am and how I feel than I could ever comprehend on my own.

That being said, when I begin using a word frequently it usually means that my heart is speaking up. Lately, I've noticed that I am always writing or saying "unreal".

Like when I look at an amazing sunrise, or speak to someone that amazes me, or hear about healing.
It is unreal.

But I'm beginning to realize is that when I say it is unreal, I mean that it is more real than everything else. This sunrise, her heart, the redemptive quality of life- it is more real than all of the other thoughts that run through my mind. It's an experience. It pulls me into a moment that is disconnected from the world because it is so much of the world at once. It is the very stuff of life, the parts that make it full and real and whole. It is unreal. 

Forward

When I had my eye surgery I received very specific instructions from my doctor-
“You have to keep your eyes looking forward at the light in front of you. When the blade cuts you, there will be a moment where you can’t see anything. Keep looking forward anyway. You have to keep looking forward or we will cut the wrong part of your eye.”

I remember praying my little heart out. When the whole world went dark, I resisted the urge to look around me and find another light. I kept looking at the dark void where the light had been, choosing to believe that light would be there again when the procedure was finished.

This week I was on an airplane, and there was a moment where we flew through a cloud. Suddenly everything was a haze. But we went forward anyway. It occurred to me that pilots never try to navigate around the clouds, because they already know which direction they are going. The pilot could always course correct later if he needed.

And let me tell you, that stuck with me.

Lately I feel like I’m going in blind. I’m being cut open. I’m in a haze. I feel darkness where I once felt light. Sometimes I panic and want to turn elsewhere. I tell myself that maybe if I focus on someone else I can get out of this place? Until I realize that would mean going backwards.

So here I am, eyes forward even though I have no way of knowing what’s ahead. Because the only way out of this pain is through it.

This sunrise.

Yesterday I went for an early morning walk because I knew I needed to see this sunrise. I was stuck in my head and needed something beautiful to reconnect me to my heart. As I watched the colors of the sky transform I began to cry. I felt so inadequate in the vastness of it all. I knew that never again would the sky look quite like it did in that moment. My heart broke for all the things I am afraid to lose and everything I have already lost.

But I just couldn't look away.

I realized that my desire for beauty is greater than my fear of loss. I cannot stop life from holding pain and risk and heartbreak. I can, however, choose to chase healing and hope and love. There is something about the fullness of this moment. Life will never again be what it is right now and that is both life giving and heart breaking. Somewhere in the paradox of it all is a beauty I can't describe.

So I made a decision, I am not going to look away. No matter how scared I am, even though this moment will never exist again, I will keep looking because I don't want to miss the beautiful things life has given me.

Going through hell.

I've been thinking lately about the people who inspire me. The ones who teach me the difference between living and being alive. They are young, old, and in between. They laugh when shit hits the fan, and sometimes they cry just because. They have soft hearts and strong will.

But what sets them apart more than anything else is that they have suffered greatly. They are addicts, refugees, single parents, abandoned children, caretakers, mentally ill, the abused and the abusers. They all know what it's like to fall apart and build themselves back up. Through all the pain they chose and the pain they were given, they found beauty and hope. It's as if they see the magic and love in the world that the rest of us forget in our complacency.

It seems to me that the people who most bring heaven to this world are the ones who have already been through hell. 

The Getaway Bag

I had a pretty unique childhood. I was a homeschooled missionary kid whose biggest concerns were mosquito bites and evangelism. Until I was 11 and my life turned upside down. Suddenly I was a depressed kid from a broken home. The police came to my house on a weekly basis. I lived with my abuser and couldn’t do a thing about it. I began going to public school and was desperately trying to hide my situation.

So I developed coping mechanisms. I turned anger in toward myself and helped others as a way outside of myself. I began unhealthy relationships with food and self-harm.
And I also had my getaway bag.

The getaway bag was my only tangible coping mechanism. It was ready at all times with emergency cash, a change of clothes, a bible, and toiletry essentials. I only actually used the bag to getaway a couple times, but I would often use it to calm myself.
I would sit in my closet holding the bag, reminding myself that I had a way out. Life wasn’t hopeless quite yet. It reminded me that there was still time to start again.

I carried this habit with me when I moved to Cambodia. Of course I was safe there, but what if one day I wasn’t? I told myself that the political situation could change at any point. I believed I had to be ready to flee at all times. Not because anyone in Cambodia told me this, but because it was the way I lived for so long. I brought my coping mechanisms across the world with me.

Now I’m back in America, attempting to heal these old wounds. I intentionally haven’t packed a getaway bag this time. I’ve noticed myself missing it though. When I get overwhelmed with anxiety, I start thinking about packing the bag just to feel a bit more safe.

But the reality is that I’m not unsafe anymore. I’m not 11 years old. I’m not being abused.
I am growing and I am healing.
I am letting go of unhealthy coping mechanisms.
I am getting ready for the wild, beautiful journey ahead of me.
When the time comes to go I’ll be ready and I’ll be traveling light this time. Because this journey is far too great to let extra baggage weigh me down. 

Becoming as I'm Waiting

Above all, trust in the slow work of God. We are quite naturally impatient in everything to reach the end without delay. Only God could say what this new spirit gradually forming within us will be. Let us give God the benefit of believing that God’s hand is leading us, and let’s accept the anxiety of feeling ourselves in suspense and incomplete. -Teilhard de Chardin

 This prayer came up during my time at the Living School Symposium. Let me tell you, I feel it deeply. I feel in suspense and incomplete.

I had another experience during the gathering. A group went on a walking prayer/meditation. The leader encouraged us to consider hugging a tree along the way. I saw a little tree that didn't quite fit with the rest, not quite fully grown but also not brand new. Not along the path but not a centerpiece either. I went and hugged her, and laughed at myself for being a literal tree-hugger.

Until my laughter gave way to tears. I realized that as I was holding this tree it was growing beneath my finger tips. The surface seemed still and stationary, but inside of it cells were multiplying and growing and producing new leaves. Me standing there did nothing to give to or take from the tree. It would continue to do what it was made to do- to reach toward Heaven. Because it has no choice but to grow. It may grow crooked, quickly or slowly. But it will grow. It IS growing at all times.

Like dough left in a dark corner to rise. In my times of silence and prayer I am actively doing nothing, I am letting the dough rest. And as it rests in the darkness, it grows to what it needs to be.

I am desperate to heal the dark parts of my soul. I am waiting to heal. Yet I am also beginning to realize that as I wait for the healing, it is already happening to me. Because nothing can stop me from being what I was created to be.

Like the tree grows as I wait for it to grow. 

Like the dough rises as I wait for it to rise. 

I am healing as I wait to be healed, 

I am becoming as I am waiting. 

Empty

Years ago I went through a crisis of faith. In desperation I came to my dad crying. I felt as though I had built my entire life in a house called Christianity. Now the very foundation of all I had built was crumbling. I was homeless.

In wisdom and love he responded, "You have to tear down the house you were given, and on the foundation you will build a new home that is all your own."

I held onto that during the crisis, the hope of building something new.

But recently I realized that Christianity was only one of the rooms in this house of mine. I stayed there because it was the only place I felt safe. Meanwhile I locked all the other doors. In dark corners I hid pieces of me, hoping they would fade away one day. Now I must open all of these rooms, bring it all out to the surface. Take a good, hard look at trauma untouched and lies held tightly. Shine a light on the dark fears of future roles and relationships.

I was told this was a year of cleaning sacred spaces, but I have to confess some of these rooms feel profane. Everything I thought I was, everything I wanted to be, none of it fits anymore. My faith, my childhood, my dreams, my relationships, my skills... None of it is what I thought it was.

I am empty. None of who I used to be remains.

Yet the beauty of all of this is that I finally see the foundation. I see that beneath all of the ways I define myself, there is who I actually am- a conduit of the Divine... a Spirit... a child of God... a piece of Love. As scary as it is to be empty, it is worth it to be held. 

Good work

I was chatting with one of my dearest Khmer friends today. Tears began to surface as I realized I have less than 24 hours in this amazing country.

K- "You have done good work here, Mercy. You have done good things for this country."

Me- "I don't know about that, it seems like all I did was make amazing friends that I now have to say goodbye to."

K- "Exactly. The greatest commandment in the Bible is to love God and your neighbor, that is what you have done here. You have loved us."

I could hardly contain myself in response. Because the truth is they have loved me. My community here has loved me so fully and deeply that there was no longer any room for self hatred. They healed me by loving me completely, in my brokenness and my passion. If they can love me, maybe I can love me too.

I came here expecting to do good work. To fight trafficking, to bring healing, to make a difference. I felt called to change the world, and I still do. I still want to do good work.

But now I see that the only way to change the world is to love her fully. Income generation programs are great, education is important, rescue is critical. But none of it will leave lasting change without love.

So what will I do when I get back to America? I will show those around me how to love like the Cambodians do. I will show them that our greatest work is not how we make money or who we help, it is how we love. My work is love. 

Sing

Sing little bird, sing even though it is not yet morning.

Does this late sunset and light fog have you confused? If it weren't for this clock I would think it was the morning too, the way the light is hitting the sky. The sweet wind makes me want to sing along with you in a morning song of joy and new beginnings.

Still, deep down I know it is not morning. The sun will set soon, not to return until the darkness has run its course. The clock endlessly ticks, reminding me of how much time is left.

So sing your song, and I will sing along. For your morning song is my mourning song. I will weep as you rejoice and somehow it will still sound all the same.

Manna

A huge part of the biblical narrative is the Israelites traveling through the wilderness to the promised land. The journey took generations. It was filled with loss and turmoil, along with growth and change. Frequently the people would setup camp at a particular spot and stay there. God would continually call them deeper into the wilderness, and over and over they would resist that call. Maybe the Promised Land was too good to be true anyway?

I've been feeling a lot like the Israelites lately.

I feel as though I have finally found my safe place. The journey has been long and hard, I want to stay in the place I have found comfort.

Yet this voice continually calls me to journey deeper, further into the unknown. She assures me that there is more beyond the horizon. She promises I will be given Manna to sustain me. Still I doubt provision, I try to work within my own means to make the transition doable. Which only leaves me spiraling into self-doubt and fear.

Until this week, when people and places filled my heart. They reminded me of why I am chasing healing. They showed me that this is only one step of the journey, and there is so much more to come. They were Manna to me.

This place

This place. This path that isn't quite a path. My holy place. Where God asks me to dig deeper, invites me to open my eyes. To see that the path will always be here, but it will never be what it was.

There's a grieving for what's lost, a cry that ends in a hallelujah for all that's been revealed.

Here I learned who Cambodia is and who I am. I realized why this unwanted child was drawn to a country of unwanted children.

Here I learned about separation. I saw the walls we build to keep us from vulnerability. I saw the ways development and ease bring us further from each other.

Here I learned that we can love anyway. We can look for those outside the walls, we can push ourselves through the cracks to find the ones off the path.

Today I learned this-
I can't stop the walls from being built. I cannot stop the world from hiding her heart away. But I can climb these walls and step into the wilderness on the other side. I do not have to be contained by the well worn path. There is an entire world out there that is open to me. I only have to be brave enough to climb the wall.

Malaligned/Healing Again

When I was a child I went through a traumatic situation. It left me emotionally crippled, with a metaphorical gaping wound and a broken bone.  Unable to deal with a certain range of emotions and unable to receive love.

Then I healed. Eventually the wound stopped bleeding, a scab formed and over time fell away. Until all that remained was a scar, gently caressing the memory. Noticed only by a perceptive few.

Until recently there was a situation where I work. A child with a story that was shockingly similar to my own. As I sat on the street with this abandoned child, I felt a slew of memories rush back. I had sat exactly where he had sat. I had spent years trying to heal, and he was only at the beginning.

But hindsight is 20/20. As I looked at him and all the hurt he had endured, I saw the confusion of a child. I saw the struggle of a parent to deal with a child who has already been traumatized. I saw how self defense can look like selfishness to outsiders. I saw it all so clearly.

I realized that while my wound had healed on the outside, the bone was not properly aligned. As I cared for this boy with my same story, I felt the bone break again. I felt the Spirit say, "You thought you healed, but it was always in the wrong place. Now that we have set the bone into place, now you can heal again."

So here I am, healing again. 

Because you are rich

I had a beautiful night tonight. Laughing and eating with one of my best Khmer friends. She has this depth of wisdom that comes out when you least expect it, and a unique blend of humility and strength that is stunning. She always wants to cook for me, and she never lets me pay. She tells me that I have blessed her, so eating good food together is her way of blessing me. And let me tell you, it is one amazing blessing (nothing beats home-cooked Khmer food).

Tonight as we ate our food I told her how scared I was to make new friends in America. I told her Americans don't love so easily like Cambodians. I said most Americans don't want to share about their great joys and sadness unless they already know someone, they don't usually share their lives with newcomers.

She responded without hesitation- "Mercy, it is because people in your country are rich. They have money for everything they need, so they do not know they need people too."

She always has these great one liners that leave me thinking for a while. I realized she is more right than she even knows. Physical poverty and spiritual poverty always seem to balance each other out. Those who grow in physical poverty have a natural inclination for spiritual and emotional depth. they have to in order to survive. On the flip side, when all our needs are met we have no perceived need for spirituality and community. In America, our affluence is our own leprosy. It keeps us from being willing to touch each other and truly connect.

Momma T said it best- "There are many in the world who are dying for a piece of bread but there are many more dying for a little love. The poverty in the West is a different kind of poverty -- it is not only a poverty of loneliness but also of spirituality. There's a hunger for love, as there is a hunger for God.”

It's no wonder Jesus chose to live his ministry in homelessness. It makes sense that most of the saints took a vow of poverty. Because there is a richness to life that the west will never know until we remove these golden chains that weigh us down. 

How many kids do you have?

I had two but I gave one away.
...

I had two but one died.
...

I spent this weekend in the village where our organization's second center is. We did some kids programs, visited some families, and built a well. There was one family living in a shack who we visited. A sweet toddler boy ran around, pretending to be shy while also begging to play. I asked the mother how many kids she had. "I had two, but I gave one away", she responded nonchalantly. Kind of like she was telling us the milk spoiled so she had to toss it. The conversation continued as if nothing important had been said, giving away a child is not so uncommon here. Even though we all know many children given away become slaves, working in brothels or as beggars.

I kept looking in her eyes, standing next to her and trying to sense some emotion. Did she miss her child? Did she feel remorse for letting that baby go? Was this nonchalant attitude a defense for an ashamed heart, or did she really not care?

As I knelt down to play with the toddler, her remaining child, she told him "why don't you go with the pretty foreigner, maybe she will take you home." People have offered their children to me countless times, of course I never accept. But this time I wondered how she would have reacted if I did. Would she have been surprised? Would she have even cried while she said goodbye to her child for the last time? Or had she become too numb to care?

The next day we came to a second village to build a well. I sat with a beautiful girl, she was younger than me and 7 months pregnant. I asked how many kids she had. She replied that the one she was carrying was her second. I asked where the first was. With averted eyes she responded that the first had died a week after being born. Her eyes were full of sadness and shame, she rubbed her full belly seeking a little bit of hope. In a culture where negative emotions are kept behind locked doors, she was brave enough to hold the sadness of her lost baby girl.

I couldn't help but compare these two women.
One a teenage girl grieving the child taken from her, and hoping beyond hope that she could care for this new child.
The other, an older mother asking that her child be taken from her, and willing to send the second child down the same path as the first.

There's something about the contrast of the two stories. Both women no longer have their first child and instead hold their second.
One holds the second child with optimism and admiration, the other as a reminder of what she has already given up on.
One with a soft heart- holding hope and suffering in her arms. The other with a hard heart- trying to keep the suffering at arms length.

It makes me wonder how much we lose because we have already given up. 

Imposter Syndrome

This week I received my login information for the Living School. This marks the beginning of a journey that I have been extremely excited for. It gives me hope for the future. As I read through the orientation a sense of peace rushed over me. I was reading materials written in a way that felt freeing and open. I saw the key figures of the school- theologians and teachers and scientists that I loved. How exciting to be with a group of people where I could finally discuss these things. What an amazing opportunity to be immersed in a world of deep healing and authentic discovery.

Then I read the directory, a list of the other students in my cohort. One of the names on the list looked familiar. I Googled it and realized this person was involved in projects that were well known and had been deeply impactful to me. They were a part of a movement I loved, making a difference in the world. I realized that this school is going to be full of unique and talented individuals. They are activists, writers, podcasters... They are people making a difference in the world. Suddenly an overwhelming sense of dread washed over me.

As soon as I arrive they are going to realize I don't belong here. There is one thing that has made me special, and that's the life I'm leaving. I'm an imposter. A shallow, confused girl entering into a school of enlightened and successful people. 

I have to be honest, I spent the better part of the day stewing in this shame spiral. Telling myself I wasn't going to measure up, I didn't have enough life experience, and I wasn't as deep as I would like to believe.

So I stepped away from the computer. I did my yoga practice and spent some time in prayer. I was able to sit in the freeing loss of self that occasionally graces me during prayer. I realized that this incessant need to be enough is the exact reason I'm leaving Cambodia and going to this alternative school.

I spent so long building the life I always dreamed of. I became the successful student, I became the caretaker, I became the missionary- I became the person I always wanted to be. Only to realize that I was fighting for an image of myself. I was filling myself up with good deeds that never quite satisfied. I thought that if I worked hard enough, maybe I could finally earn the love I missed out on. The reality is I spent so long looking to myself to make me lovable, I never realized that Love was within me all along.

If I truly believe that the very Spirit of God is within me, if I see the face of Jesus in each person I meet, then there are no imposters. Because you and me have a value and love that is unshakeable. It isn't tied to the fickle feelings or passing success, it is the very core of who we were made to be, it is the Imago Dei. 

So here I am, beginning from a place of utter humility, unknowing, and hope- the way all great adventures begin. 

I come

I come to the child Christ seeking hope. 

I come to the teaching Christ seeking justice. 

I come to the suffering Christ seeking comfort. 

I come to the resurrected Christ seeking transformation. 

Content

"Is something wrong?"

My friend asked me this over and over in the beginning of our travels together. I was always taken aback because it was at times where all was well, and I was thoroughly enjoying myself. Yet she would still say she wanted to be sure, because she said my energy had changed. I continually insisted that I was feeling great.

As this continued I eventually asked her what about me changed that made her worry something was wrong. She explained that I would suddenly not talk at all, and just sit quietly. She was worried I was stuck in my head or upset about something. I thought about all of the times she had asked this and realized these were moments where I was fully and completely content.

I explained to her that in these moments where I was content and filled with the current situation, I would just sit in the peace of it and soak it all in. I love these moments, they are light and airy, yet also grounding.

I wondered why a friend of almost a decade didn't know that this is what happened when I was content. Then I realized that she had never seen me like this. Because truth be told, I only experienced contentment recently. I've always been someone who experiences emotions with intensity and odd mixtures. Happiness always carried a dark undertone because I told myself I wasn't deserving of it. Sadness carried a strange lightness because it felt familiar to me. There was always such a whiplash of emotions that I was never able to sit in the stillness of being... content.

In these recent years of healing I have found a new range of emotions that were never available to me before. I was jumping from suffering to mania so quickly that I missed all of the beauty of the emotions in between. Suddenly the world is much more vast and diverse than I ever realized.
I'm feeling amazed.
I'm feeling overjoyed.
I'm feeling content. 

What You Notice

In the past month I have had several visitors. Last week I was visited by a friend I met in India, who is living there but is from the US. She is a journalist who majored in history and is very interested in politics. She would noticed things like infrastructure in different cities. She would ask about the government and why they chose to focus their efforts in some areas rather than others. She wondered what it was that made Cambodian Buddhism so much different than other traditions of Buddhism, and how it had been influenced by Hinduism. She asked well-educated, dynamic questions that I had never been asked before. I loved it! We had long discussions about how our cultures impact us, the history of different countries, and how it all comes together.

It was such a joy, being with her opened my eyes of new way to seeing Cambodia. I realized that her background, interests, and personality all changed how she viewed this amazing country.

A few days after I said goodbye to this friend from India/US, one of my dear childhood friends LexiJo arrived. These two friends are polar opposites, in so many great ways.

Lexi is a creative at heart, drawn to all that glitters. She notices movements, colors, and music. She would point out the blue tinted windows, the colored rooftops, and the lit buildings. Anytime a child or animal would pass by, she couldn't pull herself away. When we drove through the city in a tuktuk, she would be constantly immersed in the world we pass by. Her bright heart blends with this bright country so very well.

I was talking with my roommate about this, about how each of them see the city in ways that mimic their own personal interests. I reminisced on previous visitors and teams and thought about what their eyes were drawn to in Cambodia. My roommate asked what the thing I noticed when I came to Cambodia... I paused for a while, thinking back to that day 6 years ago. I remembered instantly feeling connected to the country, but I couldn't put my finger on why that was.

"It's the people"
She interrupted my thoughts, or maybe came right into them. She told me that  whenever we talk about Cambodia, whenever I come home from a day of work excited or defeated, it is always tied to the people in this culture. And she's right, even as this country is rapidly developing and changing, I am continually drawn in by the spirit of the Cambodian people. Their resilience and kindness brings me new joy each and every day.

So there's three of us- the historian/journalist, the creative, and the bleeding heart. Respectively drawn to the cultural context, the beauty of the city, and the hearts of the people.

And the reality is that for each person who is fortunate enough to visit this fantastic country, there is another lens with which they see it. Cambodia is all things to all people because each one of us is seeing the part of it that brings out our own joys and fears. Somehow it is funny, sad, and beautiful all at the same time. 

Powers and Principalities

I've been thinking a lot lately about justice. What's wrong and what's right? Whose side are we on? And who are we fighting against?

I used to clearly know right and wrong. I could tell you who the good guys and bad guys were.
The pimp? Bad guy
The slave? Good guy
The abuser? Bad guy
The abused? Good guy
The dictator? Bad guy
The refugee? Good guy
On and on it goes, on one side is the victim and on the other is the perpetrator.

Until I realized the one who abused me was also abused.
That pimp who trafficked that child was also trafficked when they were young. 
The bad guys were good guys at some point, now they are desperate for some sort of security, a shred of power that will help them feel safe.

So here we are, in this endless cycle of good people doing bad things and bad people doing good things and who really is the good guy in all of it?

I recently went to these two temples. They are on opposing hillsides, one called Phnom Broh (Man), and the other Phnom Srey (Woman).

We were first led to the temple of the man and so we looked around. It was breathtaking. Filled with ornate paintings and stupahs. Every way you turned there was some new, intricate detail that had been missed before. There were statues and tombs and temples, it was gorgeous. A few monks and laypeople walked around, enjoying the beauty and doing whatever rituals were required.

Then we went to the temple of the woman. There were still a few paintings and buildings, but in contrast to the man's temple it was pathetic. It obviously hadn't been kept up over the years as the other had. The temple of the woman required no fee to enter (as the man's did). And instead of people enjoying it and doing rituals, there were beggers on the steps.

Honestly, it infuriated me. For days I couldn't let go of my frustration at an overt example of women being treated as less than men. But who is there for me to be mad at? The builders? No, they were doing what they had to in order to feed their families. The people visiting the temple? No, they are only going to see that which was placed in front of them. The culture? Maybe, but the culture has made great strides- As my friend said, “at least they have a temple for the woman”.

While I look around and am surrounded with the issues of Cambodia- slavery, homelessness, disease...  I am also hearing about the issues in America- institutional racism, police brutality, and gun violence. It's all too much. There is such great injustice around, once again I look for the villain to be mad at. Is it the police? No, there are good officers who are protecting American citizens. Is it Trump? Not fully, if anything he deserves pity more than anger. Is it white people? Not fully, most white people are working with the culture that was handed to them and are unaware of the systems that keep racism alive.

Once again, the problem is so much bigger than any individual.

There is a verse in the bible that says “we do not fight against flesh and blood, but against powers and principalities”. For the first time in my life, I deeply believe that to be true. Misogyny, racism, superiority- these things are more than any one person. They are about the way power has been distributed, it's the principles we choose to live by rather than fight against.

So how do we fight it? Lately I've been wondering if the key is to stop fighting.

I get so preoccupied with fighting my enemy, that I don't realize they have also been beaten down by injustice. No one chooses to abuse or harm another unless they themselves have been hurt. This abuser, this pimp, this dictator- he/she has been hurt in the same way that they are hurting me and my loved ones. Maybe if I could learn to love them, together we could heal the scars. Maybe we could both learn to stop acting out of our woundedness and to instead seek wholeness.
Maybe Jesus was onto something when he said to love our enemies.

I don't fully know what it looks like yet- for my enemy to be a system rather than the individuals. But something tells me there is more to this than I ever knew.

Short Hellos and Last Goodbyes

Tonight I am going to a friend's house for a "goodbye dinner". This friend is leaving on furlough soon, and by the time she comes back, I will already be in America. So we are going to have dinner together. We are going to talk about the joys of the past and the uncertainty of the future, we will laugh and we will cry. Because all we have left are these fleeting moments.

Last night I met some new friends. When we talked about getting together later, I sadly mentioned that I'll be leaving soon, there isn't much time. So I asked them about their lives and who they were. Each person I meet teaches me something. I may only meet them this one time, so I try to learn all I can about who they are and where they come from. Because all we have left are these fleeting moments.

This transition time of preparing to go back to America has been uncomfortable for me. I feel like I'm starting to not quite fit here, but I also don't fit there. I'm trying to soak up each interaction and feel it fully, before it slips out of my fingers.

And as painful as it is, there's something magical about it. Each moment could be the last of its kind, giving it more value than these words will ever capture. I think I now know what they mean when they say "live as if each day were your last". It's not about having your affairs in order, it's not about making some grand gesture, it's about this moment. If this were your last moment, you'd savor it fully. You'd hold on a little longer in that goodbye hug, and you'd ask a lot more questions when you say hello. Because these goodbyes and hellos, these fleeting moments, are all we have.

This Moment

Today was beautiful.
Not that it was out of the ordinary. It was actually a supremely "normal" day.

I rode my moto from my home in the city to the village where I work.

At work I communicated with our team on patterns for our sewing project.

During my lunch break I helped one of my coworkers and dear friends with her English homework.

I had a drink from the coffee lady on the corner.

I came home and had a delicious dinner that my roommate cooked.

And in these little moments, I was overwhelmed at how beautiful it all is.

How beautiful is it that I can sit with my friend and help her with her homework? Me speaking my native tongue, her learning a new skill. It's incredible that these mispronounced words can bring us ever closer.

How beautiful is it that I can be a part of the ethical fashion revolution? In cleaning out cabinets and communicating about dress pattern changes... I can see lives changed when the West holds an awareness of their brothers and sisters across the world who are making their clothes.

How beautiful is it to be known? To go visit the coffee lady on the corner, to wave to the tuktuk driver who naps on the street. To be greeted by familiar faces each day.

How beautiful is it to enjoy a meal with a kindred spirit? To enjoy time with my roommate, reminiscing about the past and planning for our futures.

I've been struggling lately with staying present. In this season of preparing to leave Cambodia, I'll become obsessed with planning for the future or mourning what will be lost. Because there is no moment quite like this one. Life will never again be what it is now. It's both beautiful and sad. It's the vastness of this moment. 

How far I've come

A year ago I made a huge life change.

After an interaction with a new friend, I realized I was carrying around huge wounds. Not only was I living with these wounds, but living through them. I carried the belief that I needed to prove to the world that I deserved to exist. I would prove that I was the most selfless, the most loving, the least confrontational. I worked endlessly to serve, to be the lowest of the low. I made myself into a reflection of everyone I met, refusing to exist as a person on my own. I realized that I was fighting for identity in my work and service. I was endlessly fighting against all of the lies I had been told about who I was.

So I quit. I quit my job at the time in an organization that I was with for the wrong reasons. I quit all works of service. For a month I did nothing but sleep and pray and read and rest. You can read more about that here.

It has been over a year since that month off. I still have dark days. I still have panic attacks and depression. I still struggle. Sometimes I get overwhelmed. I ask myself why I am fighting so hard to heal when I keep ending up broken anyway. I get frustrated at the slow, grueling process of healing.

But then this month that dear friend of mine visited again. I spoke with her about the past year and all of the changes in my heart. I built a house with these friends and worked with children and relaxed. As I did this, I realized that I was doing the same actions with completely different motivations. The guilt I used to feel over relaxing had subsided. The urge to prove my value sat at the back of my mind rather than being first and foremost. I became willing to sit at the sidelines and watch as others had their own moments of growth. I was open to letting them do the growing without me. I didn't need to be their savior anymore.

Having this dear friend of mine come a year a part was one of the greatest gifts I could ever have received. A year ago she stood alongside me and told me I had the strength to fight these demons. Now, a year later, she brought me sustenance and showed me that point way off in the distance.

Look over there, don't you see how far you've come? 

I love Cambodian traffic

I love the traffic in this great city of Phnom Penh. At the surface it seems like utter chaos. there are no lanes and few stoplights. Most intersections are "4-way-goes" rather than "4-way-stops". But despite the seeming mayhem, the way this traffic flows is actually magnificent and specific. You only have to know how it works.

In Cambodian traffic most people drive on the right hand side of the road. That is, unless you have a stop coming up on the left hand side of the road, then you drive against the traffic. You drive on the far left, staying out of the way even though you are going against the flow.

Since someone may come down the wrong side of the road at any time, you constantly keep your eyes forward at what is coming. When turning you may look behind you briefly, but only for a moment. You can't risk missing someone coming toward you from the front.

Eyes forward. Always at what's to come, never at what you've past.

Red lights are optional. When the roads are packed some people will follow the suggestions of the colored lights. But if you find that there is a space for you between the other vehicles, carry on. Don't let that light stop you. Intersections are never empty, not even for a moment. Because why waste free space?

The blind spots of  large cars are your shield, come alongside them. It's easier to turn with a car and keep your eye on one vehicle that may run into you, rather than a dozen motos coming toward you at different speeds. These large cars are the most dangerous and at the same time the safest part of driving. They are both your enemy and ally.

There is no need to get angry. That moto carrying a hundred chickens will drive slower because it has moving cargo. The motos carrying furniture and nursing mothers will also be slower. If you're faster, go around them. There is no room for ego on these streets. We all go at our own speed, never resenting someone for the speed their cargo and vehicle requires.

Is it dangerous? Sometimes, but not usually. Most of the time we are going slow enough that a collision means nothing more than a bruised knee. The real danger comes when the streets are empty and you believe you can speed through. The scary parts come when you are alone.

Above all else, the key is to keep moving. When traffic seems jammed and countless vehicles are going in different directions through one intersection, keep moving. Find the crevices where you fit and squeeze through. The only way to fail in Cambodian traffic is to sit still. Always seek the space that will propel you forward. Even if that space happens to be around the sidewalk.

This is Cambodian traffic. Keep your eyes forward, go in whichever direction you need, come alongside others for security, don't get angry, don't be alone, and above all keep moving.

Marvel in the beauty of this traffic, recognize that it is all a expression of this great country and its brave people. 

Grand

I will often say something is grand when it amazes and moves me. While I was in India I met a lovely Irish girl who told me that back home they used grand in a more casual sense, as a way of saying things were essentially "alright". She would chuckle a bit when I said "grand" with wide eyes of excitement. And I would chuckle when she said "grand" to describe something supremely normal.

It got me thinking about how we use words to describe our experiences. The words that were originally provocative and vast become everyday. Which is why we have slang constantly developing, we are always looking for a way to describe circumstances that the old language cannot contain.

It makes me wonder, what if we gave these words their full meaning. What if we said them with all of the power they were meant to contain? Would it be enough?

Grand (adj): Conceived on an ambitious scale; extravagant.

Awesome(adj): Extremely impressive or daunting; inspiring awe.

Fantastic (adj): Imaginative and fanciful; remote from reality.

Life is grand in the sense that it is grandiose. This world is unapologetically extravagant. The colors, the experiences, each individual who is somehow more intricate than a galaxy.

Life is awesome in the sense that it inspires awe. This world leaves us with wide eyes and open jaws, staring in amazement at how much beauty each moment contains.

Life is fantastic in the sense that it is more imaginative than we can ever fully realize. This world contains so much that is "larger than life itself".

Somehow life is more than being alive.
Somehow I am more than a body.
Somehow the beach is more than the water meeting the sand.

And what if we began to allow these words, to allow ourselves, to be what they were always meant to be? What if we opened ourselves up to living larger than life?

Waste Nothing

I had the opportunity to visit an organization yesterday. They house kids that are orphans or at high risk of trafficking in a home environment rather than as an "orphanage". It really is beautiful seeing how they find children in the most desperate of situations and give them a home on a beautiful plot of land.

The truly unique part though is how they managed the land on this property. We saw and worked with their multiple sustainability projects. They have cows and chickens and goats and fish. The manure from all these animals goes to compost and a biogas system. The biogas system uses waste to create cooking gas and the manure is composted to fertilize a rich garden and several trees. They also have fish that they raise, whose used water goes to further enriching the soil throughout the property, as well as creating duckweed which is dried to feed the chickens. The vegetation throughout the property feeds the children, house parents, animals, and the excess is sold at a local market. The entire place is interconnected in several ways, creating a beautiful landscape where each area is enriched by another. Each and every corner of the property creates or absorbs or processes something that brings life to the next area.

The compost area is especially incredible. By combining rotten food, dead leaves, and feces- you can in time and with faithful care create a nutrient rich fertilizer. It's by going through this messy, meticulous process that they can have a tenfold increase in crop production.

It was vast and beautiful and diverse and unified. Nothing was wasted, even the literal waste.

This entire concept is fascinating on its own. This is how the world was made to work, in cycles and ecosystems. But I couldn't stop thinking of the metaphor in it all.

In the landscape of my life I frequently tend to the gardens of service and growth. I water faithfully and see beautiful fruits come of it.
Then I let the shit build up in the corner and try to ignore the smell.
I fail to realize that waste it not meant to be wasted, it is meant to be processed and used for further growth.

I have a tendency to look at certain seasons of life as a waste. I regret the tears I spent over a childhood heartache or the energy I poured into a failed project. Yet the reality is, these "wastes" could bring life to everything else.

If I could process these parts of me that I don't want to look at, I could create twice the fruit with less labor and more enjoyment. If I could let this broken heart heal, I wouldn't spend so much time patching it up. If I could learn to heal and learn to be loved, I could love and heal others without harming myself. If I take the time to wade through this shit, I can build something beautiful. 

What's to come...

I just bought my one-way ticket from Cambodia to the US. It's official. 

Let me tell you, it's surreal. I have known this transition was coming, but now it is set in stone. 

I recently  realized that this will be the first time in my life where I know what will be happening 6 months or even a year in advance. The changes in my life have always happened to me or have had a sense of urgency and unknowing. Even when I came to Cambodia, I had no idea whether I would be here for 6 months or 10 years. All of my life transitions have been open-ended and swift. This time I know all the details in advance. I know I will leave Cambodia in 4 months. I know two weeks after I arrive in the US I will being the Living School. I know what my source of income will be. 

Yet despite all this "knowing", this feels like the most uncertain transition I have ever faced. When I originally moved to Cambodia I knew that I could retreat back to the US if things went south, and life would essentiallly be the same. Now, I am going back a different person. I also realize that the people I am going back to have had their own life transitions and changes in these years. What I am going back to is not at all what I left. This known uncertainty is somehow more terrifying the the pure unknown. 

As terrifying as it is... as heartbroken as I am to leave... there is a stirring of excitement in my heart. Like walking the same trail years later after you have gained strength and wisdom. While the terrain is similar, I am different. I am surrounded by different people on this same wild journey. 

I long to use these experiences I have gained to create a brighter future wherever I am. 

I hope my experience with physical poverty helps me better love westerners in emotional poverty. 

I hope my experience as a stranger in a strange land helps me better love the strangers in my homeland. 

I hope the light from my wild dreams helps other brighten the path to their own aspirations. 

Most of all, I hope to continue becoming. I hope this next season will bring about new growth and insights. And for now, I hope to be present and experience every moment left in Cambodia to the fullest. 

This is my home.

Today was a day of housekeeping and errand running. I finally attended to the pile of laundry that has been piling up for nearly three weeks. I went to the market to stock up the fridge, and cleaned out my pantry.

As I reorganized and closed drawers, throwing away or giving away things that no longer belong- I began to cry.

Because this little room of mine is my home. Every night I sleep enclosed in the comfort of my mosquito net. Every morning I wake up and am graced by the quotes I have filled my walls with. I pray in my corner and work at my desk.

It's the first time I have ever had my own space. I can close and open the door as I please, opening up to new possibilities or closing the world off for a moment of peace. I have wept in this room, I have laughed in this room, I have had sleepovers and completed projects. Over the two years of living here I have rearranged the room a number of times. The latest arrangement is my favorite of all. Everything seems to have fallen into its proper place... I realize this as I am realizing I will need to say goodbye to it in a few short months.

It's heartbreaking because the room is a glimpse into my life as a whole. I have made a life that I love, a space that can somehow encompass all of the best parts of me while gently smoothing out the rough spots. I weep because I do not belong in the place where I have found belonging. 

I am excited for this coming season of life, don't take this as a post about regret. I know that I must be shaped further by a new environment and new adventures. But I have to be honest and admit that it is heartbreaking to lose the environment that has made me whole. It's hard to lose my home. 

Upstream

I was first drawn to Cambodia when I heard about the crisis of children being trafficked into sexual slavery. When I came I met an organization whose primary focus was rescuing and rehabilitating these children. They spoke about how after some time of rescuing children from brothels, they asked themselves "how do we stop these children from being trafficked in the first place?". When explaining this they used the analogy of a stream.

If you are standing in a stream and see a drowning child, you rescue them. As more children come downstream you continue to save them. Until it becomes too much and you have to ask yourself, what is happening upstream that is causing this catastrophe? And that is when you dig in your heels and go against the current. That's when you do the hard work of looking at underlying issues and advocating for the innocent.

The prayer for, rescue of, and rehabilitation of these abused children is important and critical. But eventually they needed to move beyond that. 

For each shooting that has happened in recent years, I have wept. I have prayed and cried and mourned for the families and friends who have lost innocent loved ones to gun violence. 

When the Las Vegas shooting happened in October I was speaking to a friend in utter despair. She said she was so angry that people use these terrible events to further political agendas. I didn't fully understand what she was talking about and agreed that there is a time to mourn and a time for politics. 

But what I have learned in my time of working for justice overseas is that we can mourn the loss of today at the same time that we are advocating for a better future; the two are not mutually exclusive. In fact, they go hand in hand. 

It is not enough anymore to send a prayer and shed a tear for lives lost. It is time to say that these lives are valuable enough that we cannot stand to lose another to needless gun violence. 

I used to think it was disrespectful to use catastrophe to discuss politics. 

I now see that we must discuss politics to prevent future catastrophes and honor those we have lost. 

I used to think I could avoid politics and instead advocate for justice. 

I now see that while politics and justice are often enemies, we the people have the power to make them allies. 

The ball is now in our court. How will we use our actions and voices to advocate for the lives lost? Because these empty tears are not enough anymore... Maybe they never were.

http://www.bbc.com/news/av/world-us-canada-41474594/las-vegas-how-us-mass-shootings-are-getting-worse

https://everytown.org/learn/

https://www.gofundme.com/stonemandouglasvictimsfund

Sealed

Seal /siːl/ noun Definition:

1. a device or substance that is used to join two things together so as to prevent them coming apart or to prevent anything passing between them. 

2. a piece of wax, lead, or other material with an individual design stamped into it, attached to a document as a guarantee of authenticity.

I have news! I have been accepted into the Center for Action and Contemplation's Living School.

I applied to this school last fall after an intense month of fasting and prayer. I spent a lot of time trying to understand my motivations, to make sure I wasn't doing this as an escape, a form of validation, or an ego boost. After a lot of soul searching, I decided that I needed to take steps toward things that would bring a greater wholeness and inner healing, rather than outward service. For a time at least, I knew I needed to learn to receive and grow. I realized that I have spent a lot of time trying to bring people a peace and healing that I have not fully received myself. If I truly want to help people and love them and bring about new life, I need to fully experience that within myself.

So I applied, unsure of whether I would be accepted (the tradition of this school generally includes folks who are older and have more life experience). I decided that if I was accepted, I was definitely going to move back to America in July of 2018 when the school began.

Now here I am. To my great surprise, I have been accepted. I am overjoyed at the opportunity to take part in this school with great spiritual teachers that I have followed for years. But at the same time, I am struggling deeply with leaving Cambodia.

Here in Cambodia I have drastically changed on a fundamental level. I was recently reading old private writings from when I first arrived, and I was shocked at how angry and chaotic my poor heart was. I used to carry so much fear, judgment, and shame. There was a disconnectedness within myself. And while I can look back at who I was with love, I also know how terribly broken she was. If I'm being honest, there is a part of me that is afraid of losing all of this growth when I leave the place that was the catalyst for my new life.

I'm still broken, but I am moving toward wholeness. I am learning to unite my spirit and my mind. Learning to be authentic and brave and full. While still struggling with the ego-driven need to explain my decision and validate my experience. In that I've been clinging to these images and analogies of what the next two years will be. I previously talked about how I was given the phrase that it will be a time of "cleaning the sacred spaces".

Yesterday I met an amazing woman who spent 16 years working in South Africa with the AIDS crisis (and a host of social issues stemming from that). She carried such an excitement and support for my journey, even after knowing me for only a few hours. She gave me the image of a seal, and said she believes that's what this journey will be for me. A time of sealing together my bond with the Divine, so that nothing threatens to separate these parts of myself. A time of bringing about unity and authenticity.

I've got to tell you guys- as scary as it is to look ahead to such a huge transition, it's also invigorating to know that there is so much more ahead than I ever could have known. I'm only at the beginning of this grand journey through life, and I am beyond amazed at all I have seen and have yet to see. All I have known and have yet to know. Thank you all for coming alongside me in this grand wilderness. 

The Hardest Part

I had a call with my grandmother this week. She told me she has been diagnosed with cancer and is beginning chemotherapy soon. I have been struggling to understand the severity of the situation. A world away I can only know what other people tell me. I try to read between the lines of their messages, hoping they hold the answer for me. Wishing they would tell me how much I am allowed to worry and how much it is okay to cry..

You see my grandma is radiant. She is the kindest, most loving and optimistic soul that ever lived. I have never once heard her speak a negative or cynical word. Even in immense pain, her words will never show it. The only thing that exposes her is the twinkling sadness in her eyes. But I can't see that from here, I can't know for certain how she is feeling in the depths of her heart. 

Just last week I was speaking to a friend here in Cambodia about my grandmother. I spent some time talking about how lovely she is, and mentioned that I have always imagined I would move to Canada with her when she gets old and sick. "That won't be for a long time though..." I said with certainty. 

Now the time is here and yet I know it's not time for me to be there. In my head I know she is in capable hands, I know she has an amazing community where she is that will care for her as she fights this. 

My whole heart is with her while she goes through these treatments. But my body is here in Cambodia. And that is the hardest part, being torn as my heart is literally a world away. 

The Time that Fear Steals

I am back home, but continuing to pray about and reflect on my time in India. As I do this, one little girl is constantly on my heart. The image of her rare, yet stunning smile is imprinted on my mind. The joy she brought me is infused with regret for the time I missed with her. 

My first day working in this orphanage of handicapped children I heard her before I saw her. She screamed and wailed from her crib. When I went to console her, she attacked me. As the helpers carried her off of me kicking and screaming, they told me to leave her alone when she cries. Unable to ignore her sadness, I later asked one of the nuns if there was something we could do. As the nun tried to help, she also was attacked. The helpers sternly told me to leave her be. 

So I did. For almost two weeks I tried my best to ignore her screams and focus on the other children. 

But eventually it became too much, I couldn't stand by while she wept anymore. So I slowly approached her. I methodically spent a few minutes only standing near her crib, praying under my breath. Then I spent a few minutes with my hand on the bed, then a few minutes with my hand gently on her back. Suddenly she jumped up and grabbed me, pulling me into her crib. Before I knew it she was sobbing into my lap with her arms wrapped around my waist. We sat there until her tears finally stopped flowing. 

Then she looked up at me with her bright eyes, hugged me and then dug her face into my lap once again. 

We were nearly inseparable for the next week and a half. The nuns told me it was difficult to get her out of the crib, so her and I began to go for walks around the room. When she was well enough to handle it, we would play. When she was too overwhelmed to play, she would again lay in my lap and cry until she was ready. 

That last week with her was amazing. Each moment felt like a second and an eternity. As our time came to a close, I mourned all of the time we had lost. I thought about how much more we could have done if I would have come to her sooner. 

My fear kept me from connecting. My fear stole the moments that could have been. 

While this was an extreme example, I realize I do this all of the time. I keep relationships at arms length because I am afraid of being a disappointment, I silence my dreams because I am afraid they will not come to fruition, I stay too long because I am afraid of who I will be when I leave. How often do I let fear win? How often do I wait far too long to follow a calling because it seems out of reach? 

Fear has stolen too much from me. So now I will protect these moments. With a padlock of bravery and openness, I will keep fear out of these decisions of the heart. 

Dear Mercedes,

I have dreamt of working with Mother Teresa's Missionaries of Charity in Kolkata since I was an 8 year old girl. Seeing this dream fulfilled makes me think of who I was then, before trauma and confusion entered my life. Also recognizing who I am now, and why that trauma was so valuable in the end. In honor of this, I wanted to write a letter to 8 year old Mercedes. 

Dear Mercedes, 

You are such a beautiful soul. It was only a year ago when you had the dream that became your calling. I know you spend the days thinking about different ways you can help others. Don't ever let that go. Your love for others is what will carry you through the most difficult parts of life. 

Keep learning with an open mind. The world is vast and you have so much to see, never let the opportunities for growth pass you by. You will find that the directions you least expected to be fruitful are the ones that will define you. 

Let yourself feel the full spectrum of emotions, even the ones that don't come naturally to you. I know anger, fear, and jealousy are uncomfortable for you. But you need those emotions to stay alive. When you close yourself off to your own feelings, you become numb. I can assure you numbness is the greatest pain. 

Never believe them when they say you are broken or defective. Your life is not a mistake or an afterthought, it's an expression of Love. The cracks you acquire are where the Light comes out, treat them with tenderness and respect. Resist the urge to cover them up and pretend they never happened. 

Always help others with a smile. At the moment you realize you're no longer smiling, step back and take the time to help yourself. You are a force to be reckoned with when you are healthy and whole, but your sickness has the potential to destroy yourself and others if you leave it unchecked. 

Thank you for being who you are- you have taught me how to love myself. 

Sincerely,

Mercy (age 23) 

P.S. You will have the curly hair you dreamt of one day.