Archive | Outreach / Missions / Travels RSS feed for this section

Sloppy Seconds

16 Jan

“…With unfailing love I have drawn you to myself.”  Jeremiah 31:3

Six hours worth of chatting, music, and highways; my best friend and I were off to Galveston’s port. Two weeks ago, I found myself Caribbean-bound.  With over 45 different outfit combinations neatly stowed away in my hot-pink luggage, I was looking forward to seven days of brainless activity while on the cruise.

Jamaica, Cozumel, and Grand Cayman awaited a boat full of 5,000 eager vacationers.  With my Blackberry useless on airplane mode, my Mac-book was also collecting dust back in Dallas, safely tucked away on a bookshelf.  No phone calls, voice mails, text messages, emails, or notifications would be interrupting this trip.  After all, this was vacation– my one excuse to cut all ties with the outside world.

In my book, the definition of vacation is actually just a shorter way to say “Laying out, sleeping, shopping, dressing up, and eating.” However, due to the unexpected cold front, I quickly realized that this cruise did not guarantee a tan, and laying out would require a sweater.  Not only was the weather below 65 degrees, the water was rough, the waves were huge, and according to the crew, conditions were “worse than they had been in over 8 years.”

Awesome.

First cruise, first day, and to my horror, I started to realize that I was one of those panzies that gets sea-sick. I was dizzy just getting out of bed.  This was not how I wanted to spend my PTO. I thought to myself; “God, Really? I just wanted a vacation.  That’s why I’m on a cruise.  I needed time away.  I wanted a break.  I needed the world to slow down for more than 5 seconds.  Now, I just feel like a lame, 85 year old woman in bed and on sleeping aids.” This would turn out to be an incredibly annoying week.

And then, in the middle of the night and out of nowhere, like a steady whisper above the choppy waves; “I’m jealous for your attention. I desire your heart. It’s quiet here. You’re still here. I just want to love on you.”  That was it. That’s all it took and I was on my face and in tears.  In an instant, I realized how non-stop my life had been the last several months, I missed Him.  I need Him. What I thought would ruin my vacation, ended up refocusing my life.  It’s funny how quickly everything falls into perspective when God’s the only one to talk to– even at 3AM.

It’s so easy to get caught up in the day-to-day affairs of life. It seems like everything fights for our attention, competing to steal our time and suck the life out of us. Even good things become distractions. “Quiet time” gets caught up in busy time, and before you know it, you find yourself giving God sloppy seconds.  All the while, we’re supposed to be giving Him our first, our best.  This “busy-ness” not only cheapens our lives, but robs us of the peace and blessing God gives when we are in a constant, steady, state of surrender.

I can tell where my heart is by looking at my planner.  It’s pretty safe to say that my time is spent on the things I care most about. Two weeks ago, I had to make some changes, and that was okay.  If you find yourself realizing that God hasn’t taken priority in your life, don’t focus on how you’ve fallen short — just do what you were supposed to do to begin with, and make time for Him!  I’ve learned, and now– had to relearn, that for me personally, it doesn’t work to try and “fit God in my day.” I have to wake up early — 6AM on weekdays, and 5AM on the weekends.  Yes, it’s a sacrifice, but the reward is well worth it.  When you intentionally put God first every day, a life of purpose will follow.

On this trip, I fell in love with Jesus all over again.  It’s never too late, you’re never too far, He’s always just one intention away. He doesn’t force you to love Him. He speaks peace over our lives and wins us over with His goodness. Our only reasonable response is to give Him our best, sloppy seconds just don’t cut it. Regardless of who I am or what I do; He loves me. This reckless faithfulness is what brings me back, without fail, every time.

“O taste and see that the LORD is good; How blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him!”  Psalm 34:8

Women Of Strength Conference – Rochester, MN

29 Aug

  

Up and at it by 7AM Friday morning, we were off to Minnesota. I was thrilled to minister along side some of my favorite ladies on the planet —  Joanna Swanson, Keri Agrimson, Kristin Carinhas, and Cara Crowson.  Christ For The Nations brought us together.  And now, together, we’ve gone out.  Each of these gorgeous women have character worth looking up to and  an undeniable passion for God.

High of 74 degrees, grassy green fields on both sides of the road, and smiles everywhere you look.  Rochester has a sunny, cozy little home-town feel to it.  What a fabulous change of scenery compared to the 110+ degrees, hustle and bustle of the concrete jungle I’m accustomed to in the Big D.

Friday afternoon, precious women began to trickle in, fun conversations began, and hospitality echoed in the concert venue.  Worship started, and God’s tangible presence faithfully graced us.  The ministry continued as the ladies shared from their hearts and impacted us all.  What a wonderful conference.  God’s love brought healing, forgiveness, restoration, and joy. He is such a faithful Father.

One of the things I love about ministry, is that the Lord cares about everyone.  He desires to embrace each life– from the uninterested daughter smoking in the parking lot, to the women up front “ministering.”  His Love beckons everyone to His awaiting arms.   God never ceases to amaze me. Though this conference took much prayer, preparation and diligence– we left feeling refreshed ourselves.   I’ve found that whether we are “serving” or registered as conference attendees, in the end, we are all receiving.  The Lord is the one who does the ministering.

I thought I would be singing, little did I know that last two days were divine appointments.  A little break from my seemingly crazy-busy life.  As I knelt on stage, I could feel the Lord renewing minds, restoring hearts, and reviving dreams.  He reminded me that His greatest desire is that we would be His lovers.  Not His workers.  Not His Ministers.  Not His this or that.  He calls us to find rest in Him and do life with Him. As His daughters, He simply wants us to “just be.” Being His is all I hope to ever strive for; in Him I find me.

Back From China!

7 Jan

I had the amazing opportunity to visit Changsha, China for New Years with Rhema Marvanne. There, she was on two of the largest TV Shows in China: Day Day Up and Mango & Friends.  Rhema is an absolutely amazing eight year old, with an incredible voice that is out of this world!  Almost every time she sang I cried.

I had the privilege of accompanying her and doing just some of her hair and makeup.  The TV Shows were unlike anything we expected– with over 300 million viewers (that’s about as many Americans) out of China’s 1.2 billion population.  It was an incredible opportunity for Rhema to share God’s love with the Chinese people!

You can check out more about Rhema and hear her incredible story online at:

www.rhemamarvanne.com

Here are just a few photos from our trip:

\\

Thank you China!  We had an amazing experience!

 

Twenty-Eight Kids & Seven Markers

14 Jun

I know You’re a God of Justice. You’re Peace impersonated. Love, Mercy, and Compassion incarnate. So why do these things happen? What sets these children apart from myself, my family or friends. How did they get the shorter end of the stick? I don’t wish to question You, I know this isn’t Your doing. Just show me what I can do, practically. I am so overwhelmed. My heart feels blown to bits. Yet, this is only a glimpse. Only the aftermath. I only see in part. The magnitude of this horrendous situation is unimaginable. What can I do? Use me.

God help us. Day Eight was finally here and had begun. Our tolerance and flexibility would be put to the test.  This day and the next two weeks to follow it would be physically, spiritually, and emotionally draining. Vacation Bible School, Day 1. We were initially expecting 150-200 children from the slums and surrounding villages. What we didn’t know is that apparently, word travels faster without cellphones or vehicles. We had enough supplies for about 200 children. By mid-morning the first day, there were well over 300 beautiful little Indian faces ages 1-21 staring up at us twenty-five pale-faced Americans. Five translators all together. This would be a great opportunity to either pick up some Tamil, or use some cross-cultural sign language.

Malachi, and I  had twenty-eight kids all together on our team. Eight hours a day with these precious kids and no translator would be tough.  Looking back, its pretty comical the ways that we tried to communicate. Trying to ask a 3-year-old of he needs to use the restroom was harder than I first realized. If you’ve seen Slum Dog Millionaire, it paints a fairly accurate picture of what the children in the slums are like. I noticed that only a handful wore a different outfit each day. For the most part, they were in the same clothes all week. I counted about fifteen pairs of shoes. The floors and streets are so hot in India, their feet were callused beyond belief.

With the Superhero song predominantly on loop in my head; singing it eight times a day with the correlating motions was a cinch. They laughed at our dramas, and participated more than most kids their own age would. They also got a huge kick when I “milked a cow” on stage. I’m a terrible actress to begin with, so it was somewhat intimidating having a dozen  tease me about it for hours upon end. After a while it got old and I became weary of little boys trying to get my attention. They were everywhere.

We began our art projects. We only had seven markers. If you do the math, that’s four kids for every marker. So, basically it was a challenge. We had two little boys who were pretty husky for their age. They would pick on the smaller ones. It was tolerable until one of them punched a little boy square in the face. Justice and frustration quickly rising in me, he must have noticed and jumped up. The other children screamed “He bad boy, He bad boy” over and over. The injured little boy took a seat, bawling his big brown eyes out. Others comforted him, and I sternly approached the bully. I don’t know where it came from, but in an instance I realized that this little wanna-be-gangster, had most probably endured a difficult past. Out of no where, I found myself hugging him. I grabbed a translator and asked him to tell the little G-man that I believed that he was a good boy deep down. He started to cry. This was a beautiful moment. For a second, I experienced inexplicable love. All of my frustration at the mini antagonist melted away;  all I could do was love on him.

Starving for attention. Desperate for love. Hungry for reassurance. This is why we came. They needed hope. What do you tell a child without hope? Where do you start? Jesus.

If you are interested in supporting this incredible cause in India, please email Judith at: lifeforindia@hotmail.com

$150/Child

13 Jun


What would you do if you could bargain a child out of a labor camp for only $150.00?

It sounds ridiculous. But, this is the harsh reality that Judith is faced with daily. She houses several hundred children in Chennai, India. Most of these children have been smuggled or “bargained” from child labor camps or sex slavery. For a lot of them, their skin tells a story. Burned into their arms and legs, are memories of physical abuse and oppression to forever remind them of what they’ve endured.

They don’t know their ages, their birthdays, or their families. Why doesn’t the government put a stop to this? The disgusting part of it all is that they know of the corruption. They know entirely too well. Most of the camps are owned by politicians. The rich get richer and the poor get poorer.

A lot of the children have been sent to these camps by their own parents. The parents are usually informed if they send their kids, the camp owner will pay off their debt and return the child after he or she has worked for three years. But, they move the children to a different city, and without records, there is no way for the parents to ever find them.

An estimated 15 million children are sold into child labor in India alone. I only met a few hundred kids. My heart is overwhelmed. Twelve hour days, One meal, Seven days a week,  No holidays, No school. Most of the children ages 3+ make bricks, while the younger ones are sent to the streets to beg or sell merch. The babies are rented out by older beggars who need the extra sympathy. It’s heart wrenching. Even after witnessing it with my own eyes, I still can’t wrap my mind around their horrifying reality.

Above, is a picture of Vijayakanth, pronounced “Jagon”, a little boy about three years old who stole my heart on this trip. He and his brother, Zuresh, were recently rescued just last summer. When I first met Jagon, he had what looked like a knot on his forehead. After seeing him for several days, I noticed that it wasn’t only bleeding, but oozing yellow pus as well. I put a bandaid on his tiny head and changed it out daily. I finally asked what it was. A heat boil. Upon hearing this, I broke down. This was normal for them. Nothing out of the ordinary for a three-year old. In the 115 degree weather, they can’t afford air conditioning in the orphanage. So no matter how hard they try, illnesses are often times unavoidable.

So how can we help? Firstly, we can pray. But on a more practical level we can fund. I am personally sponsoring Jagon for a mere $50/month. This is spare change for us here in the States. If you are interested in sponsoring one of the many children that desperately need help, please email Judith at: lifeforindia@hotmail.com or

Send donations directly to:

Life Ministries Global

#16 Murugesan Nagar, Villivakkam,

Chennai 600 049

Rickshaws, Curry & Other Indian Lingo

12 Jun

I thought I’d share a little about the more “adventurous” side of the trip. For those of you who don’t know me, I’ve never been the camping type. That is, until now. Funny how I’ve discovered that I actually love being entirely out of my element. It’s terrifying, but I’m learning to enjoy things that I never thought I’d like. With the exception of curry–I can’t do the whole spicy food thing.

So, for those of you who haven’t ever watched National Geographic. Let me introduce you to the Rickshaw. Not known for it’s spacious back seat, this cute little buggy fits four comfortably but rarely carries less than six. It has only three wheels, and I think it runs on a go-cart engine. It can convienently squeeze in between virtually anything, whether it be two cows or two crate trucks. We had a blast. Also, if you find yourself on the “right” side of the road– It’s actually the wrong side. Apparently, the speed demon drivers enjoy passing everyone that’s stuck on the left side. So we often found ourselves headed in the wrong direction on the right.

In a nutshell, Curry is to India what Tabasco is to Mexico. I don’t particularly know or understand what curry is exactly. But  I do know that it’s hot. Like way hot- but that’s coming from someone who barely likes mild hotsauce. It goes on everything. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. It’s all the same. I wish my tastebuds could have morphed into the kind that likes hotness. But I suppose they’re set on being panzies. I don’t consider myself a picky eater, but I don’t like banannas- at all, nor do I often eat rice (carbs-ew!). But, they were my saving grace on this trip. Really. Three meals a day. So it worked out great!  I cannot believe how much work goes into cooking! Old school firepits, and buckets to wash dishes with– and I have a hard enough time cooking with a stove and dishwasher. These people are amazing!

So, this is somewhat self explanitory right? Squatty Potty. Yep. Basically just what it sounds like. No toilets. Not even in the “Mall” in Chennai. They still had squatties and “Leg Wash” signage above buckets with water. Believe it or not, this is actually one of the nicest ones we saw while in India. And handsoap isn’t available. Not even in the mall. Shocker. While we’re on the topic of cleanliness, it was so crazy to me that our whole trip I counted a total of one (1) trash can. It was pretty different! When some of the children from the slums came to our compound, a few of the girls had to use the restroom. No biggie, Rachel doesn’t need a translator to take seven pre-teen girls to the bathroom. Right? Wrong. I stood outside the restroom and waited for the girls to finish, and I noticed something. Water was spilling out of the restroom and on to the road. Except it wasn’t water. I stepped into the restroom, my feet and flipflops now wet. And to my pleasant surprise, it wasn’t water. The girls hadn’t ever seen a toilet before, so they were peeing in front of the commodes. I was so stunned, I shreaked. Poor girls, I scared them half to death and thought they were in trouble. They are so precious. It just broke my heart.

Why shower when you can use a bucket! I grew quite fond of Bucket Baths. I was drenched in one quick motion. Forget weak water pressure. There’s nothing like a freezing bucket bath at 6am and11pm. Don’t be alarmed if your skin stays soaked and sticky all day, it’s just the heat.

So, these cot-style beds don’t have a cool Indian name. But they should because they definitely don’t sleep like a mattress. This was my room at the church. It was a blast! The only downside were the mosquitos and 115+ temperature. At night the power would shut off, and so would our fans. So, you could typically find me crying on the roof at 3am. The pillows were a little different, so I used my airplane neck pillow. My sheet stained my arms blue (I think my sweat pulled the color out). So, I used my towel for a sheet.

On days when it was too hot, we slept on the Rooftop of the fifth floor. We had a killer view every morning! Devos+agreatview+Indian sunrise = Amazing.

I might joke a lot, but this trip really did challenge me to break out of my bubble and outside of my comfort zones. It was so good for me! I learned so much!

Gypsies, Tamil, & Crackers

11 Jun

Culture Shock: ”A condition of disorientation affecting someone who is suddenly exposed to an unfamiliar culture or way of life.”

Pulling up to the gypsy village after a three-hour long drive through the Indian desert, we’re not in Dallas anymore. Looking out the bus window, a spider monkey is tied to a gate made of broken branches, two babies are on their young mothers hip without any diapers on. Children are running and singing, men are wearing toga-like skirts, cows and dogs are sitting on the sidelines in a daze. Culture Shock. These beautiful people are unlike anyone I’ve ever seen.

We unload the bus in formation, the eleven girls in the center in a single file line, the boys surround us holding the people back. Cameras are left behind for safety. Tamil translators begin communicating with the local leaders.

This particular group of about eighty, has set themselves apart from typical Indian culture. They are composed of what initially was a few close relatives. They independently educate their children, make their own clothing, grow their own food, and believe in their own religion. They move from place to place without a permanent home. They don’t have any citizenship, or permanent records. There is no way to track them, here one day, packed up and gone the next. This is their living style of choice.

We sang a few kids songs, including ”Jesus You’re My Superhero” for the forty umpteenth time. Did a few dances, shared our testimonies, and told them about Jesus. Several people came up for prayer afterwards. Younger women mostly. I prayed for several pregnant girls who couldn’t have been over sixteen. They looked so small yet ready to pop. They were concerned with their pregnancies, and asked that I pray for blessings over their child’s life. I couldn’t imagine being in their shoes. They were so strong, so dignified, so fearless. So breathtakingly gorgeous. These girls have a natural beauty that would blow our “plastic-sism” out of the water any day.

After a few hours it was time for us to head out, but first we would hand out three large husk bags worth of crackers and toys for the children. The translators relayed to the people to have a seat and we would hand them each one toy and one snack. Half of us were designated toy’ers while the other half snack’ed. For the first few moments, most of the people remained seated. But about fifteen seconds in we were surrounded. People were pushing others, older parents were stealing crackers from the children. They were trying to overtake the snack-bag. Kids were getting shoved out of the way, babies were crying. Grasping hands everywhere; they were grabbing and reaching at us. I was completely surrounded and couldn’t get to any of the team members. It was terrifying.

My heart was breaking. I couldn’t believe it. These people were starving; they were desperate. I was so overwhelmed  I started bawling. I couldn’t even move. I just stood there in utter disbelief at what I was witnessing. I’ve been on mission trips before, but this was just beyond anything I’ve seen in my life. Absolute chaotic craziness. I suppose this is just a glimpse of what it’s like with the “Feed The Children” relief efforts in Africa.

Where can you direct people like this? Who is their hope? When will the answer reach them? How can we help? We gave them enough food to equate about half a meal. What about the rest of their meals? For the rest of their lives. Who will ever truly reach these people?

We must do something. We must reach out. This world will change one life; one person; one soul at a time. This was Jesus’ style. We can’t become overwhelmed. We should accomplish the task assigned to us by any, and all means possible. Firstly in our lifestyle and secondly in our personal spheres of influence. Change the world, but first begin with your friends.

Broaden your horizons. Start at Wal Mart. Smile. Impact someone. Anyone.

“For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me…I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these, you did for Me.”  Matthew 25: 35,36,40

Back From India

8 Jun

I just returned from my trip to Chennai, India. I feel so incredibly blessed to have been able embark on this amazing experience of a lifetime. Thank you SO much to everyone for your support, prayers, and encouragement. I couldn’t have done it without you!

There is so much to write! I thought I would first post a few of my favorite pictures to give some perspective!

Almost There-INDIA 2010

3 Apr

“Here is the test to find whether your mission on earth is finished.  If you’re alive. It isn’t. -Richard Bach

Thirty-Six days away! (That’s only four more weekends!) And $1850.00 to go!

A special thank-you to everyone who has been such a huge part of this process! And a special thank you to the gorgeous, anointed, and talented speaker-Barb Pruitt. She graciously fedexed several ankle-length skirts that fit perfectly! :)

Everything is coming together, and God’s faithfulness is becoming more and more evident through everyone’s prayers and support! Thank you!

I am so excited to leave, as we are only about one month away from take off. This next month is going to be pretty crazy! I graduate from the two-year program with a Diploma in Practical Theology at Christ for the Nations on May 7th. Shortly after on May 8th, I’ll move out of my apartment and pack any last minute things. The following day, May 9th, we will board for a long (but worth it) three days of travel to Channai, India.

This next month will be full of preparation & planning, drama/dance practices, writing, team-building, meetings, and training. It’s becoming more and more real every day!

If you itemize your deductions for income tax purposes, your gift will be tax deductable. If you wish to make a donation online please visit: ttps://www.cfni.org/outreach/?code=8e6d5362e5be9fea678268fcb056c5a6

Counting Down-INDIA 2010

3 Mar

Two Months & Six Days…

I was young and now I am old, yet I have never seen the righteous forsaken… -Psalm 37:25

So, I’ve been wondering- where on earth can I buy inexpensive skirts long enough to reach my ankles? It’s been the hunt of the century! I consider myself a pretty swift shopper but who would have thought lengthy skirts would be so hard to find!

We’ve begun practicing dramas and such. I have to say, drama is not my strength! I knew from the start that this trip would be a learning experience, but I never realized how truly shy I am of acting even in the smallest of ways.   

Aside from the peculiar drama warm ups (which mostly consisted of screaming, shouting, and acting a fool—did I mention this was a growing experience??) We’ve learned a lot of interesting facts about India. While there, we’ve been instructed not to look men in the eyes. Exactly opposite of any customer service training I’ve received- eye contact is considered “an invitation”. Thus, it’s needless to say- that I will most definitely be looking at the ground the majority of the trip.

For cultural modesty reasons, all girls will be required to wear cotton floor-length skirts and XL t-shirts. Nice and comfy style in the 100+ temperatures. In addition, we are encouraged against wearing any form of makeup or jewelry.  I AM SO STINKING EXCITED.

Please pray for our team and that God would begin to prepare the hearts of the people who come across our path. He has a way of healing hearts and changing lives like no one else can!

Praise God, so far, $630.00 has been donated towards India- thanks to the Duffy Family, Mr. Flores, & Jarrod Wells. Which means I am $3170.00 short of boarding a plane towards an unmistakable adventure while leaving the comfort of Dallas behind. NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR GOD.

If you wish to make a donation online please visit: ttps://www.cfni.org/outreach/?code=8e6d5362e5be9fea678268fcb056c5a6 If you itemize your deductions for income tax purposes, your gift will be tax deductable.

Thank you for partnering with me to fight against child slavery and impact India. Together, we can see an end to this horrific industry.

← Older Entries

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.