Christmas at Tania

There were no Christmas lights hung on my house this year.  I didn't decorate cookies with my niece and nephews, and I haven't eaten any of my mom's homemade peanut butter balls or lady locks.  I have caught no snowflakes on my tongue, have scolded no students for throwing snowballs at their classmates, have built no snowmen in my yard.   I have not watched Rudolph, and I have not even seen the greatest Christmas commercial ever made on TV.  I did not spend Christmas Eve at church, singing "Silent Night" by candlelight as the wax dripped on the hymnals.  I did not wake up Christmas morning at my parents' house to exchange gifts with family while eating warm cinnamon rolls by the tree decorated with ornaments handmade by my siblings and I in the early 90's, with a fire roaring in the wood stove.

For 30 Christmases, my routines and traditions looked very much the same.  The lack of those routines this year meant it didn't really feel like Christmas in the days and weeks leading up to December 25th.  But Christmas still came.  "It came without ribbons.  It came without tags.  It came without packages, boxes, or bags. ...What if Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store?  What if Christmas, perhaps means a little bit more?"

It was told by the prophet Isaiah that the coming Messiah would be called "Immanuel," meaning "God with us."  The God who was divorced from us in the Garden of Eden broke down the walls separating us and came down to live among us as a baby on Christmas, and that's what we celebrate:  that 2,000 years ago, God came among us.

But I can feel more this year that this is something we can still celebrate, because God is still among us.  When Jesus told us that, where two or more are gathered in his name, he's there, that means I didn't just celebrate Christmas with the Kigundas, we celebrated with Jesus.  When Jesus told us whatever we do for those who are vulnerable and in need, we do for him, that means I'm not just loving the kids here who have nowhere else to go for Christmas; I'm loving Jesus.  The same Jesus who was visited by shepherds as he slept in a barn was in the dining hall at the Tania Centre as we threw a party to bring joy to these kids who have no one else.

We don't just celebrate a God who came to earth as a baby over 2,000 years ago--we celebrate a God who is still present with us on earth today.  He was present when I celebrated with my family in Pennsylvania for the past 30 Christmases, and he was present today when our staff prepared a special meal for our children, as we shared small gifts with these kids who so rarely see gifts, as I played Christmas carols on my cello for everyone.  It didn't look the same as any other Christmas I've celebrated, but God was still among us.

I pray that I can always remember to look for Immanuel, God among us, not just on Christmas, but every day.

Praying big

"There are sometimes the store room is empty and we're not sure where the children's next meal will come from, but in all these years, they've never gone to bed hungry."

This was said to me by one of the directors of the Tania Centre within the first two weeks of my arrival.  It was said so matter-of-factly.  My mind immediately went to the story of George Müller, who ran an orphanage in 19th-century England without ever asking another person for donations.  When they were in need of food, they would pray.  When they were in need of clothes, they would pray.  One story tells how the children were sat around the table and Müller prayed, thanking God for the breakfast they were about to eat, when they had not one scrap of food in the house.  As soon as he finished praying, the local baker showed up with a donation, and a milk cart broke down outside the orphanage and had to offload its milk there to repair the cart.

I see the same sort of faith in the leaders here at the Tania Centre.  Last week, our store room was empty.  Aside from vegetables from the farm, the directors were not sure where the children's dinner would come from.  So we prayed.  Later that day, a local grocery store owner gave Tania two sacks of rice on credit, and our children had food.

Then, just to make sure we remember it is God who provides, he sent a donation later in the week from a school in Nairobi and a church in California.  Our store room is now overflowing!

Also last week, one of the directors, Jennifer, was talking to me about how she hoped that some of the local families who take in children from Tania for the holidays might consider sponsoring those children's school fees.  We prayed about it.  Later that day, before Jennifer even asked, one local woman who takes in two of our boys for the holidays called up Jennifer and said she'd like to pay their school fees.

For some mysterious reason, God chooses to work through prayer.  The creator of the horsefly and the Horse Head Nebula chooses to listen when we speak to him, and delights in answering us.  I'm not sure why I see prayer answered more often and more rapidly here in Kenya than I did back home in the U.S., but I have a few suspicions:  in the U.S., we've made ourselves so great that we have no need of God.  We pride ourselves on our self-sufficiency and see dependence as weakness.  We don't see miracles because we don't need miracles, and have no faith that they can happen.  If we can work hard and solve all of our problems ourselves, why should we bother asking God to help solve them?  The same thing happened in Jesus' hometown when he visited there.  But when your store room is empty and it's not in your power to refill it, God has the opportunity to show up in a big way when you ask him to.  And I think the more audacious the request, the more God loves answering it, because what faith it takes to ask God for something impossible!  God loves when we dream big because he gets the glory.

Some of the projects we'd like to accomplish here at the Tania Centre are huge.  There are so many more people out there more qualified than me to do parts of this work.  I've spent the last seven years teaching elementary orchestra in one of the most affluent counties in America, who am I to help a small, private school in rural Kenya raise funds and find grants and care for children who have no one else to care for them?

I am no one, but prayer means I don't need to be someone special.  I see things happening here on a daily basis that have no business happening, but we pray, and they happen.  The children are cared for, needs are met, bellies are full.  God loves these children so much.

I don't know how many of these dreams God will make happen, but I believe it takes faith to verbalize your dreams, so I'm verbalizing here a few of our dreams at Tania, with the faith that God will make them happen:
--We're dreaming of turning Tania into a Montessori school, which will make us more marketable to parents who can pay school fees.
--We're dreaming of turning Bruce Park into a retreat center, with a guest house and conference area and places to relax and play.  We'd like to employ some of our students with special needs once they finish school, since they might have trouble finding understanding employers.  We want to use the profits from the retreat center to support Tania.
--We're dreaming of expanding our farm to include more cows and chickens, to produce enough biofuel to fuel our kitchens and our van, and to produce enough milk and eggs for our children.
--We're dreaming of the day that Tania is so blessed that it may become a blessing to the surrounding community, county, country, and world.

I promise you that any progress made over the next three years will not be a result of my talent, skills, bravery, perseverance, or any other positive quality you might want to pin on me.  I am severely lacking in all of those categories.  Any progress you see here at Tania will be a result of the prayers we're praying and the people God will use to answer those prayers.

Redeeming the past

I'm sure as Joseph was being marched off to Egypt after being sold into slavery by his brothers, he didn't see what good would come of it.  But, years later, when a famine threatened the lives of his people, the position of power he'd risen to in Egypt allowed him to save them from starvation.

I'm sure as Esther was being made queen in a regime that was unfriendly to the Jewish people, she didn't see what good would come of it.  But, later, when a decree was issued that would have meant the destruction of the Jewish people in her kingdom, she was able to use her power as queen to save her people from that fate.

God shapes our lives in ways unique to the calling he places on us.  Sometimes, to get the shape he needs us to be in, that means allowing us to go through some tough circumstances.  I was never seriously in want as a child--I never went hungry, we had a homemade cake for every birthday and presents under the tree every Christmas.  Music was a priority in our family, so I had private lessons on violin, then on cello, from the age of 9.  But we still didn't have as much as many families in America:  I can't remember a time when our roof didn't leak and our ceiling wasn't falling in; I lost several favorite books, pictures, and toys when the ceiling would begin leaking in a new place; it was not uncommon to catch a mouse in a mousetrap (or have one be caught by our pet cats) several times each week; I learned early in life how to keep food containers air-tight to avoid ant infestations; we got creative with fixes around the house when we couldn't afford to bring in a repairman.  We were never in serious need of anything crucial, but my childhood was different from many of my friends'.

But, like Joseph and Esther, I'm seeing God use how I was shaped by these experiences for the calling he's placed on my life.  Every day, I see more how God is able to use me in ways that he wouldn't be able to use other Americans.

I've seen some Americans assume that mold in their house is reason enough to burn it to the ground and start from scratch--when I discovered mold growing on my wall here in Kenya, I sighed a little because it was annoying, but then I went to the store, bought some bleach, and cleaned it up.

I've seen some Americans go into crisis mode when their ceiling begins leaking--when I woke up this morning to the sound of drip-drip-drip onto my desk, I surveyed the damage, thanked God that it wasn't dripping on my electronics, cleaned up the water, and put a bucket under the drip.

I've seen some Americans reduced to tears over the presence of an insect in their house--I've spent the past three weeks since arriving in Kenya playing defense against the bugs who want to share my dwelling space, and I've even given up on ridding my space of a few of them.  (There's one spider in particular who's kind enough to sit just outside my door and never comes in.  He's cool.  He can stay.)

And here's an example of some improvised handiwork we've accomplished here since I moved in.  Hair ties are a lot cheaper than a plumber!

The work we're doing here at the Tania Centre is vital to the lives of the children who live here, and every day it becomes clearer to me that my being here is badly needed.  And every day it becomes clearer that not many other Americans would be able to live in conditions like this without feeling discouraged.

So I thank God for those leaky roofs and collapsed ceilings.  I thank God for the mouse and ant infestations, and I thank him for the lost possessions and jury-rigs of my childhood home.  Because of them, I'm able to do this urgent work here at the Tania Centre.

And this gives me hope--if God is able to redeem the hardships of my life, how much more can he redeem the hardships of these children here at the Tania Centre?  The abandonment and disabilities these children live with every day are hard.  So much harder than I can comprehend.  But I know that that just means these children may be destined for great futures--great enough to save a country from famine or a kingdom from genocide when no other person could.

Unquantifiable

As a teacher in the U.S., a lot of how I taught and assessed was based on the need to collect data.  I needed to have numbers to show where my students started, how they progressed, and how they'd improved by the end of the year.  I submitted a spreadsheet of color-coded numbers with my teacher evaluation paperwork to show how effective I was as a teacher.  But those color-coded numbers didn't show the types of improvements of which I was the most proud.  The numbers didn't show the way the boy who barely spoke English became a leader in the class, or how the quiet, reserved girl whose parents worked multiple jobs lit up with joy when her mother could come to her strings concert.  Those improvements can't be quantified.

I see the same qualitative improvements here at the Tania Centre since I first volunteered in 2013, but in spades:

Charity, who used to spend her time squatting on the ground, picking at the dirt, and would only eat her food off the floor, now walks upright, makes eye contact, and eats from a plate.

Lucy, who used to use force to get as much food as quickly as she could at meal times, even stealing from other students, sat patiently on Sunday and waited to be served her tea.  She smiled and signed "thank you" when she was allowed to have her tea.

Kanje, who used to be a shy, reserved toddler (in front of me, at least), now leads her friends in songs during church on Sunday.

Ann, who used to only speak Swahili and was shy about speaking to me, now smiles and speaks excellent English when she sees me.

Mokishoi, who rarely spoke or smiled or interacted with others, now flashes her big-toothed grin every time I see her and is constantly moving around to hang out with other students and to help Charity get where she needs to go.

The other Ann, who was brought to Tania when the place where she lived wasn't safe for her, was able to return to her village with her two small children because she now has a safe place to stay there.

The Tania Centre has had its share of struggles over the past two years since I first came here.  Keeping teachers is a challenge with limited resources.  Meeting basic needs isn't always a given.  Yet, the dedication of the staff here means that these children aren't just surviving, they're thriving.  I am honored to be counted among those staff members now, and I am thrilled to get to watch how these children progress over the next three years.  And can you imagine the improvements in these children's lives if we could work together to raise their quality of life?

How can you put that into numbers on a spreadsheet?

Dreaming again

Shortly after arriving for my second stay at the Tania Centre in 2014, I began second-guessing what I was doing here and if God could really use me in Kenya.  I felt ill-equipped to make a positive difference in the lives of these people.  But then I was reminded by a good friend that being the presence of God to these kids was more than enough.

This week, as I arrived for my three-year stay at the Tania Centre, I was again met with a feeling of inadequacy.  As I've gotten re-aquainted with the staff and listened to what's been happening lately at the Centre, I've been hearing about big, God-sized dreams for these children and this Centre.  Dreams that they want me to be a part of and help orchestrate.  Dreams that, again, I feel ill-equipped to help realize.

But, this year, feeling too small for the dream only excites me.  I was too small for my own dream, but I'm typing this from the porch of the office at the Tania Centre, 3-year work permit in hand, watching the dust rise from Ole Teeka Road after a rare car drove past.  Because my God was not too small for this dream.  I walked up to the school and saw cows grazing on the playground, hugged children who I love and who love me, because my God was not too small for this dream.  And I have no doubt that he won't be too small for the dreams we're dreaming for these next three years at the Tania Centre.

I invite you to come alongside us and dream with us for these next three years and beyond.  Follow my blog, sign up for my newsletter, and/or join my financial support team.  I can't wait to see how these dreams God is planting here at the Tania Centre begin to grow over the next three years.

"I am a little pencil in the hand of a writing God, who is sending a love letter to the world"  --Mother Teresa

Plans

I'm at the age where I hear some of my friends talking about their five-year plans from time to time.  I've never attempted to make a five-year plan for myself, but I have a feeling it might only vaguely reflect my actual life during those five years.  Very few things about my life today look how I would have expected them to had I been planning this five years ago.

I never would have planned to quit a successful, comfortable job after seven years.

I never would have planned to uproot my life just as everyone around me is settling down.

I never would have planned to spend 6 months living in limbo between my Virginia life and my Kenya life in someone else's basement.

I never would have planned to move nearly 8,000 miles from almost everyone I love.

I never would have planned to miss three years of Christmases with my family.

I never would have planned to miss the birth of my nephew.

I never would have planned for the emotional roller coaster caused by such a life change.

I never would have planned to say so many goodbyes.

But, I never could have planned for the outpouring of love and generosity that I've seen this past year.

I never could have planned for the fulfillment I feel as I follow this path.

I never could have planned for the indescribable peace I feel even through the emotional ups and downs.

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future."  (Jeremiah 29:11, NIV)

Deciding to follow Jesus means that, sometimes, my plans don't work out.  Thank God.

"This is the good life

I lost everything I could ever want, ever dream of

This is the good life

I found everything I could ever need, here in Your arms"

Waiting

Abraham and Sarah were seventy-five years old when God first promised them a son.  They waited and waited, and finally, 25 years later, God's promise was fulfilled.

Noah waited for 40 days on the ark for the rain to stop.

Moses waited for 40 years in the desert to return to Egypt to free his people.

God's people waited for 40 years to enter the promised land.

Jesus waited for 30 years to start his ministry.

And Jesus waited for 3 days to rise back to life.

There is lots of waiting in the Bible after God makes promises.  I knew there would be periods of waiting after God first promised to bring me back to Kenya long-term.  I waited 4 years from when I first felt called until God gave me a clearer calling that I could act on.  And I've been waiting for over a year since that specific call to go back.

And that's still what I'm doing, is waiting.  When I think about how long some of those people in the Bible had to wait for God to fulfill his promises, the idea of waiting another couple of months before I can move to Kenya doesn't seem so bad at all.  Things are slowly coming together to get me there, and I have seen God faithful in our planning until now, so I have no doubts that he will continue to be faithful.

I hope to have news soon about a definite departure date and specific fundraising information, but for now, I appreciate your continued prayers for my preparations, especially that all the final details would come together in a timely fashion.  It's awesome to have such a supportive team, even in these periods of waiting.

FAQs

As I prepare for my big move, I'm finding that many of the questions I'm fielding pop up again and again.  So, I asked my Facebook friends to give me their questions, and I picked the top 10 most commonly asked to answer here:

1.)  When do you leave?
First, if I had a nickel for every time I've been asked this question, I think I could have paid for my plane ticket by now.  Maybe I should start charging people who ask ;-)
Short answer:  I don't know, but hopefully September.
Long answer:  I'm waiting on my work permit from Kenyan immigration before I can go over.  I heard from the Tania Centre a few weeks ago that immigration told them my work permit would be ready in a month, but that's a month in Kenyan time, which is usually more like 2 or 3 months in American time.  Believe me, when I have a departure date, I'll be too excited to keep it to myself!  You'll know!

2.)  How long will you be there?
I've committed to three years at the Tania Centre for now.

3.)  What will you be doing there?
I'll be doing the same thing I've been doing the past two summers, along with a couple of extra projects.  I'll be teaching English and music and whatever else they need me to teach (except for maybe Swahili!).  I'll also be helping to plan a park down the road from the school as a source of income for the school, as well as looking into the possibility of opening a music school within the Tania Centre.

4.)  What is a goal you have for while you're there?
Besides my job description in #3, my biggest goal is to show Jesus' love as best as I can to the students and employees at the Tania Centre.

5.)  What will your living quarters be like?
I'll be living at the Tania Centre, like I have the past two summers.  I stayed in a different place on campus each summer, so I'm not sure exactly where on campus I'll be staying, but I can tell you that it will be a safe building with electricity and running water.  And all I have to do to get to school in the morning is roll out of bed and walk out my door!

6.)  Are you worried for your safety?
No more worried than I am when I'm walking around downtown Washington, D.C.  The school is in a secure compound with a guard, about a half hour or so outside the city (depending on traffic).  Recent attacks that have made the news here in the U.S. took place near the border with Somalia, an area I have no plans to visit.  I trust my safety to God in Kenya just like I do in the U.S.!

7.)  What's your biggest concern?
I worry some about loneliness.  I have a few friends in Kenya, but they're mostly on the other side of Nairobi, and regardless, it will be difficult not having people around who are my age and who share my culture.  I'll have Skype and email to keep in contact with my friends and family, but I know I'll miss being near them.

8.)  What are you doing with your cello?
It's coming with me, of course!  I have a special flight cover that goes over the case and found instructions for safely packing the cello within its case, so I feel safe putting it under the plane.  (No, I don't want to hear about the horror stories you've heard about musicians flying with their instruments.  I've heard more than enough.)

9.)  How will you be supporting yourself financially while you're there?
Like most missionaries, I'll be doing fundraising over the next three years.  I'm working with my church's missions team to come up with a budget so I'll know soon exactly how much I'll have to raise.

10.)  How can we support you from back here in the States?
In LOTS of ways!  First of all, prayer--anyone can pray, and I'll need lots of it over the next three years.
You can also give.  I'll be looking for monthly sponsors and one-time givers--anything will help.  I'll have more specific details of how you can financially support me in another post later in the summer.
I also have a fundraising recital on the calendar for later this summer, so if you're a local and would like to come, I'd love to see you there!  It will be August 22nd at 6:00 PM at The Music Loft in Herndon.  Save the date!
I also love getting emails while I'm in Kenya, too, so staying in touch is a big morale boost.  I'd love to hear from you!


Any questions you have that I didn't answer?  Let me know!

Help my unbelief

Once, a father brought his son to Jesus to be healed.  The son would go into convulsions and foam at the mouth, sometimes in dangerous places like around fire or a well, and had for most of his life.  Jesus' disciples were unable to heal him, so the father brought him directly to Jesus, begging him to help.  Jesus told him that all things are possible for those who believe.
I love the father's response to this:  "I believe!  Help my unbelief!"  (Mark 9)

It seems like a contradictory statement, but oh, how often I have felt like that father.

I believe God provides, so I tithe even in months when money is tight, but I still sometimes worry about making ends meet.  (Help my unbelief.)

I believe God has work for me to do in Kenya, so I'm leaving the life I've built here in Virginia to follow him there, but I still sometimes wonder if I'm doing the right thing.  (Help my unbelief.)

I believe God loves me so much more than I can comprehend, but I still sometimes wonder if the way he directs my path is what's really best for me.  (Help my unbelief.)

I believe God loves my friends and family so much more than I could ever love them, but I sometimes wonder if they'll still feel loved when I'm not around as often to show my love for them.  (Help my unbelief.)

I believe all of these things, but I don't always feel them.  I do not believe as strongly as I wish I did.  But feelings are fleeting and can change based on what I had for dinner or what side of the bed I got out of in the morning, and God does not place too much weight on our feelings.  John tells us that "God is greater than our feelings," which is a great comfort to those of us whose feelings sometimes contradict our beliefs.

God is good, whether I feel like he is or not.  God provides, whether I feel like he is or not.  God loves me, whether I feel like he does or not.  God loves my friends and family more perfectly than I ever could, whether I feel like he does or not.

I believe these things, dear Jesus.  Help my unbelief.

What might have been

I like to blog after God has shown me some amazing truth that I feel like I need to share with others, or when God is moving in my life in a big way.  I like to blog when I feel like God's given me some answers, or at least when I'm excited about the questions that aren't answered yet.  It feels good to share deep revelations and giddy anticipation of revelations yet to come.

Today, I don't feel like I have a lot of answers, and the questions fill me more with regret than anticipation.  And I feel like you should know I have days where I feel like this, too.  So, even though it's a bit of a downer, I'll still share my heart with you today.

Making such a big decision, to move to Kenya, has brought into sharp contrast all of the other paths down which I could have taken my life.  The different people I could know, the different places I could have gone, the different lives I could have lived.  I'm sure most people have thoughts like this at one point or another, but I wasn't prepared to feel this way.

I know how I'm supposed to feel--I should feel at peace, and I should feel secure knowing that I'm following God's path for my life.  God wants what's best for me even more than I do.  So how could I not be happy about following him where he calls me?

Yet I still feel a need to mourn my lives that might have been.  The life I could have had if I'd moved there, or lived a slightly different lifestyle, or stayed with that person, or went to this college.  If I'd done any number of things differently, I would not be where I am now.  And though I know that God's plan is always so much better than mine, a part of me still wonders if I would have been happier had things turned out differently.

So I'm praying now, not just to prepare me for my move to Kenya, but also for the peace that God promised us as I grieve for what never can be.  And I want to be real with you, my friends:  I am so, so excited to be moving to Kenya.  I can't wait to hold my babies over there and spend every day showing them how much God loves them.  But it is hard, too.

I have this hanging on the wall in my bedroom, and I think I'll take with me to Kenya, as I'm sure I'll need the reminder from time to time:

Dreams

Nearly seven years ago, I began my career as an orchestra teacher.  I had plans to continue my education, become well-respected in my career, and be the best teacher I could be.  I would someday get married, have kids, and maybe do the whole white picket fence thing, with a dog and a yard and two cars in the garage.  The American Dream.

Five and a half years ago, a team from my church returned from a trip to Kenya where they worked on details for starting up a non-profit to work with our partner church in Nairobi.  Their pictures and their stories worked their way into my heart, and I just knew I had to visit that country some day.

Four and a half years ago, I stepped off of a plane onto soil 8,000 miles from home, of a country I'd been praying about.  I only spent three weeks there, but the people and the country left a mark on my soul, and I never fully left Kenya again.  A part of my heart was always there.

Three and a half years ago, I returned to the country that had left such a large impression on my soul.  I thought a return trip might satisfy this longing I had to be there, but it only intensified it.  And I knew that this longing was  no ordinary longing, but one that had been placed there by God.  I no longer wanted the American dream--I wanted God's dream.  I was being called to Kenya for more than just 3 weeks.  I had no idea what that looked like, or even if it was really God or just the excitement of Kenya talking, so I went home and prayed for a long time.

Three years ago, God confirmed that he was calling me to Kenya.  I broke up with the man I thought I'd spend the rest of my life with and started doing all I could to pay off my debts so I could get to Kenya as soon as possible.  I was going all in, and couldn't wait to follow this dream that God had placed in my heart.

Two years ago, the pace I had been living at to try to get to Kenya faster caught up with me.  I began treatment for anxiety & depression, I had to scale back on the second job I was working to pay off my debts, and I didn't go to Kenya that year.  I spent many tearful hours in prayer, asking God why he'd placed this longing in my heart, only to let these enormous obstacles get in the way.  I'd completely changed the course of my life the year before to follow this dream, and now it looked like God wasn't letting me follow it.  I feared I would never pay off my debts without working as much at my second job, and I feared I'd never be mentally healthy enough to move to Kenya.  I would never be completely happy if I wasn't in Kenya, but I would never be mentally healthy if I kept up the pace required to get me to Kenya.

Two years ago, my pastor forwarded me an email he'd received from someone who'd visited a school called the Tania Centre, started by a Kenyan man our church used to support.  My pastor thought I'd be interested in finding out more about this school, and I ended up making plans to spend my summer there.  If I wasn't getting to Kenya for a longer period of time anytime soon, I may as well try to spend what time I could there.

A year and a half ago, I stepped onto a plane not knowing much about the place where I was going or even who would be meeting me at the airport.  I trusted that God had a plan for this summer, but questioned why I thought it was a good idea to commit for such a long time (5 weeks) at a place I knew next to nothing about.  And why the people who sent me thought it was a good idea.

A year and a half ago, while the children at the Tania Centre were so completely capturing my heart, I read a book by Mother Teresa with an idea that changed my whole way of thinking:  "I must not attempt to control God's action;  I must not count the stages in the journey He would have me make.  I must not desire a clear perception of my advance upon the road, must not know precisely where I am upon the way of holiness.  I ask Him to make a saint of me, yet I must leave to Him the choice of the saintliness itself and still more the means that lead to it."  God used this book to remind me that this dream was not my own; this dream was his.  This plan was not my own; this plan was his.  No matter how hard I worked myself to get to Kenya, it would never happen if it wasn't on God's timing, in God's way.

One year ago, I opened the hands that had been holding so tightly onto my dreams of Kenya.  I let the dream return to the Dream-Giver and accepted that it might be a long, long time until I get back to Kenya for more than a few weeks at a time.  I accepted that Virginia was where God wanted me right then, and that the dream he'd given me was not mine to force into being, but his to fulfill at the right time.  I began praying to be in Kenya in about 7 or 8 or 10 years instead of the 1 or 2 years that I'd been hoping for.  And I was at peace.

Seven months ago, I returned to the Tania Centre, not with the fear of the unknown that I'd had the previous year, but with joy and excitement to see the children and adults I'd fallen so in love with the year before.  I only had 6 weeks with them, but I would soak up every second and thank God for the time that I had.  I planned to come back as often as possible.

Five months ago, the school doctor said the same words to me that many other people had said to me at one time or another:  "You should come back next year to stay.  Trust God with your debts, and come back to stay."  But this time, I heard more than just the doctor--I heard the Holy Spirit whispering to my heart.  "It's time."  I hardly dared to believe it.  I'd braced myself for a long, lonely path between now and when I finally got to Kenya long-term.  How could the call to return come so suddenly?  I told the Tania Centre that I would pray about it and let them know.  I needed time to be sure it was actually God speaking, and not just the excitement of being in Kenya.

Three months ago, I sat down in a Starbucks with my pastor and let him know that God had confirmed that he was calling me back to the Tania Centre.  I prayed about how long it should be, toyed with anything from 1 to 5 years, and settled at 3 years.  Then I'd see where God wanted me at that point.  My pastor gave me his support and promised to pray for me.  So many others have done the same as I've spread the news to my friends and church.

Today, I find myself preparing for the biggest leap of faith that I've ever taken.  By the end of this year, I'll have purged most of my possessions, packed up what's left, and moved 8,000 miles away from my friends and family.  I'm obviously excited, but I have many fears:  What if I get homesick?  What if I get physically or mentally ill?  How will I adjust to living in a culture so different from my own?  I still have student debt that I need to trust to God, because being a missionary doesn't pay the bills.  I still have credit card debt that I plan to have paid off by the time I leave, but it's taking a lot of hard work, and I'm relying on my God for the strength to do it.  Because I know now that it's not my dream, and it can't be done on my own strength.  No matter how hard I work, I won't get to Kenya if it's not God's doing.  And I wouldn't want to get to Kenya if it's not God's doing.

Stepping out in faith in such a large way has made many parts of my faith much clearer to me.  I used to try to fit the things Jesus said into my life, to figure out what he meant, rather than trying to fit my life into what Jesus said.  I found it hard to find meaning in much of Jesus' words when I was chasing the American dream.  But now, as I prepare to start a new life on the other side of the world, things Jesus said sound much more straightforward:  if I want to find my life, I've got to lose it for Jesus' sake.  (I can already taste the new life waiting for me as I give up my old one.)  If I give up friends and family and home for Jesus, I'll be rewarded with 100 times as many in this life and the next.  (There are already over 100 little people praying for me at the Tania Centre, ready to be my family there once I've left my family here.)  If I stop storing up treasures on earth, and invest more in God's children, I'll have treasure in heaven.  (I've already started purging some of my belongings, and the freeing feeling it gives me is indescribable.)  My heart is following my treasure, and my heart is no longer with these material things.  My heart is with my Father, and with the children he's calling me to love.

While there is much to do to prepare, for now, I simply ask you to pray.  Pray that God would prepare me in every way possible for this big move;  that he would prepare the Tania Centre for this big change for them;  that he would already be working on the hearts of my future supporters;  that he would make the path clear to get me where he wants me to go;  that I would continue to follow his dream with his strength, and not my dream with my own strength.