Here We Go

When I first began writing for this blog, I intended it to be a way to stay connected to my family and friends during my 10-month stay in Uganda, East Africa. I wrote 24 blog posts during my time in Uganda, and I am proud of (mostly) all of them. I wrote about everything from daily routines to rare and exciting experiences. I wrote about my victories and my hurts, my excitement and my fear. I pretty much wrote about everything I thought, did, and felt. With each post, my heart grew more and more attached to the act of writing. I got better at articulating my feelings, and my ability to be vulnerable through the written word surprised even me.

This blog became a lot more than I thought it would ever be. People told me how much they loved it, and I gained a surprisingly large following. But it wasn’t really about that.

I won’t lie to you: your affirmations felt good. I enjoyed hearing that people liked reading my words and that they somehow resonated with my outpourings. I liked it when people would tell me they waited for my posts in anticipation. I liked that I had a way to show people what I am good at.

It did my heart good to write. It meant so much more to me than just a way to inform you of my exciting, painful, and wonderful life. It was a way to release emotional energy and make sense of my heart. It became a source of joy, comfort, and peace. It started out about you. But it turned out to be a lot more about me.

I communicate differently when I write. I am honest- more honest than I know how to be in any other way. The written word is so sacred to me, I simply cannot do it the injustice of false expression nor a half hearted truth. My heart is alive and my muddy mind becomes clear. I am the most me when I write.

I expressed my intentions for this blog in my very first post:

January 2014

The primary purpose of this blog is to record my adventures during my 10 month stay in Mbale, Uganda so that my friends and family back home will be able to keep up with what's going on. I have these fantasies that all of my friends and even strangers will be anxiously waiting each week to read my beautiful words. But, in all honestly, even if my mom is the only person who ever reads this, that's enough for me. 

What a baby I was! What a child! I had no idea what this blog would become for me; an outlet for expression, a greenhouse for blooming creativity, a sanctuary for worship.

I wrote as a way to stay connected with those back home, but writing became something that I absolutely had to do. I didn’t write because I had to for a grade or to meet a requirement. I had to because it became an integral part of me. I needed it. And God used it to shape me.

I wrote about all kinds of things: meeting camels, hiking mountains, eating grasshoppers, fishing, picking wild flowers, teaching Bible, playing games, exploring villages, learning guitar, reading good books, praying for people, worshiping, visiting the sick, painting, speaking to people of other religions, singing, drinking coffee, eating matoke, playing dress up, grieving over hurts, rejoicing in triumphs, laughing, talking to God, hearing from God, and walking, walking, walking.

I believed that my life was something worth writing about.

But then I left. And my life became different.

I started believing a lie when I left Uganda. I believed that my now “normal” life was something that was no longer worth writing about. I wasn’t special or exciting anymore. My life was too much like everyone else’s to interest a reader.

You didn’t want to read about it. But more than that, I didn’t want to write about it. 

To the world’s standards, my life isn’t really that special. Maybe if I still lived in Africa, I would be cool. Maybe if I’d gone to school out of state, or gone to school in Austin, even, my life would be something others consider interesting. Maybe if I’d rejected social norms and not gone to college, or if I had blue hair, or if I was majoring in ceramics- maybe then my life would be something worth reading about.

I have been under the impression that my life was once big and is now small.

But the King has begun to speak truth over my mind and what he is saying is this: the value of my life has never been determined by what I do.

The value of my life hinges on where I come from, or perhaps, more accurately, who I come from. He, the creator, is responsible for every ounce of creativity I have stirring inside of me. He knows my steps before I take them and is able to create beauty in every situation. He is the same in every place and at every time. My only job is to steward well the life he has given me.

A fire has been lit in my belly; a deep, burning desire to live. I want to squeeze the most life out of every day. I want to seize every opportunity to experience new things, to love new people, and to learn anything and everything I can. I want to make choices to live a life that I am proud of. I so desire to live well. And more than that, to live as me.

I am slowly realizing that it wasn’t really about the particulars of where I was or what I was doing. It was about me. I was becoming alive. Uganda grew me as a person, and this is the person I have grown into. I will forever be thankful for that place, the things I learned there, and what God did in me. But it really isn’t about the place, specifically, that did such a work in me. It was Jesus. That work did not become undone because I now call a different continent home. He is the same.

Maybe I would not have allowed him to change me so much in another setting. Maybe he had to take me all the way across the world to meet the person that he created me to be. But I did not leave that person in Africa. She is right here, living a life that is both typical and extraordinary.

My life here is precious and wild and exciting.

I have an incredible job where I get to meet really interesting people, watch children grow, and spend a lot of time around books.  I go to a university where I get to learn so much about the world, and meet a lot of people who are very different than me. I have a loud and fun family, who both challenge me and encourage me. I live in a precious, little house with two hilarious and wonderful roommates. I have great friends, and a beautiful church family.

My life is worth so much. As it turns out; I still have something to say.

I am still the same person I was when I lived overseas. I still struggle. I still create. I still experience brand new things and go on wonderful adventures. I meet incredible people and experience tiny, daily miracles. My heart still aches and my soul still sings. I want things that I don’t have. I get tired and sometimes mad. I laugh. I laugh so much. I get excited and overwhelmed and content. I have good days and bad days and days that are both. I have moments of great wisdom and moments of such immaturity that I almost want to slap myself. I mess up. I let people down. I cry. I cry so much. I feel things, to a degree that some may find troubling. I simply cannot feel small. I am a tangled ball of emotions and contradicting personality traits. I am messy and silly and reserved and plain and lovely and smart and simple and interesting and selfish and wild and scared and hopeful.

 I still have something worth writing about. Life is still good. And I am still me.

And more than anything, I am still wildly and passionately in love with the God who sees me.

September 2014

Honestly, y’all, this month has been really hard. I miss my family and my friends. I miss what I know. I've been thrown out of any sense of routine and familiarity that I've come to know, and I feel insecure and uncomfortable. I don’t always want to be here. Sometimes I just want to pack my bags and head straight home to my mom and my bed and my shelf of books. I want to be where things are familiar, where I’m loved, where I’m known.

But here’s the thing: more than anything in this world, I want Jesus. More than comfort, more than stability, more even than the people I love. I want Him. I want to live with Him, walk with Him, and work with Him. I desire to know Him, more and more deeply. I want my love for Him to grow fiercer, and my understanding of Him to grow deeper. He is what I want. More than anything, more than anyone. Jesus.

So I think I’m going to start writing again. Get ready, mom. I’ve got a lot to say.