Blown Away By Generosity

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I have been blessed over the course of my twelve years at Pepperdine to have a front-row seat to numerous selfless acts of kindness by my students.  About seven years ago, one of my students was struggling to meet the minimum GPA necessary to graduate.  He had one semester left and needed to have his best semester ever to make it.  He had plenty of financial resources and was willing to pay handsomely for a top student to tutor him.  I connected him to Virginia, who was a stellar student and an even better person.  Virginia agreed to tutor him.  I later asked him what hourly rate they had settled upon.  I was so touched and inspired by what he told me: Virginia said that her payment would be seeing him walk across the stage with her at graduation.  Unsurprisingly, the struggling student had his best semester in law school and Virginia received the agreed upon payment – she was clapping louder than anyone when I read his name at graduation.

This last year, I had another student ask me if he could assign part of his academic scholarship to another student who was more in need than he was.  The only condition he insisted upon was complete anonymity.  We honored his request.  I could tell dozens more stories of selfless sacrifice by my wonderful students.

But what happened yesterday topped them all.  One of my former students, Holly, has been following along with my relationship with the Ugandan teenage boy I met at a prison in rural Uganda in January of 2010.  She knew that my relationship with Henry has been an important catalyst for my decision to relocate to Uganda for six months beginning next month.  She had also read in my post last month that Henry, his brother Joseph, and their father were arrested for a crime for which they were completely exonerated after spending nearly two years in prison, and that during that time, Henry’s mother had to sell the family’s small herd of cows just to survive.

Unknown to me, after reading that post, Holly set out to raise among some of her fellow alumni enough money to buy one cow (about $400) to give to Henry’s family.  Within a couple weeks, nearly forty of my former students contributed to this effort to help someone they had never met who lives halfway across the world.  Yesterday at church, Holly presented me a check for more than $3,000!  I was blown away and completely speechless.  I teared up immediately, but (barely) held it together in the church parking lot.  (I still have a silly grin plastered on my face and chuckle every few minutes).  I cannot wait to back up a cattle truck to Henry’s house and start unloading them one by one.  This generous and compassionate act will restore self-sufficiency and hope to this hard-working and God-loving family – this will be truly life changing for them.

I promise to take (and post) lots of pictures and video.

P.S.  I am exceedingly grateful to Mary Ellyson Buxton, Dan Coats, Wendy McGuire Coats, Julie Wainrib Connelly, RJ Cornell, Julie Dilworth Cornell, Max Czernin, Rachel Dickey Czernin, Aaron Echols, Courtney Echols, Kevin Ferguson, Meghan George, Chris Gaspard, Kristin Heinrich, Randy Herndon, Christie Herndon, Brent Kampe, Miles Jennings, Wes Krider, Rebecca Lee, Brian Link, Nic McGrue, Meghan Milloy, Narguess Noohi, Lexie Norge, Lisa Ottomanelli, Holly Phillips, Amy Poyer, Jeremy Shatzer, Joel Sherwin, Brian Simas, Emily Smith, Ricky Steelman, Erin Tallent, Brett Taylor, Melissa Thornsberry, Chelsea Trotter, Matt Williams, and Jeff Wyss.

Transitions

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In March of 2005, Dean Ken Starr asked me to join Pepperdine Law’s administrative team for a two-year term as the law school’s inaugural Associate Dean for Student Life (Dean of Students).  After nearly seven years in this position, today was my last day in the Deans’ Suite.  After I return from my African sabbatical, I will resume full-time teaching.

These past seven years have been the most rewarding of my professional career.  I am profoundly grateful for the opportunity to serve Dean Starr, Dean Bost, and Dean Tacha in this role.  I am also grateful for the opportunity to work with the students on a daily basis in all aspects of student life.  I have learned so much and have been touched deeply by the relationships that emerged from this role.  But life consists of chapters, and after lots of prayer and consultation with my family, it is time for a new chapter to begin.  I am eager to see how God directs our lives in this chapter.

I am very thankful to Dean Tacha for her leadership and for her willingness to embrace my decision to close this chapter.  I am also thankful to her for allowing me to participate heavily in the transition planning.  I have complete confidence and trust in those who will succeed me in serving our students.

Fingerprints

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There is a rather famous story about footprints in the sand, and how during our most difficult times God carries us.  But my time in Africa has gotten me thinking quite a bit about fingerprints.  Scientists tell us that everyone has different fingerprints, and law enforcement officials tell us that most hard surfaces we touch bear imprints of our fingerprints.

On my first journey to Africa in early 2010, I was struck by the fact that most of the African children I met wanted to touch my skin or hold my hand – many of them had seen very few mzungus (white people) before.  To be sure, none of them left any fingerprints on me or my clothing.  I have this inescapable feeling, however, that they left fingerprints on me of a much more enduring nature, on a part of me that is much deeper than my skin.  After I returned from my first trip to Africa, I noticed that fingers played a prominent role in many pictures I had of the children.

It seems to me that we leave our metaphorical fingerprints on the lives of those with whom we interact, and them on us.  As I looked the other night at Hero, the young Ugandan boy who just had major reconstructive surgery in Los Angeles after being carved up by a witch doctor, I could see the fingerprints of many people all over him.

I could see the fingerprints of his loving, but uneducated and simple mother who gave him life.  I could see the fingerprints of the witch doctor who tried to take his life.

I could see the fingerprints of Justice O, who fearlessly presided over the first trial in the history of Uganda applying the trafficking in human body parts laws.  I could see the fingerprints of Margaret, the court registrar who took Hero into her home and gave him care and protection after the trial in which he so bravely testified.

I could see the fingerprints of Bob Goff, who facilitated and coordinated the prosecution, showed up and filmed every day of the trial, successfully petitioned the Ugandan courts for legal guardianship of Hero, arranged for Hero’s reconstructive surgery, and transported Hero to the United States.  I could see the fingerprints of Dr. Sherman, the surgeon whose skill and training restored to Hero much of what had been taken from him.  And I could see the fingerprints of Ted and Fayanna Worrell, who are giving Hero a family for the three or four months he will be in the United States.

That evening, I couldn’t help but wonder whose fingerprints were all over me.  I have the fingerprints of my supportive and God-loving parents, my wonderful siblings, my fabulous wife and kids, and my friends and colleagues all over me.  I also have the fingerprints of my former and current students on me.  About two weeks ago, a group of students at the weekly law student Bible study at Tim and Lucy Perrin’s house closed the semester by praying over and for me.  I can still feel their fingerprints on me as they gathered around to pray for our upcoming trip.  Those moments don’t fade quickly.

I can also feel the fingerprints of my Maker, as he continues to pull and push me into new shapes, some of which feel very comfortable, others of which will take some getting used to.

All of this, of course, has caused me to wonder where my fingerprints are.  Unlike the witch doctor who wounded Hero, I haven’t ever cut anyone with my hands.  But I am painfully aware of the times I have cut others with my words or actions.  I am confident that there are many more I have cut that I don’t even know about.  My fingerprints are on those wounds; I wish I could wipe them off.  There is only One who can.

As I interact with students on a daily basis here at Pepperdine, and as my family engages with a new culture, my prayer is that our fingerprints will be most visible on cups of cold water delivered to those who are thirsty.

Joline made this video shortly after I returned, which captures how and why Africa is calling us:

They Both Used Knives

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The day began with Bob Goff leaving San Diego at 2:00 a.m. on his way to Cedars Sinai Hospital.  Bob had convinced nearly everyone involved to allow him to scrub up and assist with the operation, but alas, he couldn’t get past the hospital’s final line of defense – the lawyers.  Lawyers too often mess up the fun.  Unable to complete a last-minute reversal and get into the operating theater, Bob was there in the waiting room when I arrived at 7:30 a.m.  Bob had spent some time with the surgeon that morning and had presented him with a framed picture of Hero, the 9 year-old Ugandan boy on whom the surgeon was preparing to operate, hoping to at least partially reverse the damage done by a witch doctor now in jail for the rest of his life.  Bob and I caught up for a few minutes and then connected with Ted and Fayanna Worrell, the husband and wife with whom Hero is living while he is here in the United States.  They are volunteer host parents through Mending Kids International, a wonderful organization that, well, mends kids from around the world.  The Worrells had just left Hero with the operating staff and they reported that while he was a little nervous, he was quite brave.

The surgery started at around 8:00 a.m. and was scheduled to last for eight hours.  The plan was for the surgeon to use most of the skin and tissue (including blood vessels and a nerve) from Hero’s left forearm as the donor skin and tissue, and then to take a skin-only graft from his right thigh to be placed over the new void on his left arm.  We spoke with the Worrells for twenty minutes or so and then set out in search of some breakfast.  We fanned out at the coffee shop and worked separately until the early afternoon when we reconvened for lunch.  Bob and Ted each received a text message from the surgeon at the halfway point and he reported that all was going according to plan.  We were later joined by one of the coordinators for Mending Kids and we all waited and tried to work for the last couple of hours, checking the clock and wondering aloud regularly when the surgery might be over.  Finally, at 4:00 p.m., we left the coffee shop and returned to the waiting room.  About a half hour later, the doctor came out.

I will stop short of declaring that what the surgeon did with Hero today was a miracle because only God perform miracles.  I will say, however, that God worked powerfully through the surgeon to take a huge step toward restoring to Hero what the witch doctor took away from him.  As the surgeon explained to us what he had done and how he had done it, I was struck with the realization that he and the witch doctor had both used knives to accomplish their purposes — another reminder that so many things we encounter in our daily lives (including our words) can be used to destroy or to restore.

After another two hours of waiting, we finally got to see Hero.  At first he was asleep and had tubes down his throat.  Within a few minutes, however, he started coughing, so the nurses removed the tubes and let him breathe unencumbered.  We gathered closely around him and offered a prayer of thanksgiving and blessing on him.  About ten minutes later, he started opening and closing his eyes for a few seconds at a time.  He had that faraway look that we all know and have seen in post-operative patients.

A few minutes later, he started focusing and responding to our encouragement and well wishes.  At one point, he said “I got this.  I have been cut with knives before and I have the strength to endure.  I was made by a God much bigger than you realize and I know he has plans for me.”  He didn’t say this with words, of course, but he communicated it in the way that many Ugandans, especially children, do.  I had been with Hero enough to see him do it about a dozen times – a barely perceptible nod (simultaneously jutting his chin slightly, raising his eyebrows just a hair, and tilting his head a couple degrees).  That was all we needed from him tonight – he came through it wonderfully and was able to let us know that he was OK.

We also learned from the surgeon today that he had been able to accomplish the whole thing in one shot such that unless there are complications, there will be no more surgeries.  This was an unexpected surprise for all of us and means that he will likely be able to return home to his mother within three months, rather than six.  He will be in the hospital for the next five days and has numerous checkups and tube removals ahead of him in the coming weeks, but our prayers have all been answered.  God is good.

A Year Later

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After moving cities, going to the suicide funeral of a middle school friend, preparing to leave the country, and truly learning the meaning of “miscommunication,” I know that God is good. Usually not in the ways that I expect or even want, but God is good. God was good when I sat in my car crying before and after school because the taking of life is an evil and painful thing. God was good when I would go into the bathroom before dinner to “wash my hands” and literally get on my knees and pray that I could stand another 30 minutes pretending to be enthusiastic about a trip that was breaking my heart. God is good on the days when I apologize for my selfishness and unwilling heart because it’s just so hard to leave. God is good because He is there. God is there when you scroll through your contacts, looking for someone to unburden yourself to. God is there when you try to drive and cry at the same time (BAD idea). God is there whether you ask him to be there or not. God is there whether you want him to be or not.

God was there for me in the license plate that said “this too shall pass.” He was there when he answered prayers I didn’t even know people were praying for me. And he’s here right now when I feel hopelessly inadequate to go play missionary for 6 months.

What I’m saying is, people who go on mission trips DO NOT have it all together. We’re some of the most broken people you will find. We just realize that we will never be fixed and we’re wasting God’s time sitting around and waiting for pixie dust to come and fix us. Don’t stay at home because you don’t think you’re good enough. I can tell you right now, you’re not. But that’s why God chose you. If you were good enough, how could you connect to the broken?

Tests

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I feel like I have been surrounded by tests these past few weeks.  My former students recently received bar exam results, the vast majority of whom passed this intense test and will soon be admitted into the practice of law.

On Saturday, my oldest daughter Jessica took the SAT and hopes to receive a good enough score that she won’t need to take it again her senior year after we return from Africa.  Thereafter, she hopes these test results will be strong enough to be admitted to the college of her choice.  Also on Saturday, my youngest two kids took an entrance exam for Oaks Christian School, where they hope to join Jessica when we return.  In Africa, we are anxiously waiting for Henry’s national tests results (Uganda’s SAT equivalent), hoping and praying that he scored well enough to be admitted into a really good secondary school in Kampala.

Add to this the final exams my current students begin this week and I am feeling surrounded by people whose lives and futures seem so dependent upon the results of tests.  I guess this is inevitable in an assessment-driven society where merit and achievement are used to decide who gets admitted to the exclusive clubs and professions.

I have also been reminded recently that being admitted into a family is decidedly not dependent upon merit or the results of any tests.  My new friends in Uganda (from Santa Barbara), Andy and Sara Ribbens, are desperately seeking to bring a new Ugandan orphan girl into their family who has not demonstrated any merit or passed any tests.  (We finished their appellate brief this weekend and will file it tomorrow in advance of their December 14th hearing date).

I am quite relieved that there aren’t any merit assessments to be admitted into God’s family either.  Our acceptance of God’s grace is the only condition of our acceptance into his family, and that grace is free – no tests.

The Power

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I tried to call Henry this week on Thursday at the scheduled time, but could not get through. While unusual, this occasionally happens due to cell phone network problems on the Ugandan end of things. I sent him a text via Skype telling him that I would try again the next morning. On Friday, he answered right away and apologized for not being able to receive a call the day before on account of a dead cell phone battery. This, of course, happens to all of us, but for a different reason than it happened to Henry.

Henry is home with his family waiting to see where he gets admitted to Senior High School for grade S5, which starts in early March. In Henry’s modest home in Hoima, there is no electricity. Ever. This is a simple fact of life for the vast majority of Ugandans outside of the capital city of Kampala (and even most inside Kampala). Over the past year, however, even Kampala has been experiencing rolling blackouts as the country struggles to produce enough power to serve the population, and then to manage effectively what power they do produce. It is not uncommon in many parts of Kampala for the power to be out three or four days a week (or more) for the evening hours, and a couple days a week for it to be intermittent during the day. Consequently, generators are critical for those who need reliable power. (Fortunately, the complex where we will be living is equipped with a generator that kicks on within a minute of when the grid goes down).

In Hoima, only a small percentage of families have either electricity or a generator. Henry’s family is not among them. So whenever his cell phone battery is running critically low, he needs to locate a source of power. Since the arrival of cell phones in Africa, a cottage industry of battery charging has sprung up throughout the unelectrified portions of the continent. The market rate in Hoima is 1,000 Shillings (currently forty cents) to charge a cell phone battery. This is not an insignificant amount of money for most Ugandans, so it behooves the residents to find alternative sources of charging when available. Accordingly, whenever Henry is in Hoima, he sends his cell phone with his younger brother to school once a week so that he can charge the phone from the outlet in the school library.
Unfortunately, the central grid in Hoima has been down for one full month. Consequently, Henry had to track down a battery-charging merchant with a generator and pay the 1,000 Shillings. This happened on Friday before I called him. We spoke for about fifteen minutes. He is continuing to work in the small family envelope business and has been looking for other odd jobs, but to no avail.

Meanwhile, the little Hero who was dismembered by a witch doctor and is now in the United States awaiting a series of reconstructive surgeries is doing well. His first operation will take place this coming Tuesday at Cedars’ Sinai. This operation is scheduled to take eight hours and he should be in the hospital for a while. The surgeon will be taking patches of skin from his forearms for the grafting. I am meeting Bob Goff at the hospital, and I am eager to see both Bob and Hero – I haven’t seen either of them since returning from Uganda last month. Please be praying for the doctor (Randy), and for Hero.

The power of prayer doesn’t suffer from periodic interruptions or rolling blackouts . . . it is on all of the time.

Joshua’s First Post

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Hi there everybody. I decided that it is time for me to start blogging. Recently, everyone has been asking about how I feel about going to Uganda. For the record, I haven’t for a second had any reservations about moving to Africa. I was thinking tonight on my way home from bible class about Africa. I know that I either have to jump into this journey with a completely open heart and mind, or not go at all. I decided that I will make every effort to ensure that I help as many people as I possibly can in Uganda. I think that God calls us to help those less fortunate in some way, whether that means moving to Africa for six months or supporting missionaries. I want to thank everyone for being so supportive of me and my family these past few months. 

Christmas came early

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Have you noticed that Christmas comes earlier every year? This year I noticed stores selling Christmas decorations before Halloween! One of my usual radio stations starting playing only Christmas music before Thanksgiving. How many times can I listen to “Santa Baby” and “Frosty the Snowman”? The day after Thanksgiving is one of the craziest shopping days of the year. Bargain hunters flood the stores, looking for deals and parents are trying to grab the hottest new toy for their child. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to find the perfect gift for someone you love, but I hope we don’t lose sight of the true meaning of Christmas.

I know it sounds cliché but Jesus really is the reason for the season. Our Heavenly Father wanted to give us the perfect gift so he gave us his Son, through whom we have eternal life. I think all of us would agree that Jesus was the best gift ever. But God didn’t stop there, he gave us another gift; the gift of the Holy Spirit. Second Corinthians 1:22 says that “God set his seal of ownership on us, and put his Spirit in our hearts as a deposit, guaranteeing our inheritance.” Our Heavenly Father wants to give his children not just good gifts, but great gifts. Luke 11:13 says, “If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!”

Have you ever been so excited about giving someone the perfect gift that you let them open it early? You just knew how much they were going to love it and you couldn’t wait to see their face when they opened it. This year I feel like God has been letting me open my presents early. As my family has been preparing to move to Uganda, Africa in January to do mission work for six months, we have been in constant prayer. We have been asking God to bless our preparations, to open doors, to show us how he wants us to serve, and to help our children with this transition. Sometimes I feel like I am treating God like Santa Clause by handing him my wish list. But Jesus said in Matthew 21:22, “If you believe, you will receive whatever you ask for in prayer.” So I gave God a really long wish list. Ephesians 3:20 says that “God is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine.” And he has done just that for our family.

We know God has gifts waiting for us in Uganda. We know we will have life changing experiences as we share his love with those in need. We know he will open our eyes and change our hearts. We have been anticipating all the great things God has planned for us. But what we didn’t anticipate were the gifts he would let us open early before we went to Uganda. It seems that our Heavenly Father was so excited to give us these gifts and he must have known that we needed them, so he didn’t make us wait.

As I said, I had been praying for many things as we prepared for Uganda, but the prayers I prayed the most were for my children. I prayed for God to comfort my oldest daughter Jessica as she was struggling with leaving her friends behind. I prayed for God to heal the ear of my son Joshua because he still has a small hole in his ear drum even after going through many surgeries. I prayed for God to take away the stress that was causing my youngest daughter Jennifer to have stomach pains. In late September, I had a breaking point. I had tried to do whatever I could to help my children, but they were still in pain. My heart was breaking for my children and I told God that I couldn’t do this alone, that I needed His help. Within one week God let me open one of my presents early. Out of the blue, my husband got an email from a stranger named Steve in Oklahoma who had read an article in Guideposts magazine that they had done about Jim’s work in Uganda with teen prisoners. Steve told Jim that his friend was moving his family to Uganda next year for six months to do medical mission work and our families should talk. This sounded interesting, but it turned out to be more than we could have asked or imagined.

Allow me to compare our two families. We are Jim and Joline Gash, in our early forties. They are Jay and Jill Gregston, in their early forties. Our kids are Jessica, Joshua, and Jennifer, who are 16, 13, and 11. Their kids are Jake, Jared, and Jayne, who are 16, 12, and 11. I was a school teacher and retired when we started a family. Jill was a school teacher and retired when they started a family. We have a Yorkshire Terrier. They have two Yorkshire Terriers. We are moving to Uganda for six months on January 26th. They are moving to Uganda for six months on February 2nd. My husband is a lawyer looking to use his legal training and experience to serve the underserved in Uganda. Jay is an ER doctor looking to use his medical training and experience to serve the underserved in Uganda. Our oldest children will be attending school on line, and our younger two will be doing an independent study/home school curriculum. Both our families are deeply committed Christians and looking to live out our faith in Africa. After meeting the Gregstons through Skype, they made arrangements to live in the same apartment complex as us, in the apartment directly below us.

I told you this was more than we could have asked or imagined. Now our children will have friends their own age in Uganda who they can relate to, we have built-in medical care from our own personal ER doctor, and we can share in each others’ ministries, struggles, and joys. Our preparations for Uganda are going much more smoothly now as Jay and Jim share ideas about travel and our living situation, and Jill and I share our “to do” list and packing list. I could not have imagined that God would give me a moving buddy like Jill. We talk about once a week to see how the preparations are going and we pray for each other all the time. This has been a greater gift than I could have imagined.

But God didn’t stop there. He wanted to give me another early gift. I had been praying for God to show us how he wanted us to serve in Uganda. People kept asking me what exactly I would be doing there, and I said I wasn’t sure yet but I hoped that my children and I would be able to work with teen prisoners and orphans. I knew there would be plenty of work to do and I could make contacts when I arrived in Uganda. But I think God knew how I like to plan ahead, so this month he connected me with an organization called Sixty Feet that is doing exactly the kind of work I hoped to do. When Jim took a trip to Uganda a couple of weeks ago, he met with two of the Sixty Feet volunteers who encouraged us to come along with them to help in their work. Then last weekend the co-founders of Sixty Feet from Atlanta happened to be in southern CA and visited us at our home to talk more about their ministry. I know this is God’s plan for us.

God’s plans are always better than anything I could have imagined. He gives way better gifts than anything I could have put on my wish list. He knew exactly what I needed even before I asked, but I think He is pleased when I climb up into his lap and tell him what I want. I am so thankful that Christmas came early for me this year and that my Heavenly Father already let His daughter open a couple of gifts. Those gifts are just what I need to go to Uganda and share the gift of Jesus with others.

Waka Waka

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About nine months ago, I was reminded how blessed I am to have such great kids.  Jessica, who is now 16, wrote a reflective paper for one of her classes and was kind enough to share it with me.  I am now sharing it with you as another lesson we can learn from the next generation:

 

“This starts like any other story but I promise, it’s one you haven’t heard before. It was a Sunday afternoon and I had just gotten back from my church women’s retreat. I was tired and stressed and overloaded with estrogen. I don’t really remember how my dad began but the end effect was something like, “what would you think about moving to Africa for a year?”

The funny thing was, I wasn’t really surprised. I mean, I did get that sickening feeling of dread at uprooting our family and going to a third world country, but not once did I think he was kidding, and not once did I feel surprised. You see, my family has been like this recently. We started off as this normal little American family, you know, self absorbed and not really any big plans. But then Bob Goff came along.

Bob is this guy. And he’s like obsessed with Uganda (a teeny little country in the middle of Africa). He got it into my dad’s head that my dad should go to Uganda and rescue children from jail because he’s a law professor and is actually allowed to do stuff like that. Since Bob brainwashed my dad, my dad has been 3 times and has rescued dozens of unjustly imprisoned Ugandan children.

So I’m sitting at my kitchen table doing chemistry homework half an hour later like nothing happened because really it wasn’t a shock so why should I make a big deal out of it? And then my mom walked in and I started telling her my dad’s brilliant idea. And started crying. The last thing I wanted to do was go to Africa. Sure, I’d gone to Honduras, but that was for like a week. I had just moved schools. I really didn’t want to be uprooted after I had just gotten settled. Oh yeah, and there was the fact that I would have to graduate a year later. Survey 100 teenagers and 99 of them will tell you that that isn’t exactly something they want to do.

The next couple weeks saw the death of my dad’s idea. My mom and sister and I all ended up crying because that was how badly we didn’t want to go. Every night, I prayed that God wouldn’t make me go. I begged that he wouldn’t make me leave my life, my friends, and my country. I told God that if he let me stay, I would try my hardest to serve him right where I was. Everyone started to forget about it.

Everyone but me. I had this nagging feeling that I should go. At my private Christian school, is it any wonder that we have to go to chapel? No, but it is surprising that this was like missions week or something. I was bombarded with speeches about mission trips changing lives and being worth any sacrifice. And it felt like everyone was speaking directly to me.

It turns out my dad hadn’t forgotten about Africa. He proposed a compromise. We would go for a semester, not a year. That I could agree to. I don’t think I had ever felt God’s call like that before, and I didn’t feel like I had a choice. There’s this C.S. Lewis quote (I know, I know, I’m a dork) that says, “I don’t pray to change God. I pray to change me.” And after praying and praying, I stopped asking God to keep me where I was. I started begging and pleading for him to send me to Africa. Prayer changed me, and I knew even if my family didn’t go to Africa this time, I would go at some point in my life.

I started thinking about Africa more and more. Africa seemed to be everywhere. I saw it in my Spanish class in Shakira’s “Waka Waka” song, and it leaked into my dreams. I met this little African girl in my dream one night. She reminded me of another quote (this one from the Wedding Date). “I’d miss you even if I’d never met you.” I miss that little girl and I’m dying to meet her.

Then my family watched “Facing the Giants” and there’s this verse in it from Revelations about not being able to open doors God closes and not being able to close doors that God opens. I felt like someone was screaming at us to hurry up and go to Africa. If God opened the doors for us, I would have bought my plane ticket that day. There’s something of a rush in doing something crazy and stupid and doing it for God. If you’ve never experienced Christianity like that, you should try it sometime. Giving someone else your fate is about the scariest thing there is, like jumping into someone’s arms and hoping they catch you. God will always catch you, but if it feels like he doesn’t, then I guess you weren’t jumping in the right spot. I know I’m a little preachy for a 15 year old girl, but it’s not every day that you feel called to pick up your life and go to Africa.

Then came door time. It’s a lot less cool than “hammer time” or “game time,” believe me. Door time is when you have a bunch of doors in front of you and you wait to see which ones God slams in your face. If even one door was closed on our journey to Africa, then there’s no way we could go. First there was my dad’s job, then my school, then my brother and sister’s school, then money and so on. It’s an entire hallway of doors and the silence is deafening while you wait for one of them to be shut.

I wish I could tell you what happened with the doors, but I’m still waiting. Patience has never been my thing, so sometimes the wait is agonizing, but I guess I can think of worse things. In the meantime, we just take one day at a time. Africa isn’t going anywhere.”