I am a nomad. But

I am a nomad. But I don't think I was made to be.

I have been enjoying this PD trip a great deal. I've loved visiting new places and meeting new people and experiencing new things. But,

I'm going on three months of moving at least every two weeks. I'm a guest everywhere I go, which means if I've had a long day I can't just walk in the house and go to my room and turn on my stereo and be. No, I'm a guest and I have to be a good one. If my host wants to talk, I need to talk. If they want to go to dinner, if they want to watch tv, if they want to sit around a fire and sing Kumbayah, thats what I need to do. Which is fine. Great even! I love it! But all the time wears on me. Always being a guest is tiring. I want to go home, where I feel free to slam a door when I'm mad, stand in the shower as long as my heart desires, eat whatever in the kitchen strikes my fancy, where I have the freedom to not concern myself with what might offend the host but where I am the host.

I want to be in a place of my own. With my desk and my bed. A place where my clothes go into drawers instead of spilling out of my suitcases (making the guest room floor a difficult place to navigate). I want to have a place where I can keep my thoughts orderly.

I'm afraid that I have been moving so fast that it's hard to keep my thoughts straight. It's hard to keep up with everything! There are things I'm supposed to be doing that I'm just not because theres so much tangible chaos how can I think about the invisible chaos, the thank you letters I was supposed to write to the grantors of my undergrad scholarships, the transcripts I was supposed to send off, the thank you letters I was supposed to write to supporters and churches I've visited, the Paratext registration, the reimbursment request i was supposed to send in to for all my work expenses which is time sensitive but i need to do because my bank account balance is getting low.

I have been enjoying this PD trip a great deal. I've loved visiting new places and meeting new people and experiencing new things.

I am a nomad. But I don't think I was made to be.

I love visiting new places and meeting new people and experiencing new things. But I want to do that with nice long stays at a place all my own to spread out my adventures.

I am a nomad. But I want a home base.
Is that ok?

Taking a Hint. ...from Jesus

Yesterday, Nicole got a text message asking if we were home. Within 2 minutes there was a woman who I have had the joy of meeting a couple times and her young son in the living room.
"I just had to tell you this story!" She told Nicole. "My husband and I were talking and praying about how we could possibly work it into our budget to give to Elizabeth, we don't have a lot but we really wanted to give to this ministry. Then I get a phone call for a book that I put on sale a year ago. I almost threw the book away last week because I didn't think anyone would ever buy it. But I just went down to meet her today and, it's not a lot," she said directing her attention to me, "but I figure I can take a hint from God."
I was so taken aback I almost forgot to thank her! But look at these beautiful undertones of the story! Selling of possessions to give to the Church, very "First Church" which would be marvelous to get back to. But even more beautiful, was not saying, "I wish we could give but we don't have any money to spare, sorry" but "We want to give but we don't have any money to spare, God how can we give to her?" And then! And then! Taking a hint from God! Its happened to me before. People were thinking about me and then got their tax refund in the mail. Then *I* got their tax refund in the mail. But I think it's so beautiful and full of faith!

"Hasn't God chosen the poor of this world to be rich in faith?" James 2:5

My Heart's Desire

Right now, in this moment, it is my hearts desire to: have a desk. That's right a desk. A beautiful desk comprised of at lest three planks of wood positioned in such a way that a desk was formed and a chair. A beautiful desk with my new laptop, and my old laptop that I'm still transitioning out of, and my external hard drive with all my media, and envelopes and stamps, and stationary. So that when I think, "I need to write my newsletter" I don't have to put that off until I get my hard drive because that has my pictures. Or when I think, "I need to send the thank you cards I wrote a month ago" I don't have to put that off until I get to where ever I left my box with stamps and envelopes. A beautiful desk that has everything I need to complete the to-do list in my head. The to-do list that reels throughout my day, distracting me from the simple pleasures of watching a movie with friends, enjoying the reading of a book, dining with an after-church lunch crowd, listening attentively to a sermon. The to-do list that holds my thoughts captive to it! A beautiful desk that will enable me to check things off my to-do list, to lessen the nagging voices in my head, to free my mind from my captivity! A beautiful desk to set me free! Free from the things I must do so that I may delight in the things I want to do!
But alas. I have no such desk. For I am a nomad.

Beggars Are Generous

One day I was talking to my PBT coach about how much money I don't have. I then walked into the the office of a friend and missionary. "I need money!" I wailed. She went to grab her bag and fish out her wallet. "for what?" she asked as she dug. "To go to PNG." "oh," was her reply as she paused in her search. "I only have $5 but you can have it if you want."
This woman, recently married, trying to raise her own support, leapt for her $5 to give me, not knowing why I needed it but just knowing that I did.

A man in Vegas, down on his luck, posting regularly on FB about his financial struggles, a man with little, heard that I was going to be in Vegas without a car and was worried about getting around. He offered his while he was at work. A man with almost nothing, leapt at the chance to share what he did have.

I think that people who have to ask other people for money (not that either of these friends should be defined as beggars any more than I should be) and know what it's like to be dependent on their generosity are more generous than most. I feel like there's something wrong with that. That people who have plenty should be the ones who whip out their resources at the slightest mention of need. But I guess, as the saying goes (I'm not aware of a verse though) "God uses the poor to shame the rich."

Looking for Opportunities in GA, Prayers please!

Here I am at Southern Hills Christian Church, trying to meet individuals who might be interested in supporting me. Some of the life groups that we thought were going to be meeting this week are actually not going to be meeting. So that's caused a little worry about whether or not I'll get enough face time with individuals to find supporters. But today I'll go talk to the small group pastor about groups that WILL be meeting and which of those would be good for me to attend. I'll also be talking to the head pastor about area churches that he has connections with that might be interested in meeting me.
Saturday I met one couple, Sunday I attended service and shook the hands of many people, and today is my first day in the office and I'm going to try to get some things lined up.
Prayers please

My encounter with a homeless man

I was on my way to Georgia.
It was about dinner time and I figured I should just stop in Birmingham and get something to eat even though I was only two hours out. I'm sure, I thought, the Jones's will eat before I arrive.
So I pulled off at an exit that featured a Krystals (we dont have those in VA) and as I was waiting for the light at the end of the exit ramp, I noticed a man. He was a young man. Probably a little older than me. with a few bundles of belongings behind him and a cardboard sign. It read "Traveling. Need Anything." All I really had was a five dollar bill in my back pocket. The food in my car inventoried at 4 Chips Ahoy White Fudge Chunk Chocolate Chip Cookies (crunchy of course), a mostly eaten bag of Pita Chips, a few starbursts, a few Dove chocolates with caramel filling, and those awesome chocolate eggs that only come out for Easter time. Not a marvelous offering. "If only I had some real food," I thought. "Oh! I'm going to get dinner right now!!!"
The light turned green. I slowed as I past him and called out, "Hey, if you meet me at Krystals I'll buy you dinner."
I showed up at this fast food joint and informed the staff, who were very perplexed as to why I sat instead of ordered, that I was waiting for someone. I didn't see him coming over. So I checked my email and updated my facebook. Still he didn't come. So I prayed that if this man who God loved was hungry that he would come and let me serve him.
I ordered my food and ate and waited some more.
And I thought about this man. This man that God loved. Who was just trying to get somewhere. Who had a story. A reason why he was standing with a cardboard sign instead of driving like most people. A history. Dreams and hopes and fears and regrets. A man that God loved. And I loved him. And I wanted to sit with him at Krystals and ask him who he was and why he was here, where he had come from and where he was going.
But he didn't come.
I drove back to get on the interstate. And there he was standing with his sign. I guess he needed something more specific than anything. But I wish he would've had dinner with me. Because I loved him.
I fall in love with strangers often.
I was stood up by a homeless man.

Singsing

A singsing is a tradition song and dance in Papua New Guinea. When my internship team landed in Samban, where we lived in the bush, we were greeted with a singsing. Men, women, and children dressed in grass skirts, elaborate headdresses, paint, and mud danced the dances of their ancestors to welcome us into their village. It was quite an experience. But this wasn't to be the only time we had an opportunity to experience a singsing. Twice more, while we were there, singsings were going to be preformed. Once for the Pryors, the previous Pioneer Bible Translators missionaries who were working in Samban on the ApMa project. And once for the grand opening of the local elementary school. One of the members of my team loved the singsing so much that she asked if she could be a part of it. When her request was granted she returned to the team to ask one of us to join her so she wouldn't be alone. I said yes. So on the day the plane was to come we went over to the house where everyone was preparing and we learned the moves. This was a big deal. While I just felt like we were jumping about, and many were just laughing at the white women, there were a few who were very adamant that they dance be done right, that we jump about properly. Suddenly, all the children jumped up screaming "balus!" The children heard the plane long before I did. We ran to the bridge. (The first singsing had begun at the runway but the nationals decided that the white women wouldn't be able to preform the singsing for a full mile. I agree.) While waiting for the preformances at the runway to end and for the Pryors to come to the bridge, the nationals painted my face and arms with mud and paint and tied grass around my arms and ankles. And then we danced and danced. The end was not too soon. I was worn out by the end!