reflection

In two weeks and three days, I will be 28 years old. I will still be growing my hair out from an impromptu buzzcut just like I was at 18. I will still spend way too much time pondering eternity, life and death like I did at 13. I will still wear the scars on my feet from the surgery I had at 4. 

So much is the same. 

So much more has changed.

Here is a little non-poem about a cardinal:

there is a cardinal

that sings

by my window each

morning.

he flutters so close,

almost close

enough

to touch. 

his song is so simple, 

captivatingly clear. 

he’s alive in this moment. 

he’s breathing; he’s here 

and tomorrow isn’t his 

burden to bear. 

today has enough worries, 

more than enough cares, 

and even when it’s raining 

he has a song to share.

april showers

 I think I've posted a blog with this title before, but as usual, I'm not going to go back and check.  this stage of life is both fast and slow. it's hard to believe we're almost finished with our first year of missionary training. half way. mind boggling.

so what does the unfaithful writer say? how do I catch the faithful readers up on recent events? it seems that, since January, it has been more and more difficult to catch my thoughts on paper. I mean, even my instagram is a graveyard. what surprises me most is that I have guilt over that. like, if I'm bad at texting AND social media now, by the time we get overseas, I won't have any friends or emotional support. that, of course, takes all the control and puts it in my hands--leaving God completely out of the picture. yikes.

why the title april showers? it's raining outside. it's been raining for days, yet the whole world around us is in bloom.  I also think it's ironic because I have been to more baby showers in the past year than in my entire life, which is saying something because I have five younger siblings and a whole lot of family having babies as I grew up. that isn't a pregnancy announcement, by the way. just in case you were suspicious.

other recent events include burning the absolute garbage out of my hand on a skillet a week and a half ago. the burns currently look like someone glued halved dates to my first and middle fingers. unrelated to the burns, I've taken up dehydrating mangos and apples to make my own dried fruit for a three week long "wilderness" training.  It's "wilderness" because we'll be in the woods about three miles from our actual house, but I think it'll be fun to see Tanner in an extended camping situation.

my thoughts turn to the steady march of time. so many of our friends this past year are graduating from the training today. the excitement for their commencement into ministry is amazing! the gnawing ache of goodbyes as a lifestyle is less so. I remember almost four years ago when I left the Philippines, I wouldn't say goodbye, just "see ya later." God gave me so much comfort in that, and it's still true, but life does not stand still between meetings. children grow up. family dynamics shift and change. friendships strengthen or fall away. hugs don't reach through phone calls or videos. and it isn't just family and friends that change! we change, too, and how do those changes reconcile when we all come together again?

april showers.

waiting on may flowers.

nora

seven years ago, 

I wrote about a girl named Nora. 

she was me and 

I told the tragedy of my life. 

and it sounds melo-

dramatic because it is, and yet

that’s what I did.

I wrote about gut-wrenching grief, and

sorrow, and guilt,

about imagined happy endings

and reality

as bitter and harsh as it seemed

to me.

seven years ago,

still seems so starkly present sometimes

those dreams still alive

and yearning for people and places 

unavailable

so strings of past possibilities 

snarl around spools of

present realities and it sounds

melodramatic 

because it is, but that’s what I did.

and sometimes it’s hard

not to do what you’ve done forever.

seven years ago

I had no clue how much I would grow

or what I would try

to hold on to, or that I’d want to.

and seven years is

not as long as I thought it would be

so there is still grief

and dead dreams and guilt and some sorrow

but there’s still hope and

imagination for tomorrow.

If you had told me seven years ago that the burdens I carried were not only shared by God, but not necessary for me to carry at all...I would have believed you as I shifted the emotional weight around inside to make it more bearable. 

I am where God has me today, and today I’m remembering the burdens, not carrying them. It all sounds so melodramatic, but in seven more years, I wonder what I’ll look back on and say “Oh...sweetie, if only you knew...” And I think that’s part of living. And those are my thoughts today.

apartment 60 C

 Six months ago, my roommate and I were several weeks deep into mandatory quarantine. Today, Tanner and I are only a few days into yet another forced isolation.  We, thankfully, remain healthy, but our reality feels like a strange limbo.  It seems like every day we are hearing from missionaries who deeply desire to be overseas to begin or continue ministry and they can't go. Travel is apparently virtually impossible in light of Covid. In my small, human mind, the present and future of overseas ministry feels impossible.  People say things like, "When this is over..." but where is their guarantee that this will ever truly be over?

And then our house fills with the light of the rising sun, and a friend tells us that we are going to receive a financial support from their parents this month, and the coffee tastes amazing, and there are so many blessings pushing us forward into ministry that I have to call to remembrance what I know to be true. God has called us to be trained now, not five years past or future.  He cares for every "little picture" detail I notice and controls every "big picture" stroke I cannot fathom.

It is time to be comforted by my inability, rather than pretending I am able on my own. It is time...and yet this change of perspective is overdue. It is time, though I wonder if I will remember tomorrow? God is able to hold me in a place of dependence, I am not.

new perspectives

 when new people speak into your life, new pathways or connections need to be made in your mind. new realities need to be accepted and considered. new ideas need an opportunity to brew, to be mulled over.  here are some of those thoughts over the past few weeks:

"sometimes God uses people to draw our hearts out, so we can learn, in time, to allow the Holy Spirit to that, just the two of us."  a question that I have carried since childhood is, "why isn't praying enough? why does it feel like I need to talk to people, even after I talk to God?"  the reality is that there are two truths. the first truth is that God has created us in community. the second is that God created our most core desires and needs to be met in Him and Him alone. those two truths together are what make that opening quote to this paragraph relevant. God uses His people to work with each other in the process of becoming totally reliant on Him. that answers my question, but it takes time to mull it over and accept it.

"everyone has been wounded by someone else, and everyone has wounded someone else. no one is an exception."  that reality is devastating to me.  at the very core of who I was made to be, I am disgusted and horrified when faced with the reality that I have wounded others and will continue to do so, accident though it may be, in the future. that's a truth, too, but is God's intent with showing me the truth for me to get stuck on devastation? does He want me to spiral downward in despair?  no! the hope, the purpose, the intent is for me to recognize how and where I wound others and to stop, to apologize, to ask God for help in healing rather than hurting.

i am learning, and it is still a process.

homesick and hospitality

Homesick and hospitality are two words tumbling around my mind quite frequently these days.  I’ve thought about homesickness and I’ve wondered if it’s just the adolescent term for nostalgia. I miss home. I miss the old pattern of inviting people into my parents’ house, where the food is always good (by my estimation) and, while I was technically the host, my parents were largely responsible for the welcoming atmosphere. Even though this does not conclude my thoughts on homesickness, it is a rather seamless segue into hospitality.

A book I’ve been reading recently defines hospitality as providing a place or home for strangers, and the reality is that I want to be the stranger welcomed in. I am nearly crippled by the fear that, if I were to invite strangers in, my home and heart will be rejected. My heart is already home to so many aches (both homegrown and borrowed), the anticipated rejection is lodged in my throat like a stone - incapable of going up or down.

So you see, these two concepts circle each other like cat and dog around my train of thought, the ache for safe familiarity and the fear of being an unwelcomed stranger or an undesirable place for strangers to rest their feet. Jesus, you promised all things would be possible in your strength. I think the problem I’m running into is that my strength seems more accessible. Abba God, I need you. Ruah, spirit of God, move from my heart and mind through my mouth and arms in the strength I only possess through you. Use me to strengthen the people around me. I love you. Your will be done forever and ever.

Loading

*before i begin this post, i want to make a promise to you, my dear friend: i will post a photo update about the wedding when i get our photos. i also promise that i am happily married.  now, without further delay, a post about life post-wedding insanity.*

I've started packing boxes with everything inside wrapped in colorful tissue paper.  Why? Because my heart and head were very much held fast by anxiety and fear about moving, organizing, packing...and the Holy Spirit has a way of recapturing the attention that is supposed to be his. 

To be honest, I really only started using tissue paper because I ran out of bubble wrap. Once I was a few minutes into the tissue paper.  A gentle thought crept into my hectic, frazzled mind, "When you unpack, it will almost be like unwrapping presents." Then a quiet moment before the next thought, "How much of your life is a present right now?"

The reality is that so much of my internal monologue lately has been characterized by the words, "have to." Obligation, not liberation, has been my default reason.  How many times have I journaled, blogged, and even pondered this simple truth: perspective matters.  Yet how many times do I forget that truth in its simplicity?

Our kitchen is packed in multi-colored tissue paper.  The list of things that need to be done before we move is ever-growing.  But we have love and grace because God first loved us.  He is the One who has enabled us to move to Missouri this fall, which means He will also allow us to complete every task before us on our way there.  There are no accidents.  There are no trials that come our way by mistake.  Everything is a lesson, a growing pain, a step in a glorious journey.

Perspective matters.

and plans change

We’ve been waiting for a while, now. Waiting and planning and hoping. And it’s difficult to believe that it wasn’t all in vain.

Our wedding venue has decided to cancel, six weeks before what is supposed to be the best day of our lives. Everyone has his or her own opinion about how we move forward. Unfortunately, I’m still a sensitive middle child who wants everyone to be happy, wants everyone to think I’m making the right choices, wants everyone to think I’m handling this like a champ.

On my scroll through Instagram this morning, I was reminded of other people’s hardships. One post in particular was from a mom whose three-year-old daughter is terminally ill. She is grieving all of the memories she will never have with her little girl. But me? I still get to make memories, they’ll just look different and it’s really okay if they don’t measure up to everyone’s standard. Perspective is a bittersweet companion, because empathy means I want to weep with those who are weeping from sorrows much heavier than my own. Jesus, help them.

So plans change. Hoping and dreaming and moving forward does not.

apartment 15B

What do you do when media and politicians push their agenda to convince you to see a changed world—a world transformed for the worse—yet aside from arrows on the ground, cancelled appointments, and moderate mass hysteria, your world feels very much as it always has?  It stings, maybe just a little, the first time someone mentions this will most likely affect the most important day of your life. But maybe you’re an optimist and “logically” this can’t go on that long. We’re not experiencing the Bubonic Plague or the Black Death here. But then the unrest continues and more people, more friends, more family lose hope that everything could possibly turn out okay. So what do you do?

The eye twitch that left in February is back.

There is no gym to burn off steam at.

America’s Next Top Model can only distract a person for so long.

So far, a total of three mail-ordered bras will not work for under a wedding dress and cannot be returned.

Who knows if a July wedding in New York will even be possible?

Who knows if going to school in September will even be possible?

There is only a certain amount of sanity a person can maintain while locked inside a studio apartment for over a month.

So Tanner and I take turns reminding each other that we’re staying in motion. That we are getting married in July regardless of whether or not it’s a party. That we have done every step we can do for school this fall.  That every aspect of our lives right now is a firm reminder that God is the only one who actually has a say in where we go and how and that’s what we want.

My sister reminds me that it’s still okay to cry and be a little stressed and not always feel peachy.

My best friend commiserates beautifully.

It’s going to work out the way it’s supposed to.

But that doesn’t mean my eye isn’t going to twitch for the next two months.

And that’s okay.

when your right eye twitches

Did you know that even if you've convinced yourself that everything is fine, your body still has ways of telling you that everything is not fine?  Like, say for example, making your right eye twitch for weeks.  A week ago, my eye and emotional well-being were in a state.  Planning a wedding felt like too much, going to a missionary training center seemed impossible, work was too much to think about, and my mind was still in New York with my family.  I was crying a couple times a day, no problem.

Fast-forward to this week.  My bestest friend flew out to Wisconsin despite the corona apocalypse, and the first thing she said when she saw me was, "I'm taking you grocery shopping.  Not for me, for you." We got groceries, and with them, we hatched the hair-brained idea to make the flower arrangements for my wedding arch ourselves.  (Spoiler: they look SO much better than I was afraid they would!)  We've eaten a lot food, talked about the wedding weekend, organized, planned, and purchased.  She's had the chance to spend time with my fiance.  We've slept in.

My eye hasn't twitched in 36 hours.

And I think that's the reminder or lesson or moral.  Not many parts of life, particularly wedding planning, were designed to be handled by one person in isolation. While I know in my head that God designed people for community, to be balanced and supported and encouraged, I forget that I am not an exception even though I have enough stubbornness and pride for an army.  Asking for help is hard.  Asking for help figuring out what I need help with is...confusing.  The small seed of panic in my chest knows that not everything is figured out, but that is why I have a small army of God-fearing women around me, for planning wedding to marriage and beyond.

if i were...

If I were to write a blog post I would write about how God has provided a place for Lydia and I to live.

I would write about opportunities to relax and spend time with girls that I barely know and yet feel so connected with.

If I had the words, I would wax poetic about my desire to be certain that I am not an emotional, verbal bulldozer.

It might be worth telling about some truth nuggets from class.

But it’s hard to be faithful to a blog no one reads.  I’ve always had this vision in my head of a time when some of God’s people want to support me as a missionary.  Then, because I was faithful with an online journal, they would have access to me and God’s work in me over the years. And I still have that dream. 

I’m learning that breaks are okay if they have a purpose.  I’m learning that patience and waiting does not always mean proactive pestering in the white noise.  I’m learning that it’s okay to be ready for changes I’ve never even imagined being ready for until now.

Tanner is in Africa, practicing this whole missionary thing, and we couldn’t talk for a while. When we finally could talk, I informed him that he has ruined me. He cleans my car when it gets snow on it, he buys me snacks and coffee, he listens to me when I’m fragile and I cry.  I’m spoiled and also happy and I miss him. And I’m thankful for him. And for some reason he loves me back and it blows my mind.

And if I were to write a blog, I would say that the future looks bright and hopeful and plain old full. 

entitled to be frustrated?

It’s almost 5 AM, and I’m supposed to be filling the pastry case at work. Supposed to. Instead, I’m blogging in my car because my supervisor left his keys in his apron, which got locked in the building last night. For some reason, though, I’m not frustrated with him. I’m not irritated at all.  A little bummed because this cuts my hours short and I need all the money I can get, but not frustrated.  I have grace for this guy and his forgetfulness.

I’m reminded of all the moments I’ve struggled to live in God’s grace recently. Frustration and anger seem to be two of my most constant companions. Whether it’s because of vacuuming or missing out on friendship or poor grades or lost opportunity or hunger or exhaustion....my explosive emotions have been getting the better of me and everyone around me.

God, I’m so ready to be a spokesperson or ambassador for your grace. I want the people who don’t have or understand it to get it. But I forget, so often, that it’s as ready and available to me as clean drinking water. Thank you for continuing to teach me how to throw my irritation at the foot of the cross. I love you in Jesus’ name.

New Pictures

(My CM Leadership ladies 💛)


(Our after school program had a district-wide sled race. My 1st and 2nd graders made the second fastest sled over all!)


(This is a late picture from Christmas break, but Tan hobbled around the Cobleskill reservoir with me on his barely repaired meniscus.)


(My dad sent me Valentine’s flowers!)

this is for the best

I think I need to admit this to myself, as much as I should confess it publicly: it's all been a lie.  Autumn can't possibly be my favorite season  I mean, the crisp air is great, the color scheme is flawless, squash is in season and hot lattes are officially cozy.  You'd think--scratch that!  I thought it was my favorite season, hands down.  It should be!  But the sun is slowly spending more time wrapped in clouds and the days are growing shorter and cooler and I just want to be a hermit, wrapped in blankets like a human burrito.  Actual favorite season: July (also known as summer, but let's be real, they're basically synonymous in the northern midwest.)  Anyway, the weather is still nice enough for a morning/early afternoon walk and Lord knows I'll be taking one of those every day till snow sticks.

Shifting seasons aside, the past two weeks of class have been good.  Great, really.  Two weeks ago, it seemed like everyone was follow a theme of walking through trials, rather than trying to just get rid of them.  This exhortation was ridiculously timely.  1,000% honesty, there was (and continues to be) increasingly turbulent emotional situations in my dorm, to the extent that has us all asking, "When is it going to stop?"  The encouragement, though, is to walk through this.  So that's what we're going to do.  Everything I'm walking through, publicly or privately, is literally God's best for me and His glory.  And it's good.

Then, this week, the resounding note for me, at any rate, was, "Be who you are."  Now, I know that sounds very 21st century, but hang with me for a minute.  First, we were in 1 Peter during leadership chapel.  The challenge was to obey Christ's call to "be holy as I am holy," the point being that this is only possible because we, as believers, are literally dead except that Christ is alive in us.  All holiness is possible and even expected, if we're truly living our faith because every action will be dictated by who is truly alive in us: the great JC Himself.  Later, in Prophets class, we were finishing the book of Isaiah.  In the final chapters, Isaiah describes Messiah's armor WHICH IS THE SAME AS THE ARMOR WE ARE CALLED TO WEAR IN EPHESIANS 6.  Bros!  Be who you are!  Not only is Christ alive in you, but he's equipped you for battle, son!

I'm still fired up about it.

praying this morning

Abba, Father God,
it hasn't been that long since we've talked
but there's a burden
lingering on my back as if I've
been ignoring You.
Can we please talk, God?
Just the two of us in the quiet,
us in the garden,
working through how this old, heavy weight
behind my eyes grew
to the point, oh God,
where I keep cracking my face into
crumbling concrete and
that's a metaphor for forgetting
everything You do.
Like how my life, God,
would be nothing (no, really, nothing;
like in a trash can,
like no recycling, just straight refuse)
if not, God, for You.
Abba, Father God,
my Security,  my Foundation,
my Resurrection,
replace this weight with holy freedom
to wholly worship You.

Looking Back

It’s been two years since I lived in Columbus.  Two years.  In some ways, I can’t believe it’s been so long, but it’s also hard to believe it hasn’t been longer.  There’s a desire (for better or for worse) to look back at the person I was then and draw up a list of the ways my life is different now.

Here’s the only way that can be a good thing: If this list brings me to my knees saying, “Lord, thank you for the work you have done and continue to do in my heart.  I know it’s all you, so thanks for using me.”

The temptation is to look at myself with the thought, “Wow, you’re so much better than you were then.  Look at you go, Viv! You’ve got this life thing in the bag.”  SO MANY LEVELS OF WRONG!

I guess the best part of driving into Reynoldsburg, OH yesterday was finally understanding one of the big takeaways God gave when I lived here.  I’d recognized the circumstance before, but I didn’t grasp the importance of it until I was driving into town, talking on the phone with Tanner as a sort of “stay awake” insurance. 

 Despite my niceness/kindness and my desire for the Lord two years ago, I was looking back on two years further back.  While I gave some of the credit to God, the proud self-exultation I mentioned above is pretty close to what I was thinking then.  I was convinced I was better, that I didn’t need to worry about my old pitfalls, that I was strong enough now. And that thought process landed me in just as much of a garbage situation as I had been.  So what is the lesson?

There is pride in every human heart, including mine.  Fostering it at all is a really bad move.  Every good thing is from God; every centimeter of growth is to God’s credit.  Vivian without Him is a haughty piece of trash, destined for mistakes and bad circumstances.  In light of this, my prayer is that God would continue to humble me and work in my heart to keep my perspective His perspective.

Just for kicks, here’s a lovely photograph that has nothing to do with my non-nephew who already loves me even though we’ve only met twice.

Summer Poetry pt 2

control freak:

not afraid to die

just afraid

I won’t know it’s time

chronic doubter:

knowing God’s promise

but still needing

to check and make sure

class A windbag:

convinced I know best

though history

proves otherwise true

cleansed by Christ’s blood:

empowered by the

Holy Spirit

to die to myself

chosen by God:

free from old habits

with liberty 

to live in His truth

control freak,

chronic doubter,

class A windbag,

but then Grace.

Thirty-five Days

Four years ago, I never imagined I’d be finishing up my first semester of Bible school in thirty-five days.  For all intents and purposes, my life was void of direction and I was struggling to put the pieces of life back together after college.  I knew what I believed in...but how was a girl supposed to live that kind of thing out?  At any rate, the last thing I was going to do was waste money to learn things I already knew to postpone the process of figuring it out.

But here I am. For better or worse, here I am.

My first semester at EBI is drawing to an end and, as always, I’m feeling reflective.  At first, I thought my experience here would be just like everyone else’s: class would rock my world, my theology would shift radically, neurons in my brain would fire off into unexplored territory. And while classes are good and the community is healthy and encouraging, that isn’t what my semester looked like.  So does that mean there’s something wrong with me?

A friend of mine used to compare life to seasons.  She said that our lives experience the long sleep of winter and the rapid growth of spring, the vibrant joy of summer and the bittersweet autumn.  I’m no expert, Johnny, but this feels like winter.  The things we go over in class are things I know, and while that’s okay, it concerns me.  God has to have more to show me; He is an infinite discovery that I shall never reach the end of. So why, at Bible school of all places, does He feel so far away?  Does He even want me to be here?  Am I even in His will wanting to be a missionary?

For better or worse, here I am. At least for thirty-five more days, and three more semesters. But then what?

Here I am, Lord. 

Here I am.

Step One (or is it Step Two?)

Dorm rooms.  Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve never actually lived in one until today. Well, yesterday. Anyway the point is that I escaped dorm living for nearly a quarter of a century. No more.

After a brief stay at my parents’ home in NY, I have relocated to America’s Dairyland. A vegan in dairyland.  Granted, I actually didn’t know Wisconsin’s slogan until I got here and read the blurb on every license plate, but the facts don’t change. 

Both of these realities are inconsequential in the grand scheme of life. It is shocking how much thought insignificant things can hijack though. These temporary inconveniences are silly. I know they are.  I know I should be focusing on the fact that I’m in Dairyland for Bible school. The focal point of each moment should be, “how can I serve God radically right now?”  That’s how it should be.

How it is, is that I am afraid.  I am tired. I am uncomfortable. And these might just being growing pains. And everything is probably going according to plan. And obviously, Vivian, your humanity is ridiculous and if you would just chill out and trust God to give you the peace He literally promises to give, it actually will be okay.

Breathe in.

Step one was getting here.

Breathe out.

I am here.

Breathe in.

Step two is staying here.

Breathe out.

God is here.

You Can Take the Girl Out of the Country...

After a ten-day trip to Manila and blessings too numerous to count, I was more than ready to return to the quiet life in our village.  How could that be?  My theory is, no matter where I go or choose to live, I was born and bred in the middle of nowhere, so that is where I will always feel the most at ease.  City life, with all its convenience, is nothing short of exhausting.  There are always people around; the noise never sinks below a dull roar.  The hustle and bustle is fun for a while, then it's a relief when it's over.

Video chatting was definitely the biggest plus to our stay in Manila.  I got to see my Ohio family for the first time since October and my New York family for the first time since Christmas.  It felt wonderful to catch up on each others' lives, to hear one another laugh, to ramble on in comfortable (and comforting) conversation.

Oddly, the video chats might have been one of the more difficult parts at the same time.  It is one thing to live isolated from your loved ones with small, infrequent messages.  It is another experience entirely to visually and audibly interact with them without any means of physical expression of love or joy.  Try as we might, we cannot squeeze air with all the strength in our arms.  Our heads cannot rest on shoulders over 8,000 miles away.  Kissing air is the same as not kissing at all.  Loneliness that had been held at bay by distance, came crashing in.

Even in the midst of all these emotions, I could not say that I regret the decisions that brought me here.  I long to be home, but I dread the day I have to leave.  That's the trouble with giving your all wherever you go.  I have a sneaking suspicion it is all going to be worth it, though, and that gives me hope for whatever God has next.

Another top experience was FOOD.  Vegan or not, I've always been such a foodie.  As a vegan, I particularly enjoy food of the green persuasion.  Rest assured that I'm no longer grumbling in my heart, but God saw fit to give me some veggie-goodness anyway.  Believe me when I say I pounded that rabbit food.  I horked those suckers down till my stomach distended into a mound that resembled three months of pregnancy.  Spinach, corn, artichoke, roasted red peppers, cabbage, broccoli, snow peas, cauliflower, pineapple salsa, mushrooms... I went to town (literally and proverbially).  Not to mention other goodies like freshly roasted peanuts with salt and garlic.  Or kutsinta and kakanin, also known as some of the best varieties of sticky rice cakes ever created.  Food might have hijacked my Instagram for a couple days to say the least.

Other experiences were newer and took longer to process.  Over our time in Manila, we caught multiple jeepneys.  My favorite jeepney ride took place later one evening.  Shannon and I caught went to get some last minute supplies, namely frozen berries and soy milk. The guy at S&R packed up our spoils, but he put all of the soy milk in the flimsier of the two bags.  All was well until we went to get off the jeep and the handles of the bag came away in my hands, sending the soy milk straight to the pavement.  Thankfully, nothing broke and I was able to carry the handle-less bag back to our room on my shoulder.

One day, our taxi driver seemed unable to keep his opinions to himself.  Shannon told him we were Canadian, rather than explaining that I was an American.  THANK GOD!  This guy spent the next good chunk of our drive telling us how much he hated Americans, how America stole all of the Filipino silver and copper, and how much he loves the Filipino president and his choices.  Now, I have nothing against patriotism, and I felt he was entitled to his own opinion.  That being said, I have never been more stressed out during a conversation in my life.  Eventually, he got tired of speaking politics and turned his attention to religion.  While his questions may have been designed to give himself more speaking time, Shannon was still able to share the gospel with the guy.  All in all, I'd call that a win.

The entire trip could boil down to a muddle of malls, department stores, stalls, scents, and sights.  I'm thankful for the opportunity to meet other missionaries at the guest house.   The walking and shopping facilitated building stronger relationships between my host family and I.  Sure, we're all as exhausted as ever, but we're living with purpose and joy.  I, for one, would trade a good night's sleep for daily purpose any day of the week.

With all that said, I'll add some pictures next.  March out.  April, bring it on.