A Period of Semicolon

If you received any formal education in the English language, you know what a semicolon is used for. More than just a cute novelty item on a grammar buff's desk, or tattoo on a sorority-girl-turned-existentialist, the semicolon has a practical purpose: to link two independent - but similarly themed - statements by a pause, without breaking the flow of the sentence.

To link two independent statements by a pause.

My life up to this point has always been driven; it has been defined by what was coming next, and the time before was spent in intensive preparation. But, like I said, that was up to this point. I have reached a semicolon - a pause. Something is coming, something linked to all of the experiences I have racked up in the past twenty years, something beautiful and new...

But first, I must pause. I must take a breath. I must wait.

Let me step away from my own story for a moment, and take you to a similar one. You can read the full account for yourself in Acts 9:1-31, but I will only highlight a brief sentence here:

Saul has just come out alive on the other side of his Damascus encounter with Christ; he is a new man rearing to go share the Good News with anyone who is willing to listen. This message is not well received, however, and his life is put on the line.

"And when the brothers learned [that the Hellenists were seeking to kill Saul], they brought him down to Caesarea and sent him off to Tarsus." (Acts 9:30 ESV)

This is the last we hear of Saul until chapter 13, when he and Barnabas are sent off on their first missionary journey. After that we read a good deal about Saul-Paul's ministry, but how often do we hear about verse 30 - about the semicolon in Saul's life? Try never.

Can you imagine what Saul must have been doing while he was back home? He must have been chomping at the bits to begin ministry, feeling stifled by the need to wait. I see him, struggling not to fling open his window and scream to the world "Jesus of Nazareth is the Messiah we have been waiting for!" instead of sullenly flicking on his desk lamp and returning to his text books...Oh, wait am I talking about Saul, or myself?

Friend, this is where I am, and you may find yourself here as well, you've reached your semicolon. A time when, like Saul, you have been told "no", "wait", "you aren't ready, yet". Now is not a time to sit like a lump, to break the flow of your life - now is a time to take a breath, preparing for the coming connection.

This is only a pause. Yet, take out the "only" and the entire attitude of that sentence changes: This is a pause.

Use it wisely, for something beautiful is coming next.

- Bekah S.

Finals Came at Me Like...

I hit my breaking point Sunday night, kneeling beside my desk, ironing my homework. Disregard the 'why?'. Just know that I was, in fact, pressing my homework flat with a hot iron - that's the kind of crazy this final's week has thrown my way.

Walking around campus this weekend, and even this morning (it's not even 8 am on a Monday and already dozens of people are up), I've seen mirrored images of myself in the faces of those passing by. We're frazzled: our hair tossed into careless pony tails, or sitting wonky on half our heads from just climbing out of bed. We're tired: you can see the dark circles around our eyes, a phenomenon I never believed to be true until this week. We're stressed: shoulders sit high and breaths are short. We're liable to snap at any moment: don't ask me about this one, it was an ugly scene.

We aren't focused: where is the Peace the Lord brings?

Fellow students, I know how you're feeling this week. Finals have us all up to our eyes in studying, and soaked in our own bitter tears. But take heart, there is an end to this. Always remember, we aren't here to seek a grade or to get a gold star from our professors - our worth and value in this world lies in the hands of One much greater.

He knit us together in the womb, he knows the number of the tangled strands of hair on our heads, he promised to walk us through flood and fire, and he is the Prince of Peace.

Take a deep breath, and remember all the Lord has done.

Many Prayers,

Bekah S.

Ignoring the Courtesy Seat

Satchel on my arm, and suitcase following close behind, I made my way through Memphis airport. People of all nationalities passed me on every side, and their various colors, styles, and emotions filled the air with that specific electricity to be found in an international airport. I found my gate and began scanning the rows of chairs, looking for the courtesy seat. There it was - a solid five seats open, and on either end sat a business man and an Indian woman. Wheeling my luggage through the maze of legs, bags, and coffee mugs, I sat myself down on the end closer to the woman and smiled. Her eyes were - as cliche as this may sound - jolly; in fact, I don't know if I've ever seen quite that sparkle in any one's eye.

That same happiness in her eye, though, was met by an equal and opposite swelling in my heart. Oh how she needs Jesus. No matter how I tried to suppress the feeling, the desire to speak with her, it would not be quieted; the Lord was urging me, and He is not one to be ignored. That is how, on Friday the 13th in Memphis Airport, I began to build a relationship with the country of India.

Rumi was on her way to her home town: Chennai, India. Her nephew's wedding this this month, and for the first time in two years she will be seeing her whole family: Five siblings, their spouses, all of their children, her children, and the next two generations. For the next thirty minutes I listened to descriptions of Chennai, Indian Weddings, Customs, and stories of Rumi's family. Never once did I have the chance to speak the Gospel, despite my intense longing to. Rumi put her headphones in, and that was it. Conversation over. 

Card accompanying bracelet

But God will not be silenced by an iPhone 6 and Gummi Headphones.

Across the the room I saw a tall woman, definitely Texan, searching for a seat. I assumed she would take the other courtesy seat in my section, and watched as she make her way to it - and then change her mind, make a sharp right, and sit in the chair right next to me. Courtesy denied. Personal space invaded. Her beaded bracelet jangled as she sat down and pulled out a newspaper.

"I like your bracelet." I commented, in an attempt to make myself more comfortable with this new addition.

"Oh this? Thank you!" Her accent was strong and happy. "You know, it tells the Jesus story."

My heart skipped a beat. Here, sitting next to me, was a woman with a desire to talk and the Gospel strung around her wrist. She smiled as I asked her to please show me, and I prayed that Rumi was listening. One quick glance told me my prayers had been answered, as Rumi slowly took out her headphones and began listening. Conversation turned from the Gospel, to the goodness of God, and the blessing of our Faith in Christ, and I sat overwhelmed by the goodness of God while Rumi listened to it all.

Never limit the Lord, and never limit yourself. Boundaries can be beneficial, yes, but they can be just as dangerous. Imagine if I had allowed myself to become uncomfortable with Janis' presence and moved to a new seat? Rumi may not have heard the Good News, I may not have seen God work, Terri may not have been able to share her Faith.

Meet society head on. Be not ashamed of the Gospel. Always be looking for that courtesy seat, and don't be afraid to ignore it.

- Bekah S.

Life is Precious

Most of you reading this will never understand just how precious life is. Before I continue please let me explain that I do not say this to upset you, to make you feel guilty, or to accuse you - I am simply stating a fact. We as citizens of the United States are blessed with some of the greatest resources known to this earth: family, education, and religious freedom. We can never truly appreciate life because few of us have ever had to fight for it.

Irene was three years old when her parents abandoned her. Their disappearance left Irene the sole provider for her one year old sister Ruki. The toddler lost all sight of her childhood and before her fourth birthday had become mother of her younger sister, responsible for finding both food and shelter in the desolate village she called home. Rafiki Village was contacted and, by the grace of God, the girls have been brought into a loving home filled with the giggles and hugs of their adopted sisters; they are being taught the love of Christ, and the care of God as their Father. Irene was given her childhood back, wrapped up in safety with a beautiful bow of love on top. I know because I lived with the girls this summer.

Irene in front of Kilimanjaro

It was four or five years ago that I first heard the story of Irene and Ruki fighting for life in among the trash piles and trees, their sullen eyes gazing at me through a video screen. Two months ago, as I left Tanzania, I caught smiles and bright eyes from the sisters both on camera and in my heart. I can tell you stories of playing tag with Ruki while we laughed and laughed, and reading a book about a courageous mouse with Irene that she soaked up like a sponge. The girls are growing, and they are grateful. (Find their story here)

What I am about to ask you to imagine is unpleasant, I know, but it will help you begin to understand the gravity of what I meant at the beginning of this post. Please take a moment and clear your mind from all the happiness you feel over Irene's and Ruki's good fortune, wipe it out. Imagine, just for a moment, what would have happened if Rafiki had not been contacted. The thought is a grim one.

In this country we are surrounded, daily, by everything we could ever need well within our grasp. Even those among us who have a considerably low income or live on a Ramen-noodle-every-night-diet are more wealthy than 80% of people world wide (Global Issue). We have been given a gift simply by being born citizens of the U.S.A. You may not be a flag waver, or poll watcher, and you may think that this country is crumbling down around our ears - there are many days when I would agree with you; however,  it is impossible to deny that, in comparison to girls like Irene and Ruki, we are incredibly blessed.

So what are we doing with this beautiful gift of life? I'm going to leave that question open ended, I don't want to fling any accusations in your face and I have no intention of climbing a soapbox today. Let me leave you, instead, with this tid-bit from an amazing woman I met while working in Tanzania, it brought a light to my own life that I didn't realize I needed:

"I was born in America. That is a fact that I won't apologize for, and I won't feel guilty about it either. I could sit around all day and wonder 'Lord, why did you chose me for the life of comfort and chose these people for a life of suffering?' But in the end it will never make sense. The thing that matters, what makes all the difference, is that God allowed me the life that I had and I had better not waste it sitting around all day. It is a blessing, one meant to be shared."

I encourage those of you reading, the same as I encourage myself every  morning, to look into the every day blessings in our lives and evaluate what it is that we're using them for. Life is precious, and it is more than likely that by not having to fight for our own we could bring life to those in need of it.

In Him,
Bekah S.

The Mountain Top

The character of my days in Africa can be summed up in two words: simplicity and beauty. There was something so refreshing about the flow of life in Tanzania: waking up to the sunrise, the rhythm of drums calling children to school assembly, falling asleep to a cricket symphony and a cool mountain breeze. Honestly, it was as if I had lain my head on Nature's chest and was listening to it's heart beat steadily as it breathed calmly in and out from sunrise to sundown.

I remember the first time I saw Mount Kilimanjaro. It was...breathtaking. I could dive into detail from memory, but I'd rather share with you a page from my journal, written the first day Kilimanjaro shook it's magnificent head out of the clouds for me to stare at. 

.May 28. 

I have seen beautiful places...but never have I seen God show off like this. I'm hemmed in on all sides by distant mountains, but Kilimanjaro outshines them all. It's presence is comforting - almost protective, safe. He breathes through the thick clouds and sings, "I AM made me. I AM will save you. I AM will keep you from all harm. Look to me, and to the hills. Your help is in the LORD, and you are loved." The mountain slopes to the east and west - reaching, always reaching as if to embrace all of us in the Father's loving arms. I can see the fingerprints of God when I look at this mountain...

...just as I saw his fingerprints on every child of the village. Their smiles, laughter, tears, and sighs were all human sized Kilimanjaro's, filled with beauty and designed by God. His fingerprints are everywhere. They are on the mountain top, the meadows, the butterfly gently resting on a small flower. And His fingerprints can be found on every human in this world - never stop looking!

In Him,
Bekah S.

I Swear I Heard God Laugh!

I have always joked about God's sense of humor (I mean, will you just take a look at a platypus - it's like he said, "I wonder what would happen if I put a duck and a beaver together...OH!"). He's enjoyed his share of practical jokes on my own life, but that first night in Tanzania completely takes the cake. Before diving into the ridiculous details, let me impress this truth upon your heart:

Often times the very thing you have been running from for years is the very thing you should be running to. 

Like most stories, I have to go backward before I can go forward. Let me take you through a quick timeline of my career choices:

1st Grade: God, I'll be a vet! But I will not be a teacher.
2nd Grade: God, I'll be a kid doctor! But I will not be a teacher.
3rd-6th Grade: God, I'll be a singer/songwriter! But I will not be a teacher.
7th-College: God I'll be a writer! But I will not be a teacher.

I made a habit of saying "No" to something God very well may have been asking me to say "Yes" to. That is, until October of 2014. As I sat in training at Rafiki Foundation Headquarters in Florida, I was overcome with the realization that I had no right to say "No" to anything. If I had truly laid myself down at the foot of the cross, then any direction the Lord even whispered me toward I could only run full force in Faith and Obedience to the call. It was with this on my heart that I began to open up to a possibility I had always denied and blocked out of my mind.

"Lord, I'll do whatever it is you ask of me. Stay in Africa forever, or never go back. Live in the biggest city in the US or the most desolate town. God, I'll even teach if that's what you're calling me to. If you can use anything Lord, you can use me." 

Well, time went as time does - it passes. Plans were sketched, planned, and finalized for my trip to Tanzania and I was informed that I would be helping to lead the summer G.A.M.E.S. program with the 60 kids living in the loving environment of the Rafiki compound. My excitement was through the roof as I stepped out of the tiny customs room of the Kilimanjaro airport, and into the inky blackness of my first Tanzania night. I couldn't see anything of my surroundings on that first drive through the city the darkness was so complete, but there was an electricity in the air - a tangible vibration running through my fingertips strait to my pounding heart. I was there!

The lovely couple, permanent missionaries at Rafiki Tanzania, who picked me up from the airport were probably thinking they had picked up some kind of caffeine hyped Chatty-Cathy instead of the level headed temp they had asked for. My excitement couldn't be contained. But let me tell you, it could be sliced through - which is exactly what happened when Sara began telling me about my job for the next month,

   "We'll get you settled into the guest house tonight, and tomorrow you'll follow me around the school so you can get an idea of how I run the classroom."

I was floored. FLOORED I TELL YOU! What as this "run of the classroom" bit about? I asked Sara if there had heard her correctly, was I going to be teaching?

Of course I was.

Instantly my chatter stopped. My heart skipped a beat in complete fear before picking up a new wobbly rhythm. Then, in a flash, I remembered the previous October and my words to God. All I could do was shake my head and laugh along with God at this little turn in the road. Over the next three weeks I would grow in confidence, patience, and love in the hands of my 19 third grade students. I have plenty of stories of the ways they taught me, but those are for another time. For now, friend, let me encourage you - if you're running from anything, stop, turn around, kneel down and ask God to use you in any way He sees fit. He has promised that He already equipped us for whatever task He puts before us (Ephesians 2:10).

And if your surrender brings you anything like the 19 Tanzanian Blessings I was daily given, then it will be beyond worth it.

In Him,
Bekah S.

The Final Countdown

Months have passed into weeks - weeks into days - and days have passed to mere hours before I leave for Tanzania. Tomorrow is the day! Currently I'm in a state to match the weather outside our dining room windows: Hazy, dazed, and every few minutes a distant boom of thunder signaling "You're going to Africa in less than 24 hours and you haven't even packed yet." That part jolts me into motion - for a few minutes any way. Surrounding my bed on the floor in my room are piles of skirts and printed crew necks, snack foods including a jar of peanut butter and box of lemon drops, and six or seven of  my favorite children's books. A trail leads out of my room onto the kitchen table where important papers and almost all of my notes are strewn on each of the four corners. I'm a mess!

I'm an exhausted, disorganized, shocked, and distracted mess.

An excited, giggly, frantic, ready-but-unprepared mess.

With a capital M for good measure.

This last week before I leave has given me only a glimpse of what my job will look like once I reach Rafiki - I know that I will be working with children, that most of the permanent missionaries will be returning to the States for their annual leave, and that I've been asked to chaperon a Safari (like a trip to the zoo, but bigger and better - and I could get eaten!). There is no telling what will come my way in the next month, but when I get back you can all expect plenty of pictures and stories. 

Thank you so much for your prayers! Thank you for being a part of this incredible journey. It's almost a year to date that I felt God calling me to travel to Rafiki - almost a year to date that I poured out my heart in prayer for my parents blessings, and God's hand. Look where we are? Your support, your friendship and prayers, have brought me to this place. To anyone on the outside looking in, this place might not seem ideal - it's hectic, uncertain, and inconvenient. But let me assure you, from the inside looking out, this is exactly where I want to be.

I'm in the center of our Father's hand - what could be more right?

May the Lord bless you and keep you, may He make His face to shine upon you. 

Until June then, 

Bekah S.  

The Waiting Game

Taped up on the wall of my dorm, where I can see it from all four corners of the room, is a countdown for my trip to Tanzania. For about two months I've been putting a slash through a number as I leave for class each morning. 100, 72, 60...

45.

Forty - Five

(f-o-r-t-y-f-i-v-e)

Can you believe it? In just over a month I will in the airport, my skirt-blouse-and-sweater combo looking very bohemian as I run to catch my flight. (Of course, I'll be early, but who doesn't love a good running scene?) In just over month I will be stepping off the plane and onto the soil of Africa; I will breathe the air and soak in all the beauty of Mt. Kilimanjaro.


In just over a month I will meet the children.

The children! The reason why my heart leaps in my chest each time I mark off a number on the countdown; the reason why the countdown even exists is the children. I have seen their faces in pictures, I have heard some of their stories through videos, but soon they will be real to me.

Some days I realize how close it is and I pray for time to hurry a little faster, but the old turtle just keeps creeping: "Slow and steady wins the race," he says. "slow and steady." I am reminded that the Lord works in his own timing; was it not in His own timing that I was allowed to answer the call to Tanzania? Was it not in His own good timing that I worked with children from Tanzania in the States? Was it not?

It was, so be still my soul and wait for the Lord {Psalm 37:7}.

We often find ourselves in a time of waiting; you are not alone in your feelings of anxiety, impatience, excitement, and hope. As you watch the second hand on the clock lug itself forward, remember that His timing is perfect and that there is much to be done! My prayer is that you and I both use our time of waiting to prepare for what lies ahead, and to invest in what lies around.

My heart has been encouraged by this verse, and I leave you with it and a sincere prayer that it also encourages you.

"For still the vision awaits its appointed time; it hastens to the end - it will not lie. If it seems slow, wait for it; it will surely come; it will not delay." 

                                                                                    {Habakkuk 2:3}

May God Bless and Keep you!

Bekah S.

Banner 2015

I've tried typing up this post around five times...the words are slow in coming, and I've deleted four drafts! Typical case of writers block, and maybe a little aversion to sharing something that's becoming so personal to me. However, I am a firm believer in keeping things real, and I am walking through a new section of my life that I feel may be of some encouragement to others. With that introduction, let me finish the story I started a few weeks ago.

Late in December I was challenged to chose a verse for the new year, instead of writing a New Year's Resolution. Challenge accepted, and I shared with you all the guidelines I would be using to select a verse that was going to impact me this year. There was one Scripture on my heart from almost the moment I began looking, and ultimately it has become my banner over 2015.

"But daily I lay blows to my body and make it slave, lest after I have preached to others I myself should be disqualified." - 1 Corinthians 9:27

The deep meaning of this passage is only just beginning to settle in on me. Each morning I wake up and make the decision to say 'No' to my body's desires, and 'Yes' to submitting my body to the needs of my soul. Sometimes it means waking up earlier than I want in order to spend some extra time with the Lord; sometimes it means holding my tongue, or maybe speaking my heart.

I will not allow my body which is passing away to dictate the state of my spirit which will live beyond this world. There is a dedication to dying to myself daily (something I am working on). And all of this is for a reason: so that, after I have shared the Lord with others, I will not be disqualified myself. I don't want my life style to be all talk and no walk.

This year, my life will be on the path of change. Deliberate change. Deliberate submission to slavery in the best sense.

Most likely, you'll see more complete thoughts put up on this subject in the future. Until then,

May His Peace be with You,

Bekah S. 

Resolutely Refusing a Resolution

The dreaded New Year's Resolution, you've been looking at that blank paper all day wondering what to write. Of course the first three are routine:

    1. Eat Healthy

    2. Exercise More

    3. Improve Study Habits

After that things get a little fuzzy; you start to get a little impractical:

    4. Save 50% Each Paycheck

By now it's out of hand and your list runs away with your sanity before you can blink:

    5. Climb Mt. Kilimanjaro Before July 4th

Yes, I've been there. I've had that same terrified look that you have on right now when, after my list reaches number 50 (Live in a Van on the Beach), I realize that I've gone too far. Two years ago I wrote a post promoting the perfect strategy to conquering any resolution: Elephant Eating Etiquette. The whole idea being that you take on your resolutions the same way you would take on eating an elephant: one bite at a time. That strategy still applies to me today, even though I have foregone the usual Resolution tradition.

You read right, I didn't make a New Year's Resolution this year. After ten years I have chosen a new path of inspiration this year, based off a wonderful friend's own decision. Instead of a Resolution she has chosen a passage of scripture, committed it to memory, and is hanging it over 2015 like a banner. I too, am finding a scriptural mantra for the year, and I want to challenge you to the same thing.Let go of the impractical list that goes missing sometime before March, the one you won't keep and won't remember by July. Dive instead, into a single verse or passage out of a Word that is alive and active! Cling to it this year!

Your choice should be covered in prayer, but you probably already had a verse pop into your mind. Just for suggestion, your passage should:

    1. Present a Challenge - Your passage should challenge you to growth, it should debate/encourage a major struggle/concern in your life

    2. Encourage Improvement - The passage you choose shouldn't be something that is going to depress you, but something that will encourage you to push yourself toward the prize

    3. Give Glory to God - This is probably the most important point. But your verse, in the end, should not revolve around yourself at all, but remind you to give the glory to the God who spoke it.

Spend some time in prayer over this! Search the Word! I'll be checking back in sometime in the next week to share with you the passage that I've chosen, and I'd love to know what God lays on your heart.

Until then, may God bless your year.

- Bekah S.

Don't Tell Me - Show Me (pt. 3)

"Don't tell people your dreams - show them."

[click here to view pt. 1

[click here to view pt. 2]

Nothing could have prepared me for it; it came quickly, suddenly, out of no where. You would think that after six years of hearing God whisper "Wait..." I would be listening intently for him to say "Now." I wasn't, though. As I walked with my ten campers from the zip-line to the cabin, Africa was far from my thoughts. I had one girl on my back, two small dark hands folded into mine, and a whole trail of smiling faces following along behind me. Then, there it was:

"Now."

"What?" I wasn't sure I heard right.

"Go."

"Okay." My heart began to beat a little harder (whether from the sixty pounds on my back or the joy of a calling, I'm not quite sure!) I spent the next week in prayer over the call. I threw out a fleece and asked God to confirm that he was leading me, finally, to Africa. It didn't even take the whole week; two days had gone by and in my heart I  knew my next summer was planned ahead of me. Every thing in me sang as I walked through the door to my home after camp ended; everything in me sunk as my parents gave me skeptical looks and shook their heads.

That I handled it with grace and obedience isn't something I can claim for myself - honestly, I've rarely been graceful about anything in my life, and 'rebel' is a term commonly used when describing me. The next month was an uphill climb with 100 pound weights, but in the end was rewarded with permission to go to training (not Africa, mind you, but it was a step!)

Very few times in my life have been as much of a struggle as the next two months were. I refused to accept that God would call me into a plan, only to tell my parents that I wasn't to follow through with it. "Lord, either give my parents peace or change my heart! I won't go without their blessing, but I can't stay without Yours!" Over and over and over again I prayed; friends and church family prayed with me. So many prayers were lifted up over those two months, so much encouragement was given, so many confirmations were found in Scripture - but let me keep things simple and say that for two months, nothing changed. For two months I was left without an answer.

Two weeks ago, I was at a concert here on The Mountain; the band was incredible, but there was one song that nearly made me break down. Voices all across the room were singing along to the words "I will follow You, where ever you lead..." Again I prayed, "Lord, please just change my heart or give peace to my parents..." It was half-hearted; I had come to the decision that if there was no answer in the next week, I was just going to start looking for other options. With that, the concert was over and I went back to my dorm. On the front desk there was a beautiful bouquet of daisies, I commented to the RA how pretty they were only to find out that they were for me!

They were from my parents. Without even reading the card I called to thank them. Mom told me to read the note, and friend my world changed with these words:

"The fear of man is a snare; those who trust in the Lord will be kept safe." Prov. 25:29

You Have Our Blessing - Love, Mamma and Dad

I'm back on The Mountain now. I've just returned from training at the headquarters of Rafiki Foundation in FL, and am finally beginning to prep for the journey! After years of prayers, and months of feeling unsure, my plane tickets are being purchased to take me to Tanzania. You've seen the quote "Don't tell people your dreams, show them" at the top of each post for the last two weeks. Well, friends, I want to make good on that promise. I want to keep showing you the proof that when the dream you have aligns with the dreams God has - things happen.

May His Face Shine on Yours,

Bekah S.

Don't Tell Me - Show Me (pt. 2)

"Don't tell people your dreams, show them."

[click here for Part 1]

Six years have gone by since I sat around that fire pit, sharing with others that God was calling me to the mission field. Six years that have held ridiculous stories, incredible growth, changes in place and relationships - but one solid dream. I have dreamed of Africa - Sierra Leon, Rwanda, Tanzania, Ethiopia, Egypt, Malawi...Africa.

Rewind the tape to 2010 and join me in Venezuela. My team was traveling around the country sharing the Gospel through a short drama called Freedom. It was on a Sunday, our day of rest, that I found myself, four teammates, and one translator trying to get back home after church. Our whole team had split up and attended several different local churches that night and were to be back at the hotel by 9 pm; it seemed, though, that this wouldn't be happening for my group.

The six of us piled into a particularly rickety looking pick-up truck and began making our way down the mountain road that led home. We didn't make it two blocks before the truck began coughing, sputtering, and clunking. Our driver spoke no English, and after a few attempts at conversation our translator was convinced the man spoke no Spanish. We jerked as the truck came to a halt three blocks down the road, and our gibberish-tongued driver hopped out and began walking back up the hill toward the church; the rest of us sat for a moment staring at each other before stumbling out and trudging after him.

It was all laughs from us as we piled next into an old VW bus that, in the end, wouldn't stay on long enough to drive ten feet. But our final transportation sent the group into hysterics: a clunker of a car that I would have been skeptical of if I had bought it brand new. It was made to seat only three extra passengers, and came up to our translator's hip in height. Somehow, all seven of us crammed into the tiny car - four in the back, John (our translator) in the passenger seat, and me with my knees tucked up to my chin perched on top of the console. I was careful to keep my feet out of the way, but every time the driver had to shift gears he had to tap my foot and point.

During the drive I had a chance to share my dream, which was, at the time, just a year in the making. I looked to my teammates for advice, encouragement, and what wisdom they could give me; it was John, though, who's words have stayed with me. He told me to treat this dream of mine like a pregnancy (bear with me; I thought it was funny too). He pointed out to me that babies who are born prematurely rarely survive; the mother must give the baby time to grow inside of her before it can be expected to survive in this world, and even then it is iffy. Dreams are the same, he said, fragile and in need of nourishment. If you're going to have a dream, you're going to need the patience to see it through to the end, to give it its best chance of survival.

I had no idea how long it would take, how long I would have to let this dream grow and take root inside of me before it would become a reality in this world. But now? Now I can see it within my reach. There is only a little more waiting to be done and...

Well, I guess you'll need to come back to the next post to get the "and what". But, as you go about your day, I hope you remember the words of my friend John. Remember to treat your dream as the beautiful, fragile thing it is - in need of care, time, and dedication. Never give up, but never forget that sometimes you might have to wait.

May the Lord keep you!

-Bekah S.

Don't Tell Me - Show Me (pt.1)

"Don't tell people your dreams - show them."

At the risk of sparking memory to a famous speech, or setting you off on a musical rendition from Tangled , I am going to tell you something:

I have a dream.

There! It is done - now if you need to go quote M.L.K. or sing at the top of your lungs with Rapunzel and the Thugs, be my guest - just come back!

Okay, you're back? Good. As I was saying, I have a dream - I have had this dream for years. I'm taking you back with me to 2009 - the worst year of my life when some of the best things happened. That summer I was at a camp in Oklahoma with a wonderful bunch of people. There was much going on in my heart that week - but I want you to see one moment in particular:

Forty or so students sat around a camp fire, sharing with each other how they felt God was moving in their lives at the time. I was crying by the time the circle made its way around to me - I knew, for sure and for certain, that God was calling me to follow Him to the ends of the earth. I was a two year old Christian, and that next step was both terrifying and thrilling. Where was this going to take me? How on earth was a thirteen-year-old going to be a foreign missionary? I didn't even have a steady babysitting job, how would I pay for it? Would my parents support me?

All I knew was that I would be obedient, I would answer that call. My dreams were only beginning. From 2009 to present day God has called out of my home country five times, to three different continents, and I've seen some 2,000 people come to Faith in Jesus Christ. It has been incredible (and an incredible growth process - I'm just not the person I was). But let me take you back to that camp fire:

I was remembering some musicians who had performed earlier that day, a vocal worship group from Zimbabwe. The men were telling us of their home. They never once spoke about its poverty; never mentioned the high rate of its orphans and low rate of wholesome orphanages. Their request was not what we are accustomed to here in America: the request for the wealthy white citizen to come heal all the brokenness in the poor, destitute, African country. (I could talk for ages about that, but I will refrain). Their request was something different entirely.

They spoke only of one thing: their countrymen's thirst for God and the truth of His word. These men stood in front of 1,000+ students, broadly smiled, and asked that any one who loved the Lord and was willing would follow Him and spread his love in America, in Zimbabwe, in Russia - to the ends of the earth.

There it is. The beginning of a dream that has held out for nearly six years.

I'm going to save the rest of my story for the next post, but want to wrap up with this thought:

When the Lord plants a dream in you - when that dream begins to take root in your heart - when you can't ignore it any more - take notice of it. Nurture that dream. If God is calling you - if he's standing in the markets of India whispering your name, if He's shouting at you from across the street - answer him.

May the Lord Bless you!

- Bekah S.

Changed Forever

I've been putting this off - this last post. I was living in this hazy belief that if I didn't write about my final week at camp, then it wouldn't really be over. But nearly three weeks have gone by and the fact of the matter is that in little more than 3 hours I will be strapped into my overstuffed Cavalier, following the run of the Mississippi River back to my home-away-from-home. College is calling my name, and I would be cruel not to share my girls' story before I moved on to the next step in my life.

Mommy.

So much emotion can be tied into that one name. And when eleven girls have given you that name, emotions are prone to be strung high. That's exactly how it was for me during my last week as a counselor at Camp Summit. The Lord new what he was doing - six weeks ago my girls broke me, crumbling down a chunk of wall that has kept me closed off to many wonderful relationships for years. Three weeks ago, my girls healed me; they showed me what it is like to love a person for the sake of loving them.

I want to tell you the story of E. My precious 'junior counselor'. E's home life...it isn't a life. It isn't a home. This little one has already faced suicide at 11 years old because of the hatred, contempt, and abuse flung on her. She has a sweet spirit, a sensitive heart. She longs so much to be loved, and she found some of that love in me.

Four hours was my record for sleep each night during that final week. E wasn't the only girl having nightmares - nearly every one of my girls woke up at some point with a cry. I would sit on their beds, rubbing their backs, singing to Jesus - the Prince of Peace - until they fell asleep again.

One of my little ones, M, wasn't eating. Anything. And we could tell, as she was at least ten pounds underweight. She came to me later saying her tummy hurt - so we had a health lesson. She ate an entire cheeseburger and pile of grapes after that. It was a game all week, trying to get her to eat "Five more big bites". But Thursday night rolled around and she hugged me in her tears; I asked her simply, what she was going to eat when she got home? "My sandwich" she sniffed. My heart rejoiced!

I found out, bit by bit, the stories of all of my girls that week. Each of them heart breaking. Each of them with their own obstacles. And I fought for them. I prayed with them. I comforted them. I was their mother for a week - a mother that many of them don't have. And in among the praying and pleading with God to make himself real to them, four of my girls (E included) came to know Christ as their Father.

They have changed me forever. These girls, the girls before them, and the boys from the summer, have opened my eyes. They have opened my heart. God showed me an entirely new side of life through these children.

So, as I climb in my car and prepare to start my next year at school I have the memories of 360 children and teens following me - memories and impacts. I went to camp this summer with the intent to make a difference and change lives...but I know for a fact that the life hit with the impact, was my own.

Thank you for following this adventure with me.
Love to all.

- Bekah S.

Hug Hungry

Last week was a whirlwind!

Our numbers at camp were the highest they've been all summer: 57 students...

Can you imagine? 57 young boys running around camp; smiling, laughing, fighting, crying, cuddling, goofing off...I don't know if you can. The other female counselors and I felt like moms, real ones. Our hours of sleep were cut, even though we were just support staff. We gave 57 hugs each morning, 57 hugs each night, and more in between. We helped each boy in his turn, each team as they came to us. There was nothing we couldn't do for them.

I was struck this week by the incredible thirst these boys had for love. A few weeks ago, during another boys week, I was shocked to see that they shrunk from all forms of human contact - especially hugs. But last week was different: these boys couldn't get enough.

There is little I can say about last week, no specific story that pops out in my mind. But I want each of you to see that there is a need here in our community. There are young boys going without a father's guidance, going without a mother's love and affection.

Will you come beside my team and I and give it to them? We all leave for our respective colleges soon - but these kids will still be here needing love. Will you step in and allow God to change lives through you?

I can promise you this - the life he changes most will be your own.

Keeping you in prayers

- Bekah S.

Crossing Emotional Lines

It's been a long time since I've actually been emotional enough to cry for a whole weekend. But I'm telling you this last week messed with my heart. Now, don't get me wrong, I've loved and cared for all the girls I've had each week - but there was something about Rock Island Elementary that just broke me down.

I think the best way to share with you what I mean is by telling you J's story.

Back up to the summer of 2013: it was J's first year at camp. She was shy - really shy - and totally introverted. If she was addressed in public or in private she would stare blankly ahead and pretend as though she didn't hear the question.

And that's exactly how it was on Monday. J was quiet, and didn't really get involved with the girls, she played her role but no more.

Tuesday I caught her laughing at some jokes I was telling the girls - it put a small smile on my face to see her engaging.

Wednesday she was answering my questions of "How are you?" and "What's been the best part of camp?"

Thursday she ran to the front of the pack and held my hand. She looked up at me and said, "Is today we going fishing?" I smiled as I told her "Yes ma'am" and her face lit up.

That night was the big sleep over when we gather all the girls in to the Big Room of the lodge, flick on some movies, and pull out the blankets and pillows. She didn't have any body next to her, and waved me over. We shared my body pillow as she hadn't brought a pillow of her own. And just before the movie turned on, she leaned over to me and whispered "I don't want to go home tomorrow - I want to stay here."

Friday morning came, and I had already put J on the bus, but as I passed by a second time she was off it - trying to sneak away.

"J, honey, you have to get back on the bus. It's time to go home."

She reached out for me and wrapped me up in her little arms saying, "I don't want to go. I want to stay here with you. I miss you already."

I hugged her back, and walked her onto the bus. But before we made it two feet, she began crying. Her tears pushed me over the emotional line I had unknowingly drawn early this summer, and I began crying. The girls on the bus met me with more tears and "I'll miss you's" and my heart simply broke.

A week wasn't long enough for me to give them all the love I wanted to, but a week was all I had. And a week was all it took for J's heart to feel safe and secure and open enough to reach out and hug me first.

Keep my girls in your prayers; they will always be heavy on my heart.

Rekindle

Every week I sit down to write to all of you about how camp is going...and every week I find it more and more difficult to contain all the good things into just one story. So many wonderful things happened last week during our first experience with elementary (3rd-6th grade) boys - but I believe I know what I need to share.

I think it was Wednesday. I was managing lunch for the big eating room; the yellow team and the red team were with me. Now, about the yellow team - they were all Asians. Some from Thailand, a few from China and Burma. Basically, they are from a culture I am not accustomed to but I certainly have a growing interest in! Several of the red team were African, and a few American. It was quite a mix!

The yellow team was clamoring for a song "FIFA song!" they would say - but it wasn't from any recent years. Finally, after a few failed attempts and a lot of laughter, we managed to find the song on YouTube. Here are the lyrics of the chorus for you:

                 When I get older
                 I will be stronger
                They'll call me Freedom
                Just like a wavin' flag...

If you haven't heard the song, look it up right now, hit play, then switch the screen back to this and keep reading,

Within moments, all of us had discarded our half eaten lunches on the tables. We were all around the room, dancing and swaying and twirling (yes, little boys twirl very well) to the beat of one of the best songs I've ever heard in my life. I remember that I looked around the room and couldn't stop smiling. These are the moments that remind me where my heart is; the ones that rekindle the fire Christ sparked in my heart when I was a child.

I adore these children. Working at this camp is an experience I think everyone should consider, one that I am honored to be a part of. But my first love is, and always will be, other countries. This week was just another confirmation that I was made to be fluid, made to step outside of the box.

Saying good-bye to the boys this week was one of the hardest good-byes I have had all summer. They show so much love without any one telling them to. And when they dance, they inspire everyone to join in.

Thank you for keeping us in prayers!

Bekah S.

Sunshine on a Cloudy Day

Last week was a roller coaster.

Re-reading that phrase, I have no choice but to laugh. It is the exact phrase my family has used to describe me for years. Since the morning of my third birthday I have been considered the emotionally unstable one of my household - count on Bekah to take you to the highest heights and lowest lows in ten seconds flat. This week gave me a taste of what my parents experienced in my own childhood.

In keeping with the metaphor, at the end of a roller coaster the rider usually feels rushed, tired, and happy. The same can be said of me this weekend. Junior High Girls are a handful; they are emotional and self conscious - and especially in need of extravagant love.

The beginning of the week was...interesting. I had a crazy mix of girls, and an awesome new CIT (counselor in training) to get accustomed to. A new sleep schedule and set of temperaments to send my brain through. And if you remember anything about middle school, you should remember that the world is a dismal depressing and unsatisfying place where (READ WITH OVER EXAGGERATED 'WOE IS ME' ATTITUDE) no one is for you, every one is against you, and if you have to do something other than sit and stare then the world is coming to an end!

My CIT and I sat down one evening as the girls were out hiding for a game of find the campers; we just sat and sighed. Peace and quiet - for the first time! We weren't sure how to get the girls excited for anything; how to teach them respect and how to be positive...it was only the second day and we were fried. The week would continue that same suite: Wake the girls up and brace yourselves for showers of complaints and arguments with sprinklings of giggles and smiles and a ray or two of gratitude before the downpours of grumbling hit each evening.

Then it was Thursday and the camp wide team scavenger hunt was upon us. I had pulled aside two of my girls - one a strong leader, the other a quiet and cautious girl - and asked them both to do something for me: be vocally positive and encouraging. My CIT and I sat all the girls down and stressed the fact that the obstacles would take team work and encouragement; we weren't sure if our words were doing any good until that evening when we were all at the starting line.

We cried.

The girls were nothing but positive, kind, considerate. With only one incident the entire hour we were running across camp, my CIT and I were leaping for joy. But the final test came - and it wasn't even an obstacle. It was the fact that we were coming in second place, not first. I was preparing for the whining voices saying "We didn't even come in first, what was the point!?" or "We did all this work for nothing, this is stupid!"...I waited...

And nothing happened.

 The girls were quiet for a moment and then they were smiling, high-fiving each other, cheering on the other teams passing by, laughing. I couldn't believe it. The emotional downpour was gone, and in its place, the sunshine was brighter than ever! It took all week, but my girls learned the importance of encouragement and positive attitudes.

Blessed. That's what I am.

- Bekah S.

Little Brother

I couldn't breathe. By Thursday afternoon I couldn't hear. Thursday evening brought on a small fever, and I just wanted to go to bed. Summer colds are the worst! But worse than a summer cold, was my attitude about it. I couldn't seem to stay focused enough on Thursday; I was taking every step and going through every motion of my job with one thought: "Just finish this, then you can go to sleep".

It was never "just this one last thing" though, as I and the other counselors kept adding new items to our To Do List. Finally, it was late Thursday night - we were almost done for the day - and we had one more task. Every Thursday at camp, since it's the last night, we hold a bonfire and eat s'mores; it's quite the ordeal. So, there we were around the fire; about forty-five crazy boys, a handful of sleepy counselors, and two sick ones. 

Rewind. All week long, I and the other girl counselors were running camp behind the scenes (This is something we do every boys' week, and that the boy counselors do every girls' week). It gives us a chance to recoup from counseling the week before, and to build relationships in a different way with the campers. One young boy in particular - we'll call him S - became something of a little brother to me. He was a crazy kid, with a kind heart, and a super thick afro.  

All through the week, S and I would run into each other (it's a small camp, and with only forty-five campers, it's not hard) and I would ask him how his day was, what he was learning, and what his favorite part had been so far. He was always quick to give me an answer, then slap a high-five before running on to his next activity. I loved how positive he was! 

Fast forward. Back to Thursday night. I was standing in the sea of boys around the camp fire, half there and half consumed with thoughts of my pillow, when S came over. I looked at him and smiled (well, it probably looked like a smirk) 

"Hey, S. What's up?"

"Oh, not much." He said as he took a huge bite from a s'more.

"What's been your favorite part of the week, S?"

"Hmm..." He thought for a minute. "Probably this."

"S'mores!?" I was a little shocked. I thought that surely it would be something deeper than a sugary snack.

"Well, actually..." S looked at me and smiled. "I just accepted Jesus - then I got s'mores."

My shock only grew then, but in a joyful way. I was thrilled! 

"Oh my goodness, S! That is so incredible! Ah! Who've you told? Have you talked with any body from the Center?"

"Yeah, I talked with Reed (his counselor) and Dave (the director)..." S looked over at me again and smiled. "Then I came to you."

He came to me third. I couldn't quite believe that. All week long I hadn't had any kind of spiritual impact on him, none of us girls had. But somewhere along the way he and the other boys began to see us as mentors just as they saw their counselors that way. I am blessed to be able to say that Thursday night, S went from being my little camper, to being my little brother in Christ.

You never know how you're impacting someone. You might never have the chance to share Christ with them - but if S has taught me anything, its that your words aren't the only way you show people the love of God. I want to encourage each of you to live Christ out by loving others through your actions - we don't always have to speak the truth to make an impact.

In Him,

Bekah S.

I Don't Have What It Takes

The week was off to a smooth start: no one was in a fight with any one; everyone was excited for camp; the weather looked great...oh, and I sat in the middle of a group of ten high school aged girls, in total shock. What did I just get myself into, Lord?




I don't have the patience to lead these girls with grace.


I don't have the energy to run on only 4-5 hours of sleep each night.


I don't have the answers to their questions.


I don't have...




When I focus on what I don't have, it is beyond easy to get lost in negativity. But as I sat with my ten girls in our family room (NOTE: ask me about that, it's a fun story!) I was reminded of what the Lord has shown to me time and again throughout the years, that I don't have what it takes - but He does.
And it is in my weakness that His strength is made perfect and His extravagant love is made evident.




Amazing, isn't it, that when you allow our God to speak through your life how easy it is to love people? How easy it becomes to open up, be transparent, and to accept with grace those around us. And isn't it even more amazing, the sense of wonder you experience when the Lord's strength consumes your weaknesses?


Friend, it so is.


That first day of High School Girl's Week was my wake up call to the fact that my God is greater, stronger, higher than any other. That I was nothing and could do nothing without His breath in my lungs; indeed, He was reminding me to breath...in...out...in...out.


Doing life on Monday, Friday seemed far away; waking up on Friday, it seemed to have come too soon. Each of my ten campers had grown so much in my heart, filling up more space than I thought I could possibly have for them! They each are unique, creative, silly, deep - all in their own ways.


Yep. Friday came way too fast. But as I gave my girls one last hug, and prayed over them as they loaded into the van, I knew that the Lord had shown them love. Through my willingness to recognize that I didn't have what it would take, God stepped in and gave me what I didn't have. Believe me, He longs to do the same for you - allow Him to be the strength you never realized you don't have. We are weaker than we think - and He is stronger than we can ever know.