The Years of My Mid Mid-Twenties Crisis

I have the prettiest, smartest, funniest, hardest working, most caring, (insert other absolutely amazing adjectives) sisters in the world. That might not be everyone's perspective, but to me, it's truth. 

Each of my sisters is different. They bring out different qualities in me. They relate to me in ways that are specifically unique to our relationship. And, with each of them we've made memories and had experiences that contribute to the depth and character of our friendship. Because Kaylea is the closest in age to me, there's been a lot of experiences that only she's been around for. With the exception of parents and other older relatives who've been around since my birth, Kaylea has walked through the most life with me. She's been there through our tomboy days, our rebellious dating-without-mom-and-dad-knowing days, some crazy breakups and late night talk-cries about relationships, some crazy fun times and road trips, and through watching me navigate and fall into relationship with the Lord. Through it all, she's become one of the best three sisters in the whole world. It's my realm of reality.

I feel like everyone has their own sense of what reality is, and I'm going to do my best at depicting mine. I wish each year of my life could have a movie title. I feel like the year of 23, would've been titled, "The Year of my Mid Mid-Twenties Crisis." 

A little over two years ago, I moved to Uganda. (Realizing it has already been that long, causes a pang of hurt in my heart.) A little over a year ago, I moved back to the Omaha area. I rode around on a bike, made more than a few mistakes, and worked on the farm. Fall on the farm ended, and I felt carless, unemployed, homeless, and more than a little hopeless about what to do. And, most of that was a truth I was living in. I went to Thailand and Burma, and when I came back, I actually felt for the first time in a long time, ready to be in America. I found a job, a place to live, and settled (kind of) into life. 

I'd come back from Uganda with a new perspective on life, but without a clue of how to articulate it, how it now affected my life, and what to do with it. It made me feel crazy. I praise God for his faithfulness, good friends, and foundations of truth for coming though that time. And, now I often feel like I have the memory of a 75 year old, so I'm fairly certain I'm probably going to forget to communicate some of the biggest revelations over the last couple years. It's too bad my smartest sister in the whole world isn't sitting with me right now to prompt my slow-moving brain. 

One thing I've come to value more deeply each day is the richness that comes from experiencing diversity in life. I'm fascinated by the infinite complexity of this world, and I love getting to experience bits of it through shared times with people who are completely different from me. It's no longer a comfort, but rather a boredom, to be surrounded by people who view life though the same lens as me. 

Some other things I've spent a lot of time pondering are the sovereignty of God and the continued revelation of His love for me. At now 24 years old, I am but a a child. In awe of the possibilities in life, trying to navigate goals for my life, surrendering them to God, completely unsure of where life is headed. Luckily,  I have the most caring sister in the whole world to process all my crazy with. (Did I mention that she's also going to school for psychology and sociology?) 

I'm still a little uptight and type A, but I think I've also been learning to enjoy life more. A couple years ago, I'd never even pierced my ears. I lived life timidly. Afraid to make mistakes. I held a magnifying glass up to every choice, seeing way more pros and cons than probably actually existed. Everything was a bigger deal than it actually was. I battle this so hard still. Anyone who's currently a part of my life can testify to this. I'm continuing to discover that these "seasons" of transition never really end. Life is transition and change, and I tend to magnify the choices with worry and anxiety instead of trusting. In my heart, I want to LIVE. I'm having new revelations of the shortness of this life. So much of it is temporary, and having this at the forefront of my mind has unleashed a freeness within me. I pierced my ears. I put color in my hair. I got a tattoo. And, then I pierced my nose. Call it rebellion if you want. I call it freedom. 

The job I acquired is at a place called the Hope Center for Kids. And in the process of working toward faithfully inspiring hope in the lives of youth and children, hope found its way back into my heart too.

I don't know how long I'll be there or what will be next, but I can look back over the last couple years and see that it is God who is molding my realities. My life. I'm trying to take the magnifying glass off the decisions I'm making because at the root of my decisions, I want my guiding lines to be love God, and love others. Outside of that, I'm not really sure if it matters what I'm doing as long as its glorifying the one I was created to reflect.

I'm on my way.

I love road trips. I love to drive, listen to good music, and be with my friends.

But a few days ago I was on a road trip with people I didn't know, and they didn't let me drive. My iPad, iPhone, and iPod were fully charged before I left, and I spent a solid four hours listening to some of my favorite country tunes and contemplating life and all the world's problems. Every now and then a line sticks out. Tugs at something personal and reels me in.

"I'm not there yet, but I know I'm on my way."

It's not my favorite song. It's not sung by my favorite artist. But for some reason, I'm loving it.

"I don't give up easy. I've got many miles to go. But I can't wait to get to what I see down this road. All my life I've learned to take it day by day. I'm not there yet, but I know I'm on my way..."

I know I don't always know the "there", but lately I'm feeling pretty confident that I'm on the right road.

The direction of my life has been and continues to be largely impacted by the people in my life. The people who invest in me. I don't know why they do it, but they do. It has honestly changed my life, and if you're reading this, chances are you are one of them. I'm seeing God use your investments in my life to empower and equip me for His purposes. And, I'm seeing God continue to revive my hopes and dreams through the opportunities that continue to arise in my life. It's an extremely humbling thing to think that so many different people choose to invest in my life in so many different ways.

The song plays on, "...I've felt the power of forgiveness. I know that life can let you down. I'm not blind. No, I don't need a witness to tell me there's angels all around..."

Some of you invest in me with your time. We get together for that biweekly cup of coffee at Scooter's, where you wait patiently for me. On a good day I'm only five minutes late, and then it takes me another five to grab my coffee and greet all my barista friends. Others of you invite me, or let me invite myself, over for dinner where we end up watching The Bachelor or just staying up late talking even though you have kids and jobs to wake up to I the early morning. We workout together at the gym before the sun is up, or by running around the neighborhood or having late night Insanity dates in the basement. You let me stop by after a long day to debrief and laugh.

A large number of you have invested in me financially. Blessing me with opportunities that I would have otherwise never had the chance to experience. I'm blown away by your investments in my life, and it causes me to meditate on the way they've transformed me.

So many invested in me financially to allow me to move to Uganda, where I was able to discover so much about who God created me to be, who God is, what it looks like to live in authentic relationships with others and to see my heart learn to thrive. In Uganda, God gave me joy and peace with the idea of pursuing long-term missions. But then I moved back to the states, and I struggled. I wasn't receiving much clarity on anything in life. I felt as if I'd lost my sense of purpose, and I didn't know what my next steps were supposed to be. I was overwhelmed, and I kind of shut a part of me off. I questioned and wrestled with things, but I was blindly clinging to the belief that God is sovereign and if I kept seeking Him, he'd bring me through. Spoiler alert: He did.

"...My eyes have seen more than they want to. My heart has scars that run so deep. There's tears I've had to let go of. There's dreams I told myself I'd keep..."

Partly because of the desire I'm discovering in regard to long term missions, a few months after I'd been back in the states, I was invited to travel to Thailand with a few of my church's leaders to visit with some key individuals and pray for vision about serving people from Burma. At the time I so badly needed a change of pace. Something. Anything. And, while I was there I was reminded of how deeply I love diversity, culture, and sharing the love of Jesus with others. I felt like God was reminding me that no matter where He sends me, I can love His people because it will be through Him that I'm given the strength.

"...I've looked out that window when there's no hope inside. But I swear I heard a whisper saying it'd be worth the fight. So I woke one morning, and I put my fears aside..."

When I got back from Thailand, I applied for a job as the Volunteer Coordinator at an inner city ministry known as the Hope Center for Kids. And I was hired. I not only get to love on children and teach them about Jesus, but I also get to learn about serving, volunteering,mentoring and how to lead people in how to do that in a helpful and Godly way. In addition, I get to work with staff that invest in me, mentor me, and show love to me. I didn't realize the spirit of hopelessness that had taken root in my life until I was back in environments using the gifts God's given me and serving those I love to serve.

While living in Uganda, I spent a large amount of my time with university women, building relationship, learning about Jesus, and doing life together. I'd been encouraged to go to a mentoring conference here in the states this winter to continue learning about Biblical mentoring. But instead, some close friends from Relevant invited me to participate in a program called The Journey through The Leadership Institute. It's a two-year spiritual discipleship and mentoring training that I'm now actively a part of.

And last week, I was invited to go to an all expenses paid mentoring training in Minneapolis, Minnesota because of the role I have at my job in our mentoring program.

It's now overwhelming, in a good way, to think about how God is making mentoring, serving, and culture such strong themes in my life. He has completely laid the groundwork for it, is providing the way and uses so many of you to do it! It leaves me in awe of the sovereignty of God. It leaves me humbly respecting the obedience of mentors and friends in my life who continue to follow God even in how He leads them to love me. It leaves me feeling extremely content with where I am, yet hungry for more depth, and excited for things God is doing.

I'm confident that I'm in a season of being grown and equipped. Weeding out some old deep roots and watering other seeds. I don't know exactly where I'm headed, but I'm so thankful for where I've been and where I am.

"...Still got lessons to be learned. There's a choice at every turn. Someone out there cleared a path, and there's no turning back."

Time marches on. Whether I remember it or not.

Knowing you have a bad memory at the age of 23 is a scary thing.

“How bad did it (stink) when you had your root canal?” my friend Layne asked me in a text message.

“Did I have a root canal?” I responded.

“Haha, I thought you came over one time after having one,” Layne said.

And slowly, bits and pieces of the memory from only a little over a year ago begin floating back to me. They’re mingled with other memories of the dentist and other memories of hanging out with Layne causing the experience to still be completely foggy. The inability to remember whether I’ve had a root canal causes me to question what other experiences I’ve had in life that I’ve completely forgotten about.

As I contemplated whether the root canal happened, I was driving from Fremont to Waterloo. Fremont, the town with the hospital where I was born, and Waterloo where I was raised. When I arrived in Waterloo, I decided to take an extra ten minutes to tour the town before going to my parents’ house.  With some visual prompts, I realized I have at least some memory left because on almost every block is a memory to go with it.

You pull into town on the northwest corner and pass the former kindergarten through 12^th grade Waterloo Public School, where I attended through ninth grade. The place where I peed my pants standing in line for the bathroom in kindergarten, developed a fascination for the Oregon Trail playing the game on the computers in fourth grade, and slipped in a mud puddle trying to save a basketball from going out of bounds on the first day of sixth grade. The school where I attended my first dance on homecoming of freshman year and where I fell in love with English reading Great Expectations  by Charles Dickens in freshman English.

One block to the east is the house my parents built when I started school. The house where Kaylea and I raced up and down the front yard, played pick-up games of kickball and street hockey, and where we practiced becoming lifeguards swimming in the old metal horse tank. Two blocks to the north is the stop sign Kaylea and I could ride our bikes to and from our house and back, and the little old house a childhood friend convinced me a witch lived in and made me keep watch while she “investigated” the woman’s shed.

Another block to the east is the only house I lived in as an only child. One more block to the east are the apartments we lived in while waiting for our house to be built, which are the same apartments that my Aunt Patty lived in when she and I would hang out during my childhood days.

Main Street is on the east side of those apartments and possesses all types of memories including buying cans of root beer at Jack’s full service gas station and eating soft serve ice cream at Betty B’s Convenience Store, both of which are out of business today. There’s the post office and the duck pond and all of the oldest, most beautiful homes in town, including the big old house my first grade teacher used to live in that people turned into a haunted house for a few years after she moved out. The old Robinson Seed Company buildings line the road by the railroad tracks and all have long, sloped drives that we used to ride our bikes down. And, that’s all only on the north side of the 700 population town separated by railroad tracks.

In middle school, we moved to the south side. The side with the small church I grew up in, the ball field I had to practice at every day, and the large stretches of the bike trail I’d run every morning of summer. The side with the town park and the water tower, the new El Bee’s Mexican restaurant, and the side where my grandparents lived.

I’m still not sure if I’ve ever had a root canal or not, and my mom doesn’t know either. But, after ten minutes of driving around the place I call home, I don’t really care and am only slightly concerned about the condition of my brain and its ability to recall events. Because whether I remember if I’ve had a root canal or not doesn’t matter as much as knowing where my roots come from. And that, for the most part, I remember.

Back behind the wheel... for better or for worse.

I know that this is the second blog in a row that has nothing to do with stuff that truly matters, but I'm writing about it anyway.

There's a difference between driving in Uganda and driving in Nebraska.

But, I wouldn't know a whole lot about it because I didn't drive in Uganda. However, because I'm a renowned back-seat, passenger, any-seat-in-the-car driver, I feel like I learned the ways of driving in Uganda. Either that or I just completely forgot how to drive.

I used to love driving, but prior to this week I was afraid the last year had stripped me of my will to drive. Up until Monday, I was driving old farm vehicles. Vehicles that had minor parts missing or major parts going out. Vehicles that prevented me from driving fast, being distracted or multitasking while driving because it simply wasn't an option. But, Monday I bought a new car. Used, but new to me. And, it's fun. It's fun to drive. It accelerates - quickly. It's sporty. It has a nice radio, a sunroof, and way too many gadgets for me to dink around with while I'm driving.  It's a distraction haven.

In Uganda I didn't realize it, but living in America, I'm so aware of how low my multitasking ability has become. It's actually frustrating. I used to be the best distracted multi-functioning driver in the state. It's gone.

And, you know how I know for sure? Four hours after getting my new car I hit a raccoon. The next day, I'm back in one of the old farm trucks and you know what happens? I get pulled over. I've joked with my friend Layne before about how funny it would be to get a speeding ticket in that truck because of how ridiculous it would be. I mean the truck runs well once you get it started, but very rarely do I ever reach the actual speed limit! I'm the old farmer driving in the fast lane, going ten miles below the speed limit, acting like I'm taking in the scenery, when really my truck just won't go any faster. Yet, I manage to get pulled over.

I was driving 47 mph in a 35 zone, looking at my phone, unaware of my surroundings and thinking about how quickly I could make it to my sister's softball game. I glanced up as I passed the officer. For a split second we made eye contact, and I swear I saw the disappointment in his eyes. I looked at my speedometer, and thinking the speed limit was probably around 45 mph, thought I was safe. Until the red, white and blue flashing lights came on behind me. It was in this moment that I realized how totally and completely out of the habit I am at reading road signs, spotting for police, and hitting the brakes. So, I pulled over into the turning lane to get off the road and said a little prayer that my brake lights and turn signals were working. As I drove into the gas station parking lot, the officer gets on his loud speaker and politely tells me to please pull behind the building. As if the produce truck alone doesn't get enough attention...

Fifteen minutes later and I'm off with a warning. I'll take my lucky break. However, I'm seriously considering submitting my license before I do anything terribly stupid in my new car.

When in America, it's not okay to:

• Overtake vehicles at any split opening in traffic
• Fit as many bodies in the car as it will hold
• Ride side-saddle on motorcyles
• Drive on the left side of the road

But you probably should

• Yield to pedestrians
• Wear a seat belt
• Pay attention to street signs and read them
• Follow traffic signals (turns out there are consequences if you don't and even hidden cameras to catch you in the act!)

That's all I remember for now about driving, so do yourself a favor and steer clear of any unlicensed Mazdas you see on the streets of Omaha for the next month.

Back where I come from.

I've failed miserably at communicating with the rest of the world since I left Uganda and moved back to Nebraska. Turns out that re-entering your home culture is stressful. It's this strange mix of feeling right at home, and yet completely out of place, feeling guilty for feeling that way, and struggling to process all of those different and mixed up feelings.  

So in the midst of waiting to know what's next, figuring it out, and rediscovering my place in America, here's what I've been doing these days: 

Working at the produce farm.

A day of work consists of going to the farm, driving the truck of produce to the stand, unloading the truck, setting up the stand, working with Americans who come to the produce stand all day, loading the truck back up, driving the truck back to the shed, unloading the truck and going home. Not bad, right? For me, it's a day of hard work, a source of income, and a bit of sanity. 

Most people know that I don't have a car (due to an unfortunate accident that happened while I was in Uganda). And, as dumb as it sounds, it's kind of hard to live in the Midwest without a mode of transportation. I'm unable to commit to meeting with anyone or go to anything, which makes me sound even more noncommittal than I already am. Not having a car raises my stress level, continues to make me more flexible, and increases my exercise output. So instead of having my little 2007 silver Pontiac to drive around , I ride a little silver bike gets me to work and back, to some of my friends' homes, to the post office, and to the little town convenience store.

Once in a blue moon, I decide, or defer, to walking instead...

And when I'm too lazy to do either of those, my newest mode of travel is...

...hitchhiking! (Just kidding :) )

Once I make the trek to work in the morning, it's another hope and prayer to make it into the produce stand each day. The 1986 Ford truck that we drive has a few qualities that give it a character of it's own. One of those being that to get it to run, you have to take a pair of pliers, grip on to some kind of wire, and push hard, while pumping the gas pedal with persistence. Turning the key in the truck doesn't do much to make it run properly, except that if you forget to turn the key, the steering wheel remains locked (not that I've had any miniature heart attacks trying to figure out why I couldn't turn the wheel or anything...) Other than that, once you get the truck going, it works like a charm. This week, though, we've actually had this little issue with the truck fixed! And, for the first time in a long time turning the key causes the engine to run!

After I arrive at the stand, I work on getting it opened up. I sort the produce so that our customers get quality fruits and vegetables, update the price board, and begin unloading the 25 boxes and one hundred melons that are packed on the back of the truck. It's a great workout/diet plan in this 100+ degree weather.

My favorite part of working the stand is working with people. I love the relationships I'm able to make with people who return day after day, year after year. It's fun to see the change and development in people's lives over time. However, there's a whole other dynamic to working with people that stretches my patience level and causes me to take a sharp inward look at my heart. I'm blaming it on reverse culture shock.

So, I'm living in America with my fellow Americans. I hear things and I say things that sometimes make me cringe. I get swallowed up in the busy, worrisome ways of society, and it takes but a moment of stepping back to realize that the things I spend my time worrying about aren't what I was created for anyway. So in the midst of the organized - yet crazy fast traffic, hectic schedules, unlimited texting and calling minutes, and endless to-do lists, there are lots of beautiful things about this place too, and here are a few that I'm rejoicing in: 

• Time with family and friends
• Scooter's Coffee
• My church family
• Summer nights and country music
• Sleeping in my bed
• Running on flat land

There are plenty of others, too, including going out to eat, driving on highways and interstates, unlimited high speed internet, frozen yogurt and bookstores. But, no matter where I am, it's always the people God places in my life who make it the most enjoyable for me. 

The Lord's our Rock, in Him we Hide.

“David left Gath and escaped to the cave of Adullam.” 1 Samuel 22:1

It was a place David fled for refuge. 

“During harvest time, three of the thirty chief warriors came down to
 David at the cave of Adullam...

At that time David was in the stronghold, and the Philistine garrison was at Bethlehem…” 2 Samuel 23:13-14

It was a place where the LORD was David's refuge.

"Lord my God, I take refuge in you; save and deliver me from all who pursue me..." Psalm 7:1

The word "refuge" has been a word on my heart for a few years because it has been associated with an idea and dream that I've had. Today, I was introduced to a refuge that was different from the refuge associated with my other dreams. I don't know what it is about this word or if anything will ever come to pass with it in my life, but I find it so intriguing that it keeps circulating through my life in the forms of hopes and dreams. While the hopes and dreams are different, the purposes of these dreams aren't. Because when I think of the word refuge, I think of a place of safety, comfort, encouragement, and love and that's what these dreams all consist of. 

Today I went to a cave of Adullam where refuge can be found, where the brokenhearted are healed and where their wounds are bandaged (Psalms 147:3).

I was blessed with the company of some brothers and sisters in Christ who are loving others with a love so deep that it's undeniably the love of God. And, through my time with them today, I was able to spend time with some boys I met about eight months ago on the streets of Mbarara. I wish I could explain the inexpressible joy in my heart as a result of spending the day with them.

In very short summary this ministry, Amagara Masya which means “new life”, takes boys and girls off of the streets, rehabilitates , counsels, and educates them, nurtures and disciples them, and works toward reconciliation with their families. By the love and grace of God, Amagara Masya leaders point the boys and girls toward a new life. Could there be a more fitting name for such a transformational ministry? However, I also discovered it was located on a hill in a village outside of Mbarara at a school called Adullam Primary School. I found the connection between the names “Amagara Masya” and “Adullam” significant. New life found in a place of refuge. A place where the love of God is refuge and where it can lead to a new life in Him. 

As the manager of the ministries drove me home at the end of the day, I asked him if I could take a picture of the Adullam school sign. He assured me it was okay, and then told me that before it was broken, they had a bigger sign for the school located right on the top of the hill in the middle of everything. He said, “It was as if it was a symbol of refuge for this entire hill top.”

Lord, I pray for the sustainability of these ministries; for wisdom, rest and encouragement for my Ugandan brothers and sisters leading there; and for continued transformation, reconciliation and love for the children that are so dear to my heart staying at Amagara Masya. 

Travels, Trials, and Teamwork

From Mbarara to Kampala to Jinja to Mukono to Kampala to Mbarara. If I had a map, I'd pinpoint the highlights of the last two weeks and keep this blog post short and simple. However, I don't have a map handy, and I'm too in love with words to not fully explain to you all the adventures, thoughts, and lessons learned from my recent Ugandan travels.

Before I ever arrived in Uganda, there was one thing that people kept telling me I would have to try. Of course, as I settled into living here, I learned of other adventure-seeking, sight-seeing places to go, but the one that Carolyn and I had settled on a long time ago was white water rafting down the Nile River. So last Tuesday with all of our preconceived notions, fears and excitements we, along with our teammates Martha, Connor, and Stephen, and then two other Americans who we previously didn’t know, went crashing down the Nile River.

More than once I thought about baby Moses in his little papyrus basket on the Nile. Praise God that He’s a sovereign God who made provision for Moses and kept that little baby safe in the reeds of the Nile and far from these life-threatening rapids. I couldn’t help but think that if we, secured in life vests and helmets in an inflatable boat with a guide, safety boats and safety kayaks, were scared for our lives, how much more danger was Moses in?! Anyhow, that’s all completely irrelevant to the story and not really applicable in any way.  

I realized on this thrill ride down the Nile that I’m definitely someone who can function much more efficiently with some instruction and clarity. Before each rapid, I wanted to know specific instructions for how I was to respond to each potential situation. The guide was so knowledgeable, kind and patient with me and all of us as he instructed us in how to survive each rapid in the event that the raft flipped (which it did... often). Knowing what I was supposed to do for each rapid made the ride so much fun for me and even in the midst of overturned boats, scraping rocks, and struggling to get back in the boat, I couldn’t stop laughing. I did, however, want to be affirmed that it wasn't our rafting skills that caused us to flip so often, but the nature of the rapid and the way we approached it. Much to my delight, the guide was quick to assure me that we were perfectly fine rafters, and I wasn't about to doubt him. I also realized how excited I am to begin working out at Mark Schellen’s again when I couldn’t pull myself back into the boat. Depressing. Thank goodness for the outstanding physical fitness of our guide who was not only pulling us all back into the boat, but was also flipping the boat over, and jumping and flipping into the boat during the rapids along with other kinds of tricks and skills.

Check out the progression of these photos: 

Some of my favorite moments of the afternoon on the Nile were the stretches of calm river where we were allowed to jump out and swim. It was so serene. I can’t explain the joy and beauty of the experience. The Nile River, such a prominent and historically significant river, spread out before me. The beauty of the nature that it consumed and was surrounded by left me speechless. Clouds settled in over us and it began to rain gently, but it only added to the peacefulness. Absolutely delightful. All too soon, we left the river and headed to our campsite for the night (which held other extremely peaceful, beautiful moments until the monkeys in the trees began throwing fruits and nuts from the trees down onto our tents in the morning).

The next day was the beginning of our Central Region Africa Inland Mission (AIM) Conference in Jinja. The five day conference was an opportunity for me to meet and talk with other missionaries within our organization who are located in Uganda and other countries. I was encouraged and inspired as I met with people from many different backgrounds and at different stages of life who are doing ministry for the glory of God and the sake of His Kingdom. However, despite all of the amazing individuals and families I met, I was overwhelmed by the need for Jesus in our world and the lack of people willing to live alongside others, love people, and share with them the hope for the nations. 

"Then he said to his disciples, 'The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few. 

Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore to send out workers into his harvest field.'" 

Matthew 9:37-38

It's been heavy on my heart. I can't tell you where the Lord has called you to minister. I can't tell you what it is He's gifted you in or how He's done that. But, what I can tell you is that if you are a follower of Jesus Christ and you take a look at the world around, there's a need for the gospel. And, if we, the body of believers, aren't sharing it, then who is? Whether it's your hometown, a nation on the other side of the world, or even the people nearest to you, there's a need for the truth of the saving blood of Jesus Christ, the grace of God our Father and the hope that is within that to be shared, to be known, and to be lived. I'm not talking about a gospel that preaches a "belief" in a distant God or an insurance belief that hopefully will keep you out of hell when you die. I'm not talking about a religion that requires you to do enough good things and show up to church on Sunday morning so that you're good with God. I'm talking about a life-transforming, world-changing gospel - the gospel within the scriptures that doesn't lead to a lukewarm religion, but to a deep and intimate love and relationship with our God through the grace He's shown us.

I was so challenged by those within our organization serving in some tough places where so many people are unwilling to go. It's one thing to be inspired about what people are doing, but to actually live it out in response to it is another. As followers of Christ, we are bound to face trials, but I can't explain the amount of respect I have for these people. I was reminded of the many blessings I have in the amount of support I receive from family and friends back home, friends I've made here, my organization, and my teammates on the ground with me here in Mbarara. They've become a kind of family to me, and it's an honor to serve alongside them.

"Then Jesus came to them and said,
'All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. 

Therefore go and make disciples of all nations,
baptizing them in the name of  the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, 

and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. 

And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.'"
Matthew 28:18-20

As the Central Region conference came to an end, I left feeling impassioned and empowered and with the hope and prayer of my ministries being fruitful. I'm continually more and more convicted about and convinced of the power of prayer in our lives as I see God at work. I pray that each one of us will be obedient to the call the Lord has given us to make disciples, and I'm also asking you to pray. Please take the time to watch this video about unreached people groups and some missionaries within AIM ministering to them in South Sudan, one who happens to be a personal friend from the great state of Nebraska! And, then please take the time to pray for them.

The Voice of the Laarim from Bowen Parrish on Vimeo.