NEW BLOG!

hey all,

please have patience with me as i transition everything from this blog over to my NEW one:

stumblingingrace.tumblr.com

i'll be sharing photos, stories, thoughts, poems--and everything about my life stateside and in Liberia on the new site from now on.

thank you for your understanding.

remind me.

"statistics have faces and faces have stories, and [i] just heard his. we were connected in a fractured world. we had to do something. words were not enough. dogma was not enough. the feeling of being close to Jesus was not enough. this was not right." (Tobin Wilson, Areté Again)

"now that i have seen, i am responsible--faith without deeds is dead."

(Brooke Fraser)

into the deep end

it's Thursday night, and i've been in Seattle for about fifty-one hours now.

it's been fifty-one hours of unpacking, sleep, reunions, prayer, sunshine, coffee, family dinners. but it's also been more than that. so much more.

it's been fifty-one hours of excitement and anticipation and joy. i'm eager to start living life here, looking forward to whatever lies ahead.

it's been fifty-one hours of missing home while being at home, of wondering--for the millionth time--where home even is anymore and if i'll ever find my way back there. it's been fifty-one hours of momentary panic attacks, of shaking my head in disbelief: is this really happening? what am i doing? it's been fifty-one hours of having to admit that i'm scared of starting over (again) and a little bit sad that i have to.

it's been fifty-one hours of questions answered with peace, doubts erased by hope, fears swallowed up by trust, an ache soothed by His presence.

because in the end, all that matters is He is with me. in these fifty-one hours. in all the changes and my inability at times to effectively deal with them. in the emotional whirlwind swirling within me. in the promise of tomorrow that can only come after yesterday.

so what have i learned in these last fifty-one hours? well, i've realized that i'm more determined than ever to let nothing stop me from living fully in the moments i've been given. i may hold my breath, i may squeeze my eyes shut--but i'm still gonna jump. i may be crazy. i may be reckless. i may have no idea what i'm doing.

but i do know Someone who does.

so. ready or not. here i go...

a turn of events

In my last post, just a few short weeks ago, I filled you all in on the latest news from my crazy-busy life. In it, I mentioned that I was working two jobs and thinking about a possible move to Virginia.

Three weeks from now, I will be working one job and living in Seattle.

Crazy, right? But that's just how God works sometimes. Not long after I last blogged, I received a phone call, giving me the opportunity to move out to Washington and work in the Orphan Relief and Rescue stateside office before my return to Liberia (which will likely be next year). Honestly, at first, I had no idea what to say. I was shocked and completely caught off-guard. But the more I mulled it over, the more peace I felt. And I started thinking that this actually could be a really great thing. It may not have been what I thought I wanted at the time, but I'm okay with that.

The prophet Jeremiah once prayed, "I know, O Lord, that a man's life is not his own; it is not for man to direct his [own] steps" (10:23). As I ready for this next chapter, next phase, next adventure and next season, I can only hope to honestly echo his words with acceptance and trust.

an overdue update

I realize it's been a while since I last posted, and I do sincerely apologize for that. Life has been so hectic, and time kind of just got away from me. I've been home from Liberia for four months now, and there's a lot going on. Like:

i) work, work, and more work! Not too long after I got home, I got a job at the Olivet Boys and Girls Club as the Mentoring and the Arts Program Coordinator. Basically, I run a program for inner-city teens that focuses on one-on-one mentoring and the teaching of various artistic components. I love the job, I love the kids, I love the people I work with. The only downside is that it's a part-time position. So I took a second PT job at a YMCA Early Learning Center, working as a teacher. So now, I work anywhere from 50-55 hours a week, which is great for my bank account--but not so great for my social life and sleep schedule. Prayers for energy, strength, and grace to make it through this chaotic and busy season of life are so appreciated. Thank you!

ii) getting in shape! I had forgotten how much I actually enjoy going to the gym. Since I've been home, I was able to get back into my routine. I've lost sixteen pounds so far, and I feel great!

iii) road trips! Since I've been home, I've spent a lot of time in my trusty Saturn, visiting places and faces I missed like crazy while I was gone. I spent an amazing day in Philly for the John Mark McMillan concert, and I'm headed out to Pittsburgh next weekend to visit a friend I haven't seen in way too long. And of course, I've made a couple trips down south to visit my new-found love, Virginia. And speaking of Virginia...

iv) thinking about a move! Yup, I'm letting the cat out of the bag. I am seriously considering relocating to Virginia (specifically the Newport News area). It's a long story, and I'll gladly tell you all about it sometime. But the short version is that I feel an undeniable pull that just keeps drawing me back there. After much prayer and conversations with God, I strongly feel like a move may be in my future. Prayer for wisdom, guidance, and clear direction is needed and appreciated. I'll keep you posted. Moving right along...

v) missing Liberia! Though I am fully confident that I made the right choice by leaving Liberia when I did, there are definite moments (and days...and weeks) that I miss it terribly. Plans for a return are still very much up in the air; I still am not sure when I'll go back, nor for how long. I am learning, however, that I don't need to have things all figured out before their time (no matter how much I would like that). I trust God, and I trust His leading. He'll make the way straight and the path clear when He wants me to go back to Liberia. (In the meantime, though, I can't help but long to hug my kiddos and see their beautiful, smiling faces. Sigh....)

vi) a health scare. Yuck. I've been battling an eye infection (actually, two infections...in each eye!) since I've been home, and it hasn't been fun. At one point, a doctor even told me that I was going blind--possibly irreversibly! I thank Jesus that things cleared up after a month or so of antibiotics and some eye drops. As of now, the infection is gone, but I have decided to still wear my glasses most of the time. My eyes are very dry and sensitive, and my contact lenses only irritate them even more. I definitely miss being able to wear contacts but, right now, they're simply not an option for me.

vii) getting the creative juices flowing! For whatever reason, I have been extremely inspired since I've been home, and art has become a really big part of my life. I'm still drawing and painting when I can, and I'm writing more than ever. I've long said that it's a goal of mine to publish a book someday, and I'm starting to seriously think about what that might look like. Whether it's in a journal, on a blog, or on a scrap of paper I pulled out of my purse, I'm constantly scribbling down ideas, verses, poems, even songs. (By the way, if you have any ideas or tips about publishing, I'm all ears. Seriously. Please let me know.)

So there you have it, folks. (I told you there was a lot going on!) I want to sincerely thank each and every one of you who has prayed for me, encouraged me, and loved me through what was truly an extremely tough transition. Your kindness means the world to me; thank you a million times over.

Finally, thanks for reading--and don't be shy! Feel free to send me an update of your own if you have the chance. I always want to know how you're doing and where life has you.

Two months

Only two months ago, I was in Liberia, saying goodbye to the kids, to the team, and to my Liberian family. Two months. That's it. Yet somehow, it feels like that was a lifetime ago. It feels like a different time, a different world, a different Elena. I suppose that isn't necessarily a bad thing. It just shows how our lives are in this state of constant flux. There's no stopping it. The best you can do is just hang on tight and go along for the ride.

These two months at home have been a roller coaster, that's for sure. I've been able to travel a bit. I got to see John Mark McMillan live. I've spent sweet times with sweet friends. I've had Starbucks and Target and Mexican food. I've experienced a spiritual revival of sorts, a time of God bringing spring to my cold and hurting heart.
But I've also experienced the loss of my beloved Papa. I've struggled financially to keep my head above water in a country where the cost of living is so much more than I am used to. I've worried. I've doubted that I made the wrong choice by coming home. I've found myself falling into some not-so-healthy places, emotionally and mentally, and have pleaded with God to get me out of them.

Not the prettiest picture, I know. But I share that to let you know two things. One: life isn't always easy. And two: but God is good.

I'm curious to see where I'll be in another two months. Until then, I want to thank you for all your prayers, for all the love and encouragement you've shown me. It means so much more to me than I could ever say.

greetings from Liberia

a few weeks ago A.B., my Liberian best friend, called me "to say 'ello". our two-minute conversation went something like this:

A.B.: "i really missing you!"
me: "myself, i'm missing you too!"
A.B.: "ehh, Elena. i can miss you plenty! every day, i pray for you small-small."
(cue lots of laughing--from both of us)
A.B.: "okay, Elena. bye bye."

then, just a few days ago, the infamous Momo decided he wanted to say 'ello too!

Momo: "Leena! how everything?"
me: "everything all right, Momo."
Momo: "how your family, your ma?
me: "everyone's doing well. what about you? how the Passawe family? how's Liberia?"
(short pause)
Momo: "ehh, man. we still here. Liberia still here. it not easy but tank God."
me: "sorry, yeah? i'm missing you all, and i'm praying for you, all right?"
Momo: "yeah, man. alright-o. tell America 'ello! later on."

is it any wonder i miss the crazy ridiculousness of Liberian life?!

Liberia, I missing you-o!

Some days (like today), I really, really, REALLY miss Liberia. I want to be with the kids. I want to hug them, listen to them sing, pray with them--all those things brought (bring?) me such incredible joy. So today, I decided to pull out a few of the goodbye letters some of the kids wrote me. And, well, they're just so precious that I had to share!

(thanks to Deb, I even got a video of that song; check it out below!)

so long, Liberia!

well, everyone. this is it. my plane leaves tonight. 23 hours and four airports later, i'll be home. my heart is feeling so many emotions right now, my mind racing with thoughts. i'm excited. i'm hopeful. i'm sad. i'm scared. i'm thankful. i've had some of the most beautiful moments with my kids, my team, my Liberian family these past few days, and part of my heart is breaking as i say goodbye. yet i also rejoice as i look at the relationships that have been built, the bonds that have been strengthened, the incredible work i've seen God do in me, around me, and through me.

i truly believe a new chapter, a new season has begun for me, and i can't wait to see what God has planned. whether i'm in Liberia, Canada, the States (or anywhere in between), i can say with peace and confidence that He is with me. so today, i say so long to Liberia--until He decides to lead me back.

i need some serious prayer!

Yes, that is a picture of my eyeball. No, that is not how it normally looks. (It's pretty gross, eh?!) Something's going on with my left eye, and I could really use your prayers.

All I know is that, on Wednesday night, we were driving home from town, and suddenly I felt a sharp pain in my eye. It was almost like a piece of dust or an eyelash or something had gotten in there. My eyes watered a bit, but I thought nothing of it. When I got home and took out my contacts, I noticed my eye was a little red, but I figured it would be gone in the morning.

But it wasn't. Since then, my eye has been constantly fire-engine red, and I don't know what to do for it. It doesn't really bother me, except the strain is giving me a constant headache, and today I started noticing some pain all around the eye. Visine doesn't work, so I've been taking antibiotic drops since Friday. On Sunday morning, it was pretty well back to normal--but then I made the mistake of trying to wear my contacts again (I HATE my glasses). Yeah, that wasn't a good idea. Now I'm back at square one.

So, now that you know much more about my eyeball than you probably want to, please pray for it. And me. Traveling on Wednesday will not be fun if this doesn't clear up by then. I really need a miracle.

Leaving Liberia

As most of you know by now, I will be taking a break from the field and leaving Liberia on March 2. That, my friends, is only 27 days away. And, as I've said many times in the past, time here is flying. It's like I blink, and a day is gone. Then two days. Then a week.

As I start looking ahead to my leave, trying to plan and prepare for all that it entails, I find myself on a bit of an emotional roller coaster. So much of me feels torn. There's the Elena that is at home here in Liberia--and then there's the Elena that is so happy to be going home to Pennsylvania. My problem is that I don't quite know how to reconcile the two. In fact, I don't even quite know if that is possible.

Now, please hear me when I say that I am very much looking forward to this upcoming season at home. Aside from spending precious moments with my Papa, and being there for my sister (who is expecting), I am also thankful to have been granted a time of rest and refreshment. I believe God has much work He wants to do in my heart, and I feel the best place for me to go through that is at home. I am looking forward to sweet times with friends, family, and my church. And I've been so blessed to be able to stay with my dear friends Bala and Laly again, to be a part of their family once more, and to spend my days with their little ones that I love so dearly. God is good, my friends. Yes, this time at home is necessary, in some ways--but it is also a gift, and I treasure that.

But going home means leaving here--leaving the kids, my team, my Liberian family and friends. I have spent the better part of the last year and a half in Africa, and it's difficult to think about that changing. The kids will be fine; of that I have no doubt. They are healthy and thriving, and they have plenty of "aunties" and "uncles" here to give them the love and care that they need. But I will miss them. Terribly. They have been a part of my daily life for so long now. I know their names, faces, stories, moods, needs. We are a part of each other's lives, so it is going to hurt to leave them behind--not because they will not be okay without me (because they will), but because I wonder how okay I will be without them.

Same with my team. They've seen me at both my best and my worst, and we've been through a lifetime of experiences together. This past weekend at Robertsport, as we were sitting around the campfire, made me realize just how much of me is invested in them, in ORR, in the work being done in Liberia. Still--I must go for a while.

On a more personal note, as March 2 gets closer and closer, I find myself fighting against fears and insecurities that I know are lies but feel very true. Part of me feels like a failure. Part of me feels weak, useless, ashamed, like I'm giving up, like I've wasted all this time and money. I worry about my finances, about being able to survive in the States again, and I worry about disappointing the kids, ORR, my supporters--even God. It is such a heavy burden to carry. And it's a truly sucky (because I can think of no other word that fits so well) feeling.

So this morning, as I was having quiet time, I started praying for God to reveal to me His way of looking at this situation. And then I felt Him speaking words of truth, life, and love--cool water upon my parched desert of a heart. He was saying that I needed to stop being so hard on myself. He said I can walk way on March 2 in peace, knowing that I have done the job He has given me--and done it well. I have "trained up a child in the way that he should go." I have "preached Christ crucified." And, most of all, I have "loved deeply--from the heart."

This morning, my Abba told me that He was proud of me. And oh, how I needed to hear that. He also gave me this scripture, which I will hold on to in the coming months:

"Comfort, comfort my people," says your God. "Speak tenderly...and proclaim to her that her hard service has been completed...." Isaiah 40.1-2

A 'special' day

Although I love all the kids that I work with here in Liberia, there are six teenage girls that have a very special place in my heart. I meet with them every Wednesday afternoon for our small group. We talk, laugh, pray, read; the activities will vary depending on the day. One thing I always try to communicate, however, is that each one of the girls is special, uniquely created, and deeply loved.

Living in an orphanage means that these girls often feel like just another face in the crowd, simply another number in the midst of many. They don't have a lot people in their lives who can affirm or encourage them, to help them see and reach their full potential. As teenage girls, they struggle with self-esteem and image issues. They often put themselves down and call themselves ugly or stupid. I look at them and see some of the most beautiful, talented, amazing young women I've ever met--and it breaks my heart that they don't see it in themselves.

In November, I planned a "special" lesson for the girls. We read You are Special by Max Lucado and talked about how all of us are wonderfully created by a God who loves us more than we could ever know. I had also written little notes to each girl, letting them know how much I love them and how much they mean to me. It was a beautiful, memorable afternoon.

Yesterday, when I went to the orphanage, I brought a surprise for the girls. I had ordered them each a copy of You are Special and gave it to them as a reminder of how treasured they are (by both God and me!) As each girl unwrapped her gift, a huge smile lit up her face, and many of them started giggling. After hugs and thank-yous, I asked them, "Do you know why I gave you this book?" All at once, the girls replied, "Because you think we are special!" My heart smiled, as I realized that they finally are starting to believe what I have been telling them for weeks. They have begun to understand just how special they are.

For the rest of the afternoon, we had "girl time." We painted our nails, sang songs, did an art project, took photos, and just talked. It was one of the best afternoons I'd had in a long time. As Janet, who was sitting on my left, grabbed my hand and held it, and Teddy, who was on my right, rested her head on my shoulder, I started tearing up. 'This is what it's all about,' I thought. I've been meeting with these girls faithfully each week, hoping that love, care, and attention will help make a difference in their lives. And in the process, the relationship we've built has totally changed me.

So the poor have hope, and injustice shuts its mouth. (Job 5.16)

For the past few months, God has been showing me more and more of His heart for the plight of the needy. The fatherless. The widow. The poor and oppressed. The abused. The hungry. The sick. The disabled. The insecure and lonely. The ashamed. The broken. Abba grieves over them. And He wants our hearts to grieve for them, too. Over and over again in His Word, I see His love for the needy: Exodus 22:22-23. 1 Samuel 2:8. Psalm 72:12-14. Proverbs 21:13. Isaiah 11:3-5 and 9-10. Ezekiel 34:11-16. Zephaniah 3:19. Luke 18:7. One thing is clear--God cares.

Tonight a broken, needy man named David showed up on our doorstep. He used to work for us, but we had to let him go for various reasons I don't need to go into here. Every few weeks, he would call Debbie, begging for her to help him with money so he could eat. I won't lie; it became frustrating after a while. Money is such a quick fix, and we were worried it was only feeding his dependency.

But tonight, as David sat crying on the porch, my heart broke inside of me. He wasn't eating. He had been beaten so severely that he couldn't walk straight, and his eyes were blood red. He couldn't see properly, he couldn't find a job, he was utterly alone, and he was sure that he would soon die. I couldn't handle it, couldn't stop the tears from coming. All I kept thinking was, "God made this man, and God loves this man. It doesn't matter what wrongs he has done in the past--he is precious in Jesus' sight. No one deserves this. No one."

So I ask that you would please, please, PLEASE pray for David. The word that keeps coming to mind is "restore." I believe God wants to restore David, to health and to wholeness. This man needs your prayers. He needs hope, and he needs to know that someone out there cares.

Bucket

Those of you who have followed my blog and receive my newsletters most likely remember Timothy's story. He had a serious speech problem and, as a result, was often teased by his peers. Since April, I have been meeting with Timothy on a regular basis to help him with his speech and reading, and I am continually amazed by all the progress he has been making.

Today, I went to the orphanage to teach Timothy's lesson. Before I got a chance to sit down with him, though, Evelyn (the mother of the home) pulled me aside and said, "Elena, I want to tell you about the good English that your son was speaking today!" She said that Timothy and a few of the other kids had been drawing water, and all of them were talking about the "buck-eh" (FYI: many ending sounds are omitted in Liberian English.) Finally, Timothy spoke up and corrected them: "It's not buck-eh; it's bucket! You have to pronounce the 't'!"

It's a funny story, but it also melted my heart because it reminded me of just how far Timothy has come. (It also totally made me feel like a proud parent!) Sometimes, I can get overwhelmed when I focus on the enormity of need here and I start trying to figure out how to help them all. But then I remember stories like Timothy's, and it brings me back to reality. I wasn't called to help them all--but I was called to help Timothy.

Mother Teresa once said, "If you can't feed a hundred people, then feed just one." I love that. The truth is, I can't help them all. I wish I could, but it's just not possible. But I can help one. And that's a pretty good start, if you ask me.