Breathing in Grace.

It's in the 20s outside, and I'm bundling up for a run before a day full of cooking begins. Tomorrow morning Courtney and I are catering a brunch for 150 women at Austin Christian Fellowship, and there are dishes to be prepped and cupcakes to be frosted and serving plans to be finalized. The run isn't just for exercise - it's to equip me for the Music City Half-Marathon in April and possibly (if I can figure out a way to make it work) for the San Diego Half-Marathon in June. The cooking isn't just for fun - it's to fund ongoing orphan care projects in Guatemala. When the running and cooking are completed, I'll continue work on a grant proposal for Red Page Ministries. I'll pack for a trip to Romania. And I'll finish my reading for Sunday night's small group Bible study.

Everything has purpose. Everything has meaning. Everything is busy. So very busy.

Hold One Another.

“Hold one another to the highest.”

As I sit and look out onto the volcanos surrounding the stillness of Lake Atitlan, these words resonate in my heart. While this morning’s devotional was perfect for the view - Psalm 148 seems to have been written for a place such as this - I find myself caught up in a very different beauty, a very different form of praise to the Lord who loves us so much and delights in us so deeply.

“Hold one another to the highest.”

(Those words are a quote from Amy Carmichael, a missionary to India. She shared with friends “missionary life is a chance to die.” She devoted herself to risking reputation, status, and comfort if it meant she could save a child from suffering - going so far as to die her skin with dark coffee to immerse herself more into the culture and people. Reading about her life convicts me to the

core.)

Yesterday, as the men in our group painted metal roofing and moved piles of dirt to build a bus stop for the village school being established at Eagle’s Nest, and the women traveled into town to negotiate for produce and meat at the local open air market, eleven little faces watched and waited. Ranging in age from two to ten, the orphans at Eagle’s Nest are hungry - for time. The girls delight in playing “beauty shop” and the boys love loading rocks into the toy dump trucks. Each could spend hours swinging and spinning on the old merry-go-round. But there is something even more important to each of them. Being held. We started and ended our day with them - laughing, playing, hugging.

“Hold one another to the highest.”

Walking along the street near the market in Solola, I saw her. An older woman slowly made her way up the hilly bricked road. Dressed in

traditional garb, she carried her child in a sling on her back. He held tightly to her, his arms around her neck. His little legs were withered, his body contorted. He was her child, but he was not a child. The son she carried was a grown man.

Whether it’s holding a hand, snuggling in close on a lap, or being carried, the orphans, and the mom, understand something I think we easily forget. There is healing power in a hug - for both people. The Lord longs for us to risk our own comfort, our reputation, to care for others. We are to reach out, lift up, hold steady, lift high.

I pray today we each hold one another.

Wiggling in a Mudslide

Dirt. Diesel. Vans. Mountains. Rain.

And mudslides.

Somethings about this country never change. And some change in an instant. I’m here in Guatemala again. It’s a place that feels strangely like home to me, though I still struggle with the language and have no confidence I could safely drive myself anywhere. The sights are so familiar along the roads - the brightly colored, open-air stores filled with pastries and chips and sodas, the seafood restaurant as the road bends to the left over the patchwork mountainside, the strange looking bazaar that rests below the hills which have been sliced by machinery and storms. It’s at that very spot I met the first smiling faces selling roasted corn and old cassette tapes to frustrated drivers stuck in road construction. There’s the beautiful ivory cathedral on the left side of the road and the ever-faithful Katok restaurant that signals the halfway point between Guatemala City and Xela. The delicate cala lillies in buckets, the gazebos shading local produce. Yes, this place has my heart.

Today’s road is different, however. Traveling with my church to a place called Eagle’s Nest in Solola has “new adventure” written into every word. Eagle’s Nest was at one time a baby home, specializing in caring for infants who would be adopted. When international adoption was closed in early 2008, the owners shifted their attention to education and caring for the poor. They have helped launch several churches in the area, and continue to find ways to remain relevant servants to their community. Being so close to my sweet little friends at Cerecaif and the precious girls at Manchen pulls at my heart, but I know the Lord has me in this place for His glory and for my joy.

The joy has already shown its bright face. Yesterday, it appeared in a smile. Emma was to minister with me in Honduras last year, but our plans were thwarted due to political upheaval in the country. Now, one year later, I am blessed to serve with her. She is sixteen, with a wisdom far beyond her years and a love for orphans that inspires me to love more.

Today, joy wove its way through circumstances that were anything less than joyful. Every suitcase and duffel made its way to GuatemalaCity and into our vans - that is, every suitcase but mine. With bag tags from past mission trips adorning it, my suitcase - filled to the brim with thecomforts of home - jumped on another van with an organization I’ve served with before. We turned left, they turned right. We headed to the mountains, and they stayed in the city. I went from a very self-sufficient, very experienced traveler to a highly-dependent little girl. Knowing my bag was not lost, but in the same area as I was, made the longing to get it even stronger. And placing that longing at the feet of Christ, trusting Him to find the perfect moment for the reunion, was an intentional sacrifice of self-reliance. Though I shed a few tears, I found myself laughing more. There was freedom in utter dependence.

That same freedom - and joy - danced in the streets. Tropical storm Agatha has wreaked havoc on this country, with roads and bridges washed out because of its fury. And the rainy season continues to taunt the already wounded mountainside. At sunset, our van ride was halted by a wall of earth. The mudslide was fast and powerful, and had every intention of making the roads impassable. Our team of 16 made a decisive move - we played Ninja and Bunny Bunny in the rain. If you’re not familiar with the games, I’m not sure any explanation I could offer would begin to paint the right picture if your mind. One involves Ninja moves and hand-slapping, and the other includes rear-wiggling and yelling “cootchy-cootchy-coo.” The large circle of wiggling, slapping, yelling people in the street in the rain made the moment excellent. Then the team made another decisive move. We prayed the mountain would be moved. And it was. Minutes after we said, “amen,” we got word an earth-mover had begun its job. We thanked the men who worked tirelessly in the dark to make a way for us to continue our journey.

I listen to the distant sound of a nightclub in the village below as I slowly drift away, thankful for a friend’s pajamas and toothpaste. As I snuggle into bed, I can’t help but wiggle my hips and smile. His glory. My joy.