A month of unemployment.

My last day at the pizza place was Saturday, April 4, 2015. I left in tears, carrying my last free meal. Nachos, with chicken instead of taco beef. I started that day thinking I'd have another day. Around noon, the schedule for the next week arrived and my name wasn't on it. I started to tear up. I had another seven hours and then I was done. Twenty months of answering phones, making pizzas, serving customers, slicing vegetables, making dough, counting money, and cleaning any surface available came to an end.

I am unemployed. I suppose, technically, I'm self-employed. I've started offering my cupcake-making services, but it's taking some time to get that started. I charge less than minimum wage, and I'm okay with that. I love to bake and be creative with decorations.

I need a job.

Dan and I looked at apartments today. His roommate/landlord is getting married in August, and we're hoping to get married shortly thereafter. We found places we like, and he'll be able to afford them on his own for a while. But weddings cost money, food costs money, cars and college loans and clothes and Netflix and almost everything else cost money. I need an income in order for us to get married and live together and be comfortable.

I have enjoyed not having a job that I grew to dislike.

I enjoyed the work. I am thankful to have had the flexibility to request time off for church camp, vacations, visiting friends, and personal retreats. In twenty months, I learned how to lead. I learned how to meet the needs of customers while protecting the needs of the company. I became more disciplined, more detail-oriented, more deadline-driven. I became better at multitasking and hiding my frustration and solving problems creatively. I learned to count money quickly and delegate tasks and be firm with those I was managing. I became a better teacher.
I also yelled and cried and threatened to quit and made customers angry and let people down and forgot things. I was not a perfect employee. I didn't always do my best. I didn't always hide my frustration. I was lazy sometimes.

I learned lessons in those twenty months that I'm not sure I would have learned in an entry-level office job. I learned how to deal with the public and to be humble. I learned how to have compassion on fast-food employees (who work harder than most people think) and servers (who deserve bigger tips than they usually receive). I learned how not to be a jerk at restaurants, because restaurant employees don't make nearly enough money to deal with entitled snobs all the time. They deserve a break.

But now I'm ready to move on to somewhere new and learn new lessons. I jumped in obedience, not knowing when the net would appear.

The net hasn't appeared yet. I'm applying to anything that sounds like I could do something with the job. I've applied to a variety of positions at the local hospitals. I've applied all over the place. I'm trying to enjoy this process.

I've appreciated the time off. Dan and I went to North Carolina to visit a friend of his. We've had days together to have good and important conversations. I've been able to take on more responsibilities at home. The freedom has been nice.

It's time for it to end.

It's time to get a job.

Valentine's Day.

On my old blog I wrote about Valentine's Day twice. I wrote about how I hated it but didn't hate it. I wrote about how to be my Valentine. I wrote about how Jesus is not and should not be anyone's "Valentine." I wrote about the unrealistic stories that chick flicks present. I got pretty real and sounded silly in the process.

I liked Valentine's Day because there would be cheap chocolate the next day. It was fun to pretend that there might be a guy out there who would reveal his feelings for me in some big romantic way. I'd always build it up in my head, imagining roses and music and this amazing movie moment.

It never happened, and I would always end the day a little disappointed. I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who has gone through this. But the only reason I didn't like Valentine's Day is because I allowed myself to have expectations and because I allowed myself to be jealous of everyone's fun. If you're the type who will feel this way, stop reading now. There's nothing profound or worthwhile in this post. It's simply a public journal of my Valentine's Day experiences.

This is the first year since I was 13 that I have looked forward to Valentine's Day. In seventh grade I had a boyfriend named Andy. We were in Fort Wayne Children's Choir together and on Valentine's day that year we had a performance of "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat." He gave me a box covered in duct tape with inside jokes written on it. The box was filled with chocolates from Christmas. He also made me a card that I still have somewhere. I gave him nothing. Andy was pretty much the best boyfriend a seventh grader could have. I broke up with him a few months later in an email. I'm the worst. We're Facebook friends now.

The next year, I convinced a guy I was friends with to be my Valentine. He gave me two bags of Russel Stover chocolate hearts. I gave him nothing. I didn't know how to be a Valentine.

Since then Valentine's Day hasn't been very significant. My friends and I bought carnations for each other in high school. I once sorted out all of the orange conversation hearts and gave them to a friend who hated orange. He gave me a carnation. I don't know whether he got it specifically for me or if someone had sent it to him and he decided to give it to me.

But this year I have a boyfriend. That changes things.

We celebrated on Thursday, partially because today was going to be a busy day for both of our places of employment and working tonight would mean that we made decent money and partially because it was the 12th, which is our Dope-iversary. We went to lunch (Queen of Sheba, pretty tasty), we saw "The Imitation Game" (excellent), we watched "The Legend of Korra." Because it was a double celebration, I may have gone a little overboard with gifts. They were mostly boring things like pillowcases, but still. I gave him like, six things. And I got homemade brownies from my boyfriend who doesn't like to bake. He also got me roses and wine. I felt and feel very loved.

I know that we shouldn't need a special day to demonstrate our love for each other. And we don't. We express our love for each other often and in various ways. But it's fun and cute and silly to spend a day going the extra mile. I like being able to tell the story of what happened on Valentine's Day, rather than writing some pseudo-profound post about how it shouldn't matter.

It shouldn't matter. It doesn't matter. It's a day. But I'm going to enjoy the fact that I have a boyfriend and he's awesome and I love him.

More importantly:
I'll notify her next of...uh...fruit cup.

The Government Isn't Terrible (A Lesson In Perspective)

Okay, in some ways, the government might be terrible.
Washington DC, state capitals, and every city and town with a local government is filled with humans who make decisions. Some decisions are selfish, some are selfless, some are misguided, some are just plain stupid. It happens. Not everyone will be happy all the time. And that's how life goes.

Calm down about it. Just chill, okay? If you have a problem, find a peaceful, rational, loving way to deal with it. Argue logically. Don't be controlled by your emotions. Don't yell at people who are just trying to do their jobs the best way they know how. (This relates to the service industry, too. Please, stop yelling at your servers/fast food workers/cashiers. They're trying and they might be having a rough day, too. Please. Try for some empathy.)

But this post isn't supposed to be about that. This is a post about me putting my foot in my mouth today.

I filed my 2013 taxes online at the end of March. I opted for a direct deposit into my checking account, hoping that the money might show up while I was in New York that week.

I didn't notice an increase in my account, so I checked the history and didn't see any deposits. I checked a few times over the next several weeks and never saw the money. I figured we'd deal with it eventually. It was going to be a loan payment anyway, so I didn't really care when it showed up.

I got my 2014 W2 this week and celebrated only having one of them this year. (I had three for 2013: Bethel, GMC, and EoC.) I realized that I could file my taxes any time in the next three months. I could do it right now. But I'm writing this post, so I'll wait.

It has bugged me for months that I never got my return. It was $350 between state and federal, and I wanted my money! I've complained to a few people about it. I checked my email today for a confirmation from the filing service we used. It was right there. It had been filed, the IRS had accepted it, and I could be seeing my money within three weeks.

Where the heck is my money?!?

Dad and I just spent half an hour trying to access my account. We wrote down all the information somewhere, I know we did. But we couldn't find it.
Finally, he checked on a website for the state return and found that they said they'd deposited my $25 on April 9. I looked in my account history and there it was.

Then, to my chagrin (I love that word and almost never use it.), I looked down a few more lines. A deposit had been made by the IRS for my 2013 return. My $336 had been put in my account in early April.

I was so ready to be angry with the filing service, the IRS, and the internet in general for failing me. I was annoyed with the customer service rep who offered no help since we couldn't remember the answer to my security question. It was deeply frustrating.

Instead, I sit here telling you, my dear readers, that I didn't look closely enough at my account history all those months ago. Nine months. It was NINE MONTHS AGO!
I wanted to be the victim of some sort of government scam, so I didn't see what was right in front of me.
My money was in my account. I'll be able to make a bigger loan payment this month, which is awesome. And I'll be able to do it again when I get my 2014 return.

Friends, strangers, people who stumbled across this post, are you looking at the whole situation? I'm going to get a little preachy here. Hang on.

When someone is annoying you or not treating you "fairly" or not accommodating your every need, do you become indignant? Do you view yourself as a victim?

Could it be true that you are simply being told "no" because that's the store policy? Or because they're really out of the dress in your size? Or because the girl just doesn't want to talk to you/go out with you/sleep with you, so walk away. She's allowed to say that she doesn't want to talk to you without having a reason. If you'd like to be allowed to say "no" without having a reason, allow others to do the same.

"No" is a complete sentence.

Sometimes you just have to deal with not getting your way. Sometimes you have to acknowledge that you won't like every decision that people make. Sometimes you are the one at fault because you are behaving like a spoiled child. (Dear parents, say "no" to your children. It will make them better adults.)

Look at the whole situation. You might be the victim. If you really are, I'm sorry. Whatever happened to you never should have happened.
If you're not the victim of something horrible, you might be overlooking important facts because you don't want to see them.

Step back. Try a different perspective. Care about your fellow humans, even if you don't like them. Take a breath before you make a judgment. Don't complain until you've done your research.

You just might find that your $361 had been in your account the whole time.

Does your heart break?

About six weeks ago I was at a youth leaders retreat. In one session the speaker was talking about why youth ministry matters.

He showed a video to "Does Your Heart Break" by The Brilliance. It was one of those lame slideshow kinds of videos with pictures that match too well with the lyrics. But the lyrics are fantastic and convicting and desperate. A plea to God to see the hurt of His children. A plea to man to see the hurt of the children around him. A call to action. A call to be moved.

Tonight, my heart is broken.

My heart is broken for families in Ferguson, MO; New York, NY; and Cleveland, OH. Not only the families of those who are gone, but for the families of the officers. My heart is broken for the families who aren't in the news, but are going to bed tonight without children, parents, siblings, friends.

My heart is broken for our country, with its obsession with pointing fingers and placing blame. With its biases and screaming voices.

My heart is broken for humanity with its flaws and pain and suffering and freedom.

People make choices. People make bad choices. Sometimes, people make choices that seem like the right thing to do in the moment. Sometimes emotion and impulse take over. Sometimes, as a result, people die.

That means that tonight, across this country and around the world, families are hurting more than they thought possible.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. We are left to ask God why He would allow such pain. We are left to try to pick up the pieces and make apologies and give answers that we're not entirely sure we believe.

I don't know why Michael Brown, Eric Garner, and Tamir Rice are dead. I know that they were loved deeply by family and friends. I know that they made choices in their final hours. I know that God made them and loves them. I know that He saw them die. I don't know why He allowed it. I wish I could speak on His behalf. I wish I could understand why He allows such pain. I wish I could understand why He allows evil to be so prevalent. I wish God was easy to explain. But then He wouldn't be worth worshiping.

I wish I could understand why those officers made the choices they made. Regardless of whether they are ever punished under human law, they are in God's hands. They will have to answer to Him for their actions. Each of those men will live the rest of his life knowing that he was responsible for the death of his fellow man.

That might not seem like enough. It might not be enough. I cannot say.

I know that hurt is real. I know that God is just and merciful. That paradox is difficult and unfair in the eyes of the imperfect. But God is perfect.

"And in despair I bowed my head

'There is no peace on earth,' I said

'For hate is strong and mocks the song

Of peace on earth, good will to men'

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

'God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail

With peace on earth, good will to men.'"

It may take until the end of the world, but I trust those words. I trust that Right will prevail. I trust in a God who offers peace that surpasses our understanding. He is always good and we are always loved. He sees and feels our hurt. 

On behalf of all humanity, I'm sorry.

It started with some bread.

It started with a baguette that I got at Meijer for $1.74 plus tax and didn't eat before it went too stale.
I decided, while my parents and I were trying to gnaw through a few pieces, that I should try to make French Onion Soup. I should buy another baguette at Meijer for $1.74 plus tax and make French Onion Soup.

Yesterday was the day. I bought the bread last week while Dan and I were buying ingredients to make dinner. I decided that it was time. For the first time in my life, I was going to make, and eat, French Onion Soup. That's right. Until yesterday I had never eaten French Onion Soup.

Dan and I went shopping Tuesday night, after stopping to make sure we didn't buy anything that we already had at my house. I could hear my mother's voice in my head saying "Why did you buy that? We already have plenty here." So instead of buying six onions, I bought three. Instead of buying chicken broth and beef broth, I used what we had. I did need to buy cheese, wine, and butter.

I spent about two hours making the soup, but it was ridiculously simple.

You're going to need a soup pot that can fit at least two quarts of liquid. Start heating in over low heat.

Throw in a stick of butter. I used unsalted because that's what I prefer to cook and bake with. It allows me to have more direct control over the amount of salt. I use salted butter in my frosting, but that's not really relevant here.

Once the butter is melted, add your onions, salt, pepper, and thyme. I used four sweet onions. Three of them were about the size of a baseball, and the fourth was closer to a softball. The recipe I used called for two pounds or six medium sized onions. I probably could have used more, but it ended up alright. If you want to make it and you use this recipe, do what you want. It depends on the flavor you're looking for and how long you want to spend waiting for your onions to cook down. I'll talk more about that later. I sliced mine about an eighth of an inch thick, because my knife skills aren't stellar unless I'm cutting tomatoes. Thinner probably would have been better, so I'll probably be buying a mandolin before I make this soup again. The kind that slices vegetables, not the instrument.

You'll need about a teaspoon each of kosher salt and black pepper, and probably ten sprigs of thyme.

Once all of that is in the pot, stir to coat the onions with butter. This will also help the seasonings stick to the onions evenly, which just looks better for the pictures.

 This is what they looked like when I first started cooking them. You'll want to stir them "occasionally," which for me meant every five minutes or so.

 The recipe I started with said to cook the onions over low heat until they were "deep golden brown and very soft, about 30 minutes." I cooked these onions for an hour. They got very soft and translucent, but I wouldn't say they were deep golden brown. But I'm really over it, because I was getting impatient.

 Heads up, onions release a lot of liquid as they cook. Don't worry about it. It will slowly disappear into the air, making your house smell like onions for several hours. Like, I think my house still smells like onions more than twenty-four hours later.

 While the onions were cooking, my lovely handsome assistant grated some cheese for me. Apparently, Gruyere is traditional, but Kroger didn't have enough smaller chunks of it and I didn't want to spent $67 on about a hundred pounds of cheese (hyperbole). I ended up with Gruyere, Havarti, and Farmer's Cheese. A delicious combination. Also, that's about the amount of thyme I used. I think I added a few more sprigs. (I really like the word "sprigs.")

The next step is to sprinkle one tablespoon of flour over the onions and stir and cook for a couple minutes. I think this serves as a thickener, but I didn't actually see much effect.

Then add one cup of wine. Here is my major departure from the recipe. It called for dry white wine. I obviously used red. Decide for yourself. And if you wouldn't drink it, don't cook with it. (Which speaks to the quality of wine you should be using, and the fact that if you have a sensitivity to alcohol, you shouldn't cook with it. It doesn't all "cook out," like everyone on TV but Alton Brown will tell you. The amount of alcohol will decrease, but it doesn't disappear. Anyway.) Cook this mixture for a few more minutes.

You will now need four cups of beef broth or stock and two cups of chicken broth or stock. You could probably swap out the chicken and make it all beef. It's up to you. I think. We had homemade chicken broth in the fridge, so I'd say we win. The soup doesn't look great at this stage. I was concerned about how much liquid there was in comparison to the amount of onions. Dan told me to relax, which is nearly impossible for me to do while I'm cooking, but he's cute so I tried. I took out about a cup of liquid, let it all simmer for about half an hour, and added it back in. It was pretty much perfect.

And now for the baguette. (Were you worried I'd gone through all of this and not used the bread that made me decide to make the soup in the first place?) Never fear. It takes me a while to make a point sometimes. 

I don't have bowls that I want to put in the oven, so I made croutons, of sorts. That cheese went on slices of bread which went under the broiler until the cheese melted and turned just a bit brown. I really wasn't paying attention to how look it took.

The finished product. It was sweet, oniony, cheesy, delicious. I'm proud of what I accomplished.

So there you have it. A food post. French Onion Soup, complete with pictures taken by my iPhone.

Things have happened in my life.

I haven't written a Life Update Post in a while. Mostly because I've been living life. I've been posting less about my life anyway. Stuff shows up on Instagram, which links to Facebook and Twitter. That's pretty much how people find out what's going on. But here are a few stories:

1. I taught Sunday School for an entire school year. I spent nearly every Sunday morning from September 15-May 25 with the seventh graders at Grabill Missionary Church. I couldn't handle it at first, then I learned to love them, then we tolerated each other for a couple months, then we all got along pretty well, and then it was over. I spent Wednesday evenings with those girls, too, and they are my favorites. These kids are wonderful. I miss them. I am so excited to spend a few days with them at CDYC next week, even if they might spend the whole time accusing me of using heroin. Yeah, that's something that happened.

2. I turned 23. It was a pretty good birthday, starting with flowers from one of my seventh grade girls and ending with a Skype date with My Friend Katie who Lives in China. Yes, that's how I refer to her when I'm not talking to her. The hours in between included a lunch of steak and mashed potatoes, an afternoon of napping and watching "The West Wing," and a visit from some wonderful friends who brought me healthy foods, flowers (more about that later), and a Dan Smith. A couple of impromptu songs were performed, raspberries were eaten, and I may have shed a few tears of joy.

3. Our Tuesday Night Bible Reading has made significant progress. We finished the Pentateuch, jumped through a few Epistles, and went back to Joshua. We're now in 1 Samuel, unless they finished it the other night. Spending my Tuesday evenings with this group of people, reading Scripture, discussing the text and life and food is such a wonderful part of life. I am continually thankful that I get to be part of Team Awesome.

And now,The Abridged Story of Dope (If you're anything like me, you probably don't actually want to read this. I like this guy a lot and I need to write about it.):
4. Toward the end of February we were reading Exodus. After that night's reading, a few of us had an extended discussion of the few chapters including the Ten Commandments, Moses going up Sinai, the Golden Calf, etc. We were trying to figure out how many times Moses when up and down the mountain, where he was on the mountain, and how long he was there. We kept going back to Exodus 19, which has become a bit of a running gag. I was sitting across from Dan Smith. The taller one. The one who has two middle names.
A few nights later, I was sitting across from him again. We talked for two hours that night.
A few weeks after that, I was in New York. Dan texted me all that week, helping me process the trip, asking good questions, praying for me. He was great.
He was the one who brought me the flowers on my birthday. He was the one who ate half of the raspberries he brought me.
On the Tuesday after my birthday, he turned my invitation to a high school play directed by My Friend Stephanie who Teaches English into our first date. Same page? Same page. Cool.
We went on four dates, plus a non-date casual hang out that ranks among my favorite nights.
And then we were an official couple.
The past two months have been so unexpected and wonderful. We have been through some difficulty and some serious conversations and some tears and some laughter and some frustration and some awkwardness and some family time and some Putt Putt and some generally great time together.
I promise I won't talk too much about this, but I really enjoy telling stories and I really like this guy. So he'll show up occasionally.

5. I'm slowly starting to look for a new job. I'm not sure what kind of work I want to do. I'm just ready to move on and try something new. I'd like to start in September. I'd appreciate prayers or job offers. I'd appreciate a lack of pressure. Thanks.

And that's all I have to say about that.

I wrote about New York.

As I begin writing this, we’re at the station in Rochester, NY. It’s about 10:00 on Saturday morning, and we’ve made it halfway through our journey. And I’ve slept through most of it. I think a lot of the kids have, too. The thing is, most of the my fellow travelers wake up at the same time every day and have normal schedules. This meant that I was woken up at 7:30 to news of $10 pancakes. I do not understand the ability to have that much energy and excitement at such an early hour. There seems to be a pretty even split in our group. Half of us are either still sleeping (or almost sleeping), and the other half are up and down the train, laughing, and playing cards. I decided to start the process of updating you, although you won’t be reading this until we’re in the city. This train doesn’t have wiFi. What’s up with that?

Our group of thirty-eight must have been a sight to see boarding the train around 2:00am. In the church basement, it doesn’t seem like such a big group. Spread out on the platform, though, we started to get an idea of how it’s going to be for us walking through the streets of New York City. These kids better be ready for some lessons in “we discipline you because we love you and don’t want you to get hit by a taxi driver who is just trying to do his job so GET OUT OF THE STREET, NOW!” Okay, maybe that’s just me. But city drivers are not to be messed with.

I look out the window and see bare trees, dry, brown grass, a few houses, and the last bits of snow turning into huge puddles. In a few short (eight) hours, these will be replaced by skyscrapers, people, slushy corners, cars, lights, noise, and the energy of city life on a Saturday night. And, according to my weather app, a 90% chance of rain. Welcome to the city!

I hear there’s a stop coming up that’s long enough for us to get out and stretch our legs for a few minutes. I’ll end this part of the post now.

We’re about an hour and a half from Penn Station. We’ve been traveling through New York for most of the day, and it has been beautiful. Between small mountains and old buildings, we have not been lacking for scenic views.

At the moment, it’s raining and I’m listening to Rend Collective’s newest album, The Art of Celebration. There’s a song called “Burn Like a Star,” and I think the lyrics in the second verse speak perfectly to our desires for the work we’ll be doing this week:

“Send revival, start in us.

Set Your holy spark in us.Send us out in resurrection power.History’s about to change.We are rising once again.Send us out in resurrection power.We are aching for the real thing;hearts are open wide.Hope Swanson

Burn like a star, light a fire in our hearts.”

I can’t pick a favorite song from the album, but these words are my prayer for our team over the next few days. We want God to use us in ways that we could never predict or expect or ask. We want Him to do things in us and through us that we could never dream of accomplishing. We want to be His hands and feet and voice and heart in the middle of a city that, for the most part, ignores Him. We want to support and encourage our brothers and sisters who are seeking to change the city. We want to partner with them in ministry and in prayer. We want to be open to whatever is going to come our way on this trip.

So far, everyone has stayed safe, healthy, and excited. Almost everyone has gotten at least a few minutes of sleep, and I think we’re all looking forward to getting off of this train, eating dinner, and getting settled.

Please be praying for our children’s ministry and youth conference tomorrow, for Michael as he preaches.

We love you and miss you.

Good night.

Good evening! It’s Monday and we just got back from a day of walking through the city. Lee has asked if I could tell you all that he says “hi.” So, Lee says “hi!”

Yesterday was incredible, almost unbelievable if I hadn’t been in the middle of what what happening. My team (also known as Greg’s Team) and Kelley’s team left at 8:15 for Iglesia Evangelica Misionera Brooklyn. We sang with them and then a man came to the stage and read Psalm 51 and spoke about it. He spoke passionately about how we are washed clean by the blood of Jesus. I studied Spanish in high school and started as a Spanish major at Bethel, but I’ve never been very confident in my skills. I was understanding about half of what they were saying and singing, and it helped to have the lyrics up on the screen.

After announcements a man came to the stage and started talking about and to us. He asked the band to start playing one of the songs again, and said that we needed to sing in Spanish. He said that God might be calling us to be bilingual. At that point, I was already feeling like God was nudging me in that direction. Then he called Kelley up to the stage and asked him to hold his arms up. We were singing and moving and worshiping. Then he called Dave Jofreda to the stage and the three  of them danced and jumped. Rhonda Bollier was the next to be called up, then Dylan Carlyle, Rob Voirol, and Nancy Souder. When each person came to the stage, he began to speak to them, prophesying over them. Most of it was Spanish, but we heard a few words in English. It was such a powerful display of the Spirit. (There’s more to this story, but I don’t think I can be the one to write it.)

Then we went downstairs with the kids and Kelley’s team led the children’s ministry program that we’ve prepared. Many thanks to Janna Worthman for her prayerful preparation of a fantastic program that was adaptable depending on the audience. Kelley’s team did a great job and the kids had fun. It was awesome to be able to watch another team work.

Our two teams left together and split so that my team could go to Roosevelt Island. Christina Getz was guiding us all day and took us to their apartment to rest for a while. We got our Starbucks fix and spent about an hour getting to know Christina and enjoying their view. Roosevelt Island is in the middle of the East River between Manhattan and Queens, and you can walk across it width-wise in about a minute. Their apartment has a view of both boroughs, and the roof is incredible.

The church where our team presented the children’s program is a brand new church plant on the island. It’s called Hope Church Roosevelt Island and they officially launch next week. When we arrived on Saturday night the four adults on our team met with Jeff and he told us that the kids probably wouldn’t have any church background and that we’d have to adapt our program and start with explaining what a disciple is and what the “good news” is. We had a brief moment of panic, but we spent some time in prayer with the rest of the adults and went to bed feeling much more at peace about the whole thing. After what happened in the morning at IEMB, we were ready. We knew that God was with us and would use us and speak to us and through us.

We walked to the church building, which is a beautiful old brick building. The sanctuary is classic: stained glass, hardwood floor, cathedral ceiling; gorgeous. Our space for children’s ministry was about twice the size of what we anticipated. We talked with Amanda, one of the pastors, and she helped us get set up. We prayed together and headed upstairs for the first part of the service. I immediately felt at home when I heard Mumford and Sons playing through the room. When the next song was “Second Chance” by Rend Collective, I knew I was in the right place. (Not that there was any question.) I met a few of the kids, we stayed upstairs through music, and went back down with the kids. There were about ten of them, and four of them were the pastors’ kids. (So much for no church background.)

These kids were AWESOME! They participated, they knew one of the songs, they danced, they answered questions, and they talked to us. We had a great time with them.

We made our way back via the tram and subway, rejoined Kelley’s and Lee’s teams, shared some stories, and stayed up way too late talking.

I’ll write the story of today in the morning, and maybe we’ll get back on a normal schedule. I started writing this post this morning and was almost done when Jeff came in and told us that it was time to go. And I’m emailing this to my dad tonight, but it probably won’t go up until tomorrow morning. So you might get three posts in a day.

It’s Tuesday morning. I’m sitting on my air mattress, which deflated slightly overnight, sipping coffee and listening to the girls get ready. This is the point of the trip when we all know each other and like each other well enough that we’re still being very loving and kind. But it’s the fourth day that we’ve spent together, and this is often the time when we are tired enough that our usual filters start to deteriorate. We start reacting without thinking. We start getting a little bit snippy. Please pray specifically for this need. Pray that we would continue to care about each other’s hearts. Ask that God would give us a double-portion of patience in these last few days.

Yesterday was extra exhausting. We got to sleep in a bit, but it sure didn’t feel like enough. The first thing on our agenda after breakfast was a devotional from a man from Pakistan. There are some legal issues involved in this situation, so I’m not going to write too much. Suffice it to say that our eyes were opened to the need for knowledge about other religions, especially Islam. We cannot demonstrate their need for Jesus if we don’t demonstrate an understanding of what they think they have. Did that make sense? I hope so.

After that meeting, Jeff took us on a prayer walk through the city. This probably wasn’t quite like the prayer walk you’re used to. Jeff has a deep love for this city. He said to us “till the city that never sleeps meets the God who doesn’t either.” That’s why he’s here. That’s why he works with people who are planting churches. That is the desire that God has placed on his heart, and he wanted us to get an idea of how to pray the same way he does. As we traveled through the city, we would stop and Jeff would point out a landmark and talk about how he uses it as a reminder for prayer. We went to Times Square and he talked aout how New York is the city that never sleeps and that Times Square is the crossroads of the world.

Our next stop was lunch from Chipotle (yes!), which we ate in Bryant Park. After we ate, we gathered and Jeff pointed out the Bank of America building, representing greed. He challenged us to think not only about obvious kinds of greed, but the greed in our own hearts that keeps us from sharing what we have to offer (money, skills, love). As we stood there, he pointed behind us to the library. He talked about all the knowledge that building stands for and our responisibility to use that knowledge well, and not to depend on it. We walked from the park, to Grand Central Station, which represented busyness. Jeff asked us to think about things in our lives that take up time that we could be spending doing other, more meaningful things. We walked from Grand Central to the United Nations building. Each time we walked, we were to be looking at people’s faces, really looking at them, looking at their eyes. We were asking God to show us how to be part of their lives. We were praying for people differently than we usually do, I think. We were supposed to notice places, and think about how to use them as reminders to pray for what is going on in people’s lives and hearts. When we get home, ask us about what we noticed and how we’re praying for the people around us.

After the UN, where we prayed for peace, we made our way to the Staten Island Ferry, which is widely accepted as the best view of the Statue of Liberty, and it’s free. When we got back to Manhattan, we took the train to the tram and took the tram over to Roosevelt Island for dinner. Then it was up to the top of the Getzes’ apartment for the best and windiest view of the city. Inside, we heard from Kelley’s friend Josh Lee, who I’ve been hearing about for six years. Josh has a desire to bring the Gospel to kids in poor neighborhoods, who don’t have any idea what it means to be loved or cared about, because their parents aren’t providing that for them. It was so cool to finally hear from Josh. And Kelley finally rapped for us. We also heard from Kristin Bollier, who graduated from GMC and Leo in 2008. She’s living in the city, working in the fashion industry, and learning to be intentional about finding community. She hit hard on our need to surround ourselves with people who can support us and encourage us and challenge us. It was so good to see Kristin and hear her heart and what’s going on in her life right now.

That was yesterday. It was a good day, and I hope you get a chance to hear from some of our team members. Ask us questions. We have stories to share, and we would love for you to get an idea of what we’ve been doing.

We’ve made it to Wednesday. It’s our last full day and it’s going to be a long one.

I’m typing between bites of Honey Nut Cheerios. It’s 9:27, and we’ve gathered for breakfast. We’re in the room where most of the girls are sleeping. Air mattresses are stacked on tables, luggage is pushed to the edges of the room, several of my belongings are strewn across a table.

Yesterday (Tuesday) was a long day of walking.

Half of us spent the morning at a senior center on Roosevelt Island, while the other half did community research in Astoria. I went to the senior center and spent about an hour listening to a woman named Paula talk about her children and grandchildren. The woman hardly took a breath, and it was freeing. I didn’t have to come up with questions for her or things to say about myself.

We ate lunch with the people there, and then Monique and I went with a woman named Perdida to help her clean out a shelf and throw some stuff away. She put a few things in a bag and offered them to us. She went back to a room and returned with an armful of clothes that she wanted to get rid of. She kept telling us that we should keep the stuff, because she didn’t want it to go to waste. 

I think everyone at the senior center had a good time and talked to some interesting people. I haven’t heard much from the people who did the community research, so you’ll have to ask them about it.

After our morning activities, we met at the 9/11 Memorial. I wasn’t sure what to expect from myself emotionally. I remember a few details about that day: sitting at the kitchen table, eating a Pop Tart, watching the news, wondering along with the hosts what what going on in New York, watching a plane make its way across the screen and sky and into the tower. I remember cars lined up at gas stations. I remember watching the news in the afternoon, because nothing else was on because nothing else seemed to matter. I was in fifth grade, ten years old. I didn’t realize at the time that everything had changed. I didn’t realize that fear had taken over our country.

As I slowly walked around one of the Memorial Pools, I read names. I thought about these people who got up and went to work or boarded a plane. We hear stories of people who woke up late and missed their usual train, or who happened to have a meeting scheduled and rescheduled for somewhere else in the city. The people whose names are on that memorial didn’t have stories like that. They went through their normal routine. They did the same thing they did every day, but that day was the worst day. That day changed our nation and their families forever. On the far side of the first pool I noticed two names that were followed by “…and her unborn child.” That is when the tears finally fell. I thought about those children who would now be teenagers, the same age as my Sunday School students. Those children who were spared from a world without peace by such an act of violence and hatred. Those children who were victims along with their mothers and thousands of others. It was a tragedy that was felt throughout the world, the effects of which we are experiencing every day.

It’s now 12:44am on Thursday morning. I got interrupted this morning, and have been talking and getting ready for bed since we got back. Fellowship seemed to be more important on this last night in the city, so I’ll give you two days in one post.

It feels like we spent the day on our feet or on trains. After breakfast, we set our room back up so it would be ready for us tonight. We boarded the train to the World Trade Center stop, ate lunch at Burger King, and got on another train to take us to Newark, New Jersey. We met Pastor Tulio at Emanuel Missionary Church. This was the church where Michael preached and his team did their children’s program on Sunday night. It’s a beautiful old Russian Orthodox building that has been updated on the inside. They’ve added lights, painted, and generally brightened the place. It was such a welcoming space, even without people.

There’s a playground across from the church where we did a modified version of the children’s program. Kids were running everywhere, parents were watching, and our students were amazing. They talked to people, they played games, they laughed, they led well. I was a very proud youth leader.

I’ve been so impressed all week. Parents, you have done well. These students are helpful, loving, thoughtful, smart, brave, patient, encouraging, funny, and fun to travel with. We’ve all had our moments of frustration, but we’ve pushed through them all. We are at the end of our time here, and we still like each other. You should be proud of your children/parents/siblings/spouses/friends/GMC family. Thank you for supporting us financially and in prayer over the past few months. God has been faithful to provide everything that we’ve needed, and even more than we ever thought to ask for. Our eyes have been opened to the needs of the city, and our hearts have been softened to the needs of Grabill/Leo/Fort Wayne.

We’re looking forward to being home on Friday morning. Not just because we get to see you and tell you our stories, but because we now have a better understanding of our mission to our hometown. Get ready, Grabill. We’ve been to New York City, and we’re bringing back the love of Jesus.