His yoke is easy and his burden is light.

What an overwhelming weekend.

a road less traveled.

Two roads diverged...

Sitting in the back of Belmont Heights Baptist church in the midst of my fellow graduates, I pondered where I have been and where I am going. What a journey. Realistically, I could have graduated with a higher grade point average. I could have joined a few more honor societies. I could have already applied to Vandy or SOAS in london and be well on my way to what most would consider a successful life.

But that's not who I am.
I'm not exactly sure who that is, exactly, but a after recent near-death experience, I AM sure she's the only thing I've got.

Unexpectedly, I arrived at the intersection four years ago. Oblivious to the crossing, I walked on the grasses of Belmont University with great expectations and the utmost confidence that I would achieve success, defined at the time by graduating with the highest honors and a elongated list of academic and extracurricular acheivements. My first few semesters were bombarded with late nights, early mornings, 30 hour work weeks and regular all-nighters, all attempts to achieve the aforementioned goals. This, I thought, was who I was...it was me at my best...after all, I wanted excellence...

But somehow...somewhere along the journey...another road crossed my path and I found myself walking blindly into unexplored territory. The defining characteristics that composed the foundation and stability of my identity began to diminish as I meekly stumbled forward...walking...moving...continuing until I found myself on the rocky soil of Zimpeto, Mozambique. Unable to move, I began to question everything I knew, wanted or desired. None of it mattered. None of it. All that mattered was that I had to be dwelling in the midst of my King, my Jesus, my lover, my best friend. No steps would be taken unless they took me closer to him, no breath would be breathed unless it was of him and no thought was worth thinking unless it was of my sweet Jesus. Unexplored territory, it was. Familiarities were sporadic but for the most part...my journey that once seemed defined and concrete had become a rocky path of unexpected turns and mountains. Some might describe it as unstable, irresponsbible or "a waste of talent and potential." I call it...well, I call it..me.

I'm only 22 and I am quite aware the my life experiences are limited and any wisdom I claim could possibly be overturned in a few years...but despite that, there are a few things I know.
Regardless of the situation, I don't know how not to love. I honestly don't know how not to respond out of unconditional and unadulterated love, even despite the fact that as a result, my mind is often led to confusion and my heart to brokenness. Just recently..the very core of my being led me to a desert land where barrenness prevails, hope is deferred and the seeds of Papa's dreams are left to die. I ran away. But I came back.
I believe in the one. I believe in the now. I believe in goodness of God. I believe in the goodness of man. I believe in peace. And I believe in faith. I believe in true reconciliation. I believe that families can be restored, orphans can united with their families, the poor can become rich and the sick are healed. And I believe in each of these with such fervor and passion that they have become stones..stones so perfectly adjoined to form a road that has become my journey, leading me toward a fruitful and plentiful land where the barren one conceives, hope is restored and all of the seeds of Papa's dreams are fulfilled...and his bride is prepared. The cost of the journey? Priceless.

When I graduated high school, one of my teaches handed me a copy of Robert Frost's poem "The Road Not Taken." Pondering on the words every so often over the past few years, I finally understand. Choosing to live from our hearts, from what we know in the depths of our very being, from the ideas and dreams that give life to our spirits, laying aside expectation and wordly definitions of success, walking with pride, passion and confidence that no matter the consequences, we will choose to walk in the truth and light of who we are, what we know, what we believe...this...THIS...is the road less traveled. And taking the road less traveled is indeed dangerous. Indeed rocky. Indeed instable. But it's beautiful.

And every so often in my wild, radical ride, a crux is in the road...an easy-out. A way to quietly proceed on the 'other,' choosing to forego the danger...for me, its the same question.

Is love worth the risk?

My answer is never immediate and the temptation to run away is always strong. Last week I ran away...I ran fast...and far. It wasn't worth it, I decided...I just couldn't keep going. My feet were bruised and I was tired. So I went to sleep. But I dreamed of that land...I dreamed of that land where families are restored, orphans are reunited with their families, the poor are rich and the sick are healed...and I came back. I came back to the road that is sometimes terrifying, dark and lonely...but it's all I know. And the rocks on my road others call instable are actually my stability and the sturdy comfort beneath my feet.

So I walk on, knowing that the road not taken is indeed the road less traveled...but it's the only road I know...and I know where it leads...and THAT...THAT is the reason why I will never take another.

And love...is it worth it?

Absolutely.

Eyes still tightly shut, I always knew when it was morning. The cool breeze rustling through my tent, the dampness of my skin, the brightness of the beaming orange sun beginning to rise over the blues of the ocean...all reminders the day was near. I pulled my blue fleece close around my neck, thankful for the covering that had traveled with me on all my African adventures...I knew the time was around 5:30 am...the scraping of the children sweeping the sand replaced any need for a wake-up alarm. I sat up and wrapped a capalana around my body, grabbed a bar of soap and headed down to the beach for a morning swim and shower. By the time I reached the gate, I was accompanied by my little friends...I loved wondering who would win the daily battle of who got to carry my towel and who got to hold my hand...arriving at the beach, I joined the mothers in the water as children came to bathe and the men and boys pushed their fishing boats in the water, hoping to get an early start. I arrived home and the base is bustling...pastors are ready and waiting outside the kitchen for their morning tea and roll and the children are busy cleaning their dorms before school.
"Good Morning Mana Mal!" --- Edwardo, the gatekeeper, said daily with his toothy grin...
I clipped my towel on the line and climbed the rocky hill to the top of the base, anxious to spend the next hour or so with Daddy. I turned and saw the tops of hundreds of thatched roofs that formed Cabo Delgado, a village finding the love of Jesus day by day...kids ran through the dirt paths, women carried piles of wood and water on their heads...smoke was rising throughout the villages as rice was already being prepared. My heart smiled.

The day had begun.

Good morning, Pemba.

back to the secret place i go....


aaannnnddd i'm spent.


ciao.