In a month, I will leave my life here in San Diego to become a part of a journey.
To become part of another culture, family, and way of living.
I am trying my best to focus on the love and hope He has just in this month of preparation.
I can’t help but daydream about what it will be like.
I know this might sound weird, but I am refusing to do “research” on Haiti.
To look up pictures, read about the culture, and disaster relief.
This isn’t to say I am becoming naive about where I am going, I just want to be able to go to this place with no expectations of what people have already experienced…because I know mine will be different.
I couldn’t have ever imagined, or put together this journey I’m about to go on.
The events that had to happen in order for this next year to happen.
4 years ago I met my birth mom.
It was there, in that moment, that I saw her face with flashes of light going off every second.
Behind those flashes of light was Amanda. Capturing every tear and breath of this reunion.
It’s Amanda’s family who I will be serving along side with in Haiti. Teaching her kids and loving on the people in Haiti.
Little did I, or we know that in that moment of meeting my birth mom, God was creating another story…
God is so much bigger than what we can ever imagine.
With that, I will leave you with a video.
The video of when my birth mom and I met for the first time.
The picture is painted, and you will see Amanda capturing every second of it.
As cheesy as the video is, it captures the moment.
I was debating on whether or not I wanted to post this.
Last night, I wrote about my friend Brian.
I decided to post this to share his incredible story.
So here it is…
Brian
I couldn’t stop thinking about him today.
I kept replaying the few quiet hours we sat next to each other.
I spotted him in the crowd of people.
I recognized his dress up shirt and cleanly shaven head. He was sitting all alone.
With excitement, yet nervousness, I made my way toward him. With an awkward smile and hug, I sat next to him. With a quick hi, we sat as if we were family that just saw each other 5 minutes ago. No small talk needed.
We watched our junior higher’s stand so proudly. As kid after kid walked across the stage, we would clap and nod our heads remembering the hard times they gave us. There comes this crazy proud love for kids that give you the toughest times.
We continued to smile and chuckle as the toughest kids walked quickly across the stage.
As the hot sun is beating on my skin, I use the graduation flier to fan under my hair and feel more freckles pop up under my skin.
I glance over at Brian and notice his hands neatly placed on his thighs. His posture upright, and his eyes at every student walking across the stage. I notice an old student from last year sitting behind us and I forget her name. He quickly looks over at me and with a smirk says, “It’s Taylor.”
We continue to burn in the heat in our different ways when… Brian sees it. His homeroom class.
As they started lining up to hear their names being called, he made the faintest sound. The best way I can describe it is the sound you hear during a good prayer or satisfying talk. He leaned over to me and said, “That is my class.”
Right there, I almost broke.
About 6 months ago, Brian had a brain aneurism. It was sudden and hard for the kids to know that their teacher was here one day, and in the hospital the next. The kids poured so much love his way with an abundant amount of get well letters. I remember visiting him at the recovery center, not knowing what to expect. I checked his room, and he wasn’t there. As I started to walk outside, I saw him. Sitting in his wheelchair, clean shaven head, and hands placed neatly on his thighs, he was listening to his dad. He didn’t remember me, but he told me he was thankful for my visit. That was one of the hardest visits I’ve ever had to make.
And here we were, a few months later…as he watches a teacher, other than himself, walking his class up to graduate. Whispering each student’s name before they are even called. Taking in the sun as he watches the students proudly take on 9th grade.
After the ceremony, we walked into the crowd of students. I overheard an old student ask, “Are you still teaching?” He paused and said, “Yes, yes I am.”
I couldn’t help but stare in his direction.
The students flocked toward him.
With no questions asked, they threw their arms around him and wanted a picture with him.
His smile never left the cameras.
The other day, my friend Lauren and I decided to go on an adventure.
Here in San Diego there are many places to explore.
From people watching, to pretending we were tourist, the day was filled with memories.
On the way to picking her up, I was thinking about memories.
My brain knows that I have lived many days….but I couldn’t tell you what happened every day of my life.
I could maybe tell you a handful of days I remember from my 4 years in high school.
It was the days that sparked a certain emotion in me that let my heart tell my brain to remember that day.
I tried my best to share with Lauren my thoughts about this, and it just didn’t make a ton of sense until we moved to our to our next destination (which I will come back to).
The great part about the day was we were both extremely sore from our 9.1 mile run the day before, so we had to both walk as slow as grandmas.
We had no rush, no real purpose in our day.
From the boy who chased the pigeons, to the barista who remembered our names as we walked out of Starbucks, to laughing until tears ran down our faces….memories.
I took Lauren to one of my favorite spots.
As we inched our way (slowly) up the grassy knoll, we laid our blankets down and watched the planes fly over us.
The planes were so close that it felt like you could reach your hand out and touch the belly of the plane.
I pulled out a book while Lauren wrote in her journal.
I chuckled out loud when I read the first line of the book.
“The saddest thing about life is you don’t remember half of it.”
He went into talking about a guy he knew that decided to write down everything he remembers.
“He’s the only guy I know who remembers his life. He said he captures memories, because if he forgets them, it’s as though they didn’t happen; it’s as though he hadn’t lived the parts he doesn’t remember.”
This was exactly what I was thinking earlier but put more eloquently by Donald Miller in his new book, ” A Million Miles in a Thousand Years”
It’s crazy to me that we can live something and not remember it years later.
I remember this episode of The Office when Jim and Pam took mental pictures during moments they wanted to remember.
For the past couple of months I have been filing mental pictures away more than I ever have.
It’s as if I got a new lens. Let’s just call this lens ‘sentimental’.
Everything around me…. from my friends, to the random people I see/ meet, I try to remember.
This new lens I think comes from knowing I will be leaving this place soon.
And so, with everyday like this one, I want to take with me.
A snapshot full of memories.
Meet Josselyn.
This is the first picture in which I can show her face!!!
She’s no longer owned by the court and her mom is able to take full custody of her.
To celebrate, I took her Disneyland and we had a blast with our friends Kyra and Sammy.
She had such a crazy journey the past couple of years, but God allowed me to be a part of it.
This girl has my heart….FULLY.
I really think about 3 years ago. If I didn’t make the decision to go to this camp for abused and neglected kids, I would have never met her. She would never be a part of my life. My brain doesn’t understand that.
As she gets older, she seeks for answers about life. She is the most observant girl I know.
Thank you Father for this undeserving gift.
Oregon is my second home.
The moment I arrive at the airport, I feel a sense of belonging.
It kind of reminds me of what my my friend Aubri said about Disneyland.
The moment she gets there, she knows exactly where everything is and feels at home.
At this time of year, Oregon treats you with every shade of green along with sprinkles of rain when it feels up to it.
The mountain tops have trees that look like upside down paintbrushes from afar.
I love exploring the town.
I love the coffee, thrift stores, and people.
I love the fact that I am here with my family.
Even though this trip has been a little scary and overwhelming with Ellis’s accident, we are all here together.
Yesterday, the Auntie’s and I walked the streets of downtown.
Of course we had to have lunch at the famous Costco.
Last night I made the 2nd batch of amaaazing salsa.
One of my favorite thrift stores that had a coffee bar.
This place was just filled with all kinds of amazing-ness. Suzanne’s…she was the sweetest lady, and loved being the owner of this shop.
And lastly, I just really liked this wall:)
This is a raw, and open letter. I wrote it tonight to simply remember. I hope I can look back at this blog post in a few months while dealing with everything that might be happening in a different country.
May 3, 2011
You are Majestic, Mighty, Holy, and my loving Father all at the same time.
You care about my thoughts, dreams and pains.
You find beauty in my freckles, and smile at my quirks.
You believe in me. Fully.
You put trust and love in the people around me.
You chose me. You saved me and gave me a love I will never fully understand or even come near here on earth until I see you face to face.
You give me glimpses of understanding for pain.
These glimpses I don’t deserve, yet you show me the hope in the pain.
These glimpses are the imprints of the work You have creatively painted in my life.
You speak to me through such beauty.
Through a simple melody, to a strong gust of wind that plays with my hair.
You are my smile. You are my laugh. You are my unique beauty that people see.
You are my hands in which I serve.
You are that extra beat when my eyes see that person. An inexplainable love for a stranger.
A passion for a loved one.
When I don’t think about you, I become someone else. I grow cold and useless.
You are that much needed hug. You have never left me. You have never betrayed me.
It makes me sick to admit that I have left and betrayed you.
It makes me sad to think that you couldn’t even look at me when I chose sin over you.
Yet, you have always taken me back.
I walk back to you head down, and you always give me that big bear hug welcoming me back into your arms.
I can’t help but smile, and my sin is quickly forgotten.
You are preparing this journey for me.
One that I am so scared of, yet so excited and ready for.
This is what is so cool to me.
You are not only planning this for me, but you are buying my plane ticket and coming with me.
For a year, it will be you and I.
We will be building our relationship in a new country.
You will show me things I have never been through, and you will show me hope.
You will open my same eyes in a new community of people.
You will be my extra heart beat for a complete stranger.
You will be my lips as I speak a different language.
You will be my hands as I serve to the kids.
We are going to go through this new journey and chapter together, and I am so excited.
I am not doing this alone.
You are the love of my life and I couldn’t be more happy to be sharing every moment of excitement, fear, and readiness than with you, my Father, Savior, and Protector.
This morning I was reading from John 18 where Jesus is taken before Pilate.
It was verse 28 that stood out to me.
“Then they led Jesus from Caiaphas to the Praetorium, and it was early morning. But they themselves did not go into the Praetorium, lest they should be defiled, but that they might eat the Passover.” – verse 28
I guess it stood out to me because the Jews were surrounded by multiple Laws about not becoming contaminated by people who were considered unclean.
So, they didn’t enter anywhere near the Gentiles.
But when it came to Jesus, nobody seemed to care whether He would be contaminated or not.
And so our Savior went alone into the place of defilement.
Losing His place among those “fit” to partake in the Passover.
He who was clean in ever aspect.
Our Passover sacrifice.
” He who had no sin took upon himself the sin of the whole world.”
Welp, Koinonia is officially over.
Our room looks awesome.
Everyone worked really hard at finishing tasks, and using their talents and creativity to finish projects.
Not only that, but it was really cool to see students working together and building relationships.
At the end, we went downtown to hang out, sit, and feed the homeless.
We came back, (EXHAUSTED) to worship in our new room.
I’ll be honest, I could barely stand, but it was an awesome experience.
Recap video to come:)
I can’t tell you what these kids are doing to my heart.
They inspire me and teach me how to love.
One of the leaders on our team spoke this past Palm Sunday.
I loved it.
She showed a video in relation to the “Passion”.
Christ suffered, carried the cross, and died on Friday.
To see the images you kept hearing a voice say, ” It’s Friday, but Sunday’s coming.”
Just to visualize and see Jesus suffering on this dark night.
It’s Friday, but Sunday came.
Hope.
At the end, she had each of us come up and write our “Friday” on a piece of paper.
Something dark, hard, or something that we are struggling with.
We then ripped off the bottom of that paper in which it read, “But Sunday’s coming”
We left our struggles on stage and grabbed the hopeful Sunday.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve looked at that paper, and it’s only Monday.
Sunday’s are usually crazy busy for me within the church.
Yesterday I decided to take Monday morning/ afternoon to take some quiet time and rest…maybe sleep in.
I woke up to this verse.
“Do not let your hearts be troubled.
You believe in God; believe also in me.
My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you?
And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.
You know the way to the place where I am going.”- John 14:1-4
I love this in so many ways. This verse brings so much comfort and a sense of belonging and love.
Through this transitional time in my life, God knows my heart’s desires and needs.
From simple texts, a phone call, to spending time with a good friend.
I’m learning a new dependency on my Father.
