Candy Island

My mom and I always took a trip to the grocery store on Friday nights. I loved the opportunity to have her attention all to myself as we walked around the store together. We were distracted from each other’s lovingly irritating qualities and focused on completing the overwhelming task of buying groceries for nine people.

Because of the immensity of the feat and the mother-daughter time that it provided, I had never been allowed to bring friends on these outings. Mama must have had a soft spot in her heart for Rebekah Henderson’s unpredictable personality. When I was about thirteen, I got permission to invite Bek for a sleepover on a Friday night. She tagged along for our weekly ritual. Bek and I shivered throughout the store. My mom must have gotten tired of hearing our teeth chattering, so she sent us both to the candy island for a half-pound bag each. Her offer warmed us quickly.

The candy stand seemed like Willy Wonka’s factory. Colorful gumdrops, mints, jellybeans, taffies, caramels, and chocolates sparkled in sugary splendor. We could not stop grinning. Bek unrolled two plastic bags, and we began filling and weighing them. As we neared the half-pound mark, we noticed baseball-sized jawbreakers in the last canister. They were perfect for meeting our quota.

Before I could stop her, Bek lifted the lid, stretched her bare hand into the clear container of unwrapped jawbreakers, and dropped one into her bag. “Rebekah!” I spouted. She looked at me, clueless. “You’re supposed to use the scooper!”

“Oh,” she replied, shrugging apathetically. She stretched her hand far into the long bag, brought out the jawbreaker, and plopped it back into its box. Then she scooped another large candy sphere from the canister and placed it in her bag.

I tied a knot in my plastic bag just above the candy and then tied the excess of the bag around my wrist. I led the way through the store to find my mom, swirling the bag in circles. Bek was only a step behind me, swirling her bag as well, only she had not tied the bag around her wrist. The jawbreaker at the end of the long bag made a kind of slingshot that David might have found handy in slaying Goliath. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Bek’s half-pound bag of candy left her hand, spun through the air, and landed on top of a meat freezer.

We stared at each other with wide eyes, glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed. Relieved that no one had seen, we burst into embarrassed giggles. Not knowing what to do about the precious lost candy, Bek and I decided to consult my wise mother. We found her in the dairy section, oblivious to the ruckus we had created. When we confessed, she simply shook her head and told us to go fill another bag for Bek. “But, no more mishaps,” she warned.

Back at the candy island, I helped Bek reload her stash of goodies. We managed gracefully to avoid any bare-handed retrievals or any near-ceiling launches. We were almost finished and proud of our treasure. We weighed the bag once more in the shiny metal plate. It read only a couple ounces short. She decided to add more Skittles. I agreed; they were my favorite, too. I offered to hold the bag open like a pot of gold so she could pour in that glorious sugar-coated rainbow.

She missed.

Skittles bounced like pebbles across the tile flooring and down several aisles of the store. We looked at each other again with wide eyes and gaping mouths. This time, when we glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed, there were three Bi-Lo employees with cleaning supplies staring at us as if we had just destroyed their masterpiece. We scurried around the mess we had made, found my mom in a check-out line, and huddled close to her for protection from the contemptuous grocery workers.

That was the first and the last time that my mom allowed anyone else to accompany us on our weekly trips to the store.

Which City?

While I was working at Marietta Baptist Camp during June and July, our worship leader, Jamie Koenig, introduced me to the song "God Of This City" by Chris Tomlin. The lyrics are truly inspirational and were especially so to me throughout the rest of the summer.

At MBC, I would pray for God to rule over the tiny southern town of Marietta, South Carolina, while I worked and lived there. God was moving in the lives of the children and the staffers. Each week, as one of my campers would sit with me at the altar and give her life to Christ for the first time, I knew that God was answering the prayers that we had sung for that little city.

After working at camp, I flew to Nairobi, Kenya, for a mission trip. I listened to "God Of This City" on my iPod while I was sitting under a mosquito net in a major African city. The irony that I had sung the very same thing to God in two very opposite settings made me smile. The children at the orphanage, the teens in the slums, the women in the open muddy market, the businessmen on the dirty streets, all of them were part of the city that I had prayed for God to use me to be His hope and light, just as I had at a summer camp.

Now, back in the southern United States, dorming and attending classes in the city of Tigerville, South Carolina, which is essentially the campus of North Greenville University, I pray that God will also reveal Himself as the God of this city during my time here.

"You're the Lord of Creation, the Creator of all things. You're the King above all Kings. You are. You're the strength in our weakness. You're the love to the broken. You're the joy in the sadness. You are. You're the God of this city. You're the King of these people. You're the Lord of this nation. You are. There is no one like our God. There is no one like our God. Greater things have yet to come. Great things are still to be done in this city. Greater things are still to come, and greater things are still to be done here."

Weakness, brokenness, and sadness exist in all cities, but God created them and reigns over them. He brings strength, love, joy, and hope, and He does that through His people. "Hakuna Mungu kama we we. Hakuna na hata kuweko." There is no one like our God. There is none and there never will be. Southern English or Swahili, Marietta or Nairobi - it makes no difference in the greatness of God. May He be the God of wherever I am.

Back and Blogging

I am back in the USA and full of stories. I will pick up my blogging starting next week, so get ready to read!

Much love and grace for my faithful readers . . . . I can't wait to share with you.

Summer Break

I'm on summer break from school right now and will be far from technology for most of it. Instead, I'll be working out, getting a tan, eating more than anyone should, working at a camp, and traveling to Kenya. But as soon as I get back to school in August, I'll have so many ideas collected that I want to spill to my readers that you will be overwhelmed with information. So, please, don't give up on my blog. Go back and read from days past, and stay tuned until the end of the summer. You'll be glad you did; I'm sure of it!

Today

Today, let me right the wrongs of the world. Every last one. Let me hold the new life wrapped tightly in a nursery of the orphanage in Nairobi. Let the tiny fingers grip around something softer than neglect. Let the sun burn my skin as I play hopscotch with a child whose friends were picked up from school on time. Let me forget my studies to hug the struggling student.

Today, let me right the wrongs of the world. Every last one. Let him talk to me until his hopes are truth, solid as the hammer in his hand. Let her complain until her fears in the custody trial, which keep her awake all night and at work all day, are yesterday’s memories, not today’s migraines. Let my ears be used to soothe.

Today, let me right the wrongs of the world. Every last one. Let me become friends with a girl who sells her body because no one else ever found her heart worth their time. Let me give freely to thieves. Let steel and iron entrap me if it means I have talked with a prisoner.

Today, let me right the wrongs of the world. Every last one. Let me sell my favorite dress to serve a warm breakfast to the hungry and homeless. Let me sit on a cracking concrete curb and listen to their thoughts and learn. Let me learn. Let the autumn chill fill my thin clothes. Let the rain fall onto my uncovered mind. Let me love them by knowing them, not just by watching the news.

Today, let me right the wrongs of the world. Every last one. Let me drive for hours to be with a friend. Let wet tears drain down my face in place of the ones she covers beneath her sturdy faith. Let me resurrect above the dark grave of the one she loved and show her the bright blue sky hovering over the rich green of earth.

Today, let me right the wrongs of the world. Every last one.

Serendipity

I had not planned on blogging tonight, but I must share what God just did for me. I prayed often today. I wrote the prayers down; it's one of my favorite things to do. I simply could not stop talking to God today. Something lay heavily on my soul that needed addressed even in its obscurity.

When it seemed impossible for another sentence to be produced by my weary mind, I turned to Scripture for a refill. My suite mate had mentioned Proverbs 27:14 to me earlier today, and I had jotted it down to look up later. I flipped through my NLT to find it, but instead of Proverbs 27:14, I accidentally stopped at Psalm 27:14. Serendipitously, the verse was almost identical wording to the words I had dripped into my journal an hour before. I frantically turned to the first of the chapter and began reading from start until end, a starving child devouring a feast. Each verse answered a prayer need that my heart had expressed throughout the day -- prayers for patience, prayers for protection, and prayers for power. God had been listening. Now, so am I. Listen.

The Lord is my light and my salvation --
so why should I be afraid?
The Lord is my fortress, protecting me from danger,
so why should I tremble?
When evil people come to devour me,
when my enemies and foes attack me,
they will stumble and fall.
Though a mighty army surrounds me,
my heart will not be afraid.
Even if I am attacked,
I will remain confident.
The one thing I ask of the Lord --
the thing I seek most --
Is to live in the house of the Lord all the days of my life,
delighting in the Lord's perfections
and meditating in his Temple.
For he will conceal me there when troubles come;
he will hide me in his sanctuary.
He will place me out of reach on a high rock.
Then I will hold my head high
above my enemies who surround me.
At his sanctuary I will offer sacrifices with shouts of joy,
singing and praising the Lord with music.
Hear me as I pray, O Lord,
Be merciful and answer me!
My heart has heard you say, "Come and talk with me."
And my heart responds, "Lord, I am coming."
Do not turn your back on me.
Do not reject your servant in anger.
You have always been my helper.
Don't leave me now; don't abandon me,
O God of my salvation!
Even if my father and mother abandon me,
the Lord will hold me close.
Teach me how to live, O Lord.
Lead me along the right path,
for my enemies are waiting for me.
Do not let me fall into their hands.
For they accuse me of things I've never done;
with every breath they threaten me with violence.
Yet I am confident I will see the Lord's goodness
while I am here in the land of the living.
Wait patiently for the Lord.
Be brave and courageous.
Yes, wait patiently for the Lord.

My Time

Since I have not typed a single word onto this site in over a week, any regular readers I may have had are probably giving up on me right about now. This lack of inspiring insight to share does not spring from a lack of learning. I have been learning greatly, but it comes in blurbs of information -- facts that may be too short to entertain the blogging audience. I enjoy the sentence-long epiphanies, but even when I attach all the blurbs, they seem fragmented. I could elaborate on any one or two of them, but then they would not stand alone as well as they already do. So, if free association bothers you, you should probably go to the next blog. However, if you would like to read through my fragmented thought processes, you are welcome to try. I am literally flipping through my sacred notebook and pulling out the sections that follow. This is a privilege and probably will not happen again. Be glad you found it today.



What if I write everyday, and it's all in vain?
What if my fingers permanently cramp around the pen, but no two eyes ever really grasp the words?


I feel as if I have been separated from beauty itself for far too long. This is effecting my poetry. I need spring.


I want to live in a city at least once in life.


When do I get quiet enough that I can hear a poem before I write it.


Why do people say "a-whole-nother?"


I want to minister in downtown Greenville.


I want to take a water bucket and drippy soap suds into the middle of the worst places and wash the dirty hands and faces of the world's poorest children.


My notebook is burgundy. Burgundy is such a serious color. Where have all my cute poems gone? I need to switch to my polka-dotted one. I need bright photography -- the kind that makes me live it out and write it out.