So in case you haven't heard, I am on my way to Romania! Unfortunately, things have not been going so well. I had an awful time finding a time and tickets to get over here, but alas God provided! Unfortunately, I am currently in Amsterdam, Netherlands writing on a desktop computer that I had to pay $5 dollars for every 15 minutes to use! My plane coming to Amsterdam was late arriving, and of course I missed my next flight to Bucharest by a mere 5 minutes. So now I am waiting 4 hours to catch another flight to Paris then jumping on a plane to Bucharest finally! And having to do all this alone as my travelling companions were redirected on an earlier flight. I'm not sure why this is all happening. I was led by God to go to Romania, however, the world doesn't seem to want me there. But! My mother prayed that if I'm supposed to go, I will get there somehow. If not, there will be no possible way for me to go. So far, there's still a window slightly cracked, and I'm still going. I will take every opportunity God gives me to get there. If this is his plan, I will arrive in Bucharest one way or another.
For now, your love, support, and prayers are greatly needed.
Love and miss you all,
Jenny
Oh! and of course everything on the internet here is in Dutch!!! ....randomly hitting familiar looking buttons and guessing translations....
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Her Story
There are thousands.
Each with a slightly different feel
a different scent.
Each one remarkable
with a hidden story waiting to be revealed
waiting to be opened.
Its cover shows such beauty
Worn yet ready to be.
Opening lines draw her in
Before she even settles in the chair,
her mind is captured
Her imagination flows pages ahead
Hours pass by
It lies perfectly in the curves of her hands
The binding tightening with each turn of the page
Her heart invested
The waves of words fall over the last as she waits
waits for the next page
for the final page
But there's no final page.
There's no ending to this tale
Lines cross out what could have been
the story never complete
The binding breaks in two
as she returns it to its former life
She continues down the row
her journey through life
Drawing her fingertips across the unknown
the story simply fades away in her memory
She waits for an ending
an ending to her search
for her story.
Each with a slightly different feel
a different scent.
Each one remarkable
with a hidden story waiting to be revealed
waiting to be opened.
Its cover shows such beauty
Worn yet ready to be.
Opening lines draw her in
Before she even settles in the chair,
her mind is captured
Her imagination flows pages ahead
Hours pass by
It lies perfectly in the curves of her hands
The binding tightening with each turn of the page
Her heart invested
The waves of words fall over the last as she waits
waits for the next page
for the final page
But there's no final page.
There's no ending to this tale
Lines cross out what could have been
the story never complete
The binding breaks in two
as she returns it to its former life
She continues down the row
her journey through life
Drawing her fingertips across the unknown
the story simply fades away in her memory
She waits for an ending
an ending to her search
for her story.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
A Tree Falls
Sixty people stand at the base.
They circle around it engulfing the trunk in their mass
They see it.
They come to it.
They include it.
Sixty people stand at the base.
Their voices rise in an outcry
Their chants fill the forest but have no impact
Each mouth is open
Each voice is sending out waves of stories
Everyone is speaking
No one is listening.
Their voices rise in an outcry
It stands in the center
Listening
Waiting
Inside, its spirit is filling
Its bark stretches and cracks to hold in its life
But it cannot withstand its inner being
It bursts and falls in the center
A tree falls in the forest and sixty people are there to hear it.
It does not make a sound.
Two hundred twenty-nine miles
She waits.
Not speaking she listens
Her mouth is closed and her ears are open
Her heart, her soul, exposed.
Two hundred twenty-nine miles
A tree falls in the forest and she is two hundred twenty-nine miles away.
She hears it.
They circle around it engulfing the trunk in their mass
They see it.
They come to it.
They include it.
Sixty people stand at the base.
Their voices rise in an outcry
Their chants fill the forest but have no impact
Each mouth is open
Each voice is sending out waves of stories
Everyone is speaking
No one is listening.
Their voices rise in an outcry
It stands in the center
Listening
Waiting
Inside, its spirit is filling
Its bark stretches and cracks to hold in its life
But it cannot withstand its inner being
It bursts and falls in the center
A tree falls in the forest and sixty people are there to hear it.
It does not make a sound.
Two hundred twenty-nine miles
She waits.
Not speaking she listens
Her mouth is closed and her ears are open
Her heart, her soul, exposed.
Two hundred twenty-nine miles
A tree falls in the forest and she is two hundred twenty-nine miles away.
She hears it.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
It's all you need
Sometimes all you need is a goal.
Four hours.
Just four hours.
Just keep it together for four more hours.
Four hours of complete agony.
Complete facade.
Then relief.
Then complete and utter reality.
Reality to just let everything fall
Everything fall
Fall into a million pieces
Not trying to hold it together
Not squeezing tight
Not making sure everything stays in one piece
just Relief
Relief to be real
Relief to be vulnerable
Relief to admit everything is not ok
Relief will come
just Four more hours.
Four hours.
Just four hours.
Just keep it together for four more hours.
Four hours of complete agony.
Complete facade.
Then relief.
Then complete and utter reality.
Reality to just let everything fall
Everything fall
Fall into a million pieces
Not trying to hold it together
Not squeezing tight
Not making sure everything stays in one piece
just Relief
Relief to be real
Relief to be vulnerable
Relief to admit everything is not ok
Relief will come
just Four more hours.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Waiting to Fail
I'm a failure.--that's what I believed from day one.
Growing up, I had a select few things that I was good at. I got all As and could even braid my own hair. Outside of the things I knew I could do I really didn't try anything new. I had learned that it's better not to try unless you knew you could deliver. Even though I wanted to, I never played any sports. Fear of disappointing people overwhelmed any desire I had to play. The few times I was forced to play sports, I held back. I tried just when I had to. I figured if I didn't really look like I was trying, no one would recognize me as the failure I was. I was yelled at for missing the ball or being in the way. The worst was when my teammates simply didn't say anything. They tried to be nice, but all they could muster was keeping their mouths shut and just not being mean. I always preferred the yelling to be honest. However, I shrugged it off acting like I didn't care and wasn't really trying.
Tonight I played broomball with a bunch of boys from my dorm. If you've never played broomball, it's basically hockey in street clothes with a softball sized squishy ball--on ice! Can you say disaster?!?! If you can imagine the clumsiest person in the world, that is basically my life. I was always the girl who carried band-aids with her everywhere just waiting to fall on her face. I have permanent scars and bruises on my legs from reoccurring tripping and falling over my own feet. I'm not sure why I agreed to play broomball. I immediately regretted it after the words left my mouth. I felt impending failure creep over me, and I wanted to run. But I couldn't.
To my surprise, they never yelled at me. I waited for it, cringing at every mistake I made, but it never came. I slipped; I fell; I missed shot after shot, but they were never disappointed in me. To me I was failing. I was just a waste of a player always getting in the way and rarely contributing to any plays. I was the same clumsy, nonathletic, chubby girl who couldn't block a ball to save her life. I tried to push back my fear and worries of letting the team down. I tried to push through everything and play with my whole heart putting all my effort into every swing, but I still missed. I still fell. I still failed. I waited for the disappointed sighs, but all I heard was encouragement. They cheered me on every time I went for the ball. They even passed me the ball! I've never had anyone actually pass me the ball. Most times I even tell them not to, trying to limit the failure a little, but these guys just didn't seem to listen. They continued to include me in everything, cheering me on and giving me hints.
At the end of the game, we had tied. I was glad I hadn't completely ruined the game and cost them points, and they were excited because it was the first game they hadn't completely lost. After all our equipment was put away and we were headed home, my boys surrounded me. In that eight man huddle with all of them cheering and thanking me for playing, I have never felt more loved in my entire life. I didn't feel like a failure. Yeah, I had missed several shots and spent a good portion of the game on my butt, but I tried. I had played with my heart and risked failure. And I was still loved. We were a team and nothing I did affected the love that held our friendships together.
There's a lot of places in life where I feel like a failure, like I can't do anything to keep my head above water. Like it's an impending doom that's better to just be avoided. But how can my life be fully lived if I don't jump. How can I die knowing I lived my life to the fullest without taking chances. Tonight's game reminded me that no matter how many times I fall and fail, there's always going to be someone to help me up and brush me off. As loved as I feel by my boys, I know God's love is far greater than I could ever know. He is the one that will never see me as a failure.
So I will jump. I will leap. I will take a chance, and I will fly. No matter how many times I fall on my face or scrape my knees, one day...I will fly. I will succeed. And one day I will die knowing I have lived.
I will Live all the days of my Life.
Growing up, I had a select few things that I was good at. I got all As and could even braid my own hair. Outside of the things I knew I could do I really didn't try anything new. I had learned that it's better not to try unless you knew you could deliver. Even though I wanted to, I never played any sports. Fear of disappointing people overwhelmed any desire I had to play. The few times I was forced to play sports, I held back. I tried just when I had to. I figured if I didn't really look like I was trying, no one would recognize me as the failure I was. I was yelled at for missing the ball or being in the way. The worst was when my teammates simply didn't say anything. They tried to be nice, but all they could muster was keeping their mouths shut and just not being mean. I always preferred the yelling to be honest. However, I shrugged it off acting like I didn't care and wasn't really trying.
Tonight I played broomball with a bunch of boys from my dorm. If you've never played broomball, it's basically hockey in street clothes with a softball sized squishy ball--on ice! Can you say disaster?!?! If you can imagine the clumsiest person in the world, that is basically my life. I was always the girl who carried band-aids with her everywhere just waiting to fall on her face. I have permanent scars and bruises on my legs from reoccurring tripping and falling over my own feet. I'm not sure why I agreed to play broomball. I immediately regretted it after the words left my mouth. I felt impending failure creep over me, and I wanted to run. But I couldn't.
To my surprise, they never yelled at me. I waited for it, cringing at every mistake I made, but it never came. I slipped; I fell; I missed shot after shot, but they were never disappointed in me. To me I was failing. I was just a waste of a player always getting in the way and rarely contributing to any plays. I was the same clumsy, nonathletic, chubby girl who couldn't block a ball to save her life. I tried to push back my fear and worries of letting the team down. I tried to push through everything and play with my whole heart putting all my effort into every swing, but I still missed. I still fell. I still failed. I waited for the disappointed sighs, but all I heard was encouragement. They cheered me on every time I went for the ball. They even passed me the ball! I've never had anyone actually pass me the ball. Most times I even tell them not to, trying to limit the failure a little, but these guys just didn't seem to listen. They continued to include me in everything, cheering me on and giving me hints.
At the end of the game, we had tied. I was glad I hadn't completely ruined the game and cost them points, and they were excited because it was the first game they hadn't completely lost. After all our equipment was put away and we were headed home, my boys surrounded me. In that eight man huddle with all of them cheering and thanking me for playing, I have never felt more loved in my entire life. I didn't feel like a failure. Yeah, I had missed several shots and spent a good portion of the game on my butt, but I tried. I had played with my heart and risked failure. And I was still loved. We were a team and nothing I did affected the love that held our friendships together.
There's a lot of places in life where I feel like a failure, like I can't do anything to keep my head above water. Like it's an impending doom that's better to just be avoided. But how can my life be fully lived if I don't jump. How can I die knowing I lived my life to the fullest without taking chances. Tonight's game reminded me that no matter how many times I fall and fail, there's always going to be someone to help me up and brush me off. As loved as I feel by my boys, I know God's love is far greater than I could ever know. He is the one that will never see me as a failure.
So I will jump. I will leap. I will take a chance, and I will fly. No matter how many times I fall on my face or scrape my knees, one day...I will fly. I will succeed. And one day I will die knowing I have lived.
I will Live all the days of my Life.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
A Cluttered Mess
Warning, this may be a cluttered mess--a reflection of the thoughts filling every open space of my mind.
This fall I have been, for lack of better terms, lost. I feel as though I don't have a purpose in being on this campus or even in this city. I have no idea what my job is here--what I need to be doing in God's great plan. This summer it was easy! I was in South Africa devoting every waking moment to serve God and the people of Africa.
Now, I'm back at school. I'm attempting to graduate in three years so a heavy work load is a must, and on top of everything I'm working to save money for my next mission (more to come in a much later post). I hardly see any of my friends, most of which I wonder if that relationship still even exists. I see myself as a grain of sand being pulled to and fro with the waves, never building a castle binding to others around me or simply basking in the warm sunlight of life. All of my energy, motivation, and emotion goes into school and work. How do I find another supply to do God's work? What does God even want me to do?
While all this worry and frustration is plaguing me, God somehow manages to fit more learning into my already exploding schedule. Through all different people, some of which I will never meet again in this life, he has been teaching me about myself. I know right? What could he possibly be teaching me that I don't already know about myself? Well....A lot! This past Sunday the speaker told us that wherever there's faith, there's fear. Some fear must be overcome to put your faith into action. My biggest fear I've found is myself.
For several years I have struggled with depression, and have been successfully overcoming all the thoughts and addictions that come with it. However, I'm still terrified of returning to how I was. I'm afraid of those thoughts entering my mind again and doing things that I know will only hurt me more. I'm scared of losing myself to that again. This fear has taken over my life without me even realizing it. Everything I do or think is done as a precaution keeping me from going backwards. I worry about my own well-being and mental stability. While it's important that I'm doing better, I have unfortunately left no room for my love for others to shine. I heard somewhere that you should love God first, then others, and finally love yourself. I have slowly gotten that completely mixed up.
I still don't know what God's purpose for me right now is, but I'm not as lost as I may feel. God is still giving me direction one turn at a time. I may not know the destination or even the road I'm on, but he'll let me know when to turn and when to continue. Right now, he's telling me to regain my passion for people--to love others around me like I've never loved before. As a child, I loved people more than anything else in the world. If anyone needed a friend I was there. Anything I could do for someone, I did. I want that back. I want to return to my childhood love and embrace it more than ever! I want to be the woman God is forming me to be.
I don't know where I'm headed or where I'll end up, but for right now, I'm learning to love again.
This fall I have been, for lack of better terms, lost. I feel as though I don't have a purpose in being on this campus or even in this city. I have no idea what my job is here--what I need to be doing in God's great plan. This summer it was easy! I was in South Africa devoting every waking moment to serve God and the people of Africa.
Now, I'm back at school. I'm attempting to graduate in three years so a heavy work load is a must, and on top of everything I'm working to save money for my next mission (more to come in a much later post). I hardly see any of my friends, most of which I wonder if that relationship still even exists. I see myself as a grain of sand being pulled to and fro with the waves, never building a castle binding to others around me or simply basking in the warm sunlight of life. All of my energy, motivation, and emotion goes into school and work. How do I find another supply to do God's work? What does God even want me to do?
While all this worry and frustration is plaguing me, God somehow manages to fit more learning into my already exploding schedule. Through all different people, some of which I will never meet again in this life, he has been teaching me about myself. I know right? What could he possibly be teaching me that I don't already know about myself? Well....A lot! This past Sunday the speaker told us that wherever there's faith, there's fear. Some fear must be overcome to put your faith into action. My biggest fear I've found is myself.
For several years I have struggled with depression, and have been successfully overcoming all the thoughts and addictions that come with it. However, I'm still terrified of returning to how I was. I'm afraid of those thoughts entering my mind again and doing things that I know will only hurt me more. I'm scared of losing myself to that again. This fear has taken over my life without me even realizing it. Everything I do or think is done as a precaution keeping me from going backwards. I worry about my own well-being and mental stability. While it's important that I'm doing better, I have unfortunately left no room for my love for others to shine. I heard somewhere that you should love God first, then others, and finally love yourself. I have slowly gotten that completely mixed up.
I still don't know what God's purpose for me right now is, but I'm not as lost as I may feel. God is still giving me direction one turn at a time. I may not know the destination or even the road I'm on, but he'll let me know when to turn and when to continue. Right now, he's telling me to regain my passion for people--to love others around me like I've never loved before. As a child, I loved people more than anything else in the world. If anyone needed a friend I was there. Anything I could do for someone, I did. I want that back. I want to return to my childhood love and embrace it more than ever! I want to be the woman God is forming me to be.
I don't know where I'm headed or where I'll end up, but for right now, I'm learning to love again.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Just a Small Town Girl...
I was born in a town of 200 people. My family knew everyone in town and it seemed as though everyone knew us. Later, I moved to a town of 1,000 and then again to a town of 5,000, but it was always the same--close knit, annoyingly nosy, and overwhelmingly loving.
Now, I'm in a city of over 200,000 people, sharing a campus dorm with 500 people who this is the smallest city they have ever lived it. 200,000 people, and for the longest time I couldn't figure out why I felt so alone. This city has hundreds more shopping stores than any other town I've lived in. There's more street lights than I can count, and I have more friends than I have in my entire life combined.
But I'm alone.
What I love about home is there's always a family. Whether I'm at school, camp, home, work, or whatever, we always have a close little family of our own wherever we go. We know each other inside and out and would not hesitate for one moment to laugh with each other or cry on each others' shoulders.
Here I don't have that. I may have had at one time the makings of a family, but as always people are caught up in life and slowly scatter away. But I understand. It's hard to form a family with people you don't know well, and it's hard to get to know them without mutual understanding and tolerance.
I say "tolerance" because it is the minimum I am asking of the people around me. You don't have to understand why I crave country music in the middle of the night, and you probably never will. You don't have the memories of my grandfather driving in his old beat up orange pick-up truck and my grandmother watching CMT all morning long as she spends hours on a delicious dinner (not lunch) made from scratch. You don't know the comfort that music brings me, but I do ask that you be tolerant of it. Don't make cracks about my "hick" background or "country cowgirl" tastes. It's judgement and intolerance like this that makes it so you will never know me.
The smell of cow manure may completely disgust you. I understand, but don't wrinkle up your nose when I talk about working cattle with my daddy or cleaning horse stalls with my little brother. It's what I've grown up doing. It's taught me many life lessons, and it's strengthened my relationship with the two best men in my life to unbreakable bonds.
I'm sorry.
But I will always drive with my windows down blaring Jason Aldean pretending I'm surrounded by corn fields. I will always take a deep breath when passing by a pasture of cattle. I will always country swing dance at every opportunity. I will always believe the wild flowers growing in the untrimmed ditches are far more beautiful than anything that could ever be grown in a greenhouse. And I will always love my family with an unhindered passion and unbreakable love.
I will always hang on to what my family and my past have given me. It strengthens the love being stretched over miles and miles of road between this city and my little town of home grown family love.
Now, I'm in a city of over 200,000 people, sharing a campus dorm with 500 people who this is the smallest city they have ever lived it. 200,000 people, and for the longest time I couldn't figure out why I felt so alone. This city has hundreds more shopping stores than any other town I've lived in. There's more street lights than I can count, and I have more friends than I have in my entire life combined.
But I'm alone.
What I love about home is there's always a family. Whether I'm at school, camp, home, work, or whatever, we always have a close little family of our own wherever we go. We know each other inside and out and would not hesitate for one moment to laugh with each other or cry on each others' shoulders.
Here I don't have that. I may have had at one time the makings of a family, but as always people are caught up in life and slowly scatter away. But I understand. It's hard to form a family with people you don't know well, and it's hard to get to know them without mutual understanding and tolerance.
I say "tolerance" because it is the minimum I am asking of the people around me. You don't have to understand why I crave country music in the middle of the night, and you probably never will. You don't have the memories of my grandfather driving in his old beat up orange pick-up truck and my grandmother watching CMT all morning long as she spends hours on a delicious dinner (not lunch) made from scratch. You don't know the comfort that music brings me, but I do ask that you be tolerant of it. Don't make cracks about my "hick" background or "country cowgirl" tastes. It's judgement and intolerance like this that makes it so you will never know me.
The smell of cow manure may completely disgust you. I understand, but don't wrinkle up your nose when I talk about working cattle with my daddy or cleaning horse stalls with my little brother. It's what I've grown up doing. It's taught me many life lessons, and it's strengthened my relationship with the two best men in my life to unbreakable bonds.
I'm sorry.
But I will always drive with my windows down blaring Jason Aldean pretending I'm surrounded by corn fields. I will always take a deep breath when passing by a pasture of cattle. I will always country swing dance at every opportunity. I will always believe the wild flowers growing in the untrimmed ditches are far more beautiful than anything that could ever be grown in a greenhouse. And I will always love my family with an unhindered passion and unbreakable love.
I will always hang on to what my family and my past have given me. It strengthens the love being stretched over miles and miles of road between this city and my little town of home grown family love.
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