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I just spent two and a half hours with a health insurance agent in her office. That's partly because I know nothing about insurance and had a thousand questions for her. It's partly because I was on "Africa time", meaning I had no where to be and really didn't care that I took over two hours of her time. Neither did she. I had blocked off the entire morning to the task of applying for health insurance, and maybe the Lord prompted me to do that just for her. That's the main reason it took so long - we kept talking about Africa. She was so interested in what I was doing spending my third year in a "dangerous place" with "poor quality health coverage" according to a map she pulled up. "It's not everyday that I get a case a interesting as yours!" she kept saying. Our conversation quickly turned spiritual, which is one of the perks to being a missionary. The spiritual doors are opened quickly when all someone has to ask is "

The turkey is gobbled up, the pie pans cleaned, and the thanksgiving decorations thrown out to be replaced by Christmas trees and Santa figurines. Christmastime is upon us, but for some reason I can't move past Thanksgiving. It's partly because I think Thanksgiving gets ripped off, like everyone skips over it as quickly as possible to get to Christmas. It's also partly because I think of thanksgiving not as a special holiday but as an everyday attitude. It's also partly (and mainly) because my heart has been overwhelmed by thanksgiving every since I finished my second year-long term in Burkina and came back to the United States with a breathtaking recognition of just how much God has done this year. This past year has been wonderful, painful, victorious, challenging, exciting, and difficult all at the same time, but if I could sum up the state of my wild heart at this moment, it would be one very solid word. Thankful. The thing I am most thankful for during this s

Tightening my tennis shoes and stretching my unused muscles, I whispered a silent prayer. Because I never thought I would be able to do it. After training almost three months for a half marathon, I injured my foot just two weeks before the race. I rested those two weeks, but I still came to the start line on that cold Saturday morning, my heart and lungs ready to run, but my foot joints and tendons waiting silently to declare the outcome. The Chosen 5K and half marathon is an annual event in Texas that benefits organizations related to adoption and foster care. This year was extra special because one of our short-termers organized a team to support our infants in distress ministry, and what started out as a dream and desire turned into the second largest team at the race. I was simply honored to be there, to be a part, to see friends and familiar faces, and to meet others who were running for babies in Burkina. So at the start line, I told myself that even if I had to walk the whol

For this past year, I have been living and writing about everything that God has been doing in and around me in Burkina Faso, West Africa. All the while, God has been equally and actively working in a different realm - the life of my family - and it's been just as exciting to see and experience. This past year, my dad's job moved him and my mom to Fort Wayne, Indiana. It was not an easy decision; in fact, my parents approached the whole process with extraordinary faith, seeking God's will first and foremost above their own preferences and conveniences. Their journey was so prayer-focuses an faith-filled that their final decision to move to Indiana had God's fingerprints all over it. But that didn't make it easy. It was their first big move since their marriage. They had truly built a life for themselves in Little Rock, and then they picked up and left it all behind. Everything familiar. Everything they had committed to and invested in. They left my sister twelve

I wonder if the little boy's mother packed his lunch, or if he was old enough to do it all by himself. Did he say, "Mom, pack me something for lunch today because I'm going to go hear Jesus"? Or did a friend spontaneously show up at the door and announce, "Jesus is in our village!" and then the little boy, surprised and hurried, grabbed the quickest thing he could find - five loaves and two small fish? I wonder what Jesus did all day, who he healed and what he taught, and what the little boy thought about it. Whatever it was, it was enough to make him offer all he had to give - his humble lunch - to Jesus. - - - This past weekend I attended the Global Health Missions Conference in Louisville, where I spent three days and received incredible encouragement, relevant information, empowering counsel, and spiritual refreshment. As wonderful as the sessions, keynotes, exhibitors, or worship times all were, that wasn't what made the conference so great.

Standing beneath the branches, I looked up into a ceiling of yellow leaves turned glimmering golden by the rays of the setting sun shining through them. Pick any one of those maple leaves and it's a lovely yellow, but paint the entire tree that same color and shine the sun right through it, and it lights up as if the leaves themselves are glowing. The tree just beside it was a radiant orange, and the one on down the lane showed off tips of red at the end of its branches. As the cool autumn wind blew, some curled-up leaves fluttered to the ground, adding to the blanket of fall colors beneath. I kicked those leaves with my feet as I walked; I reached down and threw some up into the air, hoping that a few would get stuck in my hair. Such beauty, such glory...it brings the child out of me again. Fall in Indiana is like something I've only seen in Hallmark movies or on pictures in calendars. Fall in Arkansas is nice, and I've loved it all my life. But seeing the fall colors

Whenever I sit down to write a new blog, I almost always begin by asking myself, what have I done the past few days?  Because stories seem to come out of what I have done or what has happened recently. That's why writing this post started out kind of difficult. What have I done the past few days? Well, not anything very noteworthy or that would interest any reader. I've come home, hung out with my amazing family, eaten great American food and done some great American-y things. I've had a great week; I've rested. But I haven't really done anything. Accomplished anything. I am noticing just how much we base the significance, importance, or goodness of our lives based off what we do or how much we accomplish. Here's another example. The classic question: How has your day been? And how does the other person respond? By giving a list of things he or she did . At least that's what I do. Because we tend to measure our days by how much we do. Striving. That&