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First I turned in a 30 day notice to the management of my apartment complex, letting them know that I am not renewing the lease and will be moving out by the end of September. Then, I met with my unit supervisor at work and let her know that I would be quitting my job in the middle of November. It has been a week full of change, full of sadness at things coming to an end, and full of excitement at things yet to come. I'm going to Africa, y'all. And this is all part of the process - uprooting myself from things that are familiar in order to devote myself to what God is inviting me to do. It's not always comfortable, but it always adventurous.  When I told my supervisor that I would soon be turning in a two weeks notice, my mind flashed back to all my favorite memories over the past year: the first delivery I attended (I cried), the first cervix that I actually checked correctly, my first successful IV start, my first  delivery attended by myself, my first emergent situation,...

"Bonjour!" The professor announced as she waltzed in the classroom at 8:00 am on the dot. Such a greeting was completely expected for a beginner's French class. What we didn't expect was what happened next. She just kept talking - more like rambling actually - in rapid, fluent French. I looked around at the other students to make sure they were just as surprised as I was, and I found looks of shock and confusion in their eyes. We all began to wonder if we were in the wrong classroom. Maybe this was French 300 instead of 101?  She continued on and on, waving her hands entusiastically as she spoke. From my limited French, I could catch a word or two here and there. Putting the pieces together, I could understand that she was introducing herself and commenting on the rainy weather. She passed out a sheet of paper, entirely in French, and instructed us to fill it out about ourselves. Then she passed out another piece of paper - also entirely in French - that appeared to b...

It was 7:00 in the morning as I watched the sun rise over the open fields of  Scott, Arkansas. The sun was abnormally large and unusually orange. They say you aren't supposed to stare at the sun, but this sun was different. I couldn't take my eyes off it, and it felt close enough to touch. I had just finished a night shift at the hospital, and I wasn't sure if I was up for the task ahead of me. Sixty-two miles is a long way to ride a bicycle, and this would be my furthest distance so far. But with the motivation of the sunshine and the crowd of other riders in their colorful jerseys and gear, I psyched myself into mounting my bicycle and pedaling off. After all, the Wampoo Roadeo organized bike ride only comes around once a year, and this was my chance to be a part of it.  It was that morning during the group bike ride that I learned a really valuable lesson: drafting!   Up until that point, I had done most of my training solo. Riding in a group is completely different th...

After a night shift at the hospital, I usually come home, throw my scrubs in the laundry basket, crawl in my bed, and crash. This particular morning should have been no different, especially since I had just worked three in a row, but I had something very special on my mind that kept me from falling asleep instantly. It is like those nights before a long awaited vacation or like Christmas Eve for a child - I just couldn't fall asleep, and then I kept waking up with thoughts and ideas.  It was the day of my Burkina bash!  At 5:50pm the tables were set up, the food was hot and ready, the PowerPoint was playing, and I was pacing because the only thing left to do was wait for the guests to arrive!  With every person that walked through the door, the room seemed to get warmer and bigger. Soon t he conversations began, the laughter grew, and any nervousness fluttered away as I watched people connect and reconnect.  We ate a big pasta dinner and washed i...

What do you get when you bring seven college friends together from across the country, meet up in the happening city of Murphreesboro, and give them a white minivan? All sorts of memories and adventures!  After a year of separation since graduation, our reunion was one crazy awesome weekend. Just like our college days, we spent every single moment together. We shared a bathroom, went grocery shopping together, cooked meals together, made late night ice cream runs, and stayed up late watching Seven Brides for Seven Brothers and catching up on all the news in our post-grad, working, and married lives. We were never short on laughter, familiar jokes, and the re-telling of memories and stories. Plus, we made a few new ones of our own.  On Saturday, we loaded up the minivan and set out on an adventure to Rock Island. A cross between Heber springs cliff-jumping and Niagra falls, this little park in the middle of nowhere felt like stepping into a tropical jungle. A wide river cascade...

"When I am weak, then I am strong.  Grace is my shield and Christ is my song." I love Charles Spurgeon's poetic words, but they convict me terribly. have come to the recent realization that I try to do too much without God. It is not that I don't want to involve him. It is not that I am scared to bother him with petty things. I may not even be disregarding him intentionally. It is just that my human nature tells me that I can do a few things on my own.  My tendency is to attempt the things that I think I can do on my own, then turn to God with the things that get out of control. This is really how I have been living so far. I even saw it in myself this week as I continue to make preparations to go to Africa. I prayed about the big things, but not the small ones. I asked for his help with the big decisions, but I made get small ones without consulting him at all. I held his hand for the leaps of faith, but it took small steps on my own strength.  And I found myself in ...

Maybe it was peer pressure. Maybe I was inspired by the Tour de France. Maybe it was pure spontaneity. Or absurdity. More than likely, it was a combination of all of the above that prompted me to register for my first 100 mile bike race.  I don't know how often you ride your bike, but 100 miles is kind of a long way, especially for someone like me, who is no expert athlete and has never riden more than 30 miles on my own at one time. "Are you sure you don't want to start with something like 60 miles?" My dad asked me (which is probably smart thinking). "Nope!" I quickly responded with the go-big-or-go-home attitude.  The truth is, my time left in the United States is going by fast, and I have made a bucket list of things that I want to do before I leave next year. Some things are challenging, like riding in a 100 mile bike race and taking a French class. Other things are simple, like going to see the free movie in the park downtown and getting my favorite ic...