Posted in General Posts on 5/17/2012
"Be kind and merciful. Let no one come to you without going away better and happier.
Be the living expression of God's kindness: kindness in your face, kindness in your eyes, kindness in your smile, kindness in your warm greeting.
In the slums we are the light of God's kindness to the poor.
To children, to the poor, to all who suffer and are lonely,
give always a happy smile-
give them not only your care, but also your heart."-Mother Teresea
(Photos taken by Jessica Gasperin)
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Posted in General Posts on 5/17/2012
And how are they to preach unless they are sent. As it is written, how beautiful are the feet of those who preach the good news.
Romans 10:15
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Posted in General Posts on 5/17/2012
I’m so over this.
A thick feather from some unknown foul floats through the air and lands with a rather big thud on my arm. Mistaking it for one of the many bugs and insects I’ve discovered in the past month my heart skips a thousand beats and I let out a huge gasp. My skin immediately itches and fingernails against salty skin I can’t seem to find out why. I’m so over this.
Bowls of rice for the umpteenth meal in a row, I’ve forgotten the simple indulgences of home, the thought of warm food against the tongue overwhelms my senses. I’m so over this. Pouring murky pond yuck disguised as bath water simply adds to the thick layers of grim already finding its home on my body. I’m so over this.
Brown eyes starring at me, looks of puzzlement and bewilderment stumped at my stutters, my struggles to teach something so basic to me, my own language. I’m so over this. The hot and humid air chocking my lungs as I drip sweat to the sandy classroom floor. I’m so over this.
I’m over this.
In truth, I’m not. In the blink of an eye these moments, this lifestyle I’ve grown so accustomed to, a lifestyle of somewhat primitive survival, with a single inhale and exhale it will all disappear. And those thoughts haunt me. I’m not over this.
I’ve come to savor these moments, these months. Like dark chocolate melting in the mouth, my senses tell me this is something not to rush through, not to let pass by. And the lessons are being learned. I’m becoming stronger with each passing day, not by my own strength and might, but by my dependence on the one who breathes life into my very own lunges.
I’m not over this.
In a matter of weeks I’ll be stepping off yet another plane, yet this time my feet will touch the shiny marble floors of American soil. The smell of animals defecating and trash burning will be replaced by the fragrances of fresh showers and overpriced perfumes and it will overwhelm my senses. With each sad goodbye and farewell hug, I’ll step away from the ones who’ve bridged the gap from strangers to family in a single year and into the arms of those who themselves will see a stranger before their very own eyes. And I savor each night on dirt covered floors, the march of ants across my arms, the dirty dog shaking fleas underneath my chair at the dinner table, the curious stares that erupt into cheers of the local school children, another entry into a journal of thankfulness. And I am thankful. I’m beyond thankful. I rest in thankfulness.
I’m not over this.
I want more and more with each day that passes, yet more is not granted to me. Instead the determination to reside in the transformed beats strong. The desire to carry these moments of sweet treasure underneath the cavities of my heart, and the will to push through and “finish strong” is stronger than ever. I’m not over this. Nor will I ever truly ever be.
(Photos taken by Jessica Gasperin)
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Posted in General Posts on 5/17/2012
Dear Mom,
I went on a bike ride today through the Cambodian countryside. It reminded all too well of that summer we rented bikes at the beach, and how we chased the sunlight through the moss laden trees, panting between the giggles. Do you remember the freedom we felt on those bikes, and the sweet warmth of the summer sun hitting our backs? I’ve found that once again here in Cambodia. As children run up from beneath the shade of mango tree to shout hello, I couldn’t help but indulge in the sweetness of the moment. More and more I’m savoring each moment here on the field.
I’m bathing with murky water from a nearby pond; the very same pond that the cows and pigs bath in, but ah so is village life. My skin itches from the endless array of bugs that feast on it during the night. I’m in a constant state of dampness, forever being drenched in the beads of sweat that fall endlessly down with the intensity of the warm sun. It’s hot here. Really hot. Hotter than those Georgia summers, the luxuries of the cool burst of air conditioning taken for granted, among many other things.
I live in an animal farm, a zoo. We have ducks here. And chickens. And cows. And dogs, mangy, ugly nasty dogs. The kind that flicks their vast collection of flees upon you with one single swat and wag of their dirt covered tails.
But I like it. I like it a lot. It’s the unexplainable Mother that I like so very much. I love falling asleep underneath the shade of mango tree, only to be woken up to the giggles of a toothless grinned child, her brown eyes locking with mine. I indulge in these moments, when a smile sends a thousand pulsating words through my body. I savor the moments where I get lost in the silliness that surrounds me. The rhythmic thuds of the volleyball beating around on the court as I get to indulge in a good read.
It’s not easy. I find I’m not the teacher you are. My giftings are more in the doing than the teaching. And many days I have to beg the Lord to give me the strength to even wake up out of bed. But it’s something about their faces, their deep, dark eyes, their smiles that lures me in like a bad drug, I’m hooked. I actually crave their presence Mother. I’m thirsty for it. Do you think that’s how the Lord feels about us? Do you think He craves our laughter and our giggles the way I do these children?
With each day that passes on, each setting sun, I sigh a little thinking it’s one day closer until I’m home with you. Although I desire so much to be cuddled up with you on that worn leather couch indulging in an afternoon of TV, I find the itch to continue life this way to be stronger than ever. And I know it’s okay. I know I wasn’t meant to be settled; otherwise these stirrings wouldn’t be as strong.
So send my wishes to my furry love, and hug Dad for me. I want nothing more than to make you each so proud, but I know before my fingers press send you already are.
Love,
Em
(Photos taken by the uber talented Jessica Gasperin)
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Posted in General Posts on 4/1/2012
I cannot help but shake my head at the realization that it's been three, THREE, weeks since I said goodbye to my time in Chiang Mai, Thailand. Words cannot capture how much I loved and savored each moment I was there, and how I so desperately want to cling to every face I met, every heart that stole mine. I find myself flipping over and over again through the pictures of this past month, and without a doubt a smile is always spread wide across my face in sheer remembrance of the joy that was so strong there, even amongst a city of pain.
I remember the harshness I felt when my heart began to break this month in minsistry. But how I savored each sweet moment...
...where I made friends and heard the hearts of the women I'll never forget...
...and how we felt each other's joy and pain in such deep and real ways...
...and how I got to spend a month with these beautiful girls...
... realishing in the nights we traveled to our home coffee shop, seeing each other's hearts unfold through open mic nights...
... where mine just so happened to be a total eclipse.
We even got to go to Thai cooking school...
...where we made legit Thai food...
...we rode elephants...
...ate bugs (yep)...
...and celebrated birthdays.
And above all else, we lived and breathed and walked in the sweet freedom of being children of God, learning to laugh, cry, and celebrate the beautiful moments that bring us together. So khop kun kah Thailand, it's been beautiful!
(Select photos taken by Jessica Gasperin)
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Posted in General Posts on 3/28/2012
"For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the LOVE of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."-Romans 8:38-39
I sit pen in hand, a mad dash of words spilled upon paper, desperate to capture in a single moment the very emotions of this past month, a month of such sweet beauty and such sweet wreckage. I’ve gone down this path before, I’ve prayed this prayer once, and my heart felt so intensely the heart of the Father.
It was amidst the chaos of a packed Indian street, I remember my chest convulsing with the all too real pain of the moment I was in, at finally getting a sweet glimpse at the Father’s love. And it changed me. It revelountized my heart and set it a blaze for His Kingdom, forever changing this woman and undoubtably my time on the field.
And it happened again this month. With closed eyes I dared to venture out again, to pray that mighty and all too bold prayer, “Lord, break my heart for the things that break yours. Let me see as you see. And let me love as you love.” Those words will forever haunt me in an ever sweet and beautiful sense, a stirring of my soul that unfolded in a matter of three short weeks in the heart of Bar Street in Chiang Mai, Thailand.
Fresh from the red dirt roads of Africa, I found myself sitting under the thick backdrop of bright neon flour cent lights, the rattling of beer bottles clinking in my ears. I sat diet coke in hand, soaking up the scene unfolding before me, a lump forming in my throat as a vile sickness grew in the pit of my stomach. Even as I lay wide-awake at night trying hard to rattle off the mad images that danced wildly in my hand, I couldn’t escape the harsh reality of what I was now sitting in. A montage of men that reviled my father both in age and appearance sat, left hand swollen around a band of thick gold, sliding and caressing the small body of a young Thai girl, her giggles masking her pain. Brokenness abounded and every avenue I turned lay hidden story after endless story of brokenness, from the western traveler to the short skirt wearing bar girl, there was a tail of pain to be told.
A weeping from deep within cries out from my soul. From the back of red roofed Song Tow, to the tears that fell on my pillow at night, my soul struggled with the all too heavy bearings of this month. I couldn’t swim amongst the violent undercurrents of thoughts that ran rampid through my head, the helpless desperation that swelled inside of me. I needed answers to the thoughts that plagued me, the questions that formed in an instant. Why? How? From deep within the floodgates of my soul open up and I cry out the growling heart song for love. LOVE. Unending, unfailing love.
The holy burden continues, washing over me each and every morning. With each inhale comes the exhale for the Father to shower down His love for these women, these men, THIS TIME. The warrior within me grows strong and steady, my knees breaking much to the same tune as my heart. Failing in my fight for understanding, the prayers begin from the core of my heart, my inner most echoed out. I fight, in the battle for His love, begging Him to pour it out. For it not to simply sprinkle but instead pour out like a violent thunder storm thrashing upon the streets of Chiang Mai, His wind and His mercy echoing throughout. Beneath closed eyes, I hear the whispers of a savored worship song, “Beneath the weight of his wind and mercy...” and I’m captivated once again. My heart stolen for His love and I can’t get enough, I find my thirst for it almost unquenchable.
Sand slipping through the hourglass, I find the longer I cling to the wreckage of this past month, the great the restless spreads. The battle for release does not equate the end of the war. I place it in His hands, with each painful stirring of my emotions that surface from within, and I find I cannot give up. I cannot forget. Each day a wild attempt to hold tight to faces, voices and heart I grew to love so much. I cannot give up. I will not give up. As I write these very words, ink spilled to paper, cramped hand from the rapid speed of my thoughts poured forth, a peace washes over me, knowing they are in the Father’s hand. He is their defender, and their victor. His love covers every depth.
"For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the LOVE of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."-Romans 8:38-39
(Photos taken with permission from Jessica Gaperin)
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Posted in General Posts on 3/24/2012
Knelt over desperately trying to scrub the last remints of the African soil that’s wedged itself in the cracks of my feet, a tidal wave of reflection flows over me, engulfing me in a sea of emotions and memories. It’s hard to even fathom that a few short weeks ago, I said adieu to the three beautiful and equally messy months I spent across Kenya, Rwanda, and Uganda only to find myself in the crazy, wonderful land of Thailand. My mind is flooded with thought after endless thought of where I am, and where I have been, and the long and windy road that got me here.
Africa was a beautiful place. It’s beauty not defined by the steering toothless grins of the wrinkled and wise, nor the infinite giggle of a young child in her dirt smeared school uniform, but in the stirrings of my soul. In three short months my heart crashed with the beautiful wreckage that only the dusty roads of Africa could provide.
Everywhere I turned I found story after story of pain, tales of heartache too deep for my superficial understanding. Casual tales of genocide neither overshadowed the story of the orphaned nor the neglect of sick. I discovered almost daily the myriad of emotions that accompanies life as a missionary, and the nomadic wondering of the soul in the middle of nowhere Africa. How was I to understand the deep-rooted hurt of those around me, when I myself sat in a pool of frustrations and hidden heartaches? Restlessness and exhaustion fought ruthlessly for my attention and doubt slowly crept into the inner parts of my mind.
Yet I discovered a treasure chest of coins laden with joy, epic joy, swaddled in grace and forgiveness through my time in Africa. I found as I held that sweet and beautiful child the maternal tugging on my heart so deep, a longing to pour out the Father’s love into the life of the one wrapped in my arms. I felt the satisfaction of knowing the cradling of one so small and so sweet would become my all-consuming future, it would become my life. And a joy spread deep and wide.
I listened to tale after endless tale of the waging war many faced between obedience and sacrifice and I questioned my own good-hearted intentions as well. I noted each moment of victory I experienced as I stood before congregations pouring out my deep rooted truths and heart to the faces sometimes starring blankly before me, as I clinged to a paddle with every bit of strength within me while rafting the Nile, and as I jumped with arms held wide into my deepest fears and greatest moments of joy, relishing in the understanding that my heart is living in the freedom trail of my Father.
Africa was this crazy place of unending lesson upon lesson, a place I felt I entered a girl but left a woman, yet my certainty didn’t completely lay there. With it’s endless horizon of twirling beauty lay a place where my soul found lounging, pain, joy, grace, forgiveness, restlessness, anger, frustration, heartache, and even loneliness. A place where continents away I cannot shake this endless stirring of my soul, where every thought is a reminder of it’s beauty, of it’s sheer unending beauty. I sometimes find myself wrestling at night with the depth to which these thoughts mean, if they hint to a future, of another life to live. For now I sit in the peace of knowing the beauty and pain of those three months will forever follow me in all the days of my life, a sweet reminder of the women I was and the women I am boldly becoming.
“And I give it all it all to you, trusting that you’ll make something beautiful out of me.”
(Photos taken by the wonderful Jessica Gasperin)
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Posted in General Posts on 3/6/2012
I've tried in desperation to find a way to truly captivate my three months in Africa. And every single time I fail. I fail to truly and utterly capture the sheer beauty I found so often in the faces of the children I met, the children who in a single wide faced grin and warm embrace ran away wildly with my heart, my whole heart. These are the faces of the children I can't forget...
"Let the children come to me; do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God. Truly I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it."-Mark 14-15
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Posted in General Posts on 12/12/2011
“The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me to bring good news to the poor, He has sent me to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound” Isaiah 61
I've starred at this scripture for months on end, my heart skipping a beat upon each word. For the past five months of the Race, I've been sweetly blessed with the gift of living out this scripture, living out this verse day by day. My heart and life have been radically changed through these very words and through this Race, and on January 1st that change may continue in an unexpected way. On January 1st I may go home.
In order to remain on The World Race I must be fully funded at $15,500 by the New Year. Currently I have $12,893 in fianacial support and need only $2,607 to be fully funded by January 1st.. That’s just under $3,000.
And you can help. You can help bring the good news to the poor. You can help give the gift of freedom this year, to set the captives free. You can help love a child, a widow, a discouraged man the same way the Lord loves. You can have you heart broken for the the things that break the Fathers. And you can see the world through a lense you never imagined possible, all the while having your heart radically transformed in a crazy, beautiful way. Please consider giving today to help this journey continue for the next six months. Click on the support me tab to the left of the screen and make a donation today.
Thank you.
Support update: Only $1,500 raise to be fully supported:)
Support Emily for the World Race from Jenny Measmer on Vimeo.
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Posted in General Posts on 12/5/2011
I saw him across the far too dimly lit hospital room, the potent stench of vomit and other escaped bodily fluids lingering in the hot and humid air. His eyes barely open, pupils staring to the titled ceiling above, cheeks sunk in, mirroring the chest that seemed to concave with every small and shallow breath. His body lay still and motionless, my heart pounding in a wild panic that the breaths would lower, the breaths would cease, and the breaths would finally end.
His name unknown, yet a soft handshake and a “habari ako” hello to his mother, I discover a young man of barely twenty who suddenly brings to life the poor expression on deaths bed. I twist and twinge desperate to fight back the water that is quickly forming its way into tears. I cannot bear to see the pain, the suffering a moment longer. My discomfort in the moment pails to the pain my heart is feeling at seeing the tangible grip of death, of a looming further eternal death, the grim reality of life to so many in Busia, Kenya.
Our visits to the local public hospital fuels anger and bitterness at seeing the far too apparent signs of neglect, poor treatment, and what appears to be lost hope. Armed with prayer and the word of God we find our once bright smiles hardened into tight grimaces, fighting back the myriad of emotions that lay just below the surface. We move from bed to bed, bowing our heads, shutting our eyes, and begging and pleading with the Lord for Him to shower down buckets and buckets of His mercy and grace.
I question so much in the short afternoon prayer visits. I often leave shaking my head in disbelief, the perpetual “Why” plaguing my every thought. I desire to see stories of healing I know exist, to see the miracle at hand, the rejoice in the pain of what we see, what we feel, what surrounds us.
And then I do. I meet a man, James. He waits with almost panted breath, anxious to greet the “Mzungus” that float from bed to bed ready to pray, desperate to share his story of victory and hope. Through his soft grin and broken English, we discover a man sitting strong and firm, who lay much like the unnamed man described above a mere week before. Yet this man of God, with the faith of Abraham, believed in the Lord’s healing power, and he fought. He fought like a strong warrior in prayer, knowing with every fiber of his being that the Lord would heal. And he did.
With each breath the Lord breathed back into this man’s lungs, James exhaled a breath of prayer for those that lay in the hospital beds around him. As restoration began in his own body, he shared his faith with those that lay beside, across and near him. And one by one healing began. Beds emptied with each answered prayer and his tongue became a blaze with glories to the Father above.
I couldn’t resist the tears that swelled any longer. I couldn’t resist the joy that formed within. My knees began to shake violently, desiring nothing more than to fall to dusty cement below me and praise the Lord for this man, and for making the mighty touch of His hand so clear, so true, and so real. As words are typed and letters slung across this screen even now, tears cannot be contained a moment longer, and my voice once again calls out, “Praise God. Praise the Abba Father.”
There is beauty in these moments. There is beauty in seeing the pain of these men. At seeing a 13 year old boy who lay restless and anxious on his bed, his stomach, chest and legs swollen without a clear explanation, his breath heavy, his sighs deep, his body crying out in pain. There is beauty at not turning away from the difficult image that lay before me. There is beauty at not being able to distract myself from his father’s warm embrace, wrapping around him, holding him, hugging him, and simply loving him. The clearest and most beautiful illustration of the Father’s love.
In these tough yet tender moment’s I see such beauty, such hope, and such sweet and beautiful love. I no longer can let the mystery of this hospital allude me. The difficult sheds way for the fight and the battle that brews inside of me, crying out to Lord for His strong touch of restoration. A bitter heart transforms into that of thanksgiving and I can clearly see through the pain, a heart is born for the broken.
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