I went to the cemetery.

I am starting to feel like Michelle again. The cranky, weepy, jerk of a girl who has taken my body captive the past month is starting to move out. This weekend I felt like me. The dancing in the car, smiling at everyone, dork of a girl is coming out of hiding. I am beginning to let go of bitterness and anger. I'm becoming me, again.
I visited the cemetery today.
I was driving home, windows down, music up, hand dancing in the wind, and hair blowing everywhere. I started to realize, He's doing it. Ever so carefully, He is healing me, He is using me, He is restoring me.
I pulled into the cemetery. I didn't know if I could do it. If I could be here, and be okay. I wandered around for a few minutes. The last time I was here, the trees still had their leaves. I couldn't find where she was buried. But then I did. I plopped down on the ground. Sitting in the dirt and grass in a dress is not the most lady like thing to do, but for once I didn't care.
Short sleeves, with no jacket in November. What was I thinking? And then the breeze started. I wasn't cold, I was surprisingly warm, but was covered in goose bumps. Then I heard Him. He whispered in the deepest part of my heart, that only He can be. He told me, "I've got you, girl. You are my beloved."
Maybe those words don't do much for you, but for me, sitting at the grave of a girl whom I loved, weeping and mourning, and trying to do life, they meant something.
They meant so much. He loves me. In an overwhelming love. He wants to heal my heart. He wants to see me smile. He desires to use me. He wants to hold me in His arms. I am His girl. His girl. I am His. He is mine.
A breeze blew so fiercely in that moment, it took my breath away for a second. I could feel Him. He was here. My Jesus did not forget about me, or leave me to figure out life alone. He is here.
I heard Him for the first time in four weeks. I felt Him with every bit of me.
He alone is the one that brings hope. He conquered sin, death, hell, the grave, and Satan himself.
What Satan has been trying to use for his own pleasure, God is using for His good. He alone is sovereign. He alone is good.
So, I continue to sort through life. I trust that He really is sovereign. He is working all things for good, because I love Him. I really just want to honor Him. I want my life to point to Jesus, even on the roughest days.
Last time I was here, I picked up a leaf from near where she was going to buried. I stuck it in my Bible to press it. The colors are still bright, its beautiful. It is a reminder that He did conquer the grave. There is beauty in death, only because of Jesus. Today, I took a crinkly, brown, dead leaf. Even in death, when all hope seems lost, He brings hope, and joy.
Have a great night.
Love, M.

Raw. Ugly. Messy. Real. Transparent.

A couple of friends encouraged me to share what has really been going on in my corner of the world. The only reason I am sharing, is because I want to be transparent. I don't normally talk about my relationships (or lack of) with men, work, or my real feelings. But, I want people to know my life is not always perfect. Lately it is a huge mess. God is still God, and He is still good. But life is hard. It doesn't make sense. I just want to be honest and genuine. I want to show that I'm not super spiritual, I'm just a girl working life out. So here it is....
If you are part of a very select few, you know I'm a mess. You know it has been weeks of nightmares and no sleep. You know I crumble into tears multiple times a day. You know I have multiple zits, when I rarely have one. You know I'm angry at God. You know I'm cranky and bothered by so much lately. You know I keep trying retail therapy. You know the smile on my face often isn't real. You know I am falling apart, but I don't want anyone to know. You know when I drive by the cemetery, my heart drops. You hear me say over and over, "I know this gets better. Right?" You know that I know God is good, but I still wonder what in the world He is doing. You know I can't do math because my brain doesn't work, and I love math.
When Ariel passed away three weeks ago, life fell apart. She wasn't my sister, or daughter, or niece, or best friend, but she was a part of my life. I cannot remember a slumber party growing up without her and both our sisters together. Our families are knit together. We celebrate birthdays together. We are there for the big things, and celebrate the little victories. Our families have been close friends for twenty years. We grew up together. We went to the same school for a few years. We grew up in the same church. We did life together. When I taught at the preschool, she was my assistant in my classroom for a little bit. We shared laughs, cries, and stories. Goodness, we both love to talk and man, we could tell stories. We both shared a love for Jesus in a secular workplace. We were friends.
Three days before her accident, my sister who is also 21 got in a bad car accident. I remember her text message saying she had just been in an accident. I had never called someone so quickly. I begged Jesus to keep her safe. She told me she was okay. Bruised, shook up, and her jeep was a mess, but she was okay. So when a few short days later I received a similar call, I laid flat on the ground screaming and begging God not to take her. But, she was gone. How does this even begin to make sense?
How does a gorgeous, vibrant girl full of life just disappear from us? In just a second, lives changed. I don't understand.
So, In memory and honor of Ariel, her aunt ran a marathon, and some of her family got tattoos. If you know me at all, you know those were no where near the top of my list. So I thought about it, and decided to give blood.
Giving a unit of blood can save three lives. I thought that was a fitting way to honor her. I have only given blood successfully three times before, and tried unsuccessfully probably five times. I have always been an advocate for giving blood, that'a not new, but this time it meant so much more. I made sure I ate properly, I cut out caffeine, attempted proper sleep, and mentally prepared to give blood this week. I had been denied because of high blood pressure, fast heart rate, and low iron, so I really focused on trying to take care of myself. I asked a couple close girlfriends to pray for successful donation. (They thought I was a little goofy for asking for prayer for giving blood, but they prayed.) The whole way there, I prayed, and told God that if this wasn't supposed to work He would have to make it clear, and close the door.
So, I tried. Hemoglobin, heart rate, and blood pressure all passed. I was good. And then we started talking travel. Apparently if you have traveled out of the country in the past twelve months, you can't donate. Well, I did live in South America for two months this year. The sweet nurse told me because of a new rule (March 2012) about malaria, I probably wouldn't be able to donate. My heart dropped. I told her I lived in Bolivia, she told me I was denied. She then realized there was a very short list of cities in Bolivia that were malaria free. Cochabamba was on the good list. My heart was so happy. But then I realized I had made a lay over in Santa Cruz, so once and for all, I was denied. I can't give blood until April 1, 2013. I was so disappointed. This is how I wanted to honor Ariel. And now I couldn't. I was so bummed. Why couldn't this have worked out? It was not in my control. Nothing I could've changed it.
I failed. With everything in, I felt like a failure. I was disappointed in myself. Nothing I have been doing lately has been working out the way I want. I know I couldn't have changed it, but I hated myself for not being able to change it. I hate feeling like a failure. That's not me.
So, cranky, cold, and angry, I drove home. I made some cookies, and loved on some people in Pontiac. Loving people distracted me for a bit. My roommate and I then put up our Christmas tree, where I got offended at the dumbest things. I was cranky and stubborn and wanted to cry over everything and nothing in the same moment. I went to church tonight. I have been hating going to church the past month. I normally love church. Singing worship songs brings me to an ugly, silent cry, in a room full of people. Singing that He is faithful doesn't change that people I love as much as my own family are devastated, and life will never be the same. People telling me I need to pray more or read more of the Bible makes me want to punch them in the face.
My life is a mess. I know with everything in me, God is good, He is faithful, He is in control, and He has us in the palm of His hand. Everything I have read and learned about this whole Jesus thing is being sifted through trials of life.
So that's life, in a nutshell.
So, that was perhaps the most honest I have been in a really long time. I have no idea who will read this. Throwing raw, ugly emotions and feelings onto the internet for everyone to read is frightening. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but I really do want my life to point to Jesus, even on days like this. So, I share, and I hope that my words make sense to someone, anyone.
Life is raw. It is not always in a neat little package with a pretty bow on top, even though I attempt to wrap it up. It is messy. I am just a girl trying to figure this thing out. So, that's that.
Love, M.

It's time to tell

There is a story I have been wanting to tell for weeks.

This story and the people in it are so very dear to me.

I have attempted to write it many times, but felt the strongest feeling that it wasn't time.

I believe now is the time to share.

I have tried to be open and vunerable when blogging. I want to be real, and share my heart.

This is a hard one.

So here it goes...

When I was in Bolivia, I fell in love with a baby. His name is Nestor. He is a sweet baby boy. He has a hole in his heart. He lives at the Nutrition Center. He needs surgery to live.

His mom visits every day to feed her baby. She holds him and talks with him. She is exhausted, but the love for her baby is evident.

I met them both my fourth or fifth week in Cochabamba. I immediately fell in love. My heart broke when I realized how old he was, and how tiny he was. I heard his mother explain how expensive his surgery is, and how she didn't know how it was going to work out. They were instantly tattooed onto my heart.

The same week, I was really studying God's word, and discovering how we are commanded to love and care for the poor.

I was so convicted one day while praying outside, I went inside and grabbed money from my "fun budget" and came downstairs. I gave the money to my roommate Kathryn. She had been praying about how to provide for this baby at that same moment. We cried and talked as we realized this was just the beginning of an amazing story.

At any given time, we both could've logged onto our blogs and begged for the money needed for his surgery. But we never felt peace. I wanted to do this myself. But the Lord was telling me He had it under control.

So I waited.

What comes next is awful.

I received an email from my mom a few mornings later telling me in one short line that a baby in our family had gone to be with Jesus via sids.

I am thankful there was no one at the house when I read that email. I was devastated. My heart had been broken caring for the broken in Bolivia. And now God had taken away my cousin's baby???

I was furious. I layed on the floor of my living room and wept. I was mad. I wish in that moment I was with my family. I didn't understand. Maybe I misread those awful words. How could this happen? Where was my God? I am serving Him and his people, and He devastates my family back home? It wasn't fair. Not only was this beyond awful, I was in a totally different continent, left to figure and sort it out myself.

I was a mess.

I couldn't even begin to imagine how family was back home.

I pushed harder into loving people in Bolivia. But in my heart, I was angry. I was angry at God.

I remember in those darkest hours, I would say over and over, "Jesus, You have to be everything You said You are. If You're not, nothing makes sense."

Well, He is everything He claimed to be. He conquered sin, death, hell, the grave, and Satan himself.

He comforts in the darkest moments, and His love is deeper and wider than anyone could ever begin to imagine.

I had just been studying about anguish and how He can turn our weeping into dancing. It didn't mean much when I was reading it days before. But right then, I was daring God to do what He claimed He could.

The following morning, I sat down to check my email with my coffee in hand.

I had received an email from someone my family. The email explained a little bit more than the one liner the day before, and it shares something bigger. He had remembered a few blogs back when I had mentioned a baby needed surgery, but needed the money. He then shared about how God had put it on his heart to give the money. So out of obedience in a devastating time, the money was given in remembrance of the baby our family lost.

No longer was Nestor a baby I had held and loved.

He was our baby.

I visited him the day before I left Bolivia. I held him. I prayed over him. I sobbed reflecting on the loss my family was experiencing back home. I told him, "God has big plans for you. You are going to grow up. You are going to be strong. You are going to run. You are going to get married and have your own babies one day. I know God has big plans for you." I cuddled him close. I gave him kisses.

And then it was time to leave.

I hated it. I ran out of the building, and as soon as the warm air hit my face, I lost it. Bent over and weeping, my friends found me.

Nestor wasn't just some baby I loved. He was my baby.

So I came home. The whole trip holding him in my heart. Life went back to normal. I carried him in my mind. Wherever I went, whatever I did, baby Nestor was on my lips before my God.

I shared this story with a few close friends. I was excited to see what was next for him. I urged many people to be in prayer for him. He was on my heart.

I hated being in the United States, because I wanted to hold my baby.

A week or two after being home, I received an email from my dear friend and roommate, Kathryn.

She loves baby Nestor as I do. And she has been the most incredible contact person to help be my eyes, ears, and arms while I am here.

She had met with his mother, social worker, Nutrition Center administer, and doctors. She became very involved in their lives.

The email stated the dad (who works in the jungle because he doesn't like to be around Nestor so sick) was supposed to get a pay advance to pay for their part of the surgery costs. The dad had lost his job. The email continued with more back story of awfulness. Nestor's mom became an orphan at age 14. When she became pregnant with Nestor, everyone told her to just get an abortion. She cares for her cousin because there is abuse in that home. Story after story that would make your stomach churn.

One of the last things in the email was saying if his mom couldn't find a way to pay for the surgery, he would be taken away from his parents forever.

Kathryn heard the backstory. She heard the details. But more importantly, she heard a need for more than money, she heard a desperate need for Jesus to step in and be all He says He is. She later told me, this is so much more about just handing over money.

This is about being present, and being Jesus in their lives. A real tangible Jesus. Not a thing we say or do or a place we visit. We need to care about people fully, and without care to how it will make us look or if it will ask us to do more than we are comfortable with.

We are called to more.

So, we began praying for provision.

Once again I knew I could make a couple calls, or blog and the money would be there. I was in the wealthiest country with connections. I could make it happen. But again, that still voice told me to wait. So I did....

Kathryn then had a very scary week. She had emergency surgery to remove a mass on her ovary. (Same surgery my roommate had days before in Michigan) There was high suspicion it was cancerous. Her dad flew down to Bolivia to be with her. It was an awful few days of uncertainty. We are now praising God it was found benign!

I hadn't heard much from her since she has been healing.

But I did get a snippet of information. Nestor will be having surgery May 14th.

I don't know how or why or any details. That was all I received.

Please be praying for Nestor and his mom as they prepare for surgery.

Pray also for a full and quick recovery for Kathryn.

Please also be praying for my family as we still are struggling with our own tragedy.

I know my God is sovereign.

Thank you for listening to my heart. This has been the hardest blog to compose. But I hope your heart will be touched, and you will be encouraged that my God is in control.

I have more exciting things to share about me and what I'm doing next. But for now, that is all.

Love, M

i don't understand.

Today was a hard day. By far the hardest I have had in Bolivia.

I received an email telling of a devastating family tragedy.

Please be praying for my family in this time.

As I have had some time to begin to process the best I possibly can, I have realized some things to be true.

-God is still God.
-My Jesus is real.
-When life or death doesn't make sense, He does.
-He conquered the grave.
-He is sovereign.
-"Daddy" has a plan.
-He is close to the brokenhearted.

It was emotionally draining seeing my street kids for the last time today. When I walked into the plaza, some girls shouted "Senorita Meechelle esta aqui!!!" They remembered my name, and were excited to see me. Thank you Jesus for little smiles in the midst of tragedy.

I am exhausted. I am spent. I am broken. I am nothing. I need Jesus to be all that He says He is. I need to rest in His arms tonight.

Please be praying for my family and our broken hearts. Please be praying for me as I only have 4.5 days left here. Be praying for strength to be His hands and feet. Be praying for my transition back home.

Love you, M