When I still feel alone.

How is it that I  want anonymity yet crave connection?

I liked Armitage because people were friendly and welcoming. And because it was a big enough church for me to attend and observe without any pressure.

I like being invisible yet my soul cries out to be seen.

While there are people I connect with, it's sporadically. I am afraid to burden them with my presence - I'm sure it must become tiresome.

Connecting with people, knowing people, requires intentionality. And I try, I fight against the remnants of shyness that still cling to me and attempt to initiate with others.

But wouldn't it be nice to be sought after myself?

I'm hesitant to even say this, as I don't want to be pitied, someone's project they are trying to comfort. I want to be desired in my own right.

Is that so much to ask for?

As I feel that maybe it is, maybe I'm too needy or complaining or boring or any other characteristic that might drive people away, I once again think that anonymity may be better than community - reaching for community and finding my hands empty may be more painful that remaining invisible.

Solitude can be its own comfort.

Yet I would rather solitude be choice than a fall back.

I know the deep answer, the Psalm 139 answer, that I am completely known by God and never alone, never apart from His presence. But where is His Body? Are we not supposed to be there and reach out to each other?

Maybe I am failing in this as well, maybe there is someone I am overlooking.

It just seems a bit messed up that Sunday morning is the time I feel most alone.

I wrote this a while back. I was hesitant to post it for fear of seeming to toot my own horn. If there is anything praiseworthy, let the praise belong to Christ. 


"Cristina, it's fine if you want to do it tonight, but eventually you'll have to realize you can't do everything."

This is a recurring theme in my life. If there is a need, I want to be the one to fill it. When I see the homeless on the streets I want to invite them to my apartment for a hot meal and shower. There are a few ICI kids I wish I could take in when home life isn't stable. Need a volunteer for another club? I'm your gal. Need a ride somewhere? What else is my car for if not for driving people! Don't have a dress for the wedding? Let's go shopping.

Meanwhile my room is a mess and the sink is full of dishes and I don't know what in my fridge is still edible.

I want to have tutoring and small group bible studies and art class and just sit and chat time with my girls as well as the normal visitation, large group Bible study, club, etc.

Have I mentioned that I love my boss? He often tells me to take care of myself and not overwork, to take advantage of opportunities to rest. With 5 years of ministry at ICI under his belt, he and his wife have learned to put up boundaries so that they are better able to serve.

It's not a new concept to me, my parents have frequently told me the same thing. But there is something in me that registers the need for boundaries and rest yet can't let go of the desire to fill a need.

I took a girl shopping tonight after driving for 3rd-5th club, and now am trying to find something easy but tasty to cook for a family who lost a loved one. Oh, and I want to see an out of town friend this weekend as well as attend a wedding after Bible study (what to wear? what to wear??) and meet myfriend'soutoftownfriendandvisitanewchurchandcleanmyhousandbabysitand gaaaaaahh!

Why do I feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders? That if I don't do it, no one else will? Someone will go without or will be stressed - and if it's a choice between them being stressed and me, it's better that it be me. Because... because... and here a sincere love and desire to help is tangled up with a guilt complex that I imposed on myself based on the Christ-like concept of putting others first which I take too far as I subconsciously believe that others truly deserve more than me and have more value than I do.

It took  me a while to understand that about myself. That though "consider others better than yourself" is important (Philippians 2:3), I had taken it too far and twisted it to mean I am worth less than others. Therefore I ought to be the one to carry the bag, take the trash, do the work, volunteer, or whatever opportunity came up. I still fight that mentality, and specifically choose to be "selfish" sometimes to help myself. I don't have to do something just because someone else doesn't want to.

But very often I still will.

At the same time, the question, "If I don't do it, who will?" stems from a lack of trust of others. I don't trust others to have the goodwill to do it, or to be skilled or care enough to do it well.

Part of it is my reputation. I want to be known as a person who is it willing and eager to help, someone you can turn to. Part of it is that a great deal of my love language is acts of service. One might even argue that my spiritual gift is service. I like to feel needed and valued. For the longest time, it was my main way of feeling valued, as I didn't interact well interpersonally as I was fairly shy.

I'm getting better at saying no. Slowly.

Slang, tickets, and other new things!

Things and terms I've been learning at ICI and in Chicago:

Pay attention to parking signs. Acute attention. Look up and down the street and BE SURE you won't get a ticket. AND DON'T FORGET TO MOVE BEFORE RUSH HOUR.

Vandalism happens. Sure, you hear about it, and see it happen to other people, but now it happened to me. Someone broke my taillight this morning, and there's very little chance it could have been an accident. Thank you, Chicago person, for keeping the stereotype alive.

"Side chick" - a term to describe the girl who is not your girlfriend but with whom you flirt and do stuff. Taught to me by an 8th grader boasting of his girlfriend and 5 side chicks. In keeping with centuries of skewed culture, it's perfectly ok for him to have girls on the side, but if his girl had boys on the side oooooooh! You'd better watch out!

"Finna" - a cross between "fixing to" and "going to" (or "fixin' ta" and "gonna"). I subconsciously use this sometimes, and then wince at the degradation of the English language!

"Thot" - A hoe (which in turn is slang for whore). Not acceptable language at ICI.

"Shorties" - Definitely a word that has been integrated into my idiolect, I sometimes have to remind myself that those not in the urban world don't know I mean little kids/younger siblings.

Parallel parking is an art form. I've made it with just inches to spare in both front and back in one try, and I've had to pull out and try again 8 times. It's like trying to paint when I'm not feeling artistic - hit and miss. I've had people sitting on a porch watching congratulate me, and I've wanted to do the same for others. Today I added it to the humorous list of what makes a guy a potential mate. If he can parallel park, he's golden.

"Rachet" - Though I learned this when I first started in May, I still don't really use it. It means "ghetto", normally in reference to a girl. "Girl, you rachet!" Ask me what it means for a girl to be ghetto? I can understand but I can't explain.

"Sauced" - forget spaghetti or even inebriation, here this means burned (and not in the flame sense). Used in the context of back and forth banter, the "loser" got sauced.

I don't know how to dance. I really don't. I am way too stiff, I haven't the foggiest idea how to "bop" and don't know where to begin with the DLow shuffle. Maybe one of the girls will teach me in exchange for tutoring!

"Ask" and "Tell" are interchangeable. This is not one I'm willing to accept, as asking is an important part of polite society. "Cristina, tell Liz is she gonna pick us up." is the equivalent to: "Cristina, could you ask Liz if she could pick us up?"

Jokes about one's race are OK sometimes. I can't tell you how many times I've been teased for my "whiteness", and I've learned that it's ok to joke about stereotypes (hot cheetos and taquis anyone? Hot sauce on popcorn?). Yes, I listen to white people music. Yes, I eat white people food. Yes, I dress like a white person. In case you didn't notice, I am white!

Things are not black and white. Why get in a fight? It's simple, just don't. Why break the law? Just don't. Why dislike cops? They're there to help. All of these things and more are heavy with cultural values and influences, baggage and pressure from those around them. A simple "don't fight" isn't going to make much of a difference. I don't mean there isn't right and wrong, but that giving a blanket "This is right, go and do it" won't work. A lot is going on underneath the surface, and a lot of basic underlying values at odds with Scripture may have to be addressed before any lasting change in behavior could take place.

All in all, I'm learning a lot and have so much more to learn!

Too Still.

He lay still.

Very still.

I recognized his face from pictures posted by my friend captioned with endearing words of admiration and respect and sorrow.

This is him.

So still.

More like the wax replicas of life found in museums than a living, breathing human being.

But that was the point. He was no longer living or breathing.

Just still.

I wondered how much the mortician had to do create this frozen image of life.

I was transported back to a small, crowded room, diesel-polished wood floors creaking, people quietly shuffling forward to view the body in the casket or to give respects to the family. His mother wailing in the chairs lined against the wall. My 9 year old self both curious and frightened, what do dead people look like? I stepped forward to the table at the center of the room, hesitant. He had a rose on his chest. I wanted to curl up next to him, for him to hold me in his strong arms like he used to. I was afraid to touch him. I turned quickly away. Memories of the death of my neighbor - an uncle figure in my life - are still vivid.

I hate wakes. I'm glad we only held a memorial service for both my grandparents. My last memories of them are of living, breathing beings. I thought that I wanted a body and a casket and a grave and a stone, instead of a pile of ashes in the garden. But I'm glad I never saw them like that.

So still.

I found myself grieving again for my grandmother, even for Jorge, the jovial neighbor who spoke English to us but refused to translate so that we would learn Spanish better. Losses are revived at the sight of fresh grief. I was again overwhelmed with gratitude for the many who came alongside my family as we watched the days of her life tick by, my vibrant grandmother slowly fading. Tears fall even now.

I can't pretend relate, for the loss of a father must be so much deeper than the losses I have experienced. But I do weep with those who weep.

And so, my friend, who was also shocked by the stillness, the absence of life, I grieve with you.

Learning from the young.

She drew near to my door and leaned against the frame, smiling and waving shyly, then stepping inside.
"Hey Cristina."
"Hey girl. Sorry, but you can't come in, it's policy not to enter each others' rooms."

Her shoulders slumped and the smile lost its shine. "Ok," she turned to walk back out and down the hall. Earlier she had told me she wished she were in my cabin for camp this year. She had approached me a couple times to talk, but it was in a crowded room or in the middle of an activity. I jumped up and closed the distance between us.
"We can talk in the hall though. How are you doing?"
As we talked about her experience at camp, I wondered why she continually drew near to me. We hadn't had much of a relationship before camp, so it seemed unusual that she would want to talk more now. Suddenly it dawned on me.

I paid for her to come to camp.

A week earlier when I heard that her dad hadn't been able to save for her to come, it weighed heavy on my heart. So I told her I really wanted her to be able to come, and said if she really wanted to, I would pay for her.

I showed her that she was wanted and made a way for her to be here.

Her response is beautiful and touching. A mere "thank you" is not enough for her, she doesn't just enjoy camp no matter how she got there. She continues to seek me out. She desires a relationship.

Her response should be our response.

God made a way for us, showed us that we are wanted, we are loved. There was no way that we could pay for our sins, so He paid the price himself. Too often our response is, "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind as I go about the business of life," when it ought to be like hers: I just want to spend time with you and know you more.

God made the way for us to have something we want, eternal life in heaven. This is not just a ticket to heaven to save until needed, a "Get out of hell free" card, so to speak. Jesus describes it this way:

"Now this is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent."

Eternal life doesn't start when our bodies physically die. It's not about living forever in another life. It's starts now. It's about knowing Him from now into eternity.
Since the way has been made, the price has been paid, our response should be gratitude displayed in relationship - a desire to be near Him.

If we don't desire to be near the Living God, then maybe we don't understand the price he paid to make that possible. Maybe we don't really know Him. Let us desire more than the good things we can get from God. Desire Him.

Draw near to God, and He will draw near to you (James 4:8).

"Cease Striving." A glimpse of my internal dialogue

Yesterday and today were hard days.

Deep breath, blink back tears. Deep breath, let it out slowly.

Myriad frustrations and fears, irritations and inadequacies swirl around, whispering incessantly that I am not enough.

Deep breath, blink back tears. Deep breath, let it out slowly.

All day I sought to pull myself out of the slough of despond with different songs. (If you know me, you know I am always singing. Always). Give me Jesus was one of the main ones. Good songs, beautiful songs, but songs that were still focused on me, on what I needed. That's where my focus was. I can't handle this. I need them to stop complaining. (J, I warned you I would write about you!) Why does nothing I say make a difference? I am so tired. I need to have a better attitude. Near the end of the day I started praising God rather than asking God.

Praise God from whom all blessings flow
Praise Him all creatures here below
Praise Him above ye heavenly host
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost

When I took my eyes off myself and put them on Him, so much pressure was relieved.

But still, little things kept going wrong and my exhaustion blew them out of proportion.

Deep breath, blink back tears. Deep breath, let it out slowly.

"God, I don't understand why my day was so hard." My fingers pick out the chords to "I have decided to follow Jesus" as I finally unwind at home. The verse "The world behind me, the cross before me" rings through my head over and over again. The cross before me. Ever before me. Fix your eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning it's shame. Fix your eyes on Jesus. He endured the cross and I can't even endure a hard day. Really, Cristina? Fix your eyes on Jesus. You need to get better at this.

My phone trills, announcing the arrival of a text:
"Cease striving and know that I am God, I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth. Psalms 46:10"

Did you know that the Psalms were written for me? Because I'm pretty sure God said that specifically to me and had someone write it down a long time ago because (as I taught in the lesson about Joseph in Egypt today) God knows everything and knows what will be needed and so knew that I needed to hear that today. RIGHT NOW.

Cease striving and know that I am God, I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.

"I'm trying to do everything right, God, but I can't! I don't know why it's so hard or why I keep failing!"

"Cease striving."

It quiets my soul, the protests die out.

"Cease striving and know that I am God."

If He is God, then I don't have to be. I don't have to be perfect, I don't have to have it all together, I don't have to get it right all the time.

"Cease striving and know that I am God."

If He is God, then it's ok that I am weak, because He is all-powerful, and His power is shown off best in my weakness.

"Cease striving and know that I am God, I will be exalted among the nations."

Briefly the thought passes through my mind that I'm not cut out for the city. Last week someone on the street yelled at me harshly for parking the van, and I nearly cried. A friend was surprised yesterday that I stood up for myself in another situation, and when I tried to reprimand the kids apparently I did it too nicely.  I thought I had toughened up, but it seems not nearly enough. The thought passed through my mind that I won't be effective in showing the kids Christ, being too weak and gentle to be heard.

"I will be exalted in the earth."

If I "mess up" in trying to make Him known, it's ok. My failings won't keep God from receiving the glory of which He is worthy, He will be exalted. It's not conditional. Stop trying so hard. He's God and it's going to happen, the weight of the world does not rest on you, Cristina. He will be exalted.

And when you realize and remember who God is, that's all that really matters in the end.

When people throw things at your car. (Because I have no better title).

Driving through an unfamiliar neighborhood, having dropped off a kid after Bible study who lived further away, I tried to maneuver one way residential streets to get back on a familiar main road. It was a beautiful day, cool, sunny, breezy - my ideal weather. I slowed the big 15 passenger van for the kids in the street up ahead. They looked to be about the same age as the kids I work with at ICI, around 8th or 9th grade. There was a plastic cup and some sticks in the street, and the girl motioned for me to slow down, she seemed to be indicating the things in the middle of the road. I slowed to attempt to straddle them, in case it was some game or something they were playing, then stopped when a boy stepped out in front of the van and crossed over to be with the rest of his friends. As I accelerated, the girl threw a half-filled water bottle through the open window, hitting my wrist, and the boy threw a stick in front of my tires. I swerved instinctively to avoid it as the kids scattered, laughing and screaming, as if surprised they made it through the window and afraid I was going to come after them.
A small part of me thought the idiot kids needed to be taught a lesson - you really can't do that to people. A large part of the kids in the back of the van thought the same thing, vocalizing it quite loudly. (One later told me I should go back to that block and give those kids a whooping, because it's just not right for them to act like that. THAT was pretty funny, as the kid has done his fair share of stupid things too.) Mostly, I was just amused as I shook out my wrist to make sure it hadn't aggravated an old injury, leaned over to grab the bottle where it landed on the passenger seat and dropped in the in the trash bin between the seats.

I'd like to tie this into some deep spiritual truth. I love when things like this illustrate theological concepts. Maybe someday I'll come across one.

Mostly it just confirmed once again that I'm in the right business: my first instinct was to get out of the car and get to know them, invite them to ICI. I couldn't at the time, having other kids to bring home. I am glad Christ stirred my heart for the youth of Chicago, I just love them. I want so badly for these young men and women to know Him and I greatly enjoy getting to know them.

Even though they do stupid things like throwing trash into moving cars.

Change.

I just rearranged my living room.

This is a big deal because 1. Things are heavy and my roommate isn't home, 2. I started a little after midnight when I should have been sleeping, and 3. I HATE CHANGE.

I never understood the girls in college who rearranged their rooms a couple times a semester. Any time my roommate rearranged the room while I was gone during a break I cried a little inside as I put on what I hoped was a neutral face and said "Oh. You rearranged the room," listening to all the reasons it made the room better. I usually got used to it within a week, but preferred it to have stayed the same (I managed to be in the same room all four years, that's how much I love consistency).

So many things changed and fluctuated and made me feel "other" in my life that at least having the same possessions and having the furniture in the same place was something constant and familiar. When we moved when I was in Jr. High, my parents let us kids arrange the living room - it stayed pretty much the same for 7 years, as did my bedroom. (I still use the bedspread I started using when I was 12, brought with me from Ecuador).

I've lived here for less than a year and I have now changed things TWICE. The first time was out of necessity, things had to be shifted when I got a piano. The room is rectangular and I had the piano and the couch on the long sides, making the room very narrow. Today I moved the couch to under the window, making the room more square. And I like it.

Something changed and I like it.

Maybe it's the stability of living in one country for several years now, living in my own home for a nearly a year that allows me to enjoy change. Maybe it's the fulfillment that comes from loving your job and knowing you are valued and needed. Maybe it's from knowing I am exactly where God wants me right now. Maybe it's because things have been too steady, too safe, and I subconsciously need the change now. Or maybe the room arrangement was just awful before. Whatever the reason, changed happened and I was ok with it.

I think it is a sign that I am content. I am not holding on to things being exactly as they are, I am not fearful of the future or longing for the past or clinging to this scrap of reality. I am content enough to have something change and it not greatly shake my reality.

I am not fully in favor of change. I have not suddenly stopped liking things a specific way or being attached to familiar things (I will definitely cry inside when I trade out my car for something smaller). But I think it is a step. A step towards letting go of the need to cling to what I have, cling to the way things are, grasp on to anything for stability and consistency. My feet are planted and growing roots deep enough to enjoy the changing of seasons around me.

I could easily cry when I think of how happy I am at this point in my life. I love feeling planted.

I am content.

Tornadoes and Sheep.

It's hard to think that only six weeks have passed since I started at ICI. The previous stage of life seems like a distant memory - was that really less than two months ago?

Summer at ICI is a flurry of activities, there is always something to be done, when one outing is done it's time to prepare for the next. Even so, there are some calm moments to catch your breath before diving in again. This is one of those moments, a few hours of quiet office work giving me a moment to reflect on all that has happened. Last week's three day camping trip to Baraboo, Wisconsin was a great time of relationship building and reflection on God. Many humorous moments offset the rain and mud, the first of which was at the very beginning:

On the way there, I was stirred from my thoughts by the young girls in the last row of the 15 passenger van.

"The city is just crowded and noisy, that's not really living. This is real life," one girl said, gesturing out the window, trees and fields rolling by. "Nature and trees and green. This is really living. Tornadoes..." she paused as if trying to think of other naturally occurring things,  then finished with "Nature. That's real life." Said with all the confidence and wisdom of a nine year old.  The chattering from the three friends continued, then was interrupted by a collective gasp: "Oh! Look! Horses!"
 I smiled in amusement, commenting "Those are donkeys."
"Donkeys!" they said with the same level of excitement, completely unphased. "And sheep! Now that is real life! Sheep." the very knowledgeable nine year old said matter-of-factly.
The picturesque field spotted with grazing sheep slipped past to be replaced by rolling hills blanketed in forest.
"Bye puppy-sheep!"

In a sense, our over-confident nine year old was right: real life is about tornadoes and sheep. There are moments in life that feel like everything is being torn apart and tossed upside-down. I've experienced many of those. You wonder what in the world God is doing, why, and how it could possibly be a good thing. I've given so much to you, God, and this is how you repay me? Tornadoes test our faith and bring forth our fears.

I'm going to let you in on a secret: I like tornadoes. Growing up, I loved visiting Ohio during tornado season. The air gets thick and heavy, the wind is gusty and fresh and musty all at the same time, the sky changes to a very un-sky-like green. I know you're supposed to get inside and away from windows, but I just want to watch the tree-tops whip back and forth, trash cans skittering down the street. The air is weighty with power, reminding me of my mighty God.

But that is a side track. Last year I heard about a teenage boy who dropped unconscious while playing basketball and died soon after. I mourned for him, but in a disconnected way. Now I know his brother, one of the kids who come to ICI. There is a lot of violence and unexpected death in Chicago. Tornadoes rise up suddenly and wreak havoc on our lives.

That is why "The LORD is my shepherd" is so sweet. He guides in the midst of fear and the changing patterns of life. He gives us rest, causes us to rest. "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death" (He is leading us, remember? That's what a shepherd does) we need not fear because he is there with us, more powerful than anything that could try to knock us over, gentle enough to comfort and restore us.

Real life is full of tornadoes - tumultous times - and sheep - people in need of a Shepherd to guide and protect them. Our nine year old didn't know how right she really was.

Sunshine and a Chain Link Fence

The City is awakening.

The birds chirp and chatter their merry conversation, tulips open their hearts to the sunshine, daffodils nod their heads cheerily.
A gentle shower falls on the lawn, the garden hose waving back and forth in the woman's hand, a toddler by her side poking at the grass. Music flows out windows and open doors as you pass one house and then another. People are on the streets, pushing strollers, walking dogs, carrying groceries.

The City has come alive.

It's exciting, to see the people about, to pass children and teens, recognizing some of them as part of ICI. But as the weather heats up and draws everyone outside, so will the relations between people. Summer is a violent time in Chicago.

A part of me is afraid. I don't do well with anger, it frightens me. It runs rampant in the city, spreading like a disease. I've seen it in the eyes of a group of men on the street corner and in the eyes of a group of girls at ICI. When the anger is stored up inside it doesn't take much for it to spill over.

Another part of me becomes bold, all the more urgently wanting to spread the gospel of peace and forgiveness.

And yet, as I think of how I want to impact the people of Chicago once I start at ICI, I realize I haven't even met my neighbors across the street.

Or even next door.

I saw him today and spoke to him for the first time, this neighbor to the south of me. He said "Hey, how's it goin'?" I shot him a quick half-hearted smile and an automatic "Good, you?" He threw me back a distracted "Good" and called to his little girl toddling in the shadow of our two houses. We were separated by a chain link fence and miles of thought. I was focused on getting to the office before 1:00 pm and he was focused on getting his daughter. A second and a half later I turned back to introduce myself, but by then he had turned away and was walking towards his front steps. I met his wife, once, months ago. She has dark hair. She probably told me her name, it might still be in the dark recesses of the unused portion of my brain.

I have no trouble reaching out to those who are assigned to me as "ministry," but those naturally around me? It's so easy to be intentional in one area but not the other. But even when I try to make eye contact or look for an opening with people, they seem distant and aloof. I want to break this barrier that isolates us. Maybe as the sun warms up the city it will thaw the barriers between people, so that as anger increases on the street, compassion and love and friendship (or at least neighborly camaraderie) can as well. I
want to bring Christ to both - the kids I intentionally seek out and those I pass every day.

And that starts with a simple "Hello."

 Hopefully next time I'll add, "I'm Cristina."  

NASA.

I am in the final countdown.
{TEN}
I can hear the crackling voice of the NASA announcer as the rockets power up.
{NINE}

NASA I thought. Not As Soon As I thought. This journey has taken a bit longer than I anticipated. BLAST OFF is not yet here, though it is at long last in the final stages. The feeling of anticipation rises, the engines power up and the restraints are shaking.

Not yet though.

Wait. 

Just a little bit longer.

It's hard to want to keep going through the routine procedures when the moment of excitement is so near. I've gone through them before, I'm sure everything will be fine now. I could just finish after, right? But it's important to make sure everything is as it should be, everyone is where they need to be. I am in that moment hovering between NINE and EIGHT and every moment before BLAST OFF, waiting for the remaining people to come alongside, to flip the switches and point the direction.

Okay, the rocket/NASA analogy might be a little dramatic. I'll restrain myself from continuing. Well, after this last bit: Think of all the people behind the astronaut - there is no way on earth he could leave and accomplish his mission without the hundreds of people who make it possible. I am glad for the past year and a half of support raising, because it means that I am not alone in my missionary endeavors.

This has been something I have struggled with. I had my whole life planned out after high school. A vital part of that picture was that once I graduated college and went into missions, I would have a partner in life. I would be married. I wouldn't do it alone.

Yet here I am, alone. The fairy-tale missionary prince didn't come along. I had to start the daunting task of tripling the number of people I know. Alone. And I won't lie, it has been challenging. There have been times of weakness when I didn't go to some event I should have gone to, or didn't talk to someone I ought to. Other times I pushed through and met the new person - contrary to the shy, introverted self that wanted to stay in the corner. ("How will you be a missionary if you prefer the corner?" you ask. By His transforming grace). So many times I felt alone.

But I'm not. I am not alone.

The great thing about support raising is that now I am surrounded by ministry partners who cheer me on, back me up in prayer, give words of advice and encouragement, intercede for me before the Father. I am so blessed by many I would never have known. There have been times when, worn out from "selling" myself, I met someone who caught the vision and whose excitement restored mine. And often a note with a monthly gift, a snippet of scripture or just an affirmation of prayer brightens my day.

So as I wait for that scratchy announcer voice to call out {EIGHT}, {SEVEN}, {SIX}, the percentages ticking away, as I wait for the moment I get to settle into the office of ICI, to walk the streets of Chicago and talk with the kids, I know that I don't do it alone. We wait and seek out those last six or so people who will join with us in the mission to reach Chicago's kids with Christ's hope.

Thank you for not letting me go forth alone!