Questions. Answers.

This post was written a little differently. The question I ask below was one that I asked while still living in Africa. Almost a year ago. Below it is the answer. Given last week. 

Question. Where does my identity lie? I have been asking myself this lately. Actually within the last hour or so but still I believe my heart has silently being asking for a while. More specifically since it knew that its time here in Africa was coming to an end. 

       

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You know I never did answer that question before I left the sun swept plains of Africa. Or actually my lovely little Nile riverbed to be more exact. Now almost a year later I still don't have an answer. Where does my identity lie? 

I can see myself. There in Africa. Sitting up in Dr. Tim's and Mama Janice's. I was probably looking out at RG. Watching the workers lay stones for foundations. The graceful women slowly meander back and forth from the garden to the bean thatching house. Bending ever so slightly from the loads a top their heads. Hearing. Seeing. Laughter and Ayahs. Go up all around me from little mouths. Hurrying to finish chores so they might play before supper. Yes I can see myself. All full of mixed emotions. Deep in self-reflection. Wondering. If my identity was in Him. Somehow already knowing.  

Though the answer was there. I wondered. Him? Or. Was it tied up in the scenes around me? Did I feel closer to Him. Did I feel okay and comfortable and safe in my relationship in that moment because of Him. Because of forgiveness. Because of Grace. Or. Was it because I was living out the ultimate of works. How in the world could I be in the wrong. Living as I was. "Perfect" "Sinless" A worker at an orphanage. 

Where was my Identity? Was it there in me. In my works. In my actions. Was it there in Him. In His work. In His final action. 

I've been in a bit of a spiritual slump now. Going on….nine months. It's not fun. It's not pretty. It's ugly. It's gross. It's self-focused. It's selfish. It's sorta wonderful at times. The times when clarity comes. The times when I see that my identity is now more in Him than it's ever been. The times when I see how much I desperately need that Grace in the midst of all this lagging. And Pushing. and Running. And nonsense. I see how wonderful His forgiveness. How accepting it is. How limitless. How priceless. How free. I see this more now than all the millions of times I try to earn it. I try to pay Him back. I try to do it on my own. I try to make it up to Him. All the times I am being foolish. Like my soul mates the Galatians. 

The slump. It sucks. I hate it. I hate being so far. Of being in my own way. The slump. It's sorta wonderful. I am at times thankful. I like how it knocks me down. I like how when I am down I can only look up. I like that to look up I can't do it on my own. I can't pay it back. I can't make it up. I can't earn it. I can only accept it. 

I think it's here. In this humble acceptance that I have nothing. This place of only accepting.  That I am beginning to see the shapes of my identity. Not in Africa. Not in works. Not in me. But in a Cross. In a selfless act. In a Friend. 

Lover Covers Over a Multitude of Sins

Do you ever think about grace? Like truly really think about it. Not just grace. But. Grace. This big ball of crazy awesome madness. This ridiculous. Miraculous. Will never make sense in a million years. Gift of love and goodness. 

Do you ever think about grace? Really think about it. Then at the same exact moment think about your life? Like really think about it. Not just life. But. Life. Your life. Your actions. Decisions. Words. Spoken. And not. Thoughts. Even the fleeting ones. Your motives. Your true motives. Your desires. Your heart. Your true heart. Time spent. Time wasted. Life. Your. Life. 

Do you ever think about grace and your life. Together at the same time. Happening. Moving. Connecting. Do you ever really think about it? And then at the same exact moment become happy. Like really truly happy. So. So. Happy. Because as you realize the outrageousness of grace and the trueness of your life you see and know that if we had not one the other would be dirty and gross and just ahhh. But with one the other becomes a beautiful ridiculous mess of love. 

Do you ever think about grace? 

Yeah. I do too. 

Transparent Rambles

There are times when I have no clue what to write. It's true. I know that I need to say something. Anything. But nothing comes. So. I usually run way. Or. Pretended that I don't have my own self appointed deadline to meet. Then. The guilt and self loathing comes. And. As I have stated before that always brings me here. A computer. A blank page. And me trying to be transparent. 

I am not sure there is a point to this post. I am afraid it might just be some rambles. I am really not one for externally processing things but sometimes you need to. Sometimes you need to know that someone is going to hear. Or. In this case read your crazy-round-about-not-fully-strung-together thoughts. It just helps. So. Here are mine. 

In a most beautiful way Papa has showed me that. Well. Somewhere in me He has placed a book. Problem. I haven't a clue what it is. Solution. Spend some time with Papa. I am pretty sure He is really good at revealing these things. Problem. Honestly. My daily time with just me and Him is basically nonexistent. This of course is all me. Not Him. Pretty sure He wants to hang with me. Like. All. The. Time. I on the other hand am being completely stubborn. He wants to talk about things. I don't want to talk about. Things that hurt. Things that I believe are better buried. This of course is a scandalous falsehood. (side note: I have always wanted to say that!) 

So I. Like my writing. Either run away. Or. Pretend that everything is fine. It is not fine. I desperately need Him. I desperately need alone time with Him. Problem. Me. I get in my own way. Just like with my writing. Just like many things in my life. I fail. So. I stop trying. I run away. Or. Pretend. Either way. I am getting in my own way.  And. Truthfully. It makes me sad. And. Kinda worried. I might not be totally stoked about the season I am in right this minute. But. Neither do I want to waste it. So. Here I am stuck in the middle with me. We are our biggest obstacles aren't we? 

I think you might say this had some point. Some moral or lesson about Carpe Diem. Or. Some equally great Robin Williams movie. Like. Flubber perhaps. But. I hope it helped. Anyone. Someone. Anywhere. Somewhere. The joy of being transparent? Knowing that. Anyone. Someone. Anywhere. Somewhere. Is hopefully saying. "Ahhh…I am not the only one." 

The neutral shelf.

The neutral shelf. Do you have one of those? I do. They really are quite handy. Basically anything that is too much I just put on it. And then don't feel, think, bother about that thing anymore. Yup. Easy as that. Just put it on the shelf and…..

Okay. Maybe. Sometimes. The neutral shelf doesn't work. I mean it does work. In the sense that you don't automatically feel, think, or bother with the thing in question anymore. But the flaw of the neutral shelf is this. One day. One normal day. You will. Feel. Think. Bother. With whatever has been on the neutral shelf. It will just. KABLAM. And you will probably have a minor melt down. And cry. And maybe drink half a bottle of wine. Maybe. 

I know. I. Know. In the beginning the neutral shelf sounded pretty great. Right? A shelf to put everything that you just cant deal with. Things that are too much for you to hope for. Or believe in. Or maybe. Things that make you sad. Angry. That make you wish you could just ahhhhhh. Things that are just too. Much. 

Honestly though. Nothing in our lives is too much. It's true. It might seem like too much. But it's not. Papa even told us. He wouldn't tempt us more than we could bear. (1 Cor. 10:13) I think that means that the things we want to put on the shelf. The things that we cannot for one more minute. Feel. Think. Bother. The things that make it feel like our heart will explode. Will actually not make our hearts explode. 

The reason those things begin to seem like too much is not so we can ignore them. Or bury them. Or run away. I think they seem like too much because Papa wants them. He wants us to put them on Him. Not a shelf. He wants to take them. He wants to teach us how to carry them. How to use them. He wants to twist them around and make them beautiful and for our good. 

Sometimes it's hard to see. But those things that make us. Feel. Think. Bother. Well. Those are the things that make us. Us. Those are the things that draw us to Papa. So that He can make us more of the us we were meant to be. So take those things. That make you. Feel. Think. Bother.  Off the shelf. Let Him make you. Well. You.  

Nudges and Mango Trees.

All week I have been asking…what in the world should I do for a new blog post?!? Usually this is shouted out (in my head of course…I'm not a crazy person) to the heavens and usually the heavens answer back (by the Holy Spirit of course) with an idea that comes out of no where. Then I say "that is a terrific idea I should write a blog about that". This week, however, I shouted and shouted and the Spirit never answered. By never answered I mean I kept getting this nudging feeling that I was supposed to share a short story I have been working on. By working on I mean procrastinating until I feel guilty and then slowly coming up with some words that usually sound like rubbish to me so I give up until the guilt producing procrastination kicks in. 

So anyways the Spirit "never answered" so I kept shouting and finally I figured since He wasn't going to answer I would just go with this weird, completely random, totally unrelated to the Holy Spirit answering my shouting, nudging feeling. So with out further ado here is "Elvis and the Great Idea. "

A little more ado. This story is based on a child whom I love more than life. He is adorable, funny, a future heart breaker, and the most rascally rascal to ever roam the African bush. Please let me know what you think. Any thoughts or ideas of how to improve would be greatly appreciated! Now with no more ado "Elvis and the Great Idea." 

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Elvis stood in the shade of the Mango tree. It wasn't a Mango tree at all really. That's just what his Auntie A thought it looked liked. He gazed up at the long, green leaves. Each one in just the right spot to make the tree top a perfect oval. 

" Well, whatever kind of tree this is at least it knows how to be a tree." He thought. 

The cool shade of the perfect oval surrounded him making him forget the blistering Dry Season sun waiting just a few steps away. He poked the stick he'd found around the dry, dusty earth. It was Saturday. Saturday in the African Bush. Saturday with nothing to do. Well nothing for him to do at least. The house moms weren't really too keen on letting him help with house chores. Not that he would ever ask to do that. The girls were out of the question. Apparently chasing them with dead birds and grasshoppers is frowned upon and rewarded with licks from his mum. 

"Hmmm…." Elvis' little eyes scanned the courtyard looking for something. Anything. He spotted the older boys on the football pitch but knew they would never let him play. His four year old body was "just too little" 

 "I'll show them little!" He'd fumed when they had sent him on his way the very first time he tried to play. "Wait until I catch a chameleon all on my own! From the top of a tree no less! Without screaming like the girls and Auntie A always do." 

Frustrated Elvis threw down his stick and picked up what had to be the most perfect rock in the world. He tossed it up and down in hand for a while pondering his dilemma. Then with all his might he flung the rock in the air. He watched it soar up. Up. Up. And then. Thump! It hit the bright yellow gerry can full of water Nancy was balancing on her head. 

"Aya! Elvis! You see!!! Don't throw that rock.." Fiona, Nancy's friend, shouted at him. 

Nancy quickly regained her balance all the while giving him the look. The Elvis look. The look that everyone at the children's home had mastered so well. The look that says "Elvis, can't you please find something to do that won't cause bodily harm to someone or mental harm to the moms!" 

He was used to look by now. It was always the end result of one of his ideas. Elvis was always coming up with ideas. Like how to best catch grasshoppers. How to sneak white ants into class. How to get extra sweet potatoes from the garden. How it's way more fun to walk backwards while being an airplane than to walk like everyone else.  He never really understood why everyone always got so upset about his ideas. Well, everyone but his best friend Isaac. Isaac understood him. Not all of Elvis' ideas worked out for the best but getting there was half the fun. Isaac understood this. That's why Elvis, as he watched Nancy and Fiona take the gerry can and pour the water in basins, quickly shouted out for his best friend who knew him so well.

"Aya, Isaac you listen I have an idea." The two huddled under the Mango tree. Elvis rushing to give Isaac the full details of his newest venture. Isaac like all good sidekicks gave the right response at just the right moments. A nod of seriousness there. A look of incredulity here. All the while knowing that this idea just might be Elvis' crowing glory. After all. It was hot. It was Saturday. And they had nothing better to do. 

"So what do you think?" Elvis inquired of Isaac

Isaac looked over at the girls who were by now busy mopping the porch. Water splashing and dancing merrily on the concrete. He looked back at his somewhat reckless. Somewhat brave. Mostly crazy best friend and said" What are we waiting for!"

And with that the boys were off! Not giving a thought for the heat looming out of the confines of their cool oval. They dashed across the courtyard. Bounded up the steps. Then with out hesitation began to jump. Up. And. Down. Down. Then. Up. They jumped and jumped. And then jumped some more. Sending water spraying everywhere! All over the porch. All over Nancy and Fiona. Most importantly all over their hot, dusty, dirty, feet. Oh how good it felt. The cool delicious water trickled down their legs as Nancy and Fiona could do no more than stare.

"Elvis…" began Fiona but whatever was to come next Elvis never found out because at that precise moment something happened that shocked even him. Nancy as quietly as she could, which is pretty quiet for Nancy after all, had herself begun to jump. Up. And. Down. Down. Then. Up. She jumped and jumped. And then jumped some more. 

"Fiona you come!" she shouted with glee

Elvis watched as Fiona looked at him. Then to Isaac. (Who by the way was too busy rolling around in the water to notice anything but how cool he felt and how smart he was to have such a brilliant friend!) Then to Nancy. Without a second thought she began to jump. Up. And. Down. Down. Then. Up. She jumped and jumped. And then jumped some more.

News of Elvis' brilliant idea had reached the older boys out on the football pitch. They quickly ended their game and came barreling towards the porch. They looked at the girls. They looked at Isaac rolling around in the water. They looked at Elvis. 

"Elvis. Can we jump?" Big Francis, one of the leaders' of the older boys, quietly asked.

Elvis looked at the boys. He remembered all the times that had told him no. All the times they said he was to little. All the times they had told him to go away. 

"Okay."

"Aya Elvis thank you!" Big Francis shouted as he leapt up onto the porch to join the others. The other boys quickly followed shouting their gratitude as they began to jump. Up. And. Down. Down. Then. Up. They jumped and jumped. And then jumped some more. Water splashing. Laughter booming. Elvis beaming. He looked around at all his friends. Laughing and cool. Soaked and smiling.  

"Finally." He thought. He had finally pulled if off. It was indeed his crowing glory. His greatest idea. Well. For now at least. He was Elvis after all. And there would be more Saturdays. With nothing to do. More Saturdays to fill with great ideas. 

These are some pictures from the actual event that this story is based on:

 Isaac (lf.) and Elvis (rt.) enjoying Elvis' great idea.

 Fiona (lf.) and Nancy (rt.) trying to mop.

Big Francis all smiles and nice and cool!

Celine Dion and the Routine Tuesday.

The other morning. Tuesday to be exact. I was on my way to work* jamming out to some Celine (don't be a hater) and thinking about what I needed to get done that day. What's that? Oh you want to know how exactly I knew what I needed to do that day at work. Well. Simple. It's the exact same thing I did the Tuesday before that. And that. And that. And. That. I suppose you can say I have a certain routine for certain days of the week. I suppose you can say we all have certain routines for certain days. Times. Months. Life. The thing is as much as I love me some repeated fixed activities during a 24 hour time period sometimes I get routine sight. 

What's that? Oh you want to know what exactly is routine sight. Well . Simple. It's when you are one moment in your car belting out to one of the greatest singers of all time matching her pitch for pitch and then the next you are looking out over your life. You see years and years of more Tuesday mornings just like this one. More Tuesdays of knowing exactly what you will be doing because you did it the Tuesday before that. And that. And that. And. That. You tell yourself it's cool it won't be forever. But the thing is you don't know this to be a true thing. This could be forever. Forever of the same thing. Every. Day. It's what you asked for but not what you expected. You imagined adventure. Adventure in the great wide somewhere.  

You know this is where God led you but what if He leaves you here with no sign that new things are coming. What if this is it? Then you see that your life in no way matches the expectations you had for it. And suddenly Celine's goose bump inducing power notes sound flat and empty to your ears. It is in that moment when her (or insert your own musical guilty pleasure-even though I will never say Celine is my guilty pleasure because I enjoy every minute of each stanza, chorus, and verse she belts out without one tinge of shame. That's right. I am a Celine Dion fan. And I am proud.) angelically powerful voice sounds like Miley Cyrus on a good day (does she have those?) that you have routine sight.    

After the first onslaught of the routine sight some slight symptoms might occur. Such as but not limited to: anger, nausea, confusion, swelling of your feet and/or back, a slight longing for cold dark places, binge eating and/or wine. Routine sight can be scary. Often times leaving a sense of hopelessness in its wake. The thing is every time this happens and hopelessness is barging into my heart leaving it's sad gloominess I am like snap crackle pop JESUS! That's right Jesus. I know Him. He's my friend. And He is not hopeless. In fact I am pretty sure He is hope. To all people. What's that? Oh you want to know exactly how I know this. Well. Simple. There's a book about it. You should read it. However, just in case you don't have time to peruse books and/or can't read (in which case I don't even know how we got this far.) let me quote a bit of it for you… ahem " Find rest, O my soul , in God alone; my hope comes from Him." (Psalm 62:5)

What's that? Oh you want to know how if Jesus is my hope and I have Jesus living in me ALL the time did I get karate chopped by hopelessness and a strong sense of despair and meaninglessness. Well. Simple. Expectation. Remember earlier when I was all like "ahhhhh my life's expectations are nowhere similar to what my life actually looks like right now in this very moment!" Expectations are like boxes. Not those really awesome collapsible crate type boxes that make life simpler and easier to handle. They are more like those big, heavy, old steam trunk boxes. That actually look super cool because they're all old and vintagey and hipstery but really not useful for anything more than mere decoration. Yeah. Those are expectations. 

They are the pictures and fluff of what WE think our lives SHOULD be. Frankly they get in the way. In a huge way. We get so wrapped up in our expectations that we miss out on…well…our lives. Expectations stop the flow and movement of The Spirit. It could look as simple as this "God I expect it to be like this." Or. "God I expect you to be like this." Or. "God I expect my life to look just like this." It puts God in a box. It limits Him. Well to us at least because honestly no one can limit Him and no one can put Him in a box. Trust me. I have tried. Many. Times. Control issues (don't be a hater) It's more like it puts us in a box. It limits us. God doesn't want that for His children. He wants us to know the unlimited fullness of Him and all He has for us. He wants us to look out and see nothing but possibility and newness and adventure for our lives. 

What's that? Oh you want to know how exactly do you do this? Well. Simple. Expectancy. Expectancy is active and moving and flowing. Like His Spirit within us. Expectancy allows for freedom. With expectancy we are not thinking about how God should move but instead waiting, trusting, and knowing that He will move. We KNOW He will move in the ways  HE knows we need. The ways that are best. The ways that glorify. Expectancy leads to faith. Faith leads to hope. Hope is Jesus. 

I don't have a plan anymore. I always have a plan. I don't know what's coming next. I always know what's coming next (usually thanks to my plan). I don't know how things are going to be. I always know because I imagine them to be a certain way. Usually something along the lines of me waking up and being fabulous, owning lots of shoes, and a wand and being able to accio everything to me. Then after a busy day of accio-ing  I come home to cupcakes and Shia Labeouf. (Hey. If you're going to dream. Dream. Big.) I don't know. And that's okay. As long as I got Celine blasting. Oh and have hope. Hope that God is moving. Not how I think He should but how He knows I need. How it will be best. How it will glorify. And frankly there is nothing routine about that.

*I actually do really like my job. I am learning how to know and realize life is not what I thought it would be but He is sovereign. Any other argument is invalid.

If At First You Don't Succeed....

We've all heard that. We all know what it means. And now here I am trying to put it into action. This isn't my first rodeo. I have been around the blogging block a time or two. The first time around my blog would have been akin to sweet little Sandra Dee.  Cute blonde hair, made fun of by Rizzo, hopelessly devoted, and let's face it not getting a lot of action. My next venture into the blogging world was a different experience. It was a leather wearing, chain smoking, you are the one that I am wanting type of change. Let's just say that this time around "Danny" couldn't keep his hands off me. 

Two blogs. Two different out comes. One was a miss. One was a hit. Though for my hit I did have orphans as a subject to use; and who's not going to read and follow a blog about adorable little African orphans? Declining to read about the delightful shenanigans of fatherless children in Africa would be the equivalent to punching a baby in the face. And no one wants to be known as the "I don't read the blog about African orphans so basically I am a baby face puncher"person. If currently you are known as the "baby face puncher" you can change that by going to  outofafricawithashley.blogspot.com. Go. Read. And forever be known as compassionate and loving of the faces of all infants.  

Oh. Right. Success. Success,if you want to get technical, is not just about followers and readers. It's about trying and sticking with something. This part of success I am not too…well….successful with doing. I am a firm believer in writing only when you have something to say. Not just because it's the cool thing to do or you want everyone one to see what a wonderful writer you are and tell you that you are the next Jane Austen. Even if that means coming to her tragic lonely end you're okay with it because she was awesome and any other argument is invalid. However, there are many times that I take this philosophy of mine and push it a bit too far and use it as an excuse for my non-writing. Non-writing is when you know you should be writing so that you can become better at writing but aren't doing so because you are either: 

A)Lazy. B)Terrified. C)On Pinterest pinning inspiration about writing and/or pictures of Ryan Gosling. D)Eating.  E) All the above. 

So you say to yourself and everyone else that you "aren't really writing right now because you don't really have anything to say and why else should I write. Am I right? Ha ha puns!" And then no one gets your pun and you feel even more like a loser because you aren't writing when you know you should and are now making horrible puns. 

All this to say….I don't have anything to say. Not that I know of at least. I do know this, however, I am supposed to be writing. The feeling of remorse and shame I get every time I hear of someone writing and being disciplined and living out their dreams and all that hooey-gooey rubbish tells me I should be writing. More than all that J.K. Rowling once said that she hopes she is remembered for doing the best she could with the talents that she was given. Ouch. That kicks me in my leather wearing blog writing butt every time. 

I believe I am pretty fair writer. And most of the time (when it doesn't make me want to stick my head in an oven…reference anyone?) I actually do enjoy it. And Papa gave it to me. He filled me up with it. Trusted me with it and now I need to be a good steward. He woke me up in the middle of the night with this blog idea and it's about time I show Him I can be trusted with the small things so that one day He might trust me with the big. ( Luke 16:10) 

So here I go again on my own. Looking down this only road I've ever known. Wait…what? I song digress. Sorry. Even with my song digressions, horrible puns, and chain smoking. Even if I am the only one reading and commenting on how witty and bright and lovely I am. I think this will have all been a success because you know what? At least I tried. And tried again.