"What we hunger for perhaps more than anything else is to be known in our full humanness, and yet that is often just what we also fear more than anything else. It is important to tell at least from time to time the secret of who we truly and fully are... because otherwise we run the risk of losing track of who we truly and fully are and little by little come to accept instead the highly edited version which we put forth in hope that the world will find it more acceptable than the real thing. It is important to tell our secrets too because it makes it easier that way to see where we have been in our lives and where we are going. It also makes it easier for other people to tell us a secret or two of their own, and exchanges like that have a lot to do with what being a family is all about and what being human is all about."  – Frederick Buechner

********

Several weeks ago, our ComGroup started telling our stories to each other. By this, I mean that we have set aside intentional time for each person to share a little bit about their lives, about their background, about the ways the Lord has been at work. I've done this before in small groups, and while I tend to despise anything related to being put in the spotlight, I think it's a really needed and beneficial part of journeying through life together. To really know one another and be known is such a gift.

So I made my notes the other night, a bit of a timeline of my life. Since I didn't grow up in College Station or even go to school here (shameful, I know), it made more sense to relay a synopsis than a few specific highlights of life. It's amusing now to look back and think about which moments were actually life-altering and which ones I just thought were at the time and to filter content that would fit within an hour and still convey "me". In the end, I'm not sure whether or not that was accomplished, but the neatest part was tracking the way the Lord has weaved provision and grace and purpose into seasons of life when it was least felt or realized.

I've never really thought I had much of a story to tell. There are events and moments of note and worth, sure, but nothing mind-blowing in comparison to some of the struggles and successes of others. But I guess that's ok, because my story is MY story, and it's important in it's own right because no one else has it and because it is also God's story. It is, and continues to be, a story of redemption and growth and learning to trust in pain-staking ways in the mountaintop moments as well as in the dark valleys. So after sharing last week, I actually felt like it wasn't enough, that there was more to tell, more about relationships – both healthy and broken – and marathons and singleness and art and my need to be outdoors and need to pray more and on and on and on, this need for more time to call out the ways the Lord has changed and shaped me and maybe that's the sweet spot. That recounting of the past as well as the expectation of what's to come. Because the Lord has been at work.

One of the stories in Scripture that always comes to mind in reference to "story" is the reference to the Ebenezer stone in 1 Samuel 7. Samuel implores the Israelites to turn to the Lord fully and with all their hearts. They do so, and when the Philistines come to attack, the Lord answers the cries of his people and throws the Philistines into a panic, saving the Israelites. Samuel then erects a stone, names it Ebenezer (stone of help), and proclaims "thus far the Lord has helped us". Perhaps this sticks with me because my dear creative Mother once constructed an 8' tall wire mesh and paper mache Ebenezer stone for a church event. We paper mached for hours, and then she painted the entire structure to look like a real rock. True story. And while I'm sure it ended up in the dumpster after all that work (because really, what do you do with that?), it made the story come alive for me. I love the ways that it was important to the people of the Old Testament to mark the times in their lives in which they knew they tangibly experienced the Lord at work, and I think there's something very powerful to be found in that still today. To stand and say, I'm not done yet, God's not done with me yet, but thus far the Lord has carried and delivered me.

I would say I'm in a season of not knowing what's ahead and really wanting to know, but then, that's the norm around here. I get impatient and concerned with what life might look like in 10 years and will I be a better person then and will I accomplish what I want to and will I love others better and will I trust the Lord more and will I be making a difference and will I feel like I've failed and will I be leaning into Him more even when I do? I guess if the last 10 years are any indication, I shouldn't be as worried about the next decade. For thus far has the Lord helped me.

So tell your stories. Tell the ones that make them laugh at your audacity, the ones that make them question your motives, the absurd and the silly, the scary phone calls that rocked your world, the highs and the lows, the times of tears and longing and broken hearts, and yes, even the utter ridiculous happenings and sacred glimpses of sheer joy. Tell them all and be known.

********

And to my story-sharing people here, proof that this happened. And it's worth mentioning that my first email address was hurdle_hopper@hotmail.com. You're welcome.

How do you recount those moments that really dig into the core of your heart? Not the kind where you think "that was really meaningful", or "I'll always remember this", but the kind that you know is changing the very nature of who you are in that moment. I continue to experience these moments in Ghana. Surprisingly, it's not the "highlight" moments that stick with me. Don't get me wrong; it's incredible to experience formerly trafficked children climbing into our boat and watching the same kids enter a bunk room at the shelter to pick out a new bed for the first time. Those are all special too, but for me, it's the look on the 15-year-old girl's face when she is told through translation that her mom loves her and wants her back, it's turning around to see a group of Americans and Ghanaians who don't have much in common culturally quietly praying under a mango tree together, it's watching your friends endure and pour out over and over again so that others may have abundant life. These are the stories I want to tell. They are the ones that bring light into the dark places and proclaim that in the midst of shadow, hope is present.

This past week renewed my hope. I often get bogged down by all the brokenness around me. We're surrounded by hurting people and devastating situations that are unfair and crippling in a world that proclaims "self" and confuses God's goodness with the desire for comfort and perfection. I've been burdened by that lately. But these kids and these moments – they are filling my heart up with a lasting hope. Hope that God isn't done yet and He is always bringing redemption and rescue in ways big and small; we need only to look for it. I'm anxious to share a few stories from our trip in the coming days. I want to be the kind of person who tells more tales of hope than of hopelessness, who focuses on the light instead of the great darkness, who continues to believe that we can all change the world one smile, one word, one moment at a time.

Blog = 100

Gretchen = 0

And so it goes. I really wanted to do the "one thankful thing a day" this month, especially via Instagram as I'm totally addicted, but let's just be honest – I would get maybe 4 days in, miss a day, and totally derail. *Thankfully* I was able to acknowledge that to myself before thinking it would be the best idea ever.

For now, a quick bit on some recent thoughts...

I'm living in great tension lately. It started awhile back, but I haven't put words to it until the last few days or so. (At least, we'll see if I can put words to it or not.) So many things continue to go right here, and I continue to be affirmed – in work, in friendships, in church. But in the midst of all the good and amazing, it's been a hard season. I find myself very vulnerable and open and yet ready to shut down at any given moment to avoid spilling over. I feel as though God is challenging and convicting me, and I'm growing and leaning into Him more than I have in quite some time, but it's so very hard. It's painful. It's humbling. I love it and hate it all at once; I know God is getting my attention in some very needed ways, yet it competes with my "me do it" resolve.

This tension... it's manifested itself in every area of life lately...

...in the coming undone of my typically amazing ability to compartmentalize and accomplish things.

...in the poor handling of relationships, both on my part and the part of others.

...in my drive for perfection, approval-seeking, and fear of failure. And disappointment? I die...!

...in Mercy Project as we grow and become more visible publicly, as we wrestle with perceptions and outside opinions.

...in marathon planning as we aim to go above and beyond for 3,000+ runners but simply can't please every one in every moment.

...in the day-to-day interactions I have with people – wanting to pour into others more than I am and simply not balancing that well with so, so much going on.

But this time, this tension, it's drawing me in. I see the refining and shaping that is taking place – the preference of being closer to the heart of God than exchanging that for perfection and distance. Of course, I'd like to not jinx that and say "bring it on", but there's something so rich about being in a place where, for better or worse, I'm kissing stagnancy goodbye for a bit and diving in to the messy.

And oh, praise God that He deals in the messy. In the broken. In the far-from-having-it-all-together. Praise God for the ways in which He meets us where we are and refines us.


That is right where I want to be.

*****************

Posts on marathon madness, life as of late, a day trip to Dallas, and Thanksgiving festivities to come... eventually.

(And so we reach the end of the Ghana saga... this time around; here's the start of the series and more pictures can be found here. Cheers!)

The door bangs open and a flurry of color and giggling girls fill the space – eyes wide as they take in the room and choose their new bunk beds. They are theirs. "Have you ever had a bed like this before?", Chris asks through the shelter manager who translates. "No, never" comes the answer. And in unison, "We love it! We love it!" rings out, reverberating pure joy from the walls. It is life-giving.



I am watching Ruth.

She was wary when we first left the village, caution and anger in her eyes. What was she thinking about... Who am I to be handed off to now? Where are we going? Who can I trust?

I hear her voice over and over saying "Thank you, Madame" as she runs through the rain and darkness next to me that first night; as the oldest girl, she has assumed a caretaker role over little Jacob and is grateful for my carrying him through the storm. She remains cautious, but her guard is slowly coming down. Though we cannot exchange words, I see the anger in her eyes meld into a shy smile for the first time.

Then I catch her in this moment on her new bed, the prized top bunk, and all inhibitions are gone as she flashes a "thumbs up".



Ruth is interviewed at the shelter before we leave. Her story is utterly heartbreaking. She tells of abuse and watching a friend drown in the lake among many other horrors that we suspected but had not been able to confirm with this particular group of kids. And though it matters not how well these kids were treated; a human being as a commodity is wrong any way you spin it, our purpose has come full circle. Every moment has been worth it for this one. Every moment has been worth it for Ruth. She says she wants to be a nurse, and God is redeeming her life before our very eyes. He is rewriting her story as one of hope and freedom and future.

We play clapping games next to the futbol field and the girls attempt to teach us their dancing game. They laugh at my failed attempts at coordination and switch to teaching us words in Twi. I struggle to make the right sounds, much less the right words, but they think it's absolutely hilarious. Out of the corner of my eye, I am watching Ruth. She cannot stop smiling and laughing and hugging us.

And so I leave with an insatiable desire for more. More children, more freedom, more stories of rescue and redemption. It occurs to me later: this is technically near the end goal of our overall process and the time we've worked towards for two years. It felt so much like the ending until now. Now I see that it's truly just the beginning.

These precious 24 are the most beautiful beginning to this journey.

(If you're just joining the conversation, you might want to start here and here.)

I'm kneeling in the sand, and it's eerily quiet all around me. Final words have been exchanged with the villagers, and the children are ready. We are ready. Nicole and I have come out to the shore ahead of the group, hoping to capture and freeze this "walking out" in time. Much discussion has evolved around this very moment – what will it look like? what will we feel? will it be all we hoped for?

I hear noise, and they are coming. I holler at Nicole, and we get to work. And though perhaps slightly anticlimactic in reality, it truly is all I hoped for. It happens in less than three minutes, but I'm shooting as quickly as I can as a million thoughts run through my head. As they pass by, I watch the expressions on Chris & Stacey's faces. It is sheer joy. The testimony these two are telling with their lives is bringing His Kingdom on earth; I am grateful beyond words to witness and be apart of something of this magnitude. Chris passes by and jokingly says something like "stop crying and grab a hand"; I'm wearing sunglasses – how does he know?! It's just one of those emotional times for us all, as we anticipated it would be. I fall in next to a little boy of about 8. In that instant, I think... every bit of struggle and question, every sleepless night, every personal sacrifice – it was worth it, a hundred times over. This is "thin space" as it's been described to me – where the space between Heaven and earth is but a sliver.





I'm knee-deep in cloudy water, just as we are about to leave the Adovepke shore. The kids are clambering in the boat, huddling in a group at the very front as the villagers line the shoreline to see them off. They have been gracious, dressing the children in their best clothes, some even slipping money for the journey into their fingers as we depart. I watch the faces of the children as they settle in, wondering what's running through their heads. I see every expression on their faces – excitement, trepidation, resignation (where are they taking me now?), perhaps a little fear in a few. I think, if they will but wait and see, just one more day, and then they will know. They will know they are loved and chosen and called by name to a hope and a future. I hop in the boat before it gets out too deep, letting out held breath. 24 children are now in our hands. And they are making their final journey across the lake for a very, very long time.





My friend Chris C. does some incredible mission work at With One Hope in Honduras. He writes, "I believe there are moments in life that mark us. Moments that stretch our hearts and push us to the brink emotionally, spiritually, physically. There are moments that leave such an impact that they become a part of who we are – good or bad – and help define who we are going to be. We all react differently to these moments. Some of us harden our hearts, others weep, others are filled with determination, and still others fall to their knees in prayer. We are all different and experience these moments differently. But one thing remains true for us all: after we have lived through such a moment we can never be the same again; we are forever changed."

I could not have said it better myself.

This is a picture of the first time I walked into one of the fishing villages in Ghana. This was my second trip over and way more culturally invasive than the first trip. We walked into the village of Awudjakorpe and sat in dining room chairs under a mango tree to continue conversation with the people about an economic partnership. Two months later, we returned to implement our first development project – a cassava farm with sustainable crops and processing equipment. Now a year later, we're leaving to go implement our first aquaculture project at Adovepke, which will result in the release of our first group of children off Lake Volta this fall.

I always wanted to go to Africa, so the initial travel and all that came with it was just a new adventure, not something I expected to return to. I wanted to check "Africa" off my travel list and move on to the next location and site to see. But I never could've guessed that my heart would be so deeply affected by children that I've never even met before, by the Ghanaian people who are so kind and hospitable, by a country who has more to teach me than I could ever teach it. I never could've guessed at the ways in which I would continue to learn about myself and the Kingdom through this work. But God has been so faithful in that.

As I've read over and over Micah 6:6-8 in preparation for this trip, one of the biggest things I want to take with me is remembering that God doesn't need me. He doesn't need me to bring the Kingdom in Ghana, he doesn't need my pitiful offerings, he's not impressed with any accolades or gifts. But He's invited me on this incredible journey, invited me to share in His work, invited me to be a person of justice and mercy. So I just want to show up this week, to make myself available and open to what he has to show me. To simply go, and love, and serve with a joyful heart.


There's still a bit of room in my suitcase if anyone wants to join...

Six months ago, I moved to Bryan and started working for Mercy Project. Crazy how that 'ole time flies. In some ways, I feel like I just got here; in others, I feel as if I've always been here and the 5 year stint in Dallas has faded in the distance. There have been a lot of transitions in the last 6 months: new friends and relationships, new church, new roommates, new town, new job... basically everything. But even in all of that, I feel like it's been so right and so good. I'm being challenged in a lot of ways, and I continue to learn more about myself and the grace of God every day.

In honor of month #6, here are 6 things I'm grateful for today in relation to moving here. In no certain order:

1. Dallas Buddies: I'm grateful for friends in Dallas who continue to make an effort to live life with me. This was one of the only hang-ups for me in leaving the Metroplex. I hated the thought of losing solid relationships, even though that wasn't a deal-breaker in the decision to leave. Luckily, those friends remain a big part of my life; they encourage, support, and offer constructive criticism in the best kind of way. (May there be many more Cabin adventures ahead.)

2. ComGroup/ComChurch: I wasn't sure where I would end up going to church, but I was certainly seeking a smaller congregation that was community/family-oriented and did not separate members based on their seasons of life. I didn't find perfection, but I found a group of people that seek to journey through life together – they are in each other's homes, sharing meals, and living out the Gospel in so many ways. It's been empowering for me to share life with our small group and be surrounded by people in various stages of life. I am no longer a face in the crowd.

3. Design: Another thing I was uncertain of in leaving Dallas was giving up the chance to learn from other designers and be involved in the creative atmosphere that I was in tune with in the advertising world. While that atmosphere doesn't look anything alike here in Bryan, I have been blessed to work on design projects with others and continue to build on my skills. My first print run of 2000+ pieces is rolling out next week!

4. Work: What can I say? I'm so honored to be working for Mercy Project, to get to use my passions for something that is lasting. I've been challenged to widen my job description quite a bit, but it's provided growth and comfort zone break-out – such positive things for me. I still have a lot to learn and make my share of blunders, but I like to think/hope the end results outweigh those things. I honestly can't imagine doing anything else right now, and am so grateful for those who encouraged me to take the plunge. My life is better because of it.

5. Exploring: I'm independent, but I hate big changes. Best combo ever. But it's been fun to find new running routes, the best places to eat, various city parks, the library, and just a new norm in general. As much as I protest it, it's good for me to "reset" every now and then. I've been able to do that here, and it's been quite rewarding.

6. Small Town: I love being able to get across town in 15-20 minutes, not having to schedule a time to go to the grocery store, being able to literally run down the street to pick up Redbox or go to the Post Office. I love spending 1.5 seconds on my commute, instead of wasting 1.5 hours of each day in the car. I'm grateful for the small town culture instead of the frantic, horn-honking city attitudes. I'm grateful for neighbors whose names I know and the sheer entertainment of the older man down the street who dries his newly washed car with a leaf blower once a week. I'm grateful for welcoming roommates and that I feel so much at home here.

We've been back from Ghana for 3 weeks now, this being my 4th trip over. So much has happened just in those 3 weeks that I think instead of coming up with new thoughts at this point, I'm better off just sharing some snippets of the trip from my journal pages over the course of the week in-country.

Exhibit A: The below, super random-and-not-like-me... poem? I don't know what it is. I read some similar lines the day we got back and liked the expressive format. I needed an outlet for saying things that I just couldn't express otherwise, so I matched the number of words and lines and just changed them out to what I wanted to say. It seems a little over the top now, but... here goes.

risky dreams. great passion. deep hunger.

dusty roads. head-carried. simple living.

smiling faces. O'bruni cheers. many stares.

open markets. brown faces. beautiful spirits.

fried rice. whole fish. spicy red.

open water. countless boats. cloudy sky.

small child. wary glances. empty eyes.

forgotten childhood. hands working. paddling away.

waving grass. thatched huts. curious questions.

mango trees. rich conversation. better way.

hard work. community effort. strangers to friends.

lives changed. childhood return. hopeful eyes.

lost in a story.

never thought to be here.

floating through the bush, unafraid;

confidence, hope, and life pour in.

questions and uncertainties sent up.

but i venture the road and come alive.

my story looks too different.

the road is rocky and uncertain.

choices to conform. choices to lean in.

i choose the later; it leads to Him.

unsure, I wake up, and inquire.

a calming feeling crawls over me; i relax.

i remember what was said:

"least of these. light in darkness.

freedom proclaimed. Kingdom on earth."

my responsibility.

believe in the power of story.

weave threads that only you can intertwine.

write on the pages; color the canvas.

join the journey. change the world.

*************

I think one of the most powerful things we can do as Jesus-followers is to tell our story and learn the stories of each other. A lot of times it's messy and unknown and ordinary and just plain hard. But there are also moments of beauty and joy and redemption. All worth the telling.