I can't.

"I can't" is a phrase we're taught not to say from a very young age. We're encouraged to focus on things like "I can do anything if I put my mind to it!" "Reach for the stars!" "Believe in yourself!"

The American dream is built upon hard work and self-reliance. I was raised to be a strong and independent woman. I am grateful that I was taught how to stand on my own two feet, but in my independence I have learned to keep others at arm's length. Because being authentic and real is scary. It's risky. But living as though I have it all together all the time isn't the answer. It's a major obstacle to connection: with others, with God.

Unlearning self-sufficiency has been a hard lesson to swallow. Accepting that I can't do anything, no matter how much I put my mind to it, is hard. To know that no matter how hard I try, how much I strive to achieve perfection, it's impossible. I am a fallible, broken human. And the crazy thing is, that I am loved and accepted with all of my inadequacies. My flaws. My scars. I don't need to strive for that perfect image. In fact, hiding my inadequacies is probably the worst thing I could do.

It's funny actually, that I could sing "Jesus loves me, this I know" for years and years of my childhood, truly believing it, yet 20 years later I am flabbergasted at this basic truth: Jesus loves me. Me. Not the person I try to be or strive to be, but me. Just the way I am.

Sometimes going back to the basics is hard work. Taking down my walls that I've built over the years- walls meant to keep people at a distance, in case they might run away when they see me vulnerable and weak. Ignoring the lies that tell me I'm never good enough.

It's a daily struggle for me to come to God and say:

"I can't- without You." 

To live in my weakness so that moment by moment I might experience His power, His love- the kind that doesn't love someone because they're beautiful, but loves them in such a way that makes them beautiful [Rob Bell, "Sex God"].

The color of the day is Dandelion yellow. Some might call a dandelion a weed, others call it ugly. But a dandelion is delicate and vulnerable. And it is also beautiful.

If you have time, listen to this sermon podcast. It's number 8 on the list: "The Beauty of Weakness" by Pastor Matt Moore. 

Pupukahi i holomua.

(unite to move forward)

With a sunburnt nose and about 1,000 new freckles, I returned from a family vacay to Maui, Hawaii. During our week on the island of the valley, my adventuring spirit delighted in ATVing all over a red dirt mountain, swimming with a sea turtle friend, and speeding through the air on a zipline. I owe my daily enjoyment of the sunrise to the time difference and I discovered that I love macadamia nuts.

It was a battle for me to go on this trip... I was nervous about requesting vacation time so soon after taking three weekends off for Africa. What I hadn't anticipated was my struggle with the sharp contrast of the luxury and indulgence of a vacation in Hawaii with the need and poverty I saw in Africa last month. Why do we get to splurge on ourselves for an entire week when there are people who can't afford their basic necessities for a day?

It's easy for numbers and statistics regarding the poor and needy to seem cold and distant. Orphans are easier to ignore before you know their names. They are easier to ignore before you see their faces. It is easier to pretend they're not real before you hold them in your arms. But once you do, everything changes.

[Radical. David Platt]

It's a question that, unfortunately, I don't know the answer to. I don't know if it's okay for us to spend frivolously instead of using the resources we have to meet others' need. I honestly don't know if it was okay for me to be in Hawaii.

My inner tension was coupled with tension from some very un-fun family dynamics during the trip. However, I believe there is a certain beauty in allowing our loved ones to see us at our weakest. To not hide the tears. To acknowledge the hurt. Though there was pain, revealing those wounds gives us the opportunity to heal them. To learn how to not hurt each other. To be aware of the way we love each other.

Color of the day: pacific blue. the color of the warm island water, the color of a water that washes away hurt, tear, and questions; of a water that hopefully gives us clarity and healing.

Malawi, ndakondwa kukuonani (I am happy to meet you)

In seven hours, I will see San Diego get smaller and smaller until it is out of sight. I will fly over mountains and fields, rivers and oceans, and Monday morning my feet will touch Malawian soil. I will breathe Malawian air.

My only purpose there is to let God shine His light through me. I'm there to be His hands and His feet and to provide a tangible expression of His love.

Of His amazing, everlasting, unconditional love.

Whether I'm ready or not is of little consequence. Whether I have it all together or not doesn't matter. I've doubted and I've been excited. I've been nervous and I've been filled with joy and hope. The beautiful thing is that I will never have it all together and God doesn't make me rely on my own strength, wisdom, or capacity to love, all of which would fail me. He is with me always.

"Ah, sovereign Lord," I said, "I do not know how to speak. I am only a child."

But the Lord said to me, "Do not say, 'I am only a child.' You must go to everyone I send you to and say whatever I command you. But do not be afraid, for I am with you and will rescue you," declares the Lord.

Then the Lord reached out His hand and touched my mouth. He said to me, "Now, I have put my words in your mouth."

Jeremiah 1:6-9

I think I was meant to go to Africa, I mean, after all my favorite movie ever is The Lion King. I want to watch an African sunrise and sing "The Circle of Life." And I want to see Rafiki. The color of the day is aquamarine, the color of Rafiki's bum of course!

Thank you for all of the support and encouragement I've received in this journey. Please keep my team in your prayers these next couple of weeks. Pitani bwino ♥

It came upon a midnight clear.

I laid in bed last night, not sleeping. I could hear the whirl of my fan, and felt the softness of my mattress. I thought about the walls that housed me and the glass of ice water beside my bed. I tried to will my comforts go away, but they wouldn't budge.

I felt suffocated. I couldn't breathe with all that stuff around. So I got up, grabbed a flashlight and my Bible and headed out the door. Hopped in my car and headed due west.

The midnight sky became lost in the murky blues of the ocean, and the light of a fishing boat was the only sign of a horizon line. I settled easily into a nook, no stranger to this cliff. It is my place of rest, of seeking, and of vulnerability. When I sit here and look straight out, there is nothing but sky and water. I can hear the waves rolling below me, but I can't see them.

Here, I can hear God. Here, everything is made clear. Here, all the love in the world pales in comparison to His. All the wisdom of the world is nothing in comparison to His. He took my stress and turned it into comfort. He turned my confusion to reassurance, and my worries to trust.

It surprises me how caught up I can get. Yes, in work and bills and friends and life, but even in church. I can get caught up with spending time with people who talk about God, and I somehow let that replace actually spending time with Him.

But when I do come to Him, I realize there's no replacement. Today's color is midnight blue- the color of the clear night sky in the summer and the clarity in my heart.