The Guardian of the Toilet

Twasn't much bi

gger than two inches. The entire body was smaller than my pinkie and the head no bigger than a dime.

But I stared.

At 6 o'clock in the morning, the chickens had been croaking out their greetings for about an hour, and the Filipinos were hard at work. The lumber shop across the way bustled with new wood being unloaded and the men laughing and shouting. I didn't know what they were saying. The guest section of the old Bible School, in which we were staying till we travelled to the farm, held the only air-conditioned rooms on the complex. So far I had felt pretty spoiled. The warnings of the unbearable heat and the hardships we would endure had excited me. I'm not sure what I expected, but a waterbed and fan for the first four nights definitely wasn't it. I kept thinking that God wouldn't change me if I wasn't sweating profusely or overcoming fears. Somehow I wanted to accomplish a dangerous feat in order to have an exciting tale which I could take home to my friends. Yet this early morning, with the sun high in the sky, Hannah and I were waiting for the rest of the family and desperately looking for something to do.

The only air conditioned room. 

We'd had our devotions, written in our journals, sat out on the stairs, and - were silent.
Suddenly, I had to go to the bathroom.

I hurried into the narrow hallway off the dining room that led to the small bathroom. The thin green curtains were motionless against the screen. I looked to the toilet, as we all do, and noticed a little friend. He was completely exposed against the white washed wall, just above the toilet. I took a step forward, but couldn't sit down. I couldn't put my back to that thing, I couldn't expose myself. Images of his spindly little legs jumping on me while I was unaware forced my feet back, closer to the door. Just a tiny gecko, with a curvy tail. I felt his beady little eyes challenging me. It was like Satan's voice from those old Story Hours was creepily coming from this creature.

"Come on, you think you're brave?

 I thought you wanted to be changed? 

Sit down, relax, I promise I won't touch you..." 

Lies. Isn't that what Satan did to Eve? That was it, this thing was Satan in the flesh. I took a picture to show Hannah, laughed at myself just a tad, and exited the room.
Relief would have to wait.

Twenty minutes later, I obviously still had to go. I'm sure its gone by now, the bugs back home never seem to stay long. But this was no bug.

That stubborn little gecko did something that seemed even more threatening. He hid a portion of his body behind the mirror above the toilet as if he were pretending to leave, only to later pounce. I paced back and forth and talked to myself.

"You're being ridiculous Erin. That is a stinking little lizard! 

Do you know how many other things will be threatening you on the farm?! 

Suck it up. Sit down and go." 

Yes, I gave myself a pep talk in the bathroom in the presence of an unsuspecting amphibian. But fifteen minutes later I emerged more confidant than when I had gone in. A huge smile played across my face, I showed Hannah the pictures, trying to play it down a bit, hoping her reaction might be one of esteemed amazement. 

"Ha, that's funny." 

Yep, my first victory of mastering my fears showed me how silly they could be. I took advantage of an honest friend's reaction, and did not boast of my feat to Luke and Annie.

The Arrival in Manila: Sticky and Crowded

It wasn't that easy.

Every port that could hold an airplane did. All the airlines had flights at the same time unloading. We were the only white. I felt like a newborn baby coming from the airplane, after being prepped for birth, launched into a whole new world.

I felt the heat envelope me like a thick hug. It wasn't as bad as I thought, but it was definitely warmer than Detroit, Michigan. We were ushered through tunnels and lines. It was 12 p.m. Manila's time. We hadn't slept for over thirteen hours. We somehow found the right line, showed our passport, the whole time afraid that they would turn us away because we didn't have an extended visa. Not even a second glance. A nod, and the passport was back in my hand. Did they even stamp it? I didn't notice- I just wanted to get out of the throng of people. I searched for a familiar face, Hannah and I were both silent. One from anxiety, the other from exhaustion.

Down this corridor, up those stairs, over to the luggage area. We grabbed our bags and followed a stream of people through a thinning crowd. Yelled at by a security guard, we turned around, we had nearly skipped our THIRD check. Glad I still had the right papers from the plane.

Here we were stopped.

A best friend is a wonderful thing because you can argue and be irritated with each other and somehow find comfort in that familiarity. I have to admit though, the tenseness of the situation did not produce much of a bonding.

We didn't see our native missionary friends, Pastor Nelson and Sister Ellaine, and we had no contact number. The night was damp and sticky, I looked across the street and believed myself to be in some sort of natural disaster movie. There was a small two-story building with people filling every possible space. Some were pushed against the windows holding signs, all seemed to be shouting at the passengers coming out of the building. There was no Sister Ellaine. A dread filled me as I looked around, making awkward eye contact with strangers. We were standing in the middle of the platform with our suitcases, being bumped on either side. I couldn't keep the movie Taken from entering my mind and every character became suspicious. We were standing for about ten minutes with no indication of what to do, and no sign of our friends. The crowds were not dissipating and the guards and fences kept people from entering to pick up their loved ones. We had no idea what was going on. So I did the only thing which seemed to make sense. I called my pastor. He definitely wasn't expecting a call from me, and I'm sure I must have sounded terrified. I had to ask him for a number, he gave me the only one they had on file which was from the '90s. Needless to say, it didn't work.
Thank the Lord that at that moment Sister Ellaine touched my arm, took my suitcase and had us follow her. I cannot express how thankful I was to see her. I wasn't sure what I would have done next.

"They wouldn't let me out, only five at a time were able to go. Finally I pointed to you and said you were American and I needed to get you. Somehow they let me go in front of so many others," she seemed frazzled and apologized that they hadn't been able to get to us. "It has never been this busy before."

Pastor Nelson and their daughter Paula were waiting in the air-conditioned car. As we drove through the streets I had so many questions. Part of me just wanted to sit back and stare at everything, but I can't just sit still when I'm with new friends. Never before had I seen cars, trucks, bikes, pedestrians, motorcycles, and tricycles all driving together - not obeying traffic signs! Honking was a friendly use, for the majority of the time, and the maze of actors made me want to retract further into the car.

"Do you want McDonalds? Jolly Bee's?" Couldn't eat.

 The colors and advertisements on every building, covering every inch was so much. I can only compare my experience of culture shock with that of my two-month old nephew's scowl when too many faces come in to kiss him. Yet it was all so fascinating. Finally I stopped asking questions and allowed the experience to soak in.

About two hours later we were on a bed, on the fourth floor of the building, writing in our journals and yawning. Not many words had passed between Hannah and myself. We hit the pillows hoping for a good night's rest.

Too bad there's such a thing as jet-lag.

An Introduction to the series: Rewind to the Ordinary, Everyday Exotic

It has been almost a year since I walked onto a plane with my best friend to visit a small orphanage half way across the globe. Has it really been a year? It seems as though I came home, and jumped right back into my life, but piled on more responsibilities and drew in more distractions.

It reminds me of a diet. A person forgoes chocolate, sweets, carbs, fats, anything that has been labelled as "unhealthy" for a period of time in order to see a long-lasting result. We know now, if we've been influenced by the health movement that is progressing, that diets don't work. When you say "No," something triggers a "Gotta Have It," and you're at ColdStones telling them to put brownies AND chocolate chips. Don't misunderstand me, I am all for self-control, my point here being that when we restrict ourselves without the proper motives, we are more likely to gain back all the habits and then some!

I tried to have the proper motivation as I journeyed to the Philippines, but I'm not sure I did. I imagined laboring hard in the sun, getting a missionary tan, taking beautiful pictures with the locals, that I would come to adore; and coming back a fabulously fit and spiritual person. I did pray and fast for this trip, therefore I knew it was the Lord's will, but I didn't know what to expect. That was the most intimidating thing. I didn't exactly know what I'd be doing, and I felt more than unqualified. All I knew was that I needed a change in more ways than one and this was to be my ticket to "a changed nature, an altered spirit!" (Christmas Carol, Dickens)

The purpose of this blog series is to remember the lessons I learned and somehow understand how to alter my motivations in order to obtain a lasting effect. I kept an account nearly every day for the entire five weeks that we were in the Philippines, though most were simply accounts of the activities that took place. Though my trip sounds more exotic than my suburban life here, it was  truly living an ordinary, everyday life in the Philippines. However, I did not expect to be afraid.

June - 2013 - Palawan, Philippines

 The night was thick, the screen windows let in a small breeze, but there was a deep silence. I rolled to my right side, but switched as my arm grew numb. I began to rehearse in my head what my testimony,  that I was to share at the church in Manila when we returned from the orphanage, might be. I selected my words carefully and structured the stories, which examples would better fit in certain areas. 

Then I realized that rather than create in my head what I believed the changes in me would be, I had better start making those changes. I stroked my friend's back as she fell asleep and I began to quietly pray. I could not understand why I was so awake, but prayers continued to come out easily. Then one song stuck in my head, but I didn't really want to sing it. Softly I recited the words. 

"You are my strength, Oh God.

You are my help, Oh God.

You are the One on whom I call.

You are my shield, Oh God.

My life I yield, Oh God.

For you will ever be my all, in all."

I didn't want to sing it at first because I kept thinking, 

Why am I having such a difficult time? 

I'm not truly struggling because I'm not weak and I know I am better than this. 

I can do this. I know that all of this is not hard, I am being ridiculous.

What I couldn't admit was the fact that I was weak, whether or not it was a difficult struggle wasn't my judgement to make, it was still a struggle! Therefore, God alone was my strength. He alone was my all in all. 

Late in the middle of the night, it clicked. 

No matter where I was on the earth, only He could be my strength. 

That moment I began to understand God's work in my life. It wasn't to have me come home a tan, fit, and spiritual person (I mean, hey, if it happened naturally well then, that would just be awesome) he wanted me to trust Him. In the little things, in the big things. He wanted to teach me to humble myself, and to ask for help. 

Sometimes it really is just that simple. 

The Everyday Failings

There is nothing more frustrating than believing yourself to be in control till you are smacked down into nothingness.

One time I was organizing a fundraiser and making food and feeling so very mature, thinking I had everything going perfectly. But as I was driving to pick up a crockpot for the food, my car ran out of gas. I like saying it that way because it makes it sound as though I were the victim of my car's inability to retain gas. But in reality- my car finally stalled on the side of the road because I had been driving around for four days having it be below "E"...yeah I know. Fail.

Another time I had just gotten back from a road trip I had coordinated and had driven my parents car with my friends in the back. Having made it safely home with few mishaps, I believed myself to finally have come to the point of adulthood. Ah now I had made it!

Or so I hoped...

That night I couldn't find the keys to my car and I was too tired to look, but the next morning I woke up late and had no time to look for them. For TWO DAYS I had to drive my parents van to school and work because I had lost my key. "What about a spare key?" you might ask. Well, thats the thing, it WAS my spare key. I had lost my real one only a few short months ago and though my Dad nagged me to get it copied, I never made time for it. For a full day I was worried that I would have to pay an exorbitant amount for an agency to come and make a key from the key hole. I got home and the whole family helped me search for it, even my dad tried to break into my car.

Behold it had been in the van I had been driving for the past week...right below the radio. Went a few days later and paid $2.11 for a spare key. Thank the Lord.

These things caused me to become so frustrated with myself, how could I be so foolish?! I had been trying to keep my life in perfect order. Wake up early, have devotions, exercise - then head off to school or work. Read the exact number of chapters in my Bible every morning and listen to Alistair Begg as I got ready for school. Without realizing it, I had become confident in my ability to lead a "perfect" life.

But as those days became harder to keep I would fall down farther. If I couldn't have a perfect day then I would condemn myself or give up entirely. The world became a rough, discouraging place and everyday was a defeat in itself.

What was this? This obsession with perfection? I had never considered myself a perfectionist before yet here I was fighting with my imperfect ways. I couldn't see that the root of it was simply pride and unthankfulness.

 All I know is that everyday is a gift from God. Every breath I take and action I make is a privilege. The belief that I should do better because I believe I am better is a frightening lie.

When we fill ourselves with pride at our own accomplishments, the enemy uses that to bring us low. Because we won't be able to have a perfect day everyday, it is impossible!

So my solution? I'm not sure I could say there is a definite solution, it is a constant sacrificing of our own will to His. But what I have found that helps me to do that and keep it in perspective, is a simple daily prayer. So every morning (at least I try every morning...) I get on my knees and give the day to the Lord. All my goals and hopes for the day are nothing if they are not in His will. I recognize that I am nothing and He is everything. He can give me the motivation to work hard throughout the day and to be thankful for what gets done.

I can then find peace in the gift of my ordinary every days and be more appreciative for the rare extraordinary ones.

Hear the Call

Everyday can become so ordinary. It can become so monotonous that we forget to fight. We forget to be challenged so that when we are- we give up.

I have been raised in a Bible believing, Christian home. I went to our church's small private school that consisted of MAYBE sixty kids in the elementary and junior high- it didn't go any higher. After that I went on to a small conservative, baptist high school in league with other schools of the same belief. 

So according to my college professors, I have been groomed and fashioned to become a typical conservative American, believing all the bias' and opinions of the close-minded Christians. My simple words and testimony that I may have been able to share in Sunday school, now seem weak and unable to stand as evidence in a classroom. 

So what do I do? I have three options- 

1.) I can leave. I can go away to a school that teaches ONLY the things I believe in. To be able to relax and not come home spiritually exhausted sometimes sounds beautiful. Some should do this if God  leads you there- but make sure it's the Lord and not fear. If you're running away then you will always be running from your own ignorance. 

2.) I could conform. It would be so easy sometimes, to soak in everything that's being taught. Especially when everyone else believes it. When your foundation is weak- you will crumble. If all you've ever relied on is one Sunday out of the week, or the fact that you were top of your class at the Christian school, or maybe you had won in Bible verse competitions. Yet again- if your foundation is weak- you will fall.

3.) I could be challenged. To not give up or conform. I could go back to my roots, to that solid foundation, the Bible. So many think that it has no relevance to us today, that you would simply be wasting your time on some book that they will tell you is not even reliable. The courage and confidence I have gained from reading even a little every day has been as food that sustains me through the influences all around me. 

Well, to me, I only have one option. I've been told that it runs in my blood, therefore, I will not be pushed down. I will not be forced to think as they do. I love school- the fact that it challenges me. I love going there and learning new things, yet everyday there is a challenge. The scary thing is that so many don't see them.  

Everyday is extraordinary. Everyday we are given the chance to fight- to look beyond ourselves and our own petty problems and to see the bigger picture. We cannot give up, we cannot hide behind our perfectly structured walls and let those without a home wander. It's true that I grew up in a God-fearing home. God blessed me with that shelter that now, as I venture out on my own, I have a firm foundation to help others. Through Christ, I am strengthened which allows me to fight. This world has too many weak Christians, let us not give up- but stand and stand for truth.

True Living?

Well I see looking at my page that I obviously am not a blogger. Whatever possessed me to begin must have been a fleeting dream...

So why am I writing now? Well, partly because I'm sick of being on Pinterest, Facebook and Instagram. I'm tired of letting everybody know everything I'm thinking this very second and doing and liking and wishing. Yet at the same time I love it! Isn't that why I'm this very minute composing my thoughts into sentences for anyone who wishes to read?

All of these connections help me to view the human race on a very intimate level. What is it that causes us to wake up in the morning? To go outside and enjoy the beauty of everything around us? Is it simply because we want others to see we have a life? That we're unique?

Is that what drives our every move now?

Let's be honest here. Everybody wants someone to see something they're doing. We want to be coveted and admired. So we post thoughtful status' or put up funny pictures or basically just try to make ourselves look like we really live. Not all the time, but that is the default setting isn't  it?

So is that what's causing us to get out of bed and go do something exciting? Is that why the drive today is to have an adventure everyday? Have we lost sight of the quiet enjoyment of just sitting outside and thinking? Yet now we feel the need to let everybody know->

 "Ahhh pretty sunset, just chillin! Text <3"

It all gives me such a headache. I fall prey to it too! I have been sucked into the whirlwind of this constant need to never be alone.

Isn't that what it all comes down to?

We are afraid of our own thoughts. More precisely put, we don't know how to think on our own. How often do you sit, with no music, no phone, no movie, not computer and simply read? Or think, or write?

When I was younger in my spare time I would read. I read constantly; silly books, good books and I never got sick of it. Yet now as I'm reading I find myself looking at my phone after about 15 min., then an hour later I have thirty new pins and started following three more people...but my book lay collecting dust.

I miss the days of not checking my phone. Not knowing when I got a new notification or that this one person I don't even remember from my old job years ago that i never talk to, just got out of a terrible relationship and though I barely remember them I now know the whole story because it was all over my news feed. Is that the type of stuff I want to fill my mind with?

I don't mean to bash social media like everyone who's obsessed with it loves to do; I just want to know how. How I can somehow find the contented middle and get back into the adventures I found on paper while doing those I find everyday.

Take me back to the true everyday adventures.

Story of Redemption

I wrote this about a classic story. Tell me which one...

                                A man, beaten, broken, a candle at his side.  

His last hope of freedom faded with his pride

This man from poverty, chained to his past, 

Rose from the ashes and glory was grasped. 

A simple act had changed him, silver tokens stolen,

A humble priest redeemed him with gracious words spoken.

A bitter heart turned to love, stumbling towards success.

As he triumphed, now he rescued others who transgressed.

A pair of eyes, no soul behind them, a beauty lost with years of use, 

Ragged clothes betrayed her lies, with no remnants of her youth.

Her dying breaths spoke of a child, with strangers she had left behind.

She asked only for him to bring her little one, her desperation had made her blind.

He readied to leave, to save this child, with a love so strong.

Yet justice, long past, sought to prove his wrong.

Was he to save a child so pure, and let the guiltless take his blame?

Or speak the truth for a man, and let the child live in shame?

He confessed his past, and let the court have its own way.

The heavy chains could not restrain,  his hope to rescue her someday.

Years of toil, the debt now paid, alas freed from years of strife.

With freedom earned and  promise sealed, he purchased life.

A little lark with silenced song, trodden down by life's cruel lot.

He took her in and gave her all, everything that she had not.

She grew to love him as her father, knew no other life than this.

Till loomed a shadow creeping back to send her dreams amiss.  

The loving father saw the man, seeking to un-cover all.

Darkness would not forget and had to see this great man fall.

The great good done could never cover his stains and elusive doubt.

The debt of justice, in evil's mind, was stayed on his account.

A heart for God, he returns, vengeance with grace.

Would cold eyes see mercy, and drop his heartless case?

No, the heart of stone grew bitter, determined to wield the law.

Never mercy give; he vanquished every flaw.

The merciful, now vulnerable, chose one last soul to save.   

                                Even his last free moments, he willingly gave.

Carried his daughter's fallen love, for he, her future best.

Across the threshold, to his sweet one, and into the arms of rest.

The bitter man put the barrel to his head, unable to comprehend.

What was his life if mercy was victorious in the end?

This one, who'd fastened tight the irons, life's goals were now shattered

The other stands with chains again, but his heart's unfettered.