I am selfish

Andrew and I

I was sitting on the bathroom floor. It was before 6 am. My throat was on fire, as I had just lost all of my dinner. I had food poisoning. Suddenly in this moment, the call of God on my life, my love for missions, my sweet braided hair, the kids I would be serving, the amount of likes I got on my Instagram photos or even the reason I was in Uganda did not matter. In that moment, I wanted to go home.

            I wanted my bed, my mom, my own bedroom, my own car, my clean house with perfect ventilation and honestly, I wanted Chick-fil-a. I began feeling very sorry for myself and not caring at all that I had a job to do and God had provided this opportunity. I was miserable and I wanted everyone to know I was miserable. I immediately began doing an inventory of the food I had eaten in the last 24 hours that could be the cause of this "horrible ordeal" I was now suffering. Then it hit me, the village.

            When I came to Uganda last summer, I had the wonderful privilege of meeting an incredible Ugandan family that had opened their lives, their hearts and their home to me. I loved them and even though we didn’t speak the same language, I knew that they loved me. With four of their own kids and a slew of nieces and nephews that stay with them, there is always some fun to be had. Every time I went to see them, they insisted on feeding me, most of the time before they even fed their own kids or ate themselves. I usually ate without hesitation and shared with the kids. This family was not neglectful to their children, they just always wanted to give me their best. I had spent the day in the village, and I had eaten everything they placed in front of me. We had laughed, planted beans, they opened their Christmas presents from the States and we cried when we said goodbye. I loved it.

            However, as I was sitting there on the tile floor, my face in the toilet, I seemed to forget all about that. I told myself that I wouldn’t eat their food anymore, that I would just say no. Maybe, I shouldn’t even go see them for awhile. I was sick after all and really, this was a sacrifice I was making being here. I just wanted to go home to everything that was comfortable.

            Later that day, when I could at least leave the bathroom long enough to lay on my bed, I began to consider how quickly my attitude had changed. There is a certain “glamour” if you will about going to Africa. The idea that the coolest missionaries are the ones posting photos of children outside of huts. To be honest, my followers on Instagram have more than doubled when I started posting from Uganda and people who I barely knew were commenting on how I was doing such a great job. I truly do love missions and I love traveling and I truly love Uganda. But I was surprised at myself that the minute it got difficult, I wanted to call it quits and run home.

            To some degree, I suppose that what I was feeling was natural. Food poisoning is no fun and I don’t recommend recklessly exposing yourself to sicknesses or parasites (I sleep with a mosquito net and only drink filtered water). But I also know that God did not call me to give up the minute it became not so fun to be there anymore. Living a life of missions is a sacrifice and I know some incredible, Godly people who have given up everything to follow God around the world.
But for me, I have gotten WAY more from Uganda than I have ever given it. I don’t mind the dust or the heat or the bugs. I love learning a new language, trying new foods and having a hair style that has very little maintenance. So,  really it is not surprising that as soon as it became difficult, I wanted to quit. Because no one was in the bathroom cheering me on for my incredible servant heart. And as I lay there all day, unable to even keep water down, no one was recognizing me for my "sacrifice "and that is what made it so hard. My throwing up is one photo that would not be getting likes.

            When I was praying and spending time with God that day, I began to think of what sacrifice truly is. God knows what sacrifice is and Jesus knows what sacrifice is. I was reflecting on the sacrifice that Jesus made for me when He chose to undergo torture and pain and humiliation and separation from God because of me. I thought about Him in the garden, praying so hard he sweating blood, meanwhile his disciples and closest friends are sleeping. No one was liking Jesus’ instagram posts at that moment. What if Jesus had given up that night? Or the next day? Or at any moment in His life and my life when He stops receiving the praise He deserves, when things got bad. At any moment, Jesus could have chosen to be done. He could have chosen to call it quits. He had the power to do so. But He didn’t. He stayed, He endured and He still does today.

            The truth is, I am selfish. We all are. But we have the choice everyday to indulge in that selfish nature that says being happy and comfortable and safe should be our goal (and a culture that reinforces the idea) or to decide to love and serve and work without praise, without recognition and even in the worse of circumstances. Food poisoning is not life threatening and hardly deserving of all the drama I gave it. Jesus has endured so much worse. So now, I’m choosing to not indulge, I’m choosing to endure.

 To love unconditionally, even if that means I have ring worm that still won’t go away after 5 months, or I sometimes get covered in pee while holding babies at an orphanage or I go without a real shower or if I spend all day in the bathroom because I ate some potentially bad potatoes that were given to me out of love and honor. Because some hardships are meant to be endured. Because I need to remember how good God is and I need to be reminded that on my own, I’m really just selfish. And I need to remember how faithful Jesus is and I can’t afford to stop being grateful for His sacrifice.

One of my favorite nights with my favorite family

I'm Done with Normal Christmas

I was sitting on my bed with my Bible open when the tears began to fall. The pages of my journal began to ripple in little circles under the moisture, I didn’t care. I had just been reading about God’s faithfulness to Israel, how God always takes care of His children and always provides.

Christmas Morning with my friend, Allen

            It had been almost 100 days since I had returned home from Uganda and I was desperate to get back but working at a church, interning for the school district and college full time didn’t leave much room for working another job. I had quit about two weeks before. And as I sat there praying and crying, I put it all in God’s hands and I knew He would take care of it. He knew my heart and turns out He loves Uganda more than I do. I was not prepared for what happened next.

            I had just pulled into my driveway after a full day of class when I got the email. It was an offer, to spend Christmas in Uganda, with a dear friend, for free. When I saw the message I wasn’t sure if I should scream or cry, or dance or jump, eventually I did all of it. I just couldn’t believe what was happening. And even now I am so grateful to everyone who made it possible. After getting consent from my parents, my ticket was bought and in 30 days I would be landing on African soil again. My heart was estatic. I honestly buzzed through the last few weeks of the semester, all I was thinking about was Uganda.

            I arrived in Uganda about a week before Christmas and it was just as beautiful as I remembered. I spent time with one of my dear friends, loving on children, trying to learn Luganda and talking about the States. It was bliss.

            Then Christmas Eve hit. Nothing that day had gone according to plan. Although my friend had made some cookies, our idea of baking, making paper snowflakes and other decorations and watching Christmas movies had turned into a day of humidity, just as much heat as the day before, missing home, errands and making food for some of our favorite street boys. This was the first Christmas away from home for both of us and we wanted to make is special. Needless to say, it did not feel like Christmas. When my family got on Skype with me that night, I cried. I missed them. I missed the snow and I missed Christmas. As always, my family was supportive and encouraging. Praying for me, assuring me that Christmas cookies and a few presents awaited me when I got home as well as a nice dinner. It did help but I was not exactly grateful that night as I went to bed completely forgetting that Christmas actually isn’t about me.

The boys literally scrapped the crumbs
from the cake pan into their hands

            The next morning we got up early and packed some food, a few matchbox cars and candy into the car. We headed out before 8 am to meet some of Kampala’s 10,000 children that live on the street.

            These boys live on the street for any number of reasons, but regardless of the reasons, they don’t where they are going to sleep at night, where their next meal is coming from and if they will even be able to find safety. There is a wonderful feeding program for this particular slum of Kampala but because of the holidays, many of the volunteers had gone home or where celebrating with their families. It meant a week without any guarantee of food. My friend, Emma, and I decided to do something about that.

Love these guys

            

We met the boys outside the slum. We weren’t able to feed 10,000 or even the 70 that normally came to the feeding program but we could feed 12 that met Emma for breakfast regularly. They were so excited to see us and were waiting for us to arrive. I could have cried when I realized that they were wearing their best clothes, the ones they reserved for church. We immediately broke out the paper and markers and the boys began drawing pictures. These preteen and teen boys were so excited to simply have something to draw with. We laughed a lot, washed their hands, gave them hugs and attempted to tell them the Christmas story. After the meal, we packed up the extra food in paper bags that already contained some candy, a water bottle and a matchbox car. One for each boy. When we handed the simple bag to the first boy, his eyes got wide when he asked what it was. When we told him it was a present for him, a huge smile spread across his face. You would have thought we had given him the world. The boys immediately began playing with their cars, thanking us multiple times. It was such a joy to see them.

            After taking some photos, more hugs and praying for the boys, we returned to home to the tree full of unopened presents waiting for us and a whole chicken cooking in the crockpot. After spending Christmas morning with the boys, my attitude changed. I began to think about what Christmas was truly about and I thought, if Jesus were here celebrating His birthday, aren’t these the very people HE would be spending time with? Jesus spent his days with the lonely, broken and hurting. He spent His time on the streets, covered in dust, sharing unconditional love with everyone He met.

           

When I began to consider this I was suddenly very humbled and very grateful. God had chosen to give me a gift this Christmas. He chose to give me the blessing and the opportunity to spend the birth of His son with those who need His love the most. He trusted me enough to love these boys. He chose me to be His hands and feet this Christmas. He chose me to be His arm extended and miraculously provided a way for to do so.

            I have discovered that I don’t need snow on Christmas or presents or apple pie or to watch It’s a Wonderful Life for the 50^th time. I don’t need to be comfortable and I don’t need all of my desires to be satisfied. I need a reverent, humble appreciation for God’s incredible gift that He chose to give me when He sent His son.

            So I have made a new life resolution. I don’t want to have “normal” Christmas anymore. I love my family and I love spending Christmas with them and I think that is how God intended it to be. And don’t get me wrong, gifts are totally my love language so I am a big fan of those as well. But from now on I want to look outside of myself on Christmas.

The boys loved drawing pictures

Whether that means I am feeding street boys in Africa, working at a soup kitchen, sponsoring a homeless family for Christmas or whether I invite that lonely, elderly gentleman from church over for dinner because he’ll probably be alone or I just spend the holidays in peace with relatives that always seem to find that on thing that annoys me most, I want to celebrate Jesus’ birthday the way He would, doing and giving unto the least of these. 

There is no way that I'd rather spend Christmas

My Adoption Story

This is my adoption story. We all have one.

2012 Family Photo

            I have an older brother, Zac, and when I was four years old, my little sister, Beau, was born. My parents (yes, they are my biological parents) had three children and by most people’s standards (including their own at the time) they were done. My parents had been pastors since before I was born and my entire life, they have been “adopting” people into their lives. We have always had teen agers or college students living with my family and we still do currently. However, God had an even bigger plan for my family.

            I remember growing up constantly joking with my parents that they needed to adopt more kids, my dad did after all, want six. It may have been a joke but I was serious. My little sister was great but I desperately wanted a little brother and I do not remember a time

My mom, my sister Beau & Myself on the way to Colombia
in 2008

when I was not praying to God that my parents would adopt a little boy. At the time, I did not know where this heart for adoption came from. I prayed for years, and my parents knew I was praying too.  Most of the time when I told my mom she needed to adopt a little brother she would usually joke back that she had bought me a dog. My parents usually laughed off my comments or jokes or complaints or requests but God listened to my prayers.
    In 2006, I was a freshman in high school, my brother was away at college and my sister was in 5^th grade. My parents were actually getting semi-close to the finish line of parenting. We had a nice house, we all went to private schools and we were doing well. However, God began to stir my mother’s heart and eventually my fathers. I will never forget the day when my mom picked us from school and told us that my parents had applied to adopt internationally through Children’s Hope International. I instantly started crying, I couldn’t believe my prayers that I had prayed for so long were finally going to be answered. I was getting my little brother. 

Our 1st Meeting in 2008
Beau, Mayerly, Mom, Jhon, Dad, Erika and Myself

            Over the next two years, my parents filled out mountains of paper work, had home studies, finger prints, psychiatric tests, and a whole gamete of other things. For two years, we all prayed and waited as a family for the wonderful children that would soon be our own. For two years, we waited for the phone call saying we had been matched. For two years, I rejoiced and

prayed and waited for my prayers to finally be answered.

            Originally, my parents were only going to adopt one. However, being the 14-year old that I was, I told them that they would adopt three. In 2008, my parents received an email with a picture of three beautiful children from Colombia. They were gorgeous and they were waiting for us, just as much as we were waiting for them. In a whirlwind of events, my parents agreed and in November, we, my parents and my sister and I, hoped on a plane to head to Colombia.

            Looking back, we were not at all prepared for what was going to happen to us next. Sure, we had painted butterflies on their bedroom

My baby

walls and read books and done all of the paperwork but none of us were prepared for the heart changing first encounter. None of us were prepared for how much this moment would change our lives forever. None of us were prepared for the realization of God’s love that came with this adoption. None of us were prepared to have out hearts broken and our priorities change so drastically. We landed in Bogota and two days later, we met our family.

            We were sitting in an unair-conditioned room with a large round table surrounded by lawyers, judges and social workers, all dripping with sweat, talking about why we had decided to adopt these children. The whole room was in tears by the end of the

In Colombia, Erika and Mom

discussion as my dad shared his heart for his children and how much he valued being a father. And then, after what seemed like a ridiculously long time, three scared little Colombian children walked through the door. I will never, ever forget that moment.

            We cried a lot of tears that day and gave a lot of hugs. Erika, Mayerly and Jhon were finally home. Its hard to explain all of the emotions that happened. I just remember crying a lot, lots of hugs, lots of smiles, playing with dolls and cars. We spent a little over a month in Colombia, living in a hotel, while the adoption became finalized.

            The youngest of these children was a little five-year-old boy, named Jhon Jader. Here was my long awaited for little brother and we instantly became best friends. The month in Colombia was a crazy, fast, slow, overwhelming and exciting time. The city from which our kids came was not the safest place, especially for those from the United States so the sooner we could get out of that city, the safer it would be for us. On Thanksgiving Day, we got our flights so we shoved everything into our suitecases in about 20 minutes and went to the airport.

           

Maylee and Beau in Colombia

We landed in the United States and spent a few days with my oldest brother, Zac and sister-in-law, Mandy. We returned to our home in Alaska (talk about shock for these Colombian babies) in December. They had never seen snow before, they had never Christmas before and they had never received presents.

            There are so many things I have learned from this adoption. To say it changed my heart is an understatement. The reality is, we all have an adoption story, we just may not know it yet. We may have grown up with our biological parents, like I did, but something I have discovered is that God adopted us. I realize that this is something the Bible talks abot and preachers talk about but I don’t think I have ever understood it, really, until now. When we landed in the United States and were trying to go through customs, all hell broke loose! Mayerly (Maylee as we call her) ran away and started pushing buttons on some security door, Jhon sat on the floor and refused to move. While my dad tried to get Maylee, I attempted to pick up Jhon only to have him grab my hair at the roots with both hands and pull as hard as he could. When I finally got him picked up and through customs, he sunk his teet

In Colombia 2008

h into my shoulder. My mom had Maylee who after trying to punch her in the face, had calmed down enough. My dad took Jhon who flipped us all off. Erika and Beau just sat on the ground and cried. By the time we go to the car outside, we were all crying.

            After hearing this last paragraph, you might think that my siblings were crazy or not well behaved but that wasn’t the case at all. Look at it from their perspective, only a month ago, they were living in foster care in Colombia and now they were here with their new family who did not speak the same language as them (I knew Spanish but translating was still a major stretch for my 16-year-old self) and they had just flown for hours, they were in a crazy crowded airport, they were tired, they were hungry and they were scared. As crazy as that moment was for all of us, we never had the thought of “Oh my goodness, what have we gotten ourselves into”, there was never the idea that we had not d

In Alaska

one the right thing. They were our family and Jhon was my little brother even if he had pulled my hair and flipped me off.

            Our ability to love these children unconditionally was not because any of us are awesome people but rather because of the love of God that He has showed us. I love my siblings to pieces and even when they did crazy things or when there was not as much money to go around or we started wearing more hand-me-downs, I never once regretted or resented it. And if I, myself, can love someone that much, how much more must God really, really love me.

Erika, Maylee and Jhon with Zac

You see, I was adopted into His family. And when He adopted me, I was a mess, I didn’t have it all together, I didn’t speak His language, I was hungry, I was tired and I was scared. And yet, God, in His infinite mercy, love and grace has never decided that I was bad idea or regretted His choice to die on the cross for me. You see, He doesn’t see me any differently. He loves me, He knows me and He sees me for who I am, not for my dysfunction.

           

Jhon and Mandy

 It would be impossible to explain everything that has happened since we adopted them in 2008 but as we are coming on our five years as a family, I am so grateful for all that God has brought into our lives through this adoption, even the challenges and the struggles because there have been plenty. But changed my life when He adopted me and He changed my life again, when my parents adopted my siblings. They have our family so much more than we ever could have given them.

            So here we are, five years later. Zac and Mandy have two beautiful girls, I’m in college, Beau is 17, Erika is 13, Maylee is 12 and Jhon is 10, plus my parents have “adopted” one more, Blake, 19. The kids still speak Spanish, we still have to explain English, Gotcha Day is a huge celebration, we still all cry at Christmas and Jhon is still my best friend.

Beach Fun

 

Ice Cream on the Bayou

Fourth of July 

Forever my Best Friend

Houston Zoo

Parade in Downtown Flagstaff

A Pink One

I climbed the familiar steps, they had those grip strips on them and they worked too. I know because I had tried and failed to slide down those very stairs on my mattress. I climbed those steps with a beige colored file folder in one hand and a flower pen in the other. I knocked on the wooden door, it was answered by a nervous, quiet girl, Jenna. She was living in the freshman dorm in which I was an RA and I was meeting her so she could be moved to another room. I did my normal spiel about how I needed to check the room for damages, how happy I was she was moving to my floor, I prattled away and she quietly smiled out of politeness.

            We walked back down the steps and I showed her, her new room, only a few down from mine. The last statement I made was “Well, now that you’re on my floor, we’ll probably be best friends". Little did I know how true that statement was. 

My fantastic friend and wonderful small group co-leader, Sara.
She has always challenged me to give all that I  have to the Lord!

            It was my sophomore year of college and I was a Resident Assistant in an all-girl freshman dorm. I had applied for this job that last spring even though it had not been my plan at all. You see, I have a dear friend, Sara, who talked about becoming an RA in this dorm in order to minister to the girls there and to show them with the love of God. I remember practically staring at her and saying “God would have to specifically tell me before I ever did anything like that”. A week later, Sara and I were walking through the halls of that dorm praying for the girls, asking God to move in that place, asking for His love to reside there. I saw a poster advertising the RA position and something began to tug on my heart, I stubbornly ignored it, convincing myself that God just wanted me to pray for the RAs in that dorm. Right. The following Sunday, I listened to a sermon about reaping and sowing, the things we sow for the Lord we will surely reap. I responded to the prompting of the Holy Spirit, prayed and the next day I turned in my application for the RA position, one hour before the deadline.

            Truth be told, I don’t think I was actually qualified for the position. I transferred in half through my freshman year with enough credits to make me a sophomore so I ended up in transfer student apartments, I had never lived in a dorm before. I didn’t lie on the form, I told the truth and I knew God would open the door if it was supposed to be opened. When you applied, your name was put in for all RA positions, not one at a specific dorm. Again, I didn’t know what would happen but I knew God would open the door it was supposed to be opened.

            I went through the whole process, the group interview, the individual inter

Some of our small group girls!

view, the waiting time. I did not know what to expect and then I got the call that I had the position, as an RA in the very dorm I had spent the last semester praying in once a week. No questions were asked about my living in the apartment or about the fact that preference was given to those who turned in their application first and mine was last. God had opened the door.

            To say God burdened me for that dorm would be an understatement. I knew God had given me this opportunity and I wanted to honor Him in it. I began to pray for my girls that spring and I prayed all summer, praying that God would break my heart for the girls in my dorm, praying that I would see them the way He did, praying He would continue to open doors. And oh boy, He did.

            Sara and I started a small group in my dorm room. During move in day, I had met girls who loved the Lord and wanted to grow in Him. I also met girls who knew nothing about Him and they all became part of our group. Sara and I were part of a campus ministry called Chi Alpha. The first service, ten girls came with us. And it continued to grow.

            Honestly, I look back in amazement at what God did. Every week, more and more girls began to come to Chi Alpha and small group. Every week those who were coming continued to grow in Him. God moved so much and it is truly a miracle. Barely older than these girls myself, I had so much growing to do that year, I made a lot of mistakes, I overcommitted a lot, I was caring around my own wounds but God worked in spite of all of those things. Opportunities to share my faith came up like I had never seen.

            A few weeks into the school year, I challenged the girls to fast and pray for five friends who didn't know God. Jenna, had just recently moved in with one of my friends and small group girls, Julia. Julia began to pray and fast for Jenna. For five weeks, we prayed, we fasted, we invited. Finally, after receiving an invitation by one of her friends back home, Jenna came to a Chi Alpha service (if that’s not a set up I don’t know what is). God changed Jenna’s life.

            After that service, Jenna began to come to church, to small group, to Chi Alpha. She was quiet at first but I will never forget the day she sat in my dorm room and shared what God had done in her heart. I cried, a lot, which I’m sure freaked her out. As Jenna began to come to more and more events, I saw God completely transform this girl and she became one of my dearest friends. I was amazed at how quickly Jenna was accepting God into her life and with the maturity she was growing in Him. I had never seen anything like it.

Dear friends, Jenna and Julia

            In January, only a few minutes after Jenna attended her first Chi Alpha service, she came to a conference with all of us. At this conference, Jenna was filled with the Holy Spirit. It was one of the most powerful encounters I have ever experienced with God. When we returned from that conference, God did even more than He had already done. Our small group went form eight girls to 18 within one week. By the end of the year we were averaging 20 girls. Another Chi Alpha small group that met just down the hall had also reached over 20 and the two other small groups in this dorm also grew.

            Jenna began inviting her friends, telling everyone she knew what God had done in her. It was easy to forget that Jenna had only known God for a short time, she grew in Him so fast. Jenna and Julia soon became some of my dearest friends in the whole world. There room was only three doors from mine, which meant I was in their room everyday.

            When I look back at my sophomore year, I am utterly amazed. By the end of the year, I had personally seen 17 girls from that dorm give their hearts to the Lord for the first time, and Sara and I were leading only one of five small groups in that dorm. I don’t believe there was one week in which a new girl from this dorm didn't came to Chi Alpha for the first time. It was an absolute joy watching God move in the lives of the girls. I am even more amazed because despite all of this, personally, I don’t think I have ever struggled so much. I had to deal with a lot of my own junk that year, hurts I hadn’t let go of, fears that I wouldn’t surrender to God, trust that I wouldn’t give Him. God is so faithful that way and He knew I needed Jenna that year.

            Today, two years later, Jenna is a best friend. Now a small group leader herself, she shares God’s love with so much grace, compassion and wisdom. Her heart is so pure before the Lord, wanting only His will for her life, no matter the cost. Jenna is a huge support in my life and I frequently go to her for advice and prayer. I cannot even describe what a blessing she is.

            I learned so many things from Jenna. More than I can ever say. I have learned that we are never too old, or experienced or smart or “saved” to grow in the Lord. Her questions challenged me to dig deeper, to study God’s word and to really get to know the Savior I had served for so long. Her hunger for God is truly inspiring. Whenever I felt discouraged or thought of quitting being an RA (which I frequently thought of doing), God would remind me of Jenna. She had a child like faith, which is something I had forgotten to have. I got saved at a very young age and truth be told, I don’t remember it. I grew up in Sunday school and Bible camps and family prayer times. I had become so familiar with God, I had forgotten what my life would have been like without Him. After my sophomore year, I felt like God had saved me all over again. He gave me a new heart and I have tears rolling down my face now, just thinking about all He has done for me. Sometimes it is easy to forget that Jesus saved us and healed us and that we can do anything through Him. When I watch Jenna’s faith and desperation for the Lord, I am  reminded of what God has done for me and the life we are supposed to live with Him.

           

Jenna and I: Easter break of my sophomore year

One of my favorite stories from small group that year involves Jenna. She had been a part of Chi Alpha and church and small group for several months at this point and was growing so much in the Lord. We were all sitting in a crowded circle in my dorm room about to start small group. Like usual, we started off small group by asking a question and every girl took a turn answering. Tonight’s question was what kind of Bible did each girl have. What I meant by this question was what translation did each girl have (for example, NIV, KJV, ect). These beginning questions weren’t supposed to be deep but rather just break the ice questions (I usually asked things like “If you could be any fruit what would you be?”). It was Jenna’s turn first. She looked down at her Bible and back at us with kind of a confused look on her face. Then she answered “A pink one”. We all laughed, because although her Bible was indeed pink, that was not the answer I was looking for. Although this is a funny story, I learned something from this.  At this point Jenna was telling her friends about Jesus, was telling her family, was praying for people and reading her Bible daily. She was already being used by God.

That was one of the ways that I learned the incredible power of saying yes to God. Jenna had very little former Bible training and some may say she had little knowledge but she had said yes to God. The details didn’t matter and I have seen this girl share love with so many people. The next year, Jenna became a small group leader, less than a year after receiving God for herself and God has used her. It would have been easy for her to decide she didn’t know enough to begin sharing Him or she wanted to learn and receive more before she took on a role of giving. When I became an RA that year I was unqualified, broken and young but God opened every door. Even getting the position was a miracle but what God did afterwards was astonishing. I could have easily said no. I could have taken one look at those job requirements and said nope, obviously no one would hire me, I don’t qualify. Although in my case, I technically didn’t qualify, I realize there are so many times when I don’t step out in faith or say yes to God because I decide that I don’t qualify. I struggled with my relationship with God my sophomore year, it really stretched me, and yet, God used me anyway. Nothing can disqualify us from being used by God except ourselves. When God asks us to do something, all we have to do is say yes, and He will take care of the rest of it even if we don’t “qualify”. There is a strength to willingness that I have so often taken for granted. God doesn’t want our qualifications, He wants our yes.  I don’t mean that we should lead immaturely or without a lot of prayer but I do mean that if God is calling us, He will provide as soon as we say yes.

            Jenna is one of the dearest friends I have ever had. She inspires me daily and encourages me always. I can’t imagine my life without her now. Her friendship is a huge blessing in my life but truth is if I hadn’t said yes to God, would that even be the case? If Jenna hadn’t said yes to God, would we be where we are now? God has so much in store for us, so many blessings He wants to pour out on us, all we have to do is say yes, and He takes care of the rest. And its better than we could have ever imagined.