Orange Walls and Instant Coffee

Heathrow airport

Neon orange walls, instant coffee, mushroom and cheese toastie, REAL bacon, foggy weather, floral curtains, tiny flat where the bathroom's bigger than the kitchen. These are some of the first objects I've encountered since coming to England. Beyond the humorous neon wall paint contradicting the dark sky outside the door and beyond the annoyance of having an awful head cold that only progressively got worse as I traveled, has been the beautiful blessing of the church family. Sometimes it takes an act as drastic as God plucking us from our home and dropping us in an entirely different country in order to show us that we are deeply loved by His people. Sometimes it takes the warmth of strangers feeding you English breakfast at night and round after round of tea while laughing at all your dumb jokes in order for us to see that we are cared for by our universal family. It's a beautiful--yet oft forgotten fact--that the church is not defined by walls or mortar. The church is the bride of Christ. The church is the children of God. The church is my sweet Kenyan roommate who made me coffee as soon I got up from a jetlagged mid-day nap. The church is a couple waking up at 5 in the morning to drive to London and pick me up from the airport. The church is a Bible study group who I've never met until yesterday who have been praying for me for weeks. The church is my supervisor telling me that--although the circumstances of my coming were so so painful--she knows the Lord brought me to them to do His work.

The church is a familial gift. A glimpse into heaven. Don't let us forget that for a moment.

It's very strange that back home I could be surrounded by an entire college of people who love and support me yet could feel more alone than I ever have in my life. I could pass by face after face on campus who would greet me and smile; however, the loneliness would creep up next to me each night and shove its way onto my pillow to whisper all the demons of the past in my ears. Nevertheless, today it struck me how God has used a completely foreign place to press His faithfulness and love deep on my soul. This morning I was at a prayer meeting where people gather every week and pray for a couple hours for the church's prostitution ministry. I was sitting there, staring out the window solemnly, being consumed with dark thoughts and sadness that appeared out of nowhere. For about 10 minutes a bit of sunshine came and stayed on this really pretty, flowery tree outside the window. That sunny tree suddenly made me feel so grateful and joyful. I kept thinking, "Wow. I'm really here. In England. God really is faithful. And there are people here who love me. God really loves me." 

I felt Him assuring me that He really was taking care of me. Even though I lost the only person I thought truly loved me and who I really loved. Even though my whole world was swept out from under my feet as if it was never really mine to begin with. God comforted me by reminding me that when everything first happened, I couldn't even breath..all I did was weep and I couldn't even imagine the life ahead. But God healed me. He gave me breath. He delivered me. He actually brought me this far and gave me strength enough for every day...days that, at first, seemed godforsaken but turned out to be God blessed. I never ever thought I could make it to this point where I'm happy and laughing and adventurous and have my song again. God did that. It just finally all came together this morning as I looked outside at that darn beautiful sunny tree! Its branches were all waving, delighted in the bit of sunshine and I thought, "That's ME! Finally in the sunshine! Finally free!" (Naturally, it'd make sense why I would associate myself with a flowery tree if you know anything about my hippie freak self).

After this botanical theological moment, I had a lovely time getting lost in the mad English weather. Coming back from the church, my Kenyan roommate gave me wrong directions to our flat because--God bless her--she doesn't know left from right. So I wandered around for a while then had to walk all the way back to the church, and every person I passed by I'm certain gave me a "Ya dumb American" look..they just knew!! Then on the way back I got lost again; however, some really nice lady helped me find my place on a map she had. It started down pouring rain and hail, but this completely random stranger gave me an umbrella. So then I finally got home and put on the kettle to have some tea away from the rain, then lo and behold I look outside and it's sunny! I have new found respect for the sassy weather. Yesterday, my supervisor joked about how Brits are obsessed with the weather. Now I understand why.

There are many more lost adventures to be had and random foliage to teach me lessons about the Almighty!

**Also, I've decided I shall be affectionately referring to this trip as my "hobbit holiday." My Padre putzed around with the idea for the trip's nickname along with "walkabout." I originally was going to go for that one; however, the image of me trapsing through the bush with a grass skirt and giant spear and war paint was just a bit too unrealistic and didn't do the Aboriginal people any justice...so instead "hobbit holiday" it is.

I have a hardcore obsession with old churches. Needless to say, I'm ecstatic in this country.

First English toastie! I swear these people are going to make me fat and happy.

I have a deep childhood love for snails. They're so magical! Like being in a fairy's garden!