Where there's breath, there's hope.: Choosing to See...

Six weeks ago, I completed a journey on trails I never expected to step foot on. Both literally and metaphorically. Since my return home, life has not felt normal (Thank you Hurricane Harvey), and it has taken me this long to process what it all means...

My time spent in Africa this summer was so special. It was different than times before. The preparation that was required of me beforehand was tremendous, training my mind, body, and spirit for what was ahead. I spent a great deal of time figuring out how to fight mind monsters that were trying like hell to invade my mind and defeat my spirit, praying specific prayers of strength and truth (See: Mind Monsters by Kevin Gerald and Battlefield of the Mind by Joyce Meyer... I highly recommend.). Reminding myself of who I am in Christ and what He says about me, rather than what I tell myself or what others say about my abilities. Repeating these scriptures and truths and replacing those thoughts of insecurity and fear was critical to my successful journey.

Leaving Kenya was sad, but what awaited me in Tanzania was a remarkable adventure. After two days of visiting Compassion student centers and family homes, and playing with most adorable kiddos (SERIOUSLY. Their joy was infectious!!), my teammates and I started our trek up Kilimanjaro. Now, THIS is the good part...

Every day on the mountain brought forth more beauty and astonishment. Every turn around a corner brought a new, even more marvelous view of creation screaming God's glory. My thoughts were stuck on this amazement. God spoke all of this beauty into existence and said that "it was good." Yet, it when He created me (us), He breathed life into me and called me His Beloved. The Crown of Creation. Surrounded by all of this extraordinary beauty, more than all of that, to Him we are more precious. I couldn't get over it. I still can't.

Four days of hiking and I was feeling pretty good. Enduring headaches at high altitudes is easy when you're talking, laughing, and singing about everything under the sun with new-found friends... Then came Summit Night, and things got harder. Starting at ~15,500ft., our climb began in the dark at midnight. I kept praying over and over with each step "Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Lord." Hearing our guides repeat our anthem of "Pamoja tunaweza!", "Together we can!" over and over, along with their singing, was incredibly encouraging. Picturing the most beautiful sunrise I woke up to in the morning at Kikelelwa Camp a couple of days before, and knowing what beauty we would behold at sunrise at 18,000+ feet absolutely kept me moving. I pictured our Compassion kiddos and their families carrying pails of water back and forth, back and forth everyday alongside the roads of their villages. Knowing the strength they must muster up to do that each day gave me enough strength to push it each step further. Along with a constant reassurance that "God is with me" while being surrounded by those just like me, hearing sweet, caring voices singing songs of strength and victory, asking thoughtful "How are you?'s" and affirming "Me too's." This put a rhythm in my steps and kept me moving forward.

Still, physically, I was at my worst when we arrived at Gillman's Point. Six hours of hiking in the dark meant a lingering headache and nausea. Feeling like I wanted/needed to throw up, but couldn't. Yet, not caring a whole lot, because set before me in the snow and sunrise above the clouds and the mountain top ahead was the most beautiful sight of creation I've ever laid my eyes on. It was a beautiful paradox. That two hour trek from there up to Uhuru Peak was grueling. I wanted to fall asleep right there on the mountain. I was happy and beyond pleased to see all of the beauty so far, and would have been very happy to stop many times. Though, the views at 19,341 feet were incredible. Overcome by emotion, amazement, and nausea, it was hard to move, talk, or even think straight. I will never forget those moments at the top; somehow mustering up enough breath to take it all in, to laugh and to cry with my angels and new friends for life.

This was a pilgrimage that I will cherish for the rest of my days. The memories I gained from this experience are treasured in my heart, and the wisdom is worth believing over and over again. Because after the summit, we had to come down off that mountain. But the lessons learned still ring true at sea level. What I heard God whispering to me again and again was "I am." Comforter. Provider. Giver of strength and peace and joy. That is who He is no matter the altitude, situation, or trial. He is there...

That "lucky last" ticket on the train back to Mombasa.

That friend who loves sharing videos of her neices and nephews as much as I do.

My tentmate playing confidence-boosting jams the night before the summit climb (See: "Get Back Up Again" from Trolls.)

My guide Musafa who took my backpack and fed me chocolate ("suga") and water when mine was frozen ("sippy sippy").

My other guide Gasper who took my pack and pole and ran with me, arm-in-arm, for an hour down the mountain.

Seat 11A on my long flight home. Not quite business class, but extra legroom!

Seeing a familiar face for a few unexpected moments at the airport back home.

That one last float around the lazy river on vacation with the fam and long conversations and laughs with siblings that are few and far between.

Those ten uninterrupted nights at home with mom and dad while waiting out the storm. Game playing, Hallmark movie watching, and all.

Countless sights of friends and strangers who dropped everything to rescue those from harm, to demo flooded homes, to give food and shelter in the moment of need.

That child in class on the first day back to school after the flood who literally shared the definition of hope, and reminded me that it all would be okay...