Let me tell you why I (and you) should go. To other countries.

Over the last few months, and particularly within the last few days, I've come across multiple articles and blogs that send a message that blast the idea that white Americans should stop going to do humanitarian work and missions work overseas. For some reason, these articles seem to be biased against single, white, young females going to Africa specifically. This is partially annoying because I am THE stereotype of those who "should not go."

"We should stop giving money to organizations. We should stop going. We should stop going and taking pictures with small African children. We should stop changing our Facebook profile pictures." Those are not exact quotes but they are main ideas. Should we stop bringing awareness to the things we witness?

You know what it makes me want to stop doing?

((That's right, polite, sweet, kind and compassionate Melissa has a fire under her again. {Excuse the southern drawl at this point!} She's baaaaaaccccccckkkk at it. Ranting and raving. Kicking and screaming. You're so welcome in advance and if you should be so easily offended, stop reading this now. I am quite serious. STOP. ))

If you've passed the test of drama, please continue reading below.

Do you know, or have any idea, what it makes me want to stop doing, as in right this very second? I want to stop being angry about it and I want to tell you exactly what's on my mind. So OBVIOUSLY, that's what I plan to do. There are two major things I have a problem with in all of this.

1. One of the articles I read talks about "voluntourism." It's this basic idea and principle that a white man or woman becomes a philanthropist/journalist/tourist and it becomes offensive to groups of people on the field because they never stay. I actually completely agree with this idea. I have a major problem with a church or organization that chooses the tour stops and does not create a sustainable relationship between the partner and the field. I have problems with people who don't stay. 

2. The second thing I have a problem with is what is now being called "The White-Savior Industrial Complex." The basic idea is that the white man or woman comes in and rescues the 'victims' and leaves them rescued with nothing to sustain them. I do have a problem with that. The article I read about this talks about Americans creating this cycle of colonialism. I agree with this to a point. This idea of the power hungry taking over the poor and weary and destroying what liveliness they have left in them. This is quite possible in missions, humanitarian work, and, of course, government and militant processes.

BUT (you knew this was coming), I cannot stop going. I cannot stay in the states and pretend I don't know what's going on with the education of small children in villages along Lake Tanganyika. I cannot sit idly by and pretend that entire families are not war torn in the Middle East and northern Africa. I cannot stand the thought of young women and children being trafficked in southeastern Asia. And I cannot bear the idea of children who have lost their families to natural disasters, poverty, sickness and the drug cartel in Latin America.

I can't tell you how many days I've wondered about Mapalo. Is she in school? Did she grab the hand of someone else as she was walking through the village? Did she wear her broken zippered dress for the rest of that year? Is she healthy? Does she love Jesus?

Mapalo was a little girl I met in the village of Nzovwe in 2009. Boy, did this sweet little thing leave an imprint on my beating heart. She looked at me like I was crazy for the first few days but as the days went on... she moved a little closer. She wasn't staring at me from a distance or looking away pretending she didn't know I saw her. She moved in and eventually, this feisty little toothy girl was sitting in my lap. One day, my team and I were walking in the village, going from door to door, when I felt the hand of a little one grab mine. And yet, it was Mapalo, her toothy grin and broken zippered dress standing next to me and holding on tight, ensuring that I did not walk off without her.

When I close my eyes and think of Africa, I see her. I see a beautiful, educated young woman fostering and developing leaders in her village. I see her courting and marrying and loving children of her own. I see her washing dishes along the shore of the Lake and carrying water from the closest spring. And I pray. I pray that she develops the women under her. And you know what else I pray? That the change in her life had NOTHING to do with me-- that it was everything to do with Jesus.

Did you cringe when you read that? Did you feel different? Did you feel a small inkling in your soul that something is not right in the world? That you are to be a repairer or plower for some group of people, who don't need just you alone, but who need an advocate? Are you a little uncomfortable? It makes me a little uncomfortable-- that's for sure. This idea that I know someone but don't know where they are. It gets at me a little at night when I'm dreaming/waking and making up ambitions and plans for my future. I see her.... walking next to me in the village and I see a vivid picture of her hand in mine, although I have no physical picture of her hand.

When I first went to Zambia in my summer of 2008, I was sick over it. I saw high flying kites made of plastic grocery bags in small shack villages and I saw the deepest, sweetest brown eyes I had ever laid my eyes on begging to be loved. To be seen. In one of the following two summers (I'm almost positive it was 2010), I was at an AIDS orphanage in Kabwe. I sat on the ground while the girls played with my hair and touched my skin and the boys played drums and laughed and danced. They didn't speak English. We didn't know most of their names. But I cannot forget their faces. I cannot forget the little girl who crawled all over me for a couple of hours. I cannot forget the kiss on my cheek from a little boy named Chola, which always made me think and pray for the kids, especially in gangs, I had at Mack.

So each year, I traveled back to the United States and I told their stories. The stories of kids who had lost their parents to HIV and AIDS. The stories of missionaries on foreign fields who were being persecuted. The story of Innocent, a little village boy who would have nothing to do with me on the first day of our kid's conference and who would not leave my side by the end of that 4 days. A little boy who returned to hug me when we found him the following year and let me rub my hand across his sweet bald head while he just stared and smiled and stayed at my leg for a while. The story of Mapalo and the village of Nzovwe. Their stories raised awareness and made others get involved.

Their stories changed me and not in a narcissistic way that totally focuses on me. I didn't go to be changed. I actually went to do something that I thought was productive and American and efficient and would change them.... but in the process, I was changed by brown eyes and little hands. Cheek kisses and hair tied in knots. Skipping rocks and water bottles on heads. Chalk on the ground and shower caps. And those images, those roaring photographs in the crevices of my mind, changed the people around me because I could share their stories.

The beauty of my "GO" is found in pictures, yes, maybe a few Instagram pictures and Facebook photos. The beauty of my "GO" is found in working with an organization who is trained well, who meets needs, and who loves people on the field. The beauty of my "GO" is found in the confidence that God created me to be about Him, which means I'm about the business of others, and not just myself. To take the wretched, broken, yet healed and mended pieces to place them in the hands of those on the other sides of the world who can learn and grow with me, while creating relationships in their language, culture, and circle of influence. The beauty of my "GO" is found in a compassionate, loving Jesus who pursues justice, rights wrongs, loves orphans and windows, and feeds the hungry, who returns wronged money from the tax collectors, and makes the lame walk. The beauty of my "GO" is found in Jesus who forgives freely, frees me to love Him, and then urges me to walk in Him by sharing my gifts, passions, and abilities with His loves across the globe. 

I cannot say no. How can you say no to a "GO" that is that incredibly beautiful? 

I dare you to go. Don't give in to the idea of humanitarianism being self-centered and arrogant and don't think that you alone can change the world but remember the God to whom you serve and how deeply His love is for peoples of the ends of the Earth and how passionate His plea for us to go and love and serve Him?

I go because Jesus has done a great work in me and I want to share that. He has placed a great call in me and I want to do that. He has gifted me so succinctly for his plan and I want to fall into place where He desires me.

Praying your "GO" would be more beautiful than ever before.
And also praying you will stay.

Love you, from the bottom of my heart-- Melissa

"You answer us with awesome and righteous deeds,
    God our Savior,
the hope of all the ends of the earth
    and of the farthest seas..." Psalm 65: 4

The Lurking Lion in the Unknown

This past week has brought up so much insecurity. I will not get into the multiple reasons it has done so but I know one thing. The lion of insecurity that creeped in last week that was seemingly defeated?  Yes, him. He's still hanging around and has backed me into a corner a few times and then pretended as if he is protecting me. I know he's an emotional protector. He doesn't make decisions based on the long vision or what is best for me in the long run. He makes them based on his momentary emotions. Then, he presses me to do the same. He is extremely arrogant about these emotions and I'm outraged to know how and why he thinks he controls so much of me.

Maybe it's because sometimes I let him.

Sometimes I'm afraid of the truth. Sometimes I'm afraid of what awaits on the other side of my submission to God's good for my life. Sometimes I run into the cave to be protected. He waits there, all the while Jesus is with me, actually protecting me. Literally with me, but I'm focused on the vision of the lurking lion of insecurity and I can't shake him. I can't get around him, under him, over him. 

Because. I want to do it alone. All the while, Jesus rests there. Waiting. I am an often negligent daughter. In my selfishness, I become a negligent human being and forget about everyone else and worry about myself. Giving the lion as much power as He wants.

He tells me all the reasons I shouldn't send an e-mail, make a phone call, send a text message, say certain words, tell someone I care, etc... he has a grocery list of lies that he loves to tell. I have to stop listening to the list. I HAVE TO. You do too. 

Back at the beginning of April, I had the INCREDIBLE privilege of sharing my story at the RefresHER Women's event. In my talk, I read a letter I wrote while I was in Africa in the summer of 2009. I was desperately covered in fear. What was going to happen when I went back to the U.S.? Was I still going to lose weight and be seemingly unhealthy? Was I a poor teacher? Did I have character? Was my character so flawed that I wouldn't be able to lead well? What if I couldn't make friends? I am the QUEEN of the most amazing "What if?" questions that have absolutely no bearing on real life. None of the scenarios I make up in my head ever come true. ((I should pause there and tell you how thankful I am for this. What an utter tsunami disaster my entire life would be if I stayed there. And even that feels as if it is an understatement.)) Anyways, this letter was to fear. Boy, was I SO angry when the missionary told me that this was an assignment. In the long run, this letter has guided me and saved me but I was not happy about writing it then.

When I went back to watch the video of me reading this letter myself (which is really the first time I've gone back and watched myself like this), I cried because I so desperately needed the words I read. I needed the tears I cried and the way I felt and the heartache that I was overwhelmed with. I needed someone to know and I needed to know I wasn't alone. I needed God's Word to saturate my broken soul. I needed to identify with myself. I needed to know that what God had said about me was true. And it was, and this letter proved that. The video of that part is below. I encourage you to press play and close your eyes. Hear the words, instead of just reading them. Let those words be for your fear of the unknown to and let those words be a reminder to you that YOU ARE NOT ALONE, despite what the grocery list of the enemy says.

I am praying for you as you hear and watch and do what Jesus calls you to. May He find your broken heart and put it back together. May He bind your wounded mind and replace it with a fullness of joy. May He wipe your tears as you close your eyes on your pillow case and may He remind you that there is no fear in walking with and in Him. I promise you that He is faithful despite what the enemy says. He does not let go.

He has done all of those things for me more times than I can count and there are tears as I even write this. My goodness, He is increasingly faithful.

He loves you, as do I. -Melis

The Roaring Lion of Insecurity

I was driving home yesterday and it was, "You didn't do that well. You really messed that up. You're very selfish." 

Last night, going to sleep, it was, "You're not worth it. Who would think so? What makes you worth it? You're a mess!" 

These words come at my hungry, angry, and tired moments. They lurk like a lion waiting for the kill. For just the right time. For the right second to insert drama. I can't even see them coming and they still come. Charging, somewhat gracefully, over the rest of the normal, clear voices I have believed until that point. 

Have you ever felt that? You're totally fine, you're feeling good and all of a sudden, and the lion shows its mane and begins taunting you in a circle. You look at it and realize that there's no possible way you can defeat this wild animal. Because it is exactly that- wild, untamed. It circles when my mind is not in tact and I'm willing to go to a new place. I just didn't realize the new place was going to be that. The lion stares directly into my eyes without blinking because it does not believe the truth I keep telling myself. 

"I am enough. I am worth it. I am covered by grace. Jesus is in control. My life is about Him." I repeat these truths to myself in the secrets of my heart until devastated by the damage the lion has done, I begin saying them out loud and begging God to just please. Overcome my unbelief. One more time. All the things I don't believe about myself. Make me believe them. Make me brave enough to believe them. 

Jesus steps in and the lion is FORCED to leave but the lion never leaves without a fight. The fight that led Jesus straight to the cross. And Jesus tells me He was willing to go there so I can believe Him.

My eyes well with tears as I remember the cross. The cross of grace and mercy. A blood that was more than enough to cover all of my sins, well wishes and mistakes. All my good works, selfish intentions and unworthy phrases. He covered it all. How sweet it is to love God- who is willing to fight and even die on my behalf.

"How marvelous. How wonderful. And my song shall ever be. How marvelous how wonderful is my Savior's love for me." 

My heart is silenced because I am deeply loved by Jesus. I believe again. Because of Him. The precious blood Jesus shed for me covers my insecurities and feeds my identity that makes me want to love him more. 

You're not alone in this. Jesus advocates for me about a million times a day. To stop the raging lion of insecurity and replace it with a sincere security and Truth that cannot be taken from me. 

Praying for security in Jesus alone- Melis 

Goodbyes are the worst.... the absolute worst.

I hate goodbyes. ((Insert crying mess here... literally tears running down my face for most of the last weekend and week while I've written letters to my Leadership kids and while I'm writing this... and mostly every time I think about it.))

I'm sure I'm not the only one. I know I can't be.

They just are literally the worst and I have to do this... every. single. year. It is so incredibly hard. 

This year has been a year of answered prayers, overcoming Mountains, and figuring out my strengths and weaknesses. I have had a lot of moments of stress, hope, fear, courage, failure and bravery.

Most teachers are so grateful when summer begins. I am really tired. I am utterly exhausted. Yet, I am so content and satisfied with my first year at this new school. Don't get me wrong... there are PLENTY of things I need to change and the sweet girls who said Government class was perfect on Friday are just full of grace and mercy, nonetheless. I have had so many opportunities to share my stories with my kids and for them to share their stories with me... and a few times to share their stories with other people who can help them. Whew. I have an increasingly grateful heart. I have very mixed feelings on this beginning of summer.

One of my boys sent me a message today that said, "Can you imagine that tomorrow will be the last morning talk we are going to have?" I literally yelled at him, although I was completely alone in my apartment. It's crazy to think it is. He, almost everyday, and a few of the other kids, sporadically, come in during the morning time and always tell me what happened after school the day before, to ask a question, or to ask advice.... or just to talk. It's just like I'm talking to my family.

Maybe that's the hardest part. My kids have really become my kids, my family. I have been (for some of them) the first person inside a school to care, to listen to them, to pay attention to their craziness, to let them be themselves... I mean, for Heaven's sake, I know WAY too much about some of their lives and they just keep talking. So to my kids... thank you. I have prayed my heart out for you this year in your worst moments and your best.

1. To one of my girls who sits alone on purpose- I see you. Don't do this to yourself... there is so much more.
2. To one of my girls who lost a family member and left the country for a few weeks, you are more than welcome to an older sister hug any time.
3. To one of my girls who needs a friend and has hard a really hard last few weeks, I get it. Don't stress yourself out over it. You have amazing people and friends around you and I'm happy to be a person in your life.
4. To one of my boys who called me sensitive, you're right-- you are the 3rd person in the last week to tell me that. Thanks for being honest. :) It's also funny that you say I'm "sensitive" since your favorite hobby is making me mad... just saying.
5. To a few of the girls who are constantly harassed by the boys, join the club my dears. They harass us all. They are indifferent to age and responsibility.
6. To one of my girls who said I was sweet-- you are so kind. She also included that no one should try to make me angry. Boy, do they know me well! 
7. To the boys who asked me for food in 4th period-- thanks for finally getting it right and telling future classes to never do such a thing.
8. To one of my boys who said that you were one of my boys... that is truly it. You are.
9. To one of my boys from my morning talks... I make no promises on crying tomorrow when you all leave. I find this already very difficult.

It is hard to believe that tomorrow is their last day of school. My sweet class of 2014. The ones who were a part of me facing my mountain in 2009-2010 as 8th graders and now this incredible group of seniors I've had the privilege of spending the last 9 months with. They are my kids.... and I'm grateful.

Tomorrow will not be easy but I have full confidence that they will be a generation who changes the world.

I'm sure this is completely out of context but I have no clue what I'll do in such a quiet classroom Thursday morning cleaning and packing my things. I will miss the noise of my kids.
Love each of you sweet things... Miss Gillespie

Jesus is it.

This morning, I was doing my regular social media check on EVERYTHING... Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, Twitter and I came across this: 

"In the difficult moments of life, Christians can turn to the Mother of God and find protection and care." -Pope Francis, @Pontifex (Twitter)

There are many, MANY things that I agree with Pope Francis about. I HIGHLY admire his commitment to social justice, his care for people, and that he is a barrier breaker. He is the first in many, many years to be from Latin America and I think it could represent a strong turning point in the Catholic church in the West. He has focused on family, poverty, and taking care of people around the world through prayer and service. 

However, when I read the Old Testament (before Mary was even born), I find that the Psalmist loved and knew a protecting FATHER well. When I read the New Testament, I find that Jesus loved and knew a protecting FATHER well. 

Already, this morning, before 9:00 am, I have successfully thrown myself a pity party (and eaten chocolate cereal-thank you very much!) and have lived in my own pit. A pit in which I successfully jumped in myself with no help or other assistance needed. 

So the question is: who can save me from this/these pit/pits? 

A. Me

B. You

C. the Mother of God

D. Jesus

(A) Absolutely not. I usually jump into pits on my own. I usually bury myself in them and dig them deeper. How in the heck of a world am I going to save myself from this pit? I can't, I won't and I'm terrible at it. Wrong answer.

(B) You. I trust you (somewhat because I'm an not easy to trust kind of girl). However, it may have been you that encouraged me to jump in to begin with and while you can also encourage me to get out, if you jump in to get me-- I've got news for you! You're in it too! So now, we both need rescuing, what a successful mess we made! Also, you're living in your own jumping in pits scheme. We need to encourage one another but I can't say you're going to help too much. To be honest. (No hard feelings implied.) 

(C) the Mother of God. Again, I trust Mary-- she birthed Jesus. She was chosen by God for a great task and she was a loving, comforting mother for Jesus on Earth but she could not save Him from the cross. She could not protect him or herself from heart break. She cannot protect me either. She's in Heaven worshipping Jesus! She's kind of busy at the moment. Her story may provide great encouragement to prove that God chooses us for amazing things when we are obedient to Him but Mary cannot save me. She cannot rescue me from the pit and she cannot protect me from the darkness of the world. 

(D) Jesus. Yes! The one and only. The creator of the world. The oneness of God and the Holy Spirit. The best of every situation and the lover of our wretched souls. He is it. He is the only one deemed as the rescuer of my soul. The only one who loves me enough to not leave me where I'm at. The only one who can see the future and what's best for me. The only one who provides the GRACE needed for my unforgiving, unpardonable, guilty conscience. Right answer. He is it. 

"To you, O LORD, I called; to the Lord I cried for mercy: What gain is there in my destruction, in my going down into the pit? Will the dust proclaim your faithfulness? Hear, O LORD, and be merciful to me; O LORD, be my help. You turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, that my heart may sing to you and not be silent. O LORD my God, I will give you thanks forever." Psalm 30: 8-12

How beautiful is the grace of Jesus. How protecting is our Father. How sweet is our Master to watch over us and give us peace. How merciful is the love of our Lord to love us even still. 

Jesus is it and that is all. May His protection and care be enough for each and everyone of us. -Melis

Secrets and gratitude

I would just like to brag and whine a bit about the weekend I'm in the midst of. Besides my brain counting down until the end of school, I have (as we all do at times) needed some time of solitude. I realized this earlier this afternoon when I showed up to something with a friend to decide that I didn't really want to do what I had planned. (There were multiple things going on in my brain at that time and so I do not feel that my brain was properly working but that's beside the point.) Why didn't I come full circle with that concept before? Gratefully, she was not heart broken over it by any means and went ahead with what we had planned. I ended at home next to the pool for a good 2 1/2 hours with a book. I read about half of it this afternoon. I love love stories.... add the teenage drama love story and I love it even more... add sitting next to the pool on a perfect afternoon... I would say that I'm pretty low maintenance (sometimes). This was after my overdramatic thought process had already taken over for a few hours. Sometimes I need to leave my life decisions and become the character of a book and indulge myself for a little while. I am, after all, the award winning actress in every good film I watch, not limited to but including the role of Lizzie in "Pride and Prejudice" as well as Katherine Heigl's character in "27 Dresses," but that's really beside the point.

Hanging out with friends this weekend has given me some time to process through a few different things going on in my life. It has also given me multiple times to be vulnerable, ask for wisdom, and ask for prayer in specific areas... as well as pretend quit my life a few times :) (There's no reason to be completely serious at all times.) It has given me space to confront fears, open up about the place I've been repentant over the last couple of years, and dream dreams. Sitting next to the pool this afternoon, I was thinking again about the book One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp. She confronts this reality that she spends days highly grateful and days where she feels there is nothing to be grateful for.

Often times, when I feel this way, it is because I feel I need to hide my ugly days. My days when things aren't good.... when I yell at my kids, don't wear makeup to school, over exaggerate something that was unnecessary, blame someone for something that was my fault, I'm short tempered, I say things I don't mean, and I make up nightmares of worst case scenarios where there should be no worries. When I live in this place, I am not fun to be around, I am not nice. I am short and snappy, my sass increases by about a million percent, and I am easily offended over things that make no difference. So I'm choosing to be honest about my gross days and, YET, be honest about my grateful days and allow those grateful moments to overtake my mood swings and hyperventilational moments on life (I realize that's not a real word and my sass at the moment could care less :) ). So here's the beginning of my grateful list from this weekend...

1. Africa and the pieces of my heart that will be shortly recovered there
2. Listening ears of wisdom who listens more than speaks
3. Glimmering cobwebs to remind me the sun is shining
4. Blue skies
5. Patio furniture and beautiful nights
6. Facebook messages read early in the morning to think about during the day
7. Tan lines and sunshine
8. Text messages from dramatic friends
9. Free smoothie and VIP rewards
10. The hymn "It is well with my soul"
11. Ariana's prayer request notes in her phone
12. Love stories
13. Amazon Prime movies to watch while going to bed
14. Homemade chocolate chip cookies
15. Leftover pizza
16. Journals and Sharpie pens and written poems and letters I'm still learning from
17. A couch to nap on
18. Washing machines with a quick wash
19. Pinterest quotes and Instagram inspirations

...and that is all for now, my friends... hoping your gratefulness overwhelms your secret bad days and helps us see the good in the bad somehow and in some way. Going to sit outside and enjoy the rest of the evening! Love you (and my sincerest gratitude for reading this-- especially if you read all the time!) and happy Memorial day weekend. - Melis

Sometimes I eat chocolate cereal for dinner.

Sometimes the days are long. Sometimes the nights before are long too. Sometimes you wake up and realize how ridiculous you are. Sometimes you go to work and do ridiculous things. Sometimes you over-apologize and over think and then you can't decide what to eat for dinner and you decide you don't want to spend money so you go home and eat Cocoa Krispies and watch "Full House" re-runs that you watched when you were in elementary school and now you're 29 and you're still watching and eating the same things.       

And then you beg, "Do things really change?" "Do things always stay the same?" "What do you do to change it? What stays the same in the process?" And then I (being the you in all the above statements) sit and write a blog. I'm not sure that it always helps me right then but I think it does in the long run. (Side note: Sometimes I write these for myself more than to be read!!)

I had the most bizarre pedicure earlier. I swear they took a cheese grater to my foot, followed by a plastic bag of lotion. I've never had that happen. All the while, I'm attempting to read a book for my small group but am somewhat unsuccessful. And I'm thinking. A lot. A lot a lot. 

A lot of change has happened for and to me over the last year. I expect more again in the upcoming year but I sometimes wonder if I'm anchored enough to handle it. Can a broken heart be repaired completely and can a messed-up mind think straight? 

My inadequacies are mostly due to the lie of the Enemy. I sleep and wake worried, whether it is necessary or not. I'm reading One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp and she says this:

"...I know all our days are struggle and warfare (Job 14:14) and that the spirit-to-spirit combat I endlessly wage with Satan is this ferocious thrash for joy. He sneers at all the things that seem to have gone hideously mad in this sin-drunk world, and I gasp to say God is good. The liar defiantly scrawls his graffiti across God's glory, and I heave to enjoy God... and Satan strangles, and I whiten knuckles to grasp real Truth and fix that beast to the floor." (p. 90)

Over the last few weeks, I've felt like God has spoken clearly about a few different areas of my life but I'm scared out of my mind that what He is saying could be true (and believe me, I know it is!). It means I have to let someone in, to be myself to someone who doesn't know anything about me, to speak Truth in love, to speak Truth to a group of people I know nothing about, and to be okay with failing. To risk and to get up and to not let myself be won over by insecurity and inadequacy. 

To sometimes eat chocolate cereal for dinner and breakfast and be okay with a slight change. 

Praying selfishly for some peace, but not always patience :) -Melis

"...God chooses to cut into my ungrateful heart to make me whole." -Ann Voskamp