I walk into the infant room at the orphanage, look down and see a small child, sitting, observing, but not being affected by the joy, the screams, or tears being shed around her. She sits, emotionless.    We stare into each other’s eyes, but she does not move. No matter what I do she doesn’t react. But I knew I was not supposed to leave her side, that there was a purpose greater than I knew. The time comes when I must leave, so I kiss her head, tell her I love her, and walk away. I was confused and overwhelmed by her walls. God, why does she feel nothing? Why...

     She pulled open the broken screen door that clung onto its last little hinge and revealed a dimly lit room that housed a single cot on the far wall. My group of six squeezed into the tiny room. And there sitting on the cot was one of the most tragic sights we had yet to see.      Rewind. March 4, 2013 the first Monday of the month, my team had been told by our contact to be ready at 10am to start our week of door to door evangelism. A local church called Rey de Reyes asked to partner with us to reach the community.         Personally,...

Lord please give me the eyes to see how you see. Pausing to absorb the scenery as I walk along the dusty roads of Puerto Barrios, I notice to my left sits a hibiscus bush intertwined in a metal fence. I come up close and gracefully lift the delicate red flower that hangs there, perfect in form. My eyes follow the plant down to the roots where garbage of all kind is scattered there below. Hmmm, waste birthing beauty instead of beauty birthing more beauty. Not what you'd expect.  Merriam-Webster defines irony as "incongruity between the actual result of a sequence of events...

I am looking down at the glitter speckling my arms, however, I don’t know that I really want to wash the flashing spots off.  The sight brings up images of dear children who let their emotions flow free; who have a deep, raw love for anyone who gives them the time of day.  This annoyingly adhered glitter reflects memories of a mother and father sorting garbage as a means to an end.  This is the Puerto Barrios Dump.    Outside the sister towns of Puerto Barrios and Santo Tomas is the dump that serves the surrounding area.  Of course, this is a fact of life...

The rain is pouring down. Pelting the roof so hard everything else has been drowned out. Something about the rain gives me inexplicable joy. I've been struggling with the fact that the ways I normally encounter God aren't doable here. I can't go running on the beach with the puppy or get lost in some great country music as I cook away in the kitchen. God gave me my unique passions and in the moments when I am doing those things that I love, God meets me there.  I am learning that although it is so much easier to find God in the places he normally meets me, it is so much more...

For the full effect of the title of this blog, I recommend that you listen to Josh Groban's song "Thankful." If you're lucky enough to live in the St. Louis area, I oh so highly recommend that you have my dad sing this for you. It will melt your heart! Happy Thanksgiving, folks. Better late than never, right? Who would have thought that my first out-of-country Thanksgiving experience would rank up there with some of my favorite memories of the holidays? But that's exactly what I this Thanksgiving became. It was a chance to stop and bless the 30 or so people that showed...