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Thoughts

I’m entering a new season. 
I’ve been reflecting lately on all the crazy since I threw a square topped hat in the sky and learned how to pay my taxes. 
Life post-grad. 
It started fast - I left just weeks later for a summer in the Dominican, and I’ve never been the same.
That summer broke me, but to be real I’m not sure I wasn’t broken before that. 
All my right answers flew out the door as I walked through life with people who’s experiences were vastly different than my own.
“God, are you still good in the face of such pain?” 
I wrestled. And wrestled. And came home to the land of expensive coffee and immediate satisfaction.
And I wrestled. But I didn’t talk about it.
I didn’t talk about how the rug had been swept from under my feet.
The things I’d studied in classes and in quiet time for years I now didn’t feel so sure about.
I tried (and failed) to learn to live with my feet in two different countries. My heart rended, with nowhere to call home.
How do you come back from that?
When your world no longer makes sense and you feel like a foreigner in your own culture.
Fitting in to both and neither cultures at the same time.
I yearned for my people. I longed to be in the Dominican, yet while I was there, I struggled as I missed weddings and birthdays and babies. 
How to live in two places at once: a memoir that i never wrote, because I still don’t know.
I battled anxiety and depression.
I was mad at God. “I’m only 22, Lord, how am I supposed to navigate all of this?”
I got a parasite that still lurks in my system, and spent months with no answers and little recovery.
My body was poked and prodded, as doctors furrowed their eyebrows and scratched their heads. 
Now they pump me full of antibiotics every six months and shake the dust off their tunics. 
At least I can eat.
I went to Africa, Guatemala, and Cuba. But my heart remained in the Dominican. 
With my sassy Spanish speakers and lips filled with hallelujah and beginning to realize that God made more sense to me in another language.
But I didn’t know how to talk about it.
Faith wrestling makes people uncomfortable in the US.
They don’t like it when you question, because it means that maybe,
just maybe what they believe to be true might not be exactly who God is either. 
After all we’re just fallen people trying to understand a perfect God.
Maybe God really does love everyone - no matter what gender or race or preference.
Maybe God cares a lot less about obedience than he does about relationship, 
and things that we drove our stake into and chose as our hill to die on are just the foothills of what really matters.
Maybe we’re called first to love and second to judge, instead of the other way around - with our list of rules and our upturned noses.
Maybe God is much bigger than what i allowed him to be as I shoved him into the boxes of my conservative christianity.
I mumble my prayers in broken Spanish under my breath, because those are the moments I feel closest to Him.
And I don’t talk about it.
I don’t feel at home anymore. Not in any country, city, or state. 
But I’m figuring out how to find home in the people around me and in my relationship with a higher being.
I’m learning that home looks like a glass of wine with my husband as we talk about how we see God TODAY,
with grace to see something different hours later.
How my view of God changes weekly, and the way I was raised to see him put scales over my eyes that I’m still slowly peeling away.
How do you talk about your faith being stripped away?
When you wake up each day and chant “God is faithful and God is good, and that’s all I know and need for the day.”
So I don’t talk about it. 
I learned the hard way that questioning things that shake foundations isn’t received well by those who stand on that rock.
That desiring to process and talk and explain is often met 
with an awkward silence and a pat on the arm with an “I’ll pray for you” bandaid to silence your wondering.
So I don’t talk about it. 
Instead, I mumble my Spanish prayers and receive God in the silence.

Reflections of an Ex-Annorexic


I used to be a slave to my body -
To the sustenance that passed my lips
To the necessary nourishment -
counting numbers
and calculating possibilities.

Each holiday came with the knowledge
that I'd have to push myself harder
to rid myself of those
moments of weakness.

One of my body's core functions
became my greatest enemy -
keeping me up at night
as i
counted
counted
counted.

Always falling short,
attacking myself for my weakness -
how could I not resist
what my body so
desperately
needed?

I thought it made me stronger -
this need for control
as I watched the weaker
devour their sandwiches
while I picked at my salad
and sipped my water.

But the thing that brought me purpose
keeping me up at night
counting
counting
counting
could have been my end.

It threatened to steal from me
precious dreams
of future kin
if I continued
counting
counting
counting.

I'd look in the mirror
pinching non-existent fat
never measuring up
to my expectations
of being skeletal thin.

I remember the day
I recognized my problem
and asked for help
as tears fell into
the bowl of soup
I'd been stirring, untouched,
for the past hour.

The voice never leaves.
Once you've given yourself to it
for a season,
it's your constant companion.
But it gets quieter,
even muted at times,
and then one day you forget
you ever let it have power over you.

Lessons (draft posting)


The last few months have been weird.
I'm trying to find myself in ways that I don't yet understand.
I'm learning how to navigate adulthood
and pray I don't lose my imagination in its wake.
I'm learning that being soft isn't wrong,
but being soft with the wrong people can be devastating.
I'm learning to breathe deeply
and rest fully when given the opportunity.
I'm learning to breathe deeply
and feel comfortable in my skin.
Sometimes 'no' is the right answer
and explanations are unnecessary. 
Sometimes silence is okay.

Soft Warrior (draft posting)



I was raised to be a warrior
A strong fighter
a woman who wouldn't back down
who'd stand her ground
in the face of trials.

I was born to be strong
to stand up tall
to confidently walk into battle
to endure the fire
and come out with minimal damage.

But a warrior is soft.


I'm soft, but I'm fierce.
I'm fiery, but I'm vulnerable.
Living in this juxtaposition is hard to swallow.

Busy // Process


Every year I think "next year is when I find rest, surely, at the bend in the road, things will slow down and I'll find normalcy." Yet, somehow the next year I find myself busier than the year before asking the same question, "how did I get here?"

 I like to be busy. I thrive on busy. If I don't have things to do, I somehow feel like I'm missing my potential, yet in every season God is whispering to me, asking me to just stop moving for a few minutes to meet with Him. To sit with Him. To breathe in His life-giving breath and listen to His heart beat for His people. And sometimes I'm good at that, in lands not like my own when I'm surrounded by beaches or volcanoes or people speaking a native tongue that isn't my mother tongue.

I'm wrestling with that. That it's easier for me to talk about my sweet Jesus in a foreign language, in a country hundred of miles away from where my body finds its home most often. Where do I go from here? Burned out, exhausted, and still trying to find my bearing after a summer filled with more challenges and changes than my lips can express. I'm different. Things have changed. This is how I always feel after a season of traveling; I've only just finished explaining to those dear to me how I was different from the last round of experiences only to get yanked into new ones. It's exhausting to have to introduce yourself to people who believe they know who you are over and over. It's easier to just retreat within myself, and keep a very small number of people gripped in my hand tight, spitting up words as my mind can't take the internal processing any longer. And sometimes that's all I can handle. 

Recovery.



As many of you know by now, I picked up a parasitic friend last summer in the Dominican Republic. My parasite is/was affectionately know as Diablo (devil in Spanish.) What started in October with weekly vomiting morphed into intense pain when I ate anything but bland food. December landed me in the ER, and I was discharged after 7 hours, a CAT scan, an X-ray, and an ultra-sound, finding a benign lesion on my liver. A few weeks later I drove to Iowa for 3 weeks for an extended holiday stay. Within the first week I saw 2 doctors and had an MRI, only to have less answers than before - my vomiting and pain weren't caused by my liver. After "smelling my way" through Christmas (smelling fudge and cookies is better than nothing, right?) I had another test to see if there was something wrong with how my body processed food. Basically, I ate eggs laced with radioactivity and got to see my stomach on a screen.

If nothing else, I've learned way more about the human body than I ever knew before. I returned to Minneapolis without answers, and went to see a travel doctor. After 4 doctors, 6 hospitals, and 2+ months of not being able to eat, on February 9th I found out that I had, in fact, picked up a parasite and I'd be given a one-time antibiotic that should take care of it.

It's been a few weeks since I've been able to eat again. I think somewhere between saltine crackers and bowls of oatmeal, I found myself again. I'm not going to pretend like any part of it was easy. Those few months were dark days, and there were times where I felt like I was fighting for my soul as well as my body, but I never fought alone. I'm grateful for God who doesn't leave me even when I don't want him. I'm grateful for a God that loves me at my weakest - when I turn my face from him and say "don't look at me like this" - but reminds me that He is strong for me. I'm sure that won't be my last run in with a parasite, it's kind of part of the territory.

Thanks for your prayers, from the bottom of my heart.

Holy longing



Holy longing
a spiritual wrestling
as the sinner & holy
fight for control
in this body of mine
that acts as a temple
for something far beyond
this skin I wear.

This reminder
that I'm not whole -
that I’ll never be whole
while I live on this earth
is a constant, dull ache
muted by my distraction
and disposition to diversion.

Living in a constant state
of “not yet”
patiently awaiting
the return of the
One who saves

me from myself.

I'm Torn.



I love my job. Don't get me wrong. I'm deeply grateful for the opportunities I've been given, but it's not always easy. It's a blessing and a curse to live between these two countries - to constantly feel like I'm in an epic battle of tug and war between the Dominican Republic and the United States. When I'm in the US, I miss the culture of the DR - the people, the worship, the fruit, the weather, the list goes on. When I'm in the DR my heart aches for the big life moments I'm missing out on - friends getting married and babies entering the world among other things.

 I'm trying to live life wedged in the crack between these two countries I love deeply, and I'm trying not to get lost in the chasm. Sometimes it get overwhelming, always catching people up on what's going on, feeling like I'm constantly trying to explain my heart and experiences. How can I love both of these countries so much? And how can I choose between them? To be honest, it's really hard. I don't have many friends who have spent long periods of time in other countries and can relate to my experiences. 

I'm learning.
How to explain things well.
How to smile genuinely when people don't understand and give them grace for their ignorance.
How to give myself grace for my own ignorance.
How to live in the crack.
How to live life with open palms.

My Mission



Hi my name is Aunica, and I'm 22 right now. For some of you that may seem old, for others you see that I have a long journey ahead of me, but either way I've lived over 2 decades on this earth and with that comes experience. When I tell my God story, there are so many different ways I can do it. Do I talk about God's faithfulness and goodness even through great trial? Do I talk about praying a prayer and thinking I was going to heaven without truly knowing who my God was? Or do I talk about learning to live a life with open palms, never grasping things too tightly, praying that I could trust in my Father enough to allow Him full control over every aspect of my life? I could talk about all of those things, and I'm more than happy to share the incredible work God has done in my life over these past 22 years, but today I'm telling a different part of my story. Today I'm talking about my calling to love people passionately and advocate for those who don't have a voice. This is my call to missions.

I prayed the prayer when I was 5. Blah blah blah. But as a little girl, I really didn't know what that meant. Years went on, and playing Barbies with my sisters continued to be my favorite past time, having no idea that within my little heart God was moving and changing in ways that would effect me for a lifetime. When I was 10 years old, our church held a missions conference in which all of our missionaries that we supported returned to our church to share what God had been doing in their ministry over the past year. I was mesmerized. Story after story of the faithful pursuing God and loving on people in His name. As I sat there, my heart churned within me in a way that I can't describe, and as a little girl I felt God telling me that He had placed within me a passion for His people.

As the year went on, the images of the conference faded in my mind, and I refocused my attention to playing in creeks and jumping on trampolines, forgetting the calling God had given to me. Finally, it was time for the conference again. This time, with memory of that uncomfortable twisting, my little girl heart asked God "what does this mean?" and once again, my Abba spoke to me saying that He was calling me to live a life filled with a passion for His people.

With this deep fire burning in my heart, I eagerly told everyone that would listen about my calling into missions and began gobbling up any and all missions material I could get my little hands on. I read Revolution in World Missions as an 11-year-old and book after book about famous missionaries that had dedicated their lives to serving the Lord overseas.

As I continued to grow up, the missions conference didn't happen as often, and the fire within me became a dull throb that over time faded to a whisper. in high school, I gave in to my fears and determined that missions was too uncomfortable and inconsistent, and decided to pursue one of my other passions, graphic design. My freshman year of college I took a class called Perspectives in World Missions, but hardened my heart and refused to listen to the stirring that I had pushed so far down within me, determining instead that my role in missions would be solely one of support.  As college went on, I continued to pursue a career as a graphic designer and sought to enter the corporate world.

Well, God wasn't (and isn't) done with me. And we all know how "telling God what you will and will not do" goes. Through an internship that turned into a job, I'm using my degree in graphic design in addition to leading short-term mission trips in the Dominican Republic through a non-profit organization called Praying Pelican Missions. To say that God's been in control this whole time would be an understatement. You can read more about the crazy God instances that got me to this place in previous blogpost I wrote here. God is good. God is faithful. He doesn't give us desires that He isn't going to fill in some way, shape, or form. If you would have told me a year ago I'd be leading mission trips and doing graphic design, all while working with people that have become a sort of family, I would never have believed you. Praise be to our God for being constant.

Want to stay updated on my ministry? Join my e-mail newsletter list here!
Interested in joining my financial support team? Donate here!

If you'd like to grab coffee and talk about missions, Jesus, or life, I'd LOVE that! E-mail me at aunica@prayingpelicanmissions.org or message me on facebook to set up a time.



Willing Heart




Soft light dancing
Coffee steaming
Heart beating.

I stare out the clear window
asking one question of You
What do you require of me,
O Lord?
And silently wait.

A rush of peace descends
as the Holy mingles with the sinner
somehow living in perfect juxtaposition
within this body of mine.

From deep within me
the voice of peace
and a power unimaginable
speaks out
"A willing heart, my child."

And so I'm learning.
To be willing
to go places
and speak with people
and do things
that aren't comfortable
or glamorous.

I will always be learning.
To live with an open palm
not grasping too tightly those things
in which I place
so much value.

Learning to find freedom
in the unknown
and the trusting
that I wrestle with
day by day.

The Name




"For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms."
Ephesians 6:12

 I'm in a season where spiritual warfare is more prevalent than ever, so this symbol acts as a reminder to me that my struggle is not against flesh and blood. 

Sabbath looks different



Sometimes Sabbath looks different.
Like Bon Iver
and empty houses
and big sweatshirts
and giving yourself grace to just
be.

Sometimes Sabbath looks like
taking deep breaths
and soaking in the presence
of a Creator
that isn't holding an anvil over your head
waiting for you to mess up
so He can say "I told you so."

Sabbath looks like
finding rest for your soul
and taking time to slow down
it looks like a reminder
that everything in this world will pass
someday, maybe tomorrow,
but someday.

Sabbath looks like
finding joy in the small things
like the way the sun plays across the carpet
and the peaceful breeze between the leaves
that will take a journey
in the next couple of weeks

Sometimes Sabbath looks like
dancing slowly
and being grateful
for a body that moves
and that grace can be seen
in something so soft.

Soul.



Warm skin
and the promise
of the end
and the beginning
the day
I first felt
my soul 
within me.

I leaned over
and plunged
head first
into the abyss
falling
falling
falling
and still
I'm falling.

Ink a breath away 
from spilling
and threatening to 
never cease
hungry eyes
that betray me
and say more
that my lips could
ever express.

We mingled our souls.



We mingled our souls.
That's what missions feels like.
Community
on a deeper level
than forming my lips
into shapes and sounds
can ever begin to express.

We mingled our souls.
Shoulder to shoulder
baking under the rays
smiles surpassing lingual disparity
deepening understanding
as views are widened
and hearts are forever changed.

We mingled our souls.
Basking in the warmth
of the favor of our Creator,
rejoicing with a unified voice,
and returning glory
to it's rightful owner.

We mingled our souls.

Finding Home.



Flashback to freshman year of college.
You walk into a new building.
Full of excitement to meet new friends,
get to your new classes,
and open your new books.
You've chosen a major -
the path to your success in life.
Branding yourself as a
mathematician
artist
athlete
and the list goes on.
You think you know who you are,
or that you'll know by the time you get that signed paper
and a long list of bills
at the end of your time on those grounds.

But,
I can attest to the fact
that I still don't know
and I don't know if I'll ever know
what I'm supposed to do
now that school is over
forever.

I feel a strong urging
deep
deep
deep
in the places in my heart
that often get drowned out
by the chaos that surrounds me
in everyday life.
An urging to
GO
to travel
to explore
to experience
the people and cultures that my sweet Abba has created.
To learn more about His people
and in turn what brings Him joy.
I feel an urge to live life alongside others
who share the same desperation
that grips my heart.
The longing to KNOW God
to truly know Him.
Not to just show up to a building a few times a week
and shake hands with a few people
sing a song or two
and think about what's for lunch,
but to deeply and truly
seek the heart and passion
of the One who created all.

But where does this happen?
Where is my home?
Is my home amidst
tall stalks of green
or is my home in
the chilly city
or is my home
by the mango trees
and the people with the big smiles
who have nothing
and somehow everything
all at the same time.

I'm learning...
learning to find my home
in all of those places
and none at the same time.
To live in the gap
between my homes...
and in essence
find home within myself.
To find peace
in the chasm
while I seek and search
for what this lack of roots means.

The Belly of a Big Fish (I'm more like Jonah than I like to admit)



Jonah
1:1-2 The word of the Lord came to Jonah son of Amittai:  “Go to the great city of Nineveh and preach against it, because its wickedness has come up before me.”

 When I was 10, I went to a mission conference at my church, and for the first time my eyes were opened to God's heart for His people.  I longed for the week of hearing each missionary tell God's story and work in their country, and my heart stirred deeply as Abba whispered "Aunica, Aunica, my daughter, go. Go and preach the gospel. Go and share my love with my people." 

 1:3 But Jonah ran away from the Lord and headed for Tarshish. He went down to Joppa,where he found a ship bound for that port. After paying the fare, he went aboard and sailed for Tarshish to flee from the Lord. 

 However, as I got older, and that whisper seemed to fade in the midst of the busyness of life, and I began to question the calling I had further clung to with such fervor. So, I decided to do something that was safe. I decided to do design. I mean, I liked it, and I'd make money and be comfortable, and who knows? I could always go on mission trips. No problem.

 1:4-5 Then the Lord sent a great wind on the sea, and such a violent storm arose that the ship threatened to break up.  All the sailors were afraid and each cried out to his own god. And they threw the cargo into the sea to lighten the ship.

 When I got to college, my ship began to rock. The things I had previously found my identity in were stripped away, until I was left with nothing but the Rock to cling to.
1:6 But Jonah had gone below deck, where he lay down and fell into a deep sleep.  The captain went to him and said, “How can you sleep? Get up and call on your god! Maybe he will take notice of us so that we will not perish.”
But, being stubborn as I am, instead of listening to what God was trying to tell me, I hardened my heart to the idea of missions and continued to pursue the comfort I so craved.
1:7-10 Then the sailors said to each other, “Come, let us cast lots to find out who is responsible for this calamity.” They cast lots and the lot fell on Jonah.  So they asked him, “Tell us, who is responsible for making all this trouble for us? What kind of work do you do? Where do you come from? What is your country? From what people are you?”
 He answered, “I am a Hebrew and I worship the Lord, the God of heaven, who made the sea and the dry land.”
This terrified them and they asked, “What have you done?” (They knew he was running away from the Lord, because he had already told them so.)
Freshman year I took a class called Perspectives in World Missions. It's funny looking back, because I completely wasted my time. I wasn't open to learning, mostly attributed to the deep fear that was rooted in the possibility that God would then call me to do missions, and my heart was REALLY hard to what was being taught. I remember at the end of the class they asked us which role we thought we'd play in missions and I was adamant that I'd just be supporting missions, not actually partaking. 
1:11-16 The sea was getting rougher and rougher. So they asked him, “What should we do to you to make the sea calm down for us?”
 “Pick me up and throw me into the sea,” he replied, “and it will become calm. I know that it is my fault that this great storm has come upon you.”
Instead, the men did their best to row back to land. But they could not, for the sea grew even wilder than before. Then they cried out to the Lord, “Please, Lord, do not let us die for taking this man’s life. Do not hold us accountable for killing an innocent man, for you,Lord, have done as you pleased.” Then they took Jonah and threw him overboard, and the raging sea grew calm. At this the men greatly feared the Lord, and they offered a sacrifice to the Lord and made vows to him.
Things continued to be hard. Junior year of college was personally the hardest season I've had in my life so far, but I continued to pursue the career I was convinced would give me the comfort and peace I so desired.

 1:17 Now the Lord provided a huge fish to swallow Jonah, and Jonah was in the belly of the fish three days and three nights.

 Then I got eaten by a reeeeally big fish.
Okay, not really. But in a sense. I hit rock bottom. I cried on my large, fluffy rug for a whole semester and thought my world was crashing down around me. So, in a sense, I guess you could say I got swallowed. And MAN was it dark in there.

 2:1-9 Then Jonah prayed to the LORD his God from the belly of the fish, saying,
“I called out to the LORD, out of my distress, and he answered me; out of the belly of Sheol I cried, and you heard my voice. For you cast me into the deep, into the heart of the seas, and the flood surrounded me; all your waves and your billows passed over me. Then I said, ‘I am driven away from your sight; yet I shall again look upon your holy temple.’ The waters closed in over me to take my life; the deep surrounded me; weeds were wrapped about my head at the roots of the mountains. I went down to the land whose bars closed upon me forever; yet you brought up my life from the pit, O LORD my God. When my life was fainting away, I remembered the LORD, and my prayer came to you, into your holy temple. Those who pay regard to vain idols forsake their hope of steadfast love. But I with the voice of thanksgiving will sacrifice to you; what I have vowed I will pay. Salvation belongs to the LORD!”
So, I prayed. In my distress. In the depths of the "belly of the fish" I cried out for salvation and rest from my heavenly Father. And he listened. And I remembered his whispering.

2:10 And the Lord commanded the fish, and it vomited Jonah onto dry land.

 And, one day, I woke up. And I was fine. I didn't cry anymore, and my heart felt like it was slowly beginning to patch itself up again. I was on dry land once more. 

 3:1-2 Then the word of the Lord came to Jonah a second time: “Go to the great city of Nineveh and proclaim to it the message I give you.”

 And, another long God story later (see my blogpost on internships & waffle fries), I'm here working for a missions organization - leading mission trips in the Dominican Republic. That whisper from my childhood was no joke. God doesn't take His heart for His people lightly.

 3:3a Jonah obeyed the word of the Lord and went to Nineveh.

 And so, I'm obeying. And that's where my Jonah story stops, for now. To be continued as I prepare to leave for the Dominican Republic in less than two weeks and see what the rest of this crazy journey looks like.

"I lean not on my own understanding - my life is in the hands of the maker of Heaven"

College.



I think I'll look back on college as a sweet experience.
Sure.
Filled with late night ice cream runs,
game nights,
and laughter.
Coffee dates,
deep friendships,
and homework assignments.
Caffeine addictions,
sleepless nights,
and Friends friday.
Yes,
College has been good to me.
But,
most of all,
I think I'll remember college as
a 4-year snapshot of
God's relentless pursuit
of me.
I'll remember college as
late night worship,
prostrate prayer,
and surrender.
Dancing in fields,
sunrise picnics,
and a hunger that can't be satisfied.
Dry seasons,
crying out,
and, most of all,
a deep, unexplainable connection
to the One who made it all.

Confessions of a Reformed Legalist



James used to be my favorite book of the bible. 
Now, don't get me wrong - James is great. But, in this case, it served as a magnifying glass to the legalistic bend of my heart.
I can be pretty analytical at times. I revel in moments of reflecting on how God has grown me over the past years and seeing the ways my faith has matured and grown more intimate. However, this process can cause me to reprimand my previous self for missing it. "How could I have been so dumb as to think _______" or "how did I not understand _______?"
This journey from legalism into freedom has been nothing short of incredible. To reflect on the heavy weight of the law in comparison to the freedom that has come from a fuller understanding of the gospel is extraordinary. It's all I can do to raise my hands and utter "GLORY."
I've gone from a faith that was life taking to a faith that is life GIVING.
I used to read the bible and see all the "DOs" and "DO NOTs", but now I see the bible as one big "DONE".
It went from an impossible checklist to a big check mark.
The funny thing is, the minute I stopped trying to pull myself up by my bootstraps and began surrendering to God, I began to grow in ways I hadn't before.

These moments of reflection are precious beyond compare.  To look back and say "Man, God, you've really done it."

I surrender all. Blessed be the Name of the Lord.

Internships & Waffle Fries



Flashback to a week and a half ago,

It's a Thursday. I'm designing slides for homecoming, when I get a text from my aunt asking me if I need an internship. Now, if you interacted with me at all this summer, you know the struggle that was my fight to relinquish my desire for control and trust Yahweh with my future. Many days and nights were spent crying out for guidance and stressing out over the blank page that was the day I graduated. When I got back to UNWSP for the school year, I started praying every day that Abba would take control and give me peace until it was His time to reveal what His next steps were for me.
Back to that Thursday. My aunt forwards me information and an application for a position through a missions organization called Praying Pelican Missions (PPM). As I read the description for the position, my heart stops. I grab the girl next to me's arm (Megan) and read the description out loud to make sure I'm getting it right. Here before me was a job that was so distinctly formed to my talents and desires, that it's as if someone had sat in on one of my long talks with Yahweh about my hopes and dreams. The position was to be the general marketing specialist/graphic designers, and perfectly encapsulates all of the things I love about design and marketing. Incredible. Needless to say, I applied for the position right away.

 The next Tuesday. There I am, debating whether or not to go to the art department breakout chapel. I finally decide to go. That was the first chapel on a Tuesday/Thursday I'd been to all semester. After chapel finishes, I walk through the Billy to check my mail before class. As I'm heading to my mailbox, I glance to my left and see a guy I knew from my freshman year at Bethel who happened to work for PPM. At first,  I was too scared to go talk to him, but as I walked towards my mailbox I felt my body looping back to go say hello. After a few minutes of catching up, I mentioned that I had just applied for a job at PPM. We talk about my love for design and marketing along with my heart for the Kingdom, and he said he'd talk to the head of marketing and tell them they should hire me.
Later that afternoon I get a call. I have the interview. Two Thursdays later, and I'm walking in the doors of PPM, where I'm informed that not only will I be paid as an intern, but there's a good chance I'll be hired when I graduated. On top of that,  they'll pay for me to go on 2-4 missions trips a year. Ever since I was 10, I've wanted to be involved in missions, but as I got older the idea got more and more terrifying until eventually I decided to do something else and instead fund others as they went abroad. Freshman year of college I seriously considered switching my major to intercultural studies, but landed on design instead.

 We serve a God who provides. We serve a God who knows our hearts intimately. I can say beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was all His doing. He knew when I was crying out this summer that He had prepared a job for me that allows me to use my talents to further His Kingdom as He continues to show me His heart for His people. We serve a God who listens.  We serve a God who is patient with us, even when we don't fully believe that He'll provide.
So that's my story. 

 For from him and through him and for him are all things. To him be the glory forever! Amen. - Romans 11:36

{Waffle Fries: The day I got an interview, I ate lunch in the Billy for the first time all semester. That morning I was talking to Yahweh and had mentioned that waffle fries would be nice, but knew that was pretty facetious. In my class, I mentioned wanting waffle fries only to be told by the boy sitting next to me that there hadn't been waffle fries yet that year, so the likelihood was pretty slim. Yet, when I walked into the Billy, what did I see, but a huge pile of gleaming waffle fries. God DOES have an odd sense of humor, and sometimes His love and providence can be found even in the small, silly things.}

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