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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.
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