A New Path

Mid-semester, Mom called me up with an idea. What did I think about interning with the communications department at HCJB Global? The organization was going through a "brand" and name change (from HCJB World Radio), and she thought that they might need extra help. I had been trying to get a job with HCJB for several years already, so I jumped at the opportunity, and contacted the director of creative services, Dayna Garland, immediately.

Turns out that the communications department was feeling overwhelmed with all of their new responsibilities, and welcomed the idea of me coming in for several hours each week. Additionally, I was able to get college credit for my internship, so the following text is from the required daily journaling of my experiences at HCJB Global:

21 May 2007

The first day at a new job is always exciting. New people (though I've already met several from volunteering at the 75th Anniversary celebration last summer), new environments, new skill-sets, and, well, new prospects!

My day began with my attendance at daily devotionals. It's really quite refreshing to work in a place where worship, prayer, and fellowship are the first things accomplished every day. What followed were several hours of "meet and greet" around the office, with administrative assistant of personnel, Marjorie Koval. Though the deluge of names and faces was daunting, it was nice to have a semblance of context on my first day.

Midday, I was invited to a "Lunch and Learn," along with others, featuring the President, Vice President, and several Executive Directors of the organization in an open Q & A. Most of it went completely over my head, but it was a great opportunity to learn about the deeper goings-on of the mission.

My day ended with me moving furniture, as the communications department is in the midst of a large move. However, I was also given my first "writing-type" assignment, editing the daily news, shortly before I left.

22 May 2007

Change is a good thing, and boy, did we have a lot of it today. After a year of planning, the communications department finally began the process of switching offices around, and repositioning all of the cubicles. I am reminded of that passage in Romans, "Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope (5:3,4)." Okay, so I might be over-exaggerating a tad, but the process did take a ton of effort. But our work paid off, because we finished by the end of the day. There's nothing quite like moving heavy furniture as a group to quickly bond people together.

During a short break, I met with Coral Diaz, IS manager, to go over technology policies, and I was also able to talk with Pat Jacqin about the process for acquiring full-time missionary status for after college. The experience was highly encouraging, and I can't wait to get started! The entire proceeding takes about a year or two, so I should be ready by the time I complete college (and hopefully, after my DTS through YWAM).

23 May 2007

With the move complete, I was given the honor of writing a feature on Dr. Dee Walker, the Executive Director of Transformation Goals in Sub-Saharan Africa, for the publication, "Truth in Motion," which goes out to everyone who donates to the organization. Dee is an amazing asset to the mission, and has had a remarkable life. I am so blessed to be given this opportunity, and can hardly believe that I've been entrusted with a task so special! The final draft is due next week.

After a two-hour-long date with the post office that afternoon, placing four stamps each on 256 envelopes (so the internship isn't all fun and games), I got to use my red pen on a new brochure, and also offered several suggestions on design elements. It's an interesting balance editing for text versus editing for design. Sometimes proper punctuation just looks silly when it comes to the overall look of a publication, especially when you're talking about design-laden literature, but I view this as a fun challenge and look forward to more opportunities to hone my skill.

24 May 2007

Even though I had already worked my required 24 hours this week, I had yet to meet Howard Goerzen, Senior editor at HCJB Global, as he was out on a business trip.

He quickly assigned me to find a few pictures for an article about Haiti that we were sending to a missionary couple for their newsletter.

I also did the same for an article about the National Association for Shortwave Broadcasting Conference, and edited the text as well.

Additionally, I was asked to write up a tutorial on Blogger.com.

Later in the day, I interviewed Dee Walker.

I hope that I didn't drudge up too many traumatic memories for him.

29 May 2007

There's an old saying that you can't teach an old dog new tricks. While I'm not exactly an old dog, I have been asked to ignore every writing precept I've ever been taught. I learned today that double-spacing between sentences is obsolete, commas are almost always excessively over-used in scholarly writing (including the Oxford Comma), and newspapers aren't nearly as strict in proper citing structures as your average collegiate paper. So in light of my past few edits and the first draft of the Dee Walker piece, I was given a copy of the Associated Press Stylebook to take home and peruse. It's all quite frustrating, but I pride myself in my flexibility when it comes to the writing craft, so this is something that I will have to adopt into my repertoire. It will just take a little time.

With my continued work on the Blogger.com tutorial, writing the text and manipulating screencaps of the website in Photoshop, the rest of my day filled up quickly. Dayna also asked me if I would look into information on fundraisor writing. Again, the process is entirely unique (uh oh, one of those words that Harold doesn't like - "unique"). Individualized, concise, focused, and simple writing is absolutely necessary to convey the enthusiasm required to effectively ask people to donate to a cause. Hopefully, I will get to utilize this research in writing for the Project Priority Sheets in the upcoming weeks, which is the literature that we use when meeting with potential donors.

31 May 2007

I'm starting to wonder if we'll ever finish the Dee Walker piece - draft after draft after draft, and we're still in the midst of heavy editing. Such is the reality of publication writing....

Now my internship isn't just about writing. I applied for the position, hoping from the very beginning that I could learn about "Communications" as a whole. My first opportunity for this came today when I was tasked to upload documents and create interactive request forms for the organization's new intranet site, theHUB. So I guess it doesn't fulfill the romantic dream of website design, but I'm glad to learn some html. And now I know that there's potential for similar, but more extensive, training in the future.

1 June 2007

Of course we weren't told until today that the instructions we were given for creating the intranet forms omitted an important step. So my morning consisted of fixing all of the work we completed yesterday.

By midday, I was finally allowed to unleash my graphic design persona once again, and place the finished Dee Walker piece into InDesign. Who knows if they'll keep any of my ideas in the end, but it sure was fun to play around in a new program!


Around 1:00pm, I went to a meeting about the new ClearPath healthplan, so that I could explain its aspects to curious parties throughout the ministry, being a part of the Communications department.

In addition to editing the Daily Update, I was asked to par down the source material into concise update form.

6 June 2007

Today I pared down daily updates, as well as edited updates written earlier by Nate (HCJB Global staff writer).

The other day, I found free screencast software, and thought it conducive to tutorials, so I also wrote a script to go along with it.

My next task was to write an article for next month's Truth in Motion publication, as well as a press release for an HCJB Global ministry that recently moved from Ecuador to Guatemala.

7 June 2007
8:00am - 4:00pm

I've finally been given the new project of filling in the new Priority Project sheets with information from extremely dry source material. There is an art to the process, having to create compelling material through carefully placed text, poignant pictures, and graphically-based design elements. So far, only one sheet is available in the new format, so I was given free-reign to compile all of the information into the front page, and completely design the back page.

8 June 2007
8:00am - 4:00pm

After a continual process of editing, re-writing, more editing, and more re-writing, I have fully completed two Priority Project sheets today.

11 June 2007
8:00am - 4:00pm
theHUB

12 June 2007
8:00am - 4:00pm
the HUB

13 June 2007
8:00am - 4:00pm
theHUB launches
screencast

18 June 2007
8:00am - 3:00pm

The Dee Walker piece came back from print this weekend!


There are a few "dash" typos, but I am quite proud of how it all turned out. Between Dayna, Dee, and I, I think we ended up with a fine product, and it certainly was a group endeavor.

Otherwise, today was rather uneventful. Mel and Kathy had the day off, Harold was on another business trip, Jon Hirst (Executive Director of Communications) was on vacation, and Jennifer (the marketing intern) called in sick, so Dayna and I were the only two people in the department. I supplied a few new daily update stories, and worked on the Blogger.com screencast a bit more, but really had nothing else to do.

I'm sure that tomorrow will be a busier day.

19 June 2007
8:00am - 4:00pm

20 June 2007
8:00am - 4:00pm

25 June 2007
8:00am - 4:00pm

Dayna was not at work today, spending most of her day in meetings. This left me with little to do, so Melissa suggested that I work on switching all of our Priority Project sheets from the old format to the new, as she was behind on a few other tasks and could use the extra help.

26 June 2007
8:00am - 4:00pm

PPS

27 June 2007
8:00am - 11:30am

I've put off writing this entry far too long, but it's taken some time to bring myself to this point. Around 7:30am, one of our finances employees, Kesha Tann, was murdered in our parking lot. She was only 42, leaving behind two daughters, 16 and 19 years old. I've experienced death before, but never in so violent a fashion. Currently, the police have a suspect in custody - the man who called Kesha's mother shortly after the crime and admitted his guilt.

But even in the midst of this horrific tragedy, I could clearly feel God's presence. Our staff immediately gathered together in the chapel where we prayed and held each other and cried and grieved. Counselors from Focus on the Family arrived shortly after to give us support and fellowship.

Though one of us is resting in Heaven, the HCJB family is now stronger and closer together.

Blessings on you, Kesha Tann. We deeply miss you.

2 July 2007
1:00 - 5:00pm

PPS

3 July 2007
8:00am - 12:00pm

PPS

Press Release





























5 July 2007
8:00am - 4:00pm

At last I was put in contact with Mike Dworak in regards to the CCM article I was charged with writing - goodness knows it felt like it might never happen. We originally planned on talking a week earlier, but with the office closed on Thursday because of Kesha's death and having to start work at my new paying job on Friday, that obviously didn't happen. But, we finally talked and I gained some great material for the press release.

I had intended to get started on my article straight away, but providence said otherwise. Apparently, I got too design-happy earlier in the week, and redesigned a Priority Project Sheet that was already complete. Melissa stopped by my cubicle and alerted me to my oversight, so I told her that I would recreate the work that she had done, because of course, I also accidentally saved over the original design. After an hour of work, and while it wasn't precisely the same design, I had created something that was close enough.

Since Dayna checked over and approved the design I originally created, I thought that she would like to see what Mel's design looked like. Unfortunately, she liked my design better... and I had already re-saved the old-new design, thinking that it was already set in stone. So I spent the next hour fixing the design for a third time.

Lesson learned: NEVER assume that a design has been debunked until AFTER the publication has gone to print.


9 July 2007
8:00am - 4:00pm

CCM press release
Paring down






















12 July 2007

18 July 2007
8:00am - 4:00pm
Script

19 July 2007
8:00 - 4:00pm
Script
Stylesheet conference































20 July 2007
8:00 - 4:00pm
Script

24 July 2007
8:05am - 4:20pm

Technology is a wonderful thing - when it works. Let me explain.

To begin with, I have finally encountered my first real frustration with the organization in that rather than re-doing each of the promotional videos with current information, the higher-ups have decided to merely re-dub each voiceover. While I understand some of the reasoning behind this decision - as the video intern is unable to get his student visa renewed, and we have no one else to work on the videos - the result to me looks incomplete and unprofessional. The music is now gone from the soundtrack as it's attached directly to the original audio file, and there is a constant incongruity of hearing the words "HCJB Global" (our new name) in the narration, and viewing the words "HCJB World Radio" (our former name) on all of the transitions, buildings, and other equipment filmed for the video.

I say these things, because I am in charge of inserting the new dialogue.

Adding to my frustrations, most of the video and audio files have been misnamed


26 July 2007
8:30am - 4:00pm

Video

31 July 2007
8:15am - 4:30pm

Video

1 August 2007
8:00am - 4:00pm

Video
Susie Pile
Allan Weise
Dennis Weins

3 August 2007
8:00am - 4:00pm

PPS
Susie Pile

6 August 2007
8:00am - 4:00pm

Susie Pile rewrite
John Wineman
Ben Cummings
John Hirst
Harold Goerzen

16 August 2007
8:00am - 4:00pm

I found this section to be the most difficult to write about. Nothing tragic happened, or anything. Well, my car died on me, and I had to buy a new one - but that wasn't earth-shattering by any means.

I suppose my difficulty is that nothing really happened. With every other post in this blog, I had to abridge all of the amazing events that occurred from the shear volume of them. And for last year's Operation Christmas Child processing center, I can't think of a single miracle, large or small.

But wait a minute. What am I saying?

I know of 7.8 million miracles! That's how many shoeboxes went out last year. That's how many children around the world experienced the love of Christ!


May we never forget that the same-as-ever OCC, is never a dull thing!

Unpacking my things

I'll never forget my first day at CCU.

I can't deny that I was anxious - there's just something about "going off to college," even though technically, I'd already completed two years. My folks and I were on our way to Minnesota for a family reunion, so we had to stop by the school to drop off my things. We stayed the night before at a local campground so that we could begin the roadtrip as soon as possible, assuming that it would take the same hour and a half to unpack as it did to load everything into the SUV.

When morning came, I was the first new student to arrive at the dorms. About 30 current students were standing out front, all cheering and jumping around - what a welcome! With all of the extra pairs of hands, I was moved into my new room in about 7 minutes, and we were on our way shortly after.

I suppose that this is common practice at most college campuses, but I can't tell you how blessed and welcome I felt!

CCU Band

During the final enrollment process, my dad noticed a flyer for auditioning for the CCU Music program. I was wary to sign up, because I neglected to practice during the summer, and didn't feel that I could audition without making a complete fool of myself. But he encouraged me to try anyway. After all, the worst they could say was no.

I've never been one to confidently play in front of others, so the idea of performing before a stranger didn't exactly excite me. But I went through with it, and by the grace of God, Mark Dorn, professor of music, saw potential in me, and I was accepted into both the wind ensemble and the jazz band.

I must say that band is one of my favorite aspects of CCU, and I'm so glad that I answered that particular call on my life.

And now, by the wonders of modern technology, you can listen to our music - just click on the song titles below to listen to our performances!
(note that you will be redirected to another website)

Wind Ensemble

(FTM Studio Recording)
1. Cajun Folk Songs - La Belle et le Capitaine (3:27) <-- A nice way to start off....
2. Cajun Folk Songs - Belle (3:23) <-- A fun, dance-like tune.
3. Scootin' On Hardrock (8:23) <-- You've GOT to hear this one!
4. October (7:26) <-- An absolutely gorgeous piece....
5. Between the Two Rivers (15:33) <-- I'm in two duets and have a few small solos!
6. Moorside March (4:06) <-- A great British march.

Mainstream Jazz

(FTM Studio Recording)
1. Strike up the Band (4:37) <-- Gershwin, like you've never heard him before.
2. It's Only a Paper Moon (2:23) <-- An easy swing melody.
3. Knock on Wood (7:35) <-- Good ole' Motown tune.
4. Well You Needn't (6:01) <-- Features my director, Mark Dorn.
5. Body and Soul (4:14) <-- Features my friend, Colten, on sax.
6. Chega de Saudade (3:44) <-- Features my friend, Chelsea, on vocals.
7. When Sunny Gets Blue (5:00) <-- A special duet with student, David, and my director.
8. Minuano (7:55) <-- An INCREDIBLE song - you must have a listen!

(10 November 2006)
A little rough as this was our first concert of the year, but fun music!

1. Things Ain't What They Used to Be (3:21) <-- And as we say, "they never were!"
2. Orilla Del Mar (6:13) <-- A smooth samba.
3. Swee' Pea (5:50) <-- It doesn't get any more laid back than this.
4. It Don't Mean a Thing (3:31) <-- Features the vocal jazz ensemble
5. Flight to Augusta (8:09) <-- Can we say, "funk"?
6. A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square (10:14) <-- A beautiful ballad.
7. Blues and the Abstract Truth (15:32) <-- Drum duel!!!!!!!!!!!

The First Snow

Ironically, about half of the CCU band is from Texas, most of which have never seen snow before. What a pleasure it was to watch them frolicking in the cottony precipitation! It reminded me of my own first encounter with snow in 2nd grade, and I thanked God for giving us such wonderful things as those first-time experiences that can't be described as anything less than magical!








Texas Tour




























The Great Spelunking and Cemetery Adventure

The National Undergraduate Literature Conference


















Published Works




























Poetry

Little Miracles

My time in New Zealand brought me such a passion for Christ, and I suddenly began to see Him in absolutely EVERYTHING. The following is an email that I sent out to friends and family towards the end of the PC:

Today, four really cool things happened to me! I've been up in Denver for the last few weeks, working on staff with Operation Christmas Child at the Processing Center as a volunteer trainer. For those of you who don't know, Denver is about an hour away from where I live in Colorado Springs - a family opened their home to me in a southern suburb of Denver, for as long as I'm working. I've been having a blast! I get paid to talk! And talk, and talk, and talk, and talk! What a perfect job for me, eh?

Well, onto the cool things. Midmorning, there was a press release at the PC. Franklin Graham, the president of OCC, was there and gave a speech, which was very inspiring, and there was a children's choir who did a wonderful job. So this morning when I left the house, I didn't pack a lunch, because I was hoping to get by Chipotle (a giant burrito restaurant - the burritos are giant, not the restaurant ;)) for lunch. After the press release, my boss made a big announcement: "Chick-Filet is here today, and giving out free lunch to everyone here!" Wow!

The second neat deal was that I got an opportunity to shake Franklin Graham's hand and thank him for what he does. After all of these years with OCC, around 12, I finally got to meet him.

Now one of the jobs at the PC is going through the boxes to pull donations. We stress keeping the "integrity of the boxes," because there are so many great stories (spiritual impact stories) of how God matches up the perfect box to the perfect child. One instance of this happened last year when a little girl got two of everything in her box and it turned out that she had a twin sister at home who couldn't make it to the distribution! And it happens all the time too! But I
digress... So I was working in Presort to end out my shift for the day seeing as that I had no more volunteers to train, and I began, of course, talking with two other ladies. Well, they got distracted, and realized that there was a stuffed toy which they didn't know who's box it belonged to, because it was on the table in between them. I suggested that we pray. The three of us held hands, and I asked God to give us discernment as to which box it belonged to. I thanked Him for the gift and I acknowledged that He had a child in mind for that toy. I asked Him to make it completely obvious which box it belonged to. Immediately when we finished praying, one gal says, "I know where the toy goes." And she tells the other lady, "When you unpack all of your contents, you always put it on that side, so this toy must belong in mine." Never really thinking about it before, God brought it to her mind and she knew.

The fourth occurance is the coolest of them all. Since I talk all day long, during trainings, inspection, presorting and even during breaks, I get the opportunity to meet a lot of people. One lady in particular, I've seen several days so far, with her two oldest children. A few days ago I started telling her more about these spiritual impact stories and the miracles that have happened. I was also able to tell her how OCC isn't about gifts at Christmas; many times, the kids don't get their gifts by Christmas time. It's really about getting our proverbial foot in the door of a country so that we can share the Word of God. We additionally have the Mail Box Club, which is a ten week correspondence course discipling these children in the Bible and do relief work with their communities. Boxes are distributed by local churches and missionaries, so that these people also have a place to plug into after they've come to know God. The more and more I told her, the more and more she got excited. Little did I know, she went home and told her husband these things, who got equally excited. Today she returned with her entire family for the press release. She called me over to her and introduced me to them.

Then her husband randomly asks me if I happen to be a writer. I say yes, and so asks me who I write for. "No one yet. I'm actually an aspiring writer." He then tells me that he is an editor of a magazine for Focus on the Family, and if I wrote an article on the deeper ministry of OCC, he might be interested! Even if it doesn't get published, it's still awesome to get the opportunity. But please keep this in prayer. If he does like it, it will be published next October,
right before OCC begins.

Praise God for He is so good! He has taken care of so many things, opened so many doors, and I never even had to ask! How much more will He provide for the big things that happen. Daily, He has been teaching me to have complete faith in Him. Thanks for listening... I thought that this might be an encouragement for you. I urge you to open your eyes today and look to see how God blesses you and have total faith that He will - you'll be pleasantly surprised I'm guessing ;)

Blessing to you :)


I did write that article, but the editor's boss decided that in the end, the subject-matter didn't fit into the magazine's overall purview.

Instead, I received a kill-fee (which did amazing things for my confidence, as usually, only well-established, published writers receive this), and a finished article that I will be sending out to other magazines for possible publication this winter.

Unexpected Paths

Another God-ordained thing happened while I worked at the PC; I met Christina Moos, an adjunct professor at Colorado Christian University. I had remembered that my youth pastor and his wife both attended the college, and I was sent a brochure shortly after graduating high school, but I knew that CCU was costly, and so I never pursued the idea of attending there.

While in New Zealand, however, I did quite a bit of soul-searching. With offers to stay at Crystal Springs, head down to the South Island, move to England for the summer, and aspirations to tag along to Cambodia, Australia, and Singapore, I wasn't sure where God wanted me. It seemed like He was opening door after door, and telling me to just choose one - it didn't matter which one, because He would do great things through me no matter what I decided.

But I also knew that there were people at home waiting for me, and that Angela's engagement was almost a certainty (I couldn't possibly miss her wedding). So I applied for a job with OCC, knowing that I would return home, and needed a job for the winter months.

Going back to college seemed like the obvious next step, although returning to Pikes Peak Community College did not appeal. The University of Colorado at Colorado Springs was too close to home (about three blocks), and The University of Colorado at Boulder was too much of a party school. The University of Northern Colorado was too far away (2 hours north), and Colorado College was far too liberal for my tastes.

So when Christina suggested that I look into CCU again, it sounded hopeful. I was already in Denver for several more weeks, and the school was only about 20 minutes away from the PC. After one of my shifts, I scheduled a tour and drove over.

CCU was the perfect situation for me, and I couldn't wait to tell my parents! Small classes, caring professors, bi-weekly chapels, apartment-style dorms, a creative writing degree, and a killer music program.... All of these wonderful things, and I knew inside that it would never work out. But I really liked that school.

Thank God, my parents agreed.

Next Fall, I will be a Senior at Colorado Christian University, having already completed a year there!

The following is a work in progress - it takes time to chronicle three months!

Beginnings

My relationship with Christ is a fluid thing, sometimes waxing, sometimes waning. But when I am broken before Him, He always cradles me in His arms again and tells me I am loved. Being saved is the beginning of a new life and relationship with our Lord and Savior - a continual effort to know and be known. This has certainly been evident during my time in New Zealand and directly before, a time which has further solidified my relationship with Jesus Christ and renewed my fervency to give my life completely to Him whose plan and provision far exceed my own.

The culmination of events that led me to New Zealand is nothing short of miraculous. To begin with, I've always had a heart for missions, but early on, seriously wondered if these dreams would ever come to fruition, because every opportunity I pursued, promptly fell through due to scheduling issues or insufficient funding. I thought I was ready, certainly willing, but as always, God knew better and disallowed me to continue.

Yet unbeknownst to me, my preparation began long before I was born, with a small Boy Scout troop in Minnesota, where my Dad met his best friend, Paul Huberty. The two of them, and a third boy, remained the best of friends all through High School. Over time, they grew up and their paths diverged, but our families maintained a close connection. While it took several years before I met Paul's children, I always knew about them, and when his daughter, Angela, and I first interacted face to face, we immediately formed a special bond. Over the years, and many countries later, she and I reunited after I graduated High School and realized that we finally lived in the same city. She is now my dearest friend, my confidant and my sister. Angela had the experience in missions that I did not. She answered my questions and encouraged me in my decisions and plans. And it was she who showed me what it truly means to serve wholeheartedly.

So when I was asked to apply for a missions trip to Costa Rica with Operation Christmas Child (a ministry that utilizes gift-filled shoeboxes to spread the love of Jesus Christ), I prayerfully considered the opportunity. Actually, to be honest, I rather flippantly asked for a fleece test that evening at a Bible study: "If you want me to go, Lord, have the pastor talk about missions tonight," knowing perfectly well that he was still in the middle of series on Lamentations. What I didn't know, however, was that a group returned from Morocco earlier in the morning and usurped the sermon to talk about their experiences. Given this blunt confirmation, I filled out the paperwork, wrote an essay, asked for and received personal and spiritual references, and researched the South American country. And then I waited.

Meanwhile, it was discovered that my grandpa had a brain tumor. His pacemaker impeded the process to a point where the doctors went into surgery essentially blind. My mom and I drove close to 1000 miles to support him and the rest of our family. The surgeons were able to extract a majority of the tumor, but a small portion remained, trapped within the brainstem - it was completely inoperable. He would live, but for how long? No one knew. Understanding that there was nothing more we could do, Mom and I headed home.

Summer approached, along with, this time, Angela’s High School graduation. Our original intent was to take two weeks and go on a road trip throughout the the Midwest. But as we talked, New Zealand continued to creep into our conversations. The closer our roadtrip came, the thought of missions in the middle of the Pacific seemed all the more possible. The roadtrip soon became inconsequential as we realized the significant impact we could make for the Kingdom of God.

The letter came in late October. Despite my qualifications, I was not accepted for the trip to Costa Rica and was asked to reapply the following year. Of course I was disappointed, but I knew that God had something special planned in its stead.

A week from Thanksgiving, my family received the call. Grandpa was near the end and it be any day. The three of us hurried back north, hoping and praying that we would make it in time. When we arrived, he was so far gone that they were spoon-feeding him water. But as the days progressed, so did Grandpa and by the time Thanksgiving rolled around, he was able to join the entire family for Thanksgiving dinner at a nearby restaurant. Satisfied that he was fine, my parents and I made the long trip home for a third time. My grandpa was like his old self again, which did wonders for my soul.

But tragedy struck a week from Christmas when my Grandpa went to be with the Lord - he accepted Christ as his savior only a few months before.

The opportunity for Costa Rica opened my eyes to the possibility for New Zealand. And had I gone to South America, I would have missed seeing my grandpa alive for the last time. I would have also been out of the country during his funeral, which I was able to attend.

When it came time to apply for New Zealand, all of the leg-work had been completed.

It is as if I am walking, hand in hand with Jesus, into a blackness, and His light only allows me to see the step directly before me. I must learn follow after God's direction with all my heart, until He tells me to go somewhere else.

My dad taught me this lesson: for one to know where he is, one must know where he is going. I believe this with all of my heart. And where we all should be going, and striving after, is Jesus Christ.

Chapter One - A New Adventure

“I think we’re getting close. I remember this curve... I think.”

“You don’t remember?”

“Well, it was seven years ago, Kalila.”

“I suppose... Opal Springs... That’s not it, is it?”

“No, but we’re almost there. Though I don’t remember it being exactly in that place--”

“Here we are girls,” Kevin called from the front, pulling into the following driveway.

To our left, a sign constructed of horizontal slats, and in simple blue script, read:

Youth With A Mission

CRYSTAL SPRINGS Water of life, Clear as Crystal Rev:22.1

Family Ministries Outdoor Pursuits

Farther up the driveway and also to the left, sat a squat, single-story building, brown, with a small a-frame structure, directly centered on both the front and back.

“Is it the same as you remember?” I whispered.

“Exactly.”

“Well, girls, I’ll take you to your unit now to unload. If you’d like, I can give you a tour when we’re done. Or if you would rather stay and have a sleep--”

“Actually,” I said, “We want to try and stay up for as long as possible and get on the local schedule. A tour would be great.”

“And I would love to see the base again.”

“All right then.”

More text to follow.

That night, sleep came easily, dreamless and peaceful, arresting any semblance of anxiety, and jetlag of course, produced during the previous day. I’d never slept so well, nor have I since.

What a surreal and wonderful experience it was to wake up in New Zealand. I contemplated this fact with my eyes closed, remaining completely still and lounging in my bed. The burning sensation at my feet was no longer there. During the night, I must have kicked the hot water bottle of off the bed. Unable to continue doing nothing, I lifted my head. Angela opened her eyes, as though she too was languishing in the new morning.

“We’re in New Zealand, Friend.”

“Yes, we are.” I smiled. “What time is it?”

She fumbled across the nightstand, refusing to leave her warm bed. “It’s only ten till eight.”

“A.M.? I would have thought we slept through half the day.”

“Yeah, me too. Well, we can probably make it to that meeting now.”

By the time we arrived, the meeting was already in progress.

“Good morning, Girls. We didn’t expect to see you.” Pat stood up and gave us each a hug. “I believe you’ve already met Jeff and Sue.” We nodded hello and took our seats in two empty chairs next to a couple we didn’t recognize. “This is Rachel and David,” Pat continued.

“David is going to be here part-time as our handyman. He got another job in town at a cabinet maker’s shop, and will be there for the other part of the week. Rachel has generously offered to take over the Preschool for us.”

My heart sank and I saw Angela’s shoulders slump out of the corner of my eye.

“I got my teaching certificate back home in Derby. And I’ve had experience in Preschool before.”

After a moment’s silence, Pat shifted subtly in her chair. “Now only if you feel completely comfortable with this, but right now we need one of you to help Rachel in the Preschool, and the other to take over the Homeschool.”

“That would be perfect!” I exclaimed.

At the same time, Pat quickly added, “But we have other jobs you can do if you’d rather not.”

It took a moment to register that we accepted. “You won’t be able to work together...”

“We were planning on that anyway,” Angela offered. “I was already hoping to work with the Homeschool, actually. I think I have a lot to offer them from my own experiences in the program.”

“And I teach the Preschool age at my church for Sunday School back home, so if you wouldn’t mind, Rachel, I’d love to work with you.”

“Oh, no. Not at all.”

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I noticed a sweet, musty scent upon first entering the Preschool room, whose furniture was shuffled into the middle of the floor, having been stored there for the past several months.

Mummy,” whispered Jacob, clearly eyeing a small yellow truck in one of the toy bins sided along the far wall. “Can I, can I have that lorry?”

No, my darling, but you may play with that lorry."

"Thank you." With new toy in hand, he then walked up to me and tugged at my pants leg.

"Look. Look at my new lorry. I got it for my birf-day."

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Chapter Two - The Argument

How naïve we were to think that we would never argue. Angela and I go way back, after all, and had never even considered fighting before, so when we traveled together, we figured that, of course, things would remain the same. It took one week. One week, and we were at each other's throats.

It certainly began innocently enough. Late one evening, Angela suggested that we go to the A-Frame and worship together on the piano. I suppose that deep down I was hoping we could also take the time for a quick lesson, as she promised me before we even left for down under that she would teach me how to play chord piano, so I agreed. Now the two of us, what with different experiences and all, had completely different musical repertoires – thus, she wouldn't play songs that I knew, because, well, she didn't know them.

So I was forced to learn almost every song we did sing right there on the spot. Frankly, this became tiresome after the first few and I quickly became frustrated. I wanted the ability to play the piano, so that we could sing songs that only I knew for a change. Let her learn them all! She probably felt like I was holding her back, or so I perceived. And rather than spending the time with God as we should, we harbored poor feelings towards each other and wasted time pouring through the song book, desperately searching for some semblance of mutual familiarity.

This all could have been avoided. Had I swallowed my pride and said, “I don’t know any of these songs… this isn’t working…. why don’t you continue on your own…,” we would have been fine. Well, I don’t know about fine, but we’ll get into that later. What I did say, exacerbating the situation instead of diffusing it, was, “When I worship, I like to sing happy and upbeat tunes,” and began choosing songs from my early childhood. This was true. It was also nothing more than an excuse. She promptly said that she came to worship and not to sing silly songs, to which I rebutted with the verse in Psalms that says to ‘make a joyful noise unto the Lord.’ She caved in, and the tension between us rose even higher.

Eventually, I walked back to our apartment, where I sat fuming, waiting for her to return. I’m not even sure who initiated the argument when she got back, but both of us felt strongly that the other was completely in the wrong.

And yet, a strange thing happened. Though we may not have liked each other very much during that time, we still loved each other. I still made her bed at night while she took her shower, and she still washed my coffee cup the next morning, and made me hot chocolate. We still ate meals together, took walks together, did kind things for each other… we continued to spent every living moment together. We may not have been talking, but we were not talking - side by side.

The argument didn’t last long, and there were many more after, but the event itself got me to thinking. Our relationship with God can be very similar. There are times when we don’t feel like praying, or worshiping, reading God’s Word, or spending time with Him. But when we do these things anyway, we are richly blessed. A good relationship takes time and tenacity, work and effort.

Chapter Three - Of Having Childlike Faith

With drops of dew languishing on the freshly mowed, piquant grass, morning signified yet another arrival as I walked to the small room where I taught my preschool class. I wiped away the sleep still encrusting my eyes and yawned in apathetic sentiment: Another day with nothing new ahead.

And yet, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a thing rocketing towards me from off of the ampitheatre stage. No, "Ai-ee-ah," no wave of acknowledgment, no, "Hey, you!" Just a blur of rapid motion coming at me, completely expecting open arms. By the grace of God, I caught little Tobias. And thus began the heart-stopping ritual that continued throughout my entire experience in New Zealand.

What I wouldn't give for the faith to leap into the ams of my Heavenly Father, and fully trust in all that He is, curl my head in the crook of His neck, and thank Him for the blessings that He has bestowed upon me, cry out His holy name with conviction, and ask Him to never let me go! What I wouldn't give for the faith of a child to know, without any encumbrance that the Lord is all! What I wouldn't do for this faith.

I must do, and just believe.

Crying in Vain

"Daddy!"

My little friend broke the cardinal rule of rock climbing - she looked down.

"Daddy, help us!"

"Shh," I pleaded with her. "I know what I'm doing. We're going to be fine." But I suppose that my twelve-year-old assurance did little to allay her fears. I talked her into climbing, and I was not about to let her ruin the adventure.

She trembled in response as salty tears ran down her cheeks, pooling in tremulous splats against the crusty sandstone by our feet. The edge of the cliff was inches from our toes, but I confidently saw an easily accessible ledge about a foot down. Somehow, we were already about 40 feet high, at a point at which the ground seemed twice that distance away, utterly heightened by a lack of safety equipment.

"Just don't fall, Amy." This was the advice I gave to the child not but 6 years old, echoing a similar soothing voice I had heard so many times before when my dad and I encountered hairy situations during our own experiences on mountainsides. I was used to this - she was not. My arrogance only exacerbated her anxiety.

By this time, I had crawled to the lower ridge. "Climb on down - I'll catch you. I promise." She remained firmly pressed up against the cliff face, desperately trying to grasp at any crack in the rock that might hold her small body. Her heaving chest forced out tears that had long since dissipated and she looked down upon me with absolute panic.

Still, I refused to call down for help. Her pitiful cries were no match for the howling wind that began to assault us, whistling a death-song in our ears. I began to wonder if we would survive.

"Amy, calm down - Amy. Step down. See that rock there. Put your right foot (this one, Amy), put your right foot down on this rock. Good. Now put your other foot on this one, jutting out over here."

Slowly, I coaxed her down onto the ledge. She sat completely motionless, balanced precariously on the periphery. It was as though she had given up hope. I have never seen a person so scared in my life.

Finally, I bellowed down to the campsite. A few minutes later, Amy's dad breached the viewing threshold, and we saw him making his way up the cliff. As he approached from below, climbing higher and higher, Amy leaped into his arms from about three feet.

It was all over.

Back on lower ground, Amy's dad walked over to me. Fury flushed in his eyes. "That was really dumb, Kalila. Really dumb."

I stared at him, wondering what would have happened if I had killed his little girl. Dread and remorse poured into my heart. I said the only thing I could think of: "Yes, Sir. I know - now."

In New Light

I have been to this place many times before, this Garden of the Gods. It is the go-to attraction for when out-of-towners visit, and so this is where we go when company stops by. A comfortable familiarity surrounds these grounds as I sit and watch the passers-by, hoping to see something new, something of intrinsic value unbeknownst to me from precedence past.

And so I look. There is the rock climber, wiping sweat from his brow as a sprinkle of chalk dusts his right cheek. On the other side of the rock formation is the obligatory child, scrambling across the lower boulders skirting the edge, aspiring to become the man beside him. He too, is covered in grime, agilely moving foot to rock and hand to hold across the red sandstone, working as though one with experience and the expertise of a young naiveté of danger.

A gaggle of spectators is mesmerized by the aforementioned action, watching with silent admiration. The still air is interrupted only by a passing fire engine, sirens blaring in Doppler Effect, careening towards some emergency in the distance, far away from the park. I wonder if these people will ever view this beauty in the same way again. A bird sings a mourning tune, belting out a song from a high turret in the rocks.

My stomach calls with equal fervency when a waft of lunch titillates from a nearby building. Smoked meat mingles pleasantly with soft pine and my hunger intensifies.

What is here but the rocks and the people and the children and the animals and the ambient sounds and the trees and the pebbles beneath me on the dirt path? Individually there is nothing special. Collectively, they become a concert of majesty and living testament to God's glory.

The place has not changed. The people have not differed in representation or activity. And yet, I see the special in the not-so-special. Perhaps I have changed. Conceivably, I have seen the beauty in God's creation and realized that they are all a part of His intricate splendor.

Epiphany

I have lived a privileged life. I know this. I've always known this. But there was a time in which these were just word. An ordinary ideology. A meaningless mantra. Not abandoned, not aborted, but flown across the world, and into the arms of two wonderful people. I am thankful for the difficult sacrifice that my birth mother must have made. To live in a family supported by the military, and experience cultures, and people unaccessed by so many of my American peer, I am grateful for the many opportunities she gave me. To be raised in a home centered on Jesus Christ, I am indebted to my Savior for finding and seeking me out. To my parents, my real and true parents, I am overwhelmed with the love that they have for me and continue to show. And yet, much of this went ignored for a large duration of my life. Not due to apathy, but rather, to ignorance.

My journey began on 11 September 1985, flying nineteen hours across the Pacific Ocean, and landing in Des Moines, Iowa. Apparently, I was smiling as the adoption agency representative carried me off of the gangway. Three generations were present, cooing and fawning over the newest addition to an already large family. A few hours later, my parents and I spent our first night together in my grandparents' RV, cuddling together in the guest bed, getting to know each other, learning every nuance, smiling, giggling, laughing, loving, and we drove home to Bellevue, Nebraska the next day. I don't remember much, but I do remember toddling beneath the church serving counter, pleasantly requesting, "cookie?" of the nice ladies who towered above. I remember walking over the glass-floored hallway, and looking down at the vast emptiness below in the House on the Rock. I remember sliding down my first water slide at the Noah's Ark Water Park. I remember playing peek-a-boo with Daddy during the night. I remember napping in the crook of Mommy's arm. And I remember feeling an incredible sense of security, though unable to pinpoint it at the time.

When I was two, the Air Force sent my family to Sicily, Italy. While most children were watching Sesame Street and Mister Rogers' Neighborhood, I was climbing the Swiss Alps, visiting magnificent castles, chasing pigeons in Piazzo San Marco, swimming in the Olympian pools of Innsbruck, and in the calm shores of the Mediterranean, exploring ancient Roman coliseums, running through salt mines and ice palaces, and peering over the cliffs of Hitler's summer home in Austria. Everywhere I went, I was known by all. Known by name. Recognized persoanlly, even when my parents went unnoticed. I remember Weird Harry, the neighborhood renaissance man, who used to lead all the local children around the block, parading with pots and pans and general ruckus. I remember Carnevale, with its masks and confetti. And I remember the Italian people, kind and generous, who pinched my cheeks red and declared, "Bella bambina!" to all within earshot.

At age four, we moved to Florida to live half an hour from Walt Disney World, and fifteen minutes from the beach. I swam with manatees in the Gulf of Mexico, and sharks and stingrays in the Atlantic Ocean, got stung by jellyfish, sailed in boats, watched space shuttles launch and land, made snowmen out of plastic bags filled with newspaper during Christmas, and had full run of Cape Canaveral. I saw sand sculptures, watched Japanese Onkekoza Demon Drummer perform, traveled all the way to Chicago - by myself - to visit family, dressed as a lion for "The Lion Sleeps Tonight," and learned how to ride a two-wheeler. I remember Via De Cristo, and singing De Colores. I remember learning about God from the kindly pastor, sitting before the altar during church, and I remember how happy my parents seemed when they first "felt the Holy Spirit."

Albuquerque, New Mexico was our next stop shortly after I turned seven. Here, I discovered skiing, the Indian culture, and the Mexican people, ate fry bread, rooted for the Dallas Cowboy (though I never once saw a game), voted for President Bush in the mock school election, studied my own Korean heritage, and met my first few long-term friends. Terribly, I learned about gangs, and drugs, and the fear of rape. But I also first heard about Jesus in this place, giving my life to Him, and asking to be baptized. I made my proclamation in a high school swimming pool, along side of my dad and half a dozen others. I remember the look that he gave me of pride.

Ten years old, and I found myself moving to Colorado Springs, Colorado. I gained friends that I still have today, found stability, grew restless, moved into a house, struggled with putting down roots, pleased to finally have a place to call home. I encountered death: my dog, my great grandma, my 28 year-old uncle. I encountered life, a new life of settling down (though I never truly did).

Life continued on, uneventful, pleasant. And yet, on the morning of my 16th adoption anniversary, my life changed. The world changed. Drastically. I will never forget where I was, nor what I was doing, when it happened. Algebra class. Sitting and reading "Left Behind" in a few minutes of downtime. A phone ring pierced through the ambient sounds of conversation. My teacher's face went sheet-white.

"What do you mean, 'turn on CNN?'" A plane just crashed into the World Trade Center. Oh yeah, it's one of those tall buildings you see on the New York skyline. Terrible loss, those few people on the plane. I wonder how they will fix that hole in the side of-- Oh, my Lord! The building! It's collapsed - there's rubble and dist everywhere. Screaming. Was that a person who just leaped from--

The footage was repeated over and over to the extent that no one realized we saw the second plane hit until after the fact. We were sent home. We weren't allowed back for another month, and only then, on a delayed schedule, being educated on a military instillation. It was such a surreal feeling to never hear airplanes in the sky, to never see a jet trail of any kind, save for a loneF-16, making the rounds between the Air Force Academy, Peterson Air Force Base down south, and Kirtland Air Force Base in Albuquerque.

And I was depressed. And angry. Everyone was depressed and angry, but I felt a deepness to the whole situation that I couldn't identify, as if I was connected in some way. But I didn't live in New York, or Washington D.C., of Pennsylvania. I didn't know anyone directly affected by the tragedy, anyone who died. But I could not shake this feeling.

That evening, my parents and I prayed for those in pain, for the families, for the victims, for the government, for the terrorist, for the future. We prayed in supplication. We prayed in intercession. And then we went out to eat, doing out very best to have a nice time, celebrating the special event in our lives, which predated any of the horror experienced on that day.

Much later in the evening, I finally realized the correlation. On the anniversary of the day I was granted my citizenship, freedoms, opportunities, the American way, those very ideals that I hold dear, were directly attacked. If America was to go to war right away, I asked for my parents' blessing to enlist. Not out of anger. Not out of vengeance. But out of a sense of duty. A thank you to the country who has given so much to me. It was on this day that I saw who I was, who I am, and who I strive to become.