Babi is a beautiful boy I met in Haiti. When I was there last year, Babi had arrived after extensive flooding left him orphaned. Subsequently he still had a distended belly and was a small, quiet presence.

 

Babi became one of my shadows, often napping on the porch with me as we sought respite from the early afternoon sun. The day we were set to leave the orphanage, he walked the grounds with the team helping us pray. Part of the time he perched atop my shoulders smiling and the rest of the time he held tightly to my hand as we journeyed side by side. As I boarded the van to leave, Babi peeked around the corner reaching for me one last time with tears in his eyes.

 

Babi has experienced great tragedy and loss in his young life, but thanks to Cambry he has also experienced hope.

 

Two months ago another natural disaster hit Haiti, this time shaking it to its core and leaving behind many, young and old alike, who have experienced tragedy and great loss.

 

But there is hope!

 

Reports have returned of a major shift in the spiritual atmosphere of this country long recognized as a spiritually dark place. What the enemy planned for evil God is using to bring repentance, renewal and revival.

 

For the next two months I will be returning to Haiti. My role is different this time and I am both excited and a little nervous. I will be working with AIM doing media, mostly writing, in an effort to effectively communicate what is happening and tell the stories of the people. My other role will be to assist the Project Leaders, helping to mentor and bringing support to the leadership there.

 

It is truly an amazing opportunity, a crazy door that just seemed to open right and front of me and be perfect. To be able to go forward though I need your support, both prayerfully and financially. For two months on the ground I need $1000 total to cover my costs, plus I need money for my plane ticket and insurance (an additional $500-$600). 

 

If you would like to support me, you can go to my support account and type my name "Stephanie Pridgen" in the staff member section. If you would rather snail mail a check, please send it to Adventures in Missions, PO Box 534470, Atlanta, GA 30353-4470 with "Haiti - Stephanie Pridge" in the memo.   If you aren't worried about a donation being tax deductible and would like to help with my airfare and insurance costs, you can shoot me an email.

 

Thank you all for the support you have given me since the beginning of this crazy journey. I am excited about the opportunity to work on my writing skills in a way that will help those in need and also to come alongside the leadership in Haiti as they diligently work to properly respond to the Haiti crisis.

 

Three months.

 

One-fourth of a year. 
 

Now I sit staring at feathery flakes falling from the sky willing the sun to shine and spring to arrive. I find myself waiting for this winter season to pass. It is beautiful but it is cold and gray.

 

It isn't just winter outside, but in my own journey as well. Life still seems upside down and backwards, but it is only a season and God has been more than faithful.

 

My western mindset tells me that it is time to settle down, have a career but God continues to whisper, "Trust me. Wait."

 

I move forward in the direction God has already spoken, planning a return to Ukraine. In the midst of these preparations I am waiting.

 

Waiting for the flowers to appear.

 

Waiting for the jubilant colors of spring.

 

Waiting...      Hoping...      Trusting...      Believing... 

 

Spring is coming. 

After a week of sickness that included missing out on a movie night and the one event I was excited about, PhotoQuest, I simply could not stand being in our one room apartment any longer. My teammate Amanda, also couped up because of a twisted ankle, and I jumped at the opportunity to get out. The others didn't protest since it would mean much needed rest for them as well. Win, win, win situation!

 

That was the night I met Galia, an energetic, fun, intelligent, compassionate, extreme sports kind of girl, who, unbeknownst to either of us, would become one of my favorite new friends from my year abroad. 

 

It was also the evening I first had the opportunity to spend time with Julie, see her love and passion for the students whom she works among, and who would become another new favorite friend with her love of sunshine and her plans for an army of small people that will take over the world.

It was a pleasant evening filled with hot tea, a cozy atmosphere and an inductive study of a passage from Luke.

 

The inductive method gives everyone a chance to read through the passage and make observations of the details that stand out to the person individually and an opportunity to see what questions it brings up before approaching the passage as a group. This way the processors, like me, have a few quiet moments to formulate thoughts and questions. It also assures that everyone has a chance to contribute and learn to study the Bible. At the end each member takes a few moments to come up with what he/she sees as an application from the passage. Plus colored pencils are involved! In short, I am a big fan.

 

After tackling Luke we enjoyed some light-hearted fellowship.

 

During our discussions the topic of food surfaced, as it so often does. When questioned about the best place to try borscht Galia proposed that her home was the tastiest place in Kiev. Further discussions led to me and Amanda trying to find somewhere to do laundry when again Galia piped up with the answer and came to our rescue. Her proposal? Laundry at her home later in the week after having some nice home made borscht for supper.

 

And so my love for Ukraine began with an inductive Bible study, hot tea, and an invitation...

To fully understand my time in Kyiv allow me to introduce you to the marshrutka and the low light of my day.

 

The queue for the 215 begins near the metro stop, under the bridge, a few feet from a trash can and by a man hole cover on the sidewalk. It is important to know where the marshrutka you need stops so you can join the right line and hopefully catch the next one that comes along. They arrive roughly every 15 minutes, beginning early in the morning and stopping service around 9:00... 9:30.... 10:00 p.m. or basically whenever they get tired of running for the day. 

 

This form of public transportation is like van/taxi/mini-bus with cheap fare, around $.25 one way. There are three number 215 marshrutkas that take turns running the route: one goes to the metro, one returns from the metro, and one sits in the cul-de-sac and waits for the returning van; and so they cycle. These marshrutkas consists of 13 to 15 seats, depending on which particular one you get and the size of the passengers aboard. The fun begins when you are not one of the lucky ones to procure a place to sit because as long as there is still room, any room at all, people will still get on.

 

I remember one ride in particular that required some recovery time. 

 

We joined the queue much to my dismay further back than desired, meaning we would have to stand. We seemed to hit rush hour as more and more people piled in. I was pushed into an awkward position in the middle of the vehicle. Not only were there many more people on board than common sense should allow but many of these people had personal items - bags, groceries, etc. - which were also brought on board. I quickly lost my ability to position my feet into a stance where I could balance instead leaving my upright position in the hands of my non-muscular arms.

 

One would think because of the crowd that falling would be impossible, but not so. To my left were the people I envied the most, those who were seated, and it was all I could do to not land in some poor, unsuspecting Ukrainian's lap. My right hand was behind the back of the person beside me and barely grasping the edge of a seat while my left arm held onto the handle for a vent in the ceiling.

 

At the first stop some crazy person opened the door, looked in and decided that of course there was room for them too. I cursed my short stature as I lost my ability to freely breathe when the guy in front of me was pushed back, forcing my face into his spine and painfully extending my arm.

 

I held my breath and prayed as the marshrutka wove in and out of traffic and mercilessly made sharp turns. I knew that if I released my arm from the vent handle I could never maintain my fragile balancing act. I also knew there would be nowhere for me to put my arm since trying to bring it down would inevitably hit about three people in its decent.

 

A few more stops and a couple of people exited. Still my feet could not move and my arm began turning into a useless appendage. 

 

I am sure it was only ten minutes or so but it seemed to last a lifetime. Finally a seat opened up. I fell into it cursing public transportation beneath my breath. My arm made it out unscathed except a plaguing soreness that hung around for a couple of days. 

 

That was the worst of my marshrutka adventures but certainly not the last.

That is how I remember introducing myself to our contacts.

 

Still feeling under the weather, nonetheless I chose to attend this initial meeting, partially to hear details first-hand and partially just tired of lying in a sleeping bag staring up at the starless ceiling.

 

Finding a place on the cream colored couch that forbade completely sitting back in comfort and still having the ability to touch my toes to the floor, I relaxed. On my left stood the office library of which I had already perused, critiqued and mentally listed books of interest.

 

The staff members were sitting in the middle of the room around a small conference table discussing with us various upcoming events and opportunities. It was your typical "let's make sure we are all on the same page" type meeting that briefly sent me into a collage-style flashback of my past three and half years in the church office.

 

Snapping out of my reverie I forced myself to focus.

 

Our ministry for the month would be working with students through CCX (pronounced S-S-ha), a Christian student organization on university campuses, a sister organization to InterVarsity in the States. The English Department serves students who are studying English, giving them chances to interact with native English speakers and offering opportunities to develop skills that will be helpful in their future.

 

Manna would be assisting weekly English clubs, movie nights, class visits, events such as Photo Quest, and basically anything else that might be needed during the course of our stay.

 

All seven of us would not be needed at everything and I was secretly hoping to fade into the background by helping with office work and movie nights, leaving English clubs and large crowds to my more relational, extroverted teammates. As much as I found the CCX staff quite likeable, this type of ministry just was not shaping up to be my cup of tea.

 

Comparatively speaking it was true, but it became a statement others would later bring to my remembrance with a smirk that said "Really?!?!"... 

The air was thick, stifling and laced with the smell of body odor. Sweat ran down my neck and the corridor seemed to narrow as the weight of my pack gave in to gravity and let itself hang from my tired shoulders.

 

After much confusion over numbering, my space for the evening was procured - a curtainless, few feet of "bed" that looked like nothing more than a precarious shelf from which I fully expected to fall from in the middle of the night.

 

As luck would have it my placement was right next to the door for the restroom, a door much in need of WD-40 as it whined then slammed with every usage.

 

To top it all off, my throat protested every swallow, my head pounded like a stampede of wild horses and my sinuses refused the passage of air.

 

The rocking motion of the train finally lulled me to sleep, a lulling that would happen a dozen or more times throughout the night as restroom goers, coughing fits and border guards disturbed my not so peaceful slumber.

 

By the time we arrived, I wanted nothing more than to die, or at least to just go home. We were entering month ten and frankly I decided I'd had enough.

 

After more miserable travel to the place we would be staying for a few days, an old sanitorium on the outskirts of the city, I reached a bed and crashed. Despite layers of clothing and bedding I awoke hours later chilled, feverish and jumping up to quickly locate a trash can.

 

The first few days were nothing but a blur as I tried to fight whatever had claimed my body, rising from bed only to use the restroom, which is a rather miserable affair when you have no energy and are forced to use a squatty. 

 

I managed to miss the orientation for Ukraine. Regardless I would have had no idea what I was getting into even if I had made it...

Clearing a spot I sat down on a frigid, metal bench in a buried garden beneath an evergreen, its branches laden with white. In silence I watched as powdery flakes fell from the heavens, some brushing my exposed cheeks with a cold, wintry kiss. Freezing, yet strangely content, I pondered.

 

In the spring, rain showers water the ground encouraging growth. Summertime thunderstorms bring relief from the heat, even if briefly, and bring hope to the dry, parched earth.

 

The ocean inspires awe and wonder at the life it contains, its power and its enormity. Rivers flow bringing refreshment, renewal and a place to sate your thirst. Lakes and ponds provide a safe haven to wildlife and also a great place to sit with a few wriggling worms, a fishing pole and bare feet.

 

Then there is winter, where water crystalizes. Whether in the form of ice or snow, it is cold and can be rugged. Yet there is a profound beauty in this wintry harshness as it covers all that is dirty and ugly, leaving behind fresh layers that sparkle and shine in the light making all things seem new. It is in this wonderland that our senses both yearn for and repel what is before them.

It seems to me the work of the Holy Spirit is much the same way. Sometimes He comes to us gently to refresh our weary souls. Other times He comes like a wave of power.

 

Then there are times when the Spirit comes and it is beautiful but goes against our comfort. His handiwork is both alluring and seemingly dangerous.

 

Will we choose to watch the Spirit fall from the comfort of our warm home or brave the uncomfortable for a touch of His hand and discover the wonder that lies therein?

 

 

All it takes is the colors blue and yellow to immediately take me back. . .

 

The police interrogation, the random street guy backhanding me, the miserable rush hour public transportation are not the first things I think of, though they make for great stories.

 

Instead the arm in arm strolls with newly made friends, the conversation over tea/coffee, the excitement of God opening new doors for ministry and the smell of fresh flowers for sell in every metro station are what rush into my mind and instantly bring a smile to my lips.

 

I don't know what happened exactly in Ukraine, when it became a love affair. I entered its borders tired, sick, miserable and ready for home. We were headed to a big city with a strange language full of funny characters, cold weather, and a ministry based around teaching English to university students. I expected to hate it.

 

Somehow it changed, or maybe God changed me, and by the time our last day came I was broken at the thought of leaving and sobbed more than I had all year.

 

Before October I was mostly excited about being part of the worship team heading to Berlin for the last month of the Race, but by the time it arrived I wanted nothing more than to be left in Kiev. I loved Berlin, our contacts, our ministry and hope to return there as well one day, but even as we crossed into Germany a part of me stayed behind in Ukraine.

 

I still cannot explain it but that country has not left my thoughts or prayers since, so this week I made a commitment. (If you don't know, I'm of the non-committal type.) The deadline still looms in the distance but in my heart I knew it was time.

 

In June I will board a plane back to the country I fell in love with. I will return to work with CCX, the ministry Team Manna was with during our stay in Kiev, and will be part of the staff for their summer English camp. This year the theme is "Identity." It is an option that was presented to me before I left Ukraine and was hopefully written into my 2010 calendar as soon as it was purchased. My heart leaps at the thought of being in Kiev again and it is the only choice that makes any sense in my life right now.

 

For now I'm asking for your prayers as plans are made to get me there. This time there isn't someone else creating my itinerary, searching for the best deals, taking care of logistics and things... nope this time that's my responsibility because this time I'll be traveling alone. It's kind of an odd thought.

 

I hope in the next couple of weeks to nail down more specifics and share with you what I will be doing and how you can help me do what God has placed on my heart. It is also my goal to share with you more of my memories from the land I love, since I realized that I didn't really write about that month in my blogs because I was too busy being a social butterfly.

 

I'm sick of church.

 

I'm tired of the "bless me Lord" meetings we endorse, where we gather to sit back and gluttonously devour the blessings of God and then sit and become fat and lazy instead of sharing those blessings with others. I loathe our pompous attitude that says we are better than the "sinner" on the street, forgetting it is by grace we are saved. I have had my fill of Christians hiding behind the four walls of the church and trying to make Christianity look cool, appealing, and politically correct while hoping to attract those who are not yet saved and hoping to not have to actually come into contact with them until they are.

 

When will we understand it is not about us and our comfort? It is not about our awe-inspiring programs. It is not about our talented musicians with trendy hair. It is not about our well-crafted sermons. And it is certainly not about our beautiful white washed tombs we call churches.

 

Pardon my harshness today. I am not trying to come across judgmental, intolerant, or whatever you will say I am for writing this, but we have fooled ourselves too long.

 

Worship is not a show on Sunday morning to entertain us and make us feel good enough to get through another week - a Bon Jovi concert and a few shots of espresso can manage that.

 

Evangelism isn't for the special elect dubbed the evangelists in the body of Christ, it is certainly a gifting but the responsibility of sharing Christ rests on all our shoulders.

 

Pastoring does not mean that you micro-manage everything in the church, it means you shepherd and guide and lay down your life for the good of the congregation.

 

Community does not mean that decisions are based on how I feel, what I want, or what will make me more comfortable and happy; it means decisions are based on the good of all involved, personal agendas are set aside and people are taken care of and the members have all things in common so no one is in lack. (Acts 4)

 

What if we spent less time and money being technologically advanced, programed and cutting edge and spent more time being real, loving the hurting (inside and outside the church walls) and making disciples who are actually empowered to go into all the world and share the good news of Christ?

 

What if we stopped just reading the Bible and started living it?

 

What if we loved?

 

Then we wouldn't need a great band, sweet stage and awesome program to attract people to us, they would come simply because there is power in the Gospel.

In short I am on an indefinite road trip with Kim (that is until she takes me back to GA). After more prayer and listening (sometimes it happens) it seems Haiti is not where I am meant to be right now.

 

Ukraine is on my radar for July to help with CCX. Honestly no matter where I am or what I am doing that is the only thing that actually makes sense to me and is constantly on my brain.

 

But for the moment it seems I am indefinitely wandering.