From Cairo to Kentucky

I must have not been listening to God very well this week, because He had to use three completely different sources coming together as one for me to finally go, “Oh, I get it!” One of the first things I do in the morning, as I’m just waking up, is roll over in bed, grab my phone and read the Velvet Ashes blog post for the day.   I always look forward to Fridays because the post on this day wraps up the week’s theme, stretches my thinking about it, and lingers with me throughout the weekend.   This week’s theme is on Personality, and I was especially looking forward to learning more about the nine Enneagram types.    Kimberly Todd did a great job of giving an overview of each type, and how they are connected to others, and my appetite was wet.   I immediately began to speculate what number I was and even clicked on a link to help me find out, but because it directed me to a site where I needed to pay money, I gave up and moved on to my next morning activity. For my personal dev

It’s incredible how our perception of risk changes with age and time on the field.   My first overseas appointment was in the middle of my college years.  I didn’t travel far from home, just taking a two-hour flight to Central America where I’d be teaching English at a primary school.  I was young and naïve, and moved into a house with five other female volunteers and very little adult supervision.  We were all a bit overwhelmed by the responsibility and the independence.  Can you spell trouble? We planned weekend trips on buses to cities we’d never been to and went about our life in this small Honduran town as if we’d never left the United States.  For example, my friend and I would go running through town in our shorts and T-shirts, never once thinking about how no respectable Honduran woman would be caught dead doing that. We were even less concerned for our safety.  Needless to say, we endured groping on the street and didn’t quite no how to handle all the excess attention we wer

I walked into my first Zumba class last night.   I wish there were some way to convey on paper just how much my entire body aches today after having subjected it to “dance” moves it’s never, ever had to do before.   But as I reflect on the hour-long torture…I mean, exercise class, it got me thinking about how Zumba relates to my season of transition right now and lessons I can take away from it, (besides that I need to probably change my heritage).   I walked into the class by myself :   It seemed everyone else came with a friend, and I was all alone.   With the kids in school and the husband starting his classes, I feel alone a lot.   And, I don’t like it. I want friends to do life with.   Even coworkers who have to work with me would be better than no one.   And yet, I was in a room full of people.   People whom I can choose to do more than just stand by.   People I can dance with! I felt so self-conscious :   In many ways, (if we rely on stereotypes alone), I should have be