After three years of marriage, and two cross-country moves, I think I finally have every box of my old bedroom's contents removed from my parents' house (and boy are they thankful!).
I had a great chat with a dear friend from Idaho tonight, and after I got off the phone, Josh was pouring over his Sunday school lesson, so I grabbed a box and started sifting through it.
It's so funny to me that I didn't realize the calling to become a teacher until my second year of college. It wasn't until God made it blatantly obvious that I was not to become a doctor that I realized he was calling me to be a teacher. Looking back, I think God made that calling clear from an early age- I just refused to see it. I never played with toys as a child, instead, I dug discarded mail out of the post office trashcan and pretended to write letters to students (and what an incredible infringement of privacy, and most likely a felony!). So it is also funny to me that three of the boxes I just transported home are not full of trinkets or clothes, but letters. And notes. And pictures.
I have three boxes FULL of paper!
I think God made no mistake in calling me to be a teacher, an English teacher.
The box I pulled out tonight was overflowing with old music programs, college acceptance letters, and much to my surprise, emails sent and received while in Jamaica over the course of three different summers.
My initial thoughts while reading were, "How was I ever so accident prone?" I went to the Jamaican E.R. twice, and received many death threats, but for some reason, I kept going back.
I also wondered, "How on earth did my mom and dad let me travel to a foreign country, alone, at the age of fifteen?!" The first summer I flew down there was a miscommunication, and no one was at the airport to pick me up for nearly three hours. I remember, vividly, the horror I felt as Jamaican men whistled and cat-called, saying "Come 'ere, sweet ting, get in my car. I'll take you home." I think back to clutching my bags and sobbing as hot rain poured from the sky, and I thought intensely about turning around and catching the first flight back to the United States.
But I'm so glad my mom and dad said 'yes' to Kingston. My youth pastor and his wife said, "She can do it- she'll be okay," and my parents trusted that God had a plan.
Almost daily, I have memories of Jamaica. I remember it's people and poverty, it's sun-kissed beaches and tropical waters, it's danger and crime. And it's missionaries.
Rex and Jan Harmon and Quentin and Sally Reese made such a huge impact in my life. Their examples of faith stretched me and encouraged me. Looking back, I think it was that first trip to Jamaica in 2002 that really pushed me to make my faith in Christ personal and authentic because for the first time in my life, being a Christian wasn't easy. Desperation had never felt or looked more real, and I wanted to cling to Hope.
One day, I would really love to take Josh to Kingston, and visit the people of Trench Town. I talk about that Caribbean island so often, and what a joy it would be for Josh to see the group of people who will forever be in my heart, and meet the missionaries who impacted me so greatly.
To each of you who shared in those Jamaican memories, thank you for investing in me. Thank you for praying for my safety, preparation, and use. Thank you for supporting my financial needs. Thank you, Kevin and Sharla, for seeing something in me that I didn't see in myself. Mom and Dad, thank you for trusting God to take care of me when you were thousands of miles away. Rex and Jan, Quentin and Sally, thank you for pouring your love into a 15-year-old girl from Haven, Kansas. Rex and Jan, thank you for continuing to impact the kingdom in Jamaica.
Some of my favorite memories took place in Jamaica. And that island will forever be imprinted on my heart.
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