"What are you even doing over there?"

“What are you even doing over there?”

Many of you have asked me this question since I’ve been in Manila. And most of my answers have started off with “I’m sweating my life away,” which is not far from the truth.

What am I doing here? Well for starters I am living at ACTS Bible School with close to 75 students, around 20 staff members, and 982,306,185 different species of bugs that pay me visits quite frequently. I teach classes during the week about the word of God, Sunday School curriculum, prayer, fasting, and (coming soon) some dramas and skits. Am I qualified to teach any of this? No. Which is why God has let these students teach me, rather than the other way around. We learn together. We pray together. We eat together. We laugh together. We cry together. We dance together. We claim victory for this nation together.

Sundays are ridiculous, and by ridiculous I mean life-changing. It’s not uncommon for us to camp out at one worship song for a good 15 minutes. Sometimes with only drums, sometimes with no music at all. I can’t explain when or how it happens, but there comes a certain point where you don’t mind the sweat pouring out of you, and you don’t mind the heat, and you don’t mind that your hair is frizzing out of control, and you don’t mind the fact that no matter how much expensive perfume you put on that morning, you probably stink to high- heaven. I can’t explain, but you just don’t mind; because in those moments where you can’t even hear your own voice over the roar of worship surrounding you- those are the moments that miracles are born. Those are the moments that angels are assigned and released to situations all over the world. Those are the moments that time almost stops, and you are able to catch a glimpse of eternity through a peep hole in the spiritual realm.

Offering time is very special. It used to be brutal for me to watch, but now I understand. These people- some are very wealthy, some are very poor- give all they have at offering time. Their pesos, or whatever their 10% is, is placed in a large basket according to the three sections the church is seated. After all of the offering is collected into one large basket, Pastor Ceasar or someone designated lifts that basket up and prays the prayer of blessing upon everyone who gave, and upon the offering. There might be a few people in the church who have a bad spirit about giving, because we are all human; but you would never know it. When the church lifts their hands, they understand that they way to SURVIVE for them is to give.

Blessing is a two-way street here. Blessed are the ones who give and blessed are the ones who receive. It’s a simple cycle. They don’t look at it as a sacrifice, they look at it as an investment.

I’m serious.

They really do.

This blog is too long, but please hang with me.

A lady handed me a wad of pesos after I got here and said, “The Lord would have me to bless you.” Mind you, I knew this lady and I knew what she was facing in her personal life. I tried desperately to give the money back and she said, “No, please. This isn’t mine anymore. This is yours. This is your blessing.”

I understood what she was doing. She needed God to supply a massive need for her- but to remind God that she trusted Him, she was blessing someone else, in order for God to use someone else to bless her.

Is that manipulation? Some would say yes. I say it’s the body of Christ at work. Giving is an endless cycle. If we can’t take care of others selflessly, how can we expect for God to take care of us? I reluctantly took the money and then turned it into the school to be used on the students. Because giving is an endless cycle.

The boys are so kind and helpful. Any time they see me walking off of the complex, they are quick to run to my side. “Let me carry that ma’am,” “Ma’am may I escort you?”, “Ma’am you look so beautiful today!” They are always 4 steps ahead of me, looking for when to cross the street, walking on the side of me closest to the street, running to hold an umbrella over my head when it’s raining, taking down the numbers on the side of the taxi to ensure safety every time I have to go somewhere- everything. They are men of character, and they have taught me more about respect than any situation I can think of.

The girls here are the only ones I can hug. Males and females that attend church here do not touch. They shake hands only. I don’t know the rules for courtship, nor do I intend to, but they are VERY respectful. I found this out when I casually went to put my arm around one of the boys to tell him he was doing a good job in class. He stiffened and edged away very awkwardly. Giggles surrounded the circle when one of my girls said “Ma’am…we are not allowed….to…we don’t….” “OH that’s right! I am so sorry!” Being raised in the south might be the death of me one day.

This blog is too long, but please hang with me.

As I was saying, the girls LOVE hugs. They are so, SO pretty and well kept. Their jet black and dark brown eyes are something that most American girls envy. They have no idea they are beautiful. All of them hate their tan skin and love my skin, touching my arms and face all the time.

Chapel time is brutal. Their worship is out of this world with no time limit whatsoever. I use the term brutal because my American flesh takes a beating every Friday morning at 11 a.m. There’s no concept of time when it comes to worship- they are there to worship the King, with or without music, with or without air condtioning, with or without a water break. No one is too cool to worship and no one makes fun of the way anyone worships. For as long as they choose, the worship is totally vertical- and their eyes only come open when it’s time to receive the word of the Lord. I described their worship as staring into the sun. Staring into the sun is very enchanting for a split second, but almost immediately it burns your eyes to where you have to look away. That’s what it’s like watching the Filipino’s worship. It’s a flesh beating. It’s brutal…unless you join in.

This blog is already too long. I could write for hours about the different stories of my precious students.  But please hang with me.

So what I am I dong here? I don’t know. I really don’t. There are a lot of people back home that wish I wasn’t here, and there are also a lot of people back home that wish I would stay here. That’s life. I wish I could stay here too, fellow Christians.

I came here only to assist in whatever way I could. That way happened to be teaching and creating and loving these phenomenal people. I wouldn’t have minded if mopping the floors every night was in my job description- I’m not a good mopper, I’m a great laundry-er, but not a good mopper- I would’ve done it to be with these people. They have my heart and they’ve thrown the key into the Manila Bay. The Manila Bay is where all of the floodwaters from the city are emptied. So go try and get that key out at your own risk.

This blog is long. Please hang with me. I have a point. And it’s really good.

I believe one of the reasons I am here is to raise awareness. I have a big mouth that has gotten me into SO MUCH TROUBLE in my life…so this is me trying to use it for God’s glory. I am here, as so many different missionaries are stationed in their country, to love the junk out of these people and tell you about them. It is my job to believe that they are the greatest people in the entire world. It is my job to biased. It is my job to correct anyone that looks down upon them. It is my job to spoil my students rotten with cookies and candy because, let’s face it, I don’t have a clue what I’m doing in life either. It’s my job to fight for them and battle with them in prayer.

And it’s my job to make you fall in love with them, too.

Let’s level. Filipinos aren’t like any other culture in the world. They are passionate, hard-working, and devoted people that can sing and dance circles around Fine Arts professionals. But did you know they are everywhere? That’s right, they’re everywhere! They’re in most every country because they all leave to work to send money to their families. They are on every cruise ship that you will step foot on. They are in call-centers. One of my students answered the phones for a company in Baton Rouge. Baton Rouge, y’all! Small world.

They are everywhere. They are working in Singapore, they are working in Thailand, they are working in London, they are working in Qatar, THEY ARE EVERYWHERE.

Do you see where I’m going with this? No? Okay keep listening.

They are in places where Americans cannot be.

THEY CAN BRING THE GOSPEL INTO PLACES THAT WE CANNOT.

Are you getting the picture?

God is spreading revival ALL OVER THIS NATION faster than you can say “Geaux Tigers” or “Woo Pig Sooie.” These people aren’t afraid of anything. They are bold and evangelizing this nation by storm. People by the thousands get the Holy Ghost at these crusades and they are hooked for life. And they aren’t just hooked, they can’t shut up about it.

I have never attended an American/Pentecostal Bible School but I have been to ACTS and I can speak for it. When you send these kids to Bible school, it isn’t just a nice addition to their resume; it is their official charge to go and start a church. I’m serious. After they graduate, off they go. Some students are pastors that just graduated THIS APRIL and their churches are taking off. Their faith and drive is unbelievable.

PLEASE STAY WITH ME! I’m almost finished!

I know there are other countries and missionaries that are my personal friends THAT I LOVE that would argue that their people and their country is the best. AS THEY SHOULD. We are all biased to our people- we are all biased to our country.  And they can write their own blog and win your hearts. But you’re asking me what I’m doing over here, and I’m telling you. It’s my job to tell you that these are the best people in the world. It’s my job to tell you that these people are worth investing in, because they are! Because they are EVERYWHERE. THEY ARE IN EVERY COUNTRY. AND THEY ARE CHANGING THE WORLD.

What if America was called to FUND the endtime revival?

Let that sink in.

What if we accepted that we can’t do it all and we have to spread our resources out to team up with other nations to reach the world?

Let’s level again. I can’t reach the people of the Philippines alone! I can hardly speak Tagalog! I just messed up in class the other day and accidentally said a bad word in Tagalog because I was trying to be cool and speak Tagalog! It’s a struggle people! But do you know what I CAN do? I can love the junk out of these people and give them all I have to reach the villages that I can’t go into. Some of these kids are going back to Muslim controlled areas in the Philippines and starting churches with NO FEAR because YOU HAVE SACRIFICIALLY GIVEN. Thank you! There are no words for how grateful we are!

Let’s level again.

They need jeepney money to go out and evangelize. $4 a week can cover that. $4 can’t even buy some of us a full meal at McDonald’s. Think about that.

Are you a medical student/doctor/nurse? These kids need hepatitis shots. $50 can cover that. That’s less than a tank of gas for some of us. Think about that.

Are you a teacher? Or do you love learning? These kids do too. $2 will cover a pack of highlighters that will last them years. They love learning about the Bible. Can you spare $2?

Do you like to cook and bake? Or do you just like food in general? These kids love some food. They can put down more food than I have ever dreamed…when they have it. Rice is not expensive here and it is a staple of every meal. Can you help me make sure these kids eat?

Do you have kids, or do you know what it’s like to be a struggling college student? I challenge you, sponsor one of our students at ACTS. For a full year of education, it only costs about $475. I know that’s not cheap, I know it’s a sacrifice. But the difference JUST MIGHT lie in choosing to drive instead of fly to your yearly vacation spot. $475 is a SMALL price to pay in eternity when you understand that you’re not just sending it off to some face with some name, you’re charging a man or woman of God to go and start a church. YOU ARE FUNDING THE ENDTIME REVIVAL.

Go to melanishock.com, click on the Missions Opportunities tab, and scroll down for the payment links if you are interested. No sacrifice is too small or goes unnoticed by our Creator. If you simply cannot donate anything, I understand. But I beg you to partner with me in prayer for these students. They are changing the world every day.

What am I doing over here?

I’m discovering how big God is, and trying to get the name of Jesus to every living soul so we can meet the Lord in the air and get to Heaven already.

That’s what I’m doing over here.

-kshock.

I have a problem.

It’s a bad day, and I have a problem.

Yes, the bathroom works.

Yes, the water runs.

Yes I have air conditioning…in only one room of the house, but still. I have air conditioning.

Yes I have Internet. It’s more moody than a junior high female alone on Valentine’s Day, but it works sometimes.

None of these things are the problem.

The problem is that I don’t want to leave Manila. I’d like to see my family at Christmas and work like a slave for Because of the Times…but other than that…I don’t want to leave Manila.

I have another problem. I fear for the first person that asks me in December, “I bet you’re so glad to be back home huh?” Why is this a problem? Because Alexandria is not home anymore. Home is where the heart is, and my heart has been eternally split in half.

I have another problem, and that is, how am I going to keep composure and patience and rationale and class when some of the people I am closest to complain about drama that won’t last in 30 years or 30 days?

How am I going to be able to keep composure and compassion for these people when the only faces running through my mind will be my students that don’t know if their sponsors are going to come through for their tuition and money to eat with?

How am I going to keep my composure in a worship service when people are casually worshipping, restricted by who’s who and what they have on when I’ve watched Filipino’s with ABSOLUTELY NOTHING kneel in the floor for hours until you could see their reflection off of the puddle that formed below them with their tears. I’m not exaggerating one bit.

How did I keep my composure when I returned to America in 2009? I didn’t. I didn’t at all. And it was bad.

My friendships suffered. My relationships suffered. I was on another wavelength and refused to meet anyone in the middle. I hated America’s selfishness, I hated the American ways- I hated everything about it.

Jerry Dean made a profound (to me at least) statement at Camp meeting 2009. He said he was flying home from Manila and prayed “God, please do not let me blame the congregation for what they have not seen and experienced.”

I adopted that prayer pretty quickly.

Without America, the end time revival could not be funded. Simple as that. Hating America was and is not the answer.

Hating people for their “half-hearted” worship based on my opinion was judgmental. It was wrong on my part.

I have no idea what I’m trying to say.

I guess I’m trying to convey how conflicted I am at this point in time. I thought I was over this- I thought I had a great handle on it because I wanted to be here so badly for years. I realized here that I don’t- it will probably be a battle that I will need the ones closest to me to help with. The battle of your heart being ripped in half wanting to be two places at once.

I skim over this blog and apologize for the selfishness and striking honesty that might be confusing to some. There might be some of you that feel the same way- with children and grandchildren living hours/cities/states/or continents away from you- maybe some of you have parents far away- and your heart is ripped in half as well. For whatever reason you have been placed so far away from where “your heart is,” I pray today that God gives you peace that passes all understanding. I truly do. From the bottom of my heart.

I have a problem.

Yes, it will be nice when the Internet is solid and I can update my phone. Yes, it will be nice to drive again and get out and GO whenever I need/want to. That will be oh so nice. It will be nice to dive into some gumbo and chicken and a fountain Dr. Pepper…

But where am I going to find lumpia in the states? What am I going to do when my smile is returned with bitterness at Kroger? Where am I going to find street kids to play with and give extra pesos to? How am I going to refrain from back-handing spoiled rotten kids at camp complaining about the heat and yelling “YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT HEAT IS LIKE UNTIL YOU CAN’T DECIPHER IF WHAT IS ROLLING DOWN YOUR NECK IS SWEAT OR TEARS, YOUNGIN!”

Ok, I’d never yell at a kid and say that. But I hope some of you laughed at that visual.

Where am I going to find cute handkerchiefs and pandesal and pomello and skyflakes? Will I even need a handkerchief in air-conditioned church and padded seats? What is cold weather EVEN GOING TO FEEL LIKE when I feel it again?

These may not be problems to you, but these are PROBLEMS to me.

What am I going to do when a typhoon or strong floods slam Manila and I’m 10,000 miles away from my students and kids? How will I protect them? How will I sleep knowing that they are stranded on their roof and their precious items they have treasured for so long are probably ruined? How will I help them when they have a fever because of the mosquitoes that the storms bring?

What about Mark? And Eliaza and Eliel and Ruel and Japhet and Lexi from the Coffeebean House and Jing and Jose and little Mark and Reecie and Glenda and RJ from Kenny Roger’s Restaurant...you may not know these people but I know them. What about them? I can’t just leave them!

It’s a problem.

What about Dexter the street kid that I met today and gave 5 pesos to? What about him? Who is going to smile at him and take his hand and hug him tight and say “Mahal Kita (I love you)…”

The tables have turned. I thought I could come over here with an understanding of “just 5 months.” A lot of people made the comment on my way out of America, “Kendra this will be so good for you to get out of your system.”

The self-control I exercised in those moments- the half cannot even be told.

I can’t get it “out of my system.” I can’t just return home and resume life thinking “oh that was such a great time, hope I get to go back one day.”

Nope. I’m ruined. I told you, people, I have a problem.

I have a big problem.

I hope none of this has offended anyone. Forgive the raw honesty if it did offend, please. It was not my intention at all.

The purpose was only to inform you, that….

….I have a problem.

I'm used to being stared at.

I am used to being stared at. 

Before you think this is a very arrogant post, please allow me to further explain. 

Because of the different circumstances that I have and have not been able to control, I am used to people staring at me. At school, I would break their trance with a smile that indicated I was waiting for their question that was obviously on their mind, hence the staring. The question was usually a stuttering statement; "You...uh you're uh...you're so white. Have you ever been to a tanning bed?" 

Some of these questions were excellent conversation starters. Some would innocently ask personal questions out of curiosity and I was always happy to answer them. Questions like, "Why is your hair so long? Why do you always wear skirts? Why are you so short? Why are you so white? Why are your glasses so big? Why do you talk like that? Where are you from, the sticks?" 

I always smile. I'm used to staring. I also have a sick and twisted sense of humor that pushes me to catch their eye and smile/stare back whenever they try to steal a second look. This often happens in grocery stores with the soccer moms that just can't understand my wardrobe. They give me a silent stare that screams "oh bless your heart.." and I give back a smile that screams "not a good time to ask you to church? Ok. I'll try next week!" 

In a world that is eaten UP with insecurity, I have managed through God Almighty to be very secure in my lifestyle choices. Don't get me wrong, everyone has insecurities to work through- I quit counting at 94 of the insecurities I have to give to God every day. But as far as the reason behind the things I'm stared at for- I'm pretty immovable. My white skin I can't help, but my sacrifices in my personal walk with God that just so happen to change my outward appearance, those can't be touched. 

So, back to what I was saying. I'm used to being stared at. Yes sometimes it gets old, and yes sometimes I want to ask them if they can stare somewhere else. But in 22 years it's become very common. 

Again, please do not think this is arrogance. These are just facts. And any woman with the same background or lifestyle preferences/convictions/what have you are probably waving their hankies reading this. It's something that the men in our lives aren't trained to look for- and that's fine. We still love them.

All of the reasons for staring stated above disappeared when I landed in Manila. The Philippines is an overall very modest nation- even in the hottest of temperatures you will see long sleeved blouses and pants. They have me beat for sure- my short sleeves are my saving grace some days. 

The new reason for staring is not that I am just an American and they think I'm loaded (which is HILARIOUS), but it's because I'm white. 

And not just white. 

Translucent white. Snow white. Xerox paper white. In a nation with beautiful caramel- chestnut skinned people everywhere you turn. 

So they stare. And I catch them. And they don't stop staring. And then I smile. And then they smile back. And they say "Hi ma'am!"

The children come up and take my hand and put it on their forehead. It's a sign of respect, and it's also them thinking that I am old. I'm trying to get over that. 

Some shy children slowly reach out a finger to touch my arm. They are afraid of someone so white...so imagine their surprise when I reach out to hug them- it's like they have found the real, live, white Bigfoot! :)

As my schedule allows, I will walk to the nearest mall about a block or two away to eat lunch/dinner and study at a coffee shop that has wireless when it is in the mood to have wireless. I try to eat at the same places to build relationships with the waiters and waitresses so that the Bible school students have contacts for Bible studies after I leave. I have met some incredibly hard workers in these restaurants that are so hungry for God. And yes, they stare too. But I don't mind. 

Today I had a few hours free before I resumed my duties at the school. I walked to Robinson's and asked for a table at a place that has great beef. Ladies and gentlemen, it's hard to find fabulous meat here. I will just leave it at that. 

I greeted my usual waitress and we made small talk about the day. She then reached for two menus to seat me. 

"Table for 2 ma'am?" 

I smiled, "No ma'am it's just me today." 

She formed this puzzled look on her face and looked behind me. 

"Table for 2?" she asked again, very confused. 

I laughed and held up my index finger and said, "One."

 Still so puzzled, she nodded and went to check availability for a table for one. "That's strange," I thought. 

Then all of the sudden, I felt a tangible brush on my arm and looked behind me. No one was there. 

"I bet the Bible school kids followed me and their playing a joke," I wondered. I walked around the corner, then the other to check. No one was on this floor of the mall. I stood and waited for the waitress to return. 

Again, a breeze swept by, like a person was hurriedly walking. I looked around and saw no one. I closed my eyes and said, "Ok God. It's been a long day and I'm a little slow sometimes but I promise I'm listening." All at once, a scroll appeared as soon as I closed my eyes of the scripture I have read so many times, Psalm 91:11. My eyes tightly shut, I read and whispered, "For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways." Instantly, I felt the brush again. I knew I was finally understanding. A cloud of peace instantly overtook the atmosphere where I was standing, and I couldnt stop the tears as they begin to fill my eyes.

 The waitress came back, still slightly puzzled and said, "Table for one, ma'am?" 

"Table for t-t-two," I stammered, "I..... think someone is meeting me here."

She glanced over my shoulder and stared. I don't know what she was staring at...or who she was staring at....but I do know that I was not alone today. 

I'm used to being stared at.

God help me to never fall so deep as to lose His presence. My flesh will always be my HUGE stumbling block, but may God go before me to help me choose to chase after His spirit and will- never my own. 

Galatians 6:14 "But God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom the world is crucified unto me, and I unto the world." 

Let them stare. 

-kshock. 

First step of the journey- and painful goodbyes

It was a muggy morning in August of 2009 when I started for the airbase. I was taking a few classes there for the time being, trying to get a good jump start to any kind of college education that I desperately needed after a year of delays. 

I would watch the planes take off until I couldn't see them anymore in the clouds- and I would angrily whisper at God, "When is my turn? When will it be my turn to not have to go into boring classes and drive to that airport knowing I won't be back for a few months-year?" About the time I would pray my impatient prayer, it would be time for me to get out of the car and walk into school blind due to the humidity of Louisiana and the large glasses that I wear every day. Some times it just isn't worth unfogging them. Jordan Mallory understands this. 

It was a muggy August morning when I actually was headed to the airport instead of school one day. The destination was Mattoon, Illinois for the funeral of a hero, Barbara Willoughby. A funeral that I still can't talk about because in my human, non-eternal, selfish opinion, should have never happened.

It was a muggy October evening taking some of my kids home from POAKids when little Davontae asked "Miss Kendra, are you going to move to the Philippines one day?" A lump in my throat began to form. "Yes I am. But don't worry little man, that won't happen for a long time." About that time, Kayla popped up from the back seat, "Are you gonna love those kids more than you love us and forget about us?" The lump in my throat shot to my eyes. "No Kayla, I would never forget you- but I do love the kids in the Philippines as much as you guys and pray for them just as much too." Suddenly the bitterness of being "stuck" in my will had turned into the fleeting thought of "Wow, it's going to be hard to leave this place and these kids." But that was so far away. Too far away. I had a secular plan I had to complete before I could go to the Philippines. 4 year degree, then a blessing from my parents and pastors in order to go. I hated it, but I'd hate to suffer the repercussions of not being submitted to my pastors and parents rather than studying hours and writing a few papers. 

It was a clear day in Louisville, Kentucky when a few random friends/acquaintances piled in a car after a General Conference day session to journey to eat at P.F. Changs. I sat at the table full of girls and began to survey my surroundings. A girl, sitting down the row who had an excellent job working with something in fashion that she was just so pumped about. Another, I'm front of me, who was 22 when she got a jump start on her Masters degree and was already student teaching secondary education. Brilliance everywhere. Couldn't hurt, right? You are what you surround yourself with, right? Another girl down the row was also accepted and working early on an amazing degree in a prestigious university. Chit-chat died down when the appetizers arrived, but the daunting question that I just didn't feel like answering was headed my way. I could feel it. Not but a few seconds later, "So Kendra, what are you doing with your life?" I wish I could tell you that I felt inferior and insignificant. I'm sure deep down somewhere I did- but at that moment those feelings were absent. I took a sip of water before I began. "Well I'm a Religion major doing online classes and I'm working at the church on this huge project based on Hosea 4:6-" Someone broke in, "So what can you do with a religion major?" Gripping my napkin under the table I smiled and said, "Not a lot, but I enjoy it very much." Silence began to fall around the table. A girl I had seen for years but never had much interaction with asked, "Weren't you like obsessed with the Philippines at one point?" I laughed, "Yes I still suffer from that. The next step for me is missions work there whenever God says that it's time." Again, silence at the table. Thankfully I saw our waiter emerging from the kitchen with our food, so I could at least think about lettuce wraps instead of how I felt like my life was at a standstill. Someone blessed the food, and all of the girls picked up their forks to begin eating. Sophisticated, well dressed, successful girls with degrees- and here I was with what? Faith and hope in "maybe one day?" I bit my lip holding back hot tears as I took the chopsticks out of the silverware and dove into some brown rice. The irony was almost tangible sometimes. 

The same evening I was invited to an MK dinner in the hotel. I felt a little out of place seeing as how I wasn't a missionary kid, but right at home all at the same time. I sat by a friend from Africa that I had connected with years ago. Just being around these people gave me an energy I had never felt before. They didn't care about status or position, they cared about each other, they cared about unity/community. They cared about the anointing. They cared about the fact that Jesus is coming soon and there is still so much yet to be done. 

Cylinda Nickel lead the prayer that roared in my ears for months after I had left Louisville. MK's began to lay hands on each other and pray for anointed prayer cloths, mind battles, spirits coming against their countries, etc. My mind was blown. I had never in 21 years felt the power of God like I did in that room almost instantaneously. 

I tweeted about it. 

James Poitras tweeted me back. I felt so cool that he tweeted me back. He's the fearless leader over the Aimers and a bunch of other official things that are on the official website if you want to go check it out. I don't even have a link to that. But just take my word for it, he's great. 

I went back to my room that night, and I noticed that my usual prayer  had the bitterness totally strained out of it. I prayed "God, you know my heart. You know where I want to be. You know where I am. Help me to be PRESENT, wherever I am, until your ultimate plan is fulfilled." 

It was a cold December morning when my parents called me downstairs and told me that they felt that the season for me to go was upon us. My degree was nowhere near complete. I was just getting to a comfortable point in ministry. I had fallen in love with my kids. I had fallen in love with my church. I was FINALLY OKAY with where I was in life- and now this. Don't get me wrong, it was clearly my dream and the will of God- but now? So I did what any girl would do. I cried. And ate Frosted Flakes. And stared out the kitchen window in amazement as the process quickly began. 

This blog is already too long. If you're any kind of English or marketing major you've probably shot this up 27 times already. I understand. I'm trying to wrap it up. 

The point is that this morning, a muggy August morning, I finally got in the car and headed to the airport to get on the plane that would take me "home" for the next 5 months. I cried the entire way there. Bradyn put his arm around me in the back. Only made me cry more. I get out to see friends at the airport with tears in their eyes who have heard me go on and on and on about the Philippines for years...and I silently wondered, "Why did I never factor in all of this?" 

Hugging my family goodbye was worse than anything I could have ever imagined. My dad told me he was proud of me. My mom told me she loved me. My brother asked if I was okay. Am I okay? I wanted to knock him upside the head. I hugged him tight and said "No." 

I walked through security and turned for one last look at the people closest in my life. I tried to hold it together and smile, but as soon as my head turned, the loud sobs came out of nowhere. The kind of crying that makes even you uncomfortable but you can't control it. The flight attendant at the gate looked at me with pity and followed me into the plane. Now that, my friends, is when you know you're a hot mess. I sat down in my seat and just gave up on wiping the tears away as I whispered, "Oh God, what am I doing? What have I done?" My friend Bridget that AIMed in Japan described it the best, "It's the most helpless feeling in the world." 

You'd think the sobbing would stop after a 45 minute flight. Negative. It continued through Houston and I didn't care who saw. I racked my brain for an uplifting song to hum or a scripture about peace to recite. I started humming one of Israel's- "I won't delay, I won't hesitate, I will obey your call and abandon all to see the power of God, your glory revealed, my nation healed." 

Probably a bad idea. More sobs. But it brought a peace and stability that was absent for the last 3 hours. 

I know this is lengthy. I do apologize. The other entries won't be this long. 

Some people dream of being the President of the United States, some a big CEO or a famous athlete. Some people dream of their band taking off the ground and charting in the top 10 of iTunes. Some people dream of being a doctor or studying at a prestigious university. 

I dreamed of being a missionary. To one of the greatest countries in the world-ripe for revival and full of life. 

My education isn't finished. I don't bring in 6 figures. I'm not a prodigy or a genius. But I can honestly say that if I died in the next week, I will have lived my life with no regrets. 

Many have chuckled and said, "Ha, a missionary?! Well, to each their own. That's just such a hard life." 

Yes to each their own. And to me, today, I feel like a 5 year old that has been named queen of the world for 5 months. Better than 6 figures and a wall full of certificates. I'm going to be a missionary. God directed it. God is here. He's with us in no matter what path of life we are in. 

My plane is about to land in Manila on a hot, incredibly hot, muggy, rainy evening. I've already had quite the chat with Satan, the accuser himself. For those of you that don't believe in letting the devil know what's up, I encourage you to accept Christ's DNA inside of you and let him know. I've reminded him of where he belongs and where he will wind up when it's all said and done. I've also let him know who the King of Kings is for good measure, just in case he forgot. I've also told him about many of you that he's tried to destroy and failed miserably. Then I recited some scripture to him and he cut the conversation short. 

America, you're not ready for what is about to come out of Asia. And I'm praying financial blessings every day for those of us back home that can fund the heroes on the field ushering in this end time revival. 

"Some pray, some give, and some go. But it takes all of us." -Genny Miller, missionary to Asia

"Here am I. Send me." -Isaiah

"I won't delay, I won't hesitate; I will obey your call and abandon all to see the power of God, your glory revealed, my nation healed......"

-kshock. 

Underdog

In the movies and old storybooks, there are tales of the underdog and how it rises to the top. The underdog always wins. The rule of ancient literature is that a story usually ends in a wedding or a funeral- happy or sad. Usually though, the underdog always wins because the reader needs to be satisfied.

That isn't reality.

The reality is that everyone thinks they are the underdog, and no one thinks they are the enemy.

So I can imagine the pickle that is presented to God  (He is never in a pickle by the way, and no the Message version did not tell me that) when a few of his children read Psalms and cry, "Give my enemies what they deserve God! I will wait on you!"

There's nothing wrong with reading Psalms. Or the Bible. Or praying Psalms.

But past Psalms, there are the 4 Gospels that tell the story of how Jesus died for all.

Kinda throws a curve ball into the whole "Avenge mine enemies, O Lord" thing, huh?

So imagine the pickle when God's children are looking up at Him begging Him to kill the other and vice versa. I wonder what God thinks?

God said something when He was teaching one day on a mountain about this whole situation. He said "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them that despitefully use you, and persecute you. (Matthew 5:44)"

Those are the hardest words I've ever eaten. And I am determined that I will not pray the Psalms prayer until after I make the Matthew prayer the Bread that my body depends on.

 ...because in the end...the underdogs...ALL of the underdogs win. And the enemy will be defeated. It will be his funeral, and afterward there will be a wedding and a feast...

Because HE wins. God wins. Forever.

One day.

One day I will build an orphanage with a similar view surrounding it. One day. 

Peace

-kshock.

And when words fail...

....sometimes you just have to try and tell the story with a picture.

Divide and conquer. OR. Just let loose and conquer it all.

-kshock.