hold fast

I could go back and check the date, but I would guess that backpack was in my cupboard for about 18 months. I had one like it, and Edson loved it. He’d put it on, walk about, pull all my stuff out of it and put his stuff in. And so I decided he needed one of his own, for that day that seemed so far off, but that I think I always knew would happen - the day he came to live with me forever. I loved the beauty of it, the mirror image of it, that by buying one backpack, two kids would get the chance to have a bag all their own to move out of their home with. And so in there it stayed, even when mine broke - I powered through until I could get a replacement, because that one was his. There was something about it, almost sacred, holding space, all through the in-between. Some small show of faith that I truly believed it would happen - in God’s timing, not mine - but one day he would come home. One day the hoped-for would become the now-here. It sat there, through the mo...

I took this photo early this year, but I've loved that bridge for far longer.  Those blue letters spell out, “I love you Cochabamba”, and as I've gone past them during the past two and a half years, I've smiled as I've read them, because I do. I wrote about the bridge and its message just after I arrived here in September 2014, remembering all the ways that God placed Cochabamba in my heart before I even set foot here. Now, two and a half years later, I find it hard to believe all the things I didn’t know, couldn't have imagined, back then. I didn’t know that Bolivia would nestle so deeply in my heart. I didn’t know that it would feel every bit as much home as Northern Ireland does. I didn’t know that I would miss Northern Ireland as much as I do. I didn’t know Bolivia was landlocked. I didn’t know how much I would miss being able to walk on the beach. I didn’t know that through the hard times and the good, friends would become fa...

As we walked up, I told him we were going to pray, and as I said the words he repeated in whatever language it is he speaks. "Lord, heal me. Let my heart be healthy. Amen." To tell you in that moment that I had faith the size of a mustard seed would be a wild exaggeration. So go about three seed sizes down from mustard seed and you're around the size of my faith. You see, we've heard all these scary term thrown around recently, "murmur, another one, catheters, open heart..." And in our flawed human hearts, that was all we could hear, and we could think. We went in, and his doctor was wonderful. He did all his testing, said, "don't move" about 30 times, bribe him with a lollipop, said, "don't move" another 30 times then sat at his desk and typed for what felt like an eternity. As he typed, scenarios of what the next weeks, months, years would look like for the little travieso ran through my head. Less invasive procedure, wo...

I am legit the worst at blogging ever. In my defence, however, this year has been absolutely manic and doesn't appear to be becoming any less so. So here we are. They say a picture's worth a thousand words, so this will be primarily pictures, in order to up my word count. First off, school. I taught Kindergarten for less than two months this year, before I ended up in First Grade, in an accelerated class. It has been quite the experience for us all, and is the reason for about 60-70% of the mania. However, we're kind of more settled now, and we're struggling through, and they're adorable, so I forgive their madness every day when I look at those cute little faces. School has been through some MAJOR issues this year. Legal, mostly. It's been a rollercoaster in every way. We have had little to no idea what's happening from one day to the next, but God has proven Himself faithful over and over, and for that we are consistently grateful. Due to the manic...

Today is Orphan Sunday. But for me, well, basically every Sunday is spent with kids the world would label “orphans”. People message me every now and again, telling me what a great job I’m doing helping these kids, but here’s the thing - they give me so much more than I do, will or could ever give them. They are the brightest thing in my week - they love so well. And that in itself is a miracle, because as a friend wrote earlier, “it takes love to give love” and these kids, well they haven’t had nearly enough love in their lives. They light up the room with their smiles, laughs and ridiculous comments. They love each other (mostly), love their tias, love the random gringos that rock up during the week. They are a gift, and I get to see that, but I know that sometimes you guys miss out on that. David Platt wrote, “Orphans are easier to ignore before you know their names. They are easier to ignore before you see their faces. It is easier to pretend they’re not real before...

Today is World Suicide Prevention Day. To Write Love On Her Arms is running a campaign called #ikeptliving, encouraging us all to share the reasons why we're glad we kept living. My voice will just be one among thousands, tens of thousands - and it will not be nearly as well written. But I've been there. I've thought I would be better off dead. I've thought the world would be better off without me. Because while I've never tried, I've wanted to try. And that's just one step away. So I want my voice out there. I couldn't forgive myself if I thought I hadn't done anything. --- Here's the thing - my life is pretty great. It's always been pretty great. And on the day (because I can pinpoint it) when I was struck down by this 'black dog', my life was awesome. I was at uni, studying to do the job I knew God had made me for, I was planning a trip to my favourite country on earth, co-leading a team of young people I was going to...

So, we're leaving the EU. It's official, it happened. I was against it, but maybe you were for it. That's okay, we disagree, it happens, still friends. And I trust that when you voted, it was because you truly believed it was for the best. But while you celebrate, think. Think of the people living here, working here, who have built a life here - but who weren't born here. They had no say in this election, but it will impact on them, far beyond our understanding. I don't know what this will mean for them, but neither do you. However, here is what I do know, as someone who lives as a resident in a country not their own - essentially an immigrant*. It is scary to live in a country where you have no say. It is scary when votes happen and you can do nothing but shoulder the outcome. Your life is in the hands of the people around you, and oftentimes, those who shout the loudest win. And that is terrifying, because those who shout the loudest, well they...