So... where's the beach?

I'm at the Buckboard Inn in Beach, North Dakota. Home of about 1,000 residents, a church on every corner, a (very small) local grocery, and miles of rolling hills. I left Gig Harbor on Wednesday, passed through the majestic Yellowstone National Park on Thursday, camped on Beartooth Mountain, and ended up here...the final destination: a wedding ceremony for a dear friend from high school.

Beach is other-wordly and couldn't be less synonymous with its name. There is nothing remotely resembling a beach, and visions of sandy coastlines and blue-green water are no where to be found. The landscape is entirely plains and grasslands, stretching beyond sight. There are a few reddish-colored hills that look like they have been dusted with paprika, but a deep shade of grassy yellow is the predominate landscape color.

I couldn't help but laugh out loud at the cultural differences encountered along the drive. Signs for towns like "Home on the Range, North Dakota", water towers painted with bucking broncos, and a celebratory crowd gathering together in a huddle for the Custer County Fiddle Festival. Far, far from a day in the life of a Northwesterner. The evening before the wedding, instead of the traditional sit-down rehearsal dinner, we ate bison burgers and went to the Medora Musical (a two-hour country extravaganza featuring Buffalo Dale, Prairie Dog Pattie and the Burning Hill Singers). My friend Eric and I sat shaking our heads in disbelief as the cowgirls clogged and the harmonica wailed, all to Old Glory and the flag of North Dakota flapping with pride in the background.

After a late evening last night, I was ready for a piping hot cup of Seattle coffee this morning. To my chagrin, the closest thing I found was "Hill O'Beans Espresso", about 100 yards from the Buckboard Inn. I shrugged my shoulders and walked sleepily to the espresso stand, which looked a lot like a creation I built with my little brother out of Lincoln Logs when we were young.

Inside, I was quite surprised to hear a familiar worship song playing and an adorable woman smiling behind the counter telling her customers of her plans to leave overseas in just a week or so. I was instantly intrigued. I started feeling a bit ashamed of my first-instinct stereotyping, and my heart started to pound a little as I listened to this woman share of the service projects she would soon be doing. Her eyes were on fire as she shared. It was obvious she was sure of where she was going.

After the small crowd of customers left, I approached the counter.

"I'm interested in hearing about your trip," I said. "Where are you going?"

"Ethiopia," she said back with a little giggle.

"Wow...what is bringing you there?" I asked.

She proceeded to tell me a beautiful story of how the Lord called her to leave her home and family here in Beach, North Dakota, and go to Ethiopia to serve and share her love for Jesus.

"It all started with my son calling me," she said, "he told me he thought I needed to go. Of course my answer was no...I hate bugs, I don't like heat, it was an obvious answer. But then, he reminded me of what I had always urged him to do growing up. I would tell him 'when you are uncertain about something, give it up to the Lord, and he will lead you and tell you what you need to do'. Of course, I had to live up to my words, so I started praying. I asked the Lord if He wanted me to go, that He would just make it clear. And he sure did! First, he brought me to a passage in Matthew about the harvest. You know that one?"

"Yes," I said, anticipating the direction her story was headed. She proceeded to recite the verses mentioned.

"Jesus went through all the towns and villages, teaching in their synagogues, preaching the good news of the kingdom and healing every disease and sickness. When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. Then he said to his disciples, 'The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field'."

Jesus' words sank in deep and the hairs on my arms raised a bit.

"When I read the passage," the coffee lady said, " I just feel to my knees weeping. It was clear what God was asking of me and I knew I had to leave. Days later, a truck driver came in for a cup of coffee. Clearly, he was an out-of-towner," she said with a grin. "He told me he was from Ethiopia and translated his name. It meant 'the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit'. Then, on his own accord, he started telling me about how Ethiopia needs men and women who love Jesus to go and share His love there. Now if that wasn't a clear sign, I don't know what is!"

"Wow," is all I could say back. I was fascinated, drawn in, convicted, and encouraged all at once. I was so blessed by this woman's obvious passion and her sense of immediacy to listen and obey God's calling in her life. "I find it very inspiring that you are going," I said to her finally. "I mean, I hear stories of young people going overseas all of the time--" I hesitated for a moment, as I didn't want to insult her by deeming her "old". She laughed.

"When you are 62, you like your comfort". She said. "The older you get, the harder it is to pry yourself up out of your seat to go."

"I respect that so much," I replied. "Do you have any family?"

"Yes", she said. In fact, to go on this trip, I have to leave my husband and the farm during the harvest season. I've never left him for a harvest season. I've never been away from him for more than two days."

My respect just kept growing. I thought about the irony of the coffee lady leaving during the "harvest season" to participate in a "harvest" of much greater scale and significance.

"Thank you," is what I muttered. "You really blessed me and encouraged me with your story. What was your name?"

"Bobbi," she said. Well, Roberta...but only the government's allowed to call me that." What a cute name for such a cute, joyful little woman.

"I'm Abbie," I replied. I hesitated to share my story of leaving for India, but ended up telling her anyway. She grabbed my hands from behind the counter and looked right in my eyes and smiled. "Bless you, Abbie!" she said.

Once again, God showed up in an unlikely place... in the remotest of towns in a widespread, sparsely populated state, through a Holy Spirit-filled 62- year-old coffee lady named Bobbi.

Today I woke up with sleep in my eyes and a horrible case of pioneer hair. When I say "pioneer hair", just imagine what hair looked like in days long before easy access of showers or straighteners or any sort of tools that make one's hair look decent and presentable. Showers have been hard to come by in the past few days, since I have been hopping from one city to the next for friend's weddings, bachelorette parties, birthdays and other social occasions that are rampant this time of the year. With such lack of hygienic cleanliness and all my belongings zipped into a hiking pack, I am starting to remember that adventurous, nomadic feeling that accompanies traveling across the sea.

My departure date for India is just 20 days from now. I feel like "20" is the start of a legitimate countdown. I have been etching out packing lists, studying the Tamil language in my free time, and dusting off my Indian clothing from my last visit to reuse.

There are a few major benefits of leaving the country. Namely, when petitioning solicitors approach you on the roadside as you are leisurely strolling in the city, and inconvenience you with attempts to get you to sign ballots on issues your are undereducated (like saving the habitat of threatened bird species such as the blue-footed booby). Not that I don't have compassion for these type of issues, but I will say that claiming, "I'm sorry...I am actually moving to India in a few weeks", is a quick and easy escape from hearing the petitioner's schpeel only to decide you don't have enough information to actually sign.

The "moving overseas" excuse also comes in handy when sales employees at major department stores try to coax you into saving 10% by signing up for an additional credit card. I utilized the excuse just last night when buying a wedding gift at Crate & Barrel in downtown Bellevue. I am generally used to hearing a small reaction like, "Oh, wow...ok...have a good trip." But this time, I was unexpectedly surprised to hear the sales employee inquire on why I was going.

Whenever I get the "why" inquiry, I usually dispel curiosity quickly with the brevity of my answer. I say something (almost memorized) like, "I will be working on writing projects and living in an orphanage in South India." But lately I have been questioning why I don't directly answer. Why not share my life a little more with a stranger even if it's unexpected on their part? Why not let the passion for India that the Lord gave me spill over? Why not tell them just what I will be doing instead of being evasive with a quick reply?

In that moment at Crate & Barrel, I told Anita (the sales clerk) exactly why I was going. The truth is, I didn't have precise details of an itinerary to share with her, but I did know that I was called to go to India and I followed the call. I told her the ultimate reason I am leaving. That I am simply responding to what Jesus has commissioned me to do. That I am moving forward with Him, compelled by His awesome love for me and with the desire to share His love with many in India who might otherwise never hear. That I don't have all of the details strung together nicely like a fine pearl necklace, but that things are a bit messier than that. Some questions won't be answered till I get there...and others might never be answered at all.

Anita listened with glowing eyes and did everything she could to give me a hug over the top of the counter. Then she and the woman behind her (another sales clerk) started pouring out all sorts of encouraging words. "God is going to reward you for being obedient," Anita said, "and He is always with you." Her words were so simple and so perfectly needed in that moment. She proceeded to pray for me right there at the counter in the glassware section and squeezed my hands tightly till my fingertips bent over her wrists.

Wow. Who knew this woman shared the same love for Jesus with me? My overwhelming feeling wasn't one of coincidence, but rather a sweet feeling of being utterly known by God. His care for me was so evident and close in the middle of the unlikely setting of a home decor store. I thanked Anita and walked out of Crate & Barrel with my over-sized black and white gift-wrapped box. As I swung the box back and forth, balancing it with my right hand, I couldn't stop smiling. I walked to my car with just a little more faith than when I walked in with nothing but a glass vase on my mind. I love it when God shows up.

Soaking it in.

Tonight the sky looked like a peach tea bag that had just hit hot water. Oranges and pinks melted into the Puget Sound and a row of wood pilings sprouted from the water creating vertical silhouettes that lined the Tacoma waterfront. Ruston Way is just a short distance from my sister’s house in the old Proctor district. Tonight I ran over hills, down to the waters’ edge. When I run, I tend to process. I venture into introspective realms, linger in thoughts that are deep, and some that are not so deep. I think. I pray. I recount.

This evening India was on my mind. Typical for me. Especially since I leave in just twenty four days. There is so much to ponder. It is strange preparing to return to an area with such a drastically opposite culture. Tonight I found myself enjoying a Northwest summer evening and not really wanting to leave the Northwest. I’ve been confused on why I’m returning to India, and yet, uncomfortable with the thought of staying put. So I keep moving forward, the days snapping quickly by, each one shorter than the last. Days lately have been question-filled and absent of answers. I have asked God so much, but heard so little in return. Last week, my good friend, Sarah, felt prompted to pray that I “would have peace about the unanswered questions.” I recognize that they are not something to fear, but simultaneously they are also worthy of consideration. Right now I am reading The Celebration of Discipline by Richard Foster, a believer who stresses this idea of what he refers to as “contemplative prayer”:

"We must be willing to go down into the recreating silences, into the inner world of contemplation. In their writings, all of the masters of meditation strive to awaken us to the fact that the universe is much larger than we know, that there are vast unexplored inner regions that are just as real as the physical world we know so well. They tell us of exciting possibilities for new life and freedom. They call us to the adventure, to be pioneers in this frontier of the Spirit." (Celebration of Discipline, p. 13.)

This evening on my run I didn’t despise entering the realm of unanswered questions—I let myself stew awhile in the unknown, the undiscovered, the unveiled. As the sun dipped further into the ocean’s edge, I found hope in God’s faithfulness. His close and present touch. His protection over my present and my future. I soaked in a Northwest sunset on a Northwest beach on a Northwest summer evening. I ran back to my sister’s house and laughed hysterically with her as we cooked a delicious dinner of chili topped with fresh avocado cut into little moon-shaped slices. We sipped iced tea at her backyard picnic table and talked until the sky was navy blue. Then we wandered inside to watch a movie on her couch with giant stuffed cushions. India doesn’t have couches with giant stuffed cushions, but for now I am enjoying this moment, sitting close to my sister, one of my dearest friends in the world, breathing deep and finding peace in this place where I’m at.

A little disclaimer

From this day forward, I begin my India journey. Though I am not there yet physically, I am learning what it is to prepare my heart, mind, and thoughts for this upcoming adventure with God across the sea.

Though I have been using this blog to jot down my ruminations, thoughts, and stories on all aspects of life, from now on it will have a specific focus and drive: my trip to South India ( a journey which begins on August 8, 2008).

Please feel free to drop in and read from time to time, to hear of the wonderful stories of God's hand moving mightily on a little island called Rameswaram--a tiny jewel of land off the southern tip of India.

I am thankful for your support and deeply desire your prayers. I love you all dearly and thank you for reading.