chaos. 
chaos is the word I wrote on my hand last night before I went to bed. I can explain; one of the movement type things I follow is called Beauty in the Common, and they have a lent photo challenge. Yesterday was the word simple. And last night I didn’t want to forget to be looking for beauty in the chaos today so I scribbled it on my hand. I figured I’d have a hard time finding chaos, (as things felt like they were finally slipping into some wild form of rhythm) much less photography it- but it’s not really about the pictures. [ps. I totally recommend checking out beauty in the common or the common year, their parts of the same project, super cool, I love it]. 
I was wrong. Chaos cane knocking a my door at approximately 8 o’clock this morning. Now I had been up since 5:30, so why did I get knocked off my rhythm. I wish I had an answer. I wasn’t planning on going into the foundation until about 9am, opposed to the regular 7:25am. I’m now sorta in charge of worship for teams and needed to finish lead sheets abs the setlist as well as throw together a devo for the soccer girls and hash out the details of a small devo series Im sort of kind of putting together. I was very much anticipating my quiet morning of work on the couch in my jammies. But no. Not only did I not accomplish much from that list, but I cried from approximately 8:20-9. Why? I have no clue. For this internship I’m reading a book called Secrets of the Secret Place. It’s pretty good, I quite enjoy it. You should go ahead and read it if you’re at all intrigued. So get this, yesterday I was reading about the Secret of Tears, which is somewhat about how tears kind of draw God. Not really, that’s a terrible summary but anyways, the story. So I’m getting annoyed, my timeframe has been squeezed a bit so I go to get ready, which includes a shower because I like to fresh. As soon as I get in the shower I’m sobbing. Not like wimpy little tears but like big heavy heaves for air and ugly faves and fat tears. It doesn’t stop. So I go into my room and pull out my journal and start yelling at God. Profanity included. I was not happy. Something along the lines of “why on earth is this occurring? I was feeling ok. I was getting to normal!!!” But think like three pages in light green ink, splattered with tears. And in those few pages my desire to be hugged by my mom was oh so terribly strong. So it’s 9 o’clock now. I’m supposed to be at the foundation. I begin crying out to God in a less angry, more “you’re literally all I’ve got so please just show up for me right now.” And then I put my big girl panties on (figuratively, but I did get dressed somewhat around this point) and headed over to work. Did the water works stop? Absolutely not. I was sitting in the hallway scribbling some more in my little journal with red, teary eyes and the blotchy face that most white people who cry are plagued by. Low and behold, here come my English class of gen students. Apparently I didn’t look as bad as I thought because they just gave me high fives and kept on their merry way. And then my day just got kind of normal. 
I helped out with Christian Studies for maybe thirty minutes and then went to count the donations I’ve been counting for three days now. Here’s something Colombians teach you, after touching any money you must wash your hands because money is gross and full of germs. Really. Nasty. And at 12 o’clock I went to the second floor to retrieve my lunch. Sat down to a pink salad of I-don’t-know-what, some sort of yummy soup, a potato, rice and mango juice. Chit chatted over lunch, peeked into sala cuna to say hi to my beloved tinies and then back to the office to count. While counting is boring, I rock out to Rend Collective and get some thinking time. You wouldn’t believe how much this culture ignores personal space, personal time, etc. so sometimes a little solitude is really comforting. And my brain gets a rest from translating. Then, at 1:40pm, I dipped out of there, switched into my soccer gear and made the eight million mile up to the concha [aka soccer field] where I attempted some drills that I was not very good at and then played in a scrimmage that I did a tad bit better in. After two hours of my poor, clueless feet suffering with that darned soccer ball, I did the devo for the girls [which was something about pressing into pain to experience growth, thank you Jason]. I think it went okay. And then back to apartment for a Nike workout. Why? Because I promised I’d actually finish a Nike workout program for once [8/10 workouts]. So here I am now. Doing better than this morning, listening to Chicken Fried (Zac Brown Band), in a fuzzy blanket, low lighting, writing to whoever wants to read this. 
Was it a good day? Not super. But it was an ok day. It got better after what felt like a disastrous morning, which a few weeks ago, I might’ve let destroy my entire day. But I texted a sweet friend for some prayer, I prayed [and yelled], ate food and breathed a bit. And I’m still here. And after my devo to the soccer girls, I couldn’t just leave Colombia. What type of role model would I be?! So thank you Jesus for maintaining the rest of my day and not letting me get lost in the raging waves of wildness that sometimes stir up. You, Yahweh, are truly good and merciful and loving. 

And an added benefit my grandma DeeDee accidentally called me, but I got to hear her voice and it made my heart smile. Not missing your people is hard when they’re so great [and make such amazing food]. I am collecting stories and foods and hot chocolate recipes to share with them all. Thank you Jesus for giving me such good people to love and be loved by. 

I guess the beauty in the chaos is the waves; particularly, the waves once they’ve minimized and have a cloudy sunset over them.

Hope you have a good night. Love you humans a whole bunch. 

The end.