Yellow- my favoritest color of all the colors.
It can be in many forms, although neon, that’s pushing it. From the softness of butter to the sharp rubber-duckie range, all the way into the almost orange of a sunflower petal [my favorite flower]. Yellow is my favorite because it is what I consider the color of joy. It can be sweet and soft, or loud and bright, proclaiming it’s excitement to be so full of life. Everyone goes through times that feel utterly absent of joy, that is when I discovered that yellow was my favorite. In the midst of what sometimes felt like nothingness, this simple color could make my heart pound with joy. I do not think you can be upset with yellow, that is of course, unless it’s a terribly hideous shade p, but yellow rarely comes in those. Yellow is the color of sweet, overflowing, giddy, gentle, exuberant, energetic joy. So, simply yellow is about the simple joy that I am running head on into in this little spurt of a season.
Friday I bought a ukulele. After much deliberation with my sweet pal, I named him Francis. I think I got the name from the band Francis and the Lights- I encountered a song from them this summer- high quality music, totally recommend:
So I’m learning ukulele and greatly enjoying it.
A team arrived Saturday afternoon, a bit late, as there was a hurricane going on. Pick up, although delayed, went rather smoothly. Once back at the foundation, we started onto the schedule, which took us promptly back to Communidad, our church. My sweetest friend knew I had had a iffy day, and she was always aware that my roommates and I are currently on the Whole30. Which, very unfortunately meant my cranky could not be soothed with chocolate. And so this nut head, terrifically sweet friend of mine brought me a tomato. Yes. You read that completely correctly, a bright red tomato. I laughed my head off and held this veggie in my hand the whole entire service!
Now often when rams come, they are the ministry staff at the end of the service. That means they, with translators at side, pray over the members of the church who request intercession. It is usually great. Usually, I am pretty keen to be involved in this. The church I grew up in trained me into prayer-warriorness, and praying is one of my most favorite things, ministry wise. Well, by this point, I had been in a airport for at least four hours, I was tired, lacking sleep, minor headache and my feet hurt. So I opted out. Not ten minutes into the ministry time, a leader called me over to pray for someone. As soon as she waved to me, I knew exactly what she wanted. My heart was giddy & my tiredness completely fled my body. I flung my backpack off and hustled over to her and a guy probably about my age. “Pray whatever you feel”, that was all she asked of me. Ok, easy. For a few seconds, I just waited for the words to come to my mind. And they happened to be some of my favorite words to have the privilege of speaking over someone, “Thank you God for this creation. Your son. From his head to his toes, you looks at him and you say ‘it is good’. You delight in your child. You, are a son of God. He is so in love with you. God, thank you so much for how much you love your child.” I’m smiling while writing this, because I so delight in that time, but as I continued to pray, I began to cry. My heart felt so tangled up in this guy. I prayed over the way people had failed him and left him and abandoned him, I wept with him. His hands were gently opened to God, and occasionally, he would draw them back to his sides. But I am a worshipper. One of the things God planted deep, deep, deep in my soul is worship. I felt like I should put my hand under his. And slowly, our hands moved higher into the air, lifted up to God. Him crying out to his Savior in Spanish, me singing praises, this time also in Spanish. I’ve had a lot of beautiful moments in this so-far-still-young life, but I think this might have been the most beautiful. At some point in our short fifteen minutes together, he was drawn to his knees pleading with God. I am trying my level best to explain this moment of intimacy and beauty, but words cannot come close. Interceding on behalf of someone is so special, to meld your voices as one and cry out with o the Creator of yourself and of this other human, that a person would becomes to vulnerable as to let you join them in pleading to the King of Kings, and that He would lend His ear. It is- there’s not a word for how humbling and powerful that experience is. After a hug and this in both sides, we parted ways.
The next was Santo Domingo. Tale usually leads, but this time I got to take the reins. We get on a metro, which we ride to the cable cars, which climb up up up the mountain side, to the last public stop, which is Santo Domingo. Our church, has a somewhat extension there. It’s every Sunday evening at five o’clock pm. It is not associated with Viento Fresco, but we get to take teams to pray and minister. I was so exhausted and frustrated with the team. We were running behind schedule, and being late is a huge bother to me. I think it ends up being disrespectful and shows such a lack of intention. So when we arrived fifteen minutes past the scheduled time, I was not the happiest Maggie I could be. That is internally, externally I was smiling and saying “let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” Internally, I was fuming! But I love Santo Domingo. And all that joyful yellow came rushing back in as soon as Worship started. Colombians dance. And I mean jumping and swaying and hopping and moving with incredible rhythm. They have something i call the two-step, I don’t even think they do it intentionally, but if they don’t have a dance to do, they just hop back and forth on each foot, two steps each. White people, you could learn a lot from this simple little very on beat move. The color flags come out, people are worshipping. Did I mention this is outdoor? So the street food small is washing over you, with occasional ashes and smoke, the sun is setting, the night life is turning on, people are populating the area. It is oh so precious of a time. There was a Tim of prayer, where we sent the gringos and translators to pray for the people around us, worship, testimonies, more prayer, and of course, plenty of dance partying. I spoke a lot Spanish to make sure things were staying on track, and I did well! I love speaking Spanish. And when I am successful in it, oh boy, I’m pretty sure I just leak joy.
And yesterday, Monday, I may have had the most joy-leaking day of my life, so far [I really hope my wedding will top it, but that could be hard]. It started with a slow morning, kind of nasty-iffy eggs for breakfast. My hair was doing its very best curly stuff, cute outfit [can’t go wrong with that], maroon colored lips, some days looking great attributes to greatness. And then I headed off to SPANISH CLASSES!!! Holy guacamole, I was stoked [and a bit terrified, because new things are terrifying]. I took the metro all on my own, I passed a man selling sunflowers. I think I was practically skipping down the street. Like really, if I was leaking joy before, at this point I was gushing with it. The lesson was great, and I left with more joy than I had come with!
Someone messaged me and asked how my transition was going, I had to admit that there barely was one. I slipped right back into my life here. My tribe was happy to see me and I was ecstatic to be back. I realized on the Metro back to the foundation that I was beaming. My joy hadn’t been a momentary thing. It’s been going on since I got to Medellín. I am so full with this life here. And it is my life. I am so certain, over and over that this is where I am, that right now God has something for me. I can’t just say that I am happy, because it is a fleeting, almost nothingness word. But I am full. This life is rich and screams “Maggie!”.
When people found out I was moving to Colombia, the regular response was “that sounds just like you”, and I’ve come to the place when it doesn’t just sound like me, it is me. I have fire in my feet and this passion in my heart that are being used and filled and engaged regularly. I do not have a single clue what God has for me, here or anywhere. I do not know where I will live or who I will marry or where I will raise my family. I don’t know any of it. But I know, fully, without a doubt, that God is so good. That He is so true to His character, to His name. And it fills me with glee, to look back and see how much I have grown. When I landed January 4th, I was terrified. I was mad at God. I was doubting I had heard correctly. In my daily hour with God I usually kneeled, or laid before my creator and cried. I screamed at Him, I said bad words. Why would you bring me here? I am so alone, I can’t even do anything. And now, I can’t stop praising Him for carrying me through what I thought was a desert of loneliness, for leading me when I was kicking and screaming. For giving me enough courage to say yes and have my feet here long enough to grow roots. I am so in love with my life. I never thought I could say that. Granted, it is still hard to be so far away from my original tribe, but all this yellow, all this bright and gentle joy, I think it trumps the difficult. The smile on my face right now is ginormous. This God is so freaking good! He is so faithful. I am open to whatever. Ones next, and I’m sure I’ll be cranky and terrified of the next for a while to, but I’m doing this life and there’s no going back. This is so freaking yellow!