The Children of AHOPE

Ethiopia has been the trip of a lifetime. Along with a team of 17 other students from Southeastern, as well as my favorite professor of all time, we were blessed to be a blessing in this incredible country.

When we arrived in Addis Ababa, we didn’t necessarily have a set agenda. In fact, I don’t think any one of us knew what we were going to be doing for the next 2 weeks at all. But I think the Gospel took over from there. If you want to know what we ended up doing, read your New Testament.

For the week we spent within the capital, we had a few different focuses. We worked with Beza International  Church the whole time, and our ministry spread out like branches, touching several organizations the church partners with.

Our most frequent stop was called AHOPE: a chain of orphanages around the city for children suffering from HIV/AIDS. We spent time at multiple AHOPE campuses, but held a consistent presence at one particular home.

Working with kids affected by HIV is exactly what it sounds like: emotional. But I think that what we were doing was less like working and more like playing. Playing foursquare, playing football, playing with sidewalk chalk, playing with bracelets and face painting and bubbles. Playing with Bible stories the kids would act out themselves. I can’t tell you how much fun I had with my team and these kids – there were so many moments where I had to sit back a minute and appreciate the hilarity and joy that bubbled up around me; these children played hard, and I could just stand there and observe their talents and antics forever.

There was a moment at the campus we visited most frequently where I was holding a baby and sitting next to my missions professor, or grandpa Bob as he’s known in these situations. He leaned over to me. “So how many kids do you want to have?” he asked with the ease of someone who had asked the same thing to countless young people, and always gotten a certain response. “Four,” I said confidently. It’s just always been the right number in my head. He was taken aback, and laughed. He has two kids himself, and raised them on the missions field in Japan, qualifying him to give me a short lecture on how expensive children can be. But as I sat there and smiled at his stories of international school and homeschooling attempts, I felt like a new person from the inside out.

God has drastically changed my heart towards children. Growing up, I was always awkward around kids. I saw them as bratty hassles who were burdens to their parent’s existence. It’s so horrible, I know! But I was never the one to willingly snatch up the newest family baby, or fight for a chance to babysit for my parents’ friends. It was another one of those situations where I was worried that I didn’t have a heart.

But God changed things in me, and it all began with a prayer. It was a simple prayer, the date and circumstances of which I do not remember, but the content is vivid in my mind. As I came to know Jesus more and more, I’ve learned a little bit about how He views children.

Jesus loves children more than anyone I’ve ever heard of! More than Barney the dinosaur, more than Walt Disney, more than those couples you know who have 13 children and seem like children themselves.

In fact, He gave all believers an ultimatum: either be more like a child, or you will not see the Kingdom of Heaven. The Kingdom, He taught, belongs to the little boys and girls of the world. Jesus embraced children, literally and spiritually, more than anyone else.

So I asked God for a Grinch-like transformation. I asked Him to grow my heart three sizes towards little kids. And I watched it grow.

Since then, it’s like I can’t contain my joy for the little ones!! When I’m at school, I work at a local Baptist megachurch in the preschool department, teaching 2 and 3-year olds on Sunday mornings and Wednesday nights, and it is some of the most fun I’ve ever had.

I used to be one of those people who got queasy when thinking about the prospect of having kids, and was okay with the idea of not having them at all. But now I see Heaven in the eyes of children.

Fun with bubbles at one of the AHOPE campuses.

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And the children of AHOPE were brimming with it. If you want to learn something about joy, something about fun, something about living, and maybe even something about yourself, spend time with children. When they are like the children of AHOPE, and the stakes are so much higher, the lessons are magnified. You don’t know the length of their time on this earth. You don’t know whether the medicine will run out, or if they will ever be adopted, or if they will miss you when you’ve gone, but one thing is certain…


...the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to ones such as these.

Our team with the children of AHOPE - sons and daughters of the King!

The Dust of His Feet

The Bible, the Christy Miller Series, and the turning of the Earth.

Those are the three things that contribute to the title of this blog.

Let's start at the Bible (a very good place to start, Julie Andrews). The phrase "the dust of his feet" comes from a verse in the lovely book of Nahum: short, obscure, and proclaiming doom to Nineveh. What's not to love?

The phrase appears in Nahum 1:3, "The LORD is slow to anger but great in power; the LORD will not leave the guilty unpunished. His way is in the whirlwind and the storm, and clouds are the dust of His feet" (NIV).

What an image that is to me. An infinitely almighty God, burning with jealousy for the hearts of His people, described as a hurricanic force...and the clouds are the dust of His feet.

I love pairing that verse with another: 2 Chronicles 16:9, "For the eyes of the LORD range throughout the earth to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to Him" (NIV).

Again, what a thing to imagine. The eyes of Dr. T.J. Eckleberg are not just a literary musing...

There is a living God who searches the world for His faithful ones - the ones who are going to give everything to serve and to know Him. He longs to give strength to His people.

So there's the Bible. And now we move onto the second movement of this explanation, which comes from this passage from the Christy Miller Series:

"Isn't it beautiful?" Todd looked up at the awakening sky. He pointed to a trail of puffy white clouds stomping across the seamless blue. "The clouds are the dust beneath His feet."

Christy smiled at Todd's poetic flair. He looked like a monk with the hood covering his head. "Did you just make that up?"

"No," Todd confessed. "An Old Testament prophet did. Nahum, to be exact. I always think of that verse when I see clouds that look like God just went for a morning stroll across the face of the earth."

We can all thank Todd Spencer for more than a few of my favorite metaphorical musings about God and nature, but I've never forgotten this passage in particular, even as the gap between when I read it and now gets wider and wider.

God on a morning stroll. In my mind, I automatically connect that idea, and the dust of His feet that goes along with it, with that verse in 2 Chronicles. God's stroll is not idle, but purposeful. His feet kick up the dust of the clouds and His eyes search unceasingly for His faithful ones. 

I want to be one that He finds on those strolls, and I know He can find me anywhere. In any moment of my imperfect existence, I just want to be faithful to Him. 

Which brings me around to the last point: the turning of the earth (there's a pun in there if you're looking for it!). My mother gives me only a few pieces of advice whenever I'm about to embark on a journey. "Take it all in," she says. "Enjoy the sunsets and the sunrises, and know that, wherever you are, you are in my heart."

It's the best advice I've ever gotten, and the reason why I've taken time to enjoy the rising and setting sun all around the world. Sunrise, in particular, reminds me of my Grandma Shirley. She was certainly one of the faithful ones that God found on His morning stroll...every morning that I knew her, she would be out on her porch or balcony to greet the morning, coffee and Bible in hand. She was a perfect picture of a faithful servant having a morning meeting with her God. Sunsets, on the other hand, belong to my mother. She is the queen of sunset pictures, and the reason that I will never get weary of watching the sun go down - it's not "just another sunset," and tomorrow's will be different from today's.

So wherever I am, thanks to my mother and grandmother, I am watching the sky. The sunrise, noon, the sunset, and the stars will never cease to hold me in awe and gut-wrenching appreciation. And I look at the clouds. I see the Dust of His feet on those morning, evening, or nightly strolls.

And I hope to be found faithful.

Sunrise in Malawi

 

Sunset in Malawi

Family Matters

This is a small introduction to me, what I’m doing, and why I’m doing it. I’d love to just launch headlong into my thoughts and adventures, but I know they will be less meaningful without first giving a little background, so here we go!

My name is Lauren Nadolski. I am 20 years old, and going into my third year at Southeastern University in Lakeland, Florida. Southeastern is a school of leaders and dreamers. That description seems to qualify it as a “Hippie School,” but what it really is is a Jesus School.  I am immeasurably blessed to go there, and am inspired daily by the people, professors, and leaders I have met on campus.

I am a double-major in Missional Ministries and English and Intercultural Studies, and a Spanish minor. When I graduate, I would like to go into full-time ministry one way or the other. Whether that means teaching English abroad, or working with refugees and English language learners in the United States, I am not sure, but I am so excited for whatever God comes up with!

I thank the Good Lord that I did not grow up in Florida, but hail from the wonderful state of Wisconsin. To me, Wisconsin is one of America’s best-kept secrets. It is full of friendly, easy-going people, the climate can be harsh at times, but is always, always beautiful, and the summers, although admittedly short, are the most wonderful months I’ve ever spent anywhere. Green farmland, rolling hills, incredible sunsets, and the greatest freshwater lakes America has to offer makes my home state a dreamland.

But the greatest reason for my love of home, by far, is my family. My family is my most important entity. I have a mom and a dad, an older brother of 22 years, older sister of 21 years, and younger sister of 15 years. Also a perfectly docile, snugly yellow lab shelter mutt named Lia.

My parents are the most wonderful people (separate and together) that have ever graced the face of the earth. It’s an official ranking. They are funny, thoughtful, incredibly intelligent, so generous, and easy-going. My mom is the most loving human being, and makes everyone she comes into contact with feel as though they can trust her with anything, and want to spend time with her. My dad has outstanding taste in music and humor, and spends his life serving our small community with all his intelligence, resources, and time. They are hometown heroes for sure, and the reason all of their children are turning out alright.

My older brother, Austin, is a marvel of a young man. He has always been whip-smart and adept at memorizing the most important facts about dinosaurs, marine life, cars, music, and medicine. At least, those are the phases he’s gone through that I remember. He is a nurse, but consequently an extremely talented musician and lyricist. Add on to all this the fact that he is a thoughtful, charming, stunningly generous and kind young man and he might just be America’s finest Big Brother. 

My older sister is okay, I guess.

...Just kidding! My sister Emily, if you know anything about me, is the greatest friend of my life. She has been my best friend forever, and will continue on that continuum through every stage of our lives. (I may need a separate post for this one, or maybe just a box of tissues.) She is my companion in life, and always has been! She is so incredibly talented from all angles: acting, singing, writing, painting, drawing. She is a marvel of creative energy, and an even better friend. Ask anyone who has ever come into contact with Emily Nadolski, and you will hear about how she changed their life. She has such a big heart that you will feel it immediately upon meeting hear and hearing about her life. She cares, so much. She is funny and deep and mature and selfless and it is one of my favorite things ever to just hear her thoughts on life! I am so thankful that God made us sisters, and I will never stop being cheesy about it.

My younger sister is a compaction of all the talent and grace that the rest of us may carry, all in one person. She is currently finishing up her first year of high school, and is the kind of person who gets every single positive comment available for teachers to use on her report card. She is talented in every school subject, a voracious reader, incredible singer, and gifted artist as well. She is sensitive and has a beautiful heart that reaches out to her friends and changes the whole world. She is wise beyond her years, and her maturity astounds me. She has wild auburn-colored hair, and magnificent freckles. She is very easy to love.

So that’s a small sampling of my immediate family – the ones I love the most!! They are one of the biggest reasons behind why I do what I do. It may seem like an anomaly…moving so far away for University, and even farther for the next few months, but I have a different perspective.

I have been blessed beyond measure to have the family and childhood that I have had. When I say beyond measure, I mean infinitely beyond what you could even imagine. I am so blessed, period. But not everyone knows what it’s like to experience the family I’ve had. While I can’t give them our Christmas traditions, or a weekend out on the boat with my grandpa, or a walk in the woods with my dad and dog, I can give them the very heartbeat of my family and all the same sense of beauty I’ve come to know through them.

Because while it is unmistakable that the individuals in my family bless me and move me, the true goodness I feel when I am with them comes from Jesus Christ. He is where the great Beauty and Peace come from.

And I found out that I can share that. That same joy, the same intimacy and feeling of acceptance and humor and forgiveness is all from Jesus. It comes directly from His hand, and everyone in the whole world can experience it too because it comes from knowing Him.

God put me in an incredible family – it is a taste of heaven. Rather than soak up all that heaven for the rest of my life, I’ve decided to defer it for a little while to spend some time sharing it with as much of the rest of the world as I can. It's a lot more simple than people realize.

The people I’ve been privileged to meet around the world need to know that Jesus is everything that they need. If they long for peace, if they long for acceptance and wholeness and love and complete forgiveness, Jesus can be all that to them and more.  He is our only hope, for my family and for yours.

So that’s why I do what I do.

I have embarked on a journey: It began with two weeks with a Southeastern missions team in Ethiopia. It continues now with two and a half weeks in Malawi, and goes on to two weeks with a team I’m leading in Kampala, Uganda, a two-month internship with the same organization, and finally a semester at Ugandan Christian University in the Fall.

May 5^th to December 18^th. Around eight total months in Africa.

A chance to experience and share God’s love with this beautiful continent and even more beautiful people. I am excited, missing my family, but not for the whole world missing the chance to pull others into my True Family, and that's what it's all about.

Rooftop Moments

I arrived in Ethiopia a tad late.  About 12 hours, if you want to be exact about it. My plane was supposed to arrive at 6:30 am, about 15 minutes before my Southeastern team. That was the plan! But I’ve learned that in the world, and in the Kingdom of God, things don’t always go as planned.

Here’s what happened: my flight from Frankfurt, Germany, to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia was slated to take off at 10:05 pm. My flight from DC got in around late morning, and I spent the day in the airport trying to convince myself not to leave the airport and ask a driver to take me to a quaint German café with wifi. I settled for a quaint German café WITHIN the airport and without wifi. But the kaffee tasse, chocolate croissant, and Tolberone bar well made up for any lack of technological connection. (Look at me, versed in European breakfast treats and acting like it’s no big deal.)

So, long day short, I spent hours reading in that café, eating in that café, writing the first blog post in that café, and eventually using my backpack as a pillow to sleep for many hours in that café. At one point a kindly German waitress approached me to ask if I knew when my flight was. “22:05,” I answered, to which she replied “Okay, it’s just that you live here long time. Okay to go back to sleep.” I took her suggestion.

After talking myself out of buying an entire multi-pack tub of Tolberones, or any kind of Nutella-themed merchandise, I made my way to my boarding gate. It was about 2 hours before my flight was to board.

I read for a long time. And even longer. And suddenly, it was within 5 minutes of the boarding flight and our plane was MIA. A hostess got on the PA system and announced that our plane had a technical failure. Sewage from the on-board toilet had leaked into the steering system. They were fixing it in as timely a fashion as possible.

Finally, we were summoned to board around 10:15, and shuttled to a remote airport location where they had been working on the plane. Once the bus-fulls of people had arrived, boarded, and settled into the plane, our pilot had some news for us on the PA system. After I listened to the announcement in about three languages, I figured the successive groans from multiple cultural groups meant that the news was bad. Whatever it was, we were not flying to Ethiopia that night. When the news finally came in English, I learned that Frankfurt airport has a curfew; nothing can land or take off after 11:00 pm. The airline had booked us all a hotel, and we were to exit onto the bus to be taken back to customs.

I couldn’t help but suppress a smile. I was now being forced into the very thing I had spent all day trying to talk myself out of: getting out and actually seeing Germany.

Ah, Germany. The fabled homeland of at least a small percentage of my heritage, and the place where my mom lived for a brief period of the 80’s. German culture and tradition is heavily ingrained in my home state of Wisconsin, and I have recently become obsessed with German accents and language thanks to The Book Thief.

So, we were shuttled out. As a people-watcher, I had a visual feast of observations to make and characters to silently assess as we were taken from one checkpoint to another, and from line to line. I heard a lot of German curse-words. I bonded with a silent American who looked about my age and seemed as thrilled with getting to leave the airport as I was. I held deep respect for a German army man in uniform who looked like nothing could faze him and acted as if this slight detour was “all part of the plan.” It was an all-around interesting journey.

We were taken to a very lovely hotel about 30 minutes outside of the Frankfurt airport. I would love to give you the name of the place, or even the town, but you see I have since lost the pen I took from the bedside notepad that bore the inscription of the institution. So much for intentionality.

But all I can say was that it was a lovely hotel to spend my first night alone in a hotel room in. The shower was the most phenomenal use of granite, stainless steel, and technology that I have ever encountered! When I grow up, I shall certainly have such a shower in my house. It was sleek and modern and there weren’t even knobs or buttons, just cool silver squares that you touched that made the water dance and then you could adjust the temperature, which was displayed on a digital screen, and there wasn’t even a door or a sliding glass thing or a curtain, it was just sort of a cove that you walked into, and the water pressure was perfect and made you feel like you were standing under a warm waterfall, and all it was missing was colorful lights and an electronic DJ that played a soundtrack of your choice.

But enough about the miraculous shower, or about the breakfast, (which, though hurriedly eaten, contained the best European eggs, jellies, pastries, juices, and chocolates I’ve yet experienced) because this post is actually about God. Most things are, actually. You think they’re about logistics or materials or money or opportunity, but they're actually about God, and all you have to do is realize it.

The story ends with me in the airport in Addis Ababa, with my luggage cart and a hopeful heart that somehow, some way, my team leader figured out that, though my plane was not in at the proper time, it would be in about 12 hours. I didn’t know where we were staying or how to contact anyone who could help, but I had a feeling they would find me. I took a deep breath, and after a few minutes, sat down on a bench. I hadn’t been sitting but a moment when I saw Emily and Dylan (best friend and team leader, respectively) striding across the lobby with our missionary, Misu. I was rescued and reunited with my Ethiopia family. It was as if nothing had gone amiss.

So here’s the real story, the one about God. It’s a story that begins on a rooftop in Haiti, and ends on a rooftop in Germany.

I got the opportunity to spend a week in Haiti during the Spring Break of my freshman year of college. It was my first experience with a “developing” nation, and with the devastation that has hit Haiti in particular during the last few years, it was bound to be a culture shock. I began to prepare myself, but once I had arrived, and seen homes made of tarps, kids swimming in septic water, and trash being picked through like the $5 DVD bin in Wal-Mart, I did not seem to be affected. I took it all in, saw the devastation and the struggle rising up like the smoke of cooking fires, and didn’t shed a tear or stay up at night in deep thought and guilt. The majority of my missions team could not stop talking about the lack of water, the deplorable home conditions, and the displacement from the earthquake. My thoughts, on the other hand, were among the lines of “How fun would it be to live in a slum some day???”

I became afraid that I was wholly unaffected by human suffering. I was worried I was heartless, and questioned and double-questioned my passion for missions.

But one night, I was on the rooftop of Mission of Hope’s Titanyen campus. The Caribbean sunset was to my right, the lights of Port-Au-Prince were to my left, and a hillside alive with nighttime village sounds was behind me. It was peaceful and breathtaking, the perfect spot for a sentimental confrontation with God.

I asked Him what it meant that my heart seemed unmoved by the surrounding poverty. And in His ever-so-sneaky-and-loving-God way, He showed me some things. He showed me the difference between material poverty and spiritual poverty. He took me back through the moments that stuck out to me: the people in the slums and markets had smiles on their faces. The church, though without electricity for a night, was awake with a deafening chorus of joyful praises. Those kids playing in the sewage seemed to exude that same joy….

God is not in the safe, hot water of our suburban houses. He is not in the 4-door sedan we drive to pick up our kids from soccer practice every afternoon. He is not in the mega-malls or the mini-malls or the strip-malls or even the national mall, as much as we pretend He is, anyway.

God is with the poor. He is the breath of life among them and through them. We ought not to mourn the fact that they do not have stainless steel home appliances or Starbucks. We ought to be learning from them about what sustains them. And I found, there in Haiti, that many of these people are more interested in what sustains their spirit instead of what sustains their body.

God asked me that night which gifts I would pursue and value higher than anything else: the gifts of this world, that, for my whole life, I had coveted so highly every Christmas and birthday and paycheck, or the Gift of Jesus Christ Himself.

The answer is so obvious.

We do not do missions because of poverty. We do missions because we are burning beacons of Jesus Christ, and we have to go where He is going. We burn, and we meet others who are burning and we start other flames burning and the whole world burns a little brighter.

So that night, I made a teary-eyed decision.

“I will follow you anywhere.”

It was a simple decision that has and will shape the rest of my days on this earth. I will follow Jesus Christ anywhere. I have decided to get in a canoe on His River. I am floating in His current. When and where He asks me to paddle, I will, but trying to make it to shore or move upstream on my own is tiresome and useless. Since making that decision, since getting into that canoe, I have stayed the course because of His guidance. When I am tired, or confused, or lost, I hear a whisper that says “Keep going,” and I turn a corner and usually find Him standing there with a bouquet of flowers (He walks on water, if you recall). He is a romantic and a surpriser and absolutely satisfying Person to follow. He is God, without a doubt.

So that leads me to Germany. My flight was delayed, my team leader was freaking out. I could’ve been anywhere in the world, lost and alone. But I happened to be in the center of God’s will.

I followed Jesus Christ to Germany.

And it wasn’t until the morning I woke up in that posh hotel, and stepped out onto the room’s balcony (my second rooftop), that I realized why Jesus had gone to Germany. He went because His daughter was weary. She had just finished 2 weeks of nonstop assignments, exams, planning, leading, and saying goodbye. She was fraught with emotional, financial, and logistical pressure, and what’s more, she has always wanted to go to Germany. He knew it even if I didn't.

The Lord offered me rest. It came in the form of a small detour – in a comfortable, rich-y hotel, a magnificent shower, a fantastic night’s sleep, and a peaceful morning of revelation on a rooftop.

Make no mistake, I am addicted to following Jesus Christ. 

Traveling "Alone"

Morning, Frankfurt Airport, May 6th

I was checking in for my flights at Tampa International Airport. My itinerary said Tampa to DC to Frankfurt, finally to Addis Ababa. The baggage attendant looked at me, looked at my tickets, looked back at me, and said “Ethiopia. That’s a long way to be traveling all alone.”

I laughed it off as I do most things. It wasn’t until hours later, miles above the Atlantic, that I realized what a silly thing that was to say.

I am not traveling alone at all. I am literally surrounded by people. Every corner of each of the airports I’ve been to in the last 24 hours have been packed with human beings going and leaving home. Of course, when the attendant said I was alone she didn’t mean in a general sense, but a relational one.

But that too seems strange to me! I am only a handshake away from making a new friend, embarking on a new relationship. I could meet the great friend of my life on this plane ride! My situation is literally brimming with more possibility to make human connections than the rest of my life on a small private college campus.

How strange we see the world. What does it say about human nature that we consider ourselves alone in a vast crowd of people if we don’t know a single one of their names? A name is only a question away. 

Isolation is a choice, and though travel is conducive to it, what would it look like if that’s not how we viewed it? I’m not traveling alone to Ethiopia! I’m going with a few hundred future friends! All I have to do is turn to them and smile.

I was observing faces on a tram from my Boeing 777 to the Frankfurt airport terminals. We looked miserable. We looked like cattle being herded from one cylinder to the next and rocketed to another location. Faces were blank, and almost no one made eye contact. I tried to see which couples or groups there were traveling together but I honestly couldn’t tell the difference between buddies and strangers. We all looked exhausted.

But what if the answer to this type of travel-weariness was other people? We withdraw, find a quiet corner with our lap tops and our coffees, and disconnect from our present reality to enter into another one less present, less real. And we think that soothes us. But we need each other more than we know.

Too often, when traveling, we think of other humans as the problem, not the solution. Mister Mountain Man is in my way as I’m trying to get my bag out of the overhead bin. Oxford Professor over here reeks of the liquor he purchased onboard as he looks over a thesis on the crusades. Grandma Edith doesn’t seem to understand the concept of stairs as we try to exit the airplane.

Since when are people nothing more than obstacles? I am so guilty of this. I think it might be why we feel like we occupy a separate dimension when we travel on our own. People seem far, but they are often too close for comfort.

This time, I would like to know what the man next to me at this café is reading. It would be nice to find out what Grandma Edith plants in her English garden, and whether her dog likes the new parakeet she bought last Thursday. Does the middle-aged brunette across the aisle have children? What makes these people tick? What do they love, what are they interested in, what are they good at? Where are they going?

Simple questions to a complex world that there is so much to know about. And that knowledge starts with the knowledge of other people.

We are never travelling alone, especially at the moments we feel that we are the most isolated. No man is an island, but sometimes it takes a short boat ride over to someone else’s shores in order to not be.

So whether you’re an avid talker, a wonderful listener, or just a keen observer, realize what is around you. You are surrounded by living, breathing expressions of an infinitely beautiful and creative God. This place is a museum with the finest masterpieces on display. What a pity it would be if we didn’t stop and realize it.