Take this torch to light your way...

Jesus said, "I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.'" John 8:12.

I've always known that Christmas is about Jesus being born, and usually I see him all clean and cute bundled up in blankets -and I am peering at him from a distance. But this Christmas I keep having this image of a baby dropped into my arms -a baby Jesus appearing in my arms as though I blinked while a stork flew overhead. It's a baby, and having been a peds nurse for sometime, I know how babies are: some cuter than others, but all of them very needy. The get hungry and wail and chew their blankets and if you pick them up they start wobbling their oversized heads about on their weak little necks in a helpless panic to find something to fill their bellies.

This is how Jesus came. And he probably wasn't even one of the super-cute babies. Strangely enough, he loves us and longs to be like this to us -to be as loved and needed as a newborn and its mother are to each other. I am learning this, slowly. And it seems that he wants me to take him, this Jesus, this baby dropped into my arms, and carry him out into the world and show him to people so that they can fall in love with him too. "This is your God," I would say, "this child is your hope and your promise that all is forgiven, that the creator longs to dwell with you."

I have grown up a Christian, but I have been jaded with the religiosity of Christianity. I want a lover, a savior, a friend -not a religion. Jesus is as humble and gentle as a baby, as joyful as a child, and he is the only one who will never disappoint me. If I could hand this baby Jesus to you I would. It makes no sense, but I know there are enough baby Jesus's for all of us. Take him, I can get more. I just have to open my arms and another one will fall from the sky.

Sitting here, waiting to start down my long, dusty road

My dad, who is a recent fan of "Mavis-Bacon: learn to type," has my blog on his favorites list. So I must write something even though I am still here in Alaska, counting down the days until I fly away. But during the brief daylight hours, when I am outside in my five layers, it's hard not to pause and be amazed at the beauty of where I live. This photo is a drive across town from my house. And that mountain -it is called "sleeping lady," because in Alaska it is a small rounded hill, a mountain that yawned and laid down to rest.

Recently an acquaintance asked me if I had already been to Africa and come back. Well, yes, over and over in my head... but no, not literally. "Two YEARS," I say, "not two weeks." And already, before I have gone, that sounds like not long enough, although the only other thing I have done for that long is to keep going back to school.

The lovely lady who co-leads my home group prayed for me and said, "I see you on a long road." I can see me on a long road too. It is narrow, and dusty, and I don't know where it goes. But around every corner there are new faces to meet, skipping children who will appear beside me and peer at my queer pale skin. And in the heat of the day there is the promise of a cool evening, or a clear stream over the next rise. And in the dark of night, a glow on the horizon that will bring a glorious dawn. This is our promise. In Isaiah God describes the "perfect fast," how he desires mercy from us, not sacrifice:

"...and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday.The Lord will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail." (Isaiah 58:10-11)

I saw Mercy Ships new mission statement today (I think -someone said it anyway) -"to provide a compassionate response to a world that has lost hope." That's what it means to satisfy the needs of the oppressed -to bring hope to those who have none. To share Mercy. And believe me -it is not a sacrifice for me to start down this long road. Don't tell those who are giving me their money in honor of my self-sacrifice, but between you and me -I have been sitting beside this dirt road for so long peering impatiently, with dusty eyelashes, into the horizon that the most sacrificial thing I could do would be to keep sitting here.

I write a newsletter (finally) and, with the help of Walt Whitman, ponder how wonderful it is.

Whoo-hoo. I finished my first newsletter. It was hard to cram it all into two pages, into the people-will-actually-read-this length. Will people read this blog I wonder? Probably not lately since nothing has changed here for two months, since I have been working so hard to not write too much in my newsletter. But now I am licking stamps (figuratively speaking) and stuffing envelopes, and saying little prayers that people will be as thrilled as I am with Mercy Ships and send money my way.

The whole money thing has been digging its dirty little talons into my skin for awhile now -but I think it (and yes I) have finally realized it has no power. Whenever I take my need to God, before I can say a word, I hear Him say, "I will provide." "I have a thousand cattle on a thousand hills," he says. Even in Texas that is a lot of beef, more than enough beef to send me and all my friends to Africa. And I know God has told me to go, so he will provide. He knows how many hairs are on my head (even my head, a shaggy head that sheds handfuls every time I wash it), so he knows how to get me to where he told me to go. So, despite my request for magic carpets, he will probably buy me a plane ticket to Togo.

And what else has been happening? I bought some pants today -they have SPF 50 protection! They were on sale here in Alaska where I now wear my thermal skirt to work, through the morning frost.

This is fun, this sending out a newsletter. I am, like my favorite Walt Whitman poem (A Noiseless Patient Spider), sending out threads through the distances to old and new relationships. This is good for me, the too-easily-solitary, independent (spidery?) type. And I'm beginning to realize, as I share with people, that this sharing even by itself brings hope, is a testimony. The News is full of terrors and catastrophes; let me bring you some joyful tales. I get to be a part of happy stories. Lucky me.

Blessings on you who read what I get to tell of. May these words I fling out catch you and anchor us both in the vibrant, hopeful thrum of their unfolding. These gossamer threads -they are the tender cords that will draw us up to heaven.

There it is: Destination Togo

Yes, I think I will take this toothbrush, and maybe this skirt I have tied around my head... and this cozy down coat? I hate to leave my cozy down coat.

I'm back home now, missing some of my new friends I met in Texas, and the fact that I was surrounded by people with the same passions and challenges that I have. Not to worry, I do realize I shouldn't take my down coat. But I have to step out in faith and trust that if God wants me to go he'll provide the support I need. My prideful, independent nature dreads the prospects. But if I can get over that hurdle, I find I am thrilled at the opportunity to develop relationships with people who, like me, long to be a part of bringing life-transforming healing and hope to people in west Africa. One of my favorite things about Mercy Ships is that they offer all their services with absolutely no obligations -no consideration for race, gender or beliefs. In Texas when they explained their mission and vision they shared a quote from St. Francis of Assisi: "Preach the gospel, and if necessary use words."

Here I am in Texas finishing up a week of learning about Mercy Ships. And just now, this very moment, I am learning about making a blog so all y'all (also learnt that recently) can follow me on my journey. And yes, I will be going to Africa -in February, to join the Africa Mercy. For anyone who hasn't heard of Mercy Ships, check out their website at www.mercyships.com. Before I came I felt certain that God was calling me to go. Now I am... well, I guess, even more giddy about the fact that God is calling me. 'Till next time.