The brown eyed revelation

Perhaps you have heard of the wonderful missionary to India by the name of Amy Charmichael. She was a devoted Christian, and her story has always had a special place in my heart, not only because she was such a wonderful example for women, but because of a certain story of hers that I have identified with so powerfully.

It is almost a miracle that I heard of her story because it fit into my own feelings so perfectly, and opened up a way for God to speak to me in a very strong way.

You see, when Amy Charmichael was a young girl growing up in Ireland, she was very discontented with her eye color which happened to be brown, just like mine. She longed to have blue eyes, I suppose thinking brown eyes are plain and dull, as I do myself.

Growing up in a Christian home, she, of course, learned about prayer and one day decided to pray to God that He would change her eye color from brown to blue. However, God did not grant her request, leaving her with brown eyes and a dissatisfied heart.

When Amy grew older, she found herself called to missions and was settled in India where she had a ministry. I am not exactly sure about all the details of her ministry, but I know that one of the things she did was save small children (preferably girls...) from the pagan temples, since they were horribly treated and abused.

However, I know that at least one particular time the only way to accomplish this task was to sneak into the temples to reach the children. So Amy dyed her skin brown (I believe with coffee..) and dressed herself in their native Indian clothing, yet her eyes were still exposed.

Her mission was succssful, but it is very probable that she would have been caught if not for her brown eyes, seeing that blue eyes would have immidiately betrayed her European descent and her vital mission.

Not only has her story touched me, but it has given me a sense of purpose and even contentment with my brown eyes, which I have constantly wished (not blue..) but green. I have ranted and raved more then once that I wanted green eyes (as my father has) and always have been very distraught that almost everyone on my father's side of the family has green eyes. However, I believe God gave me brown eyes for a reason, just as He did Amy Charmichael, and that I should be content.

And, now, I believe by God's grace, I am..

Lantern Lights

People lightly brushed passed in formal attire, their hair combed smooth, their faces dimly lit by the over hanging lanterns which reflected a slight glow off of everything, causing eyes to look a bit brighter and smiles slightly wider.
Children clung to their mother's sides and were constantly having a small plate of unusual looking food placed in their hands which they ate carefully, wondering what the weird concoctions were.
Chef's hats poked up among the crowds as their steamy dishes sent waves of mist into the air followed by a pleasing odor.
The hum of band music was heard int he background amidst all of the mumbling conversations and bursts of laughter.
I stood among them all, holding a silver platter, attempting to smile and act normal.
A large crow was wanting to pass through the bustling swarms of people and reach a table ornately filled with samples of a fancy dish of food so I politely stepped aside, still holding the same plastered smile.
I suddenly noticed a couple in front of me each holding small, empty paper plates as they took the last bites from their food.
Nervously, I advanced, "May I take your plate, sir?" I asked softly, holding up the silver platter bashfully.
"Oh, yes, thank you," He said, turning round and placing his sauce-stained plate on it. His wife did the same with the same surprised thank you and nod.
Turning around, I walked about three steps away and threw away the plates.
Yes, literally, only three steps away, which explained why I was often left standing most of the night without a job as people threw away their own paper plates and left me feeling absolutely useless.
Now, I suppose I might as well tell you where I am and why on earth I am busing tables for a place where people don't even need it.

My mom signed us up for a charity dinner, held by the Cancer Research Society (I think...). Anyway, we volunteered to help bus tables and make sure each individual booth was always furnished with ample plates, napkins, and forks.
Not much work, I can tell you.
Most of the evening I was standing in the middle of small crowds of people, awkwardly attempting to act the part of a waitress (or whatever you want to call me) when the reality was, people could vary well throw their own things away in the garbage cans which were openly placed everywhere.
But, as distasteful as this may sound, I assure you the pay far surpasses the pain (if there is any..). You see, since we were volunteers we were allowed to gorge ourselves with as many of the samples as we pleased.

The food was superbly fancy: fish, ribs, sushi as you never tasted them. Decedent pieces of delicious crumbs you would have to spend pocketfuls to get in an actual restaurant.
Yet, the desserts were the peak of it all. I don't even know what most of it was, but it was delicious!
And did I mention the chocolate fountain? Feel free to drizzle marshmallows, strawberries, pretzels, or bananas in the chocolaty rain of delight!

It was a really fun, tasty night filled with new experiences which I hope to re-live again soon.

The only problem was, something kept beating against my mind like a never-ending bouncy ball during most of the evening.
I'll explain: here come crowds of women, in their beautiful formal dresses with their hair prettily shimmering, wearing dinner sandals; and then here stands Kimberly wearing Nike sneakers, black bermudas, and an oversized white t-shirt advertising the Relay for Life (the t-shirt was the uniform we were assigned).

But I kept thinking of the fancy dress I had worn during the masquerade party! Finally, a place where you can dress formally and look normal, and I am wearing something equivalent to ugly pj's!

The irony of life.

But I can't deny that the evening still was wonderful. Just douse it with a bit of chocolate from that glorious fountain and I would say it was perfect.

A new meaning of: inspiration

Bible class has been interesting.

If you heard me say that sentence aloud you would hear a unique voice inflection.

A slight nuance trailing behind the word interesting.

Could it be sarcasm?

Well, not precisely.

Not exactly.

But basically.

Now, for all you people out there, I am not being rebellious towards my Bible class.

No way!

I'm just treating it like another subject in school.

All subjects have been "interesting."

Which spells out: time consuming, absolutely ridiculous (too much homework!!), and overwhelming.

But I am learning things.

That's the whole reason I'm doing this post.

I learned in my Bible class something very exciting. Something that brightened my eyes and opened a new door to viewing the word: inspiration.

The definition for inspiration is: God-breathed.

I thought about that for a moment.

Pondered.
And smiled.

I think I use the word inspiration quite often. Whenever I feel like writing something new and fresh in one of my stories I cry out: "This is a wonderful moment of inspiration!" or when I start writing a song or a painting with a passion I smile inwardly, "I love these moments of utter inspiration."

And then I thought, could that mean that whenever I feel inspired my thoughts and ideas and actions are being God-breathed.

Like the nudging of the Holy Spirit to somehow use me or my action in a way to glorify Him?

I like that idea.

That feeling of inspiration.

Whenever I feel inspired, I think I'll look inside myself and ask, "Is this God speaking to me? Is He directing this thought in some way?"

It will make those moments of inspiration so much more special.

It will make then exciting.
It will make them...God encounters