Surprise, Surprise

Every Sunday, I clean the white tile floor of my patio. I sweep and mop. Dead leaves, dead twigs, dead bees. One terracotta pot sits amid the debris. It’s perched on a wire stand and houses nothing but some old dirt. My fingers trace the clay, its paint bubbling, cracking, and peeling from outdoor exposure. This pot is dead too. Nothing has been planted inside of it for years, yet it remains on the patio, purposeless and empty.

So you can imagine my surprise one Sunday when I discover a tall green weed. That’s all, just one skinny stem stretching away from the soil, reaching toward the sun. A week later there are more. Patches of clover and other tall green weeds. I suppose there is some life left in this old clay pot. I smile. It’s a small surprise. Harmless, seemingly insignificant, adding some color to this white space. 

But then I think of other surprises in my life, bigger ones. To put it politely, surprises and I have had a tense relationship. Hmm, that seems dishonest. Alright, I'll just come out and say it.

I hate surprises. Vehemently hate them.

But I wasn’t always this way. As a child I loved when my parents surprised me because I knew that whatever was coming would be good. I knew that the surprise would add joy and laughter and love. A mountain bike, a family vacation out West, a visit from Grandma. But somehow as I got older, I started to cringe at the word surprise until I shut the door completely.

The first time I realized this was on my eighteenth birthday. I had made no plans, which was a bit unusual for a girl who loved to play the hostess. Instead my mom agreed to take me out to one of my favorite places called Color-Me-Mine, a pottery painting studio, just the two of us.

A few minutes after our arrival, a chorus of female voices began singing the “Happy Birthday” song from a hidden corner of the studio. I can still remember that sickening feeling as the sound grew from a whisper to a roar and I knew there was no place for me to run. I will never forget the look on their faces, beaming proudly at me, waiting expectantly for my response. 

Although there are no photographs of my face at that moment, I know exactly what it was doing because moments later I burst into tears. And not the happy ones. Not the tears of joy you'd think I'd be crying. No, these were scornful, hateful tears. Tears that said, “How could you do this to me?”

Of course, my friends didn’t know this as they clustered around me in a heap of giggles and chitchat and birthday cake. The tears were affirmation that they had done a marvelous job. If any of them had truly known how I had felt, they would have kept me at arms-length rather than wrapping me in warm, delighted hugs.

Why did I respond with such venom? Because you can’t control a surprise. It is completely unpredictable and frightening and, sometimes, downright annoying.

It’s like the weird relative that shows up at your door, uninvited. You can’t turn him away, but you don’t know when he’s coming. You don’t know how long he’ll stay. You don’t know what he’ll bring. Good news, bad news? Are you staying for dinner? Oh, you’re sleeping over. For the rest of the week. Sure, why not? Just come and invade my life. I don’t mind. At all.

And that’s how surprises became for me. Intrusive and hostile and unpleasant. Even the good ones. It started happening at the same time that my doubts about God surfaced. Not doubts that He was there, but doubts that He cared about my good. I began to distrust the surprising parts of my life because they were troubling reminders that I wasn’t in control and He was. As I child, I could easily trust my parents. As an adult, I've found it hard to trust my Father.

If you’ve studied Scripture, then you know that God absolutely delights in surprising people. It’s just part of His character. That’s what makes His narrative so thrilling. Surprises are breaks from routine and order and sense. Isaac’s birth and a baby in the Nile. Shepherd David and mighty Goliath. Daniel and some hungry lions. Jesus, a carpenter from Nazareth. The third day and an empty tomb. We read the stories, and even if we’ve heard them a thousand times, somehow they still take our breath away.

But when it comes to our own lives, surprises become less thrilling and more unnerving. Surprises are good in theory, but not in practice. And the frustrating thing is, surprises are non-negotiable. Just because I despise them does not mean God’s going to take them away. C'est la vie. The truth is, a lot of people would excuse this as a personality trait. So you don't like surprises...so what? But He knows that the way I feel about surprises has more to do with my relationship with Him. It isn’t a pet peeve; it’s a spiritual battle.

One of my favorite movies of all time is Steve Carell’s “Dan in Real Life.” It’s an endearing story about a widower with three daughters who unexpectedly falls in love. In the final quote of the movie, Dan, a newspaper advice columnist, writes:

“Dear Readers, 

For most of you, this is my first column in your paper. In the future, I will be answering your questions, but today I want to break from my usual format and talk to you about the subject of plans. Not so much my plan for this column, but life plans, and how we all make them. And how we hope that our kids make good, smart, safe plans of their own. But if we're really honest with ourselves, our plans usually don't work out as we had hoped. So instead of asking our young people "What are you plans? What do you plan to do with your life?" maybe we should tell them this: Plan to be surprised.”

Expecting the unexpected. Planning on the surprise. It’s a bizarre concept for someone who likes to know what’s coming next. Someone who fears the unknown. But the truth is that without surprises, our lives become boxes. Little, controllable boxes where we can shield out the things we don't like, the things that make us uncomfortable, the things that would challenge us. (I know. Some of you are thinking, 'Gee, that sounds kind of nice!')

Yet God's plans for our lives are deeper and richer and far more fulfilling than that. Our lives are meant to be an epic, not a cookie-cutter recipe. And when we learn to submit our fears and accept the surprises, they become less terrifying, and more thrilling. More awe-inspiring. Just as He intended them to be.

He has surprised me in this season in small ways, like life in a clay pot.

He has surprised me in this season in big ways, like a new job and a place to live.

Oh, I don't think I mentioned this before. Surprise!! (See what I did there?) God swept me off my feet with this one. After spotting a teaching position on my college's online job resource, I applied, and within hours received a positive response. And you won't believe it, but the principal actually started reading my blog! This blog! (In fact, she might be reading this now.) Who knew that this online diary of teaching and serving would help me as I interviewed? God certainly did.

To make a long story short, next year I will be the new fourth grade teacher at the Covenant School in Charlottesville, VA! I am completely humbled to join this amazing faculty of committed Christian educators. Not only that, but I'll be working alongside a fellow Grove City College graduate in the fourth grade! Woo-hoo!

And if that wasn't enough, God even took the time to surprise me with a place to live. I had my eye on a little studio apartment close to the downtown area. (Let me tell you. It is NOT easy apartment hunting from 4,000 miles away.) As I talked with the owner, she asked me where I was teaching, so I told her La Paz, Bolivia. Just as I was gearing up to explain where that was in the world, she immediately said, "La Paz, Bolivia? No way! I was just there visiting a friend! In fact, I was going through my photos of La Paz this morning before you called." Coincidence? Don't make me laugh. 

Surprises are a part of God's character, and so they are a part of my story. And every surprise is a glimpse of Him, the only trustworthy One. So today I will believe that no matter what's coming, even if it may not seem good at the time, has the power to make me good, to make this world good, and to make God's love known in beautiful, unexpected ways.

So here it comes. The dangerous prayer to accompany a new chapter: "Lord, surprise me."

.......

 

Some quick photo updates since my last post!

 

My mom Cindy and Aunt Karen had a WONDERFUL visit in February! We traveled to Potosi and explored the city of La Paz. The greatest part for me was having them meet my students. Thank you to those who kept this trip in your prayers!

 

Highlands Talent Show

 

Three friends and I spent our Easter vacation in Santiago, Chile! It was an amazing city, and after three 3-hour walking tours it's safe to say we learned so much about Chilean culture and history. We were blessed by beautiful weather and safe traveling.

 

Crossing the border from Bolivia to Chile

 

 Santiago Skyline

 

Santa Lucia Hill and parks

The port city of Valparaiso

Good Friday

Mean Teacher

He emptied my hands of my treasured store,

And His covenant love revealed,
There was not a wound in my aching heart
The balm of His breath has not healed.

Oh, tender and true was His discipline sore,
In wisdom, that taught and tried,
Till the soul that He sought
was trusting in Him,
And nothing on earth beside.

-Streams in the Desert

“Shhh… Miss Shipman’s coming.”

The whispers fade away as my heels click across the sidewalk and around the corner. I find a pair of students in the small courtyard just outside our elementary classrooms. One lies on the ground belly first. The other sits cross-legged, leaning against a tree. Each are holding a chapter book, but I can tell from the glances they’re stealing that neither of them have been reading.

What to do, what to do.

“Good morning,” I decide to say. It is a good morning, gloriously beautiful. And besides, neither of them are my students. They’ve never been my students. In fact, I’m blanking on their names as I quickly pass by to continue my errand.  

“Good morning, Miss Shipman,” they reply, both breathing a sigh of relief.

A puzzled smile crosses my face. Since when did I become that teacher? You know, the m-e-a-n one.

…..

We all know the classic mean teacher examples. Viola Swamp. Miss Truchbull. Dolores Umbridge. The teachers who send a shiver down our spines. When we starry-eyed graduates enter the teaching field, these are hardly the models we hope to exemplify. 

Instead we think of Miss Nelson. Miss Honey. Even Miss Frizzle and her untamed hair. Teachers brimming with compassion and kindness. Teachers who never need to discipline because, well, everyone loves them too much.

(And yes, I do realize that all the teachers I just listed are female and, curiously, unmarried. That’s classic children’s literature for you.)

But the truth is, Miss Nelson would be eaten alive. Miss Honey would cower in a corner until the three o’clock bell rang. And Miss Frizzle would be fired after the first unscheduled field trip through the solar system. These heroines work well in fiction, but are hopelessly unfit for the real world.

Here’s what I’ve come to realize: Nice teachers make lousy educators.

…..

“You’re mean.” I’ve heard it through looks and gestures. Over desks, across four-square courts. Behind books, down lunch lines. Occasionally I’ve heard it spoken OUT LOUD, seething and boiling through clenched teeth.

And every time, I celebrate.

I celebrate because it reminds me of how my Father looks at me. It emboldens me to give these students something that all of us desperately need. Tough love.

Tough love: a strict but kind way of dealing with someone who has a problem. (MacMillan Dictionary)

Tough love: the fact of deliberately not showing too much kindness to a person who has a problem so that the person will start to solve their own problem. (Cambridge Dictionary Online)

Tough love: an expression used when someone treats another person harshly or sternly with the intent to help them in the long run. (Bill Milliken, Tough Love, 1968)

I’ve read that this rising generation of American kids has been labeled the laziest, rudest, and most entitled in history. News flash: It’s happening in Bolivia, too. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was happening in many countries all over the world.

The question is, why? Are “kids these days” just born lazier, ruder, and more entitled? Forgive my facetiousness, but there are genuine reasons behind these labels. Let me add to my previous statement.

Nice teachers make lousy educators. 

Nice moms and dads make lousy parents, too.

Could it be that the problems we are facing with our youth are direct results of the way we contribute as adults? Do nice people make poor role models?

Hear me out. “Nice” does not mean loving or compassionate. Instead, nice says, “I want this child to be my friend.” Nice says, “This child can hurt my feelings.” Nice says, “I need to rescue this child from hurt.” In other words, nice is an avenue for children to manipulate you. To play the victim.

And believe me, if you give them the chance, they WILL.

In the same way, “mean” does not mean cruel or hateful, when supplemented with the wisdom and courage that only comes from God. Mean says, “This is my child, not my friend.” Means says, “This child cannot hurt my feelings, because my sense of worth is found elsewhere.” Mean says, “I need to teach this child what to do when they’re hurt.” In other words, mean is an avenue to hold children responsible. To help them feel empowered in the best way.

Don’t we naturally prefer the warm-fuzzy, nice version of love? The kind that wraps its arms around us and says that everything’s going to be OK? The kind that never confronts us or hurts our feelings?

But true love isn’t about making us feel good. It’s about making us GOOD.

My child, don’t make light of the Lord’s discipline
or give up when you are corrected by him,
because the Lord disciplines whomever he loves,
and he punishes every son or daughter whom he accepts.

-Hebrews 12: 5-6

Don’t reject the instruction of the Lord, my son;
don’t despise his correction.
The Lord loves those he corrects,
just like a father who treats his son with favor.

-Proverbs 3: 11-12

True love changes our perceptions and our motivations. Its goal is to transform us from the inside out, into the image of Christ, and that process is always painful. A gentle tap on the shoulder is rarely enough to lead us back to Him. Our Father will do whatever is necessary to mold us, even to the point of breaking us. Yes, even to the point of hurting our feelings.

The most important thing to remember is that He always disciplines in and through love.

…..

Tough love is, well, tough. As adults we often get it wrong. We err on the side of too much discipline or too much mercy. Sometimes it’s a challenge to know what position to take as we teach and serve. Thankfully, our Father has not abandoned us to figure it out on our own. Here are a few truths I try to remember when I am disciplining or receiving discipline.

1. God loves this person infinitely more than I ever could.

2. God knows exactly what this person desperately needs.

3. God’s goal is to change this person into the image of Christ.

4. God desires me to point this person to Christ.

When we begin by loving the other person through a recognition of God’s love for them, He can provide enough grace and wisdom to help us in the toughness. 

......

 

Literacy rotations around the classroom. My kids LOVE Boggle!

 

100-year-old students on the 100th day of school!



 

 

Highlands School on a beautiful day!

 

I am VERY excited to announce that my mom Cindy and Aunt Karen will be visiting me here in Bolivia in less than a week! I can't wait to show them the school and the city of La Paz. They will be arriving on Valentine's Day, and will be here to celebrate my 25th birthday on Friday, Feb. 20! Please be praying for their safe arrival, stay, and departure. Pray that they would be healthy during this time as they adjust to the altitude as well. Pray for me that I would have strength and energy during their visit. Thank you, dear friends!

 

Aren't they GORGEOUS? Inside and out, people.

Stranger

I can't see
What's in front of me
Still I will trust You
Still I will trust You

Steady heart that keeps on going
Steady love that keeps on holding
Lead me on
Steady grace that keeps forgiving
Steady faith that keeps believing
Lead me on.

"Steady Heart" by Steffany Frizzell-Gretzinger

Two journals sit side by side, separated by nothing but two calendar years.

The first has a mug stain on the front cover. A quick brushstroke of pink nail polish grazes just above the faint golden letters that read “God is Good.” The spine has begun to warp on both ends, twisting outwards from the weight of one hundred ink-laden pages. It is a tired, beloved friend. I bought this journal in an empty bookstore just after graduating from college. It chronicles a season of watching and waiting. A season of surrender. The pages practically hum with the voices of kings and missionaries and songwriters and poets. 

It isn’t much to look at, but if you asked me to name my most prized possession this would be it.

The second is a leather-bound beauty brought all the way from Florence, Italy. It’s the color of dark chocolate, rich and heavy. A gift from a well-traveled friend, but it feels more like a borrowed item that just slipped out of a novel - not quite mine yet. Underneath its scaly exterior are pages and pages of clean, blank space. Pages that frighten and thrill me at the same time. They hold what is unknown. They hold promise.

My first journal took me on a journey to a place I had never been. It brought me into a life far from home, a life of new languages and cultures and people and experiences. Nothing familiar.

Now this second journal will lead me into the next season of my life. Back to the United States. Back to the familiar. Home-bound. But isn’t this what terrifies me?

“And you promise that I will come back?” the hobbit says to Gandalf.

“No,” the old man replies. “And if you do, you will not be the same.”

This. This is the fear, isn't it? The fear of returning to a familiar place with familiar faces and customs and languages. The fear that everything is the same and yet you are not the same. Not a stranger in a strange land, but a stranger in a familiar land. Disconnected from the flock. Now that is truly alarming.

You see, when you leave home, you are expected to adapt to what is new. You must change and learn and grow. But when you return, you are expected, whether spoken or unspoken, to conform to what has always been. Even to the point of conforming to a version of yourself that you aren’t anymore.

I’ve found that it takes a certain kind of courage to leave what you know. But it takes an entirely different kind to return to what you thought you knew. Because it begs the inevitable question, “Who are my people, and where do I belong?”

It was a stunning July morning in Vermont when the conversation first arose – the one about leaving Bolivia and returning to the United States. I was sitting cross-legged in a wooden Adirondack chair, my Bible spread open on my lap, the morning sunlight from the lake dancing across its pages.

“What are you most afraid of, when you think about returning?”

“Making friends.”

The words spill out in front of me, and I fumble. That’s not what I was planning to say.

“What do you mean?”

I hesitate, trying to figure that out for myself.

“I guess I’m afraid of people not understanding. Not caring about my story, how I’ve changed. Or even worse, people who don’t care about the world. People who are only concerned about what’s going on here in the United States... I just don’t think I can be friends with someone like that.”

Yes, that's it, I think. Who needs those people?

But a voice interrupts with, “And what about their stories, Holly?”

Their stories. The ones who stayed. What’s that supposed to mean?

“How do you expect someone to listen to your story when you haven’t listened to theirs? To change the way people see the world, you’ll have to start where they are. And if we only choose friends who see the way we see, think the way we think, how will any of us be changed for the better?” 

And I am undone. Because that, friend, is truth.

Jesus said it best in Luke’s account of his life and ministry.
"Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.” ~Luke 6:37

I am on a road back home. Or at least, what used to be home. And when I arrive, who knows what the pages of this leather-bound journal will hold? But here are a few things I do know:

I am not the same. Praise be to God.
Everyone has a story. Whether we stayed at home or left.
We need each other’s stories. Connected and knit together.

And above all… no matter where I am, I belong because I am His.

.....

 

Again, SO many thanks to those who have faithfully followed this journey by reading, responding, praying, and supporting. Although you've just read my story, don't hesitate to send me a message or email and tell me about yours! How has God proven Himself faithful to you lately? What kind of journey are you on? I'd love to hear from you!

 

Here are some quick photo updates from my most recent Christmas vacation. It is only through the financial support of some incredible, servant-hearted Christ-followers that I am able to spend this sweet time reuniting with family and friends in the States. I am so thankful for the ability to maintain relationships in both of my "homes"! 

 

 

Airport reunions with a few of my favorite people in the world!

 

 

I am immeasurably blessed by some beautiful "heart-sisters." I was able to see several over the holidays. Although I didn't snap a picture with each one, these ladies ground me and give me life.

 

 

My sweet California-girl, Steph

 

 

A Thanksgiving Painting Party with my "eucharisteo" girls

(Seriously, only Ann can say it just right.)

 

 

Beautiful Jess with her precious daughter, Annie

 

 

Christmas morning in the new house

 

 

Christmas Dinner with Dad

 

 

Oh dear. Where do I even begin with this picture? It's embarrassing how much I love these people. They are my whole heart. My cheering section. My family. They have invested so much life and love into the person that I've become. Without them, I wouldn't be on this journey. Period.

 

 

Dennis & Mary Lou Walsh. Josh & Kristi Norman.

 

Christmas in Vermont! Big old lodge, warm fires, home-cooked meals, lots of laughter. 



 

  

 



Outrageous

For God is not a God of confusion but of peace. ~1 Corinthians 4:33

“Only twenty more minutes until our next stop. Don’t forget, reduce your speed on those turns. Any questions? Ok, let’s go, vamos!”

That’s it. That’s all the direction I receive on the precipice of the infamous Death Road, its pathway snaking down mountain heights to dense jungle. I glance at the gravel scattered in front of my feet, and my eyes graze the road’s twisted edge. Before logic and good sense have time to catch up, I tell my right leg to swing over the bicycle seat and my gloved hands to grip the handlebars.

Twenty minutes. Keep the wheel steady. Reduce your speed. Breathe.

But these thoughts come only after I’ve begun the descent, blinking dust out of my eyes and bouncing across patches of rock and debris.

I’m going too fast. Or maybe I’m not going fast enough. And what’s around that corner? Forget the corner, Holly. Focus on that hole you’re about to fall into. There, you made it. Well, this isn’t so bad, in fact…

And in a matter of seconds, a rock lodges itself beneath my front wheel, my back wheel spins up and around, and my body falls hard on a bed of baseball-sized rocks, the 30-pound bicycle landing on top of me. The bikers behind me whizz past, unable to stop themselves. For a few moments I don’t move. I’m trying to decide if the left or right side of me hurts more, but the sound of rumbling car tires says, “Holly, get up.”

The bus that carries our backpacks and gear rolls around the corner just in time for me to push the bike upright and stumble forward. “Don’t make me get inside,” I mutter under my breath, brushing the dust off my pants. But instead of getting out, the driver just sticks his hand out of the window, giving me a thumbs-up sign. I clumsily nod my giant helmet-head and return the gesture.

“Thank you,” I whisper, but my body certainly doesn’t thank me as I climb back onto the bike and start the descent again. The dust from the bikers in front of me has settled, so I start to make my own, praying that I’m not too far behind and telling my muscles to keep moving.

And here’s what I don’t know in that moment: what’s around the next corner.

Here’s what I do know: I am terrified, but I am alive, and this might be the best weekend plan I’ve ever made.

......

I’ve done some pretty outrageous things this month. In addition to biking the Death Road, I also had the opportunity to jump out of a 17-story window in a Batman costume, rappelling face-forward and then free-falling through the air. Even more extreme than the first two, I took my third graders on a field trip to a museum downtown. Field trips give me nightmares.

But perhaps the most terrifying thing I did in the month of November was sign a piece of paper.

I knew it was coming. And I knew what my answer would be when it came. Nonetheless, I couldn’t stop my hand from shaking as the ink scratched across its surface.

Exactly two years ago, in the frenzy of this month, I was making another outrageous decision that would change the course of my life. One phone call. One interview. And one week later, I chose to participate in the work God had prepared for me in La Paz, Bolivia. I made my first solo flight to a country where I had no friends, no connections, and no idea of the extraordinary blessings my Father had in store for me as a teacher and missionary in this beautiful country.

Now, two years later, I have made another decision that will again change my life. I have chosen to make this my last year serving at Highlands International School.

I debated whether or not to publicize this before Christmas break. After all, I will be seeing many of you in person over the holiday. But I think that this post will make it easier for you to know how to encourage and pray for me as I process this decision.

My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me. ~John 10:27

I won’t go into all the details of why, because honestly I don’t know exactly why He’s asking me to leave. My heart is broken at the thought of saying goodbye to the people and places that I have grown to love and value beyond measure. But I do know that this verse has always comforted me when I’ve had to make a big decision, trusting that the answer God put in my heart is there because He fully knows me and wants me to follow Him. He calls me to trust Him, not always to understand why.

Although to be honest, I’ve never particularly liked the comparison to sheep. I mean, c’mon, sheep? I know, I know --- King David, the Shepherd, He leads me beside quiet waters --- but why sheep? Why not something a bit more fascinating or even less smelly?

I was reading an article recently about homing pigeons – now there’s a cool animal. (Note: This may seem like I’m deviating, but I promise there’s a point. Also, yes. I do read articles about homing pigeons and there is nothing wrong with it. Is this why I’m still single?) In the article, the author references the pigeon’s sense of magnetoception, which is the ability to detect a magnetic field to perceive direction, altitude or location. Basically, this creates an internal compass that allows them to navigate across unbelievable distances.

Guess which animal has absolutely no trace of magnetoception. Yep, you got it. Sheep.

But why would they need it, as long as they have a shepherd? And that’s what I need to remember when Jesus tells me to follow Him. As much as I want to be a homing pigeon, able to figure out the way on my own, most of the time I more closely resemble a sheep. I’m more like that girl on the biking trail who wants to know what’s around the next corner but falls flat on her face.

God has no use for pigeons. He has no use for people who think they know the way, people who think they have control. But boy, can God use sheep. And so, I’m going to follow His voice wherever it takes me, even it looks pretty outrageous. Sometimes it might be as simple as a thumbs up sign, encouraging me onward. Other times it might be changing my direction completely or asking me to sit still and wait.

Because the truth is, living like a sheep sometimes makes you look like a fool. It’s usually terrifying. It rarely feels safe. But as long as I am obedient to my Shepherd, I know that He’s going to make my life a beautiful adventure that glorifies Him.

And here’s what I don’t know in this moment: what’s around the next corner.

Here’s what I do know: I am terrified, but I am alive, and I can trust that His plans for me are nothing less than extraordinary.

......

 

Photo Updates!

 

First off, of course, the Death Road biking trip! 40 miles, 5 hours later... we made it out ALIVE.

 

 

 

 

 

Up next, Urban Rush rappelling!

 

 

 

 

 

 

And last, but not least, the field trip to the Pipiripi Children's Museum!

 

 

 

 

 

Third Grade & Kindergarten Book Buddies... Both classes had a BLAST!