June 11, 2011- the night before the trip, and the first journal of the trip

Congratulations! If you made it through reading yesterday's extremely long post, you can read the rest of these with no problem! Today I will begin telling you about the actual trip, starting with the night before. Some of you reading this may have heard this testimony, like if you were on the trip. If you weren't on the trip, this will catch you up.

So, I moved out of my dorm on Friday, May 20. Then Mike drove me over to Claire's house where I spent Friday and Saturday nights before her parents and sister, Kate, drove us both to the airport on Sunday morning. I had to say goodbye to Mike Saturday morning. I was sad as he pulled out of the Decker's driveway, knowing I wouldn't be able to see him or talk to him hardly at all for two weeks, and that we wouldn't get to see each other very much in the summer months. We had  spent almost every day together for the last 4 months and now we were going to be apart. I went back in their house and journaled my feelings about the trip, explaining what I told you in yesterday's blog.

That night, I went with Claire to her college worship service, Connect. She had been telling me about it for a couple weeks, and she told me I could go with her Saturday night since I would be at her house. She said they would pray over us there, and pray for the trip. Sounded good to me. I wanted all the prayer I could get. We got there, and I met a lot of people. They were all super nice, and super friendly,  and they all swarmed Claire chattering about the trip, asking her questions. She was ecstatic to go and was talking happily back to them. I was sitting there quietly, trying to be pleasant and polite. Claire would introduce me to people and explain that I was going on the trip too. They would smile and shake my hand and act interested. They were all very nice and gracious. But have you ever been a stepchild at your stepparent's family reunion the first year after your parent remarries? I haven't. But I imagine this is kind of what being at Claire's college group felt like to me. Everyone was  trying to get to know the new girl, and care. They were trying desperately.But, admittedly, I felt a little out of place, and perhaps a little sad. I wished I could be at MY church the night before I left. I wish MY church family could surround me, and pray for me, and talk to me about the trip. I wish I could spend the night at MY house, and that MY parents could see me off at the airport. But given the close proximity of the end of the semester to the trip, it couldn't be so. The fellowship before the service ended and the worship portion of the service began. I had never heard any of the songs they played. I tried to read the words and soak in the message, but my mind wandered since I couldn't sing along. I let my gaze sweep the room, and land on unfamiliar faces, and the backs of unfamiliar heads. I watched as unfamiliar hands raised to worship what was beginning to seem to me an unfamiliar God. I say unfamiliar because  I hadn't felt his presence in my life for weeks now. Okay, so, maybe if we're honest, it was more like months. I would stand in chapel, and try to feel something. Occasionally, I would catch a wave of emotion connecting with a guitar riff, or a string of lyrics, a beautiful piano melody  or a powerful drum beat. Sometimes when we took communion, I would try to reflect on the sacrifice of Jesus, and the seriousness of it. I would try to imagine what he looked like on the day he died, on the cross. I would try to feel emotion over it. Try, and, so many times, fail. This of course, troubled me. Why couldn't I feel anything about the sacrifice of our Lord and Savior? Its like I couldn't even grasp what he did on the cross. It didn't even seem real anymore. It seemed like a story that I had been hearing for 19 years. I knew I needed to understand more about Jesus, and what He did for me.Not understand in my mind, but in my heart. Of course, I knew it wasn't "just a story". His death and resurrection and love for all of us is so real, and so personal. But I wasn't getting it anymore, and I knew I wasn't. Everything God-related felt numb. Maybe not totally numb, but the kind of numb you feel when you lose circulation in one of your limbs after sitting a certain way for a long time. Your limb feels heavy, and when you touch it, you're not really feeling anything like the  normal sensation, but instead just dull tingling all over. That's the only way you know the limb is still attached. Dull tingling. So this is kind of how I felt when God things would come up. Not like a sensation I normally feel--love, adoration, warmth and calm assurance that He is there with me, but just a dull realization that He was still with me, and a dull awareness of His presence. Every passion I have felt before was dulled and just barely tingling enough that I knew I was still a Christian. This is how I have felt for months, and not the first time I felt that way. I wrote an entire poem about it over a year ago when I felt the same way. It read it to the church not too long ago. But I was getting tired of feeling like God was not there, like every time I prayed He was not really hearing me, and that He wasn't really working in my life. Now, here I was, in the college service watching these strangers around me praising Him, and obviously feeling something. But I felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. I think if you had stabbed me with a knife I would have had trouble squeezing out a tear. Here I was, about to leave for a mission trip in Africa, at a church service surrounded by people full of the love of God, and I was lifeless. I hated feeling that way.  I remembered my question to  Joe a month earlier, "I'm afraid my own heart is not prepared." I had tried to get my heart ready. With as much prayer as I could muster. I should have been praying every single day about at least one aspect of the trip. I prayed a few times fervently, but not nearly enough. I just couldn't get up the willpower to sit down with God and have a serious conversation about Swaziland. The most serious prayers I had about it were a couple of times when Mike and I prayed together about the trip. I think part of it was the fear. Instead of taking my fears about the trip to God and giving them to him, I was ashamed. I kept thinking that maybe I wasn't supposed to be going on the trip, so God was unhappy with me. Maybe I disobeyed him. Maybe going on the trip was all me, all what I wanted. This shame kept me from praying like I should have. Whether I had done enough to prepare my heart or not, here I was, the night before at church, and my heart did not feel prepared. I just wanted out of that service. Away from all these people that were feeling God when I couldn't. It was a while before we got away though. It seemed like an eternity to me.

Finally Claire and I were back in the dark quiet of her car. A song came on, one of my new favorites that she had introduced to me the night before. It was such a beautiful, powerful song, and I will address it separately in another entry when I get to it. So the song came on and I did begin to feel a little emotional. That song was the one thing that made me emotional, and made me realize I do still have a heart for God deep in me somewhere. That's all for another time, though. It came on, and I said what I felt deeply in my heart, "I think we need to pray together". This was the only thing I knew to do is just try to reach God and beg him to reveal himself to me, and beg him to tug at my heart, to beg him to please come on this trip. So Claire said, "I think we should pray right now with this beautiful song playing in the background". So that's what we did. She prayed out loud, then I prayed out loud. I felt a little better, but I was still frustrated with myself and God. On the way home, we had a pretty good talk just about life and love. I always enjoy talking to Claire. Tonight, though, I needed to talk to Mike about what was going on in my heart. I needed to share it with someone, and he is the person that knows the most about the distance I have been feeling from God, and the ups and downs of my relationship with God. So, after greeting Claire's parents I went upstairs to her room and called him up. I let out my frustrations to him, explaining how I felt nothing at the service, and how everyone around me looked so in-tune with God, and about how Claire was so excited about the trip, but that I was feeling so doubtful and unsure. Man I admired Claire so much. She is so full of love, and so peaceful, and joyful. Her heart was so thankful to go on the trip. Why couldn't I be on fire for God like that? Goodness, why couldn't I be on fire for God hardly at all? I started crying about everything. It had been a while since I really cried. It felt kind of good to be able to cry, and it felt good to know that the voice at the other end of the phone cared and wanted to make everything better. Best of all, though, was knowing that the voice at the other end of the phone was connected to a heart that loves God and would pray for me. I was able to feel more peaceful after Mike and I talked. I managed to fall asleep that night and sleep all through the night.

Okay, so here comes my first journal of the trip. These journals aren't eloquently written. They are, after all, just personal notes I made. I am going to be copying the next several blogs straight out of my journal as much word for word as possible. So here we go. This is the part of the trip, by the way, that is like a roller coaster. You know, the part where you are sitting in the seat and you are buckled in, and the attendant working the ride checks your safety bar. Sure enough, its locked in place and you're not going anywhere. You have been waiting for this ride for a very long time and now there's no turning back. You're in for wherever it takes you. Your stomach is full of butterflies, you feel like you could pee a river, and your palms are so sweaty they are slipping off the bar that you are trying to grasp so tightly. Here we go!

May 23, 2011

I am coming to the end of my 20 hr. flight from Washington, D.C. to Johannesburg, South Africa. Its hard to believe we are almost there. The scenery from the plane is already ridiculously  different than in the states. Instead of busy roads with cars travelling along as if ants, and tiny specs representing houses, I now see land. Lots and lots of land, and tiny, winding little dirt roads. There are a few clusters of what appear to be residential areas, but mostly just land. The clouds look different here (of course that is probably weather-related). Anyway, the skies look clear with only a strip of clouds floating against the horizon. On the flight from Columbus to D.C. the clouds covered the sky, all kinds of white, fluffy clouds. Once on our way from D.C. the air below us just looked like a sea of clouds. I can't believe we are almost here. It's been a long flight, but I've done a whole lot of sleeping. I am anxiously awaiting what this day, what this trip, will bring. I have no idea what God has in store for the next two weeks. I will be writing in this journal whenever I get the chance. I'm sure I will have updates at the end of each day.

*Until Then,
Holly Peffer                  

*If you are wondering, about my journal signature, my granddad, John Peffer, passed away in June 2004, when I was twelve and ever since I signed my journals with "Until Then".  This is because he used to sing the old hymn "Until Then" which says "Until then, my heart will go on singing, until then with joy I'll carry on, Until the day my eyes behold the city, until the day God calls me home." God called granddad home, if ever he called anyone home. I will go on singing and living my life the best I can until God calls me home where I will be with him, and granddad again.

June 10, 2011-The journey leading up to the journey

Hello, friends. I am blogging to tell you my story about Swaziland. About a country in Africa that is around the third highest HIV/Aids infected in the world. About a place that I was afraid to go into. This is the story of my journey, from beginning to end. I want to share with you the things God spoke into my heart and life while I was out of the country. I kept a detailed journal the 17 days I was away, and I am going to copy it as much verbatim as possible so you can see my thoughts and feelings as I journeyed in Swaziland. I will first give you a little intro here about why I chose to go on the trip and what happened before the trip took place. 
       So, about three years ago, or maybe four, the choir at Grace Nazarene church did an Easter cantata, as we usually do annually. I was in it. At the end of the cantata, was a song, I recognized as being made popular by the Newsboys, "He Reigns".  The song was my favorite piece in the cantata, because the message is so powerful. It says, "All God's children singing glory glory, hallelujah, he reigns." I had this image in my head when we would sing the song of this huge circle of people from all over the world holding hands and singing these words to God. I was thinking about how incredible it is that God is so big that so many people serve him, no matter their race, background, language,or  geographic location. People everywhere know that God is the true God. So this idea of global Christianity was in my head. I now had this picture of global worship and service to God. Last year, I finally took my idea and created a painting, which some of you have seen. The thought of meeting other people from God's earth was on my mind. I always wanted the chance to meet people from other parts of the world, especially after singing that song in the cantata.
Then I went off to college at MVNU.  At first I was an Integrated Language Arts major, which is fancy for English teacher. I was having a conversation with one of my friends about life, and school, and career choices. She was talking about teaching ESL (English as a Second Language) in a foreign country. Then this idea popped into my head that maybe I could go to a foreign country once  I got my degree and teach. Maybe God wanted more for me than to lead a simple, quiet life teaching at a Kentucky public school. After all, I have felt His hand on my life from an early age, it would only make sense that He would have something huge in store for me like serving as a missionary. So I turned the idea around in my head. I prayed about it, I told my mom about the possibility, and to my best friend, Katie. I didn't really particularly like the idea though, to be honest. When missionaries used to come to camp and talk or I would hear about it when I was little, I never really thought the idea sounding appealing. Some kids were excited, and lots of missionaries were called when they were just kids. But not me. I didn't feel that call. I wanted to be a teacher more than anything in the world. Teaching was like my dream job. I always knew exactly what I wanted. Grow up, go to college, and be a teacher. But now I had this wild idea that I may go at least short term to teach in a foreign country. But I didn't feel passionate about it. I was unsure about the idea. I wanted some guidance. I wanted a chance to test out the idea of living in a foreign country before I made a decision. Maybe I would get to take a trip sometime in college...


   "Sometime" came in February when Brent and Michaele LaVigne spoke in our chapel  about living in Swaziland for a year. They were from Bethany First Church in Oklahoma. The church is partnering with the Nazarene church in Swaziland for ten years, and Brent an Michaele were the on-site coordinators from Bethany First Naz. They shared their stories with us about Swaziland, and showed us pictures. They told us about an opportunity we had to go on the trip. At the end of chapel I thought, "Here it is, here is a trip to Africa. This is my chance to go and find out what its like."  


   I talked to my friend Claire, who I had just met. Somehow I found out she wanted to go on the trip too. We went to an interest meeting together. Our chaplain, Scott Peterson, told us about the trip, the more he spoke, the more I thought this was a trip I needed to look into. The thing was we had to give an answer about whether or not we were going by the next week. The other catch-it was $3700 to go. So, I had to estimate if  I could come up with that amount of money by the time of the trip. And I had to know in a week. That's quite a lot of pressure. After the meeting, me and Claire both got really excited. But we knew the decision couldn't be made on our own. So we went back to our prayer room. We both prayed aloud about the trip asking God to show us if He wanted us to take the trip and asking Him to provide the money if it was His will to go. The next day I talked to my parents. I told them I wanted to go, and they agreed that I could. I told my grandparents, and Katie that I was going to Africa. 
  
   Everyone got  a little nervous. Everyone asked lots of questions. Lots and lots of questions. They were questions I couldn't answer. The more people asked questions, and the more questions that I couldn't answer, the more nervous I got. Apprehension closed in around me. Other people going on the trip were getting excited. REALLY excited. I was just getting more nervous. I had already agreed to go though, and once we signed our paper, the money had to be payed whether or not we went. There was no way I was going to get up $3700 to go on a trip and then not go. Or commit to that amount of money, decide not to go, and still have to scrape to come up with it. So  I was stuck. I had to go. What had I gotten myself into? I should be grateful to God for the opportunity to go on a trip like this. Its not every day that you get to go to Africa. But I was scared. Scared of the unknown. Scared of coming up with the money. I was disappointed with the group that went too. I didn't know any of them very well at all, and from what I could tell at least four of them were already a clique at school. "Great," I thought, "Now they will hang out with each other since they already know each other, and  I won't get to know any of them...and we will have an awkward group." All these worries were going on in  my head. But I tried not to give voice to any of them. When people asked about the trip I would pull out a smile and talk about the great opportunity that it was. I would say I was nervous, but also excited. If they only knew who worried or anxious...
    The end of March was spring break. We were supposed to have our list of names and addresses made up by this time, ready to bring back to Rochel, the secretary to the campus ministries office. I came back from spring break. I didn't have my list of names and addresses. Who on earth was I supposed to ask for money? I hate asking for money. I really hate it. Plus, I just graduated from high school last year, and people sent me money for that. Then, at church, they had me a going away party, and people brought me more stuff. I did not want to ask my church, certainly, for money. 
  I talked to my mom a couple of times about the list of names. Neither of us knew who to send my letters to. By this point the whole group of us going on the trip were meeting together once a week to talk about the trip. Joe Noonan, our trip leader was asking for updates. When he started talking about money and support letters, my stomach would churn and I would squirm a little in my seat. I could feel my face getting hot and I just wanted to crawl under a chair or vanish out the door. I hadn't given Rochel my list of names. I had no money what-so-ever paid towards the trip. Swaziland was the last thing on my to-do list. 
  Right before Easter break, in April, we had a meeting. I remember Joe saying, "If you haven't sent out your support letters yet, then not only does Jesus have to die and be resurrected over this break, but you have to get your names in." Part of me was relieved that he was making this announcement to the entire group. Maybe this meant that other people hadn't turned theirs in yet either. There's something about not being in something alone that brings hope to a situation. But the other part of me was so worried. The pressure was mounting. Now there was so much to do. One other relief was I had my passport. I took care of that a long time before. I had it expedited and everything to ensure I had it in plenty of time. Some people didn't get theirs until right before the trip. Getting a passport had proved to be a big process. Thank God I had that out of the way. 
   
Earlier in the same meeting, Joe asked us what worries we had about the trip. The room was silent. My head wasn't though. It just swarmed with ideas. I was worried about getting my letters out in time and getting money for the trip. I was worried that I didn't have any shots yet and hadn't taken the malaria pills, and had no doctor, or didn't know how to get to a doctor that could give me shots. I was worried that I would cut myself and someone would bleed on me and I would get HIV, or someone would cough in my face and I would get TB. I was worried that I would mess up while we were working, and do something wrong and Joe would get mad at me, or someone would yell at me. I was worried that our team wouldn't get along. I was worried that the only person I felt close to on the trip was Claire, and that somehow she would get closer to the other girls on the trip and I would be left out. OR that people wouldn't like me. What if the kids didn't like me? What if they didn't want to be around me? What if...worse fear of all--I wasn't called to be on the trip? What if God didn't want me to go, and he was not happy with me for going, and I couldn't feel his presence at all on the trip. What if my heart was cold and I wouldn't let him in to work in me? This was a real fear, a genuine, big fear that I had. I was sick with fear and, well, dread. This semester was a semester from heck. I felt like I had overdosed on stress, and was just pushing through one thing after the other just to get it over with. One class. One project. One choir practice. One Swaziland meeting. One test. One chapel. Skipping this class to do that project. Skipping lunch to do math homework. Staying up late to finish a paper. Getting up early to finish a log entry. Calculating what class I could miss and still survive, what thing I could not turn in just to get another thing done that was worth more points. All of these worries and these stresses from school were just swirling around my head, colliding at 100 miles per hour. I needed it all to stop. I needed peace. But I couldn't find peace. Preparing for this trip was making things more stressful, because it brought on all its worries of its own. So when Joe asked what we were worried about, and the room was silent, I didn't know where to start. I didn't want to say anything out loud. I would just sound stupid. All these other people in the room seemed to have it together. They seemed to know the answers. I didn't want to ask anything. But I had to ask something. So I started, "I'm just worried my own heart is not prepared." I was thinking maybe at least Joe and the others would pray for me if I said this, even if there wasn't a solution. Then I found myself saying out loud, "And I'm a little worried about the language barrier." What the heck? Where did that come from? That was not even a legitimate worry I had...its like it just suddenly came out. I don't even remember what Joe said to answer my question. I just remember when he dismissed us, I wanted nothing more than to get out of that room. I knew I had letters to get ready, and a lot to do. I had a heavy heart. 


Every time I would think about everything, and get panicked, I would talk to Mike. Somehow he managed to keep me sane. Who knows how. But somehow I managed to function as a relatively normal human being and make it to the end of the semester. We prayed together a few times about the trip. Praying about it and talking to him about it was the only way I know of that I released my anxiety. He made me feel better about it. I was still worried, but somehow a rational voice does wonders in times like this. I made it through finals week. Finally. Its like the best way to describe it is a parade I think. Classes, choirs, clubs, homework, friends, field, and everything was lined up, each representing a float. They paraded down "Semester Street" Some of the floats were sloppy and unfinished, but they were floats in the parade, nonetheless. Some were more important than others, and somehow, during the parade, they all got out of sequence and out of step and the whole parade was a disaster. But then SMACK! the first float smashed into a big building right there. All the other floats followed suit and crashed into the back of the other. The parade ended that way. It was a sorry parade, but now it was over. Now, me, as mayor, could go and assess the damage. I threw away all the bad stuff. But kept the good. Now the street was clear and lying in frnt of me was only one giant float, the Swaziland float. So, now I could look at Swaziland, and clear my head. 


So, finally, two days before the trip, I was finally excited. What's done was done. I had eventually sent my letters out. I decided to send them to people from church after all. They are, after all, my family, and the ones that usually supported me through everything. The worst thing they could do would choose not to donate anything. At least if I sent the letters, they would be aware of the trip and could pray for me. That was the most important thing anyway. Joe had said to at least give someone the chance to throw the letters away. So I did. That was settled, and the financial matter was in God's hands. Also, I talked to other people, and hardly any of them had gotten extra shots, plus the school nurse said there were no shots I needed updated on, so I felt better about that. So now, I just needed to go on the trip. This is where the worrying, and preliminary things stop and the trip begins.