Promising

My last class at school this Friday afternoon was spent pouring my life into a piece of posterboard using Crayola markers and pastels. So, along with the pastel stains left on my hands, this activity left me in a peaceful, reflective and hopeful state of mind perfect for this blog post.

First, let’s backtrack. My last couple days of freedom before school were spent appropriately: adventuring. I went for a hike in the newly-fenced and protected Karura Forest with Amanda, Beka, and a new friend, Hannah. We promptly got lost. After hours of wandering through this huge, dense forest, the map finally started to make sense. At long last, we found and explored both the waterfall and the caves. Our exertion was rewarded eventually with the box of chocolate chip cookies we’d left in the car at the main gate. The next day was my birthday, and my parents decided it was time for the DesRoches’ to take on Karura Forest. This time, I navigated with yesterday’s experience in mind and got us to the waterfall and caves with no major incidents. The forest is incredible. The matatus and road construction of Nairobi fade to a distant memory. So, hikes, Winnie the Pooh gift bags, John Mayer concert DVDs, and Diamond Plaza Indian food. That is how 17 years of life are celebrated in Nairobi. From there, my two last days of freedom were a blur of lunch dates, tea dates, life organization sessions, and jet lag. 

Then... School hit. Now, you may be wondering why my first blog post since the world of IB sucked me back into its inescapable muddy pot hole is entitled Promising. On the days where I’m running on too little sleep, too much stress, and no caffeine, I ask the same question. Yes, after a week and a half of school, I’m already both stressed and busy. Such is the lot of the IB student. But, I’m no longer in school to survive or simply pass my last year of high school. I’m searching for my sweet spot, for passion. Why plan your future without a passion? This, for me, is a year of discovery. I live for the moments where I join an incredible discussion on the powerful impact of a Vietnam veteran’s memoirs. Where I get to be a part of another discussion on the intrinsic nature of true friendship based on a novel I didn’t enjoy at first, but now appreciate. Where I get to share my broken heart with my peers about the famine in Africa’s Horn, and maybe later, do my part to alleviate the suffering. Where I get excited about my chemistry epiphany regarding oxidation numbers.  Where I get to walk alongside my schoolmates right after an assembly announcing the passing of a young man who graduated last year from our high school, and feel the community tangibly pull together in its grief. Yes, I have a to-do list that makes me depressed even thinking about it. But yes, my life is promising.

I find promise in other things. Last Friday night, I celebrated my birthday with six of the most incredible, beautiful girls I know. They are my inspiration, my crazy place, and my partners in laughter, tears and prayer. Karaoke with my giant crayon from Shediac’s dollar store to Taylor Swift, Celine Dion, and Jesse McCartney ensued. Sunday, I had lunch with my friend Michelle and another new friend, Daley. They lead youth ministry in the city of Nairobi, and their enthusiasm for God and his children inspires me. New opportunities for ministry that I can be involved with are arising, and I can’t wait to see what God has in store this year. Monday afternoon, I got to sit on an official Production meeting with the mostly-adult production team of ISK’s fall showing of Macbeth. I’m stage managing, learning to appreciate the stage and spotlight while not directly in it. Above all, I find promise in God’s continued love, grace and presence in my life. And yes, if you must know, today’s quote stems from the fact that this song always makes me and my sock feet dance down my hallway. Hallway dancing fits right into my hunt for abundant life. 

“It’s so clear, every year, we get stronger. So shine that light. Take my hand. And let’s dance into the Promised land. Cause I know we’ve come so far but we’ve got so far to go.”

Delightful

            Let me preface today’s bloggish thought by pointing out that the word delightful is defined by its sound. Doesn’t delightful just sound... well, delightful? Yes, if you can’t tell by my happy jabbering, I’m smiling benevolently on life at the moment.

I spent four weeks of June and July at a wonderful spot called Camp Wildwood in New Brunswick, Canada. It was my second summer as a member of camp staff. Needless to say, I spent many of those hours laughing my head off and carrying on like a crazy person. See, at camp, we live life loud. We lose our voices at campfire and Praise Craze. We get so tired that everything is funny and singing songs loudly becomes perfectly appropriate. We get whipped cream in the face and then throw it at each other (and then spend approximately twenty hours in the shower trying to get it off). We dress our campers up like minions or human crayons. We spend our weekends at friends’ houses, discovering chickens under our tent at 2 in the morning. We (I) kill June bugs. We get drenched in the rain or during Wet-n-Wild Duck Duck Goose. We stay up late talking about God, life and boys. We are shaped and taught by our awesome Father. We always have kids attached to our arms or sitting in our laps. We die laughing at some of the things campers say. We learn to comfort and hug a crying, homesick kid. We fall back in love with our Savior. It’s not always fun. In fact, sometimes, it’s downright heart-wrenching. But, I left knowing I’d left a branch of my family and a piece of my heart in McKee’s Mills. It forces you to live. That’s why I consider it a delightful place, unlike any other.

(Photo Credits to the incredible Kirsten Gargan, check her out!)

Prince Edward Island is, arguably, the most beautiful place on Earth. I live in a summer house that is a little less than a kilometre away from a red sandstone cliff and a beautiful rocky beach that can be explored and walked on for hours without seeing anyone else. It’s about rest there. We’re five minutes from the best fish and chips (and chicken fingers) in the world. We’re ten minutes from a stunning National Park, home to majestic dunes and yet another stunning beach. We’re forty-five minutes from Singing Sands, another incredible spot. The ocean, cold and occasionally jellyfishy, is our private swimming pool. The sunsets never disappoint. Oh, and PEI is home to Anne of Green Gables: The Musical. This summer’s viewing was my fifth. Live theatre never fails to inspire me, especially this show. I literally grew up on these books. The story of Anne and Gilbert is my favourite love story of all time. We also went on an annual 30 k bike ride with some family friends. This year, we got rained on. Then we sat under an overhanging at the nearby National Park’s information centre where my brother proceeded to karate kick the handicapped button and open the door for the various people walking in. My family’s not even traditionally weird, but they are prés que parfait. “Sempre en frente.”

Now, I’m home. Four days before school starts, and senior year is officially here. It’s so delightful to be home, to see the friends that Canada isn’t complete without. I spent my first day in Kenya playing some footy, getting some tackle practice in, debating the appearance of a half-octopus and half-man, learning the Parent Trap handshake with my best friend, sitting and chatting with the same best friend over a Malindi Chai Latte and a shared banana split at Java House, and then, sorting through various collections of stuff in my room. Spring cleaning. My dogs are thrilled to see their family home and the African sun shone for me today.  Thus, delightful. Even more delightful is the thought that God is walking with me still. He doesn’t need airplanes to get around (which reminds me, I need to write an entire blog post about why I hate Heathrow Airport). 

“The world tried to break me, I found a road to take me home. There ain’t nothing but a blue sky now. After all of my running, I’m finally coming home.” – Gwyneth Paltrow in Country Strong