"There are potholes on the road less traveled. Some deep, some not so deep, some you dig yourself. Most are filled with mud. Many contain rocks. Once in a while, however, you'll be walking along and step in one a bit more accommodating. . . shabby, green, and pulsing with life." Flabbergasted, Ray Blackston, page 8 -- one of the funniest and most interesting novels you could hope to read.

There were potholes in my road during this last week. I mentioned in my last post that I was struggling with the decision whether to accept the 3rd/4th grade teaching position at Zuni Christian Mission School or not. This decision was a pothole with mud and rocks in it -- I thought of pros and cons and couldn't decide which outweighed the other; I tried to discern my calling and all I could feel was lots of different duties weighing me down from one side or another; I tried to listen for God's voice and couldn't tell when it was His and when it was mine. I wanted to accept the position but I wanted to stay in North Idaho, and there was no way I could do both.

But God brought me to the right decision in the end. I'm going to Zuni, and I'm so excited about it! This is the green, pulsing with life pothole. ;-) They start school on August 15, so I need to leave here very close to the beginning of August. My summer boss was okay with me quitting a month early -- praise the Lord! And Hephzibah should be up to carrying my earthly possessions for one more trip across the country. I'm excited to pack and have been collecting toilet paper dispenser boxes from work to pack my books in.


I thought I heard Erika's voice yesterday. She was a little Mexican 8-year-old with a soft, high-pitched voice. The ultimate girly-girl, she loved hearts and butterflies (las mariposas) and kittens and jewelry. She actually didn't live at the Casa de Ninos, but her mother was their cook so she spent most of her time there. It was so fun to make drawings with her (in pinks and purples), to help her bead, to try to rescue her kitten from her motherly attempts to smother it.


When I play my flute I miss Alan. He would sit by the door of the dormitory of a morning, all dressed in his school uniform, and play his recorder until breakfast (at 7:00 a.m.). The Sunday when I pulled out my flute, he tried to play it. He did pretty well for somebody in their first five minutes of exposure to an instrument. :-) Then he went in and grabbed his recorder, and we played together. After Mary Had a Little Lamb he taught me to play a song. It was so fun to sit there and learn along with a ten-year-old's fingers. Music is such a cool gift from God that can cross language and cultural barriers and help us connect with each other. So when I play my flute now, I miss Alan.

Sorry, no pictures yet. I forgot to get the disk from my friend. But they wouldn't do the kids justice anyways... I miss them, but I've almost gotten over speaking to every stranger I meet in Spanish. And my body has readjusted to American food instead of beans and tortillas. And I'm starting to get used to the fact that the Mexico team -- my 9 "brothers and sisters" are no longer around all the time to pray and laugh with. Why can't we just always live on a mission trip? Oh yeah -- maybe that's why God is sending me to Zuni. :-) His potholes are pretty cool.