[A note to the reader: I wrote this blog and it was perfect and then as I was saving my computer shut down and it was lost. Lesson that should have been learned a hundred times over by now? Save. Save. Save. I then went and took a freezing cold shower in an even colder room and am now attempting to recreate the brilliance as I shiver in my sleeping bag. Bear with me.]
Twenty one is a milestone year. You’re past being awkwardly 19 or 20, you can now do all of those things you’ve been looking forward to since your 18th birthday (yes, I’m talking about getting a sideways license here). You’re finally starting to feel like a grownup but still retaining those last vestiges of childhood safety.
For some, 21 means shots, blackouts and hangovers. For me, it meant going out in dresses and feeling mature. For others, it means giving up everything you have to take care of orphans who would otherwise be left out in the cold.
This month, my team is staying at Nepal Christian Ministries (NCM) central headquarters, current location of the church, the pastor and his wife, their tiny baby, a handful of teenage girls who run the show, and eleven orphans.
Sabnam is my age, barely 22, beautiful and mature and full of smiles and silly jokes. Her 21st year looked just a little different than mine.
My 21st year started with a sparkling cider party at my Abuelita’s, being kidnapped by my roommates and taken out on the (freezing Michigan) town, hearing again and again from my pledge buddy “you’re twenty- freaking- one!!”, switching schools and careers and life plans, crying occasionally but mostly laughing and joking and eating and living a life full of friends and family and blessings.
Her 21st year started in the orphanage that she had begun with her husband the month after they were married. They sold their wedding rings to help fund it, and on days when they run out of food, she teaches the children to fast and pray and trust the Lord to provide. [I’m not sure if you’ve ever tried convincing a 3 year old that hour long prayers are better than food, but Subnam has, and these kids are a joy.] She cooks and cleans and takes care of these kids all day every day, with no recognition or thanks or praise, just an enduring spirit of love and grace.
Our years both ended with the start of something new: I took off on yet another adventure, she had a baby.
These years are now locked away, deep in the pockets of time, unable to be relived but welcomed to be remembered. Moving forward, we have the choice to live out another year focused on food and fun, makeup and dresses and boys, doing things because we want to with little thought to the impact on others, OR we can choose to make each day a sacrifice, giving up the things that may mean a lot to provide for the people who mean even more, living out each moment with an eternal perspective.
I know what Sabnam is choosing.
I’m learning how to make similar choices (even though I don’t know how I’ll ever get used to squatty potties and cold showers and rice for every meal).
What will you choose?
