Since I've been back in Rhode Island, I've gotten into the habit of going out to lunch with my grandfather. The first time I told him I'd take him out, I have to admit, I was a little nervous. It's not that my grandfather is an intimidating man. In fact, he's quite the opposite. I remember one time when I was about ten years old, he got on to me about leaving his basement door unlocked and leaving the cellar light on. I was so upset, I started crying right then and there. I don't think my grandfather had ever scolded me for anything up until that point, and even then he never raised his voice. Anyway, he felt so bad about making me cry that the next time I came to his house, he took me to the candy store and let me fill up a bag of whatever I wanted.

Needless to say, a lot has changed over the years. And in the past few months, the two of us have kind of developed a routine of going out to lunch on Sundays. The first time we went out, it was only because my parents, who usually take him out for Sunday dinner, were out of town, so he asked if I wanted to go. "Sure," I'd said in an attempt to be polite. When really, I was wondering what in the world we'd find to talk about for the hour or two it took to go out. At that point, I thought a lapse in conversation was a negative thing. I thought I needed to constantly be bringing up new topics to keep him entertained.

After a few months of Sunday dinners with Gramps, I realize that it's not so much about the conversation as it is about the company. It doesn't matter if we sit in silence, or talk for hours. We've been known to do both. The point is, at the end of the day, Gramps doesn't really care whether we spent the time talking or not, he just cares that we spent the time together. This week, we went to Twin Oaks. We were seated at 1:45pm and we enjoyed a leisurely two-and-a-half-hour meal before getting up to leave at 4:15pm. And while I could think of a million other things I could be doing with my Sunday afternoons, I wouldn't change them for anything. Sometimes we drive out to Naragansett Bay in Providence and just pull in to look at the boats after we eat. Sometimes we sit and drink coffee after a four-course meal. But whether we're sitting in my Volkswagen Beetle, staring out at the ocean, or sitting in a two-person booth at a crowded restaurant, the only thing that matters to me is the genuine look of contentment I always find on his face.

There must be some sort of unwritten rule that says planned trips to major tourist attractions never turn out the way you’ve planned. For the past three years, my friends Anjey, Kim, and I have met up in New Jersey for an annual weekend of lounging and catching up. The trip usually takes place in January, but this year, we somehow managed to squeeze in a semi-annual catching-up-weekend in August. But rather than just renting movies and going shopping, this time we decided to take a trip to New York City. We stepped off the ferry at West 38th St. in downtown Manhattan with three goals in mind. Mine was to see the Statue of Liberty. Kim was dead-set on eating a hot dog from a street vendor, and Anjey would settle for purchasing an “I Love NY” t-shirt.

We took a shuttle from West 38th into Battery Park where we got in line to buy tickets for the Circle Line. The line wrapped all the way around Castle Clinton, but it moved a lot faster than we expected. However, when we finally approached the ticket window around noon time, we realized the Statue had already reached capacity. While we could still buy tickets to see the Statue and Ellis Island, we couldn’t climb up inside the Statue. In spite of our disappointment, Kim and I would not be so easily defeated. (The two of us had actually planned to see the Statue back in January when we went to Times Square for New Year’s Eve, but by the time we arrived in the city, they’d already stopped running the ferries for the day.) This being our second attempt, we decided to overlook our disappointment and get as close as we could.

When we got in line for the ferry, Battery Park was abuzz with activity. We passed two men clad in Hawaiian-style shirts playing miniature steel drums, and one playing a combination of a harmonica and a cheese grater. (Seriously, you’d be amazed at the sound.) I was truly impressed with the sidewalk musicians. One, in particular, stood out to me. I know he was probably out there to make an honest dollar like any other street musician, but he really seemed to love being there. He had a thick Jamaican accent, and with it, he told everyone that happiness was important, and he wanted to play his music to make people happy.

As the line began to move forward, we made our way through security and boarded the ferry for Liberty Island. We spent a little under an hour walking around the base of the Statue and taking pictures. No matter how many tourists we tried to have photograph us in front of the statue, none of them quite understood what we wanted. We either turned out to be a speck in the bottom, right-hand corner of the frame, or the Statue of Liberty was simply missing from the photo altogether. So I posted the best picture I could find, and you can at least see the foot of the statue in the upper left-hand corner.

After seeing all there was to see at Liberty Island, aside from the inside of the monument, we boarded the next ferry to Ellis Island. I think that was actually my favorite part. For anyone who’s not familiar with the island, they fully restored the immigration center and turned it into a museum in 1990. The exhibits give a step-by-step model of the immigration process. It’s definitely something to see. After spending a few hours at the museum, we boarded the Circle Line once again to take us back to Manhattan.

Leaving Battery Park, we were bombarded with countless street vendors trying to sell us anything and everything from framed pictures of the city and Yankee Stadium, to knock-off purses, dvds and wrist watches. Before catching the subway to leave the city, Anjey purchased her two dollar and fifty cent “I love NY” t-shirt, and we all grabbed a bite from a sidewalk hot dog vendor for Kim. So even though we didn’t get to climb inside the Statue itself, it was a great day in New York!

Looking back on my life, I can see an intricate web of experiences God used to shape my character, direct my future, and ultimately bring me to the point I am at right now. It’s comforting to know that there is a plan, that I am not simply “spinning my wheels.” Even in the past few months, correction, especially in the past few months, I’ve reached points in my life where the only question I could think to ask of God was “What are you doing?” It’s not that I thought God was absent, or that He couldn’t possibly understand my current situation, but I simply couldn’t understand what God was doing in my life. I am continually reminded of Isaiah 55:8-9:

“For My thoughts are not your thoughts, Nor are your ways My ways,” declares the Lord. “For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts.”

When I took a job as a companionship caregiver for the elderly following my college graduation, I took the job assuming it would only be temporary. I knew God called me to use the education and experiences He blessed me with in order to further the gospel. I didn’t know exactly how that was going to happen, but when my heels clicked noisily across the platform to receive my degree on December 18, 2004, I was confident graduate school was the means by which I was going to fulfill God’s calling on my life. I was going to study public policy and eventually combine my passion for writing and justice to influence the world for Christ. This in mind, graduating a semester early seemed both a blessing and a curse. Sure, I saved about ten thousand dollars, but at the same time, I had roughly five extra months to fill before I would begin classes toward my Masters.

I don’t remember exactly why I took a job caring for the elderly. I was never interested in pursuing a profession in the medical field and the pay wasn’t anything to write home about. I guess I just convinced myself it was only temporary, and it was a job. I could only sit still for so long before finding something to do with my time after graduation, and this job just sort of availed itself. Over the course of my employment as a companionship caregiver, God made it clear to me the reason I was there.

For five months, I took care of a remarkable eighty seven-year-old woman who will not be forgotten. Her life left an imprint on mine, and my sincere hope is that God used me to bring her to himself. Since her passing, I’ve spent hours agonizing over whether or not she knew Christ. In this life, I realize I will never know. Considering the time I had with her, sometimes I wonder if my words and my life were enough. I truly believe God put me in her home to give her another opportunity to accept him, and I learned a valuable lesson. I learned to take advantage of any and every opportunity to share the gospel. I learned that I never again want to feel the anguish of wondering if I could have said more. Simply put, God’s ways are not mine, and even though I couldn’t understand how rubbing lotion on an old woman’s feet would make the slightest bit of difference in the world, in that moment, I think that is exactly where God could best use my life. God also changed my heart about attending grad school in the fall. I never would have guessed I would be working as an Overseas Correspondent for the International Mission Board come this October, but His ways are higher, and for that I am thankful.

When I flew home from Richmond last Saturday, I had no idea I would be boarding a plane to return only three days later. But what a great trip! I arrived in Richmond Tuesday afternoon when a friend picked me up at the airport and drove me to Lynchburg, Virginia, where we joined my sister and brother-in-law and their two dogs in their Hyundai Accent only to drive another eight hours to Monticello, Kentucky. We got in at about 2 a.m. and woke up five hours later to spend the day on Lake Cumberland. We filled the day with jet-skiing, tubing, diving off the top of a double decker pontoon, and eating Dale's famously seasoned steaks. After a day in the sun and little sleep the night before, we were exhausted but all too easily persuaded to make a Wal-Mart run with my sister so she could make a birthday cake for her father-in-law. I fell asleep that night to the aroma of a golden layer cake flooding my nostrils from the oven only five or six paces from the couch that was my bed.
Friday found us exploring only a few of the 365 miles of underground rock formations at Mammoth Cave National Park. Frozen Niagra was definitely worth the drive. We spent most of the evening working up an appetite in those caves, which made the stop for Mexican on the way home even more appealing than usual. We spent Saturday lounging around the lake again and playing some two-on-two basketball. The afternoon brought in a pretty intense thunderstorm, and we ended up spending a good portion of it watching the lightening over the rolling hills of Kentucky from a rocking front porch swing. It was a relaxing way to end the trip, especially before piling back into the backseat of the Hyundai Accent with my sister and her two dogs to drive back to Lynchburg through the night.