Last year of The Aughts

Ten years ago today, I was helping one of my best high school friends babysit. It wasn't an especially glamorous way to say goodbye to the 1900s, but it was still special to be with such a good friend on what some believed could be the last day of civilization as we knew it.

Yep. It was Y2K.

I was a senior in high school, and my classmates would every now and then whisper to each other the question we faced in such a time: Will we graduate?

It was a weighty question. We were 18; there was so much life to be lived after our release from the confines of public high school, so much freedom to enjoy. There was college. There was dorm life and that first apartment. There were parties to throw, attend and crash. There were boys. And there were girls.

Then, after all that, there was that ever-so-important career. And marriage. And kids. And a rocking chair on the porch.

Would it be ours?

The question wasn't so silly as it sounds now. Our families had stored gallons of water and cans of food in the basement. We'd been stockpiling candles. Butter tubs that actually contained gold sat nonchalantly in our fridges.

Would the world end before we entered fully into it?

No. No it would not. I'm happy to report the drop of the glass ball that year did not usher in chaos. Or ruin. Or desolation. At least not for average middle class Americans like us. (The majority of the world's population that lives in desperate poverty and disease is another issue. I doubt Y2K would have upended their already destitute lives much.)

Most of my classmates did go to college. There were first apartments, all-nighters, parties, first love. For many, there was -- and yet is -- a career, a husband or wife, children, travels. Life carried on.

Life carries on. As we stand on the brink of the last year of The 20 Aughts, I am glad for that. I rejoice with friends who announce engagement. I recently cried with joy when my friend Sarah texted to say she and her husband were expecting a baby boy. And I felt genuinely happy when I received a letter from my friend John saying he was going to serve as a missionary journalist in Singapore. Life carries on.

And yet, if you'll allow me a moment to be honest, I'm sad as I stand here looking behind at 2009 and ahead at 2010.

It's not that 2009 was a bad year; it was fantastic. It was full of variety and slightly odd, but it was good all the same. I cultivated awesome friendships; I worked for the government; I went to El Salvador; I worked for a Christian nonprofit; I bought a car; I edited a book.

And it's not that I fear what is to come in 2010. Per my usual, I've got some good adventures planned.

It's that I find myself asking the same questions I asked ten years ago: Will I graduate? Will life be mine?

I went to college. I didn't attend many parties, but some. I got a career. I traveled. I fell in love.

Thing is, love fell away from me. And silly as this sounds, I feel like life stopped. I mean, I don't feel that way all the time. I'm happy. I love the life God has given me. But sometimes, I feel that way.

Like today. Today I feel alone. And I so wish I wasn't.

Alas, tomorrow is another year. Farewell Aughts.

White runs in Greenie land

I snowboarded in Colorado! With Ben and Sarah and Josh (he's taking the photo). It was fun. It was cold. The Colts beat the Broncos that day. That's a good thing when you're with three Colts fans. I hope we get to do it again some day!

A small city

Nearly 8 million shoe box gifts have been packed, dropped at local collection sites, processed at one of six Operation Christmas Child processing centers, and shipped to 130 countries around the world. Poor children in Mexico, South America, Africa, Asia, Europe and the Middle East -- children who have likely never received a Christmas gift before -- will unwrap those colorful boxes and, hopefully, know they are loved.

That is a lot of boxes. It is a lot of wrapping paper. And toothbrushes. And stuffed animals.

It is a lot of time. The Denver Processing Center warehouse ran nonstop 9 a.m. to 10 p.m. every day but Sunday for 3 weeks. Close to 7,000 volunteers processed nearly 630,000 shoe box gifts in Denver alone, inspecting and cartonizing box after box for a total of 182 hours.

Operation Christmas Child is big. I am continually amazed at the scope of this project. As our director's husband put it: Setting up and running a processing center is like setting up and running a small city. That 65,000-square-foot space needs sanitation and waste services. It needs heat, water, food facilities, technology, phone systems, fire protection, shipping services, security and communication systems. Not to mention leadership and staff.

And yet, Operation Christmas Child is also small. What's the good of setting up a city if it can't positively impact society? Operation Christmas Child is nothing without each and every individual who packs a shoe box, wraps it, prays for the child who will receive it, and trusts it to our stewardship.

That fact humbled me every day I worked for Operation Christmas Child. I never grew tired of watching one more shoe box come in the door. I never grew tired of a child's wide-eyed wonder as he brought in a box and saw where it would go next. That box became more than cardboard and small toys. It became precious cargo and would soon become precious treasure.

Now, as I write this, the contents of the warehouse have been packed up and shipped out. It stands empty. The full-time staff have returned to the old office. I have returned home, soon to pursue another adventure in the wylds of Montana.

But, the vision of Operation Christmas Child continues. Nearly 8 million kids -- along with their families and their villages -- know Jesus loves them and desires a relationship with them. And that truly is the greatest gift of all, worth every second of work in a small city that flourished and is now gone...til next year.


Some of my Wyoming friends help demonstrate the enormity of an Operation Christmas Child banner. When I look at this picture, I am glad I was part of an "A" in this year's mission.

Even though I saw an exorbitant amount of boxes and tape and rubber bands and people in these five months of working for Operation Christmas Child, one of my greatest delights remained in packing my own four boxes. Here I am dropping my gifts at the Processing Center. I hope to meet the kids who received them some day -- here on earth or in heaven.

Dear reader,

It's been a busy month. Really busy. I have many thoughts about life, and love, and giving, and humility, and simplicity. But, you'll just have to wait to read them. I'll do my best to start posting again soon.

In the meantime, I hope you've had a blessed Christmas season. May 2010 bring many adventures your way!

Hannah

Nice to meet you

A year ago, while on my Amtrak Adventure around the United States, I stayed with friends of a friend in Philadelphia. Denise and Amy were great. They took me to get some authentic Philly cheesesteak and introduced me to Ikea, this mind-blowing furniture store that's more like a super maze. Oh. And Wawa. They introduced me to Wawa, this mind-blowing convenience store that boasts one heckuva coffee buffet.

But, great as Ikea and Wawa were, Denise and Amy also "introduced" me to Jeremy. I quote mark "introduce" because I'm not sure that meeting over email is a full-on introduction. But anyway...after I returned home, Denise sent me this email saying she had this friend who, too, wanted to take an epic, around-the-country journey.

Jeremy and I began emailing and plotting and dreaming his adventure. I offered him tidbits of advice (pray a lot, don't go into travel with debt, budget yourself, eat cheap, be willing to splurge on stuff that will be really memorable, stay with friends or friends of friends, be flexible). He offered me the chance to vicariously dream his travels, which, by the way, I think I could do for a living. I get all giddy even thinking about travel -- my own or anyone else's.

It was fun. And I am very happy to report that, just a month ago, Jeremy did indeed embark on his journey! He's going by van and for a much longer time than I, and I know he's going to see and experience some amazing things.

And get this: the weekend before Thanksgiving Jeremy swung through Colorado so we could officially meet. He joined me and my best Douglas friends (who were also visiting!) for breakfast at Snooze, this great eatery mentioned in a previous post. Then he and I wandered around Denver for a day before he drove away into the snow to meet who knows who and do who knows what. I wish him all the best in his travels and pray God's protection on him.

To follow Jeremy's adventures, visit his blog here.

Me, Sarah, Dave, Becky, Nathan and Jeremy. I was glad Jeremy could not only meet me in person, but my friends, too. (By the way, some people aren't very good photographers. Just sayin'.)
While wandering around Denver, Jeremy and I happened upon this ice cream shop. I had blueberry sorbet. It was tasty.

In a funny twist, I wasn't living in my own house when Jeremy visited. So, he ended up staying with the daughter and son-in-law of some people I know from my church in Wyoming. We both appreciate the Mattson's hospitality!

Test(ed) Driver

Whenever I call my Mom laughing ridiculously hard at something that's not really that funny, she always says, "Next thing you know, you'll be crying." And she's always right. Such extremes of emotion are indicative of exhaustion, which seems only to need release -- regardless of whether the release valve is the eyes or the lips.

Today I went through the emotions backwards. I called my Mom from work, voice quivering, tears rolling onto the phone. She did not say I'd be laughing next, but I suppose it doesn't surprise me that I am.

Let me explain. This past week has really stunk. In the car realm, at least. In a matter of six days, I have driven five different cars. I've owned two, borrowed two, and rented one.

A summary:

* Two weeks ago, I bought a Subaru Forester because I've been looking for a smaller SUV for a few years. The young girl I live with even named it Sam, which is big, since I don't usually name my cars.
* I sent my beloved and trusty Toyota Camry home with my Dad and commuted to work for a week in my new wheels. I dared the snow to fall. I looked at rutted dirt roads without trepidation. I considered buying a kayak to strap to the top.
* On Thanksgiving, my Forester blew a head gasket. Its radiator threw up into its own coolant overflow tank. It was ugly. So, I asked the family I live with if I could borrow their Saturn for my drive to work the next day.
* The next day, I became so nervous driving their tank-like stick-shift in heavy traffic that I nearly killed it at a busy intersection and ran a red light to avoid having to stop and shift. I knew I had 25 more minutes of traffic, and I knew I couldn't do it. So, I called my friend Sarah's boyfriend to ask for a ride. (Sarah was out of town for the holiday.)
* I left the Saturn at Wal-Mart. After work, Ben drove me to Wal-Mart in Sarah's Corolla (Yeah, this is starting to sound like a soap opera.) He drove the Saturn to my house. (Thanks, Ben!) And I drove the Corolla.
* On Saturday, the family I live with -- who just happened to be visiting family in my hometown -- brought my beloved and trusty Camry back to me. (Thanks, Mattsons!)
* On Sunday, my wonderful Dad and our friend John drove down and towed my sick Forester back to my hometown to be fixed for a lot cheaper than I could fix it here. (Thanks, John! You've gotten me out of more sticky car situations than I care to remember.)
* I drove my Camry to work on Monday.
* I drove my Camry to work on Tuesday -- but it barely made it. The "Check Engine" light came on and the engine felt like it was hosting a wild mosh pit under the hood. So, I took my Camry to the dealer and called Enterprise Rent-a-Car.
* True to their word, they picked me up. (Thanks, Enterprise!) And I drove a white Hyundai Sonata home.

The reason for my tears is a longer and deeper explanation than I care to share, but I will say this: Having car troubles as a single woman sucks. I so badly wanted a man to take care of me and my stupid car. I wanted someone to offer to let me borrow their car. I wanted to not feel like a dumb girl when I opened the hood. Instead I felt like I'd troubled everyone enough with my problems and it was time to "Go it alone." Which I did. And it was fine. But still...

The reason for my laughter is, well, look at that saga. It's funny. That and I'd simply cried enough tears. As my Mom DID remind me: It's only money. This too shall pass. And...this will build your character. In retrospect, I have to say, "Yes, yes, and yes." It is only money. It is already beginning to pass. And, shoot, we all need more character.

Maybe when I get whatever set of wheels I'm destined to have back under me, I'll drive to the local newspaper and place a personal ad:

Test(ed) Driver
SWF seeks SM. Enjoys tra--
vel -- on foot, bike, train,do-
-gsled, plane.You drive.Me--
chanic skills a plus. Must l--
ove adventure, dogs, and lo-
-ngwalks onthebeach.CallMe

A day at the zoo

A few weeks ago, my folks came to Denver for a visit. We had a great time together, and I was once again reminded of the sweetness of parents becoming friends and confidants, while still filling the roles of Mom and Dad. It's pretty amazing. I think I have the greatest parents in the world and am glad for every moment I get to spend with them.

Here's Dad and Mom Wiest at Snooze, a superb breakfast joint in downtown Denver.

It was free day at the Denver Zoo, so we went and enjoyed seeing all the animals. I also did some, ahem, research for my novel. Maybe my next novel should be about Italy...

In this photo, the zookeepers are cleaning one of the elephant's feet because elephants are quite susceptible to foot infection. Who knew?


When my novel -- which takes place in a zoo and has several elephant scenes -- gets published, maybe this could be the author photo.

It's shoe box time!

Right now, people all around the world are packing shoe boxes with small toys, clothing, candy, soap, toothbrushes, toothpaste and other fun things. Eventually, those shoe boxes will be distributed in more than 100 countries, quite possibly becoming the only gift poor children will receive this year. Here at Operation Christmas Child, we are hoping for at least 8.2 million shoe box gifts to be distributed because that means 8.2 million children and their families will know God loves them.

While all those people are packing their shoe box gifts, busy, busy workers are setting up six Operation Christmas Child Processing Centers around the nation. I work at the Processing Center in Denver, Colorado. This is what our warehouse looked like just a couple weeks ago.

But then people and supplies and lots of boxes started arriving. The people used the supplies and the boxes to help us become a Processing Center.

The people also built towers with the boxes...

Soon hundreds of thousands of volunteers will walk in the doors of our warehouse to help us process hundreds of thousands of shoe boxes. Those hundreds of thousands of shoe boxes will be loaded into semi trucks and driven to Mexico and Central and South America. Local ministry partners in those Latin American countries will then give the boxes to hundreds of thousands of really excited kids.

And that -- roughly -- is how Operation Christmas Child works. Your little shoe box joins dozens, hundreds, thousands, and millions of other little shoe boxes to eventually reach one very special little boy or girl. It's pretty amazing.

It's shoe box time, folks! Fill 'em up and turn 'em in by Monday, November 23. Many thanks...

For more information on how to pack a shoe box and where to drop it off, please visit www.samaritanspurse.org.

Washington Park

I finally made it to Denver's highly recommended Washington Park a few weekends ago. Had a lovely stroll, shot some photographs, and enjoyed watching dog walkers, cricket players, and Frisbee throwers enjoying the outdoors.

Confession

Confession: I fell into a classic ministry trap this last week. I became too busy doing God's work to spend time being with God and watching Him work.

It's easy to do. Ask any pastor, camp counselor, missionary, or church secretary. And it's hard to remedy -- or at least to realize you need a remedy before frustrations and screw-ups litter the path behind you.

So, to those I've wronged this week -- by snapping impatiently, or worse, slandering under my breath -- I am sorry.

To those I've called on for help and encouragement this week -- thank you. Your prayers and uplifting texts and phone calls have ushered me into the place I most needed to be: God's arms.

To God: Thanks for the lovely walk this evening. I need you desperately. Operation Christmas Child is swinging into high gear right now, and I and all my co-workers need to be on our knees before we even attempt to walk, or talk, in the realm of ministry.

Now, fill those shoe boxes folks! We're ready for 'em!

For more information on Operation Christmas Child, visit www.samaritanspurse.org.

Spelunking my way to coolness

Somewhere around the age of 20 years ago, I went spelunking for the first time. It was my brother's birthday party, but I, as younger sibling, was automatically included in the fun.

Back then, I was fearless. I was a tomboy who idolized my brother who idolized Indiana Jones. (I use idolize here in the most innocent of childlike senses.) Never mind that I'd be attempting to keep up with boys three years older. And never mind that I had a broken arm. The cast would protect it from further harm. I was ready to plunge into the the depths of Carter Mountain, the depths of Spirit Mountain Caverns, the depths where depth means nothing because you can't see it anyway.

We straddled crevasses. We stepped, then stooped, then slinked on our bellies through what can only be adequately described as a toilet bowl. We scaled rock faces. We spelunked (warning: that was a blatant attempt to use spelunk one more time.)

All this we accomplished with only a bike helmet to protect our heads and a flashlight to show the way. Could it get any cooler?

Well, yes. Yes it could. You see, our guide, a young man my father was helping mentor through "Young Life," who sported long hair and short belly shirts in the summer (it's okay; it was the 80s), also sported the most coveted of spelunking gadgets: a headlamp. Banded over his long hair, his headlamp made him look like a fierce Indian warrior. (Actually, looking back on his task of leading a tribe of prepubescent boys and a little girl with a broken arm through a cave laced with 40-foot crevasses, I think he must have been braver than a warrior.)

Anyway, I wanted one. As I looked at Jerome Ebarb in his headlamp, I felt as if I were looking at Indiana Jones himself. I know Indy never wears a headlamp, but that's how my 9-year-old mind saw it. Headlamps now equaled the epitome of cool.

Thus you can imagine my sheer joy when I received a headlamp for my recent birthday. Likewise, keeping in mind that I just marked my 28th year, you can also imagine my parent's bewilderment at my delight. But never mind that now. It was a headlamp. That's all that matters for the purpose of this story.

I pulled the lamp over my head, Indian-warrior like, and went outside to see what I could see. Dreams of leading a group of prepubescent kiddos into the depths of adventure filled my mind. Oh the thrill...

And someday, I believe, such dreams will come true. Until then, please don't be alarmed if you see a grown woman trekking through nearby woods, shining the beacon of her headlamp into dark corners, quietly humming the theme to Indiana Jones. She is simply celebrating her newly gifted measure of coolness.

Hm, hm, hmm, hmmmm, hm, hm, hmmm...

New every morning

It is of the Lord's mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.
--Lamentations 3:22-23

Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.
--Ralph Waldo Emerson

I woke up to this sunrise the other morning.
I threw the covers back, slid into my flip-flops, grabbed my camera and ran outside.
There, with the dewy grass chilling my toes, I felt for just a moment the full joy of God's mercies being new every morning. In that moment, I drank the wild air. In that moment, I felt fully alive with God's life in me.
It was so sweet. Momentary -- with the day's tasks and struggles at hand -- but sweet. And to think God's glory will shine far brighter for all eternity in heaven!

If I ever

If I ever...

Open a coffee shop...

I will train my baristas to be connoisseurs of both coffee and kindness.
I will offer comfy couches and chairs with the hope of promoting community.
I will not close early.
I will value you because you are you, and because you came to see me and drink my coffee.
I will give you a real mug.
I will offer to heat your muffins and scones.
I will give you a fork.
I will have free refills so you know you are welcome to stay, friend.
I will always talk coffee and books and travel and life and sports and struggles.
I will know you by name, not just by drink.

The Artful Dodger

Loss, no matter how small, is felt.
Interactions, though seemingly inconsequential, matter.
And so, I write in memory of Dodger Bird.

Dodger dropped into my family's life -- quite literally -- a little over five years ago. He flew into our back yard one summer day, then flew away. We didn't think we'd see him again. But, being the Artful Dodger, he'd discovered our back yard contained food and water just for the birds. He came back the next day -- looking bedraggled after a night in the wild.

We caught him, nursed him back to health, and put out ads to see if he'd been lost by someone nearby. No one claimed him, so he became ours. And what a bird he was.

He liked to sit on our heads, but not on our hands.
He was a carb junkie.
He loved my Dad and would often sit on his shoulder and sing songs just for him.
He became crabby if put to bed after eight.
He could swipe something off someone's plate before they even noticed.
He had a favorite radio commercial -- one he always whistled along with.
He liked a good head rub -- especially Mom's -- and a good sip of coffee now and again.

He was spoiled.
He deserved to be spoiled.

He will be missed.

Dodger Bird: Birth date unknown -- October 6, 2009

Uno

I am a lover of anniversaries.
I think it is important to remember where we've been in order to anticipate where we are going. As 1 Chronicles 16:12 instructs: Remember the wonders God has done. Perhaps that is why the Bible contains so many songs, prayers and stories that recall God's presence in past events.
So, following in the footsteps of such great tradition, I am spending today, October 3, 2009, in remembrance.
The date is not accidental.

One year ago, October 3, 2008, was my last day as a features reporter for the Casper Star-Tribune. I learned much in two years of conducting interviews, pounding out stories, meeting deadlines and drinking lots of coffee. It was just time to move on...

I moved out of my very first apartment -- and back into my parent's basement. I never thought I'd be one of those kids who graduated college, got a job, then moved back in, but I was. And, honestly, the time with my folks was sweet. I cherish it now.

Just over a year ago, I started writing 'Blind Bartimaeus' to log this crazy trip I'd planned. You see, I've got a wanderer's heart. My Grampa was a wanderer. My parents are wanderers. It's in my blood. So, beginning October 7, 2008, I rode the rails for a month, staying with friends and friends of friends along the way. I saw much and learned even more. All told, I walked in 24 states. I've got four left in order to hit all 50. Someday...

I went from the coast of Maine...

To the coast of Oregon. Portland to Portland, if you will.

When I returned after a month on the move, I dubbed my parent's basement 'The Igloo,' crawled into it, and wrote a novel in 30 days. I was unemployed; I had to do something.

My guidebook, 'No Plot, No Problem' by Chris Baty, described a novel as a fictional work 50,000 words or more. I hit 51,412 words mid-afternoon on my final day. Whew. Made it.

It's official. I'm an author, and I have a t-shirt to prove it. Oh. And a manuscript.

My friends and I welcomed 2009 with an Ugly Sweater Party. Choice.

In February 2009, my brother's movie, 'Dead Noon,' was released on DVD around the nation. What a kick it was to walk into Wal-Mart and see his movie on the shelf! Though Hollywood changed (ruined) it, we are still so proud of Andy. And now he's working on one called 'The Wylds' that is going to rock the screen -- guaranteed. I love you Andy and Marianne!

This last year was a time to develop some really great friendships. Becky, John, Dave, Sarah, Nathan and Josh became so dear to me. We've headed separate ways now, but I will always love them.

The year was also full of good ol-fashioned fun! I was reminded how good it is to laugh and be silly. I too often forget that God is a God of joy. I think He smiles when we enjoy the lives He gave us.

I gave up my car for Lent this year. It was the first time I'd ever participated in this tradition, and I found the sacrifice quite refreshing. We have so much; we should sacrifice way more than we do.

In March 2009, I got caught in a freak snow storm. I drove off the road several times, cried a lot, and eventually made it to a gas station in Glendo, Wyoming. From there, the Leach family rescued me, and I stayed with them for two days while the interstate was closed. This is a photo of them using their Polaris Ranger to deliver me safely to the road where my folks picked me up and took me home. I thank God for His protection and for bringing the Leaches to my rescue.

Through the winter and spring, I worked a few jobs. I was a chauffeur. I did some freelance editing. And I worked for the government as a crew leader for the U.S. Census Bureau. Here my Dad and I are trying to find cabins in the boonies so we can make sure every last person in the nation gets counted. I'd like to tell you more about my job -- but then I'd have to kill you.

In May, John, Dave, Sarah and I went to Yellowstone for my friend's wedding. We explored. We camped. And...

We broke down. My trusty steed's ignition failed. And so, Yellowstone-on-the-cheap became Yellowstone-for-just-over-one-thousand-dollars as we were towed out of the park, to Cody, to get my car fixed. We missed the wedding we'd originally come to attend...but we made the reception, and I even saw the first dance. Lemonade from lemons, right?

And margaritas from limes. Dave, Sarah and John were so great during the whole ordeal. They even bought me my first margarita to soften the pocket-book blow. See? We got it on film.

My friends had babies this year. Lindsey, with Karina and Marcus, and Jessica, with Russell, make for an adorable pic, hm? Weren't we all 12 years old just yesterday? How sweet it has been to watch God leading in the live's of my friends.

In June 2009, Dave, Sarah, Barb and I went to El Salvador with Living Water International. We worked on drilling two water wells, and God granted success with one. Now the people of Campenaro Numbero Dos have clean water to drink.

That means kids like Dani won't have to suffer with chronic diarrhea or miss school due to having to walk miles carrying water from a distant well.

Ever since the trip, I have tried not to take water for granted. I don't throw half-drunk glasses down the drain. I don't let the water run while I wash my face. And I sometimes cry at the sight of sunlight sparkling on water, praying that the people we met in El Salvador will someday also drink the Living Water of Christ's salvation.

This year, like every year, my family meant so much to me. We took a summer vacation to Kalispell, Montana, and simply enjoyed each other's company. This shot of my Dad on an alpine slide on Big Mountain is one of my all-time favorites. Call us the Wild Wiests!

My family is growing up. Andy hit the big 3-0 this year...and I'm only a few years behind him. Here's to many, many more decades of life with the best family in the entire world!

My friends and I had a meeting with the presidents in July 2009.

My friend and co-worker Sarah Perrott and I climbed Medicine Bow Peak in August. This is us at the summit of 12, 013 feet. That's the highest elevation I've ever walked upon.

In August, I became a cowgirl lost in a sea of greenies. A.K.A. I moved to Denver, Colorado. Here, I look upon the city from Red Rocks, a popular outdoor concert venue.

Why Denver?
Honestly, when stuck in traffic or unable to escape the swarms of trendy greenies, I ask myself the same question. But, simply, it's because God wanted me here.
A year ago, when I left the Casper Star-Tribune, I told my editor it was to work with Operation Christmas Child. I had a heart for this ministry of Samaritan's Purse that delivers more than 8 million gift-filled shoe boxes to hurting kids around the world in order to share God's love with them.
Little did I know then that I would travel the states by train, and write a novel, and work for the government, and make lifelong friendships, and climb mountains, and serve in El Salvador en route.
But, alas, I made it. One year later, and here I am living in Denver, working for Operation Christmas Child. It's been an amazing year, and I can't wait to see what adventures God and I have in this next one...