Painful Liberation

I blog to you in a place that is beyond description. My fingers are sticking to the age old keyboard in the Internet cafe that looks alot like a run down hostel with computers in it. I am thankful for this place. A taste of the comfort of technology that I am currently on a fast from here in Panama. Things are going well here. God is showing me things about myself especially that I never EVER knew, and things about Himself that I need to know. Its amazing the things you learn when you are being stretched past your breaking point. Here is my account of the latest test that God brought me through and the most scared I have ever been in my life.

Excerpt from my scribbled journal:

¨6 hours later into the what was supposed to be a 3 hour drive, I was irritable to put it nicely. My friends would probably describe my state as more of a rage. This is actually a better depiction of the unbearable situation at hand. We were sardined into a tiny white van, one that was constantly on the verge of a breakdown, trapezing through the Darian jungle-we were informed later that it is the most dense jungle in the Western Hemisphere. Even more than the Amazon. How did I get here? Seems like yesterday I was looking out my window to view the beautiful Colorado landscape and now I am having a back and butt pain like never before as I moaned at the sweat that was rolling down my face. Headphones and the sweet sound of Brooke Fraser was the only thing keeping me sane. When the rickity van finally came to a halt at the ¨Happy Hostel¨I was thankful momentarily unknowing of what lay ahead of me. As I stumbled out of the cramped van, I landed in a puddle of mud and looked around to witness the most sketch excuse for a hostel that I could possibly imagine. No movie depicting life in a slum could have prepared me for the sight...and worse, the stench. Talk about bad dream. Shrugging, and past the point of caring, I caught eye contact with Sarah who was equally disgusted, not to mention car sick. Thank God for Dramamine. This look sent us into an eruption of delirious laughter knowing that there was no other emotion except tears that we could conjure up. As we walked single file through the mud into the slum/shack hotel we held our breath. Erin, Sarah, and I were handed a key attached to a tiny pool ball and directed to Room 7. No words can describe what we saw when we finally jingled our lock loose. We entered our room about the size of a common sized bathroom to find an even worse stench. There was a mattress covered with a sheet that had positively never been introduced to soap. Apparently two bigfoots straight from the depths of the jungle, covered in soot and their own feces had made love there only moments before our arrival. (Thank meg for that analogy). Erin, on the verge of tears, whipped out our rolled up 1/2 inch blue mattresses for camping and layed them over the bed. Thank god for the blue mats. I made the mistake of asking Matt if the situation was even sanitary, a comment that was not received well to say the least. It seemed like a perfectly logical question seeing that things looked as if STDs, AIDS, and lice were a guranteed assurance just from walking in the door. This jank place made pee-stained sheets from Motel 6 look like a 5 star luxury resort. Upon our surrender to the situation, we slept for only 4 hours before Cathy, our trusty translator, was rapping on our door. It was 4am and time to wake up. Thanks Cathy, not like we were asleep anyways seeing that the task was near impossible. Spooning in filth harldly provides any kind of rest. So we packed up yet again and re-entered the van of death. Tears filled my eyes as I took my place by the window to continue our journey. Another 2 hours in the van and we arrived at a ¨port¨ as they called it. I would call it a hell hole of a slum that you prolly never leave. 48 bug bites and 2 hours later and we were lugging our bags down a questionable ramp to load onto 2 very small canoe-boats. Only 4 hours later than planned. YWAM theme--flexibility. I grabbed an extra lifejacket to sit on, but that was quickly stolen from me. Comfort was not to be considered and was definitely not to be expected. So my butt was made acquainted with the plastic bench seat that was speckled with black and white paint. At least they tried as far as decoration goes. Fail. This so called ¨boat ride¨was an absolute DISASTER from the moment I stepped foot onto its shaky bow. I could all out cry just recalling the entire event. The boat I named ¨My own personal definition of hell on earth.¨ And yet there I was, setting out for the Pacific ocean with only a trolling motor and a silent Embero tribal man who knew zero English and was only vaguely familiar with our upcoming route. It wasnt 5 minutes before the rain started and my logical self wore only a tank top and shorts...no rain gear. For crying out loud, Ally, you are in the tropics during hurricane season. You´d think common sense would have graced me with a poncho. Hardly. Shivering incessantly, I looked around to find the Pacific waves growing in size. I death-gripped the side of the canoe, digging my fingernails in as hard as possible. Keep in mind...we are in a tiny boat, trekking through FREEZING rain, with a destination unknown, and only considered by our imaginations. As the waves crashed over the side of the boat, drenching me in a salty ice bath, hopelessness became my most prominent emotion. I literally was in fear for my life as the waves took our tiny canoe captive to their mighty power. Freezing, sore, exhausted, and nauseous, I started to cry to find Sarah with her arm around me reassuring me that things were going to be okay. Sarah is a liar. Things were not okay. But as if this situation could get any worse, I looked to see Boat #2 flagging us down. The unthinkable had happened. Their motor had broken down. Once again let me recap: middle of the Pacific ocean, braving massive waves, tiny boat, and now we are short a motor. I mean hell, just throw us some paddles and we will make it to Sambu in 2 weeks. Scratch that we will die of thirst seeing that we had no water, and no food. This is the point of no return. Coming full circle, we looped around to aid our stranded team mates. Quick fix and we would be on our way right? We should be so lucky. Side note, we only brought enough gas to get us there, and we were past halfway. Boat rocking with the waves, as the Embero tribal men performed surgery on canoe 2, I was joined in my nausea by the vast majority of my team. Also just to throw in an extra tid bit, we were in a constant race against time attempting to keep our own boat afloat seeing that we found a hole in the front bottom. We decided amidst the frantic water shoveling tha tthe motor was going to take time and sure...we had plenty. Anchors away people, we are legit stranded. As we watched our tribal chief, Tulio, chunk the metal anchor over the side of the boat, we kissed that thing goodbye as the ocean darkness enveloped its newest permanent resident. Turns out in order for an anchor to work properly, it must be attached by rope to the boat. Who knew. Typical though, we are again captive to the sea. In order to avoid tears and an all out panic attack breakdown, I took a nap snuggled under a tarp and wedged between some baggage. Next thing I knew we were making a pit stop at Pelican Island for a pee and puke break and to conserve gas. The island was named by Sarah after the massive amounts of Pelicans who found their nested homes on its rocky shore. I called it the Island of Desperation because at this point the Pelicans were more being considered for dinner. The girls took a group trip behind a rock, IE the bathroom, and there we squatted, bare butt and all, and totally without a care. Eventually we came to the consensus that the motor was unfixable. Shocker there, and obviously the only remedy was to combine the gas and TOW boat 2 behind boat with hole in hull. Brilliant. About 5 minutes into the towing extravaganza, the rope snapped. As if we expected anything but tragedy at this point. We reattached another unreliable rope and looked up to see the perfect storm approaching, waves growing, rain intensifying. This is when I absolutely hit rock bottom. I was convinced that I was going to die on September 24 on the Pacific ocean wearing my Think Theta shirt. Cripes. I gage rock bottom because I was actually mastermining some kind of plan to somehow SOS Betsy to send a plane to pick my happy tail up. I was over this. I wanted to go home. Assuming my smoke signals were unlikely to reach Texarkana, Texas and assuming that I had no means of creating smoke, I instead called out a desperate cry of help to the God that holds the sea in the palm of His hand. This knowledge should have brought more comfort than it did. Blinking away tears was a lost cause and I instead transistioned into an all out weep. The few of us on boat with hole began singing, screaming any worship song that we could thnk of both for reasons of self comfort and also, seeing that we were presumably doomed, we might as well make a grand exit, praising God amidst our storm. This is when the corporate group realized how many worship songs refrence the ocean or the waves. In order to keep some kind of peace, we switched up some lyrics just in case God was taking us literally at our words. ¨The mountains bow down and the sea will QUIET please God please...at the sound of your name¨etc. I tearfully watched as another 3 hours crept by and it looked as if we were making no progress but burning alot of gas. The 10mph speed limit thanks to the boat in tow was making our trip move at glacier pace. However, a few trillion prayers later and an extended amount of time went by and we caught a glimpse of the mouth of the river--a miracle according to the facial expression of our silent Embero boat driver. He claimed our destination was only 2-3 more hours away. PSH, time means nothing to these people. Either that or we measure it in different increments. Sarah, while trying to regain optimism, declared that although the rain was freezing on our skin, at least we had our 3rd degree sunburns to warm us up. Sadly, this was true. Bizzarely enough, near the equator the sun is just as powerful even when masked with torrential downpour and cloud cover. No one can claim this with as much painful honesty as Kristin. I glanced over to see her reflecting a ruby sunburn, but still as always...smiling. On the contrary to smiling, sitting next to her was Erin, who´s face looked more like she had just been informed that she was to be drug behind a truck by her feet and then dipped into a pool of acid. Had she been given a weapon I would have feared for the lives of those around her. But really I couldnt decide if I thought she was going to cry or scream. Maybe both, simultaneously. On the upside, I declared that if the Fark guerrillas did kidnap us in the jungle, it was more likely that they would hold us for ransom rather than kill us. Thats if we ever make it alive out of the canoe, which in my mind was highly doubtful. But alas, as we passed by a hut on the shore, the Embero men began a conversation that seemed to have a hopeful Spanish tone. I looked up an hour later to see a group of people motioning us to the bank of the river. Holy crap had we made it? 26 hours from departure and we had actually made it to Sambu. An infinite amount of emotions flooded my being, preceded with thankfulness, which sent me into an entire other form of hysterics. As we docked the canoe a topless woman straight from the cover of National Geographicc grabbed my probably 50lb bag and tossed it over her shoulder. She walked away babbling in another language insinuating that I should follow her. I just stared in astonishment and obeyed, following her bare footsteps into the depths of the jungle, the end of one ¨so called¨adventure, and a unique beginning to yet another one among the Embera tribes of Sambu.

God is doing big things here. Please know that I am loving it, even though that story had a negative tone to it. I learned more in that one day about the God who loves me than I have learned in 5 years in the states. I am excited to see how He continues to work. It has been hard and amazing all at the same time. Come God, come!

Please be in prayer for my team as we continue to embark on our adventure in Panama! We have 2 more weeks here and our time is FILLED to the brim. Pray for safety and that God would use us in mighty ways!!!! I love all of you more than you know.

September 18-19 Itinerary

Here I am looking around at what has been my home for the last 3 months, beautiful Colorado. Seems like forever ago and like just yesterday that I packed my car and left Texas to drive to the Promise Land. This morning was dedicated to worship and prayer over our team and our trip. Here is my itinerary for the next 24 hours:

2pm: Graduation for Secondary Schools; crying for the 2nd time today about Anna leaving to go back to Australia/Hong Kong. Already balled my eyes out this morning when she prayed over me. Going to miss her wisdom more than I know how to put into words.

3:30pm: LAST DAY OF HOUSEKEEPING FOREVER. There is a God.
5:30pm: Last American dinner. Obviously I will choose Panera.
7:30pm: Goodbye conversation commencement.
9:00pm: Appointed bed time….not going to happen.

4:00am: WAKE UP. (Will prolly already be awake) Shower. FREAK OUT.
5:00am: Drive to Denver airport
8:00am: Flight #1 leaves.
11:00am: Flight #1 lands in Houston, TX
2:00pm: Flight #2 leaves for PANAMA.
7:00pm: LAND IN PANAMA...Mission outreach trip begins.

Exciting 24 hours to say the least. Maybe I will update again later tonight, but currently I am on the phone with my little sister who I am going to miss the most.

Make New Friends, Keep the Old

My thoughts are a jumbled mess as I write to you in a state of utter delirium. It’s 3:02AM as I begin this post. Alexi Murdoch is serenading me with his best song, “Blue Mind”. I have it set on Genius playlist, and this is my 4th time through iTunes’ best selections. I have been sitting at this computer having conversations full of depth, via the tips of my fingers linked with my heart. It’s horrible what this world has come to. Its also wonderful, knowing that without cyberspace I wouldn’t have had a chance to be encouraged tonight by one of the most Godly women I know, Rita O’Connor. The fact that I could not sit beside her, hug her, see her…makes it much more impersonal than I’d like. Technology also positively provides a mask of wit, a cleverness that I only possess through a keyboard. Talked for hours tonight with a DTS boy downstairs about ramblings of music, life, and rhetoric. I like him even more at the end of the conversation than I did at the beginning.

Here is where my heart lies tonight. I am having a really hard time accepting the childhood reality that we must “make new friends, but keep the old”. For some reason, that piece of advice seemed to go in one ear and out another until recently when its becoming too harsh a reality for me. Allow me to explain:

In the first grade, I would have bet you a thousand dollars that I could beat you in a race, and that Cara Rochelle would be my best friend forever. I probably would have beat you in a race…I was fast as a 6 year old. As for Cara—she is still one of my very good friends. But I talk to Cara only once every month or two and most all communication is written or read on a computer screen….or iPhone.



In the 7th grade, my bridesmaids in my wedding with Andrew Summersett consisted of Ashton Requarth, Bethany Lanier, and Megan Elliott. I claimed that I would NEVER find friends better than my BAAM group. (Beth, Ash, Ally, Meg) Life was good as we ate tons of cookie dough and played games and truth or dare until the wee hours of every Saturday morning. Today, I couldn’t tell you where Megan is or what she is doing. And I talk to Ashton and Bethany usually twice a year. Still friends, but sleepovers are a thing of the past along with Andrew Summersett.



Ali Burrow and Emily Middleton were the high school bests, a mere 4 years ago. I haven’t talked to Ali in 3 of those 4 years. Saw her for one night here lately on a whim, but chances are I wont see her again for a long time. And while Emily is still one of my very, very good friends, it’s also a rarity that I get an opportunity to talk to even her. Each time I speak to or see her it’s so encouraging and puts me in a alternate reality that we are still 17 years old. Then, at some point, my actual reality proves the other one false.


And what about Sunni Barr and Lyndsi Lancaster? Where are they? Freshman year at A&M, the three of us shared a room. The process of growing up is painfully beautiful. Are those the lyrics to a lame country song? If so, I am embarrassed.



Tonight I went to the fair with the YWAM group. This was no Texas State fair, people. It was much more jank. They did serve funnel cakes however and were therefore redeemed. Tonight I didn’t ride all the rides, by choice. WHAT? I don’t even know myself anymore. I was always the first kid in line for every ride. But as I sat back on my bench holding bags for the other girls who hopped in bumper boats, I came to a really scary and sad realization…I am growing up. I laugh at the tone of this post, knowing that the previous post was all about the joy of the process. But tonight my demeanor is one of confusion, anxiety, and distaste. When did the “scrambler” become a monster of motion sickness? When did dirty adventure parks, packed with rides that spin and flip lose their appeal? This is a modern day tragedy. I also attended a high school football game last Friday night, and felt old. Even the players looked like little kids. And as I listened into a drama fest in the concession line about who was dating who, I pitied the 15 year olds whos life hung in the outcome of the decision. When did gossip stop being my go-to conversation? (*Thank GOD for whenever that happened.) When did I grow up?

This brings me full circle back to the friendship issue. All my friends are growing up, going different directions, and living their own lives. Without me. And me, without them for the most part. And people say “that’s life”. Well it is life, this is true, but could someone tell whoever made that slogan up that it still sucks?

It’s a weird phenomenon to realize that you are going to go through life, making new friends but keeping the old. And while you DO keep the old, its never the same as it was. Me and Cara Rochelle are likely to never sit on her bed after volleyball camp, covered in sweat and wearing bulky black knee pads playing with our American Girl dolls. And its not likely that BAAM will ever perform as a band in my living room again, with our siblings as an audience. We will never show off our choreographed trampoline dance routine to “Baby Got Back”. I can never go back to high school and be wrapped up in my boyfriend being the quarterback of the football team. The cheerleaders will not be meeting me after the game to head to a bonfire party, and I wont watch my best friend lead the dance team at half time. Even Texas A&M is a thing of the past, leaving College Station and everything in it behind to be stored in the abyss of my memory bank.

I can’t imagine my life without my best friends playing the role that they are currently playing. But even now, things are constantly changing. I have friends here at YWAM that didn’t exist prior to June. Even now I am having to learn how to do long distance friendships with the most important people in my life. I cannot bike to Becca’s for comfort. I am a million miles away from Becca, and yet I love her the same…but things will never be the same as they were. It will never again be like it was when I could drive to Megan’s when everyone else was making my birthday miserable, to find her always saving the day. It’s depressing to think that fall of 2009 (only ONE year ago), I spent every single night blabbing my day’s ups and downs to my computer screen, with Savannah on the other end. Ha, there were nights when we fell asleep skyping. It was the only way we could remedy the tragedy that was the end of nightly hammock talks on the porch at Kanakuk. As it stands, I have gotten to skype with Savannah only two times this entire summer. I spent every day attached to her hip almost literally for 3 months, then adapted to the change of spending every night with her on skype for 6 months and now I am lucky to have a phone that still reaches her via text. My heart just cringed. Don’t get me wrong, I am thankful, so overly grateful for technology, but again…its too impersonal. I need hugs, cuddling, and a high five or two on a daily basis. My love for my bests will never change. I will adore each of them forever, but I cannot freeze frame time, and I am not going to lie, it frustrates the heck out of me.

But like I said, that is life. And all the while, God is shaping me, moving me, urging me forward. My hope lies in the fact that God is in control, and knows me in and out. There are still tons of new memories to be made with new friends and old alike. A guy here at YWAM, Josh, that I have more respect for than most guys I have ever come into contact with told me a few weeks back that you have to “keep your heart where your feet are.” In other words, fully be where you are. Because if I live in a state of mourning for the past and its passing, I will not be able to enjoy the RIGHT NOW. If I am constantly looking to the future in hopes of something better, I will take THIS moment for granted. Keeping your heart where your feet are is a challenging feat, Josh Griffis, and I would like advice on how to do it. How often do we live in the past? Living up the good old days, rebuking the hard times? How many times do we live in hopes that right now will get us to some future better time that we envision? Why can't we just enjoy the right now as it is, no matter where its road ends?

I still hope to live in the same town as Megan for at least one year of our lives. I still dream of taking a month off of whatever I end up doing to stay at Becca’s future house in the Caribbean. I am still banking on a trip around the world in a VW van with Savannah, marking our stops on maps that we roll up and throw in the back, and documenting everything with self-timer. I wonder what our friendships will look like then? Will we reminesce about the good old days of college? Or will we still be walking side by side through this brutal beautiful life? I don’t know.

One thing I do know, I am forever grateful to the point of tears at 3:40AM that I serve a God who is constant. Change is uncomfortable and inevitable, and while I could list the benefits of a life of adventure—something I want my life to define, which obviously includes change, the point remains that it is difficult. And yet my God is stable, constant, never-changing. The same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. His love never changes, nor His mercy. He is my rock in a world of waves that often crash during the storms of chaos. But my God is constant. Through my changing circumstances, emotions, and realities…my God is constant, forever infinitely and eternally.

And therefore while change swirls all around me, as I prepare to open yet another chapter of my life, one in a foreign country, I cling to my rock. My stability. My protection, My sanity. And pray like hell that God knows me well enough to know what is best for me, and that I have the faith to trust Him.

Baby Steps towards Victory!

This week I have realized something extraordinary. I am not the same as I was even 3 months ago. God is redeeming me, progressively sanctifying me. It’s actually happening! This shouldn’t shock me, but it DOES…it places AWE within me of God’s goodness and faithfulness to complete the good work that He started in me. I am experiencing what me and Becks lovingly refer to as momentary victories that lead to hourly victories that lead to daily victories that lead to weekly and monthly victories. (Quoted from the infamous Beth Moore)

I am by no means past struggling. That is something that I will never claim as truth while here on earth. This is a daily fight. But I am taking steps! Little, tiny, baby steps!! And my Father in heaven is smiling, prompting, cheering for me, His beloved, as I take wobbly uncoordinated steps in His direction. But oh I am learning to celebrate these stumbles towards the Living God who loved me first. Oh Lord how gracious You are for Your unfailing love that picks me up when I fall, wipes my tears, and in time...after some cuddling and comfort...helps me walk again.

I know that things will not always be this way, but as of now I have a community around me that is very supportive. I love my team that will be accompanying me to Panama and Costa Rica in a mere 10 days. Even further than the 12, I have two girls here at YWAM that love me WELL. They are each so different, but we have decided to do this stinkin’ vulnerability thing together and it is actually fun! (Sometimes…and other times it hurts, but in a good way) One of these two precious girls was having one of those “eat your feelings” type days (come on, girls, we ALL have these awful days) and came to me with a huge, half-eaten bag of peanut butter M&Ms that she had been devouring and goes “Look Ally, this is really embarrassing but I literally cannot make myself stop eating these, so can you just take them? I am literally eating my feelings, and I can feel myself stepping into sin. These tiny balls of chocolate are completely owning me right now.” (This is a huge part of her story…and such a small VICTORY in her life.) I died laughing, hugged the mess out of her and gladly took the M&Ms and ate them for myself. We prayed and thanked God for the victory that was this moment! That is a tiny baby step. But baby steps get us closer to CHRIST!! We have had so many funny moments like this, where we give up our cell phones so we wont sinfully text, or go on a walk together to keep me from the boredom depression phenomena. Or sometimes its just a vent session, ending in prayer. And we are taking baby steps together. It’s so painfully, awesomely fun.

And let me just say, I still fall down. Bigtime. And it hurts, and I am pissed at myself. But slowly I am learning to look to my Father when I am at my worst and cry out for help, instead of running from Him to try and fix myself. Slowly I am discovering that I never succeed in that feat. Lost cause, if ya know what I'm sayin.

This morning during class we watched THIS VIDEO about learning the rhythm to the tune of a relationship with the Living God. We try too often to make God, and a relationship with Him, to be this complicated, almost mystical thing. But this relational God is intricately involved in every part of our lives. Donald Miller describes this process as a dance, to learn to dance with God. Rob Bell explains it like a song, learning to hear and play the tune of the song of Christ. It’s the same beautiful, painful concept of a God who has orchestrated this world with a rhythm that is written on each of our hearts.

Speaking of the Orchestrator of our faith, He has given one of my two buddies that I mentioned, her name Erin (I call her 'Air'), the gift of photography, and her pictures do such a great job of capturing the beauty of His creation.


In encouragement, I think the most often used word here at YWAM is "PROCESS". Talk about the most frustrating word in the English language. I think we should remove it from the Dictionary. As we live and breathe in this Microwave Generation, full of instant gratification, the idea that something that takes hard work over a long period of time is outright discouraging. But this whole thing called progressive sanctification, IS A PROCESS. Like it or not. (I personally dont. I wish God would instantly redeem me where I never struggled again...I think that'd be what Heaven consists of..."glorification.") But then again, if we dont struggle through a process, we do not get to experience first hand the mercy and GRACE of God. And also this painful glorious process makes us relatable to others. People like to see that other people struggle too, it makes us feel like we aren't alone. I remember last summer, while talking to Savannah on one of our hundred porch talks, we kept saying how comforting it was that we WERE NOT ALONE. It is the human condition to not want to be alone, so yeah if you've felt that way, welcome to humanity.

Anyways so back to the process. I am learning to enjoy it. Learning to laugh at my mistakes, rejoice in my tiny momentary victories. Because that's what God does. When we see that God LOVES US, when we see that He looks down at us and loves our quirks and laughs with us and cries with us...we can finally walk in some kind of freedom, and learn to ENJOY the process of this dance, the rhythm of the Living God.

Team Panama/Costa Rica

Just thought you might want to meet the team :)
Leader: Matt Watson

Leader: Michelle Carpenter

Erin Rummage

Christian English (left); Mark Johnson (right)

Abby Tizale

Matt Schrock

Kelsea Leacox

Hannah Kauffman (left); Kristin Iehl (right)

Luke Gray

Sarah Nash

Horizon Barnes

Pa Los Ninos

PUPPETS!!! Song is completely in Spanish...we have to learn it so we can dance and play with the kiddos in Panama and Costa Rica while the puppets are dancing too. We translated the lyrics of the song and here is our best attempt at what is being said:

"This one's for the children worldwide, to know they are special. This is for the children that God wants so much because He made each one special. So move it forward, and back! Turn it right around, everybody jump up! Bark like a dog, now meow like a cat! God made children and God made animals special!"

How precious is that? I cannot wait to dance my self to death with some little Latin American babes and just love on them for 2.5 months straight. 15 days and counting!

Outreach Preparation

An excerpt from our favorite lame dance: Shackles.

Hahaha, I cannot help but die laughing every time I see this. This performance might have been our worst one ever, but cut us some slack...NONE of us are dancers. Except maybe Erin.

And I cut it off in the middle of the dance bc the second half is just embarrasing so that's why the music skips there at the fade out.

And just a little taste of El Fuego:

Yes...I get to do the boy's role in the partner stuff, shocking huh? What's really funny is if you ask us how we remember these steps. I mean it doesnt look hard, but on the contrary.... All of us were athletes and so we have to have key phrases and sound effects to help us with sequence. Amongst these key words are: shark fins, high five, salsa, cuddle, snaps, explode, and "walk in a circle". You can actually hear me announce the next move in Shackles when I say "Jump Step Clap" and again when we say "Fire and Rain". HA the past few days have been the funniest days of my life. And I have further realized why I quit dance in the 3rd grade. We have started to pray before bed that God would make us better dancers for outreach, but regardless my calves and butt freaking HATE ME.

We have like 3 other dances--which I might add are FULL LENGTH songs. Its no wonder we need some kind of help remembering what is next. Plus like 8 skits, puppet shows for the kiddos, and dramas and testimonies. THIS IS WHAT YOU CALL AN ACTION PACKED WEEK.

So its time for bed because we have practice again tomorrow, and then we are going on a hike at Hanging Lakes:

Life is good in Colorado. Until next time :)