Put Me Back Together

I leave in eighteen days.

It is so surreal I'm afraid it's not actually going to happen.

In just a little over two weeks I will be boarding a plane.

Flying over the ocean for the first time.

Embarking on a journey that started at a red light one early Thursday morning.

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When I started praying Philippians 1:9 over my life and asked God to reveal the risks in my life He wanted me to take.

In a quiet moment, He told me to get my passport.

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How did I know it was God's voice?

Isn't that what discernment is?

Isn't that what being in love is all about - recognizing the loved one's voice?

But I questioned it.

The randomness. The ambiguity. The vagueness.

I asked what He meant, exactly.

There was some holy laughter as He told me to just do what He said.

He'd explain the rest after that.

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Circumstances lined up.

I found letters from Africa on my counter.

And heard African drums playing over loudspeakers in coffee shops.

I ran into Andy and he remembered my name.

My dad made plans to get married in the summertime.

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So after trying to trick God into giving me an answer before dropping $140 on a new passport, I gave in.

And one Wednesday afternoon I went a renewed my passport.

Then went to help ice cakes with my dear friend Jenn.

Who knew nothing about God's voice whispering hints about Africa, about spring time.

I had intentionally not told anyone.

So when Jenn mentioned Southland's trip to Ethiopia in February, my heart stopped.

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You see?

We listen.

We hear.

But we do not understand.

We sing of His faithfulness.

His goodness.

But do we believe it?

Do we believe that if we surrender to His will that He will continue to get creative with what we've given Him?

I think we forget.

We have an underlying fear that we will hand everything we are over to the Father.

And He'll forget about it.

Let it sit on His shelf and collect dust.

We are afraid He won't have ideas as good as ours, actually.

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But look.

Examine the life of a person whose life is actually no longer their own.

Who has relinquished the writing utensil.

Who has given up writing their own story and is allowing the author and perfecter of our faith to write them INTO His story.

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I contacted Andy about going to Africa with the church.

"Why didn't you tell me about this trip before?" I asked him, accusing him of withholding vital information from me.

"The deadline was two weeks ago, Anna." He said. "But we have one spot left. One spot we need to fill. And I've watched you go through this... I've watched you search. And I want you to go. I think you're supposed to go."

The question was no longer whether I was supposed to go to Ethiopia in February or not.

The Father had made Himself abundantly clear.

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Now, the trip is only eighteen days away.

The first week our small team of 5 will be in Yasow. A village about 16 hours away from the capital city of Addis Ababa. We will be teaching 200 + children how to play sports. Which, in an of itself, is hilarious.

God is just getting a kick out of all of this.

The second week we will be back in Addis. Working in an AIDS orphanage.

Sitting in a coffee shop one day, my friend Liza heard about our plans in Addis.

We joked that the first week, my body is going to break.

And the second week, it's going to be my heart.

And in a moment of despair, I threw my hands up and cried, "I really don't feel like there's anything left in me to break! I feel like all my pieces are already broken!"

Liza, knowing me so well and having walked with me through this past year of my life, got really quiet.

Then she smiled.

"Maybe," she said, " God's going to put you back together then."

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I leave in eighteen days.

And I've been praying protection over my dreams.

Over my body.

Cautiously taking Psalm 139:23-24 to the throne room.

Wincing, knowing that I may never take that request to the Father and not get a response.

"If you must continue to break me, I pray, do it gently. If the only way for your Spirit to move is to break me further, rearrange my pieces -

please just don't leave me broken."

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But the beauty of our Father comes in verses 2-6 of that same chapter.

You know when I sit down or stand up.
You know my thoughts even when I’m far away.
You see me when I travel
and when I rest at home.
You know everything I do.
You know what I am going to say
even before I say it, Lord.
You go before me and follow me.
You place your hand of blessing on my head.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too great for me to understand!

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Andy would later tell me that he had been praying that God would fill this open space on the trip with a strong person.

A strong team member.

This terrifies me.

Because I am not strong at all.

But God chose me to fill that spot.

God chose me to whisper to. To test - to see if I would do what He said and ask questions later.

This does not mean I am strong.

No. And this is why I am terrified.

Because this does mean He will make me strong.

And just like patience, loving, and courage - you don't suddenly acquire strength.

You build it.

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I am not strong.

But God will make me strong.

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I leave in eighteen days.

God, Abba Father, begin now.

Do what You do.

Please, put me back together.