Something Beautiful

He was building a sandcastle just beyond the water line. Swimming trunks weighed down by sand and salt water. His dark skin shone in the sunlight, and he laughed playfully as his older brother stomped on the bucket to release the sandy turret.

Occasionally he would run to the water's edge and stick his toes in. The tide would wash over his ankles, just enough to cool him off, and he would run back to his sandcastle. Back and forth he would run, never daring to go deeper. The loud, green waters scared him every time they pulled at his feet... something beckoned him. But fear kept him preoccupied on the shore.

And then I saw him coming. He had been watching for a while under the shade of the umbrella, and he finally came to join the young boy at the water's edge. He reached out his bigger hand and the little boy slipped his smaller one in, squeezing tightly. Together they walked into the ocean, taking a step farther than the little boy had ever been on his own.

The waves were up to his waist now and I watched him pull on his father's forearm, drawing him closer, seeking protection.

Suddenly the little boy let go and ran back to the shore. He stood, shaking his head, covered in sand and dripping wet. His father turned around and came to stand beside him, hand on his shoulder.

It only took a moment before, hand in hand again, they returned to the water's edge. And in one swift motion the father lifted his son up into his arms. He walked slowly into the water, going deeper than they'd ever gone before. The waves swirled around his waist, washing his son's knees.

And watched as waves crashed over their heads and the son came up sputtering, clinging to his father's neck, laughing and laughing...

Where I Belong

I see You.
Here, I see You.
In their faces. In the way they touch mine.
They call my name and run to me.

I see You.
Here, I see You.
They know You differently than I do.
And You remind me I am not here to teach them.

I see You.
I've always said I'm looking for a place where my soul meets my body.
And I threaten, if ever I found a place where You stood, I might stand and never move.
I have found both.

I hear You calling to me.
The same thing I've been calling to You for so long.
Come close! Come quickly!
All this time, You've been drawing near, and I've stayed clean and dry.

The wind whips through the streets.
City blocks are touched by Your unseen hand.
As the sun rises and sets, Your glory and love bathe the suburbs and the ghetto alike.
Both needing to be set free.

You are hungry.
You are poor.
Your pockets are empty and threadbare.
But mostly... You are lonely.

You haven't had a conversation in days.
You haven't had someone pick You up and hold you.
You haven't been told You're loved.
You haven't been told You are beautiful.

But I see You.
I recognize You here. Now.
In their faces I see Yours.
And when I reach out for them, it is You I find.

I've been searching for home.
A place where I belong.
Where i am fully known.
Where who I am and who I want to be, suddenly, are one and the same.

I've found this place once before.
In a culture on the other side of the world.
I met You in between beats of a drum.
In the voices of children, dark and lovely.

I have found it again.
In my backyard.
in the chaos and controversy and conflict.
I do not see what the world sees.

I see You.

Better is One Day

I just came out of a season of clarity. I heard God speak and followed His direction. I felt as though I was moving and breathing in His will and I was confident. I may have even voiced during this season my fear a day would come when I'd no longer be able to hear Him.

During that time, I assumed not being able to hear God meant I had stumbled out of His will. Silence meant I was unfaithful or just too far away. I understood if anyone was straying, it was me, not God. But I didn't want to be far away from Him.

I remember the day I started praying and realized I couldn't hear a response. The voice, which had been so prominent, so powerful, was gone. And I panicked. I stopped dead in my tracks, swearing not to take another step until I heard His voice again. I was afraid.

And then I remembered a prayer my youngest sister prayed over me before leaving for Africa. A prayer saying: even when I could not hear His voice, I'd know the Father's character enough to be able to follow Him anyway.

I fought for a while, holding my breath, waiting for divine instruction. But Abby's prayer echoed in my ears and I turned my focus to the way I knew God to be - what I knew, without a doubt, He wanted of me.

So I took a tentative step forward.

And another.

So here I am.

Friends, I still see the Father everywhere I go. I see the work of His hand and His light in other's eyes. I stumble across Him in our everyday world and I am amazed at His love and provision.

But I still can't hear Him. Not the way I used to.

I want to worship and follow God because of who He is, not just what He does. I want open eyes to see His children the way He does and be able to teach them about Him. When I can't hear Him audibly, I want to hear the Father in His word. I want to pray without ceasing.

At worship tonight, I had the thought: perhaps God had taken a season of my life to work on my spirit and was now teaching me to look beyond myself. To see Him in the things I have no control over, the things I don't need to interpret.

I begged Him tonight to talk to me. Even if it was the still, small voice... any word from Him would quench my thirst. Maybe I'm wrong, but I thought I heard Him tell me I was small. And I needed to be still.

Then we began to sing a song. Which triggered a thought of how lucky I had been to experience a season of spiritual clarity like I have. I wondered how many people live their whole lives and exercise great faith and never receive clear signs and directions from God. My heart resonated with the song.

Better the one day I had with His voice in my ear... better one day of feeling His presence... than a thousand others with anyone else.

So I will continue to take steps forward. Recognizing how blessed I am to see where He has been. I pray for open eyes, to learn to see Him in new ways. Hoping I will be found pure and blameless and will grow to know Him so well that even when He's quiet, I will know which way to go.

Tony

We do not save people.

I was standing in the produce section of Kroger tonight when my littlest sister's phone rang. She immediately started crying and my first instinct was someone had died. I tried to get her to tell me what was wrong and she couldn't get words out. I finally got very stern with her (I was scared at that point) and she pulled the phone away from her wet cheek.

"Papa got saved yesterday".

You have to understand... my grandfather on my mom's side is a tough man. I remember him as the racist, judgmental, harsh man who took me out west in a RV and made my parents take me to the doctor for my scoliosis. A man who loves his little wife (my step grandmother) more than anyone, chews doublemint gum and kisses on the lips. He's who Abby looks like. And he was not a part of our lives for years because... above all else... he's just stubborn.

But, from a distance, I have watched something change in him over the years. And what has changed in him, has in turn effected his entire family. He softened. He reunited with my mother and walked her down the aisle. He retired to a farm in eastern Kentucky where he has taught my little sister to take care of the horses she figured out she loved on her own.

But still, one of my most vivid memories of Tony was standing in the driveway of the Long Avenue house and watching him hit the hood of his truck and tell my mother that we'd wasted too much time in church already.

So I'm not sure what happened. Because I certainly haven't been as diligent as I should have been about praying for him. But I remember when Abby started spending weekends out in Elliott County, telling her that maybe that's why she was supposed to be there. Maybe Abby's life would be a witness. I'm not sure I believed it.

It's a good thing people's salvation does not depend on my faithfulness.

Because yesterday, my grandfather and a step-great-aunt and a cousin once removed and his girlfriend (... try and follow that...) all accepted Christ.

What happened?

I told my mom, who was crying on the phone as I walked through the aisles at Kroger, that I guess someone did die after all. Because isn't that what salvation is after all? A dying to ourselves? Forsaking the old life for the new one?

I got to listen to Abby process it all out loud with more understanding than any other fourteen year old I've ever met... she talked to my mom about how she's not good at sharing her faith. And I laughed, realizing how often God uses people who aren't good at things for His purposes.

Just so we don't get mixed up and start thinking we had anything to do with it in the first place.

Abby and I walked out of Kroger then, right into a sunny rain shower. And I looked up as I was about to cross the parking lot... only to be stopped in my tracks by a rainbow.

A rainbow that stretched across the sky - arcing overhead, ever color visible.

I stood there like a fool in the rain, squinting against the sunlight, staring in awe at this huge promise stretched across the sky.

We took pictures with our phones and loaded up the groceries and hopped into my little station wagon. And I got to pray with my littlest sister. Specifically for the heart of my step-grandmother who was the only one not to surrender her life yesterday.

When Abby and I finished praying there in the Kroger parking lot, we opened our eyes and the rainbow was gone.

In my ears, I can still hear Abby's prayer. That this family, which is just so big and so bold, would be able to change a small corner of the world. Thanking the Father that none of His children ever grow too old...

We are never too far gone.

I started to pray God would continue to love on our family. But I was stopped mid-sentence by what only could have been the celebration of the Heavens, and I knew God didn't need any prodding. He'd been waiting for a while for this child to come home.

Angels are singing tonight. The Kingdom just got bigger.

Bride of Christ

I got to witness something beautiful today: perhaps one of the most meaningful weddings I've ever attended.

Save the bridal party and the family, I was one of the people who'd known the groom the longest. As I walked into the chapel this afternoon, my mind was flooded with thoughts. I was connecting the dots. Recognizing the paths we'd all taken to get us there today.

And as the doors opened and his bride walked down the aisle, I saw Jesus in the groom's face. I saw a transformed man who has helped change my life radically. I remember hearing him tell me about her for the first time. The night after their first date. The night he realized he was in love. When he went to go pick out engagement rings. But I also remember the first time I heard him talk about his love for God. And about God's love for him. I remember watching his life be ignited by faith.

After the ceremony, a few of us walked down the hall and "went" to church.

As I sat there in the midst of a large group of people, I was overwhelmed with symbolism.

Isaiah 62:5 says as a bridegroom rejoices in his bride, so our God will rejoice over us. And I find myself praying we would walk down the aisle and Christ's face would light up... just like that.

May we would be found pure and blameless. May He recognize us as His own. Loving us... pleased with us.

I know God was glorified today by the union of my friends. The holy metaphor, which was played out for us, points to Him as long as they live in love.

What a great story.

Up

Loneliness creeps in. Seeping in the cracks. Only a little bit at a time, but enough to disturb my sleep, invade my quiet thoughts. Loneliness - a missing of something I may have never had at all, wanting someone to share my life with. I have forgotten, quite honestly, what it means to be in love. One day I will have to relearn.

I struggled this morning, bogged down by this feeling. I spent my drive to work talking to my Father, knowing that I was losing control of my emotions because it had been so long since I'd taken them to Him. We are in constant conversation, but I hadn't dedicated time in a while. I knew that He allowed this feeling of loneliness for a reason...

A dear friend would suggest later that God lets us feel the loneliness to remind us to look up. To look towards Him (from where does our hope come from??).

The clouds rolled in this afternoon, threatening rain on our game night downtown. I looked up at the sky, my heart still heavy.
"Fill my empty places," I prayed. "Keep this desire in me, but teach me how to seek You when this loneliness hits. Make me the right person. And please... break through those clouds."

I looked out of the window of my little station wagon then. Just to watch the black cloud overhead split open and sunlight pour out. Rays of light, piercing the darkness.

The wind would blow for a while longer, pushing that black cloud across the sky. I took my journal and headed to the park where I sat down for the first time in a few weeks and wrote out my prayers...

Recognizing the deep need in my heart to go and be with the children. To laugh and play in the streets. To be still for a while. To talk to my Father. Fulfilling those things washed away the loneliness. Not the desire for my own family one day. Just the threatening loneliness - suddenly overwhelmed by a love so deep.

So when sadness overcomes, when loneliness breaks in, when hopelessness sneaks by... I will look up. To Him, the One who has overcome the world. The One who gave me this desire in the first place. The One who made me with a plan in mind and who has been working diligently to get me where I need to be.

And He will break through the clouds. Raining down love, shining His light.

Morning Person

Forecast for today?

Sunny and windy.

My heart comes alive on days like these, when I'm not cooped up in a cubicle or hidden from real light. My heart rate slows down and the tension eases in my shoulders. I am quieter and I listen more. I know Him. I am a better person today.

I flew a kite and laid in the grass and ate lunch outside today. Everything I did was punctuated by the wind blowing... an invisible birthday present.

I look back on the past year and am amazed. More so than even New Years, birthdays are a time of reflection. I always come barreling to a stop and reexamine and evaluate and compare. It is my own personal day... who am I today?

The last twelve months have been some of the most painful, stretching, beautiful, messy, and adventurous of my life so far. The life I lead today is absolutely nothing like the life I led twelve months ago. Most of those changes, however, have been internal, and I wonder if anyone else can see them? I have a sneaking suspicion they can, since one of the things I rediscovered this past year was joy.

I stumbled upon joy and passion; I fell in love with Jesus and the inner city again and with Africa for the first time. I left one family and fell into another. I learned about risk taking and the gift of discernment and the power of prayer.

I allowed God to change me.

To tear down my walls and build upon a foundation He'd built years and years ago. It was a year of breaking, of demolition. He shattered my heart and salvaged the pieces. And I am a mosaic now... reflecting His light.

He was loud. He whispered. I heard the faintest of instructions and completely missed His blatant direction. I prayed the hard prayers and hungered for righteousness in a way I never thought I would. Running headlong into the fear of God and the unhealthy fear of never reaching Him.

I dared Him to do the big things. I asked Him to heal me - and He redeemed me instead.

He taught me about grace and patience.

He taught me about how He's going to have to keep teaching me those things until the day I die... because I just don't get it.

The community, which grew up around me this past year, has pushed me and stretched me and held me up when I couldn't stand on my own. They played such an intricate part in developing my faith and my courage.

This year I began to live a better story.

I let go.

God kept me here. Sent me to Africa. Gave me a loaf of bread. Showed me a dove. Stirred my heart. Broke my heart.

God stepped away and beckoned me to follow. "Come with me. Come to me. I have something to show you..."

He took my assumptions about myself - the things I believed to be truths - and He turned it all upside down. He took a boring story, a passionless story, a mediocre story, and He threw me headlong into the deep end.

But He taught me this past year that He will take care of my heart. To come when He calls. That I am a morning person. He rebuked the lies I'd been telling myself for years and reminded me that I belong to Him (that He thinks I am beautiful) and because of such a truth, I am capable of far more than I ever dreamed.

Daily I struggle with what I've learned and whether or not it has actually sunk in. Will I ever learn? I fall short. I am not good. I am wrong a lot.

I am learning to pray differently. To walk in conversation with Him throughout the entire day. To shut up and listen. I am learning just how much I can trust my own heart these days... and I am delighted.

My prayer for now is that our Father would make me competent and unaware. To forget myself. And remember Him and the ones He loves.

So as I dive headfirst into another year, I find myself full of gratitude. I am nervous, but not anxious. I have lonely moments, but a deeper realization of a plan He is fleshing out. A nagging sense of incompetency and a passion that outweighs it by a ton.

Today I am closer to being who God created me to be than I have ever been before.

Come, grow with me.

Teach me something. Let me show you something beautiful. Let's walk in love.

The wind is blowing and the Father has come close. Best day.

Two Trails

The trail had grown steep again. Narrow and rocky, sometimes it was hard to keep my footing. The trees rose overhead, breaking up the radiant light from the sun. We had only been hiking for a little while. My muscles were warming up, but my lungs were still full of air.

Just ahead I saw the trail split in two. One faint, leaf-strewn trail wound to the left and the other to the right.

I had come to crossroads such as these before. I knew what to do.

I shifted the weight of my pack on my shoulders and stopped. He had been walking beside me the whole time, so he stopped too. Although, this time, he didn't say anything. Just looked at me and then at the trails; sweat was beading on his forehead and light sparkled in his eyes.

"Which way?"

Confused, I frowned and shook my head.

"No, no. You tell me! Which way do we go? Right or left?"

He took a breath and shrugged. "I've been up both trails before. They lead to the same place. I will go with you, whichever way you choose. So you tell me. Left or right?"

I froze. As the sun passed over the canopy of leaves, I could feel its heat on my skin. I shivered. This was not part of the deal.

"But I don't know where I'm going!" I argued, straining my neck to see if I could see if he was right - that both trails went up to the summit.

"But I do. It's not like you're going to get lost. I told you I'd be with you. But I've seen both trails - they're nothing new to me. Beautiful. But not new. You're the one who's never been here before. So you pick."

"Which way is the right way?" I secretly wondered if he was tricking me. If one trail was full of steep climbs or muddy slopes. If one trail housed bears and lions and snakes. Was this a test? Should I already know the answer?

"There is no wrong way."

"But which way is RIGHT?" I was sure he was tricking me. He leaned forward, earnestness filling his eyes.

"Seriously, my love. You want to get to the next summit? Both of these trails will take you there. Both are beautiful in their own way. Let's go. Come on. I want you to decide this one."

I took a deep breath and took a step to the right. A few more steps and I was pretty sure I'd made up my mind. Why was this decision so hard? Why, after this whole journey, would he let me pick now? I just wanted to be told which way to go. I'd go that way, as long as he said so.

But no. There he was. Waiting on me. And I didn't trust him.

I stopped at the trailhead and peered through the foliage. The pit in my stomach wouldn't dissolve. The peace I was so used to feeling when I knew he was in the lead was gone... fear loomed over my head like a cloud.

I was making too big of a deal about this.

He was being patient with me, however, and he had followed me to the right just like he said he would. Maybe it really didn't matter? He had said both ways were beautiful. He'd seen them before.

He just wanted to go with me this time. Experience it with me.

As I looked over my shoulder I watched the light pass over the other trailhead. Casting beams of light on the sparse grass and pebbles. Faintly, ever so faintly, I heard a waterfall rushing in the distance.

"I changed my mind."

The words came over before I'd really realized they were true.

"Alright then." He smiled at me. Reaching out, he cupped my face in his hands. "There's nothing to be afraid of, you know that right?"

And I knew that then.

"Which way?" He asked as he turned around on his heels.

"That way," I pointed toward the left. Toward the sound of the waterfall.

"Let's go that way then!" He said excitedly. "You're going to love this - really, I'm so glad we're doing this together."

My Prayer

Put me where You want me.
To do the work I was created to do.
To be an extension of Your arm.

Reluctantly today I ask You would remind me I am nothing without You.
I don't like to be reminded of this, but I know I will get in my own way.
I will stumble and trip over my own feet if I let myself get ahead of You.

What I am, who I am, the Spirit residing in me is connecting with the Spirit who resides in the world.
Collision.

My perfect life is a messy one.
The one You want for me is a glorious mess.
But that is what You do. Your trademark. Making beauty from messes.

I am called to simplicity.
To diversity.
To chaos.

You have burned on my heart a calling to get in the way.
You have given me a rough edge.
And evolved in me a compassionate heart.

Teach me to be who I am.
To give, to love, to pray.
And nothing more.

To be content with who I am in You.
To not put on airs. (1pet.5:6)
To seek your guidance about where to put each foot.

May I worship You with my life.
To carry Your light to the darkness,
making a life out of remembering the forgotten.

This is not about me.
It is not about the ghetto.
This is not about the suburbs.

This is not about evangelism.
It is not about religion.
This is not about doctrine or denomination.

Forget authority.
Disregard so-called superiority.
Nevermind.

This is about love.
"If I give everything I have to the poor, but do not love, then I've gotten nowhere," (1Cor13)
This is about Who loves us.

So put me where You want me.
To do the work You set aside for me to do.
May my hands and heart and words be an extension of Yours.

For I do not carry You anywhere.
I do not take You to the dark places.
I do not introduce You to the emptiness.

You are already there.
Hovering over the deep.
Waiting, from time to time, for us to make a formal introduction.

May our hearts break as Yours does.
Remind us what matters.
What counts as worthy in Your eyes.

Not commending.
Not importance.
Not attention.

Love.

Go ahead of us.
May we walk in Your footprints.
Be patient with us as we learn to love like You do.

May we learn what may be the harder lesson.
To accept Your love for us.
And to sink deep in the shadow of Your wing.

His Character

I can't hear right now.

I am straining ... cupping my hand around my ear. Come again?

I ask a question and all I hear is its echo.

I am filled with new desires and have been presented with new opportunities. I have been handed new responsibilities. And something inside of me has radically changed.

I am transitioning out of a season where God was vocal. He was blatant, tangible and hilariously obvious.

I am fighting in a way I have never fought before. Sensing this transition, I am filled with dread. The last time this happened, I felt so lost. The last time I began an ascent like this - trails and unmarked paths that took my breath and broke my body - I did all but lose faith. So I sense the way getting harder. I recognize the traits of a strenuous climb and I feel my fear rising.

But I am reminded.

I am not who I was.

I have been dramatically transformed. My roots have dug deeper, spread wider. I am more familiar with the face of the Lord, and my identity is more intertwined with His will than ever before.

So if the Father is choosing to be quiet right now, it is not because He is absent. It is either because I am being too loud, or because He knows I know Him well enough to follow Him regardless. To pursue where He has been.

Oh that I would be so familiar with His character that I would know how to live, how to move, even when my proverbial senses are impaired.

I have so much more to learn. The closer I draw to Him, the more I realize this. But without condemnation -- simply with an increasing desire to be more like Him, to know Him better.

One of the things I have learned is just how vulnerable we can be in a season like this. Satan prowls around like a lion, waiting to attack us in moments just like these. When we are so susceptible to our insecurities, when we so easily could give way to our weaknesses.

So I will be vigilant in calling the enemy out on his tactics. Recognizing his work and rebuking it. Understanding that all our extreme emotions are not prodded by him.... but the ones which attack, the ones that tear down, are his way to gain ground in our lives.

I hate being wrong. But just like before, I am beginning to realize that God uses my best laid plans to get me where I need to be. Whether to distract me, or to get me to take the needed steps ... He has never left me or forsaken me. And despite my attempts to always do right, be right, or sound right ... His will always prevails.

Because despite it all... that is my desire.

To be right in the middle of His will.

To be washed out with the tide - washed clean and rubbed smooth.

And even when I cannot hear, even when I cannot see, even when I really have no clue where I am going or what comes next...

I know my Father.

And oh, though I cannot hear You, I love you.
Though I cannot see you, I trust You.
All my heart desires is to be near to You again...
to rest in the shadow of Your wings.
To be swept away by the wind,
I want Your voice to ring in my ears.
My fingers to tingle with Your power.
Come close, come quickly.
May my prayers rise to you as incense...
Quiet me with Your love.
Reward my seeking with finding.
My knocking with answering.
Come, ready with a response, if not an answer.
In the middle of chaos, transcend with Your peace.
Kingdom, come.

Get In the Way

I want to save the world. I want to give them vitamins and work on their grammar and give them a place to play basketball. I want to hand them hiking shoes and a Bible. I hold him as he sleeps, praying over him, hoping his life will be anointed. And that the cycle will stop here. I watch her buy groceries, wondering how many nights a week she eats by herself and I want to draw her into community.

I don't want to give them things. I don't want to supply the world with what it wants... with stuff to crowd the corners and load the shelves.

If anything, I want to strip it all away.

I do want them to have what they need.

Everything from a hand to hold to clean diapers to hope.

But I find myself seeing ways to help, and I hear myself, reminding myself I cannot change anything.

I want to save the world.

I want to break the cycle.

I want to cure loneliness and resolve anger and end poverty.

I want people to think for themselves. I want people to use lots and lots of energy. I want people to learn and people to make things and people to love each other.

I am an idealist.

I might be naive.

I was raised to believe in the micro-evolution of the human psyche.

Layman's terms? People don't change. Not really. Not significantly.

-

Can I tell you a secret?

I honestly believe we can break the cycle.

By recognizing needs and meeting them.

By identifying gifts and building on them.

By loving.

By expecting more from each other.

By respecting one another.

-

So naive.

-

But not so naive to think I could do it alone.

Not so naive that I don't see what is bad, what is ugly, what is stubborn, what is dangerous.

Not so naive that I expect change to look like I think it will.

-

Because here's the deal.

People don't want to change.

People want different lives. People want to be different. People want more of this and less of that. They want what you have. And they want to give that away.

But people don't want to change.

I'm not just talking about them... those people you see but don't identify with. Those strangers you know are unhappy. That minority you judge. The statistic you scorn.

You don't want to change either.

And neither do I. Not really.

-

So let's hope the world doesn't give up on you... the next time you grow stagnant and fall into unhealthy behavior or are brokenhearted.

Because people can change.

I've seen it happen.

We just don't want to.

-

So. You be change.

Because, where we all get confused, is in thinking we can change others.

Which we cannot do. No matter how hard we try.

No matter how many buckets of food, how many counseling sessions, how many softball leagues, how many cups of coffee ...

What we do doesn't change people.

What we do doesn't save people.

But people are watching you, and you are full of the power of the One who can cause change. A power, which manifests itself as Love.

And Love gets people's attention.

-

So I will spend my life taking the Light I possess one step further.

I will love people who will never love me back. And I'll not want to do that sometimes.

I will be a vessel.

Stir the pot.

Rock the boat.

Get in the way.

-

That is my calling.

To be an empty vessel, filled with the power and love that belongs to the only One who can save the world.

Season of Singing

Feels like just yesterday the ground was frozen and the trees were bare.

Like we were counting the days until spring, measuring shadows, and cursing groundhogs.

We were dreaming of warm weather and of sunshine and flipflops.

Spring symbolized hope and new life for us - a chance to come alive again.

And then the snow and ice began to melt. Something we cannot really explain began to thaw the ground under our feet. You could smell change in the air.

We anticipated this change. Yearned for it. This blessing, come in the form of a new season.

So why is it...

that it wasn't really until today that I noticed the green leaves on the trees?

Not that I hadn't enjoyed the warm breezes and the sun on my face.

Not that I hadn't called it spring - worn skirts and gone barefoot and played outside.

But I just hadn't noticed.

And I realize how often this happens. That we sense a need for change. We anticipate change. What we are, who we are, is barren and cold and hibernating.

We want to be shaken. We want to be warm. We want to be alive.

And He begins a work in us. Thawing our hearts. Pushing through our dirt and spreading roots.

We change.

Even if we don't notice right away.

We are different. We are new. And even though the process is slow, steady, and not at all painless... we don't even notice.

Until one day, we see a brand new picture. A horizon, which has been radically transformed.

What was cold and sleeping is now warm and thriving.

We have been touched by the Creator. Awakened.

Take a look... pay attention... He is doing a work in you, whether you notice at first glance or not.

You are being made new.

"See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land."

Retracing My Steps

Thank God we change, that we do not become who we want to be.
That we do not pick our destiny at a young age and barrel ahead with a single agenda and no chance to alter our course.
Motivation moves us forward.
Free will is the mother of our failure.
Love redeems us.

One day, surrender will perfect us.

Sometimes I try and retrace my steps. How did I get here... to this moment? What brought me this far, in this direction, through those trials... ultimately to end up here.

How did I become... me?

Many people in my life today don't know who I used to be.

The little girl who was terrified of new places and of strangers,

Who never held a baby, for fear of breaking them,

Who would rather lay on the bed and read a book than spend any time outside,

Who wanted to grow up and open a coffee shop and write books about people who took grand adventures...

-

I walked into their front yard last night without a second thought. The porch light was on and light glinted against the windchimes hanging from their roof. I could hear them yelling inside. The sound of feet pounding on the floor in the hallway... then the storm door being thrown open... then hollow footsteps on the porch.

He threw himself into my arms.

His eyes were wide and bright. He told me his name, then spelled his name, and announced he was seventy-two years old. He played with my hair as he talked to me, sometimes reaching up and touching my face.

Really... he was six. Too big to be held in my arms the way I was. But it didn't matter.

They led me inside and handed me the baby. One month old, he was still sleeping. I pulled him close and they handed me a bottle and walked away. Suddenly... I was by myself. Standing in the hallway of a strange house, with pitbulls scratching at the bedroom door, and an army of people unloading a truck outside.

-

So many moments add up to make our lives.

Moments take us by surprise and transform us.

When we least expect it, we are stretched. We turn in a new direction. Scales fall from our eyes.

We discover potential we never knew we had.

We learn how to love.

That babies don't break easily.

We learn how to pray.

And what it feels like to have dirty feet.

-

I did not grow up to be who I wanted to be.

And I will not end up who I am right now.

But there is a whisper I can hear... that suggests I was made for this life.

For adventures and babies and dirty feet.

I retrace my steps... realizing that every one was taken to lead me here.

And every one I take from here on out will be taken to get me there.

Toward becoming who I was created to be.

No time wasted.

Paying Attention

One of my biggest struggles with my faith is the acceptance that I can get better.

I find myself striving to be more patient, understanding, gracious, and righteous. Yet there is this nagging voice in the back of my head (not my heart) that whispers about failure. About how I will never be good enough, that I will never really "get" it, that there's no way to really hear and understand the voice of God.

I know who this voice comes from. So I cling to 2 Corinthians 3:17-18, which explains that if we are in Christ, we are ever moving forward. We are ever reaching and ever drawing closer to Him. As sinful beings, we will never reach perfection. But Christ has asked us to try. And He will bless that trying.

So I am trying.

New Years Eve of 2008 leading into 2009 I made a resolution to do better. 2009 was a great year. New Years Eve of 2009 leading into 2010 I made the same resolution - to do even better. Again.

It is only April and more life-changing experiences have been had and decisions been made than I can remember making in years. But my approach to each one of them has been almost free of anxiety and soaked in prayer. Up until this last decision, the answer has been clear. Delivered with peace and gusts of wind and opportunity.

This last decision, however, has been a difficult one. Seemingly one of the most important decisions I will ever make, I was presented with two right ones.

None of this discerning between what is right and what is wrong. No. I was given an option. Two opportunities, seemingly the same. I asked for direction. God promised to be with me wherever I go. I asked for peace and didn't receive it. I asked for my eyes to be open to risk. I was offered safety.

I want to be familiar with the voice of God. I want to be able to know in my heart what His will is. It is my personality to verbalize the directions of the Spirit. To talk out the stirring in my heart. Some might find this offensive. I'm not always as reverent as I should be.

God is funny. And I think He's sarcastic. I think He can be dramatic and sometimes He can be so quiet that everything in the world feels a need to stop.

This personification of the Father comes from my deepest desire to know Him as such. To crawl up in His lap and let Him play with my hair. To stand on His feet while we dance together. To walk hand in hand down the road while He points out things I've never noticed before. He says a lot of the same things over and over again, because I'm stubborn and I don't listen. But sometimes He says new things.

There are days when I second guess myself. Did I just THINK I heard the voice of God? Did I just call a thought of the flesh something from Heaven?

I will go ahead and tell you that if that happens... God shuts it down quickly. If a word comes from my mouth that didn't really come from Him... He lets me know.

That nasty whispering voice in the back of my head sometimes tells me that I don't know what God sounds like. How could I possibly have heard Him that clearly? I am a sinner and I am full of fault and it is prideful and blasphemous to say I know what God is saying...

But that is not the still small voice.

I believe that God will forever remain a mystery. We will never be able to reach His depths or run His distance or stretch His width. He will forever be doing new things, saying new things, loving us in new ways.

But He will always want us to be close. His desire is not to be a stranger. He isn't out to play a hide and seek, guessing game with us. But He will push us. He will let us draw near. And He will move higher. Ever higher. From glory to glory.

We must remain in humility, in complete awe and reverence of His holiness and power. But we will follow the sound of His familiar voice. Becoming more in tune and more familiar with its tone and message as every day passes. Laughing at His jokes. Rejoicing in His glorious habits.

We just have to pay attention.

Becoming familiar with the character of God. So when His voice is quiet and He seems really far away... we still might know His will. That even if we can't see Him, we can see where He's been. Recognizing the effects of His presence, the echo of His voice.

And day by day, we will get better. Grow stronger. We will be filled more with Christ. Brimming with His love. Our desires will be all wrapped up in Him and our delight will be His.

We will start paying attention to this life - the things that draw us closer to Him, that which deters us. We will do better. We will be filled with a "glorious and inexpressible joy".

Because we love Him.

And... believe it or not...

He loves us.

Look for Him. Pay attention, because He is moving all around you. He shows up when you ask Him to and in ways you'd never dream. He wants to talk to you. He wants you to hear Him and understand Him. He wants to live your life with you.

Actually.

He wants your life.

And He wants you to live life with Him.

So I return to my two right decisions. Feeling like I might end up drawing a purple horse.

And I realize that He had a new answer for me. That He was doing something new. Offering me a gift and challenging my faith in Him.

"Let me quiet you with my love, rejoice over you with singing. Live where I live. Take this gift. Rest in the shadow of my wings."

Listening

I talk to Him all the time. All day long, He and I are in conversation.

On days like today, I talked His ear off. I told Him what I thought I knew, what I thought I heard, what I thought I felt. I told Him I'd go wherever He asked. I asked Him to remind me about my love for Africa - because the enemy was picking it apart. I told Him all I really wanted was to be where He was. That I understood that He liked weird places. I explained that I knew that this time there might not be a wrong answer. But I wanted to please Him.

If I could have seen Him sitting across the table from me, I would have seen Him try to speak three or four times. I would have seen Him lift His hand to stop me. I would have seen Him lean forward and open His mouth, about to speak.

Finally... when I stopped... He whispered.

"If you would just stop talking for a second and listen to me." I think He was laughing at me.

"Trust Me from the bottom of your heart; don't try to figure out everything on your own.
Listen for My voice in everything you do, everywhere you go; I'm the one who will keep you on track. Don't assume that you know it all.(prov3)"

So. Sheepishly, I leaned back in my seat.

And just for good measure, I reminded Him. "If you will just TELL me where to go..."

I think my heart shook with His laughter.

"I'll tell you marvelous and wondrous things that you could never figure out on your own.(jer33:3)"

So. I am trying to listen.

"Pray continuously", after all, does not mean "speak endlessly".

Easter

I woke up this morning in a new home. My first morning in my new home was Easter morning.

How can I explain to you what I felt when I rolled over in bed and saw what a beautiful day it was outside?

This is the first Easter I’ve ever felt anything. This is the first Good Friday, the first Easter Sunday, which I had any emotion at all. Not because I didn’t understand, not because I didn’t believe, not because I didn’t appreciate… but something happened to me this past year.

My heart got wrapped up in this whole mess.

But my heart is not wrapped up in the crucified Jesus. I am grateful, eternally and wholeheartedly grateful. But I didn’t fall in love with the pierced and broken Jesus.

I fell in love with the risen Jesus. The one who looked like a gardener. The one who shook the tomb and the one the rock feared. The one who got uncomfortably close to Thomas and whispered, “Believe…”

I watched a clip from a movie this morning, which depicts Jesus as a laughing man. A man with light in his eyes. A man who touched people’s faces and held their hands and joked with them. I am overwhelmed with the simple thought that sin had separated us from our Creator for so long that he became human – just so he could be close to us forever.

Normally, I completely disagree with media’s interpretation of the Christ, but this brought tears to my eyes.

I think about the Ethiopian man I met who had leprosy. He weaves rugs outside of the hospital, using the nubs of his fingers to tighten the weft. I remember the joy in his eyes when we got close and told him his work was beautiful.

I watched another clip from the same movie this afternoon, where the Matthew 8 leper was depicted as an elderly black man. And Jesus healed him, touching his face, hugging him, and rejoicing with him. A thought then crossed my mind.

Just like the blind man – whose new eyes saw Jesus first—the leper’s new hands would touch Jesus first.

What some may not know is that leprosy does not cause you to lose your limbs. Leprosy causes you to lose feeling in them. Because you cannot feel them, you don’t know when they get infected or cut or burned. After time, you lose your fingers and toes and hands because the nerves have died.

Leprosy means you cannot feel.

So for Jesus to reach out and touch you, heal you from leprosy, would mean you would be able to feel again.

And in the instant feeling was restored, your fingers suddenly grew back, or the nerves reconnected in the palms of your hands… you would be touching Jesus.

The Lord of Lords would be holding your hand.

My mind dwelled on this and my heart ached. Just like it did when I read Revelation. Just like it did when I watched Evan Almighty and “God” and Evan dance together under the tree. Just like it did when my friend said she just wanted God to come and pick her up and hold her in his arms.

I just want to be touched by Jesus. To walk through a garden and be skeptical of the gardener – because I know my Christ well enough to recognize him when I see him.

It is Easter Sunday. Today, we are celebrating.

We are celebrating the power of Christ. We celebrate that he paid a price we could not pay, but did not remain the tomb. We celebrate a Jesus who touches us, who laughs with us. Who will hide us in the rock and destroy what has hurt us, who will reach out and hold you in your all of brokenness and pull you out of all of your filth.

We celebrate Easter because He is alive.

I pray you feel Him touching your face today - that your heart feels His presence in a way, which reminds you He is real and of His real love for you.

His undeserved, unrelenting, unexpected love.

Moving

I have possessions on Brookewind Way, Trout Court, and Fiddler's Creek.

(Do you see the pattern?)

I've done this four times before. Sifted, sorted, downsized. I throw away what has accumulated and rediscover things I've forgotten. I box up my books, take down my pictures, fold up my clothes, and pull out my pots and pans.

I will have a new home soon. Moving, for me, signifies a new season in life. A fresh start, a clean slate, a new home is ready for me to make new memories in it. Life will happen in this new place, just like it did in every house or apartment I've lived in before.

Life happens no matter what.

I never really moved into this apartment. Nine months ago I packed up an apartment where lots of life and changed had occurred. I remember sitting in the empty Pimlico living room, surrounded by my boxes, crying.

I didn't know why I was supposed to come here. There are days when I still wonder. A transition home, maybe, because I wasn't ready to go where I was supposed to yet. Maybe I lived in this apartment, on this side of town, because it gave me a chance to carpool with two people who I now love more than anything. Or because back in August a worship night was held just a block away, and because it was so close, I walked over. And I stumbled on a beautiful community.

Tonight is my last night in this apartment.

Lots of bad things happened here. Sickness, deception, temptation, insecurity, fear, loneliness. God broke me here. But God also restored me here.

So I will leave this apartment a different person. Older. Stronger. I will turn the page, repent and forget. I will shed an old skin and go and sleep in a new room.

God is doing a new thing. Even as I move boxes in, I wonder if the next time I move... it will be to a whole new country?

I must be patient. I will wait on the Lord. He has been faithful for this long. Faithful in His promises never to leave, to make me new, to redeem. So, even more than living in a new home, I look forward to dwelling in His presence and walking in His will.

Training Wheels

We have been taught God will never give us more than we can handle. You remember learning this as truth, right? Taught to us in effort to strengthen us, to give us hope. We rely on this as fact when times get tough. "Don't worry, God will never give you more than you can handle."

The past few months of my life have been a true testament to the strength of the Lord. 2 Corinthians 12:9 says: "'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me." Philippians 4:13 says: "I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength."

God and I had a conversation the other day. I had reached my wit's end. I brought this frustration to Him in the most honest way I knew how. "Father, you have promised not to give me anything I can't handle. And I just want you to know, I can't handle this anymore. I realize how You've used this to change my life, to make me better. But can we use something else now? Can we be done with this?"

He answered my prayer.

But I don't think it had to do with anything except His love for me.

Later, remembering that prayer, I tried to look up the reference for what I thought was a Bible verse.

It doesn't exist. I was amazed. All of my life people have quoted that little phrase as if it came straight out of the Holy Bible. And I believed them. I just took it as truth, because so many people had told me so. But it's not there. I checked. The closest thing I found was a verse in 1 Corinthians, which says we will not be tempted beyond what we can bear. That, my friends, is a totally different subject.

So I started thinking and praying.

And during that time, I think God taught me something new. He has been whispering to me about trusting Him regardless of circumstances anyway. I can feel Him kick starting a lesson on witnessing. As in, making an example of our lives. Reaching out to others, bearing witness to His love.

Quietly, in a way only the Father can, He began to explain to my heart about how if He never gave us anything we couldn't handle, we would never fully understand how much we need Him. If our circumstances never exceeded our ability, we would drown in our own pride and competence. We would be able. And that's not the point at all.

So every once in a while, the Father will hand us something we have no idea what to do with. Or He will allow a situation to befall us. It will test and try us. (Not temptation. He has made that promise...) But we will be challenged. And very often, we will fall short. We will fail. We will reach and our arms will not be long enough.

He does not do this for His own entertainment. The Father doesn't like to see us fail. But He knows how we learn (He loves how we learn) and He knows what is required to get a lesson to stick. To get a truth to sink it, to grow roots. For real growth and genuine change to occur, He has to give us too much.

I watched as a dad ran down the street behind his son who had just learned to ride his bike without training wheels.

Had the father shied away from giving his son more than he could handle, the training wheels would have stayed on the bicycle. And the little boy would have never learned the freedom of riding. The son could handle the training wheels. We might even call it his comfort zone.

But one morning, either by the son's request or the dad's ambitious idea, the two went out to the garage and took the training wheels off the bicycle. It was not an instantaneous process, this learning to ride on just two wheels. I imagined what happened on their street, in their driveway, before the pair ever made it out to the street.

What has the Father handed you? Or what has the world just thrown at you? Does it feel like too much? Can you carry that weight? Are you caving under the pressure?

Go ahead. Admit it. You can't handle it.

Now ask Him for help.

Because that's the whole point of this lesson.

You aren't strong enough.

But your Father is.

And He will bend low and meet you, making up for what you lack.

Pushing you so you can ride without training wheels.

So you will grow to be more like Him.

our lives

I am resisting the feeling that everything is about to happen.

That all of this is preparation.

It's tempting to live a life of anticipation. Getting ready for what comes next, which leads to making arrangements, adjusting to transitions... setting new goals.

I catch myself thinking, "I'm almost ready".

"If only it was two years from now, three hours from now, two weeks from now..."

But this is not how we are supposed to live.

What comes next is simply what comes next. In the grand scheme of things, the purpose of our lives is to live them. To glorify God with what we do and say and how we use what He gives us. What we make and find and discover and bring to His feet. He does not hang in suspension over us, holding His breath, waiting for the next climactic scene.

Because He is here now. In every little thing you do - He is not pushing you towards a single life goal or an isolated purpose. He is pulling you closer to Him. Filling you with His son. Because that is why we exist.

We are vessels.

Not empty vessels.

Not vessels gathering dust on the shelves, waiting to be used.

We are being filled.

And we pour out.

To be filled again should be our great desire.

The Father is creative enough, delighted enough with us, to pay attention to the smaller details of our individual lives. He gave us gifts and desires, but there is a gap between these two things. Which is why we must grow. Stretch - reach out.

But the story, as Don puts it, isn't about reaching your goal.

It isn't about getting married.

Or moving to Africa.

Or finishing your degree.

Or buying a house.

Or having children.

Those actions, accomplishments, and promises in and of themselves do not make your life.

By living our lives in constant anticipation of what lies ahead, we are being somewhat robbed of our story.

Because our story is being told right now.

In this moment, you are living. In fact part of living is stretching. Stories never progress without reaching out, without forward motion, without movement, without hope or fear or loss or joy.

We just fall into this unhealthy habit of assuming life starts "when"...

Instead, we should move forward. Step out. Pray for courage and for open eyes. And realize that in the end, you'll want to tell about the journey.

You'll want to tell about how you got here - there. Where you are.

Because it was your life.

Piano Date

"I want a piano date before I leave."

There is a tradition in my family. A tradition, which requires when we all gather at Severn Way, someone plays the piano.

The sound of the instrument filling that old house is the closest thing to home I know.

And tonight, when my sister asked our dad to play with her, my heart stopped.

Our lives have changed.

We are not the same people we used to be.

And family get-togethers are not the same as I remember.

But the music is the same as it has always been.

A constant that brings my heart home.

So I cuddled up on the overstuffed chair beside the two of them who shared the piano bench.

Dad determined the key they would play in, and he started to make music.

My sister watched, listened, and began to play with him.

Sometimes she would stop and let him play by himself for a while.

And every now and then, he would let her play her own melody.

I cried.

Only a few tears. But I don't know where they came from.

Unbidden, for sure.

Then I recognized the parallel. Between my relationship with my heavenly Father and my dad's relationship with my sister.

I am sitting on the piano bench, legs dangling, cool ivory keys under my fingers. I know a song I could play. He sits down next to me and I feel my side of the cushion rise up. I begin to show Him what I have learned, and He is pleased. Listening and watching. His hands reach for the black and ivory keys and He plays a gentle note, not asking me to stop, just entering into the song. My first reaction is to stop playing. He is a much better musician than I am. But He doesn't want me to stop.

He wants to play with me.

To teach me how to make beautiful music.

Sometimes, the melody will become too intricate. I am not able to follow His fingers, to replicate what He plays. It is then I let go - letting Him play the song He wrote for me.

He has changed the song now.

And He is teaching it to me - patiently, gently. Forgiving of missed notes and bad chords.

His desire is really just to sit beside me.

At the Risk of Sounding Crazy...

I walked back to my car on Thursday, after spending some time in the sunshine.

I had a feeling God had been listening in on my conversation. Watching closely as my friend and I ate ice cream and let our hair get blown by the wind.

My friend got in her car and drove away and I pulled my keys out of my bag.

When I looked up, I saw a big blue Chevy parked a few spots away that I hadn't noticed before. It wasn't running. But in the driver seat was an old black man with dreadlocks. He was wearing sunglasses, no ring on his finger. There was no music being played from inside the truck, which was parked so it faced the picnic tables I had been sitting at all afternoon.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

He was watching me quietly. But his stare did not disturb me. I was not uncomfortable. My defenses did not go up.

But I was paralyzed with a single thought.

A single thought I would turn over in my mind for days on end. I could not pinpoint the origin of this idea, or what triggered it in my mind.

I was looking at God.

Crazy?

Maybe so.

But there has only been a few times in my life when I've had this feeling.

Like I was standing in the quiet presence of God.

They have been fleeting moments. Unexplainable and surreal.

I don't know why I had this thought. What was it about the blue Chevy, the wrinkled face, or the dirty dreadlocks, which made me think I was looking at the Creator incarnate?

Maybe a little blasphemous to even say such a thing.

But my body couldn't move. And my heart was dancing.

When I finally got in my station wagon and drove away, I did so reluctantly.

With joy in my heart. With an appeased imagination - that the Almighty had come to hang out at the park with me. That His quiet presence was a gentle approval.

There is a good chance you have a hard time imagining the Lord appearing on this earth in such a way. Or envisioning God looking like anything but a big man with a white beard. That you doubt that He even moves that way at all.

But I hope with all my heart that God hangs out at parks. That His skin is weathered by the sun. And that behind those dark sunglasses were eyes so filled with glory, we couldn't stand to look into them.

Last Day of Winter

Today, according to the calendar, was the last day of winter.

This morning, I paid off all of my medical debt.

-

Anyone who has ever had bad debt knows what a relief it is to pay it in full.

I've been waiting for eight months to see that happen (which, I realize, is a relatively short time).

And not just because the payments drained my bank account every month.

No.

This medical debt symbolized a season of breaking.

A season of surrender.

A season of wrecking and stretching and climbing.

I learned to trust the Father in a way that I hadn't known how to do since I was thirteen years old.

I surrendered parts of my life I had been desperately clinging onto.

I began to pray a prayer...

a dangerous prayer.

That, now, has changed everything.

-

And while I would never trade what I've learned...

this season has been one of the hardest of my life.

I am not who I once was.

And the path I'm headed down is a very unfamiliar one.

-

So this morning, on the last day of winter, I was able to pay off my debt.

To bring the balance to zero.

Paid in full.

On this last day of winter, a season of hurting and healing and hiding in the shadow of His wings.

Tomorrow, I start a new day, free from the burden of that debt.

That debt and all it represented.

"See! The winter is past! The rains are over and gone; flowers appear on the earth, the season of singing has come..."

-

God is faithful.

And He is good.

I think about the parallels between the debt I paid this morning and the debt the Father sent His son to pay.

And on a smaller, more selfish scale, I am amazed today at how good God is - how well God knows me. Well enough to know that I needed closure.

I needed finality.

Tomorrow, all things begin new.

Hello, Spring.

Oh, how I've missed you.

Stop the Rollercoaster

Yesterday, I felt it happen.

Stress came knocking at the door.

Everything was going smoothly - as smoothly as life can go when one quickly, dramatically changes directions.

Stress whispered in my ear. "Surely it can't all be ok. You can't really be at peace like this, can you? Nothing ever goes this smoothly. You're missing something."

So, like I used to, I found something to worry about.

But the way I started worrying was different than the way I used to worry.

This was not the panicking, sickening worry that I've always felt before. What satan had tried to instill in me, God had transformed into something productive.

What had been intended to harm, God had redeemed. And He has been using it all day to push me forward.

I got a hold of a few of my closest friends and asked them to spend the day in prayer with me about the decisions I needed to make. I was juggling back and forth between a few options - all of which now center around what I could use when I go back to Africa.

All day long I went back and forth. A mental tug-o-war.

At one point I just threw up my hands and asked, "God, what do you want me to--"

He interrupted me.

"Love my children."

There would be no signs for me this time.

No doves or windstorms.

My prayer specifically was that God would not have to resort to using visual aides. That I would be in tune enough with the Spirit and who I am within Him, that my heart would know the answers I needed.

That I would have peace and find affirmation within my soul about this decision.

So I drove home after work, strategically taking the long way so I could pass by St. Luke's.

Just to see.

Just to check and make sure.

"Stop the rollercoaster."

Good thing the light turned red. Because I stopped the car.

Not a sign.

But instructions.

A proverbial, "Get over it, Anna. You know the answer."

I stayed on the rollercoaster for a few more hours.

Up and down.

Projecting fears and anxieties onto future days, schedules.

Until tonight.

When I found myself in a bad part of town.

Carrying a loaf of bread.

And I remembered...

Jan 15, 2009:
It might be a stretch to think that a little, middle-class, white girl could cause a lot of change.
And it might be a stretch to think that this is what I will do for the rest of my life.
But this makes sense. On a level that things haven't made sense on in a very long time.
Because I just want to help people.
Sing for those who have no voice.
In twenty years, we will see if I was right. If this is what I was meant to do with my life. There's no way of knowing today.
(And you can remind me of this full feeling when thing get really rough over the next few years.)

-

I walked into the apartment tonight and ran headlong into the peace I'd been looking for.

What was I thinking?

I forget, sometimes, that God builds us up like building blocks.

That every season of brokenness does not tear us all the way down to the ground.

And so I expected, after Africa, for my calling here in the States to change.

I assumed that what God had been leading me towards before was not interconnected with what He's leading me towards now.

Except that, in reality, He's been preparing me for this all along.

He knew my path curved this way a long time ago.

Which is why He created me the way He did.

Why He jumps for joy when I learn not to be anxious, but to pray about everything.

-

So after a single day of dedicated prayer, I am reminded.

Of the refugee from the Congo who sat next to me in that social work class.

Of my passion.

Of God's goodness.

Of God's faithfulness.

Of God's love.

-

After a single day of prayer, the next step has been revealed.

And the Father didn't have to resort to props to get my attention.

Love Story

I am learning about His love.

About His strength.

About His faithfulness.

The way the path was set before me - but in His infinite wisdom, He did not let me see all the twists and turns.

I am who I am because of where I have been.

But I don't know yet what I may be - the concept of potential and growth.

I cannot see that far ahead.

But He is constantly refining.

Redeeming.

Restoring.

And something has been ignited inside of me that refuses to be quiet.

There are moments when I am able to drown out the entire world, and my ears are filled with the sounds of His whispers.

Lately, He's just been whispering about love.

His love.

His unconditional, relentless love.

He is teaching about faith.

And how sometimes faith means trusting Him, even when He says no.

No to healing. No to leaving. No to staying.

He is teaching me about His passion for me.

And giving me a taste of His goodness -

reminding me that He doesn't have to show up.

It is not in His job description as Almighty to reveal Himself to us.

To me.

But yet there He is... everywhere I turn. I cannot hide from Him.

He has helped me learn how we talk the best - the Lord and I.

He has whispered truths to me, and put concrete evidence in my face.

He has taken up residence in between my shoulder blades, let me slip my small hand into His large one.

Encouraging me, calling me, to walk in His footsteps. To follow, to go only where He is - where He has been already.

And tonight, He's doing a number on my heart.

Convicting me.

Continuously breaking and putting back together.

In a moment of weakness, His power was made perfect.

And I realized that I had been set free.

That, if given the opportunity to change circumstances, I would stay just the way I am.

Not in the static sense of the word. Not spiritually.

But in ultimate acceptance, in embracing who I have been since birth.

I found a form of healing, wrapped in a cloak of love.

And it tastes different than I ever imagined.

I am healed because my heart believes.

I am whole because I trust.

And will continue to trust... even if nothing changes.

I know who I am.

I am overwhelmed by His love.

His willingness to fight with me.

His patience with me.

His interest in the details.

His faithful, persistent, fierce love.

I am full to bursting.

And exhausted... I know this is of Him because it overwhelms me.

I am not big enough to absorb it all.

I am loved by the Creator of the Universe.

And I am in love with Him.

Listen

I am Africa.

Dust and harsh sun.

Strong shoulders from carrying a heavy yoke.

I am wild.

I am resilient.

I am fire and starlight.

Listen.

My heartbeat is a drum.

Listen.

My voice is not just one.

I am dark.

Deep with history, scarred and worn.

Leathered by the sun, callused by abuse.

Oh, but I am lovely.

Come, listen.

I am truth.

I am perseverance.

I am simplicity.

I am not as I may seem.

I am not what the world perceives.

Listen as I stir -

as I awaken.

eye contact

We didn't understand each other's words.

A tangled web, I easily got caught up in the way they clicked their tongues or smacked their lips or inhaled quickly.

I think we were overwhelmed by each other.

By the flow of conversation that neither one of us could decipher - a meaning we so desperately tried to get across, and yet failed.

We used our hands. To gesture, to point, to guide, to explain.

Laughter connected us when the words could not.

Shrugging, as if to say, "I wish I could understand - I wish we understood each other".

Or, "I know I sound ridiculous...."

But something was lost in translation.

Meaning was misinterpreted.

Later I would realize I didn't even learn their names.

But after a few days...

after a ridiculous ritual of flailing arms and smacking lips and fits of giggles...

the language barrier was broken.

Suddenly, I knew these children by heart.

We shared jokes and teased one another.

They taught us how to whistle.

And we taught them how to count.

It took too long for us to learn how to do this.

We wasted too many days, talking too much, trying too hard.

When all we had to do was bend low.

And look them in the eyes.

Because there, we could find all we needed to know.

In the depths of those dark, watery eyes was their joy.

And all their years.

Their names.

If we looked, the whole world was there.

Unencumbered by grammar.

Unsullied by vulgarity.

Unbridled by society.

Without formalities, without small talk, without awkwardness.

My soul calls out to theirs just as their hands reach out for mine.

Words were entirely unnecessary.

ancient stillness

How do I explain to you the way an Ethiopian child smells?

Like sour milk and grain and sweat and mangos.

The way their rough, little hands fit perfectly into mine?

What words do I have to describe to you the way the dust settles over everything, filling in wrinkles you didn't know you had, covering your feet and settling in your chest?

In my ears I still hear night falling down country. Like a top whose spinning begins to slow - the blur of colors turning into shapes.

And my heart, deep down, has memorized the sound of the drums.

Of the children's voices rising with the stars.

Words my mind cannot understand.

Words my soul knows by heart.

How does that happen?

How do I explain to you what it was to sit on the hewn bench, swatting flies, and listening as they worshipped the same God I have dedicated my life to?

To know that He heard them. That He bent low when they called His name.

Regardless of my whether my ears heard, despite my lack of understanding.

-

I could tell the story over and over again.

Of why I feel called to go back.

Of why, in what seemed like a single day, everything changed.

Or how, in reality, the Father has been preparing me for this my entire life.

I learned about His strength.

About discerning what is good and pleasing.

About connecting my prayers with His answers.

How good He is - even though He does not need us, even though He doesn't have to, He chooses to reveal Himself to us.

I am learning about what it means to be consumed.

And I am frustrated that the right words aren't coming.

There's so much I want to tell you.

About women at wells.

And donkeys.

Sheep and goats.

About foundations and calls to prayer.

About eyes so deep you can see the world in them.

About the Spirit within connecting with the Spirit beyond.

A place where soul meets body.

-

I learned what it means to live a good story.

I understood, finally, what it means to be loved by Him.

But what words do I have to explain this to you?

None are sufficient.

Blind

Imagine you are blind.

And your friends take you to Jesus - because surely He can heal you.

And He takes you by the hand, leading you away from all the noise and all the onlookers.

All those people who stare - who have stared at you for your whole life, without you being able to look back.

He stops you on the outskirts of town. Hands on your shoulders, you can feel the rhythm of His breathing. Steady. Deep.

He calls you by name.

But you don't remember telling Him your name.

The next thing you know, He spits on you.

On your eyes.

And the world starts to spin.

Darkness coagulates and shadows dissemble.

A lifetime of sightlessness is suddenly pierced by light.

He wants to know what you see.

Distortion.

Your mind immediately has a name for what your eyes are trying to see.

But the world remains out of focus.

Unclear.

Then Jesus covers your eyes with His hand.

This time, when He pulls away, He doesn't not step aside.

Your vision is restored.

And He is the first thing you see.

-

Imagine you were blind.

And your eyes were opened for the first time in your life.

You had never seen anything before.

Nothing but darkness.

And when your eyes begin to adjust, to focus,

it is His face you see.

His eyes you look into.

His smile you received.

-

He would become your standard.

That, which all else was measured by.

18 Days Later

I feel like I woke up from a dream and moved too quickly.

Like reality is pushing out the memory to make more room.

But if I close my eyes, I'm back there.

On the compound walking down the dusty road surrounded by dark, serious faces.

Lying in bed, covered by a mosquito net, with windows open and ears full of the bark of hyenas and the frantic wheeze of donkeys and the repetitive chirp of invisible bugs.

Standing on the grassy airstrip, a small six-seater plane becoming visible underneath a settling cloud of dust. Hundreds of curious faces coming towards me - whispering words I couldn't understand. The bravest of them reaching out to touch my hand.

If I close my eyes, it's all there.

If I slow down, it rises to the surface again.

But everyday life, my regular routine, did not take its time in returning.

No mercy.

I cried myself to sleep.

Five-thirty this morning my alarm clock went off.

Eerily quiet, this sterilized world did not even rise to meet me.

And I was in the shower. Packing lunch. On the road by six-twenty.

Crying in the car as I abided by westernized traffic laws and paused in the glow of red lights.

-

If I keep moving at this pace, I'm afraid I'll lose it.

How, I wonder, do I propel myself forward?

How do I strive for what is next without losing today?

How do I preserve what happened yesterday without wasting this minute, this day?

-

I feel like I blinked and it was over.

What once was a goal, a dream, a whisper, an instruction, is now a part of my past.

Part of my story.

What if I had ignored Him?

What if I had disregarded what my heart discerned?

If I had sat still - I would have missed it all.

-

I will be reaping for the rest of my life.

Today, there is no way to see the extent of impact this trip has had on who I am.

On my character and the course of my life.

To try and grasp it would be impossible.

But I remain astounded at His faithfulness.

And cling to the truth about His strength -

having learned that how I strong I am is not what matters.

But in surrender, I empty myself and become a vessel.

A conduit, a catalyst, an instrument.

For Him to express His strength and might.

Which is endless.

-

Now on the other side of the world, the sun is beginning to rise over the mountains and the roosters are crowing.

God is there.

Moving in windstorms and doves and women in scarlet headscarves.

But God is here too.

He hears me here, in this apartment, just like He heard me in East Africa.

And if I continue to allow Him, He will continue to move.

To stir.

To awaken.

-

My prayer is that what happened over the last eighteen days, however, would not become a forgotten dream.

That I would not replace those precious memories with busy life.

And that in routine, I would not forget His call.

"My heart has heard you say, 'Come and talk with me.' And my heart responds, 'Lord, I am coming'." (psalm 27:8)

the night before

November 1st 2009:
"You told me to get my passport. Or - at least that's what I thought I heard. Maybe it was just to make me listen. Again. Maybe I will use it. Maybe You just want me to be ready. Whatever the case, take this as an act of obedience. Make Your next direction clear."

February 10th 2010:

I am sitting in a dark apartment. With bags packed and ready to go. My passport is tucked safely in the pocket of my carry on. There are clothes tumbling in the dryer. And I'm too excited to sleep. In less than twelve hours I will be on my way to the airport.

I look back over my old journals and am amazed. So grateful God puts up with me like He does. So amazed at the way things are interconnected. The way He intertwines all our stories.

From the way He makes the wind blow - just to let me know He's near.

To the way He stopped the world while my sister prayed for me tonight. Knowing that this side of a year ago, I was the one helping her pack. I was the one crying as I prayed for her.

We think we know who we are.

We think we know what we are capable of. What we were created to do. What we are supposed to do. Who we were created to be.

But we ask for discernment.

For open eyes.

We learn to trust. Not just wholeheartedly, but learn to hand our hearts over to the Father.

Letting go of that which we treasure most - to keep it safe in His arms.

But I will wake up in the morning one person.

And as I am suddenly transported to a place I've never been before - as I get to step foot on the other side of the world for the very first time - I have a feeling God is going to show me that I have no idea...

I have no idea what He can do.

I am no where near who I am supposed to be.

Whatever the case, dear Father, take this as an act of obedience. Continue to speak so I can hear You - and when You choose to be quiet, fill me with the Spirit, so I can discern where You are... where I should go.

-

October 25th, 2009:
"I tried to listen to the music above the drone of people here at Common Grounds. There was African music playing, just so subtly I could barely distinguish it. A beat. Lost under all the noise."