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."

Good Directions and Perfect Timing

A friend of ours gave us directions to her house on Friday night.

Turn right onto street A.
Do not take your first right.
Go through the stop sign.
Turn right at the second street B.
Turn left onto street C.

I read and reread the directions. Wondering why in the world she would insert that second set of instructions - "do not take your first right".

My friend and I started driving to our friend's house and made the first turn. Only to realize that the first right she had spoken of, had the same name as her own street.

We followed her directions verbatim, however. Had a wonderful time at her party, and asked her about the directions as we were walking out to the door to go home.

"You'd be amazed how many people get directions from me on how to get to my house, then start driving here, and take that first right. As if I don't know the best way to get to my own house! I am so used to people taking that first right and getting lost in all the curves and turns and calling me, saying I'm lost, how do I get back?"

I stood in the foyer and God tapped on my heart.

Don't you think we do that to the Father on a regular basis?

He's given us directions on how to get to His house.

But we get started and at the first turn, where we think He really must have been mistaken when He gave us the directions, we do not heed His instruction.

And we turn.

On a street that might eventually become the right one.

But has so many twists and turns and is so much longer than the intended path, we get lost.

And we call upon Him, all turned around and confused.

He will lead us back out, then.

Give us directions again.

Because His way is better than our way.

And He knows the best way to get to His house - regardless of what our eyes might see, or not see.

-

Back in May, God laid it on my heart to go on a mission trip.

I remember sitting at the computer and looking through the scheduled trips through Southland.

Ethiopia in February. No, that wouldn't work. I'd be in school. Plus, it was Africa. Not for me.

A myriad of other trips - including one to the Congo, one to Mozambique, trips to Haiti and Austria and China.

But God told me to go to New York City.

On the first trip Southland would take to partner with a church that meets in a theater, to pass out water bottles in Central Park, to feed the homeless in Madison Square Garden.

He provided the means for me to go.

And with that trip, He began to open doors.

-

I laughed about this today.

Thinking back.

And I realized what happened last May parallels with many other things in my life.

Sometimes... it is not right the first time you see something.

Sometimes... time must pass.

Sometimes... circumstances must change, while that person, place or thing remains the same.

But one day, what you once saw and overlooked, might become your future.

-

Back in May, I had no idea that I would get incredibly sick over the summer months.

That I would accrue $3,000 worth of medical debt.

That I would have to drop out of school (causing me to fall even more behind than I already was).

And because of being out of school, I would be free in February.

To go wherever, and do whatever, He asked me to do.

So that the next time I sat at the computer and clicked on a link that said "Mission trip: Ethiopia"...

It would be right.

It would be mine - my next move, the next chapter of my story, an answer to my prayers.

I remind myself of this.

That sometimes God shields our eyes.

"Not yet," He whispers.

His timing is perfect.

5

I leave for Africa in five days.

It didn't hit me until yesterday.

I woke up and laid in bed for a few minutes, thinking about Bible study on Wednesday night.

I whispered before I got up, "sorry for the inconvenience, satan. but whatever plans you had for me today, im going to need you to cancel those. thanks."

I was overwhelmed with stress in the morning hours while I sat at work. Making lists and thinking about anything and everything except my work. I felt stress rising up in me like a flood.

And then, through it all, I heard Him.

"What are you worried about? Seriously? You're set. I've taken care of you so far, haven't I? Why do you think that would change now?"

So on my lunch break I started checking things off my list. I made phone calls and filled prescriptions and cashed checks after work.

I leave for Africa in 5 days.

And if I needed to hop on a plane right now, I'd be ready.

Because God is good. And He cares about the smallest details.

My cup is overflowing.

And as I feel the stress melt away, I feel it being replaced by excitement.

As the day progressed yesterday, I drove through town and was hit with the realization that this time next week, there would be no street lights.

No traffic lights.

No Starbucks.

I had a fleeting feeling that the real adventure was about to begin.

But I chided myself for that - because this whole life is an adventure.

The pace is just about to pick up.

The scene is about to change.

I say I'm ready.

But that remains to be seen.

-

A few things God has been impressing on my heart the last couple of days...

is about how we must be careful never to mistake a blessing for an attack.

We believe that the best way to fend off satan is to acknowledge his work and call him out on his lies.

However, not every hardship, not every wrinkle, is his doing.

Sometimes, we give credit to satan when it should have gone to God.

Like Thursday. When the Travel Clinic called me about my yellow fever vaccination (which I'd already gotten through my doctor on Tuesday). When I explained to them I no longer needed the vaccination, they asked if I had a booklet of certification.

What?

A little yellow book that you must have with you to enter the country. Proves you received the vaccination.

And I didn't have it.

My initial reaction was, "back off, satan, this is not going to keep me from going."

Before I realized, had the Travel Clinic not called, I wouldn't have KNOWN about the book. And neither would one of my teammates.

I was able to call and get a booklet from my doctor and all was made right within just a few minutes.

But I had almost given credit where it was not due.

And God convicted my heart of that. "Learn to recognize Me," He said. "Don't mistake a blessing for an attack. Don't assume everything I do will be all neatly tied in a bow."

-

I leave in 5 days.

Life is happening now.

But everything is about to change.

clueless

I don't always know what is best.

My heart belongs to You. And the closer I draw, the nearer I come, the better I can see.

But I still can't see it all.

I hear better than I used to.

And I am able to recognize Your hand at work.

But there are things You keep me in the dark about.

If only so that my prayer will continue to be, "Your kingdom come, Your will be done."

May we never become so accustomed to Your presence, to Your voice, that we fail to admit we are clueless.

Or stop and stand very still in the darkness and call Your name.

"Your will be done," we pray.

We ought to be willing to surrender.

To ask permission. To seek guidance.

Instead of asking for a blessing on a path we've already begun to walk.

Draw us close, keep Your secrets, bestow Your love.

May we be your faithful children.

Your trusting little ones.

May we always feel the need to reach up and grab Your hand.

Tired Heart

My heart is tired.

I realized this today. Was able to verbalize this today.

Emotionally exhausted.

And when you mix emotional exhaustion with physical energy, you get confused.

Very confused.

-

I have been racing.

Moving at a crazy pace - figuring I'd adapt eventually.

That my emotional muscles would get stronger and I'd be able to handle more.

And more.

False.

-

It all became reality today when I turned in all my money for my trip to Ethiopia.

An expensive manilla envelope, let me tell you what.

That stress gone, that preoccupation resolved, that prayer answered.

I got back in my car and turned on Shane and Shane and went to meet my dear friend Jenn.

We caught up over Starbucks and then left.

-

By the time I got home, my emotional fortitude was gone.

All my boldness was melting right there in my hands.

And all I wanted to do was to be wrapped up in someone's arms and just be comforted.

But there was no one.

I was tired of thinking. Of feeling. Of analyzing. Of interpreting.

Of wondering.

Of preparing.

Just for a minute I needed it all to stop.

-

I got home and got a hold of Jenn again.

"My heart is tired," I explained to her.

After talking through it a little bit, I decided to go for a run.

Because even in my emotional state, my legs had a lot of energy to be spent.

I would spend it.

"This is what I want you to do," said Jenn. "While you're running, ask God to reveal what He wants you to know for today. Not for tomorrow. Not about yesterday."

Present truth.

(She's found her calling, this friend of mine.)

-

So I went.

-

"Father God, thank you for the gift of the Holy Spirit that fills us up. May his presence cause our discernment, insight and perception to heighten. Make me familiar with Your voice. Tell what it is you want me to know, right now. Speak truth to me about today. Just today. I'm listening."

Suddenly my ears were filled with David Crowder.

"Can I lie here in Your arms
Can I lie here in Your arms
My only calm is You
Save me"

And then Mat Kearney.

"Do you ever think about me? Do you ever call my name?
Ask me now I'll give you the reasons
My love will not fade
Through the fire and rain, the fire and rain."

And then,

"Where we don't know, though we can't see
Just walk on down this road with me"

I stopped.

Was that my answer?

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest..."

What?

"I will quiet you with my love, rejoice over you with singing."

Oh.

"Is that what You want me to know?" I asked.

"That's what I want you to do," He answered. "I am stronger than you are. I am better at this. I can do immeasurably more. Everything will work out, I promise. Do not be anxious about it. Come, lie in My arms. Rest with me."

-

I didn't run very far.

-

Psalm 62:5 - Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from him.

Closer than You Think

Something's going on.

Oh please, may this be reality.

May God always be so close.

So evident.

I know that faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we cannot see.

That the Spirit of God is like the wind.

The whole point is that we know Him well enough that when we cannot see Him... we recognize His presence. We can feel His nearness.

-

But He's showing His face right now. Bending low, He's reached for my hand.

I see Him everywhere I go.

I've considered tape recording my prayer time in the morning as I drive to work - just so I have proof of the way He's answered my prayers.

In ways far beyond what I could have asked or imagined.

He's getting creative on me.

-

I feel Him pull away every once in a while, reminding me that I don't know what He's up to all the time.

"Don't even pretend like you understand that, Anna." He'll say to me every once in a while.

And when things get too familiar, He'll shake them up.

He's God.

I am not.

But He has let me familiarize myself with His face.

-

In Ortberg's book "God is Closer than You Think", John compares God to Waldo.

Yes.

As in, "Where's Waldo?"

You open the book and on the first page Waldo is big and obvious.

Get to know him.

The way he dresses, his goofy smile.

Hopefully, you'll get to know him by heart.

Because as the pages turn, you have to do a little looking.

Flip the page.

The closer to the end of the book, the harder he is to locate.

But he is always there.

It is a promise.

The whole point of the book.

Waldo is on every single page.

-

Ortberg tells us that he thinks it is this way with God.

God is everywhere.

On every single page.

But sometimes He is in disguise.

Sometimes, he does not look like we expect Him to.

Sometimes, he is not where we expect to find Him.

Hiding behind things.

Among things.

Our faith, our walk with the Lord, is about learning to recognize His face.

It's about learning to see Him everywhere.

Because He is in all things, which are true, noble, right, pure, lovely, and admirable.

-

God is closer than you think -

He is moving around you.

Maybe He has gone ahead of you and He's asking you to follow.

Maybe He's behind you, giving you a little shove.

Maybe He's beside you, holding your hand.

Maybe He's lifted you up onto His shoulders.

Maybe He's standing right next to you. And you've turned your back to Him.

Wherever He is.

He's close.

Maybe He's quiet.

Maybe He's being very, very still.

Maybe He's laughing out loud, or crying right along with you.

Maybe He's doing a little dance.

-

My prayer is that you would see Him.

That you would know the face of your Father.

You would know the way He moves.

And the way He smells.

You would recognize that rumble of His laughter.

And you would fall still and quiet when He rises.

Never forgetting that He is in all kinds of unexpected places.

Because we are terrible, terrible judges of beauty.

Never forgetting that He moves in all kinds of weird and subtle and chaotic and simple ways.

Ways that are higher than our own.

-

He is in everything.

My prayer for you is that your eyes would be opened.

That your discernment would be heightened so that when you walk into a room, regardless of where "Waldo" is hiding, you might find him.

By the way He moves.

By the way the wind blows as He walks by.

Faithfulness

Ever since this particular "climb" began with the Father this summer, He has been whispering to me about His faithfulness.

It was a concept that was not fully fleshed out for me. Everywhere I turned I heard Him whisper a new truth. But it had not come full circle. I could not quite grasp the concept.

There is nothing complicated about this.

Nothing absurdly profound.

But tonight I am overwhelmed.

Tonight, it clicked.

Our Father is faithful and just.

My hands are shaking. My heart is so swollen I can barely breathe.

-

Tonight, He has answered prayers ten-fold.

I am swimming in truths about His love.

About His concern for my life - my small, finite life.

How He hears my voice when I call His name.

-

Last night I met my half-way mark for funds for my trip to Ethiopia in two weeks.

Every person that has contributed so far has gone above and beyond - blessing me with their generosity and their thoughtfulness. Bless their hearts, I have been so encouraged.

But as the date grew closer and closer, I began to wonder if I'd raise all $2500.00. Of course I would, I told myself. And I distinctly heard the Father remind me that the closer it gets to February 11th, the more glory He'd get out of providing.

He's dramatic, this God I love.

He likes attention.

So after reaching my half way mark last night I was thoroughly encouraged. This story has been too wonderful, too surreal, for it to be hampered by something as earthly as American dollars.

-

Tonight, exactly the other half of my support money was provided.

Completely unexpectedly.

I was handed an envelope.

And truth exploded inside of me.

He is good, this Father of ours.

"Your love, O LORD, reaches to the heavens, your faithfulness to the skies." (Psalm 37:5)

Because not only was my trip funded in a matter of moments...

but I was reminded of the gift of community I have been given.

I was called a missionary.

I was told I was loved.

And in an instant, had there been any doubt at all, I was sure I had found a place I belonged.

-

All Glory to Him, the Lord of Lords.

-

Upon leaving, one of my best friends hugged me and whispered in my ear "faithful, faithful, faithful".

The tears I had tried to suppress all night long just started falling.

In everything, whether we choose to acknowledge it or not, He is faithful.

Whether or not we can see - He is ever faithful.

Something clicked.

-

I believe it.

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.

-

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.

-

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.

-

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.

-

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.

-

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.

-

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.

-

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.

-

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."

-

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."

-

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!

-

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.

-

I am not strong.

But God will make me strong.

-

I leave in eighteen days.

God, Abba Father, begin now.

Do what You do.

Please, put me back together.

How Great

How great is our God?

That He knows our every need, whether we are able to verbalize it or not.

That He knows our hearts, because He designed them to be this way.

"My heart is broken," I tell Him.

"Come close, I can fix that. Remember? I made it."

He orchestrates and designs.

Finding pleasure in our delight and humor in the small things.


How great is our God?

That He created each one of us.

Each one of us who love Him differently.

Who worship Him differently.

Who talk to Him differently.

Who carry Him differently.

So that when we come together, in what we've come to call fellowship, He is manifested in our differences.

Glorified in the many facets of our faces.


How great is our God?

That He wants to be with us even more than we could imagine wanting to be with Him.

That even though we fail Him, He does not falter.

That He loves us enough to let us argue with Him.

And even more so, He loves us enough not to let us stay the way we are.

That when He breaks us, He does not leave us broken.


How great is our God?

That He gave us a choice.

That He doesn't force obedience on us.

Instead, He romances us.

Lavishing us with love and beauty.

Laughing at us sometimes when we think His simplest creations and miracles are His greatest.


How great is our God?

That although we were created just and only to glorify Him,

to praise Him, to worship Him, to serve Him,

He thinks we are incredible.

And He sits on the edge of His seat, waiting for us to do the next incredible thing.

He sits, waiting, for us to call His name.

Because our God is so great, but He would never force His affections on us.


How great is our God?

That even when we plug our ears, turn our faces, sing silly songs to drown out His voice, and run as far as can in the opposite direction ...

He is everywhere.

Subtle.

Blatant.

Exposed.

Hidden.

Intricate.

Simple.

Bold.

Subdued.

Vibrant.

Muted.

He is.

And there is no escaping Him.


How great is our God?

That His heart was filled with joy by His children's jumbled voices.

That when we reach up to Him, His spirit takes hold of ours.

That He did not leave us alone.

That His heart is embodied by a people who call themselves small versions of Him.

So that we can be cradled.

And cared for.

So our scrapes can be kissed and the hair brushed from our eyes.


How great is our God?

That we are the only ones who dare to deny His might.

We are the only ones who dare to suggest He doesn't exist.


Our God is so great,

That He does not need us.

And yet He loves us anyway.

Sometimes

Sometimes I wonder why I am still working at my job.

I really hate it. A lot.

I've been there for four and a half years now. And I'm really good at it.

I keep asking if I can leave.

God keeps saying no.

I thought I knew why. I had a pretty good idea as to why He was keeping my butt sitting at that cubicle.

I was wrong.

Well, mostly wrong.

Today, I lost my temper.

She doesn't know that I lost it. She doesn't know the rage that I was feeling. I did a pretty good job at concealing the fact that I wanted to scream at her.

I feel that way a lot.

In my head, I call her ignorant.

I call them racist.

And judgmental.

I count to ten and pick my battles.

But the thoughts in my head, the reaction manifested in my blood pressure...

indicate an issue in my heart.

-

So today, when I turned around and picked a fight with her about racial profiling in the airports, God whispered:

"Anna, baby, why do you think I haven't let you leave here yet? Do ya get it now?"

He's teaching me about patience.

About double standards.

About how to interact and respond to people who think differently than I do.

In a safe environment - where no one's life or well being is on the line.

Before He sends me out to do a job I love.

Because I cannot call her ignorant, I cannot call them judgmental, I cannot accuse them of discriminating - without becoming those very things myself.

I am reminded, yet again, that I am forever a work in progress.

-

My mind has been in deep thought all day long.

Especially since this afternoon.

When my sister called me a Bible-thumper. And I wasn't sure whether to take that as an insult or a compliment.

Because, she's right, I didn't use to be this way.

And now it's kind of ridiculous (maybe even annoying to some) how much my mind lingers on God.

I can't help but think I'm supposed to be this way though. Consumed by Him, obsessed with it, in love with Him.

Part of me is sorry if I wear you out with all of it.

Part of me is not.

-

I know that less than a year ago, I had lost all my joy.

I believed in a God who loved me and a Savior who died on a cross for me.

I loved people, but didn't know them.

I had dreams and no drive.

I was restless and a coward.

And something happened.

Something broke inside of me.

And if you have known me for a while, you remember the mountain I climbed in 2009.

You remember the despair I felt.

I just got lost.

-

But then a savage Jesus came and picked me up in His arms and pulled me out of my own mess.

Through my brokenness He entered and changed everything.

The soil of my heart, the crust of my soul, was broken apart and shaken down and torn loose.

There was pain - like muscles tearing and bones splintering.

Because there was a Spirit outside of me that desperately wanted to join the dormant Spirit inside of me.

And sometimes, healing only comes through breaking.

Us

His children were dying.

His children were being neglected.

It was not a punishment.

It was not a result of His wrath.

It was not them who needed awakening.

It was not their eyes He wanted to open.

-

It was us.

Our eyes.

Shake us into motion.

We who call ourselves His hands and feet.

We who are filthy rich - prosperous and protected.

-

Get up

Tennessee

There is a church on Alumni that puts short quotes on their sign every week. Usually I pay no attention to such signs, but after moving to my new apartment I had to drive past it every single morning on the way to work. I began to notice how each new saying strangely related to my life.

I should have known something was about to happen when on Friday morning, St. Luke's changed their sign.

"God Changes Us".

Oh man.

-

God gave Bonnie a word for me this week.

I had alternate plans for this weekend. But Tuesday rolled around and I got a phone call.

"God wants you in Tennessee this weekend, Anna."

I laughed about this. Because God and I talk all the time. But He hadn't told me that I needed to MAKE a way for myself to get to Gatlinburg.

But He told Bonnie.

Sometimes, the Father uses messengers.

-

It was affirmed in my heart that I was where I needed to be when I walked into the cabin door and was met with cheers and hugs.

The love I have for those people makes my heart swell.

-

I fell asleep last night on a mattress on the floor in the living room.

I woke up occasionally to the sound of my friends laughing as they played cards.

Joy set in.

-

Everyone quietly dispersed to their sleeping spots. Saying goodnight as they passed.

And quietness set in.

But only for a few moments.

Then came the rain.

-

The cabin had a tin roof. So as the fire died in the hearth and I lay half asleep on the floor, I listened as the intensity of the downpour increased and then waned.

Then Bonnie came and laid down on the couch cushions she had fashioned as a cot. And by the light of her headlamp, she read to me before we fell asleep.

"How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him. Dear friends, now we are children of God, and what we will be has not yet been made known. But we know that when he appears, ]we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is. Everyone who has this hope in him purifies himself, just as he is pure. (1 John 3)

-

But in the middle of the night, I was hit with nightmares.

The first nightmares I've had about my upcoming trip to Ethiopia.

They were dark and quiet and all I remember were severe feelings of loneliness and abandonment.

Only to wake up in the early hours of the morning and find that all the girls who had been sleeping around me on the floor, were gone.

Suddenly those feelings of loneliness and abandonment translated into real life.

However illogical and unfounded... satan had found me in a weak spot. In the vulnerability of my sleeping mind, in the moment when joy had my defenses down, he attacked.

-

But the God we love is more present than any danger (says Charlie Hall), bigger than any fear, stronger than any hurt.

So I pulled out my journal, and in the quietness of the morning, I talked to God about it.

About the way my heart was hurting.

About the things, other than the nightmares, that were burdening me.

-

And suddenly I heard something yelling and heard people running.

"It's a rainbow! Do you see the rainbow?!"

Through the dense fog we could clearly see a rainbow arcing over the cabin.

This brought the tears to my eyes that have been hiding out for months.

-

Because when I saw the rainbow I heard God whisper.

Because I had heard Him talk to me all weekend long and sometimes the words God uses are not easy ones to hear.

But as I looked out the window, He said, "Don't give up hope. I haven't given up on you. This is my blessing on you, my children. I am among you. I condone this fellowship. You are welcome,"

-

The drive home to Kentucky this morning, as well as the afternoon, and then the evening at church, all proved to be conduits of strong emotions. And I had lost all ability to remain stoic.

And for the first time in months, the tears came.

Lots and lots of tears.

-

Because sometimes we cannot see.

Sometimes God chooses not to tell us what comes next in the story.

This develops our faith, our trust in Him. Our lack of vision makes us dependent on Him, the Father. The one who loves us.

Because like Don says, "it is not joy that changes people. Conflict changes people. [We] will be put through hell. [We] will go through hell, and we will change."

An End and a Beginning

For last year's words belong to last year's voice. And next year's words await another voice. And to make an end is to make a beginning. -T.S. Eliot

New Years never quite goes as I plan.

And I find myself a little bit restless today.

Some restlessness is good - keeps you moving, striving, trying.

Some restlessness is bad - it comes from the father of lies, demanding you believe falsities and subtle untruths. Causing you to be unable to sit still; which causes you to be unable to hear. This sort of restlessness causes you to be unable to listen.

I am faced with a new decade.

Today is a fresh start. But not really because it is January 1st 2010.

Because today is a new day. A new opportunity. A chance to do better.

And as I sit alone in my apartment, struggling with that second sort of restlessness coursing through my body, I remember something Beth Moore taught me this fall.

We all know God can change our lives. But He also has the ability to change our day.

How often we let ourselves wallow. Let ourselves stew in our own resentment, our own bitterness, our own discontent, our own insecurity. Sometimes we just WANT to be in a bad mood. We actively choose to be hateful, grumpy, sullen, or angry.

So this year, my challenge for myself and for the rest of you, is to let God change your day.

To let yesterday end.

To leave it all there. Whatever happened. Whatever they said. Whoever didn't see you. Whoever rejected you. Whoever offended you. Whatever broke you. Whatever pushed your buttons. Whatever overwhelmed you.

Leave it there.

At the foot of the cross, where the Father God has offered to take it all from us.

I heard on the radio the other day of a group of people who were offered a chance to get rid of all their junk.

An industrial-sized shredder was brought to the site and people lined up for hours to dump their baggage, their junk, and let it be destroyed.

Everything from pictures to scales to credit cards were brought, dumped in the shredder, and the people walked away with a lighter load.

Let 2010 be a year of listening.

Of surrendering.

Of knowing Him better.

Let Him become your delight.

The source of Your joy.

-

So may whatever happened in 2009 have changed you.

May it have catalyzed growth and sparked change and ignited desire.

But everything else, leave it there.

Today, take a step forward.

-

Let Him change your day.