It’s day eight of our state’s official quarantine. Truth be told, we’ve really been cooped up longer than that since Dad and Mom halted most our normal activities ten days before that. A self-made quarantine of sorts. What were we thinking?
So here we are…eighteen days into misery and wondering if there’s even a light at the end of the tunnel. Any hope for the future? Is there even an end to this road we’re currently on? Every time we get close to the trail closing…we hear about another extension. Last I heard it could possibly be the end of April.
We aren’t even in April yet. Signal the sad violin playing in the background.
I’m trying hard not to cry my eyeballs out because I’m sick of being in these four walls. Quarantines are horrid things for us extroverted folks. An occasional walk outdoors with my siblings helps…but there are precious few days of that since we have had rainy, overcast days most of the last several weeks.
This is not what I thought my Spring would look like. I always have loved spring. Light rain is always plentiful, but there are also days of sunshine and green things pushing up through the ground. The smell of the earth…the one moment that I crave planting a huge garden. (I usually come to my senses remembering that need for weeding that goes along with that thought and then scale it down a bit). Puffy white clouds in the blue sky and little mud puddles that draw every little boy for miles with an internal magnet of sorts. Rain coats. Mud boots. Umbrellas. Daffodils.
My mind is racing until I think of daffodils. Then my heart slows down a little. Breathes deep. One word blazes across my brain: Faithfulness.
Several years ago, while I walking through some tough times emotionally and trying to navigate adult life in the awkward way we are prone to do… I went to visit family in Ohio. I’m told that I adopt family every chance I get, so the family I went to visit aren’t actual blood relatives. But I know as sure as I’m sitting here typing that they are close as they come. “My big brother” has been there for our family and we’ve been there for him. His family is part of ours and his kiddos call me “Aunt Faith”. They are undoubtedly some of MY PEOPLE.
It was a time in all of our lives where we were seeing our own brokenness and were smart enough to admit we needed some guidance. Soul healing. Hope. I needed to hear that I would make it through the rough patch I was in the middle of and that one day, I would be okay. Some days are like that more than others.
At the end of a week of being Auntie- building forts in the living room with quilts, reading a hundred story books, riding bikes and playing dolls- we sat around the breakfast table the morning I was leaving for home again. I already felt better having gotten to talk through some things with my big brother. Tough as it was to hear, it was truth I needed from someone other than my parents. I had done a lot of praying. Plenty of crying. Lots of Scripture washing over my heart during the week.
As I was leaving, they gave me a gift: a pewter necklace with the engraving of a daffodil on the front and the words “Daffodil. Faith.” on the back. They explained that just like the rose is the symbol for love, the daffodil is the symbol for faith or faithfulness.
It was a time in my life that I needed that word. My world was shifting and I felt like all I had known was turning to dust in my hands. I needed faithfulness. I needed to know that one day, if I didn’t “faint and grow weary in well doing” that the fruit of the hard days and sleepless nights would come. There would be a reward at the end of this long, unknown, uncertain path. If. I. Could. Just. Hold. On.
Daffodils are like that. Despite the cold harsh winters, they show up as if on que every spring. Their presence reminds us that life comes after death. That joy comes after sadness. That color comes after the dreary, drab rain. That there are seasons and we must patiently wait for the vale to lift so we can see the sunlight again. Daffodils remind us that God is our steady and sure anchor in an ocean of improbability and doubt.
That necklace means even more to me today than it did nearly six years ago when I first put it on. The truth is…there were a lot of days that I put it on in the morning to remind myself. To remind myself that like the daffodil pushing through the soil like it does every year, God’s promises are trustworthy. We can’t always see them. We can’t always feel them. But we can always count on them. For just when we begin to wonder if spring has forgotten to grace us… the daffodil will emerge. Like clockwork. Predictable. Trustworthy. Faithful.
On day eight of our quarantine (or 18, if you’re like me!) I’m thinking of the daffodil and I’m grateful. I’m glad that God gave us visual reminders that He can be trusted. That He is faithful when the rest of the world crumbles and is uncertain and changes its mind. When all you know is broken promises. When the only reality is how bad we need toilet paper or our unemployment check. When we want to curl up and sleep through this season like it’s a bad dream. When we worry about stuff we can’t wrap our minds around and hope that somehow in all the mayhem we will find normal again.
In all that craziness we can know that there is One Who will always be the same. JESUS. Trustworthy. Dependable. Persistent against all odds. Pursuing us. Loving us. WITH US in the middle of our messes. Faithful.
As we face these moments of uncertainty…I think of the daffodils and the faithful God who made them. He’s got this.
As many of you know, each year for the past seven years, God has stamped a theme for the next twelve months on my heart. Sometimes it has been more fun than others. Every year has challenged me to grow in new ways and shed unneeded baggage while running this race called life.
2014: Do Hard Things
2015: Reflect the Son
2016: God Writes Your Story
2017: Be Brave
2018: Come to His Table
2019: Be A Door Holder
At the dawn of this year, God made it obvious that this new theme was going to rock my style. Majorly.
Theme 2020: “Practice His Presence”.
God kept pressing these words on my heart. Even then…months ago while the letters began to be etched on my heart and mind…I had no idea what that would mean.
As often happens, every Scripture with the word PRESENCE jumped off the page and launched into my soul. In particular, Psalm 16:11, “You reveal the path of life to me; in Your presence is abundant joy; in Your right hand are eternal pleasures.”
It was like God speaking directly to me with His eyes staring straight into mine. I kept thinking about REST and BEING with Jesus and the ones I love versus always running around trying to earn love and acceptance. I knew one thing for sure: if I didn’t want to burn out, I desperately needed soul rest.
Another thing I’ve been doing since 2016 at the end of each year and into the beginning of a new one is reprioritize and pray through my life/responsibilities/goals. It helps me inventory what I am responsible for and what aren’t needful. I say no to a lot of things. I say yes to a few things. I try to simplify and declutter so I can focus on what really matters. This is a painful process of letting go and allowing God to put His finger on things that aren’t BEST for me. I’ve learned that good is often the enemy of the best. As I do regularly, I asked my parents and mentors to speak into areas that were broken and needed healed. Their perspectives are windows into my life that sometimes I can’t see and need clarity on. I’m grateful for their direction and reproof.
There are ways God immediately did surgery on my heart to remove things that didn’t need to be there in order to Practice His Presence. I fasted from certain things for a period of time before reevaluating and learning what holds (good or bad) those things had on my attention. This is still a process I’m in.
All that to say…I’m being renewed in 2020. Learning what Practicing His Presence means. Learning about soul rest so I can be stronger to serve Jesus. Seeing areas of my life that need to be sanctified and healed. I’d be a liar if I didn’t tell you that it hurts like crazy. Lots of tears. White-knuckle gripping the things I want to keep, but aren’t best for me. Surrendering isn’t easy because it requires death to self.
Practice His Presence.
Practice is something that we do because we are learning. Growing into. Never achieving fully, but hopefully becoming better and more experienced in. It’s a day-in-day-out activity that we have to intentionally schedule in, prioritize and place an importance on. If we never practice, we will never be able to actually make it a part of our character. Repetition is a way of weaving something into the fibers of who we are. Habit can be equally good as it is bad…depending on what you’re practicing.
Isaiah 30:15 says, “For the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel, has said: ‘You will be delivered by returning and resting; your strength will lie in quiet confidence, but you are not willing.’” There have been a thousand times when I have thought that my victory was in me DOING. Achieving. Running around ragged…as if it were a spiritual gift or made me a better Christian. That somehow spending every last ounce of my energy, and perhaps even more than I actually had to give, would get me a place of position in God’s better graces. That when I crashed after weeks of expending every drop of sweat and blood in ministry, it was a good sign.
I’ve been a person to run myself ragged more times than I care to admit. Just a year ago I crashed in the middle of a ministry trip. Majorly. Not enough sleep and soul rest led me to the brink of burn out. I got up one day in the middle of a prison ministry week and couldn’t keep my eyes open for devotions. I literally stood up doing my Scripture time and dozed off standing up. My tank was bone-dry. It was pathetic at best. I had made the serving of Jesus more important than the being with Him. Rest would be there when I could get around to it! I had drove myself to a dangerous place physically. Unsafe, really. My team rallied around me in prayer and stepped up to lead. I went back to my bunk and slept for a solid seven more hours! That sealed the deal in my mind. I had to prioritize rest for the health of my body and soul…so I could serve well in a spiritual capacity.
There is nothing spiritual about draining your tank so low that your own relationship with Jesus suffers and your body can’t even stand up after a short night’s sleep. It actually show us that we think we are indivisible. Even Jesus Himself prioritized getting alone with His Father and refilling spiritually. Rest is key to our spiritual, soul, and body health. As this Scripture reminds us: “You will be delivered by returning and resting; your strength will lie in quiet confidence, but you are not willing.” Are we willing to practice resting in Jesus? Prioritizing our soul health so we can serve Jesus well? This is the essence of why God created the Sabbath.
Being like Jesus isn’t easy. In fact, it’s arguably the hardest thing to do. After all, He’s perfect and I am totally not. Psalm 73:28, “But as for me, God’s presence is my good. I have made the Lord God my refuge, so I can tell about all You do.” His Presence is peace. Our Identity. Our hope. Everything we need is in His Presence. Too often, I have gathered feelings about myself from the voices around me…whether they were good or bad determined how I felt about myself. The mirror had more of a voice than my Creator. I’ve let people who barely know me speak things into me that I took and gave them more weight than the One who made me.
His Voice has to be the loudest. The most valued. The biggest weight. That part is up to me. I choose who I listen to and how much I allow their voice to carry weight. It has to be HIM. HIS VOICE. HIS TRUTH.
This is the essence of being. Our loved ones would rather us BE WITH US than for us to give them all manner of other things and not ourselves. God wants our time too. He wants us to BE with Him. As He is with us. God with us= Emmanuel.
Acts 4:13 says, “When they observed the boldness of Peter and John and realized that they were uneducated and untrained men, they were amazed and recognized that they had been with Jesus.” It wasn’t what they were wearing or how they were carrying themselves or what was in their bank account. It wasn’t their job positions or educations. It was this one thing that set them apart: they had been with JESUS.
When is the last time I have BEEN WITH Jesus? Presence. When have I last sat with Him, given Him all my attention, and listened quietly? More often I am reading Scripture because I know it’s good for me and then rushing off on the next to-do list project.
As I’ve read about Jesus through the Gospels, I notice one major thing: He practiced BEING WITH people way more than I do. I like doing stuff for people. I like talking with people. I’m an extrovert who loves people.
But what if my doing and talking didn’t actually carry as much meaning as my BEING WITH those I love? That’s a disappointing truth…since I’m not very good at the BEING WITH part.
I’ve noticed that even my young nieces and nephews prefer my presence over my stuff. I have several nephews that want to sit next to me and just hold my hand. When there are more than two at a time, this presents a problem…but it is a visual reminder of what Presence really means. They want to be with me.
I can’t help but think that Jesus wants us to be this way too. He wants us to regularly crawl up next to Him, lean against His arm and hold His hand. When we do this, we can actually hear the rhythm of His heart beat and hear His Voice clearly. We can feel the security of being with Him. In His Presence is everything we need.
Practice His Presence.
For the rest of this year, I’m going to be learning what this actually means.
I had been asking for a sign. For God to speak to me about the future and His purposes in ministry. Truth be told, I know I can’t do both full-time PCM (Polished Cornerstones Ministry) and full-time Prison ministry. But who wants to say no to either one? Both are good. Both are making a difference. Both are valuable and needed in our world.
I’d been praying. I’d been asking for counsel. I’d been wondering what God wanted for me.
March 24th, 2019, He spoke. I was sitting in a church pew hours before I would leave town for another prison trip and listening to one of my favorite preachers talk about Job and Elijah and Elisha and yoke of oxen. I know, you’re wondering how all that connects. Believe me, it does and it is beautiful.
I was sitting there thinking about the picture of being yoked with Jesus and allowing Him to lead. Following Him wherever and being content to pull a load and tackle the world knowing that He will do the hard work and I just need to submit and follow in joyful obedience.
Then he drops the bomb. He starts talking about how we need to be willing to abandon our former lives to reach for what God has for us in the future. That’s what Elisha did. He was a skilled yoked-oxen-farmer and when he was called to follow Elijah and do the work of God, he burned his yoke, plow and oxen. That way he wouldn’t have the opportunity to come back to his old life. He burned his bridge back and chose to run after a life that looked completely different than anything he had ever known.
I felt it in my spirit. I heard His voice. Jesus was calling me out.
I’ve heard Him and felt His work in my heart before, so I knew this was Him. The tears were streaming down my face at that point. I saw my past… beautiful, good work that I loved, but that was fading. Would I be willing to turn and start something different? Would I be willing to burn my plow and oxen and run towards a new life?
It all boiled down to surrender. I knew He was asking me to offer Him what was in my hands… my dreams, my family, my church, my Community, my Church, my friends- for something that He had for me. He said it would be better for me. Not easier. Not more comfortable. Better.
This much I knew: in order to grab ahold of the new (unknown) life ahead, I had to let go of the current world in my hands. That hurts. It stinks. And for a chronicly fearful gal, it’s scary.
But for all the scariness that stood in front of me that night, I knew this: it scared me more to miss the opportunity of adventuring with Jesus. So, I said yes. I knew, He meant business. And so did I.
Fast forward five months and today I sat with part of my PCM staff and told them I was resigning my position. They didn’t even wince. They saw it coming and they were willing too. They smiled and said the things I most needed to hear… “You can do this, Faith.” “Everything is gonna be okay.” “It was a beautiful season, but we knew it wasn’t forever.” One of them told me, “I think the last five years was a warm up for this next chapter of your life.” I choked back the tears…because these women were doing what they do best… cheering me on as I run at the heels of Jesus.
Life is never as we assume it will be. It’s unpredictable. It’s ever-changing.
Jesus is the only steady in my craziness. He is beautiful. He is faithful. He is Someone I can count on when the rest of the world seems shaky and unpredictable. And even though the unknown scares my socks off, I wouldn’t want to be adventurous with Anyone Else. He’s got the map. He’s got the power. He knows what He’s doing.
I can burn my plow for Someone like that. Jesus is worth it.
“Can you pray for me?” The question caught me off guard. We were in the hallway of the education building where young inmates were coming in for their afternoon classes. YOs are generally not very friendly. Especially with someone they don’t know. The trust factor is a real thing.
First, let me back up.
We had scheduled a special class for YOs (Youthful Offenders) in this particular prison. It’s always our hardest crowd to minister to… but so worth it! The zeal that young people have when they are set on fire for Jesus is worth the difficulty in getting to that point. They are regular world-changers, if we are willing to view them as such. For this reason, we press on.
We had a four-day class in one of the education buildings. We had our own room for those four days. Every morning we would come in and set up our equipment… DVD player, laptop, pencil sharpener and pencils, screen, projector, and workbooks. Then we would wait.
Little did we know what we were getting into that week. When Susannah and I started that first day, we barely knew each other. A few short conversations in person at various events and a couple phone calls leading up to the week. We were just acquaintances, really. That was about to change. We have a saying on my women’s prison team- “Come as friends, leave as sisters.” That’s the way it goes. Intense ministry can make or break you.
For our first two days no one showed up.
That’s never happened to me. There was literally not a soul that came those first two days. We were stuck in a room a thousand miles from home and not a person to show for the time and energy we had prepared. It was discouraging if I stopped and thought about it too long. But Susannah and I were determined to not go there with our minds. Instead, we chose to stake our claim on the hearts of these girls.
We prayed like mad women for two days.
There in that little classroom, we prayed for hours. Once in a while a passer-by would stick their head in our room and ask where our students were. “They’re coming,” we’d say, or “we don’t have any yet.” There were a lot of strange looks from people…especially from the other teachers in the building. One teacher kept telling us- “You came all this way and don’t have any students? Go to the beach or something! I feel so bad…you’re sitting here and you have no one. Don’t waste your time. Go enjoy yourself.” We smiled. He couldn’t see what we could see.
Like Elisha when he saw what his servant didn’t see in 2 Kings 6…Elisha saw the Army of the Lord and his servant couldn’t see, so he was afraid. We could sit and wait knowing that God could still make something beautiful out of our days of sitting and prayer. What if our waiting was for someone else? What if our waiting was showing that one teacher that we were willing to wait for ONE student? What if our patience was proving to him that there is a God in heaven who waits for the one? Even for ONE. What if our waiting showed the love of the Father for one child? Individually. Personally.
By the end of our first day, that room was like our home. We stood at the doorway during break times and talked to the ladies coming by. We had women come in and sit on the front row, telling us their stories and asking for prayer. One at a time, we ministered to them in whatever ways we could. It started feeling like our living room where the broken were coming. I started to wonder if this would be our week.
Over and over I heard the words of Revelation 3:8- “I know your works. Because you have limited strength, have kept My word, and have not denied My name, look, I have placed before you and open door that no one is able to close.” (HCSB) I kept feeling like God was setting the stage for something bigger than we could even imagine.
After two days of praying and small talk with those visiting “our house”, we made a bold request and ASKED to track down some students. Maybe sometimes God tells us there is an open door… then He asks us to kick it down. It’s unlocked, but maybe it’s stuck. The authorities said we could stand near the education classes and talk to the girls coming in after lunch. We were all about it.
When the YOs started pouring in the doors, my friend Susannah and I split up and started trying to make conversation with the girls as they walked by. I stood there in a lull, looking for a pair of eyeballs to meet mine, ready to jump out with a smile and howdy-do. I kept whispering under my breath, “Jesus, just give me ONE.” But no one was making eye contact with me.
Then I heard a voice behind me. “Can you pray for me?”
It startled me. A girl who I had seen walk by me had whirled around and stood directly next to me. She had her head down and she was twiddling her hat in her hands. She seemed nervous. I reached for her hands and although she gave them to me, she kept her head down. “Absolutely! What do you want me to pray for?”
Her answer cut through me.
“I want God’s favor on my life. I need help. I need answers.” This was my one. I had come a thousand miles for THIS GIRL.
Fast forward two more days and we were wrapping up our class with SIX GIRLS, ages 17-23. Y’all, that’s a door that we couldn’t have went through if it wasn’t for Jesus.
I had my one and Susannah had her one and each of them had brought friends. We ended the class with six girls who were ready to face the compound with a new zeal and hunger for Jesus. One 17-year-old decided to follow Jesus with her life. Maybe she was our ONE too.
Yes, we cried tears of joy over these girls. But can I tell you what made me cry every single time those last two days?
When that certain teacher would come by and peak in the window and see us teaching the class. Every time he came by and stood in the window or whenever some other teacher or inmate who knew us from the first two days came by and peaking their heads in the door, their responses made me tear up. They knew of the waiting. They knew about the praying. They knew that we had staked out in an empty room waiting for ONE. And then they saw filled chairs and workbooks being wrote in and interactions between us and the YOs and they knew- Jesus is real. I saw a dozen or more inmates and teachers stand in that window over those two days and clap. Quiet standing ovations to the God who believes in waiting for ONE. They would laugh and high-five us. They would give our girls thumbs up.
I’ve never seen six girls so applauded by the rest of the prison compound as these gals were. They weren’t just waited for by us anymore…there was a host of men and women that were rooting for those chairs to be filled. Now they were seeing the answer of their waiting and hoping. Maybe true faith is slightly contagious.
We weren’t standing our ground for ourselves. We were willing to wait because we believed that the Jesus we serve is more powerful than the one who had chained these in prison. Because ONE can change the world. Perhaps the domino affect starts here in the waiting.
Do you have ONE you’re waiting for? Don’t give up, friend.
There is power in one. The ONE named Jesus and He says ONE is worth the wait.
Do you even take ex-felons?”
I was sitting cross-legged on the floor and the question came from a teenage girl on a chair in front of me. She was just a kid. Still had a baby-face and a childish look about her. Her voice seemed halting. Almost scared of the answer I’d give her.
It was one of my first experiences with Youthful Offenders and juveniles behind bars and they had been so open and trusting of us. We talked around the world about the Bible, Christian living, redemption and grace. They were endeared to our hearts at the end of those four days.
Somehow, they seemed like frightened little children…asking for acceptance and guidance and purpose. They wanted something different. They wanted something real. The Jesus they were encountering was different than they originally thought. It seemed to surprise them. Almost as much as this gal’s question surprised me.
Maybe they thought Jesus wanted cute, put-together girls with pat-answers and perfect stories. Maybe they thought their wounds would scare Him away.
It had been my privilege to sit with these precious girls and open the Word with them. To dispel the myths of Christianity one and a time. To present the real TRUTH and healing their hearts longed for. For once in prison, it felt like we were all in my living room, curled up talking about life like I do with the teenagers who visit me at home.
But their hunger was different. It was more intense. More palpable.
After a few days of “getting into their world” I sat with this 17-year-old who had a prison sentence hanging over her head and listened to her story. She had plans when she got out…plans that she hoped could involve traveling with me and presenting truth across the United States. I smiled at her zeal.
Then I saw a cloud come across her face. She looked deep into my eyes and asked in a timid voice… “But, do you even take ex-felons?”
The question made me choke up inside. She didn’t know. She couldn’t believe that she would be worthy of someone else’s trust or could minister to others with a checkered past.
I looked at her square in the face and smiled. Before I could answer, her friend sitting next to her nudged her. “You don’t know? Of course she takes ex-felons! Why do you think she does this?!”
The gal asking me looked back at me with a curious gaze. “Yes, I take ex-felons. In my line of work, being a felon doesn’t discredit you, it qualifies you.” She smiled with a new-found freedom. “Tell you what, keep in touch and when you get out, we will talk.”
“But friend, you need to know…the most important thing is that JESUS takes ex-felons. He died to make your past just a stepping stone…not a label that you have to wear for eternity. He loves ex-felons.”
She walked away with a pep in her step.
I wanted to say more. I wanted to hug her firm and cup her scared, little face in my hands and assure her that her story was redeemable. I wanted to tell her she was beautiful. To hold her by the shoulders and look square in her eyes and say, “Yes, Jesus takes ex-felons.”
At what point did we start making people believe that their past was unworthy of love or their stories unredeemable? Everywhere I look in Scripture, I see broken lives that Jesus chose ON PURPOSE for His glory. In fact, He rarely picked the virtuous for His plans. More often than not, He went to the slums and picked the most unlikely candidate to fulfill His purposes.
Maybe we should start believing that Jesus takes the messed up and gives them 2nd, 3rd, 4th and 5th chances. We should start living like we are Jesus to a broken world, looking for a redo on their bad choices.
Jesus takes ex-felons, y’all. We should too.
Before I left for Alaska, I was asking God for a word to share with the women I was going to meet there. I was drawn to 2 Kings 5 reading about Naaman and his skin disease.
We have all heard the story. Many of us have also seen it in flannel graph demonstration. Naaman was a mighty man and victorious soldier. His one major flaw is leprosy. This horrible disease eventually disfigures and disables its victims, and he couldn’t do anything about it. It was incurable. He knew his fate and he needed a miracle.
There’s a weird thing that happens when I read most Bible passages. I look at a story in its totality, which is normal, but makes us miss out on the small details. I read the story in totality once. Then twice. I felt God’s Spirit telling me to read it again…a third time.
This time something jumped off the page. “Now the Syrians on one of their raids had carried off a little girl from the land of Israel, and she worked in the service of Naaman’s wife. She said to her mistress, ‘Would that my lord were with the prophet who is in Samaria! He would cure him of his leprosy.’ So Naaman went in and told his lord, “Thus and so spoke the girl from the land of Israel.’” (Verses 2-4) ESV
I had read these verses many times. We know at the end of the story, Naaman is healed from his leprosy. However, I suddenly realized that Naaman was healed because years before a little girl was captured from her home land and brought to serve in his house. A slave girl who knew the God of Israel. This young captive girl knew where to find healing…and she wasn’t afraid to share that healing with others.
I sat back in my chair, a little overwhelmed at this concept.
Where would Naaman be without this little slave girl? Or what if she wouldn’t have had the boldness to give the right information to her master about healing? What if she had been mean and not wanted him to be healed? And strangely enough…what if she had never been captured?
How often I’m guilty of looking at certain moments in my life as all bad…when down the road God might be orchestrating someone else’s miracle.
That can change your perspective a little bit. Or a lot.
So here is this Israeli slave girl who says twenty short words that completely alter the course of Naaman’s life and end up gracing the pages of Scripture for generations to come: “If only my master were with the prophet who is in Samaria, he would cure him of his skin disease.” It almost seems like a side comment. Like she was throwing it out there…just in case they were interested in the God of Israel and the prophet that knew Him.
Naaman acts on what he hears. Apparently, this captive girl didn’t have a reputation of crying wolf, because he goes right to the king to get this healing process started. He believed her word THAT MUCH.
One man, free on the outside but sick enough to need a miracle for healing.
One girl, in chains and yet free enough inside to point to the Healer.
This is the essence of sharing the Gospel. We don’t have to have all the answers, we just need to know where to go to get them.
At the end of our first week in Alaska, we had a room full of female inmates who were graduating from our four-day Bible program and tearfully saying goodbye. This is the message I left with them.
I could see the tears in their eyes. They knew the God of Israel. They were free inside. Free enough to point to the Healer.
There’s something that happens when you travel extensively. Or at least it’s happened to me. And I’m not talking about being able to sleep in all manner of places and talk to sort of people and navigate multiple airports…although those things are true too. I’m actually talking about knowing where you belong.
Where is home, and what determines that it is YOUR PLACE?
It can be challenging to adjust to each new place, new surroundings, and people. I’ve literally woke up in the middle of the night before and had to lay there for a few minutes to realize where I am. Traveling a lot (even in ministry) can make you a little disoriented at night.
Each trip God teaches me big things…which usually all boil down to trusting Him. Last trip, I learned about blooming wherever I am. Don’t let that statement fool you- I haven’t arrived. I am STILL LEARNING how to bloom wherever I am in the moment. Let me explain my inner challenge to you.
You see, I’m a root digger. I love digging my roots deep into the soil of the place I live. My family has moved a lot in my life, and I’ve learned to settle rather quickly in a new environment. However, we are currently living in a home that we’ve been in for twelve years. Translated: we have never lived anywhere longer. So, the root system I have here is pretty serious business.
Then in September 2017, God sent me on an adventure. I was terrified. I was 28 years old and I had never been away from my family for more than six days. Yep, you heard that right… six days. So, I left on an adventure with a friend for 23 days, a thousand miles away from home. We were going to prison for the first time to minister to women we had never met and half of the people we would be working with I had never seen before. I had never been to Florida, and that’s where I was going. It was an all-around adventure.
It was supposed to be a one-time deal, but something happened when I was there. Something tugged on my heart. I cried buckets standing in front of those precious, incarcerated women. In the most broken time of my life, they let me into their weakest moments and I began to heal. They understood my pain and we connected at heart level. After our second day behind bars, I crawled into bed and whispered to the Lord, “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world.” I meant it. Through tears, I could feel Him doing something strange and wonderful inside of me.
Fast forward 19 months and I’m sitting here staring at a calendar for 2019 where I’m gone more nights than I’m home. Prison does weird things to you. Or maybe it’s the Jesus part.
Anyway, I’ve been on this prison adventure with Jesus for a while now and He keeps stretching me and calling me to trust regardless of how I feel. It’s amazing and terrifying in the same time. It’s beautiful and broken. I’ve seen things in myself that make me squirm (I don’t always have the best attitude when I’m under pressure!) and seen Him call out strength in me that I didn’t know I had (I didn’t…it was His and He let me borrow it).
Still, there’s this “bloom where you are” business.
I’d like to think I’m fairly adaptable, but sometimes it seems like a process for me to acclimate to new surroundings. I like routine. I like predictability. But when you’re on the road, there’s very little that’s certain. Like VERY LITTLE.
Last trip was my longest ever: 47 nights away from home. That’s nearly seven weeks on the road. I moved eight times. This is what I mean by unpredictably. Just when you feel comfortable with your surroundings, it is time to move. Let’s be honest…it’s hard to dig down roots when you’re being replanted every few days or weeks.
One day, at the height of my frustration I started praying about my bad attitude and vented some real emotions about where I was standing. I’m grateful God isn’t offended by my honest emotional outbursts. I told Him that it was hard for me to be here, there and everywhere. I told Him I felt like I was failing at living in the moment and living out of a suitcase. I told Him I wanted to do better, but I had no idea how. “Bloom where you are” loomed over my head and I just didn’t know the practical ways to actually LIVE that way.
Then in a moment, I felt His whisper- “I. Am. Your. Home.”
That’s it. He is my home, and He is always with me…therefore wherever I am, it can be home. I know this doesn’t seem like a huge revelation, but to me it felt like a major life shift.
Whenever I’m on a long trip (and my friends can verify this) I have a countdown of how many days until I get back home. I talk about it a lot. For my nieces and nephews, we call it “how many sleeps until Aunt Faith comes home”. They can wrap their mind around that…and I can too! I like my home. I miss my family when I’m away. I feel justified to count down the days until I return to my people and the place where I belong.
This dramatic shift of heart started alerting me to how much I talked about the countdown. How much I made the people I spent time with while I was away (co-workers, friends, neighbors) feel like I didn’t want to be there. Like they were less important because I really wished I was home.
It kinda made me feel I had been missing the boat. I was missing the TODAYS because I was wishing for TOMORROW when I could be home with my family. I’m not minimizing my love for family…I’m grateful for a gravitational pull to home base. But to overlook the people I’m currently with is slighting and perhaps a little rude. They are people too. People who God has called me to love in the moment.
March was the month I memorized Psalm 84:3, “Even a sparrow finds a home, and a swallow, a nest for herself where she places her young—near Your altars, Lord of Hosts, my King and my God.” (HCSB) When I started memorizing this verse, it completely wrecked my view of home.
The swallow FINDS A HOME. What if that means I’m supposed to hold all things lightly? Find the home in every place I stay? Find my family in the faces of the people I’m with right now? Love fully and embrace each season…even if it’s sleeping on fold out beds or floor pallets and traveling thousands of miles to be Jesus to people I’ve never met and may never see again? Maybe this is what it means to be a stranger and pilgrim on earth.
I think of Jeremiah 29:4-7, “This is what the Lord of Hosts, the God of Israel, says to all the exiles I deported from Jerusalem to Babylon: Build houses and live in them. Plant gardens and eat their produce. Take wives and have sons and daughters. Take wives for your sons and give your daughters to men in marriage so that they may bear sons and daughters. Multiply there, do not decrease. Seek the welfare of the city I have deported you to. Pray to the Lord on it’s behalf, for when it has prosperity, you will prosper.” (HCSB)
What if this season of flying all over the place and learning to be comfortable in the car and figuring out how to sleep on a couch (and not wake up like you slept on a couch…) what if all of this is pointing to One Who wants all of me? He wants me to find my true home in Him, and only Him. Perhaps all these trivial things are just guideposts pointing to the real place I belong. The authentic Home I’ve been craving.
Jesus is where my home is. Home is where Jesus is.
No matter where I am, I can belong. I can be at home. Fully at rest. I can still miss my family. I can still love being at home. But it doesn’t have to define me as out-of-place when I’m not there. Heaven is my forever Home with Jesus…perhaps finding my belonging in Him now is part of the plan.
As I write this, I’m sitting in a kitchen in Alaska, four thousand miles away from my house. I belong here not because this is the place I’m living permanently but because I take my Home with me. His name is Jesus.
Jesus is My Home.
Dear Teen Girl,
I’m writing this letter to you because I need you to know something…I know you get a bad rap for your age. Maybe some of it is legit (after all, you are a young and imperfect human being like the rest of us), but I believe you are more. You are beautifully created for TODAY and for this time in history. I’m young enough to know that the problems you face are real, and old enough to know you will make it.
No really, you will. I know it seems like no one in the world could ever make it out of these years alive, but you can. You will. (The God that made you has also parted the Red Sea and healed the sick, so helping you through the teen years is very doable for Him.) So, pretend I’m standing next to you, me-a twenty-something and you-a teen…and drink it in. What I’m about to say comes right from my heart. I want you to listen close:
I believe in your generation of young women.
I see in you an amazing hunger for truth that the world isn’t satisfying. The girls of your generation are looking for answers…and you are smart enough to know that this world doesn’t have what it takes. I see in you a desire to know Jesus and discover if He is real for yourselves. I see in your generation a fire to be more than what is expected. To go beyond what is accepted and stand up in a culture that expects so little of teens. I see a passion for being different and swimming against the tide. I see you girls rebelling against culture and saying YES to Jesus in ways that knock my socks off. I know many in your generation believe that your teen years can be some of your best years, some of your most fruitful years. I believe in your generation, but more importantly, I believe in you.
Did you hear that?
I believe in YOU.
You may think the whole world is against you.
You may think that the entire culture is nipping at your heels waiting for you to fail.
You may even feel the pressure of your Christian community expecting you to waste your life and make some major mistakes in the next few years.
For the most part, they probably are. It’s just human.
But for all the negative pushing against you, I believe you can be different. I also believe that you WANT to be. Deep down in the recesses of your heart, you desire more than anything to stand up and stand out. You want to do something big with your life and to find out what really matters. You want to know what you believe in and to stop piggy-backing on someone else’s faith. You want to know Jesus personally. To KNOW He is real for yourself.
I believe in you.
I have seen what happens when a girl catches fire for Jesus. I have seen the fire in her eyes as she shares truth unashamed. I have seen the power she possesses to change and challenge an entire generation. I have stood in awe, again and again to watch the path of one ordinary girl…One ordinary girl who chooses to give her 100% to Someone powerful and far bigger than herself.
I believe YOU are that girl.
You see, I believe you are just like Esther. You are come to our generation, to our time in history “for such a time as this”. You were born for this! You are a princess sent here in mission for your Heavenly Father, capable of insurmountable odds and mind-blowing things because of Him. I believe you are crazy-loved and wonderfully perfect for this mission and I believe in you. Esther wasn’t a hero because she was extraordinary…she was a hero because she made some amazing choices in the moments she found herself in. She just did the next right thing and left the results to God. And I believe Esther’s God (Yahweh) in you, could do the same heroic deeds. (Esther 4)
I believe you are like Jeremiah…a young person feeling ill-equipped and yet called to be the voice of God to His people. (Jeremiah 1) You are equipped by the very Hand of God as He puts words in your mouth and wisdom in your heart for the journey ahead.
I believe you are like Timothy…bearing the weight of an incredible spiritual harvest, and yet despised because of your age (1 Timothy 4:12). That’s why I’m writing this letter…because I see that you are capable of showing a dying world the healing power of Jesus. You are about His business!
I believe in you. I love your heart, your craving for Jesus and your zeal for truth. I love your energy…I could use it some days. I love how your eyes light up when you connect with the Word or understand something new from Scripture. I appreciate your honesty.
I believe you are beautiful, chosen, unique, and created for this moment. I believe you are forgiven, bought, secure, and sealed. I believe you are cherished, valued, loved, and adopted into royalty. I believe you are enough.
Can I just tell you, I believe in you for more than the shade of your tan or the silkiness of your hair. You are more than what you look like. I believe in you because I know your Creator…and He doesn’t make anything less than masterpieces. You’re one of them. Every time I see you I smile because I know He has an amazing plan for you. I’m sitting on the edge of my seat…wondering, what will He do next with you?
Why do I talk to teens, write to teens and speak to teen girls like you? Simply put, I want a front row seat for the adventure God has you on.
I believe in YOU. I believe in your Jesus. Put a daughter on a mission for her ALL-Powerful Father, and I believe we have… a winner! That’s why I believe in you!
Keep it up little sis, I’m cheering you on!
Love from, An Older Sister
(Originally published on April 16, 2016 on the Polished Cornerstones blog.)
I know her back story and she knows mine. Our spirits connect at a different level…even though we are about as different as could be.
I am young. She is old enough to be my grandma.
I am short. She is tall.
I have light-colored, straight hair. She has dark, curly hair.
I have pale skin. She has chocolately skin.
I visit from the free-world. She wears an inmate tag.
We were born and raised in different countries, so we have different accents.
But inside, we are made of the same things, and we both are in love with the same Jesus. I am learning that this is all that matters.
It was the second day of this particular class and I still hadn’t seen her in the mass of women coming and going. This was unusual since she never missed a class, even if it was her 8th time going through it. After lunch, she came bursting through the door with one of her young friends she was mentoring. I looked up to see her face beaming. She shrieked my name from across the room. She raised both hands in the air to signal how happy she was to see me. She gave me a high-five and held my hand there for a second. “I just love you,” she said. I told her I loved her too. This was our normal greeting.
She started chatting happily to MaryEllen and I about how glad she was to see us and rambled on about life. She wanted to know how we were doing and told us what she was learning.
All the while, the girl next to her stood quietly and watched us. Curious eyes staring. Wondering. It’s a real thing to be invited into the space of others…especially in a prison setting where they size you up with trust issues. I could see it in the way she watched us…she was deciding if she was going to “let us in”.
Finally, my old friend turned to the young lady and introduced us. She waved her hand towards us: “These two girls are our homies. They are locked up WITH US in here.” She smiled at us, ear-to-ear.
I’ve never in my life been introduced to someone like that, and honestly, may never again. But for the moment, it choked me and I could feel the tears rising in my eyes. This was the most beautiful way I had ever been presented to someone.
Ever since starting into prison ministry 18-months ago, my prayer has always been they would see that I’m not just for them, but that I am WITH THEM. My heart is to be a friend to each of them. To listen to their stories. To spread Hope and give Jesus away.
This friend knew we weren’t just for her. We were WITH her.
“These two are our homies.” The words kinda hung in the air.
In case you need to know the exact definition of a homie: “an acquaintance from one’s town or neighborhood, or a member of one’s peer group or gang.” In my words, I call these kind of folks “my people”, the ones you can count on anytime or anywhere to have your back. In prison and on the street they call them: “Homies.” I’m learning this language and on that particular winter day, it had never been more beautiful.
It wasn’t me in this equation…it was THESE WOMEN who invited me into their world. They let me in. They extended their hands and opened their hearts to me…an outsider who they chose to trust with their friendship. That humbled me.
It’s no small thing to be invited into the inner circle. Our world is full of cliques and groups and gangs and clubs…and we as Christians are no different. We have the power to invite people into our corner of this broken and battered world. To hold out our hand and motion for others to come to our table. To invite the outsider into our inner circle. To hold open the door and point to the Jesus we already know and assure them that there’s room for them and they are wanted.
They don’t have to look like you. They don’t have to act just like you. They just need to be a human with a beating heart and BINGO- you have someone who most likely needs a friend. Not a Facebook like. Not a comment on Instagram. Not a retweet on Twitter. They need a person, flawed, real-life, flesh-and-blood friend.
Go. Be. That. Friend.
Invite that person who is COMPLETELY different from you. Sit at the same table with people who aren’t in the same age group and don’t dress like you do and don’t go to the same church as you do.
Most Christians want to have friends that look, act and sound just like themselves. I don’t know about you, but that’s a boring world. It’s a poor view of Christianity. What’s more, it’s not Biblical. God is our Creator, which means He is creative…which means He likes color and diversity and being different. That’s why no two snowflakes or human beings are alike. He loves variety. He made it that way on purpose.
What if we just starting loving people like Jesus did? What if we were to celebrate our differences and the God who has created the variety in us?
“These two girls are our homies.” Truth is, my friends behind bars took a chance on letting me in their world. I’m not exactly like them and I am a human with a ginormous ability to fail…but they were willing to risk it and open their hearts to me. They invited me to their table. They invited me to their corner of the world. They called me their homie.
Hello Friday. It’s that day again that I come to a coffee shop to rest and receive from the Lord. Sometimes I feel like I do the most talking, but I’m learning to sit and listen to Him. Even if He doesn’t say anything. Because sometimes He doesn’t, and I’m reminded of times in life when He has been silent and I crave to hear His voice again.
How sweet the sound of His voice is after silence.
I remember teaching my piano students years ago what a rest in music was. Some of them wanted to rush the musical rest because it felt weird to be at a piano bench for even a couple of seconds when you weren’t actually doing or hearing anything. But over and over I told them the same thing: “Music is always sweeter after a rest.” I don’t know where I heard it, but I knew it was true. A rest makes the listeners lean in with anticipation to the music coming.
Music is sweeter after a rest.
I’ve come to learn (painfully and slowly) that God’s voice is much the same. His voice is sweeter to us after a time of silence. Not because He changes, but because our posture towards Him changes. We lean in towards Him more. We sit on the edge of our seats in anticipation. We beg for Him to speak and crave connection with His voice. We can suddenly identify with King David when he wrote:
“Answer me, Lord, for Your faithful love is good; in keeping with Your great compassion, turn to me. Don’t hide Your face from Your servant, for I am in distress. Answer me quickly!” Psalm 69:16-17 HCSB
I’m in a season of edge-of-the-seat silence. I can see His smile gracing me often. There are moments almost every day that I see His hand orchestrating the moments and answering my prayers. I know He is present and near…but I can’t hear His voice.
It’s hard to be still in the silence. Even when you’ve walked the wilderness before, it still doesn’t feel natural or right or comfortable. Anyway you cut it, the wilderness seasons feel dry. Dusty. Quiet. Silence isn’t comfortable.
I’m one of those people who is a chronic silence-filler. More than once I’ve felt nervous with silence and therefore felt the need to fill it in with WORDS. Sometimes the words are practically meaningless, which makes matters worse. It’s been a process of growing to understand and learning to live out the truth that sometimes being silent is okay. In fact, being still is a sign of maturity and security.
Have you ever been riding in a car with someone you don’t know very well and an awkward silence descends on the vehicle? In those situations, I tend to go inward freak-out mode and start filling the space with unnecessary conversation. The truth is, the better you know the other person in the silent vehicle, the more at rest you can be in the quiet. You have nothing to prove. Nothing to say that’s earth shattering. Just sitting there doesn’t bother you because you are secure in your own skin and at rest with this other person.
Today is one of those days when I am hypothetically in an enclosed area with a quiet Friend. I know He is fully aware of ALL my flaws and loves me anyway. He knows me better than anyone in the world and somehow I feel the need to fill the silence with pointless words. I can see His Fatherly smile upon me as I chatter away nervously. His face says it all. To just be at rest in His Presence. To just sit and soak in all the things He has told me over and over. Even when He doesn’t speak them right now, I know they are true. His promises never change because HE never changes.
Today in my favorite coffee shop I am reminded that His voice is sweeter after the silence. Until then, I will lean in with anticipation and rest in His Presence. Content to ride along with Him in the quietness. One day soon, His voice will split the silence and the sound will make my heart sing.
The wilderness experiences of life create a special hunger in my soul for Jesus. What about you?
It’s that time of year again…when every store is decorating in red and pink hearts. Chocolate screams at you from every corner and the card section makes your eyes bug out of their sockets with an over-attention to a certain color palette. I have friends who have dubbed Valentine’s Day as “National Singleness Awareness Day” and I can see why.
I noticed this year how many people are moaning about their lack of love. Or their lack of a lover. Or how dejected they feel because they are spending yet ANOTHER Valentine’s Day without a ring on their finger, or a guy period. We talk about “surviving” the day like we are only a whole person with a second half. (Reminder dear friends: God made you to be whole with Him. Until He tells you otherwise, be content and whole with just Him.) And have mercy people! If you aren’t thick skinned, don’t get on social media today! Love is in the air…or in the cloud or something.
Now all of that ranting probably sounded uncompassionate. I’m not trying to be. I just think we as a culture are far too selfish, myself included. I’m not a person unaffected by the voices around me. The truth is, this is my 31st Valentine’s Day and I’ve never had a beau. Not even once. So…I get the initial thought pattern, to feel sorry for yourself on a Hallmark holiday as sweet as this one.
Today I worked half a day in the office and took the rest of the day to go on an early date with my Valentine. Usually I meet with Jesus for a few hours on Friday mornings, but this week I figured it would be appropriate to spend some time with the Lover of my soul on February 14th, even if it was a Thursday.
I’ve been unusually happy this morning. And it’s not because I’m looking forward to dinner with a sweetheart or I know I’ll get chocolate later…I will get neither. My joy comes from realizing the parallel between a day focused on the one who loves you and knowing Who really loves me.
My Valentine doesn’t buy me roses; He paints the sunsets. He doesn’t get me chocolate; He gives me the sweetness of relationships with my family and closest friends. He doesn’t take me to dinner; He invites me to a continual feast of His goodness. He doesn’t plan an outing for me; He compels me to join Him on the adventure of a lifetime! He knows me better than anyone in the world and still loves me.
I’ve spent most of my Valentine’s Days curled up on a couch reading to someone else’s kids. Single people make great babysitters since we have no other plans for today anyway. You know what? I LOVE IT. I love that I am in a season where I can support the marriages around me by giving them a night away from greasy fingers, tugs on the pant legs and wearing spit up on their shirts. Why not use my Valentine’s Days to love someone’s kids?
This is what makes the world go ‘round, folks. People need each other. Not just people in the same stage of life…people in various ages and stages that fit together like a beautiful puzzle. Married people need single people to watch their kids on Valentine’s Day and single people need to borrow married people’s kids when we get “baby-fever”. We need each other for more than that, but that’s just one example.
I keep thinking of Jesus today…more than usual. He can become all-consuming the more you get to know Him. There’s no one like Him. Every other lover pales in comparison. Who else can claim perfection except Jesus? He is so beautiful, y’all. Today I’ve been in awe of His love, mercy and redemption all over again. That He would pick a regular girl like me. That He would love me when I’m unlovable and choose me despite my inadequacies. He keeps whispering His love to me through every gentle breeze and answered prayer. Come to think of it, I’m kinda spoiled…
“Yahweh your God is among you, a warrior who saves. He will rejoice over you with gladness. He will bring you quietness with His love. He will delight in you with shouts of joy.” Zephaniah 3:17 HCSB
Best. Valentine. Ever.
“I’ve made a mess of my life.”
The woman sitting in front of me tried blinking back the tears to no avail. They slid down her cheeks and I could see she was wearing shame like a garment.
I’ve heard this statement a hundred times in prison. This time, I heard differently.
I could see into her hopeless heart. Craving meaning when her life was a train wreck. Crying out for purpose in the craziness she had created with her own hands. This woman was older than my mama and carried a story that no human should ever bear. Raised in a Christian home, knowing the right things to say at the right time, and yet still…she was here. She had walked a path that ended her locked up behind rows of barbed wire and concrete walls for longer than she wanted to admit.
“I’m not supposed to be here. I should be dead. Why would God waste His time on me?”
Her shame and guilt were palpable. I could see it in her shaking hands, sweaty brow and the salty tears streaming down her face. She felt like damaged goods. Hopeless. Unwanted.
What she didn’t realize is that two thousand years ago, the God of Creation saw this moment and chose a cross so He could rescue her from herself.
I reached out to grab her hand. “You wanna know? You wanna really know why you’re in here?” My question seemed to startle her a little, like I was about to give her a verbal pounding about all the ways she had blown it. For the first time in our conversation, her eyes met mine and her face softened. I hope she saw Love there…because that’s what I felt inside. Compassion.
She stared at be blankly, so I took that as a yes.
“It’s called MERCY. Jesus didn’t want to leave you out there in your sin. It’s His MERCY that brought you here so you could know that He loves you and wants to walk with you. He can use your brokenness for His good. He can redeem the years the locusts have eaten.”
The tears came faster now, more like sobs welling up from inside her deepest gut. “Your story doesn’t scare Him. Your past doesn’t define you. He loved you so much that He didn’t want to leave you to destroy yourself out there. This is His mercy.” I recounted the story of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden to her…how God’s mercy is what drove them from the Garden so they wouldn’t live in sin, separated from God forever. His mercy and compassion put them out of the Garden so they could one day partake of redemption.
Then He sent Jesus to be the payment for the sins we couldn’t clean off ourselves. He did for us what we couldn’t do for ourselves. That’s mercy and grace.
There are moments in life when you can actually see the light bulb go on inside someone’s else and this was one of those moments.
“It was mercy….” She whispered. I could see it welling up in her…the gratitude. She was connecting the dots, that the God of the Universe, the One who she had known about since a little child, had never stopped pursuing her wandering heart. He kept chasing her. Kept calling her name. Relentless love.
Her voice stopped quivering. “It was MERCY,” she said louder, “It WAS mercy!” She looked me straight in the eyes, “He. Is. So. Merciful,” she said. I nodded and smiled. She dropped my hand, wiped the tears from her face with her sleeve and lifted her hands in the air. “It was MERCY that brought me here! Mercy! Amen! What a good word! It was Mercy! Oh, thank you Jesus. It was mercy.”
Suddenly, she went into worship mode…seeing Mercy will do that to you. There she was with tears coming down her face, hands lifted up, praising God for His mercy.
Now I was the one with tears sliding down my cheeks. I wanted to take my shoes off, because THIS was holy ground.
Mercy is beautiful, friends.
She got it. She understood that the perhaps the most merciful thing God could do for her would be to bring her to the end of herself and to a place where she had to look at Him and no one else. Years of toxic relationships and emotional let-downs made His unconditional love stand out like a beacon of hope in a desperate world.
When is the last time you got a good look at mercy? To sit in awe of what God has rescued you from?
In prison last month, I saw Mercy reach down and rescue a woman who thought she was worthless. I saw Him hold her face in His hands and whisper the truth to her trembling heart: that He couldn’t stand living without her, so He died on a cross two thousand years ago so that He could redeem her. So they could forever be together. She was in awe of that kind of love…and she could hardly fathom she was worth that much to Him.
So are you.
It’s called Mercy.
“I will repay you for the years that the swarming locust ate, the young locust, the destroying locust—my great army that I sent against you. You will have plenty to eat and be satisfied. You will praise the name of Yahweh your God, who has dealt wondrously with you. My people will never again be put to shame. You will know that I am present in Israel and that I am Yahweh your God, and there is no other. My people will never again be put to shame.” Joel 2:25-27 HCSB
“Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you; before you were born, I sanctified you…” (Jeremiah 1:5, NKJV)
When I was a little girl and up into my teens, I spent a lot of time struggling through how to life out my God-given femininity. It’s not that I wanted to be a boy necessarily…but I just struggled with being a girly-girl.
Some of this was because I was the only girl in my family (at the time). My playmates were my brothers and their friends. I loved climbing trees, playing Cowboys and Indians, and jumping ramps with my bike. I got dirty and played hard. I liked fishing with worms and target shooting with bows and arrows. One time I even remember rubbing dandelions and mulberries all over my face with my brothers and their friends like Indian war paint. Unfortunately, that wasn’t one of our best ideas…especially since it was right before Wednesday Awana classes.
But there was this other side of me…this princess side. I loved to dress up and have tea parties. I loved singing and playing with dolls and wearing high-heels. I liked jewelry and flowers and pretty things. I loved reading books about princesses and looking at pictures of far off places with fine china and ball gowns. I loved being beautiful.
I was forever caught between the two worlds…of hard play in the dirt with my bros and dainty tea time with my dress up outfits.
Becoming a teen didn’t simplify the problem either. I mean, let’s face it, there’s not a whole lot of easy stuff in your teen years. It’s pretty much rough to the core stuff. Figuring out who you are and what you believe are challenging issues to face. So, I came to this crossroads in my teen years…what was I going to do with my femininity? Don’t get me wrong, I never hated God for making me a girl…it’s just that I didn’t embrace it. I was more into surviving instead of thriving.
I remember being sixteen years old and looking in the mirror one morning and asking myself, “Faith, why did God make you a girl?” It wasn’t a rebellious question. It was honest. I knew if I could understand why God chose to make me feminine, then a whole lot of dots would connect for me. What did God want of me? Since He made me a girl, how should I respond to that? What did it mean to be a girl? To be feminine?
Let’s be honest girls, we all have this little thing inside of us that wants to be beautiful. To be loved. To twirl our dresses in front of our Daddy and to hear Him say how pretty we are. It’s in us. We long for affirmation. We are drawn to beautiful things. Don’t you think there’s a reason?
Psalm 90:17, “and let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us…”
1 Chronicles 16:29, “Give unto the Lord the glory due unto His name…worship Him in the beauty of holiness.”
Psalm 27:4, “One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in His temple.”
We are drawn to beauty because we were made to crave JESUS. We were created to be drawn to the beauty of the Lord. We want to reflect that beauty. To be like Him.
These questions drove me to the Word of God….and what I found in the pages of Scripture have forever changed my life. I camped out at Psalm 139, reading it over and over. Trying to internalize its message. What I discovered was Purpose, and Meaning, and Value.
“You formed my inward parts; you covered me in my mother’s womb. I will praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Marvelous are thy works, and that my soul knows right well.” (Psalm 139:13-14) God made me beautiful.
Here’s some wonderful Bible trivia: If you ever want a fascinating study, look up who God calls beautiful or “fair” in Scripture. Since He wrote the Bible through His Spirit, you can bank on these gals being beautiful! I’ve found ten mentions in the whole Bible. Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, Abigail, Bathsheba, Tamar (Absolam’s sister), Tamar (Absolam’s daughter), Vashti, Esther, and Job’s second set of daughters. Check it out! It’s an amazing study. I especially love Job 42:15. Wow, what a thing for God to say of you!
Beauty is important. Femininity is important. They are who you are made to be. You see, what you believe about yourself will shape your purpose in life. We all need purpose to thrive. I love the verse in Jeremiah where God speaks truth to a young, quivering heart. A teenager at the time, Jeremiah was having an identity crisis too. He wasn’t sure if God really knew who He was choosing…then God says, “Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you; before you were born, I sanctified you; I ordained you a prophet to the nations.” (Jeremiah 1:5, NKJV) At the beginning of time, God chose Jeremiah ON PURPOSE. He hand -picked Jeremiah before He made him in the womb. Seriously. Stop and chew on that for a minute.
I used to think that being feminine meant wearing white gloves and letting the servants pour your coffee. I used to believe that femininity was the same as weakness. But what I found was the opposite…being a Godly woman in the world we live in takes a powerful kind of strength. In fact, I think being truly feminine, as God would have us be, takes MORE strength than being a normal gal. (Going with the flow is always easier, right?!) Femininity loves being a girl! Femininity is accepting the design that God has engraved on our very being…and it starts in the heart.
So, there I was at 16 years old, realizing that since God made me girl…that must mean my femininity was the best way He could show up in my life for His glory. That changes everything, friend. Everything. He made me a girl ON PURPOSE and chose me to be a reflection of His beauty. He made me 100% feminine and colorful and beautiful and womanly. Now it was my turn to be asked a question, “What are you going to do with your femininity?”
I remember the lightbulb turning on that year for me. Instead of just dealing with myself, I began EMBRACING my femininity. I suddenly wanted to look like a girl. When boys or guys tried to hurl insults like “you throw like a girl” or “you fight like a girl”, I could grin and say to them “you bet I do!” I meant it. No, it didn’t happen overnight, but it did happen. Slowly, God replaced my feelings of insecurity and frustration with joy and love for the girl He had made me. Don’t get me wrong, femininity doesn’t mean I can’t go target practice with my brothers, play in mud puddles with my younger siblings, or ride four wheelers…it means my attitude is different…and that changes how I look and respond to life situations. I’m a girl, and I’m glad.
I wonder, have you ever questioned what in the world you were made for? Or maybe why God made you a girl? It’s ok to ask God questions. He’s God and can handle your problems, frustrations, and even anger. Ask Him to show you His purpose for your life. Embrace your femininity.
Quote this to yourself and remember that God is speaking these words right to you…” Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you. Before you were born, I sanctified you.” Breathe it, sister. Insert your name in there. He makes NO mistakes. You were created beautiful on purpose! Thank Him for making you feminine!
God’s purposes are bigger than ours and sometimes He has a sense of humor. I run into dozens of girls like you every year who tell me they struggle with being a girl. You just want to do fun things like the boys do and it’s frustrating. I hear your voices and I smile. I’ve been there. My heart melts when I meet you and you ask me, “why did God make me a girl?”
It’s in moments like that, I want to hug you big and say to your wondering heart…” Sister, can I tell you” …
He made you a girl so you could be soft hearted like He is.
He made you a girl so you could put bandages on banged up knees and hug people with broken hearts like He does.
He made you a girl because He wanted someone beautiful to reflect His beauty.
He made you a girl so you could be all the things that a man can’t be…like a mom and a big sister and an aunt. He wanted someone who could have a gentle heart towards children, like He does.
He made you a girl because He wanted a warrioress that could be tough in battle and tender with the elderly.
He made you a girl because He loves you and He wanted the best for you.
He wanted a princess…a daughter. So, He made you. You are precious to Him, sweet girl! You are the daughter of the King. Embrace it for all you are and live in it unashamedly. You are beautiful and loved and treasured…. because He made you a girl.
(Originally published for the Polished Cornerstones blog on September 20, 2015.)
For the last five years, I’ve had a yearly motto. At the end of each year, I review what God has taught me. I haven’t learned fully each theme, but I always walk away different, changed and challenged by His call.
Last year was Come To His Table.
2017 was Be Brave.
This year, it’s Be a Door Holder.
Two of the people I have come to admire lately are Louie Giglio and his wife, Shelley. They are both so passionate about Jesus and living fully for His glory. They are also down-to-earth and humble…which doesn’t happen much when you have upwards of 302k followers. Y’all, humility is key to solid leadership…but that’s a topic for another day. I’ve watched them live their lives out (from a distance obviously, they aren’t my next-door neighbors) and have learned from their hearts to be present for those in their corner and then watch God expand their ministry all over the world.
Which brings me to my subject at hand: Being a door holder. In his Instagram bio, Louie says one thing… “Happy to be a door holder.” That’s it. I can’t tell you how many minutes I spent trying to nail down my Instagram bio. Seriously. I wanted to cram in everything that I loved and what I did and so I labored over those 100 characters far too long. Then this guy who could say way more than I ever could, says six words.
Happy to be a door holder. Six powerful words. The cool thing is Louie’s bio doesn’t point to him, it points to the Jesus he serves. Louie is just holding the door for people to get to Jesus. And he’s happy to do it. He just keeps pointing to this God who is powerful, redeeming, and full of mercy. He is holy and gracious and loving.
I can picture Louie Giglio like that… standing at the door of God’s house and motioning people to come in. If you’ve ever heard him speak, you know that his words do just that. They motion people to come to Jesus.
Literally the whole point of my life isn’t to make a name for myself. It’s not even to build a legacy. I was created to point to a living God who loves and lives to rescue and redeem.
I’m one of those weird young people who thinks about what I want people to write on my epitaph one day. I know, call me strange. I have one friend who says I have an “old soul”. She meant it as a compliment, so I took it as such. Anyhow…I think about death and heaven a lot for a thirty-year-old. Not in a morbid way, but life is short and death is certain, so I think about it often. What would I want written on my tombstone?
How about: “Just a road sign pointing to Jesus”?
I realize I’ve written about this before, but this time it’s being woven into the fabric of who I am. God keep reminding me that everything is about HIM, I’m just a tool in His hand. I’m to create hunger in people for Jesus, but not steal His thunder. I’m literally just a road sign…pointing to the Real Attraction.
I want to live 2019 that way…pointing to Jesus, and if I get to the end of the year and no one I talked to remembers my name, but they remember HIS…it will be a good year.
This year, I want to learn to be a Door Holder.
“For a day in your courts is better than a thousand elsewhere. I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of wickedness.” Psalm 84:10 ESV
Over the past year, my theme has been “Come to His Table”. For twelve solid months I’ve reflected on this concept. I’ve dug into His Word and God has opened my eyes to places where He is working and shown me what it is like to invite others to Him. He’s been so faithful and patient to illuminate His heart for the hurting and broken.
So now at the end of 2018, I’ve done some serious reflection about what I’ve learned about His Table. I feel like I’ve spent a year sitting at a Table for two…Jesus and I. We’ve had a lot of conversations. We’ve talked around the world. We have walked a scary and strange road together. Jesus has opened my eyes to new concepts and readjusted my thought-patterns a thousand times. He has listened to my heart and dried my tears. He has comforted my fearful soul and challenged me to dream bigger. His Table has been a place of loving correction and exciting conversation. It has been a place that I long to go.
I’ve found peace at His Table. There have been times when I’ve felt so discombobulated and knew I needed His Table desperately. It’s been those times where I’ve RAN THERE and found exactly what I was looking for. This year I’ve learned the importance of His Table, so I’ve made time for Him more often. I’m learning how critical it is for me to get to His Table often and regularly, so I make it a priority.
I’ve learned a thousand things at His Table and ABOUT His Table… but here are seven of the biggest things I’ve learned in 2018:
This year has been powerful. In fact, I look over the past year and know that I am a radically different woman than the one who started 2018. Challenging, stretching and with tons of opportunities to lean into Jesus because I was hopeless on my own…but it was a year I wouldn’t trade for the world. Maybe every year is supposed to be that way.
I’m grateful for this theme — Come to His Table — it’s shown me a side of God’s character that is amazing. Many of the truths I’ve learned at His Table these last twelve months have been woven into the fabric of my being as I learn to apply them and see a little more of Who Jesus is. He is beautiful, friends. So beautiful.
This is one of my favorite times of year. I’ve spent most of my growing up years in the North with snowy, white Christmases and lots of sledding and hot cocoa. I’ve also had several Southern winters (shout out to my favorite Arkansans!) where snow is rare and when it comes, the whole world shuts down.
This season is my favorite for a bunch of reasons, but sometimes it’s fun to make a list (I love lists!) of my favorite things. Even writing them here brings a smile to my face…
Christmas is a time to remember JESUS, the ultimate Gift. A God who loved us so much that He humbled Himself and moved into our neighborhood. He chose to be with us. He wrapped Himself in human skin and spoke our language. Creator of the universe became a Baby so we would understand LOVE and REDEMPTION.
Tonight I sit and wonder at His faithfulness and kindness. He gives good gifts.
(photo credits: Charity F. Walker, Life Through The Lens Photography)
“The thrill of Hope, a weary world rejoices” the all-too familiar carol lilting out on the radio. I say “all-too familiar” because sometimes familiarity breeds contempt. I often miss the big picture with things that are right under my nose or staring me directly in the eyes. Yesterday, those words seem to hang in the air.
Anticipation. Waiting. Being in the limbo.
These are feelings I’ve seemed to connect with a lot lately. In this moment, with those words dancing in my head, I started wondering. The Thrill of Hope. Is there thrill in the hope of something to come? Or have I ceased to allow anticipation to ride on the same thread that I experience wondering and waiting? Have I made the unknown so scary in my mind that I don’t consider the fact that it could bring JOY?
I’ve told more than one friend that my default setting is definitely FEAR. If it’s potentially exciting…I get scared. If it’s potentially hard…I get nauseous. If I’m unsure of the outcome, I’m fearful. Jesus is working hard to recalibrate and change my default setting…but it’s a process of renewing my mind and TRUSTING Him.
Anticipation. I wonder what the emotions were for young Mary as she waited on the birth of her Son and Savior? Was there any fear? Excitement? Worry? Curiosity? How about anticipation?
There is wonder in waiting.
Yesterday I read Psalm 37 and the words of truth resonated in my heart: “Trust in the Lord and do what is good; dwell in the land and live securely. Take delight in the Lord, and He will give you your heart’s desires. Commit your way to the Lord; trust in Him, and He will act, making your righteousness shine like the dawn, and your justice like the noonday. Be silent before the Lord and wait expectantly for Him; do not be agitated by the one who prospers in his way, by the man who carries out evil plans.” (verses 3-7, HCSB)
The word EXPECTANTLY hit me between the eyes. There can be hope in Anticipation. It can be a good thing. To look full into the face of change with hope and joyful anticipation. Maybe I’m the only one who looks at change as a bad thing…but I tend to fear change instead of welcoming it with open arms as I would a good friend. Let’s face it, change is sent by God to mold us into His image. Why wouldn’t I want to give Change a hand shake and a seat at my table? Embracing change is a sign of maturity. Apparently, I’m not there yet.
If I’m honest, I live like the verse reads very differently: “Be scared-to-death before the Lord and wait in freak-out mode for Him” because that’s what I do. I seem to often think negative. As if Jesus is out to ruin my life. Nothing could be further from the truth.
Yesterday I sat at a coffee shop table and argued with God for a while. I just couldn’t calm my fearful soul. Then in a moment, Jesus gave me a word picture: I saw the eyes of a child during this time of year. The wonder. The lights, the decorations, the wrapped presents under the tree, the special Christmas cookies and the music. I’ve never once seen a child who is afraid of what is beneath the wrapping paper…they are excited and full of hope. They can’t wait to see what’s inside. The wonder and expectation.
I realize I’m looking at this all wrong. I can see myself sitting and Jesus stands in front of me with a wrapped gift extended in His pierced hands. It’s beautiful and sparkly and I see the look of complete delight on His face. He is thrilled to give this to me. Then I see my face: frightened beyond all definition and my hands are trembling as a take it from His hands. Something just doesn’t set well.
This word picture stuns me. Am I really responding to Jesus like this? As if He doesn’t know what I need. The things I’m fearing? The change I’m afraid of? He knows. He understands me better than I understand myself. He has my good and His glory in mind. This wrapped gift is full of unknown possibilities for me. The good and the bad wrapped together, but it’s a change that I need to receive with hopeful expectation.
What if I received this unknown gift with wonder in my eyes? Knowing full-well that He does all things well and will walk this road with me…unwrapping this gift along the way. I want to be a child again, jumping up and down with glee at the thought of what He has in store for me.
Yes, there is wonder in the waiting. We serve a God of mystery, and with each paper-covered present, we have the opportunity to unwrap part of His character that we may otherwise not know. That sounds exciting to me!
Today I decided that I want to wait expectantly for Jesus. The thrill of hope. He has great plans for me. He gives good gifts. I want to have wonder in the waiting.
Thessalonians 5:18, “In everything give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.”
Gratefulness. Praise. Thanksgiving. We have all heard it over and over again. We’ve read books about it. We’ve heard sermons on it. We’ve told our friends and they’ve told us. We know that God wants us to praise Him and be grateful on a daily basis. Yet somehow, in the crazy lives we live, we forget. Often. At least I do.
About six years ago, I read a book that put this gratefulness thing into a whole new perspective for me. The book is called “One thousand Gifts” by Ann Voskamp. I thoroughly enjoyed reading about the connection between my gratefulness (or lack of it) and my heart’s joy level. I’ve lived it’s truth, so I knew it wasn’t a made-up correlation. When I am grateful, I am naturally joyful. Somehow focusing on the gifts God has given me turns my attitude to joy.
So I decided to take the challenge. I chose to write down 1,000 gifts.
I started a beautiful notebook….and I kept it laying on the counter as I went about my day. I took it in my purse when I was gone. It went with me on vacation. That journal was with me constantly. I found (as I had learned through Scripture and Ann’s book) that being thankful made me joyful. It made me mindful of all the little things and made me laugh and smile at the simplest gifts. I saw it as a spiritual exercise. A forming of a habit that would bring glory and praise to Jesus.
My first entires were all happy ones.
The inviting smell of peppermint mocha… Old family photographs- wrinkled and worn…Candle flames, dancing in the shadows…American flags flapping in the breeze…Church bells that ring twice a day… Spring flowers blooming….empty laundry baskets.
All of a sudden I treasured the smile of a stranger. I loved the first daffodil that bloomed…the rainbow that arched across the sky…the sunset…the eyelashes on a baby…a stack of old books. I went from grumbling about the mud on the floor to thanking God for it. I was smiling more. I was laughing often. I was breathing thanks a hundred times a day. I was LOOKING for His graces in all the normal, but beautiful everyday things. My heart praised Him often.
This was a turning point for me. Something happened as I chronicled Gods fathomless love for me. My heart was changing. Life was shifting. Through this shift, I began thanking God for the less pleasant things. The G key that sticks on the piano…Sloppy muddy driveways… A broken furnace… Sickness in our home… Broken glass… Ramen noodles smashed into the floor… Spilled beads everywhere.
The good and the bad together. He says to praise Him for all things. ALL. Garden gloves… Dead cell phone batteries… Long afternoons of reading… Empty laundry baskets… Homemade pies… Oily work clothes from my brothers… Cold sleet outside… Being snowed in… Fresh strawberries… Old quilts.
Sometimes I would get so excited about seeing gifts of God that I would grab anything I could find and scribble my thanks on it. Then I would take it home and transfer it to my journal. I had stacks of random receipts, small scraps of paper and McDonalds napkins all with things I was grateful for. Sometimes we would even write our blessings on little sticky notes and cover the refrigerator with them. My journal hit 1,000 gifts…but then I couldn’t stop! My heart became fuller…because my focus was on Him. His goodness. His grace. His love for me.
But sometimes in life, our focus can shift. It happens that way for me. A few years ago, I was in one of those ruts where gratefulness was really not a part of my daily routine. Enter my youngest sister…again. She has a way of pricking my conscience so innocently. Her honest tenderness to the Holy Spirit has convicted me more than once. So I was playing the piano, practicing some music for Sunday worship and she came up to me with that thoughtful look in her eyes. I knew something big was coming…but I didn’t know what. It was time for a wake up call.
“Are you ever afraid to raise your hands?” She asked me. I was a little confused. She didn’t give me any background to her line of questioning. After a minute of questioning she kind of sighed in her seven-year-old way and said, “I am afraid to raise my hands and praise the Lord in church. Are you ever afraid like that? I think about people watching me.” Wow. Ok. Not ready for that one from a little girl. Now it was my turn to sigh.
I had to admit…yes, I am afraid sometimes to praise the Lord out loud or in the open. I fear man more than God sometimes. I assured her that I feel those same things and that God is jealous for our praise. He wants us to glorify Him…to think of Him more than what other people are thinking of us. We talked for a minute about the Bible and how God says to lift our hands in praise and sing songs to Him….but I kept thinking about me. I needed to thank Him more. To praise Him bigger. To love Him more than anything.
But what came next knocked the wind out of me. I could see this seven-year-old in front of me processing this in her little way. She is brilliant and sensitive to the Lord…I could see it all clicking. She almost looked sad…like she had done something wrong. She told me how she had wanted to raise her hands during worship, but she was too scared. I echoed that thought. I’ve been there…just not at seven. “You know,” she said, “this Sunday, I am NOT going to let the rocks take my place!” Her eyes were serious. Determined. Then she started singing to explain. “Before the rocks cry out, I just want to praise you, just want to praise you, for all you have done.”
Suddenly, I felt like I was standing on Holy ground. God was here. I held back to tears. This moment was so sacred. My heart was full…and sad. I was the one the rocks were replacing! I was neglecting to thank Him. To praise His name. To tell others. To chronicle His love to me. I had forgotten the most important thing…Him. She ran away with a bounce in her step. I sat there heavy.
That was my neon sign from heaven! I went to the Lord…repenting of my ungratefulness and asking Him to create in me a clean heart. I started counting blessings again. Thanking Him. Looking for Him everywhere I went.
What about you? Are you worshipping Him? Thanking Him? Praising Him? Lets make His glory a daily part of our lives. There are lots of ways we can do that…maybe through sharing about Jesus with a friend, through worshipping Him in song, through praising Hin in prayer or through writing your blessings down. Let’s have hearts of gratefulness to our Father!
“Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands. Serve the Lord with gladness: come before His presence with singing…Enter into His gates with thanksgiving, and into His courts with praise: be thankful into Him and bless His name. For the Lord is good; His mercy is everlasting; and His truth endureth to all generations.” Psalm 100:1-2, 4-5
Caregiving wasn’t ever something I asked for or signed up for or chose. Each time I took care of a lady, the opportunity just fell into my lap because they were women I loved. Jesus would whisper His famous question to my heart and I would know: this was for me. He would ask me- “Faith, do you trust Me?” That’s always my signal that He’s about to lead me somewhere that is good, but will scare my socks off.
Each caregiving experience is totally different from another. Each person has taught me many things and changed who I am dramatically. They have trained me to lean into Jesus in deeper ways and challenged me to open my heart again, even if it means the end of the road is loss. Both of my long-term caregiving opportunities have molded me into the person I am today and (as painful as they were for me to learn to love fully and then let go) I wouldn’t trade either of them for a world of ease. I treasure those days of learning and growing and crying and hearing the whisper of God- “I will hold you.”
Tonight, I sit and reflect about my second caregiving experience…with 98-year-old “Grandma N”. My sister and I took turns staying with Grandma each night and learned to love her like part of our family. She was hilarious, quick-witted, and thoughtful. She made me laugh every time I was with her. Even on her worse days, she never lost her sense of humor.
We had a routine at night of old-time shows and tv, popcorn and loud conversations (because she rarely had her hearing aids in). We learned to calm her fears about random things. Dementia does strange things to your mind, and we slowly learned to navigate the challenges of communicating with her in a way that she felt safe and stable.
Grandma taught me a lot about being still. Just being. Being present in the lives of those you love, but not always moving. My life has always been fairly active and loud and full-to-the-brim. Life with Grandma was a shuffle-pace at best. On really bad days, it meant sitting in a chair and being willing to just listen to her breath as she went in and out of sleep. I read a lot of books during those nine months. She taught me to sit still and value the silence and the presence of someone else you love…just being in the room. She loved having us there. Just having us there made her happy. She told us that repeatedly.
About a year before she went to heaven, I penned these words in my journal:
Today…she was slumped over in a chair, sleeping fitfully. I tried to wake her…but she didn’t stir easily. When she did wake up, she could hardly stay awake for more than two or three minutes and her speech didn’t make a lot of sense. Her eyes were glassy. Her body twitched. Her breaths came heavy and labored.
I haven’t ever seen the Angel of Death, but I seemed to smell him tonight. It was as if he was waiting at the side of that chair or hovering over the area. I’m not saying I felt creepy. I just felt fragile. Like I was helpless and couldn’t do a thing for this dying lady I love.
Life is fragile. Life is a vapor. We aren’t guaranteed tomorrow. Death is really just a breath away.
I watched her struggle to keep her eyelids open. To straighten herself in the chair. To carry on a real conversation. But she couldn’t. She was tired and her body was shutting down.
It’s difficult to explain what I felt like in that moment. To be so full of life and energy and still unable to help someone.
And then as I got up to leave, she stirred. Her nearly hundred-year-old body jarring awake for just a few moments. And then it came…the seven words that never failed to roll off her tongue every time someone visits. “Don’t need to be in a hurry.” I almost started at it this time. She was dying. But the habit of slowing down was ingrained in the fiber of her very being.
Hurry. That’s what keeps me from enjoying life almost every day of my life. And here’s this lady…dying and reminding me at the same time to take a minute. To breathe. To slow down my pace a bit. To not hurry.
Yes, Grandma taught me to value stillness. To sit and listen. To BE and treasure the presence of those I love more than the going and doing. She taught me to not hurry. To be patient. To be okay with waiting and pausing to watch a sunset or eat an ice cream on the front porch. She even taught me that in a pinch, instant coffee will do. One can’t be too picky, when you’re in a pinch.
Patience is lost in our culture. In Grandma’s era, people valued relationship more than status…she wasted no time in telling me such. She knew the truth about what was and is really important in this life, and she made a point to teach me the value of slowing down and enjoying life with those around me.
Grandma went to be with Jesus on August 20th, 2018 and I miss her. Tonight I breathe thanks for a life well-lived. She taught me by example to live aware of each moment. To not rush and to treasure the times we have with our family and friends. I sit and ponder this season of Hope we are entering and pray that God will keep my eyes wide open to the opportunities I have to BE with those I love. With Christmas gatherings around every corner, I want to be fully present and willing to listen and be with my people.
Sitting here on this December night, I hear Grandma’s voice ringing in my ears again: “Don’t need to be in a hurry.” Aahh. The wisdom of a 98-year-old woman sinks into my soul. Hurry is overrated. Let’s just BE AVAILABLE and BE PRESENT and BE LOVE…I think Jesus would agree with Grandma. We don’t need to be in a hurry.
Hosea and Gomer. I’ve always loved this story…not because it’s a happy fairytale, but because it’s not. It’s real. It’s human weakness and Supernatural love on display. The kind that only God can give.
Last week I purchased a copy of “For Such a Time As This” by Angie Smith. It’s a children’s book designed for little girls about the women of the Bible. The illustrations are beautifully done and the writing style is lovely.
I settled in one afternoon on the couch with my baby sister to flip through the pages and read some stories to her. At page 120, I stopped. There they were. Hosea and Gomer. As I read the words aloud (well written, by the way, for a younger crowd) it struck me again. I’m in awe of this story.
Hosea is told to marry Gomer despite her checkered past. He does and he loves her. They have children, but Gomer’s old life pulls at her. She eventually leaves. But this is where it gets so unbelievable. Hosea’s love for Gomer is unreal. After all she does…her trickery, her lying, her cheating, her unfaithfulness…Hosea chooses to love her anyway.
My favorite part of this story is the end… Gomer winds up being sold into slavery. Dirty, penniless, and unable to help herself…she stands there on the selling block waiting for someone to buy her. Rejected. Broken. Unwanted. Hopeless. Her past is stained. Her future is bleak.
Then a Jewish man steps up to bid. He buys Gomer and she looks up into the face of her new master…and gasps. It is Hosea. Her Hosea. The one she was unfaithful to. The one she turned her back on for something worthless. He bought her back.
This is unconditional love. Crazy love.
At this point in the book, I am crying. I can’t hide my tears and my little sister is trying to figure out why I’m crying at a children’s book. My voice wobbles as I read the last few sentences. But it’s not a children’s story. This is my story.
This story is of Jesus rescuing me from myself. Loving me despite my flaws. Redeeming me though I am completely unworthy. Calling me consistently to Himself when my heart wanders. This is MY story.
“Then said the LORD unto me, Go yet, love a woman beloved of her friend, yet an adulteress, according to the love of the LORD toward the children of Israel, who look to other gods…So I bought her to me for fifteen pieces of silver, and for an homer of barley, and an half homer of barley.”
Hosea and Gomer. Jesus and me. This is my story. Unconditional love for an undeserving girl….and I’m forever grateful to Him.
(Originally written on May 23, 2016…but I’m still in awe of His redemption!)
Ten days ago, I started looking for yellow diamonds. Yellow trail signs that told me I was going the right direction. I was hiking Mount Nebo in Arkansas with two friends and the trail seemed to be getting longer and longer. What I thought was a one-mile path was taking hours and I was pretty sure it was no longer in the “easy” category.
It was beautiful outside…the colors are still vibrant in some places of Arkansas unlike my Michigan home. The air was autumn crisp but the sun made it feel warm and cheerful. I had decided to wear my tall boots to walk since the trail wasn’t going to be long and I wanted to be toasty with my long socks. We stopped every few minutes to take some photos of the incredible views and marvel at God’s creation. We even looked at the state park map a few times.
That’s when things started seeming a little off. After all, this trail seemed like it was longer than one mile. The map was slightly confusing and reading it with two others brought conflicting opinions. The only thing I knew for sure is that we were on the yellow diamond trail, so I started keeping my eyes peeled for those bright gold signals on trees.
We weren’t lost…we just weren’t exactly sure which trail we were on or how long it was. We kept hiking along, stopping here and there to take in the sights or take a drink from our water bottles. One whole side of the mountain was shaded and much cooler. There were icicles hanging down from the rugged crevices and it instantly made me feel colder. But every little while I would see another yellow diamond and would feel the inner shout: YES! We’re still on the right path!
That’s when I started thinking about how much this paralleled the “limbo” feeling of walking the path of life. I hate being in the limbo…the in-between seasons of life are uncomfortable. Ever wondered if you’re on the right road to where you’re going? Let me tell you, I’m there more often than I’d care to admit. Those spaces of wondering and wandering can be painful…or tension at best.
I’m still learning as I go through these seasons of limbo…but here are four things I recognized and connected dots with along the mountain path recently:
3. Keep moving forward. Don’t stand and wait for another sign…it won’t come to you. Keep moving. Staying in one place won’t get you anywhere. You’re going to have to trust Jesus and move forward. Having a rough season? It’s okay to cry and walk forward, even slowly. Just keep moving. Always keep moving forward. Plus, moving will keep you warm.
4. Be Patient. Waiting isn’t my strong suit. Never had been. I’m learning this more and more lately about myself. Waiting is something I hate doing. Being in the limbo, or in the in-between seasons of life can be difficult! But Jesus is in those spaces too…sometimes even more so in the stillness. Learn to lean into His Presence. Trust His will. He is good. No, He doesn’t always make sense to our human brains, but He is always good. He is for us and His way is perfect.
Yes, we made it the whole way on Mount Nebo that day. It took longer than expected, but we stayed together, followed the signs and kept moving forward. We’ve got some pretty cool pictures to prove it. My step-counting watch said over thirteen thousand steps. It was a hike to remember.
So, when the trail seems to tower above you like a mountain climb that winds around and around, remember this: in the seasons of in-between, He is there with you. He has a purpose. Those seasons of limbo can be beautiful, because He is walking the road with us. Never alone…always one step ahead of us.
I’ve come to call these spaces Life Between Trail Signs.
Stillness can be stifling if you’re used to being busy constantly. Always on the move. Always DOING and not BEING. It’s easy for those of us who are DOERS to feel lazy when we are still. Like we are un-spiritual because of our lack of busyness.
I’m a DOER. As long as I can remember, I loved getting things done. Even as a little girl, I craved check lists…and even more than that I loved the feeling of checking off those tiny boxes. I felt accomplishment. Ok, let’s be honest…I still enjoy check lists!
If you know me…or even if you follow this blog…you know that my life seems to always be spinning out of control. At least spinning out of MY control. My calendar has been a mess of scheduled events, mission trips, and running everywhere.
This past Friday, I sat in my room in Little Rock and the stillness was almost deafening. After a year of traveling and deadlines and ministry ventures, some unexpected events brought my plans to a halt. It’s not a bad thing, but my schedule was to drive here for the purpose of leading another women’s prison seminar…and after we were already almost here the seminar fell through. That hasn’t happened to me before, so I was instantly wondering why God would allow us to drive 12 hours only to have the reason we came be canceled.
I can’t remember the last time I’ve had this kind of experience. I’m constantly on the move…preparing, meeting someone, making a phone call, sending emails. But I didn’t plan on sitting on my bed in my room in Little Rock late into the night—not exactly tired enough to go to bed and certainly wondering what in the world I was going to do for the next week.
My Chaplain assures me there’s plenty of office work and I believe him. But there’s something about these quiet evenings that feels strange. I’m used to commotion, lots of voices and constant activity.
There’s something to be said about BEING, even when you are a DOER by nature. There are moments where God provides stillness to speak to our hearts.
Sitting here in the lamp light with the heater blowing softly, I look up at the ceiling and ask: “Okay Lord, what do you want for me this week?”
Perhaps this is the moment when Jesus smiles. This might be the question that He’s been waiting for. His smile feels like favor. A warm embrace of the soul…because He has a plan. He’s had a plan all along. My plan has been known to get in His way and He has His way of clearing the way for His will.
I hear His whisper: Be still. Just BE. Just BE here with Me. Trust Me…I’ve got this, don’t you know? I’ve got a plan and all you have to do is be. Hear my Voice and everything will be okay. Rest, Faith. It’s okay to rest in these moments, you don’t always have to be doing. Breathe. Just BE.
I exhale. The stillness suddenly comforts instead of repels me. He is here…in the stillness.
“But do not be conformed to this world, but be TRANSFORMED by the renewing of your mind, that you may be able to prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of God.” Romans 12:2, NKJV (emphasis mine)
Let’s face it, friends. We all like to be “in the club”. No one likes to be the odd ball…to stick out or be different from the crowd. We are a culture of sameness. People don’t want to stand out. We all want to blend into our favorite click and be like everybody else. We want to look like, talk like, and be like whatever person is currently the image. We enjoy our clicks.
It’s sad really. We feel like if we can hide in the sea of normality that it’s better for us. It’s safer. Less dangerous.
Now I’m not a Bible scholar…but I do love the Word of God. It is hope and healing and redemption when our world is painfully short of these things. I’ve found my only solace in the pages of Scripture and in this amazing JESUS I’ve come to know and love…but…nowhere in the Bible can I find where God tells us to fit in. Actually I find the complete opposite.
Now before you click off this page and start looking for something else to read, let me give you some clarification here. I’m NOT saying that you need to purposely go in every opposite direction that the crowd is going. I’m NOT saying you need to dress wild and weird just because you want to be different. I’m NOT encouraging you to be rebellious or to act strange and justify it according to Scripture. What I am talking about here is the heart…and that will affect every area of your life.
You see, being a Christian is more than going to church and having John 3:16 memorized…and those are wonderful things. Being a Christian means you are a “Christ-follower” and that means you are to be set apart for His purposes. Jesus repeatedly tells you and I in Scripture to “take up your cross and follow Me”. Crosses are heavy. They are abnormal. If you carry a cross you are definitely different from the average Joe. Who wants to be uncomfortable, right? We’re all about being cozy…and carrying a cross is everything BUT cozy.
I was thinking about this whole concept of fitting in one day as I was driving to a meeting. The topic of standing up, standing alone and standing out was rolling around in my mind. It’s something that I deal with on a personal level but also as I talk to young ladies everywhere. It’s a common thread in all circles…fitting in is just the thing to do, or at least try to do.
I take the back roads when I’m going places because I love this beautiful time of year. As I turned one corner on this particular morning, I noticed that a corn field had recently been harvested and a fence row of trees now stood in full view. My jaw dropped open. I stopped my car.
There in front of me was a huge row of brown, crusty trees, dead from the autumn wind and mostly barren of leaves. Directly in the center was a big, beautiful tree in full color. It stared at me. It was so different from the others. So beautiful. It seemed to beckon me.
Sitting there on the side of the road, it was as if God spoke to my heart as I stared in disbelief at the beautiful sight.
Being different for the right reasons can be incredibly beautiful.
I sat there and thanked God for a word picture. (I really need those sometimes!) Suddenly, being different didn’t look so scary or weird…it looked beautifully alive and strangely wonderful. You see, our lives are to be so radically different that it beckons our dying world to take a look at our JESUS! We should look different so that those we come in contact with cannot help but hunger for the Bread of Life. We should make people thirst for the Living Water as we live purposely set apart.
When we follow Jesus fully, our lives are different…but they are beautifully so.
What does that look like…to be set apart from the world. We want to be in the world, but not of it….so (practically speaking) what does that look like?
Let me ask you… does your Facebook look any different from your non-Christian friends? Is it selfie-focused or others-oriented? No…I’m not saying you can only post Bible verses and sermon videos! I’m saying…does it speak of your different-ness? What about presenting an accurate picture of who you are…not always making your life seem like a fairy tale and stretching the truth to seem more glamorous. Everybody knows it’s not girls, you live in a broken world like the rest of us…so just be honest. If you don’t have something nice to say on there…don’t say anything! Do you partake in gossip and slanderous talk or do you speak with kindness and make them wonder about your JESUS?
What about your speech? Do you talk with the same language that everyone else uses? Do you refrain from profanity, or do you struggle to not fit in…so maybe you curse sometimes to be cool?
Do you do things and go places that you know you shouldn’t, but it just feels awkward to go against the flow so you do it anyway?
Do you only choose to befriend people who are like you or do you have lots of age groups and personalities in your circles? Look at people through Jesus’s eyes…It’s different, but it’s beautiful.
What about the way you look…the way you carry yourself…your attitude…how you treat your parents and siblings…what activities you spend your free time on? Being different is our call to bring others to the Cross…because let’s get real…who wants to follow Jesus when there’s nothing different about His followers?
I think about that big, bold and beautiful autumn tree a lot. That’s what I want to look like. I’m a tree…a person like everyone else…but what’s inside of me is what changes how I look, act and speak. I do stick out from some of my fellow trees…but I hope and pray it’s the kind of difference that makes people long for my JESUS. I want my life to beckon others to look toward the God of the universe and be willing to follow Him as well. I want to be Beautifully Different.
What about you? I’d love to hear from you, friend. What are some ways you can be Beautifully Different and reflect JESUS in your daily life? Leave your comment below or shoot me an email from the Contact Page!
(This post originally posted on the Polished Cornerstones blog, October 25, 2015.)
Her words hung in the air. I have never heard a more poignant question that felt more like a statement. A verbal assessment of the condition of American Christianity.
I sat there and wept in conviction.
I’ve been in a lot of women’s prisons… and just when I thought I had heard the same things over and over, this woman blew my world to bits.
We were talking about being daughters of God. Pushing back the labels and choosing a different life because Jesus loves us and wants us. We were encouraging them to follow their Heavenly Father and pursue healing. We were also pressing the importance of being in community with other believers.
The Church is a big deal. It was designed by God on purpose for us to live in community with other Christians…that are redeemed and yet still flawed. There are no perfect churches and every gathering of believers will have some differences. However, as the Bride of Christ, we need to be meeting together and sharing with each other, keeping one another accountable and serving our broken world together.
It was in the middle of this talk about church community when her question split the room.
“Where do we go when no one wants us anymore?”
The question seemed to stab me to the core. I sat there and watched this woman pleading with everything in her. She wanted to be free. She craved to belong. To be wanted by her own brothers and sisters in Christ. To be welcomed, even broken and empty.
I was totally stunned by her honesty and straight forwardness. Her question was not just a wondering of heart…it was also a statement to the condition of our American churches. She knew she wasn’t wanted by the typical Christian gathering. She could feel the wall between her and her fellow Christians…even though she was still in prison. Whoa. That was a hard pill to swallow.
It was obvious that the other women in the room resonated with her question. There was a low hum as her words gave them the courage to say what they were thinking. They were speaking out and pleading for a place to call home. They are making changes in their lives…but when they go home, they need a place to STAY DIFFERENT. When they can’t find a welcoming place, they often revert to the old friendships and places that led them to be incarcerated.
When did that happen? When did we start adding punishment to people’s current sentences? When did we become so self-righteous that we suddenly govern who can come through the doors of our churches?
I keep thinking… if these women aren’t welcome in the House of God, where on earth will they be invited? Perhaps our best candidates for church members sit behind prison walls…and we are too scared to invite them to join us. As if their belonging to us will taint us…when it will more often teach us. As if their stories are less palatable…when they are more powerful. As if they aren’t necessary to the Body of Christ when we actually need them desperately.
To belong is a powerful thing.
“Where do we go when no one wants us anymore?”
I don’t have a cookie-cutter answer for that. But I know this: we are all ex-offenders. You are. I am. Your pastor is. Every single one of us are undeserving of grace. So, what if we started living more like we are redeemed and serving a Rescuing God and less like we are the judge and jury?
That question still haunts me. I can see her face, tears rolling down her cheeks and the pleading in her eyes. “Where do we go when no one wants us anymore?”
What if YOU and I were meant to answer that question with the way we live our lives? What if we were the first person in our church to walk over to the new comer, regardless of their past…and tell them they BELONG. Welcoming the stranger, the ex-convict, the orphan and the broken-hearted into our churches is the heart of the Father. Jesus is about redemption, friends. I think it would be powerful if we started living like we believed it.
“I was a stranger and you welcomed me…” Matthew 25:35 NRSV
This must be the year of weddings. I have eleven friends getting married in 2018. ELEVEN FRIENDS. For real, I’m not kidding. It’s as if love is in the air. But what do you do when everyone is “catching the bug” and you seem to be inoculated against it? It can be humorous or hurtful, depending on how you look at it.
I hear ya, friend. It’s whoa-fully obvious when you come to all your friends’ weddings alone…and did I mention that all eleven of those friends are a few years younger (or several!) than me? That makes a big shout out too. Here’s the thing…I mostly don’t notice it until someone mentions it to me (bless their hearts, those sweet people who feel they need to remind me).
Last month I turned 30 years old and from where I stand, I’m not heading to marriage any time soon. It makes for an interesting conversation when you go to weddings at my age without a ring on your finger, or without a guy…or a boyfriend. Top those odds with actually being a HAPPY SINGLE GIRL, and that’s just plain weird. I have to admit, sometimes I have fun with that one.
“Oh, Faith, do you have a man yet?” Clearly, no. Thank you very much. I forgot until you brought it up. I’m ever so glad you reminded me.
“Oh, you’re STILL single?” Ah. Gotta love that one. Definitely my fav.
“Aww. Faith, maybe you’ll be next.” That feels remotely like pity…or like I’m broken or messed up because of my singleness.
In short, well-meaning people say stupid things. Good people. People who are your friends. They just don’t know what it sounds like…or feels like, for that matter.
First off, single friends…we’ve ALL said stupid things. So, let’s cut these well-meaning people some slack. Give some grace. We all want a little growing room, so let’s be the first to give it. People generally don’t mean to treat you like you have a “condition”, they just want to say something, and they say the wrong thing. Mercy…I’ve done that myself plenty of times.
Back to weddings…because weddings are the best times to hear these lovely remarks.
Weddings are wonderful times. I love going to weddings. I really do. But they can also hold with them the familiar reminder that you are one of the few who are alone. You are the lone single, poking yourself into a million conversations and trying to find where you fit in. You are that single gal rocking someone’s baby to sleep while everyone else slow dances with their spouse. What’s a girl to do?
If ever there were a time that I see this clearly, it’s now. With a bunch of weddings under my belt already and several to go, I’m coming to grips with my singleness in a new way.
I want to be that mysterious single gal that is thoroughly enjoying all her friends’ weddings without one ounce of jealousy or envy. I want to be able to take complete joy in these events…never stopping for a moment to notice my lack of sameness with my married friends.
The truth is, there have been moments in the last year when I have been GLAD I was single at these weddings…because there needed to be an unmarried gal to be the gopher. I’ve got a few fun stories about being the single friend who got some crazy jobs…but I’ll save those for a different day.
I have atleast two favorite moments at every wedding…the first is always when the bride walks down the isle. This reminds me that one day, my Heavenly Groom is coming for me and I can’t wait to catch a glimpse of His face. He continues to pursue my heart, day after day, patiently and weddings remind me of His steadfast love.
The second moment is when the bride and groom are announced as the new Mr. and Mrs. It’s just a crazy amazing thing that a covenant just happened between God, a man and his wife. Beautiful pictures of grace and faithfulness.
Sometimes there are multiple moments at any given wedding that will go down in my memory as favorites. Like when the kiddos in a wedding go screaming down the isle or decide to take their shoes off and throw them during the ceremony. It’s just the unpredictable and hilarious part of friends getting married.
Yes, I go to weddings with JOY. I rock the babies to sleep. I laugh with everyone. I clap like crazy at the announcement of a new couple. And I dance with the littlest people who need a partner. That’s what you do when all your friends are getting married…and you’re not. It’s okay. That’s what happy single girls do.
“Behold, what manner of love the Father has bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God: therefore the world knoweth us not, because it knew him not.” 1 John 3:1 (KJV)
One of my life passions is helping women understand the depth of God’s love for them. Of course, humanly speaking, wrapping our minds around the limitless love of God is impossible. However, even if we catch a glimpse of that unconditional love He has for us, it completely transforms the way we see our Heavenly Father. It’s all about Who we belong to, girls!
I once saw a powerful 3 minute video clip by Pricilla Shirer that I want to share with you. (and if you can’t watch this video, you can read the words to it at www.goingbeyond.com/blog/who-do-you-belong/)
Every time I see this clip (and trust me, I’ve watched it a lot), I want to stand up and cheer for my Heavenly Daddy! The fact that this limitless Daddy chose to become Father to a limited girl like me… that is amazing! I’m in awe of that kind of love. That kind of grace overwhelms me. What mercy and kindness!
I’ve also noticed the more I focus on Him and Who He is, the more I see myself and my surroundings in a different light. When I am secure in His love, not much else matters, does it? It changes the way I see myself in the mirror in the morning. It changes the way I view the ministry He has set before me. It completely transforms the way I view big problems in life…because they’re not too big for Him.
I love seeing the first part of 1 John 3:1 in this way too… “Look at how great a love the Father has given us that we should be called God’s children. And we are!…” (HCSB) We are!
We are His daughters! Princesses of King Jesus. Savor that incredible thought for a little while, gals. Dwell on it. Think about the power of that small sentence. You are His little girl.
You. Are. His.
Nothing can stop Him from loving you… “For I am persuaded , that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present , nor things to come , Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Romans 8:38-39
“For God so LOVED the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him, should not perish, but have everlasting life.” (John 3:16, emphasis mine)
Kids have a way of bringing new life and vantage points to everyday things. Their questions spur in us the desire to search for answers. Answers that we perhaps didn’t even know we needed. I have been pushed to dig deep into God’s Word…simply because a younger sibling asked me a curious question.
“What is adequate?” The question came from my 7-year-old sister. I was cleaning the kitchen and her question caught me off guard. Where did that come from? I thought. I mean, seriously, ADEQUATE isn’t normally a word that a seven-year-old spits out fluently….and it had rolled off her tongue like CAT. I stopped washing the counter and turned my head to her. She was sitting at the table doing some school work with her pencil and seemed unaffected by her strange curiosity.
I sighed a bit. Explaining the meaning of simple words has never been easy for me. My brain churned, trying to pull small words from my vocabulary that would satisfy a seven-year-old’s curiosity. “Well…Adequate means like…you’ve got what it takes.” She looked at me and then went back to her work, but I could tell that my answer wasn’t enough for her. “It means…enough…it means you’re enough. If you’re adequate, you’re enough. You have what it takes. Does that make sense?” She nodded and then went back to her math problems. This time, I felt like she understood, and like I would be hearing the word fall from her mouth in a sentence in the near future. I know her…when she learns what a word means and how to use it, she will use it.
But then a nagging question hung in my mind. What IS adequate? I realized my little sister had over heard me asking for prayer in conjunction with the statement that I felt INADEQUATE for the task ahead of me. What is adequate? It struck me that this seven-year-old had not said, “What does adequate mean?” She said, “What is adequate?” That was an entirely a different matter.
What is adequate? The question spun around in my brain bringing a thousand other questions to my mind. My heart resonated with the truths I slowly discovered. What is enough? Am I enough? Do I have what it takes? Am I adequate for the job? Am I worthy? Am I enough…adequate?
We all face these questions in life…more than once. They probe into our souls when our schedule is crammed and we are overwhelmed. They creep up when someone in our family says hurtful things. They stand at our doorstep when we are about to take a leap of faith into ministry. Sometimes…they stare at us when we look in the mirror in the morning. Am I enough? Am I smart enough? Am I beautiful enough? Am I talented enough? Am I strong enough? Am I spiritual enough?
The questions wrap their greedy fingers around our souls and sap the joy of life from us. Instead of living fully…we live wondering. Questioning our worth. Asking questions that block our effectiveness for God and leach the life out of our beings.
Then the breath of God…”Ye are a CHOSEN generation, a ROYAL priesthood, a HOLY nation…”(1 Pet. 2:9, emphasis mine). He came and “gave Himself for us, that He might REDEEM us from all iniquity, and purify unto Himself a peculiar people, zealous of good works.” (Titus 2:14, emphasis mine) “Ye have not chosen me, but I have CHOSEN you, and ORDAINED you, that ye should go and bring forth fruit.” (John 15:16, emphasis mine) “I have LOVED thee with an everlasting love.” (Jeremiah 31:3, emphasis mine) “My grace is SUFFICIENT for thee, for my STRENGTH is made perfect in weakness.” (1 Corinthians 12:9, emphasis mine). HE is enough. HE is adequate. HE is worthy. HE is sufficient.
Beautiful daughter of God…do you want to know why you are enough? You are enough, because Jesus is and He said you are! If you weren’t worth it…there would have been no cross. No redemption. No sacrificial love. Ah, but you were enough! You were enough that He said YES to the cross for you! He went to that rugged cross on Calvary because He deemed you worthy of His love and forgiveness and outpouring of blood.
His choice made you worthy. His love made you beautiful. His redemption made you enough.
I stood in the kitchen with a dish rag in my hand and marveled at this mystery. That I, an unworthy daughter should have the favor of God rest upon my head. My past is forgiven. My scars are beautiful. I am enough, because He is enough. I am worthy, because He is worthy to be praised.
My mind went to a song that I love. It’s called, “My worth is not in what I own.”
“My worth is not in what I own, not in the strength of flesh and bone. But in the costly wounds of love at the cross. My worth is not in skill or name, in win or lose, in pride or shame. But in the blood of Christ that flowed at the cross.
“As summer flowers we fade and die; Fame, youth, and beauty hurry by. But life eternal calls to us at the cross. I will not boast in wealth or might, or human wisdom’s fleeting light. But I will boast in knowing Christ at the cross.
“Two wonders here that I confess, My worth and my unworthiness. My value fixed, my ransom paid at the cross.” (Keith and Kristyn Getty and Graham Kendrick)
Dear Sister…your worth is summed up in the cross. Your beauty is a reflection of your Father Who calls you ransomed, chosen, and loved. Don’t let the voices of the world tell you that you have to achieve to win His favor. He has made you beautiful and worthy and loved. His work on the cross has made you adequate to stand before God. His blood has made you enough!
So next time those ugly questions of self-worth probe your soul…remember your answer. Your answer stands on a hill called Calvary. Your answer reigns in heaven and in your heart! He has made you HIS…and because of that, you are beautiful, worthy. Girl, you are enough….because of His sacrifice.
Live fully…laugh long…remember that we have the glorious truth. We can live beautifully and purposefully knowing that our worth is in HIM, not in ourselves. That kind of promise inserted into our souls can create a radiance that only Jesus can get the glory for.
What is adequate? What is enough? You are friend…because HE is.
(Originally published May 9th, 2015…and still pondering this amazing truth. Jesus is enough.)
“Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.”
Last week an ice storm came through and our power went out for a few days. This presented some interesting challenges in day-to-day life. When you’re a kid, this becomes one thrilling long journey. When you’re an adult….not so much. After eighteen hours I was ready for power again.
We have wood heat (praise the Lord!) so despite the chilling cold, we were able to keep warm and our gas stove allowed us to cook, but the adventure wore off quickly for me. Who wants to take a candle to the bathroom? Or have to carry a flashlight in your pocket all the time? Or watch the laundry pile up because the washer and dryer are out of commission? And I must have said, “Please shut the refrigerator!” a thousand times. What is it about a power outage that makes people so hungry that they have to survey the refrigerator contents twice an hour?
Two days without power shows you a lot about life….and attitude. Believe me. At the end of the second day (when I was thoroughly sick of no lights) I had a light bulb moment. Almost literally.
It was pitch black, and even the candles spread all over the house didn’t cut the darkness very well. I was sitting on the couch in the thick blackness. I don’t remember what I was doing, except for having a sour attitude. I mean, really, what can you do when it’s dark and you have NO electricity? Then this light entered the room…it was my little sister. She is not an adult, so this was still a huge adventure for her. She was LOVING the moment and I was in the same house HATING it.
She was holding a small glass dish with a tiny tea light candle in it. Strange how the moment hit me, but it was like she was HOLDING LIGHT. You really couldn’t see her glass dish because the light obscured the container. It really looked like she was cupping light in her hands…and she was bringing it to me. “Faith, look!” she said.
I stared at it. All I could think is how BEAUTIFUL it was. This cupping of light in her hands. It made me want to hold it in mine. To carry it around the room like a little child and share it with others. To wonder at it and be filled with the adventure that was in those sparkling eyes. Why couldn’t I find joy in this moment?
The light was amazingly bright. It seemed so luminous. Chasing away the shadows and lighting the face of this little girl. This child bringing light to me. I had to smile. I couldn’t help it. The moment was beautiful….and since phones don’t run on electricity, I took a picture.
When the moment was past, it got me to thinking…what do I look like to this dark, dying world? Do I cup my hands like a willing servant and carry the light to dark places? Do I smile like a child and enjoy the journey…carrying the Light, the Beauty to others? Is my life’s light bright enough to draw them to JESUS?
I have this picture as my phone’s wallpaper right now…and it’s a visual reminder that I am to carry the Light wherever I go. I want to cup JESUS in my hands and take Him to the dark places.
“The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light: they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined.” Isaiah 9:2
(This post was originally written on January 9, 2016…and today? It’s message still motivates me to carry His Light to a dark world.)
The following post I wrote nearly two months ago…but because it was so fresh, I chose not to post it. Since then I’ve been learning what it means to be PRESENT even when I’m no longer Ms. Mary’s primary caregiver. Even that requires Persistence.
It’s a hard thing to fall and then get up and try again. Painful. Challenging. Like trudging through molasses to get somewhere. There are days I want to quit because life beats me up and it’s easy to lose the wind in my sails. When everything seems to be coming at me full force and I can’t get out from under the chaos.
I’ve had one of those weeks. Adventure isn’t always peaches and cream, I’m learning. When I choose Jesus as my Guide it more often than not means struggle and rainy days and hard questions and mountain climbing when I really don’t know what I’m doing. It means looking into the face of change and smiling because He knows what He’s doing even when I’m incapable and scared. It means persistence. Pushing through the clouds and clinging to what He wants for my life even when it doesn’t always make sense.
Change is a common visitor in my life. I’m not friendly with him, but he seems to show up anyway. Sometimes he shows up during beautiful times like when I get a new niece or nephew or one of my friends get married. Other times, he shows up when I’d rather him not. These past several days have been “one of those times”. Caregiving hasn’t ever been my dream…but it seems to follow me. My sister and I have been taking care of a 98-year-old lady for the past nine months who has been like a local great-grandma to us. She has dementia and severe arthritis and could no longer be at home alone. It started slow…just nights and an occasional pop in. Then it progressed to more and more as her circumstances worsened.
Over the past three weeks, it’s went downhill fast. These past ten days have been long. Short nights with little to no sleep and long days of care. If I’m honest, I’ve even felt a little stir-crazy. It’s been a long road. The reality is, we can’t keep up the pace. There’s only two of us and we honestly can’t do it all. There aren’t many options for those of us who live in the middle of nowhere, so her family opted for a nursing home. I cried. Not because I was in disagreement, but because I wanted to see it through. I wanted to walk her to heaven’s door and for it all to tie up neatly and be done. Closure. A little part of me felt like I was abandoning my mission before it was complete.
We called the ambulance after a long day of battling side effects from her new meds last Tuesday. I saw it in her eyes…she wasn’t right and I knew I couldn’t help her anymore. My sister stood there and said what I was too afraid to think…we needed to call for help. Sisters are good for tough moments like that. In the back of my mind I wanted to deny it, because a little piece of me knew it might be the end. It would mean change and I felt like the fight had been already whipped out of me.
I knelt next to her worn out recliner and held her hand as the First Responders and EMTs asked a million questions. Date of birth. Medications. Food. Medical history. A slight daze settled on my brain, the sleepless nights and emotional roller coaster was catching up with me. Charity righted my ship a few times…helping fill in the blanks.
Since I’m the primary caregiver, they told me I could ride in the ambulance to the hospital with her. As I could feel all the hurt and angst come floating to the top. Half way through the trip, the emotions overwhelmed me and in an effort to stifle the tears, I sighed a deep, heavy sigh. The driver turned to me and said, “We are almost there”, as if I was only tired of the drive. Inside I felt like screaming for help. The weight on my chest was all too familiar.
How do you push through the fog when you don’t even know what direction you’re facing? What do you do when the circumstances of our fallen, wicked world knock you down? I’ll admit…more than once I’ve just stayed laying there for too long.
Then there’s persistence. Determination gets up and begins again. Even if it means starting over. Even if it means getting a new mission. Even if it means re-evaluating our approach and tweaking your presentation.
I stayed at the hospital until nearly 2am…answering round after round of questions from nurses and doctors about some of the same things again. I crashed when I got home…weary in body, soul, and spirit.
The next morning, I cleaned up her house (I’ve been living there full-time for the past week or so), canceled her hair appointment, and tried to catch up on some long-overdue projects at home. I was waiting for the call that she was coming home so I could resume my post as caregiver.
The phone call wasn’t what I expected. She’s not coming home.
Instead, I heard she has kidney failure. She had slept the whole day without pain meds and hadn’t eaten or drank anything. My mind was having flashbacks …these signs were like red flags waving in the wind and shouting at me. I’ve been here before and somehow, it feels both different and strangely familiar.
The feeling I felt was failure. Why couldn’t I walk her to heaven’s door? I wanted to be there for her…to hold her hand and walk with her through the valley. What if she gets scared? What if she can’t see anyone she recognizes in the dementia fog?
So now I stand at the door of change again. Wondering—all this time I suddenly have back—what if I don’t want it? What if I’d rather be giving meds and applesauce or changing adult diapers and smiling when she told me unbelievable stories about her “visitors” that she can see and I can’t? What if I’d rather everything just stay the same?
Persistence and determination are amazing virtues…but I feel like the fight has been knocked out of me. I want to be faithful. I want to stand firm. I want to be trustworthy and loyal to my Captain. I’ve also found that He walks through some rough country to get to where we are going…and I feel weary and tired and emotional and sad. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.
Then I see the nest.
Often, God speaks to me through word pictures…apparently, I learn that way. My brother had parked his Jeep in the driveway and I noticed that a bird had built a nest in one of the headlights. He drove it one day, pulling the nest out before he left. The next day, the bird built another nest. The 2nd nest was removed and by the next day it was built again. This went on for days. Six nests later, I was wondering how long it would take this bird to get the point. The odds were against it.
What would it take for you to love difficult people? How many times will you walk through sorrow and choose to love again? How many times will I be willing to say YES to being a caregiver?
Today, I want to be done with caregiving. It’s too hard. Painful.
Then I see that nest…and I wonder. How much am I willing to risk? Couldn’t I be a little more persistent, patient and enduring? I’ll keep building…time and again…knowing that Jesus will hold me together.
Perspective is everything…and I tend to lose proper perspective easily. Often. I am a chronic perspective-loser. (If that’s even a word.) Two weeks ago was one of those times.
I was away from home on a work trip with my family and trying to juggle the normal responsibilities from my perch in the South. It was one of those times when the to do list in my brain was overwhelming me and making me a bit crazy. My fuse was getting smaller and smaller and my attitude was challenging me hourly. With an upcoming conference and other ministry opportunities, I was trying to get some work done, despite my being away from home. All of this and more were piling up in my mind. One of those times where you mark off two things on your to do lists and add four. At night my brain wouldn’t shut off. I was tired emotionally. I was discouraged.
Then I climbed a mountain.
Ok…it was more like a high hill with lots of rocks, but none the less, they call it a mountain. Pinnacle Mountain in Arkansas. I was told it was a “hike”, and if I had been in shape, it would have been just that…but it was more like a humbling stop-and-go climb for me. Three quarters of a mile seems like an easy hike until you put it 1,011 feet in the air. That changes things tremendously. The terrain was very rocky and thankfully, I am told we were on the “easier side”. That’s a very good thing. Otherwise…I’m not sure if I would have made it in one piece.
It was a hike. Took me an hour to summit, being 26 and sorely out of shape. I kept hearing my heart pounding out of my chest and my heavy breathing. It’s a very effective way to shut me up since I couldn’t talk and huff and puff simultaneously.
Every 10 minutes I stopped for a breather. Every bench had my name on it. My two teenage siblings were ruthless in their fun ribbing. “The old lady” was climbing a mountain! I waved them off…they were right, I was older than them AND out of shape. I reminded them that they didn’t have to run ahead and prove themselves! “Let’s enjoy the trip” really translated to “I am dying, can you slow down?”
Along the way, I was met by many athletic folks jumping and skipping rock to rock…as I hoisted myself slowly from one to the other. They exhausted me even more just watching them. We saw one man, probably in his late sixties or older, who was jogging downhill at a much younger speed. Our friend who took us on the hike said that same gentleman is there all the time. That knowledge wore me out too. People take this mountain climbing serious…like it’s a favorite pastime, or something. I mused at my very different ideas of a favorite hobby. None of which were rock climbing.
After an hour, and several bench breaks, we arrived at the top. I was windless and tired. My mind rolled over my to do list back home and the emails I needed to reply to…and I really needed to finish that blog! My shirt was wet from sweat and my legs felt remarkably similar to noodles. As I crested the ridge, I appreciated the breeze…especially in a damp shirt.
Then I looked down into the valley below and smiled. I wanted to congratulate myself for not fainting on the way up, but the view took my breath away (at least what was left of it). There was my Creator’s handiwork in full view. The sun was starting to set and the river below snaked around the mountain. In the far distance, I saw a sailboat…like a pin head on the horizon. The sky was exploding into color and the breeze was perfect. Below, I saw the city…this city I had just came grumbling from. The same place that seemed so big, and scary, and overwhelming. Now it looked ridiculously small. I put my hand against the spot where I had previously been and it all fit in the palm of my hand.
How my perspective had changed. Quickly. In an hour of climbing. Suddenly…my to do list vanished. My swimming brain stilled. My heart was in awe. I couldn’t get over the sail boat. It was so tiny. Then, as if in a whisper, I felt a truth drop into my heart. “There’s my to do list,” I thought. When I am right up on it, it’s HUGE. But when I am with the Father, it’s a speck of nothing on the horizon.
As a child I always wondered what Christ meant when He said, “Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30) The way I saw it, with Christ came a rough road ahead. Worth it? Absolutely! It’s just that the promise of a lighter burden didn’t make a whole lot of sense. I didn’t see lighter loads. Since fully surrendering my life to Christ, I had a whole lot more on my plate. So what did Jesus mean by a “light burden” and an “easy yoke”?
It seemed, standing there on top of that mountain, I understood what He meant. He didn’t mean the problems would disappear. He meant that your perspective would be changed. On that mountain, I was lighter. My load seemed like nothing. Weightless. Was my to do list erased? No. In fact, I knew it was getting longer at home while I stood on Pinnacle Mountain. My perspective had changed. All those details that I had been stressing over? They were all a pin-head sailboat on the horizon compared to the wealth of God’s abilities. He doesn’t need me to run around with my head cut off. He doesn’t need me to complete His tasks…He chooses me and uses me for His glory. Big difference.
There I was 1,011 feet up in the air and all the dots were connecting for me. My problems aren’t big. My to do list isn’t impossible. My opportunities aren’t overwhelming. I make them that way. I blow them up into monstrous proportions and then God has to come along and deflate them when I am at my wits end. He calls me to climb a mountain…and then He points to my sailboat of a problem. It’s really not that big from up there. It’s actually very achievable. It fits under my pinky finger.
I know I stared for a long time into the valley that day, overwhelmed in a different way. This shrinking feeling washed over me. Freedom feels very light. In fact, it’s weightless. And for the first time in a long time, I felt weightless. It wasn’t my job to be frantic and coordinate perfection. It’s my job to climb the mountain and be obedient. He does the rest. Roll up my sleeves in diligence? YES. But not get in God’s way of planning and making all things beautiful IN HIS TIME.
The sun was setting and we had to leave the mountain top. To be honest, I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stamp this image deep into my heart. Every river bend, every church steeple, every road and every sail boat. I wanted it etched in my memory. I wanted this new perspective never to fade. I wanted this mountain to change me.
How often do we allow the circumstances of life to rob us of our joy and sap us of energy? We blow up our problems and create bigger ones. However real they are, we must not let them rule our lives and steal our zest for living. That relationship that is crumbling…it IS painful, but it must not keep you in the valley. Climb up, dear friend! That test final that seems impossible? One rock at a time, sister…move steadily to the top and your perspective will change. Stay on the mountain top as long as you can and carve the things you see there in your heart forever. Dwell on His power. His majesty. HIM.
As I started down into the valley again, I thought a lot about what I had experienced on the mountain. I carried with me the realization that sometimes…amid the struggles in life…I just need to push the pause button and climb. I needed to MAKE time to climb. To be with Him and rest in His perspective.
In case you’re wondering, yes, I fully expect in my humanness to need another mountain climb again one day. Maybe even soon. We all need a visual reminder. When that moment comes again…I will climb. But for today…I am remembering that little pin head of a sail boat and praising God for His power over my problems, however big they may seem at the moment.
What is your perspective today? Climb a mountain. Climb a tree. Climb for perspective. Live in the Presence of the Father and remember that “Ye are of God, little children, and have overcome them: because greater is He that is in you, than he that is in the world.” (1 John 4:4)
Climb, sister, climb!
(Originally published May 19, 2015 on the Polished Cornerstones blog.)
Twelve years ago I graduated from high school.
Now if you’re a teen reading this…you’re thinking I’m old right now. Twelve years is a long time, but you’ll be here before you know it, friend! So pick your jaw up from the floor and put your eyeballs back into your head.
This is kind of like a letter to all my young friends graduating. High school graduation is a big milestone. It’s hard work to get through school. The culture of it alone can be torturous.
So here it is, graduates….my perspective. What would I say to myself twelve years ago? Learn from my mistakes and jump ahead of the game!
You’re embarking on the journey of a lifetime. It will be thrilling. It will be amazing. It may even be scary at times. But your Guide will never be far away and He is orchestrating each leg of the road ahead. Four things I would say to you above all else:
In short, SAY YES to Jesus. Always say yes to Jesus.
Life isn’t one giant leap after another…it is small steps. Take each small step in His direction and amazing, impossible things will happen.
There will be thousands of things people say to you about these next few years of life…and to some degree, they may expect or even encourage you to throw wisdom out the door and “find yourself”, which really means “be selfish”. I’m saying the opposite. Dig in. Make His Word your number one textbook. Go deep with Jesus in these foundational years. Do hard things. It’s ok to be different from the world…to go against the flow for the sake of Christ. You have what it takes… I know that about you. You have determination, zeal and a love for life that will take you far if you use it for God’s glory.
Being radically in love with Him will change your heart AND everyone who comes in contact with you. John Wesley said, “Set yourself on fire with passion and people will come for miles to watch you burn.” I’m in agreement…so all that to say—Get on fire…for Jesus.
Today is the day, graduate. Get on fire!
Sincerely, A friend who’s been there before
The word “DoorKeeper” has been on my mind lately. While ministering in prison this past week, I tumbled on Psalm 84 again. It seemed full of meaning and purpose…both for me and the women I was talking to. The question kept mulling around in my mind: “What does it mean to be a DoorKeeper?
Several weeks ago I was at the coffee shop, studying and journaling. A scrap of paper fell out of my journal and I picked it up. On it were the words: “I want to be a DoorKeeper! Psalm 84:10” It was dated April 3, 2017.
That scrap of paper…I wrote eight days before Ms. Laurie went home to heaven.
Psalm 84:10 (ESV), “For a day in your courts is better than a thousand elsewhere. I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of wickedness.”
The Message Bible says in the last part of the verse: “I’d rather scrub floors in the house of my God than be honored as a guest in the palace of sin.”
When I wrote those words last year on a scrap of paper, more than anything I wanted to hear God’s voice. Just to know that He was there. IN my heartache. IN my sorrow. IN my loss. Did He really hear me? I felt like teenage Joshua in Exodus 33:11 (HCSB), “The Lord spoke with Moses face to face, just as a man speaks with his friend. Then Moses would return to the camp, but his assistant, the young man Joshua son of Nun, would not leave the inside of the tent.”
In the deepest parts of my soul…I was starving for the face of God. Begging for Him to show up. So, when I came across this verse in Psalm 84, I felt like the cry of my heart was showing up in black letters on the page. I wanted to be where He was. Like Joshua, I didn’t want to leave the tent. If that meant staking my claim at the door of His house, I was staying. Right. There.
Ever been there? Completely wrecked and at the end of yourself? Waiting for the breath of God to come over you? Wondering if His robe would ever come close enough for you to reach out and touch?
A DoorKeeper in the House of my God.
If all I’m doing is scrubbing floors for Jesus or standing at the door and opening it for other people to walk through…isn’t that enough? Maybe…just maybe…if I stay right there at the door of His dwelling, I’ll see His face more often. I’ve tasted of His mercy. I have a seat at His table. So why not stand at the door and invite others to come in? To open the door for those crippled by sin, too sick to open the door themselves, or saddened by life? I want to be a doorkeeper.
So, last April, I wrote that on my scrap of paper. “I want to be a doorkeeper! Psalm 84:10. April 3, 2017.”
Doorkeeper’s jobs aren’t always easy. They stand between the world and the House of God. A bridge for people to see Jesus in the face of another human. Doorkeepers are real people with skin on. They are flesh and blood folks who make mistakes but know about the Hope of the Gospel and the Healing of the Cross. They stand at the door and hold it open for anyone who wants more. Anyone who needs help. Everyone who craves lasting peace or wholeness of spirit. Sometimes they open the door for someone who needs to go Home.
Doorkeepers are most often in the brokenness of the world but with the Hope of Jesus in their eyes. They aren’t afraid to do hard things and they live Brave because they know that Jesus is the answer to the world’s deepest hunger. You can find doorkeepers doing the unwanted jobs because they know it’s all about HIM and nothing about them. You can find them taking care of the sick, visiting prisoners, feeding the hungry, and talking to strangers. You will find them scrubbing floors, working in the nursery, teaching Sunday School or going somewhere in the world where they need to hear about Jesus.
Doorkeepers aren’t super-human. They are just people who have prayed the dangerous prayer…to be used for His glory. And they are content to point to Jesus while holding open the door to the House of God.
I’m not sure about you, but that sounds like the coolest job ever to me.
From where I’m standing today, a whole year after I prayed that prayer, I can tell you this: It has been the most ALIVE year I’ve ever lived and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Hard? Absolutely. It’s been the most difficult, life-shifting and challenging year I’ve ever had. It’s also been the year I’ve seen Jesus in the most incredible ways. I’ve seen lives redeemed. I’ve seen people come to Jesus for the first time. I’ve seen forgiveness in action. I’ve seen the truth of the Word literally CHANGE people…starting with me. And on my longest days of being a doorkeeper, I’ve went to bed saying, “There is nowhere else in the world I’d rather be today.”
This past week as I stood in front of a room full of women who had prison sentences for various lengths and for different reasons, I told them about being a DoorKeeper. In their faces, I could see the idea connect, because wherever you are on planet earth, you can be in the Presence of God. You can see His glory in prison. I told them: “There’s a job opening at the House of God for another DOORKEEPER. The only requirement is that you know Jesus. Crave His Presence. Let’s be like Joshua and stake out wherever He is. When that happens, you can bet people will notice and our lives will literally be Living Invitations to Jesus.” There were some resounding AMENS and the thought occurred to me…how different the world would be if there were more DoorKeepers and less DoorSlammers.
You know, the DoorSlammer type. They like to go in and out of God’s house with their click of friends. They are too busy to notice the hurting people behind them who can’t quite get the door open alone…so they inadvertently slam the door in their faces. DoorSlammers are well-meaning people who are self-absorbed and like their comfort zone too much to reach out to those who are different from themselves. Too many times I’ve been a DoorSlammer when I should have been a DoorKeeper.
I pray I now live as a DoorKeeper. Craving His Presence. Seeking His face.
It’s a great thing to be at the door of God’s House. His glory surrounds me. His love is toward me. I camp out here. At the edge of the tent, here at the door, hoping to catch a glimpse of His face. He is here. He is Jehovah. He has healed and brought hope to my weary soul. Time and again. It’s been an unforgettable year of ups and downs, but I have seen His face! I have heard His voice. I am learning to stake out at the door of His habitation.
#4: Stop Chasing and Just Start!
In our Christian culture it feels like we LABOR over our life callings. Perhaps even to a fault. As if it’s our job to run after it and discover it on our own.
Here’s the deal. I think we need to be living our life intentionally and in full obedience to God’s will. His desires for us need to be priority. But what if we are putting too much energy into CHASING our calling and FINDING OURSELVES, when God’s plan is for us just to start where we are?
Believe me, I know how many books are out there about finding yourself. It’s a big deal in our current world. We toil at finding ourselves like we are a hopeless mess without direction. We ARE all of those things…without Jesus.
Y’all. We’ve gotta stop chasing our dreams and finding ourselves and running after a calling. We need to be putting that energy into seeking HIS FACE. We need to be finding Jesus…not trying to look for an important label to slap on our life so others are impressed with us.
The more I study the Word of God, the more I realize that He has everything my soul needs to be healthy. He knows who I am. He knows where He wants me to go. He knows what’s best for my life. When my focus shifts to His face, I am complete. I don’t have to stomp around dizzy with trying to find myself and chase my agenda. That’s a selfish and narrow-minded way to live.
So, if we aren’t supposed to chase our Calling (because it’s really not our job), what should we be doing?
When Jesus ascended into heaven, He left a Grand Calling for all of us. We often refer to it as the Great Commission. Every single Christ-follower on the planet has this command:
“All authority has been given to Me in heaven and on earth. Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe everything I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” Matthew 28:18-20 HCSB
What makes your heart bleed in connection with this Grand Calling? Do you love teaching children? Are you burdened for the homeless? Do you connect with the elderly at your local nursing home? What about broken people with addictions or checkered pasts? Maybe you are a prayer warrior. Or someone who loves reaching out to teenage girls with unplanned pregnancies.
I can guarantee you this: You are called to somehow fulfill this Grand Calling. You may be a Goer…someone who will go to the hurting and literally give them the Gospel. A Goer will jump on a plane and travel to the ends of the earth, if needs be. Or…you may be a Sender. You use your resources to send the Goers of the world. You give financially. You pray your heart out for them. You give them high-fives and write far away missionaries words of encouragement. Either way, you are CALLED to be involved in the harvest.
The Great Commission isn’t an optional missionary program. It’s a COMMAND to ALL believers. It’s essentially one of the things that connect us as Jesus-followers. We all have a common goal…reaching the world with Gospel and discipling them to go out and multiply.
Start where you are. Stop chasing the all-allusive calling and start rolling up your sleeves for THE Calling. You don’t have to have a label to make a difference. You just need Jesus and a heart of obedience. Jump in and just start somewhere. Today.
Start with one. Start on your corner. Start at your work station. Start at your church. Start with your relatives. Start with your neighborhood. Start right where you are.
Don’t wait to get it all right and have a five-year-plan (whatever that even is!). Begin with open eyes to the needy world around you and an open heart to the Jesus Who knows exactly where you should be.
Don’t overcomplicate the simple things. Pray as you walk forward…knowing that if it isn’t Jesus, He will slam the door in your face. Take the next step. Stop trying to find yourself and start looking for Jesus.
I promise you, He will show up.
One day, your calling in life will be glaringly obvious to you and everyone around you. It will connect people in need and your passion and the Great Commission in a beautiful tapestry called YOU. Created by the Great Author and Finisher Himself.
Don’t wait. Start right now.
(This is the last of a Four-Part Series on Life Calling. Thanks for joining the conversation!)
#3- One Calling, Multiple Missions.
Young ladies often ask me when I discovered God’s Calling on my life. They all want to know when my purpose was obvious for me and my AHA moment of realization that God had called me to something or someone specific. Funny thing is, I really can’t put my finger on a day…but I know the general time frame and (spoiler alert!) it really wasn’t that long ago.
I’ll be the first to say this: I believe God can reveal His will for our lives when we are young. He has called young people in their youth for thousands of years…so it’s altogether possible and beautiful. Part 4 of this series will deal with the “chasing our calling” idea but let me just mention that if we spent half the time DOING THE STUFF as we did SEARCHING FOR THE CALLING, we’d probably be better off. Jesus wants obedience and a willing heart…He isn’t waiting for us to “get it” so He can slap a Calling label on us. More on that next time.
So, what about “finding your calling” and “life purpose”?
Sometimes when I talk to people about the places and things Jesus has led me into, they have puzzled looks on their faces. Not necessarily because my life is amazing…but because it’s really random. To the naked eye my various rabbit trails of ministry seem disconnected and completely haphazard at times.
Writing. Working with teenage girls. Planning women’s Retreats. Leading home Bible studies. Caregiving for someone with cancer or kidney failure. Videoing and editing testimonies of men and women. Meeting friends for coffee. Speaking in women’s prisons. Missions in Ethiopia.
It seems rather unsystematic, doesn’t it?
There was a time in my life when I thought Mission and Calling were the same thing. Now, I think they work together but are different in function. I have one Life Calling and I think I’ll have it for the rest of my life. However, I’ve had multiple Missions in my life…and plenty more to come in the future, I’m sure.
My calling started when I was young, but I didn’t wake up to what it was until recently. That’s when I looked back over my life and saw where God had woven my unexpected circumstances together to create the picture of who I am.
Your calling is what motivates you to do what you do. It’s how God has wired you to operate and fulfill the Great Commission.
My calling is to the Broken people of the world. I’m way more motivated to speak to broken people about Jesus. I have a different kind of boldness and love and compassion when I’m in face to face with those who are hurting…and it motivates me in a whole new level. That’s my calling in action.
Your mission will change from time to time. You may have multiple missions at a time, depending on how you live out your calling at the moment.
I’ve had missions come and go. Some of my missions have changed based on location or circumstances. A few missions are for set time periods and then they are over.
Calling and Mission is like the difference between the War and a Battle. You’ve got to fight the battles to win the War. You can’t have one without the other and they are inseparably linked arm and arm. One motivates the other. One determines the other’s outcome.
I’ve led home Bible studies since the summer of 2013, but each study has a period of time that eventually wraps up. Then I pray about what’s next. Currently, I’m in a season of stepping back from leading studies because of other “missions” on my plate…but I crave “getting back in the game”. The women’s retreats I am privileged to help plan have set dates. When I go work in the prisons, my trips have determined times where I go and return home. When I step into my role as Caregiver, I know at the completion of my mission there, my friend will be in heaven.
I’ve come to believe that we each have One Calling, and Multiple Missions.
Look at Jesus! He called His disciples…and He didn’t change the way they operated…He changed their current missions. He made fishermen to be “fishers of men”. He took their natural motivation and used it in missions that would carry out His plan.
Perhaps it’s easier to look back on your life and discover your calling was right in front of you the whole time. It’s probably obvious if you look for it that way. What has made your heart burst with excitement and what weighs heavy on your mind? What are the gifts and talents that God has placed in you? Where are the places you feel the most useful and “on target”? What kind of needs do you always notice in others? When do you always feel the most compassion? What makes you weep for others?
There have been seemingly peculiar things that have made me feel full…like I was living in the exact purpose He has created for me. They have been scattered instances where I stepped into His Light and felt so flooded with boldness and a full heart that I thought I would burst. THOSE moments are the ones that helped me pin-point my life purpose.
When I lined them all up I saw that I feel the most called to people who are broken and out of sorts and at the end of their ropes. I feel called to minister to women who are hurting and looking for a friend. I am called to give HOPE to the most broken and the ones labeled “untouchable”. I thrive when I’m ministering to the broken (the first step was seeing my own brokenness).
Some of my various endevours have been merely stepping stones or open doors to live out my calling. Opportunities that take me to broken people…like when I work in the nursery or plan our town’s Live Nativity. It’s relational and often I end up being able to connect with someone who needs a listening ear or someone to pray for them.
My missions change from time to time. I’ve watched some of them end abruptly or slowly fade into the distance. I’ve watched some of my missions finish nice and neat with a bow or be sealed up in a coffin. But always…always, I walk away from living my calling knowing I am living fully ALIVE.
Living with purpose and in your calling is worth it…but don’t put God in a box. He may call you to various missions and they DO CONNECT! They connect at the Cross, friend. He is the Great Connector…let Him weave your story.
Maybe you haven’t discovered your Life Calling yet. That’s okay. Just do the next right thing. Listen to His still, small Voice and follow Him. Walk out today’s mission. Then one day you’ll look back and see your Life Calling staring you in the face.
(For further study, check out Annie F. Down’s talk on this topic. You won’t want to miss it! Watch it HERE. You can also check out Jennie Allen’s book or study series: Restless. It tackles Life Calling and connects the random dots of living life with your purpose.)
Today is a good day. The sun is shining outside my window and my heart is full.
But oh friend, there are days. There are days that don’t feel good. The kind where you feel like crawling back into bed and hibernating…or at least crying “Uncle!” loud enough for the neighbors to hear. There are days where the clouds of doubt and confusion seem to thick to see through. That’s when we really can live brave.
Being brave looks different for all of us. There are stages of life and there are various platforms that He gives us to walk on and teach from. Living Courageous for me over these past years has looked radically different than I imagined…and it has literally rocked me to my core.
In April of 2016 I received a call about helping a friend who was fighting cancer. Her husband needed someone to take care of her while he was at work. She was one of my mom’s friends…and ironically had the same first and middle names! (photo of my mom and Ms. Laurie) Saying NO really never entered my mind at the time…but I had no idea what saying YES really meant. And maybe sometimes, God does that on purpose.
I began this journey of taking care of Ms. Laurie. At 56 years old, she was full of life and loved to laugh. We laughed a lot together. In between getting her meals, letting her take naps and doing therapy and meds….we had long conversations. She loved to talk about heaven and Jesus. I don’t think I really knew how much those talks would mean to me…but in hind sight…she probably did. We cried together and through the pain…we bonded. Like women do…but also in a special way…almost like a mother and daughter would.
Gradually, we saw that she was slipping away. I think for months I was in denial. I just really always thought she’d pull through. With every passing week, we saw her lose capabilities. She lost her ability to walk, and talk and even feed herself.
That’s really hard. Perhaps one of the toughest times to live brave and courageous is in the middle of heartache. When you’re staring cancer in the face, day after day. Ms. Laurie lived brave. She exampled that to me. But I had to choose to live brave too. I had to get up in the morning and choose to walk in that door knowing that I was investing in someone who wasn’t always gonna be there. That didn’t make a lick of sense in my human brain.
I can remember most days driving to their home and crying all the way there. I can remember looking myself in the mirror and saying I couldn’t. Do. It. One. More. Day. I just kept hearing God ask me…almost like a good coach…”Faith, can you give me just one more?” One. More. Day. In a weird way, that’s one of the things that helped me navigate that year. My patient Coach Jesus just kept giving me a small step to take. One. Day. Always promising, that He would walk it with me.
Maybe Brave Living is just a bunch of small steps towards Jesus. One. Step at a time. One day at a time. One minute at a time.
One year ago today, on April 11th, 2017, Ms. Laurie went to heaven. I don’t think I’ll ever forget what it felt like to sit there next to her and realize that she had finally met with Jesus face-to-face…and I was left behind.
I didn’t know what to do. The grief was overwhelming. I struggled with depression. I battled insomnia. I felt like I was living in a fog and I didn’t know how to get out. I had to fight every Sunday to get out of bed and go to church…and when I did, I’d cry through the service and try to put on a smile in the hallways. I had never lost anyone that close, someone who I loved like a mother.
What does it look like to live strong when the world around you is crumbling and nothing makes sense? Something this big will show you who you really are. Who you really are will come out when you’re under pressure.
In those months of grief, God broke me. I was living my life on the edge. Wondering if I’d make it emotionally past the next day. I cried constantly and I felt like I was burning bridges with friends because that’s all I seemed to talk about and I couldn’t move past the pain.
Then one day, several months after Ms. Laurie had died, I went to her grave. I was so busted up and just felt so sad and lonely and out of sorts. I remember kneeling in the dirt next to her grave and crying. AGAIN. And when I could finally talk, I said, “God, you have to hold onto me, because I can’t hang on anymore.” It was a desperate prayer…because I felt like I was on the fringes of total burnout and disbelief.
I can’t really explain it, but I walked away different that day. It was like I had transferred the weight of my sorrow to Jesus…and I asked Him to stay true to His promises. That He would be there. That He would walk with me. That He would hold onto me and Not. Let. Go. I could feel the freedom to stop white-knuckling my way to the Throne. Because He would do the saving and the keeping and the holding.
That day changed me. Slowly, God began to reveal Himself to me in beautiful, unexpected ways. He let me know how much He loved me. He let me know that He was there. He let me know that He cried with me. And gradually, I could feel the shift in my soul.
He was healing me.
It didn’t come overnight. He came softly. Because I was so broken and fragile that I needed Him to be that way. There were days I cried and just lifted my hands to Him…because I didn’t have words to say what I was feeling…and He understood anyway. He’s that kind of Father.
My brokenness changed my outlook on life. I began seeing others with new eyes. Eyes of compassion. I suddenly saw broken people…because I was broken myself. I could see their needs. Their pain. I could identify with the hurt. I cried when I heard the word cancer. I wept for people like never before.
God doesn’t waste anything. He only builds on our past failures and brokennesses in a way that gives us more of a platform for service to Him. That’s what He was doing for me. All those months of pain and heartache were training ground for Him to send me to broken people. And my mission field was the prison system.
Women’s prisons. I had said yes far before I was equipped. And then God took me through some tough months of training before I ever set foot behind bars.
Prison Ministry was way outside of my comfort zone. I never would have dreamed that it would hold my heart like it has. I stepped into a correctional facility for the first time on October 2nd, 2017 and I’ve never been the same since.
I went in there still broken and hurting from loss. But ya know, that’s the very thing that connected my heart with those women? When I told my story…they cried. They could identify with pain. With hurt. With not understanding why God does what He does sometimes. And then I could also stand there and offer them HOPE. The very hope that held me together for all those months of depression and grief. I could give them Jesus in a way that I never could have a year earlier.
Life doesn’t always pan out how we think it will. In my mind as a girl I figured by this age I’d be married and have a few kids running around with a baby on my hip. I’d have the white picket fence and the porch swing and my house would be full of laughter.
Then there’s Jesus. He wrecked my little plan and instead, has offered me Himself. That journey has been the most painful, brave-hearted trek I’ve ever made. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Because in the storms of life…He makes me courageous. He holds me together. So I can afford to be brave!
Yes, today is a good day, because He is good.
Loss seems to linger sometimes. Unwelcomed, but still there. Showing it’s head when you least expect it and reminding you of what it’s taken from you.
I recently had one of those reminders. It caught me by surprise.
I was at a movie with some of my siblings. It was a great story line. Engaging. Real. The part that hit me unexpectedly was raw. Like reopening an old wound in my heart.
One of the lead actors was dying of cancer on the screen. And he looked the part. It was real. There in full color, bigger than life experience, I was face-to-face with cancer and death. That’s the moment it hit me.
To be sure, it was a sad part of the film…but it wasn’t gut wrenching for everyone. Yet, there I sat stunned by the fear and memories welling up in my heart. The lump rose in my throat and the dam broke. Tears came rushing down my face and I stifled the sobs. I don’t think I’ve ever cried like that in a theater. I literally held my face in my hands and sobbed with my shoulders shaking. I didn’t even feel awkward that I was probably making a scene. The sadness overwhelmed me.
Just like that, my mind was miles away reliving the moment when I said goodbye to someone I loved dearly. The screen showed a person dying of cancer, but I saw someone else. I remembered the day she went home to be with Jesus. I remembered the grief and debilitating fear that gripped me after she was gone. In that moment, sitting in the theater…I missed her, and it sort of took my breath away.
Cancer. It doesn’t just affect the people who have it in their bodies…it eats away at the souls of those closest to the sick. It hurts. Painful memories, and yet those are the same ones who literally have shaped me into who I am today. For that, I am grateful. If truth be told, I don’t want to be who I used to be. So, I breathed thanks through the tears in that theater. Holy thanksgiving.
I get home and still find myself fighting tears. I cry because I miss her and it’s hard to relive those hard moments in my mind. How long does it take a heart to heal? And will I ever feel normal? Will I ever be able to watch a movie like that without falling into a million pieces?
I cry for myself. I cry because I’m selfish and I hate change. I cry because of all the things she’ll never be able to do with me…like be at my wedding or meet my kids. But then, she wouldn’t want to trade heaven for this…so I learn to let go.
Maybe this is what it feels like to LOVE. Free and brave, despite the pain in the end. Despite the letting go and the change that comes. No matter what uncomfortable things we have to do or face. We choose to LOVE and sometimes that means letting go. Loss is like that sometimes.
Tonight, I sit here and weep a little more. You see, I’m caregiving again. And although every caregiving journey is different, there are parallels that mirror what I went through last year. Reminders of the pain. Little things that creep up and take me back to her bedside in my mind.
This time, it’s different because I’ve traveled this road before. It hurts…knowing I may be only steps away from saying goodbye to another woman who I’ve been watching slowly fade. I don’t like goodbyes. I don’t like change.
“For we know that the whole of creation has been groaning together with labor pains until now…” Romans 8:22 (HCSB) I can feel it sometimes. The craving to be out from under the suffering of earth and liberated to see Jesus in all of His glory. This world is broken, and we all know it.
Loss. It can cripple us. I’m learning slowly to lean into the hurt and cling to Jesus in the process. To hang on to the only One Who never changes. The Rock Who will never be shaken. The One Who will make me soar with wings like eagles…if I wait on Him.
In the end, loss doesn’t win. Cancer doesn’t win. Death doesn’t win. In the end, Jesus wins. In those theater moments where we have tears streaming down our faces and sobs shaking our shoulders…we need that Hope. Hope has a Name! His Name is Jesus and in the end, He wins.
Loss might rule today, but Hope is coming. His name is Jesus.
#2: Be Useable.
“But now, O LORD, thou art our father; we are the clay, and thou our potter; and we all are the work of thy hand.” Isaiah 64:8
One of the things I pray for on a regular basis is that Jesus will keep me useable. That may sound weird, but I can tend to be so about myself (aka: selfish) that I don’t have room for showcasing Jesus to the world around me.
Being in a state of usefulness is key to living in your calling or life purpose. You simply can’t be fully alive in your potential if you’re too full of yourself. Selfishness, fear, and pride are huge road blocks to following Jesus whole-heartedly.
Warning: Keeping you useable may be a painful process. More often than not, God has used brokenness to keep me useful for His glory. My greatest hurt and pain has given birth to some of the greatest opportunities to share Jesus with others. Living in my calling means me living in some of those wounded places. Places that are hard. Those situations that truly take the ME out of me and can showcase only Him…that’s when people see it’s not Faith Walker. It’s Jesus alive in a broken woman.
As painful as it is, I wouldn’t trade being useable for being comfortable. I don’t want to just sit on the shelf because I’m too afraid. Or too proud to get into the mess. Or too selfish to sacrifice.
I once wrote this about being useable:
Strange things happen when you’re doing dishes. Or at least for me they do. Yesterday I was doing dishes at my brother’s new house. My second younger brother is getting married next month and needed some help settling in. So, there I was…washing new dishes and putting them into clean cabinets.
New dishes mean one thing…sticky price tags. All of them screaming to be removed. I must have peeled and scraped and scrubbed fifty stickers off. They are very persistent little things and yet so rewarding. The first dozen or two gave me a feeling of satisfaction when the dishes were smooth and clean. It made me feel good.
Then it started getting boring. Monotonous. Even agitating at times. So, I started thinking…what lesson could I learn from this? When I begin asking myself questions like this, I know I am really grasping at straws, but it was starting to get on my nerves…this whole sticker business! I needed to walk away with more than a stack of smooth-bottomed plates and bowls, I wanted some spiritual food for thought!
Then it came to me. Or HE did. All these beautiful dishes are worthless if they stay boxed up, wrapped up, and stickered up. To be useful they must be unwrapped and ready on a shelf for easy access. I won’t eat a bowl of cereal from a bowl that is in a box of Styrofoam peanuts and wrapped up in age-old newspaper. No! I need them available. I need them at my fingertips. I need them unstickered.
Wow! That truth got me right between the eyes. Maybe God was standing there at the sink with me, whispering truths into my soul. I heard Him stirring my heart to see myself in those stickered plates. How often was I the one staying packaged up? It got me thinking. Staying packed up doesn’t change my value. It changes my usefulness. I can be a lovely glass in a box, carefully wrapped up and protected from any danger… Or I can be a beautiful pitcher that is used for His glory.
Maybe it is my fears holding me back from doing bigger things for God. Perhaps in an effort to protect myself, I peek out from the safety of my Styrofoam peanut-bedded box and shiver. “Not me, Lord. Can you pick someone else? How about that sturdy looking plate over there? You know how easily I can chip!” So I stay in the comfort of my newspaper padding and never grace the table of my King. I am valued, but not useable.
Standing there at the sink suddenly became therapy. I felt tears welling up in my eyes. A prayer bubbled up in my heart. “Lord, I want to be used. Unwrap me. Wash me. Unsticker me. Please…use me. If I chip, still put me on Your table. If I crack, mend me. If I break, heal me…but Father, please use me.” I felt the words of Isaiah pouring from my soul… “Here am I Lord, send me.” (Isaiah 6:8)
I want to be useable. I want to be available. Some days that may mean leading a Bible study or tutoring a child in math skills for the glory of God. My work can become my worship, if my heart is toward Him. Some days that may mean teaching children at a kindergarten class or listening to piano students plunk out their pieces. Other days it might be cleaning up vomit or folding ten loads of laundry. Yesterday it meant scrubbing stickers off new dishes.
Friend, I am convinced that God has a place in His heavenly cabinet just for you. A place where you can be available for His purposes…right at His fingertips. The thing is, you have to be willing to get out of your foam-peanut-box-of-comfort and get your stickers taken off. You also need to be ready to be chipped…for His glory. Be vulnerable. Live dangerously for Jesus…that’s called being brave.
Living out your life purpose means being useable for Jesus. Are you with me?
(Part in italics originally written on May 5, 2015 for the Polished Cornerstones Ministry blog.)
#1: JESUS knows your story.
“For I know the thoughts (or plans) I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope. Then you will call upon Me and go and pray to Me, and I will listen to you. And you will seek Me and find Me, when you search for Me with all your heart.” Jeremiah 29:11-13 (NKJV)
Ever wonder what the future holds for you? Of course you do. It’s a natural thing built-in us to wonder and ask questions.
I think such curiosity is even more obvious in young people. We feel like we’re standing on the edge of our future and we’re not sure if we should be thrilled and excited or trembling in fear!
I’ve talked to lots of teenagers and most of them are asking questions about the future. Their future. What does it look like to walk through the door of adulthood? What career should they choose? What about life-calling…and when will they find it?
I get it. It’s a huge thing (especially in our Christian circles) to wonder deeply about our hearts, our futures and life calling. That’s why I’m going to be writing a little bit about life calling in the next few weeks. We all want to know… What does Jesus say about my future? And we become painfully worried that we will miss God’s calling on our life.
So, for starters, we need to get one thing straight: JESUS KNOWS. He knows all about you. He knows the road you have before you, the gifts and talents inside of you, and how He can use them for His glory. He knows the end of your story as well as He knows your beginning. He knows that you can be victorious. Think about this…
The headings in my Bible are great. They help me find the stories I am looking for and remind me how each story ends. Headings are helpful in life. In books they’re called titles. In the newspaper they’re called headlines. All of them giving a glimpse into what is to come.
So that got me to thinking….what if I knew the ending of my story now? What if the stories in my life were titled like they are in my Bible? What if I knew the end at the beginning? It struck me how very differently I might live my life if I knew the outcome ahead of time. This could go either way…maybe I would be overwhelmed or maybe I would be encouraged. Or perhaps both.
Humor me and think about that for a minute. What if you knew the ending of your life story right now?
This lured me to start looking through my Bible at the headings. Now I realize the titles are not inspired…but they are helpful. Here are some examples from my Bible:
The flood ends. Abram inherits Canaan. Lots captivity and rescue. Isaac marries Rebekah. Isaac’s twin boys. Jacob marries Leah and Rachel. Esau sells his birthright. Joseph sold by his brothers. Joseph’s rise to power. Seven years of famine. Moses at the burning bush. God gives Moses power. Miraculous signs for pharaoh. Israel’s deliverance assured. The Red Sea crossing. Bread from heaven. Water from the Rock. Rahab hides the spies. Gideon’s valiant 300 men. Gideon subdues the Midianites. Sampson defeats the Philistines. Boaz redeems Ruth. Samuel is born and dedicated. Saul is chosen to be king. Elijah revives the widow’s son. Elijah’s Mount Carmel victory. Elijah ascends into heaven. Naaman’s leprosy is healed. Isaiah is called to be a prophet. Hosea takes back his unfaithful wife. Jonah finally obeys. Peter’s mother in law is healed. Jesus feeds the five thousand. The empty tomb. Peter freed from prison. Paul and Barnabas are chosen. Peter raises Dorcas to life. The conversion of Cornelius.
Now take a minute and visualize with me. What if the above people had seen their chapter headings before they walked through their stories? (Take time to reread some of these again!) Would Moses have been as frightened at the burning bush? Would Gideon have trembled when God chose him? Would Naaman have doubted his healing? Would Jonah have gotten it right the first time? And seriously…would everyone had still cried over Dorcas’s lifeless body?
Each of these headings help me look past the yucky parts of the story…after all, I know what’s coming! I am compelled to read on through the uncomfortable facts…like floods and famines and battles, knowing that the end is what really matters. These endings are beautiful. Faith-filled. God-breathed stories of His power.
To be honest, life doesn’t usually give us those glimpses of greatness ahead of time. I am in awe of this thought. What if I lived my life in the shadow of my heading. How would I make my next move? Would I be as overwhelmed if I knew that I win in the end? And yet…I live too often as if I am already defeated. That made me dig into a few more of my Bible headings:
Victory in Christ. Christ is coming quickly. God answers prayer. God is love. Walk in the light. Heaven is worth the wait. Be doers of the Word. God keeps His promises. Never give up.
All summed up, God has the end of our story. He knows that we are more than CONQUERERS. He has planned out every move. When we are faced with a decision…a big move in life, I want to think it terms of my ending. What does God want from me? His Spirit and His Word agree. He will give us wisdom if we ask for it. (James 1:5-6). Yet, sometimes I spend more time worrying about the next step. All the “what ifs” crowd my brain. I spend more time wondering and pacing the floor than trusting in His writing of my story.
I don’t know about you, but I want to be numbered with the faithful. The saints who have gone on before are my heroes of the faith. The folks in Hebrews 11 are regular people…but they trusted in the God of their stories. They knew that He was orchestrating their next move. They understood His heading over them.
Why don’t I start living my life like that? Why don’t I start waking up each morning knowing that God has all my moves planned out…He sees the bigger picture. My only responsibility is to trust His all-powerful knowledge and obey His leading. Then, and only then, can I know my heading is clear. My title is obvious. I am a conqueror. My story will end in greatness…because He is the Author and Finisher of my faith.
“Now unto Him that is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us, unto Him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus…” Ephesians 3:20-21
He knows your story…beginning to end. Let’s trust Him and follow obediently. It’s a grand adventure of courage to walk with the Creator of your story!
I’m looking forward to diving into Scripture and talking about life calling, our stories, and what we can do to follow Jesus. Feel free to reach out to me with questions on this topic or just to tell me your story! Invite your friends to join in the conversation (you can receive the following posts to your email by following my blog).
Let’s be numbered with the faithful. Let’s walk in our stories with courage and obedience.
(The post in italics was originally published on the Polished Cornerstones Ministry blog on March 25, 2015.)
Have you ever said NO to God? I have. Many times, in fact. Fear and lack of bravery holds me back far too often. One time in particular sticks out in my memory as a Jonah experience…here’s what I wrote two years ago about it:
Years ago, I used to read those verses in Jonah 1:1-3 and think…what is this guy’s problem? Does he really think that he can run from the Lord? That was then. This is now…and NOW I have realized something: Jonah and me….we have this problem. We are in the same boat. Sometimes literally. I am quite sure that Jonah is somewhere in my family lineage way back. I’m just way too much like him to not be related.
You see, the more I walk with Jesus, the more I realize that He sometimes calls us to do uncomfortable things. Crazy things. Hard things. Ridiculous things. Awkward things. Radical things. Way-outside-our-box things. All for His glory.
That being said, I have a major confession to make. I have to tell you an inside story to a weekend event a few weeks ago…
There is a wonderful sweet lady in my community named Pam, that I know and we have come to do ministry together. About a year ago, she came and asked me to speak at a women’s conference. She wanted a “warm up speaker” for an annual Christian women’s event in February 2016 called Ladies Day Away.
I said NO.
She asked me again.
I said NO.
Third time is a charm, right? She asked me again. I decided to get spiritual and say “I will pray about it”.
How many of you know that when you pray about something you better be ready to get a green light? I fought with God. Actually, I FOUGHT WITH GOD. I argued. I pleaded. I tried to convince Him that I wasn’t the one. The more I begged, the more He gave me counsel through His Word that He wanted me. I felt stuck. I knew better than to say NO to God, but this is one of those times that I seriously debated jumping on a boat headed for Tarshish. Or one heading anywhere but speaking to this group in February 2016.
Jonah and me. We have issues.
Lots of conversations with my parents followed…they know me better than anyone, but most importantly, they know my Jesus and they could see the struggle in me. They prayed for me, with me, and encouraged me to obey and trust God for the details. I was stuck. Everywhere I turned I heard my name called. Every verse I turned to was telling me to go. Every song I heard was about obedience. Every voice was telling me to listen to my Heavenly Father. The sky seemed to spell out neon signs: “GO AND SPEAK”. I was caught…scared to death to disobey God’s leading and equally as frightened to walk in the path the Lord was asking me to.
Pam is a sweet and patient woman. She wouldn’t take NO for an answer. She kept telling me that she felt God wanted me to speak. She also asked me on several occasions: “do you ever feel like you have a whale on your tail?” I knew what she meant…she was calling me a Jonah. Wow, did she ever know me, or what?
Jonah and the whale became our standing joke. Whenever we talked about it, there was some sort of exchange about Jonah or a whale. Comments like “well, I don’t want to be swallowed by a whale” were common. We weren’t just laughing though, we knew it was serious business to disobey our all-powerful God.
I finally said YES. Reluctantly. I stood on the brink of the unknown feeling terrified to move forward, but even more scared to death to turn back. God wanted my submission…my obedience. He wanted all of me. My fearful heart. My uncertain future. My inabilities and corks. He wanted me…FULLY and FREELY. He wanted 100% of Faith Walker.
I have to tell you, once I said YES, it did feel better inside. Obedience always gives way to freedom, but don’t think for one moment that I felt like I was out of the woods. No ma’am. I was now only at the beginning of a very long road that I felt would surely lead to my death. Crazy how our imaginations run wild, isn’t it?
For months, every time I prepared part of my message to share…God would tell me it was all wrong. I would crumble the paper and start over. I would try again. Cram it in the trash. This went on for months.
In the meantime, God was dealing with my fears. I’ll be honest here and tell you that I am not a fan of public speaking. Hate is a strong word, but I might even use that word in conjunction with speaking. Speaking for Bible study sessions on video even nerve me up (little plug for our online Bible studies!). I’m totally serious. I’ve had meetings with three people that make me squirm. No joke. I’m just not the limelight-lover. Everything about this event made me want to throw up.
Added to that was the fact that the majority of these ladies would be moms and grandmas…neither one of which I am. Teen girls I get. Children, babies and toddlers I can handle. But women? Why does that make me worm in my seat? I honestly felt God had made a horrible mistake. Pam kept me well-informed of the registration numbers coming in and every time I wanted to barf. I would go right to God and remind Him of what a mess I was going to make for Him in February if He didn’t do something.
So, He did. Instead of fixing the event or letting me off the hook, He opened His Word one morning. It hit me between the eyes…or at gut level.
“The word of the Lord came to me: I chose you before I formed you in the womb; I set you apart before you were born. I appointed you a prophet to the nations. But I protested, “Oh no, Lord, God! Look, I don’t know how to speak since I am only a youth.” Then the Lord said to me: Do not say, “I am only a youth,” for you will go to everyone I send you to and speak whatever I tell you. Do not be afraid of anyone, for I will be with you to deliver you. This is the Lord’s declaration. Then the Lord reached out His hand, touched my mouth, and told me: I have now filled your mouth with My words. See, I have appointed you today over nations and kingdoms to uproot and tear down, to destroy and demolish, to build and plant.” Jeremiah 1:4-10 (HCSB)
HE was speaking in February. I was just the mouth piece with which He was going to do it through. And who was I to question His abilities to use a weak, young, blubbering, scared-to-death girl from a little town in Southern Michigan to complete His work? I kept thinking about Jonah.
Jonah and me have doubting problems. We have better ideas. More qualified friends. We have more comfortable plans for our future. Ones that don’t involve dangerous or unpleasant things. Like telling others about Jesus when they don’t want to hear about it…forget that they are facing judgment…Jonah and me value our safety!
Time and again, God convicted me of my UNBELIEF. He is the Author and Finisher of my faith (no pun intended). He is my soul’s Anchor and the King of kings. He is Creator of all and Keeper of eternity. Why do I doubt His ability to use a fragile person…when He owns the cattle on a thousand hills and has breathed the stars into existence?
I have a puny view of God…so I view impossible situations like that impossible. Forgetting that my Jesus is the God of the impossible. The Lord of everything. He is Love. He is Life. And He is the Writer of my life story…how dare I grab the pen and tell Him He is writing it all wrong?
The day arrived and I could feel a peaceful rest fall on me. Inside I felt waves of nervousness and uncertainty, but each time I felt incompetent, I reminded myself that this was His ball game…I was just along for the ride! There were dozens of prayer warriors scattered across the United States praying for me. I read the two passages of Scripture that God had given me over and over, quieting my turbulent heart. The section in Jeremiah and also a part in 1 Corinthians 1:26-31:
“For you see your calling, brethren, how that not many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble, are called: But God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the mighty; and base things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen, yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought things that are: that no flesh should glory in his presence. But of him are ye in Christ Jesus, who of God is made unto us wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and redemption: That according as it is written, He that glorieth, let him glory in the Lord.”
I prayed as I’ve never prayed before. Putting on the headset microphone and staring at the stage, I thought…this has got to be a dream (or a nightmare!). Jonah and me. I told you we have trust issues. I kept hearing God’s voice…asking me to lean like I had never leaned before. They announced my name. One foot in front of the other, Faith. Just don’t barf. 20 minutes and it will be over. I stepped foot on the platform…and a miracle happened. All fear vanished. All the butterflies in my stomach, the shaky hands, the dry mouth, GONE. So this is what it means to ride with Jesus!? I’m all in.
After I spoke that Saturday, I felt filled to the brim with joy unspeakable. Obedience does that, doesn’t it? It makes us full as we follow the path of Jesus, no matter how uncomfortable or awkward it may seem at the time. I was standing at our Polished Cornerstones booth during one of the first breaks in the conference when lovely Miss Pam walked up. She was holding a box. “This is for you darlin!” She handed it to me. It was heavy and I was curious. As I unwrapped the paper, I smiled.
There in all the tissue, was a beautiful glass whale. I laughed. Then I teared up. I’ve been given a lot of gifts over the years, but few have meant as much to me as this little glass whale. Why? Because it has a story. A story that beckons me to follow Jesus…or else. Jonah and me…we sometimes learn the hard way.
What about you, friend? Has God called you to do something dangerous or uncomfortable and you’re looking for a boat to Tarshish? Take it from someone who is a fellow whale-on-the-tail gal…He will not call you and then leave you unequipped. He will give you exactly what you need at the precise moment you need it (and probably not a moment sooner!). Why? Because He loves using weak people to showcase His glory! Your inabilities are a beautiful way for Him to shine through you! Riding with Jesus is always an adventure, friend. Why not say, YES…and then watch Him show up in a bigger way than you’ve ever imagined? You can do ALL THINGS through HIM who strengthens you!
I’ve had people ask me, will I speak again? I laugh…nervously. Can I be honest? I still feel like Jonah. If God asked me to stand on a stage again and speak to 400 women I would feel like running for Joppa (to find a ship to Tarshish) AND throwing up. That’s my knee-jerk reaction. Just because I’ve obeyed once doesn’t mean I will jump into speaking engagements or other uncomfortable situations every time God brings one around. No ma’am. I will be slow and deliberate and cautious. Really…because I KNOW that if Jesus isn’t in it, it will be a miserable failure. I’m not a public speaker. I’m just a child (along with Jeremiah), I’m a coward at times (like Gideon), I’m broken and scared (like Moses), and I’m for sure a runner (like Jonah). So…to answer that question: I hope that by God’s grace I will answer YES to whatever opportunities God asks me to fulfill. God doesn’t need my confidence, He just wants my obedience.
For all the uncertainty and fear and unknowns, it was a great day. I had fun. I learned a lot. I had many wonderful conversations. Actually, come to think of it and to quote my ever-smart mother, “we had a whale of a good time”!
Singleness can be a lot of different things. It can mean a whole varied group of feelings and opportunities. At times we can call our singleness words that are warm and good and kind to us. Other times singleness can mean things like ALONE or STRUGGLE. I get it. All of those words have, at one time or another, summed up how I feel about my relationship to singleness.
Well-meaning people say stupid things sometimes (I’m in that party, so I can say that). But we need to clear the air, folks. Singleness is not a disease. We need to stop acting like it is. It’s a season of life…just like high school or dating or marriage or raising small children or retirement. Singleness is a gift, but only if we choose to open our eyes and see it as such.
This being said, I sometimes feel like marriage is so far in the future that it just may never come for me. Ya know? So yes, it sometimes feels like I’m inoculated against marriage…and I never agreed to it! How come I’m not “catching” the engagement epidemic going around right now?
Yes, singleness can mean different things in various times of life. In moments, I feel like being single woman is one of the greatest gifts of all. I can be free to drop my life and run to hurting people, wherever they may be on the globe. Jesus is where broken people are…so being with Him wherever He is always the greatest JOY of my heart.
Sometimes I see singleness with words like LOVE or LAUGHTER or FREEDOM. Depending on my mood or where God is taking me, it can even mean JOY or REST or ADVENTURE. My word to describe singleness can change. Right now, my word is URGENCY.
Why a word like urgency? If I’ve learned anything about this season of life called singleness is that it will probably not be forever. Maybe it will be for me…but it probably won’t be. At least, not from a statistical point of view. Most girls eventually get married. So, even if I have another ten years of being an old maid, spinster or unmarried gal…I will probably one day change my last name.
That means my days as a single woman are numbered.
Urgency. What if these days of complete and total freedom to jump into whatever mission trip or long night writing projects or life-changing opportunities are only for a brief time? Hear me say: I think you can be wonderfully effective and mission-minded as a married person. Absolutely. Totally have seen couples and families who live like eternity is at stake (which it is).
But the reality is that your focus shifts when you marry. The Apostle Paul affirms this in 2 Corinthians 7:32-35. It’s a simple and obvious fact that happens, and rightly so. Priorities have to shift when a girl marries and has a family.
This realization hits me where it hurts…because my singleness might not last forever…and I want these years to actually count in eternity.
What if I get to heaven one day and I find out that I could have been more useful in my singleness, but instead I spent it worrying and hoping and praying for marriage instead? Again, hear me say this: marriage is beautiful. God designed it to showcase the Gospel! But if we put marriage above Jesus and His plans for us right now, it suddenly becomes iniquity and covetousness which equals SIN.
Urgency. That’s what I feel when I think about being nearly 30-years-old and still single. When I step back and really think about it all in the light of eternity…I want to hit the ground running! Singleness is a beautiful time to be on adventure with Jesus in a way that no other season of life can present.
So what if I live a comfortable, selfish life as a single girl and forget all the things that REALLY matter? Wouldn’t that be a tragedy? Why not follow hard after Jesus…even if it’s hard, even if it’s expensive, even if it’s uncomfortable?
It’s important to feel that burning in my soul to give my ALL to Jesus. That’s what urgency feels like. Sometimes it feels like running around with my head cut off…because I can. As a single gal and I want to use all my energy for His purposes. Sometimes it feels like multiple trips to prison in the same year to share Jesus with women behind bars or saying YES to foreign soil so I can see the glory of God in a new dimension. Urgency can feel like your heart is pumping out of your chest because you’re way outside of your comfort zone but you don’t dare step out of the light He has put you in. It can feel like a face on fire as you realize you’ve got to speak up for the sake of truth. Or it can feel like sitting quiet at a picnic table as you hear the whisper of His Voice. Urgency can even feel like a good kick in the pants.
Urgency is a funny thing. So is singleness. Beautiful and broken at the same time.
I embrace them both…sometimes haltingly in my own humanness, but always knowing that His plans for me are good. He will be with me.
May your heart burn with a passion to love Jesus with how you LIVE your life. That’s what it’s like to live with Urgency in Your Singleness.
This morning I saw the headlines…Billy Graham died today. A thousand thoughts went through my head. Mainly this— who will step up to the plate now?
The face of America and the world are different because a man named Billy Graham took God at His word and walked in courage. Literally millions have thronged to hear Billy speak about Jesus and the Word of God. In countries all over the world, in churches and outdoor tents, in groups of hundreds and masses of thousands…hungry people stood, even in the rain, to hear him preach the Gospel.
Even though I never met him in person, Billy Graham made a lasting impact on me. I remember reading his autobiography as a teenager and being moved to pray more dangerous prayers. Reading about an “ordinary” man who God used in extraordinary ways made a new courage well up within me. It isn’t about capabilities, it’s about willingness. God uses those who are WILLING to follow, no matter the cost.
Billy Graham once wrote, “I have often said that the first thing I am going to do when I get to Heaven is to ask, ‘Why me, Lord? Why did You choose a farmboy from North Carolina to preach to so many people, to have such a wonderful team of associates, and to have a part in what You were doing in the latter half of the twentieth century?’”
Legacy. There are few people who have left a legacy of faith like Billy Graham. He spoke the Word with such authority. And because of his courage and faith, we are changed. I’ve personally met several people who came to Christ at one of Billy Graham’s crusades. People who saw him speak in person or those who came to Jesus through watching him speak on television.
This morning, my mind kept going back to Elijah and Elisha in 2 Kings 2. Elijah was considered the greatest prophet of his time. When God called him home, Elisha (Elijah’s apprentice) asked for a double portion of his spirit. It seems like a strange request, but Elisha had walked with Elijah for years and he wanted the work of the Lord to stay around. He wanted the Spirit of the Lord to only get stronger and do bigger things in his lifetime.
God granted Elisha’s request and Scripture records DOUBLE the miracles during his ministry.
It hit me this morning: What if WE asked God for that? What if we asked that in our generation we would see an outpouring of His Spirit, DOUBLE what we saw in the generation of Billy Graham? That’s not insulting. That’s believing that God can do even greater than what we’ve seen.
We need Revival. Billy Graham spoke about that over and over. Could we believe God for a miracle? What if we asked God to continue what He started with the legacy of Billy Graham…and that we would see a DOUBLE portion of God’s Spirit pour out on the hearts of people all over the world?
Revival starts with you. Revival starts with me. Revival starts when a person bows in humility, repents, and asks God to show up and show off for His glory. Revival is when we lay our entire life before Jesus and commit to following Him radically, no matter the cost. What if our generation did that?
What if you and I stood up today and cried out for healing and hope for our dying world? What if we loved so much that we were willing to live full and free to carry the Gospel to every one meet?
I can tell you what would happen: Our world would see Jesus.
The Bible says that right after Elijah went to heaven, people noticed that his spirit rested on Elisha. It says in 2 Kings 2:15 that the people who knew Elisha saw him and said, “The spirit of Elijah rests on Elisha”. Whoa! I wonder what that looked like.
Here’s the thing… It’s reported that Billy Graham gave the Gospel to more than 2.2 billion people. Did you read that? 2.2 billion people!
A double portion would be 4.4 billion people. That’s not bad, folks. I’d like to see a piece of that action, how about you?
So today…while we grieve the loss of a Godly man and spiritual leader in America, let’s not settle. Instead, let it spur us on to stand together and continue the legacy of faithfulness to the cross. How about we let it MOTIVATE us to action?
Let’s stand up and ask God for DOUBLE of His Spirit in our generation! Let’s carry the torch and continue where Billy Graham left off. Jesus isn’t done yet! He wants us to believe Him, love His Word and carry the hope of the Gospel to a hurting world.
“Someday you will read or hear that Billy Graham is dead. Don’t you believe a word of it. I shall be more alive than I am now. I will just have changed my address. I will have gone into the presence of God.” -Billy Graham
This morning, Billy Graham met his reward. There was a grand reception to meet him…chiefly his Savior and Redeemer.
I can’t wait to meet Jesus face-to-face. But until then, we have work to do. Who’s with me?
Victory doesn’t always look like we’d like it to.
It’s crazy actually…that I want victorious living to look cookie-cutter perfect. Easy. Natural. Anything but hard.
The longer I live, the more I realize that victory is both simple and difficult. Simple because Jesus has blazed the path and won it for us. Difficult because reaching out and claiming it as ours can still have it’s share of battle wounds.
Victory is beautiful, but sometimes it looks like a bloodied warrior. Bruised. Scarred. Weary. Sweaty.
I’d prefer it to look different. I’d like to get to the other end unscathed. Free of any wounds or blood-shed or sweaty brows. What’s up with that? It’s silly really, but it’s my heart…to have the easy way out.
Truth is, victory for me last week looked different from I wanted it to. You know times when you’re just cruising along and then BAM! Something happens that knocks you off your feet? I’ve had that happen last week.
Last year at this time, I might have folded. Completely. I’d have walked out on prison ministry and sunk into depression. This time? Things went down differently.
Jesus walked with me through battle school (granted, it was probably only second grade!) last year. Up close and personal…day after day…learning to hold onto my shield of faith and deflect the fiery arrows. Learning to keep my helmet of salvation on tight so the lies couldn’t get to my head. Learning to wield the Sword of truth like a warrior instead of a wimp.
So last week, when the spiritual attack came, I was caught off guard…and I did go down for a second. Reeling from the pain. Surprised by the sudden assault. I buckled to my knees. This wasn’t physical. This was mental, emotional and spiritual battling.
But I remembered by training. The first thing I did was be honest: this was an attack and I had to recognize it as such. I also knew a very important truth: I couldn’t do it alone. My friend, MaryEllen stood there and hugged me. There on my knees, my mind raced…I had to battle. I had to get up and fight. So I did.
My cry was barely audible through my tears. “God, You’ve got to help me. This hurts.” MaryEllen began praying over me out loud.
I could feel His Spirit rising up in me. Calling me to battle. Telling me to get up and fight.
Maybe I’m visual…but I could see myself sitting there in a heap and my Captain standing over me with sword drawn. He wasn’t going to leave me alone. He fought for me, protecting me from further attack, all the while calling out the warrior in me. He told me to rise and fight. To be proactive.
Slowly, I began praying through the tears. Crying out to the Lord for healing. Praising Him in the middle of the storm. Thanking Him. I wept. Sobbed. I pleaded with Him to give me JOY in the midst of the heartache.
I could feel His peace washing over me.
Just then, MaryEllen passed me a paper towel…because that’s the only kind of tissue we had in our cabin. I took it and then looked at it in my hand. “PAPER TOWEL? I’m gonna be raw!” We both bust out laughing. Yes, Jesus is here. He smiles and holds our heads up and says we are beautiful.
Beautiful warrioress…keep fighting. Be courageous. Be bold. Pray like a mad woman and don’t give up. Your Captain has never lost a battle and He won’t ever…so fight like you own the battlefield. I’ve read the end of the Book…and He’s guaranteed to win!
“For they did not take the land by their sword— their arm did not bring them the victory— but by Your right hand, Your arm, and the light of Your face, for You were pleased with them.” Psalm 44:3 HCSB
Yesterday morning I was sitting in front of 200 female inmates facilitating a seminar (with my friend, MaryEllen) about Jesus and the Word of God. Many of these women are newly incarcerated. Raw. Emotional. Hopeless. As I looked over the faces of those women I saw so many things: Rejection. Fear. Shame. Guilt. Sadness.
Four months ago I sat in the same spot (with half the number of women in front of me) doing the same thing. This time, it felt even deeper. The situations were more hopeless and the number of ladies was overwhelming for two volunteers. Now, I felt fresh in my compassion for these hurting ladies. So many of them seemed to walk unloved and unaccepted.
MaryEllen and I have repeatedly asked God to help open our eyes…what does He want for us? We don’t want to miss what He has for us as we serve in the prisons.
As I sat there, watching their faces, I kept thinking about the passage of Scripture God led me to that morning. Ezekiel 36-37. Not sure about you, but Ezekiel isn’t my go-to book of the Bible. However, I felt called to read chapters 36-37 yesterday, so I did.
Dead bodies. Dry bones. Cold hearts. Not exactly an inviting section of Scripture. Or is it?
I can’t lie. I grabbed my Bible, sitting there watching them (the inmates) watch the video and I opened it again to Ezekiel. It seemed to beg for a second look. What’s here, Lord? Don’t let me miss it! Does it tie into this week?
“The nations will know that I am Yahweh”— the declaration of the Lord God— “when I demonstrate My holiness through you in their sight. For I will take you from the nations and gather you from all the countries, and I will bring you into your own land. I will also sprinkle clean water on you, and you will be clean. I will cleanse you from all your impurities and all your idols. I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you; I will remove your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. I will place my Spirit within you and cause you to follow My statutes and carefully observe My ordinances. The you will live in the land that I gave your fathers; you will be My people, and I will be your God. Ezekiel 36:23b-28 HCSB
This was beautiful news. I’m so grateful for redemption. For healing. For brokenness turned to beauty. This is what Jesus does.
The hand of the Lord was on me, and He brought me out by His Spirit and set me down in the middle of the valley; it was full of bones. He led me all around them. There were a great many of them on the surface of the valley, and they were very dry. Then He said to me, “Son of man, can these bones live?” I replied, “Lord God, only You know.” He said to me, “Prophesy concerning these bones and say to them: Dry bones, hear the word of the Lord! This is what the Lord God says to these bones: I will cause breath to enter you, and you will live. I will put tendons on you, make flesh grow on you, and cover you with skin. I will put breath in you so that you come to life. Then you will know that I am Yahweh.” So I prophesied as I had been commanded. While I was prophesying, there was a noise, a rattling sound, and the bones came together, bone to bone. As I looked, tendons appeared on them, flesh grew, and skin covered them, but there was no breath in them. He said to me, “Prophesy to the breath, prophesy, son of man. Say to it: This is what the Lord God says: Breath, come from the four winds and breathe into these slain so that they may live!” So I prophesied as He commanded me; the breath entered them, and they came to life and stood to their feet, a vast army. Then He said to me, “Son of man, these bones are the whole house of Israel. Look how they say, ‘Our bones are dried up, our hope has perished; we are cut off.’ Therefore, prophesy and say to them: This is what the Lord God says: I am going to open your graves and bring you up from them, My people, and lead you into the land of Israel. You will know that I am Yahweh, My people, when I open up your graves and bring you up from them. I will put My Spirit in you, and you will live, and I will settle you in your own land. Then you will know that I am Yahweh. I have spoken, and I will do it.” This is the declaration of the Lord. Ezekiel 37:1-14
Suddenly, I am in love with the book of Ezekiel…this is the hope and redemption we crave deep in our hearts. It reminded me of last week, where I had the privilege of interviewing four people who were ex-offenders. Their stories breathe Jesus and HOPE. Dry bones coming to life. Dead heart coming alive.
The similarities started swimming through my head. I could also feel God prompting me to share this truth with the inmates this morning. If you know me personally, you know public speaking is my top least favorite thing to do. Sometimes you KNOW that not doing something would be actual disobedience to the Lord, and this was one of those times.
I sent out my prayer text and buckled down my heart to submission. Crying out for strength. Asking for wisdom. Pleading for courage to be brave and step out in faith this morning.
So I shared from Ezekiel 37 this morning. Dry bones. Dead hearts. They were amen-ing me all the way. They could see themselves here…in the valley of dry bones. Dry. Parched. Dead. Hopeless. I shared from my own life and points that I’ve been wounded and confused and felt completely dry.
The Word of God is powerful. By the end, there weren’t many dry eyes in the place. Including mine. I literally cried through reading Ezekiel 37. I told them that God is in the business of bringing dry bones back to life and making dead hearts come alive! Several women opened up to us later with their stories. Their pain. Their insecurities. They admitted their dryness…and we prayed for Jesus to rush over them with His cleansing and healing water. That He would bring life to dry bones.
Standing there this morning, it was one of those surreal moments. To see the Word of God be living and active in front of your eyes. They saw His power to redeem even the most hopeless situation. And I’m in awe.
We all have dead places in our lives. Times when we walk through the valley of dry bones and wonder if there’s a way out. Moments of hopelessness. “Can these dry bones live?” God asks. I’ve seen His power, friends. Don’t underestimate Him. Don’t give up on people…He can redeem! He can bring life!
Today in a female prison in Florida, I saw God breathe life into some dead hearts. I saw Him connect tendons and flesh and skin and bring dry bones to living form. I’m in awe.
There are dry bones and dead hearts. Then there’s Jesus.
A few days ago, I sat in a coffee shop in downtown Little Rock, Arkansas. It was my Friday morning date with Jesus so MaryEllen set up at one side with her Bible and I went to another table. We were both meeting with Him at the same time… how cool is that?
Ok, that’s off topic.
As many of you know, God has been really working His truth into my heart about brokenness and healing and how He is the answer to those spaces. It’s been a journey…and it’s absolutely BEAUTIFUL. He has given me so much compassion for the lost and hurting of the world. The kind of compassion that is forged through hardships and knowing Jesus is literally the bedrock of your existence.
Back to the point at hand.
As I was sitting there, I was overwhelmed with the memories. For those of you who don’t know me…I grew up in Little Rock. I spent some key teenage years in this very neighborhood. This was my home.
No doubt, you’re picturing something very different from the place I actually lived. Our house was nice…but it was in “the hood” of LR. I’m being serious. We had a home in the middle of the rougher side of town. My bedroom window literally had a bullet hole in it…thankfully it was already there when we moved in. Broken down houses with bars on the windows and you get a mental picture of my neighborhood. Yes, this was the kind of place I lived.
The funny thing is that I never feared. When there was shouting in the group of houses behind us, I wasn’t afraid. When there were gun shots and sirens, it didn’t freak me out. I guess it just seemed normal. It was just part of life where I lived.
This coffee shop was a place I was familiar with from my years there…although at the time I wasn’t a coffee-drinker. I remember getting donuts there and loving the hustle and bustle of a corner bakery/coffee shop.
As all this was going through my head, an older gentleman came walking up to my table of two. He motioned to my extra chair. I took out my ear buds and smiled. He asked to borrow it, I agreed. “No problem,” I said, “I don’t need it.” He took it to his table full of older guys who looked distinguished in their suit jackets and I went back to my thoughts.
My neighborhood growing up was diverse and I loved it. All different people groups and stages of life and backgrounds. I grew up with churches on every corner (Little Rock is in the “Bible Belt”) and the State Capital only a few minutes from us.
I smiled, sitting there. With the sun shining through the coffee shop window, it felt warm. It felt strangely like home. My past and present blended together as beautifully as my French vanilla latte. The old me–growing up in this broken but incredible city. The new me–recently learning to understand that life is both broken and beautiful. It was as if my two worlds had collided.
These beautiful people.
I don’t want to be weird, but this city is mine…so it felt like these people were mine and this place was home. How do you feel that after eleven years in another state? It always surprises me how much my heart feels grounded here. Why do I still exhale here as if this place holds me? I don’t get homesick for Little Rock like I did when I first moved. I feel very at home in my little Southern Michigan town…but when I come here, it’s like I melt into the surroundings.
The strangest things seem normal to me, because I grew up with them: homeless on every corner or digging in trash cans. Lines of people standing with the groceries at the bus stop on the corner. Parking meters in front of store fronts. Police cars everywhere. Occasional shouting and gun shots a night. Graffiti on the back walls and alleyways. People asking for money for gas or groceries…even coming to our door and asking for handouts.
Jesus died for this–for us. For these people who walk every day in their brokenness….not even knowing Someone has paid for them to live free. To give beauty for ashes. The brokenness of this place calls my heart to action. This is my city. These are my people.
Sitting there, Isaiah 42:5-9 leapt of the page and straight into my heart.
This is what God, Yahweh, says— who created the heavens and stretched them out, who spread out the earth and what comes from it, who gives breath to the people on it and life to those who walk on it— “I, Yahweh, have called You for a righteous purpose, and I will hold You by Your hand. I will keep You and appoint You to be a covenant for the people and a light to the nations, in order to open blind eyes, to bring out prisoners from the dungeon, and those sitting in darkness from the prison house. I am Yahweh, that is My name; I will not give My glory to another or My praise to idols. The past events have indeed happened. Now I will declare new events; I announce them to you before they occur.”
I want to be like Jesus. I want to see with His eyes. Redemption. Grace. Love. Mercy. It’s His will that none would perish. He wants every soul at His Table. And I get to carry the invitation of Hope to the world.
Maybe since I’m heading to the women’s prisons for two weeks of volunteer work, I see myself in this equation. He has asked me to be like Him… there are prisoners sitting in darkness right now. Could it be that God would choose me to be His messenger of Hope to them? Honestly, the thought overwhelms me. But what an honor…for Jesus to invite me on such an adventure with the sake of the Gospel.
Reminds me of the song by Lauren Daigle,
As we call out to dry bones
Come alive, come alive
We call out to dead bones
Come alive, come alive
Up out of the ashes
Let us see an army rise
We call out to dry bones, come alive…
God of endless mercy,
God of unrelenting love
Rescue every daughter
Bring us back the wayward son
And by your Spirit breathe upon them
Show the world that You can save
You alone can save
He can save. He can bring life to dry bones, friends. He can bring back prodigals and raise an army for truth. He is faithful and compassionate and loving.
This was all bubbling up in my soul while I was sitting there in that Little Rock corner shop. Like God was unearthing a passion for hurting, wounded people who I didn’t even know I had. I’m suddenly more comfortable with the shattered, broken people and less enthused with my friends who think “they’ve got it in the bag”. I crave meeting the hungry. Having conversations with the weary and imperfect…because I’m one of them and I know Who has the Hope our souls are yearning for.
Brokenness has stamped itself on my heart–and I see differently. But it’s not just brokenness. It’s the brokenness married to the beauty of His Hope. I’ve tasted it, and it’s real. It heals.
Men in business suits. Homeless with their bed rolls tucked under their arms. Pregnant women with kids at their knees. Little girls with curious, sad eyes. Hollowness and longing.
These are the people I see from my seat. And it makes me wonder…how can I give hope to others? How can I offer them Jesus? How can I live my life as an invitation to His Table. Then I feel His finger on my soul.
His Table. My table.
Just at that moment, the older man who borrowed my extra chair returns it with a smile. “Just in case,” he says, “You might need it.” He winked at me. As he walked away, I smiled through tears. Oh, sir. You have no idea. You have no idea.
Set an extra chair. Someone needs you to offer them Jesus.
It’s always fascinating to write about my year’s theme in January and then read what I write about it the following December. God has a way of growing us and changing the way we look at things. Different perspectives. Various vantage points. (That’s my way of giving you a disclaimer. You are pre-warned…what I think about COME TO HIS TABLE might be drastically different by December 2018.) That being said…
Come to His Table is my new theme. I’ve only tipped the iceberg…but already I’m thrilled at what these four little words mean to me. I used to think being at the Table was a sitting position. Then I began noticing the people I deeply respect and how the Table was not just a place to veg-out, but a place where they were “on duty”. That sort of wrecked my world, y’all.
I’ve come to believe that the four above words mean two major things:
It’s not just waiting for people to join you there…it’s living your life-like an ongoing invitation to the Table where you eat every day.
God regularly gives me opportunities to take Him to places that need healing. Not because I am anything special or out-of-the-ordinary…but because all Christians are called to carry the Hope of Jesus around inside them and offer it to the hurting world.
I need His Hope. And I’ve tasted of it at His Table. I can now invite others to partake of His goodness. What a privilege!
It’s exciting to be a part of His Table. This is a place of all people, all backgrounds and all types of needs. It’s loud. There is laughter and tears. Best of all, there is JESUS. What could be better?
Tomorrow I leave for another mission trip to the women’s’ prisons with my friend, MaryEllen. This time, we have a different perspective. We are sitting on the edge of our seat. What is God going to do? We can’t wait to see Him show up.
My prayer this time? My prayer is for the opportunity to invite women to His Table. To show them where to find Hope. To live my life as an invitation to Jesus.
Pray for us and with us? He wants His House filled, friends. And maybe…maybe these next 16 days will prove to fill some seats around His Table. Wouldn’t that be awesome?!
So, the adventure begins.
If I could paint (which I clearly cannot), the picture I’d make would be like a fairy tale, only better. Full color. Absolutely enchanting. We’ve gotta talk about this guy.
Let me set the stage. I was hanging out in the book of Ruth for my Friday “date” with Jesus at the coffee shop. I’ve been over and over that story (what Christian girl hasn’t, right?) but I was asking for fresh perspective. Show me something new, Lord! What do you want me to see here?
I always focus on Ruth. Always. What’s not to like, right? I started by looking at Ruth and her qualities. Initiative. Loyalty. Kindness. She’s quite the gal. But this one thing stands above all else.
Ruth is full of love and covenant-faithfulness to her mother-in-law. She’s amazing! However, though she might be the leading lady, she’s not the star attraction or the best actor. Yesterday, my focus shifted.
His name is Boaz.
Boaz. You gotta take a load of this guy. He is a prominent figure in society. He is wealthy. He is well-known and has an honorable reputation. Kind-hearted. Gentle. And he’s also daring. Really, who else risks everything to marry a foreigner? Was he just in it to rescue her or did he actually love her?
This story slays me. Every. Single. Time. Right now…it’s my fav. It was one of the first real fairy tales. Talk about a damsel in distress…dragons and grain fields and peasants and everything. Who rescues like that?
Jesus. That’s Who. And of course, we see Boaz as the picture of Jesus…
I know this in my head. Yet, somehow, in that coffee shop that morning, it connected with my HEART.
Jesus is my Boaz.
When the world is pushing me to “get out there” to find a man…when my friends are all getting married…when my biological clock seems to tics louder and louder… Jesus is my Boaz. He sees me…poor and foreign as I am. I can echo Ruth’s words to Boaz—“Why are you so kind to notice me, although I am a foreigner?” (Ruth 2:10)
I find it interesting that Boaz already knew who she was and what her character was like. She was living her life well. Perhaps this is what it means to live my life as an invitation to His Table. Does my reputation proceed me? And if it does, is it God honoring or self-promoting?
Ruth– she was well-known by everyone as Boaz later points out in Ruth 3:11: “Now don’t be afraid, my daughter. I will do for you whatever you say, since all the people in my town know that you are a woman of noble character.”
I suddenly want to be like Ruth. She’s unbelievable.
Here’s the thing though…do you think Ruth always had that reputation? Hardly. I can imagine she was the subject of harsh words and town gossip for far too long in the beginning. A foreigner. At some point, a multiple-god-worshipper. She was a Moabite woman to beat all. (Moabites were forbidden to marry Israelites…it’s a very long story going way back to Genesis 19).
What we see in her is loyalty. Faithfulness. At some point, the neighbors noticed her unwavering love for Naomi, the bitter widow who had come home. Ruth took care of her. Loved her. Was patient with her moods.
Then, somewhere along the way, her reputation changed from “the foreigner” to “the woman of noble character.”
Isn’t faithful living simply doing the right thing over and over and over again? No matter who sees you. No matter the lack of attention. No matter if you’re unrecognized. No matter how mundane the task.
And maybe that’s how we build a Godly reputation.
In all things– especially at home and in the small things– we stay faithful. Loyal. Determined. Joy in the mundane.
Suddenly…with my vanilla latte in hand, I stare at the page. I hear His still, small voice: “When you think no one sees you, Faith, I notice you.”
He sees. Our Great Redeemer looks across His field and sees us– laboring in the small moments. Cheerfully. Kindly. Loyally. What if that’s it? What if faithful labor in the small things is what turns the head of our Redeemer? He sees us regardless…we know this.
I sat there enraptured by this thought…that perhaps in those moments of messy floors and stacks of papers and piles of laundry…He sees me differently. With new eyes. He is drawn to me in my mess. Plodding one foot in front of the other, thinking I’m doing nothing important.
Ruth was doing a very normal thing…she was gathering grain. By hand. Of all the times for Boaz to NOTICE her. But there he is. He watches her. Talks to her. And offers his protection and provision. He even speaks a blessing over her.
I wonder about this. How can he love her…just a servant girl, gathering grain day after day? Jesus did that for me. Just a regular, messy girl needing to be redeemed. Craving to be seen.
What if doing normal things catches my Redeemer’s attention in a special way? In all of the mad mundane, He comes to me and stoops to tell me—“I see you. I am here. I will protect you. I will provide for you.” And then He calls me noble. I don’t think anyone else has ever called me noble.
The book of Song of Solomon is about a wealthy King who falls in love with an ordinary girl. That’s like Boaz and Ruth. It’s like Jesus and me. He is captured with one glance of my eyes. (Song of Solomon 4:9) That’s pretty amazing.
Maybe sometimes the Provider is waiting to see our faithfulness in the little things. He’s watching and we don’t even know it.
He sees us. He sees me.
You there, mama with little ones running around your feet. Your Redeemer sees you! Amid piles of laundry. The dishes. The dirty faces and snotty noses. When you can’t even get ten seconds of quiet reprieve. He sees you being faithful.
And He smiles.
Single gal, wondering where on earth your man is and if he’s lost somewhere riding a tortoise. Your Redeemer sees you…living faithful in all the things that feel mundane and less-than and weird.
Teen girl…wondering if school is really all they say it’s cracked up to be…wishing you fit in more…confused by the world, your friends and what you should do with your life…Your Redeemer sees you.
Maybe you’re a caretaker… and you wish someone would be there to notice your patient willingness to answer the same question a thousand times…or hold a withered hand in yours…or change diapers…or spoon feed soup…Your Redeemer sees you. He’s captured by your faithfulness in the mundane.
A poor woman of noble character. A prominent man of wealth.
If I could paint, I’d want to create a picture that depicts this scene: A mighty Man on horseback. Clothed in wealth. Confident. Authoritative. Looking down on His fields—His eyes drawn to a poor peasant girl. Her head is bowed in humility. Steady. Unassuming. Faithful. He sees her and smiles.
“One day, I’m gonna make her my bride.”
Best. Story. Ever.
My personal study lately has found me in the book of Galatians and I have found myself basking in the beauty of the Gospel. This study has also brought up something else for me: the “other” gospel. Paul refers to it multiple times throughout Galatians and it has stirred in me a passion for presenting the TRUE GOSPEL correctly.
Let me back up.
Without beginning to beat a dead horse, I have to acknowledge that my mind has been consistently looking for any and all references of His Table…due to my 2018 theme. My biggest question to the Lord has been, “How do I live my life as an actual INVITATION to Your Table?” I want to see what this looks like in action.
Here’s the thing. The Gospel is inextricably tied to living my life as an invitation to Jesus. If we know what the Gospel really is, we can suddenly live our lives in a way that will point people to Jesus and His Table.
The Church is full of Christians who think the Gospel gets us saved and that’s where it stops. End of story. Once we’re in, we don’t need the Gospel anymore, right?
The Gospel never ceases to be our lifeline. Our Anchor. The tether of our hearts. We never stop needing it…instead we move further into it. We always need the Gospel. Every. Step. Of. The. Way.
Sadly, we have believed “another gospel” as Paul warns in Galatians.
I am amazed that you are so quickly turning away from Him who called you by the grace of Christ and are turning to a different gospel—not that there is another gospel, but there are some who are troubling you and want to change the good news about the Messiah. (Galatians 1:6-7, HCSB)
We have added to the Gospel. We have adulterated it by our humanistic minds and selfish desires. Popularity, fame and Facebook likes have driven us to become something other than what God originally intended. On the other end of the spectrum, we have a whole groups of Christians who care for only ourselves and the people in our church walls. We might give a few dollars here and there, but getting out into the mess of everything? You can count us out.
The result? Our world is repulsed by our gospel. It’s been tampered with. It’s anything but authentic and real. Let’s face it…who wants to hug a porcupine? We are all pins and needles. This humanistic gospel seems more like anything but our Anchor. We are known more for what we stand against than what we stand for in Jesus’ Name. The gospel we are living is not an invitation…it’s a fake version of religion added to a worldly life. That kind of gospel isn’t good news to me, folks.
I’ve been guilty of living like this, so I’m preaching this to myself in the mirror, y’all.
We read it in the paper and hear it on the radio and see it on television: Christians are mocked and ridiculed. I’ll be the first to admit that media is most certainly against the moral and upright…but the truth is we are fake. We have traded an amazing Gospel of freedom, redemption and grace for a cheap version of religion that our world hates. There’s enough religion in the world. It’s time for some Jesus-followers.
I recently sat with a friend who had just come back from overseas. She visited a country that is closed to Christianity. You might be killed if they know you followed Jesus. Funny thing is, Jesus followers are THRIVING there. My friend commented about a local church there that has an extraordinary outreach to the hurting communities and people of the area. In my friend’s words: “Faith, this church is killing it.”
She also mentioned that the government has taken notice of this particular church because of their incredible ministry to the area…and get this…they are PROTECTING this church group. In a closed country. Why? The government can’t deny that this church is benefiting and loving and reaching out in a way that they can’t. If they crushed this church, the area would sink.
That’s Jesus in action…using hands and feet that look remarkably human. The result is that the hurting world stands and witnesses the glory of Jesus in action.
I sat there with tears in my eyes. What would it be like if all churches were like that? What if we were all “killing it” when it came to loving people and reaching out and totally crushing the head of the serpent? What if people knew that we loved Jesus so much that it motivated us to ACTIVELY get involved?
What if we were known for our LOVE, because of Jesus? Not love apart from Jesus as a philanthropic endeavor, but JESUS is the center of our existence so we are motivated to live differently? I’m thinking the result would be some a changed world for the Jesus we serve. Wouldn’t that be amazing?
The fake, humanistic gospel makes Pharisees. Prideful people who don’t want to mingle with the “untouchables”. It moves us to the position of control…that we need to try harder, do more stuff, be nicer, go on more mission trips, or be a better person to earn good standing with Christ.
The True Gospel makes disciples of the cross…willing to risk for the sake of Jesus. Instead of a check-list, we see Him as our amazing Savior. We are so wrapped up in His love and incredible gift that we want to please His heart. We are willing to get in the mess with the broken world and showcase His amazing grace….because it has changed us, personally and deeply.
The fake gospel repels people from the truth, because it’s been added to, taken from and manipulated.
The True Gospel invites all people to come to His Table and be healed. Pure and simple.
The fake gospel tells people to clean up and then come to God.
The True Gospel calls people to come to Him right now and HE will clean them up.
The fake gospel has been a poor substitute for the Truth. The True Gospel is FREE. We can’t earn it. We certainly can’t move past it. The Gospel is something we move into and set up our tents. We stake our lives on it’s promise and invite others, regardless of their differences, to join us.
The True Gospel is meant to be shared, friends. Not hoarded, stashed, or protected. It’s certainly not just for the people within your church walls and it’s not gonna fly away. There’s plenty to go around.
What if we stopped acting scared about being contaminated by the brokenness of the world and started fearing more for the souls in need of Jesus? What if we cared more about where our neighbors will spend eternity than if their bad habits might rub off on us?
I’m not saying be stupid and hang out in perverse places…I am saying trust that God is holding you. He’s not sending you to the wolves on your own! He is with you! Go and live your life full and free to love a hurting world. Don’t clam up and pretend you’re too good to have a conversation with people who aren’t like you. Talk to people as you go about the life God has called you to live.
SEE PEOPLE. Don’t just look at them. SEE THEM. They have messy lives and broken hearts and busted up relationships just like you do. Live your life with eyes wide open to the people around you.
Then…simply invite them to His Table. Give them the real Gospel.
The Truth about Jesus is beautiful. Let’s live like it is.
The air seemed different behind prison walls. More sterile in a way. I stood there waiting behind the first gate, waiting for that distinct buzzing sound so I could move through the next one. Everything looked different from the “free” world. Lots of uniformed guards. Rows upon rows of wire and barbed fencing. Concrete as far as your eye could see.
I was jerked back to my senses as the infamous buzzer sounded and we moved through our next gate. Within a few minutes we were in the VP room setting up equipment for the day and getting ready for the inmates to come filing in.
It was only our second day “behind bars”. Ever. My friend and ministry team-mate, MaryEllen and I had taken the plunge into prison ministry. We had no idea what we were in for. What does that even look like? And just what were we to expect?
We had heard stories. Good and bad. Going through prison security, putting on a PBA (Personal Body Alarm) each morning and standing in front of a room full of incarcerated women was a completely different level. This was real.
Barely catching the swing of things by the second day, we stood waiting for the women to come in for class. We had prayed like crazy for these ladies. We had even wondered what on earth we could offer them…two gals from rural America who said YES to a daring call. What did that even mean?
Little did I know that day two behind barbed wire fencing would be life-changing. And it all started around a table.
We had been invited (and cleared by prison officials) to join the inmates for lunch. It seemed like a good idea. Mostly because we were hungry. We had no idea what lunchtime would be like in prison, and we certainly couldn’t have predicted what happened.
I’ll spare you all the details…but suffice it to say, we experienced a meal unlike anything we had ever eaten or been a part of before. In the history of our entire lives.
Much of it is normal life for the inmates but we weren’t used to the fast-paced and loud way mealtime is for these women. After being herded along through the line, we were given a tray of food and told to find a seat at one of the tables in the concrete room.
I remember feeling a little like a deer in the headlights. This was all new to me. One by one, the inmates helped me navigate the lunch line and “chow hall”. Where were the drinks? Another inmate motioned me over to some coolers with water in them and a stack of cups. I thanked her and breathed relief. Grabbing my water I found a seat at one of the tables. Each table seated four, so three inmates circled the table with me as I stared at my tray.
I knew they were watching me. I could make out what most of it was…but one pile of something looked unfamiliar. “So, what is this?” I asked one of the gals sitting next to me. She smirked and responded, “It’s supposed to be pudding.” Oh.
The room was loud. Very loud. There was a constant bustle of people, noises and guards yelling orders. Not exactly what my supper table at home sounded like. I tried to tune it all out and eat…chicken on the bone, and a bunch of other things on the sectioned tray in front of me.
Meanwhile, the women at my table fired questions a mile a minute. They seemed suddenly so open and they wanted to know about my life and tell me about theirs. I listened, tried to answer questions and still manage to eat my chicken. Finally, one gal leaned over and said, “You’re gonna have to eat that chicken with your hands if you want to get it down before they move us out of here.” She was right. I put down my spork and went to town with my fingers. When in Rome, do as the Romans, right?
Seven minutes goes by fast. In no time, we were in a line to dispose of our lunch trays and go back to our afternoon classes. I was overwhelmed by how fast lunch went. I’d never ate chicken on the bone that quickly…and may not ever try to again. An inmate stepped in front of me and held out her hands. “May I take care of that tray for you?” She looked about my mom’s age. I smiled and nodded. Truth is, I was clueless as to how they did that part too. She probably saw that in my eyes…mothering instinct and all. She kindly took my tray.
I thought about how crazy the scene was before me. I had come here to offer Jesus to these women…and they were offering Him to me as well. They needed what I was offering them…and I needed them too. Maybe that’s what the Table of the Lord does for us. It makes us aware of who is sitting next to us. We need each other. I needed to be taken care of by these inmates who knew the prison ropes far better than I did.
We need each other. God made it that way. On purpose. Hungering for Jesus draws us together…often, around at table.
Later that day, I would sit in my dorm room with MaryEllen and talk about our amazing lunch experience. What blew us away was their heart responses to our eating with them. They were so grateful that we ate with them. OVERWHELMING gratitude. Profuse thankfulness.
Maybe it shouldn’t be surprising that we humans bond around tables. Kitchen tables. Banquet tables. Even prison lunch tables. Where there are people and food…there will be heart ties. God made it that way. Church potlucks. Back yard barbeques. Little girl tea parties. Coffee shop tables. The Table is a place of covenant. Partaking of food together bonds us.
This is why at least once during each of our Rural Queens Bible study semesters, we share a meal together. We make a menu, divide up who-is-bringing-what and gather in the kitchen to cook and prepare a meal as a team. There’s something about ten or twelve girls gathering in a kitchen to cook, laugh and eat a meal. What happens around the table is supernatural. God comes and meets with us. He ties our heart-strings together with Himself.
In a world of fast-paced craziness and busy schedules, tables are often empty. Sitting around a table is a thing of the past. We eat in shifts, on the couch, or on the run. We can’t sit so we drive thru and grab fast food. Table meals are relegated to holidays…mostly the ones when a big football game isn’t on TV. Our tables sit alone in the dining room, looking pretty but collecting dust.
Don’t you want more? I’m hungry for more than just an occasional snack at His Table. I crave real relationships. The kinds that are forged around the table…both in good times and bad. The kind of table conversations that leave me hungering for Jesus. The kind of meals around the table that lead me ultimately to His Table. I’m honestly tired of settling for nibbles of the world when I can have an amazing feast at His Table.
Come to His Table.
Jesus invites us to dine with Him. His open arms are for us…but we also have seats at His Table. It reminds me of Luke 14 where Jesus says to prepare a meal and invite the broken of the world to your table. The poor, the maimed, the lame, the blind…offer them Jesus. Take Him to the hungry souls of the world and feed His goodness to them. Jesus says that when we feed those who can’t repay us, we “will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.” That’s eternal rewards for earthly actions.
I’m hungry…and with me a whole world of dying, wounded, and broken people. What if the answer to the world’s hunger was at the table? Your kitchen table? His Table.
“Remember the Alamo!” It was the statement that was shouted in the middle of the iconic battle in San Antonio, Texas. Those words gave a reason to fight. A focus-point when all around them was crumbling. Battle cries are important. They become fuel for the fight.
Every January (since 2014) God gives me a theme to live by. A mantra for the year. A focus-point for the next twelve months. Some of them I’ve loved…and most have stretched me beyond myself.
In 2014: Do Hard Things
In 2015: Reflect the Son
In 2016: God Writes my Story
In 2017: Be Brave
Each year has perfectly mirrored what might go through your head when you read the above statements. I did hard some things in 2014. I learned that it wasn’t all about me in 2015…that I was only to be mirroring Jesus. In 2016 I had to learn to surrender my life story to Him and that He would write it better (not easier, but BETTER) than me.
This past year was a game-changer for me. I literally emerged from the other side of 2017 a completely different gal than the one who started it. It was truly, my year to BE BRAVE. For the record, it seemed like everything I did in 2017 was out of my comfort zone. My friend once commented that last year was like being inside a violent clothes dryer. You get out feeling sore, disoriented and a little out of sorts. Sometimes God calls us to seasons of “being in a dryer” for His glory and our good.
Which brings me to the year 2018. Anybody else wincing? Signal the drumroll, please…because my new battle cry is about to debut!
I have felt the finger of God on my heart for the year 2018. His heart for broken and needy people has suddenly come to life for me. It’s His will that none would perish. That all would gather at His table. I’ve seen hungry women. I’ve been desperate for His living water myself. Time and again. So it only made sense when I felt Him drop this year’s theme for me…
COME TO HIS TABLE.
Both the Spirit and the bride say, “Come!” Anyone who hears should say, “Come!” And the one who is thirsty should come. Whoever desires should take the living water as a gift. (Revelation 22:17 HCSB)
Come to His table. This means a variety of things for me. The table is a place of bonding and discussion. It’s a place to be filled…both your stomach and your heart. Mentoring happens at the table. Homework questions are answered. Family conversation is plentiful. Even more so at the Table of the Lord.
Come to His Table.
First, coming myself to receive nourishment from Him. I cannot persuade others to come to His table if I haven’t been there myself. I’ve seen women (and men) who are so FILLED with Jesus that you feel like talking with them is touching the hem of His garment. You know what I mean? You KNOW that she/he has been at His Table. They have been fed by His Word. They have received freely of Him and His truth. Somehow, every conversation points you to His Table…because their life is inviting you to go there.
Next, I need to be running to the dark and dying world and bringing others to His table. If I’m being fed at His table, I will naturally want to share His saving nourishment with others. I want to be a woman who invites others to His Table.
Saving a seat for my neighbor. For the gal in the grocery check-out line. For the girls I lead home Bible study with. For the little people at church I have in the nursery. For the women I minister to in prison.
Come to His Table.
His Table means healing. His Table means wholeness. His Table means restoration and redemption. Thirst quenched. Hunger filled. Worry erased. Fear melted and replaced with FAITH. Perspectives are radically changed. At the table, weariness is replaced with strength…HIS strength. I don’t know about you, but His Table is where I want to be.
My battle cry for the year 2018? COME TO HIS TABLE!
You’re invited, friend. Come to His Table.