I was talking with a casual friend today and we started to talk about ways that we'd like to get involved in our community. She mentioned wanting to help in Sunday school and I said that I'd like to ask if the church had any outreach programs for the homeless and poor. She responded with "Oh, that's your thing?" I laughed and said yeah, I guess it is. She went on to explain her feelings on the subject of helping the homeless and the poor. She said that she'd rather give money to someone selling fruit on the side of the road because she can tell they are trying. But when she gives money to the man on the corner with a cardboard sign, she believes she is only fueling his laziness and his drug problem. Then she said "But I usually still give him money, because, not to be mean, but maybe I'll help them overdose and they'll finally be off my tax money." I was dumbfounded. And speechless. I just kinda shook my head and she said "I know it's probably not the best attitude," and I said "Probably not." I said that even though there are and always will be people who take advantage of programs designed for those who need it, it's really difficult and not even appropriate for us to distinguish between those who truly need it and those who are just taking advantage. And no matter how someone got to the low point in their lives, we should still be helping whenever we can and feel led to.
I understand that everyone has different passions and callings. I know that what speaks to one person's heart doesn't always speak to another person's heart. And that's okay. But in reality, as Christians, what speaks to our hearts should be the same things that speak to God's heart. Across the board. Of course you may have different interests, gifts and skills than I have. You may be skilled in areas that I have never touched, therefor better suiting you for a different area of ministry. Some people come alive when surrounded by many faces and some people thrive more with one on one interaction. These differences in one another are beautiful and amazing and it is so exciting to see what God has gifted in each member of His family and how He wants to perfectly orchestrate and match us with an area to serve Him. Together we are complete. But our hearts should be on the same page.
I have prayed for years that God would break my heart for what breaks His, although I think I've only meant it recently. And once I genuinely begged Him to stir my heart, He complied. Boy oh boy...did He comply. I laid in bed last night, just aching. My heart has been aching for a while but last night it all came to a head. Her words pierced through my heart...and not because I was so shocked because of their atrociousness...no...her sentiments are shared by many. The fear, the hate and the cold hearts towards the poor and the homeless...it finally broke me. I laid in bed and I just couldn't stop the hot burning in my eyes until my face was wet with tears. And I actually prayed that I didn't know it would actually really hurt this bad. I thought of Leah, the woman we shared coffee and soap with in the park, and I thought of the man with the dog, the veteran, the African American who assured my kids he wouldn't hurt them, Sky the man who hugged us, David, the guy who was clearly a little off, but flabbergasted that we were even talking to him, Lydia and her friend who asked why we weren't afraid of them, Steven, Daniel and Maria, and Brant, who we met by the grocery store a couple days ago. He is not homeless, but very poor. He and his wife Brandi can't seem to keep a job and have three kids ages 2, 8 and 10. He was out begging for $73 to keep their utilities on. These faces and names are burned into my mind and heart and knowing that so many of us scurry past them, clutching our purses tighter and holding our kids closer, refusing them money for their "drug habits," this is starting to really break my heart. I didn't anticipate that. It always made me sad and feel kinda bad, but last night it actually hurt.
I highly suggest not really praying that prayer unless you are ready, because apparently God's heart breaks hard. For His children....all of His creation. And to be honest, it is discouraging when you start to realize just how steep this uphill battle it. I am not going to solve this crisis on my own....not even with the other thousands of people who care so deeply. And when you see how many more thousands of people just simply do not care, or worse, are hardened to the lowest of our society, it starts to feel overwhelming. Jesus came and taught us to reach out to others, to help the hurting. Not after a drug test or a mental competency interview, but to love them because God loves them and us oh so much.
So today, I (somewhat reluctantly) am praying for God to continue to give me eyes like His and break my heart for what breaks His. And now, along with praying for the people around the world who are hungry or hot or cold this morning, I am realizing that some of the most very "blessed" people are the ones who really need prayer. Prayer for their eyes to be opened, for the hearts to ache, for their callousness to be worn away. The life that Jesus wants for His children is so full, so abounding. I am not talking about tangible blessings, but rather He imagines a life where our hearts are bursting with love for our neighbors, not just our blood relatives. Where we are ministered to by the widow around the corner, where the single mother desperately trying to make end meet can show us God's love. He wants us to look into the eyes of the desperate, the hurting, those grasping at life and those who are giving up on it and He wants them to see His face in ours and even more, He desires that we see Him in their faces. Jesus spent His time with the marginalized, the sick, the most wretched of humanity. He wandered with no home, constantly going against the grain of society in order to reach those in the shadows. And I believe He has called us to do the same.
Monday, July 22
Saturday, July 20
Dreams
I believe that God speaks to us all in different ways. We don't all hear God in church, or on the beach at sunset, or in signs and clues laid out for us like a scavenger hunt. And we definitely don't all hear from God in our dreams. I especially do not. My dreams are usually sourcing from a funky dinner eaten too late the night before or when I'm pregnant. My dreams get really crazy when I am with child. But the other night, my dreams were pretty interesting. And I am most definitely NOT with child. But before I share my dreams with you, let me back up just a tad.
I've had at least three or four conversations in the past couple of weeks about one silly little thing. You see, I am definitely not a hoarder, but I am a saver. I am frugal. Waste not, want not, I tend to wave it around like a banner. I have been going through my kids' clothes and sorting the ones that they have outgrown, the ones that are just worn out and the ones that are too big. I always keep clothes that are in good condition for the younger siblings and generally only get rid of clothes completely when the younger two have grown out of them. And even then, I have a treasure box filled with sentimental clothes that will someday grace my grandchildren. After all of my sorting and organizing, I have about seven LARGE boxes and totes filled with clothes and shoes that will someday fit my kiddos and I have two boxes filled with clothes that I'd love to see my grandbabies in.
So the conversations I've had have been about this nagging little feeling that I shouldn't be keeping all these clothes for my kids to wear "someday." My well meaning friends have said that they too save things and suggested that it is wise and being a good steward to keep them, because I won't have to buy new clothes later. And which point in the conversation I mention that the verse that keeps sneaking it's way into my heart:
Matthew 6:19
"Don't store up treasures here on earth, where moths eat them and rust destroys them, and where thieves break in and steal."
I've had at least three or four conversations in the past couple of weeks about one silly little thing. You see, I am definitely not a hoarder, but I am a saver. I am frugal. Waste not, want not, I tend to wave it around like a banner. I have been going through my kids' clothes and sorting the ones that they have outgrown, the ones that are just worn out and the ones that are too big. I always keep clothes that are in good condition for the younger siblings and generally only get rid of clothes completely when the younger two have grown out of them. And even then, I have a treasure box filled with sentimental clothes that will someday grace my grandchildren. After all of my sorting and organizing, I have about seven LARGE boxes and totes filled with clothes and shoes that will someday fit my kiddos and I have two boxes filled with clothes that I'd love to see my grandbabies in.
So the conversations I've had have been about this nagging little feeling that I shouldn't be keeping all these clothes for my kids to wear "someday." My well meaning friends have said that they too save things and suggested that it is wise and being a good steward to keep them, because I won't have to buy new clothes later. And which point in the conversation I mention that the verse that keeps sneaking it's way into my heart:
Matthew 6:19
"Don't store up treasures here on earth, where moths eat them and rust destroys them, and where thieves break in and steal."
Now, in the past when I have read this verse, I have taken it very figuratively. I have understood it to mean that my focus should be more on saving up my treasures in heaven than here on earth, as in investing in my eternity. Keeping my relationship with God in a good spot and so on. But for some reason, now I have this nagging voice that is pointing out that Jesus actually says not to save up things that MOTHS can destroy. Hmmm....I wonder if my boxes upon boxes of clothes qualify?
I also had a tiny thought that me saving these clothes shows a lack of faith on my part. Stick with me, I'm not grasping at straws here, but really, think about it with me. I am saving mountains of clothes that nobody is wearing for at least a year, so that I will be prepared when that time comes. But in reality, I am not promised tomorrow and neither are my children. And if we make it to tomorrow, have I so little faith that God will provide for our needs that I save up mountains of clothes just in case? Really, someone probably needs clothes today. And I wonder if God would have my boxes be their provision for today?
Well, since I was still unclear on what God was putting on my heart in regards to this silly little situation, I have kept the clothes. They are still neatly stacked and folded and tucked away. I resolved to pray that God would give me a (more) clear sign as to whether or not to save them. Apparently I am a VERY slow learner.
Last night I was just about to open my Bible to read before bed when I suddenly remembered my dreams from the night before. Random, huh? I hadn't really thought of them all day, but they came to mind right as I slowed down and started to seek God. The first was a dream about a friend using an incredible gift she has to further God's kingdom. In my dream I saw her face clear as day as she served the least of these, the forgotten children, the abandoned kids in our society, It was beautiful. The second dream was me. Well only my hands, and I was in a closet shuffling through clothes hanging on hangers. This closet just seemed to keep going. Let me assure you, while I am guilty of an abundance of clothes, I do not have the never ending closet. Not even close. But this closet in my dream, it just kept going. And the clothes in it were not all mine. Some were men's, some were small like children's clothes. I got to one particular item and stopped, pulling it out from the others a little bit. It was a soft pink sweater. As I looked closer at the shoulder, I noticed something on it. A moth. A moth actually eating the sweater. I flicked it off and started shuffling through the rest of the clothes. On every single item there were moths, clearly eating our clothes. They were destroyed.
Again, I am no Joseph, and maybe I'm being dramatic, but I'm pretty sure God just made it very clear to me. How can I justify saving mounds of clothes and shoes, most of which were given to us when we needed them, when there are surely children somewhere who need them now. For me to have excess when others are in need, isn't that in a way, me stealing from them? When will I realize enough? When I realize that I have enough and stop at that point, that is when I will be freed from the burden of stuff. Excess. When I take no more than what I need and share anything beyond that, that is when I am truly free and living the lifestyle Jesus lived and taught. Just enough. The early church in Acts is described as not having any needy persons among them because they did not keep anything for themselves, but shared all of their possessions with each other. How amazing would it be to be a part of a community like that? Now let's take the dream just a bit bigger and think of how incredible it would be to imagine this on a global level? Christian brothers and sisters sharing everything with one another, around the world, and reaching out and taking care of the needy, the poor and the sick? To share everything until there were no needy persons among us? Of course I realize that my seven or eight boxes of clothes and shoes isn't about to solve world poverty. But it is what I have. And that's really all God asks of us. To give what we have. It has been said that true generosity is not measured by how much we give but by how much we have left. Guilty as charged.
So those boxes are being moved out. I am praying over them, praying that God leads me to whom they belong. Because it certainly isn't me. God told me. In my dreams.
Sunday, July 7
Heavy heart
I'm struggling today friends.
My heart feels overwhelmingly heavy.
I feel ready to crumple into a sobbing heap at any moment.
I am trying to figure out exactly why.
I am still more than a week away from "that time of the month," so maybe I have an extra surge of hormones right now. I have been staying up late and waking up with sun, so I could just need to fall into bed and not get up for a week. I am missing friendship, someone to share a coffee with, invite for a play date, so I could just be incredibly lonely.
But when I actually try to say things out loud, explain verbally what I am feeling, it just comes out:
I am broken hearted.
For multiple reasons. My sister, who is 26 weeks pregnant, has been in the hospital for five days. She's alone. She has her fiancé there, but he is floundering trying to figure out how to meet her overly emotional and hormonal needs. She is having severe anemia, and her Crohn's disease is out of control, despite best efforts from all the specialists that have seen her. Now they are starting to discuss the possibility of taking the baby early. As in earlier than 35 weeks.
I am so skeptical when it comes to doctor's...I'm that person that has to do hours of my own research before I believe anything they say. Not to say that I'm not thankful for them or that I do not respect their expertise. I'm just wary of modern medicine. What can I say? My sister, she is not. If they told her to balance on a tight rope and juggle water balloons, I think she just may do it. So of course I am nervous that she is there alone, trusting these doctors blindly with her and her baby's well being. But sheesh, she is a grown woman for goodness sake. Why oh why do I feel so protective, so frustrated that I cannot help? She is struggling with so much emotionally and physically, it would bring the strongest person to their knees. And as much as I want to swoop in and take this all from her, I know that her knees is exactly where she needs to be. I want to see her melt into Jesus' arms, to feel His goodness and love washing over her. Pray for her heart, for her soul. Pray with me for my sister, friends.
I am also overwhelmed looking around at the pain, the corruption, the sin. I cannot fathom the things that are cheered on and exploited. There is so much sadness and grief, but the things that we celebrate are just baffling. Life is not embraced, but drowned. Smothered. Oh the joy that is stifled by greed, selfishness. And how easy it is for us to look the other way, to convince ourselves that we cannot help, we are but one tiny piece. Why is it so easy to squeeze our eyes shut tight and deny the truth even when we are all but tripping over it?
I've been preparing to start my seven experiment in August. And with that in the back of my mind, it is becoming increasingly more difficult to ignore the abounding excess I am surrounded with. So my piles are growing. I had a box of women's clothes and shoes, purses and jackets (really, I only need one purse and how many flats and flip flops can I possibly wear??). Kenny kept urging me to take them to goodwill, but I kept feeling a tug to wait for a particular person. So they sat in my entryway for a few weeks. Finally, yesterday, I just couldn't handle it anymore. I threw the piles and boxes in my car and headed to goodwill. After all, what was I expecting, some half-naked women to come knocking on my door asking if I had any extra clothes? Sheesh.
So on our way, I was sitting at a red light and saw a police vehicle with it's lights on parked at a 7-11 that is always busy with beggars and drifters. I nosily gawked, trying to see what was going on, but incredibly I could not see any cops or any unusual activity. I did however, see a frail woman and a man sitting on the curb. The clothes are hers.
I don't know...I thought to myself...she seems a little, well, scary. There's a cop there, what's she gonna do?! Exactly, there's a cop there, I can't take my kids into a scene that could be dangerous.
That was my back and forth arguing with myself. So I drove by and continued on my way. And then, I just didn't. I changed lanes quickly and did a u-turn. When I drove back by, only moments later, the cop was gone, but the couple was still sitting there. The man was staring off into space. The woman was smoking. I used to always say that maybe if homeless people stopping smoking through packs of cigarettes, they'd have some more money for food and water, or a pair of shoes. But I have learned that most of the time, they are picking up used butts on the ground or right out of ash trays. They bum a light off of someone and there ya go. Now I could of course, step up on my soapbox right about now and talk about how unwise and irresponsible smoking is, the health dangers, etc. But really, God has not called me to judge, to point out everyone's wrongs. He's called me to love. To love people like crazy.
So anyway, I pulled up a few yards away from the couple and grabbed the bag of clothes, shoes, jackets and purses. It was more than this couple could carry, I knew that. Street people often have to carry all of their things with them and therefore have to be selective about what they take. There is little safe, public storage available, although some places do offer lockers for a period of time.
I walked up to the couple and said hello and introduced myself. I offered the clothes and the woman exclaimed that she couldn't believe I was bringing clothes. She said she needed some new clothes and shoes and was trying to save up some money to buy some from Goodwill. The closest goodwill to this place was at least four or five miles away. She looked through the bag and admitted it was more than she could carry. I asked if she knew anyone she could pass it on to. She looked at me and said really? Her eyes were big, and sad. I nodded and she hollered at a woman named Lydia to come and see. Before Lydia came over, this woman, her name was Sue, stopped looking at the clothes and looked at me. She asked me why I was doing this. I told her I was on my way to drop them off when I saw her and thought maybe she could use them. She laughed an embarrassed laugh and said, It's that bad? I look that bad that I need clothes? I smiled at her and said we all are desperately in need of something. I told her I was glad I saw her, I'd rather give them to her than to a store to sell. She just kept staring at me. She repeated over and over I just can't believe this. And then she said, why are you so brave? Why are you not scared to come up to us? We look like a mess!
I told her that I wasn't scared and knew that I was supposed to give these things to her. She thanked me and so did the man. I wished them well and told them I hoped I'd see them again soon. Her friend Lydia thanked me also.
As I drove away I thought about her questions. Why? What should I say when people in need ask why I am helping? I wished I had hugged her. I had felt the urge (creepy, huh?) but my fear had stopped me. Then I thought of how she said I was brave. I didn't feel brave. I did feel scared at first. Usually I don't, but the man that was with her was most definitely not mentally "all there." I'm not sure if he struggled with a mental condition or if he was just high as a kite (probably the latter :( ) but it did make me nervous. And then I thought of how when I turned around I found myself singing that 90's worship song "I will trust in you and I will not be afraid!"
God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of peace. He has not called us to decide if someone looks worthy of our help, but has just called us to love and help those in need. It doesn't matter how they got there or how long they've been there. They are in a difficult place in their life, and the details don't matter to us. God has put us here to care for these people. His people. The least, the poor, the marginalized. Widows, orphans, vagabonds. God loves them all so much and that's good enough for me. I am so thankful that I heeded God's tug yesterday, that I didn't accept the fear creeping into my heart. That I trusted in His hedge of protection. And I found that woman that I was saving those clothes for. Two women actually. And you know what I realized after I drove away? I had put a Bible in that bag in the very beginning and forgotten to take it out. I hope they find love and peace. I hope they see God's grace and light.
My heart feels overwhelmingly heavy.
I feel ready to crumple into a sobbing heap at any moment.
I am trying to figure out exactly why.
I am still more than a week away from "that time of the month," so maybe I have an extra surge of hormones right now. I have been staying up late and waking up with sun, so I could just need to fall into bed and not get up for a week. I am missing friendship, someone to share a coffee with, invite for a play date, so I could just be incredibly lonely.
But when I actually try to say things out loud, explain verbally what I am feeling, it just comes out:
I am broken hearted.
For multiple reasons. My sister, who is 26 weeks pregnant, has been in the hospital for five days. She's alone. She has her fiancé there, but he is floundering trying to figure out how to meet her overly emotional and hormonal needs. She is having severe anemia, and her Crohn's disease is out of control, despite best efforts from all the specialists that have seen her. Now they are starting to discuss the possibility of taking the baby early. As in earlier than 35 weeks.
I am so skeptical when it comes to doctor's...I'm that person that has to do hours of my own research before I believe anything they say. Not to say that I'm not thankful for them or that I do not respect their expertise. I'm just wary of modern medicine. What can I say? My sister, she is not. If they told her to balance on a tight rope and juggle water balloons, I think she just may do it. So of course I am nervous that she is there alone, trusting these doctors blindly with her and her baby's well being. But sheesh, she is a grown woman for goodness sake. Why oh why do I feel so protective, so frustrated that I cannot help? She is struggling with so much emotionally and physically, it would bring the strongest person to their knees. And as much as I want to swoop in and take this all from her, I know that her knees is exactly where she needs to be. I want to see her melt into Jesus' arms, to feel His goodness and love washing over her. Pray for her heart, for her soul. Pray with me for my sister, friends.
I am also overwhelmed looking around at the pain, the corruption, the sin. I cannot fathom the things that are cheered on and exploited. There is so much sadness and grief, but the things that we celebrate are just baffling. Life is not embraced, but drowned. Smothered. Oh the joy that is stifled by greed, selfishness. And how easy it is for us to look the other way, to convince ourselves that we cannot help, we are but one tiny piece. Why is it so easy to squeeze our eyes shut tight and deny the truth even when we are all but tripping over it?
I've been preparing to start my seven experiment in August. And with that in the back of my mind, it is becoming increasingly more difficult to ignore the abounding excess I am surrounded with. So my piles are growing. I had a box of women's clothes and shoes, purses and jackets (really, I only need one purse and how many flats and flip flops can I possibly wear??). Kenny kept urging me to take them to goodwill, but I kept feeling a tug to wait for a particular person. So they sat in my entryway for a few weeks. Finally, yesterday, I just couldn't handle it anymore. I threw the piles and boxes in my car and headed to goodwill. After all, what was I expecting, some half-naked women to come knocking on my door asking if I had any extra clothes? Sheesh.
So on our way, I was sitting at a red light and saw a police vehicle with it's lights on parked at a 7-11 that is always busy with beggars and drifters. I nosily gawked, trying to see what was going on, but incredibly I could not see any cops or any unusual activity. I did however, see a frail woman and a man sitting on the curb. The clothes are hers.
I don't know...I thought to myself...she seems a little, well, scary. There's a cop there, what's she gonna do?! Exactly, there's a cop there, I can't take my kids into a scene that could be dangerous.
That was my back and forth arguing with myself. So I drove by and continued on my way. And then, I just didn't. I changed lanes quickly and did a u-turn. When I drove back by, only moments later, the cop was gone, but the couple was still sitting there. The man was staring off into space. The woman was smoking. I used to always say that maybe if homeless people stopping smoking through packs of cigarettes, they'd have some more money for food and water, or a pair of shoes. But I have learned that most of the time, they are picking up used butts on the ground or right out of ash trays. They bum a light off of someone and there ya go. Now I could of course, step up on my soapbox right about now and talk about how unwise and irresponsible smoking is, the health dangers, etc. But really, God has not called me to judge, to point out everyone's wrongs. He's called me to love. To love people like crazy.
So anyway, I pulled up a few yards away from the couple and grabbed the bag of clothes, shoes, jackets and purses. It was more than this couple could carry, I knew that. Street people often have to carry all of their things with them and therefore have to be selective about what they take. There is little safe, public storage available, although some places do offer lockers for a period of time.
I walked up to the couple and said hello and introduced myself. I offered the clothes and the woman exclaimed that she couldn't believe I was bringing clothes. She said she needed some new clothes and shoes and was trying to save up some money to buy some from Goodwill. The closest goodwill to this place was at least four or five miles away. She looked through the bag and admitted it was more than she could carry. I asked if she knew anyone she could pass it on to. She looked at me and said really? Her eyes were big, and sad. I nodded and she hollered at a woman named Lydia to come and see. Before Lydia came over, this woman, her name was Sue, stopped looking at the clothes and looked at me. She asked me why I was doing this. I told her I was on my way to drop them off when I saw her and thought maybe she could use them. She laughed an embarrassed laugh and said, It's that bad? I look that bad that I need clothes? I smiled at her and said we all are desperately in need of something. I told her I was glad I saw her, I'd rather give them to her than to a store to sell. She just kept staring at me. She repeated over and over I just can't believe this. And then she said, why are you so brave? Why are you not scared to come up to us? We look like a mess!
I told her that I wasn't scared and knew that I was supposed to give these things to her. She thanked me and so did the man. I wished them well and told them I hoped I'd see them again soon. Her friend Lydia thanked me also.
As I drove away I thought about her questions. Why? What should I say when people in need ask why I am helping? I wished I had hugged her. I had felt the urge (creepy, huh?) but my fear had stopped me. Then I thought of how she said I was brave. I didn't feel brave. I did feel scared at first. Usually I don't, but the man that was with her was most definitely not mentally "all there." I'm not sure if he struggled with a mental condition or if he was just high as a kite (probably the latter :( ) but it did make me nervous. And then I thought of how when I turned around I found myself singing that 90's worship song "I will trust in you and I will not be afraid!"
God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of peace. He has not called us to decide if someone looks worthy of our help, but has just called us to love and help those in need. It doesn't matter how they got there or how long they've been there. They are in a difficult place in their life, and the details don't matter to us. God has put us here to care for these people. His people. The least, the poor, the marginalized. Widows, orphans, vagabonds. God loves them all so much and that's good enough for me. I am so thankful that I heeded God's tug yesterday, that I didn't accept the fear creeping into my heart. That I trusted in His hedge of protection. And I found that woman that I was saving those clothes for. Two women actually. And you know what I realized after I drove away? I had put a Bible in that bag in the very beginning and forgotten to take it out. I hope they find love and peace. I hope they see God's grace and light.
Thursday, June 20
the least
I'm spending a couple weeks visiting my parents out of state. The time has been lovely, enjoying family, free of chores, loads of help with my kids, sunshine and swimming. Such a fun time. And the entire time, my heart is heavy. So very heavy. Weighed down with thoughts of sidewalks, empty bellies, barefoot children, broken roofs and penniless pockets. I asked God to give me His love, His eyes, His heart for people and He has...and it hurts.
My eyes fill with tears with no warning at all. That silent lump creeps into my throat and I am still.
My mind is frantic at times, always searching for a solution. Before my heart speaks up and reminds me: love. Connection. Jesus. Yes, ah yes. That's it.
And so my heart is heavy, because it is weighed down by this love that God has poured into me and commanded that I pour into others. Most especially the forgotten and weak. The outcasts, the hurt and hungry, the sick and suffering, the poor and underprivileged.
I tried to share my heart with my mom and sister over the last couple weeks. I found myself discouraged because we don't all share the same calling. And not that they should. But in the moment, I felt saddened by the separation. And I wondered for a moment or an afternoon or a day if I was wrong. If I was being dramatic. If I was putting words in God's mouth and writing my own story. And I didn't know how to answer these questions. I asked God. And maybe that is dramatic, but really who else could I ask? I begged Him to tell me if I was wrong. To make things more clear to me. To lead my feet, steer my ship.
I fell asleep, a little sad, a little confused, a lot wondering.
In the morning, we headed out early, rushing to beat the midday temperatures of 109 degrees. We were taking the children to explore some fun and typical sights and activities in the area. I glanced at my tires before I buckled tiny little bellies into their seats and saw that one looked noticeably low. We stopped at a gas station on the way out, you know the kind, at the corner of the Baron's center with the Starbucks and the Panera? A nice gas station. And it was closed... so we headed on to the next closest gas station. You know this kind too... at the corner of the boarded up laundromat and the carniceria? A not so nice gas station.
And I pulled up beside the air pump, shook my head at the one dollar charge as I sipped my three dollar drink and wished that I hadn't worn a dress as I crouched down to check and fill my tires. The pump was finicky and taking longer than usual. A gentleman walked over, in worn jeans with a shirt tucked in, a dingy hat that had been cleaned...well, someone had tried to clean it. He had a fanny pack on and a bicycle. A simple band on his ring finger. His skin was weathered, brown and dry. His hair was combed but dirty. His eyes were deep...those eyes you read about in novels. Those gray eyes that house secrets and stories of the ages. His voice was gruff, but kind. He offered to help and to check the rest of the tires too. He gave me a couple tips about driving long distance. My mom came up and offered to buy him a drink. He thanked us and said it wasn't necessary, he was just wanting to make sure we got our tires filled right. He turned his gray eyes to me and explained that he was homeless. The minute I heard that, I felt overwhelmed. My heart felt it would explode and my eyes were stinging as I fought to hold back tears. Of all the people at this busy gas station, God sent this one man to help me. This man who had empty pockets and no roof at all.
And I know. I know this is it. I know that this burden I feel is real. I know that this love I have is from God. I know that this calling on my heart is His voice calling me to love the least. I just know. Maybe it seems ridiculous or dramatic or it just doesn't make sense to anyone else. But in my heart, nothing has ever made more sense.
My eyes fill with tears with no warning at all. That silent lump creeps into my throat and I am still.
My mind is frantic at times, always searching for a solution. Before my heart speaks up and reminds me: love. Connection. Jesus. Yes, ah yes. That's it.
And so my heart is heavy, because it is weighed down by this love that God has poured into me and commanded that I pour into others. Most especially the forgotten and weak. The outcasts, the hurt and hungry, the sick and suffering, the poor and underprivileged.
I tried to share my heart with my mom and sister over the last couple weeks. I found myself discouraged because we don't all share the same calling. And not that they should. But in the moment, I felt saddened by the separation. And I wondered for a moment or an afternoon or a day if I was wrong. If I was being dramatic. If I was putting words in God's mouth and writing my own story. And I didn't know how to answer these questions. I asked God. And maybe that is dramatic, but really who else could I ask? I begged Him to tell me if I was wrong. To make things more clear to me. To lead my feet, steer my ship.
I fell asleep, a little sad, a little confused, a lot wondering.
In the morning, we headed out early, rushing to beat the midday temperatures of 109 degrees. We were taking the children to explore some fun and typical sights and activities in the area. I glanced at my tires before I buckled tiny little bellies into their seats and saw that one looked noticeably low. We stopped at a gas station on the way out, you know the kind, at the corner of the Baron's center with the Starbucks and the Panera? A nice gas station. And it was closed... so we headed on to the next closest gas station. You know this kind too... at the corner of the boarded up laundromat and the carniceria? A not so nice gas station.
And I pulled up beside the air pump, shook my head at the one dollar charge as I sipped my three dollar drink and wished that I hadn't worn a dress as I crouched down to check and fill my tires. The pump was finicky and taking longer than usual. A gentleman walked over, in worn jeans with a shirt tucked in, a dingy hat that had been cleaned...well, someone had tried to clean it. He had a fanny pack on and a bicycle. A simple band on his ring finger. His skin was weathered, brown and dry. His hair was combed but dirty. His eyes were deep...those eyes you read about in novels. Those gray eyes that house secrets and stories of the ages. His voice was gruff, but kind. He offered to help and to check the rest of the tires too. He gave me a couple tips about driving long distance. My mom came up and offered to buy him a drink. He thanked us and said it wasn't necessary, he was just wanting to make sure we got our tires filled right. He turned his gray eyes to me and explained that he was homeless. The minute I heard that, I felt overwhelmed. My heart felt it would explode and my eyes were stinging as I fought to hold back tears. Of all the people at this busy gas station, God sent this one man to help me. This man who had empty pockets and no roof at all.
And I know. I know this is it. I know that this burden I feel is real. I know that this love I have is from God. I know that this calling on my heart is His voice calling me to love the least. I just know. Maybe it seems ridiculous or dramatic or it just doesn't make sense to anyone else. But in my heart, nothing has ever made more sense.
Friday, June 14
7
Shortly after Shane destroyed my complacent, easy going, happy-go-lucky mojo, I decided that I am a glutton for punishment and started to read some of Jen Hatmaker's books. All while reading the entire New Testament. You read that right. I read the entire New Testament in three days, devouring every word (probably subconsciously looking for a passage somewhere that would excuse me from these recent...ummm...convictions, burdens, callings, whatever). The New Testament didn't help my subconscious much, but it sure did get my conscious. Verses like:
"But if anyone has the world's goods and sees his brother in need, yet closes his heart against him, how does God's love abide in him?" 1 John 3:17
"In all things I have shown you that by working hard in this way, we must help the weak and remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how He Himself said 'it is more blessed to give than to
receive.' " Acts 20:35
"Sell your possessions and give to the needy..." Luke 12:33
"He said also to the man that had invited him, 'When you give a dinner or a banquet, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or your rich neighbors, lest they also invite you in return and you be repaid. But when you give a feast, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed because they cannot repay you. You will be repaid at the resurrection of the just."
Luke 14:12-14
"And he answered them 'Whoever has two coats is to share with him who has none, and whoever has food is to do likewise." Luke 3:11
Friends, I don't know about you, but for some reason these verses have never popped out to me in the way that they are now. I always assumed meeting people's needs meant helping when some poor soul asks for help, or donating to charity here and there. Tithing counts right? I figured He probably wasn't be literal when he suggested to sell everything and to host parties and invite all the poor, sick and homeless. I mean, seriously?
But, now I am starting to think maybe He did. The Bible has hundreds of verses about serving the poor and sick. Yikes.
So between Shane and Jen (her books Interrupted and 7) and God, for crying out loud, I was seriously backed into a wall.
I am so very fortunate. I have so much...all of my needs are met and beyond. It's ridiculous. And when I look around at just my own community, let alone people all over the world, I can't help but feel a pang of guilt. But then, I am overwhelmed, looking around...where do I begin? Should I just call Goodwill and tell them to take everything. Eh, I don't really feel like that's what Jesus is getting at.
What in my life is too much? Well, duh, everything. But where do I begin? How do I trim away the excess and at the same time, fill that space with the Spirit and living and loving the way Jesus commands so that I don't fall back into the same trap of excess?
And cue: 7
Such a fabulous book. Such an incredible experiment. I read it in about a day and a half and then spend another day and a half in tears, praying. I know this is a challenge I need. I know God wants me to try this fast, to learn where I have replaced Him with....stuff. So friends, I am embarking on this challenge. To get rid of the excess in my life, learn to live humbly and simply, more in line with the way Jesus taught Christian life in scriptures, and to draw closer to Him. To leave room in my life for Him to speak to me, to move me, to use me.
Eek.
I'm super nervous.
So how about it? Anyone read 7? Anyone interested? Anyone want to try the 7 fast?
"But if anyone has the world's goods and sees his brother in need, yet closes his heart against him, how does God's love abide in him?" 1 John 3:17
"In all things I have shown you that by working hard in this way, we must help the weak and remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how He Himself said 'it is more blessed to give than to
receive.' " Acts 20:35
"Sell your possessions and give to the needy..." Luke 12:33
"He said also to the man that had invited him, 'When you give a dinner or a banquet, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or your rich neighbors, lest they also invite you in return and you be repaid. But when you give a feast, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed because they cannot repay you. You will be repaid at the resurrection of the just."
Luke 14:12-14
"And he answered them 'Whoever has two coats is to share with him who has none, and whoever has food is to do likewise." Luke 3:11
Friends, I don't know about you, but for some reason these verses have never popped out to me in the way that they are now. I always assumed meeting people's needs meant helping when some poor soul asks for help, or donating to charity here and there. Tithing counts right? I figured He probably wasn't be literal when he suggested to sell everything and to host parties and invite all the poor, sick and homeless. I mean, seriously?
But, now I am starting to think maybe He did. The Bible has hundreds of verses about serving the poor and sick. Yikes.
So between Shane and Jen (her books Interrupted and 7) and God, for crying out loud, I was seriously backed into a wall.
I am so very fortunate. I have so much...all of my needs are met and beyond. It's ridiculous. And when I look around at just my own community, let alone people all over the world, I can't help but feel a pang of guilt. But then, I am overwhelmed, looking around...where do I begin? Should I just call Goodwill and tell them to take everything. Eh, I don't really feel like that's what Jesus is getting at.
What in my life is too much? Well, duh, everything. But where do I begin? How do I trim away the excess and at the same time, fill that space with the Spirit and living and loving the way Jesus commands so that I don't fall back into the same trap of excess?
And cue: 7
Such a fabulous book. Such an incredible experiment. I read it in about a day and a half and then spend another day and a half in tears, praying. I know this is a challenge I need. I know God wants me to try this fast, to learn where I have replaced Him with....stuff. So friends, I am embarking on this challenge. To get rid of the excess in my life, learn to live humbly and simply, more in line with the way Jesus taught Christian life in scriptures, and to draw closer to Him. To leave room in my life for Him to speak to me, to move me, to use me.
Eek.
I'm super nervous.
So how about it? Anyone read 7? Anyone interested? Anyone want to try the 7 fast?
Where it began
Chan.
I fully blame him.
It all started with a pretty red book with a catchy title.
Guessed it?
Yup, Crazy Love.
Sheesh.
If you haven't read it, don't.
That is unless you want to stay awake at night asking yourself the big questions.
Well, I don't know if they're big or not, but it sounded right.
Stay up at night looking around you and wondering why, where and what.
Why do you have so much? Where to begin? And what do you need?
And then more...how on earth do we truly show love for our Savior, the One who shows us a seriously CRAZY LOVE?
So yeah, Francis Chan, this is all on you.
After I read that book, I really started to feel God convicting me about my lifestyle and whether it is a reflection of a loving God and my relationship with Him. I know that it was conviction and not condemnation because the thought of making changes in my life was like a weight lifted. I didn't feel depressed or guilty, although I did kick myself for taking so long to start to see these things.
But it really gave me new eyes, seeing people and the world a tiny bit more the way Jesus must see people. To Him all of my success, wealth, prosperity, it means nothing. In fact, it is rarely ever more than a distraction. How much time have I spent wrapped up in those things when I could have been hanging out with Jesus, showing others His love? Ugh...hopeless I tell you. truly I am hopeless.
So I was on a roll for all of two weeks and then I realized it was just too hard. So I distracted myself with other things. I started getting really into Bible theology and studying different denominations and beliefs, learning the differences and scouring the scriptures for the "Right" answer. I found answers to some things and others remained a mystery. And man oh man, the "right fighter" in me just couldn't stand it. I was pestering pastors and elders with my questions, my arguments, my confusion....something just wasn't fitting. There was still some little piece missing. As many questions as I had answered, I was still not content. I thought I needed to know more. I downloaded about three billion theology books, stayed up reading websites from various seminaries, devoured creeds and confessions. I was learning a lot. My knowledge bank was getting fuller and fuller.
But somehow, I still felt called to more. SOMETHING was missing.
And then by some crazy turn of events, my husband and I moved our family to Colorado to take advantage of a great job opportunity. Even though we were moving for a job, I kept telling myself and friends that God had some big plans for us and I just didn't know what they were yet. I kept having this sneaking feeling that God was taking me there for a very particular reason, other than my husband's job and the gloriously fresh air.
And in just over a month, we were off on our adventure. The first thing I noticed about Colorado was the beauty of it. Everything was just breathtaking. The Rocky Mountains on one side and the Great Plains on the other. The incredible blue skies and giant white clouds. Snow here and there. It was just gorgeous. Then, once we entered the city limits of Colorado Springs, I started to see signs of poor and homeless communities. I've talked a little bit about the demographics here so I won't bore you with that, but within the first week or two of being here I was completely overcome with this burden for the marginalized here in Colorado Springs. It was just so close, impossible to ignore. And I knew, clear as day I heard God tell me, this is why I was brought here. To learn how to live my life serving the least, loving the least as God does, sacrificing my own ridiculous luxuries and giving of myself. I started to see that God may have meant what He said literally, to serve the poor. Hmmm...what an idea.
I shared this tug on my heart with some close friends and they all suggested different books and directions, reaching out to churches, toys for tots, etc. One of the books suggested, I had waiting on my Kindle. Downloaded two years earlier. Literally. Sad, huh? Shane Claiborne's Irresistible Revolution.
Yeah. Thanks a lot Shane. I know you get this a lot, but you seriously messed up my mojo here in my little bubble. I thought that I just needed to learn more, really dissect the Bible and tear up theology. Maybe go to seminary. True story, I really looked into it. But I think I've realized that what has been missing is not knowledge, but actually living Christ's love. Living the Christian life that He showed us in His word. Wha??!!
I know. Tough stuff.
So there it is, there's the beginning. This journey is gonna get crazy, I'm pretty sure. Bear with me, or don't. It's okay.
Here goes nothing....wait, no, that's not right.
Here goes EVERYTHING!
I fully blame him.
It all started with a pretty red book with a catchy title.
Guessed it?
Yup, Crazy Love.
Sheesh.
If you haven't read it, don't.
That is unless you want to stay awake at night asking yourself the big questions.
Well, I don't know if they're big or not, but it sounded right.
Stay up at night looking around you and wondering why, where and what.
Why do you have so much? Where to begin? And what do you need?
And then more...how on earth do we truly show love for our Savior, the One who shows us a seriously CRAZY LOVE?
So yeah, Francis Chan, this is all on you.
After I read that book, I really started to feel God convicting me about my lifestyle and whether it is a reflection of a loving God and my relationship with Him. I know that it was conviction and not condemnation because the thought of making changes in my life was like a weight lifted. I didn't feel depressed or guilty, although I did kick myself for taking so long to start to see these things.
But it really gave me new eyes, seeing people and the world a tiny bit more the way Jesus must see people. To Him all of my success, wealth, prosperity, it means nothing. In fact, it is rarely ever more than a distraction. How much time have I spent wrapped up in those things when I could have been hanging out with Jesus, showing others His love? Ugh...hopeless I tell you. truly I am hopeless.
So I was on a roll for all of two weeks and then I realized it was just too hard. So I distracted myself with other things. I started getting really into Bible theology and studying different denominations and beliefs, learning the differences and scouring the scriptures for the "Right" answer. I found answers to some things and others remained a mystery. And man oh man, the "right fighter" in me just couldn't stand it. I was pestering pastors and elders with my questions, my arguments, my confusion....something just wasn't fitting. There was still some little piece missing. As many questions as I had answered, I was still not content. I thought I needed to know more. I downloaded about three billion theology books, stayed up reading websites from various seminaries, devoured creeds and confessions. I was learning a lot. My knowledge bank was getting fuller and fuller.
But somehow, I still felt called to more. SOMETHING was missing.
And then by some crazy turn of events, my husband and I moved our family to Colorado to take advantage of a great job opportunity. Even though we were moving for a job, I kept telling myself and friends that God had some big plans for us and I just didn't know what they were yet. I kept having this sneaking feeling that God was taking me there for a very particular reason, other than my husband's job and the gloriously fresh air.
And in just over a month, we were off on our adventure. The first thing I noticed about Colorado was the beauty of it. Everything was just breathtaking. The Rocky Mountains on one side and the Great Plains on the other. The incredible blue skies and giant white clouds. Snow here and there. It was just gorgeous. Then, once we entered the city limits of Colorado Springs, I started to see signs of poor and homeless communities. I've talked a little bit about the demographics here so I won't bore you with that, but within the first week or two of being here I was completely overcome with this burden for the marginalized here in Colorado Springs. It was just so close, impossible to ignore. And I knew, clear as day I heard God tell me, this is why I was brought here. To learn how to live my life serving the least, loving the least as God does, sacrificing my own ridiculous luxuries and giving of myself. I started to see that God may have meant what He said literally, to serve the poor. Hmmm...what an idea.
I shared this tug on my heart with some close friends and they all suggested different books and directions, reaching out to churches, toys for tots, etc. One of the books suggested, I had waiting on my Kindle. Downloaded two years earlier. Literally. Sad, huh? Shane Claiborne's Irresistible Revolution.
Yeah. Thanks a lot Shane. I know you get this a lot, but you seriously messed up my mojo here in my little bubble. I thought that I just needed to learn more, really dissect the Bible and tear up theology. Maybe go to seminary. True story, I really looked into it. But I think I've realized that what has been missing is not knowledge, but actually living Christ's love. Living the Christian life that He showed us in His word. Wha??!!
I know. Tough stuff.
So there it is, there's the beginning. This journey is gonna get crazy, I'm pretty sure. Bear with me, or don't. It's okay.
Here goes nothing....wait, no, that's not right.
Here goes EVERYTHING!
Saturday, June 8
Ice Cream and Soap
Oh friends....
Today was such a day. A magnificent day. A humbling day.
Today I was reading during quiet time and praying that God would send me direction. Show me exactly how to serve Him. I'm like that. I need step by step instructions.
I started praying over our excess...the things in our home and life that there is too much of. And oh man, that list is long. But today two things stood out in my mind.
Toiletries: soap, shampoo, conditioner, mouthwash, etc
And ice cream.
Yup. We have quite a bit of both of those things.
And just like that I knew what to do.
Quickly, I gathered plastic cups and spoons, an ice cream scoop and all the toiletries and ice cream.
Called to the kids to put on shoes.
Grabbed my keys and purse and
then I hesitated. I thought this is silly and ridiculous. Ice cream?
Bad idea.
I shrugged the feeling off. Mostly.
And we jumped in the car. The kids asked where we were going and I told them I wasn't sure.
I told them about the ice cream and cups and spoons.
They didn't even ask why. It wasn't a silly idea to them. It made sense to them.
They asked if they could have ice cream too and I told them if we had extra.
We drove just a few miles and we were in down town.
A sprawling grass park was right in front of us and it was crowded. Birthday parties, families enjoying their weekend, people seeking shade under the trees, beggars with signs on the corners, outcasts sitting with their packs in the corners.
The kids spotted a splash pad and all lost their marbles, pleading to go play.
We parked a few blocks down and scooped a few cups of ice cream.
We started walking towards the park and stopped to greet a couple women sitting on the sidewalk. They looked tired, filthy, hopeless.
My two oldest kids ran to them and ever so casually asked, "Want some ice cream?"
The women looked at one another, surprised, maybe startled.
Then they looked at my kids and with big grins showcasing more gums than teeth, they said "Sure!"
We gave them each a cup and then asked if they needed any soap or shampoo. One woman said she had some and the other said she could really use some. We gave the one woman a bag of toiletries and then wished them well.
We walked about five blocks to the park, stopping at benches and under trees, offering ice cream and soap to each person in need that we came across. Steven, Daniel, Maria....and others whose names we didn't get. Each was so kind, so grateful. And most were pretty surprised at what we were offering.
Every few people we'd stop and scoop some more cups.
People offered up high fives and hugs to my kids, prayers for me, and encouragement and advice for all of us.
"Keep going, momma. I know you have a full plate."
"Listen to your momma, guys."
"You kids are all right."
"Starting your lives off right, stay that course."
"Follow your parents, they know what they're doing."
"Keep loving people."
As we approached the park that I had promised playtime at, I noticed we only had two scoops of pretty melty ice cream left. I told the kids they could share it when we got to the park. I divided it up for the kids.
There was a homeless man sitting right by the trash can, hidden by some bushes. He caught my eye and I said hello. I carried on polite chit chat with him for a few moments and then my three year old piped up,
"We don't have any ice cream." he said "Do you want some soap?"
The man glanced at me and I smiled. He looked back at my little boy and answered him.
"Oh darn it, I LOVE ice cream. But that's okay. I'll take some soap, please."
Wayde gave him the soap and then the man asked for a high five. They high fived and then Wayde looked in his ice cream cup. Two bites. That's what he had left from his single scoop of melty ice cream. He scooped up one bite and held it out to the man. The man asked "For me? I can have a bite of your ice cream?" Wayde pushed his spoon toward the man more. And right there, my heart skipped a beat. I literally felt Jesus all around as Wayde spoon fed his last two bites of ice cream to a homeless man named Sky. He didn't hesitate. He didn't think it odd or feel uncomfortable. He didn't even turn to me and boast about sharing. He just gave it to him. Because Sky didn't have any ice cream, he later told me.
My heart exploded with pride and love, adoration and appreciation and at the same time, guilt. If only I had the heart of a child, a heart closer in line with Jesus. To offer up all that I have, truly. To give not because Jesus has told me to, but because others don't have what I do.
It is true: True generosity is not marked by how much you give but by how much you have left. Wayde only gave a couple lousy bites of melted ice cream. But he walked away with nothing. He gave all he had.
Sky hugged my kids and gave everyone a high five and shook my hand. In that hand shake I could feel his gratitude. It was firm, but gentle. I knew that he appreciated what Wayde had done for him that day. Not the things we gave him, oh I'm sure he is grateful for the soap and shampoo and I'm sure it was a pleasant change to have a bit of sweet ice cream on a hot afternoon. But I saw in his eyes that he was grateful that we spent a few minutes with him. We gave him love. Wayde did. Wayde treated him the same way Wayde treats everyone he meets. He walked right up to him, squatted down and started talking away. In that few minutes, Sky was the only person Wayde was thinking of. And I could feel in Sky's handshake that it meant the world to him in that moment.
The homeless and poor are hungry. Thirsty. Tired. Cold. Hot. Sore. Filthy. But even more, they are sad. Lonely. Defeated. Empty. The feel worthless. And society sees them that way too. We scurry by and look the other way, tossing quarters to appease our conscience. But Jesus didn't toss coins and scraps to the poor. No, he went to them. To where they lived. He didn't stand on the stoop of the church food pantry and ring a dinner bell. He went to the streets, the alleys, the corners where the outcasts huddle and he met their needs. They are people. Hurting people like you and I. People made in the likeness of the Creator and King of the universe.
Wayde reminded me today that they are no different than you or I. And he showed me how to love them. The way Jesus loves.
Today was such a day. A magnificent day. A humbling day.
Today I was reading during quiet time and praying that God would send me direction. Show me exactly how to serve Him. I'm like that. I need step by step instructions.
I started praying over our excess...the things in our home and life that there is too much of. And oh man, that list is long. But today two things stood out in my mind.
Toiletries: soap, shampoo, conditioner, mouthwash, etc
And ice cream.
Yup. We have quite a bit of both of those things.
And just like that I knew what to do.
Quickly, I gathered plastic cups and spoons, an ice cream scoop and all the toiletries and ice cream.
Called to the kids to put on shoes.
Grabbed my keys and purse and
then I hesitated. I thought this is silly and ridiculous. Ice cream?
Bad idea.
I shrugged the feeling off. Mostly.
And we jumped in the car. The kids asked where we were going and I told them I wasn't sure.
I told them about the ice cream and cups and spoons.
They didn't even ask why. It wasn't a silly idea to them. It made sense to them.
They asked if they could have ice cream too and I told them if we had extra.
We drove just a few miles and we were in down town.
A sprawling grass park was right in front of us and it was crowded. Birthday parties, families enjoying their weekend, people seeking shade under the trees, beggars with signs on the corners, outcasts sitting with their packs in the corners.
The kids spotted a splash pad and all lost their marbles, pleading to go play.
We parked a few blocks down and scooped a few cups of ice cream.
We started walking towards the park and stopped to greet a couple women sitting on the sidewalk. They looked tired, filthy, hopeless.
My two oldest kids ran to them and ever so casually asked, "Want some ice cream?"
The women looked at one another, surprised, maybe startled.
Then they looked at my kids and with big grins showcasing more gums than teeth, they said "Sure!"
We gave them each a cup and then asked if they needed any soap or shampoo. One woman said she had some and the other said she could really use some. We gave the one woman a bag of toiletries and then wished them well.
We walked about five blocks to the park, stopping at benches and under trees, offering ice cream and soap to each person in need that we came across. Steven, Daniel, Maria....and others whose names we didn't get. Each was so kind, so grateful. And most were pretty surprised at what we were offering.
Every few people we'd stop and scoop some more cups.
People offered up high fives and hugs to my kids, prayers for me, and encouragement and advice for all of us.
"Keep going, momma. I know you have a full plate."
"Listen to your momma, guys."
"You kids are all right."
"Starting your lives off right, stay that course."
"Follow your parents, they know what they're doing."
"Keep loving people."
As we approached the park that I had promised playtime at, I noticed we only had two scoops of pretty melty ice cream left. I told the kids they could share it when we got to the park. I divided it up for the kids.
There was a homeless man sitting right by the trash can, hidden by some bushes. He caught my eye and I said hello. I carried on polite chit chat with him for a few moments and then my three year old piped up,
"We don't have any ice cream." he said "Do you want some soap?"
The man glanced at me and I smiled. He looked back at my little boy and answered him.
"Oh darn it, I LOVE ice cream. But that's okay. I'll take some soap, please."
Wayde gave him the soap and then the man asked for a high five. They high fived and then Wayde looked in his ice cream cup. Two bites. That's what he had left from his single scoop of melty ice cream. He scooped up one bite and held it out to the man. The man asked "For me? I can have a bite of your ice cream?" Wayde pushed his spoon toward the man more. And right there, my heart skipped a beat. I literally felt Jesus all around as Wayde spoon fed his last two bites of ice cream to a homeless man named Sky. He didn't hesitate. He didn't think it odd or feel uncomfortable. He didn't even turn to me and boast about sharing. He just gave it to him. Because Sky didn't have any ice cream, he later told me.
My heart exploded with pride and love, adoration and appreciation and at the same time, guilt. If only I had the heart of a child, a heart closer in line with Jesus. To offer up all that I have, truly. To give not because Jesus has told me to, but because others don't have what I do.
It is true: True generosity is not marked by how much you give but by how much you have left. Wayde only gave a couple lousy bites of melted ice cream. But he walked away with nothing. He gave all he had.
Sky hugged my kids and gave everyone a high five and shook my hand. In that hand shake I could feel his gratitude. It was firm, but gentle. I knew that he appreciated what Wayde had done for him that day. Not the things we gave him, oh I'm sure he is grateful for the soap and shampoo and I'm sure it was a pleasant change to have a bit of sweet ice cream on a hot afternoon. But I saw in his eyes that he was grateful that we spent a few minutes with him. We gave him love. Wayde did. Wayde treated him the same way Wayde treats everyone he meets. He walked right up to him, squatted down and started talking away. In that few minutes, Sky was the only person Wayde was thinking of. And I could feel in Sky's handshake that it meant the world to him in that moment.
The homeless and poor are hungry. Thirsty. Tired. Cold. Hot. Sore. Filthy. But even more, they are sad. Lonely. Defeated. Empty. The feel worthless. And society sees them that way too. We scurry by and look the other way, tossing quarters to appease our conscience. But Jesus didn't toss coins and scraps to the poor. No, he went to them. To where they lived. He didn't stand on the stoop of the church food pantry and ring a dinner bell. He went to the streets, the alleys, the corners where the outcasts huddle and he met their needs. They are people. Hurting people like you and I. People made in the likeness of the Creator and King of the universe.
Wayde reminded me today that they are no different than you or I. And he showed me how to love them. The way Jesus loves.
Saturday, May 25
Learning grace
After I found out about my father, I just kinda shook it off. I talked with a couple friends at the time, but I was in high school and I really didn't know how to deal with it or the feelings that the news had created. I remember telling my friend that I didn't know how to feel because even though it seemed like major life-changing news, it didn't change my life at all, so now what?
I went quite a few years telling myself I felt that way, but always secretly wondering so many things. A few months after my parents told me, I asked my mom some questions. What my biological father's name was, what he looked like, what he was like, where was he now, etc. The questions seemed to make my mother uneasy. She told me his first name but never told me his last. She said that he looked like Clint Eastwood when Clint Eastwood was younger and she said that she had a photograph of him and I, but had misplaced it. And then she told me that I had a dad and had no reason to want to know my biological father. After that conversation, I knew that it would hurt her and my dad if I brought up these questions any more, so I dismissed them and moved on.
But it has never left my thoughts for a single day. I just can't help but wonder so many things. I wonder if he's ever tried to find me. Or if he has children, do they know about me? I wonder why he never came back? I wonder if any of my kids look like him. I wonder if he is still living in Australia? Or New Zealand near his mother? Is she still alive? Does he love Jesus? Will I ever see him? It feels like a half of me is not there. Nothing is known about half of me. A mystery.
As I got a little older it started to become more and more real to me. More of something that kinda hurt my heart. I felt guilty for feeling that because there are so many children who don't have parents at all. I pray every day for God to be the one to fill that void. But for quite a few years I was not seeking God and in those years it really hurt that someone, my father, wanted nothing to do with me. It was hard for me to reconcile. It made me feel inferior somehow.
I have learned that people will always let us down. We are a lonely and selfish existence. There is nothing good in any of us and without God's hands around our hearts and His spirit in our lives, we are incapable of loving anyone or making any choices towards righteousness. It has made me look at people differently also. If they have not been filled with God's righteousness, then they are not capable of doing anything "good." Everything will be sinful, selfish and wrong. It is literally impossible apart from God. And so I am learning to forgive. And to pray for the people in my life who have hurt me. But it is hard...so very hard. Because I am still battling my flesh, still dying to self to live for Him. But the glimpses I get of His righteousness make me know that it is perfect. This grace that I have received is to be shared.
I forgive my father for leaving. I forgive him for rejecting me. I am so thankful that God has given me this grace and love to share and continue to pray that this work in me will be completed and that I may serve Him in every moment of my days.
I went quite a few years telling myself I felt that way, but always secretly wondering so many things. A few months after my parents told me, I asked my mom some questions. What my biological father's name was, what he looked like, what he was like, where was he now, etc. The questions seemed to make my mother uneasy. She told me his first name but never told me his last. She said that he looked like Clint Eastwood when Clint Eastwood was younger and she said that she had a photograph of him and I, but had misplaced it. And then she told me that I had a dad and had no reason to want to know my biological father. After that conversation, I knew that it would hurt her and my dad if I brought up these questions any more, so I dismissed them and moved on.
But it has never left my thoughts for a single day. I just can't help but wonder so many things. I wonder if he's ever tried to find me. Or if he has children, do they know about me? I wonder why he never came back? I wonder if any of my kids look like him. I wonder if he is still living in Australia? Or New Zealand near his mother? Is she still alive? Does he love Jesus? Will I ever see him? It feels like a half of me is not there. Nothing is known about half of me. A mystery.
As I got a little older it started to become more and more real to me. More of something that kinda hurt my heart. I felt guilty for feeling that because there are so many children who don't have parents at all. I pray every day for God to be the one to fill that void. But for quite a few years I was not seeking God and in those years it really hurt that someone, my father, wanted nothing to do with me. It was hard for me to reconcile. It made me feel inferior somehow.
I have learned that people will always let us down. We are a lonely and selfish existence. There is nothing good in any of us and without God's hands around our hearts and His spirit in our lives, we are incapable of loving anyone or making any choices towards righteousness. It has made me look at people differently also. If they have not been filled with God's righteousness, then they are not capable of doing anything "good." Everything will be sinful, selfish and wrong. It is literally impossible apart from God. And so I am learning to forgive. And to pray for the people in my life who have hurt me. But it is hard...so very hard. Because I am still battling my flesh, still dying to self to live for Him. But the glimpses I get of His righteousness make me know that it is perfect. This grace that I have received is to be shared.
I forgive my father for leaving. I forgive him for rejecting me. I am so thankful that God has given me this grace and love to share and continue to pray that this work in me will be completed and that I may serve Him in every moment of my days.
Monday, May 20
Rejection and Redemption
My heart is just aching...aching so much. I am crying out for the hurt and pain. Everywhere. Oh Lord, come quickly Lord. We are so broken.
When I was younger, maybe around seven, someone at school asked me what my earliest memory was. What the furthest point in my mind was...what was the very first thing I remember experiencing. I pushed hard and I thought long and a particular memory came to mind. It had played in my mind countless times for reasons unbeknownst to myself. I could remember being little and driving with my mom. I was three, almost four. I remember peering out the window and pulling up to the curb of a single story home. We walked up to the door and knocked. We went inside. I remember looking around and thinking the decor was odd...very masculine. Pictures of hunters and dogs and lots of brown furniture. Then I remember my dad coming to me, crouching down and handing me an old hot wheels van. It was orange with a black hood and a circle window on the back end. I remember the wheels were a little wobbly but it drove well and I loved toy cars.
That is my earliest memory. My first memory. The oldest story in my autobiography.
When I told the other child at school they thought it was a strange first memory. Drab and dull. Why was THAT my first memory? I had no answer. It was a boring story, but I remembered it so vividly. Which side the couch was on when I walked in. How many hallways there were. We only stayed but five minutes in that house and I don't remember every visiting that house again. So I came home from school and told my mom "I have this memory....we went to a house..." And I asked her why? Why do I remember that? What were we doing and whose house were we at? She said we were visiting one of my dad's friends.
I have replayed that memory thousands of times. Always enchanted by it and always stretching to remember a tiny bit more...but always the same exact story plays out. I still have the van. Tucked in my keepsake tote.
When I was in high school, when I was sixteen, my parents took me to lunch one day. Just me. I think they took me out of school early. We ate at Oscar's on the Pond. After we ate they suggested we walk around the pond. We never made it to the pond. We walked on the grass and my mom told me she wanted to tell me something. She asked me to sit down.
"You're pregnant, aren't you?!" I guessed.
They laughed and answered that they were not. Then they proceeded to tell me that my dad was not really my dad. My mom had made a mistake years ago and my biological father had chosen not to be a part of our lives. My mom met my dad when I was three and they were married a year later. He adopted me when I was five.
At first I laughed. I laughed a lot. I'm sure my parents were concerned...how on earth could I be laughing?! Then I started to ask questions. My parents answered some and were uncomfortable discussing others. My father's name is Bill. They didn't tell me his last name. There was no need they said.
Then when I realized my questions were making my dad feel hurt, I started to think about that van. My first memory...that was the first time I met the man that would become my daddy. Not dull or drab...life changing. Altering. The first time that little girl that was me ever received a gift from a dad, her dad.
I am so thankful that God gave me the dad that He did. He isn't perfect, but he was a wonderful dad and he stepped up and chose to be my dad when he really didn't have to. He wanted to.
But the strange feeling inside....the feeling that half of me is still a mystery, that part never goes away. The questions still sneak up, asking why didn't he want me? Why didn't he return when he said he would? Does he think about me? Do I have any other brothers or sisters? Do I look like him? Do my kids look like him? Would we get along? The nagging feeling of rejection is still there...haunting almost. And then there is guilt...because no matter what, I still had a wonderful dad and never have I wished he were someone else. This nagging feeling has nothing to do with him. There is nothing he could have done differently or that he did not do. It is just an odd thing to not know about a whole part of you. To grow up thinking you are an odd looking half Italian and realize that you are really half Australian. To always wonder. Has he changed? Is he a dad? Did he have any medical issues? Does he have asthma? Does he love to read and is he good at spelling?
It is so silly...but it's real nonetheless. And my heart hurts when I hear stories similar to and exponentially more hurtful than mine. Stories of children who don't know their fathers or mothers, whose parents have abandoned them or lived lives too selfish to afford to keep their children. Stories of children who grew up thinking one thing only to learn another. Stories of children alone in the system. I cannot relate to most of these children, but I can relate a tiny bit to the feeling of emptiness and rejection. Just a tiny bit. Because I didn't actively live out being rejected, I don't remember watching my father walk out the door and waiting for him to never return. I don't remember my mother's tears. I only know the feeling that I had when my parents told me the truth at sixteen. And the rippling feelings since then. And those still hurt. i cannot imagine the pain that other children feel. But I can also relate a tiny bit to the joy and gratitude a child can feel when chosen by someone who does not have to choose you. A feeling of redemption. Ahhh...so sweet, isn't it?
When I was younger, maybe around seven, someone at school asked me what my earliest memory was. What the furthest point in my mind was...what was the very first thing I remember experiencing. I pushed hard and I thought long and a particular memory came to mind. It had played in my mind countless times for reasons unbeknownst to myself. I could remember being little and driving with my mom. I was three, almost four. I remember peering out the window and pulling up to the curb of a single story home. We walked up to the door and knocked. We went inside. I remember looking around and thinking the decor was odd...very masculine. Pictures of hunters and dogs and lots of brown furniture. Then I remember my dad coming to me, crouching down and handing me an old hot wheels van. It was orange with a black hood and a circle window on the back end. I remember the wheels were a little wobbly but it drove well and I loved toy cars.
That is my earliest memory. My first memory. The oldest story in my autobiography.
When I told the other child at school they thought it was a strange first memory. Drab and dull. Why was THAT my first memory? I had no answer. It was a boring story, but I remembered it so vividly. Which side the couch was on when I walked in. How many hallways there were. We only stayed but five minutes in that house and I don't remember every visiting that house again. So I came home from school and told my mom "I have this memory....we went to a house..." And I asked her why? Why do I remember that? What were we doing and whose house were we at? She said we were visiting one of my dad's friends.
I have replayed that memory thousands of times. Always enchanted by it and always stretching to remember a tiny bit more...but always the same exact story plays out. I still have the van. Tucked in my keepsake tote.
When I was in high school, when I was sixteen, my parents took me to lunch one day. Just me. I think they took me out of school early. We ate at Oscar's on the Pond. After we ate they suggested we walk around the pond. We never made it to the pond. We walked on the grass and my mom told me she wanted to tell me something. She asked me to sit down.
"You're pregnant, aren't you?!" I guessed.
They laughed and answered that they were not. Then they proceeded to tell me that my dad was not really my dad. My mom had made a mistake years ago and my biological father had chosen not to be a part of our lives. My mom met my dad when I was three and they were married a year later. He adopted me when I was five.
At first I laughed. I laughed a lot. I'm sure my parents were concerned...how on earth could I be laughing?! Then I started to ask questions. My parents answered some and were uncomfortable discussing others. My father's name is Bill. They didn't tell me his last name. There was no need they said.
Then when I realized my questions were making my dad feel hurt, I started to think about that van. My first memory...that was the first time I met the man that would become my daddy. Not dull or drab...life changing. Altering. The first time that little girl that was me ever received a gift from a dad, her dad.
I am so thankful that God gave me the dad that He did. He isn't perfect, but he was a wonderful dad and he stepped up and chose to be my dad when he really didn't have to. He wanted to.
But the strange feeling inside....the feeling that half of me is still a mystery, that part never goes away. The questions still sneak up, asking why didn't he want me? Why didn't he return when he said he would? Does he think about me? Do I have any other brothers or sisters? Do I look like him? Do my kids look like him? Would we get along? The nagging feeling of rejection is still there...haunting almost. And then there is guilt...because no matter what, I still had a wonderful dad and never have I wished he were someone else. This nagging feeling has nothing to do with him. There is nothing he could have done differently or that he did not do. It is just an odd thing to not know about a whole part of you. To grow up thinking you are an odd looking half Italian and realize that you are really half Australian. To always wonder. Has he changed? Is he a dad? Did he have any medical issues? Does he have asthma? Does he love to read and is he good at spelling?
It is so silly...but it's real nonetheless. And my heart hurts when I hear stories similar to and exponentially more hurtful than mine. Stories of children who don't know their fathers or mothers, whose parents have abandoned them or lived lives too selfish to afford to keep their children. Stories of children who grew up thinking one thing only to learn another. Stories of children alone in the system. I cannot relate to most of these children, but I can relate a tiny bit to the feeling of emptiness and rejection. Just a tiny bit. Because I didn't actively live out being rejected, I don't remember watching my father walk out the door and waiting for him to never return. I don't remember my mother's tears. I only know the feeling that I had when my parents told me the truth at sixteen. And the rippling feelings since then. And those still hurt. i cannot imagine the pain that other children feel. But I can also relate a tiny bit to the joy and gratitude a child can feel when chosen by someone who does not have to choose you. A feeling of redemption. Ahhh...so sweet, isn't it?
Thursday, May 16
Jesus loved sinners
So here it is, here's the skinny, just for the sake of writing it down.
We are now in Colorado! Eek! Hubby found a great job here and off we went. Things are going well, as well as expected. I am loving so much of Colorado and burdened by the other part. We found a home in a wonderful area, though it is very old and barely a hop skip and a jump away from other areas where the homeless will find shelter in an unlocked car.
The whole city is really like that. Incredible, lovely and amazing areas and then a couple houses down the street tiny houses with windows and doors barely hanging on. There are so many men and women lining certain streets, obviously in dire need of a clean jacket and a new pair of shoes.
When skies open with rain or snow, you can see them scurry to and huddle under various freeway overpasses. I was at a laundromat the other day and a woman was telling her daughter in law how she had left her car unlocked overnight and came out in the morning to find an old man sleeping inside. Nothing was disturbed or missing, he was simply trying to find a warm, dry place to rest his head. She said he thanked her for the place to sleep when she woke him up.
Later, at the natural food store next door to the laundromat, I found myself rubbing elbows with some of the more upper class of the Springs.
I find it curious, yet extraordinary to watch how closely these economic polar opposites coexist.
It has always been such a distant issue where I have lived. There were wealthy, middle class and sort of struggling and one or two bums at a street corner here and there. It is different here. It is grabbing me.
We have been living in an exquisite resort. A one hundred year old hotel whose history is as rich as the flooring and furniture. There are endless hallways to explore and countless employees eager to share a story or two. We have truly enjoyed living the "suite life." Late nights by the over sized outdoor fireplaces, hot chocolate every night, dining on the patio for breakfast, lunch and dinner, feeding birds, watching deer, swimming, walking around the lake, playing checkers, bowling, video games and going to the movie theatre...all without ever leaving the property. And of course, I don't need to mention room service, housekeeping and valet services...it has been grand, a luxury, an experience that we would never have had on our own. And I am so very thankful for this grand time that I have been able to sit back and just be with my children. We have been busy still, of course, moving to a new state comes with a long list of to-do's. But without the distractions of regular housework and chores in between, I have spent many hours playing board games with my children, reading to them, exploring and just being together. For that, I am filled with gratitude.
However, my heart has also been so torn! Here I am among some of the most elite of society in Colorado, if not some of the most elite in the world. You think I am exaggerating? Oh no friends, Prince Harry was a guest here this past weekend. My husband prepared his dinner one night. I am not telling a tale. And I dare to tread on this topic that involves wealth and upper class society...I hope that my heart's musings are not misconstrued and not used in a hurtful way, but rather just an examination of self. As I have watched so many people come and go, tossing money around so easily, and then spent the next afternoon playing with the poorer children at the laundromat, I just can't help but wonder how it is so unevenly split? Now, I am not at all saying that wealth should or should not be evenly distributed...I am definitely not trying to get into that argument. I believe in hard work and that you sow what you reap.
No...not my point in the slightest.
I am merely explaining some of my own heart's concerns. I couldn't help but think of the times that Jesus reached out to the poor, the sick, the weak. About the times He warned the rich. Jesus loved the lowest members in society. He dined with them. He called them to Him. He washed their feet. Jesus loved sinners. Harlots. Liars. Adulterers. These were the type of people that made up our Biblical heroes. These are the "greats" that God chose to serve Him. And then He commanded us to love. To love our neighbors. Not just the hardworking, bill paying neighbors with their lawns mowed and their children's hair cut neat....no, there is no exclusionary statement in His commandment. He simply said Love them.
Of course He knew we never could. He knew that we would never want to or even try to. Nevertheless He plucked us up and put His spirit within us, His spirit to love others.
I am feeling His love when I see these dirty faces with missing teeth. I can see His hands reaching towards them. It would be easy to close my eyes or even just stay in this bubble...this bubble that is only beauty and perfection. To walk beside people who are also in this bubble, to make friends with people in this bubble. That would be easy...and fun, I'm sure. But Jesus has called me to be His hands and feet...it's not a comfortable idea, but a narrow road is never very comfortable, now is it?
All of this to say, or not to say, that this place that we are privileged to be a part of for the time being...it is not bad. It is lovely. It truly is. It is one of the most pleasant, beautiful, and relaxing yet fun places I have ever been to. If you ever have the opportunity for an incredible Colorado vacation that will go down in the books forever, this is the place. Truly! ;)
I just couldn't ignore the irony of my situation...spending my days in the laundromat with the bottom of the barrel and then the evenings spent with the creme de la creme. Such an experience.
We are now in Colorado! Eek! Hubby found a great job here and off we went. Things are going well, as well as expected. I am loving so much of Colorado and burdened by the other part. We found a home in a wonderful area, though it is very old and barely a hop skip and a jump away from other areas where the homeless will find shelter in an unlocked car.
The whole city is really like that. Incredible, lovely and amazing areas and then a couple houses down the street tiny houses with windows and doors barely hanging on. There are so many men and women lining certain streets, obviously in dire need of a clean jacket and a new pair of shoes.
When skies open with rain or snow, you can see them scurry to and huddle under various freeway overpasses. I was at a laundromat the other day and a woman was telling her daughter in law how she had left her car unlocked overnight and came out in the morning to find an old man sleeping inside. Nothing was disturbed or missing, he was simply trying to find a warm, dry place to rest his head. She said he thanked her for the place to sleep when she woke him up.
Later, at the natural food store next door to the laundromat, I found myself rubbing elbows with some of the more upper class of the Springs.
I find it curious, yet extraordinary to watch how closely these economic polar opposites coexist.
It has always been such a distant issue where I have lived. There were wealthy, middle class and sort of struggling and one or two bums at a street corner here and there. It is different here. It is grabbing me.
We have been living in an exquisite resort. A one hundred year old hotel whose history is as rich as the flooring and furniture. There are endless hallways to explore and countless employees eager to share a story or two. We have truly enjoyed living the "suite life." Late nights by the over sized outdoor fireplaces, hot chocolate every night, dining on the patio for breakfast, lunch and dinner, feeding birds, watching deer, swimming, walking around the lake, playing checkers, bowling, video games and going to the movie theatre...all without ever leaving the property. And of course, I don't need to mention room service, housekeeping and valet services...it has been grand, a luxury, an experience that we would never have had on our own. And I am so very thankful for this grand time that I have been able to sit back and just be with my children. We have been busy still, of course, moving to a new state comes with a long list of to-do's. But without the distractions of regular housework and chores in between, I have spent many hours playing board games with my children, reading to them, exploring and just being together. For that, I am filled with gratitude.
However, my heart has also been so torn! Here I am among some of the most elite of society in Colorado, if not some of the most elite in the world. You think I am exaggerating? Oh no friends, Prince Harry was a guest here this past weekend. My husband prepared his dinner one night. I am not telling a tale. And I dare to tread on this topic that involves wealth and upper class society...I hope that my heart's musings are not misconstrued and not used in a hurtful way, but rather just an examination of self. As I have watched so many people come and go, tossing money around so easily, and then spent the next afternoon playing with the poorer children at the laundromat, I just can't help but wonder how it is so unevenly split? Now, I am not at all saying that wealth should or should not be evenly distributed...I am definitely not trying to get into that argument. I believe in hard work and that you sow what you reap.
No...not my point in the slightest.
I am merely explaining some of my own heart's concerns. I couldn't help but think of the times that Jesus reached out to the poor, the sick, the weak. About the times He warned the rich. Jesus loved the lowest members in society. He dined with them. He called them to Him. He washed their feet. Jesus loved sinners. Harlots. Liars. Adulterers. These were the type of people that made up our Biblical heroes. These are the "greats" that God chose to serve Him. And then He commanded us to love. To love our neighbors. Not just the hardworking, bill paying neighbors with their lawns mowed and their children's hair cut neat....no, there is no exclusionary statement in His commandment. He simply said Love them.
Of course He knew we never could. He knew that we would never want to or even try to. Nevertheless He plucked us up and put His spirit within us, His spirit to love others.
I am feeling His love when I see these dirty faces with missing teeth. I can see His hands reaching towards them. It would be easy to close my eyes or even just stay in this bubble...this bubble that is only beauty and perfection. To walk beside people who are also in this bubble, to make friends with people in this bubble. That would be easy...and fun, I'm sure. But Jesus has called me to be His hands and feet...it's not a comfortable idea, but a narrow road is never very comfortable, now is it?
All of this to say, or not to say, that this place that we are privileged to be a part of for the time being...it is not bad. It is lovely. It truly is. It is one of the most pleasant, beautiful, and relaxing yet fun places I have ever been to. If you ever have the opportunity for an incredible Colorado vacation that will go down in the books forever, this is the place. Truly! ;)
I just couldn't ignore the irony of my situation...spending my days in the laundromat with the bottom of the barrel and then the evenings spent with the creme de la creme. Such an experience.
Monday, May 13
Learning
Oh friends...
I am feeling. So much. I don't entirely know what or how to describe it. Just feeling. My heart feels open, hurting yet full and joyful at the same time. I truly don't know what is going on within but I can only guess that God is peeling back layers and continuing the work He has started in me. I wish I could trace this never ending journey back to a beginning. I cannot. There seem to be many beginnings to my story. And then, there's a big problem. It's not my story at all.
That's one thing that's happening. I am learning...really learning. So much. About God, myself, the Bible, my family, how this whole Christian thing is meant to work. Boy oh boy have I had it all wrong. This isn't my story, not even in the slightest. I am but a tiny excerpt in the greatest story ever told. The story written and told by the Almighty about the Magnificent. And I just a little bullet point, whose sole purpose is to exemplify to glory and grace of God. I suck at my job, might I add.
On any given day and time I am running from God, absorbed in self-righteousness, and shaming the grace that has been so abundantly poured out on me. And God knew that I would do that. And then He knew that after He showed me that I was doing that and gave me a spirit of grief for my sinful ways, that I would return and do it all again. He knew all that. And He still chose me. The King of the heavens and the earth, the creator of all things, scooped me out of the filth and pulled me to Himself. Before I even knew I wanted to be loved by the Almighty, He did. And then He put His love within me and spoke to me: Surrender. Everything, all you have and all you are. Because it is not me, friends. I am not good. Not even a tiny bit. Only Him in me is good and how can I but to throw my hands in the air and turn my face to the heavens and cry out in awe and worship...and offer everything?? I am trying. Well, I think I am trying. But we all know how that story goes. Only when I stop trying and just start letting God do it will I actually be giving of myself. Giving grace. And love and goodness from Him. Back to Him.
Oh what a relief it has been to realize that there is nothing I can do to pave the way for my salvation. Not a single thing. Just graciously thank Jesus for it. And live it. Live saved by grace.
That is mostly what I am learning friends. I have been a Christian all my life. Since I was five when I prayed that little prayer. But I never knew what that meant. I never knew that I was a Christian, not because of that prayer. Not because of any of my prayers. But only because I was chosen first. Sweet redemption. I am just learning what it truly means. And it is so sweet.
I am feeling. So much. I don't entirely know what or how to describe it. Just feeling. My heart feels open, hurting yet full and joyful at the same time. I truly don't know what is going on within but I can only guess that God is peeling back layers and continuing the work He has started in me. I wish I could trace this never ending journey back to a beginning. I cannot. There seem to be many beginnings to my story. And then, there's a big problem. It's not my story at all.
That's one thing that's happening. I am learning...really learning. So much. About God, myself, the Bible, my family, how this whole Christian thing is meant to work. Boy oh boy have I had it all wrong. This isn't my story, not even in the slightest. I am but a tiny excerpt in the greatest story ever told. The story written and told by the Almighty about the Magnificent. And I just a little bullet point, whose sole purpose is to exemplify to glory and grace of God. I suck at my job, might I add.
On any given day and time I am running from God, absorbed in self-righteousness, and shaming the grace that has been so abundantly poured out on me. And God knew that I would do that. And then He knew that after He showed me that I was doing that and gave me a spirit of grief for my sinful ways, that I would return and do it all again. He knew all that. And He still chose me. The King of the heavens and the earth, the creator of all things, scooped me out of the filth and pulled me to Himself. Before I even knew I wanted to be loved by the Almighty, He did. And then He put His love within me and spoke to me: Surrender. Everything, all you have and all you are. Because it is not me, friends. I am not good. Not even a tiny bit. Only Him in me is good and how can I but to throw my hands in the air and turn my face to the heavens and cry out in awe and worship...and offer everything?? I am trying. Well, I think I am trying. But we all know how that story goes. Only when I stop trying and just start letting God do it will I actually be giving of myself. Giving grace. And love and goodness from Him. Back to Him.
Oh what a relief it has been to realize that there is nothing I can do to pave the way for my salvation. Not a single thing. Just graciously thank Jesus for it. And live it. Live saved by grace.
That is mostly what I am learning friends. I have been a Christian all my life. Since I was five when I prayed that little prayer. But I never knew what that meant. I never knew that I was a Christian, not because of that prayer. Not because of any of my prayers. But only because I was chosen first. Sweet redemption. I am just learning what it truly means. And it is so sweet.
Saturday, March 16
Why
I''ve been feeling a call on my heart. I think God wants me to share things in my life, but I really don't know why. And I don't entirely know how these stories can be used to help anyone, because I don't think I chose to react to the situations in the best way. And I don't really have a big amazing story as to what God has done with these dark spots in my story. I don't want to share things and have them just be seen as a plea for pity. I am still working through some of these issues also. So maybe I should wait until someday when i've seen the beauty that God promises from ashes? I am scared to be open and vulnerable. Especially here, on the world wide web. Where little to no one truly cares about you. I haven't even shared some of these things with some of the people who I've called close in my life. Although it seems that those close friends aren't always what I thought either. When is being open with everyone a good thing and when is it just putting on a show, creating a drama?
I just don't know why. But I can't shrug the feeling. I just wish I knew why. What will come of it all?
Thursday, March 7
Prayers
Things are in store for my family. Big things. God is orchestrating a tiny little symphony in our life and it is just incredible to watch it come together. I am nervous and anxious at how it will continue to unfold, but excited to see what His purpose is for each of us individually and together as a whole.
Things have been overwhelming and crazy, a flurry is the word that continually comes to mind. But it is good. So good. I cannot wait to see what He sees.
On the other end of the spectrum, I am fighting feelings of hurt and lonliness. I cannot mend things that are broken for reasons I don't understand. Things are out of my hands yet I feel that burden of the blame that is being put upon me. I have been running in circles, desperately trying to figure out what I can do to solve situations and today it just struck me. Perhaps this is the enemy pulling the puppet strings. Laughing all the while I am distracted and disheartened. I realize that God is on my side, and while He cares about the silly things that weigh me down, He is reminding me that HIS yoke is easy and His burden is light. Why concern myself with things that are not of Him. Even things that are good and a blessing, can become a weight. I have been letting some things that should be meant for good, consume me. Filling my heart with sadness and my vision is away from Him. That is not good.
Be Thou my vision Lord. Continue to take me and mold me, using my family and I for good and not evil. Continue to give us your love for others, a peaceful, uncompromising love. Guide my feet Jesus, please. Strip away the things in my life that do not bring glory to your name. The things that do not shout your mercy and love from the tops of the mountains. Help me to proclaim your grace. Keep me away from the tangles and snares of this world.
I love you Jesus.
Fill me with your love for others.
Things have been overwhelming and crazy, a flurry is the word that continually comes to mind. But it is good. So good. I cannot wait to see what He sees.
On the other end of the spectrum, I am fighting feelings of hurt and lonliness. I cannot mend things that are broken for reasons I don't understand. Things are out of my hands yet I feel that burden of the blame that is being put upon me. I have been running in circles, desperately trying to figure out what I can do to solve situations and today it just struck me. Perhaps this is the enemy pulling the puppet strings. Laughing all the while I am distracted and disheartened. I realize that God is on my side, and while He cares about the silly things that weigh me down, He is reminding me that HIS yoke is easy and His burden is light. Why concern myself with things that are not of Him. Even things that are good and a blessing, can become a weight. I have been letting some things that should be meant for good, consume me. Filling my heart with sadness and my vision is away from Him. That is not good.
Be Thou my vision Lord. Continue to take me and mold me, using my family and I for good and not evil. Continue to give us your love for others, a peaceful, uncompromising love. Guide my feet Jesus, please. Strip away the things in my life that do not bring glory to your name. The things that do not shout your mercy and love from the tops of the mountains. Help me to proclaim your grace. Keep me away from the tangles and snares of this world.
I love you Jesus.
Fill me with your love for others.
Tuesday, September 11
Gifts 1034-1060
I cannot believe it's been so long since I've written down the gifts God has shown me. Man... better late than never.
Laynie...such a sweet spirit in that one
Remembering pain. For without pain, how would we truly grow?
Learning to stop looking to people
Summer storms
Coffee machine, brewing out my morning cup
A church family.
Someone genuinely happy to see me
Parents moving closer
Temptation...forcing me to look up, begging for strength
Kaelyn reading to everyone!
Kaelyn's school...the incredible lessons it has afforded us
The friends we've met that we are called to be a light to
my six year old witness for Jesus. She's like a little missionary
Sibling rivalry. So thankful they have each other.
the laundry that never ever ever ends. Let it never stop
a handy husband who can fix (and sometimes break) anything
a burdened heart...for days
learning to treat my body as a temple
learning that God gave us everything we need in nature
my body
watching an imagination game unfold
playing in the rain...barefoot...with the neighbor kids down the street
kale...incredible
living with simplicity...trying anyway
every day a new beginning
support
my kids, helping with chores...ahhh...bliss ;)
Saturday, September 8
A Day at the Beach
This was a last minute idea in MAY. We headed to the beach on a weekend when the sun was shining and bright. Hubby and Brandt fished on the pier, and the kids and I played in the sand and waves. Later we met up together and fished and had dinner. It was such a simple and fun day. Loved it.
Saturday, September 1
Friday, August 17
Reminding Momma
My sweet Kaelyn,
You are growing and changing so fast. When I think of you, it's all I can think of...how quickly you are growing up. How big you are getting. How independent you are becoming. You started first grade a couple days ago. You were SO excited. Beaming both the first and the second day of school. Barely pausing to give your mom a hug goodbye. And when you have come home, you've been going a mile a minute retelling the adventures of the playground and the experiences in the class room. I have loved every minute of it. But sometimes, thinking about how quickly you're growing and how quickly you will continue to grow leaves me gasping for more. More time...I feel like I've had the wind knocked out of me every once in a while when I think about where we'll be in six more years. The first six went so fast...I'm not ready for the next six to whiz by! I find myself pleading silently for everything to just stop and freeze! To have one more day to push you on the baby swings and go down the slide with you on my lap. One more hour to rock you to sleep and snuggle close. One more day to memorize that little baby face I miss so dearly.
And then....there was today. For some reason, out of nowhere, you turned in your independence and excitement for a nervous melancholy grip on my hand. As I walked you to your class I realized you weren't leading today, but rather pulling back just a bit. You were hesitant to hang your backpack outside your class and you didn't greet your friends with a big smile and hug like usual. Today you clung tightly to my side and when I bent to hug you and say goodbye, you pulled me close and wrapped yourself as tightly as you could around me. I looked into those sweet eyes as they filled with tears and I asked you what was wrong. You just kept saying "I just want to be with you, I just want you to stay." I kissed your pretty freckled cheeks, tasting the saltiness from your tears, and rubbed your back. I held you close and as I looked at your sad face, I was secretly thankful. I took it all in...each freckle, the beautiful stray auburn strands of hair, your lashes sticking together from crying, your shoulders sun kissed just a bit, your little nose and pink lips. And I thanked Jesus for giving me that glimpse of little Kaelyn. Of little six year old Kaelyn...not big six year old girl, but the little one who still needs her momma, not her mom sometimes. The little girl who is still nervous and afraid, who is still reassured by her momma's touch on her shoulders. The little girl who forgets that all her friends are watching and jumps into my lap as I kneel on the sidewalk. I miss that little girl sometimes...and as sad as I am to see you crying and sad, I am so thankful that you're still little. That you still need me. I am so thankful that God and YOU reminded me that my little freckled red head baby is still in there...my sweet baby Kaelyn.
I hope you have a wonderful day today. I hope you didn't stay sad and I truly hope that you were having so much fun you forgot to miss me. But I thank you for reminding me that really, you are still so little. You can be SO big later. Today, and maybe tomorrow too, you are just my little Kaelyn.
You are growing and changing so fast. When I think of you, it's all I can think of...how quickly you are growing up. How big you are getting. How independent you are becoming. You started first grade a couple days ago. You were SO excited. Beaming both the first and the second day of school. Barely pausing to give your mom a hug goodbye. And when you have come home, you've been going a mile a minute retelling the adventures of the playground and the experiences in the class room. I have loved every minute of it. But sometimes, thinking about how quickly you're growing and how quickly you will continue to grow leaves me gasping for more. More time...I feel like I've had the wind knocked out of me every once in a while when I think about where we'll be in six more years. The first six went so fast...I'm not ready for the next six to whiz by! I find myself pleading silently for everything to just stop and freeze! To have one more day to push you on the baby swings and go down the slide with you on my lap. One more hour to rock you to sleep and snuggle close. One more day to memorize that little baby face I miss so dearly.
And then....there was today. For some reason, out of nowhere, you turned in your independence and excitement for a nervous melancholy grip on my hand. As I walked you to your class I realized you weren't leading today, but rather pulling back just a bit. You were hesitant to hang your backpack outside your class and you didn't greet your friends with a big smile and hug like usual. Today you clung tightly to my side and when I bent to hug you and say goodbye, you pulled me close and wrapped yourself as tightly as you could around me. I looked into those sweet eyes as they filled with tears and I asked you what was wrong. You just kept saying "I just want to be with you, I just want you to stay." I kissed your pretty freckled cheeks, tasting the saltiness from your tears, and rubbed your back. I held you close and as I looked at your sad face, I was secretly thankful. I took it all in...each freckle, the beautiful stray auburn strands of hair, your lashes sticking together from crying, your shoulders sun kissed just a bit, your little nose and pink lips. And I thanked Jesus for giving me that glimpse of little Kaelyn. Of little six year old Kaelyn...not big six year old girl, but the little one who still needs her momma, not her mom sometimes. The little girl who is still nervous and afraid, who is still reassured by her momma's touch on her shoulders. The little girl who forgets that all her friends are watching and jumps into my lap as I kneel on the sidewalk. I miss that little girl sometimes...and as sad as I am to see you crying and sad, I am so thankful that you're still little. That you still need me. I am so thankful that God and YOU reminded me that my little freckled red head baby is still in there...my sweet baby Kaelyn.
I hope you have a wonderful day today. I hope you didn't stay sad and I truly hope that you were having so much fun you forgot to miss me. But I thank you for reminding me that really, you are still so little. You can be SO big later. Today, and maybe tomorrow too, you are just my little Kaelyn.
Sunday, August 5
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