On Learning The Three-Hundred [& His Glory in the Garden]

Ya'll, gardening is a dangerous endeavor.

As if the tilling of the soil and the arrangement of the plants and the actual back-breaking work of planting the darn thing, with multiple trips to Walmart covered in who knows what to get yet another bag of potting soil--as if all of that isn't enough, every hour I spend out there leads to some sort of spiritual revelation or conviction.

But let's be real, mostly the latter. And it's painnnnnfulll. 

Even more so then my fingers after spending every Saturday crouched over yanking on those pesky little weeds that seem to reproduce right under my eyes. That sea of green.

From my understanding, you have to uproot the weed completely to prevent it from coming back. And when we're talking thousands of weeds in such a wide space--well that just seems not possible. So I more often find myself swiping off the green shoots poking up that drive my eyes mad. For hours, I clear them out until theres a wide circle around each plant that boasts only brown soil and is fully purged of those life-sucking blades of green. Wow, that looks so much better. I think to myself. I can breathe a sigh of relief.

Until next week.

That's the problem with us though--we're looking at the surface and our sweet Savior is looking underground, at our hearts. Our solutions yield instant gratification and so often God's way requires (at times even painful) patience and trust.

If I cut into that soil and looked below the surface, I would surely find an entangling of roots. Deep, deep weeds rooting themselves into my plants. I would see the way they suck life right out of my slow-growing tomatoes. Like thieves in the night. The way the nutrient, moist and sun-filled patch feeds them to live. And I would see the consequences of avoiding the deeper issue---those pesky roots of the weeds.

So what if we cut into the depths of my heart and gazed beneath the surface? I guarantee there would be a thick entangling of life-sucking sin rooted down in there. And when I chose to feed it, it grows. When I feast on the truth I know and soak in His grace the spirit living in me gains weight while the roots of sin shrivel. It's really as simple as that.

But it can certainly be hard work. Christ makes us new of course, and yet allows us to remain sojourners on this earth and the wait can seem much like a war at times, a war waging beneath the surface of our hearts.

It's like when Paul talks about wanting to do the one thing he knows he doesn't want to do but he still wants to. Even typing that makes no sense, and yet--welcome to the battle!

I've been rooted in Gideon's story these past few weeks. Today I'm at the point in the story where God tells Gideon to send home any of his soldiers who are "afraid and trembling" so as not to cause the rest enslavement to such fear. Much to Gideon's surprise, 22,000 of his soldiers heard that and just peaced out. Surely he decided in that moment his battle had just been lost, before it had even begun.

I might look at my thousands of weeds against ONE messy me:  hopeless victory. 

Unhindered fear would have become a more powerful weapon against Israel than the thousands of swords pointed in their direction. Look at how God is seeing things here--removing Gideon's eyes from the shoots sticking out in front of him (his large, enemy army) to see the even greater destruction that can come from the hearts of those standing right beside him.

It gets even better, of course. As if loosing all those men wasn't enough, He then tells him to separate certain men from his army based on how he observes them drinking water out of the stream. I can only imagine Gideon in this moment--God, are you joking me?!

This leaves Gideon with three-hunderd men. After starting off the day with 32,000 Gideon probably felt pretty alone and defeated.

But God knew better then Gideon, and He knows better then we do too. Even I would have told Gideon to go get some more men. But God is STILL looking at the heart over the circumstances. He knew Gideon's strength came from men that were not distracted by their flesh. Even if that was outwardly expressed in how they drank their water. These three-hundred knew they needed to drink, but not at the expense of their alertness and readiness for war.

Our thirst needs to be quenched--and it always is--but at what expense?

This past year I have seen my army of 32,000 fading away too. It has been a long, exhausting, and lonely season of roots being yanked hard. Uncertainty of the future, sin creeping back up, deep roots exposed, and a whole lot of waiting to see the victory.

But just as Gideon will eventually see the grace of God in removing the distracted soldiers that his army might bring more victory for the sake of God's glory, so also have I witnessed His spirit gaining strength inside of me, triumphing over the grave. 

Whether in an army or a garden or our hearts, the removal of the wayward roots is painful and scary. It can make us to feel isolated and confused about the future and even the very nature of our Father. You may not be particularly pleased with the three-hundred you've been left with. For a long season, I wasn't either.

But His power is perfected in our weakness. Only so we can boast all the more gladly of our inabilities.

I'm learning that the three-hundred is our secret-weapon. It's a battleground to show God's strength and glory. It's not the 32,000 we thought we needed, but its the three-hundred that God will use to bring the victory into our lives and the glory that is His alone. 

It's His love that surpasses the depths of the deepest, thickest root of sin which pierces it at its core. It's the same love that took away over 30,000 men from Gideon's army. And it's with that very same love that He desires the depths of our hearts--through all of which come the victory and His glory. 

In Which I Fall in Love [with the church]

Community is a word we throw around quite a bit down here in this bible bubble.

I've heard it used a million ways, I've been sharpened by it, and at times, deeply wounded too. After all, it does involve broken, sinful, flawed people trying to do real life together. It's bound to be messy--and glorious. I think God meant it to be such. For our good but mostly His glory.

From body to body, one life season to another, community has changed.

But as I go into my third year with this body of believers in this little corner of the natural state, I know more then this pretty picture. Ya'll, I get to experience the real deal. And even as these words pour out, the tears follow because God's grace abounds so richly in these brothers and sisters, adopted dads and mommas, grandmas and grandpas with whom He has surrounded me with.

It sounds perfect but it is far from. Just last night I found myself asking God why He has me here, committed to this body when I just keep seeing these flaws. I watch dear friends drift out and eventually  find community elsewhere. And I become frustrated with the routine. There are few in my life season and that can feel lonely too.

And then there are moments where I remember why. Why commitment to community, to a specific body, is so precious and valuable.

First off, it's biblical. God commands it. Check out these brief words from Piper. 

Secondly, we were created to do life together, in relationship yet serving as different parts of the body. Like last night when I was sitting across the table from this precious fifty-seven year old woman who is one of the most faithful I have known. We had my laptop open, hovering in close as we scoured Pinterest, discussing green ties, rustic table decor, and Japanese cakes while sipping hot tea and rejoicing that in just a few short months she is to marry for the first time.  I get to stand beside her.

I saw it two years ago when I was dealing with some tough stuff and a family from church told me to come live with them so we can walk through it together. They taught me how to shoot a gun, love the country, share a room with sisters, and more then I ever wanted to know about snakes. Somewhere in the process they taught me to trust too. Jesus' love had never been more real to me as it was through their sacrificial love for me. They made me want Him more. This adopted mamma gave birth to her tenth baby a few months ago so our latest heart to heart happened sitting in the car, in a parking lot over sonic while nursing this new little one. This is just community, right?

When we gather to corporate worship on Sunday, our voices humming the same tune, despite all of our flesh and failure, I sense it. The desperateness with which we praise Him. The lifting of the weightyness of the week as those words knit us tighter. Someday it will be every tribe and tongue and I cannot imagine. This glimpse is just grace.

When I didn't have a job two years ago, a part of my community gave me one. When they had to let me go after a tough year for the company, someone else in this community taught me to counsel clients and serve as they came through the doors or our church's ministry to those in need while I waited on God's provision of a new job. They knew idol time to be a great burden. They protected me, when I didn't even know I needed it. And everyday, they encouraged me in the word and held me in prayer.

Last week I took the little guy I nanny to play with the kiddos of a mamma in my community. We talked real life while they tossed balls and built leggos. That's what this really means, I think.

Community far exceeds the doors of a building or a set apart day of the week.

This community sent my sweet friend and me to India last year. They prayed us over there and back. Much of the funding came from them too. Then they held us while we wrestled upon our return. When God called me to missions several months ago, they laid hands and prayed. Then we met one on one, me and a pastor, as he encouraged me in this calling and they committed to teach me and someday, be a part of my going.

I don't think there has been one international event this year that my "young professionals group" of friends hasn't served at when I present the need. We are the most random group and Jesus unites us. There are challenges and differences, but they teach me so much.

There are generations in this community. A grandpa who spent years in Africa for the sake of the gospel, and still praises Christ in spite of burrying a child overseas and contracting polio as a teen. He cares for his ailing wife with this love so true it could pierce at a glance. He lets me call him a grandfather, he comes over for dinner sometimes. He always tells me about how we're just waiting for the best one [refering to whoever it might be that the Lord has for me to marry], he tells me this man is gearing up, getting ready. Oh, and sometimes he plays the guitar.

There's a ninety-three year old that we all call grandma. She has traveled more countries then I could dream and tells stories like no other. A couple weeks back we gathered at the hospital waiting for her to come out of a surgery when the future was quite unclear. We prayed a lot and reminisced. She lives cancer free. A couple nights ago I changed the dressing on her incision, as her daughter wanted me to "practice being a nurse." I don't think grandma was such a fan of being my guinea pig.

Once a month I watch these kiddos durng big church. They are busy and halarious. I realize they get to grow up in this community. What a covering, what a blessing. It's the generations to come. It's the ones who have been around for quite awhile. It's the ones in the middle. The ones studying at university, the ones from the other side of the world pondering those big questions.

I see pillars, this legacy God has given. I am so underservng. And yet He is so deeply magnified in our weaknesses, as a body simply meeting to know Him and make Him known. He fixates our wondering hearts on Him in asking us to do life together as we wait. It's like a refining fire, a constant reminder. And I always come out with a greater understanding of my dependency upon Him.

I see it again and again. My need for these brothers and sisters continues to humble me. And His glory displayed in me being apart of them too. And I never thought I would love the church like that.

Praise God!! Only He could use such an imperfect and fallible people to make us want Him most.

When the Wait is Hard, Ya'll

The wait is hard, y'all.

We know the right way despite the draw of our flesh towards sin. It got me thinking about the way I look at my own sin.

I can deposit my paycheck laying in bed Friday night. Immediately, some of the money is at my disposal. Instant gratification defines our culture. That's why we watch sex on the internet instead of waiting. It's how we justify the removal of a baby and call it unwanted tissue. It's why every single year, women are bought and sold at the super bowl. It's why I drive through Chickfila after a long day instead of heading home to cook dinner. Our culture wants everything now. Instant gratification. 

I believe it seeps into our waiting, it sinks in deep and carves out crevasses. It hardens us to the promptings of the spirit and weighs us down. Cracks form and pieces shatter and we are so blinded by the here and now, that the future seems bleak at best. Hope drifts. Joy fades. And suddenly the sure foundation wobbles around a bit. And so also, do I.

It always drives us to despair. To shame. To fig leaves. When we let it.

But like many things, sin is a choice right? What we believe to be true is too.

I've been frustrated and saddened by the way my sin creeps back in, even after all these years of knowing what sets me free. I've followed the twelve steps, logged thousands of hours in counseling sessions, worked my rehab programs, and committed endless scripture to memory on the topic. And yet it hasn't disappeared. The thoughts and desires creep in like the thief in the night. Often.

Sometimes they lure and entice me into action. Convince me of a different worth then that which is found in Christ. We war, continually. And it can be confusing and consuming.

I think we all desire to be free. We want to feel it, to live it, to know it. We don't desire to be entangled to those former ways of ignorance. My former ignorance-- an eating disorder, among a colorful palate of other sin for sure. But you fill in the blank. It's all the same.

So why are we so often finding ourselves back there?

"I'm realizing that having a normal relationship with food is not the end goal here--holiness is. And my holiness is ultimately not contingent on the reversal of my dysfunctional thought processes about food or myself." 

God decides which thorns stay and which thorns go, for His glory. This might be a battle I fight the rest of my life on earth. There will be change, of course, as I dethrone food and replace it with God's holiness. I know I'm not so enslaved as I once was. I don't find much gratification in hanging my head over the toilet like before. I am attentive to the separation brought by my sin. And yet there are moments when the lies still latch on and try to persuade me otherwise. This is the slow process of sanctification, and really it must become an inevitable change of knowing Christ. Though it might or might not include complete release from my eating disorder in this life on earth. And I forget, even this is for His glory to be more greatly manifest in my weaknesses.

And yet I am neither driven to despair nor found behind a fig leaf ONLY because of the fact that life on earth isn't in fact the end. There's more. And that is where my hope is found. This body is always going to let me down. To lie to me. To lust after everything but Christ.

Thus, I have to choose where I will SET my hope during this waiting.  

Set your hope fully on the grace that will be brought to you at the revelation of Christ, Peter urges us. Don't be conformed to the passions of your former ignorance, but be holy like Jesus. (1 Pet. 1) It's hard for me to imagine that the fullness of grace won't be totally revealed until Heaven. I am so dependent on it now. And He gives more and more. And yet, it's like we ain't seen nothin' yet!

We have to long for THAT day. By thinking rightly about reality.

I think I'm learning that means glory over gratification. And even grace over grief. 

And it's hard. But I don't see hope anywhere in this world apart from Christ. I've looked. Everywhere. And had never been nearer to death then in that searching.

The search ended and life began when Jesus revealed Himself to me, in His death for me.

His glory is not magnified in my sin or shame. His glory is manifest in His redemption of my life. And as such a recipient, my radiance is reflective of Him not me. And praise Jesus for that!

So now I let Him pluck the thorns as He may (or may not), because the end goal is no longer about me. It's just about His glory, His holiness, His power which will be most greatly magnified in what is to come. Eternal, forever, never-going-back, free, joyous redemption.

May we wait with hope as our eyes are fixed on such things.

On Level Ground & My Dad

I saw him this Christmas and it never became this big deal. It's been a couple years since we've stepped into a room together and I am not the same. He's been sober for awhile now and for that I do rejoice (after I question that this could really be true, of course).

A few people have asked lately, so I started to think about it.

I don't really think about him much anymore, my dad that is. Sometimes I will wonder about all the could haves and would haves long lost. I catch myself dreaming up the past all pretty and perfect. I stop myself  because it's a silly waste of a future, I think. And more often I dream of my wedding day, but it is never him there beside me.

And it's okay. 

God has made Himself known to me. We're walking this thing out and my eyes don't see Him so skewed any more. He has offered up a handful of faithful fatherly figures who take great intention with my life, and I know the love more today then I ever have. And I need it less. What grace, ya'll. What unfathomable grace. 

It's okay to be free, right? To not doubt or fear or condemn?

Because over these years, I pictured this dramatic slow-mo scene of me running into his arms. I think there were daisies too. And green grass. And the sun, the blue sky of course. But in reality, it was frigid and dark outside as I wondered up the sidewalk with an armload of presents. It was Christmas Eve and the whole fam was gathered. I didn't see him at first. And he didn't rush right in for an embrace.

I got situated and then made the rounds. I hugged him and he trailed behind much of the night, asking for glimpses into what has been my life and where it is headed. It got a bit frustrating at one point, so I plopped down between sisters on the couch and soaked it all up.

Here we are celebrating this God birthed into flesh and knowing Him more greatly then the father of my own flesh had indeed set me free. Glory to God alone, for He really has molded my heart to love and trust Him most. And in the process, He's put pieces once shattered back together. He has redeemed.  He still is!

This has just been a season of level ground concerning these daddy issues and I don't quite know what to do with it. The past decade or so has certainly been a roller coaster of mountains so high and valleys so deep. Straight and narrow suddenly doesn't seem nearly as enticing. 

Teach me your way, O Lord, and lead me on a level path.

That's been a life verse that's finally taking on flesh and I'm praying for joy to follow. He promises it will in Him. 

You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore. 

We wrestle in these completely unbearable (apart from that little detail of grace) and unfair circumstances, and we claim He is fighting and our faith becomes our eyes and its the hardest thing ever but we put one foot in front of the other and claim the victory. Some days thats enough. Others we wallow and wait and beg Jesus to show Himself and whisk us away already. These last years have brought majority of the latter.

Today, I am thankful for a Lord who redeems and repairs and makes me new--and for level ground.

And a brief side note---I am so incredibly thankful for and blessed by my brothers (and bro-in-law) who have sought after, confronted, directed, cared for and loved the heck outa our dad through these past several years. What a sweet blessing from the Lord that He would position these men to intercede for me and bear the brunt of the burden of our dad for me (and my sister) as I just needed time and space--and Jesus.

And by His grace, they actually showed me all three.

In Him alone is great joy found.

On Setting Hope [somewhere]

It’s been quiet over here for awhile, as life has left me in an unbroken chain of go, go, going. I’m not sure how consistent these next weeks will allow me to maintain, but I’m here today putting pen to the paper [or keys to the screen I suppose] and it feels like fresh air.

The last month or two back on American soil has left me a little bit confused and a whole lot of broken. It’s been overwhelming and I am learning a lot about rest and trust. It’s not the time to write it out and I don’t know that it ever will be, but Jesus is here and I know he is fighting. So I am learning to rest and ease the script continually running through my head filled with to-do lists, failures and what nots with Truth.

There hasn’t been a day this week that the Lord hasn’t brought me to this passage. What patience and grace he has for us! Even when I doubt him and pull back, He is quick to remind me it is not of my strength or willing that the dead come back to life. Hmmm. Ouch?

“For we do not want you to be unaware, brothers, of the affliction we experienced in Asia. For we were so utterly burdened beyond our strength that we despaired of life itself. Indeed, we felt that we had received the sentence of death. But that was to make us rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead. He delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us. On him we have set our hope that he will deliver us again. You also must help us by prayer, so that many will give thanks on our behalf for the blessing granted us through the prayers of many.” (2 Corinthians 1:8-11, ESV)

I’ve had to ask myself many times, even today, where is your hope set, Courtney?

And this conscious effort of warring against my hope being set anywhere else has actually provided the words I’ve been asking God to give me for several weeks now, as I am in the process of applying to nursing school and the following is part of a personal statement I was asked to submit.

________________________________________________________________

I was just on the back end of those preteen years, when I started struggling with an eating disorder. It didn’t take long before I spent more time in hospitals then outside of them.

I remember laying in that hospital bed again that year; it was Christmas and underneath all the hardness, I was just a little girl. That morning was the first time I saw her, hobbling in through those big ole doors. She was from down south somewhere and she just plopped herself down on the bed beside me, like we were best friends or something. I sat up slightly taken aback and wondering if I’d seen her here before. “What are you doin’ in here sweetie? You should be out there livin’, girl!”

I had had some amazing nurses over those years. But Miss Cynthia, she sure was something. As I cried an hour or so at the sight of breakfast, she just sat there with her arms around me. At one point she turned to me and took my cheeks into her wrinkly grip. Made me look her square those big brown eyes of hers. She told me to stop this. That she knew God didn’t put me here on this earth so that I could starve myself out of it. She told me that wasn’t up to me. And I could keep wasting my days trying—or I could live life fuller then that. She babbled on about my beauty and purpose and sweet spirit.

She fed me my cheerios that morning, like a momma to a baby girl. Little by little. I ate them too. Every bite I swallowed, nourished more then those bones of mine though. She fed my spirit something and it changed me. She fed me hope.

That’s it I think—nursing is so much more then antimony, bed pans, and IV pricks. It doesn’t begin at the start of a new shift or end pulling out of the hospital parking lot. The commitment to the practice of nursing takes all of that head knowledge and practical skills and morphs it into this joy-filled giving of self for the hope of another human being to be rekindled in the midst of great pain and discouragement. It sure isn’t easy, I would imagine. Yet, I just see such an overwhelming reward that comes with the commitment to this filed of study.

We all have more hurts and heartaches then one could imagine, and we’ve all been on the other side. A nurse is the mamma hug and words of truth when you forget what they sound like. I marvel at how far medicine has come and how miraculously doctors can heal the human body. I think some nurses go right for the soul.  

Every morning Miss Cynthia came back. She gave more then her duty detailed and ten years later, I still remember everything about her. I wish she could know I am living life with hope that far exceeds myself. If only I could let her know the impact she had in my life, the way I’m here applying for nursing school because I know there are other patients that need a “Miss Cynthia” to just be that safe place and stable voice for them too.

So I continue to dream of nursing, as it’s an opportunity for me care for others and meet them where they’re at. I believe God has really given me compassion and empathy for others in painful and difficult situations. I am a relational person and sitting behind a desk all day just wasn’t for me. Moving around and interacting with many different types of people and co-workers seems like it would fit me well. I just love helping people. I enjoy learning more about the design of the human body and how it can heal so miraculously.

…..

Someday I would love the opportunity to continue my studies in nurse-midwifery, but in the meantime the prospect of obtaining a BSN through an accelerated program, coupled with lots of much-needed experience is what I am hoping for!

I know the next twelve months will be brutal. I know my life won’t really be my own and I may often find myself on information over-load. But what an incredible opportunity it would be to spend this next year acquiring many skills and so much wisdom in how to better love, serve, and offer hope to those in need.

I am so thankful for the tough stuff I was allowed to walk through as it has led me here, to this place of knowing that hope triumphs all else. And we all need it.

________________________________________________________________

We all need hope. The older I get, the more I see the need around me and inside of me. I am so thankful that the gospel isn't just a Sunday morning song. Praise the Lord He is alive and active, continually working in us and through us that we may know Him and speak of the great hope found only in Him as well. 

**And yes, I have applied to three different accelerated BSN programs. One acceptance and two in the process. For now, I just know my commitment remains to Jesus first and where He leads me, I just want to follow [even if I drag my feet all the way back to the classroom]. 

In Which I Ask You to Pray

[I know my words in response to returning from India have been few, and that will change soon, I hope.]

But today I want to tell you a story and ask you to pray, too.

I was about a month out from graduating from this residential program where I had fallen in love with Jesus and He had begun the process of redemption in my life after an eight year battle with bulimia, among many other things. One of the steps towards graduation consists of "real-wolrd" plans. Meaning, what is next for you when you leave this bubble? For me, that meant my freshman year of college, meeting with my accountability partner, serving in my church family, and finding a job. I started applying for jobs while in treatment, any online applications I could get my hands on. I was quite familiar with a nanny website called care.com, as I had previously worked for a family I found through that website. I decided to get on there and apply for a few nanny positions near my home.

There was one in particular that stood out and I just remember it sounding too good to be true. Their house was literally walking distance from mine, the hours were perfect and the pay quite generous. That's why it was a shock to me when the mother of these two boys replied to my application the next morning and asked for me to come over for an interview. And an even bigger surprise when I was allowed to leave the program I was in for a night to go have the interview, something that was never really done. But God had a plan it seems; I just didn't realize how overwhelmingly perfect it was until this week.

I remember driving to the interview and talking on the phone with my best friend. As reality began to creep in, I said to her, "Let's just hope they don't ask me why there's been a gap in my employment the past year or two. It's not like I could put 'resident in troubled girls home' on my application and hope they let me watch their kids, huh?" We laughed. The interview went perfectly and God really did give me a great love for their family, even through that short hour long meeting. Somehow I knew this was the job God had chosen for me, even before they offered it.

A few weeks later, of course, the offer did come and I graciously accepted. I started nannying for them late that August, picking up the boys from the bus stop, helping with homework, a few snacks, and some play time. The younger of the two beat me in basketball everyday and his victory shouts over me [yet again] never seemed to get old to him. The boys were both a little older, one pre-teen and the other just shy of it, so we got to talk a lot. About real things, you know? That was cool, since most nanny positions it's not like that.

The boys' parents, well they worked hard and loved their boys more then anything in life. In the winter I got to invite the boys' mom to a women's Christmas tea at my church. That night I finally decided it was time to share with her a little bit of my story, in hopes I wouldn't lose my job after she realized how messy my life was not too long ago, for that matter, that she would still trust me with her kids. I told her about the tough stuff growing up and the way I sought after control of just about anything in my life as a result. I told her how I just want to be good enough, pretty enough, smart enough--and how I just didn't feel loved in those early years. So, I decided to try to earn it. If I could be skinner and prettier, well, then maybe mom and dad would love me. I told about years in treatment programs and hospitals and the night I overdosed in an attempt to be free from the weight of it all. And then I told her how God saved my body from death quite miraculously that night. And how He brought me to Mercy and redeemed my life from the pit of hell. He gave me hope and that set me free after eight years of trying to find it elsewhere.

She listened to my words and cried. That night things shifted in our relationship as we continued to grow closer and to this day I am so thankful for the way their family has stood by me these past four years.

That next summer I had the boys full time as God continued to build tighter relationship between me and this family. We spent long days at the pool, the zoo, eating ice cream and riding roller coasters at Six Flags. That sort of became our weekly routine. I was pretty involved with a youth ministry called ZOE Ministries at the time, so we spent quite a few of those hot summer days up at the ZOE house that summer too. The boys met some friends and started asking more questions about this whole Jesus thing, especially the younger of the two.

We talked about how God spoke the animals, plants and us humans into existence and he soaked it up. I gave him a bible for his birthday that year and he read it a few times. We listened to worship songs in my car and they fought me on it, boy did they ever. In fact, my the volume control on my radio is still broken from a disagreement I had with one of the boys over who controls the music in my car. But then one day in the middle of that summer I looked in the rearview to see them both just singing along to one of those silly worship songs. Tears streamed quietly down my cheeks as we drove to Target.

I moved away to college in Arkansas that fall, and saying goodbye to the boys and thier parents brought as many tears for all of us as saying goodbye to my own family. I wrote the boys a lot and visited every time I came home. That Christmas when it was time for them to meet the boy I was dating, the younger of the two literally followed him around the entire evening with the whole "if you hurt her, I'll kill you" glare in his eye. When we left, I remember the guy I was dating saying that the little man scared him. Hah. That is just him, though. And I am so thankful.

The next summer I came home to nanny the boys again and they had really grown up that year. We had such sweet times and so many crazy adventures that summer. We played monopoly every single day--and I often got beat. More lazy pool days and I think we ate frozen yogurt daily that year. Through a big event at the end of the summer put on by ZOE called Hot Summer Nights, the younger of the two raised his hand to accept Christ as Lord. After two years of praying for this family and just doing life with them, getting to witness this moment was pretty incredible. I went back to college about a week later and continued to stay in touch best I could. I don't know much of what the past two years have looked like for these precious boys, apart from a few visits and photos.

Last week I found out that the younger of the two boys, the same one who beat me in basketball, often championed our monopoly marathons, and scared off the only boy I ever dated--I found out he has actually been struggling with an eating disorder. Most people might be shocked to find out that a boy could be so enslaved to a battle with food and image, but since an eating disorder is most often a whole lot of deeper issues expressed through a distorted view of ourselves and thus relationship with food, it's a shock to me more boys don't struggle with it. And they might, but be too ashamed to seek help.

• Up to 24 million people of all ages and genders suffer from an eating disorder in the U.S.
• An estimated 10-15% of people with anorexia or bulimia are male.
• Men are less likely to seek treatment for eating disorders because of the perception that they are “woman’s diseases.”
• Significantly higher rates of eating disorders found in elite athletes (20%), than in a female control group (9%).

Looking back four years ago, I didn't know why God chose to allow me to work for this family just out of treatment. And even through those two years with the boys, there were days I wondered how the Lord brought me here, into this home with these crazy boys, days I wanted to quit! But God always seemed to draw me back to just loving them in spite of myself. He kept there and sustained us all.

I knew when I moved away two years ago I would stay in touch and was so thankful for how God used this family to provide stability and love for me as I wobbled through my first two years learning to walk in freedom from my eating disorder. But I had no idea God would allow me to testify to His faithfulness in my own life as one of these boys battles the same issue four years later. I am humbled today, to just reflect on how perfect and glorious His bigger picture plans really are, you know?

Jesus redeemed my life from the pit of hell. He can do it for this precious little brother too. Let's pray to that end, as James says "If any of you lacks wisdom He should ask God who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given to him. But let him ask in faith with no doubting..."

Four years later, I just know I am so unworthy, and yet He loves me still. I mess up a lot and sometimes I forget His promises, but He continues to work in my heart and teach more of my identity in Him. I am no longer a slave to an eating disorder or anything else for that matter, because His word says while my sin deserved death, He gave His son Jesus to die on a cross that I might be set free. And that, well, that's my story. It's all of our stories when we truly believe in our hearts Jesus is the way, the Truth and the life.

I am praying with great expectation for the way God is using this trial to draw this beloved family to Himself, just as He did for me. Pray for his mom, especially as she is desperate to help her son. Please join me in praying for this precious family and for their son who is currently in another state at an inpatient treatment program which specifically targets boys battling eating disorders. 

*If you know this precious boy who is struggling and would like to send him some words of encouragement, that would be an incredible blessing to him, and to me. Let me know and I will send you his address. 

In Which I Move Into the Cline House & Trust Jesus More

Someone told me there were a bunch of houses for rent in this area, so I drove as the sun was sinking beyond the trees, begging God to show me just one. We had to commit in a matter hours and I just wanted something better, something a little more cookie cutter, a little more pretty, something with a dishwasher maybe? I had no idea how I would find the one, get through to the larndords, convince my roommates and get a lease signed between 8pm and 8am the next day, but somehow I knew God would show up because surely He didn't want me to have to live in this jenk one either.

Meeting the girls I would soon call roommates had been a complete God thing from the very beginning. I had been processing the coming fall and what that would mean for me. The plan had always been a fourth year of living in community and pouring into college girls through Lightbearers. God has so extensively used this ministry to encourage, challenge and equip me in my understanding of scripture and its application over these past few years, so it just seemed obvious I would now pour into "the next generation" so to speak. Wow, I feel old. As the year progressed, I began filtering much of my life through this lens of international ministry, as God has continued to require more of me all the while allowing my heart to genuinely love these students and the time I get with each of them in way only He could.

And as He would have it, around this time is when I met Kayla--at an international event of course. We only met that one time, and when I moved back into the apartments this past winter, we lived just a building away though with our schedules it might as well have been miles separating. Completely randomly, we met up and I had no clue why. She was quick and to the point, as I was baking something for an international potluck in my apartment that night. Well, I have no clue what your plans are, she said, but I have vision for a house in the fall, a house where internationals are sleeping on the couch and gathered in the living room studying the bible, after the dance parties of course.  she grinned. And I am looking for girls with the same heart that might be interested, and I thought of you.

As the words flowed from her lips, before the sentences were even formed, I knew this was why God had been interrupting my plans and allowing some doubt to linger in pursuit of the upcoming fall. Before she walked out the door, I agreed to pray for the next week, though looking back God had been preparing me for quite some time and my answer seemed pretty clear.

It wasn't easy though, as a house meant leaving this incredible apartment community that had really weaned me from milk to solid food these past three years, and walked with me close through those tough seasons, this family even bringing me into their home this year. So many who have poured into my life, who were excited to have me step into a leadership role in the fall. I had watched families grow, internationals witness the love of Christ for the first time, babies born right in those apartments and raised up in our little neighborhood. It's been where God's had me and it feels safe--so of course I've wrestled to the ground with these thoughts of leaving, of disappointing, of change, of making the wrong decision, of failing to pour out what I've recieved for the next group of girls.

There came a point where I could no longer deny the clarity God had provided in the move, so soon enough I was all in. Our third roommate, Katie, also committed and it seemed God united our hearts from day one. Then the house search began! We went to look, all three together, for the first time. We saw three houses that night and by the end of the night the first had won over my roommates. I was still convinced we could do better. With about 48 hours to decide as four other groups wanted to also pursue the same house, I had to find something quick!

Which brings me back to my mad drive around Fayetteville at dusk begging Jesus to lead me to the one. I guess someone went on ahead of me taking down every single FOR RENT sign across this darn town, because there was not one to be found--though the next day there they were once again. 

Literally. Defeated, I found myself turning onto Cline Street, the location of this silly little house that had some sort of draw on my roommates. I don't even know why I drove by. There was no magical moment in seeing it again. It hadn't grown any younger and remained dishwasher-less. I turned around at the end of the street and flipped on the radio to clear my head.

There was a song midway through and the very first words to play said "And now you're on this road that's leading you home..."

Well, okay. Okay Lord, fine, I'll just learn to wash dishes by hand. I passed that little house again with full water works, completely assured this move with these girls into this silly little brick house was exactly where God wanted me, talking to Him for hours over the sink most likely.

We called the next morning to see if we'd gotten it or if another family had won out. They said that another group offered them $100 more a month in rent then what they were asking because they really wanted that house. But, they continued, for some reason we really felt like you guys should have this house. So, we turned them down. It's yours!

And on Saturday, we moved into that silly little brick house on Cline Street.

And this morning as I was pulling out of the driveway, I couldn't help but realize how gracious the Lord has been through something so temporal--this little brick house. How He created it with TWO living rooms, a sunroom, and an awesome backyard, all of which equipped us for this vision of continually hosting international gatherings. How He provided four couches well within our budget, two of which have pull out Queen beds, as again He is bringing our vision of internationals sleeping on our couch often to fruition. How He positioned the house close to campus and within our price range. How He led this family, who aren't believers, to chose us even when offered a higher rental rate. How He provided an army to get all three of us moved in a single day or two.

It's His grace. I never imagined this silly little house could possibly teach me to ask in faith without doubting, but it already has.

And when I look back to moving day, amidst all the chaos and sweat dripping, there was a moment where I looked up and couldn't quite contain the emotion. It was when I realized our help had come from America and India, from Panama and Indonesia. Guys and girls here for this season from the nations, two I'd gotten to study the bible with this year that loved Jesus with thier whole heart, another who even offered His dad's help when I arrive in India in several weeks and didn't even know Jesus. These internationals who served us and then got to pray with us as we fellowshipped over lunch, our first little meal in this silly little dishwasher-less Cline street house where God is already at work.

All I can say is this space belongs to the Lord and so do I. Because apart from nothing is sustained and in Him is life everlasting. I am thankful for what Christ has done, what is doing, and what He is going to continue to do in and through my life, my roommates, and our little, brick, dishwasher-less house on Cline Street.

[Oh and I am learning that sometimes, it's okay to use paper plates--even if they don't match the decor.]

To the early days of the Cline House and a year of watching Christ teach us all to place more dependency upon Him, the author and perfecter, the beginning and the end, as we walk down this road that's leading us home! 

18“You shall therefore impress these words of mine on your heart and on your soul; and you shall bind them as a sign on your hand, and they shall be as frontals on your forehead.19“You shall teach them to your sons, talking of them when you sit in your house and when you walk along the road and when you lie down and when you rise up.20“You shall write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates,21so that your days and the days of your sons may be multiplied on the land which the LORD swore to your fathers to give them, as long as the heavens remain above the earth.

22“For if you are careful to keep all this commandment which I am commanding you to do, to love the LORD your God, to walk in all His ways and hold fast to Him,23then the LORD will drive out all these nations from before you, and you will dispossess nations greater and mightier than you.24“Every place on which the sole of your foot treads shall be yours; your border will be from the wilderness to Lebanon, and from the river, the river Euphrates, as far as the western sea.25“No man will be able to stand before you; the LORD your God will lay the dread of you and the fear of you on all the land on which you set foot, as He has spoken to you.  [Deut. 11]

In Which Babies Remind Me

I've spent the past few days with this new little family of four. I am so madly in love with these boys sometimes I can't even stand it.

I think this weekend has kept me locked up behind the gates of solitude as I find myself staring off into the distance and craving time in the quiet more then normal. This year, I just can't quite seem to wrap my little mind around Easter, around this thing called the resurrection.

My ears flood with sounds of my uselessness, my lack of belonging here. I feel something ugly when menial tasks are tossed my way, as if I am entitled to something greater then unpacking the car or manning the washing machine in the basement. I love to serve and I miss my friend even while she is sitting right net to me, two boys feeding off of her, and I just can't control my thoughts these days.

And as crazy as my brain as been as of late, I have never in my life heard grace sung so sweet as these past weeks. You know, it just keeps getting louder. 

I think the message I hear is such:  without the ressuresction, there would be no Christianity. No grace. No Truth to replace the lies. No after the before. No hope in the pain. No sacrifice in the death. It all hinges on the rock removed giving way to emptiness. It all comes back to the risen Son.

The one that dwells deep and hums to words otherwise mostly forgotten in the noise.

I watch this new Mamma and Daddy love bigger then I ever knew possible and it leaves me hungrier. Give me some a that, I think to myself. While I reflect on how things have changed and how I miss something that isn't even lost, just different.

I've seen God's provision lately in such unreal ways. And what I deserve is death.

There is something to be reconciled this year, some understanding I simply don't understand.

Understanding aside, I know it to be true so why do I still search here, within the constraints of clothes that hide shame and walls that conceal sin? What is it about saftey and belonging that is so appealing in our nakedness?

It's in us from birth, I'm learning. Something programmed deep, something beyond the passing the of genes. The kicking and flailing of complete unrestraint seen against the comfort of a tight swaddling blanket or two. The way their little muscles relax when they are scrunched up tight chest to chest. The unrest that comes in diaper changes contrasted with the peace of nakedness undone. The glory of a mamma nursing that makes every tear trickle away.

We all want to loved, protected, important-we all want to feel safe. 

When I watch this new daddy lock eyes with his boys, I feel goose bumps chase up my arms. I hear him whisper to his son and I remember this glimpse of right relationship, of justice. It leaves me teary-eyed and hungrier. When mamma nurses, her love made flesh really does quiet them. I continually think of the way God rejoices over them with singing, the way watching her calm her little sweet peas reminds me He thinks of me like that too?

Even though my mom is still learning how to love me. In spite of my dad robbing me of safety.

He still quiets me with His love. He calls me beloved. No matter how tight my pants feel today or how I just barely swung a passing grade on that last test or how my bible was altogether forgotten on this little trip or how I have spent a few weeks engulfed in a thick fog, it seems.

I still long to hear Him singing, you know. I need it.

They cry for no reason sometimes. These two precious boys. Completely senseless and sleep-robbing tears, and yet her love waivers not, of course. I hear her voice--Oh my lil sweet pea. You know your mamma loves you? As she quiets them. And I know she would give herself for these little guys because I watch it happening, the way her life is belonging less and less to her.

Lord, is that not what you desire for me too? That as a new mamma of two is somewhat supernaturally empowered to function on far less sleep then should be humanly possible, I also should also feel the sting of something lost so that something else might be gained?

There is something powerful about these early days, something I hope to remember. The way the womb contracts and boys burst forth and there is much rejoicing and much sacrifice.

For me or you, it might not be sleep or a daily shower He is requiring for the taking. Perhaps it is shame. Or fear. Maybe failure. Or hurt of not being protected. Maybe even your love of other things.

Like these precious babies scream over a bit of nakedness, we too must remember that is us. We are completely deserving, you know? We are the naked and guilty, apart from the One who chose in His grace to clothe us--with the righteousness of a risen Savior!

Death that we might have life. Risen that He might live in us. Nakedness undone. Quieting us with His love. Do you hear the song yet?

The LORD your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing.  [Zephaniah 3:17]

In Which I Wrestle & Wait

A week ago life started singing outside my window so I slept with it open all night. I don't think I've slept quite like that in months. The sun kissed my face red after a day outside in the country with my adopted fam finishing my little [turned big] chicken house project from last year. It's almost done now and it was a project far to large for my own undertaking, joke's on me evidently!

Today rain and gloom linger and I feel a chill in the air. It's my dad's birthday and I don't quite know what to do with that. Oddly, all I can think about is wanting to hug him tight and for him to tell me it's all gunna be okay. I took a three hour nap and have no motivation to leave this bed. Nonetheless, the grass is gaining color and I am thankful for a resurrection glimpse.

Isn't it good news that the story doesn't end with the crucifixion?

We sang in church today and I wept like a baby. I tried to fight it, but by the time the offering song launched I was a goner. I think it was deep rooted in this weariness I've felt and the way I've depended on the idol too much in this trial. And then there is the trial itself. My applied for job count has topped out in the late twenties this week and my interviews thus far cap out at a whopping zero. It hasn't been the darkness of before, but it's lingered and weeks later I still haven't run the other way.

Why is that sometimes our wounds feel better oozing then they do all stitched up?

These days I look in the mirror and find disappointment in the faded blonde staring back at me. I haven't felt it in months and months but it feeds something of old. I find myself reaching into the back of the closet for the hoodies that cover up a few times too many and I wake up to the hum of relentless failure flowing ear to ear. There is something to be said for getting dressed up for work each day and with that gone--maybe I just need to pretend I have somewhere important to be?

I find myself making excuses to be places and moving my life to the week after next because I am just a little fragile right now and, well I don't even know why. Maybe something will click by then, though. I hope so. Surely I am not bound to a life of sweatpants just yet.

I hear the enemy loud. I open my Bible and the words just look a little blurry. I think it's a season we all know and the timing of it makes sense--tomorrow sums up my forty days of prayer and this last week I've felt the resistance.

But, God is speaking and I am dependent on hearing His voice.

Community around here really has sustained me. From random (rather large) checks taped to my windshield to people meeting me for the fist time only to discover I'm that one their whole family has been praying for these past weeks (which has happened more times then I can count on these fingers). All of my "adopted parents" both local and back home have been a constant flood of grace and wisdom in my life. My bible study friends have loved me well. Sweet ladies from church far more aged and faithful then I have come in close and looked me in the eyes while His words sunk deep. This is the testimony of His bride who have relentlessly pointed me back to He who is able.

And I think I forget it, when I don't see Him doing the abundantly more. I forget He is able. I forget faith is not seeing. I forget His ways are better too. Because let's face it, I have it all figured out stored away, just in case anyhow. 

"...the righteousness from God that depends on faith—that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead." [Phil. 3:10-11]

I think He is letting some parts of me crumble off. Hammering away.

The fire is thick and blazing these days, and this whole dying thing is a dreadful process. But as I watch this tulip fan open into yellow budded bliss, I remember abundant life such as this requires a cost so great as death itself.

In this case, undeserved death on a cross which burst forth an impossible stone that He who is able might attain resurrection. And here He dwells in the fire with you and me, His spirit sustaining.

I'm not sure what this season is to result in, what He is trying to carve outa me.

So all I can say is such--by any means possible, Lord, by any means possible. 

You Should Be Embarrassed

It was a a year ago, that I dropped out of school that is.

My mom told  me if I left school, I would regret it. That she would not lend her support no matter how many convincing words I shared. I figured she would come around eventually and she has. But it still lingers beneath just about every conversation, I hear the doubt. I feel the building momentum of the moment she still believes will come--the one where she can say the coveted "I told you so."

I'm back in school, just several months from graduation actually. But it's not the conventional type--it's not the noteworthy college name every mom dreams of. And it will never be enough.

Last year, when I actually went through with it, I think I shocked her a bit. She cut off her financial support in her attempt to control and I knew there was no turning back. I needed a job. In one week, in fact. A real one though, one that could put me through college.

I remember it so vivid. It was a Friday and I still hadn't found a single lead. Come Monday, I had rent to pay (at an apartment I wasn't even living in nonetheless) and I simply didn't have the money. Oh mom and grandma were a double act all right, a dream team just loving the way I was failing. It's funny that they don't talk to each other out of decade old spite, yet their words echo scars deep, taking up pages long in my voicemail box.

The family I was living with, the ones that God used to walk me into freedom this year, he called to tell me around four I needed to go meet his friend who had a company. He said he might have a job for me. I'd been doing some part time labor and I raced out the door to make it across town in time. Not long after I found myself sitting across from this man and he spoke quickly and I answered simply. He said that he trusted K (the dad of family that had taken me in) very much, that his recommendation meant a lot. I left with a full time job, one that I would start that Monday in fact.

I left with something they might be proud of.

Little did I know this job would also come with another adopted family, fellow believers that encouraged me daily and covered me in prayer. I haven't always loved my job as it often seems menial if that, but I come to work everyday because I love the community, the people. I wrote about it a while ago over here.

Last week, I lost this job, quite unexpectedly.

I knew the season was winding down and five o' clock sure has dragged from lunch on the past few weeks, but I didn't see it ending this way or in this time. In fact, I am slightly freaking out.

Tomorrow the job search begins and there is talk of a move being thrown around too. I am tear-filled tonight as it is that time of the month atop the realization that I have no alarm to set, no Monday morning emails to get to. It is a rather uncomfortable place to be.

And one year ago it was there His hand hath provided--this job, this family, this safe place to come to work everyday as my nights and weekends were spent wrestling my sin and shame and learning to trust and submit. No one knew what was happening outside of the office and no one knew the way God ordained my position within this company for this season of time--but oh He did.

My grandma left me a message today and told me that I should be embarrassed by what my life has become. She went on for the full four minutes (before it cut her off) to explain how she makes up heroic stories to tell her friends about me because she could never tell them the truth. That I am a disappointment. The truth that I am a college drop out, screw up, and will never amount to much (not in the world's eyes). Now we can add unemployed to the list as well. Oh, she will love the new material.

I haven't gotten up the guts to tell mom or granny yet. Because I hear the accusations in the quiet of the night and I know their noise will prove too much to bear just yet.

You see the Truth is, God provided a year ago--this job. At the time I didn't see Him doing anything. In fact, I felt He had left me to my mess. But He hadn't--He just had to strip me of the distractions of the temporal life before He could cast vision for the eternal. If I had school and my mother's provision and an apartment with limited accountability there would be no reason for me to search for anything greater because those things seemed satisfactory.

I think sometimes God has to pull out these basic things from beneath us before we will credit Him at all worthy of something more because so often we find contentment elsewhere.

I am not embarrassed by God's work in my life this year. And while it might not play out this way for all of us, if that required Him stripping me of a college degree (for a time), trusting Him to provide a job, and moving me into a family of eleven where privacy is no longer a concept--well then I'm not embarrassed by any of that either.

And so, if He was faithful in those seemingly embarrassing things, then I simply cannot continue to shame myself into failure once more at the loss of this job.

It just means He is calling me to to trust in the eternal plan He has authored and perfected, far more then the temporal that my family speaks of. 

On Why I Won't Give Up Chocolate for Lent

Forty days.

No food or water or people.

I would lose my ever-lasting mind, I think. Just with no one to talk to. No physical person standing there to process and laugh. Let's not even talk about the food and water lacking. Not physically possible for a reason, I think. And I'm glad that I don't have to give up all of those things in preparation for the resurrection, and I know I am selfish.

I've never participated in lent because it feels too religious. It makes me feel chained down by the law and I'm free from that. But if feelings aren't enough, I have some solid ground for my unwillingness to give up _____ these forty days too.

I don't think missing chocolate would leave much of a lasting impression looking back in a few years anyhow. I see sacrifice of a dear Pastor in India who has nothing and gives everything and completely trusts God. I see the persecution and need and I am shamed into ignoring lent altogether because none of my worldly junk given up for a few weeks compares. And yet I know that one day He wipes away all of our tears and I've had my share too—so I have to stop playing those games.

I bet the coffee and chocolate sales plummet during this month or so but I don't really understand it. Withholding myself from chocolate doesn't make me love Jesus more. It doesn't make me pray more. It doesn't lead me to His Word. It's just another diet—with restricting of something to be replaced with another fleshy thing. Like gummy bears. Yum.

I don't think using self-denial as a tool to rely on my own will makes a whole lot of sense since my own flesh never leads down the straight and narrow. Paul reminds us self-denial doesn't stop the flesh either. 

So this year, I added something.

My friend Sydney and I are praying. A lot. At various hours of the day and night. For forty days. At this really sweet prayer room in my town. {If you're a Fayetteville local, sign up here!}

They're keeping it open twenty-four-seven for these forty days of dersert wandering and I pray to get lost there, curled up on that red rug near the back beneath the dim lighting as some sort of music strums to the movement of fingers up front somewhere.

It's a blessing to do this together and very much one of those only God could be the author of this because our hearts are so intermeshed that sometimes when I am in the middle I forget if I'm praying for her or myself. This strong cord is gaining and I don't think it will break, even on those days we both come in heavy and weary. That's been me lately and I walk out persevering because I remember who He is outside of me and my mess.

Oh, He is bigger. 

This time spent looking at the throne feeds that into my deceitful heart and it changes me.

We are specifically asking God to give us vision for international ministry in the weeks and months to come. For next year too. It sounds like God has called us both to stay in Fayetteville for another year and for me it is slightly disappointing in initial glances [at least through these eyes of mine that filter life through my plans and my timing]. But ultimately I know another year[ish] of steadfastness is needed and for His glory as I am learning to trust His plan more then mine. I'm glad we get to do it together!

James talks about asking God for wisdom without doubting, for he who doubts is like a wave of the sea, driven and tossed by the wind. Ya'll, that is me! Even last night I found myself on the floor just weeping because I know I am supposed to trust Him and believe He will answer but I don't—I just don't always believe Him.

It's been sweet to see the Lord already answer two specific prayers and I just cannot imagine what these forty days will bring—literally cannot imagine. But it's okay because the talking and worshipping and proclaiming and reading and asking and waiting and trusting and seeing Him work—it's all how faith comes and shields. 

I think prayer drives me deeper into the desert then a lack of chocolate, though I should probably do away with that anyhow.

Prayer is a shield to the soul, a sacrifice to God, and a scourge for Satan.  

                                                                                    ~ John Bunyan

Do you pray believing God will answer your prayers? How have you seen Him do so this week?

In Which They Remind Me

I will never forget it.

We were sitting in a living room infiltrated with scents that weren't found naturally in this Western nation of ours. Some things I'd never smelled and couldn't even articulate words to describe the uptake into my nostrils if I tried. I just remember thinking it was weird. And not wanting to offend. And being scared to complete a full sentence for fear they might respond and I wouldn't be able to understand their intent covered in that thick accent. So I kept quiet and labeled it my introvert tendencies.

The truth—I was so prideful and blinded by it too.

It was my first time around internationals and I had no idea what I was doing. 

That night I realized it was my duty, my call, my loving of others to actually eat these funny smelling dishes—and smile no matter how slimy or potent as it slides on down. I can compliment bad food without a problem. This was much more a personal dilemma of—what in the world am I about to put in my mouth? But I did it. And some of it was not my flavor of choice, but some of it was the best thing I'd tasted in weeks. And I learned to give up some control.

I'd never met these middle easterners but my roommate spoke of them enough where I could easily match faces with names and tid bits of stories she'd shared. Actually, she talked about them a lot and she saw them often. They were generally students and a couple were even married and raising babies. She took them to Walmart or the doctor. She showed up when a new baby arrived and she handled all of their car troubles. I didn't see it then, but she was living life with these sojourns and she understood something I didn't. She had my attention and that night was the beginning.

That's all of us, you know. Sojourners, exiles, people not belonging yet very much here for now. 

It's so temporary? We are fooled into believing death is the end and yet it is very much the beginning of fulness or the beginning of wrath, depending. 

I've just been remembering this week as I've been asked four times in a row over the past several days, quite randomly, how it all started. It started with my roommate loving on these internationals and me tagging along.

Looking back, I see this longing for home and the way they draw me back to it. They pull me out of myself and into Christ all the more. 

It just happens. You can't even think about the chasms much because you are there to build relationship. Eating their food the way they do it, even if that means sitting on the dirt floor scooping up mush with my fingers—it never becomes normal. I used to label it sacrifice and plug it into the verses about suffering for Christ. Now it's just part of the experience—a joyful one actually. Sometimes, it's flat out hilarious.

Last week I drew out the gospel for one of my Korean friends and I remember a couple years back sitting outside of Starbucks on campus beneath the warmth of the sun as I learned how to draw that gospel cliff for the first time, how to portray the bridge lacking through which the brokenness of man might attain relationship with a perfect and holy God.

The bridge—Jesus. 

And I come full circle and realize He himself was a sojourner on this earth and in His image we were made to glorify. That is, before Eve ate the apple that whispers this is the best that will ever be, this job and salary and house and family.

Let's live it up because it might not last forever. 

Well, it won't.

So in the meantime I plan big dinners and bonfires to meet new international friends and I study the bible with a group of girls and I have these four that call me "mummy" and I create this program for more college students to get involved because it won't last forever and I want them to hear. 

I love being in these funny-smelling, what am I about to put in my mouth, smiling and nodding a lot make up for the language discrepancy, meals shared because the root of it all makes me feel so uncomfortable and I need to remember hour by hour. 

This world is not your home. Don't get too comfortable. Don't depend on the food or the conversations or the comforts that make this home because it's just a blink in comparision. Just a blink.

My international friends remind me that I'm not home yet. They keep me longing for this day where every nation, tribe, people, and language will stand before the throne of the Lamb, shoulder to shoulder, draped in white as we cry out salvation belongs only to you, oh God!

And I want them there. I want them next to me. 

So I say stupid things [a lot] and we eat together [a lot] and I make faces when I don't like their food and they complain about my food making them fat and we belly laugh [a lot] and we miss home together [a lot] and I love them [a whole, whole lot] because Christ first loved me and we tell each other this is all just a blink.

A dinner at my apartment with lots of friends...on display some legit PadThai I made!!

Three of my "daughters" (with one back in Korea)

Our bible study Valentine Celebration

Movie Night!!