Twenty Twelve and the Promise to Come

I look back on this year in awe of His faithfulness and I don't really know how to articulate it all. God has allowed me to go back and reflect on some simple moments over the year, moments that I believe He has used to bring me to here and now. Little by little moments which I believe will change everything about the future He has called me to.

In Exodus when God is promising the conquest of Canaan, he says he will drive out all of their enemies but not in a single year lest the land becomes desolate and the wild beasts too numerous. He promises that little by little he will drive them out until they have increased enough to possess the land.

God used this chunk of scripture to cast vision and hope in my life several years ago and today I see Him actually doing it and His grace is overwhelming. Little by little that we might be equipped to walk in the victory rather then be overcome by it. 

Here are some glimpses into my 'little by little' of the year...and with them all compiled here I see Him driving out beasts and equipping me to possess the land promised. 

Moment One
It was a little's birthday and it was just a week or so after I moved in. I dressed differently and I wore shame like a scarf wrapped tight through those cold winter months. He'd gotten a soccer goal and we decided to go out and play as a family. There was a chill in the air and the clouds were close enough to reach. After the game ended, K got out a four-wheeler. He urged me to jump on the back of it.

I remember panicking because I'd never ridden one of those. I remember being scared of riding on it with him too. I think the kids might always tell tale of the thrill ride that was to follow. Let's just say it ended with mamma pointing her finger at dad—he was in trouble. So, we might have gone a little too fast. I knew that I might fall off on one of those bumps and yet I don't think I will forget that moment. I got off that four-wheeler and I knew that God was just beginning something. I remember thinking maybe there was something different about K, like I just really wanted to trust him. It's funny to think the Lord could use a four-wheeler ride to cast vision for the future and yet looking back, He did just that. 

Moment Two

I was stressed and overwhelmed by life. Something had to give if I wanted to walk free but everything seemed to have a place. My life was measured by the world and looking back it was suffocating. She told me pull out of a class or two and it all made sense. I knew it did and yet all I heard was failure—you can't even be a good student. You are such a mess. She asked me what I wanted to do with my life—what I felt God was calling me to. What is your vision for the future? I remember her asking. 

I don't really know what I said but I remember fighting for an answer. I really didn't care—all I could see was the misery of my reality here and now. I knew I wanted to be wife and mom—I knew I wanted to be free. She helped me align my time with things that would lead to both—freedom and future homemaker. She held me tight when many close thought I went off the deep end when I pulled out of college and moved in with her family of eleven. She equipped me to follow through though—she has challenged and strengthened my biblical convictions. Praise Jesus, she is not perfect and those moments she has shared have set me free from myself. She has given me vision for being a helper to my husband and disciple-maker of my children and this has eternal weight that will seep down for generations to come. And I think someday I will convince her to let me write a book. 

This conversation started it all and she opened up a whole world of hope. She paved a path lit bright enough for me to see the future in the first place. Then she walked with me. 

Moment Three

We were sitting at the dinner table one night and I was struggling. I didn't want to eat what was on my plate and voicemails from my dad in the other room were playing like a resounding chorus of failure in my head. I just wanted to be alone. I wanted to cry and sleep and hole up behind my door. I wanted to figure it all out—how I could save the world and my dad. I wanted to pay for not being able to. But instead I was sitting at a dinner table with nine bustling kiddos and a plate of food and eyes all around. I forced bites down and I didn't look up much. Then I heard him say my name and it might as well have been the very voice of God himself. 

Courtney, stop thinking. It's like you're not even here. And that was the day I learned that sometimes the most holy thing you can do is go play a board-game with an eight year old. 

The way this spiritual dad has challenged me to avoid holing up and getting lost in myself when life gets tough has been one of the most freeing lessons of this year. And God has been faithful to provide my outs through the process of retraining my mind—all things from a board-game with lil guys to a walk in the woods to scrubbing dishes for an hour. I have learned ultimately my own worst enemy is often me. God has used this family to train me to guard against myself. 

Moment Four

We were driving in the car, headed to the airport where K would board a plane headed to India for the next 2 weeks. With him gone M would bear a lot of weight over the weeks to come and there was a difficult decision to make. K opted for one choice while M was hesitant to agree. She knew it was for her own good and yet felt guilty if she followed through with it. The battle inside of her was building as the miles to the airport grew fewer.

She was quiet and he turned to glance at her. Eyes back on the road, he stuck out his hand. 

Do you trust me? he whispered across the seat.
There was a moment and I still think that time might have stood still. The car was loud and bustling with nine littles and a movie blaring in the back but those four simple words seemed to suck up all the noise and air in that van because I still get chill-bumps remembering. 

A few seconds had passed but it could have been hours. She reached out and grabbed his hand. Sometimes the words unsaid speak louder then anything the voice could ever make sense of. 

Sitting just a row back watching this moment unfold God spoke to me and I don't think I will ever forget it. Trust me. Submit to me. I am for you. This is how it is suppossed to be. Do not fear. I am not your earthly dad. Not all men are bad. Here is your hope and your future—now take my hand. Remember the vision because this is what I have for you. So start learning to trust me because one day I will ask you to trust the man I have for you too.

Moment Five
It had been a hard month or so and the ultimatum was laid out. I had a choice and I was stubborn. I didn't fully trust and I had a plan that sounded better. I thought they were overreacting and I wanted them to know it. We went back and forth late into the night and eventually I quieted, my pride puddling at my feet. I hurt so much and I was angry with them, angry at myself. I didn't like where sin had landed me and yet I wanted to choose life under all those layers. 

I turned to leave the room after agreeing to their plan because it was better then the alternative. I was mad and broken. He stopped me in the next room and she came up close too. He hugged me and just lingered a minute, with mom there too. I cry just remembering because I felt the desperation of a dad figure that loved me so deeply in that moment. And something in that moment restored a cord long tattered inside. This was when I trusted K as an earthly representation of my Heavenly father. This was the moment the fear lifted fully and I remember feeling so exposed and vulnerable yet so completely safe in their protection. I think this hug was the moment that changed a whole lot of things.

In the beginning of the year, my hope was shackled in failure and my future was drowning in my past. 

This year, God changed all of that. He used this dad and mamma to teach me to have vision—for the hope and the future Christ gives. They've taught me to submit & trust to the little by little while walking onward through the depths of the sea boldly proclaiming the promised Canaan.

This year I would say God has wounded but also bound up. He has restored me to Himself through an earthly dad and mom who have shown me much grace. He has taught me what it means to submit and trust. He has healed so many of my daddy issues. He is preparing me for marriage and motherhood. He has allowed me to catch vision for the future. He has provided a hedge of protection and much-needed discipline. He has given me time to rest and retreat and flip the calendar. He has restored so much childhood that was stolen. He has provided a solid foundation and wise counsel. He has given me a tangible picture of His own love for me daily. 

I see this year a road towards Canaan and I choose my word for twenty thirteen—promise. 

Because He who promised is faithful.

What's your one word?

See that what you have heard from the beginning remains in you. If it does, you also will remain in the Son and in the Father. And this is what he promised us-even eternal life. -1 John 2:24-25

On Christmas and The Flu

Unfortunately all my dreams of an entire day of playing with new toys and eating all the sugar my belly can take were short lived after a little encounter with the flu bug on Christmas. 18 hours of my day/night was spent sleeping, however I did press through to watch gifts being opened by nine littles and that was a sweet time, pile of kleenexes and all. I am going to miss this life in the country with eleven, going to miss it so very much.

After sleeping it off and fever breaking I woke up the next day just in time to spend some time with my best friend expecting twins in a couple of months! What a blessing that time was. They make me want to be pregnant. I'm telling ya what...I think this is the year of meeting my hubby. Maybe just maybe. 

Feeling those boys kick was the most incredible moment. I couldn't get enough. This mamma-to-be has walked through so much life with me and now two boys...blessed boys they are. Cannot wait to meet you Silas and Elijah. 

I think I was expecting this Christmas to be really emotional for some reason...knowing it is some of my last days in family life before moving out on my own...knowing it is just about a year since moving here and being so overwhlemed by all God has done....knowing my own dad is still in rehab--and still sober....knowing that God has so gracefully softened my heart twords my dad....knowing that the Lord is allowing me to feel uncomfortable in having no idea what this year will bring....knowing that Christ was born that He might die that I might live....knowing that one day the trumpets will sound and He will come once again.

And yes, while confined to the four walls of my room in silence thinking about all of this combined on Christmas evening I found myself heeped over my pillow snot pouring and tears flooding my face. And that was all short lived because my head felt like it might blow up from the crying--so I just had to be tough and pull it together.

I just had to trust when nothing in me felt like it. 

I just had to be still and know.

God's grace I think, abundant grace this Christmas.

Yes, this hat was in my stocking. And yes I got tears when I saw it. Proud to be a country girl. 

I adore this picture. I got him Duck Dynasty Season 1 and Mamma thought it was hilarious. 

They make me want to be married so badly. 

I made the girls these legit coupon books...one fun date with me every month for the year. Midnight Waffle House runs, rolls of cookie dough, tennis lessons, Love Comes Softly Movie Marathons.

And they thought they could get rid of me...

Love these little sisters. 

                                      Had to post this one too...boys and their guns. #countrylife

                                                                  Twin bump beauty

On Signing a Lease and A New Season

Yes, I am moving.

It wasn't really planned quite this soon but then God spoke over and over and over again—and eventually I had to listen. I am excited and scared and sort of freaking out and it is all to His glory!

We were on the beach when it all started and I think the sand and the sun just does something all funny inside. You start talking crazy talk, that is. The real world it buried in voicemails unheard and emails unopened. You remember how to dream big, outside of the mundane. It was close to my birthday and my adopted mamma and dad took me out to celebrate. We talked serious for awhile and we all left encouraged. Everything seemed to make sense and looking back a year, God has worked miracles—and still continues to do so. We all agree my time in their home has been purposeful and life-giving. Maybe next fall it will be time for the next thing—back to Lightbearers or back to India or something else.

The next day he is driving me to the airport and we have more then an hour uninterrupted to talk while the kiddos are watching a movie in the back. We are just sitting and he is off dreaming like always. Sometimes I get so frustrated because I can't tell if he's just processing these dreams or counseling me to act on them. And if it is the latter, does that mean now or ten years from now? He watches my face pale and my eyes flood and he slows down a minute.

He tells me it makes sense to walk out a season before the season. It makes sense to return to the Lightbearers community. It's safe and full of fellowship. And it makes sense to meet a practical need of a friend in need of a roommate and to do life together. It makes sense that there is sweet accountability in this friendship because we need each other and words shared as I pour into her apply to me too. And it makes even more sense because during this car ride a two bedroom opens up.

The lies swoop in like a pelican plunging for a fish and I am blindsided.

You guys don't want me anymore. I'm not really a part of your family. I knew someday you would get sick of me. I am not welcome anymore. I'm gunna move out and you guys are never gunna talk to me again. It was all too good to be true. I can't do this. I'm not ready...blah blah blah. 

He repeats the lies out loud as though he were reading my mind. I see grace and I am so thankful for him. He hears me even when I don't talk and it is a gift. The lies are exposed and it leaves room enough for breathing.

So I do. I think about what he is saying and I am scared that he is serious.

Am I really ready to spread my wings and fly? Am I really healthy enough? Am I really equipped to walk though life with another?

By the time we get to airport he tells me I'm kicked out as of January 1st. Half way joking, I think. Half way not at all.

I start listening to voicemails and responding to emails and celebrating my birthday and somehow the dream begins to become less a remnant of my tanned-skin high and more so a very alive reality and it's not me doing a thing. 

It's funny to look back and see the speed of some prayers being answered so abruptly, like my move to Arkansas two years ago. And how others seem to be unclear still—like my husband!

Four days after the dreaming began, we signed a lease and God just did it all. Little doors seemed to open every hour throughout those days, and confirmation and affirmation were overwhelming wisdom of those near.

This transition from one of a dozen to just one is going to be a challenging one but oh so good. Obedience is a sweet place to be and I know God is preparing me for a season of further refinement and walking out life outside of my country, one of a dozen bubble.

I would not change this season for anything in the world. I continue to gawk in awe of God's faithfulness through my dozen and my time under there protection. To some degree, it won't change.

And in other ways, everything will change. I love change. I actually despise it.

January 1st, 2013. Bring it on, for my God is faithful. 

For you shall not go out in haste, and you shall not go in flight, for the LORD will go before you, and the God of Israel will be your rear guard. -Isaiah 52:12

{I hope you will stick around and walk out this new journey with me.}

On Family Photos & Wondering Where I Belong

The thought of these family photos on the beach is perfect—white against jeans and tanned faces. And yet every single time the subject comes up I want to burrow away like those little clams on the beach.

As more moments pass throughout the week and I watch dad sneak girls out the door for a secret date and mom spend the day with a broken-armed boy. I see a business trip cancelled so both can be there to get a cast on broken-armed boy. They celebrate his upcoming birthday and they calm his fear. I take pictures with three sisters and when mom looks at the pictures, her eyes search for the three she birthed to be gathered in single shot. And I guess all of those little moments I watch, just make me remember I am not really one of a dozen. I am just me and today that doesn't feel like enough.

Today I want to belong. I want a daddy-daughter date where I secretly disappear and I want a birthday lunch smothered in affirmation. I want to be a sister on the other side of the lens and when I blink awake I don’t want it to just be a dream from the night before.

I live with them everyday, so I don’t know why this lobster red skin and sandy soul is just bringing it out of me but it is and it is painful.

This morning I cooled off from my run by meandering up the seashore. My routine of running and walking and digging in this sand peels off layers of dead skin beneath my feet. A task I have been meaning to get around to for months now, and yet the fun of it all hasn't quite drawn me in.

As I sit cross-legged writing now, I feel the smooth perfection of my soles and I am thankful for the sand. Even if it doesn't feel good at first--even if it will linger in my clothes for the next six months. I think this sand is peeling off more then dead skin on my feet though. I think it is rubbing hard and holy against my heart too. 

And yet dead skin is just that—dead. Dead skin blocks the new skin from forming and so the only way to pave a way for newness is to get rid of the dead. And it doesn't feel very good--and it might linger.

Six years ago this very sand peeled off layers of death and disease from my soul. Looking back I never saw it happening and yet it was no accident. The raw skin gave me eyes to see and ears to hear and as I saw the waves turn under the sand and heard lyrics ringing out His mercy and desire for me, all of a sudden that raw skin began growing new cells, cells that enabled me to see such beauty and praise God for all of it.

I remember being jealous during family pictures then too. I remember wearing white like everyone else but not really belonging in some of the shots. The one of me with my siblings I hang an idol on my wall. I guess I never really knew it. 

I want my dad to be free and I want to be good enough for my mom and I want to grow old with my siblings and I want Jesus too. I want to belong on earth first and one day in Heaven. I want to be in these family pictures tomorrow, not taking them. I want to belong here in this family on the beach and the reality is I don’t. I didn't fully belong six years ago with my half blood family and now today I still don’t. I weep writing this because the truth hurts and my identity from the world is being washed in the waves with my dead skin. 

It hurts and oh it is so good. Holy sand for the soul. 

Jealousy leads to death and I see it as I study Genesis and see a whole family line tossed and turned by the waves, destined for destruction. There is polygamy and murder and consumption in the things of this world. All because a lamb was accepted and fruit wasn't. All because Cain chose to walk away from the presence of the Lord in His anger. 

I am angry I never got daddy-daughter dates and I am jealous that these little sisters have parents who put life on hold for a broken arm and I so desperately want to find my worth in a photo of white shirts hung on my wall that tells me I have a place in this world, that I belong. Most days I don't think my offering comes close to that of a girl brought up in a God-fearing family.

And as my anger and bitterness and sorrow build it all comes crashing down as I realize--my offering is not better or worse because of my past but because of my past I have an offering to give.

Because six years ago on this very stretch of sands and seas I offered up my belief in God for the very first time and instead of running from His presence in that moment of great fear and much darkness, I ran to it. God's grace alone. It's grace that God would even allow me the privilege of doing life with my siblings--that through them I would eventually come to faith in Christ. It's grace that I would be "adopted" into this family of eleven for this season of time. Grace that years lost are being restored through them and that I am learning and being set free. 

Unlike Cain, the generations to come from my womb will not head into destruction and yet that is not based on my own belonging in this world. 

It is only by the grace and mercy of Jesus Christ in my life that the generations to come might also run into His presence and not from it. It is grace for me too.

And in these words of Truth  I see the joy of my salvation being restored and my belonging solidified.

And whether in the sandy shores of Alabama or the winter chill of Arkansas, belonging found is not worth comparing to the belonging given freely through the death of Christ and the confession of lips.

It seems sinner in need of Savior is enough to belong to Jesus. And go figure, His color of choice is white too. 

Pensacola, 2006

Orange Beach, 2012

Where Oh Death, Is Thy Victory?

“I think we’re losing the baby, girls. I’m so sorry.”

We all still. The pin drops and you hear it all the way down. It crashes across the floor. Time must have stopped because no one breathed. Like the floodgates falling open the tears began to plummet. In silence at first. Littlest eyes fan into mine and it all burns. It took a whole thirty seconds for us to find a spot on the bed and hold on to something—someone’s arm or leg or foot. Heads buried and words non-existant. Touch felt safe in these moments where the sting settled in. 

I heard her words and I knew it in my heart hours earlier but I wanted to avoid it like the plague. I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want it to hurt me. I needed to study and clean and sleep. I needed to keep going. And I tried for awhile. But it ate away until I sought out her words and the pain and now here we are and the truth is setting us free, even as we weep over life lost too soon.

It lands hard like Niagara across the still waters and I just let it fall because sometimes we just can't heal without the pain, without being washed and sometimes the washing just stings like death.

For He wounds but he also binds up.

But she a lioness and she speaks out loud that we trust Him right now and we all hold on tighter and I hear her roar through the prayers whispered from her spot on that pillow from which she can't quite lift her head.  It hurts and she prays grace like ointment that heals.

She is courage when fear shackles us and I feel them loosen. 

Two mammas very close to me have lost babies this month and I hate it so much. Eloquence of words aside, I just don't count it joy in this flesh. I count it...anger, doubt, depression, pain. But not joy. Not in the moments so raw. And yet I know God allows it, ordains it really, even though the whys and whats still float out of my grasp. They both love the Lord and they testify to His glory amidst their pain.

 "O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?" The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, my beloved brothers, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain." -1 Corinthians 15:56-58

It seems, for these mammas, the sting of death echoes praises to the giver of life—and the taker too. Crowned in victory, they choose praise and trust and hope secure even when the washing of the Word stings and life doesn't turn out how they had hoped.

But hope they do because hope doesn't belong to the world but to the God who spoke it to existence and called it good.

They teach me to hope here too. To wear the victory like a crown. Mostly because even after Eve disobeyed, God made a way for us to hope in the promise of His Son, the one He himself crowned in victory on the third day.

He gave us a way out, a promise who was, who is and is coming. So we have hope. 

Even as we grieve the loss of these precious lives, we have hope in the one who conquered death and is coming back to crown us with life eternal, the one promised to those who love Him.

Rise, And Christ’s light will shine on you.

These women RISE. You and me—we can rise too. It all starts with hoping in Christ, hoping in the promise yet to be and still fully alive. Struck down but not destroyed.

Today, I must remember to hope in Christ. 

"Through him we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and werejoice in hope of the glory of God. More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly." -Romans 5:2-6

On Finding Home

Tonight as I sit here, I must hold back the tears.

We are all dozen in a room and it has been awhile. We are singing praises to Jesus. He strokes the guitar and the little boy squirms across my lap. Little fingers twist my hair and those little toes with dirt infested beneath the nail lock close to mine. I squeeze him tight and I know Jesus is here. The babies are dumping towers of blocks across the floor. It makes a big bang as it crashes over the wood. There is pushing and tears and little guy screams.

He just keeps strumming and oh, how his voice draws me back.

As I hum along to the words so foreign I can barely contain myself.

Memories flood—the bad of the past so contrasted against this moment here and now. Nights of yelling and cussing and kicking and running. Nights locked behind a door so entangled and trapped and dark. Nights of horror movies and love scenes. Nights accompanied by the TV and microwave dinners. Lifetime helped me dream happy endings. Nights of roaches and gun-shots. Nights of innocence dissolving and childhood ending. There just weren't ever nights like this right here and now growing up. I get lost here and I feel all the ugly conceive and begin to birth all over again. Sin surfaces high as my throat.

Then his glance my direction pulls me out of the darkness and the light is just so incredibly light.

And so I close my eyes and soak it up and I feel Him giving me back my childhood nights, redeeming them in some weird way. But it is Him doing it and I don't deserve it.

His fingers across that guitar strum grace right into my bones and I feel the cistern being sealed. 

My steady flow interrupted as he asks us to recall times in scripture where God acted immediately. Like Philip dissolving into space after baptizing the Enoch and Christ walking on water and demons launching pigs over the cliff and even sending a wife to water the camels. Sometimes, he told us, God is quick to answer our prayers and quick to confirm our decisions. Other times, we don't know that we made the right decision for awhile, we don't always see an immediate answer. Like when Christ promises He is coming back—oh we can be sure He is. It just hasn't happened yet.

He read Psalm 150 which talks about praising the Lord...with lute and harp. (As Hannah is strumming her new harp!) Let everything that has breath, in fact, praise the Lord! So we praised as blocks collided with the floor and lil guys jumped off furniture. A year ago I was yet to even glimpse such a life, such a home, such a moment.

Unlike Philip disappearing in a blink, home has taken time for me—it has been much more a promise not yet seen. 

But tonight, tonight I realize I may be a Philip in flight, but my home is sure. My home is here and yet not. So for now, this place where we sing loud and blocks plummet with a crash and little boys snuggle--it is drenched in grace and dripping mercy, something I don't deserve and never foresaw but completely Jesus, completely where He wants me and a complete promise of home that is coming.

Home is the heart and the people and memories--but it's more.

What a gracious God, to ordain decision after decision that led me here, here to this home in the middle of the country for this season of time. Here where these parents are pouring and kiddos are loving and Jesus is being praised by all. Here where the flip of calendar actually heals and Thursday night worship redeems years stolen. Oh I am so thankful for this family, for this time, for this God who knew I needed a glimpse of the home that is coming.

So home, I think, home is the promise not yet fulfilled and the longing that keeps us finding. Home is coming, keep finding Him. 

On the Nations & Learning to Laugh

They teach me to belly laugh from somewhere called joy and the world looks different through this lens as the sun dances across my skin. They ask questions and I remember His goodness  in the little things. Sometimes, English leads us all astray but we know what it means to laugh and kick the soccer ball. I remember it is the quiet moments hiking through the woods together where I hear His voice speak right to my burden and the weariness fades with each step I take. Step on, daughter, step on.

I am a doer of the Word and I hear them laugh and the doing tastes sweet, like honey.

We work all day, me and my dozen. The ideas keep coming and I have to drag myself away and clean myself up. It takes two hours extra to load up the vans and yes, I am way late to my own party. So I ask her where she is from and we talk into the whole hour of lateness until it simply doesn't matter anymore and I watch the control slipping though my fingertips and I just laugh. I needed to be here more then there, just for that hour and it is good.

We make it home to the country and the crowds fan out from the big white vans and the green grass holds many tribes, tongues and nations now. I stand high and gaze out in awe for a minute. Then the to-do list kicks in and I greet and explain and smile a lot. We are here and it is happening and this is a glimpse of heaven right here in my own backyard. I was created for this, for these relationships, for these nations, for this moment right here—that together we might glorify God.

We play soccer and horse shoes and frisbe. I stand on the wobbly chair and take photos by the barn for hours. The girls love it, all of it. I try new angles and only wish I had the talent of a photographer because it is so much fun to watch the colors story-tell right on the other side of this lens. Moments captured, joy overflowing caught on pause forever. I attempt to edit later on and just laugh. So much laughter and I am lighter and God is bigger.


























The photos blur from the barn to jumping to making Egyptian pyramids and I totally forget about the hard-boiled eggs and the ropes. The three-legged race and egg toss I had planned fades with the daylight as all fifty or so head down into the woods and gather around the flames. We eat and laugh more and for some they have never experienced this before. The way a hot dog tastes crisped black right off the flame, the way the marshmallow jumps across your face and the chocolate tastes better triune. Some pack up and hike up the hill back into the city. Others linger as the darkness drapes over us and the flame is brighter. I take a picture of it and I pray my life will resemble this flame, right here in this darkness sitting around me.
For the first time in the night, I just sit and stop directing and smiling. I sit and lock eyes and remember names and majors. I sit with several from the other side of the world and we talk. We talk about the government and the hot dogs and the way humanity is born sinful. We ask each other questions because we just want to figure out why we are here on this earth, why we are sitting around this fire sharing this moment. Eventually I talk about the cliffs and the bridge that leads to the other side, the only way to God through Christ. We ponder ultimate Truth together and she tells me about confucianism and how no one is perfect so we must pick and chose truth we believe, because there are always lies. The air thickens and the darkness brings a chill.

We are interrupted and we have to hike up to the house and load up the vans once again. God is at work on this mountain, in the big white van I drive through the dark winding roads late at night—He is there too. He is. I feel it and I see it and I am so thankful. I drop of the last one and its just me and a friend heading back up the mountain and we talk about how the Word really does just reveal itself and trying to be the holy spirit is draining. She testifies to the spirit dwelling and I am thankful because we all need to remember.

The same power that conquered the grave lives here inside of me.

My international friends teach me to joy through the laughter and to recognize the light in the darkness and to take goofy photos and to wrestle through the meaning of life together and eat burnt hotdogs and to let the spirit dwell richly inside.

They teach me to glimpse heaven and stay there because it is coming and I want to laugh with them there too.