Madagascar

About a month ago, I found myself thinking about Madagascar (I actually wrote most of this back then) at a children's home there.  I'm not sure how much I've written about it, or even talked about it.  That time was such a whirlwind anyway.  This trip was one of the best and one of the hardest I'd ever been on.

The trip was hard because every area seemed like a battle: spiritual, mental/emotional, and physical.  Our team wasn't very connected.  I rarely have nightmares, but I had them for a few nights.  Shortly after we landed, I just felt funny, not like myself, for no apparent reason.  I took no more than 2 showers the whole time I was there, and one of them was in lukewarm water that left me chilled to the bone and shivering for about 2 hours until I asked the Lord to warm me up (which He did instantly!).  And I got sicker than I ever remember being.  My head hurt so badly for days from a cold-gone-wild (which became a sinus infection and double ear infections).  I spent 2 days praying in tongues almost continually because I didn't know what else to do to deal with the pain.  Tracking down medication was difficult because people didn't realize I was so sick -- I told them, but I was calm and didn't stay in bed.  So I didn't look sick. 

When I heard that visitors always spent time with the boys but almost never with the girls, and that they wanted us to spend time with the girls, I determined to spend every day with the girls.  And not the 2 and 3-year-olds.  The 7-13-year-olds.  I understand why the boys got more attention.  Boys are easy when you don't know the language.  You can play basketball or some other active game.  It's easier to learn each other's language because of the type of activity -- to communicate what a "ball" is and to demonstrate "throw".  There are some activities you can do with girls, but it can still end up being more of a challenge without language.  By the time I visited, the older boys could navigate through English and the younger boys had some of it down, but none of the girls knew any English!  I certainly didn't know Malagasy.

But somehow, I have no idea how, it worked.  I was with the girls every day.  One day the team planned dance lessons and another day a princess party.

But I also joined in whatever play they had going on during the day.  To spin them around.  To watch them do gymnastics or dance.  To be there with them as they just went about their day.

Or to take pictures with them.  (Non-selfie pictures that I'm in were taken by the girls.)  When I was sick, I wasn't going to let how horrible I felt keep me from those girls -- our team had just spent 2 days in the rain forest, and I didn't want to miss another day with them!  So I went to the girls' house, feeling like I'd been hit by a truck, and for over an hour took silly selfies with a couple of them.  It was great!  I still have a couple hundred silly selfies.

 Early Selfie-taking

 After an hour (and 200) selfies, with increasing silliness

There were a few moments that pierced my heart -- memories that get me every time. 

They loved twirling and dancing and gymnastic moves, and would say in Malagasy, "Watch me! Watch this!"  Over and over and over, for the entire time I was there one day.  They so loved the attention.  And then thinking of God's heart for them, and how much He loved watching every move, every twirl, every attempt at doing the splits.

Another time, while watching one of the girls dancing, off to the side, during the princess party, I just sat back and watched her for a minute.  She is a naturally beautiful dancer.  Standing there watching her, I felt so much pride over her -- this amazing and beautiful girl with so much talent and potential, who could be anything and do anything.  And then having the thought: her mother should be here, watching her, thinking this, feeling this.  This little 7-year-old girl gave me a glimpse into what it is to be a mother.

The last moment was when we were leaving and saying good-bye to the kids, and I was surrounded by about five crying girls.  We were told that if they cried, we couldn't cry, because it made it harder for them.  I barely kept it together.  For the most part.  I don't know the culture or what happens after a short term team leaves.  Going to a place for 2 weeks is so different from living there.  But I do wonder what they thought, with my inability to communicate anything, about the fact that I (largely) didn't cry.  Did they think I didn't care?  And I pray that what I gave them while I was there is weightier than my leaving.

There are so many things could have kept me from spending time with those girls.  We were all tired after 3 months in Africa with no running water and a steady diet of beans and rice.  We didn't have a schedule, and I could have decided to just do my own thing.  I had some horrible days physically.  I could have stayed in bed -- and would have been absolutely justified in doing so!  But I wouldn't have 100 ridiculous selfies with these adorable girls.  During those two weeks, many people on my team began dreaming about home: their beds, hot showers, central heat or air con, comforts of the west.  It seems like it was such a little thing -- just spend some time with the girls every day.  I wasn't even there that long, just a few hours.  But if getting there was such a battle, maybe it was much more important than any of us realized.

I've learned phrases in over a dozen languages and had conversations in 4 languages that are not English, but I never did manage to remember a single word in Malagasy.  But in my mind, I can still still that little girl dance.

George the Hero and a Cup of Water

Monday I worked out after work.  It was the hottest part of the day.  We did weighted exercises in the shade.  And sprints in the sun (it was all that was available).  Did I mention it was the hottest part of the day?  I wondered if heatstroke would be my reality at one point.  Don't worry - I made it through alive and well!

George is a regular at this workout, and he always brings a huge jug of ice water.  At the end of the workout, with my water depleted, I refilled with his glorious, amazing, wonderful ice water.  It was then that I decided that if Camp Gladiator doesn't have a camper of they year, they should, and George should be it.  That water was the best thing in the world to all of us, we were so happy and thankful for it, and we may NOT have fared so well without it!  I told him he knew how to win friends and influence people.  Seriously.  I hardly know the guy, but he was a hero to me that day.

It reminded me of 15 years ago when I helped to build our senior pastor's house.  I went to help, and I was tasked with getting the guys water.

Honestly, this irritated me.  I figured if 25 people came, 10 would be girls.  Nope.  Two.  Two were girls.  I'd helped build a house with Habitat for Humanity before, so I figured I could jump into hammering and climbing on top of wall frames to pull 2nd floor trusses into place.  Nope.  Sweep.  And deliver water.  To tell you the truth, in my initial reaction, I was offended!  I'm sure many others would feel the same way -- especially today.

But I remembered that Jesus said something about giving someone a cup of water.  "Truly I tell you, anyone who gives you a cup of water in My Name because you belong to the Messiah will certainly not lose their reward."  Mark 9:41  So I decided to set aside my pride and offense and go with Jesus, who said that this "small" task was important to Him.  I decided that this must just be a cultural difference that I needed to learn to maneuver.  Yes, I was still in the United States.  But different states have different cultures.  I was a mid-western girl from Nebraska, considered a "northerner" by some, living in Texas.  Texas girls don't build houses.  I'm not a Texas girl.  And the thing is, the guys just wanted to protect us - make sure we didn't get hurt.  Step on nails (did that when I was 8), cut ourselves (do that while cooking), and so on.

Despite the disappointment in my function at the construction site, I continued to come.  Both me and that one other girl.  After a day or two of faithfully sweeping and fetching water, the guys got brave and asked us to carry the trusses (basically) from one location to another.  For those who don't know, these are wooden planks put together and held together by metal plates about the size of my hand.  The metal plates have sharp edges and spikes that dig into the wood to hold it all together.  Trusses frame the roof, and but these were the base for the 2nd floor of the house (and they may actually have a different name, but, I'm an amateur and a girl).

The point here is this: large, very sharp metal plate.  While the spikes dig into the wood, the edges and some of the spikes are also just left exposed in the space near where the boards come together.  The guys had told us, "Be careful!"  Because there are sharp edges.  Well, I picked up a board, didn't carefully look at where I was putting my hand, and grabbed an edge of the metal plate, slicing my hand.  I was mortified.  Not that I was free-flow bleeding, but that if the guys found out, I would be on sweeping and water duty forever.  I can't remember what I did to hide the fact that I was bleeding, but I managed to keep my little secret and continue carrying the dangerous trusses.

By the last time I was able to come to help, I found myself in charge of putting up the waterproofing, eh, stuff on the house.  Hey, I know how to do it, I don't know the technical name for it.  It was waterproofing.

At the time, I was immediately aware of one thing: If I wouldn't have happily helped in the "menial" tasks, I never would have been trusted with "bigger" tasks.  If I would have grumbled and complained and insisted that I could wield a hammer just like the guys and gone over my credentials, maybe they would have given me a hammer, but it wouldn't have been as pleasant an experience for any of us.  Instead, I did the thing that wasn't my first inclination to do (hand out water), and in the end they did what they weren't first inclined to do (let me touch construction things!).

But thinking about my Monday hero, George, I realized that what I thought was a menial task was probably the most important job on that work site.  My imminent death by heatstroke (I'm being dramatic) was assuaged because George provided a cup of water.  Until that moment on Monday, it never occurred to me how relieved those guys could have been for someone to come up to them and say, "Here's some water."  Sometimes things carry much more value and importance than we realize.  That's something that needs to stick in my head.

Thinking Back -- Going to Africa

One of my coworkers in particular doesn't know what to make of my life (join the club).  Recently she said I should write a blog.  This is something I've thought about often.  I mean, I do have this blog.  Which I update infrequently.  Even though I've wanted to update weekly.  The problem is, I find it difficult to sort through all the possible topics and activities and deep thoughts in order to land on something to write about.  So I told my coworker, if she gives me the topic, I'll write.  She mentioned two topics, and one was how I ended up going to Africa.  For today, we'll go with that.

I had been helping with the School of Power and Love (P&L) for several months, had made some great friends through it, and God had really just been doing a lot in my life.  I was also working full time, teaching part time, and seeking direction in a couple areas.  I'd contemplated, "now that I'm 35, let's evaluate what I've always wanted in life and which of those things are part of my life."  There was little overlap.  So basically, I decided I was either going to adopt a couple girls (I was a certified foster/adopt home) or go overseas to teach English in Asia in about a year.  You know, normal decisions that people waffle between.  (Hi Nicci!)  (Marriage is on the list, but you can't just run up to someone and force them to marry you.  And, why would you even want to?! That's just weird.  And creepy.)

Anyway, it was during this time, December 2013 actually, that one of my friends from P&L said something like, "I had a picture of you quitting your job, selling your things, buying a plane ticket and going overseas in March."  I told her there was no way.  So many other things were going on, I was so happy with everything in my life, I'd just finished decorating my house and.... well, 3 months was just too soon for all of that to transpire!  She told me to talk to Jesus about it.  So I did, and told Him all the reasons it was ridiculous: full time job, teaching job (you don't leave those mid semester), house mortgage, I liked Fresno and had vision and God's heart for the area, I liked being a part of P&L, I liked my house, I liked my dog, everything was great, I liked my life.  I had absolutely no "leads" or ideas of what could even possibly take me overseas in 3 months, and 3 months is not sufficient time to prepare.  I ended my part of the conversation with, "And I just don't want to.  But You are my Lord, and I don't want to tell You 'no', so if this is Your idea, You're welcome to change my heart."

Just over a week later, I decided to listen to Heidi Baker.  I heard people talk about her, but I'd never actually heard her.  So I picked something on YouTube.  About 15 minutes into listening, I felt like the Lord said I should see her in person sometime.  Which I thought was weird.  But I looked to see when she would be in California -- I wasn't about to make some grand trip to hear some random woman speak, I didn't care how popular she was in some Christian circles.

When I searched for "Heidi Baker schedule" Google took me to a website for Iris Global, the name of her ministry (which I hadn't known).  Rather than clicking on Events to find what I was actually looking for, I found myself clicking on "Missions."  And "Schools".  The first one that came up was Harvest School, which is a missions school in Pemba, Mozambique.  I thought, "There's no way I'm doing that."  Then I came across a discipleship school in South Africa called Father's House.  I read the description and thought, "Wow, that's exactly where I am, that's exactly what I want, I wish I could go, but there's no way.  I wonder when it starts."  It started in March.  Within about 5 minutes, I either had the answer to every one of my arguments (in particular, leaving mid-semester, which had recently been broken into quarters and we had several interns) or I had the faith that God would work the rest out.  And my heart was completely changed: I wanted to do this crazy thing.

So I began the application process.  For a 5 weeks school and the option of a 2 week outreach, with no promise that my job would be available when I returned (it wouldn't be), risking everything for 5-7 weeks.  As soon as I submitted the application, I felt like Jesus asked why I wasn't going to Pemba.  So I applied for that too.  It all felt as flippant as the word felt.  "Eh, I'm just going to put aside all these good things and do something else."  It didn't make sense, but I also knew it was God.

After that, the timeline went something like this:

2014
January 21 - Accepted to Father's House (happy anniversary, mom and dad!)
January 25 - Put my house on the market
February 5-9 - Help with P&L
February 6 - Received an offer on my house
February ?? - Accepted to Harvest School in Pemba.

February 10-19ish - Friend went through my fully furnished 3 bedroom, 2 bathroom house to organize and get rid of things while I worked (I would not have been ready on time without her!)
In February - Buyer said I could leave anything I didn't want, because he didn't have any furnishings for the house, and he would buy it, just name my price.
--- Also during this time, organize not one, but TWO multi-month overseas trips: plane tickets, vaccinations, purchasing items needed, obtaining visas....

February 22 - Garage sale
February 28 - Last day of work

March 1 - Drove to Nebraska with my dog and the things I was going to keep.
--- broke down about 7 hours later.  A couple good Samaritans helped.  I had to change my route due to snow storms, so all of that added an extra day to my driving

March 3 - Arrived in Omaha.  Took the car to the shop and found out I'd driven about 1200 miles with a radiator issue, so that oil and radiator fluid where mixed in the radiator and the oil pan.  There was very little to indicate a problem for 1200 miles so I told them they may have to drive around and hit 65 to hear the very soft, random noise.  But when the mechanic turned my car on, they said it sounded horrible and they turned it off immediately.  They said it would take a week to fix.  It took a day -- replaced, uhm, almost everything.  $3600 :O

March 5 - Drive to P&L
March 9 - Drive back to Omaha
March 12ish - Fly to South Africa for Father's House
May 5ish - Fly to Germany to see my sister
May 12ish - Fly to Omaha to see the rest of the family
May 21-25 - P&L
May 28 - Fly to Pemba, Mozambique
August 5ish - Fly to Madagascar for my outreach
August 25ish - Fly to Johannesburg, South Africa and spend a week at an Iris base there -- help build portable showers
September 1 - Fly to Wisconsin
September 9 - Fly to Omaha
(I may have helped with a P&L in here... I probably did.)
October 10ish - Fly back to South Africa as Father's House staff

Which basically begins "phase 2" of my time in Africa, which I'll have to write about later, as this blog entry is already ridiculously long (although shorted by the timeline listing!).

Honestly, the only answer to, "How did you do all that??!" is Jesus.  Looking at the timeline, the schedule, how much had to happen, how much had to get done, the number of things that had to fall in place, the only possibility is that He made a way.  There is absolutely no way I could have done half of that on my own.  And honestly, there's no way I'd have the courage to do it without Him giving me His courage.  While I like to travel, there's a part of me that's very much a home-body.  But He has my heart and can take me to places I'd never dream of on my own.  And there has definitely been a lot of that in the last 3 years!

My Testimony

There are times when I've thought my testimony was a funny thing.  Partly because, in terms of, "When did you give your life to Jesus," and when I "crossed from death to life", I don't really know.  I remember when I was about 4, sitting on the little pink rug in my bedroom and talking to Jesus.  My family didn't go to church before I was 12, so I don't even know how I knew His name.  When I was about 8, my parents gave me a "children's Bible", which was really just a collection of Bible stories summarized into about 2 sentences a piece.  I read that thing over and over and over again.  After that I was a bit jealous of the kids who got to go to church -- I wanted to go to church too!  Then about a month before my 12th birthday, my mom started taking us to church.  My first Sunday school lesson was on the 10 Commandments, which I'd never heard before.  I had recently started using bad language and stealing by switching price tags on items (something you couldn't even do now), but I stopped immediately after hearing the 10 Commandments -- I didn't realize that God had standards!  A few months after that someone explained how Jesus died to pay the penalty for my sin, and if I accepted His payment, died to myself, and aligned my life with His, making Him Lord, He would wipe away all my rebellion against Him, mistakes, broken places, and make me a new creation and give me life.  I was in.  It was so easy.  I always thought of it as easy as falling off a log.

When I was about 14, as teenagers do, I started getting into boy bands and felt insecure and uncertain and far from God.  I felt like I was dying inside.  But everyone at my church thought I was fine -- I was a "good Christian".  I went to church and youth group every week.  I knew all the answers to all the Bible questions.  I was in the choir.  What could have been wrong?  But I knew better.  I started going to another church where the people were under no illusion about my apparent perfection and goodness.  But wow, they loved me.

My areas of failing have been "benign".  I was part of a group of people who started talking about what "dirt bags" they were before Jesus.  No one took me seriously as someone who needed salvation, as someone who deserved the death that Jesus died in my place.  I didn't drink or smoke or have sex or do any of those "naughty" things that teenagers and young people do, and older people.  To them, it almost seemed like my testimony was a joke.  The good little girl who always did everything right.  What did I know about needing salvation?  In a crowd, I'm not the person anyone would call on to share their testimony.  We want to hear the power testimony, of the person saved from drugs and alcohol or sex or gangs.  The REAL transformed life.  Not the "good" person who predictably gave her life to Jesus like the good girl she is.  Who doesn't even know WHEN she sealed the deal.

Yet I find myself never being more thankful for such a testimony.  But let me share the rest.

When I was about 19, I started going to a class in church called "Normal Christian Life".  Sadly, as I've been around Christian circles for 20 years since then, I've found that what we talked about is not normal in current Christian life at all, but that's another story.  One of the leaders, Linda, also started meeting with me weekly.  You might say "discipling" me.  In a way it was cool that she was meeting with me.  But she also terrified me, and there were days I dreaded going to meet her.  Honestly, it was a horrible few months.  One day, I strongly considered skipping our appointment. (I told about this recently -- she said she just would have called me and tracked me down.)  Not because she was mean or rude or judgmental or unloving.  But because she had a way of putting her finger on things I wanted to hide -- things I even hid from myself.  The deep, dark places that I wouldn't admit existed to myself or to God.  Unfortunately, the things most Christians don't think are such a big deal.

All she did was ask me questions, based on what I knew of the Bible and the (very encouraging and helpful) teachings we were going through.  And this is what I learned about myself: I was prideful (which includes insecurity) and selfish, thinking everything was all about me all the time.  I decided others motivations (something only God knows).  I was self-deceived and full of lies that I told myself and God.  I thought I knew better than God, and that He didn't know what He was talking about -- He was wrong, I was right.  When it came to my life and my world, I was on the throne, not Him.  I decided the circumstances in which I would yield authority to Him.  And I was horrifically unforgiving.  I remember when I was younger actually thinking how forgiving I was -- how arrogant!  I really just stuffed it and denied it let the poison of bitterness and resentment build.  Through this process, I repented (changed my mind and my ways), and I forgave.  And I completely understood what Paul meant when he said that he was the worst of all sinners.  That's how I felt.  There could be no one who could out-do me in the area of sin and failure.  It didn't "look" bad, I knew that those looks were deceiving.  I knew that the fact that I hadn't slept around or gotten into alcohol or drugs or anything else was just dumb luck and had nothing to do with any virtue within me.  I was capable of it all.

I find that many people, including Christians, run from this.  I get it: none of us likes facing the reality of our failure.  And especially in this culture, the idea just doesn't fit.  It's not "good for our self esteem".  But this realization didn't make me feel the way people would imagine.  It was more the opposite.  Because God. Still. Loved. Me.  I was the most horrible person to ever walk the earth (God knew the truth even if people couldn't see it), but Jesus still died for me.  He still wanted me.  I had heard about God's love before, even known a measure of it and experienced His love.  But this, THIS was different.  This was deeper, more powerful.  That stark contrast of the darkness in me and the fact that I completely and totally deserved death as an enemy of God, but He loved me and died for me and made me a new creation.  Although I still can't tell you that day, I do remember the moment of realization: everything was different.  It felt like coming out of a dark cave and seeing the sun and the ocean and sky and colors for the first time.  And it was worth those incredible difficult months to get there, and I'd do it again.

I love the love of God.  And I also love His holiness and His purity and His justice.  (And so many other qualities!)  Sometimes, I think it's easy to be afraid of these aspects of Him -- they are rather scary for us who live in a world that wars against Him.  But these characteristics are just as much a part of His character as His love is.  The angels around His throne never stop saying, "Holy, holy, holy."  Yet we don't even want to think of His holiness or the implications of His holiness.  And because we don't know these aspects of Him -- holiness, purity, righteousness, justice -- we think that we can't be that bad.  But the truth is the truth, whether or not we know it.  It's not that God is mean and judgmental and out to get us.  It's that He has certain qualities that tend to incinerate things that are dead.  Like a heat source or hot fire can set a dead twig on fire without even touching it, but one that's alive won't catch fire and burn.  God told Adam and Eve that if they ate of the tree, they would die.  And even though their bodies carried on for awhile after that, there was a part of them that died, and they passed that death on.  If we're not connected to Life, to Jesus (the Vine from John 15), and then come before Him at death, we're still a dead, dry branch that can't survive the heat.  It's just the nature of God and the nature of a person who has not been made one with Christ.

When we think of being corrected, we think of it in terms of how people correct us.  His correction is different.  It is steadfast and resolute, but so incredibly kind and gentle and freeing.  Last year, someone corrected me over some perceived failings.  The person speaks with a lot of authority, and says that it's from the Lord.  I've had many conversations with the Lord about it -- Lord, had I missed what You were saying to me?  Is there a blind spot that You wanted to point out to me?  His response was a question, "Have I ever corrected you in a way that made you feel rejected and didn't leave you feeling hopeful and free?"  No.  Absolutely no.  He never has.  His correction is wonderful. 

All of these things about Him and combined perfectly in Him fascinate me.  And they seem to amplify each other.  His holiness and justice don't diminish His love.  It amplifies it.   As does His love amplify His holiness and justice.  He is unceasingly fascinating.

We need to view ourselves against the backdrop of His character -- all aspects of His character as we grow in knowledge of Him.  Sometimes we have to take a leap of faith, in believing He's good even when we see something that we perceive as not good.  We can always ask Him for help and understanding, but there are moments when we need to just trust Him.

He is so many things to us.  I suppose that's why His name is I AM.  He is Creator.  He is Savior.  He is Lord.  He is King.  He is Ruler.  He is Judge.  He is Father.  He is Almighty God.  He is Counselor.  He is Prince of Peace.  He is Bridegroom.  I adore Him.  I want to know Him in all of these ways. 

Sight Dependency

Many may not know this, but without contacts or glasses, I'm essentially blind.  It's hard to describe just how poor my eyes are.  I can throw out numbers like "-6.75" for my prescription strength or "20/1200", but what does that even mean?  Essentially, it means that if you're 10 feet (3 meters) away (or even a little less) and ask me how many fingers you're holding up, I can't tell you.  It means I can barely see well enough to put eyeliner on without my contacts, with the end of the eyeliner pencil touching the mirror.  It means I can't read your averaged sized font in a book or on a computer screen if I'm more than about 5 inches/13 centimeters away. 

And it means I don't go a moment without my contacts (or glasses).  I prefer the contacts because they don't sit on my face, I have peripheral vision, I feel like I can just see normally, I can buy any pair of sunglasses... it just seems easier.

But it does mean that impromptu over-nighters are complicated if I haven't brought contact cases, contact solution, and glasses with me.  This happened in Mozambique when a group of us took a day trip to "the island", and the day trip turned into an over-nigher.  The biggest reason I almost said no to the over-night stay was because of my eyes.  I have to take the contacts out.  But if I take them out, I can't see.  And if I don't have somewhere to put them and they dry out, going through waking hours without vision correction would be a burden to everyone else! 

In that case, it resulted in 5 of us laughing hysterically as we tried to solve this problem.  The obvious solution, according to my friends, was that they needed to make themselves cry, collect their tears, and create homemade saline solution for my contacts.  Staring contests and onion cutting were involved, but precious few tears were produced.  (Although we did laugh so hard that we practically cried!)  In the end, I went with bottled water and a bottle cap. 

Despite all of this, I generally forget that I'm essentially blind and I need to take care of that which allows me to see.  This has led me to "over wearing" my contacts.  It's easy for me to think, "I can see with them, so they're fine."  But soft contacts collect bacteria, and since they cover your eye, they also reduce the amount of oxygen getting to your eye.  This is why you're not supposed to sleep in them.  Or wear them more than 16 hours a day.  Or 12.  16 is too much, really.  Having lived for a few months in a place where you save up water for the inevitable day that it stops running, it's also very difficult to throw away your daily contacts every day, like you're supposed to.  Or every other day.  Or every week.  Or....  You get the idea.  Because, hey, they seem fine.  I can still see!  But I was unable to perceive any problem.  The reality was, my eyes were being oxygen deprived, they were irritated, and had I continued to wear yesterday's (or last week's) contacts, and wear them too long, it would have added damaged eyes to bad eyes. 

Thankfully, my eyes are fine -- they are slightly abused, but recovering and looking good.  The eye doctor banned me from contacts for at least 2 weeks -- he preferred three.  My ban has been lifted, but he wants me to keep it to 10 hours a day.  Basically, only at work.  Or only starting at lunch time.

It all makes me think of spiritual sight, too.  We get so used to "seeing" the truth with Jesus, that we forget that the only reason we can see at all is because He's corrected our vision -- and we continually need His influence in our lives to continue to see clearly.  We can't even just rely on what we had yesterday or last week -- we need new, fresh, visual assistance every day: time in His Word, listening to Him, being with Him. 

And how easy it is to lose vision and focus and perspective for our lives.  Really, the main thing He's called me to do is represent His heart and His character wherever I go.  An area I'm definitely still growing in.  And how easy it is to lose sight of that, to lose sight of whatever "vision" we have, when circumstances or others' expectations or even our own expectations of ourselves cloud that vision.  Regular visual check-ups are so important.  Like a vision chart (which, btw, I can't even see) that tells us, "This is what your supposed to be able to see -- can you still see it?"  This is what God has said and who He is and what His promises are and His plans for our lives -- can we still see it?

The Greatest Privilege

There are a lot of things that have been on my mind and heart over the last couple of years that I've wanted to get out in writing but haven't done so.  Now, after a couple years with a lifetime's worth of experiences, where do you even start?  I suppose the specific starting point doesn't matter, just that you start.  So here we go.

On August 20, 2015, two of the most influential people in my life, Ty and Terri Schenzel, were killed in a car accident.  It still seems unreal.  Even though I hadn't seen them much, I had been reconnecting with them over the prior couple of years.  They played a pivotal role in my life when I was a teenager.  They loved and supported and prayed for me and my family.  About 4-5 years ago, I was listening to some of Pastor Ty's messages and realized that so much of my thought processes, outlook, perspective, beliefs I learned from Pastor Ty.  Terri's statement, "If you want to marry a prince, you need to be a princess," has long stuck with me, so that I've spent more time learning to be a princess rather than seeking a prince.  I even clean the bathroom floor the way she taught me (we had carpet, she had tile.  Why did we have carpet in the bathroom??!)

God used them (along with a few others) to lay a firm and solid foundation in my life as a lover and follower of Jesus.  Ty would often comment on how God has no grand children, and we couldn't ride on the coat tails of our pastors and leaders or people we looked up to in the Body of Christ.  It was part of what spurred me to apply to Hope College in Michigan and leave the safety and security of my church, my youth group, this amazing group of people I was a part of.  It was the question of: Is my faith my own when I don't have Ty and Terri and Jon and Linda and Jeff all these other people around me?  Can I stand on my own two feet, or am I just riding their wave?  Funny, when the plan was set in motion to leave Omaha and move to Holland, Michigan, the only people who weren't completely for it were my parents, and Ty and Terri -- my parents at church.  Terri cried when I left.  And I've missed them (and others) ever since, really.  Missed their influence, their wisdom, their insights, their encouragement, their hope, their joy, their "realness", and just their presence.

And now there are no more opportunities.  Of course we'll all get to see them again, but we're all deprived of them now.  When those of us who knew them all found out, we all used the same word: Devastated.  The calls were made and people were informed with words of, "You need to sit down.  I need to tell you something terrible.  And it's not made up.  It's reality."  There was denial.  There was a lot of crying.  I fell into the crying category -- sobbing in a public place for 15 minutes because my heart was too broken to care.  3200 people went to their memorial service while 13,000 watched live online.  Nearly everyone there stood in saying, "God used them to change my life."  It was a very large group of heart-broken, devastated people.  I still think of and pray for their kids and friends.

This heart-wrenching event somehow led to one of the greatest privileges I've experienced in my life.  I found out at 5pm on Friday, and at 7pm was Deep River, a monthly time of worship (and teaching) that happens in Cape Town.  And I couldn't wait to get there and just worship God.  All I wanted to do was take my broken heart and my tears and say, "You are good, You are good, You are good.  I don't blame You.  You are the same Person today that You were yesterday, and nothing is going to change my mind on this.  In the midst this horrible loss, I gladly bring to You my broken heart and say You are still good, You are still worthy, I still love You, and I still worship You."  And in the middle of probably the deepest sorrow I've ever experienced, I also experienced this unexpected joy of being grounded in Him through it all. 

I'm so thankful for His grace in my life to somehow work that response in me.  It was such a privilege to honor Him in that way, in the middle of my personal grief.  I had this awareness that these are the moments when we often turn and accuse Him of wrong doing.  The world certainly does it: "Why would a loving God do or allow this or that?  How could He?  Why would He?  How could He be good?  He couldn't be!  We want nothing to do with Him!"  But in that moment, with the spiritual world watching, I got to say, "He is still God, He is still good, I still love Him, and I still worship Him."

The enemy will do anything he can in any way he can to throw us off and get us to doubt God's goodness, kindness, and love toward us.  That's what he was trying to do with Job -- get Job to move from, "God is good," to, "curse [Him] to [His] face".  In the difficult situations around us, he'll accuse God of not loving us or caring for us or listening to us.  If that doesn't work, he'll try to increase strife in relationships.  If that doesn't work, he'll just condemn us directly on our faults or failings, real or perceived (or a mixture of both), and insist that God is disappointed or displeased with us.  If taking away the "perks" of the relationship doesn't work, he goes after the relationship itself, so that maybe because of that accusation, we'll pull back from this Wonderful One who died so He could draw us near to Himself.  Then instead we say, "You may be good, but I'm a disappointment to You," and we distance ourselves from Him.

But then we just get to dig in deeper to this privilege, "Though I am weak and have failed, You are still faithful, You are still good, You are still worthy, and I will still come to You with love and worship.  If you died for me when I was a far from You, surely You won't leave my side when I'm seeking You, no matter how I feel or any mistakes I've made."

And then, yet again, all the spiritual world, and all those around us, can see that we love and value our God and Savior, King Jesus, above it all.  Even though life is difficult and painful at times, even though we struggle and don't always see Him clearly, we still stand and say, "Our God is still good.  He is still faithful.  He has never changed and He never will.  He's still worthy, we still love Him, and we still worship Him."

Thanksgiving

For the last couple of years, there has been little opportunity for me to reflect on or really engage in the holiday season -- Thanksgiving and Christmas.  I was usually in the middle of a mental, emotional, spiritual, and physical "marathon" that ended up with me in a semi-catatonic state by the time Christmas rolled around.  I spent most of Thanksgiving last year in bed sick for 3 days!  I'm thankful to NOT be sick this year (in fact, I've only been sick ONCE since then!  Thank You, Jesus!)

When I helped to lead the Father's House discipleship school in South Africa, my friend Clare would always teach on thankfulness.  At the end of her talk, she'd loudly play music and have us all shout out to God what we were thankful for, for at least 10 minutes.  It was an "every man/woman for him/her self" kind of a thing, and you'd hear what the people around you were thanking God for.  We hit every area in life and everything we could think of.  One of my favorites is one of the students saying, "I'm thankful for my hair!" complete with actions, enthusiastically running his fingers through his hair and pulling it to stand straight up.  He did have nice hair.

Thankfulness is really an amazing thing.  Have you ever been incredibly thankful for hot, running water?  Not because you've just spent some time in Mozambique where running water and hot water are rarities, but because you just decided to thank God for it every time you took a shower, realizing that it's a privilege that most of humanity hasn't enjoyed.  And then eventually the mental reasoning of thankfulness becomes thankfulness from the heart: Wow.  I actually get to enjoy hot, running water!!

Sometimes thankfulness is hard when disappointments or trials or losses come.  (And maybe a waning of thankfulness feeds the feeling of disappointment.)  We all get hit by them in one way or another.  Mixed in with all the amazing experiences and opportunities and things God has done has also been, since March of 2015, pretty steady stream of disappointments, trials, and losses -- more than I'd ever experienced before.  The challenge has been, and my question for myself, can I find Jesus in the middle of it all?  When even a good thing feels like a consolation prize.  Can I still trust Him, know and believe that He's good, that He's with me, that He won't forsake me, that He's faithful, and thank Him for it all, even for the difficult things that I don't like, because He's greater than it all, He can (and will) use it to make me more like Him, and He'll be glorified in it? 

In the midst of seeing hopes and dreams and vision die, even things I strongly felt like He said, can I surrender it to Him, try to get a glimpse of eternity and Heaven, and trust in the One Who is the Resurrection and the Life?  And then pause to remember what He has done.  How He left the ease and comfort of Heaven for this challenging place called earth and died for me.  For His amazing mercy, grace, love, nearness, and faithfulness.  For my family and friends.  For the people He's let me see with His eyes.  For the beauty of His creation that He's allowed me to see.  For the time I told Him I needed Him to protect, defend, and provide for me, He came through in mere hours.  For how He's provided a job, a place to stay, a vehicle, food and coff... I mean water.  And hot running water.  And yes, for coffee.

Thank Daddy for being so good, for being faithful, for always pursuing me, always loving me, and for never changing or shifting in any way at all.  Thank You for the opportunity to go to Africa and my time there, and the same for South Africa specifically.  Thank You for bringing me to Waco (against my wildest imaginations).  Thank You for all the difficulties over the past year or two and for Your discipline in my life.  Thank You that nothing is wasted with You.  Thank You that You have always brought me through.  Thank You that Your word never returns void.  Thank You that You are the Yes and Amen.  Thank You for life.  Thank You for the things you will bring about.  And thank You for all the little things I so easily take for granted, from a bed and blankets and pillow, clothing, electricity, plumbing, senses that work, legs to walk, hands and fingers, "my hair"... and hot running water.