Hope Where All Seems Hopeless

I glanced around at my surroundings, unsure of where my fourteen-hour journey had taken me. I had prayed for this trip for months. I felt certain the Lord had called me to this ministry. But as I stood and took in everything around me, I suddenly felt unsure, weak, and incapable of doing all that I had been called to do.

I was in the Appalachian region of the southern United States; an area of the country where poverty reigns. It was a third world area, in a first world country. I didn’t realize that poverty existed to that extent in the United States of America. I was terrified at the thought of spending the next three months in an area that seemed so hopeless. Why had I been sent here? This area was in need of way more than I could offer. Where do I begin?

I repressed my nervous insecurities and got straight to work. I drove around to different communities scoping out basic home repair projects. As I pulled into the first community, nothing inside me was prepared for what I saw; a house in desperate need. It seemed impossible to me that people actually lived in this dwelling. The roof was falling apart, with holes scattered across the old, worn shingles. Shattered, dirty glass lay glistening on the ground where the majority of the windows had been busted out. One whole section of wall was missing, allowing me to see straight into the bedroom of the man and woman who called this place their home. The couple came out to meet my teammate and I and welcomed us into their home. I shook hands with the woman, probably around my mother’s age, as I noticed how worn and tired her face appeared. The four of us slid into their home by a piece of chain link fence used as a wall to keep critters out. I wanted to hear their story. How had they gotten to this point? Was it by choice? Did they even know any different? I tried to push back the jumbled thoughts in my head to make conversation with my new neighbors. But what was there to say to them? I had never felt so many worlds apart from anyone in my life. Every word and thought seemed so vain and meaningless as I stood on their dirt floor, with a leaky pipe over my head.

My teammate carried the conversation as we all discussed ways to help their living situation. “Lower a pipe there, replace windows here, and strengthen the weak floor up there.” Before I knew it, I found myself sliding out past that same chain link fence back into their front yard. The emotion I had been suppressing sense I had arrived, boiled inside me. How does an area like this exist? Will everyone continue to forget these people? Where is God in all this? How has He allowed this to happen? These people need the deep love of Christ.  Am I even capable of showing such love?

I looked at the beautiful mountains on each side of me that blanket these people in security as I began to call out to God. “Father, I need strength to love these people like you do. I need my heart to be softened to your will. Provide these people with hope! I need to know you have not forgotten these people like everyone else has!” As soon as the words left my lips, God gently placed a verse on my heart “The rich and poor have this in common: the LORD is Maker of them all” (Proverbs 22:2 NIV). I was reminded that God did care for them more than I ever could. It was in that instant, that I no longer felt worlds away from these people, but rather viewed them as dear friends and family. We were united under a banner of hope provided by Jesus’ death and resurrection. I had never been so thankful to Jesus Christ for overcoming the world.

The rest of the Summer I witnessed God do amazing things in the lives of these people that I grew to love, cherish, and admire. Through Christ, my new friends and I were able to walk hand in hand in a perfect brightness of hope along an illuminated path, instead of stumbling aimlessly in the darkness where poverty had previously reigned. At the end of my time in Appalachia, I looked around at the place that I lovingly began to call home and was so thankful that each face I saw was the image bearer of a divine God. A God who DOES care, a God who IS hope, and a God who is NEVER finished working in the lives of his people.

Grace in the Raw and Real...

I’ve wrestled with writing this blog for the past 24 hours. Not because of the topic itself, which happens to be my favorite thing to write/speak on. But rather the extent that such a topic can undoubtedly unnerve people in light of recent events. Grace.

I read a quote recently that said something along the lines of, “God can not bless a believer beyond their current disobedience.” Unfortunately, the logic behind such a statement is believable to many outside, and inside the Christian circle. Thankfully, that is not the type of God, or the type of grace that I have experienced in my own life.

Grace from God is too big, too wild, too unimaginable, and too free to be restrained by disobedience! I can think of many times in my life (more than I would like to admit) that God took my disobedience and out-graced it beyond all imagination. His grace didn’t end where my disobedience began. When we start putting limits on God’s grace, it posits a God who is powerless to save sinners like me.

God’s grace is for the woman who sells her body for her nights drug money, and for the man who relentlessly takes advantage of her and pays her. His grace is for the girl who sat by me in college who is trashing her life with nights of cheap vodka and its false pretense of freedom. God’s grace is for women desperately in love with other women, and men in love with other men, and for those who throw hate in their faces. His grace is for the men and women who destroy the sanctity of marriage with infidelity, and for the men and women who are tightly held by the clutches of pornography. Gods grace is for abusive fathers and the grief stricken mothers addicted to painkillers. Gods grace is for messed up people who kill innocent children.

Grace, as I have come to know it, is for those of you who have caught a glimpse of yourself in that paragraph, and for those of you whom have no grace to extend to one or more of those people. His grace is for those of you who feel angry with me for writing such a blog, and those of you who find freedom in such a blog. God is NOT, and WILL NOT be limited by human failure, disobedience, and shame.

Grace as I have come to know it, can turn disobedient sin, into life.

Ephesians 2:4-9 But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ— by grace you have been saved—and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast.

The Only Jesus They'll Ever See...

I was on a mission to clean my truck the other day, as I rolled into the Walmart parking lot. Little did I know, God was on a mission to clean my heart.

My truck was filthy. I decided to go all out and totally clean it; make it shine. All I needed was to pick up some Armorall at Walmart. As I pulled into the parking lot, I noticed a man holding a cardboard sign that simply said, "Hungry." I glanced quickly back and forth from him to his sign, before driving on by as if I hadn't seen anything.

There was something about the man that I couldn't seem to shake as I made the walk towards the automotive department. As I began looking over the different products that could make my truck shine, the word "hungry" kept coming into my mind. Hungry. Hungry. Hungry. Then the thoughts in my head became crazier. Feed him. Feed him. Feed him. Feed him? Really? By this point I recognized God was working in my head and in my heart, and I quickly began to argue with him.

Feed him? Really, God? I mean, he will probably be gone when I leave anyway. 

"Yes, feed him. He will be there."

But, I mean, that isn't safe. He is a man...I am a girl...there are stories on Dateline about things like this!

"Do you not trust me?"

"No..I do trust you. But, you see...I just came to Walmart to buy Armorall to make my truck shine. Plus, I don't have a job. I don't have money. There are plenty of other people who could buy him food." 

"Allow me to remind you of a little something. “If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him? Dear children let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth.”  1 John 3:17-18."

Crap. I`m for real supposed to feed this man. 

I've never had such an intense conversation with the Lord in the automotive department before. But I knew, no matter how much I didn't want to, I was supposed to buy this man something to eat. I scurried nervously up and down aisles grabbing a handful of things that I could afford with my measly $20. 

As I got back into my truck to drive to where the man was, I remembered my drivers side window is broken, unable to roll down. I wouldn't be able to slow to a roll and toss the bag of groceries to the man like I had originally planned. I was actually going to have to get out of my truck. 

This seems like a bad idea. 

As I pulled into the abandoned parking lot next to the man, he began to approach me slowly and deliberately. My heart raced, thoughts flooded my mind, but yet I felt oddly secure as I opened the truck door to stand by the man. I fiddled with the grocery bag for a bit before finally looking up to acknowledge him. I was discomforted by the man, probably in his late 40's or early 50's. He wore dirt and grease on his hands and shirt. His unbuttoned flannel hung loosely and the smell of body odor overwhelmed me. I  finally gained enough courage to train my eyes on his. His eyes, his eyes told a story. They were filled with sorrow, agony, and shame. He looked worn, full of despair, and empty. Those eyes of his met mine, as I began to speak-taking my thoughts away. 

"How are ya today sir?" I blurted out chipper as could be, trying to overcompensate for the nervousness I felt inside. 

"Well, if I was doing well I wouldn't be standing here with a cardboard sign, now would I?" 

His words were harsh, coarse, to the point. This isn't the way this was supposed to go. Think quick, Lindsey. What do I do? Throw the bag at him, jump in my truck and speed away? Orr...?

"I`m Lindsey! Nice to meet you!" I blurted out as I looked down to see myself extending my hand to shake. He cautiously glanced at my hand, then to me, then back to my hand. I felt like time stood still as I waited for him to accept my feeble greeting. His calloused hand met mine as he replied, "I`m Robert, nice to meet you." 

"So, I picked some stuff up for you in....there." I couldn't even think of what Walmart was called. 
"Thanks." he replied as he took the bag from my hand. "I don't always do this you know." 

I was confused, caught off guard by the comment. "Do what?," I shot back quickly. 

"Stand on the street asking for food." "Oh!...well...that's okay." I stammered back. I had agreed to buying the man some food, not to an awkward conversation. 

"The food banks are running really low right now. I don't feel right taking food from there when I know there are hungry kids. If I can stand here with a sign and get at least one meal, I will be fine." 

I was totally bewildered. I hadn't asked why he was standing there. Honestly, I had made up enough reasons in my head for him. He squandered his money. He was a drunk. On drugs. Lazy. Before I could say anything else his words penetrated my heart once more. 

"I had a job and I worked hard. I had a wife, and kids. But things happen, and people change. I'm just at a rough time in my life. I never thought I would be standing here like this. So thanks...thank you." 

I wanted to know more. What had happened? How did people change? Where are your kids? How old are they? Surely around my age. Are you still in contact with them? How is your wife? What job did you have? But I couldn't bring myself to ask any of these questions. They all seemed so irrelevant. Instead, my next move surprised even me. I reached my arms out and I embraced the man. Hugged him. Thinking back on it, that was absolutely crazy. Typing it now makes me feel weird. I'm not a touchy person. But for some reason, the urge came over me to fully embrace him. So I did. I hugged him. For the first time, I saw Robert as an equal. A peer. A friend. 

Nothing else seemed right, so I managed to say "Robert, I am so glad I met you today." as I let go of him and smiled at his tired face. Tears began to fill his eyes, and stream down his cheeks. "Lindsey, thank you for the food, but more importantly, thank you for treating me like a person."

....treating me like a person. 

I got in my truck and drove away making sure to not look back in my mirror at Robert. I couldn't stomach it. All of a sudden, I felt so small, so weak, so overcome. 

I have had a week to process the strange occurrence in the Walmart parking lot. I have realized that for many people, the only Jesus they'll ever see is the Jesus they find in you and me. What Jesus are you showing? Is your Jesus one who doesn't take seriously“If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him? Dear children let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth.”  1 John 3:17-18. Homeless people and people in need don't need your money, they need YOU. I had to learn the hard way, the heart wrenching way. Friends, I implore you, stray from idle, empty worship because it is detestable to God. Rather, remember this: “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress….” James 1:27.  

Be blessed. 

Hokey Pokey Freedom

I have a dog. He is my friend. He has a nub tail, pointy ears, and fur between his toes. I love him. In the mornings he gets in bed with me. When its cold, all 8lbs of him warms a couple inches on my body. I give him treats, take him on walks, and rides in the car—everything that can make a dog happy. I pet him often, and rub that spot on his rear that makes him sneeze. We play ball. We nap. He has everything provided for him that he could ever need.

                                                            He obviously loves me

But sometimes, I have to leave. Since I don’t trust him to roam the house unattended, I have to lock him up. He gets placed in the laundry room with the door open to another room, and a gate that blocks off the rest of the house. However, in this enclosure, he again, has everything he needs. There is a soft doggie bed, water, potty pads, and sometimes a toy and treat.

Keep hanging with me…I am going somewhere with this…

Recently, the dog has been escaping this enclosure. He slides himself by the side of the gate and out into the “free world.” So, I put weights against the gate. The dog proceeds to bump up his strength training workouts apparently, and still manages to slide the weights and the gate away from the wall to escape. When he does escape into the “free world” he does naughty things. He poops in the floor, and pees wherever he wants. Ah, freedom!....until I get back home. Then the place that once offered freedom for him, now becomes the place where he gets scolded, and in trouble.

Because he escapes the larger enclosure where he still had freedom to roam, I now am going to have to place him in a pet carrier…with no room, no water, no chance to escape.

I get so frustrated with him. I give him everything he needs, promising to return to rescue him quickly; to set him free. Yet, he isn’t patient. He wants the promised freedom now…so he seeks it himself.

Are you still with me? I`m getting ready to bring it all home…

How many times do Christians act like my dog? "Wait, say whaa? Christians don't poop on the floor!"

God has given us everything we need. He has given us freedom. Yet, we want freedom our way, in our time. So…we begin to seek “freedom” outside the boundaries that God provided. But those things that the world offers as “freedom” quickly turn to bondage. The more you do what you feel like doing, not caring about God or others, the worse your life becomes and the less freedom you actually have. You start to realize that you have taken your freedom for granted out of selfish desires, and now, you are trapped in a small cage wishfully thinking you could go back to those days of living in expansive freedom!

Luckily for us, God isn’t like me. He doesn’t rub our noses in our crap (literally) like I do my dog when he poops in the floor. Instead, he breaks those chains of bondage, and sets our feet to dance in HIS freedom once again!

Paul wrote to the early church about freedom in Romans chapter 6:

20-21 As long as you did what you felt like doing, ignoring God, you didn’t have to bother with right thinking or right living, or right anything for that matter. But do you call that a free life? What did you get out of it? Nothing you’re proud of now. Where did it get you? A dead end.
22-23 But now that you’ve found you don’t have to listen to sin tell you what to do, and have discovered the delight of listening to God telling you, what a surprise! A whole, healed, put-together life right now, with more and more of life on the way! Work hard for sin your whole life and your pension is death. But God’s gift is real life, eternal life, delivered by Jesus, our Master.

Friends, I urge you to live in God’s freedom. Dance in it, shout in it, sing in it, do cartwheels in it, or even do the Hokey Pokey in it!! But the point is this…live in the freedom he provides you—and experience true, unfiltered, eternal life! 

You are loved! 

Rise from the Dust

Thomas Meron said, “When the Lord hears my prayer for mercy (a prayer which is itself inspired by the action of HIS mercy), then he makes his mercy present and visible in me by moving me to have mercy on others as he has had mercy on me.”

Recently, my eyes have been open to the freedom in experiencing God’s love. Because of this, it is so much easier to exquisitely paint a breathtakingly beautiful picture of God’s love to those around me, because I can relate to those who stand in my once messed up spiritual circumference. I can feel their pain and it breaks my heart when they ooze suffering and angst out of every desperate pore in their broken soul. Their life I could have mirrored-someone trying really hard to survive a cataclysmic life journey-but for reasons I still don’t understand, I cling to the coattails of mercy instead.

Because of my recent (and not-so-recent) experiences, the Lord has granted me the opportunity to see some people, as I truly believe he sees them. A friend that is hurting, desperate, and vulnerable to society’s expectations—I have been able to love with such an intense depth that it is simply indescribable.

Through that friendship, my eyes have been opened and my heart made full about the kind of God I serve. The amount of overwhelming love, mercy, and compassion I have for this friend, though sincere, doesn’t even come close to the love, mercy, compassion, gentleness and grace our heavenly father has for her—and all his children.

So many people live in spirituality where after every screw up, mistake, and sin, they feel the need to take part in a sort of spiritual masochism where they have to remind themselves of the wretch they are, and whip themselves with a cat-o’-nine-tails. The idea behind this being that maybe, just maybe after these acts and so many more, God will love them more and they have redeemed some kind of worth in themselves.

But friends, that isn’t the God of the Bible. The God of the Bible—MY GOD says “Rise from the dust O Jerusalem. Sit in a place of honor. Remove the chains of slavery from your neck, O captive daughter of Zion.” (Is. 52:2). How many times have you mercilessly bound yourselves with chains so the walk toward the throne of mercy is made nearly impossible? Stop drowning yourself in dirty pools of guilt, shame, and sorrow! Stop being a fool by trashing your spirit with dung and mire instead of allowing sweet grace to take shelter where it belongs!

Rise from the dust, O captive one of Zion. Rise from the dust! 

Can we do this another time?

Arriving back to normal life hasn't been the easiest adjustment.  I have so many thoughts, and a different worldview than ever before. If you know me well, you know I am a talker. I am a verbal processor, though many times I am unwilling to tell you what is really on my heart. But when I am ready to tell you, I expect you to listen. Not because I think my thoughts are superior, or even worthy of being heard. I don't expect you to drop everything you are doing to hear the ramblings of what has trickled from my brain to my heart. But as a friend, I do expect you to listen. I expect you to care. I expect, however naively it may be, that you would want to take a general interest in my well-being.

Recently I had plans with a friend. This friend knew there had been a stirring in my heart upon my return to so called "normal life." I hadn't discussed this with anyone else, as I had been processing myself for a week or so, but I found myself suddenly ready to process with a close, trusted friend. As the time drew near to meet up and chat I received a text that has stuck in my head since. It said "I`m tired. Can we do this another time?"

"Yea, we can do this another time."

The words "do this" stung a bit. It is quite possible that I am totally overreacting, but hear me out. How many times do we put others off and ask to do this another time (myself included). How many times did Jesus do this another time?

How about the time when Jesus healed the leper (Mt 8:1-3; Mk 1:40-42). What if the story went like this...
"When he (Jesus) came down from the mountain, great crowds followed him. And behold, a leper came to him and knelt before him saying, "Lord, if you will, you can make me clean!" And Jesus said, "Listen, I just did this sermon, and I am exhausted. Can we do this another time?"

How about raising Lazarus from the dead (John 11:1-44)? What if the story were like this...
"Then Jesus, deeply moved again, came to the tomb. It was a cave, and a stone lay against it. Jesus said, "Take away the stone." Martha, the sister of Lazarus said to him, "Lord by this time there will be an odor, for he has been dead four days." Then Jesus said, "Four days? Gross. He will reek. Can we do this another time? I am ill equipped to deal with that stench right now."

Fortunately for us, that is not the way the stories go. Jesus, though tired, emotional, and physically drained, reached out and touched lepers. He raised dead men from the grave. He performed miracles no matter what people thought, or what was going on around him.

I can think back many times where I have been the person that doesn't want to deal with someone else's stench. I, in a round about way say, "Can we do this another time?" in hopes that the stench will go away. That is not what Jesus did.

Be intentional friends. Don't ask people "Can we do this another time?" Be present. Be an ear. Be a shoulder to cry on. Be a hug. Be a smile. Be a friend. Be like Jesus.

Everyone has a story...

Everyone has a story.

Some people have stories filled with grief, and sorrow. Others have stories of abandonment, betrayal, and loneliness. Some stories take unlikely twists and turns that lead places one never thought possible. Some stories are unfortunately cut short, leaving the world to wonder what the end of the story would have looked like. But the cool thing about stories, is each person has their own. My story is mine, and yours is yours. Our stories may have similar chapters, or cross paths, but no one can take my story away from me.

My story isn't the prettiest. If my story were on a shelf at the public library, it wouldn't be wrapped in fine leather, or have a beautiful picture on the front. My story isn't one tied up neatly with a bow, free of clutter. In fact, it is quite the opposite. My story is messy and dirty. It is the book in the library that no one wants to pick up because it is covered in dust. It is filled with disappointment, shame, and failure. It takes me on a journey I never anticipated, through trials I never thought possible.

Though my story isn't perfect, it has gotten me to where I am today. My story, however messy, is overflowing with grace and mercy. At the root of each chapter is more love than I can comprehend, and blessings in full. I am tired of letting others tell me I should be ashamed of my story, or omit parts of it. That would be like reading a book with the middle chapters missing. My story points to a savior worthy of praise, and a God of redemption. For that--I want to share my story.

Take time to listen to others' stories. Pick up that story covered in dirt, and see what is hiding underneath. There is always more to the story than the cover.

Every Day That I Live....

The Summer has finally come to an end as I sit in my large comfy bed, air conditioning blowing, and my puppy snuggled by my side. The past couple days I have been thinking about this Summer, the memories, the difficulties, the laughs, and the faces I will not soon forget. One face in particular floods my mind every time and almost brings me to tears when I think of her. Her name is Alice, and I could spend all day sitting by her bed in the nursing home, holding her soft, worn hand listening to her stories.

Alice was very ill, unable to leave her bed or room. Every day she would wake up and lay there, receiving her breathing treatments. I learned Alice was an ordained minister, before it was cool for women to do that. : ) As I sat rubbing her hand, her eyes would meet with mine and she would tell me things like "The road is looong and fierce. But follow the Lord and you will win the race!" She would smile big and say that someday our bodies will die, but our souls will go to be with the King!

I asked Alice what her favorite hymn was and with a squeeze of my hand and a smile that lit up all of McDowell county she replied "I am Blessed." Then she began to sing. She sang from the deepest depths of her soul. The part of her soul that has experienced hurt, abandonment, and betrayal. The part of her soul that knows the grief of losing three husbands, and losing her leg in a car accident when she was in her 30's. From the deepest part of her being she belted these words:

I am blessed.  I am blessed.
Every day that I live, I am blessed.
When I wake up in the morning
Till I lay my head to rest,
I am blessed.  I am blessed.

From that same place, deep within the heart and soul of Alice, she has experienced grace and mercy. From that same soul that holds sorrow and grief, she knows what it is like to love and to be loved. Alice knows what it means to be passionately, wildly, uncontrollably in love with Jesus. From the deep parts of her soul she sings of the blessings she has encountered.

Before she was even through that chorus tears stained my cheeks, watching this incredible woman sing about being blessed every day she lives, knowing her time left here is short. I never thought I would feel the presence of the Lord that strongly in an elderly woman's room at a nursing home in McDowell county.

I have shoes for my feet,I have plenty to eat,and a home up in Heaven bye and bye.Brothers and Sisters on this earth;They are mine by my New Birth,and we'll share in that Home beyond the sky.

I can hardly wait to share in that home beyond the sky with Alice. In fact, I hope Alice is on my welcoming committee when I get to those pearly gates. I wish I wasn't 13 hours away from her, as I long to sit by her bed once more to listen to her wisdom and encouragement. But I could leave knowing that I will see Alice again someday. A day when she will no longer know pain and suffering, but will be at the home beyond the sky which she is so anxiously awaiting.

A look back...

This Summer my teammates and I have prepared...(these are rough estimates):

640 hot dogs
400 hamburger patties
120 lbs of ground beef
64 lbs of chicken
48 lbs of spaghetti
64 tomatoes (sliced)
16 onions (chopped)
24 heads of lettuce (chopped)
64 pots of coffee

With help from the teams that have come in to serve we have:

Hung sheetrock
Built decks
Repaired leaky roofs
Fixed floors
Repaired wheelchair ramps
Built retaining walls
Painted houses
Built carports
Extended storage sheds
Demolished walls...only to build new ones
Cleaned...and cleaned some more

We have:
Given and received hugs too numerous to count
Walked beside hurting people and heard their stories
Played bingo and learned the excitement of receiving a prize of a quarter at the nursing home
Tickled community kids until they were laughing so hard they couldn't breath
Played basketball and kickball with the community boys until I was so sore I could barely walk

We:
Plunged toilets
Caught the stove on fire
Saw a black bear
Almost hit several deer
Got ran off the road by coal trucks
Ran over a trash can
Laughed until our stomachs hurt
Learned to appreciate air conditioners, garbage disposals, trash men, dishwashers, and our moms

We have been stretched, frustrated, and totally exhausted.

But through it all...the name of the LORD was glorified.
The Lord gave us strength and wisdom.
The Lord provided.
The Lord protected.
The Lord calmed.
The Lord granted peace.
The Lord provided hope for the hopeless.

God loved. So dearly loved.

There is still work to be done, children to feed, houses to fix, the gospel to continue being spread. But I know this: My God....my GOD is a God of redemption and victory. He will never leave his children. I am so passionately in love with my savior and his grace.

Jesus and Trash Juice

I had a cool experience the other day. I was inside the school overseeing Bible School, when a girl from the community came in and said the trash guy outside needed help loading the trash in the truck, because there was so much. I, with my spectacular management and delegation skills, quickly scanned the room to see who I could send. After several minutes of scrambling to find help, I realized I was the only person around to help. I put on a pair of latex gloves and headed for the bags that had been stewing in the hot sun all week.

When the trash guys saw me coming, they started laughing. I said, "You asked for help, and you got me...so lets get to work!" About that time I picked what looked to me like the heaviest bag around and with a grunt sent it flying up and into the back of the truck. The men looked at me with a sense of amusement and began hauling the bags with me. While my new friend Robert and I hauled the trash he told me that he didn't think a girl would get dirty like that and want to help him do his job. The whole time we hauled trash, we talked. I learned Robert had been the city trash guy for years. I learned about his family, his life, and gained valuable insight into the community. After about 15 minutes of slinging trash in the hot sun, I had trash juices dripping down my legs and covering my shirt. I smelled like a 5 month old banana, raw chicken, rotten watermelon milkshake. Delish!

Robert and I continued to talk for a bit when we were done working. Two people from totally different backgrounds, united through rancid bags of trash. I was no longer the Bible school lady, and Robert was no longer the trash man--we were two unlikely friends no longer separated by circumstance.

Proverbs 22:2 says "Rich and poor have this in common: The Lord is Maker of them all." My beautiful Jesus loved Robert and I so much that he brought us together that day to begin a friendship. Before Robert left I brought him a glass of lemonade and thanked him for everything he did and told him how valued he was. After he sipped his lemonade, he lifted his head with a grin and said "that is the nicest thing anyone has ever told me. Most people just see me as a trash man." "Rich and poor have this in common: The Lord is Maker of them all." I would have been covered with trash juices five times over to be able to affirm someone's value like that again. Every time I see Robert now I wave and smile and thank the Lord for him, and thank Jesus for teaching me a valuable lesson that day.

It’s a third world community in a first world country. That is the only way to describe the area I have found myself living in. Things that happen here are illegal everywhere else I have ever been. The stories I have heard are heartbreaking and unbelievable.

Almost all the homes here should be condemned. I was in a home today that had the windows busted out, holes in the exterior walls and a chain link fence covering those holes to keep animals out. We worked on a house this week for a paraplegic man who had a hole in his roof where every time it rained it poured into his bathroom rotting the floor and walls. If our team hadn’t gone in and found that the wall was rotted so poorly that it was to cave in any moment, who knows what would have happened.

The landscape is beautiful here with streams of water flowing through the picturesque mountains. However, those streams contain high amounts of E. Coli. In fact, 67% of the houses here have no septic system, which means the pipes drain directly into the streets where the children spend their days roaming and playing.

There is nothing here for the kids to do. The kids are beautiful. I have learned my way around to most of their houses and to the different communities (the bottom, Pinchback, Wilco, Thorpe, 10, 6, Elbert). I made the drive everyday this week to round kids up in my 15-passenger van with a piece of plywood for a backseat. I knock on their doors to find a mother with black eyes screaming at the kids that the Bible school lady is there and to put their F’ing shoes on. My heart hurts for the kids. But I have to shut my mind down before I feel the pain for the woman who did something her latest boyfriend didn’t like for which she had to pay the consequences. The story is always the same—“I fell down”, “I ran into the door.” I know better. The pain and shame in their faces tell a greater story than their mouths can speak.

This is the town that everyone else forgot. The government has turned its back knowing that as long as they hush the people with welfare checks, no one will complain. The mountains blanket these people in security. The majority of them have never been outside the area.

Will everyone forget these people? Will anyone show them the deep love of Christ? Am I even capable of doing such a thing? Will the children ever stop begging me to not leave since they are used to everyone else who has ever loved them, leaving them to fend for him or herself. What happens when I DO have to leave? Will they be abandoned, alone, and abused? Will the little boy who told me Bible school was his second home grow up to be like the men who beat his mother and grandmother and then leave?

I need strength to love these people like Jesus would have. “And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.” (Mt. 25:40). Has Jesus forgotten these people to? I choose to believe there is still hope. There is beauty in ashes. These children are image bearers of a divine God. He hasn’t given up on them, and neither can I. 

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles,

Caleb, Riley and I made it to West Virginia by train, plane, and automobile. Quite the group! We are staying in Charleston tonight, and heading to Gary, W.V. in the morning where we will stay for the rest of the Summer.

Too often people only praise after a blessing. However, i`m praising before the blessings of this Summer, knowing God is going to work in ways I never thought possible. Here are some prayer requests you can be praying for:

1. Travel for us as we make the 2.5 hour journey to Gary tomorrow.
2. Riley will be in Kentucky the first week with our "brother team." Pray for safe travels, and miracles in Pike county.
3. Travel for all the teams coming to McDowell county this Summer.
4. That a mutually beneficial relationship forms between the team, and the people of McDowell county, and that we are able to serve each other with dignity and grace.
5. The rest of the EM Summer Staff doing the same thing we are internationally, and domestically: Costa Rica, Joplin, Atlanta, Western Navajo/New York, Eastern Navajo, Portland Maine, and Jamaica.

Love you all! A lengthier, more in depth post coming soon!

Send Me

The Lord has a funny way of working in my life.

Several months ago I applied for an internship with an organization called Experience Mission. I graduate college in May and knew if I didn't leave now, I never would. My heart has always longed to do missions. I didn't even have a place in mind, I just knew I wanted to go. I would read in Isaiah chapter 6 where the Lord asks "Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?" and Isaiah answers "Here I am! Send me." Over the years I found that being the cry of my heart as well-send me!

When applying for this internship there were several places I could be sent. I had no control over my placement (and trust me-I like control.) The organization sends teams to places like: Denver, Atlanta, LA, NYC, Chicago, Navajo reservations, and several international locations such as Haiti, Mexico, and Jamaica. I didn't have a preference. I pictured myself loving on people in all of those locations. However, in talking about this Summer with friends I jokingly said there were two places I didn't want to go: Joplin Mo (for obvious reasons), and Appalachia. I once watched a documentary over a family that lived in Appalachia West Virginia. It was terrifying. Shoot-outs, robberies, gas-huffing, drug dealing, pill popping, murders and tap dancing are the images that flood my mind when thinking about that area. So it is no wonder my top choice for mission work wouldn't be in the Appalachian mountains.

After I would make the joke about being placed in Appalachia almost every person said something along the lines of "You know that is where you are going to be sent now, right?" And I would laugh and say "yes, probably so." The Lord has a funny way of working in my life.

On Tuesday I received my placement. Part of the email stated the following: "This Summer you will primarily be serving in Gary, West Virginia. We really feel like you will be a great fit there and are extremely excited to see the ways God will use you!" Gary West Virginia, in the appalachian mountains. The Lord has a funny way of working in my life.

Over the past couple days I have been doing my research, looking up pictures and statistics of the area. Gary is in McDowell county, which is the southernmost county in West Virginia. The county also happens to be one of the poorest in the United States. Once a booming coal mining town, now a place in need of hope. Half of the children in the area are part of families who live below the poverty level. The median income level for the area is just over $16,000. Only half the residents have a high school diploma.

As I learn more about this community, the more my heart begins to ache for them. I am excited at the opportunity to walk beside people and hear their stories of living in such an impoverished community and the hardships it entails. I want to love on the children whose families can't provide for them because of the depleting coal mining industry. I want to help the widow with basic home repairs while sharing the love and eternal joy found only in Christ. The Lord has a funny way of working in my life.

I want to thank all of you who have prayed for me, and with me along this journey. However, it is just beginning and I ask that you continue to pray for me, for my teammates, and for the people of Mcdowell county. Your support and prayers do not go unanswered or unnoticed. I will be leaving in less than a month for training in Michigan and shortly thereafter for a Summer in the Appalachian Mountains. Yeah, the Lord definitely has a funny way of working in my life, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Thoughts After Spurgeon

The joy of the Lord in the Spirit springs from an assurance that all the future, whatever it may be, is guaranteed by divine goodness; that being children of God, the love of God toward us in not of a mutable character but abides and remains unchangeable. The believer feels an entire satisfaction in leaving himself in the hands of eternal and immutable love.

However happy I may be today, if I am in doubt concerning tomorrow, there is a worm at the root of my peace; although the past may now be sweet in retrospect and the present fair in enjoyment, yet if the future be grim with fear, my joy is but shallow. If my salvation is still a matter of hazard and jeopardy, unmingled joy is not mine and deep peace is still out of my reach.

But when I know that he whom I have rested in has power and grace enough to complete that which He has begun in me and and for me, when I see the work of Christ to be no halfway redemption but a complete and eternal salvation, when I perceive that the promises are established upon an unchangeable basis and are in Christ Jesus, ratified by oath and sealed by blood, then my soul has perfect contentment.

Life is Messy

I had a great talk with a friend yesterday. Through the whole conversation I couldn't help thinking "Life is messy." And it is. I think too often Christians get caught up in this "life is beautiful, and the clouds are made out of cotton candy, and I frolic in the meadow of daisies" attitude. And while I agree that life can be beautiful, it is equally as messy.

It's actually when I get in the beautiful life mode, I find myself distanced from Jesus. That might sound so contradictory, but the fact of the matter is: Life affected Jesus. Sometimes, I get discouraged by life--but so did Jesus. He needed room to grieve, just as you and I. He was a man. Jesus was a man in a way we have forgotten men can be: truthful, compassionate, blunt, emotional, non-manipulative, sensitive. He never did anything halfheartedly. He embraced our humanity so fully and totally that he was able to die. Yes, life affected Jesus.

I am encouraged when I remember Jesus shares in my humanity. I`m sure things made him laugh just as they do me. The Pharisees made him furious. He felt joy, weakness, sorrow, anger, and pain. The more I can grasp his humanity, the more I find him as someone I can approach, know, love, trust, and adore.

I then catch myself taking a step back. Jesus wasn't fully human, right? On the contrary! The manger Mary used as a bassinet held something more human than humanity. Yes, Jesus was the most human human-being who ever lived. It's true. Life is messy. The ravages of sin, neglect, abuse, and addictions have cast a shadow of what we were meant to be. Jesus is humanity in its truest form. He was the Son of Man. Not of God-of man.

So when life gets messy, I look in the mirror. Why? Because then I see Jesus. We were the only thing said to be created directly in his image. Our humanity is a reflection of Jesus' humanity. Jesus feels-I feel. Jesus longs-I long. Jesus weeps-I weep. Jesus laughs-I laugh..and laugh some more. So when life is messy, and I feel Jesus is too far away, his humanity brings him close again. Life affected Jesus, so it's okay for life to affect me.

More learning...

Recently I have found myself wanting more. Más. Plus. Mehr. Più. And for the Greek speakers in the crowd,περισσότεροι. MORE! When I volunteer in the nursery at church we pass out butter cookies. One of my favorite little guys always pleads with hands raised, palms up "mmmm...mooo...moo..moo..more cookies!" For many, it is one of the first words they learn. As humans, we desire more.

I have been desiring more lately. More things. More relationships. More money. More of whatever I think I need. But truth is, enough is never enough. I need the power of Christ to break the cycle so that I can say confidently with Paul "I have learned in whatever state I am, to be content" (Phil. 4:11). Yet, as I read this verse I can't help but become frustrated. Content all the time? That's impossible! Paul had it so easy. Then I catch myself clinging to the first three words of the verse: "I have learned".

Things didn't come easy for Paul all the time. Learning contentment required practice. His contentment included more ups and downs than I can imagine. He faced false accusations to founding churches. Yet through everything this man encountered he declared that JESUS was the answer to soul level satisfaction. Jesus gave him the capacity to endure the difficult times as he writes in v 13, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."

So as I find myself wanting more, I have to remind myself that contentment only comes when I have "MORE" Christ! I refuse to let my joy be dependent on my circumstances. I am learning. Earthly things will not satisfy, but only the provision of the Lord.

Women's Ministry

After turning down an invite to go to a women's rally with some friends, I couldn't help but question why I had such an adverse reaction to the thought. What about "women's rally" makes my skin crawl? Granted, I have never liked doing what everyone else is doing (hence why I refuse to watch Lost and join Pinterest) but I get icky feelings about certain things: women's ministry is one of them, and I'm still trying to figure out why.

Now, don't get me wrong, I have taken part in a couple women's ministry events and quite enjoyed myself. I also think there is a need for women's ministry and community. However, I tend to be opposed to all things "womanly." The thought of quilted Bible covers, Joyce Meyer, giving strangers backrubs, touchy-feelyness, and women sobbing so intensely they have snot pouring out of places I didn't know existed make me shutter.

Women's ministry that focuses on baking tips, decorating, crock pot recipes, and those silly at home parties where you feel like you have to purchase over priced makeup from a magazine is really not women's ministry at all. Though there is a time and place for all those things. I`m choking on cutesy pink things and Christian sayings that girls are supposed to think is cool (i.e. "Modest is hottest!" Seriously, say that to someone with a straight face.) I throw up in my mouth a little when women of the church dress alike, and do cheerleading routines aimed at Jesus. I don't need women's ministry for that, that is milk for babes-not women. I want raw vulnerability. I want deep, intentional community. I don't want churchified answers to why my dog pissed on the floor on my way out the door. You know what I want? I want Jesus. All of Jesus.

All women aren't all mothers. We aren't all wives. Some of us are single women, divorced, widowed, struggling, depressed, empty. Is womanhood only about being a wife and mother? We aren't all in the same season of life. We don't all come from the same backgrounds, so stop pretending like we do. We are diverse image bearers of a divine God.

You know what I want instead of hearing you tell a joke you read out of the latest lady magazine? I want to hear the testimony of the lady sitting beside me. I want the lady that brought the apple tart to stand up and tell me of the worth she found in Christ. As a friend once said, "Please stop treating women's ministry as a safe spot for the little ladies to play church."

Perhaps I don't like women's ministry because if I start to like Joyce Meyer, luncheons (why don't they just call it lunch?) and decorating tips, everyone will see right through me. They'll see that I am lonely and scared at times. I doubt more than i would like to admit. I can often feel a failure as a supervisor, a student, a friend, a daughter, a Jesus follower. Perhaps, you'll begin to see all those things i don't want you to see.

How can I still make fun of the fluff, if the fluff isn't really worth making fun of? What if women's ministry talked about theology, politics, and wrestled with questions larger than who has the best sales on Black Friday. Women can love. But women, all women, need to be empowered. We need community with other women. Is your church challenging you in its ministry? What are your thoughts women? Am I completely off target and the only one who has felt this way at times?

The Intangible Invisible

I've been weird the past couple weeks. I'm coming to the realization that I am finally graduating. It's scary. It's sad. I can't help but question God. Luckily I have formed a new mantra of sorts, "I believe in the God who will give me the desires of my heart." Sometimes I chant it with an overwhelming faith that brings tears to my eyes, and other times I quietly say it while the dueling thoughts of faith and fear plague my mind. So what do I believe right now? I do believe in a God who will give me the desire of my heart, but maybe like 50 percent. But that's a hell of a lot better than the 10 percent from a couple nights ago...

I have no answers to the questions I am asking God, a blurred vision of the future, and a Jesus by my side. That is what I know with my whole heart. I believe he is sitting beside me, the intangible invisible, as I type with such nonsensical furry and passion that probably makes him laugh at my wordiness. And he is probably thinking "You're going to laugh looking back at this. And you are going to smile and dance and shout-and TRUST me and know that I AM the God who will give you the desire of your heart. That your faith does not go unnoticed, whether it's 1 percent or 99 percent. That I don't view your sins, fears, and failures as stumbling blocks that would prevent me to move in you. I want you to LIVE, SHOUT, and DANCE with the freedom that I gave you!"

And that is what I believe. It sounds like a fairy tale, or like a cheesy Saturday morning cartoon where the roadrunner always wins. But I like this fairy tale because it keeps my faith moving like ants in my pants. It gives me wonder, and marvel, and mystery. It makes my heart leap with joy for no reason and forms a lump in my throat for the same reason.

Lord, I don’t know what I’m doing and I admit I don't trust you like I should. But I love you and want to continue to trust you…whether 1 percent or 99 percent. You never fail to amaze me. You never fail to surprise me. You never fail to amuse me. You never fail to make my heart leap (I don’t think I have ever thought of you more like a roller coaster than right now..) But I love you! And I believe that you, the God that will give me the desires of my heart, love me more than I can ever imagine.

The disciples bleepity bleeps

I have always been familiar with the story where Jesus feeds the 5,000 (Mat. 14:13-33). What a sweet experience for the disciples to be a part of. However, just as the disciples are standing around rubbing their stuffed bellies slappin’ skins talking about how Jesus is the man, Jesus tells them to go away. He tells them to go “to the other side” of the lake while he takes time to pray..(yes, rest assured…even Jesus needed a break every now and then…J) While the disciples are at sea, upset because they didn't get to stay for the after party, the winds pick up.

The winds pick up, the rain starts to pour, and the waves start climbing. This is no Missouri weather where it’s just a 20-minute squall that disappears as quickly as it appeared. No, this continues for hours. From what I gather it starts sometime in the evening and persists until “the fourth watch of the night” (Matt. 14.25) which is anywhere between three and six in the morning. So for almost the entire night, these poor disciples are tossed around violently. I can only imagine, perhaps with much accuracy, what the disciples were thinking.

“I can’t believe this!” “How could Jesus have left us?” “Why did he make us ride in a storm?” “Where is he when we need him?” “Is he going to save us?” I’d venture to guess even a few “bleepity-bleepity-bleeps” slipped out, but maybe I’m saying that to make me feel better about myself. Either way, one question lingered over their heads, “Is God going to take care of me?”

So many Christians experience the depth of their spirituality in terms of mountaintop experiences, miracles, or smooth sailing times. They become almost intoxicated with having everything work out in all ways at all times. Maybe they are smart enough or rich enough or pretty enough to satisfy their own needs without the presence of a savior. Maybe they are spiritual enough to procure answers to every prayer. Maybe they are wise enough to not get bogged down by temporal circumstances and to maintain emotional and mental stability all the time. But let’s face it…most of us aren’t.

Here we have the disciples, who were on a mountaintop experience just hours earlier, now being thrashed around by the waves. Now they are questioning, “Is he going to take care of us?” They clearly knew he had the capacity to do so. Did Jesus really care about them that much when he basically bulldozed them out of the festivities only for them to get pummeled by a storm? Did he really care about them that he waited until the fourth watch, nearly the last possible second to show up?

The story ends with Jesus coming to them walking on the water. They of course freak out. Seriously, who does that? Jesus comes, but in their estimation, he was late. They weren’t sure why he had sent them away in the first place. It felt dreadful to be battling rains and winds and waves in the absence of his presence. But finally he comes.

“Is God going to take care of me?” is the cry that resonates from the depths of my soul when I find myself in life's senseless storms. It doesn’t mean I am a faithless Christian. It doesn’t mean that I am not smart enough to trust him. It just means that I am asking the question--that I wonder. And that I have no choice but to hold on so I can experience the affirmative answer. I stay in the boat and wait for Jesus to come. Maybe I will end up like Peter walking on the water with him, or maybe like the other disciples, sitting in the boat. Sitting, standing, rowing, walking, wading, whatever it is that I do…I know this: Jesus always comes.