It's Kind of Like That

My youngest daughter is 15 months old. She is chubby, and funny, and beautiful, and precocious, and manipulative, and cuddly, and a monster, and outrageously precious, sometimes all at once. There are days when I just absolutely cannot get enough of her. She is my baby. My last born. I want to eat her up, especially those cheeks, have mercy! She loves my lap, or my hip, or my back. She loves being close and snuggling in. And I, being the mama who adores her girls, would hate to miss an opportunity to snuggle.

These days are passing quickly, as I am acutely aware, and so desire to soak up every last giggle possible. The days and weeks seem to be melting into months and years that are flying by more quickly than my mind can grasp. Everyday, small though it may be now, my precious daughters are inching further and further away from needing a mama like my 15 month old needs her mama now, and the pain and joy of it is almost too much to bear.

But then there are days when she screams if I have the audacity to even consider setting her down. She hits her sisters or pulls their hair. She grabs toys away and then cries that I won't pick her up. There are days when I am quick to roll my eyes because the baby is crying yet again. Days when I pretend to not hear her when she wakes from her nap too early. Days when I absolutely need a break from her. There are days when all three are crying at the same time, or all three are fighting each other for the same toy.

There are days when being a mama is not fun at all. But then, I'll hear a giggle, or I'll hear two fighting girls say sorry to each other and hug. My oldest will flash me a smile, or sing me a song. My middle will make a funny face or do a dance for me. And the youngest will gingerly climb into my lap and make herself at home, directing my hands to wrap around her. My heart turns to mush and my love for these girls is absolutely out of control.

I'll ask my oldest, "Do you know how much I love you?"

And she'll reply, "Yes, mama, I know. To the moon and back again. I know, I know."

But she doesn't. She doesn't understand that this human heart, this once cold rock that beats hard in my chest, this wellspring of life in me is so fully alive in love with her. She just doesn't understand the depth of it all yet.

The girls were watching the Disney cartoon movie of Tarzan this afternoon, and at the very beginning, there is a scene where the mama gorilla is rescuing the baby who will be Tarzan from the leopard. And the mama is relentless in pursuing and protecting the baby. She fights and tumbles and growls, and tucks the baby under her arm in the safety of her warmth and strength. And she fights like only a mama knows how, with every breath in her.

And my oldest says to me, "Mama, I wouldn't mess with that mama gorilla. She is fighting and protecting that baby."

"Yes, baby. That's a mama's heart, to protect her young."

There are days when my girls need to be disciplined, and I hate it. With everything in me, I hate it. As the infraction is going down, I think to myself, "No, please don't do it. Don't take it there. Let's not get it to that point! Please, make a good choice here. Let's not go there!" But they are children and their hearts are rebellious at times, foolish at times, undisciplined. And I hate it. So we discipline, in firmness, in swiftness, and in absolute love. And when it is done, tears flow, and hugs abound as they are reassured that Mama loves them no matter what. And we pray for wisdom to not make the same mistakes again. But they do happen. And it is dealt with in the same manner. And I love them still.

I am learning day in and day out about the love of my Heavenly Father, who, for most of my Christian walk, has been like a disappointed grandfather, sitting high above, removed, arms crossed, looking down his mighty nose while shaking his head in disdain.

"She did it again. Why won't this girl get it right? She messes it up every time. Will she ever get it right?"

That is not only hard to live up to, but it's hard to get close to. If I know that I will only disappoint and let Him down, why invest in trying to get close to Him? I only feel bad about myself when I am around Him. I cry in shame, wishing and wanting to finally get it all together. I hang my head, embarrassed, broken on the floor, knowing that I have no right to stand.


Matthew 7: 9-11
Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him?

If I, in my brokenness, in my evil, in my sin, know how to shower unconditional love on my children, recognize when they need discipline for the sake of saving their lives, and live to see them built up and flying, how much more will the Father in heaven dole out love for His children, for me, holding nothing back? Oh. My. Goodness! I can't even wrap my mind around it!

When my children smile, my heart comes alive. How much more the Father! When my children learn a lesson and stand tall because of it, my heart wells up in pride till my chest has doubled in size and my throat is all choked up with emotion. How much more the Father! When my children need discipline, it crushes me to the core. How much more the Father! But when the discipline has been administered, the relationship restored, and laughter has resumed, I feel such a completeness of joy in the growth that has taken place. How much more the Father!!

I would never dream of looking down on my girls, even in my most exasperated state. I would never dream of throwing my hands up in the air and giving up on them, for anything at all. I dream of how they will excel in life. I dream of their potential and all that they will grow into. I revel in how beautiful they are, everyday. I catch myself everyday staring in awe, at each one of them, marveling at their incredible features, these precious creations of the Most High.

Now, if I am capable of such love for these precious children, how much more the Father. He dances over us. We bring joy to Him. He sings over us. When we fly, the heart of the Father is honored. When we fall, the heart of the Father is broken. When we need discipline, the Father rebukes, as one who loves His children. His statutes are not there to suck the life out of us. He doesn't sit on a high removed throne shaking his bony finger at us with all his rules. He is the preserver of life, because He revels in the love of His children.

Being a daddy's girl myself, I get that. Oh, to make my Father proud. His love, my Abba Father, my heavenly Father, is kind of like that, only so, so much more.

But let all who take refuge in you be glad; let them ever sing for joy. Spread your protection over them, that those who love your name may rejoice in you.
Psalms 5:11

My newly begun, yet ongoing list of God's goodness


Thank you, Abba Father, for:
#2. Discovering that the love of the Father, my Father, is so deep, so personal, and so amazing.
#3. Blowing raspberries on a round baby belly
#4. Deep belly laughter of three little girls being tickled
#5. Being caught staring at how beautiful my daughter is
#6. The 3-yr old who asks for "pachati" instead of "chapati"
#7. Sunday afternoon alone to shop at the Maasai market





Take a peek over at Holy Experience to see what others are thankful for today.

Have you counted your blessings today? What are you thankful for? 

The Grime is Washed Away

Another laundry day has come and gone, and I am praising Jesus that my hands are holding up better than they did for the first several weeks that we were here in Kenya. Now I can make it through a washing session without broken skin, raw knuckles, or bleeding wounds. Great rejoicing over this not-so-insignificant fact. But today as I was scrubbing the clothes, somehow a great wave of satisfaction came over me.

While I would not readily choose to do laundry by hand for the rest of my days, I am finding something so very cathartic about sitting out under the sun, scrubbing the clothes for my family. I see the dirt and stains with which the scrubbing begins, and as my hands work the fabric, suds of cleansing water washing the grime away, the sweat of my brow seeing the reward of its effort. As the final product hangs on the line to dry, made new by the grease of my own elbows, restored to what it was made to be, I feel great pride and satisfaction to know what I have done.

I know it may sound simple, but the African dirt has coated these clothes well as my girls run and jump and play with no hindrance at all for the stains that they are setting in. When all the clothes from a bucket have been washed and moved to a bucket of clean water for rinsing, I see the extent of the filth. The water is grey-brown, thick, cloudy, murky. It is full of grime that my hands scrubbed out. As I dump the bucket out, there is great joy in knowing that it has all been washed away, that all that was once covered in filth is now clean and sparkling, like new again. There is such joy in my heart at this simple realization.

And then I begin to wonder if this is just a glimpse at how God feels as He washes us white as snow. He knows our filth. He knows our grime. He knows the deepest, darkest recesses of our hearts, and He does the hard work to wash us clean. He puts in the elbow grease, He wages war on our behalf, and He asks us to trust Him as he twists and scrubs us in His massive, powerful, yet ever-gentle hands. I just wonder if this is just a small peek into how He revels over us.

For much of my life, I struggled with this idea of such hopeless, helpless brokenness. Maybe it was my pride getting in the way of truly understanding, or maybe I had just heard for far too long what a reckless sinner I was. I knew I was a sinner. I knew I was broken. I knew that I was a mess. And my ears heard the Church reminding me of that over and over and over again; until all I could think was, "What's the point, then? If I'm such a horrible human being, I can never live up to be any good for anything, what's the point of doing the "good" thing?"

I would then hear the inevitable follow-up of how God loves me anyway. He loves me anyway. So, I'm not really lovable, not really worthy of love because I am such a reckless sinner. Because I am such a sinner, I don't deserve love, but instead deserve to hang on a cross. I deserve death, but He loves me anyway.

Well isn't that big of Him.

Gosh...thanks?

Any sense of dignity has just been beaten down and ripped to shreds, but telling me that He loves me anyway is supposed to pick me back up again. Great.

The problem is that there were some true things that were being said, some true things that my ears were hearing, and some true things that my heart was taking in. But they were not all truth. They were not all Truth.

Yes, I am a sinner. No, I am not unloveable.

Yes, I am broken. No, I am not hopeless.

Yes, I am a mess. No, I am not undeserving of love.

Yes, I do fall short of the glory of God. No, I am not to loathe myself for it.

Many times, my ears would absorb a teaching, receive it as a condemnation, and then continue to condemn self for it. So where I was told that there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, for some reason that wasn't enough to cover all the other condemning things that had already been taken in. And so they became chains around my ankles, shackles on my wrists, bounding my heart in lies that were set on repeat in my head.

You will never be good enough for love.

You can never live up to this standard, so why bother? Just give up. You're not worth the trouble.

Somehow, the fact that I was a sinner translated into God hating me. But His Word doesn't say that. His Word says this:

The Lord your God is with you,

he is mighty to save.

He will take great delight in you.

He will quiet you with his love.

He will rejoice over you with singing.

And again it says:

He will cover you with his feathers 

and under his wings you will find refuge; 

his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

Those are not the words of an angry father who is counting up how many times he has to bail us out. Those are the words of a lover, of one who rejoices when we are free and joyful, and one who rejoices when we surrender ourselves to Him to be our shield and our rampart.

And so I just wonder, as He dips us into the water and scrubs away the dirt and filth that has built up on our backs, if He doesn't take great joy in the process, knowing how beautiful the end result will be, knowing that even in the midst of the grime and muck, there is already beauty, because He made it so. And though the process might be a bit painful at times, humbling to have this stain scrubbed away, hurting to see Him toil so on our behalf, the process of surrendering to His cleansing ways is so freeing.

And I believe He takes great joy in it all, as he watches the murky, filthy water washed away from that which He created to shine.

I believe He will rejoice over it with singing, because that's what His Word says.

And so I will not hang my head in shame, as there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, but I will rejoice over His love with great singing as I return it back to Him.

Happy Sabbath, friends. Praying for God's peace and grace to fill you to overflowing today.

Called By a New Name

There was a time in June when I met with a group of amazingly godly Maasai women. These women had been trained previously by other Kenyan women in biblical storytelling, and I was there to follow up with the women and hear their stories. I have written previously about the experience here. It was humbling and beautiful and inspiring and sad and challenging and so much more, all at the same time. These women toil, often in places where there are no other Christians. They alone are the pillars of the Church, carrying the torch of salvation to regions who have not yet seen the Light yet.

When our session came to a close, the ladies were milling around, chatting and gabbing as only women can, (that doesn’t change from culture to culture) when it was asked if I had been given a Maasai name. When I answered an honest, “No,” it was decided that today was the day that I would be called by a new name.

And so they stood and discussed for a moment, and then announced.

Nassirian, meaning “Woman of Peace.”

At first I was taken aback, humbled, embarrassed.

In my head, I heard this: “It’s only because they don’t know you. If they knew you better, they’d take it back. Your life is full of turmoil, strife. There is no peace in you about anything.”

And yet the name was spoken, and in all grace, I received it, holding back the welling up in my eyes for fear that they might be misunderstood. My heart swelled, suddenly blocking my throat, making it difficult to swallow, as it thumped louder and stronger there.

I smiled humbly. “Thank you for that name. I am greatly honored. I will treasure it for life.”

And the conversation quickly moved on to name others. But me, I was stuck there. My world paused. No one knew it but me. They will never know how that one moment in time will forever be memorialized in my heart. It will forever be a stone that I carry with me, just as the Israelites carried a stone up out of the Jordan River.

Thus far has the Lord brought me, and I have this stone to show for it. Nassirian.

One other name was given, and then the rain began to fall. Gently, softly, big cleansing drops pouring forth from Heaven.

He has heard the name. Nassirian. Woman of Peace.

He ordained the name, and though I am not yet who He has created me to be, He is doing a new thing, and new Name has been given, so that I too know where He is taking me.

The water of Heaven baptized my hair, running a stream down my cheeks, dripping off the end of my nose. It has been washed. I have been washed, and He is doing a new thing.

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God.

I have read it often. I have pondered what it would be like to be called a peacemaker, and not in the sense of pleasing man, but in the sense of embodying grace and mercy, letting gentleness be evident to all. I can see her, the woman who God is calling out. I can almost touch her, and on good days, I feel my heart consumed by her. She is gentle in tone. She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue. She demonstrates mercy to all other fellow sojourners, knowing that not one of us has yet reached our destination. Her hurts have been many, her bruises in various stages of healing. Because she knows the pain of mankind, and knows the comfort of the Comforter, she is able to offer comfort to all others in her path. A safe place to land.

I can see her.

And on quiet, dark mornings, when I beat the sun and children in rising, and I greet my Savior with crusty eyes, bare feet, opens hands, and moldable heart, He welcomes her to the day, this woman of peace.

He calls me by a new name. And I will ever praise Him.

Today I am linked up to ShoutLaughLove, as we journey to joy together.

It's Not About Politics

I have a precious friend whom I have known since the early days of my walk with Christ. There are many things that we do not fully agree on, and there are many things that I have written about and posted on this blog that have rubbed her the wrong way. There are some things that she just outright does not like and does not agree with. I love this friend so much, more than she may ever know. She is bold, yet gentle and loving. She is inquisitive and seeks understanding. I love that she challenges me, questions and digs for meaning and truth. She doesn't let me get away with flippant comments or ideas that were not well thought out. Sometimes my passion gets the better of me and takes hold of my thoughts, and this precious friend, she calls me on it, forcing me to reign in it and refer back to Scripture. You just cannot fathom how I love this friend.


For quite some time now, we have had an ongoing conversation about the healthcare issue. I have loved the conversation as it has challenged me a great deal to be sure of where I stand. Because it has recently been brought to my attention that some do not agree with my "political" stand, I am going to share some of the conversations that my friend and I have been having (with my dear friend's permission of course).


There are a few points that I wish to clear up first though. The most important one is this: I am not political, nor am I taking a political stand on anything. I am part of God's Church. My citizenship lies therein, based on Philippians 3:20. I am not in favor of the political healthcare bill. I AM in favor of the sick being visited and taken care of. I care not what the government does. Yes, I do pray for the leaders, and yes I do pay my taxes (giving unto Caesar that which belongs to Caesar), but my concern is for the Church. My calling and my gifting lies in that. Are we (the Church) doing what God has called us to do? I am not involved in politics, but when the political system fleshes out an issue that the Church SHOULD be addressing, I will speak to that. Not to how the political system should fix it, but how we as the Church SHOULD be responding. If you are looking to be offended by political partisanship, you will probably succeed here. But you must know my heart. I am not political, nor am I speaking to defend any sort of political action. I care not about politics. I am speaking to defend the sick, the hungry, the thirsty, the fatherless and the widows. I speak to spur the Church to question, challenge, and delve into the creative imagination that would allow us to envision some other alternative to what we are doing now. Not referring to the government. Referring to us, the Church. Is it possible that there is another way, a better way, to fulfill that calling that Jesus left for the Church? Is it possible that the Church has ceased in growing because we have ceased imagining life any other way? This is what we do because this is what we've always done and clearly it's the right way to do things. But what if there's more? What if we are missing something?


Next, I wish to make it very clear that I would never dare to call into question anyone else's state of salvation. It is not my place, as I am not the One sitting on the Throne. There were some who took offense at a phrase that was used, "I have heard some, possibly well-intended, comments coming from those who claim to be followers of Christ." Where this phrase has caused offense, I do ask for forgiveness. It was not intended to offend, as I am in the category of those who claim to be a follower of Christ. This was not meant as a derogatory statement, referring to "so-called" Christians. I would never presume to make such a statement. There is no such thing as a "so-called" Christian. All we have from each other is our own claim, and I would never dare to question anyone else's claim. 


I must also make it very clear that I am not speaking on behalf of any other person or organization. These are simply thoughts that have been so heavy on my heart based on my time in the Word and my time with the Lord. I am attempting to reconcile my life with the Word of God, desperately attempting to have the two line up, but very aware of my own failures. 


I am ok with disagreement. I think it's healthy and challenging. But again and again, it is our responsibility as the Church to return to Scripture and be sure that what we are doing lines up with what is written for us. The disagreement must never turn personal, but must always return to Scripture. I am trying to be a part of the Church of God. I'm trying to be a part of building that Church up, and just wondering and exploring there is another way to do this than what we are doing now.


Just as it says in Jude 3, we are to contend for the faith, struggle with it and continue to seek. If we cannot ask questions, challenge the status quo, and re-examine what we are doing for the sake of staying on the right path, without folks feeling threatened and/or outraged, then what are we doing?


I'll share the conversations that I have had with my sweet friend, as I am sure there are many who see things the way that my friend does as well. I love her boldness to challenge where she disagrees. I welcome you to do the same. I would just ask that it stays focused on the topic, and not get personal.


In all things there is grace and peace.

Life of Service, Part 3

Here’s the thing: every single one of us has been called to serve. Serving is what sets followers of Christ apart from the rest of the world. Serving is what defines us as grace-filled, merciful, loving, and selfless people. Serving gives legs to the words we profess. The question is simply where and in what capacity. Jesus told his followers in Acts 1:8, “But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”

We are called to be His witnesses, to be those who will stand and give an account of who he is and what he has done. When we pray the Lord’s Prayer, we say, “Your Kingdom come, Your will be done.” If that doesn’t happen in us and through us, why are we asking for Him to do it?

What does it look like when God’s Kingdom comes?

What did it look like when the King of the Kingdom came?

He fed the hungry with a small boy’s simple lunch. He actually fed thousands of them.

He visited the sick and raised the dead back to life. On multiple occasions.

He broke bread with the thief after calling him down from a tree. The thief in turn repaid not only all that he had stolen, but more to make amends.

He defended the adulteress by writing a word in the sand and welcoming those who were without sin to cast the first stone. Amazing how quickly a crowd disperses. 

He visited a man imprisoned by his insanity, shunned to the graves by his people, and then healed him by driving out his demons and restored him to community.

He cured the lonely outcasted woman who had bled for 12 years when she touched the hem of his garment. He was her last hope. He came through for her. 

Scripture says:

Jesus knew that the Father had put all things under his power, and that he had come from God and was returning to God; so he got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him.

He stood before his disciples, those he called friends, and he bent over to the ground, and he scrubbed their dirty, dusty, dry and cracked feet, drying them on the towel around his waist. 

And then he came to the friend who would betray. The friend who would sell him out. The friend who would hand him over and begin the process that would lead to his crucifixion and death. He came to this friend, and he knelt to the floor, washed his dirty, dusty, dry and cracked feet...and dried them on the towel around his waist.

But he still had one more. From there he moved to his friend, his dear, precious friend, with whom he had spent many hours of many days, teaching, loving, sharing, cherishing. And this friend...this friend would deny him altogether. 

Could you possibly imagine how this would have affected the man Jesus? What about the time we spent together? The walks we took? The conversations we had? All that we went through? And you’re going to deny me? You don’t know me at all?

Three times this friend denied that he ever knew Jesus at all. And Jesus bent low to the ground before him, and gently, lovingly, tenderly, scrubbed his dirty, dusty, dry and cracked feet and dried them on the towel around his waist.

What I particularly want you to see is this: Jesus served all of these people, and so many more, without any hesitation, without pretense, without considering whether He was being taken advantage of or being used. He washed the feet of all of the disciples as if all of them were standing on even ground.

I have to say that if it were me, when I got to those last two, I might have been more inclined to dump the water directly on them and walk away rather than tenderly washing their deceiving feet. But not Jesus. Unconditional. I love you, period.

Then Jesus said, “Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. I tell you the truth, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them.”

And then that very King allowed himself to be lead through the streets of Jerusalem, after being beaten and scorned. The most powerful being in the world allowed himself to be nailed to a Roman cross by the very hands that He himself created.

This is what makes the follower of Christ different from a humanist or any other ideology around the world. Christ has taught, nay, modeled for us sacrificial, unconditional, “I love you, period” kind of love. Because in the end, we are reminded that it’s not about us or what we get in return. It's about serving and loving the King. It's about representing Him well. 

Tomorrow I'll share with you how God fleshed it out for me...