That a Girl!

"Look at me, mommy!"

"Mama, look over here! Watch this!"

"Mommy, watch me jump over this!"

These were the shouts that I heard all morning as the girls played on the jungle gym, jumping from the end of the slide, swinging on the monkey bars, climbing up the chain ladder. I smiled as I took in their joy, heart warmed by their play. I was struck by their desire to be seen, for their achievements to be noticed.

"Mommy, are you watching?"

They would stand at attention at the end of the platform, readied in position to launch themselves into the sand pit, and yet would pose, waiting until eyes were on them before making the move. Then, launch! And then shoot up like an Olympic gymnast, arms like arrows extended in the air, body straight and stiff, awaiting the applause.

"Ta-da!"

"Bravo! Bravo! Well done! So proud of you! That was amazing! I can't believe you jumped so high!"

The look of satisfaction, joy, success. They accomplished, and then they were praised. They smile big with pride, stand taller, and are bold and confident to do more. And me, their mama, the one who carried and bore them, stand tall with pride and joy to see my angels fly, to see my girls learn and grow and accomplish through courage. I am so proud of them.

"That's my girl! Well done!"

They have so much to learn, and everyday is an opportunity for growth. They are learning how to interact with each other, learning how to love selflessly, learning how to forgive and make amends. They are learning what it looks like to love Jesus, and everyday is an opportunity to learn more. And I am more proud of them everyday. Not every moment is perfect, and there is still much to learn, but their journey has begun, and my prayer is that Jesus is more real to them and more alive in their lives than I have ever experienced.

And then I just wonder about our Father, the One who has birthed us all by the workings of His mighty hands and the beauty of His own imagination. And I wonder about the Son and how He came to show us a new way, The Way. His teachings were so against the mainstream, so counter-intuitive. He taught us to turn the other cheek, and it sounds altruistic and beautiful on paper, but living it out makes the flesh cringe. He taught us to forgive quickly, and it sounds noble on paper, but then the heart rages against offense and wants to get even. And He taught us to forsake the things of this world, to be sure that the hungry are fed, and the orphans are cared for, to be sure that the poor are looked after. And then we begin to question and squirm, and look for technicalities, and justify taking care of ourselves first.

He taught us how to fellowship with those who do wrong, those who are immoral, and how to speak life and exhortation into such as those, but our lives are so full and so righteous. He taught us how to live in selfless community, looking for the God-image in all, restoring the Father-dignity that the evil one has stripped, but our to-do list must get done and we just don't have time. And what we have worked for, we have worked very hard for, and I like my privacy and my space, and the simple, counter-intuitive, counter-cultural teachings of Jesus become muddled and grey and watered down till the fire in my heart has been simmered into a slightly smoldering coal with barely an orange tint to it.

But then there are voices crying out in the wilderness, prophets in their own day, those who are speaking the stirrings of their heart, seeking out the voice that will guide them in obedience. There are visionaries who are risking it all, and those who are willing to step out. There is a stirring taking place, and quiet revolution seeking to bring Heaven to this broken pit. I have seen their hearts, those who are no longer content with the status quo of a system set in place by tradition or routines. Those who are no longer willing to do what they do simply because this is what we do. There is a quiet stirring, those who are questioning.

If we are told that the picture of the Church is a community that is willing to sell all their earthly possessions and come together, meeting each others' needs completely, are we as the Church not held to the same standard?

If we are told that the picture of grace is a body of people who have set aside their rights and are willing to put the needs of others before their own, are we not held to the same standard?

I just wonder about the ways of the Father, when we get ahold of a lesson, when we share our food with the hungry, or open our doors to someone in need of a roof over their heads, I just wonder if the Father doesn't smile over us.

"That a girl! Now you've got it."

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.

On Change and Gratitude

The breaking of the habit of anger starts with two words:

Thank You.

When anger has taken up residence for so long, eyes for the divine, the appreciation for smiles, the ability to give and receive joy is quenched, closed, suppressed. Where others see hope and possibility, the angry heart sees only doors that have slammed shut and evil intentions. It is a strange phenomenon, oozing in slowly, quietly, until the fleshly heart is hard and cold, a stone void of feeling and responding in love. A heavy lump of nothing, taking up space in the chest, making it difficult to breathe.

But a simple thank you, primitive, basic, desperate.

Thank you for the day to try again. Thank you for the mercy for another chance.

Life-generating.

And suddenly there is a pulse; a small blip on an otherwise flat line. Deep red river flows to cold, hard darkness, and precious oxygen is sucked into the lungs that have forgotten how to breathe. The first inhalation in a very long time. That which was black and dead is being transformed, renewed, brought back to life.

Thank you for the smile.

Thank you for the deep, belly laughter of three beautiful little girls.

Thank you for the little girls.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Blood pumps and flows, less constricted. The strained breath of before relaxes, diaphragm rhythmically flowing up and down, up and down. Life giving. Life restoring. Life healing. Life generating. Breathe.

Eyes for the divine are opening, the Father’s love gracing His children. Every bit of joy, every smile, every giggle, every moment of contentment and peace is the grace of the Father, manifesting itself in everyday interactions. He reveals Himself. He shows His mercy, His beauty, His grace in all of creation, asking if His children are aware enough to see.

See Me, That I Am.

And in those moments of awareness, I say thank you. 

And so a new journey of healing and renewal has begun, with a simple acknowledgement of gratitude, and counting of blessings received.

#1. Thank you, Abba Father, for new life.




Today I am choosing to join a community of grace and gratitude, counting the blessings that God has given. Gratitude will be the new habit that replaces the dead chaff that is being blown away. In the counting of blessings, I must be intentional to look for them, asking God continually for eyes to see and ears to hear.

What about you? What you thankful for? Have you counted your blessings lately? Would you like to  join me in the journey of counting one thousand, and beyond, gifts? 


Take a look over at A Holy Experience, full of beautifully raw and humble writings of a journey to God,  to join the community.

Some Habits Must be Broken

There are words, themes, lessons of sorts that have been swirling around my head for quite some time. It has stumped me, unable to move forward in words and thoughts until this is sorted out. I know that God is teaching, transforming, so I search for a quiet moment on this precious Sabbath to process and decipher what it all is. By God's grace, now I sit alone, away from the tugs of little hands and demands of household chores, with people milling all around in laid back, African style, and a welcoming latte resting in front of me. The foam of the drink has been artfully shaped into a gentle heart, wispy and light, reminding of of what it is that God is after. Mine. My heart. The steam rises up as I struggle to offer up these thoughts and words.

Speak Lord. Your servant is listening. God of order and comfort, bring order to the tornado of thoughts. 

God, I hear you speaking.

He speaks healing.

He speaks comfort.

He speaks joy.

He speaks gratitude.

He speaks peace.

He speaks Life.

Anger is a habit, detrimental, devastating, destroying habit, but a habit nonetheless. Learned. Practiced. Mastered. It starts out small. Someone offends, betrays, wrongs in some way. I feel the offense and take it in. I welcome it in to unpack and make itself at home. It dwells, and welcomes its sisters, bitterness, resentment, and rage. They are messy houseguests, but stay for quite some time. They begin to call the shots. 

In a move of protection from further offense, I callously write the person off, shrugging of the hurt as no big deal. Doesn’t bother me. I don’t need that in my life.

So in the name of defending self, in response to a small hurt, a small corner of the heart hardens, blackens, and dies. I don’t feel it because it was small, an inconspicuous death numbed by the sense of justification and gall. It crept in unnoticed and now sits quietly, brewing, waiting to spread.

The first death took a small toll, though ire and disgust glazed the view. But by the third or fourth death, the response is a killer on autopilot, and the funeral is swift and emotionless. The mourners stand on the graves of previous victims, as the cemetery is becoming quite crowded. There is no thanks for things seen, or unseen. Nothing can be offered up, not even condolences for the tragic passing, as the true tragedy lies in the lack of vision for what is happening. The eyes are closed to the divine, and only hurt lingers. Gratitude is dead.

And so the cycle is formed, the habit established. Anger has moved in, as it alone can live in the blackness of a dead heart. Lifeblood cannot pump to those regions. Light cannot dwell with anger. Growth cannot compete with despair. A slow shut down has begun.

And yet He has spoken Life. The heart can only house one feeling at a time. It can only be filled with one spirit at a time. Life and Death will not cohabitate. Light and darkness with not reside side by side. Anger and peace will not live together. Mercy and disgust will not hold hands. Gratitude has no dwelling with such darkness ruling the land. So when He speaks Life, He speaks change, transformation.

He speaks a new thing, just as He is calling His children into a new creation, with a new name.

But then this habit must first be broken. 

Standing in Awe

When I read about what love is and what it looks like, how to live it out, it is full of actions that have become almost foreign to me. To trust, to hope, to be patient and kind, to overlook offenses and not be easily angered. All of these actions go against every grain of my natural body. Life has taught me otherwise. Life has taught me that these actions are foolishness. Life has taught me that people will walk all over you, take advantage of you, slander your character, all for their own gain. Life has taught me that you have to stand and defend yourself, as no one else will. But these days, God is doing a new thing in my life, and some chains have been cut loose.

For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved, it is the power of God. -1 Corinthians 1:18

Soften what has become hard. It is time to love again. Open your hands, unclench your fists, release to Me all that you have been clinging to, as it has only hurt you more. Soften what has become hard.

It turns out that I have a defender, I have one who speaks on my behalf. I have one who has lavished His love upon me, in such great magnitude that He even went as far as to crown my head with glory and honor. My head! Yes, even my head.

It seems that I had gotten in the habit of acquiring knowledge, but not experiencing the truth of God in my life. I wondered and fretted about my own apparent lack of growth, and blamed God for abandoning me, turning a deaf ear to my cries, neglecting my broken heart. And then I came across this today:

A man's own folly ruins his life, yet his heart rages against the Lord. -Proverbs 19:3

Hmmm. Yes.

In a very bad habit of anger, bitterness, resentment, my heart ached and burned against the Lord, as if it were His doing. But now it is His undoing that has set my heart free, and I could feel the stone within my chest melt, as my body relaxed and I made a choice to forgive and not react. I made a choice to focus on what God had done for me, and allowed His strength to be present in my weakness. And now this captive is being set free, chains of insecurity, doubt, mistrust, and hurt that have held me in fear and bondage for most of my life are falling away and I am feeling how easy His yoke is. I just can't even tell you the freedom that I am experiencing, even in the midst of turmoil and hurt. And yet, I have a peace which passes all understanding, and I just know that the victory will be His alone, for my good and for His glory.

He is that good, yall!

So these days I am absolutely standing in awe of who He is and He power to work in my life. Somehow it is easy to get into routines and habits, which may enhance knowledge and build up the mind, but neglect the growth and experience of God himself. Yesterday I laughed out loud because of how good He is and the peace that He had put in my heart. I was down-right giddy! And now I am reading His word with fresh eyes, not simply taking the words to heart, but taking the promises to heart and expecting Him to move. This one touched and inspired me:

In him and through faith in him we may approach God with freedom and confidence. -Ephesians 3:12

Seriously! We may approach the King of the universe with confidence, and ask Him to do in us what His word says He can (and wants to) do. This has changed everything and I am almost overwhelmed with this love that He has lavished upon us!

What about you? Are you experiencing His power in your life? Are you expecting Him to set you free, or just hoping to make it through your days with fire insurance? We all have stories (which reminds me that I need to start writing mine!) and we all have baggage of some sort. The question is, who is carrying it? I am praying that you would allow Him full access in your life, to move and cut some chains loose!

Everyone Has a Story

As I have traveled through this life, I have met some very interesting people along the way. I have talked and discoursed with long-hairs, short-hairs, republicans and democrats, conservatives and liberals, poverty-stricken and filthy-rich. I have talked with people from all over the world, and even lived in some of their cultures. What I have learned from all these interactions is that everyone has a story. Some are tame and mild, others are outrageous and wild. Some stories tell of great tragedy and pain, while others are full of victory triumph. Some have straight and clean paths, while others somehow face every obstacle under the sun. What is so interesting to me, though, is that you just never know what a person's story is from looking at the person alone. That old saying of "don't judge a book by it's cover" is just so true. You just never know what a person has gone through, or is going through, to be where she is today. What I have also learned, though, is that even if you do know a person's story, it may give you an insight into what the picture of the life has looked like, but it does not tell you how the heart has held up in response to it all. That's a different story altogether.

I have become thoroughly convinced through the years that God wants us to tell our stories, because ultimately, they are His stories. It is through these stories of our lives that His character is revealed and we meet Him afresh and anew with experience in our lives. It is also through these stories that we remember what He has done for us, how far He has carried us, how He has healed and changed our own lives.

Have you ever noticed how many names of God there are throughout Scripture? Whenever an event would happen in Scripture, the people involved would name God based on the characteristic that was revealed, based on who He was to them at that point in time. Maybe He is Elohim (the Creator) at one point, and then Qanna (Jealous) at another. Maybe He is El Roi (the God who sees) to the woman who has been cast out, or Jehovah-Jireh (the Lord will Provide) to the woman who is struggling to make ends meet. I have come to realize that Scripture is full of so many different names of God, as there is no one name that is big enough to encompass all that is God, other than to simply acknowledge YHWH in how He called Himself, I AM THAT I AM.

When we tell our stories of God, when we tell the history, or rather His Story, of our lives, we share with others the character of God and the ways that He has revealed Himself to us, that others may know Him and recognize Him as He reveals Himself to them.

And so I will slowly begin to tell my story, mostly for my benefit, so that I may take a look back and remember how far God has brought me. There are many days that I battle with discouragement, wondering if I have grown at all. And so it is through this remembering that I may see the path I have traveled, and see the wonders of the Lord and how His hand has worked. I don't know how long it will take to get it out, but slowly, and patiently, I will lay it all out there. Well, maybe not all...we'll see what it brings.

Feel free to journey with me. It might not all be pretty. Let me rephrase. It is not all pretty. There are parts that are downright ugly. But there is nothing that Jesus touches that He does not turn to beauty, no ashes left behind. And so there is no shame in the path that was taken, only praise that He did not leave me there.

What about you? Have you thought about the story of your journey? How far has God brought you?

The Community that Builds Up

In general, the culture of the West is not communal. Now there are certainly places here and there, small breakaways from the norm, such as The Simple Way, or Solomon's Porch, but they are certainly more the exception than the anything else. For the most part, this culture prides itself on the individuality and space, while many other cultures around the world still live in that communal setting, all joined together, working and living together. 

Because we are not a communal people, many of the things written about the early Church can be very hard to relate to. So what I see more often than not in this society, is lots of people who claim to follow Christ, all struggling (or thriving) on their own, individually. Some can pay their bills and are able to afford such luxuries as healthcare, and have extra left over to be able to give; and let it be known that there are many who give generously according to their ability. Many more are not able to pay their bills, have lost their homes, and certainly cannot afford any luxuries, including healthcare and life-saving medications, such as insulin. But because we are such an individualistic people, everyone is doing it on their own. Many of those who are drowning are going down in silence. They are working VERY hard, but are not in the right job that would afford them these seeming luxuries. And many on the other side are, possibly unknowingly, yet callously nonetheless, labeling them a drag on the economy, a casualty of capitalism.

But in community, no one struggles alone. Your problem, your lack, your deficiency, is my problem, my lack, my deficiency. As it says in the Word, “There were no needy persons among them. For from time to time those who owned lands or houses sold them, brought the money from the sales and put it at the apostles’ feet, and it was distributed to anyone as he had need.”

2 Corinthians 8:13-15 says this:

"Our desire is not that others might be relieved while you are hard pressed, but that there might be equality. At the present time your plenty will supply what they need, so that in turn their plenty will supply what you need. Then there will be equality, as it is written: 'He who gathered much did not have too much, and he who gathered little did not have too little.'"

Equality was the goal. Simple, divine equality. No keeping up with the Joneses, because they have exactly what you have and all needs are met. For everyone. 

Here’s the real beauty of the Church building itself in that manner: it frees people to be about Kingdom business rather than the business of the world. The early Church was all about spreading, teaching, sharing, equipping, engaging the gospel. Not about surrounding themselves with comfort or building up their portfolios or retirement. For all they knew, they were going to be martyred, so all they had guaranteed was the very moment they were living in, and the blessed assurance that what they had waiting for them was well worth the sacrifice. 

No one claimed that any of his possessions were his own, so all needs were met and the various parts of the body were free to truly live in their giftings and callings. The teachers were free to teach without having to worry about the mouths of their family being fed. Those gifted with hospitality certainly had more than enough room to move and work and love and invite. The apostles were free to come and go, knowing that the needs of others were being met. These men and women knew their gifts, accepted their calling, and then walked in them. Fully. Moreover, they had the backing and support of a community to fill in the gaps that they could not. Their attention was not divided. They were not working day jobs to pay the bills and then serving with whatever they had left over. The fulfillment of the gospel was their day job. All of them.

Look at Acts 6:

In those days when the number of disciples was increasing, the Grecian Jews among them complained against the Hebraic Jews because their widows were being overlooked in the daily distribution of food. So the Twelve gathered all the disciples together and said, “It would not be right for us to neglect the ministry of the word of God in order to wait on tables. Brothers, choose seven men from among you who are known to be full of the Spirit, and wisdom. We will turn this responsibility over to them and will give our attention to prayer and the ministry of the word.”

         This proposal pleased the whole group. They chose Stephen, a man full of faith and of the Holy Spirit; also Philip, Procorus, Nicanor, Timon, Parmenas, and Nicolas from Antioch, a convert to Judaism. They presented these men to the apostles, who prayed and laid their hands on them.

         So the word of God spread. The number of disciples in Jerusalem increased rapidly, and a large number of priests became obedient to the faith.

Because we, as a society, have strayed so far from community, there are many, many among the faithful church-goers, teachers, shepherds, apostles, healers, prophets, and those with gifts of administration and working miracles who are waiting on tables to meet the needs of their families. They are struggling to scrape by, to pay the bills, to buy more things, to appease whatever desire is in them, rather than living out the calling on their lives. Because we are not joined together, one in heart and mind, we have lost focus of what it is that we have been called to. We have become enslaved to the duties and responsibilities of the culture rather than the commandment of the Kingdom, so we work to pay the bills and hope that maybe we’ll have something left over at the end of it all to give a little something to the church.

But what if...what if we got radical? What if we sold a house to pay for the medical needs of someone among us? Who would take us in? Where would we live? Would you take a family into your home? What about someone who is homeless? It might get really inconvenient, maybe even tight. Could your kids share a room so that you had a room open to a stranger? A stranger?? What if two or three families were to combine residences? Sell the other homes and pool the resources. It would be tight living quarters, but I bet folks would discover very quickly how to be Christ to each other, or at least the need for it. 

And what if those resources were then used to put together a feeding ministry in a local school, taking over a government-run program? What if the resources were used to buy medication for those who could not afford it, on a regular basis? What if the Church became the healthcare reform that so many are desperate for? And what if the right job that guarantees benefits was simply in the community of the Church, walking and serving in the gifting that given to you? 

What if we just took another look at what we were doing and asked some really hard questions of ourselves? Do we really need all this space? Or could we invite another family in and pool the resources? Don't you think it could be done?

I do.

So did the early Church. 

And their numbers grew by the thousands. Daily.

Life of Service, Part 2

So what does a life of service look like?

This is what Jesus said about it:

For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.

Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.’

         You know what I really love about that passage? They had to ask the King when they had served him! They said, “Lord, when did we do those things??” Seriously? They didn’t know?? 

No, they didn’t know they were serving the King in their day-to-day acts of service. Service was such a part of their world, of their everyday life, it wasn’t a chore or extra errand for them to check off of a list; it was their passion of life.

What does a life of service look like? I think that in order to fully answer that, we must first understand what God has asked of us. When He calls us to serve, what does He mean?

Isaiah 58 is one of the most powerful passages on this. Starting in verse 7, this is what God has said,

“What I’m interested in seeing you do is: sharing your food with the hungry, inviting the homeless poor into your homes, putting clothes on the shivering ill-clad, being available to your own families. Do this and the lights will turn on…

Continuing in verse 9…

“If you get rid of unfair practices, quit blaming victims, quit gossiping about other people’s sins, if you are generous with the hungry and start giving yourselves to the down-and-out, your lives will begin to glow in the darkness, your shadowed lives will be bathed in sunlight.

And then in verse 11, for anyone looking for hope, here’s a word for you…

“I will always show you where to go. I’ll give you a full life in the emptiest of places - firm muscles, strong bones. You’ll be like a well-watered garden, a gurgling spring that never runs dry. You’ll use the old rubble of past lives to build anew, rebuild the foundations from out of your past. You’ll be known as those who can fix anything, restore old ruins, rebuild and renovate, make the community livable again.

Seriously, yall! As they say in Texas, if that doesn’t light your fire with hope, your wood is wet!

Further Scripture says this about the topic:

James 1:14-17

         What good is it, my brothers, if a man claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such faith save him? Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to him, “Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.

2 Corinthians 8:13

Our desire is not that others might be relieved while you are hard pressed, but that there might be equality. At the present time your plenty will supply what they need, so that in turn their plenty will supply what you need. Then there will be equality, as it is written: “He who gathered much did not have too much, and he who gathered little did not have too little.”

Proverbs 3:27

Do not withhold good from those who deserve it, when it is in your power to act.

         I know that many have studied the Proverbs 31 woman, the lady who set the bar entirely too high for us. She frustrates me to no end, but when I went back to read about her again in light of Isaiah 58, one thing stood out to me. 

A wife of noble character who can find? 

       She is worth far more than rubies.

 ¹¹ Her husband has full confidence in her 

       and lacks nothing of value.

 ¹² She brings him good, not harm, 

       all the days of her life.

 ¹³ She selects wool and flax 

       and works with eager hands.

 ¹⁴ She is like the merchant ships, 

       bringing her food from afar.

 ¹⁵ She gets up while it is still dark; 

       she provides food for her family 

       and portions for her servant girls.

 ¹⁶ She considers a field and buys it; 

       out of her earnings she plants a vineyard.

 ¹⁷ She sets about her work vigorously; 

       her arms are strong for her tasks.

 ¹⁸ She sees that her trading is profitable, 

       and her lamp does not go out at night.

 ¹⁹ In her hand she holds the distaff 

       and grasps the spindle with her fingers.

 ²⁰ She opens her arms to the poor 

       and extends her hands to the needy.

 ²¹ When it snows, she has no fear for her household; 

       for all of them are clothed in scarlet.

 ²² She makes coverings for her bed; 

       she is clothed in fine linen and purple.

 ²³ Her husband is respected at the city gate, 

       where he takes his seat among the elders of the land.

 ²⁴ She makes linen garments and sells them, 

       and supplies the merchants with sashes.

 ²⁵ She is clothed with strength and dignity; 

       she can laugh at the days to come.

 ²⁶ She speaks with wisdom, 

       and faithful instruction is on her tongue.

 ²⁷ She watches over the affairs of her household 

       and does not eat the bread of idleness.

 ²⁸ Her children arise and call her blessed; 

       her husband also, and he praises her:

 ²⁹ "Many women do noble things, 

       but you surpass them all."

 ³⁰ Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; 

       but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised.

 ³¹ Give her the reward she has earned, 

       and let her works bring her praise at the city gate. 

Did you hear it? In the midst of all that she had going on in her life, while selecting wool and flax, while bringing food, while buying a field and planting a vineyard, while spinning clothes and making bed coverings, somehow in the midst of all of that, she did not forget God’s command:

Verse 20 says, She opens her arms to the poor and extends her hands to the needy. This excellent wife, this amazing mother whose children rise up to call her blessed, she did not forget the commands of the Lord. Amidst the whirlwinds of her busy life, she did not forget that first and foremost, she has been called a servant of the Most High God. She did not forget what He had called her to do. 

So if this great woman, this example to us all, should we not follow her lead in the area as well?

More to come...

The Terrifying Truth

I talked with my dad while he was in the hospital, and in his doped up state, he shared with me that as soon as he arrived at the hospital, his thought was that I would be there to take care of him. Because that's what I do. Except that this time, he was over 900 miles away, and I have a family to care for here, so I couldn't just drop everything and drive to Texas, though, truth be told, that was my first instinct. Drop everything. It's time to go.

When I hung up the phone with mom that morning, I sat on the floor weeping, working out in my head how I could get my family squared away and hop in the car headed for Texas. I was working it out. And the question came again.

Do you trust Me?

Well, yes, Lord, but...who's going to take care of him? who's going to ask these questions? who's going to take care of my mom? who's going to be sure he's getting the best of care? who's going to follow up with these issues? who's going to be his advocate? who's going to get him cleaned up when he vomits from the anesthesia? who's going to call for help when his pain gets worse? who's going to do all the things that need to be done so that my daddy gets the absolute best of care?

Do you trust Me?

Well, yes, Lord, but...You are so unpredictable. Can I trust you? How do I know You are counting these tears of mine? How do I know they will make a difference? How do I know that if I cry out to You, You will hear me and answer? How do I know that I can trust You with this? This is my daddy we're talking about. How do I know I can trust You? I've seen Your haphazard ways and You terrify me.

You terrify me.

A Long Night's Journey Into Day

**These were the words that were born out of my healing experience in South Africa. If you are just coming in, the story started back here.**

A Long Night’s Journey Into Day

It’s been a long night’s journey into day and my feet are growing weary from the travel. Just on the horizon a fire grows brighter, but I’ve traveled so long in darkness that my body recoils from the light. As much as the flesh draws back, though, the heart pushes on closer to the rays of sunshine coming up over the land. This journey began long ago, long before my feet ever touched the ground, but this very day was known in all its splendor and detail to the One who pieced me together. The sun is now coming up.

The night was so long as I ran from sun’s outstretched rays. Around the world I went just to outrun that fire in the sky that consumes all darkness, revealing what is hidden and dragging out into the open that which is well concealed. Through turning my back on God, through the rape, through the drugs and alcohol, through the hatred and rage, through the violence and lawlessness that became normal life, watch me run. “This is the verdict: light has come into the world, but men loved darkness instead of light because their deeds were evil¹.”

But running without rest leaves the soul tired and dry, cracked on the heels, blistered on the toes, and parched at the lips. The heart resents the consistently fast pace and the body wearies of the pounding. It all begins to fall apart.

There is no depth too deep that God’s arms cannot reach you.

There is just no depth too deep.

“In Him was life, and that life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness but the darkness has not understood it².” What I could not understand was the mercy that was being offered to me. What I could not understand was the forgiveness being given to me. What I could not understand was how a King could take my punishment upon himself. What I could not understand was a love so unconditional that even the darkness within me was covered by the blood He shed. What I could not understand was that no matter how far or how fast I ran, the Light was still waiting to shine on the horizon of my heart.

“Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there. If I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast. If I say, ‘Surely the darkness will hide me, and the light become night around me,’ even the darkness will not be dark to you, the night will shine like day, for darkness is as light to you³.”

So the running stops, and in the wee hours of the morning, the light of the Almighty begins to pierce the bitter obscurity that had become my existence. One by one, my sin, my hurt, my brokenness, my rage, my violence, my irreverence, and my hatred began to take shape, their forms revealed slowly by the long-awaited day. Just as sunshine pours through the tiny window of an unlit prison cell, revealing the cobwebs and dust of a stagnant, stale life, so the Light began to illuminate my life, causing my eyes to squint and turn away, and my heart to break for all the atrocities it harbored for so long.

Africa surrounds me now,

where the rays of the mighty fire dance on the mountains just over the waters of the deep blue.

I am the acacia tree that sways as the Spirit blows.

I am the lion who stretches out in the warm air.

I am the hospitality that was so generously given to God’s servants.

I am the colors woven into the old woman’s dress.

I am the church bell chiming to the people.

I am the drum beating to the sound of a new life.

I am the rock crying out in the silence.

I am the child lifting her hands up to her daddy to be held.

I am the broken man sitting in the cold prison cell.

I am the babe living with the fatal disease.

I am the prostitute weeping at the feet of the great Teacher.

I am the dirty kid begging in the streets for a piece of bread.

I am the guitar that belts out melodies of thanksgiving and

I am the voice that cannot sing loud enough.

I am the mountain that can be moved by His mere voice.

I am the imperfect broken vessel that is being used by the Perfect Creator,

and I am the immovable cold prison walls that do not give way.

I am a small reflection of the immeasurable grace

that was so easily poured out to me.

I am the tear that rolls down the cheek of the hardened criminal.

I am the hardened criminal.

I am the forgiveness offered to the rapist behind bars,

and I am the victim turned survivor of that very rape.

I am a picture of all that is wrong, and I am picture of all that is right.

Africa surrounds me and has enveloped my heart.

The incredible sun now hangs just above the mountains that dump into the oceans where my sin is buried. The Light now touches all that was once hidden, the cobwebs are torn down, the dust is brushed off, and what was once stagnant and stale is being moved out, stirred up, and stretched beyond all comfort for the glory of God. “For God, who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ made His light to shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ⁴.” So it has been a long night’s journey into day, and it will now be a long day’s journey Home.

¹ John 3:19; ² John 1:4-5; ³ Psalm 139:7-12; ⁴ 2 Corinthians 4:6