Category Archives: Faith

A Must See!

Last night, one of my best friends sent me an email with a link to a time sensitive premier of a movie coming out.  She told me I HAD to stop and watch it as it was going off-air within the night.  What began as a typical evening in our home was totally derailed and we were completely captivated by this movie!

It had us totally speechless the entire time – past midnight.  I went to bed thinking about it and woke up thinking about it.  It’s a documentary.  It’s real, raw and utterly astounding.  At one point, my entire family shouted out in shock.  I won’t give ANY spoilers, but trust me, you have to watch this.  It will change your life forever.

Okay, the the title is “Father of Lights” by Darren Wilson.  They held the premier in CA – which is what we watched.  It comes out October 16th.  We are absolutely going to buy this.

I still get chills when I think about several parts in it.  Honestly, I’ve never seen anything like it.

I hope my teaser has peeked your interest.  We had so much trouble getting it to play last night (Bruce thinks their server was hammered by heavy traffic due to the free premier) as we tried it on our laptop , iPad, tv, you name it.  At one point, I was so frustrated I said, “Why did I ever look at my email?  This was going to be an early night!”  Oh am so glad her email came to me.  I am so glad we dropped everything and watched it in its entirety.

October seems like a long ways off.  When it comes out, watch it, then post here what your thoughts are.  I can’t WAIT to talk about this movie because life is indeed stranger than fiction.  Oh my.  Still thinking about it today…

Have I driven you crazy yet? 🙂  You just have to see it!

Click here for the link!

Kristi

Flash Mob Mission Theory

Sing to him a new song; play skillfully, and shout for joy. ~ Psalm 33:3

Since my family began taking mission trips last summer, many people have asked us all kinds of questions.  One question I have asked myself over and over is, “How do I describe what it feels like to go on a mission trip?”  There are simply so many feelings and thoughts, I don’t know where to begin or end.

Expressions used in every day genres such as: too beautiful for words, or words can’t describe, or I’m at a loss for words – come to mind to describe going on mission.  However, people patiently wait for an answer they can keep.  Something they can wrap their heads around to either be more informed, or perhaps, encouraged.

This morning, I had the delightful surprise of an email sent to me by my mother-in-law.  I often don’t have time to read forwarded emails, but this one caught my eye.  It is a YouTube link (the link is at the bottom of this post).  As I watched it, tears streamed down my face, and I didn’t know why.  Emotion swelled up in my heart and I didn’t understand.  I’ve seen many flash mobs and am always amazed at their creativity.  It would be so much fun to be a part of one some day.  I’ve seen many styles and themes and have enjoyed them all.

Oh, but this one was different.

This one caught my heart and I couldn’t figure it out.  Then, the Lord showed me the reason for my tears.  This particular flash mob describes how I feel about going on mission, though the flash mob itself has nothing to do with it.

Allow me to set the scene.  People, all over the world, are going about their daily lives. Without any hullabaloo, grand entrance or proud proclamation, a single person steps forward and does something out of the ordinary.  They begin to do what they do and people begin to watch.  One by one, people emerge from the crowd, from around the corner, from inconspicuous places, and join.  What appears to be completely spontaneous is far from it.

But, they look just like everyone else standing around!  They are.

Why do they do it?  They are called to and love what they do.

It is the same with missions.  Ordinary people come together, each with a different set of strengths and weaknesses, gifts and talents, and together they serve united with one voice to the world – Christ’s.  Individually, they cannot play all instruments in the symphony.  They have been given a specific set of tasks, and they do them with all their heart.  Unlike the flash mob below, short-term missionaries are not professional missionaries.  Rather, God equips them for the task for such a time as this.

Consider the sequence of events in this overture: they pray over the opportunity; begin all necessary paperwork, shots, etc.; meet regularly to discuss the overall plan as well as individual tasks each person will have; they continue to meet for months, all along gathering supplies and traveling sundries; they pack and hug family members and friends goodbye; they are off.  Oftentimes, traveling with people they have never known before this journey began.

They arrive in a land which may be foreign in landscape, language or culture.  They are the minority.  Settled into their temporary home, they continue to meet and go over details, supply lists, and prayer requests.

The time comes to serve.  As I watched our team in Ukraine recently, indeed, a flash mob began.  What looked like a motley crew of disjointed ages and seasons of life, we came together in perfect tune to make a joyful noise for the Lord.  We were a band of unlikely people, coming from various backgrounds and unknown futures, but when God, the Master Conductor, tapped His baton, all of our attention and eyes focused on Him.  We set aside our lives, schedules and agendas and took our place in His company to play for Him as best we can.

After a two-day flight and a long bus ride; after security and customs and baggage claim and a good night’s sleep; after attending Ukraine’s Sunday church service and meeting many new precious faces – in an instant, right after breakfast, on a sunny, warm Monday nestled comfortably on the calendar, we broke off into our musical suites – soccer, basketball, Bible, arts & crafts, volleyball and music.  We were not travelers.  We were on mission – with a purpose.  We weren’t there to put on a show.  We weren’t there for applause.  We weren’t there for recognition or reward.  Like a flash mob, versus the limelight of a well-publicized event, we were there simply because we were called to be, and wanted to be, to hopefully please God our Father and be a blessing to those around us.

We wanted to bring spontaneous joy.  We wanted to break out of the ordinary and let the extraordinary hand of God brings smiles, hope and strength to beautiful hearts.  I remained wide-eyed throughout the week, over what felt only to be somewhat organized beforehand, was really something God had a well-thought out plan for.  As the Master Conductor, He directed every moment, every step, every word – to stay in perfect pitch with His plan and for His purpose.  Whether in loud allegro moments of organized chaos, or in soft adagio moments of prayer and friendship, the tempo of our mission’s symphony stayed in unison for His glory.

We were imperfect people banding together for perfect purposes – to draw others into His symphony of love so that they might find their instrument, their God-given gift, and play it for Him in chorus with us.

A short-term mission trip is an amazing wonder of which to be a part.  Like watching a flash mob, and the faces of those participating shine with joy and enthusiasm, so we also felt the anticipation build from the inside out.  One major difference between a flash mob and missions is that we encourage others watching to jump in and join us.  Children, teens and adults played in harmony with us for a week of blessing.  We got dirty playing soccer, got sweaty playing basketball, got creative making earrings and crafts, and had way too much fun dancing.  Who was blessed more? Dare I say I went hoping to be a blessing, but was blessed beyond measure.  Our new friends’ voices filled the gaps in our choir.  We weren’t just a team united, we were one body united – no matter the language or cultural barriers.  We were one.  It is, in fact, how eternity will be for those in God’s cantata.

The flash mob below carries a tune for missions that I am unable to express with words.  Like music of the heart, going on mission touches the goer as much as the receiver.  One is never the same when it is over.  Memories roll around in my mind like a melody I can’t stop humming.  People there have changed my heart here, and God used them to write scores of new music for my life to dance to.  Missions has a secret that nothing else in the world can offer.  No amount of money, fame, or fortune can compare to a new reason to dance, a new song to sing, and new friends with which to enjoy it.  There is no greater feeling than to accept new brothers and sisters in Christ, from all over the world, into my life…forever.

There is nothing more satisfying than dancing in step to the rhythm of God’s heartbeat – which is His love for the world.  It is exactly why, for as long as He allows, we will continue to go.  To sing.  To dance.  To work. To play.  To laugh. To cry. To cheer. To love.  Christ is the reason, His salvation the melody, and the people we welcome in our family, both on the team and at our destination, motivate and inspire us as the harmony of their friendship hums in tandem with ours to the music God is playing around the world.  Stop and listen.  Do you hear it?

Click here to let this particular flash mob play the music my heart feels about missions.

One Post Short

There we were.  A hot, June evening in Ukraine spending time with precious women and girls in a small room, while young men played a serious game of soccer outside.  We had gathered to enjoy female fellowship.  Jazz music, coffee, finger foods and candles help set the mood for a cozy night to laugh and share our hearts with beautiful Ukrainian women.

On one table, my daughter set out nail polish to paint anyone’s nails who felt like be pampered.  At another table, members from our team made a knotted blanket together while enjoying great conversation.  Little girls ran around the room giggling.  The occasional male peeked inside, only to quickly leave the estrogen-filled atmosphere once he realized he was a fish out of water.

At our table, another teammate and I helped women and girls make earrings.  My daughter loves to make them, and is very good at it, so we thought bringing tons of colored glass beads and all sorts of earring posts might be fun to do at our girly event.  The first night, she helped make countless pairs of earrings.  By the next day, the palm of her hand was quite bruised from repeatedly squeezing the little pliers for hours.  She could barely move her hand, so she asked if we could switch and I help with earrings and she paint nails.

Sure!, I thought, though I wasn’t nearly as good at helping with the earrings as she was.  So my teammate and I tried our best to help.  Supplies were running really low.  In fact, although there were plenty of beads, the earring posts were gone.  I began to pack up supplies since we were now out of business without more posts.

A woman approached the table and wanted to make a pair despite my cleaning efforts.  She held a post in her hand and was looking for its match.  We looked everywhere, and I mean everywhere.  It was the last post we brought out of 350 pairs including 4 different styles of posts.  Her sweet smile and tender heart made my teammate and I want to help her so badly.  In fact, a few moments prior, another woman approached us with a different, single post and asked for the match.  We couldn’t find one, so my teammate took the pair off that she had made for herself the night before, unassembled it and gave the match to her.  I was so touched!

But, this woman standing before us had no such success.  Her post was different.  We searched under mats and in plastic containers.  We sifted through beads and backs and extensions.  We looked under the table’s flower centerpiece and on the floor.  We scoured every inch of the table.  We searched our pockets, our laps, and lifted cups of coffee, napkins and food plates.  We searched everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.  There simply wasn’t a matching back.  The woman looked very disappointed but didn’t leave.

This was our gift to the women that night, and we felt terrible that we couldn’t deliver.  The language barrier made it difficult for us to explain why we were telling her she couldn’t make a pair.  She just stood there with her hand held out with the small post in it, waiting patiently to receive its match.  We searched at length again to no avail.

In the surprisingly wildly popular activity of making earrings, we came up one single post short out of the 700 cumulative posts we brought.  God, we need another post.  Please!  Just one more.  Tell us where it is, please, I prayed, Just one more, God.  I can’t tell her no.  You can do this, God.  Give us the matching post.

My teammate looked down at the place mat directly in front of her, and sitting in plain view was the matching post!  We froze as chills ran all over our bodies.  It was the exact match – and it wasn’t there one second earlier.  Seriously, it wasn’t there before.  It appeared out of nowhere, because we had looked everywhere.  We stood there for several seconds dazed in amazement.  We looked at each other with wide-eyes and jaws agape.

It was a miracle.  A real miracle.  There is no other explanation for it.

There was a reason why it was important for this woman to make a pair of earrings; and only God knows what it is.  It was so important that, while running the universe, He took the time to stop and produce an exact match to an earring post on a hot, June evening in Ukraine for a woman whose name only He knows.  She is that important to Him.  The details of her life mean that much to Him.

The Bible is full of Scripture about how much God loves us and cares for us.  I think sometimes we assume that only applies to the big stuff  like health and safety issues.  Marriage and life and death.  Yes, it is true for those times, but it is also true for the quiet moments when only He is able to read between the lines of what is happening.  Moments when we don’t, or can’t, express why something is important to us, but because He knows us the best, He understands us the most.

Perhaps we miss His miracles.  We are too busy, too tired, too self-consumed, that we don’t see the help He offers, the goodness He gives to us or the small miracles He performs in our daily lives.

I often pray, Give me eyes to see, God, because my body’s eyes miss so much.  I am guilty of tunnel-vision and hyper-focus and can miss the bigger picture if I am not looking for it.

Once, I was walking across a parking lot at sunset when the most brilliant fuchsia and orange colors flooded the sky.  I stopped in my tracks and simply stared at one of most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen.  It was all shades of pink – something no hand could recreate with a paintbrush.  God whispered to me, This one is for you, Kristi.

His words sent chills down my spine.  He knows I am a beach girl who spent half her life watching the sun set over open water.  It is one thing I miss about where I live now.  This resplendent sunset made me feel like I was back on the sand with salty air blowing through my hair as rhythmic waves stumble lazily upon the shore.

I didn’t even know I needed that memory at the moment as I weaved my way through parked cars.  I was simply traversing the hot pavement in my running shoes making my way toward home.  God knew.  He knew I needed a moment to stop.  To gaze in wonder at a beautiful sight I have not seen in a long time, and hear that I was remembered by Him who made me.

This Ukrainian woman needed to be remembered, too.  God saw and acted on her behalf.  Just to comprehend that His presence was with us as the perfect earring post match was placed mere inches from us took my teammate’s and my breath away.

We joyfully gave her the earring, telling her it was a gift from God.  She sat down and thoroughly enjoyed making her pair of dazzling earrings.  John 6:1-13 tells of the time when Jesus fed more than 5 thousand people with only 5 small barley loaves and two small fish.

Yes, He can make something from nothing as well as increase short supply.  He can do anything.  Do we ask?  Do we have faith to ask?  If not, why not?  What is holding us back?  There is nothing too small to ask God.  His answers are simply yes, no or wait, and they are always for His glory and in our best interest.

If you could ask Him anything, without any fear or doubt, what would it be?

The Flying Diva

There are circumstances that happen in life which are only humorous after-the-fact.  Our return flight from Ukraine was one of those times.

On our last night in Ukraine, I felt a weird scratchiness in my throat.  Oh, great, I thought.  A cold is coming on.  I began Airborne and Cold Eeze and didn’t sleep very good that night.

We woke up to breakfast, packing and a lengthy drive to the airport.  I thought the bus felt especially warm, but then again we had endured sweat, heat, humidity and body odor often in that bus so I shrugged it off.

Arriving at the airport, there was a whirlwind of activity to get 30 something people’s baggage checked, then go through security and customs.  At long last, we were in the terminal waiting to board.  That’s when it hit me like a brick.  I was sick!  And hot!  Being a mother, I probably bring more than necessary to travel with for all of the just-in-cases that can pop up.  It really pays off!  We’ve been very stuck before in the mountains, at the beach, in Africa, and everywhere in between with strep throat, stomach bugs and even a serious head injury.  So as I sat slumped in a hard, plastic seat, I put down the awful sandwiches we bought (at exorbitant prices!!) – which I thought one more bite would come right back up – and quietly slipped out my handy dandy thermometer.  I thought no one I knew was looking.

As I sat motionless, dying to lie down across the row of merciless plastic chairs, thermometer sticking out of my mouth like a cigar, I glanced up to see two of our team’s college guys sitting across from me staring wide-eyed at me.  They looked at me like I had the plague.  I couldn’t blame them.  Who sits in the smack middle of the terminal, a full-grown adult, with a thermometer sticking out of their mouth!  I felt too bad to explain.  And, explain what?  I had no idea why my body was breaking down by the minute.

Yep.  Fever.  It was 100 and was rising by the hour.  After the rhythmic chirping of the thermometer alarm sounded, it was time to board.  I nearly had a panic attack as I visualized all sorts of scenarios of the 10hour flight that awaited me as if I were a piece of bait in shark territory.  Ten hours of getting sicker and sicker.  Trapped over open ocean on a plane where English is not the first language spoken and with no option to stay behind.  I imagined passing out in the aisles.  The attendants strapping me in the jump seats with them as my fever spiked to seizure proportion.  Being wheeled off on a stretcher not knowing my name from delusion.  After a week of long hours, little sleep, physical excursion and being emotionally drained, on top of a climbing fever and a head that felt as though it would explode, there was not a rational thought in my head about my state of affairs.

I said not a word to my team but only told my husband what was going on.  In a daze, I passed through our final security check and was in line to board the plane.  I was burning up inside.  All I knew is that I needed to remove as many layers as possible as I thought about the stale recirculated air I was about to inhale for the next 10 hours.  I had a cami under my t-shirt…yes!  I could take that off discreetly.  Then I realized I was wearing compression hose (very attractive – NOT!) that I must wear for medical reasons on long flights.  It was like wearing leg warmers under my yoga pants.  I could slip those off, too.

Lo and behold, of all of the people on the planet, take a guess who stood directly in front of me in line to board.  A monk!  A real, honest-to-goodness monk in full garb complete with a long, hooded robe and large wooden cross hanging from his rope belt.

You’ve got to be kidding, I thought.  I don’t want to do this in front of him!  I’m not polished on monk protocol, but watching a woman take off under layers is, I’m just guessing here, probably not in their manual.  However, I had no choice.  I knew all too well that it would be impossible to maneuver those horribly uncooperative hose off in the little airplane seat.  They make pantyhose feel like comfy, rainy-day pajamas.  And so there I was, hoping he wouldn’t turn around.

I slipped my arms out of the cami and fished it up through the neck hold of my shirt.  One down, two to go.  I pulled up my yoga pant legs, one at a time, and unrolled the compression hose ending with the wide, lacy band that I desperately tried to shield from the monk standing one foot from me.  I quickly stuffed them into my purse, hopefully with him none the wiser, but I must confess I didn’t look at him to find out (nor to all of those standing behind me).

Taking a deep breath, I stepped onto the plane.  The day thus far had exhausted my weakened strength.  I shoved my carry-on above my head and my purse under my feet, fell back into my seat, closed my eyes and breathed.  It was a 2-3-2 seater plane.  Our kids were in the middle 3 seats and Bruce and I were on opposite sides of the plane.  I was seated next to a woman who sat speechless and still.  I didn’t want to chit chat.  Oh my no!  And, in all likelihood, we probably didn’t speak the same language.

Still panicked over how I was feeling, I made the mistake of asking our resident medical person on the team, who sat near me, what the normal range for fever was for an adult.  Everyone around us heard me, and I’m telling you it was though they all took a proverbial step backward from me – though we were all trapped on the same plane.

If I were a betting woman, I’d bet the lady I sat next to heard us as well, because when I sat back down in my seat, she was hugging the wall like wallpaper!

Oh, it gets better.

I needed Motrin and calm and peace and quiet and some sort of hope that I could make this flight despite being sick.  I dug through my bag of tricks (my purse) and found all of the elements I possibly had to seclude myself from the reality of what I was about to endure.  My sinuses were stuffed, my throat hurt, my right ear felt full and I felt like 1,000 degrees inside.  However, when traveling in a group, what is one to do?  We had a second flight in NYC to make and you do what you have to do.

With eyes closed as the rumble of the engines flared up, I reassured myself, Just 10 hours.  That’s all it is.  Ten little hours. Then, I’ll be back in the States where I can go to urgent care, or at least have the ability to use my insurance card.  This pep talk sort of worked as long as I didn’t open my eyes.  Boy, I was praying hard!  Please Jesus, get me through this!  Please don’t let me get worse on the plane.  Please get me home!  No one else on the team was ill, nor anyone we had been with all week.  Just me.

Ever since I took a flight, many years ago, when upon descent my sinuses freaked out and they became so pressurized I thought they would burst, I guess I had a back-of-the-brain fear that will happen again.  The pain and pressure was so bad I couldn’t even call for an attendant.  I sat paralyzed feeling like a hamster being squeezed really tight – eyes bulging out and scared stiff.

Here I was.  In the exact predicament I had always dreaded.  Stuffy head.  Ringing ears.  Plugged nose.  And a 10 hour flight for the first leg, then an overnight layover and a second flight home beginning at 4am.

As the plane began to roll down the runway, I broke out all the stops.  If I were going to get through this, it would be with every possible aid.  Mind you, this poor woman sitting next to me is stuck against the window for a long time with me.

It began to dawn on me that my ailment was a sinus infection.  Not contagious, but tell that to someone who feels like the most unlucky person in the world to sit next to the likes of me, and the diva I was about to become.

First order of business…Afrin.  Shot that sucker up my nose.  Next, I took my temperature again as it had been a while.  Oh how embarrassed I was to do this in public!  I watched out the corner of my eye to try to catch the poor woman with her eyes closed.  Not so.  So how would you feel sitting next to someone who just broke out a thermometer?  I know I would want to be anywhere in the world except near me.  Ug.  Okay, next…Motrin.  Swigged it down.  Then I pulled out the economy-sized bottle of Airborne and package of Cold-Eeze.  Got a round of each in me.  Check.  Next, find the Mucinex to help with the fluid build-up in my head.  Done.  Next, sift through my cami and compression hose filled purse for my blow-up neck pillow.  Blew it up and hung it around my neck.  Done.  I can feel my airplane buddy staring at me out the corner of her eye.  However, I must continue to survive, or so I felt.

Pressure point wrist bands – just in case – because the airport sandwich was that gross (not even my teenage son, the human disposal, could finish his and described it as 95% salt).  Slipped those babies on.  Next, my beloved eye mask.  I put it around my head, but wasn’t quite ready for total blackout so I propped it on my forehead.  Gorgeous, I know.  Next, noise reduction ear phones.  I needed to find my happy place, and the loud static of the engines wasn’t getting me there.  I positioned those suckers on tight.  With a loud sigh, I pulled my eye mask down and crossed my hands in my lap under a blanket of total darkness.

What in the world must I have looked like?!?!  Yes, I do carry these things with me, but never to use all at the same time.  I’m not that high-maintenance!  They are also for my entire family to share.  But, I believe I would have growled at any hand that came near my airplane survival stash.

There I was.  Thermometer, Motrin, Airborne, Cold-Eeze, Mucinex, neck pillow, wrist bands, headphones, and a black, satin eye mask with my undergarments peeking out of my purse.  Sheesh.  The poor soul beside me looked horrified.  She all but sat sideways in her seat to get as far away as she could from me on this full flight.  I was, in fact, a flying diva.

This, from a girl who doesn’t even like to wear shoes much less a jacket if it’s chilly.  I don’t like fussing with myself and find accessories other than my wedding ring, a watch and lightweight earrings, maybe a simple necklace on a rare day, to be all I can stand weighing me down.  I looked like a hybrid of an aviophobic and a hypochondriac .

I soon passed out, well, okay I probably fell asleep, but I don’t remember the first several hours of the trip.  Then, without the compression hose that I should have been wearing, once I regained consciousness, I needed to walk – a lot.  Delirious with the day’s events, I began to stroll the aisles with the eye mask propped up on my forehead and headphones bulging over my ears like Princess Leia.  I didn’t even realize (or care) what I looked like until I found my husband’s seat and squatted down to say hello.  He took one glance at me and said, Nice look.  Yeah, whatever.

On descent, my right ear filled up so much I thought it would burst.  I couldn’t hear anything out of it for 2 solid days.  After day 8 it is almost better but still crackles and pops.  I survived the rough overnight in NYC as well as the second flight home.  A round of antibiotics knocked out the sinus infection, praise God.  Being home made me feel better and my own bed was simply heaven.  However, I haven’t found a remedy to regain my dignity for partially undressing in front of a monk nor horrifying the passenger next to me with the many apparatuses I had clinging to my body and the semi-conscious state I stayed in for those long 10 hours.

That, my friends, is the metamorphosis of how an average girl, who despises a scene, transformed into a diva for a day.  The only comforting thought that carried me through the flight was that I will never see the monk or the lady next to me again.  And, I’m quite sure they were thinking the same thing about me.

Selah come quickly

I lie down and sleep; I wake again, because the LORD sustains me. ~ Psalm 3:5

Today is the Sabbath, and I am soooo ready to rest.  A wonderful mission trip overseas, a huge party at our house three days after returning, a 3-hour bike ride (a promise to my children), and life’s pace picking back up with commitments and responsibilities – all make me well aware of the need for rest.

Join me today in stopping.  Listening.  Resting.  Ceasing.  Just being.

Our bodies need it.  Our souls need it.  Rest is our gas, ironically enough.  Take today to fuel up for the week.

Be back tomorrow for a true story I hope I won’t regret posting.  🙂

Happy Selah Day,

Kristi

Psalm 139…Amish-Country Style

Psalm 139 has been my life Scripture.  While in Ukraine, I relied heavily on God’s message in this Psalm for courage and strength.  For instance, I don’t mind flying, but it’s not on my list of favorites by far.  When I fly, I always recite verses 9-10, and it helps me remember who is in control of the plane and the journey.  Or, when I walked 32 flights of stairs to visit with some precious Ukrainian people in their apartment because the building’s elevator was iffy, I heard verses 2-3 roll around in my mind.  God continues to speak to me through this collection of verses, so thought I would share this post again and hope it speaks to you, too! 🙂

This passage has shared mountain-top highs with me and pulled my soul out of the pit.  It is a joy to offer a visual perspective of David’s incredible, tender heart seen through the eyes of the Amish country.

Psalm 139: 1-18, 23-24

Oh LORD, you have searched me and you know me.

You know when I sit

and when I rise;

you perceive my thoughts from afar.

You discern my going out

and my lying down;

you are familiar with all my ways.

Before a word is on my tongue

you know it completely, O LORD.

You hem me in – behind and before;

you have laid your hand upon me.  Such knowledge is too wonderful for me to attain.

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 the day, for darkness is as light to you.

For you created my inmost being;

you knit me together in my mother’s womb.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

your works are wonderful, I know that full well.

My frame was not hidden from you

when I was made in the secret place.

When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body.

All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.

How precious to me are your thoughts, O God!  How vast is the sum of them!

Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand.

When I awake, I am still with you.

Search me, O God, and know my heart;

Test me and know my anxious thoughts.

See if there is any offensive way in me,

and lead me in the way everlasting.

Really?

After taking two days to “fly away to the desert” as David wrote, my heart is heavy over something I want desperately to avoid.  Prayer, tears and good friends’ shoulders have gotten me this far, but time is ticking and I need to face things.

I’ve been speaking to groups for years.  However, recently I was asked to speak on a topic I am uncomfortable with.  Don’t ask me how, as it’s all a blur, but somehow I got through it.  Although, I feel I did a terrible job.  Every time I think about it, I want to run and lock myself in my room.  Well, I’ve almost gotten past that experience, mainly because I vowed I would never ever speak on it again.

Last week, a group of people, completely separate from the first, asked me to speak on the exact same subject!  Arg!  I tried to back-peddle my way out.  I tried to solicit others to step up to the plate to no avail.  I may have kept my composure on the outside, but inside I was throwing an absolute fit!

The subject matter is irrelevant to this post, because it’s more a problem with me.  The subject is fine.  I am not.  Why?  Because I wrestle with the issue at hand myself.  I am not a polished authority on this issue by any means!  In fact, my entire life I have been crippled by this issue.  Why, oh why, did God put me in this position?

I’ll be completely honest and share with you what I confided in my dear friends.  I feel like God has turned a blind eye to my issue with this issue.  I feel a little thrown under the bus.  Neglected.  Ignored.  It feels like life is playing a cruel joke on me by backing me in this corner.  I have been asked to speak to a group of women I have never met, in Europe, with a language barrier, on a topic that I just want to sit down and cry about.  This makes no sense to me.

Everyone has tender spots on their hearts.  Things they’d rather not discuss.  Parts of their lives they want to keep private.  This is mine.  Yet, I am being asked to stand up in front of people and go to the mat over this.  Ug.  My stomach turns and palms sweat.  It’s not the speaking…it’s the subject matter.

We all know what it is like to feel kicked when we are down.  Well, after a lifetime of wrestling this monster, then believing I totally failed in front of the first group of people, why in the world would God even consider me for this task again?  The exact same task!

When I lamented to my friends about this, some very raw feelings came out that I didn’t expect to say because I didn’t know they were in me until they spontaneously spilled out of my mouth.  I blurted out, You know, in every way in my life I want the redemption of Christ.  I want it for my spirit for eternal salvation, I want it for the forgiveness of my daily sins,  I desire re-dos in areas I have messed up.  BUT, this area?  I don’t want redemption.  I don’t want another second chance.  I know people sometimes feel like they’d give anything to rewind time and re-do, or be given another chance, but I don’t want it in this area.  I want the whole thing to just go away!  

Honestly, I’ve never said that before.  It made me so sad to hear myself reject God’s redemption.  Who am I to say any of that?  How dare I.  But, I did.  Does God still love me?  Yes.  Will He ever leave me?  No.  Can He handle such audacious words?  Yes.  Why?  Because He knows.

He knows that the reason I am running from His redemption in this area is because I feel both inadequate and sick of the whole thing.  I want it to go away and never be brought back up.  But, God also knows that in order to honor that wish, it would mean I am left broken in this area.  I amdit defeat.  I quit.  I have been overcome.

That’s not the way God rolls.  We, as believers, are overcomers.

This is love for God: to obey his commands. And his commands are not burdensome, 4 for everyone born of God overcomes the world. This is the victory that has overcome the world, even our faith. ~ 1 John 5:3-4

Greater is He in us than the enemy.

You, dear children,are from God and have overcome them,because the one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world. ~ 1 John 4:4

My mind believes all of the lies the world and the enemy tells me.  I believe my own lies, too.  But, my heart yearns to be able to believe what God says about this.  Why can’t I trust Him?

I know, deep down, God keeps bringing me this so I can finally, once and for all, get past this issue.  My head and heart war against each other.  So, with time running out, who am I going to listen to?  God, the world, the enemy or myself?  Ug.

To answer that question, all I can do is go to Scripture for solid Truth.  John 10: 2-4…

“2 The man who enters by the gate is the shepherd of his sheep. 3 The watchman opens the gate for him, and the sheep listen to his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. 4 When he has brought out all his own, he goes on ahead of them, and his sheep follow him because they know his voice. 

He calls us by name.  Did you catch that?  We are all unique individuals, fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14).  Yes, He knows all of our names and calls us to His heart.  He goes ahead of us that we may follow Him.  I will follow Him across the world and do as I have been asked.  But, Paul said it better than I ever could have dreamed of expressing my angst.  1 Corinthians 2:1-5

When I came to you, brothers, I did not come with eloquence or superior wisdom as I proclaimed to you the testimony about God. 2 For I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ and him crucified. 3 I came to you in weakness and fear, and with much trembling. 4 My message and my preaching were not with wise and persuasive words, but with a demonstration of the Spirit’s power, 5 so that your faith might not rest on men’s wisdom, but on God’s power. 

I choose to trust God that He is, in fact, in control of this situation and is working out His perfect will in my life and in the lives I will speak to.  I will try my hardest to not look backwards, rather listen to His voice and follow where He leads.

One thing is for sure.  The glory will be all His for what He will do.  He’s moving me forward and requires I bring no baggage. Easier said than done.  But, with God all things are possible.  Even this task.

Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but not with God; all things are possible with God.”  Mark 10:27

Okay, God.  Lead on…

The House in The Desert

Yesterday, we looked at Psalm 27 and talked about David’s pause, mid-thought, of a place where there are no worries, fears or sadness.  Guess I’m still in that moment today.  Life is good.  Life is hard.  I can count 100 blessings, but it’s the struggles that drain me.  We muddle through moments of angst, and do what we have to do, but I also relate to David in letting my mind wander to a place where it’s just God and me.

Only there can I shed my coat, like a weary traveler, set my bags down and exhale.  Only there can I take off all of the hats I wear every day and wipe the sweat from my brow.  Only there can I slump into a chair and rest my head on the table, knowing God will meet me at the table with a glass of cold water and a warm smile.  Only there can I sit in utter silence with no worries of filling in conversation.  Only there the dirt my shoes tracked in doesn’t matter, and the familiar smells of home infuse my thinking.  I’m only His child there.  Not wife, mother, friend or worker. I am His child and sit in His house.  It’s safe.  Quiet.  Peaceful.

Everything I need is there.  Moreover, who I am there is enough.  I’m not responsible for anyone else’s happiness there; I’m not a problem-solver; I’m not a worker bee.  I’m just me, and evidently God is okay with that because He hasn’t asked me to be anyone else, nor has He made me feel inadequate for my shortcomings.

In His house, I find my special room.  It’s simple.  A bed, a nightstand and soft linens.  A window for light and a door for privacy.  There, I crawl under the covers and rest my head on the pillow.  I close my eyes knowing He watches out for me.  I sleep while He spreads His wings over me and shelters me with the mere palm of His hand.  There is nowhere else on earth I can go to rest like in God’s house.   He intercepts all that calls for my attention.  I am untouchable and unreachable.

God travels with us in our lives.  Therefore, His house is never far away.  I can find it at the beach, in my own house, in the city, the country, on the Mara, on the subway, under an old tree and on the river.  I can also find it in the desert.

People often associate the desert as a harsh, barren, cursed plot of ground.  It offers neither shelter nor basic needs easily and seems to delight in making accommodations as unpleasant as possible.

Spiritually, people associate the desert with dry times in their life.  Whether it’s not hearing God, not feeling the Christian life or feeling alone, the desert is what our mind’s eye goes to, to describe what we feel.

I think there is yet another way to look at the desert, and David does, too.

He is all over the map in Psalm 55.  He begs God to hear and answer his prayer (v1).  His thoughts trouble him (v2), the enemy and wicked taunt him (v3).  His heart is in anguish (v4). Fear and trembling overwhelm him (v5).  Then verses 6-8 appear. Like a break in a storm, where the rain and wind stop and the sun shines – even if briefly –

I said, “Oh, that I had the wings of a dove!
I would fly away and be at rest—
7 I would flee far away
and stay in the desert;

(Selah)
8 I would hurry to my place of shelter,
far from the tempest and storm. ”

What a beautiful metaphor!  In the desert, where is the storm and tempest?  In the desert, we can be alone.  Therefore, we can rest.  Our place of shelter is God’s house, right in the middle of nothing.  When we are walking in our desert and view endless miles of nothingness, it is very easy to spot God’s house.  It sticks out against the monochromatic backdrop of sand and sun.

His house is harder to find in lush jungles, crowded cities or bustling suburbs – whether these are tangible obstacles we face or intangible only in our hearts and minds.

Perhaps the desert is just the landscape we need to find God’s house.  It is not a mirage, rather it is a promise to His children.

 “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”  Matthew 11:28

Are you a weary traveler?  Do you need rest?  Look for God’s house.  It’s never farther than a prayer away.

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. 2 In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. 3 And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. 4 You know the way to the place where I am going.” John 14:1-4


Sunday Selah

One thing I ask of the Lord,
    this is what I seek:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord
    all the days of my life,
to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord
    and to seek him in his temple.

Psalm 27:4

In Psalm 27, David reminds himself of God’s strongarm against his enemies.  He reiterates God’s mercy, goodness and safety.  Yet, in the middle of wrestling with fear, weakness and unstable circumstances, David breaks away in his heart and seems to pause mid-thought.

He is in crisis.  He feels unsafe of where he is and unsure of what the future holds in the hands of his enemies.  However, I can almost see David stop his heart’s plea and set his gaze on the horizon.  Although his feet stand on a place of longitutde and latitude, his heart escapes to another place and time.  There it is peaceful, quiet and restful.  Indeed, God’s house is a respite, a place of refuge.

Until God calls His chidlren home, we are called to seek Him now – every day.  Where do you find rest in God?

One place I find Him is at the beach.  I am reminded of His greatness of strength, creativity and control.  The rythmic waves crashing on the shore slow my own racing heart, and I come to a place of surrender.

I’m not at the beach today, but I can still find my way to God’s house – in my heart.  His children are His temple, and He dwells in us.  When I surrender myself to Him, I find rest, peace and stillness not found anywhere on this earth.

I encourage you, also, to look and listen for God today whever you are.

The LORD gives strength to his people; the LORD blesses his people with peace. ~ Psalm 29:11

Lord willing, I’ll see you tomorrow back here for more real…deep…stuff.

Have a wonderful Sabbath,

Kristi

Living the Dream

There is an image I cannot erase from my mind.  Travel with me for a moment to Kenya.  At the end of the safari, my family rode in a gutted JEEP back toward civilization.  Our driver, an authentic Masai warrior, barrels over rough terrain, nearly missing zebras, antelope  and wildebeest.  The JEEP throws us around, like an amusement park simulator ride on massive steroids!

(Our wild drive across the Mara.  The dark dots are all kinds of wild animals traveling together)

I look behind me, and the rest of our crew is closing in on us in their JEEPs with their drivers.  It looked like a scene from Indiana Jones with 6 stripped down, dirty JEEPS blazing across the Mara leaving thick dust trails behind them.  Like stunt drivers performing a rehearsed routine, our Masai drivers were in a race to get their JEEP back to the main road first.  This was our amazing adventure for at least 2 hours.  It was the most freeing ride I’ve ever taken.  Wide open plains dotted with wild animals.  Full throttle.  Full sun.  Then…the most unexpected thing EVER happened.

(A sample of the open plain we traversed)

Music!  Music began to play.  Not just any music.  Our Masai warrior hits a switch, and amidst the loud, rushing wind and hair slapping me in the face, Justin Bieber’s song, “Baby” began to play.  What?  Our entire family busted out laughing and asked how in the WORLD did this warrior, who kills lions with his bare hands, get a hold of this music?  I commented that Bieber would probably never imagine his music being the backdrop for a crazy thrill ride across the Mara in Africa.

Our driver, donning his personal machete and gorgeous, exquisite Masai garb, told us that previous travelers turned him on to it.  After “Baby” was done, Jamaican island music rang out over the whistling wind.  Wrong landscape, but surely more fitting than American pop music. Again, a gift from previous travelers.  Bruce asked him how he was playing music in this old, gutted JEEP.  He explained that he had made a homemade iPod of sorts and hardwired it to the vehicle.  We were impressed with his ingenuity!

But, I digress.

As we embraced the rocky, grassy, unmarked plains of the Masai territory working our way back to Kipsigis country, in the far distance we saw the most unbelievable sight!  Every time I think about it I get chills.

Far off on the horizon, we saw a dark figure moving very fast.  Squinting my eyes, straining to see, I caught the glimpse of  a man.  Running.  Foot travel is the mode of transportation for most people in Kenya, but there wasn’t anything typical about this man.  He was wearing athletic shorts, a crisp, white tank top, white knee socks and running sneakers.  None of which had we seen anywhere in our time in Kenya.  Where had he come from, and where was he going?

We all gasped at the same time and said, Surely he is in training!  For the Olympics, perhaps?  We asked our Masai driver and he concurred.  He didn’t know the man, but said Olympic hopefuls do, in fact, train in this terrain.  Our jaws fell agape as we watched, mesmerized, at this mystery man’s grace and speed.  This man was the fastest runner I’ve ever personally seen with my own eyes.  And poise!  His long legs stretched out before and behind him, back straight, arms taut – he didn’t even seem real.

No one has bright, white clothes in the Mara.  They wear native attire.  No one has shoes and socks so brilliantly crisp we could easily spot them from a distance. They are barefoot.  Oh yes, he was training indeed.

And, think about where he was running!  Most runners I see run in the city, suburbs or on greenway trails.  This man was completely alone, running in the land of hungry lions, temperamental Cape buffalo, sly jaguars, wicked- fast cheetahs, territorial hippos, elusive rhinos, venomous snakes and audacious hyenas.  As much as that thought would make ME run like the wind (for my life!), I still could not have done what he did.  He had a goal and was training for a dream.

Did he realize he was living his dream?  How about us?  Are we?  Do we?

For this man, he was already living his dream.  At some point, he stopped his normal day’s work, put on his training outfit (perhaps sponsored by someone?), and took his first step.  That step led to more, quicker steps, and those led to miles and miles of lightening fast, all-out running – racing the wind and daring the company of wild beasts.

I have never seen anything so inspirational of the human spirit.  I’ve watched Dateline and 60 Minutes who produce shows based on the one in a million who beat all odds to compete in sports, music and fine arts.  But, those shows have an ending.  There is closure when the man or woman, child or adult proves they have accomplished their goals.  I never have I witnessed the dream in play.

This man’s race has not yet happened.  Does that make him less of a runner?  Or, does working hard every day – rain or shine, sick or healthy – running the Mara make him a runner?

The answer is obvious.  He is, in fact, a race runner right now.

For those of us who most likely will never train in the Mara, what are the dreams that stir our heart?  They are just as important as this man’s, but do we give them the same credit?

Or, do we choose to let the mundane monotony of life be our excuse for not suiting up (be it arming ourselves with a paintbrush, a pen, a camera, a tool, a musical instrument, or our voices) and accept our place on the sidelines?

God gives us dreams.  Dreams spur on hope, give us reason to fight against hardships and ignite purpose on our lives.  Once we have given those dreams to God, asking permission to pursue them in His timing and for His glory, what holds us back?

I think the biggest thing that holds us back is – us.  We feel our limitations.  We listen to the doubt inside us that reminds us of our inadequacies and past failures.  We measure ourselves against the world and believe that we have nothing to offer.  Surely we are not as good as the next man or woman or child.

This happened to me just recently.  I was trapped in a conversation with someone who made me feel really bad about myself.  The topic was photography.  I will spare you the long story, but suffice it to say I told him, in an effort to end the conversation and diffuse his temper, that I was not a real photographer.  When I said those words, a part of me died.  I totally sold myself out because of a man I barely knew.  I went home and sobbed to my husband that my entire history of photography, that began when I was 10 years old when, for my birthday, my great-grandmother put a 110 instamatic in my hands and instantly I found my voice to the world, was gone.  All of my work, albeit unpaid, was suddenly worthless.  Because I don’t have credentials behind my name, or awards on my bookshelves, or a paycheck to prove it – I sold my dream for the price of exiting a conversation.

I felt numb for a few days.  Perhaps, deep down, this is indeed how I felt about myself, and it took verbally cornering me to bring it out?  Or, perhaps, I reduced myself to the world’s standards and realized I didn’t measure up.  Or, perhaps still, I caved under the pressure and said something I didn’t really believe.

For me, I know it was the third choice. In the days following, God had to show me, in His own unique way, the truth of who I am.  He proverbially picked me up, brushed off my knees and wiped the tears from my eyes.  He showed me who I am in Him, and that person is someone who believes in her dreams and wants to enjoy every part of the journey, whether anyone else believes in me or not.

Ironically, not by coincidence, God recently put me in not one, but two situations where my being a photographer was validated by two separate people – on their own initiative, not mine.  I don’t even know these people.  God caused our paths to cross, and I believe it was to reinforce exactly what I felt about the race runner I saw in the Mara.  Because, what I felt about that man was that although he had not yet won the public affirmation for which he was training, he was absolutely a true runner in my opinion.  No doubt.

The same takeaway is for us.  Perhaps more than a single race to prove who wins; it is ignoring what others say about us; it is the numerous days, months and years of practice; it is the countless miles we run in our own way that validate our dreams.

I once ran a 5K cold.  My daughter was entered in the race, but when we got there, we were surprised to see hundreds of runners and hundreds of their family members and friends.  My daughter didn’t have a cell phone and wasn’t familiar with the trail.  All of her fellow group runners had already begun.  She was alone.  There was no way I was going to let my daughter disappear into a crowd of a sea of people and weave her way through 3+ miles of unfamiliar roads.  Spontaneously, I signed myself up, pinned a number to my shirt and off we went.  We ran the whole thing, but unlike her, I had not trained for it.  Did that race make me a runner?  No!  It made me a protective mother.

My point is, even some who show up for the race aren’t necessarily runners at heart.  Many people have many motives for why they do what they do.

It’s those of us who forge on, despite criticism, despite our own self-doubt, despite the rough travel and slim odds – who are truly living the dream.  The dream is the journey.

Are you living your dream today? 🙂