Don't Tell My Left Hand...

So... I've always had a trouble deciding where the line is between not letting my left hand know what my right hand is doing (Mt. 6:3) and helping others be encouraged and able to overcome by sharing my testimony (Rev. 12:11).

When God allows me to be a part of blessing someone else, I'm never sure how much of that stuff to tell others about. Or, more accurately, I'm not really sure how to tell others in a way that truly glorifies Him without making it seem like it's just a little about me.

Because it's not about me. Not at all. At least, to me it's not about me. And, I don't want it to be about me to anyone else. But, I do really, really, really want to share the wonderful things I've been seeing God do for the people around me.

So - here goes. I'll be typing with mostly my right hand, so please don't tell my left hand what all I've had to say. Remember - this is not about me. If anything, I'd like this blog post to make you think about God in His infinite love and mercy, but also about YOU - and the role you have to play in helping people come to know Him.

For several weeks an amazing, awesome, rag-tag group of people from my town have been allowing me to accompany them to Omaha to serve food and hand out warm clothes to the men at a homeless shelter. This is, really, my first experience with homeless people. (I'm a little embarrassed to admit that.)

My first day I was pretty jumpy, and I didn't know what to expect. I mean, I was pouring syrup and doling out peanut butter onto warm pancakes from behind a table, so it's not like I was exactly getting up-close-and-personal or anything. Still - every loud interaction, every brusque tone, every sideways glance kind of set me on edge. I'm ashamed to say it, but I was honestly anticipating a knife fight to break out between two strung out bums at any moment.

(Yes - I'm cringing just as much as you are that I really thought that.)

What I have discovered over these past many weeks, however, is that these guys are just, well... guys. They're just people. Some of them are rude and cranky. A few are even openly hostile (for a myriad of reasons). But, for the most part, they're just people like you and me. They can't help but return a smile or a hug when one is offered. They say, 'please' and 'thank you'. They've usually got a funny joke or story to tell, and they're grateful when you take the time to care about them.

Oh, and they're hungry for the Lord.

I don't care whether someone lives in the biggest house in town, or in a tent by the railroad tracks - they were created in God's image. And, as such, there is something in them that longs to know their creator.

Usually, I'm just the lady behind the table with the funny hat. (See the pictures below if you don't believe me.) But, today, we got the chance to go inside the building and hang out with the guys at the day house. Because of the crowding due to the cold temperatures, it was (quite literally) an opportunity to rub shoulders with these men. I didn't really know anyone's names, but I had come to recognize a lot of faces over the weeks. Apparently they recognized my face too, and the fact that I had offered them smiles, syrup, and the occasional, 'God bless you.'

Those things alone would never have been enough to forge a relationship that transcended all of our vast differences in order to build trust and a level of intimacy between us. But, combined with the burning desire inside their souls to know God, it was sufficient.

It started with one man who came to me, a bit shyly, and quietly said, "I have a question..."

He showed me a page from a religious magazine, stating that after Jesus ascended He was a spiritual being in Heaven.

"So, does that mean He wasn't really human?" the man asked, his head cocked and eyebrows raised.

We talked quietly, amid the chaos and crowds, about the fact that Jesus is seated in Heaven with God as a spirit, but that He truly was 100% human while on Earth, and really did know the realities of life as a person - just like us. This seemed to be an important point to this homeless man - a way to connect with an otherwise unrelatable God.

He had no more than turned away when someone else tapped me on the shoulder, and began the same way:

"I have a question..."

As I walked the ten feet or so between the table I had been standing at and the door, I was stopped by several men today, each of them with a different question about God. I could tell that others were listening intently, curious about I had to say.

One man had been to Bible college briefly, and his eyes lit up at the chance to discuss the scriptures- clearly a topic near and dear to his heart. I found out that he didn't have a Bible, and I offered him one of the Gideon New Testaments that I always keep with me. From all the way at the other end of the eight-foot table, another man - who I didn't even know had been listening - quietly asked if he could have one too.

Not everyone was eager to talk about Jesus, of course. Most of them were more concerned with finding a seat in the crowded room or getting a hold of the classified ads from the paper. One gentleman was even hostile to me - vehemently telling me that as a Muslim he didn't believe in my Jesus. How could someone be God, and let other people kill him? To him, the story made no sense. Yet, before I left, he grabbed my hand, told me he could tell I was a woman of God, and allowed me to give him the last copy of my New Testament, promising he'd look it over so we could continue the conversation next time I was there.

There were other men with questions, I could tell, but our group was leaving, so I headed out to the bitterly-cold courtyard area to help load the vans. I stopped for a moment to watch a homeless man dole out little bits of a piece of bread he'd been given to the birds. As I stood there, I suddenly felt someone at my shoulder.

"I bet you wonder why he's doing that, don't you?" He asked. I didn't recognize him - neither from the pancake lines in weeks past, nor from any conversations I'd had that day.

"Actually, I was just thinking about what a beautiful act of mercy it was for that man to feed the birds, when he himself has so little," I replied.

There was silence for a moment, and I turned to look at the man beside me.

He was sober, and swallowed hard before he spoke.

"I don't know why, but I feel like I'm supposed to come and talk to you," he said. All of the typical toughness and posturing that is so necessary for survival as a homeless person dropped away, and he became very, very vulnerable.

"Well, what do you think we're supposed to talk about?" I asked. (Yes - I know... it probably wasn't the best response, but it's what came to me. Maybe I'll do better next time.)

He swallowed again, and rubbed the toe of his worn boot against the ice in the courtyard.

"About the fact that Jesus loves me."

So that's what we talked about.

I told him that Jesus did love him, and asked if I could pray with him.

After I had finished, he thanked me, and wiped the tears away that had begun to freeze on his cheek.

(I told you it was cold out there. That, and I'm prone to long prayers.)

I had always believed - until recently - that it was wrong to 'push' my religion on others. That everyone had already had the chance to make an informed decision about their beliefs. That people didn't really want to hear about Jesus. Today was yet another reminder of just how untrue that is, and just how much God's creation will always yearn to know about Him.

The question is - will there be anyone there to tell them?

Look - I don't know everything there is to know about theology. I don't know all the answers to all of life's hard questions. And, I'm not perfect. No one is. (Except Jesus, of course.) But, because I was there today - just because I showed up - other people had a chance to get to know a little bit more about their savior and their creator.

God is that big - that He can work through people like me. I know He can work through you, too, and I challenge you to start being there in your own life.

Being there for your friends
Being there for your neighbors.
Being there for your family
Being there for your co-workers
Being there for the people in the biggest house in town.
Being there for the people living in tents by the railroad tracks.
Being there for the lovely.
Being there for the unlovely.

But, most of all - just being there, wherever God asks you to be.

Like what you've read? Want to learn more? Check out our website, or go here to make a tax-deductible contribution to our ministry. (Select 'Farrier' from the pulldown menu.)

If you're interested in contributing to the wonderful things this group of folks is doing for the homeless in Omaha, send me an email at farriersoffaith@yahoo.com. 

This is someone's home.

(I told you I wear a funny hat.)

We are a motley but dedicated crew. It was 2 degrees F this morning.

I am amazed at how many of these men have severe illnesses, diseases, and disabilities.

This facility is at more than 150% capacity, and still not able to serve all those in need.

One of our crew pets 'Handsome' a loyal companion to the folks who live down by the river.

 

 

Reward

I've been a born-again Christian since June 8th of 1988. That's when I knelt down and accepted Jesus into my heart.

I did so because that's when I became aware of His great love.
His great love for ME!

That's when I became aware of the gift that is salvation.
A gift He he had created for ME!

That's when I realized that He had a plan for my life.

That's right - the creator of the universe had a plan for ME!

Those are all the reasons I became a Christian. But, it's only been recently that I realized that there's much more to the equation than just that. Yes, He had all those things for me. And He gave them freely.
But, He also wanted more from ME.

More accurately (lest anyone think that our works are what get us into heaven, or that God wants to engage us in the drudgery of spiritual slavery in exchange for our salvation), Jesus wanted ME to want more for HIS sake.

I believe it is profoundly healing and healthy to accept the realization that if I would have been the only one who needed it, Christ would have climbed up onto that cross anyway. Just.For.Me.

That's how much He loves me. I am what He did it for. I am what He was thinking about that day. I am what He longs for. In fact, I am the reward for his suffering.

Think about that - there was no other prize at the end of the cross, resurrection, and ascension except for me. (Well, ok... there was eternity with the Father in heaven, but He already had that.) No brass ring. No pot of gold. No winning lottery ticket. Just me. Just you. Just humanity.

I am entirely and completely and utterly undeserving of the gift of salvation. I pray that it never ceases to bring me to tears when I consider what Jesus did for me.

But, He is deserving. Entirely, completely, and utterly deserving of my love. Of my adoration. Of me. And of you. And of all of humanity, which is all that He longs for.

When I feel shy or uncomfortable, and would rather pass on sharing the gospel with a stranger...
            When I start feeling content with my accomplishments and resentful of having to do more...
                         When I feel discouraged or tired, and am ready to give up on this whole 'missionary' thing...
                       

That's when I remember my Jesus - peering down to Earth - loving each and every person I come into contact with just as much as He loves me.

Desiring to give them the free gift of salvation, just as He desired to give it me.

Longing for each person to be a part of His eternal reward, just as He longed for me to be a part of His eternal reward.

How can I not share the gospel with strangers? How can I not go the extra mile for His sake? How can I not go to Guatemala to tell the people there about Jesus?

It is not about me, and what I have gained. It is about HIM, and the fullness of His reward that He will lose if I choose to give less than everything for His cause.

He deserves the full reward for His suffering.
He deserves an eternity with every person He died for.
He deserves them all...

And it must become my highest goal and privilege to see that He gets everything He suffered for... everything He died for... everything He deserves.

Like what you've read? Want to learn more? Check out our website, or go here to make a tax-deductible contribution to our ministry. (Select 'Farrier' from the pulldown menu.)

About the Money Thing....

We're getting ready to walk away from careers. A home. Friends. Family. Normalcy. We're getting ready to walk away from pretty much everything we've ever known, in order move to Guatemala to share the gospel and the love of Christ. Want to know what the hardest part of that is for us?

The money part.

Sounds silly, maybe, but it's true. You see, we've always been the 'go to work, pay your bills on time, live within your means' kind of people. We've had some lean years. We've had some less lean years. But, through it all, we always had the underlying sense of satisfaction that comes from working hard and reaping the reward of that hard work.

We won't have that in Guatemala.

It is humbling beyond what words can tell to think about living a life depending on other people's financial support. Humbling, and (quite frankly) scary. It is very easy to get caught up in a whirlwind of doubt and worry - obsessing over whether or not there will be enough money for us to do what we need to do.

Which is silly.

Our God is a big, big God. He's so big He even sees and takes care of sparrows. And grass. And the lilies of the field. I know He will take care of us when we seek His kingdom first. I mean, the original missionaries (disciples) were told to go out into the world without even an extra pair of sandals or any money at all. God knew that there would be people along the way to provide them with every necessity and blessing they would need, just like there will be people to do the same for us.

But, we've got to ask those people, and that's where it gets tough for me.

I feel pulled - between the call of God to ask everyone we know to partner with us in this mission,  and my own fears that we will alienate our friends, family, and acquaintances by asking for their financial support.

I don't want to lose friends. I don't want people to be annoyed by me, or think less of me, or to never want to have anything to do with me again. But, even more than that, I don't want to lose out on what God wants/needs me to do. I don't want God to be annoyed by me, or think less of me, or to never want to have anything to do with me again.

So, that's why I'm asking everyone I've ever met to support us and our mission. Even though it's humbling. Even though it's hard.

Sometimes, when I think about doing speaking engagements and asking people for their financial partnership ('cause we really haven't had to do that much, yet), I practice speeches in my head that I'd like to say.

Things like:

"Oh, dear friend/family member/co-worker/acquaintance/person I just met a few seconds ago -

I want you to know that I promise not to be offended if you choose not to give us money. Really! Honest!!

I'm only asking you to partner with us financially because I know, that I know, that I know, that I know that this is what God is asking me to do, and that out of my obedience, He will be greatly glorified and magnified in my life, and in your life, and in the lives of others we have not yet even met or imagined.

And, dear friend/family member/co-worker/ etc... -

I hope that you choose to partner in our mission for exactly the same reason - because you are also excited to know, that you know, that you know that you're being called to give because it will glorify and magnify God, and that's what you long to do in life."

We do not want pity money. Or feeling-sorry-for-you money. Or given-out-of-guilt money. (Ok, so we'd *take* that money if you felt like giving it, of course, but we would hope your reasons would change once you followed the impulse to give, so we could all be blessed by the experience.)

Most of all, though, we don't necessary want money at all, per se. What we want are people who will catch our vision of sharing the gospel. What we want are people who want to give their whole lives (finances included) to furthering Christ's kingdom. What we want are partners, not just givers, who will be with us for the long haul, and lend their faith and their prayers for this mission.

That's what we're looking for. And, even though it sounds reallyreallyreally big and impossible to me, nothing is impossible or too hard for God, and that's something I can truly bank on.

So - do you feel called to partner with us? We are looking for people who will commit to monthly contributions in order to meet our $2,500 monthly need. We're also looking for people who want to contribute occasionally, as they are able or feel led to do so, in order to build our $10,000 sending/emergency fund.

All donations are tax-deductible! Payments can be made by check through the mail to

World Outreach Ministries

PO Box B

Marietta, GA 30061

(Write 'Farrier - 251' in the memo section)

Or, donations can be made online (including setup of monthly donations using credit or debit cards) at this address:

www.worldoutreach.org/donate

(Select 'Farrier' from the pulldown menu)

There really is no wrong way or amount to contribute, as long as you're led by God in your giving! (Seriously. If that means you feel led not to give, we won't have any hard feelings about. I promise. I hope that you won't have hard feelings about the fact that we're asking.)

And, if the sacrifice of faithful of prayer is what you have to give to our mission, we'd love that as well! We want this whole experience to be positively bathed in prayers!

Remember - God's promise is that everyone (you, us, those in Guatemala, and God himself) will be blessed by giving to missionaries. (2 Cor. 9:10-11, Phil. 4:17, Phil. 4:19) Thank you for your faithfulness and generosity on His behalf!

Greener Pastures

It's summer in Iowa, which means that it's pretty safe to assume that I've either just mowed, am getting ready to go mow, or am trying to figure out how to avoid having to mow. I'm sure you can relate.

To the outside observer, it would appear that I mow the same way I vacuum - infrequently, haphazardly, and with no discernible pattern. (I'm pretty sure the reason aliens have never landed on Earth is because the mismatched patchwork left behind my mower clearly indicates that there's no intelligent life down here.) Despite the way it looks, however, I actually have put a of thought into my mowing habits.

My first experience with a mower was when I was a kid, roughly 10 years old. It was my job to mow the front yard, side yard, back yard, and Little Nebraska. (This was a shadeless, barren, endless wasteland of grassy uniformity. My apologies to the great state to the west of us. But, you are a tad bit boring.)

I managed to do a passable job with the yard as a kid, but didn't really master it until years later, when we bought the home (and yard) from my parents.  After almost 5 years as mistress of the house, I finally got the point where I could mow that yard with my eyes closed. I had figured out the best pattern, exactly where to turn the mower around, and even how to get done mowing Little Nebraska in the fastest possible way without having to actually run. (I don't really like running.)

It was at that point that we moved.

Same story, different location at our last house. It boasted a front yard, side yard, back yard, and yet another Little Nebraska. Perhaps it was the experience I had gained at the last house. Perhaps it was just the fact that I'd matured. Perhaps it was just that I was more motivated, since the yard was bigger, but it only took about 3 1/2 years to get my 'system' down there.

It was at that point that we moved.  (Do you see a pattern here?)

And, would't you know it - this house also has a front yard, back yard, side yard, and a Little Nebraska. (Though, admittedly, even though the actual Nebraska looms larger here than ever before since we are so much closer, this Little Nebraska is the smallest I've ever had to deal with. Hurrah!)

So - here we are - a mere 16 months later - and I've already got this yard allllll figured out. You know what that means, don't you?

Yep - it's time to move.

This time, however, our 'greener pastures' are a bit father afield, you could say. Like, in Guatemala.

That's right - God has called us to the mission field, and we couldn't be more excited! There are still a lot of details to be worked out (we're not planning on leaving until next summer), but we are ready and willing, and we know that He will make us able.

If you want to find out more about what we'll be doing, or how you can help us with our mission, check out our website at:

http://farriersoffaith.org

or our mission-specific blog at:

www.farriersoffaith.blogspot.com

Now, if you'll excuse me, I really must be getting outside to mow the yard. Just because I've figured out the best way get the job done, doesn't mean I actually want to go out in the heat and do it...

Gideons

A few weeks ago Mark and I had the distinct privilege of officially becoming members of the Gideons and Gideons Auxiliary (respectively). 

Yes. Those are the people who hand out Bibles. If you've ever stayed in a hotel room in the U.S. (or elsewhere), chances are good that you've slept next to a Gideon Bible. That's because of the faithful service of these men and their wives who recognize the importance of God's Word, and who are dedicated to making sure everyone has access to it. 

It wasn't that long ago that I would have scoffed (sorry to say) at such ambitions, and such an organization. I thought that everyone who wanted to hear about Christ had already had the chance to do so, and that it was rude and pushy to share the gospel with people. After all - who was I to make others feel uncomfortable? To tell them how to live their lives? To try to push my religion on them? 

Now I've come to realize just how wrong those thoughts were.

I'll tell you who I was then (though I didn't realize it), and who I still am today. I'm an ambassador of Christ. That is my whole purpose on earth. (By the way - if you're a Christian, that's your purpose too. If you're not a Christian, it could be yours soon. Send me a message. Give me a call. We'll talk.)

Don't get me wrong - I'm sure people do think I'm being a little rude and pushy sometimes when I put one of those New Testaments in their hands. It probably makes them feel uncomfortable, like I'm trying to tell them how to live their lives, and push my religion on them. But that's because I am, and I do it because I care. 

I care because I've heard too many people tell me that they're not sure what happens after a person dies, but they're okay with that. I care because I've known too many people who have vague aspirations and hopes of going to heaven, but haven't got a clue about how to get there. I care because I've finally come to the place of putting eternal salvation before momentary discomfort. 

It's about time, too.

Perhaps the best explanation I've ever heard for why I want to share the gospel with people came from Penn Jilette, an avowed atheist. In a video segment (see below) that he made after being handed a Gideon Bible, Penn states the following:

If you believe there is a Heaven and a Hell, and that people could be going to Hell...and you think, 'well, it's not really worth telling them, because it could be socially awkward,' - how much do you have to hate somebody to not proselytize? How much do you have to hate somebody to believe that everlasting life is possible, and not tell them that?

Ouch. Well said, Penn. 

So, that's why there really is no choice for me but to tell people about Jesus, and to share God's Word with them. It was in a kitchen in a farmhouse in rural eastern Iowa that I gave my life to Christ on June 8th, 1988. It was just me, my savior, and a little Gideon Bible with a green cover, but it was a moment that changed my life and my eternity. I'd hate to think someone else missed the chance to have their precious moment with the Lord just because I was afraid of making somebody uncomfortable - especially if that somebody was me. 

To find out more about the Gideons - including powerful testimonies about how their work has brought people to Christ, check out their website-

http://www.gideons.org

Press play for more of Penn Jilette's eye-opening thoughts about evangelism. It's worth watching. And, I'm praying for Penn to come to know Christ. I know, first-hand, how effective those little Bibles can be, if you'll just open them up and read what's written inside.

Guatemala Trip - One Week Later

These are the people who changed the world,
just by showing up... 

It's been a week now, since we came home from Guatemala. All of our clothes have been washed and put away. We are back to our normal routines. The sharp edges of our memories are beginning to dull a little. Dull, perhaps, but still ever present. I can tell you this - we are changed. We will never be the same again. The trip - the country - will always be with us.

It's hard to sort out what had the most impact on me. Knowing how much need there is for the women's shelter where we painted? Thinking about young people learning God's word in the classrooms we (literally) laid the foundation for? The persistent, intense faith of the pastors and congregants we met? The beauty of the land and people? The hearts of our host family?

In the end, I think that what sticks with me the most - beyond even all of these memories and experiences - is the quiet whisper from God saying, "keep showing up."

Many years ago I found myself in a strange and intimidating place, facing a task that was far beyond my abilities, the outcome of which was of vital importance to many people. (Sound familiar?) I found favor there and succeeded - not because of anything special about me, but because God was faithful since I obeyed him and showed up. He made very real to me in that experience that the world is run by the people who show up.

He made the same thing real to me in a new and deeper way again when we were in Guatemala.

In the cities and villages we were in, it was very clear that someone is always running the show. Someone is showing up. In some places, the forces showing up were things like poverty, ignorance, hopelessness, greed, corruption, fear. In other places, though, it was people like you and me who showed up. Good people. People with the love of Christ to share. People without any particular skills or talents, except for a willingness to be God's hands and feet, and to speak his words. We show up. He does the rest. It's a powerful partnership, and one that we shouldn't take for granted.

We shouldn't take it for granted in places like Guatemala, where our very presence (or prayers, or financial support...) can be the thing that changes hearts, lives, and eternities. We shouldn't take it for granted in our communities, where we might just be the difference between hope and helplessness for our neighbors and our friends. We shouldn't take it for granted in our workplaces and schools, where we have the chance to form relationships and change lives for the better. We shouldn't take it for granted in our families - the most intimate and powerful of all institutions God created on earth. We shouldn't ever take for granted - no matter where we are, or who we are - that our willingness to show up in our everyday lives is meaningful. It is powerful. It is Godly, and blessed, and will be richly rewarded.

Someday I'd love to return to Guatemala. I will always treasure the time I had there, pray for the people we met, and I hope we can visit again soon. Until then, though, I'm going to be sure that I'm showing up in the here and now, where I live, with the people God has put in my life today. I can't encourage you strongly enough to do the same. After all - someone's going to show up and run the world you live in. Don't you think it'd better be God, through your willing presence?

We Are Those People

(Image courtesy of Danilo Razzuti / FreeDigitalPhotos.net)

I know you've all read my rants about my slow, painful realization that I am an actual-factual, bona-fide adult. How it wasn't something I wanted. How it snuck up on me. How there are still days when I feel like I'm faking my way through it. And, yet, it's true. I'm a grown up. Seems strange to think about being something without realizing it, but I'm beginning to suspect that happens more often than we know. For example - I have so many people that I look up to. You know - people who inspire. Who live lives of greatness. Who have exemplary marriages, families, homes. Most of all, I am in awe of people who have unyielding and enduring faith  That's what impresses me. That's what encourages me. That's what I want to be. But, maybe that's what I already am - at least to someone. And (ready for it?) maybe you are too.

I got to thinking about this a few weeks ago while on the phone with my best friend, Lee Ann. During our daily phone conversation we were discussing the typical things that mature ladies talk about -  communicable childhood diseases, mortgage rates, thirty-minute meal recipes, how to clean pet stains out of carpet, politics. You know - the usual. Then, our conversation turned to her new Bible study group. Now, Lee Ann and I have discussed everything that has ever happened in our lives since the moment the first one of us learned our first word. Possibly even before then. So, the fact that our conversation was about the Bible was far, far from shocking. What was shocking, though, when I stopped to really, REALLY listen, was the wisdom of the words coming out of my friend's mouth.

Don't get me wrong - Lee Ann has always been a smart girl, and has a relationship with the Lord that has been tested and proven firm many times, in many ways. It's just, this is also the same person who once owned a pet raccoon, let out a cuss word in the middle of Vacation Bible School (right in front of the teacher!), and is from the same backwoods, redneck Oklahoma town that I am. (And those are just the things I can write about...) But, during the course of our conversation, she talked eloquently and humbly about the many times and ways she's witnessed in her community, reassured young believers, followed the leading of the Spirit (even when it was reallllly hard to do so), encouraged her husband and her children in their faith, etc, etc, etc. I couldn't help but think to myself - when had my best friend gotten so darn wise?

And then it hit me - she is one of those people. One of the people who inspire. Who live lives of greatness. Who have exemplary marriages, families, homes. Most of all, she is a person with unyielding and enduring faith. She impresses me. She encourages me. She is one of those people. And I was talking to her. Indeed - I was talking with her; engaged in the conversation as fully as she was. I was (could it be true?) holding up my end of this profound spiritual discussion with this profoundly wise woman almost as well as she was. Imagine the shock of finding out - all on the same day - that not only has your best friend become a wise, mature woman of the Lord, but you have too! I tell you, people, I was amazed.

Let me assure you - this was not a revelation that was easy to accept. Every time I would start to see in myself the same habits and attributes that I have long admired about others (spiritual maturity! lasting, happy marriage! love of the scripture! healthy prayer life!) I would start to see myself, and doubt would creep in. You know what I mean about seeing myself? I mean I would be reminded of those deep, dark, dirty things that I don't like about myself. That I wish weren't true. That I wish I hadn't done. That I wish were different. They kept echoing through my mind whenever I considered the idea that maybe - just maybe - God really could use me to do great things in the earth. To change people's lives. To make a difference. To further His kingdom. I wanted to believe, but somehow I though that surely someone like deep, dark, dirty ol' me couldn't ever really be one of those people. 

It could have ended there. I could have let myself believe the lies. Sink back into oblivion. Let my past derail my future. But, I didn't. Do you want to know why? It's all about choices. I have decided that God meant what He said when he declared that he would use the foolish and weak to put the wise and mighty to shame. I have decided that I can't believe in the full, redemptive work of the cross for others unless I believe it for myself as well. I have decided that if God could use a drunk like Noah, a womanizer like Samson, an adulterer like David, a prostitute like Mary Magdalene, and a denier like Peter, then surely He can use me too. Right?

But, most of all, I have decided that the world needs more people who inspire. Who live lives of greatness. Who have exemplary marriages, families, homes. Most of all, who have unyielding and enduring faith. And, though I will never, ever, in a bajillion years achieve those things on my own, through His spirit I can. Yep. I choose to believe that all of that good stuff can be mine - not because I am so great, but because my God is.

So, if two flawed (but fabulous, if I do say so myself) grown-up girls from Oklahoma can be those people, I'm pretty sure that means you can too. What are you waiting for? There's a whole world out there in need of people just like us.

Almost a Miracle?

I've struggled with whether or not to publish this on my blog. It is about an intensely personal, yet very shared experience I had just over six months ago. It's taken me a while to sort through my feelings, work up the courage to contact the family for publication permission, and figure out just what I'm supposed to do in my life with the events that transpired that night. Perhaps this piece is the answer to that last question. I hope it is a blessing to you.

Something about the way he stumbled caught my eye. Even with the noise of my children playing in the backseat, the buzz of conversation from my cell phone, the distracted thoughts bouncing around in my brain, and the task of getting us safely home in the twilight – something about his fall caused me to pause. I hung up the phone, turned the car around, and pulled in the driveway to within 15 or 20 feet of where he lay. As I surveyed the situation and replayed what I had seen, my mind exploded with ‘what if’s’. What if he had fallen because he had been shot? What if the tank that was hitched behind his running truck, with its driver’s door agape, was leaking a toxic chemical? What if this was a trick to lure trusting passersby into a trap? What if? What if? What if? I prayed silently for wisdom, and scanned the area. My senses were all attuned, but the overwhelming thought that ruled all others was that I had to help this man. 

I told my girls to sit tight – that I’d be back in a minute – and got out of the car, letting the door close quietly behind me. Before I’d even let any words asking how he was escape, I already knew the answer. I heard him take a shallow, rattling breath as I walked over, knelt down, and put my hand on his shoulder. I shook him gently, asked if he was alright, and only got silence in return. Swallowing hard, I slipped my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed 911. The rest is a bit of a blur.

 I recall the reassuring voice of the dispatcher, who seemed so utterly confident in me that I couldn’t help but believe that I could do the things he was asking me to do. That I could roll this stranger over, check for breathing, do CPR. Mostly, he made me believe that we could keep him alive - together. And, he was right. After what seemed like an eternity (but was really more like three or four minutes) an EMT arrived on scene and took over doing the chest compressions and rescue breathing with a confident, practiced air – so different from my awkward, unknowing attempts.

 She asked me to retrieve his cell phone from his pocket and find a family member to call. I fumbled around, trying to discern the right number from his call log. This felt like a complete violation of this stranger’s privacy – even more than the rescue breathing and CPR had been. That was somehow clinical. This felt personal. I was a bit relieved when I was unable to reach the faceless ‘Jane’ whose number I had dialed. Then I felt guilty, thinking of how much I would want to know if it was my family member lying there.

Within a few minutes more, the ambulance arrived. The intimate silence of the driveway was suddenly shattered by a crew of professionals, each one doing his or her job efficiently and nobly. I saw them shock him. I felt lost in the hum of activity, and headed back to my car. I was pulling out into the road as they loaded him onto the board and into the waiting ambulance. It all seemed like a dream, but I recall the EMTs thanking me – saying what a miracle it was I had been there when he fell, and had stopped to help. A miracle.

I spent the rest of that evening in a daze, processing my thoughts and trying to figure out what it all meant. I have believed in God since my childhood, and witnessed His power in many situations. But, by His grace, I had been allowed on this night to be a part of His mighty works. I had been allowed to participate in a miracle. 

At some point the 911 dispatcher called to let me know that the man had made it to the hospital and was still alive. Though his prognosis was uncertain, he wanted me to know that any chance of survival the man had was because I had just happened to be in the right place at the right time. The next day an EMT called and let me know that - against all odds - this unknown stranger was still alive. Alive, indeed, and with a family that wanted to meet me. 

A few days later, the name I had seen on his cell phone became more than just bits of digital data on a display screen. Standing in the waiting room, I felt instantly connected to her as we embraced. She shared with me that the doctors had declared him dead a few hours after arriving at the hospital that first night. The roomful of family and friends had been told that he was gone. As she sat in the silence of his room, grieving the loss of her beloved husband, she had felt an insistent pulse arise. Ignoring it at first as the fanciful wishes of someone unprepared to trade in the title of wife for widow, she had only dared to believe once she looked up and saw his ashen face flush with color. The doctors had rushed in, asking what had happened. Her tearful, joyous response was that it had been a miracle. E.R. doctors and nurses who had witnessed the events of the evening had had no choice but to agree. Another miracle.

This man, who had been in a fitful coma ever since returning to life, was a testimony to God’s healing power, and I was getting to be a part of it.  I had been privileged to be there when he fell and start CPR. Privileged to hold his hand and pray for him while the EMT worked. Privileged to meet his family and hear their wondrous story of him coming back from death. Privileged to pray with them, and to be drawn into their lives. I was privileged, above all else, to witness the mighty hand of God as He worked a miracle that boldly showed even doubters and unbelievers His unshakable power. I was thrilled because the world needs more of that. I needed more of that my in my own life, too. 

The day after I had visited him and basked in the light of the miracles of his story, the doctors told the family that his MRI results showed very little meaningful brain activity. A few days later, he was moved to the palliative care wing of the hospital. The next day he passed away - surrounded by his wife, children, brothers, mother, and friends. I do not have any right – in light of their suffering – to speak of my own devastation. Yet, it was as palpable for me in the following days as my excitement over his miracles had been. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had somehow participated in an unfinished work, and I didn’t understand it. 

I learned long ago that God doesn’t answer to me. His ways are not my ways, and His thoughts are not my thoughts. But, that doesn’t stop me from asking questions and seeking answers. I prayed earnestly, pleading with God to help me understand why He had chosen to have the man die, when his testimony and the story of his experience could have touched so many lives and hearts. I felt burdened for the family he left behind – his grieving mother, wife, and teenage children. I prayed over and over again for some way of understanding why I had been brought to that place at ‘just the right time’, and been allowed to participate in something that I had come to think of as almost a miracle. It was at that point – when I had come to doubt the perfect and complete acts of the almighty God– that He reminded me of the truth. 

It was a simple scripture that I had read a thousand times before, but never understand so well until that moment. Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints – Psalm 116:15. Upon reading those words late one night, it suddenly occurred to me that every moment of this man’s life and death hadn’t been overlooked by God – as I was starting to believe – but, rather, overseen.   I was reminded of the story of Jesus coming to visit Mary and Martha after Lazarus’s death. Though He knew before He even left on His journey to their home that He could (and would) bring Lazarus back from the dead, the scriptures are very clear that He wept anyway – moved by his compassion at the grief of the two sisters and their friends and family. I believe it was that same compassion that drove God to order the events of that evening when my life intersected another in a very powerful way. 

Because this man was precious in His sight, God hadn’t wanted him to be alone as he lay dying. Because he is a tender heavenly father, God allowed the man’s earthly family time to grieve and reconcile with their new paths in life. Because He is ever-ready to woo the hearts of men, God allowed this amazing, faith-filled family a week to demonstrate what mercy, love, grace, and peace look like – a powerful testimony indeed. And, because He knew I needed it, God allowed me to participate in the greatest miracle of all – helping escort one of His beloved into the throne room. 

I have finally come to believe that there is no such thing as an ‘almost’ work of God. His perfect plan was completed 2000 years ago on a barren, wind-swept hill outside of Jerusalem.  There is nothing – not time, distance, or circumstances – that can take away our access to that all-sufficient work through Jesus. No life is hopeless, no person unseen, and no act of God will ever be an ‘almost’ miracle because of the moment that Christ proclaimed, “It is finished.”

The Making of a Strong Heart

My husband is an awesome man, and we have a wonderful marriage. Since we are two distinct and separate people, our endeavor to walk the same path together often includes disagreement, and even the occasional argument. After over a decade of marriage, I've discovered that the act and actions of disagreement itself is often what leads couples to argue, and not necessarily the different opinions that started the discussion in the first place.

When my husband and I argue, it is usually because I have withdrawn to lick my wounds about how I feel about what he said. That's, invariably, what escalates a discussion into an argument at our house. It's typically got nothing to do with the honest, constructive things that he has said, and everything to do with my reactions to them. Specifically, when my husband shares his needs, thoughts, and desires with me, it highlights all that I have not been, done, or accomplished for him or our family. When that happens, I find myself sinking under the feeling that I am not the wife that he deserves. I know there are different nuances and finer points in each situation. And, I have only written about my role in our arguments. He faces his own thoughts and fears, and has his own culpability, but the main thread under all of our arguments is one thing - insecurity.

When we argue, I cover my feelings of guilt by saying that he's been brusque, or not gentle enough, or harsh in the words and tone of voice that he has chosen to use. In reality, though, I am simply trying to re-focus the spotlight onto him in order to not drag my shame and shortfalls out into the open. That's a lot of theatrics to impose on someone just because I don't want to face up to the places where I've lacked - especially since he's always had grace for me when I have been honest with him. The bottom line is that it is not the words he chose or the way he chose to say them that I'm upset about. I'm upset about me.

Mark is a man. He does not think or talk like I do. But, that doesn't mean that I don't have the ability or responsibility to understand what he's saying, even if he doesn't use the words my delicate, feminine nature wishes he would. I can make the choice to circumvent his heart-felt and honest words because I don't like the way they're delivered, or I can be realistic about our differences so that I can understand his needs and desires, and make the changes necessary to bring us closer.  It is the same with the Lord.

The scriptures talk often about the fact that God's church is his bride. I know that to be true corporately, but our relationship individually with the Lord is much the same. I myself am his bride, and I can easily get confused about what I should do or how I should go about doing things in life. Instead of looking to Him and listening to his direction and instruction, I often shy away from his leading because it comes in a way that is not palatable to me - not how I want to hear it. So, I harden my heart. The reality is that I could make things a lot more simple and successful with my earthly husband, and my heavenly one as well, if I would choose to strengthen my feminine heart, instead of hardening it - and there's a big difference.

The process of hardening something - like metal, for example - usually leads it to be impenetrable. Once changed, it is difficult (if not impossible) to re-soften it in order for other elements to be mixed in. To harden steel, you heat it quickly, and cool it quickly - much like our hearts are quick to burn with anger, and quick to turn to icy resentment. While having an impenetrable, hard substance (or heart), may seem like a good idea, it most often turns brittle, and can shatter when not handled with care.

When you strengthen something, however, the process is very different. To strengthen metal, you must first refine it, and rid it of all impurities. What is left, then, can be relied upon to be consistent and stable, no matter what trials you put it through. To that pure substance, then, other elements are added - elements that are tested and proven to be beneficial. To make strong metal, workers add carbon, which changes its very structure on a cellular level. It makes the metal pliable, and easier to mold and work with. To make a strong heart, the Lord gives us the Holy Spirit, which changes our very nature, as well, and produces the same characteristics in us that carbon produces in steel - the ability to be turned into something useful and flexible. The final act of strengthening has to do with a repeated heating and cooling process - very precise, very slow, very painstaking. This is not a process that the human flesh finds comfortable, but it is one which produces proven, lasting, life-changing results - a strong heart.

The end product with either substance - be it heated metal, or a tested heart - is going to be the same, depending on how the process is carried out. You will either find yourself with hardness that encases impurities, does not allow for the acceptance of new things, and will ultimately end up shattered and broken. Or, you will end up having strength, durability, usefulness, and timelessness. I know which one I want for my heart, and am going to have to make the choice - moment by moment - to embrace the process of achieving it.

So, I am challenging myself to listen to the true words of instruction that I receive - no matter how they may come, or how much they may shed light on my insecurities and shortfalls. Choosing to cover them over will never rid me of them, but exposing them to the clear light of a refining flame will. And, I am determined to give thanks for the ones wielding the refining fire in my life; focusing on the good their work is doing, instead of the challenge it presents to me personally. A strong heart - that can be of daily use and comfort to my husband and my Lord - is well worth it.

I invite you (especially the wives out there) to join me in this challenge, and start looking for the ways that you withdraw from the refining process. Would you really choose a hardened heart, when strength can be your portion? Would you really choose to protect what you already have, even if means never being able to let anything else in? Is what you have (and who you are) right now really what you want to have and be forever, anyway? I didn't think so. So, ladies - let's face the refining fire together, and be grateful for people who are willing to wield the flame. (And, let's not fool ourselves into thinking their job is a piece of cake, either.)

Want to be encouraged as you walk through this process? Check out these two really awesome blogs, which inspire me to keep my heart close to the refiners in my life, even when it hurts. The first is a dear friend of mine who got married just a few months ago, and who is honestly sharing her daily insights as a young wife. The other is a dear friend who got married years ago, and who clarifies the role of a wife so well as she shares her insights as a seasoned wife. I hope they'll encourage you, just as they have for me. Until next time - may we all embrace the process of building strong hearts.

Great Blogs You Should Follow:

The Neesby Lookbook - by Nicole Neesby

The Respect Dare - by Nina Roesner

Playing Grown Up

Well, here I am attempting a second time to write a post with more of myself included. I am no longer pontificating... have stepped down off the soap box. Is it more human and approachable this way? Perhaps I'll consider this a group therapy session. After all, you must be reading this blog for a reason. If it's to search to answers, I can only tell you, in all honesty, that I do not have them. But, perhaps we can discover some together. I'll go first.

Hi. My name is Andrea, and I feel under-equipped to deal with life. I suppose there are so very many more things I could admit to - over eating, over sleeping, over doing. But, I think I've come a long way by being able to really distill what's going on down to such a pithy and provocative statement. You see, I've always been the one able to handle it all. Keep all the balls in the air. Keep all the plates spinning. Now I've come to realize that those things are what the analogy implies : games - just part of an act. It looks good (and feels good) on stage, but when the makeup comes off and the costumes are put away at the end of the night, there are still children to raise, souls to save, bills to pay. Life is not the circus act.

My best friend and I (both of us turned 30 this year) were wondering together on the phone the other day why no one warned us of what it means to be a grown up. Why did no one tell us how serious and earnest this thing called life can be? Why did no one think to warn us that we would endure indescribable difficulties even as we enjoyed unparalleled joys? Why didn't anyone let us know that this is what it would be like? I've been trying to abdicate my adult responsibilities for years, but they keep coming back. All this time I've had the sneaking suspicion that this thing called life is perhaps a bit more serious and taxing than I wanted to let on.

For my friend, it all started with her first vacuum. You see - it wasn't her mother's vacuum. It wasn't borrowed. It wasn't temporary. It was hers. Forever. You don't buy a vacuum unless you need it. You don't need a vacuum unless you have a home. You don't have your own home unless you're a grown up. See the connection? To this day I think that vacuum causes her pause on good days, panic on bad ones. It's a sign that she - all of us, really - is inextricably engaged in the forward march of life, and that can be a sobering thought.

I, on the other hand, didn't have the sense to pause and consider the implications of my first vacuum. I was very young and idealistic when I plunged headlong into life. It wasn't until sometime after a college degree, two home purchases, a brand new car, three children, and a dying loved one later that I started to have the sneaking sort of panic that my friend's small appliances stirred up in her. Now I find myself very much entrenched in this thing called life, and feel ill equipped to handle it. Who am I to hold the hand of the dying? What do I know about helping those left behind in their grief? What words can I offer to bolster my brave husband, who faces the world with the weight of his family on his shoulders each day? Where will I go for the wisdom to bring forth these children that I feel so fiercely proud of and responsible for? How did I end up here?

Some days I think I'll wake to discover that it's all been a game of house. We (the good children, intently engaged in our play) will be called back to reality by our parents. We will put aside our drama and aprons and vacuums and go have a snack under the watchful eye of a capable and caring adult. Our vain striving over who is in charge, which person says what, where things will go, what we will do... it will all be forgotten. After all - if we are honest with ourselves in the deepest and darkest places in our hearts, we somehow sensed all along that it is foolishness to pretend we are really adults, don't we? Ahhh.... but what can be done about it? Therein lies the trouble.

And so, I will continue to be a little girl her mother's high heels. I will pray for wisdom in bringing forth and carefully preserving the treasures in my husband. I will shore him up on the days when I can see that he is a little boy in his father's tie and suit jacket. At least there is much comfort to be found in knowing that I am not playing this game alone. I will trust the promise God gave me that when I open my mouth, it is in wisdom, and the teaching of kindness will be on my tongue. When that promise is stretched thin and looks like it will run out, I will go to Him for a fresh slice of truth and a cold glass of grace. (Perhaps there is a kind parent who watches over this game of house after all...) I will guide and guard, praise and raise, teach and treasure my children each and every day. And, I will never, ever tell them what it's like to be a grownup - how earnest and serious life can be, and what indescribable difficulties and unparalleled joys you discover along the way -  because they deserve to discover it on their own.

Cancer

I hate to re-state the obvious, but cancer sucks. Even as I write I am painfully aware of just how inadequate words are at expressing all that cancer entails - even more so since I am not the one with the disease, but merely along for the ride as my beloved friend struggles with it.

Along for the ride, or perhaps more accurately, hijacked by it. Our family was on a lovely trip together, when cancer climbed into the car with us and began making demands. At first we tried to ignore him, pretending he wasn't there. When he finally became unavoidable, we started planning for how nice the trip would be once he left. Then we started scheming ways to get rid of him. We prayed. We bargained. We plead. Now we just ride in silence.

At some point very recently it became apparent that he was not going to leave. More than that, he was also not going to be joining us on our planned ride, but was commandeering the vehicle, and would choose when and where my friend got off. We politely asked if he would at least allow us to slow down a bit, that we might enjoy the scenery along the way, but he seems to be in an awful hurry. The best we know to do now is to sit and hold her hand as we draw close.

At least this is true - we find comfort in the fact that cancer may have driven her, but all roads lead to home. This was not the trip we planned, but there was a plan all along. We are to the point now where the car is starting to slow, and all that is left to do is to help her gather her things and await the destination. Though we are all sad for her end here, we are also looking forward to her new beginning, free from the seatmate that has made things so unpleasant.

It's true - this is not the trip we had hoped for, but I think we're all glad to have been along for the ride, nonetheless. How else would we have learned to say so much with so few words? More importantly, what else could teach us that sometimes we don't need words at all to say what we really mean? We have come to find peace even when we are not in control, patience when we want to scream, strength when we want to cry. Perhaps these are better souvenirs than the ten-cent trinkets we would have picked ourselves on this trip called life.

I guess it's clear now that this was not just a temporary detour. Our plans did not work out like we had hoped, though I can hardly even remember what those plans were now. To be sure, they might have been more fun or more exciting, but they could not have been more important, and certainly would never have taught us about grace and love so thoroughly.

When she departs, she will be loosed from the grip of our cruel co-passenger and will run into the open arms of a loving father. In that moment He will smile and motion us onward, for our journey is not done, though we must make the next leg without her. And, whatever sights we see, places we go, or passengers may yet climb, unbidden, into the car with us in years to come, I know that we will never regret the trip and can trust that our common destination will be worth every mile. And, when we all arrive there together, oh - what stories we will have to tell each other, and what plans we will once again make!

The Putting On and the Taking Off

Tonight we had dinner with some friends. Their kids played with our kids. We laughed and reminisced, and eventually my life-long friend and I ended up at the computer looking at pictures of our children. I held her 10 month old, looking past his chubby fingers as he grabbed my nose and poked my cheeks. We struggled to identify which newborn baby was which in the photos - they were all so other world-ly, so present but so distant.

I remember when my babies were first born. They were so vigorous and alive - constantly moving, as if to explore and prove their vitality, though perhaps only to themselves. Each movement was practiced over and over again. Each limb and digit exercised carefully. They were trying on their bodies, testing out the parameters of this new dimension. It was clear enough that the physical part was new, but they certainly were not.

I often thought of my children as old souls. I guess, really, all babies are. The inability to focus, the cries of frustration, the depth of slumber required to bring rest - they all spoke of the incredible amount of work that it was taking for their little spirits - their little selves - to remain present in this realm. To learn it. To experience it. To stick with it. Oh, how much easier must the world they came from only a short while before have been?

Tonight as I held my friend's ten month old son - who had learned to control his hands, to focus his eyes, to engage his spirit - I realized that he had adapted already to his body and this world. If I listened hard enough, I could still hear the hush of a newborn in his deliberate breathing, but it was clear that he was firmly and almost entirely settled in the here and now, even at only 10 months old.

Her two-year-old ran by, sturdy and sure on her little legs, and smiled in passing. She mumbled something about the mission she was on - probably to get more pizza or another dress up dress. Then my three-year-old hollered from the other room, asking for water. So it continued throughout the evening with our respective four, five, and nine-year-old children. Each of them so much more capable than the last. So much more comfortable and in control in their bodies and minds. So much farther from the squinty-eyed, heaven-drenched newborns they had been.

It takes us years to fully adapt to this realm, this reality, this space and time and place that we live in. Our spirits, so present and developed already at birth, stretching out to learn our bodies, and fill each niche. Eventually, we come to be adults - sure and seamless. We (that is, our spirits, which have been here since the beginning) become empowered by the very bodies that took us so long to learn and control. Our arms and legs, hands and feet, fingers and toes - they no longer hold us back by their stubborn rebellion. But, having filled and fully integrated with them, they now free us to express our true selves.

I marveled at that this evening. Rejoiced at it. Let the miracle of that reality settle in. But, as the photos passed by on the screen I began to look beyond the babies - to the hands and faces of the ones holding those infants. The mothers. The fathers. The grandparents. It was then that I started to think about not only the coupling of our bodies with our spirits, but the uncoupling that comes eventually - the process of taking off and laying aside.

Near the end, the fingers numb and become clumsy. Movements slow. The shuffling gait belies not just an aging of the body, but a yearning of the spirit to move freely, once again. Where we find ourselves forgetting is not so much an inability to recall, but perhaps a disentangling of our forever selves from our temporary selves. As hard as it is to fill the body, how much more so to empty it.

I am in the middle - eyes newly opened to the miracle process that unites body and spirit at birth and babyhood, and just beginning to watch those I've loved for so long start their own process of release, of letting go. I find myself wishing that I could encompass all of those around me - lasso them, embrace them - pulling them also to the middle. That through willing it to be so, the babies might hurry to gain their voices, and those slipping from me might turn back from the journey they are on.

But, it is not meant to be. I would not, really, wish to hasten any child from the freshness of God's presence, though I linger near to catch a glimpse of His light, a breath of His presence when I am with them, and count those moments as a privileged worship before the Lord.

And, as much as I would like to hold on forever to my loved ones, I would not presume that my best forever could rival even the first moment of their joyful freedom on the other side of this realm. So, I will linger near to them as well, and surely also catch a glimpse of His light and a breath of His presence, even as the light and breath of those dear ones fade. And when that final moment comes that they have fully stepped out of their robes of flesh -  that moment, too, I will count as a privileged worship before the Lord, who gives order to all things.