Enough

     I've been home from Haiti for a week, and the words are hard to come by, and the ones that do trickle  through are raw.  The words flow slowly -- painfully -- it's rare for me, and unsettling.  I hesitate to share.  It's not pretty.  I can't make it pretty, I refuse to.

     In Honduras and Ghana, I shared stories, photos and our experiences while we were still there.  Cameroon, the words and stories came more slowly... the words drying up before the stories were finished.  Haiti....  I don't yet know what's about to pour out, I just know it has to.


     I hit the ground running when I arrived home from Haiti, in more ways than one.  I knew.  I knew that if I slowed down, it would hurt.  It helped that I had an overwhelming amount of work to come home to -- a bittersweet blessing, it would help me process the pain of what we have seen and experienced, and what we came home to.  It always hurts, like a heart bruise being leaned into, poked and prodded, pressed down.

     Things are never as they were when we come back from the mission field -- always a cost -- we come back to contrasts we don't know how to process, and an unsettling feeling that comes with our new shift of perspective.  The reality that we as a church aren't doing enough to be the hands and feet -- we're not doing enough to get out of the comfortable and bridge the gap between the rich and the poor in a radical way.  We're not doing enough to answer the call -- the knock comes, the call comes, but we turn away.  Do we assume someone else will pick up the call for the poor?  Are we leaving it to virtual voicemail?  Not just the poor in the standard sense, but everyone in our path in need of the gospel, in need of love, hope, light.  We're too distracted by the shiny and fancy trappings of this world, by preconceptions and attitudes and entitlement, by our own selves... our greed...  by the enemy's deception -- that it's someone else's job, that it won't matter, that it's too hard or that the lost deserve it somehow, it's their own doing, isn't it?  I've heard it before,  the rejection of responsibility... "If they're so poor, why do they keep having kids?  We shouldn't help these people, they do it onto themselves.  They should all be given birth control before we give them any help.  You know, help our own people here at home and let their government deal with their mess."  Appalling.  Unthinkable.

     Yes, the coming home has always been the hardest.  Coming home from Haiti, even more so, for two reasons:

1.  Haiti has the most extreme poverty I've witnessed to date. I've only traveled to three other faraway countries, but it's by far the worst living conditions I've seen in person, and I can't shake the images from my head -- nor would I want to.  I came there to know, to see, to feel, to experience, to walk alongside the hurting, the hungry, the lost, the lonely, the orphans, the widows, the poor, the broken, the sinners.  I tasted poverty.  It covered me in a thick, suffocating layer, seeped down deep into my weary bones.

In each place I had been to, I experienced a quiet but deep sense of community and connection with the poor, the broken, the lost -- this was no different.  Being judged and shunned back home by some of the members of His body, His church, especially this past year in all the changes taking place here back home...  it has hurt, and I don't want to do the same to others, I don't want to give anyone the silent treatment, the cold stare, the judging look, the abandonment, and I've been guilty of it before.  May God have mercy on me. It crushes me to think that someone, somewhere, could have seen this in me and knowing I follow Jesus, assumed this was of Him.  I don't want others to mistake this for Jesus' love.  I don't want to walk away, to turn my back, to give up on anyone.  I don't want that to be what the body of Christ looks like, and I want it to start with me.  Yes, it hurts to be in the trenches, to serve the poorest of the poor.  To see the desperation, to hear it, face it, see it, taste it...  to relate...  It hurt, but I can't look away, I won't look away.  I want to see.  I need to know.  I have to remember...  to memorize their faces is to remember the face of Jesus, and to not grow hardened in this world.  It is the awareness that I am no different.  I am just as broken, just as much a sinner, just as badly in need of a Savior.  We all are.  Those who judge, those who are judged -- equally loved by Him.

2.  The day after I left for Haiti, my fourteen year old son Joshua moved 2800 miles across the country to live with his father.  His father had been living in the basement of our home since October of 2011 when he left our marriage.  After a long period of unemployment, he recently found work out west and made preparations to move.  Joshua decided to follow him there.

     Given my tendency to clean the house before I leave for vacation or leave for any length of time, I was bracing myself for what I'd find in the aftermath of their move.  I walked through the house, rooms echoing emptiness, the furniture gone except a few pieces, each room newly unfamiliar and barren.  Odds and ends littered the floor upstairs, all that was left was in a state of disarray.  It didn't feel like home, at least not the one we knew.

Yet as I looked at the coffee table, the kitchen table and chairs, my mattress set, one dresser...  all that was left...  I remembered the homes I had seen, I remembered Medgina's grandmother lifting her arms in praise to God, shaking with joy while standing in her seemingly empty one bedroom home with a broken roof and no doors, thanking the One who provides... and it confirmed what I knew -- God is enough, and I am blessed.


     Heaps of trash scattered all throughout the basement, junk in every possible inch of space, it felt as though what was once a home was ransacked, leaving only debris in the wake of the storm.  Suffocating.  A somewhat milder version of Hoarders, minus the team hired to make the nightmare disappear.  That's how it felt.  Brandon and I rolled up our sleeves, put our heads down, and worked our way through, room by room, hour by hour, day by day.  Solidarity.  My love poured out for Brandon, stepping up as a man, doing what was right and what needed to be done, taking charge with initiative and drive, and caring for his family.  It took a week to nearly finish two rooms, and we're nowhere near done the basement.  All this time, it threatened to eat away at me; the living conditions, the responsibility, the energy it would take to clear this mess and prepare this house to sell...  how unfair it was that they walked away and left us holding the bag -- dozens of trash bags, and counting...  and then the furnace broke down, then the fridge, then a leak in one pipe, two leaks...  the used-but-new-to-us fridge in the middle of our kitchen, too big to fit the space left empty by the old fridge...  all within the span of a week...  and I wonder if the power is next, the property taxes, one income not enough to sustain... but I fought HARD against it, against being overwhelmed... fought hard to cling to gratitude and joy...  and won...  because....

...   when I closed my eyes, I saw images of raw sewage running openly through Port Aux Princes, of one family standing about a hundred feet from the roadway in the city, adults and children alike, in a heaping, smoldering pile of garbage at a landfill, digging for food and anything else they could salvage for survival...  a scene so brutal to the heart I could not raise my camera at the time, hand frozen, heart broken.  It stayed with me the entire week we were in Haiti, and I  looked for this family on our way back to Port Aux Princes at the end of the week, wanting to reach out to them, bring them rice, words of encouragement, love... Jesus... something... anything... but could not find them.   Still, the image remains, much like the image of Richard permanently etched into the back of my eyelids -- pictures I can't and won't erase...  and I knew that God would be enough to sustain, to strengthen, to nourish, to bless... them, and me.

   
     We guessed her to be about two.... her name was Gwyneth -- she was the youngest of the 29 orphans at the Bethanie Orphanage.  The women gathered all the girls, while the men gathered the boys around them, and we set out to distribute clothes to the children.  Under the dark cover of night, we stood on the second floor balcony, the dimly lit area buzzing with activity, picking through dresses, trying to guess the girl's sizes.  I had intended on helping the women find dresses for the girls, but the moment I saw Gwyneth, so tiny, so young...  my heart convulsed violently and I found myself on the ground near her.  She melted into my lap, quietly sucking on a lollipop while holding another, and the realization that this precious babe, this tiny little child of God, had no earthly parents to love on her and care for her...  it was more than my heart could bear.

I broke down into quiet sobs, crying prayers over her and the 147+million orphans like her in the world.  Millions and I am only holding one.  ONE.  One just as precious to Him as the others in the ocean of children crying out for a family.  Still cradling her in my arms for as long as possible but not wanting to be selfish in holding her, I lifted her gently into Jillian's waiting arms, and as Jillian held her, explained to my precious 11 year old daughter that this sweet girl didn't have a mother or father to love her, to take care of her, to live with her and do life with her... Jillian's heartbreak was written all over her face as she gasped, and looked from me to Gwyneth and then back again...  asking, searching, not understanding.  "These are children from the orphanage, love -- an orphanage is a home for orphans -- orphans are children without parents to love them and look after them.  This little girl does not have parents to call her own."  Her face grimacing painfully, she shook her head and said "But mom, she's so little, she's just a baby, can't we take her home, I've always wanted a sister, I could take care of her?"  Tears poured once more, this time from both of us -- the well seemed bottomless.  "I know, love...  it's not fair.  For any of them.  No matter what age.  There are kids younger than Gwyneth who are all alone.  Babies.  Kids your age.  Older kids.  Orphans.  One hundred and forty seven million of them right now, in this world, today....  orphaned.  We, you and I, the church, the hands and feet, we're failing to respond to the call.  We're failing to be enough.  I know you and I would, in a heartbeat, take her home, but we don't have the ransom, the resources... not at this time...  in His...?"  We stared at each other in quiet disbelief, at a loss for more words, and quietly turned our attention back to Gwyneth and her friends in those precious few moments we had to pour love into them.

I return home to the children's father gone from their home.  Although they're not with their father, Brandon and Jillian are adjusting well to life without their father here... it's a new normal, but they're thriving.  They are loved and cared for and there are phones and Skype and someday, perhaps they will even travel there.  We are all blessed with a Father, and He will always be enough...

(Photo credit:  Tia Kollar)

     While serving, we met a team from one of the purest, Godliest Acts style churches I've yet heard of, who were also in Haiti being the hands and feet.  These Christians from Antioch, Tennessee had, among many other acts of service, locally purchased four tons of rice to distribute to people suffering from hunger.  We asked if we could join in their efforts to distribute the rice and minister to His people.  They welcomed us into their family without hesitation, without question, loving us as we were -- the true and loving body of Christ.  On Wednesday evening, we traveled to a field where a church was being built by their team, where the men had toiled hard under the hot Haitian sun earlier that day, and where there would be children waiting to receive precious rations of rice to bring home to their families.  Several fifty pound sacks of rice had been divided up into small family sized portions, individually bagged for distribution.  The rice was loaded on top of the bus, and as the bus made its way into the field, we immediately realized that the word had spread about the rice, and the entire village had shown up.  As we stepped out of the bus, praying for God to multiply as He had the loaves and fish, people pressed into us, welcoming us with eager anticipation.  The sun was setting, but it wasn't the only darkness that could be felt -- hope and desperation hung dangerously close to one another in the air, an intense and charged spirit weighing heavy on us...  we were just as desperate as these people were -- desperately hopeful that God would multiply the rice and make it enough.  When we realized that it would not be so tonight, we were told to quickly get back into the bus for our own safety -- they knew a riot would break out.  They wanted us safely back into the bus before they were to announce that we would be back tomorrow not just with enough food, but with more than enough.  Joy turned to mourning -- and in an instant, the bus was filled with the sounds of the desperate cries of mothers, angry shouts of men, children screaming and running after our bus as it was being kicked and pushed by a mob of angry, hurting, and desperately hungry people clawing for a shred of hope, trying to reach the bags of rice at the top of the bus.  They were simply hungry.  Hungry for the end of suffering.  Hungry for peace.  Hungry for hope.  Hungry for nourishment.  God had provided more than enough for Tia, Jillian and I through our fundraising, so we offered from God's abundance and provide for 3 or 4 more fifty pound bags of rice to the team to help ensure there would be more than enough for these people the following day.  It wasn't much, but we knew God would make it enough.

Sitting at the table that night at the guest house, in front of a warm plate of food and a cold drink...  it was hard to chew -- to chew through not only the food, but the reality of the multitudes that go hungry when elsewhere, there is more than enough.  Thousands of children die each day from hunger and preventable causes.  Yet God gives more than enough from which we are to bless.


More and more, as I travel to these countries and walk hand in hand, heart in heart with the poor, "rich" loses the hold it once had.  I don't want stuff.  I don't want wealth or riches.  Black Friday makes me want to throw up.  I want only to spend of myself in order to save someone else.  I don't want what the world has to offer -- I want enough.  Simply enough.  For me, for them.


I want enough compassion for everyone, by everyone, everywhere, in every situation.

I want enough understanding.

I want enough awareness.

I want enough love.  Love in action.  Love as a verb.

I want enough service to others, at home, next door, in our communities, churches, throughout the world.

I want enough of us to hear the call.

I want more than enough of us to respond.  Radically.  Urgently.  Lovingly.


And enough mercy and grace for myself as I find my way through this.

"The call of orphan care is not a call to simply "save the orphan". The call of orphan care is to share in the suffering of the orphan. It's to intentionally position yourself, your family, your community, to suffer alongside the orphan. To say, 'Your suffering, is now my suffering. Your story, is now my story. I willingly position myself to suffer alongside you.' "

-- Aaron Ivey, Adopted - The Cost Of Love.  

That seems, to me, to be the very definition of Compassion.  For the orphan, the poor, the sick, the widow, the broken, the sinner, the lost, the lonely...  even the rich --  for all our neighbors.  Compassion.  Love.  Hands and feet.  The true body.  Rather than turn our backs, shun, give the silent treatment, judge, shift the responsibility and the call elsewhere, to someone else, anyone else...  what if we ALL joined in the suffering, the brokenness, and simply loved IN the trenches, simply loved and gave and served and looked and saw and shared and became one in Him until it was enough, even knowing it will never be enough until He returns?


It starts with me.

Missional Home

Home is where the 'hard' is.

With each "You're back!!  How was Africa?", my heart aches, permanently bruised by the experience, and yet longing to lean into that bruise, leaving no room for numbness.  Who among them would understand that it was harder to come back than to be there?  Who would understand that while some of us missed home,   I struggled to miss it at all.

Coming back nearing Christmas has made what was already difficult even more so.

The contrast is what's hard.  Going from extreme poverty that lays heavy on the world like an ashen blanket, to the excess of north american Christmas, skewed and stretched away from it's Holy meaning and origin all under the guise of "giving" being good.  What is considered good in spending 450 billion dollars annually on Christmas in America when a mere 20 billion, just four percent, could provide clean water to everyone in the world, including the more than 20 thousand children who die each day from lack of access to clean water?

If poverty covers the developing world like an ashen blanket, with beauty rising from underneath it all...  does spiritual poverty hides throughout the developed nations like thin air, a stealthy cover deceiving us all into thinking all is well?


Shaun Groves had warned us all -- coming back home from the geographical mission field is where the culture shock begins, when society would want to push you back into the middle ground, the balance, but where our heart cries out in protest, knowing instead that Christ calls on us to not live of the world, but live radically instead.

I wanted it long before I felt the rust tinted and parched soil of Ghana under my feet, my experiences there not quenching, but further creating a deeper thirsting for radical.

Posts like this simultaneously manage to strike a chord and hit a nerve, not because it convicts the already convicted even further, but because as much as I want what He wants, it doesn't take away the bittersweet of seeing what He has given someone else.


A husband who loves and lives like Christ.

Children who lead in matters of faith.

A radically right-side-up Christmas.

A child not born of them.

A full time mission in Africa.



I consider myself a citizen of heaven, away from Home, longing and living to be there.  As such, it was hard for me to understand why going to Ghana felt like I was coming 'home' without ever having been there, and why coming back 'home' from Ghana was much harder than coming back from Honduras last year.

If Home for me is heaven, leaving me perpetually homesick, what is this new feeling of home on earth?

It was as I was leaving for Ghana that it all begin to make sense, but I couldn't yet put it into words.

This morning, I sat down to write, the original topic being clean water, and with each sentence, He was re-writing my words to lead to this.  I know better than to force the words back to my own.  His pen is so much stronger than mine.


I want nothing more than to live completely in the freedom of a radical lifestyle, a life that would seem upside down in this broken world, but would be right side up for His Kingdom.


To give Christmas away.

To follow in His footsteps through the human example of Katie.

To sell belongings and aim for a promotion at work, not because I want or need more money or some empty title, but because it would enable more children and families to be released from poverty or slavery, in His name.

To live against the grain of North American living.

To leave it all behind, yes, even family, pack nothing (or maybe just my camera and my words) and move to a developing nation to be His hands and feet there, living among the world's poor spiritually wealthiest, learning, growing, giving of Him, unable to sleep each night from the sheer joy of being there, where I most feel comfortable in the uncomfortable.


And yet, I've noticed more and more that it's not me holding me back from it all, but Him, and He isn't holding me back as much as He is pushing me forward.  I want to leave it all for Him and sometimes His answer is no, teaching me that living radically is relative, personal, subjective and individual, and that He guides my steps, slowly, carefully.  He's also showing me that right now, the radical for me is in the allowing Him to place me where He wants, and not where the world would expect or understand.

Who determines the balance, us, or Christ?

Eschewing the world more and more so that human voices and influence dim and fade, turning away when the world's voices only add confusion or division, I seek to know what the Word speaks to me, where He leads me in the daily walk of life, trusting in the intimate ways He knows my heart and dances with me in the delicate minefield of my life.

He has shown me that to many, I am already living radically in ways the world can not understand by intentionally choosing to remain in a difficult marriage to an unbeliever whose increasingly convicted heart makes him restless, reckless and cold from discomfort...  an unbeliever for whom I pray for God's daily bread of love each morning as I awake and each night as I lay down.  It's a spiritual battle that leaves me exhausted and in need of mercy and grace daily, with a generous helping of fruit.  Being committed to him because of my commitment to Him is radical even though it shouldn't be, but if we simply only loved those who are easy to love, how radical would that be?  What would set us apart from the rest of the world?

Sometimes, living against the grain is simply parenting radically by choosing not to aim to raise happy children, but focusing instead on leading children to find joy in being responsible, well adjusted, giving and selfless. Teaching them by example that there is treasure in doing the difficult.

Sometimes radical simply means letting go of the church tithing that would offend and enrage your spouse and make him less trusting of church and religion (if possible), and accepting instead that for us, tithing looks different than the traditional giving to the local body of Christ.  God softened my husband's heart to child sponsorship, so rather than tithing to church, this is what God has given us as way to live in the balance.  My tithe to church becomes instead serving weekly with my time and gifts.

It's letting go of the desire to give Christmas away completely, and accepting that He helps me find the balance between having gifts under the tree and choosing instead to give it all up in order to offer gifts of hope elsewhere in the world.

It's coming to terms with the grief of having come to my limits of living simply.

It's giving grace and mercy radically.

It's being radically patient and loving, yet knowing when to walk away.


It's not comparing ourselves to others, and others to ourselves, when God shaped us each with the work of His hands, no two alike, and when we don't see the heart, only He does.


I don't have it all figured out, I don't always live it well.  Sometimes, I fail miserably, but in that failure and brokenness, He continues to grow and shape me.



God alone guides my balance at home between living my faith in ways that bring him to Christ, and living a faith that is also relational rather than divisional. I don't always get it right, in the eyes of the world or in the eyes of God.  Yet, even when I get it right in the eyes of God, the world doesn't understand or see what He sees, doesn't know the heart, convicts -- God, Judge & Jury of the human form.


I used to think of the mission field as leaving my home to go somewhere uncomfortable and hard for a short time, before returning to the comforts of life, the daily living...


I couldn't have been more wrong.

Not only has here become the uncomfortable and the hard daily living, but I've also learned that the mission field isn't simply something that only changes the others whose presence God leads us to enter and remain in, but instead, it is where He places us in the hard corners of the world, where He shapes us by saying "stay here, in the uncomfortable, and learn...  learn to seek only Me, through the people I have provided to you."


Going to Ghana felt like going home because I already knew that the uncomfortable there was comfort by contrast, where the greatest heartbreaks were within reach of hope, inconveniences were welcomed reminders, where redemption was palpable...

Ghana, where for a short while, the joy within could not be contained, bubbling to the surface and breaking into radiant smiles and laughter that originated from the toes and worked their way through the entire body, leaving it breathless...

Ghana, where thoughts of life back 'home' here on earth vanished, knowing all too well what I know too few would understand -- I'd never look back if He gave the call, either to stay there or go Home...  I kept hoping He would...

...  but the call never came, because His call to me was, for the time being, to return back to the missional home.  The missional home -- the hard corner of the world where life is smoothed the hard way, by chisel and sandpaper, where brokenness is more complex, where there is growth through hard eucharisteo... where He doesn't hold me back, but shapes me to depend on Him daily, in the present, in His presence...


Where I am a full time missionary for His kingdom, painfully learning to bridge the gap between where He needs me to be, and where I want to be.

River of Redemption

In the beginning, I ran ahead and skipped down the path, blissfully unaware of the impending weight of my vow. Seems ironic perhaps that the God who warns the world against this choice would have also protected me from His warning and of knowing the weight of the choice, lest I forgo the journey before it even began.

He knew.

Yet here I stand on this path, the years of this journey creeping painstakingly to the halfway mark of my life, the road behind me torn between the picture perfect redemption of God, and the ravaged rubble of human nature. All one needs to do is tilt the angle of perception to see the contrasting views.

You can glance back to gain wisdom, but you must keep walking forward in faith.

His provision is faithfully present at each morning milestone, the mystery of spiritual sustenance that brings with it the daily dawn of hope. It is there for the taking, always enough provided you greet it with gratitude and partake in it with praise.

The ground under my feet is parched and scorched by the heat of the fires that have tested the foundations of faith.

The further in time along the journey, the more the width of the gates narrow at each turn, filtering out a number of travelers in direct proportion to the size of the gates. The smaller the size, the less one can see past the gate. Blessed are they who see through the eyes of peace in Him, they won’t be held back by the difficult passage...

They shall enter further into the... desert?

Yes.

Consider it joy to be here.

The God who promised to lead me to still waters knows that I have watched the river alongside my path dwindle down to a trickle so faint. It is I who needs to be still in order for my ocean of faith to be heard above the roar of voices saying “flee from the drought, flee from the famine lest you perish right here alongside this dying stream, the life sucked out of you.”

The one who brought me here is the one who breathes life into me. Life cannot be sucked out of you but from the enemy.

God has brought me alongside this dying stream for a purpose. He knows that even though my body is resting wearily where He has placed me on the dry shore, my faith is quenched by Living Water, and I hunger only for Him.

He alone is sufficient for me.

No, He has not brought me here to die or to suffer, He has brought me here to refine my faith as in the days of Elijah the prophet.

He has brought me here not to be destroyed by the battle, but to provide for me a front row seat to witness His hand at work, just as He did for Jehosaphat.

In this world of rushing around obstacles with impatience, being content in the stillness and through the trials can seem so foreign and unsettling; uncomfortable, inconvenient. His ways are not our ways.

He has commanded me to be still and believe in what the world cannot see but through the filter of faith that puts God between itself and any circumstance.

The journey here has filtered my eyesight -- my focus is clear.

I am here to stay until He moves me, waiting patiently for God as He prepares the river of redemption He has promised me.

Isaiah 35 ** 1 Kings 17 ** Isaiah 40:28-31 ** James 1:12 ** 2 Chron 20:15-17 ** Joel 2:25

Wrestling The Wind

I felt torn.

As a mother, my heart was created to love, nurture and protect my children., to create a home for them, raise them, teach them, lead them. It's one of the most difficult blessings, but that blessing becomes even more difficult when you're separated from your child.

Imagine for a moment that your child was in a foreign country, away from her family, and you've done all that you can do to bring her home, but the rest is up to someone else. Someone without a mother's heart for this child; someone not in tune to the urgency you feel.

An immigration specialist will be assigned to you to unite you with your child. You learn that there is a shortage on specialists, that they're doing all they can to clear the backlog of cases. Even though that's their job, it brings no comfort to you. In their hands, your child seems to become a statistic, a number among many.

Extreme Heart Makeover: Submit Or Suffocate?

With one single observation, she changed everything.

"How can your husband learn to be the leader and head of the family if you give him no say and no opportunity?"

We should all have a best friend brave enough to speak the truth boldly.

__________________________________________

The truth hurts. I had done it again... I hadn't been respectful of my husband's role as the leader and given him an opportunity to learn to lead, and she was calling me on it. She knew me inside and out.


A few weeks back, I had expressed my concern to her about my need to become more disciplined with my priorities and my time. Balancing family/kids/adoption, church & Bible Study, a full time job, mission work & fundraising, advocacy and writing/photography... it's a challenge many of us face, and one I had been praying about.

So imagine her surprise when I excitedly called her last Thursday to tell her about a ministry opportunity in the Democratic Republic of Congo, in Africa, where we both feel led to work. This organization covered so many interesting opportunities; micro-finance, sponsorship, orphans & widows, education, health care, and so much more. They needed someone bilingual to help create a Canadian chapter of their organization. I understood their vision, loved their Christian foundation, I already had a heart for Africa, I knew how sponsorship worked, and I speak fluently in French and English. Perfect, right? They thought so.


My husband had been away on business for a few days, and I hadn't had much of a chance to talk to him about this opportunity. In the meantime, I decided to keep meeting with the head of this organization to learn more while my husband was away. The more I learned, the better it sounded, and the more my excitement grew.


Until her statement stopped me dead in my tracks.


I'll admit that I felt a little defensive initially. If I talked to my husband about it, would he actually listen? Most of the time, he didn't seem to, so was there much point? Would he really understand? What if he said no? Is this something he'd consult me about if the tables were turned? I'll be honest, getting involved with this organization was something I wanted to do, and I briefly felt somewhat resentful that I had to ask his permission.

The more I prayed about it, the more I realized she was right. My attitude and actions in this did not honor my husband or our marriage. What I needed to do was to submit to his leadership and yet lead by example -- needless to say, it's a very delicate balance that requires an incredible amount of faith and courage for a woman like me.

Ask any abuse victim -- they'll tell you that the word submit is a difficult one for them to swallow; a word that until a few years ago sent chills down my spine. I could die to self for God, for my children, for my friends... but for a man?

I spent the first 18 years of my life controlled by a man determined to destroy me, I was forced to die to self for him until I died on the inside... and that led me to spend most of the next 18 years determined never to trust another man with my life -- my husband included. As you can imagine, that has made for a very difficult marriage. Being under his secular leadership has been very difficult, and my reaction was to attempt to protect myself by keeping him at arm's length and digging my heels in even more. In the end, my determination to not be hurt had managed to hurt me by robbing me of a healthy marriage.


By not submitting to my husband, I was seizing the life out of our marriage, suffocating his potential as a leader. Men need to feel respected and adequate in order to feel loved and wanted, and my actions did the opposite. I felt remorse.

I desperately wanted a husband I could trust to lead me in the ways I needed to be led, but I kept getting in his way. How can I complain about his leadership when I haven't led him in the way I want to be led? When I haven't respected him the way I want to be respected?

When I haven't given him a chance?

Wouldn't he be more responsive to my needs if he knew that I had his best interests at heart too? It had to begin with me, again.

If I want him to be a Godly husband and leader, it starts with me. I need to become a Godly wife in every aspect of my life.

"Change ME, Lord, into the woman you need me to be for him, so that you can change him into the man You need him to be for You."

I knew the "change me" prayer very well. It's been a process I've been walking for the past few years. God has been generous with opportunities to put it into practice, and I recognized this as yet another opportunity. I'm not worthy of the patience He bestows, and yet He richly blesses me... I didn't want to waste this precious lesson.


I called my husband and specifically told him that I wanted to talk to him about this opportunity when he returned home. On the way home from the airport, he honored his word. We talked... and he listened. Really listened. I explained what I knew of the organization, how it worked, what they needed, what our potential roles might be... there was an opportunity for him to do some architectural design work, and for me to work in various roles. I asked him if he had any thoughts, concerns or objections. He agreed to meet with them about the architectural project, and voiced his concern about the investment of time. He pointed out that he already struggled with my commitments to various Christian activities, such as two Bible studies and church on Sundays, and add to that time at the gym, he felt I was away from home quite a bit already and that he would find it difficult for me to spend even more time away from home.


Taking time to pray over our conversation, I began to realize that not only would I need to meet with this organization several times a week, but once it took off, it would require even more of my time.

How much time would that take away from our three children? Would it be fair to our family for me to continue with this commitment? What would become of this commitment once we got the call about our adoption? Would it be fair for the head of this organization to keep investing time in me when I may have to drop everything in a a few weeks/months when we finally get that call?


Thinking back to the conversation I'd had with my best friend a few weeks ago about praying and surrendering my time to God and let Him help me set my priorities, I realized that by speaking to my husband about this, God was helping me answer those prayers.

What would I have missed out on if I had refused to submit?


I approached my husband about it, and explained that although I had a passion for what this organization was doing and that I knew I had a lot to offer, I had made the decision to heed to his leadership and step down as a potential candidate. It was important to me to honor his feelings and respect his concerns about time commitments, and I made sure to let him know that this was a decision made intentionally with him and our family in mind. I needed him to know that he was right, and that I agreed with him. (I may or may not have grinned and told him he might want to have that in writing...) I also explained that I wanted to be careful not to give him a negative impression of Christian mission work, that there were ways to be involved in Christian mission work without it compromising our family relationships. Last but not least, I told him that if I wanted him to be a good leader, if I wanted him to also respect me, I had to be the one to lead by example. It was important to me to communicate all this to him because I wanted him to understand the reasons for my decisions.


It was obvious by his response that he was appreciative of how I had handle this and of my decision. I could tell that he didn't take it lightly, and that he understood how significant a turning point this was.


In the end, God showed me that when I struggle to trust others, I need only to remember to trust Him. When I struggle to submit, I need only to remember that by submitting to my husband, I am submitting to God's plans for my life. I saw evidence once again that leading my husband to become a leader by submitting to him is possible, and the only way I'll lead is by example -- by changing myself so that He can change everything else through me.


Submitting to him had answered my prayer to protect establish priorities and protect the time I was given to take care of those priorities.


Ironically, where submitting once felt suffocating, like a death sentence... it has become the extreme opposite. It has given life to my marriage and liberated me from the chains of my past.


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Extreme Heart Makeover: Career Edition

The conversation on Sunday night was unexpected.

First, he was awake.


Wives, women, you very well understand that having a man awake during conversations just makes things go so much more... mutual. In our marriage, bedtime conversations are rare; he's usually asleep before his body is horizontal. This alone made the conversation unexpected, but it's really the topic that took me by surprise.


What I might have expected (other than snoring, that is) was "let's go somewhere this weekend and do something..." or perhaps "what are your plans for tomorrow?"


Not "I want to go back to school and completely change career fields."


(**cue screeching halt and chirping crickets **)





My husband has been in the architectural engineering field for so long that in many ways, it has become a part of who he is. For years, this identity consumed him and fought for first place in his life. Too much weight was placed on his workplace successes in order to compensate for the lack of control or successes he felt in other areas of his life.



He recalls the years when work was an escape and admits that it was a vicious cycle; life at home was difficult because of his workaholic ways, and the difficulties at home only served to further his devotion to work. It matters not as much what came first, the chicken or the egg, as much as it matters that the cycle has been broken.


When I began to pray for Christ to change me, everything changed, especially our home life.

Gone were his 70 hour work weeks and the identity so intertwined with his profession that one did not know where work ended and life began.

Although he still enjoys his job and takes pride in working hard and being respected in his field, his heart is changing. Where work was once life, life is now lived with family, seeking more meaning, more depth, more truth. Peace was found.



I had held the power to push him away, but when I gave up that power and surrendered to Christ, Christ gave me what I needed to draw him closer -- an extreme heart makeover.




The changes in my heart have changed his heart, and evidence of his heart's softening has been growing over the last few years. Although it has become evident in big ways, such as his desire joining mine in wanting to grow our family through adoption, it's often noted the most in little things, the ordinary miracles. No matter how little, they take me by surprise and aren't taken for granted. Remember the crayons? Or how about the dying moose?


The source of the changes is evident; I am awed by how gently and sweetly Christ is moving his heart. I can't help but wonder if he is aware of what's happening, if he notices the changes in his life, in his heart, and if he knows the difference is Jesus?

Even if he's not aware of the changes, I'm noticing.

Last night's conversation was evidence of that change.

"I'm no longer satisfied working in an environment designed to make someone else rich... there's so much more to life. I want to make a difference, to do something meaningful... I want to do something that helps people."

"I've been thinking about my father, how he grew up with dreams of becoming a pilot. Whether through circumstances or choices, those dreams went unfulfilled... those dreams died when he did. I don't want to follow the same path. Life's too short to waste it doing something that doesn't have meaning. I grew up wanting to be a policeman, and although I'm successful at what I do in the design & engineering field and I've enjoyed my career... more and more, my heart is longing for something else. I think it's time to consider making some changes and following through on those dreams before it's too late."

I've always known about his dreams to join the police force. Truth be told, I had apprehensions all along because I had doubts that his motivation was in the right place. Now, although his dreams are the same dreams he had as a child, his heart has changed his reasons and erased the doubts I had.


He is searching for truth, truth that is stealthily taking a hold of his heart leaving him hungry for more. He wants to make a difference in the life of someone else. He wants meaning and purpose, he wants to help those in need.

Remarkable... remarkable for a man whose response years ago to those in need was "that's not my problem". Especially when it came to helping people in developing countries. "Their government should be helping them, not us. It's not our problem." Finally, something we agreed on -- it isn't our problem...... but it's our opportunity -- our opportunity to help, to be His hands and feet.

He sees things in extremes, in black and white, without middle ground. People who see things only in black and white and extremes are more prone to depression and negativity. In his eyes, if he can't help them all, he won't help at all -- helping just one frustrates him and overwhelms him because rather than appreciating the miracle of helping one, he looks around and only sees the ones not being helped.

Sometimes, the sheer magnitude of problems faced: the lack of clean water in developing countries, 147 million orphans, over 20,000 children dying daily... the overwhelming magnitude stuns him dead in his tracks and stops him from helping. The difference between he and I is that while he sees only problems that are insurmountable and hopeless, I see only God through Whom nothing is impossible or without hope.

Our focus is simply different.

I knew that underneath all of the tough exterior was a big heart, I just didn't know how to help him, how to change the situation, how to reach his heart and rescue it from being buried alive.

The key wasn't in changing him, it was in changing me.

1 Peter 3:1 -- Wives, in the same way submit yourselves to your own husbands so that, if any of them do not believe the word, they may be won over without words by the behavior of their wives.


Surrender gives life to change. The more we surrender to Him, the more we change. The more we change, the more everything around us changes. The more everything around us changes, the more our life is changed all over again.




ALL in His ways, not ours.

ALL in His time, not ours.

How Crayons Can Erase Walls

We have been married almost 17 years, almost half of my lifetime.

Although our relationship began on a foundation of communication, the years that should have made us fluent in each other's language of love have done the opposite. In time, the differences carved a wider and deeper space between us leaving us struggling to regain that space.

That space hurts.

That hurt builds invisible walls.

Rather than to protect, the walls create more hurt, defensiveness, sharp edges...




Like many parents whose time is torn between work, children and other responsibilities, we all too often put our marriage last. We have been deceived into thinking that always putting the children first is best, but how can it be best when what's best for them is to have the living example of two parents who are one with each other, in love, and in tune to each other's hearts?

In an effort to strengthen our relationship and tear down walls, we have begun dating again.

Dating each other, that is.

Change Me Into Salt

Years ago, Clara would pick up her little grandson on Sunday mornings and bring him to church with her. The little boy's parents did not attend church or associate themselves with the church, so for several years, she was the main Christian influence in his life, making sure that he had an opportunity to learn about God. She led him with gentleness but with purpose, leading by example, teaching him to tithe, sharing scriptures, talking, listening, and letting him know that God loved him and longed to know him.

He remembers her very fondly as someone who helped promote peace within the family and who never hesitated to help those in need; a woman of integrity and Godly character. She loved him very much, and cared enough to spend time with him... she was a role model, a positive influence in his early childhood. The salt of the earth.


In his early teens, Clara passed away leaving no one to guide him in his spiritual life. This boy's older cousin stormed in, sized up the boy's life, and decided that he could do a better job than Clara. He'd burst into the boy's home filled with anger, negativity and bitterness, preaching fire and brimstone in the presence of this very impressionable boy. This boy became traumatized by this so-called Christian who claimed to follow God and yet showed no trace of the character of Christ. Years of "you're going to hell, you're a filthy piece of dirt, repent, I'm praying for your soul, you're going to die, you're all going to die, you're listening to the devil's music, you're going straight to hell, do you hear me?" took their toll. He slammed the door shut on his spiritual life, vowing to never speak of God again and to distance himself from those who did.

Through this cousin, that boy saw a whole other side to "Christianity" and swore he'd never become "one of those, you know, Christians... those hate filled, intolerant, holier than thou, judgmental hypocrites." The Christians whose salt had lost its flavor and purpose.

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¹³"You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled by men.

¹⁴"You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. ¹⁵Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. ¹⁶In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven.

In church this morning as part of the 12 week Sermon On The Mount series, our Pastor spoke of the importance of being the salt of the earth. He shared a few characteristic of salt so that we'd understand why Jesus referred to it specifically, but it left me wanting to dig deeper and find out more.

While I wasn't surprised that Jesus didn't use the word salt without purpose and meaning, I was amazed by what I learned! Our bodies contain a specific amount of salt, and any significant imbalance can make us ill or even cause death. Ask someone with Addison's disease, and you'll have a perfect example of the influence of salt in someone's life. What about someone with blood pressure issues... what's the first thing that comes to mind? Watch the salt!


On a spiritual level, the characteristics of salt are also of great importance.

• Being the salt of the earth will help us preserve the Christian walk of others through positive influence and leadership, which enables us to effectively fight against the world's moral decay.

• Salt is a very influential substance that can not easily be separated from its surroundings, effectively changing everything it touches, just as we have the ability to influence our surroundings by our behaviors. Are we the change we want to see in the world?

• Salt leads to purification, cleansing and healing, just as it does in a Christian who has died to self and lives for God.

• Salt adds flavor and seasoning, bringing forth the best of the flavors, just as our lives should bring out the best in others, rather than seeking and bringing forth the worst.

• Salt has the potential to harm... ever pour salt on a slug? Nasty! (Thank you, Elizabeth!) Even in Biblical times, it was used to prevent the growth of crops and thrown on paths to kill weeds. Spiritually, being the salt of the earth helps put to death the sinful nature of man.

• Salt promotes thirst... have you ever tried to eat salty foods without a drink to quench the thirst created by the salt? When we're the salt of the earth and living above reproach, it creates a thirst in ourselves and in others to know the source of our peace, our joy, our salvation, and that thirst should point to Jesus. Jesus will provide for the salt of the earth living waters that will cause them never to thirst again.

Remember the reference to Christians whose salt loses its saltiness and in doing so, loses purpose and usefulness? If we're looking at salt from today's perspective, it's hard to understand what Jesus meant by salt losing its saltiness, since today's salt is chemically engineered and can not lose its qualities. In Biblical times, salt was mined from cliffs that bordered the Dead Sea or evaporated from the Dead Sea itself -- it was a very different substance than it is today. When ancient salt became exposed to the elements or came in contact with the earth, it lost its saltiness.

Ironically, that's how Christians lose saltiness too, by becoming one with the world rather than becoming one with the source of the salt -- Jesus.

Even though salt had the potential to be very valuable, salt that lost its saltiness was completely useless and either thrown away or used underfoot as gravel. I'm trying to imagine God looking at my life, and finding that my salt has lost it's saltiness and that my Christian life has therefore become useless to Him. Please, Jesus... let it not be so.

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I don't know what became of that boy's cousin, but I know what became of Clara's grandson.

He grew up to become my husband.

The damage that was done by this "well meaning cousin" has deeply affected our marriage. For years Terry felt threatened by my faith and rebelled against it, still traumatized by the character of this cousin, and fearful that I would become "one of those, you know, Christians... those hate filled, intolerant, holier than thou, judgmental hypocrites." I pray I never have that kind of impact and influence on anyone, and that this is never said of me.


If Clara was still alive today, I would have appreciated the opportunity to thank her for the seed she planted years ago.

"Train up a child in the way he should go,
Even when he is old he will not depart from it."
Proverbs 22:6

She trained him up.

Her priceless gift is what gives me hope that her influence is still deeply rooted somewhere under the layers of pain, deeply rooted enough that his faith will come back to life with just the right amount of salt. Along with her gift, I wonder... I pray for my children's future spouses... did she pray for the woman that little boy would grow up to marry? Did Clara, years before I even met Terry, pray for me?


More than ever, it has become all too real to me how important it is to be focused on the influence we have on others, to be focused on becoming Christ like, letting go of the anger, bitterness, hostility and intolerance, and clothing ourselves with patience, compassion, humility, forgiveness, love, and joy.

We may never know in this lifetime the difference it will make in someone's life and in His kingdom.

International Powerhouse of Prayer

When I set out to travel to Honduras with Compassion, my perception was that it would simply be focused on working with the kids and learning from the work Compassion does, in order to come back and work more effectively as an advocate.

Regardless of my perceptions, my hand was completely open to whatever experiences God had in mind for me. It was my intention to let Him take the lead.


I just never imagined that beyond the kids, He had something very specific in mind that kept repeating itself throughout the week.



The first project we visited, we met Wilson and his family. His mom is a single mom, raising two children alone. My heart went out to her. I learned on the first outing that it was very common for men in Honduras to leave their families because of the extreme conditions they live in, and the environment in which they've been raised. What will it mean for the next generation of families? Meeting Wilson's mom left an imprint on my heart. Although I can't relate to raising children on my own, I can certainly relate to being the sole spiritual head of the household.




The second project we visited, we met Isabel, whose husband is not a believer, and who is also left to be the spiritual head of the household. I was so grateful that her husband is working and supporting his family, his children, but I'll never forget the look on her face as she shared her deepest, most heartfelt prayer... for her husband to share her faith.

I recognize that look... it mirrors mine. That's when it hit home... I could really connect with these women, and it was only the beginning. God wasn't finished yet.



When we met Luis, the Leadership Development Student, we learned that he was raised by a single mom, and that it had really impacted him to grow up without a father figure in his life. The stories from earlier in the week repeated themselves once more... His mom also ended up as the spiritual head of the household. Through sponsorship and great leadership in his environment, Luis grew up to be a phenomenal young man of God who is now a leader in his family, his church, his community, and who lives a life by example... it was through Luis' testimony that God led my mom and I to look for a little boy to sponsor, so that we could encourage him to grow up against the grain in Honduras, against the cultural norm for men to have children and leave, against the norm for men to be absent as spiritual heads of their households.


Who would lead my husband to be the spiritual head of our household?


On Thursday, our last project visit day, God had another message waiting for me. My team was in charge of serving lunch to the children. As we finished, I wandered over to watch the boys play soccer. Somehow, even though my hearing is poor, I heard Kayla call out to me to come join her in setting up a beauty shop again, to paint the girls' nails. This was unusual in that we normally set out to follow along to where ever God lead us to go. I would soon find out that God was doing just that, through Kayla. I wasn't sure she was speaking to me, but she kept motioning for me to come over, so I wandered over and jumped in.

I met some great little girls, had fun painting their nails and butchering my Spanish a little in an attempt to get to know them. It was a ton of fun. One girl, Jennifer, spoke both English and Spanish, which was quite a surprise. She became our impromptu translator. She sat with Kayla first, and they struck up a conversation.




Then, one of the tutors, Gloria, came in to see what we were up to. She sat with Kayla, who painted her nails. While painting her nails, Kayla noticed Gloria's wedding ring, and via Jennifer, who translated for Kayla and Gloria, Kayla learned a bit about Gloria's story.



The more I heard of Gloria's story, the harder it became to focus on the kids who were sitting across from me, which made me feel conflicted until I heard Kayla tell Gloria that she had to sit with me and talk with me... Kayla knew about my husband, and told me I simply *had* to hear this woman's testimony.


So as Jennifer translated for us, I listened as Gloria's story unfolded. She had been married 33 years to her husband. The first half of her marriage had been heartbreaking and difficult. Her husband was a non believer for the first fifteen years of their marriage, as well as an alcoholic.

He refused to allow her to go to church. He threatened to lock her out of the house if she went... that didn't stop this woman. She'd return from church to find him in a drunken rage, and find herself locked out of their home for the remainder of the day. Week after week, undeterred, she went to church to worship the God she believed would deliver her from this difficult situation, the God who would restore her marriage to the man she loved.

That hit me hard... years ago, when my husband was unsupportive of my desire to attend church, I faced a choice between keeping the peace at home and living my life for God. More often than not, I chose peace, I chose to stay home. That has never hurt as intensely as it did sitting beside this woman, a real life Proverbs 31 Godly woman who let nothing stand between her and God, not even her husband's threats. I hung my head in shame. Oh, how much I stood to learn from her, and this was only the beginning.

There was more.

Her husband would come home from a night of drinking, and pass out cold in a drunken stupor... and rather than get angry and bitter, she would stand over him in prayer, believing that God would redeem the situation, heal her husband of alcoholism, restore her marriage, and renew his faith.

As she spoke, these words repeated themselves relentlessly in my mind... "This woman, stood over her drunken husband, and prayed over him while he was passed out cold."

I have prayed for my husband, but have I prayed for him with the passion she prayed for her husband? Have I prayed for my husband not only with that much passion, but with that much strength, that much faith... that much love?





Time and time again this past year, I have heard women tell me that my faith was strong, that my Christian life inspired them.... that they had learned from me. In that room, though, I was brought to my knees. I was not worthy to be in her presence, yet Lord had shown me mercy and brought me there. It was in that room that I realized all over again how far I have yet to go, how much I have yet to learn. I knew I was in the presence of someone God had sent to speak straight to my heart.


The visual of this woman standing over her husband in prayer was so powerful, so strong, that I almost missed the answer to those prayers that had captivated my heart.


In her 16th year of marriage, her husband stopped drinking completely and started coming to church with her.


The reverent silence in the room was palpable. God had answered her prayers, beyond measure.




She broke the silence first, and asked how long I had been married.


Fifteen years.


She paused, took a breath, grabbed my hand, squeezed it, and said "Next year. You will see... keep praying, pray over him as he sleeps... pray over him as he sleeps. Next year will be your year."


I couldn't help but believe her. I believe God spoke through this woman. There was no room for doubt.


My hope for my marriage has greatly increased in the last two years. I explained to Gloria the changes that had taken place in recent years, my prayers for God to change me into who He needed me to be, to completely break me and rebuild me for my marriage's sake. I had hope... but she increased my hope. She restored my hope, renewed it, rekindled it... set it on fire.


She became quite attached to me, and encouraged me to share more of my personal story, more of what had made my faith what it is today... so while the world blurred out of focus around around us, time stood still in that little classroom as I shared with her. She was overwhelmed with emotion by my testimony, but I told her that it was hers that had overwhelmed me, inspired me and taught me to press on, to increase my faith, to aim higher, work harder, hope for more.

She showed me all over again that no matter where we are in our faith, God sends us those who sharpen us, as iron sharpens iron. He knows just who to send for where we are in our journey. Sometimes, He has to lead us halfway across the world to cross our paths with that one person.

“As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another” (Proverbs 27:17)

I saw her throughout the rest of my time at the project that day. She memorized my name, took some photos of me, of us, and throughout the afternoon at the project, everywhere I went, there she was. She even walked with me to the home our team was visiting that afternoon, and insisted on holding my hand. When it was time to say goodbye, she made me promise that when (not if) my husband accepted Christ, to please contact her and let her know her prayers had been answered. Until then, she would continue to stand in prayer.




I know without a doubt that in a little Honduran village, a beautiful woman with a heart for God knows my name, knows my story, and is standing in prayer for me as I sleep beside my husband tonight, believing that God WILL restore, renew, and redeem... believing that my prayers WILL be answered.


All week, we've heard about the children praying to receive letters from their sponsors, that those letters would be an answer to their prayers. There is one letter being prayed for right now, not by a child, but by an international powerhouse of prayer named Gloria, who believes that next year, she will receive a letter telling her that her prayers have been answered.

I have every intention on sending that letter to her.

“Let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds.” Hebrews 10:24

A Vinedresser's "To Do" List

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On the way to church this morning, the first church service of 2010, I was reflecting on a post I had recently made on my family blog about wanting what God wants, leaving the changes up to Him.

One of the reasons I feel that way is because there is so much work to be done in me for Him, so much fire needed to refine me into His image... I can't work on every single one of them at once, but He can... I can't begin to choose which ones to work on, but He can. He knows His vineyard, He alone breathed life into it, and the harvest is His.

Then, in church, this scripture was shared...

Many, O LORD my God, are the wonders you have done. The things you planned for us no one can recount to you; were I to speak and tell of them, they would be too many to declare.
Psalm 40:5 - NIV

It took my breath away...

After the sermon, as everyone was mingling and socializing, I finished reading the rest of the scriptures that had been shared during the sermon, including this one. The following words, along with the words in Psalm 40:5, speak of where my heart is. It's not that there isn't room for improvement, it's that there is so much need for improvement, such a need for a Silversmith's refiner's fire, such a need for a Vinedresser... it's too important a task, too overwhelming a task to try to choose what He would want for me.

For troubles without number surround me; my sins have overtaken me, and I cannot see. They are more than the hairs of my head, and my heart fails within me.
Psalm 40:12 - NIV

I can't imagine being in more capable hands, and I can't imagine how busy He is going to be... but I can already imagine how willing I am... because I am already there.

The pruning won't be easy... but God cares more about my character than about how comfortable I am... and the way I see it, I'm comfortable with being uncomfortable -- I am confident that the end results will be a fruitful spiritual harvest for His Kingdom.



Change me, Lord...

I am clay in Your hands...

Silver held carefully above the flame...

The vine in Your vineyard.



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Spiritual Harvest

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It's everywhere. It's almost inescapable. On Twitter, at work, on Facebook, at home, on Blogs, and in the news... it's everywhere. That three word phrase as the old year fades and the new one awakens... no, not "Happy New Year" -- that's another post entirely -- but "New Year Resolutions". Thoughts on this have been swirling around like a snowstorm in my heart these past few days, and the storm is slowly beginning to settle, forming each snowflake into words that describe how I am feeling...

I don't want to be the one to decide what to change. If God has taught me anything this year (and He has, beyond measure), it is that I couldn't begin to dream or imagine the depth of what He wants for our lives. The depth of what He can do when we move out of His way and surrender to Him, and trust Him to change US.

^"Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us."
-- Ephesians 3:20

I don't want a new year resolution... I don't want a new year, I want to be made new in Him daily... a daily dying to self.

I want what He wants.

He wants me to attach myself to His son, the True Vine, and receive life from Him. He wants my life to become intertwined with the Vine so deeply that the lines are blurred as to where one ends, and one begins. He wants that Vine sustaining my life completely. He wants my life to bear fruit for His kingdom, for His spiritual harvest.

He desires for me to surrender into His hands, to trust Him as the Vinedresser. The Vinedresser knows me intimately, knows which of my branches will not bear fruit, and knows when and how to prune those branches. No one does this with more love and more perfect timing than the One who created the branches, the one whose Son is the Vine. The One the fruits will bring glory to. The One for whom the harvest is for.

Not only does a branch not bear fruit when it stands by itself, unconnected to the vine, the branch can not bear the fruit of faith unless we form a relationship with the Vine and the Vinedresser. If I am not connected to the vine, then my branch, my life, my faith... will not grow. The wood of my branch will become worthless, no amount of pruning, watering, and tender loving care will make it whole again... without Him, I become nothing.

"I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing."
John 15:5

I want and need His guidance, His tough love, His discipline, His pruning... I want to continue to surrender in infinite obedience to the Vinedresser for my life to become fruitful, and in order not to grow astray.


I am leaving the changes completely up to Him. I am at His mercy, and I am excited to see what He will do. I dare Him to surprise me... I have a feeling that He is going to blow.my.socks.off.

If nothing else, what an amazing grape juice my life will make...

Change me, Lord, into the branch that bears sweet fruit for your spiritual harvest.

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