The Envelope Story

Surprising, humbling and downright AMAZING, this story is probably one of the most incredible of God's miraculous provision of finances in my life. Just when I thought that "living by faith" (specifically in the realm of money) was relegated solely to my support-raising lifestyle on the mission field, God up and provides in a shocking way three weeks AFTER I officially transitioned off the field and back into life in the States.

For interest's sake, I'm leaving this story in it's original format--a letter to a friend written this exact time last year. Be encouraged--stuff like this DOES happen! (And apparently not JUST to missionaries, either...) ;)


While we are on the subject of provision, let me tell you a story. My sister is the only other one who knows this because it just happened...but, like your story, it totally shows the awesome faithfulness of God to provide for our needs (in the craziest ways!). So, as you know, I WAS doing the missionary thing, but am now back here in the States. I've been back since May, actually. Stayed with the rents for two months, as the Lord had clearly told me that this spring/summer was a season for me and my fam to get closer and get some healing (remind me to tell you about the awesomeness of THAT sometime soon...).

Anyways, in July, I traveled to different states to see college friends I haven't seen in years, as well as my bro/sis in law...and my 16 month old niece whom I hadn't even met yet! [In August, all my plans shifted and I suddenly felt led to stay in the States instead of returning to Australia. I wasn't preparing for this rapid change in circumstances and thus didn't have a job/apartment/anything lined up in the States. Having absolutely nothing, however, seems to be the perfect position to depend on God].

So, that's how I ended up on my friend's couch, very gratefully accepting her hospitality (I did NOT think the "getting a new job process" would take so long!). All of that to say, I haven't got a paycheck in a very long time! But from my time as a missionary, I have SO many stories of trusting God for finances when I had nada and then suddenly receiving thousands of dollars in a matter of days (just to name one example), so I continue to trust that He will take care of me. And God knows me so well because I love surprises, but I'm really difficult to surprise (My creative brain comes up with myriads of possible situations/expectations for everything!). But if anyone can surprise me, He can.

And He did..yet again!...two weeks ago:

So, my friend Amy took me with her to a church I had never been to before. Decent size...maybe 500 or so. During worship, one of the pastors got up and said "Someone just handed me an envelope with money in it. They felt like God wanted to give this to someone who had no money...like they couldn't fill up their car with gas, or go get food. So, if that's you, come see me after church."

 Immediately, I felt this little Holy Spirit nudge that that person WAS me! It was weird--it wasn't like a selfish "Name it and Claim it" kind of thing AT ALL. Just a simple little peace like "That money is for you..."

But I felt really weird about it because this place wasn't even my church. Could I really go up there and ask for that money? Armed with such nervous thoughts, I didn't say/do anything about the envelope--I just did the post-church "fellowship thing" and got to talking with my friend's friends for nearly an hour. (Good times, really great connections...).

Just before we left, though,  I casually mentioned to Amy that I felt it was ME who the pastor was talking about with the money. Being the bold woman that she is, Amy immediately grabbed me by the arm and dragged me over to see the pastor! (Yikes! Better hope I heard God right!).

Now, by this time, it had been like 45 minutes since church ended. Almost everyone was gone. We both kinda figured that someone had taken the money at that point, but decided at least to go say hi to the pastor. Amy introduced me and we chatted away about missions and my recent work on the field. I started to feel awkward about bringing up the thing about the money (after all, it was probably already taken...), so I almost left it. But at the last minute, Amy (in her very direct and take-charge kind of way) asked the pastor about it. Had someone already taken it?

"Oh, yeah. Here..." the pastor said, and handed me the envelope. "Oh, and someone else came up and added more money to it too..."

WHAT??? I was just praising God and so stoked that I immediately went to call my sister ("Linda, Even though I'm not in missions anymore, God is still providing for me! He knows what I need!").

She and other friends I shared that story with thought it was very cool, yet the story doesn't end there. It gets infinitely cooler and even more unbelievable.

Fast forward to three days ago [three weeks after I got the envelope] and I suddenly had a major revelation about the money...

I told myself the day I got it that I didn't really want to spend it if I didn't have to. Although I didn't have groceries or gas, I was determined to walk everywhere I needed to and feast solely on cereal. I really wanted to save that money for the Cali move [I felt led to make sometime in the near future]. Unfortunately, though, there were certain things I had to buy, so I ended up dipping into it like three times for little things. On that third time, however, I noticed something strange...

Well, I was 100% positive that from the pulpit, the pastor said that the envelope had $100 in it. And when the other person came up to add more money, that he said that extra amount was like $45. And I was totally happy with that. As I said, I pretty much had nothing to live on, so to be even $145 richer was TERRIFIC! So, I just took their word for it and I didn't even count the money when I got it. I just kept it in the envelope in a safe place.

But it seemed weird to me that the envelope was like really thick. I had seen a lot of singles and $5's in there, so I just chalked it up to the fact that it was $145 worth of small bills. But three days ago, something made me stop and actually go COUNT the money in the envelope. I began to see some $20's. A LOT of $20's, in fact.

Hmmmmm....

So, I counted the money and I did NOT have $145. Taking into account that I had already taken out about $40 for random expenses, I deduced that there had been about $750 in the envelope!!!!! I had no idea!

With tears in my eyes, I just grabbed my guitar and starting singing worship. What else could I do? It was absolutely incredible...


That was exactly one year ago today that I wrote this story to my friend. Turns out that money DID help finance my move to Nor Cal--the direction I felt led to go (on faith!) as a next step after Australia. That little envelope, donated by gracious believers who didn't even know who the recipient would be, allowed me to be able to transition and pay my bills here in Cali until the Lord provided me with the amazing job that I have now.

I later wrote a thank you letter to that church, so grateful for those amazing strangers who obediently followed God's leading to give away that money. Little did THEY know where their money would go and the multiplicative influence that it would have through blessing a person who could in turn bless so many others.

I don't take that envelope story lightly. Even now as I recall it, it compels me to consider and be challenged daily by what I can give away (financially, relationally, etc) to strangers in need. I don't need to SEE the recipient of the church benevolent offering or that special gift to a foreign mission to trust that gift will accomplish what it was meant to. I have to simply believe that if God led me to give, God will get those funds to the very people and purposes that need them most.

Someday, though, I hope I DO get to hear those stories. God's power is too incredible to be kept under wraps (or sealed in an envelope, as it were...) :)

Open Doors in India: Part Two

*For the first part of this post, click here

A Person of Peace

Less than five minutes after leaving our hotel and taking to the streets, we were surrounded by swarms of people. Young people who spoke English initiated conversation, while others simply stared. One young man pointed us in the direction of a friend’s shop and we decided to go. Coming to the end of the road, however, we stumbled upon an even more curious--the city’s prominent mosque. While the men went inside, the three of us women stayed outside and prayed (silently, as we were already attracting dozens of eyes to our fair-skin-foreignness).

Fifteen minutes passed and then, quite unexpectedly, we were summoned to come into the mosque. What??!! Women in the mosque? Absolutely unheard of for such a conservative Muslim culture in India! Talk about open doors!

After taking off our shoes, we greeted four Muslim men who had befriended the men in our group just minutes before. Three of the men were young leaders-in-training of the mosque (dressed very conservatively) and one was a devout Muslim studying to be a doctor. The leader of our group connected with this med student right away. In no time at all, it had become clear that this man was our “person of peace.”

Being educated and able to speak English with the unexpected foreign guests, this man seemed quite well-respected both within the city and the mosque itself. Such was the favor upon him that we received favor from the “mosque interns” (forgive me, as I don’t speak Urdu to know the specific term for the other men). These men not only allowed us into the mosque, but invited us to go on the roof in order to see the entire city.

Climbing up several flights of narrow stairs, it took me a few moments to process everything that was happening. “I’ve never been up here,” our med student friend told us as we were making our way up to the top. Clearly, this is a rarity for anyone in the city, let alone foreigners. I knew this was an incredibly significant moment....

When the stairs opened up to the roof, the sight nearly took my breath away. We were, no doubt, at the highest point of the city--able to see 360 degrees all around us for miles. We were sent to scout out the land, and a half hour after our arrival, we ended up here. I silently mouthed “Wow!” to one of my teammates--she herself having tears in her eyes. There were no words for this moment…
Back in our hotel room that night, I simply wrote one sentence in my journal about the experience.

“They took us to the high places…“

Having done dozens of prayer walks of strategic locations around the globe, I knew the Biblical significance of such an act. In some places in Scripture, the high places symbolize the location of idolotrous worship to false gods. In going to such a location to pray, in the name of Jesus, we are able to pray for God's power to rise up against such things (Ephesians 6:12).

Yet conversely, when I think of high places, I consider the power of God to show Himself in a powerful way. How many times do we read of mountaintops in Scripture? Moses went up on Mount Sinai to experience God and intercede for his people below. Jesus brought his closest friends to a mountain to watch him transfigured, beholding his Glory in a way they had never seen before. When we go to the high places, there is inexplicable stirring and excitement within us. We sense that God is about to do something big…

Praying in high places also allows us to have a bigger picture perspective of the area. We see things that cannot be seen on the ground alone. Standing above everything else, it seemed a symbolic act of Christ’s supremacy over this place, and the authority we had as believers to go and share the good news of Jesus’ love and incredible sacrifice for them.

So, we stood there on the roof, silently praying as the Muslim men talked to our team leader. It was a powerful moment of beauty and redemption, knowing that even here, the top of a Muslim mosque, the Lord was powerfully present through his Spirit residing inside us. He had indeed led us here. No logical explanation could explain the favor we had…

As for the rest of the story, this man we had met, our “person of peace,” spent the next two and a half days with us--taking us around the city and to the nearby villages, serving as both our translator and our guide. He was the source of much information about the land and the people of the city. This well-respected man introduced us to key Muslim leaders in the area, as well as other well-respected members of the community, including doctors and prominent businessmen. We broke bread with new friends when the sun went down (this was all during Ramadan) and learned more about this new city than we ever thought we would.
When we parted ways with our friend, all of us were still reeling in shock.

Did God really just do that?

 

Wow...


Humble Labourers

 

A Christian worker who lives in India said to us just before we went home: “The word pioneer comes from the word peon or pawn. Like in a game of chess, it’s just a small piece, but it’s the one who goes first.”

As I sat down to write this post, I Googled the root of the word “Pioneer.” What I found was this…

Pioneer is a word with a complex military etymology. It has the same Latin root as peon, meaning a “humble labourer.”

I had never thought of it that way. When you pioneer or pave the way for something new, your job is simply a “humble labourer.” This experience so powerfully proved to me that it was God’s power at work in the midst of our own inability and weakness. We stepped into that city with no translator, guide or plan, just prayers to a God we were convinced would lead us exactly where He wanted us to go.

And He did…

Please pray for this city in Northern India. Pray that the Lord would send laborers to this place of great need. People of peace are there--they are the “grapes” we are bringing back to prove that there is much hope for this land (Numbers 13:27). There are obstacles to be overcome, for sure, but it is clear that this place is ripe and ready for those whom the Lord sends.

"...therefore pray earnestly to the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.”

Matthew 9:38

1. Google reference: 
http://www.answers.com/topic/pioneer#ixzz24g0nhA40　
　

Open Doors in India: Part One

Pioneer (pī'ə-nîr')
n. One who ventures into unknown or unclaimed territory to settle. A person instrumental in the growth of something, especially in its early stages: v.tr. To open up (an area) or prepare (a way)

Paving The Way

Last week, I returned from a two week trip to India. Prior to this (my eighth outreach trip), I thought I had been well-versed in pioneering--almost always having been part of the “first“ team to serve newly birthed ministries in several different nations. Pioneering has always been a passion--yet, this trip was the first time ever for me to be part of something that truly WAS the “first time ever." For anyone...

Not knowing what this trip to India would bring forth (an “agenda-less” outreach…a completely foreign concept to little-miss-planner-me), our team went in with prayers and came back with stories. The most amazing of the stories was the opportunity to “Joshua and Caleb- it” a new city where there was absolutely no missionary presence(to our knowledge). After spending a few days encouraging the workers of a relatively new ministry a few hours away, our little team of five was sent out to a new city to “scout out the land” for future possibilities.

Great Expectations

“Pray with expectation“ is my big revelation lately. As Henry Blackaby reminds in his incredible book “Experiencing God,” we may be praying for God to do signficant things in/through us, but often times, we fail to connect our prayers with the changing circumstances in our lives. The fact is, God IS moving--all around us, all the time. A popular YWAM adage reminds me of this “We should look for answers to our prayers in the newspaper.” A radical thought? Hardly! God is a God of big things--and with believers all over the world sending up prayers for God to move, we better believe that He IS at work, changing and transforming people, communities and cultures for His glory.

I stongly believe that prayer is not merely for my benefit alone, but that faithful petitions are indeed heard and answered by Almighty God. We pray and He responds. Oh, that we can only open our eyes to see His work--and believe that the change in circumstances is more than mere coincidence! There is no such thing…
　
Not Knowing

"It was by faith that Abraham obeyed when God called him to leave home and go to another land that God would give him as his inheritance. He went without knowing where he was going." -Hebrews 11:8

We had only two days in this particular location. Our mission? To see what God would have us see in this predominately Muslim city in Northern India. We were sent to be the eyes for a missions organization hoping to pioneer a new work to reach these unreached people. Our ministry contact in India had never even been to this city before--and as we were there, it became apparent that this place didn't really receive ANY foreign visitors. Thus, there was much unknown about this city, especially from an outreach perspective. So, we were sent to get a report of as much information as we could. What were the people like? The geography? The subculture? These questions would be quite a task to answer, considering we had NO contacts in the city and NO translator. Clearly, there could be no glory to anyone but God in this situation. HE would have to bring to us the information we needed to know and the people we needed to meet. We were totally dependent on Him to come through and accomplish His work…

Stares of Shock and Hope

Having arrived in our unknown city after a four-hour taxi ride (with a driver who didn’t speak English), we checked into a hotel room we booked online (no English at the hotel either)…and we sat down to pray.

“By faith” was our schedule and plan. All we knew was that we had been sent to this city with a mission and we believed God led us to this particular location because He has a heart to see these people reached. We prayed for His leading--that He would lead us to the exact places we needed to go and the specific people we needed to meet. No coincidences…we trusted that his Spirit inside us would lead the way.

“God, lead us to people of peace,” our leader prayed. In the past several months, I have been increasingly intrigued by this fascinating concept of “persons of peace” that we see in Scripture. The reference is to Jesus sending 72 disciples, two by two, on the first New Testament "mission trip." He tells them to go into various cities and identity people of peace in their designated locations--those who welcome the disciples with open hearts and hospitality, not hostility. Stick with those people, Jesus said. Fellowship with them and invest in those who open up and share their lives and homes. We trust that these are the people whom God has already prepared to receive what the disciples (back in the NT, or us today) were sent to share with them.

Prayed up, we then went out to see what God would have us see. Our first observation? It was quite clear that this city does NOT get foreign tourists. I’ve been to about 20 nations (including India, five years ago) and I’ve never been stared at so much! I’m not exaggerating to say that everywhere we went in this (very crowded!) city, the ENTIRE street would turn to look at us. So much for subtlety…

But, as one of my teammates pointed out, maybe “blending in” and staying on the DL wasn’t God’s goal for us.

“It’s like when they saw us, they had hope,” she said. When our eyes met with those in this city, you could no doubt see their shock (“Why are you here??”) and curiosity, but deeper than that, you could see their excitement. Their city, that I’m certain they thought was completely unknown to the Western world, suddenly became significant. There was no tourist sights that would draw anyone to this place. The only explanation for our being there was to reach out to the people. We had travelled across the world just to see THEM. If that was me, I know that I would feel incredibly loved…and hopeful at such a sight.

Thus, the constant stares were accompanied with smiles. We were welcomed everywhere we went, people surprised, but excited, to meet us. To our team, this was an amazing sign of the atmosphere in the city. God had truly paved the way for us. He had softened peoples hearts to receive us, and clearly their love and warmth was an indication of His pre-emptive work in them. They were ready...


To be continued

A Multiplication Lesson

In the Old Testament, it was manna...

In the New Testament, it was loaves and fishes...

This weekend, it was spaghetti and meatballs....


Allow me to introduce you to Creator God: The Ultimate Chef. He is always ready and filling, satisfying the hungry tummies of his kids with good eats--at the very moment they need it most.

If you've ever been in a hosting or event planning situation, you know that if the food runs out, you have a CRISIS on your hands. Hunger pangs + disappointment of guests x Your own personal embarrassment + irritability stemmed from hunger = A hospitality nightmare. Oh...and it's 100X worse if such an experience takes place in a culture that places the highest importance on the giving/receiving of hospitality and the consequence of "losing face" (experiencing shame on your family) as a result of your mistakes.

Such was the disastrous possibility unfolding before my eyes on Friday night...

First, a bit of context:

Late in June, my boss came over to my desk one day, elated for a reason yet to be unveiled. His own excitement over the news he was about to tell me was contagious. I was instantly curious, Why the big smile?

"They want us to serve the Iftar meal at SALAM center," he told me.

Quickly, I pieced together the meaning and implications of this. My boss briefly threw this out as an idea some time ago--in a visionary context of future ministry possibility ("Wouldn't it be cool if...?"). As the leader of our church's Global Outreach department, his heart was to reach out to people of all nations (and you wouldn't think it, but Sacramento is an amazingly strategic place to do that...our city being one of the most ethnically diverse in America). My boss also has a special place in his heart for reaching out to Muslims--people whom, as a whole, are often misunderstood, feared and (tragically) rejected by many Christian groups.

Over the course of the six-month Global Pipeline internship that I just completed in June, our GP team had the opportunity to visit the SALAM center (a prominent Muslim mosque in our city) a number of times. NOT because we were unsure of our own beliefs or falling into syncretism (as some bloggers/naysayers might mistakenly assume), but because we genuinely wanted to learn more about Islamic beliefs so we could better relate to our Muslim neighbors. We wanted to build friendships with and reach out to these beautiful people whom God loves. We wanted to see the vision of Ephesians 2:14 become a reality:

"For he himself is our peace, who has made the two one and has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility"

What better way to express this peace, demonstrating the acceptance and love of Jesus to all nations than to feed them? There's just something powerful about sharing a meal together that breaks down defenses and ushers in LIFE, good conversation and (dare I say?) fun. After all, everyone loves a party...

The Muslim month of Ramadan provided the prime reason/season for a party. After all, in the Muslim calendar, Ramadan is considered the holiest month--a special season devoted to prayer and fasting. Although the fast lasts all day for 30 days, the feasting begins at sundown. The fast is broken with family and friends, as everyone comes together to eat as the day comes to a close. This "breaking fast" meal is called the Iftar and the SALAM center was hosting three such meals every weekend during Ramadan this year.

When the leaders of SALAM accepted our invitation to serve the Iftar meal for this past weekend (my boss had approached these leaders with the idea shortly after he and I discussed it), we knew it was a very big deal. And not just for us, but for them, as it took away a great weight of responsibility off their own shoulders to provide a meal en masse at the mosque. We would cook for 200 or so of our Muslim neighbors (plus however many volunteers we brought from our own church)--cooking all the food, serving it and eating with them. What an exciting opportunity we were given to truly serve our neighbors!

It was an event I'd been anticipating since last month, and solidly devoting (a ridiculous amount of) my work hours to for the past week (being both the assistant for Global Outreach and the coordinator of church events). From Monday to Friday, as I juggled all the last-minute logistics of event PR, volunteer scheduling and food prep/menu organization, one nagging thought kept re-playing again and again in my mind: What if we run out of food??!!

Of course, when I voiced this concern to my boss, he smiled and shrugged it off, reminding me of a little boys lunch feeding thousands and giant barrels of water turned into wine at a simple word.

"God will provide," he confidently assured me (me...the author of a blog entitled Faith Stories. Yes, I still need to be assured...)

Circa 9:30 p.m., however, circumstances didn't look so promising. What a faith test: "Being certain of what we do not see" is certainly what we needed to do, as we did not SEE any more food in our serving kitchen.

Oh, and I failed to mention that there weren't 200 people there as we first thought there might be (the week of, we bumped up our estimate to 350-400, just in case)...there were around 600 people there! What a HUGE difference! A dream come true from an outreach perspective. A logistical nightmare for an event planner (that dreaded running-out-of-food possibility...).

While the servers were serving away (8 tables of buffet-style serving and 2 tables of self-serve) the throngs of guests (two lines that stretched from one end of this huge room to the other...and out the door) kept coming and coming. Food disappeared rapidly. Shockingly so...

Meanwhile, behind the scenes in the service kitchen, about a dozen or so of us were "Martha-ing it up"--not so much anxious, as working very quickly in epic "problem-solving mode." Juggling requests for more food ("We ran out of pasta sauce! We need more meatballs!"), our kitchen team rushed around, pulling huge trays out of warmers and giant bowls of salad and fruit out of coolers and fridges.

We were only about a third to half-way through the line of people when we were struck with the sobering reality of just how little food we had in comparison to what we needed. (Mind you, we made a TON of food! Dozens of people from our church had been working in our church kitchen for five straight days to prepare food for this. Not to mention the 30+ people who brought homemade side dishes, each set to feed a couple dozen!).

I distinctly remember thinking "Well, I'm not gonna eat tonight..." (or any of our church volunteers for that matter), which of course, mattered little in the scheme of things. (I made a mental note to swing by Taco Bell on the way home--not the end of the world). I was, of course, far more concerned about the hungry bellies of those who had been fasting the entire day--food and drink (not even drinking water!). We NEEDED to feed them! We could NOT let the food run out!

"Do you want me to run to the store?" I asked my boss in a bit of a panic.

Although concerned, he shook his head. Volunteers continued to scramble around, double checking all the warmers, covered dishes, coolers and fridges in the kitchen to find ANYTHING we might have accidentally overlooked. We found a few unexpected items, but were still far short of what we needed.

"Lord, multiply the food!" my boss called out a light-hearted prayer up to the ceiling, laughing as he did. What else could we do, but laugh? No time wasted on regrets of how much we made or didn't make. We simply had to stay positive, keep serving what we had and trust God to come through.

Twenty minutes later, I noticed something strange. The line had dwindled down to only a few dozen...and there was still food. At this point, I decided to join the end of the line so that I could share my own plate of food over a conversation with some new friends. Mind you, when I got there, I was one of the first church volunteers to make a plate, so I didn't take much (a small scoop of pasta...small scoop of meatballs).

While looking around the hall for some new friends to meet, I made eye contact with a Muslim girl whom seemed to be around my age. She smiled and invited me to come sit with her. Instantly, we hit it off--sharing stories and getting to know one another. With my back to the serving table, I momentarily forgot about the lack of food that had been there. I felt terrible that perhaps my church volunteer comrades hadn't gotten anything to eat...

During a break in my conversation with my new friend, however, I turned around towards the serving tables, expecting to find a sobering sight (volunteers left to retreat to Taco Bell later, and certainly no seconds of our Muslim friends). To my amazement, however, I turned to find all the volunteers were eating--and they had FULL plates of food! What???!!! Where did that food come from? (It was the same exact food as everyone else--no hidden "volunteer only" stash...there was just more of it than could ever be possible!).

Less than five minutes later, one of SALAM's representatives went up to the microphone to announce that, now that all the church volunteers had eaten, SALAM's attendees could now have seconds.

Amazing...

Around 10:15 or so, there was a call for everyone to pitch-in with the clean up process. When my friend and I got up to help out, again, I turned to the serving table. Several pans of pasta, sauce (what? That was the first thing to run out!!) and meatballs were left over. Plus, there was still dessert...cupcakes galore.

Leftovers? Seriously??

Yes indeed. Even after 600 or so people had eaten FULL PLATES of food, AND had seconds, there were still left-overs...

I now understand why the Bible uses quantity words like "much more" and "far greater" so often (i.e. Ephesians 3:20..."Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine...).

When God gives, He does so lavishly. Abundant living 101...

Believe me or don't, but I am confident that we witnessed a miracle this weekend. And far greater than just the supernatural multiplication of food...

There was a wonderful spirit of joy, celebration and gratitude in the SALAM center on Friday night. By God's grace, His love brought down that dividing wall, reconciled Muslim and Christian neighbors together and opened the doors for new friendships to be built.

This weekend, like so many other times in my life, I was blessed to witness with my own eyes the incredible POWER of Yahweh-Yireh (Jehovah-Jireh)--the God who never fails to provide.

"The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not be in want."

-Psalm 23:1

Divine Irony: My Unlikely "Conversion" to Global Outreach

aka: How the stubbornness of one college drop-out changed the course of my life

Whenever I doubt the impact my words have on others, I think of Jesse Miner.

Jesse is basically a stranger to me, save from a brief conversation with him while on a college camping trip in Arkansas. Your average Joe in both appearance and personality, there was nothing about him that would have drawn me to remember him in the way I do. Nothing, that is, except his strong opinions on missions.

When he first introduced himself as having come to college straight from Teen Mania, a well-known sprawling missions campus four hours south of our school, I instantly felt a connection, having myself graduated from a very similar mission training program (Youth With a Mission) just 8 months earlier. When I shared this, Jesse seemed quite unimpressed--clearly not sensing the same connection as I so pre-emptively assumed we had.

Familiar with the program I had just done, Jesse asked: “Where did you go for your outreach?”

Eager to share about the year that had radically changed my life, I responded with enthusiasm, “Actually….our outreach was here in America--we went to 22 different states on a performing arts tour!”

Without missing a beat, Jesse inquired if I had ever been on a “real” missions trip.

I knew the implication immediately: Have you ever been to a foreign country?

I could feel the offence rising up within me. That WAS a missions trip! Missions doesn’t have to be in another country! America needs missionaries just as much as anywhere else!

“I’ve never been overseas,” I responded flatly. 

“Well, you haven’t experienced missions until you’ve been to a foreign country,” he retorted. From there, he launched into a story about his own recent missionary journey abroad. Where it was (or any of the details for that matter) I couldn’t tell you, mostly because I wasn’t listening. In my mind, an internal war was raging.

How DARE he de-value my experience? My 19 year old brain, fraught with insecurity (especially after being so harshly confronted by a perfect stranger), struggled to grasp on to any and every defense I could think of. He clearly doesn’t understand what God can do in our own country! And what’s so great about going to another country anyway?

At this point in my life, I had absolutely zero desire to travel abroad. (I know that must be shocking to any of you who know me and have seen my well-worn passport). Nope--I was quite content with my pretty little plan of going to college, getting my MRS degree and making babies (the sooner, the better). My sister Linda had always been the adventurous one--cultivating an exotic style, risking life and limb in pursuit of excitement, and honing an interest in all things cross-cultural. Linda was clearly the traveler; I was clearly the American. The American dream had soaked into my bloodstream and I wanted nothing to do with mud huts, mosquitoes and moving away from comfort (everything I so stereotypically associated with the word Missionary).

Sensing my thoughts perhaps, Jesse launched into a diatribe about just how different things are in other countries, insisting that I needed to go on a foreign mission trip--at least to experience another culture. Meanwhile, while my bitter mind was still crafting a rebuttal against this ridiculous argument of his, I paused long enough to notice that my heart was slowly softening to the idea (in complete defiance to my stubborn, highly offended will, mind you).

Jesse told me that every year our university hosted a few dozen or so short-term, overseas missions trips. "Missions Rush”--where a dozen or so enthusiastic, cross-culturally experienced college students would be wooing college newbies into joining a summer outreach team--just so happened to be the following week.

Still furious over his implication of the non- “real” nature of my DTS outreach, my defensive strategy shifted from “I don’t need to go overseas!” to “Maybe I should go overseas…just to prove to myself and others how much I really am called to stay in America.”

The next week, still quite bitter and determined to prove that overseas missions was NOT for me, I signed up to go to Africa.

Backwards, I know...

Normally, my defiance doesn’t serve me that well, but that’s the beauty of irony, isn’t it? Strictly out to prove myself, I ran with open arms into a strange life that I had once convinced myself I didn’t want. Through an interesting turn of events, my Africa trip morphed into a trip to Eastern Europe a mere two weeks before we were set to go. Christ-likeness was probably not my strength in that moment (I was more than a little pissed that as a broke college student, I had, just the day before the switch, shelled out $80 for a Yellow Fever vaccination that I no longer needed). Thankfully, my frustration and confusion over my new circumstances did not, however, deter me from my mission. I would go to Romania! I would get out of America! But just this once…

Hahahaha...says the same girl now on her second passport (first one filled), having traveled to 18 countries on 5 continents.

The Lord really does have a great sense of humor--and much more wisdom than I do! The story is far from over, as I'll be traveling to India in 3 weeks (more stories to come!)...and WHO KNOWS after that?

John 3:8 has become my motto:

"The wind blows where it wishes and you hear the sound of it, but do not know where it comes from and where it is going; so is everyone who is born of the Spirit."

So, it is. His ways are mysterious. I am submitted. Here's to the adventure of walking by faith... :)

What Adam Sandler Taught Me About My Savior

I suspect that most protagonists in books and films are written, at least subconsciously, so as to mirror Jesus. These key characters compel us with their positive virtues and sage wisdom, as they fight to overcome the seemingly insurmountable odds stacked against them in an underdog story. As we read or watch, we are assured that no matter how bleak the circumstances get, our protagonist will always win his battle and emerge the epic hero in the end. (Sounds a lot like Jesus to me. Just sayin…). Clearly, none of these fictional heroes can ever truly compare to Christ. But if I had to choose, I think Adam Sandler comes pretty close.
　
It’s been years since I’ve seen 50 First Dates, but lately, I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind. Besides being one of the few Adam Sandler movies I can actually sit through (although there is something to be said for The Wedding Singer), it sparked a revelation that led me to blog for the first time in a very long time. And that's kind of a big deal...
　
Allow me to offer the film’s back-story before I launch into dissecting it:
　
In the movie, Adam Sandler’s sweet and quirky character falls for an equally adorable Drew Barrymore, who’s character is afflicted with permanent short-term memory loss. (The whole situation is a bit less tragic couched in a Comedy). Every 24 hours, her memory sort of “re-sets” itself so that she can’t recall anything after the accident that caused her condition (including the accident itself) several years before. To make life easier for this naturally cheerful girl, her friends and family create a world that actually caters to her amnesia. Day in and day out, they keep up the rouse that it is the day before her accident--all in attempts to avoid her discovering the heartbreak of her past and what it has done to her.
　
One morning, while enjoying breakfast at her usual diner, in walks Jesus--conveniently disguised as Adam Sandler :) From that first meeting, he is taken with amnesia girl. Although obviously adoring her, as he learns of her condition, he is careful to be sensitive and slow in his pursuit of her. Still, she is freaked out. She claims she doesn’t know him (even when days of friendship turn to months), and thus, is unwilling to trust him. Yet he is determined not only to continue pursuing her, but to pull her free of the delusion that nothing is wrong with her. Despite her family being genuinely convinced that the lies they tell her are for her own good, he takes the risk and discloses the truth of her condition.
　
Once the initial rush of heartbreak, anger and denial pass, his challenge is to find a way to continually remind her of the truth. Given that Adam Sandler is the Christ-type character here, he (of course) is able to think up a clever solution to keep her remembering him. (So, if I haven’t already given away the entire plot to those who haven‘t seen the film, I’m about to completely spoil it. Its worth it if you’ve made it this far--just be warned!). Each morning he leaves a note for amnesia girl beside her bed, instructing her before she begins her day to watch a home movie he has made specifically for her. The movie is a pictoral reminder of her past, including the accident that caused her to forget everything. (Pan to the girl’s frightened and confused face as the truth of her situation sinks in anew every day). Fortunately, the music gets lighter and the mood happier, when in the same home movie, she is “introduced” to the man who loves her. He goes on to recount a few precious moments of their love story thus far, and reassures her that each day when she wakes up, he will be there.
　
Ever so charming, Adam Sandler’s character demonstrates the seemingly elusive virtues of kindness, gentleness and patience. Although I certainly get caught up in the cuteness of the whole ordeal, the more I think about it, the more I am shocked at this man‘s love. Can you imagine having a lover who constantly forgets you? Not just someone who fails to pay attention, but one who flat out forgets you exist? To know that the most intimate of moments that you shared together--your treasured memories--mean absolutely nothing to your lover because they don’t even know they occurred. Who would choose to spend their time loving someone like that? Most of us, despite all the romantic feeling in the world, would quickly give up.
　
Yet, I know firsthand about this kind of love. Not because I expressed it, but because it was given to me. It took me 28 years to realize (or at least admit) that I am amnesia girl.
　
Without fail, I forget. I repeat the same old mistakes, forgetting the consequences and unhappy events that their existence triggered. I continue to stress out about God’s ability to provide, not taking time to “consider the birds” and my Lover’s far deeper passion for me in comparison to them. Sadly, both situations have occurred within the last 48 hours. With perspective lost, I acted with no memory of the past, for good or bad…
　
Yesterday, I made a bad decision. Not life-shattering, just a mistake. I knew exactly what I was doing and didn’t think it was “that big of a deal.” Yet, as I followed through on that poor choice, the realization of what I had done immediately smacked me in the face. It was as if in that moment, a haze had lifted and my eyes could clearly see that I received the spitting image result of the very same foolish decision I had made years ago. I literally gasped. How could I have forgotten that? But I did. I was in rationalization mode (which, incidentally, obscures all peripheral vision and hindsight). I could only see what I wanted to see and I forgot everything else. At this revelation, the words poured out of my mouth almost without thought: “God, please help me to remember!”
　
And I had to remind myself that He heard me. He was listening, because He does care about moments like that. Because He longs for my greatest good. I know this because after repenting of the aforementioned fault, the first thing God did was graciously hand me back a beautiful memory. I didn't deserve it, but He knew that this clear vision was just the remedy I needed...
　
About a month ago, my family and I were passing through a stressful season. Tensions in our house were high, not so much stemming from each other, but from the collection of worries each of us was holding inside. For a week, we tip-toed on the egg shells of fragile emotions, not even realizing what was happening. It was my sister’s insight when we were driving home one night that led me to see things for what they really were. Upon recognizing our own worry, my family and I, as we’ve become accustomed to doing over the years in times of crisis, stood in the middle of our living room, held hands and cried out to God. The very next day, our overarching fear--the primary subject of our prayers--was answered. Unexpectedly and beautifully. It really was an amazing story. From small groups to Skype calls, I shared this testimony with everyone I could for a week afterwards. That day we saw it clearly: God was good.
　
A mere few weeks later, it was as though that moment had never happened. Fast forward to this weekend. Another issue arises, bringing with it that familiar tension and confusion. We longed for some perspective, but by-passed the obvious solution day after day. Instead, anxiety became the elephant in the room, as we wondered where God was and why things were happening the way they were. "Spiritual amnesia" (props to Francis Chan for that phrase) had struck with full force. Sure, we had each been seeking God during our individual time with Him, but corporately, we hadn’t seen any significant breakthrough since the last time we fought as a family.
　
So we did. We surrendered our struggles to the Lord and repented for not seeking Him before. I cried, telling God through tears that I was so sorry for forgetting Him. No amount of logical list-making or determined effort could pull us out of the rut we were in. Only God could transform us and our situation. I just wish I had remembered that sooner.
　
“Don’t worry about your life,” Jesus tells us over and over in the Gospels. It seems patronizing, but we so desperately need to hear those words. I know I’m not alone in this spiritual amnesia thing. I see it in my friends, my family and those I counsel. The Bible puts it so eloquently as to liken us to dogs returning to their vomit. In my experience, vomit doesn’t “just happen.” It starts because we took in something that was making us sick, and our bodies are deliberately designed so as to rid us of things that will poison us. Our sin, selfishness and screw ups--those are the vomit of life. Do we really need to go back there? Do you really want to smell that again? You can blame the boomerang effect on curiosity, boredom or simple stupidity. But the way I see it, it’s usually about forgetting. Don’t get me wrong: I take personal responsibility for my own decisions. In fact, I know that I am often the primary contributor to my amnesia. Much like Drew Barrymore, my memory of the greater story only lasts a short while. I know exactly where I need to go to hear this story, but sometimes, I fail to show up. Strolling past the note and the home movie in the VCR, I go about my day under the delusion that I understand my life better than the One who loves me most. When confusion strikes due to my skewed perspective, He doesn’t just scold me with an “I told you so.” When I go home, He gently pulls me back to the TV, reminding me of our story and showing me what is real.
　
I don’t claim to know the origin of our spiritual amnesia, whether it’s simply the result of sin, or if God designed it that way so as we constantly need to go back to Him for memory. What I do know is that while I remember, I will choose to dwell on His character. To remind myself that nothing escapes His notice and that nothing is beyond His ability to redeem.
　
When I consider God’s rescue of me in such a state of forgetfulness, I can’t help but smile. I begin to recall times when God, in far-cooler-than-Adam Sandler fashion, tells me the tale of us. He quietly points out the parts I never even perceived, and the behind the scenes workings I couldn‘t have possibly known about otherwise. Even more amazingly, in God’s home video, my past falls into the shadows under the light of His undeserving adoration. He loves me, even though I forget Him. Enduringly patient, He faithfully re-counts the story to me again and again.
　
Today, I can see just how incredible that is. And I know that if I choose to play it, that same video will be waiting to remind me again tomorrow…

In The Midst of Trial

Some perspective...

"There are things that explode into our lives and we call them curses, and then one day, a year later or ten years later, we realize that they are actually something else. They are the very most precious kinds of blessings."

-Shauna Niequist

"Troubles surround me, chaos abounding

My soul will rest in You

I will not fear the war, I will not fear the storm

My help is on the way, my help is on the way

Oh, my God, He will not delay

My refuge and strength always

I will not fear, His promise is true

My God will come through always

Always"

-"Always" by Kristian Stanfill