Fall is A'Comin'! (And other Outreach Updates)

Hello Prayer Team!

It’s late for me, but I wanted to write to you all before I go to bed (so expect typos and amazing sentence structure.  ahem.)

Tonight was an Outreach night, and we have 2 teams that each visit 2 separate clubs, so think roughly 55ish or so women we get to see, plus the door men, bouncers, owners, managers, and bartenders.  Would you pray for everyone we encountered this evening, that God would work in their hearts.  We always take small gifts to the women, and honestly, its not about the gift but rather we pray that the message the ladies receive from getting the gifts is one of love.  Would you pray that the ladies will be reminded that they are loved dearly when they look at their gifts this month?  Sometimes the women are too busy to linger with us, but in the morning (or afternoon) when they wake up and see the gifts, I pray that they would be overwhelmed with the realization of how much they are worth, and that not only do we love them, but God loves them.  

This Outreach we also had our baked goodies packaged so well, I love it when we get to give cute cookie packages out!  The cookie bundles were packaged with a bible verse tag from Matthew 19:26 “With God all things are possible.”  Its such a small detail, one that could get overlooked so easily.  But I’m thrilled about it!

At the Abolition Summit, we heard a story from a survivor who reminded us the power of God’s Word.  At one point this woman had been given something small with a scripture on it (I forget exactly…its late…).  She didn’t dwell on it, but somehow the verse stuck with her.  Later she was with a John who had put her in his car, and he was driving out of the city toward the dessert, and the longer they drove the more disturbed she became by him.  So what popped into her mind?  The bible verse!  And she began repeating it out loud, over and over.  This irritated the John who asked her about it, and she just said it was a verse she had been given, but internally she was praying to God.  Immediately the man was upset and pulled over.  He said that he was intending to kill her that night, but now he couldn’t because of the verse she quoted, and that he saw a light surrounding her.  So he pushed her out of the car, and you can believe that incident made a huge impact on this woman!

I doubt that anything that dramatic will happen to any of our women.  But here’s what I want to leave you with:

Even though the verse was small, and many of us may be tempted to overlook it…the truth is that it is God’s Word, which is alive, active, sharper than a two-edged sword, and does not return void.  And right now its in the dressing rooms of 4 clubs in Springfield, MO, in the hands of women (and even men) who are swallowed by darkness and desperately needing the Light of God.  Will you pray that God’s Word would sink deep into the hearts and minds of these men and women that we saw tonight?  

One more prayer request, and then I need some sleep!  This Fall I’ll be launching a Bible study for the women we meet in the clubs and other areas of exploitation.  I’m SO EXCITED!  Will you pray for God to draw the hearts of the women?  We will start announcing it in September’s Outreaches, and I’m really hoping to start it in October.  One thing I’m praying about is that we never want the women to feel like a project.  Instead we want to invite them into community with us.  That’s a big difference.  So while our focus is to introduce the women to God and provide an arena for them to grow spiritually, we want the women to join us as we meet with God and study.  We’ll have a few handpicked volunteers participating, and they can model a relationship with God in a lot of neat ways beyond simply doing the study together.  

Will you pray for our bible study?  Will you pray that key women will come?  We’ve identified a few who seem as if they are interested.  Specifically, I want you to pray for “Ginger” and “Tina”.  Especially “Ginger” as she is influential in the club she works at, and could be someone who brings the other girls in her club with her.  

Thank you dear prayer peeps!  Your prayers are powerful, don’t take them for granted!

*Post taken from my Friday night email to my Prayer Team.  Leave a message if you'd like to be on my prayer team and commit to praying for me and this ministry.

FAQ: Why Didn't I Run?

*This article is taken from the website http://www.thedailybeast.com/witw/articles/2013/09/23/i-was-trafficked-so-why-didn-t-i-run.html

I Was Trafficked. Why Didn’t I Run?

When Sophie Hayes joined her boyfriend in Italy for a vacation, she had no idea that he was about to prostitute her for money. Now, in her new memoir, she tells about her life as a sex slave in Europe’s underground.

Just a few years ago everything changed. I was trafficked. I was deceived by a man who said that he loved me. I was a product and a vehicle to make money. But I am a survivor.

I had known my trafficker for many years prior to being forced into prostitution. We met at a club and texted or talked on the phone daily for years, until I came to trust him completely. He was my best friend. So when he asked me to visit him in Italy, I believed it was just a holiday.

The reality is he had groomed me over a period of five years. He was a criminal; he was a trafficker of all kinds: guns, drugs, and girls. Later, I would learn that this is not unusual. In the majority of cases, women know their traffickers.

When he told me what I was expected to do for him, I froze. The reality of what was happening seemed so surreal that my mind was totally paralyzed. The man that had been so caring had turned into a monster. The violence and rage were like nothing I had ever experienced before, although over a period of time his outbursts became daily life. He took me to a lake where, he told me, my dead body would be thrown should I do anything wrong.

He took me to a lake where, he told me, my dead body would be thrown should I do anything wrong.

Victims are often portrayed in movies with chains or locked away, but the truth is many girls are left on the streets alone for long stretches of time. People often ask why girls enslaved in human trafficking don’t run away. Surely the simple thing to do would be to find a way to escape: run when he wasn’t there, or ask for help.

But while I was free physically, my mental freedom was removed almost immediately. My trafficker explained that I could trust nobody—that he had friends everywhere and they would come to test me. He repeatedly told me if I ever did anything to disobey him he would kill me, as well as my family, and I knew his threats were not empty. I had been held at gunpoint many times. I begged him to stop but he wouldn’t. My passport was taken. I was in a country where I couldn’t speak the language, with a man who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

To the outside world this is a difficult concept to understand, but with extreme fear comes complete debilitation. Fear of the mind is often the hardest thing to rationalize with. With daily beatings, your mind becomes completely controlled, conditioned to respond in a certain way. You’re unsure whom to trust—and even those whom you’d normally believe you can trust, you come to learn you can’t. During my experience I had countless policemen, judges, doctors, military pay for sex. The police often used their power to also induce fear, so that seeking help feels impossible.

Because I speak under a pseudonym, many people wonder who I am. The reality is I look just like everyone else. The difference is that was my life and these are my memories. My hopes, my dreams, and my life were shattered into nothing, and everything I’d ever known was taken away. Worst of all I lost myself. I stopped living and simply existed.

Sometimes I look in the mirror, I see my reflection and for a second I see her, the girl I used to be. All I wanted to do was reach out to her and tell her that one day it will all be OK again. I can’t take away what happened to me, but I can do everything in my power to help others.

This year, between 700,000 and 4 million women and children will be forced into sex slavery. In addition to my day job, I have dedicated my life to stop my past being someone else’s future, working with girls around the world who have been affected by trafficking. One of my happiest memories was spending time with a number of survivors and hearing about their lives and, more importantly, their futures. Their strength and determination is remarkable. One girl has been accepted into a top university in Mexico City to study law, one has passed her nursing exam, and another is still deciding. But the difference now is that she can choose. She has complete freedom over what she wants to do, and I’ve learned you can’t put a price tag on that feeling.

Sophie Hayes is the author of Trafficked: My Story of Surviving, Escaping and Transcending Abduction Into Prostitution, which was published in the U.S. this September. For more information about the Sophie Hayes Foundation, please visit www.sophiehayesfoundation.org.

*This article is quoted from http://www.thedailybeast.com/witw/articles/2013/09/23/i-was-trafficked-so-why-didn-t-i-run.html

Reaping Joy

Last week I slid on a patch of ice while driving and bent my tire rim.

My car wobbles. 

Yesterday my cup leaked an inch of water into my car’s cup holder. 

Today I read an email from a woman who wishes I’d stop sending her those church updates while I’m filling in administratively.  She’s done with that church.

The weight of a conversation with my father presses heavy. 

And one more person asks me about my job search.  Then another. 

Ever so subtly, failure settles in. 

My heart hurts.

Too much flesh revealed, too jaded of an expression on her young face, and the evidence of too much sex and drugs appear in her vacant eyes.  My heart squeezes as I look at the latest photo of my foster daughter.  It squeezes and breaks to think that I have held this girl, still so young, when she cried on the anniversary of her miscarriage.  I’ve tucked her in, heard her prayers, cheered her on (in totally embarrassing mom style—which earned me a huffy sigh and eye roll) at sporting events, and wrestled with English homework.  I love this girl, and it hurts my heart to see her like this.  And so I click off her facebook page so I can regroup, try to numb my heart by distracting myself with something else.  I push the sense of loss far away.

A few nights ago I headed off to Target to buy a birthday gift for a one year old.  He’s precious, and growing up way too fast when I compare the 6 month garments to the 12 month ones. 

Being an only child, I don’t have siblings with children.  Which of course gives me full license to appoint myself as this wee boy’s God-Aunty.  (In case you were wondering, Target does not sell onesies with the slogan “My Self-Appointed God-Aunty Loves Me Best.”  You’ll probably have to settle like I did for a plain ole “Aunt” onesie.  C’est la vie.)  In wandering the aisles of these darling little clothes I hold up rompers and the tiniest little shoes, and yes, even a clip-on tie.  My uterus is quick to cheer “Yes!  We need two of everything!  It’s so stinkin’ adorable!”  My brain will have none of this nonsense and promptly sends a response back “Traitor.”  If looks could kill, I’m sure my brain would’ve murdered my uterus many times over. 

“Pierce Brosnan and George Clooney are NOT available.  Simmer it down down there.”  Cue evil glare.

“You don’t even have a house, WHERE are you planning on putting that tasty, modern furniture set?”  Followed quickly with a belittling look, maybe even a headshake.

“Enough with the baby clothes—you’re not getting one of those anytime soon.  Probably never.” 

And so on.  These internal dialogues happen a lot in the aisles of Target.  *sigh*

Although I momentarily grin at this internal dialogue, I’m aware that much deeper, hidden underneath it, my heart pinches and twinges. 

No baby.

No husband. 

And not even a prospect of one.

 At one time I would have been A-Okay with that. 

But I’ve had time to heal and process, and now every so often…in the quiet spaces…sheltered deep where no one can see or touch or laugh at…

I know I yearn for these things. 

And ever so quickly, I push the thought out of my mind, because although the healing is significant, the lies still raise their voice. 

The sense of inadequacy and shame wraps me close, deeper than flesh, fighting to remain part of my identity.

This week my morning readings have focused primarily on peace.

Peace.

Yes.  I breathe it deep.

I let the word flutter through my mind and try to settle on me.  In me.  And it won’t.  My thick heart-skin is tough with the pains of life.  Peace is a heart word, and right now my heart wants protection and lets nothing close.  Except pain.  The unintentional wounds.  I wish I could embrace that peace, but my thoughts are too busy, too dense, too something and I am reminded that the thief comes only to steal, kill, and destroy.  I strive to take those thoughts captive.  And again.  Again.  Again.  They persist and the weight of failure presses me down.  I see it, I know it, and it angers me because I feel so feeble, my attempts so futile.  I fail.  I am not good enough.  I cannot do it.  My worth…well, what little there may have been, it’s dwindling fast.  My shattered heart yearns to throw a fit, to yell, to push back because I know, I know, better. 

I am angry with myself.  Psychology tells us anger is a secondary emotion, that it is the product of either pain or fear, sometimes both.  I see it in me, the pain and the fear.  I know it…  I know…

I know the truth, and the Truth sets me free.  I know.

I know. 

But where oh where is it?  I must be doing something wrong.  Straight away my head corrects that thought.  Puh-leeze.  Head knowledge schools me, but my heart…  Oh my heart throbs for the experiential knowledge of a victorious giver of life, and life to the full! 

I slow.  I think of these things, look close at them, feel their shape in my hand, turn them in my mind. 

I think of this week and the snap shots I’ve experienced above.  And I stew.  These things I’ve pondered an embarrassingly long time in recent days.  In what has felt like self-preservation, I’ve tried to not look at them, but even without my eyes on it, the feelings edge in, pressing close, not seen clearly but felt. 

But as I slow and allow myself to focus, to examine the mess that rages chaotic, I hear another voice.

Beloved.

Beloved, I love you.

You are mine.

The voice is slow, quiet, not at all hyper or bitter like my own thoughts.  In the past I have been told that I belong to another, but this…is different.  Not ugly with entitled possession.  It is the voice of the Shepherd.  My Abba Father.  My Jesus Savior.  And the voice seeps slow and rich like honey, golden heavy, into my heart.  I sit quiet in His presence, my focus finally shifted from the sin ugliness of self.

Beloved, I hear you.  Let me step into those aches and ask you

what is beneath them all?  Hmmm?

Good question.  Long have I felt worthless, known it.  Seen time and time again that my striving and seeking after perfection to earn love, well, it’s not good enough, and I ache with the realization I can do nothing to be loved.  I cannot cover enough the scars cut and branded on me, in me. 

I.  Fall.  Short. 

It is that knowledge that throbs dull, that I try to tune out.

Again, the voice…

Beloved, I have good news for you.  I bind the brokenhearted, proclaim you captive no more.  No more!  You are free and released from darkness, no longer a prisoner.  I comfort you as you mourn.  I do the work, a new work, in you.  I take your ashes, and give you a crown of beauty.  I restore you, because I chose you.  I paid a great price for you—not merely to own you as an object, but as my Beloved.  I took your dead self, breathed my life into you, and you live.  You live the full life I give to you.  I have taken your shame and given you a double portion.  I have taken your heart of stone, and put in you a heart of flesh.  It is for freedom that I have set you free.  It is you I woo Beloved, you who I am shaping to be my bride.

And there it is, in the quietness, the leading of the One who knows me through and through.  The voice that spoke stillness into the storm speaks stillness into my heart.  The hurts and worries and shame, they turn transparent, empty, in the pure light of the Word.

I am loved.  Loved.  And the longer I hold those God-truths in my heart-hands, turning them over, memorizing their shape, weight, feel…the more real they become.  

Solid.  

Familiar.  

Falling into my being like a rounded rock plunks through cold water, substance sinking deep. 

I breathe.  And breathe again.  Gone is the claustrophobic cage gripping my heart and lungs.

That peace that seemed like mockery?  It is soft now, pliable and tender and saturating.  My heart skin has thinned thinned thinned.  Warmed free by the love of my Abba Bridegroom.  It matters not what cares and worries have weighed me.  Even if I had none, (none!) I would still not be enough, and I am freed from the striving, free to just be, free to look beyond self and see Him. 

It is good that I stop to savor, process, and record these God-experiences.  All too soon I am going to forget the truths that bring me life.  All too soon I will flail in failed brokenness.  But here it is, a captured moment to soothe and heal, to woo and nurture.  I will rest in the vine branch, abiding in Him and He in me, authoring the gift of peace and love.  Cheap words, pretty ideas.  But oh the beauty of their full substance!  Lavished upon me time and time again. 

I will waste it, careless at times, and still it will be poured on me.  Why?  Because I am His and He delights in me. A mystery.  But there you have it, truth nonetheless. 

And now I grin easily.  My thin-skinned heart light in the knowledge that I am enough for the I AM. 

When we were freed,
released from captivity,
it was like a dream for us all.
Our mouths were filled with laughter,
our tongues with songs of joy.
And all around us people said with wonder
“The Lord has done great things for you.”
And it’s so true, isn’t it?! 
The Lord HAS done great things for us and we are             
filled, filled, with joy!
                 Restore us, O Lord, like winter-fresh streams through the
                                       desert sands.
                        Do it again, Papa God!
            Those of us who sow in tears, our hearts heavy,
                        we will reap with songs of joy.
            That Dear One who weeps?  Carrying that seed to sow? 
            Guess what?
                        Dear one, along with a full harvest
                                     you return with songs of joy!

More Humility and Compassion, Please!

     Call it my "Type A, Firstborn, Only-Child, Rule Following Rigidity," but there are times when I am a little over zealous in my schedule keeping.  This tendency plus a teenaged foster daughter suddenly plunged into my care, well, the phrase "oil and water" comes to mind...
     In a lot of ways, my little Chickadee enjoys the structure.  It lends stability and normalcy to her life (and mine!), and it's nice for her to be doing the things other high school aged girls are doing.  Chores, school, swimming and martial arts, church.  All good things.  And just as good and needed are the therapy groups, coping skills classes, and doctor's appointments.  Chickadee needs all these facets in her life right now to help her heal, recover, and be equipped for a successful healthy future.
     I confess that my love of school has maybe tipped the scales of what I thought was "important."  I mean, the girl's gotta graduate from high school, right?  And then the fall semester started, and we weren't doing summer school easy peasy stuff any more.  Hours of history, algebra, biology, and english.  Not to mention PE and reading.  Hours and hours every day.  Was I up for the challenge?  Why yes, my school-nazi self was certain we could attain our goals.  Never mind the fact that my girl is here to recover, to process and heal, to untrain past ways of living as she's training herself in new ways to live life and establish relationships.
     Yesterday was quite a busy day for us, and I knew it was going to be tough to fit in alllll that school.  We had our therapist on the schedule, as well as a doctor's appointment.  All that to say, when we arrived home at 4:15 yesterday, Chickadee had only completed 2 hours of school that day, and we needed to do 4-5 more hours.  So true to form, I get her settled in and push her to go, go, go!  Normally she's a little trouper, and will work like crazy to get it done.  But yesterday...yesterday was different.  Around 5:00 she started melting down a little.  My first response was not one of compassion, my thought process was running down the track of:  you knew what our schedule was like today, why are you surprised that you still need to do a couple more hours of school?  We've been out of the house for hours, that was a good break, right?!"
     Once I looked into her overwhelmed face, I decided it was time for a break.  I sent her off to swim, and after some laps and splashing, she started to relax.  We never finished our hours of school yesterday.  I was reminded that although school IS important, so is everything else that we do (insert "so back off, School Nazi!!!).  Later that evening, in a different frame of mind, I found out what she and her therapist had talked about yesterday.  It was deep.  It was painful.  I was ashamed of myself.  This past week I've been so gung-ho on getting Chickadee caught up in school I've overlooked the emotional traumas and healing.  Can I just say my heart was stung and broken last night?
     I don't always get it right.  (Who does, huh?!)  I sometimes lose sight of what's important, and get caught up in agendas of my own making.  But I think I'm starting to come around.  I need that humility that asks "is this the most important thing right now" when I'm dead set on something.  I need that humility that says I don't know everything all the time, so get off my high horse and listen to those who speak into my life as I'm raising this girl.  And the compassion...oh God...my heart broke last night.  Lord God, help my heart to care like Yours about the heart of my sweet girl(s).  I need it.
     And so, here we are.  The next day.  A day already brimming with fresh mercies, and fresh grace.  Thank you Jesus!

Who Knew?

This rather unattractive picture of me is a pretty accurate glimpse of me these days.
Bummer.
Why, you ask?  Because I have joined the ranks of those women with a teenaged daughter.  And I have no spouse to help me with my sanity.  (Longish story.  I'm a foster mom, the house mom for the place I work.  Very good stuff, even if does mean constant sleep deprivation!)  Yes, a spouse...
Someone to lean on, someone to help parent, someone to take over when my last nerve is frayed into twenty split ends and my teenager is yelling "Timmery.  Timmery!  TIMMERY."...  I gotta say, that sounds pretty magical right now.  *grin*  I guess God really knew what He was talking about when He created the family unit to have a mom AND a dad!
These days find me scheduling dentist appointments and eye exams.  Shuttling my girl Soccer-Mama-Style to community service projects and martial arts classes.  In between all the doing and stuff, there are these amazing sparkles of joy that take my breath away some days.
Like when Chickadee asks me if she can read to me at the end of the night, when I'm irritated that the air conditioner is out and I'm fielding phone calls between two owners about the workman coming.  And there's sweet Chickadee, wanting to read to me from the Bible reading plan her High School church group is doing.
In the morning when we're doing our daily reading from Jesus Calling, I'm not sure if anything is soaking in.  We get off topic regularly during those discussions.  I try to not make it a big deal so it doesn't become a serious time Chickadee starts to dread...  This morning out of the blue she redirected the conversation back to our reading all by herself, and had some really good insights.  My heart was touched, that's for sure.
It's an adventure that doesn't seem to have much downtime.  An adventure I don't always enjoy.  But its an adventure with eternal implications.

In Recent Days

Hello everyone!
I've recently started a crazy, whirlwind adventure, of which some of you know bits and pieces. So please consider this an update of sorts, as well as a prayer request.
About six weeks ago I had a phone interview with Susan Munsey, the executive director of GenerateHope.  She was looking for someone to come on staff to work with their brand new phase:  minors.  And as this is something that grabs my heart, we had excellent discussions and interviews, and I've now been on staff for about three weeks.  It feels good to be back in sunny SoCal!
GenerateHope is a non-profit that works with young women who have been sexually trafficked and exploited.  In some cases we have girls who have experienced the "slave" aspect TV may depict.  But for the most part, trafficking in the US looks a little different, involving young women who look like any other woman you see out and about.  She looks like your neighbor, the lady in the produce aisle at the grocery store, your daughter's friend.  These young women come in all ages, weights, colors, personalities, and from every type of family.  I tell you this, because in the US, sex trafficking usually takes the role of prostitution.  What happens when you hear the word "prostitute"?  My guess is that there is a stereotype that comes to mind, and maybe even a string of phrases come to mind as well:
"Why doesn't she get out of that and find herself a real job?"
"Put some decent clothes on."
"I'd rather die than sell myself."
"She could leave that 'profession' if she really wanted to."
"She's despicable."
Let me offer you a different perspective to the stereotype that is "out there" running through our society.  No little girls says she wants to grow up and work in the sex industry.  No young woman starts out thinking that selling her body is her dream.  Dig a little deeper into these womens' stories and you'll find that they sell their bodies--not because they want to--but because they've run out of money and resources.  Or maybe they were sexually abused as a child, or raped when they were young, and the message imprinted on them was 'this is all you'll ever be good for.'  Most of our ladies learned very, very early that they didn't have any rights to their body.  Couple that with physical and emotional abuse with a controlling, dominant person in their life, and you start to see how these girls have a major identity//value//worth struggle on their hands.  All it then takes is a predator that recognizes that desperation and that uncertainty of self-value in a woman, and that predator will use varied means to commercially exploit these women in the sexual arena.
Sobering stuff, huh?
Before you duck out because this is "just a little too much reality to handle right now,"  let me give you some encouragement.  (Whew, we were in need of some, huh?!)  When we expose the sin in the dark, we allow the light of Jesus to shine upon it and He can bring healing truth and restoration.  So let's shine some Jesus-light!

The first GenerateHope house is for young ladies ages 18-35, and has been open for 3ish years now.  They have a main house, a transitional apartment, and an education building on site.  The newest phase is the one I'm a part of, and that is a house for minor ages 12-17.  The average age of entry into prostitution is 12-14 (that's junior high, people.  Girls fresh out of elementary school).  We're hoping to reach these girls early and get them the help and healing they need.  Since I actually live in the house with these girls, I have to become a foster parent--whoa Bessie!  I've never envisioned myself foster parenting, but God nudged me right into this with surprising ease, so I trust He knows my skills and limitations and will use me anyway.
Last week I met with our foster organization for the first time, and they've been delightful.  I have so much relief knowing that they are Christian, and when they told me they'd be praying for me, I was so blessed.  It won't be a walk in the park, and they've told me a few horror stories.  I hope those won't be true for us here, but I'd rather be prepared than blind-sided.  *Gulp!*

"My" house is gorgeous, and sits on 15 acres of orange groves (organic oranges for Sunkist--fun, huh?!).  I'm hoping the beauty of the house and land helps the girls in their healing journey.  They've been so abused and broken, and it will be wonderful to lavish some goodness on them.  We don't yet have girls in the house yet (we have room for 4 girls), because we are waiting for the county to sign off on the house.  We've been waiting on that signature for about 8+ weeks now, which is a little longer than it normally takes.

On that note...here are a few specific ways you can pray for me, and for GenerateHope:
1.  We need the county's signature on the house!  That is all that is standing in the way of accepting girls right now.
2.  I have a slew of paperwork and documents to fill out and retrieve.  DMV, bank, insurance, medical, identifications/certificates--you name it.  I need patience, and in some cases money.  I fortunately will be reimbursed for most of this, but right now my bank is in Missouri, and I am in California, which causes some inconvenience right now.
3.  Our women are sweeties, but still come with baggage they're working on.  Some are stand-offish, others are defensive, some are angry, some shut down.  Please pray that I will love them well, and healthily, with good boundaries ,and lavish grace and truth.
4.  GenerateHope is faith-based, so I can live out my faith in God publicly in front of our young women, but they are not required to participate.  I'm asking if you'll be willing to lift these ladies up to God.  Pray for their healing, which ultimately only comes from Jesus.  Pray for theyr hearts to soften towards God, and to understand God's love for them is complete.  Some girls have backgrounds in church and faith, and sometimes that is a good thing, and sometimes its a negative thing.  Pray that God will reveal His Truth to them in a way they will grasp, and that they begin to hunger for Him.

Thanks for reading my mini-novel today!  Leave me a comment below if you have any questions or encouragement!
Much love,
Timmery

The Pursuit of Being Leaven-less

     I've recently been meeting up with a wonderful group of women on Thursdays.  We eat together, with conversation packed full with laughter and home made deliciousness.  And once we've {partially} worked the talkative giddyness out of our catch-up time, we settle in.  Together we're going through the Psalms of Ascent.  I know I am learning so much, both about the psalms, but also about these dear ladies.
     One lesson from about 10 days ago has been rustling around in my heart.
     You see, these Psalms of Ascent are about a pilgrimage, a journey.  Three times a year the Jewish men would pack themselves off to Jerusalem to celebrate 3 different Feasts.  Part of the journey involves recognizing where you are, and anticipating the goodness ahead, which has had me doing some self-inspection.  We learned that the first of the Pilgrim Feasts is the Feast of Unleavened Bread.  It began at the tale end of Passover and lasted for a week.
     I totally understood that unleavened bread would be a part of Passover--after all, it was an indication of the readiness of the Israelites to move when God said on that fateful night in Egypt so long ago.  But there is so much more goodness to unpack!  In Hebrew the word leaven means "sour", because it initiates fermentation.  As someone who enjoys a tasty loaf, a ciabatta, and definitely a foccaccia, I tend to enjoy that yeast and it's fermenting process!  And yet I had to pause when I learned how the ancient rabbi's considered leaven to be imagery of evil and corruption.  And what does leaven do?  It works it's way through and through a lump of dough, causing the mass to expand and grow.
      You can use just a wee little bit of that fermented dough to mix in with a fresh batch of flour, and you'll get a whole new loaf--that little bit of yeast will activate a whole new set of ingredients, causing them to bubble up and expand.
      It reminds me of how I can confess my sins to Jesus, and yet sometimes, sometimes I hold onto it just a little.  Like how I say I forgive, but maybe I hold onto that little bit of anger and bitterness.  I say I don't want to engage in that activity or thought process any more, but its there, and like a glutton I find myself right back at it.  That wee little bit of corruption I hold onto spreads all the way through me and blossoms.  It doesn't take much sourness to saturate the whole.  What would it be like if we were to get rid of our "yeast":  the gossip, the bitterness, the lust, the gluttony, the self centeredness, the carnality?
     You know how we take communion at Passover, just as Jesus did at the last supper?  How we break that unleavened bread and know that it is Christ's body, broken for us?  Well, just think about that--Jesus compares himself to that unleavened bread:  not sour, not corrupt.  Pure.  Blameless.  Sinless.
     I want that.  I want the leaven to be stripped out of me, every last bit.  It's probably a lifelong pursuit.  A good one though.

"This is Beneath Your Dignity"

**This post is an excerpt from Dan Miller's Newsletter**

As a Russian priest (1829 – 1908), Father John Sergiev first thought he wanted to be 
a monk in the remote areas of Siberia – but after a vision, he realized God wanted him to be a missionary right where he was – in the hustle and bustle of the big urban city of St. Petersburg.  While most priests remained in the safe confines of their cathedrals, Father John would go out into the noisy, dirty, crime-ridden slums and back alleys of the city.

He would find someone down and out in the gutter, sleeping off the effects of the previous night’s drink and activities.  Father John would cup his chin; look him in the eyes and say,“This is beneath your dignity.  You were created to house the fullness of God.”  Wherever he went, people found new hope and optimism because they discovered, or were reminded, of who they were.  Seeing ourselves in the light of who God made us to be is both exciting and contagious.

So, are you housing the fullness of God today?  If you are full of despair and hopelessness because of the current economic situation, I doubt there is room for much else.  If you are angry and resentful because your stocks crashed or you lost your job, I suspect that is what people will first notice about you.

Can you remember what you were created for?  When I hear people complain about how bad their lives are I’m going to start saying, “This is beneath your dignity.  You were created to house the fullness of God.”

Christmas Revolution

     This week I've been listening to a friend's sermon, letting it speak to my heart and soak into me.  He started a Christmas preaching series called Christmas Revolution.  This was a great encouragement to worship Jesus with my life this month rather than passively just exist through the month and events.  It would be easy to let life happen without examining it, to let my days run by without stopping to think, to praise, to worship, to see.
     When Mary and Joseph were making that 80-100 mile trek to their hometown of Bethlehem, it surely tugged at their heart.  The reason they were headed back was because that land was no longer theirs.  Land was life in their day, and you only got rid of your land if you couldn't pay for it any longer, or it was seized.  Caesar Augustus called for that census to know how to better tax his subjects--although something like 97% of them were impoverished.  Taxes in that day were around 80ish percent of earnings.  The steep rate of taxation, the long walk "home" because it was no longer their home, and the harsh reality that tax rates were likely to be hiked again were all cause for heavy hearts.
     Joseph and Mary were likely traveling with a group to ensure safety.  Yes, they were living in the time of the Pax Romana, that time of peace instituted by the Roman government.  When Caesar Augustus acquired new subjects, he ensured they would not revolt and start war by preempting them.  The best and the brightest, the strong and smart--men, women, elderly, and young--any that posed a potential threat were torturously executed on the Roman creation, the cross.  So many were executed that at times crosses were used twice a day.  A time of peace?  Yes, in the sense that no one was warring.  But this was not life-nurturing, hope-generating peace.  It was sanctioned terrorism and oppression.
      As they made the trek through these bleak circumstances, it's possible the travelers turned their talk to recounting stories of old.  As they crossed the Jordan they might have remembered how Joshua crossed with the Israelites on dry ground--in the middle of flood season!  But it had been 400 years since God had publicly been active in the Jewish nation.  God seemed silent.  Mythical.  More story than reality.  They were the chosen people, but it surely seemed as though they were the forgotten chosen.  They were a people in need of hope, of light, they were in need of a savior.
     Supposedly they already had a savior though.  The titles of the caesars were so grandiose and a dirty reflection of God's promise.  The Roman nation institutionalized the Imperial Cult--the worship of the caesars.  Caesar Augustus was named god while he was living, and as his father before him was deified, he was christened the son of god.  With his strong government armies and rule, he was known as the prince of peace, savior and lord.  People worshipped him.  Daily people greeted each other with the proclamation "Caesar is Lord."  People would meet together for times of caesar worship in groups known as ekklesias--the Greek word for church.  The twelve days prior to Caesar's birthday were known as advent--the celebration of his coming.  It was a time steeped in hardship with a hopeless worship of a man that was a far cry from the true God.
     In this culture revolving around this powerful, deified Caesar, the arrival of a Savior, the Prince of Peace, the Son of God would have been ground breaking.  It would have been a call for revolution.  Into this darkness, Jesus came, upsetting the idolatrous worship of the time and bringing hope and life.  Instead of taking and demanding, He gave and loved.
     "Behold, unto you a Savior is born.  Immanuel, Prince of Peace."
     I could go with the flow this season, or I can raise my eyes and recognize the radical Savior that was born to free me from the darkness of this world.
      Long live the King!   Forever will he reign!

Shimmering Bits of Possibility

(This artwork is by artist Kelly Rae Roberts)

      "You are gifted and capable beyond your wildest imagination.  You have not yet begun to explore all the ways you can make your life count for eternity.  Strength and dignity are your clothing.  It's time for you to drop your bucket deep down into the well of possibilities that you've been ignoring all these years.  Drop it all the way down and see what you pull up."
      ~Sisterchicks on the Loose! by Robin Jones Gunn

Lovely, Book Excerpt Part II

This excerpt continues to stay in my mind, nudging me to interact with God.  I find this description such a beauty image of a relationship--the intimacy evoked left me desiring a similar relationship with God.  I could feel myself ache to have my own best friend experience with "Lovely."  And over the past few weeks I've taken this desire to God, and He has grown it, and continues to nurture it inside me.  My hope is that you too will resonate with this passage, and that it will spur you toward deepening your own relationship with "Lovely."

*     *     *     *     *     *     *

“Lovely is a very private name for God….”

“What a perfect name for God.”

“Names are important to me.  I spend weeks with a new story searching to find the right names for characters, to hear their voice, to find who they are.  There’s a point in writing a story where I finally have the right name, and the book in my mind begins to sound different.  It sounds richer.  It begins to read in the voice of the character, and it sounds alive.

“I was a child when I met God.  God the Father was an easy concept for me to grasp, and Jesus the Son, being God who died to save my life, I often thought of as the wonderful older brother I wanted to have.  When I got to God, the Holy Spirit, and realized the Bible said He lived with me, I instinctively thought of Him as being a best friend.

“I wanted to get to know Him, and the only way I knew to do so was to have a conversation with Him.  It was hard to say ‘Holy Spirit’ and not feel like it was a formal conversation.  So sometimes I’d call Him Ancient, Wise, Wonderful, Eternal.  I was trying to get to know Him by reminding myself who He was.

“I’d say, ‘You’re showing off tonight,’ when the sunset and clouds were an incredible display of color, or I’d say, ‘It’s hot, I miss the breeze you sent yesterday,’ or I’d tell Him about my day and what I was working on.  I was just talking, trying to get to know this person I was living with.  And like a book, the name was right, but it wasn’t a conversational name.  Jesus had names like Alpha, Omega, Good Shepherd.  So I asked the Holy Spirit if He had another name I could use.  He said, ‘Call me Lovely.’

“I thought it was kind of girl’s name and corny and stupid of me to have asked.  But I think He knew.  In a week or so, He couldn’t shut me up.  I had a name for the person I was sharing my life with.  ‘Lovely, you painted a great sunset.’  ‘Lovely, Black just went chasing a rabbit.’  ‘Lovely, I’ve lost my keys.’  It was still the same simple comments, but they suddenly turned into God and I having a conversation.  And in a few more weeks, it was ‘Lovely, I’m lost on how to help in this situation,’ and ‘Lovely, why did I say that?’  I started to trust Him with the emotions behind my actions.  And now it’s ‘Lovely, where should this story go next?’  And ‘Lovely what am I going to do about this guy that just showed up in my life?’”  She smiled.

“He listens to all that stuff.  He smiles at me a lot.  God said call me Lovely, and I fell more in love with Him that day.  I had this huge open hole inside that so desperately wanted love, and God filled it up with himself.  His name was reminding me He loved me.  Every conversation just adds another certainty to that.

“Lovely is His character.  And Lovely is His company.  And Lovely is how He treats me.  Lovely is God.”

Full Disclosure, Dee Henderson, Pages 366-367.

Book Excerpt Part I

Recently I read a book by an author I greatly enjoy--a mystery romance novel.  I wasn't looking for anything other than a good read.  And I wasn't disappointed!  But after I had finished the book, a few sections lingered with me and rolled around in my heart and mind for a bit.  Those sections delved into the main character's relationship with God.  As I read, I found myself drawn by those descriptions.  I took those ideas and longings and discussed them with God.  Just as these sections prompted conversations with God for me, I hope you too will find yourself dialoguing with God.

Enjoy the read!

*      *      *      *      *      *      *

Ann glanced up from her pad of paper.  She smiled.  “What?  You’ve got that look that says I’m a puzzle to you again.”

“You are, but I like figuring out puzzles.  I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

“You’re quiet, Ann.  The more time I spend with you the more I realize that.” 

“I thought that was pretty obvious.”

“I’m curious.  Are you as quiet inside your mind too?  When you’re with friends you trust, do you have a lot you want to say?  Or is your mind as still and quiet as you often are?”

“What a wonderful question.”  She tilted her head, sat up, and set aside the pad of paper.  “I’m pretty quiet.  Even when I’m not tired, the real me is pretty quiet inside.  With people I’m not shy, not timid, but I am quiet.  I listen.  I hear what’s being said.  If it’s someone I trust, I’ll return confidences in kind.  When someone risks with me, I’ll risk back.  But I rarely initiate, even when it’s comfortable, safe surroundings and a group of friends.  In tennis terms, I prefer to return rather than serve.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t like being in the spotlight, even when it’s with friends.  I am most comfortable one-on-one, when the topics are going where someone else wants to direct them.”

She hesitated.  “No, let me modify that.  I am comfortable talking with God.  I initiate conversations with Him all the time, on easy topics, hard topics, what’s going on, and with the emotions I want to express in full color.  If you really want to know, the Ann inside speaks freely and often only to God.”

“You’re safe with God.”

“I am.  So that’s where I thrive.  It’s not that I hide with my friends.  There are very few subjects, if any, I haven’t shared with at least one friend.  I trust friends with my secrets.  I talk about what matters to me all the time.  But there are large chunks of who I am, of what I think about and talk about, that reside only between myself and God.  I don’t think that will ever change.”

“How have you learned to trust God like that, Ann?”

She shrugged.  “I’m God’s daughter.  He’s possessive of me.  I like that fact, that certainty, that God chose me and considers me His.  So I give God me.  When I have something to say, when I want to talk, He’s listening.  When I need a friend, He’s there.  When I need something, God’s got it covered.  God and I are good together.  We’ve got a relationship.” 

Full Disclosure, by Dee Henderson, Pages 230-231.

Enthralled

Heart Warming

My birthday was one week ago (hooray--I love my birthday!!!!) and I was so blessed to hear from so many friends.  My community of dear relationships is woven deep in my heart and I love hearing from them.
When I woke last Thursday, I headed for my pile of cards.  I like to save all my cards until the day of my birthday so I have that anticipation build.  Plus its always nice to have something to open on your actual birthday.  *Grin*
This card is from my mum and step-father.  It reads:
 "I see a young lady
    out in the world,
Following her dreams,
    doing good,
And making a difference.
     Then I think,
Hey, that's my kid.
That's my pride and joy.
     Happy Birthday
          to a daughter
     who's so inspiring
           And Loved.

Considering how I've struggled to find a paying job (but if I want to counsel for free, people want me madly!), and battling the highs and lows, this card reached into my heart and warmed me.  It encourages me to keep up the good fight, to continue seeking to make a difference.  It nudges me forward to pursue the creative, sometimes harebrained!, ideas that I have, to write that proposal, to woo that employer, to offer hope and joy.
Thanks Mum, for believing in me and offering me such meaningful encouragement and validation!

I Will Live Out My Calling

A friend had posted this quote on Pinterest recently, which is where I read it, felt its humble words prick my heart, and my spirit agreed with this simple sentence.

I've been bolstering my courage and been bringing to mind the things God has equipped me with, and the desires He has placed in my heart.

Right out of the gate, I know God has equipped me to give His hope and truth to those who are in such desperate need of it.  Now, He's still teaching me about this, softening my heart at times, and I admit I have much to learn.  But this is a burden that does not leave me, and as God promises, it is not heavy but light.  I feel a joy flood through me when I think about being able to play a part in a young woman's journey from hopelessness to understanding her identity in Christ.  Knowing in your head is far different from knowing in your heart and living it out.
Right now I look at job descriptions and I feel trepidation start to paralyze me.  Can I really do what that location wants?  Do I have the skills to make an impact in someone's life, to give them the tools they will need to transform?  I'm probably not qualified enough...  And yet, I am reminding myself that God did not give me a spirit of fear or timidity, but one of boldness, love, and self-discipline (see 2 Timothy 1:7).  I might need some self-discipline to get myself together in doing my part, but God has already equipped me with His spirit, His power, and His love.  I just need to be faithful and see what He will do with me.

I feel like this is a subject that needs to be unpacked even further as I have barely gotten into it, so expect this theme to come up again!

Confession

It has been 2 weeks since I rolled into the state of Missouri and unlocked the front door of my new home.  Two weeks of experiencing hot temperatures, humidity that feels like I'm breathing underwater, and--even more horrifically--mosquitoes.  Lest I paint it to be a completely negative picture, it's not all bad, not at all.  There is greenery all around, and the sight of acres of mature trees is beautiful.  Lightening bugs bring a little bit of whimsical delight to my evenings, as do my neighbors cats that are allowed outside for a few hours at dusk.  I've enjoyed some mini-adventures with my mother.  Experiencing our relationship face to face has warmed my soul.

And yet...

Time for a confession:  I'm scared.  Scared that I won't find meaningful work.  Scared that I only traded locations and that my life will continue to seemingly go nowhere.

That fear has limited my stepping out, ensuring that my life won't move forward!  Kind of silly I suppose.  But here I am, acknowledging it.  Sometimes recognizing what it is I'm doing helps me take ownership of the situation and nudges me into change.

Confession:  I have been apathetic.
Confession:  I have the tools to change.

In my next post I'll be reiterating what it is that God has called me to, as a reminder to myself, but also to prompt me forward.  Pursuing who God had has designed me to be and to step into it.

See you soon!

Change

Last week at this time I was saying goodbye to a family I cherish, about to spend time with another couple that I count as dear friends.  My car was packed.  To the brim.  Overflowing with my belongings.  And even as full as I could pack my car, I still had to leave things behind.

Maybe I shouldn't say things.  A few pieces of furniture are replaceable, and might even be fun (once the income starts flowing again!).  But tonight I'm sitting in my new home, 1800-ish miles away, and I'm mourning the people I left behind last week.

While I'm usually a loner, I deeply value the true friends I have made.  I know God is with me in this transition (otherwise I'd be a wreck!).  It aches a little bit to think of the people I left behind, and how much I'd give to have a hug and a long conversation with one of them.  Shoot, ALL of them!!!

But for tonight, I'm turning this over to God, knowing that He's with me always.  Honestly I'm wishing He'd send a representative with a heartbeat and skin!  Times of change have been hard for me historically.  Yet underneath my sad heart I know a peace deep within that is keeping me calm.  God has a plan for me, even though I don't know exactly what that looks like.  He has given me a passion, allowed an incredible education, introduced me to life-changing people that showed me how to follow Him, and turned my ashes into beauty.  Now it is time to stretch one wobbly foot out and take a step to what He is calling me to do.  Love others, offer hope, and in everything and in every way point back to Him.

Fresh Life

      Sometimes an event happens and it opens your eyes to possibility and sparks your thought-life into bloom.  Yesterday morning I walked into my living room and found that my after-Christmas splurge was transformed.
      I'm from Missouri and I miss the bulb flowers that come out at the first hints of spring.  They have such glorious colors, and some have breathtaking fragrance.  A few days after Christmas I found paperwhite bulbs on sale (50% off!), and brought them home.  At first I felt guilty: I could've saved those few dollars for something else, something practical.  But I didn't.
      I planted them and I think they started growing from day one.  I would sing to them, and talk to them, and they would grow an inch overnight (I checked with my ruler to make sure!).  Earlier this week their little buds got fatter and fatter, and whiter and bumpier.  And then...
       Voila!  Fragrant paperwhite blossoms in my living room; sweet little clusters of joy heralding the arrival of spring in our household!

       I was enchanted with the whole process, and it caught my imagination with its symbolism.  I watched those little buds from the moment they popped their small green heads from the dirt.  I watched as they plumped up and grew taller.  I watched as I could start to see the clusters mature inside their green cocoon, becoming knobby and brimming with life.  Inside that tight little bud the flowers were growing.  Their world was dark, but they knew they were meant to live beyond the bud, to burst with life from their prison.  The resistance of the green bud encouraged them to become strong and perseverant, intent on escaping the dark.  They knew what they were intended to be, and they pursued it.     They overcame.

      Does that remind you of anything?
 Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.  Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.  If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you. James 1:2-5