Here are my holiday wishes to you. (My dog says "Arf" as well, which translated means, "I hope you enjoy your family and your days off work and the lovely weather and the turkey gravy, and if you're not going to enjoy the gravy, please send it to me.")  Apparently, dogs can say a lot of things very quickly.

I will be taking a break from blogging from now till the end of the year to enjoy this time at home in Nebraska with my family . . . all 21 of us (or is it 22?) with 2 more on the way!!! (And you thought your family was chaotic...)

I pray the Lord's promise to Moses over you for this coming year: "My Presence will go with you, and I will give you rest."

48 Hours

Eight of the last 48 hours last week I spent in a surprisingly comfortable black swivel chair in AIM’s conference room.  We were all there for one dreadful purpose: Support raising.  Or training for support raising, rather.  It was kind of like an extended version of my visit to the dentist.  I haven’t decided which one was more painful.

Too bad both were also unerringly essential.

One of the worst tortures this world has come up with is letting someone else floss your teeth.  They don’t seem to care if your gums are screaming.  They can’t feel a thing.  The other chief torment is talking about money.

Because, after all, money is not usually the very heart of the matter.  It often has something to do with what we’re loving - or not loving.  What we’re willing to let go of and how we think about others and ourselves.  But that’s only one of the things we learned.  Here’s some more:

1) Support raising is not a dirty word.  Not even in missionary circles.

2) Honesty, communication, and humility are helpful qualities to have even outside of marriage.

3) Prayer is key.  Prayer is always key.  Because God didn’t write a handbook entitled “Support Raising Do’s and Don’t’s.”  Instead, He pulls out a chair and invites us to sit down with Him and have a little chat . . . even if it takes months or years or a lifetime.

4) I’m not alone, and my 319 facebook friends are not about to simultaneously un-friend me.  My value has nothing to do with my bank statement.

5) I’m not the only one who burns simple things like pizza and popcorn.  I’m also not the only one who thinks chocolate is a vegetable.

6) We need each other.

7) I learned my lesson. (No offense, but this one’s written more for God’s benefit than yours.) I would like to state here that I have submitted to sitting under eight hours worth of teaching and a visit to the dentist, all in the same 48 hours.  Point taken.  Please don’t make me do it again!

So, what's next?  Well, instead of dentist's drills and swivel chairs, I am locking myself in my car.  For 18 hours.  Apparently, it's one of my favorite pastimes.  The good news is at the end of the 18-hour self-imprisonment, I will be in Nebraska.  Unless I get lost.  Which is a distinct possibility.  I'm taking off tomorrow (Wednesday) morning at 5:00 a.m., and hope to be home before midnight!  For those of you I am leaving, thank you for your hospitality.  Georgia isn't home, but it is beautiful.  For those of you I am coming to see . . . Woohoo!!  It's almost Christmas!!  I am looking forward to everything but the cold.

Awkward Moments

It happened Saturday night.  AIM threw a Christmas party, something a bit more towards formal but not too fancy.  I didn’t bring any dresses with me, but I had found one at Goodwill a couple weeks ago.  It was all my favorite colors, and it perfectly matched my blue scarf.  So, I put on my Goodwill dress, borrowed a pair of dress shoes from Amie, and let Sydney straighten my hair.

Then we went to the party.

The decoration committee had covered the room in black and then strung up white Christmas lights, feathers, and tree branches.  It was fascinating.  There was also a little copse of snowy trees with presents under them in the corner.

We walked in out of the cold and took it all in.  One of the first things I noticed was how nice everyone looked and how they all seemed to be wearing very neutral colors.  Black and white to be specific.  “Hm,” I thought.  “Must be a Georgia thing.”

We wound our way through the crowd and into the offices in the back where people were having their pictures taken.  That’s when a woman came by and laughingly told her friend she was wearing jeans because she didn’t have the right dress.  “They said there’s no dress code,” she explained, “just as long as it’s black and white.”

Excuse me?

You mean there was a color coordination plan?  Black and white, huh?  Oh.  So, that’s why no one’s wearing anything bright and vivid tonight.

And there I stood with my straight hair in a pair of borrowed shoes and a Goodwill dress that was all my favorite colors.

I walked back into the main room feeling almost more awkward than any other time in my life.  I hardly knew anyone there, and my small list of acquaintances were looking at me like, “Wasn’t your hair different last time I saw you?” and “What are you wearing?  Didn’t you read the memo?”  It probably was my imagination, but I certainly felt like I was being studiously avoided.  Maybe they were just avoiding my dress.

I ended up in an out-of-the-way bathroom with a motion-censored light switch.  I positioned myself in the far corner and waited to see how long it would take for the light to turn off.  A simple science project to pass the time.  Five minutes.  That’s how long it takes.  Sorry.  You’re going to have to come up with your own experiment.  It also might interest you to know that the light turns back on if you move your arm in about a quarter circle.  Blinking, however, doesn’t do anything.

All in all, it was a rather . . . disconcerting evening.  Reminds me of my sister’s song: “Have you ever been in an awkward moment? . . . Cause I have.”

Generosity and Pain

This morning I went to the dentist.  First time in something like six years.  Which, apparently, isn’t the healthiest decision when you like Recess as much as milk.  But this visit wasn’t my idea.

It was God’s.

One of His unpredicted open doors that I’m supposed to walk through no matter how much I’d rather scream and run the other way.

They were very nice at the dentist office.  Their welcome turned to downright enthusiasm when they heard I was headed for Haiti.  “Well,” said the lady who was getting my dental hygiene bag ready, “since you’re going to Haiti for awhile, I’ll throw in a little extra.”

“Oh, how nice,”I thought.

What I didn’t know was how much extra she was throwing in.  Three toothbrushes, five packs of dental floss, three tubes of toothpaste, and one little bottle of mouth wash.

I feel like I could almost start an orphanage with a stash like that.  I’ll have the shiniest teeth in all of Haiti.

I was feeling pretty good right about then.  Until the dentist came in and found two cavities.  And then led me into a second room with a map of Georgia’s football stadium on one wall and a map of Lake Lanier on the other and absolutely nothing interesting painted on the ceiling.  I know.  I stared at that ceiling for the next 45 minutes.  While the very kind doctor stuck a needle in my gums three times and bored into two of my teeth with a power drill.  (That’s what it felt like anyhow.)

I began to wonder if this is what it feels like to be tortured.  I started differentiating between the various flakes on the ceiling.  That one looked like a bunny.  That one was a dragon being ridden by a little boy.  That one was a worm who wanted to fly, so he called together all the other silk worms and asked them to spin him a parachute, and - oh, dear.  I probably shouldn’t be telling you this.

In the end, the cavities were filled.  The dentist didn’t even charge for one of them.  “It’s my contribution to the cause,” he said.  This from a man who’d never seen my teeth before and isn’t very likely to see them again!  The friend who took me to the dentist paid the remaining bill.

Did you catch that?  Everything was taken care of - half through the kindness of a friend and half by the spontaneous gift of a total stranger.  Such rich, beautifully unexpected generosity!  Such piercing, fingernails-on-chalkboard pain!  And all because I walked through the door God had opened for me.

The more often I walk through His doors, the more I find this to be true.  He is generous in ways I haven’t even begun to think of imagining.  He gives rich blessings disguised as torment.  He digs deep into the tender areas without pausing to ask why I’m flinching so much.  He refuses to honor my fearful cringing by passing over a couple little flaws.  He works through generosity and pain.  Sometimes at the exact same time.

I love knowing He’s doing all this to make me more like Him . . . even if my teeth are still killing me . . .

The End of the Driveway

I woke up the other morning with a grand plan to fill only a single half hour of the entire day.  I didn’t know what else to do.  What I was supposed to, what God was asking me to do, what I was expected to do, what I ought to do.

The dog was whining in the garage.  His name is Titus.  When he gets in trouble, they call him Titus Philemon Hebrews James.  I figured he wanted out of the garage.  Thus the whining.  So, I let him out.

And then forgot to put him back in again.

Titus Philemon Hebrews James is the sort of dog who runs away when you forget to put him back in.

Which is what I remembered when Aime came home from taking the kids to school.  The bad news is he runs away.  The good news is he always runs away to the same couple spots.  Aime hopped back in the van to find the dog.  I grabbed my coat and shoes and went outside.  Then I stopped.  There wasn’t really anything I could do.  I didn’t know Titus’s favorite places to run away to.  Besides, Aime had the van.  She’d find him a lot faster than I would.

I went back inside.

I felt a lot like I had when I woke up that morning.  Pointless.  Directionless.  Useless.

That’s when Aime called.  She was on a schedule and hadn’t found the dog.  Would I mind awfully much going for a walk to track him down?  “Oh,” I said to God.  “So, after I figure out that I can’t do anything, then You give me a job to do, huh?”

I grabbed my shoes and coat and the leash and the zapper thing for the electric collar, and stepped outside.  I was going prepared.  To go on a walk, to whistle my head off, to search for the dog I’d lost.  I had my objective and my tools and my plan.  I had something I could do.

I got as far as the end of the driveway before I found him.  Trotting back to the house, trying to wag his tail while holding it between his legs, looking rather ashamed of himself, and peering at me like he hoped I wouldn’t be angry enough to zap him.

All I had to do was stand in the driveway.

“They that wait on the Lord . . .” God keeps saying to me.  Over and over again.  “Wait on the Lord.”

So, I am waiting.  Asking Him to do His work.  To move the minds I can’t change, the prayers I can’t pray, the hearts I can’t call, the place I can’t prepare.  To let Him do what only He can do while I go out and stand at the end of the driveway.

Conversations

This past weekend, I had a three-hour conversation with God out on the dock on the lake under the sun and the sky and the wind.

We talked about George Muller and time lines and faith and work and advice and wisdom and foolishness and how pretty the geese looked when they flew over the water.  I had a lot of questions.  I didn’t get a lot of answers.  Instead, I walked away with a simple two-word invitation.

“Pray more.”

As in, minute by minute, every breath, in between the heartbeats.  “Pray without ceasing.”  Cause all this work is meaningless if God hasn’t told me to do it.  And I won’t know if He’s telling me to do it unless I ask Him.  And I won’t hear Him unless I’m listening.  And that only works for today, and tomorrow I’m going to need the same thing.  It’s a process, not a destination.

On the way back to the house, I kept praying.  I’m learning, see?  I asked God to give me the opportunities to share how He’s working in me, and mostly to keep the communication lines so close between the two of us, that no matter what He says, no matter when He says it, I’m already listening, so I know exactly what He’s asking me to do, and I jump right in and do it.  I asked for His words to speak, cause I flounder all over the place when I’m trying to speak on my own.

And then I walked into the house, and Clint asked, “What are you hearing?”

He knew I had gone out to the dock to pray, and he wanted to know what God was saying.

So, I told him.  “I’m trying to find the line between work and business plans and time lines and all that, and faith.”

And then I stopped.  I am not what you call an external processor.  I am most comfortable thinking things over without speaking a word to anyone, and then sooner or later arriving at a conclusion that I often find really hard to communicate.  “Wow,” I thought.  “I just condensed a three-hour conversation into a single sentence.”

And then I thought, “Well, of course, I did.  Didn’t I just ask God for that very thing?”

I’m finding that God is so ready to walk with us in throughout-the-day relationship.  He’s just waiting for us to join the conversation.

Weakness

Nature is good at glorifying God.  I mean, really good.  I go on walks here in Georgia all the time, and I keep seeing water that perfectly, to the last detail reflects the trees and sky and clouds above.  Tall, stately woods boasting of their Creator’s faithfulness and never-failing care.  Fragile wisps of fog walking - dancing! - on top of the lake.  Birds singing absolutely all the time.

And I think to myself, “Dude, I wish I could be that consistent.”

This whole living for the glory of God thing is harder than it sounds.

I have my good days and my bad days.  My good minutes and my bad ones.  Trying not to shake the whole house at night cause I just got off the phone with someone who knows someone else who runs a camp - a real, live camp! - in Haiti quickly succumbs to, “Time line?  I don’t know how to make a time line.  I barely managed the business plan.  Now you want me to not only know what I’m doing but when I’m going to do it?”  A profound, deeply helpful conversation is followed by a simple question that I don’t know the answer to and can’t seem to find.  Wisdom gives way to foolishness.  Peace bows to impatience.  Joy plummets into the pit of despair where they only feed you bread and water every other week.

How many details do you need, and how much faith?  How far do you look into the future, and how many minutes a day do you ask God what He wants you to do next?  What if I don’t say what I need to say in a certain, very important conversation?  What if I give people the wrong impression?  What if I don’t give them any impression at all?

These are the questions I’d rather not answer.  Questions I’d really like to drown in the lake while I lock myself in a closet and hide.

It would be so much easier that way.

But, of course, I can’t get to Haiti if I’m sitting in a closet.

So, every time I’m thinking about giving up on this whole Haiti venture and doing something I’m really good at - like opening a restaurant or scuba diving - God keeps saying, “My strength is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.’

“Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.  That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties.  For when I am weak, then I am strong.”

. . . Even if I haven’t figured out the stupid time line yet.

A Little Bit of Nothing to Do with Anything

I sat down at my computer this morning and got on my blog and thought I should share something profound.  Something deep and vivid and inspiring.  A novelty.  Nothing came to mind.

I mean, nothing profound.

Something definitely came to mind.

It’s a precious bit of . . . reading material I had forgotten about that I had occasion to pull up the other day.  A bit of material pulled from our one and only Grand Island Independent.  Who in turn pulled it from a small publication in 1947.  Who in turn pulled it from behind a brick in the cellar of a stately New Hampshire home. (This is all perfectly true, I assure you.)

The rather indelicate subject is rats.  Specifically, how to get rid of your rats.  Exactly precisely, how to write letters to your rats to get rid of them. (I am in perfect earnest.  Ask the newspaper.  I’m really not making this up.)

The following is an example of a letter written to said undesirable rodents:

(Hint: Might I suggest reading it out-loud in a proper British accent.  Think Pride and Prejudice.)

“I have bourn with you till my patience is gone. I cannot find words bad enough to express what I feel, you black devils.  Now, spirits of the bottomless pit, depart from this place with all speed! Look not back! Begone, or you are ruined!  We are preparing water to drown you; fire to roast you; cats to catch you; and clubs to maul you.  Unless you want your detested garments dyed in fire and brimstone, you satans quit here and go to Ike Nute’s! (pretty sure that’s a neighbor’s house) This is for cellar rats. Please give notice to these in the chamber. There are many of us plotting against you.”

(Personal note: If anyone would like to revive this novel form of antagonistic expression, I for one am all in favor!)

Happy first day of December.

True Gold

I like to walk next to the lake here in Georgia.  The water’s down a drastically upsetting number of feet this summer, and half the boat docks are on dry land.  The red dirt underneath has had time to dry, and the birds have had time to pick open the clam shells.  It’s my new favorite place to walk.  It’s like God’s been working the whole summer just to pave a path for me to walk by the water.

(It’s kind of a big deal.  We don’t get to walk by water much in Nebraska.  Thanks, God.  You’re much appreciated.)

On one of these walks, I found a hand-sized rock that glittered in the sun.  It looked just like gold.  Visions of grandeur, riches, and fame began to crowd my head.  This rock had been hiding under the water for centuries, probably, but no one had found it because the water was in the way.  And now that the water was gone, no one bothered to walk here . . . no one but lucky me!  That’s what I was thinking.  Until I picked up the sparkly rock and pulled a layer off.  And then another and another and another.

Apparently, gold was a lot flakier than I thought.

Or, maybe it wasn’t gold at all.

I’m kind of hoping the second one is true.  If it’s not, I just left a fortune lying in thin little glimmering sheets all the way from the edge of the lake to the beginning of the woods.

For every sliver I pulled off the fake gold, I wondered more and more what true gold looks like.  Is it pliable?  Is it shiny?  When you bite it, is it hard?  (No, I did not put the fake gold in my mouth.)

During the tour a couple months ago, we got to stop in Holland, Michigan, and catch up with a youth group that had been in Haiti this summer.  It was one of my favorite stops.  That’s a special group of kids.  When they came back from Haiti, they wrote down some prayers and thoughts from the trip.  This is some of what they said:

“I have learned this week that sometimes you have to give up your dreams to follow the dreams God has for you.”

“If I’m alone and have nothing to do, no one to hang out with, I’ll talk to God.  If I really need help with something, I’ll talk to God.”

“God will be with me, guiding me, protecting me, providing for me until the day I join Him and all my brothers and sisters in Christ in Heaven.”

“I have surrendered my life to Jesus, and now I will dive in any time I feel the water of Jesus stirring within my soul.”

These quotes inspire me.  They remind me of what’s real and what really matters.  These are nuggets of true gold.  Gold that can stand the fire and still be there after the wood, hay, and stubble are burned.

Oh Lord, open our eyes to be captivated by the real gold, to leave all the false stuff far behind, to let go of the worthless and unreal, to chase after what is lasting and true.

Dying Leaves

The leaves are brown here in Georgia.  I’m told they were brilliant a few weeks back, only I wasn’t here then.  But that’s alright.  I still go out nearly every day to walk through the woods.  They’re vast and brown and quiet and beautiful.  And dead.  The leaves are very much nearly all dead.

It seems to be a recurring topic here recently.

The more I look into this whole idea of going to Haiti, the more I see that I am completely inadequate.  The more I search, the more I see how little I have yet found.  The more I understand the problem, the more I see that I cannot fix it.  The more I live, the more I see the need to die.

George MacDonald referred to it when he wrote, “I used to build many castles, not without a certain beauty of their own - that is, when I was less understanding.  Now I leave them to God to build for me: He does it better and they last longer.”

Harriet Beecher Stowe wrote it poetically: “From his deepest soul, he that hour loosed and parted from every hope in life that now is, and offered his own will an unquestioning sacrifice to the Infinite.”

Paul said it this way: “I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me.”  And again, “For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God.”

Amy Carmichael called it “a chance to die.”

C.S. Lewis said something about a masterpiece wishing in the midst of all that dreadful, time-consuming artistry that it were only a simple stick figure that could be drawn in a moment and done with.

Jesus said, “Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.”

They all mean the same thing.  Death is a good thing.  Death is necessary for dead things to be brought to life.

I’ve begun to take note of the antics of dead leaves these days.  The one that skipped along next to me on the shores of the lake.  The mob that followed me up the road as I walked to the house.  The hundreds upon hundreds that spun their quirky, rambling way to the ground under a sudden gust of wind.

It is my hope and prayer that for every dead leaf I see, a child of God is learning what it means to die.

That of Which We Boast

I love adventures.  I even love adventures when I don’t know where I’m going.  That’s why I’m in Georgia right now.  Staying in someone’s else’s house, eating borrowed food, not getting a job, and generally being incredibly irresponsible.

I’ve decided that I’m a little too good at getting lost.

Don’t worry.  So far, I’ve only had to turn my car around three times after missing the right road.  I am rather expecting that number to go up though.  No GPS this time.

Some skills you’re not supposed to be proud of.

“But let him who boasts boast about this: that he understands and knows me, that I am the Lord, who exercises kindness, justice and righteousness on earth, for in these I delight,” declares the Lord.

So, if I don’t have a business plan - or a fail-safe blueprint - or a comprehensive question and answer sheet - or even a vague idea of how much it will cost - then I can say this.  And this is what I mean: I am here to know Jesus.  That’s really the bare heart of it.  How can I know Him unless I seek Him?  How can I seek Him unless I listen?  How can I listen unless I follow?

“Follow Me,” Jesus says.  “Give everything away, and then come, follow Me.”

It is a lot to give up, a lot to lose.  But it’s not too much.  He’s never yet asked more than I could afford to lose.  The things I let go of now seem like much as I open my hands to them.  As I ungrasp, as I let go.  Especially when I don’t have anything new to hold onto right away.

But some day in the light of Eternity . . . it will be as nothing.  It will be giving away a worthless rock to gain a priceless jewel.  It will be letting go of a bent, broken walking stick to hold the hand of God.  It will be walking away from a muddy, trickling creek for the vast, unending ocean.  I would rather lose all of it for a lifetime than lose Him for one day.

The Very...Very...Very Long Bus Ride

Apparently, it’s hard for me to go anywhere without something . . . unusual happening.

God thinks He has a sense of humor.  Sometimes I think He just enjoys seeing us squirm.  It started with the very first bus.  Which was late.  Forty-five minutes late at 3:30 in the morning in 20 degree weather.  The good news is my parent’s car has a very good heater in it.

I boarded the bus, wide-awake and cheery-eyed (Ha.), and discovered that there is something more uncomfortable than the seats on a transpacific flight.  It is the half of a chair on the aisle end when the man next to you is asleep and taking up rather a lot of room.

Other than that, I was pretty comfortable.

Until we pulled into St. Louis.

I have decided I don’t particularly like St. Louis.

It started with our bus driver’s bland announcement that we would kindly take all our bags off the bus with us, and if he were us, he wouldn’t accept any help carrying them, if we knew what he meant.  I dutifully grabbed my book bag, purse, computer, guitar case, and no-wheels-included suitcase, squeezed myself sideways through the door, and tried not to drop anything.

Visiting the restroom was going to be difficult.

I was trying to figure out which bus I was supposed to be boarding next when a strange man came up to me.  He and his 6-year old daughter (in tow) needed money to buy two tickets to get from where they were to someplace else.  At least that’s what he said the money was for.  I’m not sure if I believed him or not.

I got on the bus, hoping for some peace and quiet.  I had been on buses for 18 hours at this point.  They were definitely not on my top ten list of favorite relaxation spots.  Then the bus driver got on.  “May I have your attention please,” he said over the intercom.  “There will be no smoking - I repeat, no smoking - on board this bus.  No alcohol, no drugs, no profanity.  I repeat, no profanity.  This is a zero tolerance bus.  Let me say that again . . .”

He got his point across.

To most of us anyhow.  All but the little man a ways towards the back who decided he couldn’t hold off that long and smoked a cigarette in the bathroom.  At least that’s what the bus driver said he did.  And then he pulled into a police station.  Little town named Nashville, Illinois.  I didn’t even know Illinois had a Nashville.

Apparently, it does.

Apparently, Nashville, Illinois’s police department doesn’t stay open till 9:30 at night.  We waited for the cops to arrive.  And then we waited for them to ask their questions.  And then we waited for them to handcuff the distraught offender.  And then we waited some more, for I don’t know why.  All in all, it was about 45 minutes.

Flashing lights and everything.

And two guys at the front of the bus giving us a running commentary on the whole event.  “Oh, man, he’s done for.  They’re going to put him in jail - jail! - for smoking a cigarette.  What?  They will!  I bet they got all sorts of charges on him - disturbing the peace and drinking and all kinds of other stuff.  I bet he’ll be sitting in jail over Thanksgiving, yes, he will.  That’s what they do in these sorts of places . . .”

Like that.

The bus driver finally remembered he had a bus to drive, got back in, and away we went.  I thought all the abnormalcy was over.  I certainly hoped it was.  And that’s when the man sitting next to me tried to fall asleep with his head on my shoulder.  He apologized the first time but then tried it again.  This time, he also tried to hold my hand.  I would have slugged him, but I didn’t want to stop at the police station again.  Instead, I coldly told the man that if he was going to bother apologizing, he shouldn’t dare repeat the mistake.  Then I moved seats.

It was a very long bus ride.

All I have to say at the end of it is, no, God, thank You very much, but that was not funny.  And, well, at least I’m not the only one.  Gladys Aylward had it lots worse . . .

The Little Problem and How It Became a Grand Adventure

I’m beginning to think God likes adventures even more than I do.  Let me tell you a story.

Once upon a time, there was a girl whom God told to pack her suitcase and drive 1,100 miles to Georgia.  She had $123.51 in her bank account.  When she arrived in Georgia, she had 51 cents left.  The following week, all meals were provided by the event she was helping with.  She needed nothing but gas in her car.  The day her car ran out of gas, she received enough money in her bank account to fill it up again.  The next time her car ran out of gas, someone handed her $20.  The third time it happened, she didn’t even need it.

She went to church on Sunday, and God told her to put the extra money in the offering.  So, she did.

Two months passed.  Some people thought the girl was very foolish and slightly irresponsible.  They didn’t say so.  But that is what they thought.  Actually, the girl thought they were probably right a good deal of the time.

But she didn’t have a job, she couldn’t make money grow on trees, and God didn’t say to do anything else.  So, she had to continue to trust.  There was only one problem.

At the end of two months, the girl was in Nebraska.  Her car was in Georgia.

One thousand one hundred miles away.

By plane or train or bus or car or hitchhiking?  That was the question.  They were all quite valid options . . . well, most of them anyway.

The girl began to pray.  She wanted to know if God had an answer for her little problem.  The first day she prayed, she received $100.  Several days later, she received the same amount again.  On that same day, she found a bus ticket for almost exactly $200.  Only she was just a little bit short.  But on the very next day, she discovered in her room five $5 bills she’d tucked away in an envelope six months earlier and completely forgotten about.  Now she could buy the bus ticket.

And just to make sure she wasn’t thinking of taking a different route instead, God did this: The friends who offered to drive her suddenly found they couldn’t.  Plane tickets were too expensive, and the cheapest airline wasn’t flying to Georgia anyway.  Hitchhiking was deemed unreliable for certain dark and sinister reasons . . . Only the bus was perfect.  The ticket would take her from Grand Island, Nebraska, to Gainesville, Georgia.

Which is exactly where God wanted her to be.

And that is the story of the little problem and how it became a grand adventure.

The Recurring Question

So . . . what’s next?

I get that question a lot.  After high school.  After Hong Kong.  After Oregon.  After leaping off a 25-foot bridge with nothing but a surprisingly calm raging river of death and destruction underneath.  Usually I shrug and say, “I dunno.  Sounded like a good idea at the time.”

Today I have a different answer for you.  It is this:

Iwannamovetohaitiwithateamofpeoplepassionateaboutjesusandsharinghislovewithkidsandadultsandwelllearnthelanguageandbuildrelationshipsandfindwaystogettheamericanchurchinvolvedandwaitforthegloryofgodtoopentheeyesofhisbridetowalkinginthefaithandhopeandloveofthelordfortheadvancementofhiskingdomandthepraiseofhisname.

I hope you understood that.  Apparently, the structure for the words isn’t quite there yet.  Absent periods, commas, capital letters, and little things like that.  But no worries.  I’m on a quest to find the structure.

It’s waiting with my car in Gainesville, Georgia.

At least, that’s where I hope it is because that’s where I’m going.  A long time ago, I told God I didn’t think He made me to sit in a college classroom for four endless years, so I’d simply have to get my degree elsewhere.  I go where He tells me to go.  He’s the teacher.  I’m just hunched over the desk, scribbling frantically to keep up with the notes.

Next chapter: Georgia.

I have a vision that involves Haiti and underprivileged children and houses and families and the American church.  I have a vision that means stepping out into the unknown and learning a new language and sweating a lot.  I have a vision that requires a team.  I have a vision that’s going to cost everything.  It’s rather blurry around the edges, but it’s glowing with the light of the glory of God.  I don’t know much, but I do know who is leading me.

So, I’m headed down to Georgia.  On Thursday.  I’ll be back home for Christmas with my family and friends.

I think.

I’m going on faith and not on sight.

Goodbye, Nebraska.

. . . again.

O Holy Ghost, revival comes from Thee
Send a revival; start the work in me
Thy Word declares Thou wilt supply our need
For blessing now, O Lord, I humbly plead

(from the song “Cleanse Me” by J. Edwin Orr)

Why

This is an excerpt I read recently from a book called Always Enough.  It was written by Heidi Baker.

“The Lord is calling for servant-lovers who will call in the outcasts, who will go into the dark corners of the world and compel the poor to come.  And they will come.  They’ll come by the millions.  Who will go and leave their lives of comfort and call in the broken?  Who will go and be a learner?  Who will go and lay their lives down for Jesus among the poor?  The Lord Jesus wants His house to be full.  It’s time for us to go out to the poor, to the broken, to the homeless, to the dying and to the lonely and call them to come in.  Thousands and thousands of missionaries and ministers need to go to the darkest places, to the poorest places, to the forgotten places, because the wedding feast is about to begin and so many of the poor haven’t been called.  Rush out and call them.  They will come.”

This is why I do what I do.  Or why I'm trying to do what I'm trying to do.  I don't particularly know what I'm doing.  I typically know about half an answer out of ten.  Statistically, I'm not exactly succeeding.

But God has called me.

So, I flounder along, confusing others and myself and everyone reading this because I haven't told them ... again ... what exactly it is I'm doing.  Speaking of which ... I don't think I've really said, have I?

Well, maybe there will be room for that next time.  For now, I just wanted to say this: Jesus is calling.  Who will go?  He is always enough.

What It's Like to Be a Bride

I would like to start off by saying I have no qualifications for writing this post.  I’ve never been a bride.  I get slightly bored sitting through weddings.  I don’t know what color I want my bridesmaids to wear. (Not that I have any bridesmaids.) I’ve never owned an all-white dress.

On the other hand, I have every qualification for writing this post.

God is showing me that I am a piece in a whole, a member in a body, a part of His bride. (Sorry, men.  I’m not sure how that all works from where you stand.  I’m sure God has His reasons.)

A week ago, Teri asked me what I learned on the tour.  The traveling-around-the-States-praying-for-gas-money-walking-into-restaurants-with-no-money-to-pay-for-food-enjoying-every-hot-tub-we-could time.  This is what I told her:

Six weeks ago I didn’t know God was this faithful.  That He could do something that I labeled failure and still be true.  That He could catch us when we were falling off a cliff and make it funny.  That He could give us this many presents when it wasn’t any of our birthdays.  Five weeks ago I didn’t know His bride - His American bride - was this beautiful.  That she was being called to walk in love, and she was answering the call.  That she was striving hard to be His hands and His feet.  That she was so generous and honest and kind.

I’ve seen the American Church alive and worshiping.  I’ve seen complete strangers open their front doors and welcome us with hugs.  I’ve seen hearts healed.  I’ve seen dreams lived.  I’ve seen the same God I saw in Haiti and Africa and China and around the world take charge of a red mini-van to proclaim His kingdom in the USA.

Welcome to the Bride of Christ.  Around the world, God is calling His children to rise up, to give up, to shout out, to live out the truth and life that are found in Jesus only.  Many of His children are answering that call.  I’ve seen it.  And it’s gorgeous.

Not because it’s about us at all.  But because as we bow at His feet, our faces start to reflect His.  And that’s what the world is dying to see.

To God be the glory.

Life In the Gap

So, now that the tour’s over, and I’ve finally begun to realize how little I actually told you about what we were doing, I’d like to end with an introduction.

Readers, meet Teri.

I’m sure Teri says Hi. :-)

Teri is the reason I went on the Fall Dream Tour 2011.  Well, Teri and God.

I first met Teri in Gainesville, Georgia, sitting in an office at AIM headquarters at a table with scribbled words, verses, and dinosaurs all over it.  God has given Teri a dream.  A dream to reach deep into the American church, grab hold of all that hidden potential, and pull it out into the raw, real, day-in, day-out world.

You could probably call her life a spark.  A John the Baptist sort of call.  Or a cold bucket of water to rouse a sleeping giant.  Whichever you prefer.

After five weeks on the road together, this is what I have learned about Teri:

She likes chips.  Blue ones especially.  She loves asking her six-year old daughter, “Do you know - do you know how much I love you?”  She’s writing a book, and the plot is fascinating.  She sometimes snores (hi, Teri :-)).  She loves Ireland, Scotland, and Tennessee.  But that’s not all I know.

Teri has an unstoppable, passionate determination to follow the dream God has given her.  She had a conversation once with a fellow worker at AIM.  Life was rough just then, and Teri was wondering if maybe she’d heard wrong and ought to move into something a little more normal.

This is what she said: “I can’t do this.  I used to know how to do these things.” (Teri used to be a strategic planner.) “But now?  I don’t know how to do this.  I’m screwing everything up.”

Her co-worker’s response?  “Teri, you don’t have any idea how much you mean to us.  We watch you.  We’ve seen how much you’ve given up.  You inspire us.”

Why?  Because the things that are holding America back are the very things that Teri’s giving away.  She’s given up her family, her house, her job, security, stability, retirement, sanity, even her dog Abner.  And the more she loses her life, the more abundant the life she finds.  And she’s more compelled today than she was yesterday.  And she was more compelled yesterday than she was the day before.  This is living in the gap between what we have and what we need.  This is where we see God show up.

Those are Teri’s words, not mine.

I’ve come away from the tour thinking we could use a few more Teri’s in the States.  I’ve seen her walk up and pray for total strangers.  I’ve seen her share hugs and a laugh with former prostitutes.  I’ve seen her encourage pastors and other missionaries.  I’ve seen her skip through a parking garage with her daughter, ride a horse for only the second time in her life, praise God for a broken window, and paddle a kayak under the stars.  I’ve seen the living, holy, present Almighty God be glorified in Teri’s life.

She doesn’t live half-heartedly.  She doesn’t always know what she’s doing, and she doesn’t always get it right.  But there’s no turning back now, and she knows it.  As she herself said, “I’m in, baby!”

1,176 Hours, 147 Meals, and 70 Toilets Later

I am about to go through a long list of Dream Tour statistics.  But first I would like to start off with something profound.  So.  I was looking at the picture of the map I posted earlier, and I decided it doesn’t look like a wobbly figure 8 at all.  It looks like a bikini.

Eh-hem.

Now that I have your undivided attention: The following is a list of very dull numbers which specify certain statistics recorded over the last several weeks of my life.  They are as follows:

- Time elapsed: 49 days (September 15-November 2, 2011)

- States visited: 22 (NE, KS, MO, TN, KY, GA, SC, NC, VA, MD, PA, WV, IN, IA, WI, OH, MI, AL, MS, LA, TX, OK) And if you know all those abbreviations, you’re doing better than I did.  I had to look them up.

- Toilets occupied: 70 (Yes, it was a little weird counting the number of different bathrooms I went into.  I did it for you.)

- Sleeping arrangements:
    - Couches: 8
    - Blow-up mattresses: 1
    - Beds: 4
    - Floors: 5
    - Top bunk of the bunk bed: 1

- Pianos played: 6 (two Grands!)

- Chocolate inhaled: . . . Oh, it wasn’t that much, alright?

- Miles traveled: 7,270

- Free things:
    - 1 cup of coffee
    - 1 World’s Smallest Ice Cream Sundae (Welcome to downtown Holland, MI.)
    - 4 Casting Crown Concert tickets
    - 1 copy of Radical (The church we were attending just happened to be handing them out that morning.  Really.  For free.)
    - 3 New Orleans Aquarium tickets
    - 1 GPS
    - 235 hugs (. . . Okay, I didn’t really count those.  It’s an estimate.)

- Beginning financial statement: $123.51

- Ending financial statement: Enough.

So, what’s the moral of the story?

If God can do all this in just 49 days through three adults, a six-year old, and a mini-van . . . just think what He could do if He had us all in.  I mean it.  ALL of us.  ALL in.  You might have to bring your own mini-van though.  I don't think you'll fit in ours.

Where I've Been

Below is a rough sketch of where I've been for the last five weeks.  Pretty impressive, isn't it?  And when I pulled out of the driveway at home on September 15, I only had $123.51 to my name.  God is good!  The rather wobbly figure 8 ends on Wednesday, November 2. Back in Central City, Nebraska. But not for long . . .

The Heartbeat of God

Sometimes God asks us if we still believe He’s good even when He doesn’t seem to be.  He did it to Abraham when He told him to sacrifice his son.  He did it to Joseph when He put him in an Egyptian jail cell.  He did it to Paul when He gave him a thorn in the flesh.  He’s done it to me.

Do you trust Me? He asks.  No, really.  If I don’t do this for you, do you still trust Me?  Do you still believe that I’m good?

God asked me this question a couple weeks ago on our tour.  He let me flounder through an answer for a few days, and then He gave me a picture to show me His heart.

It happened in Holland.  Michigan, Holland.  In the land of wooden shoes and terrifying Melon Heads.  The land of kayaking at midnight.  The land of long, sandy beaches and breathtaking autumn trees.  And home to one of my favorite youth groups in the world.

I met them in Haiti.  They’re the ones who thanked God for the heat.  The ones who stayed up on the roof till midnight, worshiping and washing each others’ feet. (See This Post) I have seen in them the joy of the Spirit.  I have heard from them the truth and love of Jesus.  They have given me hope for the future of the Body of Christ.  They have been a blessing.  And this week, through one particular younger brother, God let me see a glimpse into His heart.

He did it through a young man named Trevor.  God did something special in Trevor during his week in Haiti.  I was in charge of his small group.  I got to see it.  Trevor described it something like this: “God took the narrow crack that was all I allowed of His love to reach me and ripped it open into a wide, raging river.”

And then Trevor came back to America.  Back to school.  Back to safety.  Back to normal.  He was afraid he’d forget the God he’d seen in Haiti.  So, he took one of the lessons he’d learned there and started practicing it here.  He started praying.  Intentionally asking for God’s heart for his friends and then sharing with each friend whatever God said.

When I saw Trevor this week, I asked him what God was teaching him today.  He told me about relationships he’d been intentionally building.  The way he’s trying to carry a ray of Jesus’ light into the darkness of a world without Him.  The cry of his heart to learn what it looks like to walk step-by-step in the presence of God throughout the day.  He let me encourage him.  He let me pray with him.

Trevor’s a tall guy.  My head stops at his heart.  Literally.  When I prayed for him, I put my hand on his back, and he put his arm around my shoulder, and my head stopped at his chest.  I could hear his heartbeat.

And that’s when God spoke.  This is where I’ve got you, He said.  Right here, right now.  This is where you are.  Right up next to My heart.  It doesn’t matter if I think He’s failed me.  It doesn’t matter if He’s not writing the story the way I wanted Him to write.  Remember the question?  What do you want more: your stories or My heart?  He tells me I’m right up against His chest, listening to His heartbeat.  And then He gives me a living, flesh and blood picture to show me what that means.

My prayer for Trevor, my prayer for you, my prayer for me is that we would get right up next to God.  Rest our head against His chest and listen.  Listen for His heartbeat.

(This is Lisa, me, Hunter, and Trevor on the day we left Michigan.  It was 7:30 in the morning.  We were allowed to be abnormal.)

A Birthday Wish

This is a picture of Josh.  Well, and Lisa, Leeza, Tifany, Teri, Lilly, and me.

Josh is the guy.

I probably didn't need to say that, but just in case.  I met Josh in Haiti.  I wrote a a blog about his testimony Here.  Josh's birthday is coming up.  It's tomorrow actually.  This is his birthday wish:

A house.

Not for him.  For a lady called Monique.  She lives in Haiti.  She hand-washed our clothes every week for the two months we were down there.  Her house collapsed in the earthquake, and she's been living in a tent/shack sort of thing with her infant son.

Josh wants to help Monique.  I'd like to help Josh.  Here - These are his own words:

Help me raise $2,800 for my Birthday. I want to buy Monique a house in Haiti. $2,800 for my 28th birthday. I'm going back to Haiti on the 5th and would like to take the money with me so we can start construction. People can send money through www.paypal.com, by clicking on "Send money" and putting in my email address smithjoshua@me.com or mailing a check (make out to "Joshua Smith") to 2021 Wilkens Ave. Baltimore, MD 21223 before the 3rd of November.

The Story That Hasn't Ended Yet

Where do I start?  Chaos.  Anger.  Questions.  Pain.  These are the words that come to mind.  But they’re small, disjointed, inadequate.  And God may be able to read my mind, but you have no idea what I’m talking about.

For me, it started one year ago when 27 Americans walked through the rusted gate of a crammed Haitian orphanage, and one of the children raced to my side, grinned, and grabbed my hand.  A child stranger whose name I didn’t even know.  Holding my hand.  Why?  Because I was present.  I didn’t have to doll out candy or sing a pretty song.  I just had to be there.

Have you ever been to an orphanage?  This is how they are.

We left after five short days of singing songs, taking pictures, giggling, and chasing each other up and down the stairs.  They stayed in their orphanage.  We went back home.  But this is not the end of the story.

This summer, towards the end of my two months in Haiti, the orphanage director was arrested.  The charge?  Child trafficking.  Do you know what child trafficking is?  Do you understand that they sell thirteen-year olds and nine-year olds and six-year olds into slavery?  Do you understand that they are still doing this today?  In Haiti, in Africa, in China, in the Philippines, in the United States.

The orphans should have been free after the director was arrested.  But they weren’t.  His wife and others continued the work he’d left behind.  Children went underfed, undoctored, unloved.  Some disappeared.  Some are still missing.

Then the media got involved.  The Haitian government closed down the orphanage.  They sent police in to bring the children out.  By force.  They dragged them out by force.  Without explanation.  Without compassion.  I’ve seen the pictures to prove it.  This happened just a few days ago. (Read Story Here)

These are not fun facts to hear.  They’re not fun facts to tell.  They are dramatic and heart-wrenching, but they don’t really have a fairytale ending.  That’s because this isn’t a fairytale.  And this isn’t the end.

We live in a cruel world.  I’m sure you didn’t need this orphanage saga to tell you that.  We also live in a beautiful world.  A breathing world.  A dying world.  A world in desperate need.  It’s easy to feel sorry for the homeless kids down in Haiti.  It’s easy to say politicians need Jesus.  It’s easy to say orphan directors who traffic children ought to be shot.

It’s harder to take this story of un-love and use it to compel you on to higher love.  We can write all the letters and pass all the laws and make all the speeches we want.  Some of us can even go to Haiti and sing with the orphans down there.  That’s what I’d like to do.  But Jesus isn’t asking for your future plans or my well-written speeches.  He’s asking for my today.  Your today.

Like the nameless kid who ran up and grabbed my hand.  Just cause I was present.  Are you present with Jesus today?  I could tell you story after horrific story of what people do without Christ.  I’d like to hear some stories of what people do with Him.

This is still not the end of the story.

Technology and Providence

It started out this morning.  We woke up late, stumbled into the living room, and blinked at each other.  “So . . . what are we doing today?”  Silence and a few shrugs.  Apparently, we didn’t really know.

“Uh, we’re meeting a couple people for lunch,” Lisa offered.

And after that?  Well, God knew.  He didn’t tell us.  But He knew.

That afternoon found me sitting in a white, stained-glass chapel playing a gorgeous grand piano to an invisible audience.  Basically, it was one step away from Heaven.  But wait.  It’s about to get better.

Lisa came in.  “So, we’re going to Lexington.  Something about a coffee shop.  Teri said we need to go.”  We didn’t know exactly which coffee shop.  Or why.  But we jumped in the van and started driving.

We had three options for coffee.  Lisa pulled out her smart phone and started researching.  Which one?  Which one?  Coffee Grounds.  One random pick out of three.  Why?  Cool name.  And one free cup of coffee.

We got ourselves some caffeine and a fruit smoothie, sat on a couch, and stared at the wall.  What are we doing here again?  Lisa got back on her phone.  Any tips for Coffee Grounds?  “Go to the back room and check out the books on the bookshelf.”

Well.  Beats staring at a wall.

She went to the back room.  Twenty minutes later, Teri and I thought maybe we should go see what was taking so long.  And that’s how we met Chris.  He was sitting by himself in this back room, and when we came in, he was telling Lisa all about his church.  We sat down and joined the conversation.  In the middle of which, Chris got a facebook message from a friend.  “Two free tickets to the Casting Crowns concert.  Tonight.”

He asked what we were doing for the rest of the evening.

“Uh, we don’t really know.” (That’s become our answer to quite a lot of things.)

Chris invited us to go to a free concert.

Woohoo!  We grabbed our coats and hurried out the door.  The concert hall was less than a mile away.

Oh, but wait.  There are four of us now, aren’t there?  And only two tickets . . . Oh, well!  “Maybe we’ll find two free tickets on the side of the road, just like the wallet,” we mused.

Apparently, God thought that was a pretty good idea.

We got to the concert hall and waited outside for Chris’s friend to come with the tickets.  While we stood there, we noticed a man standing next to us.  He was mumbling something and not looking too thrilled about it.  He was also holding two tickets in his hand.  “Free tickets,” he muttered again.

We kind of heard him, shrugged, and went back to talking.  Five minutes later, we looked at each other again.  “Free tickets?  Did he really say he had two free tickets?  Funny.  We could use two free tickets.”

So, we went and asked.

And that’s how we got four free tickets to a Casting Crowns concert in downtown Lexington.

Welcome to Kentucky.  Welcome to God’s sense of humor.  Welcome to a day in a life filled with technology and Providence.

. . . P.S.  Yeah, it was a pretty awesome concert too. :-)

Chasing Seagulls and Skipping Rocks

I would like to share a memory from the first half of our tour.  It is one of my favorites.  Last week we went to the shore of Lake Michigan.  Sand, seagulls, and sunshine.  Brilliant.  My good friend got to come with us.  A beautiful young woman of God with a heart to serve others and a love for poetry.  A young woman who’s really struggling right now.

That afternoon, we walked down the beach and enjoyed the gorgeous autumn weather.  We made friends with the seagulls.  We walked the length of the pier.  We saw scary flying fish.  We practiced skipping rocks.

And we talked.  About all the sorts of things you talk about when you’re walking in the sand playing tag with seagulls.  And my friend told me how hard it was.  How hard it was to keep on going when this big, strong, good God doesn’t do the things He’s supposed to do.

It was like holding a mirror up to my own heart.  Everything she said, I’ve thought before.

I don’t even know who God is right now, and I feel like I should.  I’ve got all these doubts and questions.  Am I doing something wrong?

I tried to say something profound.  I got distracted by the geese and forgot what I was saying.  And then I saw the rock.  A smooth, round white rock that sparkled when the sun hit it.  I picked it up.

“This,” I said to my friend, “is how God sees you.  Only cooler,” I added, holding it up to the light.  “It doesn’t matter how many questions you throw at Him.  His view of you never changes.  Like this rock: white, blameless, perfect.  And, look - it sparkles when the sun shines on it.”

My friend stared hard at the pebble.  “God sees me like this?”

I nodded.

And right then and there, she started weeping.  Crying out to the God who wouldn’t answer the way she wanted Him - needed Him - to.

I put my arm around her shoulder, and she put her arm around me.  “Jesus,” she said in tears, “I’m so sorry.  I don’t feel You right now, but thank You.  Thank You for seeing me.”

“Huh,” I thought.  “I don’t feel Him either.”

And I didn’t.  Not at all.  There we stood on this enchanting beach with sapphire water running away to the horizon, a breeze kissing our faces, and sunshine pouring down.  And neither one of us felt the presence of God.

“Well, feeling’s got nothing to do with it,” I told myself.  “The Holy Spirit lives inside us.  And besides, God’s the One who made all this gorgeous creation.  Of course He’s here.”

Even though I didn’t feel anything.

A couple days later, I asked God about it again.  Where were You in that moment?  In the words?  The breeze?  In the sky?  Where?  His answer was a reminder of the Body of Christ.  We are called to be the literal hands and feet of Jesus.  So where was He that day when I didn’t feel Him? . . . He was standing right next to me, with His arm around my shoulder.

That’s what God’s been teaching me lately.  He doesn’t have to say anything.  He doesn’t have to do anything.  He doesn’t have to say “yes” to all my prayers or write a happy ending for every chapter.  He doesn’t have to do any of this in order to be God.  He simply is.  God.  All the time, regardless of how I feel or how circumstances scream otherwise.

In the end, He just wants to walk with us.  Down the beach in the sunshine, chasing seagulls and skipping rocks.

Uncovering Secret Identities

This is a story that could only happen on the road.  And probably only after a good 2,000 miles or more.  It’s a story worth remembering.  But maybe you had to be there.  This is the story of how we uncovered who we are.

It started with a spaceship.

It was strapped down to the bed of a very large semi-truck one car ahead of us, and it was blocking the road.  Literally.  Its two escorts had flanked it on either side and stopped, doors open, lights flashing.

One man jumped out of his truck, climbed up on the contraption, and started fiddling with something.  The spaceship started rocking back and forth.  We figured that wasn’t a good sign.  We scratched our heads and waited patiently for them to continue driving.  The third time they pulled this stunt, however, we started bringing up words like “CIA” and “government conspiracy.”

We didn’t know much.  All we knew was it went exactly 15 mph under the speed limit.  Which, when the sign said 35, wasn’t very fast.  It had at least four escorts that all blared, “WE VALUE SAFETY!”  And it had to swerve - very slowly swerve - to avoid overhanging tree branches.

We pulled out our smart phones and started looking up mysterious headlines for small towns in Ohio.

Twenty minutes later, we were starting to get a little bored.  Thirty mph is not fun.  Especially when you still have 60 miles to go.  They couldn’t keep this up for that long, could they?  The truck was going to turn, wasn’t it?

And then we had a great idea.  Did I say great?  I meant brilliant.  It was the sort of idea Indiana Jones would get while sweeping away down a raging river of death and destruction.  Why wait in traffic behind this very slow-moving, likely-to-be-blown-up-at-any-moment unidentified non-flying object?  Why not pass it?  I mean, we couldn’t pass on the left side of the road, not with the escorts blocking traffic.  But what if we turned on a side street?  What if we sped down a parallel road, then turned back onto the main drive ahead of the semi?

Like I said.  Brilliant.

The car ahead of us was piloted by an older, grandmotherly figure.  She had the same idea.  She put her blinker on and carefully turned onto a side street.  I gunned the engine and tore after her.

“Recalculating,” our GPS warned.  “Recalculating!”

We ignored him.  Lisa pulled up a map on her phone and started directing me through the town’s streets.  All four of them.  They ended in a corn field.  We turned right.  Five blocks, then another corn field.  We turned right again.

The main road was up in front of us.  Oh, so close . . . Oh, so far away!

“Go!” Lisa shouted.  “Go, go, go!”

Teri was sleeping in the back seat.  Or she was until we started careening through this tiny town, breaking speed limits and taking corners on two wheels. (That might be a slight exaggeration.) She woke up with one thought blasting through her mind.  We are about to die in my mom and dad’s minivan.  I gotta be awake to see this!

Half a block from the main road, we spotted the spaceship.  On the right, barreling towards us at about 3 ½ mph.  From the left, a line of cars raced to barricade us.  We had all of two seconds to pull out in front of everyone.  If we didn’t make it, we were going to be waiting on absolute miles of traffic backed up behind the semi.

One little red stop sign stood in our way.

For half a second, I seriously considered obeying the law.

“Go!” Lisa yelled.  “Go!”

“What is going on?” came Teri’s voice from the back seat.

I gripped the steering wheel with both hands and ran the stop sign.  Goodbye, government conspiracy.  Goodbye, endless line of slow-moving cars.  Goodbye, spaceship.

So, who are we?  We’re crazy, intentional nomads who love sitting upside-down on couches and hate road construction.  We believe in making friends and memories and asking, “Can we pray for you?”  We burst into random song.  We start twitching when we spend too much time in the car.  Or when we drink too much coffee.  And occasionally, we get so excited we forget to stop at stop signs.

What’s your identity?

The Day I Disagreed With God

“For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways,” declares the Lord.  “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts (Isaiah 55:8, 9).”

I always thought that was such a beautiful passage.  Poetic, inspiring, majestic.  It was so nice to know God surpassed me by that much.  It was great . . . until the day I disagreed with Him.  I didn’t do it on purpose.  It started with another verse.

“Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see (Hebrews 11:1).”  I read that verse for years.  I talked about it.  I even memorized it.

Then I went to Haiti and met a blind man named Jeff (See Being Sure of What We Hope For).  I started asking questions.  What if I relied on God for my needs the same way Jeff has to rely on those around him for his needs?  What if I stopped insisting on sight before I moved?  Could I live in a way that proved the Word of God true?  No, really.  Could I today in 2011 make choices based on utter dependence on God and not looking to man for help at all?  I knew they’d help me if I asked them to.  But I didn’t want to see man move on my behalf.  I wanted to see God Almighty move on my behalf.

I wanted to know what it really means to walk by faith and not by sight.  Funny thing is, in order to live like that, you have to take away sight.  You have to get rid of all the other alternatives and second options and plan B’s that we Americans are so good at making.  You have to get to a point where you’ve got nothing but Jesus.

So, I did.

I packed my suitcase after 4 ½ months of no paycheck and drove to Georgia to begin six weeks on the road.  Six weeks of living by faith and not by sight.  It was great.  God provided gas money and food (chocolate included); He gave me a place to sleep every night and kept the air in all my tires.  He was taking really good care of me.  But I knew He’d do that already.  I wanted more.  There are two kids in Africa I’ve been sponsoring through World Vision and the African Children’s Choir.  Dorcas and Pascal.  Two kids who don’t eat every day.  Two kids with holes in their shoes.  Two kids whose parents can’t send them to school.  I asked God to take care of them.

I wanted a record of His faithfulness.  I wanted my life to be an experiment in faith.

Would you like to know what God did?

Nothing.  He did absolutely nothing.  I asked Him to help, and He didn’t do it.  I had to cancel my sponsorship.  Yeah, it was kind of a let-down to me too.  Sorry.  I’m just telling how it went.

I wasn’t quite sure what God meant by it.  In fact, I still don’t know.  But I’ve given up on the goal I had.  God made me.  My thoughts disagreed with His, and somehow His are still way higher.  I guess that means it’s now up to someone else.  Dorcas and Pascal no longer have support.  And they’re not the only ones.  If I can’t sponsor them from the road, maybe someone will who’s still at home.  Maybe that someone is you.

World Vision: Sponsor A Child

African Children’s Choir:  Sponsor A Child

Homeless missionary on the road who hasn’t learned to read the mind of God:

The Hundred Dollar Bag of Apples

Yesterday afternoon we stopped in a little Illinois town called Poplar Grove.  They have a fun little roadside stand there with all sorts of Fall-ish things.  Delicious apples, fat pumpkins, cute scarecrows, warty gourds.  We were very touristy and pulled out the camera.  We are on our Fall Tour after all.  We also bought a bag of apples.

Who knew buying apples could be so dangerous?

This morning we woke up and realized that our wallet was missing.  As in I-tore-apart-the-van-and-shook-the-chairs-upside-down-and-I-still-can’t-find-it missing.  With $100 in cash.  Guess where we’d seen it last?

We jumped in our van and drove back to Poplar Grove.

We didn’t talk much on the way there.  I don't know about everyone else, but I was mostly trying to figure out what sort of frame of mind I needed to be in to convince God that it would be really good if He got us our wallet and our money back.  We are homeless missionaries after all.

Once in Poplar Grove, Lisa jumped out of the van and went to ask about the missing wallet.  I watched her from the van and didn’t see any impromptu gymnastics.  I figured that meant bad news.

Sure enough.  No wallet.

Way to go, God.

I turned the van around and pulled out of the parking lot.  Put the brakes on at the stop sign.  And very nearly ran over a wallet lying in the middle of the road.  Guess whose wallet?

I looked God’s way and sniffed.

We opened the wallet and looked inside.  All the important things - driver’s license, credit card, social security - were all there.  The only thing missing was the hundred dollars.  Apparently, God wasn’t too concerned about us running out of funds.

At this point, we had a quarter tank of gas left, four hours worth of road to travel, and exactly ten dollars to our name.  Somehow the math wasn’t quite adding up.  We asked God what He wanted us to do (now that He had us pinned), jumped back in the van, and started driving.  Stopped to invest our ten dollars in oil and kept going.  We figured we could make it to Chicago.  God was going to have to do something after that.

We were alright with it.  Well, sort of.  But we didn’t have much of a choice, so we were doing our best to look God in the face without glaring.  But the people we were supposed to be meeting with that day were still in the dark.  I started down the list of phone calls.  “Uh, yeah, hi, so about that lunch date . . . Yes, we are on our way right now . . . Um, not sure when we’ll make it . . . Yes, we’re driving.  Yep, straight towards you.  Only . . . well, we don’t have enough gas to get there.”

Third time around on that conversation, I was getting kinda tired of saying it.

That’s when our friend offered to get us gas money.  Well, first he offered to drive three hours to fill our van up.  Then he had a better idea.  Something called MoneyGram.  Yeah, I had never heard of it either.  Basically, it means he used technology, and we got to walk into the grocery store and carry out some money.  Guess how much?

Exactly one hundred dollars.  We hadn’t breathed a single word to him about how much money we’d lost.  You can’t convince me that God doesn’t take care of those who trust in Him.

. . . That’s also the most expensive bag of apples I’ve ever seen.

The Darkness in Our Dreams

This is for the kids (and adults!) who attended Merge on Wednesday night at EUM Church in Racine, Wisconsin . . . and also for all who wanted to be there. :-)

So, Wednesday night we talked about dreams.  We talked about ugliness and how God sees us through Christ and the different paths we can walk down.  I shared two stories about darkness and light.  Two stories about other people.

I’d like to get a little more personal.  I’d like to share a story from my own life.  Cause, hate to break it to you, but my 29 years haven’t been straight blue skies and sunshine.  I’ve seen God allow darkness into my dreams.

Here’s something that happened recently:

A few years ago, I read a story about a missionary who did something amazing.  Something impossible.  He set out to prove God’s faithfulness.  He set out to show the Bride of Christ the power of prayer.  And God came through.  I’ve read them, story after story after story from this man giving evidence to the unfailingness of God.

I thought that sounded pretty cool.  “I want stories,” I told God.  “Stories that prove Your word true.  Stories I can take to Your Church and say, ‘Here, let me tell you what God’s done for me.  Let me tell you how He’s moving today.’ ”

I started praying.  Asking God, believing God to pull through for me.  Putting myself in a position where, if He didn’t show up, I would be at the very least a fool.  I had a dream.  I wanted to see Him write His stories into reality so I could share them and bring glory to His name.

Guess what?

He failed.  God failed me.  The thing I was asking Him, begging Him to do, He didn’t do.  He blatantly, crushingly, incomprehensibly didn’t do it.  It would have been beautiful.  I had the whole chapter written out in my head.  It was quite dramatic, let me tell you.  Scary, tense, wistful - and this great, heartwarming perfection at the end.  I could even hear the triumphant background music playing as the credits rolled.

But God wrote something else.

A big word that I labeled FAILURE.

I yelled.  I wanted to cry.  I sat at His feet and scowled.  I told Him this: “You didn’t come through for me.  You were too late, too late to help.  I never wanted to write this.  If You’re really writing a higher story than the one I thought You were writing - well, are You allowed to fail in Your stories?  You have to let me fail.  I can’t help it.  I’m human.  But You - You’re God.  You’re supposed to fight for those who can’t fight for themselves.  You’re not supposed to fail.  Why did You?”

He responded with a question of His own.  What do you want more: your stories or My heart?

In other words . . . What am I willing to give up for the sake of staying close to Christ?  Will I give up my shopping sprees?  My bank account?  My extra shoes?  My extra time?  My home?  My comfort?  My dreams?

What am I really chasing?  Is it my version of a happy ending?  A beautiful story?  A vision? . . . Or His heart?  Am I really chasing His heart?  He is a jealous God.  If you really - if you really - desire to follow after Him, He won’t let you get away with anything less.

I want to ask you the same question God asked me.  What do you want more: your stories or His heart?  Think carefully before you respond to that question.  The answer might wreak havoc on your dreams.

The Homeless, the Warriors, and the Thieves

We’ve been staying at lots of friends’ houses out here on the road.  Glenn and Karen in North Carolina, the Long’s in Virginia, Chris in Ohio, Devin and Tia in Wisconsin.  But we’ve been meeting strangers too.  People we weren’t looking for.  People we didn’t know.  People whose paths are on a crash course with ours.  Divine intersections.

We met George.  He was walking in and out of cars stopped at a downtown DC traffic light at midnight.  He had a cardboard sign that said something about no money and food.  We sat at the light, watching him hobble along.  Then as the light turned green, we decided to do something.  I considered leaping out of the van, dodging blaring car horns and cursing drives, to get back to him.  Something right off a scene from the Bourne movies.  Instead we pulled over and walked back on the sidewalk like sane people.  We shared some bread, a bottle of water, and a smile.  God bless George.

We met Joey.  He sat at a table next to us in Portillos.  He prayed before he ate.  So as we stood up to leave, we walked over and asked point-blank, “Are you a Christian?”  That started a marvelous conversation.  Joey has a heart for the street kids in downtown Chicago.  He fights for the troubled kids, the dropouts, the ones who are lost and alone.  We shared with him, he shared with us, and the Body of Christ was encouraged.  God bless Joey.

We met Francisco.  He helped us find a safe place for our van overnight after we’d had the passenger window broken out by thieves in downtown Chicago.  He gave us the number of a guy who would come and fix it.  First thing in the morning for a quarter of the price we were expecting.  Francisco and his friends put us in the expensive, elite parking spot right in front of the hotel.  They guarded our van overnight for free.  They even got out emergency cones.  “Gotta keep you safe,” they said.  God bless Francisco.

We met Tracy.  It started with this brilliant shooting star that we couldn’t help remarking on.  Tracy was walking down the street past us, and she remarked back.  “You get to make a wish now.”  So we asked her, “Well, what would you wish for?”  Transportation.  She was walking to work.  Turns out we had something in the realm of transportation with us.  We invited her in and drove her to her job.  She was close to tears as she left us, overwhelmed that a few strangers would offer her a ride across town in the middle of the night.  God bless Tracy.

So, there you have it.  The homeless, the warriors, and the thieves.  For the record, we didn’t actually get to meet the thieves.  We just admired their artwork in the parking garage.  But even though we didn’t get to see their faces or hear their names, we still prayed for them.  As Lily put it, “God loves everybody.  Even bad guys.”  So, God bless the thieves.

Live From the Road

Here’s a video for y’all.  Week One of our Fall 2011 Dream Tour.  About a quarter of a half a tenth of what we’ve been up to.  Is anyone around here good at math?  Do you know what that means?

We’ve been blessed.  I guess that’s what we’re trying to say.  Our God said He would provide, and He has.  He said He’d watch out for us, and He has.  He said He’d be good and faithful and generous and true.  And He is.  Oh, how He is!

So, take this video as an invitation: We’d like you to share in the blessing.

(Oh, and thanks to Emily, Jenny, and Sarah for sharing your beautiful voices with us.  Your songs and hearts are an inspiration to us.)

Here's the video link: Fall 2011 Dream Tour: Week 1

No Condemnation

I have a friend.  A friend who had a dream.  A dream?  No, lots of dreams.  A different one every week.  Amazing, fantastic, beautiful dreams.  Dreams that would conquer the world . . . And then life came.  People made promises and broke them.  Dreams beckoned and became nightmares.

Have you been there?  Do you want to know what my friend did?

Picked a different dream.  Something a little safer, a little easier to reach.  Something a little less dream-like.  It broke my heart.  I got down on my knees and cried.  I cried out to the God who created us to dream, then allows dreams to be broken.  And as I cried, I saw a picture.

Do you want to know what I saw?

I saw a picture of a crossroads.  My friend was walking down the road.  It was a beautiful road, smooth and gentle, lined with happy green hills and soft flowers.  My friend was holding someone’s hand and laughing.

But Jesus wasn’t on that road.  Jesus was standing at the crossroads, beckoning my friend down a different path.  A dark path.  A rocky, frightening, lonely path.

Do you want to know what I saw in Jesus’ eyes?

Pain.

No condemnation.  No anger.  No hardness.  No regret.  Just pain.  Sorrow and sadness and heartache.  Like He was saying with His eyes, “Where are you going?  Won’t you come back to Me?”

It split my heart open.  Deep, deep down to the very roots.  Not my friend’s choice.  Not the disobedience.  Not even the giving up.  But the look in the eyes of Jesus.  That’s what split my heart open.

Do you want to know what He said?

“Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.”

No condemnation.  That’s what He said.  As my friend walked away, laughing.

We’ve been talking a lot about dreams on this tour of ours.  We’ve been asking people what their dreams are, where their hearts come alive, what’s got them on fire.  Many of us have buried our dreams pretty deep.  Maybe you’re one of them.  Have you ever walked away from your Savior and God?  Have you ever chosen a dream that wasn’t His?  I’ve seen the look on His face as He stares after you.  No condemnation, He says to my friend.  He says the same thing to you.

Raining Cows

 Couch #2: Holly Springs, North Carolina.

That’s where we are now.  But that’s not where we were this morning.  This morning, we were at the last day of the Lucas house, wrapping plastic around mattresses, eating pizza, and cajoling couches up the stairs.  Don’t scratch the paint!

God has called the Lucas family to discipleship.  Very intentional, please-come-into-my-house, would-you-like-a-cup-of-coffee sort of discipleship.  Following after the example of Jesus living day-to-day life with His disciples.

Discipleship gets a little harder when your disciples betray you.  Especially when you’re moving houses.  Even more especially when you’re moving out of a house without knowing where you’re going to move in.  Even much more especially when you’re battling cancer.  Which is what Kathy (Mrs. Lucas) is fighting right now.  What Mark (Mr. Lucas) is struggling to understand.  What Connie (Miss Lucas) is seeking Jesus’ face in the midst of.

Dear God, bless the Lucas’s.

They were a blessing to us.  We tried, like kindergartners explaining calculus, to give a word, a prayer, a song.  Something to comfort the comfortless.  Something to try to make sense of the un-sensible.  I don’t know that we really succeeded.

But God the Father saw the intention of our hearts and decided to bless us in return.  He says He owns the cattle on a thousand hills.  I figure that means He owns all the cows in Rwanda.  Maybe more.  It’s only been three days on the road for us, and we’ve already seen Him share His cows with us.  We’re looking forward to seeing Him send more.  We’re looking forward to seeing cows rain.

(Staggered, left to right: Lisa, Teri, Erin - Happy birthday!! - me, Connie, Lily, Kathy, Mark)

What the Unknown Looks Like

We experienced our first “dream tour” gathering tonight.  That’s what we’re calling ourselves.  We’re making T-shirts.  What are you waiting for? on the front.  I don’t know.  Something amazing I guess, on the back.  More details to follow.  (That’s your cue to smile.)

But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.

What I wanted to say is what happens when Jesus walks into an American living room.

It was a Bible study we were crashing.  Twenty-odd strangers we’d never met before, singing songs we’d never heard.  They prayed, then introduced us.  We sat up a little straighter.  “Hi, my name is _______________.”  Polite smiles, blinking eyes.  Hm.  Who are these guys, and what are they doing in my living room?

And then we stopped talking about ourselves and started telling stories.  God’s stories.  And the Spirit of the Lord burst into that room.

We talked about dreams.  We met a young lady who hopes to teach teens wisdom through God’s hand moving in history.  We met another one who wants to mentor young mothers.  We met another who has been called by God to travel to the nations, going from country to country, sharing the love of Christ.  We met another who is being built up to walk in the power of the Holy Spirit, bringing the truth of Christ to His Bride.  We met another who hopes to share God’s stories through music, words, and movie.

We met all these in one room.  Just one room.  How many rooms do you think there are in the United States of America?

And we didn’t just meet them.  We talked with them.  We shared and prayed and worshiped and cried and praised our Father God with them.  We got to connect a hand with a wrist, a foot with an ankle, an eyelid with an eyelash.  We saw Christ as the Head of His church come in and breathe life - breathe life! - through His body.

Do you know what it looks like when the breath of Jesus breathes on you?

Tonight I saw something magnificent.  Tonight I saw the Body of Christ.  In a North Carolina living room with white trim and tan paint.  Here.  In America.  Right next door to you.

Tonight God took our unknown and made it shine, radiant and beautiful, in our eyes, in our hearts.  Tonight He showed us the unseen.  And He did it through the faces of our brothers and sisters.  His children.  My family.

So, what are we doing on our dream tour?  Oh, we don’t really know.  If you’d like to find out, maybe you should invite us into your living room.

(So, this is us.  Left to right: Lisa, Teri, Lily, me.)

*P.S. Please note the color coordination I skipped out on.*

The First of 6,000

I am rocking on a little padded swing on the second-floor porch of a huge house overlooking a brilliant host of North Carolina trees.  The wind is swooshing through the branches, trying to make the sound of ocean waves only without the pauses.  Crickets are chanting.  Birds are twittering.

I am a missionary suffering for the sake of Jesus.  Who ever thought suffering could be so blessed?

You know, He promised His disciples if they would give up home and family and comfort, then He would return it with a hundred-fold.  I’ve left home and family and comfort a few times now, and His promise has never failed me yet.

For all I’ve given up, the One who leads me has given back more than I could ask or imagine.

“The Lord is good, and His love endures forever.”

We drove from Gainesville, Georgia, to Hendersonville, North Carolina, today.  Lisa, Teri, Lilly, and I.  I’ve never been to North Carolina before.  Turns out God made a couple places in this world even more beautiful than Nebraska.  Fascinating, isn’t it?

This is our first leg in a 6,000-mile journey.  We don’t really know what we’re doing or where exactly we’re going or what God’s got planned.  But He knows, and that’s all that matters.  We walk by faith and not by sight.  At one point last week, I was thinking how nice it would be if God would actually give me the tangible answers to some of the things I’ve been trying to trust Him for.

You want to know His response?  “It wouldn’t be faith if you could see everything I see.”  If only we understood how easy it is for Him, how many resources He has at His beck and call - like the father leading his slightly nervous child down the hallway in the dark.  “I can’t see, Daddy.  I can’t see.”

If only we knew how much He can.

Then again, if He let us see that, we wouldn’t really need faith any more.  It would be too easy.

For now, I’m content to stay blind so long as He never lets go of my hand.  He hasn’t lost His grip yet.  Meanwhile, I wait for the day when my faith becomes sight.  Just think how floored we’ll all be when He finally turns the lights on.

It’s much more fun this way.