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.