The Journey Forward

The Journey Forward  

It’s strange being able to pack your whole life up in one afternoon. It makes it easy when you don’t own much. It also makes it easy when you have no particular order to your packing. The time-efficiency of throwing things higgedly -piggedly into suitcases is great until mid-travel you come to the wonderful revelation that you packed up necessary medications deep into the heart of an unknown piece of luggage.

Yet for better or worse, packed and ready, my father and I were about to embark on a week-long venture to my new home state, Phoenix. First stop, Omaha, Nebraska where Dad would lead a leadership conference with the staff of an organization called Christ for the City International…and then off to Denver, Colorado to visit with my Aunt Lois…and finally the long haul from Denver to Phoenix via New Mexico. Vive Las Vegas! (We didn’t stop to do the slots…in case you were wondering…)

It would be a daunting amount of time spent for a girl who hadn’t traveled more than six hours in a car in over ten years. It was supposed to be an adventure, a time to enjoy the brilliance of the open road.

Yet, once again, agitation over-ruled anticipation in the idea of leaving all I knew behind. It was becoming all too familiar a trope and I wasn’t happy to experience any of these agitated emotions.

My dad and I got a “late” start, depending on whose perspective you choose. My day tends to start AFTER the sun comes up, whereas my father’s tends to well before the rooster crows…so you can imagine the compromise a father-daughter makes when it comes to sleep and driving.

But I’ll spare you the riveting details of our driving and start our adventure in our arrival in Omaha. We arrived that evening, hitting up a hotel where their advice for dining was paramount to asking a teenage girl for directions. (This is a stereotype, and thus please disregard it if you are a teenage girl with a fabulous sense of direction)

So with that, my father and I found ourselves eating at a local diner, and the main thing I was thankful for was the wait-staff’s obliviousness to my sobbing over the meal I had ordered. The food wasn’t great, but no reason to cry right…

Girls crying in public happens. But it’s never pretty, and always something to avoid if possible.

But there I was, in public crying as I attempted to still eat like a normal human, while my father did all he could to be comfortable in quite an uncomfortable situation.  And though my father found slight relief in arriving back at the hotel and my crying could be done in the peace of our hotel room…my mother’s concern was plainly heard over the phone, “I’m concerned about you.” I couldn’t blame her. But I couldn’t really comfort her either…so we both realized, I would just have to go to bed and try again the next day.

Yes, my first day of travel was not the quite the adventure imagined months prior. You picture yourself experiencing new things, trying new food-joints, enjoying the beautiful scenery, infused with the entreprenual spirit of conquering the unknown in the grandeur of travel.

Hotel of Tears ;)

Instead, I once again resumed the form of something shakeably cowardice.

Yet, with sleep I was granted some semblance of peace.

That morning, my dad and I woke up and prepared to meet some of the staff members of the organization Christ for the City International (or CFCI).

As our little Yaris took off down the Omaha city roads,  there came another small whisper in the depths of my mind…a whisper that God was going to meet me somewhere that day.

I almost wanted to squash that whisper because I was afraid of getting my hopes up…because I didn’t know exactly how, when or for what…but I could feel that God had something in store, and it’s a hard thing to trust in...with it comes the fear of being let-down.  The whisper continued inside me, “keep going…I have some family I would like you to meet.”

CFCI Map

We made our way into a building shared by some other organizations. CFCI’s location was the second floor down at the end of a little hallway. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry that day. And God’s whisper continued…keep going…keep going…

There we were greeted by a handful of individuals who worked on staff at the CFCI base…and it was a little pinprick of light in an ocean of darkness…as each face I met held something deep beneath the surface of each smile. Each person I shook hands with, and talked to gave off endearing warmth…filling up my heavy soul like a little helium balloon…each pump of the hand, inflating my spirit higher and higher.

These people, in this different state…they had it…they were men and women of God and their passion for ministry was evident. The staff at CFCI knew what they were created for: to Love God and Love people and serve where God calls them even if the calling was a tough one.

I learned a small amount about some of the staff, but within those meetings, I understood the joy that could be found in following God’s call into the unknown.

CFCI Conference Room

These people had traveled and lived outside of the U.S. They had experience of the loneliness of leaving all they had to do something new. They had experience in going where God calls, only to realize he was calling you back, because…you learned all He wanted you to learn…and you were now equipped to return…

Their stories flowed over lunch after our meeting, and I found kindred spirits among these staff workers in Omaha. They spoke into my life, excepting my father and I into their staff family, as we ate, laughed and shared.

Their mission is the transformation of communities and the development of leaders in the name of Christ, by reaching into those communities and giving hope to individuals through the transforming power of Christ.

Warm connections with staff!

And oh! how much light they shared together working as a united body! This small window into their world granted me some strength for the next few legs of my journey to Phoenix.

In visiting those staff member in Omaha, God met me…He shined His love once again through His children, children I hadn’t met before, but children He was able to speak through. And there He stood in front of me, and spoke into me, “Continue forward, my daughter. I have more of my family to meet. This is only the beginning of your journey.”

And so we continued on…and I continued on towards God, and His people.

The Impossibility of Comfort

The Impossibility of Comfort

Usually it’s frowned upon to fall asleep at a Bible Study. Jesus won’t judge you, in fact, Paul had to raise someone from the dead for doing just so…and yet …it’s fair to say, is not recommended in such a setting…because though Jesus is patient and understanding, people tend to find it slightly offensive.

Proof of my bad sleeping habits!

But in the past month, I could probably have passed for a narcoleptic sea creature. If I wasn’t standing up, or engaged in general conversation, chances were I was either asleep or a blubbery manatee (bad simile?). And my close friends understood this, they had seen me asleep in chairs, couches, at tables, on floors… as it was an occurrence that became more regular as my stress levels had skyrocketed. I probably could have started a new trend…who needs planking when you have…. extreme napping?

This stress was due to the fact that in less than a month I would be moving to a different state…quite far from the one I grew up in…about 30 hours “far”. And though logically I knew it would be a great place to move to…the idea of leaving everyone I had grown so close to made me want to heave out all my innards onto the plush carpeted floor. Thankfully, my body took a less offensive route and would put me to sleep at any given moment…

Helping kids have fun…hopefully

The journey to this decision was a long one. Life after college certainly hadn’t gone how I had expected it to. I recognize now, for most people, that life rarely does. Yet, this left me in a bit of a quandary for the next four years, career wise…but what an adventure those four years were. I was able to spend time out of the country, work at a Bible Camp as well as work with at-risk school agers, helping them to experience a safe and fun environment as best I could. I learned a lot about people, about the harsh realities of broken families and how God could use me in simply being available to His whispers in the moments of the day.

But this past year I felt called out of waiting and into a new season of “going”. And so after much wrestling with God (thankfully no hips were popped out of joint, kneecaps on the other hand are a different story), but last spring I decided to take the plunge and apply for Seminary School to get a Masters in Counseling. As I searched for schools and looked at programs, one in particular stood out. A little school called Phoenix Seminary, located in…you guessed it…Phoenix, Arizona.

God provided assurance in so many ways. He spoke into my life through His word, through prayer, through the wisdom of others and His message was that I was not to fear but to go, to go so He could equip me for whatever path He had planned.

Yet, as the time to leave approached, my resolve began to dissolve. My body was rejecting the idea of leaving all I knew, mostly leaving the deep community I had built… What a strange sensation to be able to sleep at the drop of a hat…and forget food, warm salty tears had become my sustenance. I was experiencing the Bible reference first hand…and I was…what you could best define as…an ugly, unlovely mess.

And so there I slept on the armchair in my Bible Study leader’s house as one by one the rest of the Bible Study members filed out to go home. The last one left and I was startled into waking. And there the Leader sat across the room, on the couch…

Quickly apologizing for falling asleep, and in groggy fashion, I hoisted myself up off the chair and went to put my shoes on to leave.

His eyes followed me as I shoved one boot on, then the next, yawning and declaring how I’d better get home…

Some Bible Study Members

He looked at me in curious fashion, having seen the sobbing mess, the 27 year old napping child…the me who was very, very different from the me I normally am...and so posed a quiet question.

“How do you feel about going to Seminary?”

And the question pierced the very darkest part of my heart. “How did I feel about going? Why was I going to Seminary?”

And there it lingered…my faith so small…my fear so large…I had forgotten why I was going…and all I could feel was scared.

And I thought, “If I am supposed to go, why do I feel so nauseated? Why can’t I function like a normal human being every time I think of leaving?”

I wanted to cry right there, but instead the question was waiting to be answered.  An open wound needing to be cauterized.

And I felt God whisper gently inside me,

“I am with you. I will not forsake you.”

Suddenly, the words of the song Called Me Higher were thrust into my mind…”I could be safe, I could be safe here in your arms and never leave home never let these walls down…but you have called me Higher, you have called me Deeper…”

And I understood…God loves us no matter what. He loves us when we linger in the safety and comfort of who we are…I could be comfortable and stay the same and God would still love me.

But I didn’t want that…I wanted to shine God’s glory through my wretched weakness. To have faith like Elijah, Paul and David, who were called to hard things, and trusted with all their strength. But in order to have such faith, I had to try, to fail, to take one step into the unknown, even when everything around me screamed, NO! This isn’t safe! This isn’t comfortable! This isn’t possible for a timid girl like you…

Because, truth is, when we step out beyond ourselves that is where our impossibility meets God’s possibility.

To steal a quote I learned from a dear friend of mine,

“You can choose courage, or you can choose comfort, but you cannot choose both.” –Brene Brown

 How did I feel about going? Terrified…but I would go anyway, and that, that is what courage is.

A Three-Cord Strand

A Three-Cord Strand

Bear with me on my first post...it's a little long, but I hope you'll join me as I share this life story!

There I sat, somewhat uncomfortably on a small wooden box drum, the cold driving into my bones, my body fighting not to shake.

My friend Molly stood a little ways from me. She was all brilliant in white, excitably waiting next to her soon-to-be husband as the Pastor spoke about marriage and more specifically about their marriage. She was in the middle of her wedding ceremony, and I had the honor of playing percussion for the processional. Her choice of venue was a scenic little barn in a scenic little area of Oshkosh. 

It was a bitterly cold day for a fall wedding, wind whipping, with a gloomy sky winking down at the attendees as they sat huddled in coats, blankets, and body heat. I myself was sporting a borrowed dress, accessorized with an oversized chunky white wool sweater that swallowed up my arms and helped keep a fraction of the cold at bay.

And as I sat I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by a multitude of conflicting emotions most single women tend to hide, fight, and push away as they cheer on their next friend’s newest adventure in marriage.

These emotions sat pressed upon my chest, and as I listened to the Pastor, a plea rang out into the heavens.

There’s that moment in a Christian wedding, where the inevitable verse about the “Three Cord Strand” comes up…you know, the one in Ecclesiastes the one that states “Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.”

In hearing this verse my plea shot up, “Dear Lord don’t let me be alone. Don’t make me do this alone. I want someone by my side to encourage me, to help strengthen me, to do ministry together…”

In that moment, I was Moses as he was at the burning bush…. my faith small, my fears large in the face of adversity convincing God that He had the wrong person…that I was too weak, too selfish, too inexperienced. I was Moses asking for Aaron. It didn’t matter exactly who, but I wanted a “brother”, a mouthpiece, a lifelong companion to push me to do the things I couldn’t.

A three cord strand is not easily broken…in this context...the woman and man are the two cords, and God is the one that binds them together, that keeps them strong in each other.

And so that day as husband and wife ceremonially began to braid their own three cords to take in remembrance…my prayer became more fervent…don’t make me take this next step alone…but God’s answer had already come. It had come that morning, yet I was still too weak to accept it…

God’s answer had come to me in the form of a burnt-up dress and a stranger’s motherly care. The answer was this: Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand -Isaiah 41:10

Yes, the answer came…it came early that morning, as I took care to pick out the “right” dress…one that I had always enjoyed, purple and soft, it had accompanied me to many a gathering, yet I enjoyed the fit, the feel and the way I looked in it. I picked that dress and paired it with my wool sweater knowing exactly the chill of the day. We were to arrive early to the barn, to be able to practice our songs and to make sure we were situated before the big moment arrived. And so, there I was, about an hour early, along with the pianist, guitarist and a few others with various tasks to accomplish. There we stood in the barn, shivering, doing what we could to stay warm and wait.

There in the little barn were a few heaters speckled throughout the barn…and only when you got close could you feel any warmth from them. A friend and I had decided to warm up by a floor heater…and I…not always thinking in common sense…stood a little to close to the open flames.

The calm quiet voice of my friend informed me “Your dress is on fire.”

And to my shock as I looked down, indeed it was, the bulk of the bottom already engulfed in flame…futile attempts at patting it off were amusing at first…until the reality set in that I needed to stop this fire from spreading.

I felt very trapped in my dress at that moment. Let me just say, it is not a good feeling to be trapped in anything that happens to be on fire.

Panic set in and I was then very appreciative of all those elementary teachers who would ingrain in us as children to “Stop, Drop and Roll.” Never once did I think I would actually need such instruction and yet, there I was, twenty seven, those words pounding in my head as I dropped to the ground and began to roll like a mad woman.

I can only imagine what I must have looked like, my mind frozen in fear, as people surrounded me with blankets to smother the rest of the flames. The fire was put out, but my dress was completely obliterated from waste down…Thank the Lord I had decided to wear shorts underneath or I think I would have cried from utter embarrassment…so there I was, wanting to cry but choosing to laugh it off. It was, after all, a pretty ridiculous situation to be in…and I felt pretty stupid for having arrived at such a junction.

There surrounding me were friends, concern on their faces after seeing me all aflame… but it was a complete stranger, a man whom I had never met, who wrapped me up and whisked me off to the wisdom of his wife.

This woman, a stranger I had never met, quickly drove me to her house and helped me pick out an outfit to wear. A cute little brown dress and leggings to match…She saw through my humor into the hurt that had happened in that fire. She saw through the surface to see a girl wounded, and not only took care of the physical wounds, but made sure that I was ok emotionally as well.

Taking me back, we arrived in time for the wedding; just in time for me to sit right back on my Cajon as if nothing had ever happened. Her gentle care kept me from bursting into tears. Her firm words about my safety made me feel secure….

And she did not forget about me, but made sure to check in on me, her eyes meeting mine every so often during the ceremony, giving me a hearty thumbs-up that she was cheering me on. My friend was the one getting married, yet this woman cared deeply for a girl she had never met before. She made sure my friends looked after me, and never let me just say I was ok until she was sure that I was speaking truth in those words.

So there I sat, as wife and husband finished their braiding…and the truth was known…revealed…God is enough. He loves me enough to provide for my needs. He loves me enough that He sends His sons and daughters to take care of His little girl.

It was a truth I was just beginning to learn. It was a truth that needed to sink deeply into the fabric of my being…I am with you…do not be dismayed…I will uphold you…I will not leave you. Because...soon, I would embark on a new journey, a journey to an entirely new state where I would have to rely on strangers...and on God's provision...

I still long to find that other cord, that person to encourage me, to help strengthen me all the more…yet, there is the underlying truth…God is strong enough. I don’t need that cord, but if it will bring Him glory, He can provide so many cords in my life to grant me encouragement along my journey. I just need to keep my eyes open to the people He provides…that…and to stay away from open flames!