I'm Moving!

Hello Readers!

I'm continuing this blog on a new site.  Please continue reading about my adventures in my blog, My Father's Kingdom.  Enjoy!

A Journey Overseas

Week Three:

Meeting the People in my Inbox

I realized that I couldn't sum up a three week trip overseas in one blog post, so I hope you enjoy this three part series!

It seemed like everywhere we went, teens and kids wanted their picture taken with us.  White people are celebrities in Indonesia, apparently.  Here's my friend Cedric (from Switzerland but lives in Indonesia) with a group of teen girls which turned into a group of about 25 teens.

When I open my work e-mail each day, I often find stories from the people working in the field with poor villages.  Most days there is a specific story of a specific person or family’s changed life because of the work of GHNI.  I know that these people are real and that their lives and stories matter.  I even experience along with them the pain, compassion, joy, and gratitude of their situation to some degree.  However, seeing these people’s faces in a digital photograph attached in an e-mail and seeing their smile resulting from my interaction with them are two vastly different things.  Reading about the conditions in which these children live daily and smelling the sewers running alongside their streets bring a whole new perspective to the stories I post on our website.

Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, I was sick with a stomach bug the whole last week of my journey.  I think it was some fresh lettuce I stupidly ate the weekend before even though I know that the water wasn’t safe and fresh produce is likely washed in that water.  I was sick.  I was hot.  I was missing my husband; my home.  Yet, with all of these discomforts, it didn’t matter because the people I was around that week lived with more discomforts than you or I could ever imagine on a daily basis.  I was a broken mess in the morning as our team met but when we arrived in the village after lunch, none of those thoughts entered my mind.

Camba Berua is the name of the slum village where I spent most of my time.  The other village, Tanah Keke, was on an island involving a two hour boat-ride and overnight visit with minimal toilet access, so I was unable to go because of my stomach issues.  I was pretty mad to be in that situation, after all, I had come all the way around the world for this!  However, I came to terms with the situation and used the time I had with the other village wisely and it was definitely worth it.

Me with the sewing ladies of Camba Berua

We were able to visit some women in Camba Berua who had been loaned sewing machines and given sewing lessons.  They then made aprons to sell to be able to pay off their sewing machines and generate business which would provide additional income to their husband’s meager salaries.  Meeting these women was a huge joy because I heard the stories of how hard they worked to get to where they are today.  I especially was excited because of my personal joy in sewing.  I’ve often thought of selling some of my creations (quilts and purses) to provide a little more income for my husband and I but have often doubted whether anyone would buy my work.  I told these women, through a translator, that their success had inspired me.  I was told later by the people that work with these women that my encouragement was a huge blessing to them; showing them that they aren’t the only ones that struggle and that their efforts can encourage others.

Though this visit with these amazing women was a joy, it was really the children in the village that stole my heart.  From the moment we arrived, they began following us around.  The longer we were there, the more children gathered at our feet.  Language didn’t matter.  These little people absorbed every move we made and every word we spoke.  They often told us every English word they knew.  The more they saw how interested I was in interacting with them, the more they wanted to engage. 

Children waiting outside of the home we were visiting along with my teammate, Jim, on our first visit to Camba Berua.

By the end of that week, the rest of my team started affectionately calling me the “Pied Piper” (Honestly, I had to look up what that meant.  If you are like me, you might be interested in this link “Pied Piper”).  I realized that they saw the joy and gift I have working with children and didn’t even know that what I have is something special.  Yes, I was overwhelmed by the poverty and subsequent dreadful conditions that these children lived in but I also found joy in being able to give them the gift of games and song.  I was asked to help lead the children’s program on the last day we met in the village and never enjoyed doing the “Hokey Pokey” over and over again so much in my life!

I started teaching these kids "Itsy Bitsy Spider" on the first day and as soon as they saw me the next day, all they could say was "isty bitsy!  itsy bitsy!" and held their fingers up like a spider climbing the water spout.

"Put your head in and shake it all about!"

While I know that my presence was a gift to the women and children of that village, I think God also used them to speak to me.  I have never had so many people take note at how my being around children brings me to life.  After two weeks of sitting in meetings (something I really could do without), I imagine putting me around a bunch of children really changed my team’s perspective on me and allowed them to get to know a truer side of me.  I glowed at the many comments that I’d be a great mom someday, which is honestly something I’m really looking forward to, but also something I’ve doubted whether I’d actually do well.  It was an experience that really rounded out a trip that I didn’t even want to go on, making it a trip that I’m grateful I made.

The view from the airplane arriving in Orlando, Florida.  It was a sweet welcome home!

A Journey Overseas

Week Two:

Open Mind, Open Heart

I realized that I couldn't sum up a three week trip overseas in one blog post, so I hope you enjoy this three part series!

Traditional musicians at the opening night ceremony for the summit conference.

To set the scene, Andrew and I communicated but very minimally because of busy schedules and the time difference.  He had been very sick before I left with some sort of bug and wrote to me saying he’d had a relapse.  Having taken care of him in that state for a whole week, it was really hard to know that I couldn’t be there to help.  

On top of that, the conference my group was attending was harder for me to connect with practically speaking.  It was a larger summit conference with other organizations working to network and collaborate on finding solutions to some of the world’s humanitarian problems.  Since I’m more on the administrative side of my organization, working on a periphery level and not necessarily part of the inner-workings of our mission, I was there as an observer.  Already weary from sitting in meetings, feeling a bit out of place at this conference and my husband being home sick, things started to feel like that dream where you are running and not getting anywhere.

I’m sure that God always has a purpose for everybody in everything that they do; especially when they are obedient to Him.  Obedience for me was being on this trip.  So, even though I didn’t feel connected to my organizations purpose at this conference, God used the time to work on my heart.  

Something that Andrew and I have talked about since we met was our desire to adopt children someday.  We’ve been able to engage in some conversations with people through our church about different options and our ideas about adoption haven’t always met in the same place.  I always thought of bringing home a brown baby from a run-down orphanage somewhere in another country.  Andrew’s mind had become open to possibly adopting an older child out of the U.S. Foster care system; this scared me to death!  

It just so happened that one of the topics discussed at this conference was the problem of orphans around the world.  I would have loved to be a part of those seminar meetings as the presentations from up front broke me.  Because of my job, I instead attended meetings about poverty.  However, from the main program presentations and talking to those with “Orphans” on their name tags, God began to work in my heart and open my mind about the reality of adoption and what His plan might be for Andrew and I.  I was able to set aside some fears and sacrifice my need for control.  

In a conversation with one woman from the orphan group, I realized that the American mentality toward adoption is a lot like shopping for a car; they want to choose the make, model, year, color, and even characteristics of their child.  I know that this isn’t how God created children.  When a child is conceived within a woman, no one has that choice apart from the man-made science of genetic engineering (I disagree with this type of science but will not get into it now).  I realized that if I were pregnant, I wouldn’t even care if the child was born with some sort of awful birth defect or disability.  I would love that child like crazy because he or she was mine; a gift from God.  So, why shouldn’t I let God decide what orphan child needs my husband and I as his or her parents?

I’m fairly certain that is not why my boss brought me to that particular conference but after it was over, I was there.

After sitting in meetings for two weeks, I had the opportunity to visit my step-cousin, who lives in Ubud, Bali.  This is me with his daughter, Melati.

A Journey Overseas

Week One: 

The Dubious Steps of a Doubting Traveler

I realized that I couldn't sum up a three week trip overseas in one blog post, so I hope you enjoy this three part series!

Spices at a traditional Indonesian market in Denpasar, Bali

I didn’t want to go.  After all, I’d only been married for ten months, so leaving my husband for three weeks seemed ridiculous.  I’d just started this new job and two months later I was getting on a plane to Indonesia. Normally I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to travel and see the world but this time, I wasn’t so sure. 

The day I began my job, my new boss told me that there was no pressure but it would be a great opportunity for me to meet the field staff and experience some of the work we were doing in villages in Indonesia.  When I told Andrew about it that night, I’d pretty much already made the decision not to go.  To my surprise he said, “That sounds like a great opportunity, you should go!”  Darn.  If it was remotely possible for Andrew to come with me, I might have felt differently but I had little choice but to leave him for three weeks.

The weeks and days leading up to the trip seemed full of obstacles.  I had many worries and fears about going on this trip and so for every obstacle I thought, “Well, that’s it.  I shouldn’t go.  I can’t go,” and yet God found a way to obliterate the barrier leaving the door wide open.

Just one example was needing to raise a few hundred dollars for the field experience portion of the trip.  The deal was that the organization would cover my plan ticket and the staff conference costs but that I would need to raise the funds for the field experience the last week (airfare to a different island, hotel, and food).  I had only four weeks to raise these funds, so I sent out a letter to a small handful of people whom I thought would be supportive of such a venture.  A small amount of money came in from some of those friends.  The clock was ticking and I thought, “Well, there you go.  I’m not supposed to go.”

Then, out of nowhere, I received an e-mail from someone whom I hadn’t approached but heard through the grapevine what I was doing and offered to fund the remainder of the balance (over 80% of the cost)!  I had money come from another person following that gift whom had only heard about the trip but whom I hadn’t challenged to contribute.  In the final week which the money was due, I went from having less than 20% of my needs met to having over 130% of the funds needed.  Ok, I get it.  I’m supposed to go.

There were many times throughout the weeks leading up to the trip where I had the same pattern of thought, whether it was the money, expediting my passport (it just happened to expire in August, not to mention having my name change adding to the complication), packing while my husband was very ill, etc.  Each time, the problem was not only solved, but eradicated so completely that I could only point to God being at work.

Then, I boarded the plane and after a long journey (Indonesia is really far away!  Thirteen hours ahead of the Eastern Standard Time Zone...), I arrived in Bali. 

In that first week, aside from jet lag and having to sit in meetings all day, I finally had succumbed to that fact that I was here and there was purpose in my being there.  As I heard reports of what people were doing to help improve lives of the poor, hidden, and hurting people of the world, I could only be encouraged and grateful for having a broader perspective and understanding of the importance of my job.  I was even able to share a little about my job and how the field workers can best communicate their stories.  I was able to get to know people of all different backgrounds, from all over the world--Kenya, Ethiopia, Afghanistan, Lebanon, Jordan, India, Czech Republic, Switzerland, etc.  I also got to explore with my new friends and have some adventures.

Even though my ties to home were much stronger on this trip than back when I was single, by the end of the week, I was grateful to be there and succumbed to the sacrifice of being away and allowed myself to enjoy the journey.

I love trying new things...like this spiny looking fruit!

Meeting Michel, from Lebanon was inspiring.  He gave up working in his hair salon to do something bigger with his life.  Now, not only does he bring aid to Syrian refugees in his country, but he gives haircuts to orphans.

Meeting people from all over the world is so fun!  Here, Sushil, (center, in the blue shirt) is teaching us an Indian song and dance.

One Step Closer

No sooner than I walked into Jack’s office did I erupt into tears; great sobs of hope and longing and compassion for the harassed and helpless.  A week prior I had shared in this blog (see post for August 6, “Fight or Flight...or Surrender”) what God had done on my heart regarding my call to respond to the “harassed and helpless” spoken of in Matthew 9.  I shared my love for teenagers and my desire to minister to their hearts more deeply.  Figuring out how to do that was weighing on me heavily.

At the time, I was very unhappy with my job.  How did I find myself working in food service when I had a college degree and six years in a fulfilling career doing youth ministry?   I knew that something needed to change.  Thankfully, my husband’s work situation was beginning to improve and, though frugally, we could live off of his salary and use mine to give or save as needed.  Therefore, working part-time was an option, leaving time for me to do the wifely things which I enjoy (cooking, cleaning, etc...) and focus more time volunteering in ministry at our church.  

“What kind of work do I even look for?” was the question that constantly lingered before me.  I looked into various opportunities at schools, not-for-profits focused on children and families, and writing positions.  My search seemed to always come up empty.  I wasn’t excited about any of the options and didn’t want to get a new job just for the sake of getting a new job.  I wanted to be able to focus my compassion and passion on something meaningful.

I explained my present situation and longings to Jack that day.  We had a good conversation about possible opportunities serving teens through the church; particularly meeting those who are especially feeling “harassed and helpless.”  I walked out feeling slightly encouraged, a little embarrassed about my uncontrolled vulnerability, but still heavily ladened with this desire for something more...

Later that evening, I casually surfed the internet; checking facebook and e-mail.  In my inbox was an e-mail forwarded to me from Jack about a position open for a not-for-profit organization whose mission is, “Bringing help and hope to the hidden and hurting.”  The position was entitled “Donor Communications Journalist.”  The brief description attracted me, so I immediately sent my resume and cover letter to the organizations contact e-mail address.  Long story short, 1 1/2 weeks later I was meeting with the president of the organization, my new boss.  

My new job seems to have truly a gift from God.  I work 16-24 hours each week.  I set my own hours, so I’m free to do all the things I had felt led to do; being a wife and a mentor to the kids at church.  In addition, the job itself fits right into my vision for my life.  Even though it’s a secular organization focusing on humanitarian aid, it fulfills my God-given desire to reach out to the “harassed and helpless”--or as the organization calls it “hidden and hurting”--in a tangible way through “hope” and “compassion.”  I never thought God would allow me to serve Him through a secular organization but it all just fits the desire that He laid on my heart.

In just a couple days I’m about to embark on a journey through my new position with Global Hope Network International.  The field leaders of the organization who live all over the world are gathering in Bali, Indonesia for a conference, and I’ve been invited to hear about the good things they are doing and even give a short presentation myself.  I’m looking forward to the opportunity to meet them face-to-face as they are the source of the stories which I edit and/or write.  I’m looking forward to getting a clearer picture of the organization and how these individuals help struggling villages become self-sustaining communities.  I will also have the opportunity to visit two Indonesian villages being helped by GHNI and provide further encouragement to the villagers and their GHNI leaders.

I find it amazing how God interrupts my life in the most unexpected ways, whether by the sounds of silence for the sake of reflection or a loud bang of opportunity knocking at my door.  I’m thankful that God has given me the eyes to see the direction which He’s pointing and the ears to hear His voice.  Otherwise, I might be missing out on a lot of amazing things as God has rarely called me to a place that I was expecting.  All I can say is that, though the road hasn’t been easy, the challenges have made me ever so much more grateful.  

My Selfish Heart

It had been a long day.  My husband and I had sold our car on Saturday so on Sunday, Andrew’s day to relax, he gave me a ride to work, planning to come get me at 3pm.  I rescued a broken cookie before being doomed to the garbage, poured myself a cup of refreshing iced coffee and leaned up against the pillar outside of Panera to wait for him.  Because he knows how glad I am to be done with my shift, I was sure he’d try to be right on time.

Five minutes had gone by and no sign of Andrew.  Ugh, I really wanted to get home so that we could go pick up my “new” (1998 Chevy Prism) car.  I called him.  “Yes, I’m on my way,” he said.  “I got tied up doing errands, though, so I’ll be there in about forty minutes.”

“Forty minutes?” I asked, surprised.

“Yes, forty minutes.  I’ll explain when I get there.”

“Okaaay,” I said tentatively, wondering if that meant he had gone to get my car.  I chose not to get angry or frustrated, knowing that my husband would need a very good reason to be that late doing something he’d said he would do.  That was probably the peak of my positive attitude that afternoon.

What do I do while I wait?  Life had been so busy of late that every minute of time seemed valuable.  I wished I had something productive to do while I waited.  I called my mom.  I’d tell her about the “new” car and a recent job opportunity that I was applying for.

As we talked, I saw a lady carrying some shopping bags walking with a woman who was obviously homeless.  There were a lot of homeless people that hung around this cafe, probably because it was close to downtown and all the medical buildings, so I pretty much dismissed it.  All the homeless people kind of annoyed me.  They were constantly walking into the cafe and looking for hand-outs.  I hate to admit that I often wonder what choices they made that put them out on the street.  

I overheard the lady asking the homeless woman if she would like something to eat, “no beer; food!” she kept insisting in her broken English to the frail wobbly woman.  The lady walked into the cafe and soon emerged with a sandwich.  By this time I had situated myself at a table on the patio as I chatted with my mom.  

I watched as the lady insisted the woman eat the sandwich.  The talking was distracting me from my phone conversation and I was a little annoyed.  One sandwich isn’t going to make a difference for all the meals this lady won’t get, all the alcohol she’ll drink anyway, and all the homeless people around here that aren’t getting a sandwich today, I thought to myself, a little ashamed at my attitude.  I moved back to the pillar, leaned, and continued on with my story to my mom.  Then my phone died.  Now I was really annoyed.  

I went back to the table to sit and sip my iced coffee.  It was a typical August day in Florida; hot and humid.  I didn’t want to go back into the cafe, though.  I didn’t want to think about work.  Sitting there, I couldn’t help listening to the Spanish-speaking woman talking to the lady and, now, the man who also sat there.  She was sharing her testimony in broken English, once having been on the street herself; money as her God.  Tears ran down her face.  I was drawn in.  I leaned toward her and nodded in agreement.  She kept saying, “You pray?  Receive Jesus?”  and kept trying to get the woman to eat her sandwich.  The woman had no teeth, so I didn’t know how she’d chew the sandwich. Besides, every time she looked at the sandwich, she clutched her mouth like she was going to vomit.  

“ When she drinks this much, she not hungry,” the man finally explained

I finally spoke, “do you want me to get her some water?”  It was the least I could do and definitely what she needed being that intoxicated.  The man nodded and I went into the cafe and got her a big cup of water.  The woman seemed very appreciative as she took the cup and started drinking right away.  I told her to drink it slow so that she could keep it down, she nodded and gestured vomiting with her hand in understanding.  

How interesting that she can’t keep down food and water is what she really needed to satisfy her drunken body. Here, this lady has been trying to explain the gospel to her.  I need to try, I thought.  So I talked to the man and woman about satisfaction of the body and satisfaction of the soul; the ever-quenching water and the bread of life, as Jesus had so often shared.  

“The body can be alive,” I said, “but weak for lack of food.  No matter how much food you have, your body is still going to die some day.  Your soul is sick but food cannot mend the soul.  Only Jesus can bring your soul back to life and it doesn’t matter whether the body is alive or dead because the soul lives forever in heaven with God if you trust in Jesus and receive the life that he offers.  You can try and try to resist temptation, but without Jesus, you will always fail.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the man said, “I know it but I don’t live it.  The drugs and alcohol keep gettin’ in the way.”

“I understand,” I responded, “our hearts are sick.  There is a hole there, a void, which we try to fill with all kinds of things--alcohol, drugs, sex, money--a lot of different things.  Those things are momentary.  They do not last.  Jesus fills that hole for ever and ever.  He took on your hurt, your pain, and your suffering because he knew we couldn’t do it ourselves.  Our sin has separated us from God, which is why that hole is there, but Jesus died to reconcile us to Him.  We need to believe it, receive it, and trust Jesus for our lives...” Or, at least, I think that’s what I said.  It’s hard to know in the moment but I trust God’s Spirit was with me and speaking through me.  

I also told them that when we’re sick, God may not choose to heal us because our bodies aren’t going to last forever anyway, it’s our souls that He cares about because that is what lives on after our bodies die.  Both the man and the woman nodded in agreement, seemingly excited about this truth.

Around this time, a young lady walked up in an oversized polo shirt and hospital bracelets on her arms.  “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation,” she said.  “I believe everything that they are saying.  I just lost my son a week and a half ago.  He was three weeks old.  I was just meeting with my pastor, planning the memorial service.”

“Are you sick?” the man asked pointing to the hospital wrist bands.

“No,” she said.  These are from visiting my son in the NICU.  I just can’t seem to take them off.  I not ready, yet.  “But I know that my son is with Jesus and that’s all I need.”  Then she started telling them about her church family and invited them to come to the church which was close-by on Thursday nights for a meal.  They were both excited to hear about it.

Just then, a man walked up, holding a small boy and handed them a Panera bag.  “Would you like this food?” he asked.

“You her pastor?” the man asked.

“No, I was just walking by and thought you might want some food.” 

The man was grateful and a bit speechless and the gentleman and his son walked away.

“You pray right now?  Receive Jesus?” the lady said again.

“I would like to pray, but I struggle to have a sincere heart,” the man responded.  I was grateful for his honesty.  

“The English lady will pray for you.  She pray English, I pray Spanish.  Would you like that?” the lady said.

“Yes, yes, alright.” he said, kind of excited.  So I prayed for the Lord to help him have a sincere heart and prayed a salvation prayer that the man might agree in his heart.  I prayed that God would help him to follow through.

“Oh man!  This, right here, is a prayer warrior!” the man exclaimed, “I wish I could pray that way, I just don’t know how.”

“Sir, you don’t need to know how to be good at praying.  You know how you and I are talking right now?” He nodded.  I continued, “that’s how Jesus wants us to pray to him.  It’s just a conversation between two people.  He just wants you to be honest about what is on your heart and he will respond.”  The man seemed to be encouraged.

“Now you,” said the lady, gesturing to the woman, “you pray?  Receive Jesus?  Right now?”

The woman, without her teeth and in a drunken slur said something to the effect that she knew God when she was small and she loves her Father but she can’t seem to stay on the right path.

“Would you like to pray to come back to the Father?  To ask Him to help you turn your life around?”

“Yes, ok.  Yes” she slurred.  So I prayed.  

Shortly after I looked up, I saw Andrew drive by in a car I had only seen pictures of.  My heart was conflicted.  The three were still talking about spiritual things but I knew Andrew had been doing what he’d rather not be doing on his day of rest and would want to get home.

“I have to go,” I tried to say.  It didn’t work.  I was still connected to what God was doing.  I had wanted to be ready to greet my husband and jump into the car.  He had obviously walked into the cafe and not seen me, then walked out the back door.  I stood, introduced Andrew to the three and said, “we’ve been talking about Jesus.”

I quickly recapped the events to Andrew as we walked to the car.  Suddenly the “new” car didn’t seem as significant anymore.  

“I’m sorry you had to wait so long,” Andrew said.

“I think I had something else I was supposed to do,” I said, “I think I was supposed to share the gospel with those homeless people and pray with them.  I just hope their hearts were sincere and that they follow through on their understanding.”

“Me too,” he agreed.

It’s amazing how selfish my mind and heart can be.  I had all this extra time and was frustrated that I couldn’t use it for myself.  Even in the midst of the conversation with the lady, the homeless woman, and the homeless man, I was worried about so many things which needed to get done and yet it was almost as if God forced me to the feet of Jesus’ feet to use me in the lives of these people.  Here this Spanish lady took the initiative to buy food and care for this woman, even sharing the gospel in a language she’s not fluent in.  God brought me into the situation to be His mouth where the Spanish lady lacked.  Looking back a few days later, I’m humbled before the cross.  Do I have a heart to share Christ’s love only when it’s convenient to me or do I keep my eyes and heart open for opportunities even when I am busy?  Maybe God arranged for me to have nothing to do for nearly an hour so that He could show me what I’m missing out on when I’m busy doing things for myself.

Fight or Flight...or Surrender?

The Dessert Song by Hillsong 

Verse 1:This is my prayer in the desertAnd all that's within me feels dryThis is my prayer in the hunger in meMy God is a God who provides 

Verse 2:And this is my prayer in the fireIn weakness or trial or painThere is a faith provedOf more worth than goldSo refine me Lord through the flames 

Chorus:And I will bring praiseI will bring praiseNo weapon forged against me shall remain
I will rejoiceI will declareGod is my victory and He is here 

Verse 3:And this is my prayer in the battleAnd triumph is still on it's wayI am a conqueror and co-heir with ChristSo firm on His promise I'll stand 

Bridge:All of my lifeIn every seasonYou are still GodI have a reason to singI have a reason to worship 

Verse 4:This is my prayer in the harvestWhen favor and providence flowI know I'm filled to be empited againThe seed I've recieved I will sow 

As we sang this in church yesterday I got that little sob in my throat that prevented me from singing half the song as it completely describes my life over the past couple months.  "Desert" was how I had been describing my spiritual journey.  There may have been small glasses of water scattered throughout but a little glass only goes so far when one is parched dry.  Then something happened; I started to see in the far distance shades of green.  As I got closer, I saw that there was a waterfall and a large pool of cool, crystal-clear water.  The air cleared of dust and became cool as the sun warmed my face.  The lyrics in the above song reference some of the scripture that led me to that lush place of nourishment.

It all began much like how Eve's life began in our home.  Eve, or Evy, is a cat whom my husband and I rescued from the street.  When she came to us, she was very sick.  She had a really bad respiratory infection, was infested with fleas that sucked her blood into an anemic state, and was half her ideal weight.

We had to give Evy two different kinds of medicine: one for the infection and the other a vitamin complex for her anemia, which would help her to gain weight.  Frightened, giving Evy medicine was a challenge.  She would get so worked up as we tried to hold her down and squirt the liquid into her mouth that her breathing became shallow and labored.  She would flail her paws and scratch up our arms and try to flee.  Evy didn't understand that we were on her side; trying to help her heal from her afflictions.  In her effort to get away from us, she was causing herself harm.

Eve when we took her in--very affectionate but scraggly fur

Eve after about a week--fur already shinier and softer

One day as I was trying to give Eve her medicine on my own, I identified with her struggle.  She didn't like the medicine.  She didn't like being held down in order to receive it.  Trying to escape from what seemed like something bad but was actually something very good put her in a worse state than she already was in.  How ridiculous that God used a starving sickly cat to show me myself.

Eve about 3 weeks into living with us
VS

Eve the day after we took her in

At that time, I was trying really hard to do my Christian duty by spending time in the word, serving God's children, and going to church.  It all seemed like a chore.  I didn't want to do those things anymore.  I thought back to other times of struggle in my life where I clung to those things because they were so rich in life; they were my sustenance, my glasses of water in the desert.  This time, I seemed to be coming up empty.  My journal reads over and over, "Speak to me, Lord!  Give me direction!"  I'm glad I didn't give up because one day He did.

I made myself go to church even though Andrew had gone to an earlier service while I was working at a job I hate.  The day was already long and I don't like going to church on my own.  I had been wrestling with God about what to do with my time regarding service to Him through church.  I love serving the middle school kids on Tuesday nights at Surge.  I was just concluding a time of service for another ministry at our church called reGROUP (a ministry which helps adults find spiritual and emotional healing from their hurts, habits, and hang-ups), sensing that God was asking me to step down and refocus my time.  The question was whether I just focused on my 8th grade girls at Surge or trade my time at reGROUP to help launch a new ministry for the students similar to reGROUP.

As soon as I sat down, a saw a couple sliding past people in my row and sat next to me.  It was Jack, the director of reGROUP.  I thought it was ironic.  The service proceeded and I sensed God's presence strongly upon me.  The sermon was on Galatians 6:7-10.  The passage that stuck out to me was verse 9:

"And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up."

My notes from the sermon read:

"We won't see the results of our efforts when we want to...

**Are my trials--the things which are testing my patience--preparing me for a future challenge?**"

This was the catalyst for a changed perspective that allowed me to see the green on the horizon at the edge of my desert.  From there on, I broke away from a Bible study I was working through which felt like a mundane chore and began just allowing the word to speak to me.  In other words, I stopped making God hold me down so that He could inject His word into my mouth like a necessary treatment for life and began allowing His word to just wash into me like a flowing stream of nourishment.

I had just begun a new gym membership and decided that instead of plugging my earphones into the TV audio box on the elliptical trainer, I would listen to the New Testament on my i-pod.  The first day, God illuminated Matthew 10, where he tells how Jesus sent out his disciples without anything but the clothes on their backs and their walking sticks and tells them to trust the Father to provide; that if they are in a place where the message of Christ is received, then He will provide for all of their needs.  That seemed significant to my journey.  If I'm constantly fighting against how I'm spending my time, then maybe I'm not where I'm supposed to be.  Maybe I just need to surrender my time to the Lord and watch Him provide?

A couple days later I'm sitting in a lobby during an errand I was running.  There's people all around and I'm waiting for a guy to come out and tell me how much he thinks my car is worth so that I can sell it.  I'm thumbing through the gospels with the truth from Matthew 10 weighing on my heart and thinking how passionate I am about discipleship to teenagers.  My eye caught the tail-end of Matthew 9:

"And Jesus went throughout all the cities and villages, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the gospel of the kingdom and healing every disease and every affliction. When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.  Then he said to his disciples, 'The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few;  therefore pray earnestly to the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.'" (emphasis mine)

I did everything I could not to break down and cry.  When I see the words "he had compassion for them" and "harassed and helpless" I think of teenagers, particularly middle school kids.  For over a week, any time I shared with someone what God placed on my heart regarding my desire to see teenagers come to know and grow in Christ, I would just sob with the compassion that overwhelmed me.  I know that there are many "groups" of people that could be described as "harassed and helpless"--the elderly, the homeless, people living in impoverished countries around the world, prostitutes, orphans, etc...--but the people I see when I read this passage are teenagers.  I wrote in my journal that day,

"This is a passage which has had meaning in my life before but I have never felt so emotional about it.  I think that more recently I have seen more deeply into people's hearts; from the very young to the very old.  I have seen how 'harassed and helpless' people can be.  None of these is more so that teenagers.  I feel so strongly drawn back into the kind of work I left in my own time of helplessness when I first moved to Florida...I feel drawn to an outreach and discipleship minded ministry...Lord, my desires, dreams, and visions just keep increasing until I think I might burst!  I'm at a point of surrender, only I know not which direction to fall.  I guess I must simply fall and trust that You will catch me."

Since then, I've been deeply investigating these passages in Matthew 9 and 10 with fervor.  I'm seeking counsel and prayer from those around me whom I trust and who trust Christ with their lives.  I'm looking back at Galatians 6:9 and seeing how God has already used my past trials to prepare me for a this current challenge which allows me to trust more deeply that I simply need to "not grow weary in doing good." I must trust that the seeds I am sowing through my current obedience to Christ will produce everlasting fruit in the future.   From the desert to the harvest, God is Lord of all and I am His daughter, "so firm on his promise I'll stand."