What Would Bread Raining from Heaven Look like in the 21st Century?

   Yesterday while one of the interns here at We Will Go ministries was reading Exodus 16, she asked God what bread raining from heaven would look like now.
   That's when her phone rang. It was an associate pastor from a big church a city over. He was calling to ask if we wanted any chicken? Because he had been at a lunch board meeting and they had fifty pieces of fried chicken leftover plus cases of coleslaw, potato salad, marshmallow fruit salad, pork 'n' beans, and garlic bread. Ashley, our intern, said come on.
   A few hours later while he was unloading the fifty pieces of fried chicken and sides, Ashley shared my family's story with him. She told him about how there are nine of us and I'm graduating from high school in two days and my younger brother David has his 16th birthday party this Saturday and this food will really bless them because they only have a little over a hundred dollars to stretch and pull for the rest of the month.
   The associate pastor listened quietly while Ashley spoke, and when she finished, he said, "I found this on a drain pipe this morning," and pulled out a hundred dollar bill from his wallet and handed it to her. "Give this to that family."
   That's what bread raining down from heaven looks like in the 21st century. It looks like the daughters and sons of God living like princesses and princes in inner-city Jackson, Mississippi. We bought decorations for David's party, supplies for my graduation display, and groceries with that manna and feasted on fried chicken, garlic bread, salad, coleslaw, marshmallow fruit salad, pork 'n' beans, and potato salad that night with a visiting ten-member missionary family.

   "In the evening quail came up and covered the camp, and in the morning dew lay around the camp.  And when the dew had gone up, there was on the face of the wilderness a fine, flake-like thing, fine as frost on the ground. When the people of Israel saw it, they said to one another, 'What is it?' For they did not know what it was. And Moses said to them, 'It is the bread that the Lord has given you to eat. This is what the Lord has commanded: "Gather of it, each one of you, as much as he can eat. You shall each take an omer, according to the number of the persons that each of you has in his tent.'"  And the people of Israel did so. They gathered, some more, some less. But when they measured it with an omer, whoever gathered much had nothing left over, and whoever gathered little had no lack. Each of them gathered as much as he could eat." -Exodus 16:13-18

   When it was written that Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever, they were writing truth. He overcame death and the God of daily provision and meat for dinner and bread for breakfast lives today. Sometimes we make Him so super-spiritual; and He is super spiritual, but He is also extremely practical. In the same moment of time, He was sitting on His heavenly throne, robed in glory, while an army of angels bowed before and walking through a field on Sabbath with his homeless friends, dressed in dusty rags, breaking off heads of wheat because they're absolutely famished. Why don't we let Him be both? Because He is both people: a mighty king, and a carpenter working to provide food for his mother and brothers and sisters. 
   I've just never ate the quail and manna before because I never allowed Him to be the God who provided my daily bread for me before. He has always been that God and will always be that God, I've just not always been on this level with Him. After all, He is a lover, not a rapist. He will never force Himself or His gifts on you. He is a gentleman and will wait on you forever. The manna and quail will never be given until we extend our empty plates and empty hands and say, "Please, Sir, can I have some more?" And He will give more every single time. He will give immeasurably more than all we could ever ask for or imagine.

God in 2012

    As we ushered out the last moments of 2012 with choruses of Auld Lang Syne sung under showers of glitter and confetti and good cheer, I found myself sitting quietly and remembering. Remembering the valleys and mountains of the past year, the highlights and greatest hits of the last twelve months. Holding my college acceptance letter and then soon after my first--and hopefully not last--first scholarship award letter. Leading worship for my church's youth group in the first three seasons of the year, and then for a children's ministry in the ghetto in the last season. The Hunger Games premiered in March--that was a big deal right there. Sitting in my room in my childhood home, packing up the past seventeen years into labeled cardboard boxes and then unpacking them the next week in my new room in my family's new house in inner-city Jackson. Then there were the less significant moments, like upgrading from reading glasses to "driving" glasses, donating blood for the first time, and getting a new job at a frozen yogurt shop. That was 2012 for me. Overall, it was a good year.
    Not every year has been that good, though. And maybe that's how 2012 year was for you: not good. Maybe as you look back through the months, you see more valleys than mountains. Maybe you see more moments you spent surrounded by your blankets and cats and Criminal Minds marathons than moments you spent surrounded by family who values you and friends who love you. Maybe you bombed your finals. Maybe you left home and don't know how to go back. Maybe you're not friends with any of the same people you started the year with. Maybe it's your fault, maybe it's not. Maybe maybe maybe.
    As we stood together on that New Years Eve night, though, and surveyed 2012 before we welcomed 2013, we couldn't help but see one constant in each of our separate lives. God was good. God is good. Maybe this year wasn't, but the Lord and His character are not influenced by circumstance. He is good all the time and all the time He is good and He was good in 2012. He was good. Like the Matt Redman song says, He was good because never once did He ever leave us, never once did we ever walk alone. He was with us. He was faithful and He will continue to be so. I know that the Lord began works in my life this year that He will bring to completion and I know that the Lord began works in your life this year that He has promised to bring to completion. It may not be in 2013, or even 2014 (if the world can survive the next apocalypse and we live that long), but He will see it to the end and I am so excited to see what goodness He will pour out again this year.
    The year is only four days old, but I know He has already begun to.

They Had A Purpose

      We all have a purpose--and you don't have to read that on a doilies in your great-grandmother's hallway to know it, either. Every single page of God's Word screams it, every word Christ spoke proclaims it. You have a purpose.
      We human beings have an incredible talent at looking at our situations, circumstances, and surroundings and allowing them to lessen us in our eyes. We're not hard on ourselves at all, or anything. We find, and then latch onto, the most ridiculous, miniscule details or faults, blowing them up to crazy proportions until you can't even see yourself behind them anymore. You are them. You become them. We invent excuses like, "Well, I'm just a girl" or, "I'm just a boy." We tell ourselves, "I'm too young" or "I'm 67, I'm too old!" When we have worn out our age and gender, we move on to physical appearance. "I'm just a little ole white lady!", "I'm so fat, though.", "I'm just a black kid.", etc. etc. We obsess over these unimportant external details, convincing ourselves that God is even more engrossed with them than we are. We sell ourselves short so many times because we honestly do not think that the Lord could have an incredible plan and purpose for someone who is just a girl or just a boy, someone who is so young or so old, someone who is white or too fat or black. And when I say "we", I actually mean "me". I, myself. I have an incredible talent at looking at my situations, circumstances, and surroundings and allowing them to lessen me in my eyes. I am hard on myself. I find, and then latch onto, the most ridiculous, miniscule details or faults, blowing them up to crazy proportions until I can't even see myself behind them anymore. I am them. I become them. Etc. etc.
       Do you really think, though, People Who Are Reading This Blog Post and Betsie, that God is at all confined or deterred by these ridiculous, miniscule details or faults? You don't think that God knows you're "just a girl" or "just a boy"? He made you to be so! He knew that you would be young at 12, or someday old at 67, and yet He still has a purpose for you. Still. Every single day, every single year. All your life. These ridiculous, miniscule details or faults do not ruin His plan--no, they are a part of it!
       I think a great example of God having a purpose for your life, no matter who you are or what your circumstances are, is the Roman soldier who nailed His Son, Jesus, to a cross. (Bear with me.) God created us. He knit us together in our mother's womb. He molded our hearts and taught them how to beat. He formed our lungs and breathed life into them. He has been planning our existence and creation out from the very beginning of time. Not only that, though, but He has also been planning our future and individual purposes before He even started the knitting and forming and molding! So, with all that said, don't you think that He knew when He created that Roman soldier, that some day, that very same soldier, would be a part of crucifying His only Son? He knew. He knew and could not forget, and yet He still created him. You read about all these times in the Old Testament when the Lord would send blazing lightning down from heaven to strike and instantly kill all these people just because they grazed the ark of the covenant. But when this Roman soldier pounded the nails into the Son of God's hands, He did nothing. Actually, He did do something: He kept that Roman soldier alive. While he was beating Jesus senseless, the Father continued to teach his heart how to beat. When he was spitting in the Messiah's face, mocking Him, the Lord kept breathing life into his lungs. God gave that Roman soldier the strength to crucify His own Son. Why? Why would He do that? Why did He even create any of those Roman soldiers in the first place?
      Because they had a purpose.
      I don't know what it was. I might get to heaven someday and see one of them there, completely redeemed and restored. Or maybe one of them fathered a man who led hundreds of people to Christ. I don't know what their purposes were, or the plans God had for them, but I know that they had a purpose, and I know that He had a plan for them.
      God is not confined or set back by your past or your race or your gender or your age. He made you just the way you are because He knew that your exact age and gender and race would help you to better accomplish the purpose and plan He has for just you. Nothing you can ever do or ever be will erase the fact that Christ has a wild plan for you. And it's going to happen either way, it's just more rewarding and enjoyable if you embrace it and walk out in boldness in it. It is yours. It cannot be taken away from you. Even if you are just a girl who is too young and white. Even if you are just a Roman soldier.

The "D" Word

    It's a four-letter word, and the first letter is "D". If mentioned in my presence, it used to make me as extremely uncomfortable as I imagine you are right now reading about it. Yes, I'm talking about the word: DATE. *Cue the simultaneous cringes and happy "oohs" and "ahhs"*
    When I was younger, I was one of Those Girls. By the ripe old age of, um, fourteen, I had already read--multiple times, and highlighted--Passion & Purity by Elisabeth Elliott, Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers, I Kissed Dating Goodbye and Boy Meets Girl: Say Hello To Courtship by Joshua Harris, plus numerous anti-dating devotionals that all earned eye rolls from my older sister.  Now, you can't consume that many books on relationships without forming your own opinion on the subject. And I did just that, at the ripe old age of fourteen. Obviously, they were very vague, but yet complicated; logical, but really ridiculous; and all of them inspired solely by Mr. Harris, and Fear.
    At fourteen, I was afraid of love.
    Well, I was not terrified of love itself; just its consequences and affects. I saw so many girls around me with big dreams and beautiful desires for their life sacrificing it all and settling for a boy who would win them, use them, and eventually discard them within the span of mere months. Those girls and their choices made me angry and aspire to be a feminist outwardly. However, inwardly, those girls and their choices scared me and made convent life suddenly look very appealing. Those girls scared me because they and I were not all that different. In fact, I saw those girls inside of me. I could easily become that, do that. Sacrifice it all, settle. What was most frightening of all was that I knew that if I ever did, I would be truly content in that lifestyle.
    Thus I invented my lofty, super-spiritual anti-dating views. I hid behind them like a soldier would behind a barricade for more than two years. Two years I defended them, pushed them on everyone else and their parents. For two years I was not even open to examining my views and asking myself honestly, "Is this right?" because I was right, date it!
     I wasn't, though. Not even close.
     Now, I believe, like Elisabeth Elliott and Joshua Harris, that we are created to love one person (or three, in Mrs. Elliott's case), and to be loved by one person. Or, you can be super cool like Paul, never get married, and just love everyone in a platonic way. Either way, loving someone is involved. But anyways. I think that true love waits, and so we should wait on the Lord to write our love stories because He already has, after all, and it's so much better when we allow Him to orchestrate it. I know that the Lord's love for us is jealous, and that His will for us is to wait and give ourselves only to the young man (or not so young, if you're a character in a Jane Austen novel), one of His sons, that He has specifically raised up to love you like He loves you. I don't think that any of these views are necessarily wrong in the least, but God does not only look at our views and opinions. He looks at our motives. ("People may be pure in their own eyes, but the LORD examines their motives." -Proverbs 16:2)  That's exactly what He did, too, a few Sunday nights ago after my youth pastor caught me off-guard with a heart interrogation. He maybe asked me five questions in total, but those five questions of his inspired fifty of my own. My views on dating (or rather, the absence of dating) were not necessarily wrong, but were my motives behind them right? Well, if Christ said that "there is no fear in love" but rather, "perfect love drives out fear because fear has to do with punishment" and "the one who is in fear is not made in perfect love" (1 John 4:18), weren't my motives, which were solely fear, wrong? Why was I afraid? Because I had not yet grasped the concept that I was made in perfect love because I am loved by a perfect God! Perfect love casts out all fear because with perfect love, there is no punishment. I am Christ's, He bought me with His blood, and nothing I could ever possibly do--even something as horrific as sacrificing it all and settling for some suave bum--could ever possibly make me any less of Christ's or make him love me any less. There is pure freedom in Christ's love. We don't have to possess complicated, super-spiritual views. We don't have to try--and fail--to earn our salvation or God's love. We don't have to walk through life with timidity, building up impenetrable walls around our new, God-given hearts because we are afraid that if anyone truly sees them, they will say that they're not new at all. They are new, you're new. You're going forward, not back. There is grace and mercy.
     I know that Elisabeth Elliott's view on courting, which she wrote about in her book Passion & Purity, sparked a controversial war in 2002 on what is classified as "appropriate dating" for Christians that is still going on ten years later. I don't expect anything I say to ever end that war, either. But I can end the war within myself between my heart and mind, and I can say to myself, It doesn't have to be so complicated. You don't have to settle, and your actions don't have to be governed by a fear of doing just that. I thought I knew everything there is to know about dating when I was fourteen. I'm seventeen now, and I'm realizing that I knew absolutely nothing because what God is showing me is so much simpler and freer and innocent than I ever imagined it could be. My view on dating now is that when the Lord tells me to date someone, I will. (Happily.) But until He does, I won't. The end. He doesn't want of or require of me a bestseller relationship theology book. All He wants of me is that I will run hard after Him, that I will always pursue Him. And as I pursue Him, someday, the Lord will raise up a man to pursue me. Someday, as I run hard and fast after God, I will look to either my left or right, and I will see a man who is running beside me, keeping the same pace and headed in the same direction. It will be right then, and we will join hands as we run together hard and fast after the God who made us so.

"I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem,
    by the gazelles or the does of the field,
that you not stir up or awaken love
    until it pleases." -Song Of Solomon 3:5

Fill Me Up

"Come away with me,
Come away with me
It's never too late, it's not too late
It's not too late for you

I have a plan for you
I have a plan for you
It's gonna be wild
It's gonna be great
It's gonna be full of me

Open up your heart and let me in"
-Come Away by Jesus Culture

There is a whole, inside of all of us, and it is empty. We attempt to fill it with acceptance, and love, two things that we view with great worth--but I am beginning to learn that the only thing big enough to fit into that hole, big enough and worthy enough to fill it completely forever, is Him. The size of that hole, of that emptiness, is the exact same size as our Father and all the love and all the wild plans He has for our life. We were created by Him, for Him.
It's incredible.

My mother's blog post (http://elysasmusingsfromgraceland.blogspot.com/2011/10/pumpkin-cheesecake-and-loving-africa.html) on our fundraiser to send us to Africa next summer:

PUMPKIN CHEESECAKE AND LOVING AFRICA

Last night, six year old Little Miss M came in while I was doing some stuff on the computer and saw a photo of Africa that I was looking at. She immediately said, "text someone and tell them that I love Africa".

Wow.

The Lord knows how much this blesses my African-lovin' mama heart.

As Jim and I make plans for moving to Swaziland to love and live, one of our main prayers and desires has been that our children also feel called to live and love in Swaziland. When my kids tell me that they dreamed about Swaziland or one of them asks if they can take their blanket to the cold children there, I know that God is answering our prayer. He is turning their heart towards our calling.

Just as God wants us as His children to love and care about the things that concern Him, so I want my children to love and care about the things of God. I want them to learn from an early age that this life is best spent when it is spent for the good of others. I want them to see that it is not the stuff they can get that brings fulfillment but it is the gifts they can share with others. I want them to see that it is actually in serving others that they will find the kind of deep contentment that only God can grant.

I want my children to be totally sold out and passionately in love with Jesus. And I want that passion to pour out of their lives for the least and the lost.

I still struggle with this area. Despite what I've seen with my own eyes --- families living in mud and stick shacks, girls left parentless and unprotected from predators, small children walking alone for miles for a simple meal of corn meal mush and beans --- I still fight against being wrapped up in what I want. I still desire for more stuff than I need. I still eat more food than my body requires. I still cling to material possessions and my rights. I still fight lazyness and complacency.

The secular American Dream for parents has been for a long time that their children would be better off financially than they were. We see this played out as house and closet sizes increase, as pricy vacations that used to be seen as a luxury are now viewed as an annual need. As more and more people are opting to have less children because they want their kids to "have it all".

This totally flies in the face of the truly Biblical worldview. Yes, we are called to be wise stewards of what God gives us. We are called to care for our families and work hard for our daily bread. But we are not called to live first and foremost for the things that we want.

Christianity is, in its essence, dying to self. It is following the example of Jesus. Jesus had it all but He gave it up for us. He lived a life of sacrifice that eventually led to death on the cross.

Where in the world do we get the crazy idea that Christianity is about living our life the way we want, being "good" people, going to church, and apportioning a part of our time and resources to God's kingdom. Our whole entire lives are supposed to be lived for His glory and His kingdom. Pure religion is to visit the orphans and widows in their distress. It is not to follow a bunch of legalistic rules, show up for all the church services, and dress ourselves up in Christian-themed garb.

I firmly believe that the American Dream of financial prosperity is a seductive lie that is leading us to spiritual death, and even financial death, as a nation. Yes, God does bless and when we follow Biblical principles, we will usually do fine financially, maybe even get rich. We see that with various Biblical characters such as Abraham.

But God doesn't give to us so we can just be fat and happy, He blesses us so we can bless others.

The American church must get their eyes off of their selfish dreams and desires and get them on to what matters most to God --- setting the captives free, feeding the hungry, setting orphans in loving homes, helping the widows in their distress, visiting the sick, fighting against injustices, and loving those who think they are without worth.

The NEW American Church dream should be that our children's generation should have a better grasp on what it means to see God's "will be done on earth as it is in Heaven". We should want our children to not have more stuff than we had but more of God. We should want them to walk at a depth and intensity with the Lord that is so much more than we have. We should want to see them serving more passionately, giving more radically, living more fearlessly, serving more unselfishly, changing their world more fantastically. Ultimately, we should be more concerned about investing in their relationship with the Lord, not in a million extra-curricular activities, trendy clothes, and pricy trips.

Giving them more of God and more of God's desire to bring the world to Him should be our very first goal as a parent.

I want this for my children and as time goes by and I see the consequences of shallow Christianity, I become more and more motivated to do what I have to do to make this a reality in their lives and then in their children's lives and down through the generations. I say "no" to generational curses and "yes" to generational blessings.

And when my little girl comes to me and tells me she loves Africa, it is to my ears, God's way of telling me that He is putting in them the love He has for that continent and its precious people.



And it is all just a part of why we are taking our kids to Swaziland to serve and discover for two weeks next year and then to live in two years.

***********************************

A darling, new friend of mine, Brooke Reece, is a culinary arts major at Mississippi University for Women. She loves to bake treats as sweet as she is. She is donating a lovingly made pumpkin cheesecake to help us raise the money for our Swaziland trip.

Brooke lives in Starkville while she is in school but her family lives closer to Jackson, in the Conehatta/Newton/Decatur/Meridian area. For that reason, we are opening the auction up to anyone who lives in the Starkville-Columbus area, the Jackson-metro area, and near her hometown. Once the auction is over, the winner will be contacted by Brooke to decide on when they want the cheesecake made and delivered. If the winner is not living in the Golden-Triangle area then she'll need to deliver it on a weekend.

The 8-inch pumpkin cheesecake has a graham-cracker crust and is topped with caramel and pecans. This seasonal treat would be great for a harvest tea time, fall festival offering, autumn birthday cake, or even a Thanksgiving dessert.



The bidding on this luscious baby will begin at $15. Considering how amazing it is going to taste and the fact that Brooke will deliver it makes this quite a bargain!

To bid, just leave a comment with the amount you are offering and some way for us to contact you. The auction will end this Sunday evening at 5:00.

Also, it would really help us if you were willing to tell others about this auction via facebook, twitter, or your blog. This is a way you can support our trip even if you can't make a bid.

Thanks and happy bidding!

Him Fighting For Us+Being a Princess+Galatians 5:1

Last Sunday night, we girls all went to a pottery place for youth group. After painting frogs and mugs, we went to Dairy Queen for dinner and our lesson. I sat in between my new friend, Victoria, and the leader of the week around an outside table underneath a starless, city sky while she told us about our identities in Christ: princesses. (And I now have a sticker-ed notecard with "Princess Betsie" writeen all curlicued tucked into my mirror frame to prove it.) See, because He is our Father, and He is the King of all kings, then we are princesses. We are who we are because of Who He is. Plain and simple.
Now, the world's and our culture's definition of a "princess" is a diva. Privileged. Spoiled. A lot of times, too, in our eyes, a princess and her worth is judged upon the grounds of who her Prince Charming is, or if she even has one. Without Prince Charming there to sweep Cinderella off her feet and take major part in the magical transformation of a scullery maid turned future queen of an entire kingdom, would we even care for the tale? Without Prince Charming, Cinderella would just always be a girl sitting in cinders. Without Prince Phillip there to climb through the thorns and brambles, overthrow the cruel witch, and smooch Aurora with the "kiss of life", she'd still be sleeping. No happily ever after. No story at all, really. Just a pathetic girl who pricked her finger on a needle. Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaame.
However, we as the Lord's daughters, we are defined by the world or our culture. As His daughters, we must be a completely different sort of princess; His definition of the word. We aren't who we are because of wealth or family blood or a ridiculous prince with a savior complex--we are who we are because of who He is and who He has made us.
Therefore, our leader explained, a true princess must focus more on inner beauty than outer; be willing to be different, possibly an outcast; a "lily among brambles" (Song of Solomon 2:2); value her Father's acceptance over man's; give up the world's good things for the Lord's great things; sometimes be alone.
Our teacher shared how she had similar conversations with her son. (Except on how to be a prince, not a princess...) She told us that she was always telling him she would fight him forever. She would fight with him even when he was eighteen, even when he was grown and out of the house. She would still fight him when he was married and had his own family, fight him until the day he died. Why? Because, her voice choked a bit, he is worth fighting for. That's exactly how our Father feels about us, except so, so much more.

"It is for freedom that Christ has set us free!.."
-Galatians 5:1

Now, I have another best friend who is cool enough to be studying Galatians with me, and we discovered this mind-blowing verse during our our very first Bible study two weeks ago. "For freedom Christ has set us free!..."--wow! WOW. For freedom, He has set us free! However, even though I had discovered the verse, I hadn't yet discovered the complete and full potency, its full mind-blowing earth-trembling potency, until then. That's when it made sense. I saw the parallel in an explosion of beauty, and I realized you couldn't have one without the other.

Him fighting for us + being a princess + Galatians 5:1 =

He died for us. Jesus died for us. He looked at us, and He saw something so beautiful--the daughter, the princess His Father created you to be. He saw that, He saw us, and it,us, was more than worth fighting for.
So He died for us; He died for us! He died so that we might have a choice. A choice to never come to Him, to never accept everything He has planned for us, to never acknowledge what He did that day, never love Him. He died, though, that we might simply have a chance to. He died knowing that we would most likely reject Him, yet He still died; just so that we might have the chance to love Him back. That's how much He loves us, that He would die for us while we were yet still in sin so that someday, we might not be and we might come to Him.

BAM!

My heart and head nearly exploded, so impossible is it to wrap both around His incomprehensible, all-consuming, universe-big love for us! Ahh, He just blows my mind. The end.

Enduring Faith

What I've Been Learning Through James: Enduring Faith

My best friend since 1st grade is very cool. Deuteronomy 8:3 and John 15:4-8 changed our lives and now we're spending our Friday mornings with the Word and frappes that think their eggnog (they're not). I adore it. Our first day, I Googled "commentaries on James", and, feeling ambitious, I printed out a commentary on the first chapter. Sit down, eggnog frappes and all, Bibles and window booth, an hour and a half later--guess what? We went through four verses. And one in Isaiah. Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay! Look at us.

"James, a servant of God and of the Lord Jesus Christ, To the twelve tribes scattered among the nations: Greetings.

Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." -James 1:1-4

Did you know that James was Jesus' half-brother? Because I didn't. Yet he refers to himself as the Christ's "servant"? That's pretty incredible, that love and humility. I don't know if I could willingly be my younger brother's "servant", Prince of Peace and King of Kings or not. Also, did you know that James wasn't even a follower of Christ while he was yet still alive and walking among us? James thought his brother was insane; James was ashamed of Jesus. Wow. Fast forward a couple of years and some redemption later, James is one of the top dogs of the Jesus MOVEMENT. Oh James, James, James. He's something.

Four verses (plus one in Isaiah). One week. I should've known that as soon as we sat down that one Friday and opened our Bibles, letting Him and His life-changing beauty out and into our lives, that neither of would ever be the same. Two weeks later: we aren't. Thanks for asking.

Besides James being the brother of Jesus and all that, one of the main things that jumped out at me--it is the Living Word, after all--were the verses about faith. "Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." I don't know about you, maybe this is just me, but I have a bad tendency that when the Lord lays something on my heart or calls me to do something--pursue a relationship, forgive, love like Him, reach out, reach in, fold the towels not only with a good attitude but with joy, etc.--I do it, for a day. Maybe a week. Then stop. First obstacle, first rejection, first shut down and this is me: "Well! God obviously didn't call me to do that! Moving on." First breakthrough? Me: "Well! Happy, God? 'Good and faithful servant' for a whole week! That's me. Now, what else would you like for me to do?"

I apparently never paid much attention to the last bit of that passage "Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." Finish it's work...finish it's work...finish it's work... Let's chew on our straws and discuss this one for a half hour or so, shall we? I did, too, for an entire week; it led me around in circles in my mind, and then it led me to Genesis and the story of Noah.

"So make yourself an ark of cypress wood; make rooms in it and coat it with pitch inside and out. This is how you are to build it: The ark is to be three hundred cubits long, fifty cubits wide and thirty cubits high. Make a roof for it, leaving below the roof an opening one cubit high all around. Put a door in the side of the ark and make lower, middle and upper decks. I am going to bring flood waters on the earth to destroy all life under the heavens, every creature that has the breath of life in it. Everything on earth will perish. But I will establish my covenant with you, and you will enter the ark—you and your sons and your wife and your sons’ wives with you. You are to bring into the ark two of all living creatures, male and female, to keep them alive with you. Two of every kind of bird, of every kind of animal and of every kind of creature that moves along the ground will come to you to be kept alive. You are to take every kind of food that is to be eaten and store it away as food for you and for them. Noah did everything just as God commanded him."
-Genesis 6:14-22

Noah did everything just as God commanded him. 55-75 years later after the Lord spoke to Noah, Noah was still fulfilling the call, obeying his command. 55-75 years later! And, if you noticed, during those 55 to 75 years, the only recorded time that the Lord spoke to His faithful servant Noah was once: When He was telling Noah what He wanted him to do. The Almighty God spoke, Noah listened, and for 55 to 75 years afterward he was still fulfilling the task the Lord had given him--until he had finished his work, so that he was mature and his job complete, not lacking of or in anything. Can you wrap your mind around that kind of faith? Can you picture what your life might look like, might be capable of, if you applied that kind of brilliant faith to it? Oh my God, I wish I could. To hear the voice of the Lord once, call put on your heart--that would take you a lifetime to achieve! You would do it, too, until the flood of His good-favor swept over you and you knew you were done, He was pleased, the commission fulfilled. Mission accomplished.

James' joy and Noah's 55-75 year huge faith makes my week-at-best perseverance and faith rather sad. It's like when you're inspired, perhaps by a breathtaking landscape or a pool of gold sunlight beneath your windows, and you take up a blank white canvasing which literally screams potential, and you begin to paint. And paint. And paint. This commission is all-absorbing and life-consuming, and it is beyond brilliant and it's not even completed yet! Look at it now, ha! Look at it when we're finished. ...Except then, right in the midst of splashes of vibrant colors and a palette that has to be alive, you set down your brush. One shade isn't cooperating, the red isn't turning out how you saw it in your mind, and you're discouraged. You set the easel aside for the day, just for the day, promising your conscience that you'll start back up the morrow, just give you a break for a second. The next day comes, and the next, and the next. Your easel stays in the corner, the brush in the jar, and your motivation in nonexistence. You think about finishing it, but you know--you know--you never actually will. You've given it your best! Surely, what more can you do? Yeah, you feel guilty, but why should you? It's your life, that stupid painting doesn't affect it, why not say you're done with it and be done with it? After all, what more can you do? The shading is hopeless and the red won't cooperate.

This is me. This is me when my Father whispers in my heart "That girl, she needs a friend. Be a friend to her as I have been a friend to you." So I call a few times, get in the habit of hugging her every time I see her, maybe even invite her over for a sleepover. No, thank you. "'No thank you'? 'No THANK YOU'?!" I persevere, though, for about a week more, asking how she is, always smiling. Get brave, invite her over again. Like I'd ever want to do something with you. "'Like I'd ever want to do something with you'?!" Nope, got it wrong. God obviously meant I was supposed to be friends with that other girl I know! No, no Betsie. You got it right the first time. That girl, the mean one. I'm always so quick to listen the first time, but I usually cover my ears when He speaks the second time. I give up, I mean, what can I do? I've tried, given it my best, honest! She's just impossible, hopeless. I did what He asked and since I'm no longer going anywhere, I'm done. Move on.

..................

What would my life look like if I persevered? If I "considered it pure joy whenever I faced trials of many kinds, because I knew that the testing of my faith produces perseverance. If I let perseverance finish its work, then I would be mature and complete, not lacking anything." (James 1:2-4, paraphrased) It might be brilliant. And all those hard tasks, those messy callings--they have the potential to be incredible, beautiful things (Ecclesiastes 3:11), for that is our Father's greatest desire and goal, if only I had the faith to let Him finish them. If I had the faith to finish what He called me to start. If I had the faith, they wouldn't be blank canvases screaming "potential!", they wouldn't be a masterpieces that will never be recognized fore they were never completed.

I've been learning a lot about enduring faith through James.

Joyfully Dedicated

"And Betsie, don't be too harsh in your judgment. Remember, you wear a wedding ring that symbolizes you're married to Christ, and yet, a lot of times, you don't act like it. I would hope that if you were really married you wouldn't act like this!" Mom and daughter heart-to-hearts while washing dishes are the best, I totally recommend it at least once a month. Week. Day. The statement above was just a snippet from one of ours earlier this week, and the honesty was so needed. My mom and her friend Wisdom, everything they said was true, brutally so; but she was also wrong. "I would hope that if you were really married you wouldn't act like this"?
But I am really married...

Betsie Joy. That's my name. "Betsie" is derived from its lengthier sister "Elizabeth", and "Elizabeth" means: Dedicated to God. Then there's Joy, my middle name.

joy (joi)
a. Intense and especially ecstatic or exultant happiness.
b. A source or an object of pleasure or satisfaction.
1. To enjoy.
2. Something causing such a feeling: a source of happiness.
a: the emotion evoked by well-being, success, or good fortune or by the prospect of possessing what one desires: delight.

Betsie Joy--Joyfully Dedicated to God. Joyful "by the prospect of possessing what one desires'; joyful because I am dedicated to Him, I am His and He is mine. (Song of Solomon 6:3) No matter where I go in my life, no matter who I do or don't know in twenty years, I will never be able to run away from His for His name is my name and not only was I created to be His, but my own parents have given me to Him.
Before I was born, before I was even conceived, my parents were pregnant with a younger sibling for my older sister. That sweet child--it died while still in the womb, coming and going without even living. However, because that child never began its life, I began mine. I was conceived, knit together, mere months after my mother's miscarriage. Yet, even though they had already lost one sweet baby, without even holding them once, and I really shouldn't have existed in the first place--they still named me Betsie. Betsie Joy. They still joyfully dedicated me to our Lord, the One who created me and kept me alive in my mother's womb, just like Hannah did Samuel. ("And she said, 'Oh, my lord! As you live, my lord, I am the woman who was standing here in your presence, praying to the Lord. For this child I prayed, and the Lord has granted me my petition that I made to him. Therefore I have lent him to the Lord. As long as he lives, he is lent to the Lord.'" -1 Samuel 1:26-28)
For my trip to Thailand, my mom wrote me a letter which I read during my fourth week there. It was a beautiful letter...letting me go. My mom and dad were the ones who bought the golden wedding band which I haven't removed from my ring finger for nearly a year now. They were the ones who prayed for the Lord to give them a child, and then once they had me, they prayerfully gave me back to the Lord. My parents have always encouraged me to follow my dreams, whether that was running a Bed & Breakfast when I was twelve, or being the Queen of England when I was nine. I'm beginning to learn that they mean what they say, even when those dreams lead me away from them and to Him. Because as my mom said to me through blue words on a notebook page, I am His before I am theirs. I am His daughter, and I am dedicated to Him.

After fifteen years of bearing and carrying it, my name's meaning finally means something to me and now I want to live my life in such a way so as to live out my name. Joyfully dedicated to my Lord for He is my Maker and my Father and in Him, if I drink deep, I will forever be satisfied.

"Those who sow with tears
will reap with songs of joy.
Those who go out weeping,
carrying seed to sow,
will return with songs of joy,
carrying sheaves with them."
-Psalm 126:5-6

His plans are so much higher than ours, His thoughts beyond our capacity to comprehend. He orchestrates everything, and is the universe's Conductor. I yearn to possess the faith to always trust and believe in this. Not just when I've harvested and am returning rejoicing, but also when I first set out with seeds to sow. It is my desire that there would never be tears shed out of hopelessness and despair, but only joy joy joy.

Beautiful Things

"We're Christians--what does that look like?" Mrs. Amy Lancaster, who lives at WeWillGo, the homeless outreach ministry my family and I have been a part of for several years now, asked us this morning. Well, on July 9th, 2011, it looked like over a hundred brothers and sisters in Christ, the body of Christ, joining together to read the entire Bible over the course of a few hours. Today, being a "Christian" looked like a group of five reading passages out of Ezekiel, literally speaking life into and over a 21st century Valley of Dry Bones, prophesying and believing that the Lord would bring life where there has been death. It looked like children, black and white, sitting without the bondage of racism and fear on the porches of abandoned crackhouses, houses in which fugitives have hidden and alcoholics have wasted their lives, helping their parents slay Jackson's Goliaths of drug addiction and poverty through faith. It looked like people with controlled, suburban lives allowing the Lord to control their lives for a few hours, and, by doing so, they found themselves becoming a part of the lives of the sweet, bewildered homeless men and women wanting to know what all these crazy white folk were doing babbling on their corners and blocks.
It looked like reading the Word of God on streets that had truly never heard it before. Not once. And those streets, those people--they were parched. Cracked pavement from the heat and from lack of attention; streets that, in people's eyes, lack worth. Houses that once were homes for families, a refuge. Families once dwelt there, put up Christmas trees there, married there, gave birth there; but now they are only dark caves for people who have run away from their families to crawl into. Once man-made streams are now man-made dumps for used syringes, cast-off-falling-apart right sneakers, garbage, etc. This is my city, the very heart of my state--can the body possibly prosper when the heart is so...sick?
It's not the Lord's plan for it to be parched, and, thankfully, it was His city before it was mine. So if it is His city, and it's always His desire to make all things beautiful (Ecc. 3:9-11) in His perfect timing (Isa. 55:8-9)--what does that mean for Jackson, Mississippi?
It means that restoration, that beauty are coming to flood over the streets, blocks, and crackhouses of Mississippi's capitol.
I walked up and down my group's assigned--practically abandoned--street, and as people in my small group took turns reading aloud passages out of 2 Chronicles and Ezra, I held my youngest sister's hand and we played a game. It's called the Let's-See-How-Many-Beautiful-Things-We-Can-Find game, and the only rule was that you had to find the beauty that was around you; because it was there. Veins of lush green shoots running all criss-cross over the cracked lane; mimosa flowers still in bloom above our heads that sunshine danced through; an empty lot that with just a cutting could be a superb baseball lot; wild bushes that could bear fruit with a little tender and care, a polluted stream that, maybe someday, could run clear and be a place where children could splash during summer without fear of broken glass shards and bare needle points. We counted those beauties, the ones that were already before our eyes--the pink mimosa flowers, the strong grass shoots breaking through the concrete--, and we counted the ones that we could see would come to be, by faith and hope.

"You will go out in joy
and be led forth in peace;
the mountains and hills
will burst into song before you,
and all the trees of the field
will clap their hands.
Instead of the thornbush will grow the juniper,
and instead of briers the myrtle will grow.
This will be for the LORD’s renown,
for an everlasting sign,
that will endure forever.”
Isaiah 55:12-13

I prayed this verse over the street I walked, and I prayed in absolute faith that these things would come to pass in Jackson because I have already seen them come to pass in other cities, in the lives of others, and in my own life. Where I had planted briers, I have watched Him prune in a hurt-so-good kind of way and then lovingly and tenderly sown seeds of beautiful myrtle, and then water them with the Living Water that only He can offer and the blood that only He shed. Where I had allowed thornbushes to grow in my life, which, over time, cut me savagely and mercilessly, He has completely removed them so that a mighty and strong juniper could spring up. He has made a beautiful thing out of me so that I can better give Him the glory, and He has made beautiful things out of all of His children because He just absolutely adores us.
He doesn't just stop with us, with you and me. He can make beautiful things out of everyone. But why would He just stop there? He could make a beautiful thing out of Jackson, a beautiful thing out of Mississippi, a beautiful thing out of our country, a beautiful thing out of our nation...He could make a beautiful thing out of our entire world.
Oh. He can. And He does.

You Are Here

I had been in the United States--I had been home--for only six days after being gone for two months, when I found myself standing with my family in our second row spot during worship at our church. Standing there for the first time in two months. I felt like that bloke, what was his name? Rip Van Winkle, right? The one who wandered up into the mountains, drank liquor with some hoodlums, slept for over twenty years, and then returned to his village to find that no one knew who he was, believed what he said had happened to him, and everyone he loved had either moved away or died. Honestly, I felt a little like Rip Van Winkle that first morning in church; a little bit like a traveler returning after being gone way too long.
That day, I signed a paper saying that I was now an official member of our church. Which basically just means that I'm serious about going there, about investing in our church body, and whenever they need help with a ministry they can ask me for assistance. I wouldn't have signed my name if I didn't love my church, or prayed about it first--but I do love my church and I did pray about it first, so I crossed all my 't's and dotted all my 'i's and signed my name quickly and answered all the questions. However, with that said, I still felt a little melancholy while doing it. That penned signature made it real, that I was actually back. And for a while. Thailand was a short season, I know that, and now the Lord is leading me to spend a season or two just pouring into my church family. But still, watching that first season fade away as the days pass is a little sad. Like the heart sinking when the first burned orange leaf falls, signifying the End Of Summer. The leaf is beautiful and the season it brings in with it is gorgeous--but we all miss summer just a bit, deep down.
I miss the season I spent in Thailand. I miss how it was almost like for two whole months, I was all His and He was all mine. Up on an Asian mountain, motorcycling through a valley, praying underneath the vast night sky and constellations--I was able to just spend time marveling my Maker's creation and my praise song to Him wasn't interrupted by Big Life Decisions or Make-up Biologys or This Girl Said That And What Are YOU Going To Do About Its. He was there with me, like Moses on the mountaintop with the Lord for forty days and forty nights. Except, I had fifty-eight days and fifty-eight nights in which the Lord showed Himself to me. I miss my Thailand season.

Seasons may change, winter to spring, but I love you.

Um, was that God using the lines from one of my favorite songs to soothe my sinking heart? I do believe it was. You know what? God was there that first Sunday, in that church, in me. He was there with me just like He had been with me while I was in Thailand, and He is the same God here as He is there. He is the same, and He is here.
No matter what season He leads me to walk through--winter, spring, Romania, Thailand, high school, etc.--He will still be there, and He will still be showing Himself to me. How could I possibly think that our Father would be constrained and controlled by the changing seasons, or two months, or the sea separating land when He created each one?

Everything I've Been Missing Without Your Eyes

May 27th (Friday) 2011
3:36 p.m.

Yesterday, Pii Phet and Kara and I visited someone in Chiang Rai's government hospital. Translation slip ups and language barriers gave me the impression that we would be paying a call on a grown man; I was utterly unprepared to end up wandering through the children's ward. To visit a girl hardly younger than myself that was diagnosed with the life-stealing disease of HIV/AIDS.
Like I said, it was the government hospital, so treatment for all patients was free. Bad bit was that the patients would wait, sometimes days, for that free treatment. And there they were, the sick, lining the corridors with their blank, hopeless gazes and dirtied sheets. Absolutely no privacy, and--a lot of times, it appeared--absolutely no company. In pain, alone and humiliated--my heart ached with compassion.
Grandmothers with lifeless eyes; old men with black gums and black soles. Kara was upset because of the conditions: swarms of flies ruthlessly bombarding the patients, soiled sheets, dirtied hospital robes, etc. etc. What upset me was how unmistakably familiar it all was. I saw, and I remembered mornings spent walking the hallways of nursing homes back in the States with my family and/or homeschool group. I always secretly hated those visits. The weird, old people lining the rooms in their wheelchairs, just staring at you. Some of them were hateful, some O.C.D., others just...senile. I was always selfish, snobby, and awkward during those visits... Yet, the people I waled past yesterday--the skeletal frames, gappy mouths, and sad eyes--, I wanted to help them?

But they're just like the people back home. This is nothing new, you've seen this before. Why do you care now?

That's all I could think about as I made my way up the stairwells. Not the flies, not the living conditions, just how everyone was so lonely--and how I never cared before.
Why? Why have I never cared before? I wanted to grab a good Jane Austen novel, right then and there, and plop down among all those old, sick grandmothers and grandfathers and read to them until they didn't feel lonely anymore. I wanted to dance into the children's ward with a bright skirt, bells along the hem jangling around my bare feet, and maracas in hand and bring some joy where there was so much remorse, so much sorrow. Why? Why have I never cared before? How could I not care? How can I even claim to be a Christian (a "little Christ"), like Christ, and yet have so little compassion for so long? How could I go there, and then just...leave? How could I not leave completely changed from who I was just a few hours before?
I was not prepared for yesterday. I have never seen so many lonely, sick and hopeless children before. I pray it brought joy to at least one of them, or else my heartache would be in vain. The girl, hardly younger than myself, and her mother who we visited--did we encourage them? The Buddhist couple whose ill infant we prayed over--did that mean anything to them?
Well, it meant a lot to me.

"Give me Your eyes for just one second
Give me Your eyes so I can see
Everything that I keep missing
Give me Your love for humanity"

Greater Things

Last night, I stood in the center of Chiang Rai's Night Bazaar--a sea of handmade crafts; sketch tat shops; postcard racks; and young men selling their dignity up on a stage every night for the public's enjoyment, boys raised from childhood to be girls. Lame, maimed women and men curled up on the sidewalk, begging for their living, for life; precious salespeople and artists with heartbreaking, hallow lives; Christians on vacation who forgot to pack their compassion--this is Chiang Rai, this is the city I'm living in right now. I stood amidst it all last night, and a trio band sang through two huge speakers and over the entire square, describing the despair they were witnessing with the help of the Eagles.

"Welcome to the hotel California
Such a lovely place
Such a lovely face
Plenty of room at the hotel California
Any time of year, you can find it here

Her mind is tiffany-twisted, she got the Mercedes Bends
She got a lot of pretty, pretty boys, that she calls friends
How they dance in the courtyard, sweet summer sweat.
Some dance to remember, some dance to forget

Welcome to the hotel California
Such a lovely place
Such a lovely face
They livin’ it up at the hotel California
What a nice surprise, bring your alibis

Last thing I remember, I was
Running for the door
I had to find the passage back
To the place I was before
’relax,’ said the night man,
We are programmed to receive.
You can checkout any time you like,
But you can never leave!"

I felt neck-deep in evil, in injustice. Despair was in every face I saw, hopelessness impregnated the air. The beggars without a future, without self-dignity; the lady boys, stripped even of their God-given self-identity. Oh God, my heart ached, and I nearly wept for the tragedy that was alive around me. But, I know that it is man that looks, sees, and sings the ballads of hopelessness, of giving up. I, in my lack of faith, also look and see and feel overwhelmed in hopelessness. But God, God--I know He sees and sings another song, and He is teaching me to sing it over Chiang Rai, Thailand, and to believe in it.

"You're the God of this City
You're the King of these people
You're the Lord of this nation
You are

You're the Light in this darkness
You're the Hope to the hopeless
You're the Peace to the restless
You are

There is no one like our God
There is no one like our God

For greater things have yet to come
And greater things are still to be done in this City
Greater thing have yet to come
And greater things are still to be done in this City

There is no one like our God
There is no one like our God

For greater things have yet to come
And greater things are still to be done in this City
Greater things have yet to come
And greater things are still to be done here

There is no one like our god
There is no one like our God

Greater things have yet to come
And greater things are still to be done in this City
Greater things have yet to come
And greater things are still to be done here."

God has greater things in store for Thailand.

You Know You're On The Mission Field When...

Your mom clicks "like" on every single picture/comment/status you post on Facebook.

You know how to mismatch ten different clothing items into twenty completely different outfits. Yay for recycling clothes!

Peanut butter is a cuisine.

And Nutella? Nutella is heaven on earth.

Skyping your family is something you crave (even more than the lack of peanut butter in your diet).

Letters from home--even ones talking about who's dating who and who got their hair cut such and such way--make your month.

You realize that you have forgotten what it feels like have a seat buckle securely around you. Seat buckles? Pretty sure I've basically forgotten what those are. I think maybe the king of Thailand wears one. Maybe.

Everyone stares at you. And talks about you. And they think you don't notice.

You no longer seem to care about personal hygiene. Things like showering on a regular basis and oh, say, applying deodorant daily suddenly just aren't that big of a priority.

You find yourself driving an elephant. Not a car, those are so yesterday (or I should say 21st century).

Using newspapers (or blank journal pages, if you forget tissue) make for smashing toilet paper. Or leaves. Leaves are nice, too.

You avoid the mirror like it's your ex and things did not end well. I got a love/hate relationship going on with mine. Needless to say, most days it's hate.

Being super pale is super attractive. Got to love the Asian culture.

You see a white person and immediately assume that they're American, making them your very best friend of the moment.

You stay up till 3 a.m. and wake up at 7 to work. Hey, when you have a TV and your favorite TV show in English, you take advantage of that.

You simultaneously discuss your body functions and personal baggage. All in the same conversation. It's impressive.

You only have 50% of the things you started out with. But it's okay because all your important things like jeans that don't smell like squid juice and tank tops were replaced with essential things you need to have to live. Like stone elephant trinkets.

You look at pictures with remorse and remember the days you used to actually try to look nice.

You plot super complicated and absolutely foolproof plans on how to kidnap little orphans that steal your hearts.

You want to blow up pimps. But you have to remember grace, so you pray for them instead.

It's normal to have five geckos chilling out with you in bed and while you use the bathroom. Or bats. On the mission field, it's normal to have bats throw a slumber party in your bedroom.

You catch the bats hiding in your room and keep them as pets for a day. And name them.

You miss your family so bad it hurts.

MP3Player worship sessions... Did you ever have anything else?

Crying out of compassion and pain for the hurt around you is okay. Sometimes crying daily is okay.

You love your life, you love being alive, you love just life more than ever before.

You love the Lord more than ever before.

You are humbled daily, and you learn daily. When you start to learn to love the Lord's plan more than your own life.

When every single day is an adventure.

You're only fifteen and you're teaching English classes all. by. yourself. four days a week.

You rely on your cool, older sister's Tumblr to keep you posted on the fashion scene back home. Hey, that's important.

You see boys younger than your baby brother committing their lives to serving Buddha.

You camp out in churches on the tops of mountains so as to pray for the believers on said mountain village.

You start downloading popular Korean stuff to your MP3Player. (Or maybe that should be on "You Know You're On The Asian Mission Field When...")

Being a Christian makes you less than one percent of the population.

You can buy handwoven scarves for $3 dollars.

Foot massages become a whole new currency of their own. On the mission field, you'll do anything for a free foot massage.

You crave trashy gossip magazines.

You know the names of all the clerks at the Seven Eleven down the street and their college major and are basically their best friend because you see them, like, twice a day, every single day. Seven Eleven and their packs of Oreos become your anchor.

You can no longer remember the days when you thought romantic, fleeting love could compete with God's overwhelming, all-consuming love.

You learn to finally see the hurt the Lord has always been able to see in the hearts of those around us, and to have compassion.

Even if you fight it, you will never be the same.

Found What I'm Looking For

In a few weeks, this will all be over. I will be flying above the North Pole--Thailand and everything and everyone that makes it what it is just a speck on the horizon in the rear view window. Thailand behind me, the Lord's daily unfolding purpose and plan before me.
You know, I used to hate the months in between mission trips. I thought of myself as exiled; how ridiculous is that? I would spend the entire year daydreaming and impatiently awaiting those ten days, that one month, two months in the summertime when I would run away with the Lord to read His word on flowery hills during sunrise, to hold and love lonely children. (I have to ask myself, though: How many times when I left was I actually running toward my God, and how many times was I just running?) So many years with three hundred and thirty-four days rushed through and wasted for only thirty-one, fifty-eight, ten days to come. It's funny, but I never noticed before the hills soaked in morning glory outside of my Mississippi bedroom window, or the beautiful children in my own life who ate just as starved for love as the kids I have to hop on a plane to see.
At least, not until now.
I'm not really quite sure what I was expecting, y'know, deep down inside when I put my usual life on hold to come to Thailand for two crazy months. Maybe I was expecting/hoping to learn a little bit about life itself--and me. Maybe I was expecting to come and fall madly in love with the country and just know know know that I would move back someday and live here forever, adopting millions of Thai babies. For years now, I've been searching for where my heart is (or is supposed to be). My mom's is in Swaziland, and my older sister's in seeking justice for those who cannot on their own. But until Thailand, I didn't know where mine was. In Romania, where I spent last summer? In Swaziland, with the children living in the city dump? In Mexico? In inner-city Jackson? In art? In what? Had I already discovered what and where, and just missed it? I guess, really, I was just looking for something I hadn't found yet. Like U2's beautiful ode to longing, "I have climbed highest mountains/I have run through the fields/Only to be with you/Only to be with you/I have run/I have crawled/I have scaled these city walls, these city walls/Only to be with you/But I still haven't found what I'm looking for."

"...Only to be with You, only to be with You..."

Ah. That's it, isn't it? Four mission trips, one hundred and nine days away from home (one hundred and twenty-one if you count summer camp), and I'm finally beginning to learn. Maybe I don't have to find my heart in jungles of the rain forest or in the Sahara of the African plain--maybe it's just enough to find my heart in the open palms of my God. Maybe being in His will and wherever that may lead (China this summer, Russia the next, etc. etc.) is enough.
There's a prayer my family and I say every morning after breakfast and morning devotions. After doing it for so long, we can recite it without looking at the book while we peek at one another and early morning sunshine floods in through the east window.

"May the peace of the Lord Christ go with you: wherever he may send you; may he guide you through the wilderness: protect you through the storm; may he bring you home rejoicing: at the wonders he has shown you; may he bring you home rejoicing: once again into our doors."

I will be sad to leave Thailand because I have grown to love it over this past month and a half. But I will leave it because the Lord is calling me away, back home, and I am growing to love Him more than everything else and above all else.

What It Is; Who He Is

LOVE

Love is not proud. Love does not boast. Love after all, matters the most. Love does not run. Love does not hide. Love does not keep locked inside. Love is the river that flows through. Love never fails you. Love will sustain. Love will provide. Love will not cease at the end of time. Love will protect. Love always hopes. Love still believes when you don’t. Love is the arms that are holding you. Love never fails you. When my heart won’t make a sound, when I can’t turn back around, when the sky is falling down--nothing is greater than this, greater than this. Love is right here. Love is alive. Love is the way, the truth the life. Love is the river than flows through. Love is the. arms that are holding you. Love is the place you will fly to. Love never fails you.

Brandon Heath is kinda the best. Last Wednesday, as I prepared for my Level 3 class--writing the seasons of the year in blue marker on the board--, I played worship music through borrowed speakers and appreciated the peace. The empty classroom might as well have been a cathedral, the way that the notes and acoustics filled the space. I discovered Brandon Heath's love song that afternoon.
This Sunday, a girl sang the same song during church. It was like a personal "I love you" from God. A personal "I know what you're thinking and what's going on in every bit of your life, even the Wednesday afternoons, and hey, I care." It's moments like Wednesday afternoons before class, sunlight and the Holy Spirit's presence streaming in through the big window across the room from my desk; standing amidst a congregation of brothers and sisters in Christ of all nations; singing Needtobreathe songs with English students--that remind me that God is love.
God is not proud. God does not boast. God after all, matters the most. God does not run. God does not hide. God does not keep locked inside. God is the river that flows through. God never fails you. God will sustain. He will provide. The Lord will not cease at the end of time. He will protect. He always hopes. The Father still believes when you don’t. God is the arms that are holding you. The Lord never fails you. When my heart won’t make a sound, when I can’t turn back around, when the sky is falling down--no one is greater than this, greater than Him. God is right here. He is alive. He is the way, the truth the life. God is the river that flows through. Our Father are the arms that are holding you. He is the place you will fly to. He never fails you. And thank goodness He reminds me daily of this, because sometimes outside of the Wednesday afternoons and worship sessions before class, I forget it.

C. S. Lewis Brilliance

"Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of--throwing out a new wing here, putting an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself."
-C. S. Lewis (Mere Christianity)

My best friend and my sister each wrote twenty-nine letters, so that I would have one from either of them every other day of all the days I spend in Thailand. Today, that was what my friend wrote. Through those words, and C. S. Lewis' God-given ability to see things as they really are, I saw that that was the misunderstanding of my heart.
I think that we (meaning "I") push our own low-expectations onto God. From the very first cruel insult heard on the playground--all the way up through the cruel insults heard in high school, college, marriage, etc.--, we continually hand our Creator the lying words that we have grown to accept as truth everyday for the entirety of our lives. "Inadequate", "loser", "incompetent", "ignorant", "good-for-nothing"... all these words written on our bodies and self-esteem, the Lord's creations, by ourselves. We do this until we truly believe with all of our miserable heart that our Father thinks just as much (or little) of us as we do.

"You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace..."

"A decent little cottage" might as well be "a friendly lady with exceptional skin that is the leader of the youth group and whom everyone likes"--it's all the same if that's all it is. "A good enough mother that manages to train up her children to not be hooligans and never loses a sock behind the dryer." It might seem lame, but these are the things I want to be someday when I'm grown. A wonderful mom like my own, a wise woman like the women in my church, joyful like them, too. When it comes to wanting to be like someone, you could definitely do far worse than those ladies (in fact, I don't think you could do better)...but they're not me, and I'm not them. They will always be so much more than I could possibly copycat, and I...I will be so much more than them, in my own way.
He is the King, and I am His daughter. So I am a princess, we all are. But not because we deserve the title or have somehow earned it, but because of Who our Father is. Only because of Him. Always because of Him.
"He intends to come and live in it Himself..." A locked, enclosed garden; a holy temple--isn't that what we're supposed to be? However, only holy because of His presence inside, and only a temple for Him. Jesus said that we Christians should be as visible and unmistakable as a city on a hill; but the only things on the hills here in Thailand are temples, visibly and unmistakeably honoring a god people have made for themselves. A god who cannot hear they chants or anguished cries, for it has no ears to hear with. Nor can it ever answer, for it has no tongue, only molded, cold gold. And it cannot possibly love, for it has no life and never will. Yet they still bow down to it, chain themselves to it every single day.
Just as we do ourselves to our man-made gods.
My body, the chambers of my soul, are not supposed to be a home for selfish picket-fence dreams; for money or a passport with every blue page stamped; for ourselves or anyone we know. It is supposed to be a home not for my gods, but for my God.

"But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of--throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards..." Build, tear down--why shouldn't He do with it (with us) as He sees best? After all, didn't we say we were His clay? And a cottage is nothing compared to a palace, and He wants all of us to be palaces. Houses of God.