epically epoch

Where have you seen genuine humility recently?

maybe he was right

I keep hearing my former pastor’s words, spoken to my 19-year-old self over 13 years ago.

“The worst possible thing you could do with your life is become a missionary.”

And I am starting to wonder if maybe he was right.

I’ve always felt confident about my decision to step into ministry when and how I did — against all the odds, really.

I’ve seen fruit of lives changed and considered it all the proof I needed that I was doing something far from the “worst possible thing”.

But here I sit, late at night when the darkness is darkest and the doubts and unknowns are the loudest.

I sit here with my heart pounding and the tears flowing. And now…

Now my confidence is cracked and crumbling. Now while I know lives were changed by our team and years and service in Africa, I still hear my former pastor’s words to my faith-filled teenage missionary heart.

And I’ve gotta be honest. I no longer have my youthful faith and energy that bounded me away from the fateful words spoken over me. I don’t have the fight left in me that it takes to stand up against these kinds of roadblocks.

Even when they are only internal.

I simply don’t have any fight left.

And I can’t help but think…

That maybe he was right after all.

Maybe he was right. Maybe my decision to be a missionary was the worst thing I could’ve done because of the domino effect it would cause. Because while people got saved, pastors and churches strengthened, young leaders equipped to teach their peers in public schools about abstinence and AIDS prevention, and so many other mind-blowingly amazing things were done that led to transforming a nation… simultaneously my marriage fell apart, the man of God I loved decided to pursue another woman and walk away from God, me, and the ministry, and everything crumbled to pieces.

So maybe he was right all along. Maybe had I not gone to Africa, someone else more suitable and prepared and strong would have gone. And the end result of years of ministry would be so much more than what it currently is.

Maybe he was right…

I know to live in past-tense hypotheticals is completely futile. I know this. But in dark moments of deafening quiet, my heart immediately goes to that place. And I can’t help but cry as my chest caves in under the weight of it all.

Maybe he was right…

Maybe He was right.

I gasp, and my breath catches in my throat.

Why do I trust so easily the words of the meteorologist and yet hesitate at the words of God? Why do I more easily trust the negative, fearful voices in my head than I do God’s truth?

He told me to go. I went. Lives were changed through the grit and the glory. Including my own.

And so through the ugly tears, I’m starting to hear a growing whisper.

Maybe He was right.

Maybe He was right.

healing in the storm

Africa has the greatest storms.

The rainy season finally comes after months of drought. By the time the first drop falls, the earth is cracked and parched. Lakes and ponds have all but dried up. The tall savannah grass is brown and brittle.

The earth is thirsty. Ready. Waiting.

And then, out of nowhere one day, the storm clouds roll in.

The blackened sky sobs heavy tears. You can feel the thunder deep in your bones as it echoes through the plains. The lightning makes you jump with fear and paralyzes you with awe all in the same loud, bright instant. The wind reminds you that only God could tie the trees down tightly enough.

Africa’s storms are altogether wonderful.

And altogether terrible.

Water rushes into homes, through the cracks in mud hut walls and the gaps in old thatch roofs and the seams in tin shack ceilings. Gusts of wind blow right through bedrooms and marble-sized hail destroys gardens. Those with only their feet for transportation run for any cover they can find—the bus stop, the liquor store, the first home they can reach in the village.

The storms are harsh. And unrelenting. And inconvenient.

And yet, they are welcomed.

There is a joy about the rainy season. “We need it,” is what you’ll hear.

“We need it.”

They find it easy to say. Easy to see. Easy to recognize and acknowledge that as challenging as the storm may be, good will come of it. It is, after all, an answer to countless prayers for the sun-scorched ground of Africa.

They know that the thirst can’t be quenched without the storm.

Spring can’t come without the rain.

New life can’t bud deep beneath the surface of the dry, crusty ground until the heavens unleash their fury.

The drought doesn’t end until the storms start.

We need it.

I need it.

I need this storm in my life. Not as punishment or discipline or as some cruel cosmic joke that has God chuckling to Himself. I need it because of what’s waiting on the other side, that I can’t see yet.

I need it because my cracked, dry heart doesn’t remember anymore what it feels like to be filled to overflowing.

I need it because everything in my life has turned the bare, barren brown of winter. And I’m despearte for the life-awakening green of spring.

I need it.

Even when I hate it.

Africa reminds me to take joy in the downpour.

For there is healing in this storm…

Originally a guest post at Mary DeMuth’s…

missions is God’s heartbeat

I’ve heard people talk about the Biblical basis of missions. But I think it’s more accurately stated as the missional basis of the Bible.

It’s so easy to assume that missions is a New Testament idea. But it’s not. It’s been God’s heart since the very beginning. His passion for the nations is evident throughout the entirety of the Bible.

I know many often struggle to reconcile the God of judgment and wrath in the Old Testament with the one of mercy and grace in the New. But if we look closely enough, we can see His heartbeat as a thread all throughout.

It’s so evident in the Bible stories we learned in Sunday School, but amid the flannelgraphs and illustrated kids’ Bibles, we may have missed it.

Way back in Genesis, God promised Abraham overwhelming blessings. Not so Abraham could live an abundant, selfish life. But so that “all people on earth will be blessed” through him. All people.

The story of Noah and the ark shows us more than God’s wrath on the sinful world and the rescue of every kind of animal. It reveals God’s mercy, compassion, and love for the nations of the earth. The promise set forth in the rainbow was God’s covenant with all of mankind—not just Noah’s family. Not just the people of Israel. Not just the Body of Christ. God’s covenant of grace was “a covenant for all generations to come.” All generations.

What was the whole point of David and Goliath? Little beats big? God on your side is the majority? We can do all things through God’s strength? All of those things and more. Ultimately, it reveals God’s heart. David conquered Goliath so “the whole world will know that there is a God.” The whole world.

Then there was Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, the three young Israelites in the fiery furnace. In the end, King Nebuchadnezzar decreed that the people of “every nation” will know that “no other god can save.” Every nation.

Not only did the Lord spare Daniel’s life in the lion’s den, but “all the peoples, nations, and men of every language” heard about it. The king issued a decree that basically said, “There is no God like Daniel’s!” Every language.

Even in the Psalms we can read of God’s heart for the lost. “May God be gracious to us and bless us and make His face shine upon us that Your ways may be known on earth, Your salvation among all nations.” David’s prayer was “Bless us, Lord, so that all nations may come to know You!” There are so many other passages like that strewn throughout the Psalms. All nations.

As you read the Bible this week, look at everything through the missions lens. You’ll see things you never noticed before. And you’ll discover the heart of God in a whole new way.

God’s ultimate plan is for all nations to know Him.  As Christians, as God-followers, we are called to be a part of His plan.

All of us.

Originally a guest post at my friend Becky’s

roots and wings

I love my wings.

I really enjoy traveling. It’s a good thing, since I do so much of it. I love the newness, the adventure, the constant change. I enjoy experiencing the new and the different, discovering things I’ve always wanted to see and things I didn’t even know existed.

There is nothing in the world like stepping into the unfamiliar, unknown, unpredictable, and unexpected. It makes my heart come alive.

Most of all, I love people. It is such a gift to be constantly meeting new people and spending cherished moments with friends. Experiencing other people’s worlds means embracing new rhythms of life, and I learn so much from all that is different than me.

I value my heart’s desire for change.

I also love my roots.

I crave security and stability. At times, the humdrum of routine is the sweetest sound I know. There is comfort in the known and the familiar, joy in the predictable. Going to bed after a day that looked exactly as expected makes for some sweet contentment.

I’m grateful for the sense of belonging that comes with home. It is a beautiful thing to have a space in life that’s carved out with my exact shape—the warm hug of that perfect fit is absolutely matchless.

Being in one place long enough to be missed when I’m gone makes my heart exhale. I love being with those rare people who feel like home to me—who know what I’m thinking before I say it, who can read my slightest facial expression, who just plain “get” me, no explanation needed.

I value my heart’s desire for same.

I live in the tension between my wings and roots.

At times it’s exhausting… at others, exhilarating. When I’ve had one for too long, I start yearning for the other. All change with no same makes me just as restless as all same with no change.

And I’m feeling restless now.

The past 19 months have been nothing but change. My heart longs for steady. Predictable. Certainty. I want some surety under my feet. My wings are tired.

So I’m trying to create pockets of same in the midst of all the change. Little bits of routine. Tiny fragments of consistency. I need to find some more creative ways to do that…

Cause after all, a girl can have both wings and roots, right?!

Right.

Are you more of a wings or roots person?
Any thoughts on how I can create some “same” in my
very unpredictable life right now?

prone to wander

I love the raw honesty in the comments on these prayer posts. I am so thankful for the transparency and community here at The Grit. Thank you for sharing your hearts in this space.

I want to pass along some things that help my prone-to-wander heart stay connected with God in prayer. Not as a formula or because I think these are the best or only ways to do it. But because maybe they will spur on ideas that work for you personally.

: : :

I create prayer prompts for myself.
I’m visual, so it helps me when I connect things I want to pray for with specific objects or even places. Then those serve as triggers, prompting me to pray whenever I see them. For instance…

• My pillow is a reminder, when I lay my head on it at night, to pray for my mind, thoughts, dreams, and sleep.
• Putting my hands on the steering wheel when I get in the car reminds me to acknowledge that God is in control and not me.
• Y’all know I like me some Starbucks — It’s comfort in a cup for me. So I’ve made Starbucks to-go cups a prompt to thank Him for the peace, security, and belonging I have in Him.

Short arrow-like prayers invite the Lord right into the moment with me.
I love Nehemiah’s example of this: “The king said to me, ‘What is it you want?’ Then I prayed to the God of heaven, and I answered the king…” Mid-conversation, before he even responded to the question, Nehemiah shot up a prayer. I try to be intentional to do the same, shooting up quick prayers for help and wisdom, to thank Him, or just to point out something that I love…

I keep pen and paper nearby.
Scribbling down the random things and to-do lists I think of makes it easier to keep my mind fixed on talking to God.

Some of my best prayers are prayed in bed at night.
I usually struggle to fall asleep, because my brain lacks an OFF switch. Quieting my heart to pray is a good way for me to turn late-night concerns right into conversations with God… even if I do fall asleep mid-prayer.

I use post-it notes. Lots of them.
I write down things I want to pray for, and stick them where they’ll be visible. I have Fuzzy Brain Syndrome, and will simply forget without reminders like this.

I don’t often tell someone I’ll pray for them.
Because I know full-well how quickly my good intentions get away from me. When I do say I’ll pray, I stop right then and do it.

Often when I’m driving alone, I pray out loud in the car.
I tend to spiderweb less when I’m praying out loud.

When I really need to hash through something with God, I journal my prayer.
Writing out my conversation with Him helps keep me focused, and seems to make it easier for me to listen for His response.

I am so thankful that the Holy Spirit intercedes for me.
When I don’t know what or how to pray (which is pretty often), I often just whisper: I have no words right now. Holy Spirit, I need You to pray for me because I simply can’t…

: : :

“Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.”

-from the hymn Come Thou Fount

What are some things that help you pray?

coming out from under the guilt

For me, prayer has always been wrapped up in condemnation.

Not that it was a conscious thought, but it was always there… underlying my foundational beliefs about prayer. And about myself.

While I’ve never been one to pray for very long, my mom, on the other hand, was known for her hours-long prayer times. And in a way, it became a measure of spirituality in the brand of Christianity I was raised in.

A measure I fell very short of.

I’ve been made to feel like a “bad Christian” because of my prayer habits (or non-habits).

I’ve been told that I’m not spiritual enough because I don’t pray for long periods of time. (Along with my insufficient Scripture usage and lack of structured “quiet times”…)

Prayer became yet another area that I’m simply “not enough” in. The guilt always gave birth to shame in my failed attempts to try harder.

So it’s something I’ve had to realign my thinking on. And I find myself still needing to. Often. Because I still feel the weight of those lies.

I want depth and realness in my prayer life to stem from desire, not judgment.

I’m tired of trying to pray more/better/longer/eloquentlier because I’m “supposed to”. I’m done should-ing on myself, and I’m done with others should-ing on me too.

Because, let’s be honest… Guilt, disapproval, and judgment have only caused me to pray less, not more.

Ironic how condemnation works. Even when it’s self-inflicted.

I digress.

There is significant freedom in remembering that God created me as I am, on purpose.

He’s not surprised by my “oooooh! shiny!” tendencies when I’m talking to Him. He’s not baffled by my inability to sit still for extended periods of time. He’s not confused when I pray in short one-liners spread throughout the day.

He knows what I’m like. He’s the One who knit me together for God’s sake! (No blasphemy intended. He really did create me for His sake.)

And He hardwired me exactly as I am. Intentionally.

I think He loves when I relate to Him out of the uniqueness of my own DNA rather than out of some mass-produced version of how Christians “should” pray.

So today I’m choosing to shake off the shackles of should and supposed to. And I’m giving myself the freedom to discover how God wants to relate to me.

And how He created me to relate to Him.

Which is as individual and unparalleled as my fingerprint.

What are some of the unique ways you can relate to God?
Do you feel freedom to connect with Him like that?

thoughts from my dusty prayer closet

Praying has never been easy for me.

Not something you’d ever expect to hear from a missionary, I know. But it’s the truth. Praying is sometimes usually really hard.

So I don’t pray nearly as much as I “should”. Not as much as I want to, even. Or maybe not as much as I want to want to would be more accurate.

I get distracted really easily.

Midway through mentally writing my Target list, I’ll remember that I’d actually been praying.

Oh. Yeah.

So I shift back to prayer and, sure enough, my mind begins wandering again. Even if it starts with thoughts of the person or situation I’m praying for, my brain very quickly spiderwebs into countless random things. Until I remember—again!—that I was in the middle of praying.

Oh. Yeah.

Take 29.

I also can’t spend hours in prayer. I just can’t.

Many people can. And do. And actually love it. But not me. I’m simply not wired that way.

I’m more inclined to talk to God in bite-size conversations throughout the day than in one long official “prayer time”. Maybe it’s because I’m more do-er than be-er, more Martha than Mary. Maybe it’s because I can’t sit in one place very long. Or because I don’t feel like I have that much to say. Or because I struggle with structure. Or because of that whole “easily distracted” thing.

Maybe it’s a combination of all the above. And then some.

Whatever the reason(s), I don’t often pray for any great length of time.

But none of these “challenges” give me license not to pray.

They don’t let me off the hook from growing in this area.

I still need to spend more time praying than I currently do. I need to be intentional to stay focused in prayer. I need to ask, seek, and knock. I need to give thanks and make my requests known.

I still need to pour my heart out like water before the Lord. I just no longer need that to look like some Wonderbread version of a quality prayer life.

I simply need it to look like me connecting with Him.

I’m gonna unpack more thoughts on prayer
tomorrow. In the meantime, I’d love to hear
what prayer (honestly) looks like for you.

how do we tell?

I’m no stranger to challenges, both in ministry and in life.

I’ve roughed the stormy seas of tight finances. I’ve braved long seasons of everything possible going wrong in every way possible.

I’ve endured numerous devastating fires on our mission base. I’ve watched a tornado lift the roof right off of my house. While I was in it. Twice.

I’ve faced countless health issues, lost loved ones, sat broken-down on the side of the road more times than I can count.

I’m not oblivious to the schemes of the devil.

I know the enemy attacks hard on the front lines.

I also know God uses the situations we face to guide and shape us.

He disciplines us, redirects our paths, and goes to great lengths to get ourattention at times.

And so today I find myself wrestling.

I’m coming up with more questions than answers, though.

A barrage of negative/painful/stretching circumstances could be an attack we should stand against in faith. Or it could be God’s way of “closing a door”, turning us around, or shifting the direction of our path.

How do we tell the difference?

i was young and foolish

I moved to Africa twelve years ago today.

It feels like a lifetime ago in some ways, and in others, it feels like just yesterday.

Some people think I was brave and bold for packing up and moving to Africa when I was 19.

If I was either, I certainly didn’t know it.

I felt a whole mix of emotions on that long flight across the Atlantic, but brave and bold weren’t in the mix.

Sad, frightened, and unsure were though.

Right next to equal doses of anticipation, hopefulness, and nervous-excitement.

I was young. And slightly foolish.

Foolish enough to think I had something offer. Foolish enough to believe I’d felt God’s leading. Foolish enough to imagine He could use me.

Twelve years later, I smirk as I thank God that I still have some foolishness in me.

Part of me thinks it’s a little wrong to celebrate my “Afriversary” in America. But it isn’t the first time. And it probably won’t be the last.

And it doesn’t change the fact that twelve years ago today, the entire trajectory of my life changed forever.

Here’s to another year lived for Africa, even if not in Africa.

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