Suitcases, Baggage and a Bird

We have started gathering things for our next trip in January 2015. It seems to be far off. I thought that I would never have to worry about packing. But I do. I worry about the quality of the items that we are taking down. I worry about the weight. I worry about is it enough.

When we pack for the short term my family packs our essentials in the carry on bag then leave various items behind on purpose.

Eventually we will be packing for the long haul. A relocation. An uprooting. My husband thinks about items that we can down now and leave at the property until we come home. I let him ponder the issue. My only stake is this. If we bring our *stuff* down now won't it take away from what we can give now? He will conceed and we will pack the items needed for the village.

How do I even begin to pack for my bonus son? He has his classic nintendos and playstations. With his aspergerest tendencies I know that when we relocate that will be his balm and transition.

So I pray for preparation and wisdom for our short term trips and the eventual relocation.

With this prayer comes the emotional baggage. This is the hardest part to write about. How can I as a shattered woman with a colorful past come face to face with a dream, a calling much bigger than I could ever envision. How could God take my brokeness and use it for whatever it is I am supposed to do there. I tell some of my close friends that I am not a missionary but we are retiring to Nica. That is easier to handle. How can God use me. I have been divorced. I have been the woman at the well. I have lost everything and in turn gained Jesus. I am not shiny. I am not...

And in the midst of the P word (preparation) He has me in therapy. Deep, intense and dare I say freeing? Individual and couple therapy :)...Thanks God

On our short term trip a month ago I wore sleeveless shirts. There are tattoos covering my upper body. In another culture especially Nica it is considered Malo. BAD. I had kept them covered up in the past like most of my life. Covered, Hidden, and Unspoken.

On my left upper arm there are three birds lifting a young girl to safety from the storm clouds below. It is personal testimony of how God rescued me as a child..

I was exposed...baggage...broken...turned to art work...turned to a gift.

During the trip we were visiting families in the village. We intentionally went to one home to talk and share news. While there the woman shyly shared the baby bird she was raising by hand. I am stopped short. In the immense poverty of barely being able to eat she is caring for another creature...and in that realization I saw that God again was whispering my name. In haste I pointed to my birds in tears and she wanted to give me the baby bird as a gift...

I couldn't take the bird with me but she is going to continue raising it until we come home. She kissed both of my cheeks wiped my tears and we hugged.

Packing, unpacking. Baggage and a bird.

And honestly I wouldn't have it any other way...

http://velvetashes.com/the-grove-pack/

Sunday's Dance

Jeremiah 31:13 English Standard Version (ESV) 13 Then shall the young women rejoice in the dance, and the young men and the old shall be merry. I will turn their mourning into joy;*** It was crazy yesterday. We were busy and for me at least out of my element and routine. Normally we do the 1st service at church and then go home...Yesterday was the oppisite. The church decided to have a brunch between services. There were hundreds of people in the gym and out in the courtyard eating... I like routine. I like quiet. During set up a friend of mine and I would help some then retreat to the halls of the church to check out the artwork. That was awesome. During this time I am on edge. Unsure; chaotic inside. This is where grace has to step in and cover when I am fearful. I keep telling myself that this is special a time of celebration...but I am still wary...so many people... Brunch is over and we get settled in the sanctuary to get ready for second service. Bruce realizes he has to tear down the brunch. I am panicking. Instead of placing my comfort in God I am placing my trust and comfort in a person. I want to whine that I need him but realize he needs to serve and worship in his way and I in mine. More people come in. The pews are packed. I love it. I see Bruce again but because of all the people we cannot sit together. My child heart is disappointed. But I continue on with the service. In the sweetness of grace we manage to do communion together. I am anxious. So many people… One of the beautiful traditions of Sunday is on the last hymn the children come up and dance. I long to do that…to dance. Bruce and I have talked about it. I have told him that before we go to Nicaragua I want to be up there and dance… The last song begins…He taps my shoulder and says come on…I whisper I am scared. No. He says it is ok I am going up to dance. I get out of the pew we walk down front. There is a tambourine on the floor Bruce grabs it and starts to sing. I am undone. My fear, my joy my love for God and the work He has done in our life comes down to a simple Resurrection dance with children. Though I am not dancing yet..I am touching my husband’s back in tears...Singing knowing that one day I really will dance..until that time it is enough to be scared. Unsure…but knowing the call. Knowing God and loving and believing and struggling..*** Psalm 30:11 English Standard Version (ESV) 11 You have turned for me my mourning into dancing; you have loosed my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness,

Silent Saturday

The resurrection is coming up. I love this time of year. Even when I was wandering in the desert I would long to be in a church that celebrated Jesus and the resurrection. I went to a church once on Easter Sunday (during the lost years) and came away disappointed. Even though I was living in sin; Deep Dark Nasty Sin...my heart longed to hear of the resurrection. My only hope! On that Sunday I came away empty...desolate..thinking all hope is lost. As usual, I am looking forward to Good Friday. We will have the church service and such but then there is Saturday. Silent Saturday. That day between the crucifixion and resurrection morning. Silent Saturday. I understand that day. I understand the fears...doubts and questioning. I understand the dejection and abandonment. Silent Saturday. During those wandering years I would try to understand God... I understood what Jesus did but my heart was so full of fear and questioning and wondering if He is really really real. Silent Saturday. I would go about my life and tried to be the authentic person without God and without hope. Silent Saturday. In the midst of my sin I would go so far inward in my mind and would just *hope*, a small glimmer, a small flicker, and say I don't want too...be so far away from You. Silent Saturday. The Good Friday before I, the prodigal, came back home was just another day. I had put on my figurative running shoes and left my home. My marriage was in shambles. I could barely maintain my own life. I was surviving on day to day existence. Silent Saturday. That Saturday two years ago I decided I would go to church again. Try it one more time. I had nothing else to lose. I had lost my dignity and my life during those 12 years of wandering. I was the woman at the well. I was the woman with the issue of blood. I was untouchable. I was diseased ridden and unclean. Silent Saturday. I went about that Saturday in fear. In silence. Not thinking much about the day except trying to go on with my life to survive. I had nothing to say to God. I had failed again. Was lost again. There was nowhere else to go. I went to bed Saturday night. I knew where I was going in the morning. Silent Saturday. Sunday morning I get up early. I go to the church that I now call home. I couldn't bring myself to go in the normal church doors so I entered in through the art gallery. I am scared. Silent Saturday is looming in my head. I am afraid of rejection. Afraid that I will never make it. Afraid that God will remain silent forever that I had gone too far... Did Peter think the same thing on Saturday when he rejected Jesus? Silent Saturday. The music started at this new church. The music...Oh God..I wanted to sob...the joy! The anticipation! The reality! Is this real? I was by this time crying...and I did not care. Silent Saturday has met its match with the Resurrected Jesus.... I heard these words in the resurrection service. BROKEN, REJECTED, AND COME HOME! I broke my silence Sunday night. I fell to my knees and asked for forgiveness. And there God met me. In my 12 years of desperation and fear. He answered my prayers. He welcomed me home. Silent Saturday...

Broken Pieces

I am shy to even mention this. To even note what God does in my life. (But isn't it really His life?)
With healing comes questions. I have been meditating on Psalm 139. It says that He knew us before we were born. He knows all of our days...and that I cannot escape His Spirit. Never can I flee from Him. Never!
So I have been thinking on this. And I am angry. But it is a detached, dejected, wimpering little girl...angry. And I dared to voice it to my Father.
While talking with a friend yesterday we were talking about brokeness and a vase. (reminds me a bit of the potter and the clay in Isaiah 64) She dared to say that all the pieces of my life have been smashed. Shattered. In the back of my head I am saying to myself- my pieces so small I don't know if even I can find them. I then tell her about the general patching of broken vases with gold so that they are made stronger. More precious because of the cracks being filled with gold. We talk a bit more on the subject and she exclaims OH...I see this! YOU ARE A BEAUTIFUL GOLDEN VASE!!!!!! I am like huh what? She says yes those tiny pieces that were broken and that don't really fit are surrounded and put together with gold.
My God sees me as this...MY God sees me as this...My GOD!!!!!

And during this conversation my phone vibrates and I choose to ignore it.
On my way home a friend sent me a random text at the exact time my friend and I are discussing this.
And the text is of the now infamous Kitsukuroi..to repair with Gold...

And to put the proper Christian spin on it. I am bought with His blood. Spotless. BLAMELESS. How much more precious (and I mean this with all my heart) is that which was bought by the Lamb. I am humbled that despite when I air the brokeness His love pours through...

Days like this...

Isaiah 44:8a (NIV) - Do not tremble, do not be afraid. Did I not proclaim this and foretell it long ago? You are my witnesses. My heart tells me to be afraid. It tells me there are outside forces working against this dream. This calling. Life here in the states is a proving ground. Life right now is our preparation. I don't suddenly become a missionary because I am in a different country. My field to work in is right here. Right now. How do I treat my coworkers? How do I treat my church family? How do I treat my kids? How do I treat my husband? When I look at life in the details I get overwhelmed. I know my heart is fickle. I know that I am pathetic when it comes to other people. And this is where the marvelous grace comes in and upends my attempts and makes it beautiful. My story. My life is about grace. Grace that led me out of darkness not once, not twice but daily. I am in a recovery group. We work the 12 steps. What I find ironic when I got sober I was a good church woman gone bad. I had become a slave to self. Through grace through the 12 steps and a God who was patient called me back to Himself. I was tired of the pain. Tired of living a lie. This time of year reminds me of the desparation that I felt. The slave of self. The slave of fear. Today it is different. Today I hear "You can do it". Today I hear "Get up". Today I hear hope. The cross becomes so much bigger in the futility. When I let go of the fear I am embraced by grace. Third Step Prayer- page 63 of the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous God, I offer myself to Thee- To build with me and to do with me as Thou wilt. Relieve me of the bondage of self, that I may better do Thy will. Take away my difficulties, that victory over them may bear witness to those I would help of Thy Power, Thy Love and Thy Way of life. May I do Thy will always. I used to cling to the relieve me of the bondage of self. Today it is about working and healing of those difficulties so that I can share God's love. How? A daily adventure. Today I get to be called one of His witnesses. Humbling...

Sometimes...I doubt

Sometimes I fear. I lie awake at night trying to hammer out what God has planned for us to do. I toss, I turn. This is where my faith gets hammered out. To trust a Big God with my little faith. I still sit back in amazement at where we are heading with this... For example: it takes months to years to own land in Nicaragua. Well in our feeble, stumbling case it took 2 weeks. And I question. Yes I have the audacity to question this God who moves. The friends in Poneloya took time out of their lives to help us. They want us down there. They have called us family. Back to my missionless heart...yesterday I battled the doubt. I battled the longing. I battled the unknown. And in the midst of the battle God gave more confirmation though a 3rd party that He sees and knows. I shared with my community group my doubts. I was ashamed to say what they were. No one looked on me like I was less than...And they prayed for us. It will be two years since like the prodigal I came home. Easter Sunday. Where I laid it back down for the final time. And since then it has been a whirlwind of blessings. A time of profound healing...A time of profound doubt. In the midst of the calling He has been faithful. With scripture, with song, with my heart's cry to Him. After a pretty much sleepless night on my way to work Bruce shares a song with me that comes over the radio.. He comments this is song where I raise my hand when I drive and people think I am crazy because of... So I listened and wept. The longing of my heart for the vision and longing of God in my life...

Waiting

Bruce went back to Nica for 10 days a few weeks ago. I had no way of going. It pained me beyond what has been the norm. I was angry. It was a slow week.  And I stewed in self pity. It was the only way I thought to survive. I prayed for him and the team and did my usual worry and duties around the home.

This winter has been one for the records. .between snow and cold the tropics are yelling my name...loud.

It was mid week and we were hunkered down for yet another snow storm. The pantry was full to over flowing. My family safe and warm.

Then there was a knock at the door. We had befriend two preteen girls down the street. And it was the youngest. She had a box in hand asking if I would buy these items so that her mom and sister could eat.

It stopped me short. These kind of things don't happen in America. In my head I am questioning do they have food stamps? Do they have welfare? Are they playing me the fool?

About 3 months ago a lady came to our door asking for bus fare and I turned her away because I doubted her story. It has haunted me since...

I tell A. To hold on I have no money but have food. I tell her if she needs money come back tomorrow and I will buy the goods.

I loaded up the bag with some items and hand them back to her she is grateful and leaves to go home.

I watch her skinny frame dissappear into the snow storm and then I understood.  My calling is here for the time being at home. My healing comes in the doubts, the fears and stumblings.

If someone else comes to the door again I will make sure I have bus fare ready...

Who Me?

In December I had a serious 4 day trip to Nicaragua. To qualify this Bruce has been going down for over 10 years. I at the time did not feel the urge to go but at the same time felt a pang. A hunger to do the same.

But, and this is a big confession, I walked away in 2001. I walked away from God, the Church, from every thing that I thought was true. And I ran. I ran into buddhism, the tao and essentially hedonism. It was about me. God had not delivered my dreams and desires.

During the 90's I was a good girl. I read my bible. I did the bible studies. Was a stay at home mom. In reality I was dying inside and I did not know why. I thought that if I could just love God more, be the perfect wife be what ever it was every one else was doing I would be ok. But it wasn't so. I was hurting. Dealing with a past that haunted me to the point that I needed drugs and alcohol to function properly in public. People scared me.

My first marriage fell apart. The covenant that I had made with God I had broken and I thought that I- yes I was beyond all hope. So I walked away.

During the 10 years of wandering I would dream. Dream of church, dream of worship. To few of my christian friends I mouthed that I believed but my behaviour and heart told me otherwise. The happiest times in my life during the 10 year wandering was 1. getting sober 2. literally dreaming of worship at night.

During the 10 year stint Bruce and I got married. We mouthed God but did not live it. Our marriage was falling apart too.

Two years ago I started going to intensive therapy to deal with deep wounds. I thought initially that I was going to save Bruce and my marriage. In reality it was the deep cleansing of a shattered soul.

On Easter of 2012 I walked into church again (that tale is for another blog). Suffice it to say I was on my knees that night giving all back to the Lord. My husband joined me at church the next weekend and we came home for good to God.

During this journey from when I was 18 and first *saved* I had a desire to do missions work. Family told me no. Of late last year I knew that I wasn't ready....yet. Then December of 2013 I went for 4 days. I came back changed. I lived 2 years in those 4 days. Had my heart and soul rearranged in such a way that Nicarauga and the people there consume my heart and soul. Remember how I was scared (and still am at times) of people? That was gone when I was there.

So I question at times...who me? God, you know my messy past..God you know my heart...and He so lovingly answers back in the stillness of here and now...Yes YOU..