From December 1 - 25, 2015 I've been a part of a writing project called 25 Days for Peace. It was set up by a person I barely knew and I decided ok lets plunge. I did it. I wrote or contributed something those past 25 days. I used to be (and still am) a person who will start something and then let it go. This though IS something other.
For the past year and a half I have been under construction. It's been a tearing down of sorts. Nicaragua is still my heart. And since then many, many wild things has happened. Many too many in fact. But isn't that the way God works. He works in the small ordinary ways to the big, blazing in the sky ways.
Instead of doing a resolution this year I am picking a word. I did it last year and was intentional in the fact that I was aware of the word and looking back I can see how the word has been used. I did not actively pursue it but it became a choice. The word was love. This last year has been one of love. Not the fuzzy, comforting kind but the kind that dares you to give more than you have and to connect with people. As a confessed introvert and fear of attachment girl was a challenge. Yet. When I chose loving, connecting...risking it was a pleasant surprise. I prayed for God to show me love. I did not announce it to anyone because I would (in my head) be considered crazy. This year though for 2016 the word is *voice*. I have considered others...bravery, freedom, risking but what I keep coming back to is voice. I've not written Nicaragua Calling for a year and a half because I lacked confidence in the said voice. But...after the 25 day challenge I found it returning. Risking. Last night I posted something on Facebook about spiritual abuse. I was scared to say anything about the topic because of my past. Instead though I knew I had to put my heart out there. So I did it.
I have 3 entries from 2014 that I did not publish. I know why. I was afraid. Afraid to risk. Afraid to speak. Afraid to voice. Today? I will speak, I will risk, I will voice. God is like that. Healing...risking, loving. I read Psalm 4 this morning. He is the Glory and the Lifter of my head...giving me the wonderful gift of using my voice.
He will cover
Wings. Birds. Life from death.
trembling naked
me a child
hurting pain
that was hidden in the inner
part
Wings, Birds. His life for my death.
heal me
from this ugly
that mutes my voice
deadens my
soul
Wings, Birds. His life for my life.
hindsight blinded
into an early
coma that was
not my choice
until
Wings, Birds. His life for my breath. His life for my voice.
Wednesday, December 30, 2015
Monday, July 28, 2014
Days Like Today
It is on days like today
where the enemy is tromping my brain with you can't!
It is on days like today
where I have to walk away and simply breathe.
It is on days like today
where I realize you are not the enemy.
It is on days like today
where all I can do is cry out to the Father.
It is on days like today
when I don't understand.
It is on days like today
when simply oh so simply cling.
It is on days like today
when
I am overwhelmed.
I am scared.
I am wanting to scream.
I am confused.
I am trying.
I am praying.
And He whispers
I am.
where the enemy is tromping my brain with you can't!
It is on days like today
where I have to walk away and simply breathe.
It is on days like today
where I realize you are not the enemy.
It is on days like today
where all I can do is cry out to the Father.
It is on days like today
when I don't understand.
It is on days like today
when simply oh so simply cling.
It is on days like today
when
I am overwhelmed.
I am scared.
I am wanting to scream.
I am confused.
I am trying.
I am praying.
And He whispers
I am.
Friday, July 25, 2014
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/
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/
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
Silence in the Journey
Since Easter of this year I have been silent. The nagging to get back to writing has been immense but I honestly thought I had nothing to offer. I had hit a wall hard. I was questioning God hard. I really did not like Him.
My faith had been coming back in waves. I thought that my faith was big. God was doing a, b, c, in my life. But I found myself afraid in the midst of the giant faith. I found myself bargaining with God. And really I am embarrassed by it. My faith had become superstitious and dependent on the fact that God would do this if this came out a certain way. And I mean I was wrapped up in this obsession in daily mundane tasks. I thought God and I were great! I had Jesus in my back pocket. He approved of me because I was good. I was reading the Bible, I was praying, I was healing...doing the Christian thing...despite my panic...
Then an outside word entered my prayer life. The P word. Preparation. I started daily praying for the team going down to Nicaragua in June of this year. I started asking God to prepare me...us (my husband and I) for the trip. I had God in my back pocket. My assumptions were good, the nagging terror always there.
It happened. The preparation prayer revealed areas in my life that shook my foundation of faith. At one point I wailed to my friend...I have nowhere else to go but God. How could He take my superstitious faith and remove it for nothing. Not even a mustard seed iota of belief. And the funny thing is in the midst of nothing there was something.
I sat still.
I was silent.
I let myself grieve before God.
I was angry.
I was questioning.
I was just being.
I did not want to go to Nicaragua. How could I when I was a mess. I had to be perfect. My rabbit's foot faith was blown to smithereens. I had nothing to hold on to.
That is how I entered my homeland on June 14, 2014. For 7 days.
The P word that I prayed. Preparation.
Those 7 days there...in Poneloya, Nicaragua became wonder filled, rich days where I lived 5 years in one day..
I was greeted with a migraine the first full morning there. I did no bargaining with God. I did not look for signs. I simply asked Him to help me cope and move on with the day. The migraine was eased by my meds. And I moved on.
Was the trip hard? Yes. Was it easy? Yes. Was I prepared? Yes. Am I still preparing yes. Was I unprepared most definitely yes. But in the midst of my brokeness and unbelief...I was ok. I was listening...God and
Nicaragua is still calling...
http://velvetashes.com/the-grove-prepare/
My faith had been coming back in waves. I thought that my faith was big. God was doing a, b, c, in my life. But I found myself afraid in the midst of the giant faith. I found myself bargaining with God. And really I am embarrassed by it. My faith had become superstitious and dependent on the fact that God would do this if this came out a certain way. And I mean I was wrapped up in this obsession in daily mundane tasks. I thought God and I were great! I had Jesus in my back pocket. He approved of me because I was good. I was reading the Bible, I was praying, I was healing...doing the Christian thing...despite my panic...
Then an outside word entered my prayer life. The P word. Preparation. I started daily praying for the team going down to Nicaragua in June of this year. I started asking God to prepare me...us (my husband and I) for the trip. I had God in my back pocket. My assumptions were good, the nagging terror always there.
It happened. The preparation prayer revealed areas in my life that shook my foundation of faith. At one point I wailed to my friend...I have nowhere else to go but God. How could He take my superstitious faith and remove it for nothing. Not even a mustard seed iota of belief. And the funny thing is in the midst of nothing there was something.
I sat still.
I was silent.
I let myself grieve before God.
I was angry.
I was questioning.
I was just being.
I did not want to go to Nicaragua. How could I when I was a mess. I had to be perfect. My rabbit's foot faith was blown to smithereens. I had nothing to hold on to.
That is how I entered my homeland on June 14, 2014. For 7 days.
The P word that I prayed. Preparation.
Those 7 days there...in Poneloya, Nicaragua became wonder filled, rich days where I lived 5 years in one day..
I was greeted with a migraine the first full morning there. I did no bargaining with God. I did not look for signs. I simply asked Him to help me cope and move on with the day. The migraine was eased by my meds. And I moved on.
Was the trip hard? Yes. Was it easy? Yes. Was I prepared? Yes. Am I still preparing yes. Was I unprepared most definitely yes. But in the midst of my brokeness and unbelief...I was ok. I was listening...God and
Nicaragua is still calling...
http://velvetashes.com/the-grove-prepare/
Monday, April 21, 2014
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,
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
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...
Thursday, April 3, 2014
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...
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...
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