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The High Cost Of Community

 

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.” – Hebrews 12:1

If you know me at all you have probably seen pictures of me and my posse. My girlfriends.  My GF’s.   We have 27 years between us.  I have been part of this group for nearly 20. I don’t remember life without them.  We will show up in your feed on retreats or arranging flowers for a girlfriend’s second wedding. You’ll know that 7 of the 9 of us have the same ankle tattoo. (Two of us will make this sisterhood symbol with permanent marker when we are in the retirement home…we’ll need to find each other.)

You might think that this whole “finding your tribe thing” is easy.  You might think that it’s all brunch and road trips and birthdays. 

You would be right.  And you would be very wrong.

 

 

 

You might call me lucky  But luck has nothing to do with keeping relationships for that amount of time with eight women.

That’s like saying “you’re so lucky you’ve been married for 25 years.”

This gig takes a whole mess of work and humility.  If you ever find yourself envious, this is the truth behind our story. This is my version of the disclaimer that should be provided on every long-term relationship of any kind.

Because community is  going to cost you.

 

 

The truth is that when friendship with a group of women is fresh and new it won’t cost you much.  Over coffee you can share fashion finds and recipes, your latest thrift store purchases, family stories, and parenting tips. It’s easy, breezy, beautiful.

But stick around awhile and the casual conversations will wear thin.  Facades will fail.

It’ll start small. One of you will have a bad day, a series of bad days, a bump in your marriage, or a full-blown nervous breakdown.  Scars will come into focus if you spend enough time together. If you dare to examine each of your sisters and keep showing up for a front row seat to life with another human being, humanness will be exposed. It won’t be pretty.  You might consider leaving.

 

 

When years spin on the calendar, nearly 20 to be exact, you’ll still realize it’s the most beautiful, hardest thing you will ever be part of.

Over the years you’ll be a witness your sisters at their best.  You’ll cry happy tears because one’s daughter is saying her vows surrounded by sprays of flowers.  Your mother-of-the-bride girlfriend will walk down the aisle with a knowing glance into the gaggle of you, her body at the perfect weight.  She is floating like an angel and you practically gloat at the opportunity to witnesses the glory.  You proudly beam at the reception.

The group of you will gather, crowding around a small cafe table and lean in close to hear the latest accomplishment of one of your sisters.  You’ll toast your coffee cups and drive home smiling because gosh darn it, one of you did the thing she’s been talking about for a solid four years and it’s the proudest moment deep in your heart to know she is thriving.

You’ll cheer in the audience, one of your sisters at the podium giving her acceptance speech for one award or another, her finally finding her voice.

You’ll rock each other’s babies and then watch each of them grow like a beanstalk until they grow almost out of sight and you don’t see them often enough anymore. Each holds a piece of your heart, frozen in time with one single memory of all of you tending to ALL THOSE KIDS while trying to hold a conversation at a bible study in a messy kitchen.

You’ll buy one of the girlfriends a gift at some random store, giggling,  just because it reminds you of her on a Tuesday.

You’ll group text like a teenager and send all the emojis on a heartbreaking day just to make her smile.

You’ll begin to hear all the words, even the ones she never speaks because your hearts begin to know each other.

You’ll see the beauty in her when she squints to see it in herself and you’ll sing the song in her heart back to her when she has forgotten the words.

You’ll laugh at very inappropriate times together. VERY. INAPPROPRIATE. TIMES.

And these times will become your memories and a part of you forever.

Those are the good moments, but a real tribe will cost you.

 

 

A circle of real girlfriends will beg you to lay down your pride.  They will demand time, patience, and more understanding than your two year old who is yet to be potty-trained.  The relationships will beckon you to listen deep and to soften judgement. Your shared love will  call you to be vulnerable and transparent. You’ll have to get real up in here if you want to stay.

The truth is that you’ll have to eventually decide if your are a runner or if you are a fighter.

You’ll have to know in the guts of your very self if you can grow in deep commitment.  You’ll have to know if you have the strength to to come out of hiding. From yourself and to them.  

You will disappoint each other, a lot.  You will hurt each other, often unintentionally.

And that’s not any kind of fun.

This past weekend I sat in a circle with my tribe.  The ones who have held my hand in scary times, jumped for joy in summer seasons, and slapped me right upside the head when I was way off kilter. I talked about how hiding is the true root of any sin and satan wants nothing more than for us to be divided, alone, and without community.  That’s the cold hard truth so I reminded them and myself that we are  gonna have to fight.  

How easy it would be to overlook each other’s bad habits, the lies we tell ourselves, and to glance away from the gaping holes in each other’s hearts.

Because we have an enemy that knows every sin that hinders us from being all that God created us to be and every tender place.

We’re going to have to be intimate here if we are going to be the body of Christ.  And intimacy means “into me see.”  We’re going to have to look into each other with eyes and hearts wide open.

We going to have to live with eyes wide open and a great big focus on Jesus.

Satan prowls like a lion in the night searching for an “In” to destroy sisterhood, for a way between us. He knows that we are better together.  Isolation and quiet despair are the recipe he concocts to tell us we are unlovable, left out, forgotten.

So if you are in it for the long, ugly, beautiful haul of being in the body of Christ… all in for birthdays and gift-exchanges and toasting sunsets at the beach, you’re going to have to also be willing to surrender to the hard.  You’re going to have to show up that one day when you find yourself with your hands on your sister’s feet, sitting cross-legged below her praying bold prayers to heal the broken places in her marriage and/ or whisper “Dear Lord to please tend to the scars she carries from the past.” You will pray for her harder than you pray for your own needs.  

Because over time she has become a part of you, a mirror of you.

And you better be able to face a mirror because each woman in that circle of community you joined will hold one up and ask you to look close if they really love you.

And so, yes, I do have eight very close girlfriends.  And I signed up for all of that.  We each did.

Right in the middle of the retreat, when we had started talking about the broken places, we scrolled our names right across the top of a blank sheet of paper. We taped them towards the light and each of us wrote the words of truth right there under each other’s names in permanent marker.

A reminder.

Because just like Michelangelo, we see beauty in every block of marble.  A masterpiece that is waiting to emerge.

And our words to each other begin to bring each other out of hiding.

Yes.  Community will cost you.

And it will fill you.

A sisterhood will challenge you.

It will also rock the lies, expose the truth, and make you do the hard work.

Community will ultimately make you come alive, looking to the cross as your only hope.

We’re just here to sing the backup verses to the song He has planted in side of of our sisters, to  carry each other’s voices when we have no words. I played this song at the end of my talk Saturday, surrounded by the girls who have helped me find my voice.

If you want to be in a girlfriend tribe you better be willing to sing a strong backup.

 

I’m so grateful for my dear friend Jennifer Hand of Coming Alive Ministries who led our retreat this weekend and one of the GF’s Renee who spoke and gave us deep questions to ponder with each other.  I’m also grateful for the GF’s who took most of the pictures in this post because I took not a one the whole weekend.  It takes a village, ya’ll.

 

 

 

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Beloved Music: A Gift for You

There is barely a moment in each day that I am not listening to music.

When I write it’s instrumental Christian songs.

In my office I stream Ellie Holcomb or if I’m in an artsy mood, Norah Jones.

In my car it’s the local Christian radio station.  Sometimes I pop in an old CD of a band we met on the streets of Seattle on a family vacation.

On occasion I’ve been known to get a little too excited about Madonna, Adam Ant and Tracy Chapman.  They play the soundtracks of my teen years, along with Amy Grant, whose LP’s I played on my bedroom  turntable in my teens, using a hairbrush as my microphone.

There is nothing quite like music to soothe my soul and remind me of the truth of who I am:  eclectic, spiritual, spunky- a little bit country and a little bit rock and roll.

And my very favorite selections remind me of who I am:  Beloved.

I’ve collected 40 songs that speak truth to me and I thought maybe you’d like to listen to them too.  Each speaks to my soul.  The collection is on Spotify.  Are you a follower?  If not, just download the free app to listen to the collection: a little gift to YOU!

A few lyrics from one of my favorites by Jordan Feliz:

Head full of questions, how can you measure up?
To deserve affection to ever be enough
For this existence
When did it get so hard?
Your heart is beating, alive and breathing
And there´s a reason why
You are essential, not accidental
And you should realize
You are beloved

Here’s a list of what you’ll find: just click here to listen!

Enjoy! Let me know which ones speak to you.

Blessings,

Amy, Blue Jean Girl

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Why I’m Wearing a Dress Every Day in December

This will be my third Dressember.  I am commiting to wearing a dress every day this month to bring awareness and funding to fight modern day slavery and I’ve invited some new folks to join me.  Many have asked why I do this.  Some  have wondered what the point is and how it’s done, so I’ll do my best here to share what I know and why I am committing to this again this year.

According to the International Justice Mission, an organization that investigates and fights sex trafficking through rescue efforts internationally:

45 million people are trapped in slavery and oppression.   

That’s five times the population of New York City.

This is happening today.  This is not o.k.

Young girls and women are being  sold and controlled as slaves.  They live in small villages in Haiti, and in large cities right here in the United States. Sex trafficking is happening on highways in the Midwest, on dirt paths in rural Africa and in the parking lots of the largest sporting events in the world.

Our sisters (and brothers) have been coerced and convinced that oppression is the only option.

Many of us do not advocate or act on behalf of those forty-five million that are enslaved because we do not know.  We do not know someone who has been a child slave or who has been trafficked into a dark underworld of corruption.

I have seen deep, desperate poverty. I have walked the dirt paths of Haiti and had conversations with women in their makeshift tents, I have hugged a women who once believed that prostitution was the only way to earn money to live.  I have looked into her eyes.

I have prayed alongside my friend Jen as she travels each year to the Superbowl as part of rescue and prayer efforts. I have heard the stories of the rescues that happened on the streets of Phoenix and Los Angeles and in a tiny town in Iowa.

When we know the facts, when we look long and hard into the faces of the oppressed, we are called to action. Once we know, we have to act.  

This is one video from the A21 website, another organization supported by Dressember and trusted in this battle.

Nicole could be my sister.  She IS my sister.

And that’s why I’m wearing a dress every day in December. For Nicole and others like her.  Because maybe I can shed some awareness on the millions caught up in this horrific violence, and maybe together we can raise some funding to fight the darkness. Maybe I can use social media and conversations to plant some facts and bring awareness. Maybe I could be a voice for the voiceless and my dress could be a sign that I see each woman, that I am here, that they matter. Maybe my dress could be part of a rescue.

It’s not a sacrifice to wear a dress every day, but it does take intentionality and thought and there might be situations where I would be more “comfortable” in jeans.  But that’s a pretty luxurious thought, isn’t it?  A little discomfort seems a bit ludacrious in the scheme of things.

 Let’s get uncomfortable once in awhile to discuss the things that need to be talked about.

 Here’s the scoop:

What is Dressember?

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DRESSEMBER is a COLLABORATIVE MOVEMENT leveraging FASHION and CREATIVITY to RESTORE DIGNITY to ALL WOMEN.

Blythe, the Founder of Dressember says this:  “The movement began with a dress, and then later became a campaign. I am someone who feels incredibly feminine and free when I wear a dress; I know that this isn’t the case for all women. Dressember is less about defining femininity and more about solidarity in dressing for a cause. My favorite stories are from women who hate wearing dresses but choose to participate in Dressember because of what it’s doing and what it represents. Often, the most powerful revelations come when we accept the vulnerability that comes when we step outside our comfort zone.”

How it works:

Wear a dress every day in December. It doesn’t have to be the same dress every day, although  I have a few friends that share this commitment. Just wear what you have..no need to buy dresses!

You really only need one dress.  I’ve chosen 5 dresses that I will alternate. Some of my friends  will wear the same dress every day.  This is inspiring. Plus, just think of how creative you can get with switching up looks with scarves, Vi Bella Jewelry, different leggings…and how not having to choose what to put on will be FREEING!  Simplicity rules.

**I bought this maxi dress in wine from Elegantees.  I  LOVE this ethical clothing and their mission.  They are the official Dressember dress company  Love, love, love. (ethically made and with pockets…aahh…)  I’m going to wear this dozens of ways.

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Post pictures on social media wearing your dress, sharing statistics.  For instance, this is what I posted with my first post during last year’s campaign:

I’ll be participating in #Dressember because I believe in grassroots efforts, in advocacy, and in the possibility of great change, one small act at a time. I believe in paying attention to where hurt exists and doing something tangible about it. I’ll be wearing a dress every day in December to show solidarity, linking arms with sisters around the world in an effort to raise awareness and financial support of those who are trafficked, abused, forgotten. When folks ask me why I’m wearing a dress I’ll be able to share stories of the forgotten. And that’s worth taking a selfie every day in the month of December. Wouldn’t you agree? Anyone want to join me? #Dressember #itsbiggerthanadress

Why It Works:

It Starts Conversations

It’s hard and uncomfortable to talk about issues of modern day slavery and sex trafficking.  When I’m wearing a dress loading a yard-sale find into the back of my friend’s car? THIS will start a conversation.

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Participating in Dressember can open the door to the opportunity to educate others about human trafficking. Whether someone would ask why you are crazy enough to wear a dress in a snowstorm, or why you haven’t worn pants in weeks, or by asking friends on Facebook to support your campaign financially, there are many opportunities to start a conversation about human trafficking and why it should be ended.

It raises money.  A lot of money. 

Collectively, Dressember advocates raised $924,142 last year. You can create a fundraising page or join a team and ask friends to donate.  Wearing your dress can be a call to action. All proceeds go to the International Justice Mission and A21 – two longstanding and trusted human rights organizations that are working to bring rescue to victims of slavery, sexual exploitation, and violent oppression.

 

Who to follow and what to do in Dressember:

  • Joining the movement?  Join this Facebook group:  Friends in Dresses.  We’ll support each other here!
  • Want to raise funds?  Join my friend Jen’s fundraising team here. Tell your friends what you’re doing and why, and invite them to sponsor you!  Every little donation helps.
  • Follow Jen Sandbulte on social media. She will be doing daily live video devotions with her daughter Emma.  Jen has been an advocate for this cause for many years and has beautiful insight on how to pray with our families about this difficult, hard-to-talk about issue.  She is our prayer warrior!  (And I am Emma’s FAVORITE aunt, clearly…)  Twitter – @jensandbulte  Facebook – jen hanno sandbulte
  • Follow Dressember on social media.  Search hashtags #itsmorethanadress #fashion4thefight #dressember a#itsmorethanadress and  #dressember2016
  • POST your pictures!  I’ll be looking for you!

Let’s do this!  #itsbiggerthanadress

me-and-jen  dressembersquare-1

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Revival

I spent a week in Haiti with staff and friends of  Vi Bella Jewelry and I’ve brought a hundred stories home. I carry the artisan’s stories every day and I try to do so carefully, but getting to hug our team is the very best thing.

This trip was different. It wasn’t a time to train or just transport jewelry.

These six days were a chance to praise and worship and pray together, to cast stones of regret into the ocean, to link arms, share hearts, and witness our friends and artisans give back to the villages where our centers exist.

It was a chance to see up close how there really is a front-line army against hunger and thirst, the power of employment,  the tangible ways what we do in the United States impacts families across the ocean.

It reminded us all how purchasing power can pour blessings into whole communities.

How empowerment has faces and names.

It was a revival

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I stand at the back of the church on Sunday afternoon and the dust is heavy.  I dunk my hands into the blue cooler over and over, reaching for bags of water and it feels like a big awkward band-aid, this handing of water to women and children.

Some hands are preparing to preach, some are preparing food.

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One hand reaches for mine and I hand her extra water.

 

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Because it’s hard to deny anyone water you look each other straight in the eyes.

As all of our hands move it’s not our work that is being done.  It’s not a jewelry company or a founder or an author or prayer warrior or a child. It’s a collective spirit.

It’s all of us with gifts differing, praising as beloved daughters.

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Communion can look like bags of water and packages of crackers and they can multiply there just like those loaves all those years ago.

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Because when God wants to give living water it will always multiply. And He will always be the giver because everyone is thirsty.

The church is almost full but we would make room if more came. I look out into the dusty path, eyes stinging and just across the way I catch the glance of two young women who aren’t coming in.. I walk across and bring them water and two packs of crackers.  They smile. I smile and turn.

Because bread and water wasn’t just meant to be shared inside church walls.

Hands are raised and hearts are shared.  Interpreters help us understand each other’s stories better, the details anyway. But we don’t need anyone to explain the tears.

Vi Bella artisans have been working for nearly two days on a meal to serve their village and their smiles beam. Hands mix and serve and food spills over in into bowls from heavy pots.

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I had hoped  there would be enough water and crackers.  There were.  And now I whisper a prayer of thanks that the food will be enough, that we won’t have to say “I’m sorry” to any of these families.

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I walk down the center aisle, my eyes smiling at each set of eyes that meet mine.  I smile on the outside but  underneath  I nearly collapse from the weight of it all.  From the sights and sounds of hunger and thirst.

Because poverty of soul will destroy you but hunger and thirst will kill and I know I will never unsee this moment. And I don’t want to.

She moves white plastic spoons to mouths, taking turns with her grandchildren and making the styrofoam container mounded with food  last.  The children eat and it’s more than rice and chicken and fruit. It’s survival.

And I want to cry.

I wonder if I’d praise Jesus as loudly if my body was malnourished.  Because I feel like I’d have less to give, nourishing has to start with our bodies.  How else does our soul know there is more than just surviving?

But I know that there is living water and maybe that is what Jesus meant.

She closes the lid on the white Styrofoam box and when she leaves she squeezes my hand and carries that box of food close to her like it like a precious gift out into the Haitian heat.

I know she is saving it.  I know she will share.

I’ve been home now seven days. Two teens and a husband scattered between three states and I’m alone with the quiet truths and a white takeout box that makes me miss being so close to hunger that I could reach out a hand to help. I miss that I could feel the bruising of my heart and the soaring of my spirit.

I miss revival. Because it doesn’t matter who you are, we’re all thirsty for living water.

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I’ve been home two weeks.

I miss the fresh sting of tears and I miss the standing in awe.  I miss the way  smiles take over faces when feel when they are seeing for real. I miss children and artisans and love so fierce and rocks laid down and prayers in two languages roaring together in some kind of beautiful crescendo. How I understood bits and pieces of what was being said but tears stung because I knew God understood it all.

I miss the way her shy smile held courage and opened the part of my heart I was trying to keep protected so as not to feel too much, know too much, CARE too much..

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I miss how we felt like we were changing inside, seeing change in hearts and villages and in the world.

I miss being so close to help I could hold out a bag of water and solve thirst close up. And I miss how so many others quenched my own, reminding me of living water.

Re-entry home surprises me again.  How you can walk around your every day life missing a place that you never thought you’d go, and a smile that haunts you in the most beautiful of ways.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jennifer Hand

Coming Alive at the Cross

I met Jennifer Hand (Jen) at the Winsome Retreat in Pennsylvania in April.

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She took the stage and I sat in the front row and thought to myself after exactly five words came out of her mouth :

“She is a girlfriend.”

In the truest sense of the word.

Ya’ll. She is a missionary who provides trauma counseling for REFUGEES.

All over the world.

She’s pretty much on call for all the atrocities we read about.

She boards a plane with very little notice and ministers to people who are in the deepest meaning of trauma.  Displaced.

Homeless doesn’t even cover it. She goes to dark places and sheds light.

On top of it all she has humor and a humility that I admire.

Even as a girl who has a wicked sense of humor and holds a graduate degree in counseling I have no words for this kind of bravery.  None.

Plus, she wore a deer-head shirt that was adorable and every story she told made me snort with hilarity.

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Girlfriend. In the bag.

We sat together at lunch the next day. We talked of Haiti and ministry and told jokes. My daughter was with me.   I glanced back and forth between Jen and my daughter and thought to myself: YES.  This is exactly the person I want having lunch with my daughter: Someone who dares to do what the cross has called her to do. And she maintains her sense of humor right alongside her deep faith. This.

This is true.

I wish you could have had lunch with Jen, too. I wish you could have heard her contagious laugh.

She does the work of Jesus humbly.  I just ordered her most recent book and its on its way to me.

I’d like to give you a copy, too. Comment below. I’ll choose one of you to send a copy to. Because Jenn should be shared.

[Tweet ” Let’s come ALIVE at the cross.”]

(Jen wrote this just before boarding a plane after an emergency call to Ecuador.   She  is now heading to Haiti (if I can even keep track?)

I love her. You will, too.

JEN:

One year ago I was boarding a plane.  Tomorrow I am again boarding a plane.  Both for the same reasons, just different countries.

7.8 magnitude earthquakes had shaken Nepal and Ecuador.

Nepal a year ago this week.

Ecuador last month.

I find myself on a plane for a journey with the same goal in mind, to try to help others find hope beneath the rubble.  With a master’s degree in trauma counseling, God has allowed me the incredible opportunity of providing debriefing and counseling to those whose lives were rocked when the earth rocked.

To proclaim the hope buried beneath the rubble.

I thought my heart was prepared for what my eyes had seen on the news when I traveled to Nepal last year days after the second earthquake.  Nepal was a beloved country I had lived in for two years, so it was a homecoming of sorts for me.  The same, yet everything was different.  Buried underneath the rubble of collapse.

The news moved from my heart to my head the day that I rounded that holy hill.  The team and I found ourselves at a church reduced to piles of concrete, with each of the eight stories pancaked on the other.  The church had held worshippers that had been praising Jesus when the earthquake came.  The rubble of that church now held eight bodies buried inside, who met Jesus the day the earthquake came.

The remaining survivors were waiting under a little temporary piece of tin waiting for me to bring them hope.

How could I find hope there?  I literally fell to my knees in front of that rubble.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw something that took my breath away.  In the midst of the rubble, the cross which had stood on the top of the church was crumpled in the rubble.

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When I saw the cross Jesus whispered to me, “ There is always hope beneath the rubble.”

That began a radical journey for me to draw near to the cross.  I have believed in the power of the cross for my forgiveness since I prayed in belief in childlike faith at eight years old.  But I began a new journey of learning the depths of the hope of the cross.

[Tweet ““ We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure” Hebrews 6:19.”]

Coming alive at the cross was my journey to follow the steps of Jesus to the cross and study the power of the cross.

The cross is not just for our eternal life, it is for our everyday life.

For the good days. For the bad days. For the worst days.  For the best days.

This is our hope any time the earth is shaking.

This is our hope when the earth feels stable.

This is our hope when the doctor’s report comes.  When the surprise provision shows up.  When your heart connects with a friend over coffee. When you are uncertain. When things feel certain.

The cross is our hope.

Would love to invite you to come alive at the cross with me.

 

JenniferJenn Hand, Executive Director and founder of Coming Alive Ministries, returned home after living overseas for two years as a missionary in a country where people worshiped idols and statues all around her.

As Jenn returned home, she found herself traveling and speaking to churches about her experiences serving overseas. She began to notice church pews packed with people who said they knew the living God, but were living dead inside.

Coming Alive Ministries was founded as a 501(c)3 organization to provide an invitation to come alive in Christ through conferences, retreats and written resources.

Follow Jenn’s adventures HERE.  (Subscribe to her emails, seriously….) And be her friend on Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube

You can purchase her book in the link below, or comment here on the blog and I’ll choose one winner on Saturday and send a copy straight to YOU!

Jenn book

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A Captive: How Prison Set Me Free

When I asked Heather to write for the Resurrection Series I had no perimeters, no instructions, just an invitation.  I knew that Heather had a powerful voice, a gift with words, and a story of hope. When she emailed me this piece it stirred me to again acknowledge  all the ways I have been redeemed.  Through tears I remembered that we are all prisoners who have been set free, captivated by a Savior’s love.

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by Heather Glover

The only story in know how to tell is the one about what Jesus has done in my life.

It’s not that I don’t have stories. I have plenty.

I could tell you about all the horrible things that have happened to me . . . or even all the horrible things that I have done in my life.  And you’d be shocked while I’d be shamed. But none of that would bring glory to God.

I would much rather tell you the simple, yet beautiful truth.  And the truth is:  I once was blind, but now I see.  And that is only the beginning.

When Jesus came for me, I was in the darkest year of my life.  By that time, I had spent nearly two decades living as a drug addict.  I had lost everything that ever mattered to me.  I was homeless and living in sleazy, low-rent hotels.  My family had turned their collective back on me, my children were displaced, and I was a complete mess.  The lifestyle I had slipped precariously into left me broken, feeling lost and abandoned.

I felt like the whole world had left me for dead and I had all but lost hope of ever making it out of those miserable, dark, and filthy circumstances alive.

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I remember quite vividly the night I prayed for my rescue.  I sat on the very edge of the hotel bed.  My shoulders were slumped, my spirit broken, and my heart completely shattered.  I looked around the room at what I had become and I grieved like never before.  I began to silently cry.

Then I heard myself whisper, “God, if you can hear me, I need you.  This isn’t my life.  I can’t live this way anymore.  Please, do whatever you want with me.  I’ll do whatever.  Just.  Whatever.”

It was the prayer of the broken, full of doubt and fear.  But the Lord answered anyway.

After that prayer, I drifted off to sleep.  I’m not sure how much time passed.  I only remember waking up to a knock on the door.  I got out of bed to peek through a crack in the curtain and I saw two investigators standing on the other side.

In that moment, it didn’t matter to me what it looked like.  I remembered my prayer and I knew in my heart that it was God’s intervention.  Jesus had come for me!  I opened the door and went with them quite peacefully.   I was full of peace, supernatural peace, God’s peace.

dandelion

I went to jail that day.  I was charged with manufacturing and trafficking methamphetamine.  And when the time came for me to face a judge, I was sentenced to serve time in prison.  Though my heart was heavy over the decision and nothing in me wanted to go, I went knowing that it was my second chance at life.  I went knowing that it was part of God’s plan.

As I write this, remembering that day and recounting all the days that led up to it, I am struck with awe over the amazing God I call my own.  I can trace His love in my memories, even before I knew Him, by the way He kept me alive, against all odds, while I aimlessly wandered this world.  I should not be here. Yet I am.  Because His grace went before me.

It is all so clear to my now, from the call on my life to His purpose for prison.  That purpose being to keep me safe from myself and safe from the streets long enough to know what it means to belong to God.

I count prison the most brilliant part of His plan to redeem my life.   I was a captive, free of the world’s distraction, and free to focus on Him. 

If I had one-thousand pages, I could fill them with all the beautiful things God has done in my life.  I would write about all His grace and all the healing I’ve found in Him.  Instead, I will share with you where I am today and let that place speak for itself.

I am whole and healthy.

I am living into my call as the Director of Community life within an amazing community of faith.  God picked me up off my knees, carried me from the dark, dangerous streets, to put me on my feet among His people.  And through them, He poured into me until I grew to be a spiritual leader.  Then he called me to lead others all the way into the Kingdom.

God has given me back to my family. Not only that, He has added to my life a whole new family.  My blessings have been pressed down, shaken up, and overflowing.

 

 

Heather

 

Heather Glover is child of God and is a passionate, faithful follower of Jesus Christ.  She is from Augusta Georgia, but has made her way all over the wilderness, lost and wandering most of her life.  Jesus found her, saved her, and today she gratefully revels in her resurrected life by serving as the Director of Community Life at Mosaic Church in Evans Georgia. At Mosaic, Heather uses her gifts to write, teach, and speak on behalf of the Kingdom with the hope of leading others into the arms of Christ.

 

 

 

 

Karin

Sunday Morning Hope

(This is post #2 in my Resurrection Series I’m hosting here on the blog. To read the story of this series click here.  And if you missed my first guest, you can find her words here.)

I’m honored to have a few friends joining me with their voices during this season of remembering redemption.

karin2

 

 

I met Karin along the banks of the Frio River at The High Calling Retreat two years ago.  Her quiet, contemplative style of conversation and writing was mesmerizing to me. She has a gentle patience and kind words for all that cross her path.

And her path led her from frigid Canada to the mission field in Africa.  I love a woman who follows bravely, boots shaking and all, into the call she hears.  I know you will be blessed by her honest, poetic words here.

 

 

 

 


Sunday Morning Hope

The words below will take you into the center of the storm that swept me off my feet last Spring. Now, a year into Zambian life, God’s redemptive work in my life continues. I am not what I was; I am not yet what I will be. But I know beyond knowing that I am truly His…

I’ve always been one to appreciate the beauty of God’s handiwork displayed as the sun begins it’s ascent in the morning sky.

Yet the darkness seemed to be settling in deep, driving me inwards, even as the light dawned.

God’s glory hovering over Malawi was a call we never doubted. Wide eyed, innocent and willing to be obedient, we hungrily stepped into our first full time mission assignment. In a very short time the things we expected, the life we thought we would be living and the work we had felt called to do was crumbling in our hands. I didn’t and don’t know what to do with the disappointment.

Like Christ’s disciples on the day following His crucifixion how could I imagine life would continue? I completed whatever tasks were given to me, never certain if my work was sufficient. Frightened of failure, I couldn’t reconcile with the idea of giving up but did not know how to move forward.

Stuck and shaken, weeks passed living in the lonely space between Good Friday and Easter morning; between what was and what isn’t yet. I could only see what I was losing, tender budding relationships with Malawian people who had crawled straight into my heart.

I stopped talking to my Lord, certain he would see me as I saw myself, faulty and not up to the assignment He had set before me. I stepped off the only Rock that could sustain me and the world spun with a fierceness that stripped my breath.

Have you been there, convinced that somehow God stopped paying attention, didn’t care, leaving you desolate and shaking?

Jesus, how could you leave us? What about the Kingdom You promised? Now what are we to do? We can only assume what those who had followed Christ were thinking during those long hours of in-between.

There is a day after Saturday; for them, for you and for me. When I was so weary I couldn’t reach for Him, He reached down and lifted me. When my words ran dry, His were fresh, true and life sustaining.

You are looking for Me in the ashes. I Am not there, I have risen.

The same power that lifted Me from the tomb resides in you. This is not the end of the road, far, far from it. Rise then, to new plans and purposes, designed by My hand.

 

sunday

I am breathing again, gulping life. This is not an end to the road, just a redirection. We will not work in Malawi, but we will serve where He chooses. I know He will use me, broken and frail.

Hopes once crushed have been resurrected, bold and bright as Sunday morning.

~Karin

 

 

KarinI am:

a handmaiden of the Lord saved by His grace

a worshipper

a poet

a broken heart

a lover of words hungry for truth

amazed by love on the Potter’s wheel

His work in progress.

 

I am a sold out disciple of Jesus Christ learning more each day what it means to abide in Him I desire to walk in radical obedience to His voice. I pray that my life brings glory to The Father, The Son and The Holy Spirit. Me and my beloved husband Rick are learning and serving in Africa living and loving for His glory

~Karin      (Flickers of a Faithful Firefly)