I am pleased to announce that I have something to announce to you.
I am less pleased to announce that the grand five of you who are faithful followers of my blog will soon not have anything to follow.
WHAT?
Kindly put your guns away. I wasn't trying to upset you. You're quite welcome to follow my NEW blog.
I decided I needed a change. Call it a mid-life crisis. Call it a make-over with no make-up involved. Call it reorganization. Don't get me wrong. I still like rooftops. I just couldn't fit on one anymore. :-) Welcome to my new home ... new virtual home ... that's not really very home-like ... I don't even get a couch ...
If you would like to keep updated on my life from now on, you should probably go here:
11/10/11
11/9/11
What It's Like to Be a Bride
On the other hand, I have every qualification for writing this post.
God is showing me that I am a piece in a whole, a member in a body, a part of His bride. (Sorry, men. I’m not sure how that all works from where you stand. I’m sure God has His reasons.)
A week ago, Teri asked me what I learned on the tour. The traveling-around-the-States-praying-for-gas-money-walking-into-restaurants-with-no-money-to-pay-for-food-enjoying-every-hot-tub-we-could time. This is what I told her:
Six weeks ago I didn’t know God was this faithful. That He could do something that I labeled failure and still be true. That He could catch us when we were falling off a cliff and make it funny. That He could give us this many presents when it wasn’t any of our birthdays. Five weeks ago I didn’t know His bride - His American bride - was this beautiful. That she was being called to walk in love, and she was answering the call. That she was striving hard to be His hands and His feet. That she was so generous and honest and kind.
I’ve seen the American Church alive and worshiping. I’ve seen complete strangers open their front doors and welcome us with hugs. I’ve seen hearts healed. I’ve seen dreams lived. I’ve seen the same God I saw in Haiti and Africa and China and around the world take charge of a red mini-van to proclaim His kingdom in the USA.
Welcome to the Bride of Christ. Around the world, God is calling His children to rise up, to give up, to shout out, to live out the truth and life that are found in Jesus only. Many of His children are answering that call. I’ve seen it. And it’s gorgeous.
Not because it’s about us at all. But because as we bow at His feet, our faces start to reflect His. And that’s what the world is dying to see.
To God be the glory.
11/7/11
Life In the Gap
So, now that the tour’s over, and I’ve finally begun to realize how little I actually told you about what we were doing, I’d like to end with an introduction.
Readers, meet Teri.
I’m sure Teri says Hi. :-)
Teri is the reason I went on the Fall Dream Tour 2011. Well, Teri and God.
I first met Teri in Gainesville, Georgia, sitting in an office at AIM headquarters at a table with scribbled words, verses, and dinosaurs all over it. God has given Teri a dream. A dream to reach deep into the American church, grab hold of all that hidden potential, and pull it out into the raw, real, day-in, day-out world.
You could probably call her life a spark. A John the Baptist sort of call. Or a cold bucket of water to rouse a sleeping giant. Whichever you prefer.
After five weeks on the road together, this is what I have learned about Teri:
She likes chips. Blue ones especially. She loves asking her six-year old daughter, “Do you know - do you know how much I love you?” She’s writing a book, and the plot is fascinating. She sometimes snores (hi, Teri :-)). She loves Ireland, Scotland, and Tennessee. But that’s not all I know.
Teri has an unstoppable, passionate determination to follow the dream God has given her. She had a conversation once with a fellow worker at AIM. Life was rough just then, and Teri was wondering if maybe she’d heard wrong and ought to move into something a little more normal.
This is what she said: “I can’t do this. I used to know how to do these things.” (Teri used to be a strategic planner.) “But now? I don’t know how to do this. I’m screwing everything up.”
Her co-worker’s response? “Teri, you don’t have any idea how much you mean to us. We watch you. We’ve seen how much you’ve given up. You inspire us.”
Why? Because the things that are holding America back are the very things that Teri’s giving away. She’s given up her family, her house, her job, security, stability, retirement, sanity, even her dog Abner. And the more she loses her life, the more abundant the life she finds. And she’s more compelled today than she was yesterday. And she was more compelled yesterday than she was the day before. This is living in the gap between what we have and what we need. This is where we see God show up.
Those are Teri’s words, not mine.
I’ve come away from the tour thinking we could use a few more Teri’s in the States. I’ve seen her walk up and pray for total strangers. I’ve seen her share hugs and a laugh with former prostitutes. I’ve seen her encourage pastors and other missionaries. I’ve seen her skip through a parking garage with her daughter, ride a horse for only the second time in her life, praise God for a broken window, and paddle a kayak under the stars. I’ve seen the living, holy, present Almighty God be glorified in Teri’s life.
She doesn’t live half-heartedly. She doesn’t always know what she’s doing, and she doesn’t always get it right. But there’s no turning back now, and she knows it. As she herself said, “I’m in, baby!”
Readers, meet Teri.
Teri is the reason I went on the Fall Dream Tour 2011. Well, Teri and God.
I first met Teri in Gainesville, Georgia, sitting in an office at AIM headquarters at a table with scribbled words, verses, and dinosaurs all over it. God has given Teri a dream. A dream to reach deep into the American church, grab hold of all that hidden potential, and pull it out into the raw, real, day-in, day-out world.
You could probably call her life a spark. A John the Baptist sort of call. Or a cold bucket of water to rouse a sleeping giant. Whichever you prefer.
After five weeks on the road together, this is what I have learned about Teri:
She likes chips. Blue ones especially. She loves asking her six-year old daughter, “Do you know - do you know how much I love you?” She’s writing a book, and the plot is fascinating. She sometimes snores (hi, Teri :-)). She loves Ireland, Scotland, and Tennessee. But that’s not all I know.
Teri has an unstoppable, passionate determination to follow the dream God has given her. She had a conversation once with a fellow worker at AIM. Life was rough just then, and Teri was wondering if maybe she’d heard wrong and ought to move into something a little more normal.
This is what she said: “I can’t do this. I used to know how to do these things.” (Teri used to be a strategic planner.) “But now? I don’t know how to do this. I’m screwing everything up.”
Her co-worker’s response? “Teri, you don’t have any idea how much you mean to us. We watch you. We’ve seen how much you’ve given up. You inspire us.”
Why? Because the things that are holding America back are the very things that Teri’s giving away. She’s given up her family, her house, her job, security, stability, retirement, sanity, even her dog Abner. And the more she loses her life, the more abundant the life she finds. And she’s more compelled today than she was yesterday. And she was more compelled yesterday than she was the day before. This is living in the gap between what we have and what we need. This is where we see God show up.
Those are Teri’s words, not mine.
I’ve come away from the tour thinking we could use a few more Teri’s in the States. I’ve seen her walk up and pray for total strangers. I’ve seen her share hugs and a laugh with former prostitutes. I’ve seen her encourage pastors and other missionaries. I’ve seen her skip through a parking garage with her daughter, ride a horse for only the second time in her life, praise God for a broken window, and paddle a kayak under the stars. I’ve seen the living, holy, present Almighty God be glorified in Teri’s life.
She doesn’t live half-heartedly. She doesn’t always know what she’s doing, and she doesn’t always get it right. But there’s no turning back now, and she knows it. As she herself said, “I’m in, baby!”
11/3/11
1,176 Hours, 147 Meals, and 70 Toilets Later
I am about to go through a long list of Dream Tour statistics. But first I would like to start off with something profound. So. I was looking at the picture of the map I posted earlier, and I decided it doesn’t look like a wobbly figure 8 at all. It looks like a bikini.
Eh-hem.
Now that I have your undivided attention: The following is a list of very dull numbers which specify certain statistics recorded over the last several weeks of my life. They are as follows:
- Time elapsed: 49 days (September 15-November 2, 2011)
- States visited: 22 (NE, KS, MO, TN, KY, GA, SC, NC, VA, MD, PA, WV, IN, IA, WI, OH, MI, AL, MS, LA, TX, OK) And if you know all those abbreviations, you’re doing better than I did. I had to look them up.
- Toilets occupied: 70 (Yes, it was a little weird counting the number of different bathrooms I went into. I did it for you.)
- Sleeping arrangements:
- Couches: 8
- Blow-up mattresses: 1
- Beds: 4
- Floors: 5
- Top bunk of the bunk bed: 1
- Pianos played: 6 (two Grands!)
- Chocolate inhaled: . . . Oh, it wasn’t that much, alright?
- Miles traveled: 7,270
- Free things:
- 1 cup of coffee
- 1 World’s Smallest Ice Cream Sundae (Welcome to downtown Holland, MI.)
- 4 Casting Crown Concert tickets
- 1 copy of Radical (The church we were attending just happened to be handing them out that morning. Really. For free.)
- 3 New Orleans Aquarium tickets
- 1 GPS
- 235 hugs (. . . Okay, I didn’t really count those. It’s an estimate.)
- Beginning financial statement: $123.51
- Ending financial statement: Enough.
So, what’s the moral of the story?
If God can do all this in just 49 days through three adults, a six-year old, and a mini-van . . . just think what He could do if He had us all in. I mean it. ALL of us. ALL in. You might have to bring your own mini-van though. I don't think you'll fit in ours.
10/31/11
Where I've Been
Below is a rough sketch of where I've been for the last five weeks. Pretty impressive, isn't it? And when I pulled out of the driveway at home on September 15, I only had $123.51 to my name. God is good! The rather wobbly figure 8 ends on Wednesday, November 2. Back in Central City, Nebraska. But not for long . . .
10/27/11
The Heartbeat of God
Sometimes God asks us if we still believe He’s good even when He doesn’t seem to be. He did it to Abraham when He told him to sacrifice his son. He did it to Joseph when He put him in an Egyptian jail cell. He did it to Paul when He gave him a thorn in the flesh. He’s done it to me.
Do you trust Me? He asks. No, really. If I don’t do this for you, do you still trust Me? Do you still believe that I’m good?
God asked me this question a couple weeks ago on our tour. He let me flounder through an answer for a few days, and then He gave me a picture to show me His heart.
It happened in Holland. Michigan, Holland. In the land of wooden shoes and terrifying Melon Heads. The land of kayaking at midnight. The land of long, sandy beaches and breathtaking autumn trees. And home to one of my favorite youth groups in the world.
I met them in Haiti. They’re the ones who thanked God for the heat. The ones who stayed up on the roof till midnight, worshiping and washing each others’ feet. (See This Post) I have seen in them the joy of the Spirit. I have heard from them the truth and love of Jesus. They have given me hope for the future of the Body of Christ. They have been a blessing. And this week, through one particular younger brother, God let me see a glimpse into His heart.
He did it through a young man named Trevor. God did something special in Trevor during his week in Haiti. I was in charge of his small group. I got to see it. Trevor described it something like this: “God took the narrow crack that was all I allowed of His love to reach me and ripped it open into a wide, raging river.”
And then Trevor came back to America. Back to school. Back to safety. Back to normal. He was afraid he’d forget the God he’d seen in Haiti. So, he took one of the lessons he’d learned there and started practicing it here. He started praying. Intentionally asking for God’s heart for his friends and then sharing with each friend whatever God said.
When I saw Trevor this week, I asked him what God was teaching him today. He told me about relationships he’d been intentionally building. The way he’s trying to carry a ray of Jesus’ light into the darkness of a world without Him. The cry of his heart to learn what it looks like to walk step-by-step in the presence of God throughout the day. He let me encourage him. He let me pray with him.
Trevor’s a tall guy. My head stops at his heart. Literally. When I prayed for him, I put my hand on his back, and he put his arm around my shoulder, and my head stopped at his chest. I could hear his heartbeat.
And that’s when God spoke. This is where I’ve got you, He said. Right here, right now. This is where you are. Right up next to My heart. It doesn’t matter if I think He’s failed me. It doesn’t matter if He’s not writing the story the way I wanted Him to write. Remember the question? What do you want more: your stories or My heart? He tells me I’m right up against His chest, listening to His heartbeat. And then He gives me a living, flesh and blood picture to show me what that means.
My prayer for Trevor, my prayer for you, my prayer for me is that we would get right up next to God. Rest our head against His chest and listen. Listen for His heartbeat.
Do you trust Me? He asks. No, really. If I don’t do this for you, do you still trust Me? Do you still believe that I’m good?
God asked me this question a couple weeks ago on our tour. He let me flounder through an answer for a few days, and then He gave me a picture to show me His heart.
It happened in Holland. Michigan, Holland. In the land of wooden shoes and terrifying Melon Heads. The land of kayaking at midnight. The land of long, sandy beaches and breathtaking autumn trees. And home to one of my favorite youth groups in the world.
I met them in Haiti. They’re the ones who thanked God for the heat. The ones who stayed up on the roof till midnight, worshiping and washing each others’ feet. (See This Post) I have seen in them the joy of the Spirit. I have heard from them the truth and love of Jesus. They have given me hope for the future of the Body of Christ. They have been a blessing. And this week, through one particular younger brother, God let me see a glimpse into His heart.
He did it through a young man named Trevor. God did something special in Trevor during his week in Haiti. I was in charge of his small group. I got to see it. Trevor described it something like this: “God took the narrow crack that was all I allowed of His love to reach me and ripped it open into a wide, raging river.”
And then Trevor came back to America. Back to school. Back to safety. Back to normal. He was afraid he’d forget the God he’d seen in Haiti. So, he took one of the lessons he’d learned there and started practicing it here. He started praying. Intentionally asking for God’s heart for his friends and then sharing with each friend whatever God said.
When I saw Trevor this week, I asked him what God was teaching him today. He told me about relationships he’d been intentionally building. The way he’s trying to carry a ray of Jesus’ light into the darkness of a world without Him. The cry of his heart to learn what it looks like to walk step-by-step in the presence of God throughout the day. He let me encourage him. He let me pray with him.
Trevor’s a tall guy. My head stops at his heart. Literally. When I prayed for him, I put my hand on his back, and he put his arm around my shoulder, and my head stopped at his chest. I could hear his heartbeat.
And that’s when God spoke. This is where I’ve got you, He said. Right here, right now. This is where you are. Right up next to My heart. It doesn’t matter if I think He’s failed me. It doesn’t matter if He’s not writing the story the way I wanted Him to write. Remember the question? What do you want more: your stories or My heart? He tells me I’m right up against His chest, listening to His heartbeat. And then He gives me a living, flesh and blood picture to show me what that means.
My prayer for Trevor, my prayer for you, my prayer for me is that we would get right up next to God. Rest our head against His chest and listen. Listen for His heartbeat.
(This is Lisa, me, Hunter, and Trevor on the day we left Michigan. It was 7:30 in the morning. We were allowed to be abnormal.)
10/24/11
A Birthday Wish
Josh is the guy.
I probably didn't need to say that, but just in case. I met Josh in Haiti. I wrote a a blog about his testimony Here. Josh's birthday is coming up. It's tomorrow actually. This is his birthday wish:
A house.
Not for him. For a lady called Monique. She lives in Haiti. She hand-washed our clothes every week for the two months we were down there. Her house collapsed in the earthquake, and she's been living in a tent/shack sort of thing with her infant son.
Josh wants to help Monique. I'd like to help Josh. Here - These are his own words:
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