In Fields of Grace

My Wedding Day.

2012-01-20T15:18:00.020-05:00

I don't often write about being single. Mostly because while my "singleness" is a part of my life, it's simply not the main focus of my life or ministry. For today, however, I am choosing to talk about it. But this post is for everyone, so if you're not single, I hope you'll stick around.

I have an amazing, fulfilling life. I am surrounded by the most incredible and devoted Godly men and women who challenge me, love me, bless me, minister to me, and just generally "put up" with me every day. My community is deep and wide with family and friends. Moments of loneliness do come, but they are rare and usually short-lived. It wasn’t always that way, but God has transformed my heart over the years to bring me to this place.

Yet even with a fulfilled life, there is a very short list of things that occasionally make me “feel” single. One of those things is coming home from a trip to a quiet, empty house, with no one there to hug me and tell me I was missed. I don’t love that part of being single.

The other is being sick, and this is probably when I "feel" it the most. I really struggle emotionally and spiritually with being alone when I'm not well. No one to hold my hand and tell me it's going to be OK, pray over me, drive me to the doctor, or bring me soup and meds. Several months ago, while driving myself to the emergency room, I lost it. In a feverish panic, crying out, “God, I’m going to die alone!” Oh, the melodrama of a single Italian woman with a fever!

And then came October 17, 2011.

October. My favorite month of the year. I love the crisp air, the colors, the sound of the leaves blowing, and the promise of the harvest. In fact, I've often said that if God called me to marriage, I would want an October wedding.

On this beautiful day in October, though, sickness would enter my life in a way I'd never known before. This wasn’t the flu. This was no sinus infection. This wasn’t going to be me driving myself to the store to get my own OJ and cold meds. This was way bigger than that.

About an hour after I got the news, I was driving across town to my parents’ house to tell them. That hour had been a whirlwind of information overload and emotional chaos. And as the surreal became real…

Oh my God. I have cancer. And I’m single.

I immediately started to pray, and I remember my exact words.

OK, God, this is going to be a weak area for me spiritually, so I need you to perfect my weakness in your strength. Like right now. Set me like a seal upon your heart.

From that moment on, as tough as this road has been, not for one day have I felt single or alone in this journey. Not for one second. His presence has been felt at every step. He is faithful.

I have also been lavished with love and the presence of my community. Each of my former pastors have visited me at the hospital and at home, my family has been present with me for all of it, and my friends have been present with meals and companionship. Since then, I have continually thanked and praised Him for filling loneliness with the prayers and presence of my community.

But God would show me something unexpected about my heart. He would show me that as wonderful as my community is, they are not the reason that I have never felt alone in this crazy ride through cancer.

Just a couple of weeks ago, I was working on the next chapter in my book and focusing on verses that I’ve read a hundred times before, and the familiar words jumped out at me in a way that had nothing to do with the subject matter of the chapter I was writing. And I nearly fell out of my chair.

Therefore I am now going to allure her; I will lead her into the wilderness and speak tenderly to her. There I will give her back her vineyards, and will make the Valley of Achor a door of hope...“In that day,” declares the Lord, “you will call me ‘my husband’; you will no longer call me ‘my master’ … I will betroth you to me forever; I will betroth you in righteousness and justice, in love and compassion. I will betroth you in faithfulness, and you will acknowledge the Lord" (Hosea 2:14-15, 19-20, NIV).

Upon reading those words, He captivated me with new truth. How had I missed it before? I haven't felt single through this journey because quite possibly for the first time in my life, I have allowed Him to be my Husband. And just as that realization began to penetrate my heart, he allowed me to recall the prayer I prayed in my car two months before on that dark day in October…

Set me like a seal upon your heart, like a seal on your arm… (Song of Solomon 8:6)

His wedding vow had long before been spoken. But mine was spoken in the car that day when I prayed… Set me like a seal upon your heart. And I meant it. From that point on through this journey, I finally allowed Him to be the Husband that He always was.

I don't know why I was surprised by this. After all, 2011 was the year of Dreams, right? And He has been courting me all along. Just months before in Africa, He promised that He wouldn’t relent until He had my whole heart. I was being prepared for my dream of an October wedding and didn’t even know it.

October 17th was the day I found out I had cancer. But that day was about so much more than that.

October 17th was my wedding day.

2012: Praise.

2012-01-18T22:43:00.005-05:00

For the past two years, God has given me a word for the year. 2010 was Breakthrough, 2011 was Dreams.

One night this past November, as I was in excruciating pain and had been bedridden for weeks, I heard the word for 2012.

Praise… 2012 is going to be all about Praise.

That’s such a God thing to do, isn’t it. Seriously? To give me a word like praise on a night like that. I tried to talk him out of it for a couple of ~~weeks~~ months, trying to convince Him that we could focus on praise later.

God, you can raise me like a victory banner on a battlefield, you can allow me to multiply your Kingdom and you can give me a melodious voice to proclaim your majesty. I want you to do that. But for now, God, can you please just let me weep? Can you just let me grieve for a minute? Can you stop time and just stay with me for a while while I catch my breath?

He did.

And since that time, He’s been faithfully showing me that the scars on my body and on my heart are unexpected pathways to joy. I’m learning to trust Him in a brand new way.

But that’s not the whole story. I tried to think of beautiful words that I could post about the year of Praise, to convince you that I have it all together. To convince you that I am as strong as so many of you tell me I am. The fact that so many of you have written to me and shared that I inspire you to a greater faith just makes me chuckle. Because my faith has been so intermittent through this journey. If you only knew.

The truth? The praise that I have for God’s miraculous healing of my body from cancer is quite possibly the highest praise I have ever brought to God. I feel a depth of gratitude and utter thankfulness that I don’t have never experienced before. I can’t lift my hands high enough or sing loudly enough to reach the level of praise that my heart has for Him.

But here’s the thing. It coexists with a deeper sense of suffering…and fear… that I have ever experienced in my lifetime. A heart cry for further healing from the pain, the horrible swelling (lymphedema), and the deformity of my body. A grief that goes deeper than I can describe, and that I am ashamed to admit in light of the amazing blessings revealed in this journey. Yet I can’t bow low enough or cry deeply enough to convey the level of pain and fear that I feel.

What is wrong with me? I have been wondering how the high and the low can coexist, and asking God to show me what it is about Him that I don’t trust. Trying so hard to “do it better”, to be more “holy”. Surely, those two things shouldn’t exist at the same time if I’m a “good Christian”, right?

And as I seek and pray for wisdom and peace, I keep coming back to Jesus’ agony in The Garden. (See my last post.)

There, in the Word and in The Garden, I find Truth.

Jesus asked God for the cup of suffering to be taken from Him if it were God’s will. He was in so much anguish that His body released bloody sweat. I believe that He was afraid. He longed to please His Father, and He would have done (and did) everything God ever asked of Him. Yet His fear and His faith were both present in the Garden that night.

There is a very powerful Truth present here. The very place from which a few weeks later He would ascend to Heaven was the place He now cried. And we are told in His Word that to this place, one day He will return (Zechariah 14:9).

And guess what else? God could have resurrected Him with a perfect body. But He didn’t. Jesus arose fully restored except for one thing… His scars. So everyone would know who He is.

So whether I “feel” it or not, I choose to praise Him, no matter what.

Because I know that the very place that I find myself broken now is the very place from which one day soon, I too will arise. And my scars will ensure that everyone knows who He is.

So with gritted teeth, a lump in my throat, a tear-streaked face, and a heart full of hope…

I praise.

Because He is faithful. Because He is grace. Because He is love.

Because He is worthy.

Hallelujah.

After He Was Strengthened.

2012-01-11T00:12:00.011-05:00

I wonder what the angel said.

We aren’t specifically told that the angel was Gabriel, the same angel that told Mary she would give birth to the Son of God, but I like to think that it was.

I imagine the passion of a father racing across town to be with his son in the emergency room.

God, sending His angel Gabriel, to Gethsemane.

“Hey, Gabriel, 34 years ago I sent you to tell Mary that she, a virgin, would give birth to Jesus, the King of Kings. Now, I send you to earth again. Go to him, He's in the Garden. Hurry. My Son is crying.”

I wonder what he said to Jesus. Well, we will never know for sure, because the Bible is silent about it. But we know whatever it was, it strengthened Him.

Jesus went out as usual to the Mount of Olives, and his disciples followed him. On reaching the place, he said to them, “Pray that you will not fall into temptation.” He withdrew about a stone’s throw beyond them, knelt down and prayed, “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.” An angel from heaven appeared to him and strengthened him. And being in anguish, he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground. (Luke 22: 39-44, NIV)

Wouldn’t you think that after Jesus was strengthened, He would have quickly dried his eyes, offered a brave smile, and passionately resumed His mission? But it didn’t happen that way. Before He rose from the anguish, He cried even harder. So hard, in fact, that His own sweat turned bloody. This happened after He was strengthened.

My Jesus, after receiving encouragement, prayed even more earnestly and cried harder.

Me too, Jesus. Me too.

Perhaps we're meant to learn that the richest hope permits the deepest suffering...

Perhaps we’re meant to learn that the deepest suffering releases the strongest power...

Perhaps we’re meant to learn that the strongest power produces the greatest joy.

In the deepest part of my soul, I long more than anything to live in the fullness of His power alive in me, and to further His Kingdom. But for tonight, from my personal garden, with a strengthened heart, I cry out even harder to Jesus:

My God, My Jesus, bind up my wounds, erase my fears, and deliver me from disease and pain. Breathe life into my dry and tired bones. But not before you teach me how to die, Lord. Not before you teach me how to die.

Because I Care About You...

2011-12-29T10:49:00.003-05:00

Hello again. I lost my voice for a while. But I’m back now, and I can't wait to break it down and share my journey with you. But let's start here first.

Please take a few minutes to watch this.

So here’s the thing. As the video explains, this isn’t about fear. It’s about awareness. It only takes a few minutes to have a skin exam at your dermatologist. Just a few minutes, once a year. And nearly all insurance plans cover the cost. And if yours doesn’t, then email me and I’ll help you find a doctor who will examine you. I’m serious about that. Because I care about you that much.

Why? Because all from one tiny mole on my leg, my life changed. With one single word … "malignant". And I never, ever want you to go through this.

If you think malignant melanoma is always some simple thing that can be sliced off in your dermatologist’s office, you’re wrong. I thought so, too … so I waited longer than I should have.

This picture is the reality of late Stage 2 Melanoma.

I lost a piece of my leg. And this 8 inch scar is only half of my story, because there is another one on my abdomen similar to this one from the surgery to remove lymph nodes.

This is serious business. Don’t put it off like I did. Be aware, and be proactive. Call a dermatologist and make an appointment for a checkup now. Right now.

Go. Please, please go.

And after you make your appointment, come back here. Because I have some other things to share with you in the days to come. Those scars have become my unexpected pathways to the peace that passes all understanding. And I can't wait to tell you about it.

Caring Bridge Update: Hurry Up and Wait!!!

2011-12-01T10:51:00.000-05:00

My Caring Bridge Update: http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/melissadriggers/journal

Caring Bridge

2011-11-03T22:04:00.000-04:00

My surgery is tomorrow. My family will be posting updates on my Caring Bridge site for as long as I'm unable to post updates myself. Please check in at http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/melissadriggers. I appreciate your prayers so very much.

He is my Healer.

Past, Present, and ...

2011-11-02T05:59:00.003-04:00

For the past two years, I’ve given each new year a word. Well, actually, God gave the words to me. In 2010, the word was “Breakthrough”. And a year of Breakthrough it was – the loving hands who hold flowers in the desert walked right into the pain that was the cancer of my heart. He healed me.

In 2011, the word is "Dreams". I wrote about it here. On the other side of Breakthrough, I found my ability to dream again. Big, audacious dreams.

Back in January of this year, God kept showing me lions. No, that’s not a typo. Lions. For a period of several weeks, I kept hearing Him say “lion” to me during my prayer time. During that season, I was wrestling before God because leadership opportunities were coming my way and I was running hard from them. I had been running from them for years, really. If I turned the TV on, there was usually some sort of a lion in the scene playing. I even remember passing a billboard with a huge picture of a lion. I mean, come on. He might as well just have plugged in a neon sign in front of my face. I read from Daniel and spent hours trying so hard to study the Word to find what He wanted me to know. But I didn’t get it. I just couldn’t understand what He was trying to tell me.

We had a prophetic prayer ministry from the Wesley Foundation at UGA come to a youth retreat to do a prayer workshop, and a few adults were invited. It was my first experience being prayed for prophetically. I was a bit skeptical , so I just prayed that if this was something of God, that He would give the people praying over me something so specific that only He would know. I arrived to the prayer room, sat down, and immediately one of the young men in the group (whom I’d never met before in my life) leaned his body all the way across the table, got right in my face and said “God wants you to know that He didn’t create you to be a housecat. He created you to be a lion.” WOW.

That was the night I stopped running.

Once that happened, He opened the floodgates. I didn’t have to do a thing or make anything happen. He did, by the bucketfulls.

Recruited by a major publisher to write a book. Invited to be a guest writer on some very well-known blogs and some ministry publications. Asked to speak at events. Leading a cluster group. Seeing incredible growth in counseling ministry.

On October 17th, my plans were to leave work to come home to put the finishing touches on Chapter 4 of the book. Instead, I was at my parents’ house grieving the news that I have cancer.

Not now, God. Not now. You just taught me to dream. How can you give me a book deal AND cancer? Don’t you remember – this is the year of dreams. You told me that. Did you forget?

No, He didn't forget.

In Breakthrough, I gave Him my past.

I now realize that in Dreams, I must give Him my future.

Those dreams that I have? He gave them to me. They’re His, and they are still on fire and alive in me because He is alive in me. Earlier this year in Africa, He showed me that He will not relent until He has all of my heart. So I confess that I haven't surrendered my future to Him. The past, yes. The present, yes. But, my future -- I have surrendered only enough not to lose control. This journey is showing me that.

So I hold my future out to Him, with outstretched arms and open hands to the One who does not relent in His love for me.

It’s yours, Lord. It's yours.

Cancer, Pizza, and Butt Jokes.

2011-10-29T16:12:00.007-04:00

You know how after a bad nightmare, sometimes you might wake up relieved that you were only dreaming? On most mornings, I wake up and my first semi-conscious waking emotion is relief, as I think “Oh, thank God, it was just a bad dream.” But then as I reach consciousness (and usually the first thing I do is reach down to touch the biopsy wound on my leg to see if it is still there), I realize it was real. It is real. And then, the sense of relief comes again, when I realize that just as much as it is real, so is He. And He’s bigger than cancer.

Yeah. I have cancer.

Late Stage 2 Melanoma. The cells have multiplied and have moved from the tumor to the surrounding tissue.

Words I would have been happy to go for a lifetime never having to write or speak. Suddenly a member of a club that I never asked or wanted to join. So many faces with well-meaning eyes gushing with love and true yearning to comfort me, who utter things like “You’re going to beat this” or “I survived cancer and so will you”. Or the clichés that I once rolled my eyes at, like “Cancer doesn’t define you” or the perhaps the cheesiest one of all, “Cancer isn’t a death sentence, it’s a ‘new life’ sentence.” It’s all very surreal, listening to these words spoken directly to me. Or seeing things posted by friends and family proclaiming “Melissa has cancer.” “Wait, that’s not me, you've made a mistake”, I want to yell out, but just as the words move to the tip of my tongue, I realize that indeed, this is my current reality.

It’s amazing what one just blurts out when given the diagnosis. When my doctor gave me the news, I just stared blankly and said “Nope, that doesn’t work, because I leave for vacation in 2 days”. I just can’t work cancer surgery, recovery, severe scarring, and chemo and radiation into my plans, Doc. Sorry ‘bout it.

In less than a week, a large section of my left leg (calf) will be removed, and a simultaneous surgery will be done on my abdomen to remove the main (sentinel) lymph node to send off for testing to see if the cancer has spread to my lymph nodes or organs.

When I got the news, I drove immediately to my parents’ home, in spite of the fact that all I wanted to do was to go home and be alone. But as a counselor, I have enough foresight to know clinically that being alone for the next few hours was the worst thing I could do.

Only my family – my loving, faithful, awesome, believing, hilarious family – could weave belly laughs, food, and inappropriate jokes into the darkest day of my life. There were rivers of tears shed (and consistently) by all of us, but mixed with bouts of roaring laughter. My sister and nieces showed up with pizza, which upon later reflection, we found hilarious. My sister Lorri said “I didn’t know what to do, so I just thought we needed pizza. I know it’s ridiculous to have a pizza party when your sister tells you she has cancer, but I didn’t know what else to do.” As we sat around eating, the conversation turned to my instructions to family about certain aspects of what this road may bring, one of which was a lighthearted discussion of how I am to be “styled” during my hospitalization and recovery. This led to a litany of jokes about…well…butts. My late grandma (I'm seriously missing her right now), had a series of inappropriate jokes that she loved to tell about “needing a new butt because mine has a crack in it.” The darkest day of my life was spent belly laughing so hard that it hurt, to my Mama’s old butt jokes. We’re nothing if not classy. (It’s important to note that in between the tears and pizza and inappropriate jokes, we prayed and read Scripture, so I guess that makes it OK.)

So here’s the thing. In the nearly 2 weeks that has passed, God has shown me much about Himself. Much about me and how I experience Him. And now I am about to say something else that I never thought I would say. I’m grateful for the cancer. Don’t get me wrong -- I believe and pray for complete healing. I pray that the cancer hasn't spread and that this surgery is the end of the process. I hope the journey is short and that the scars on my leg and heart are small. I pray for my joy to remain consistent through every step. But I know…and I mean I KNOW … that my outlook on my life has been forever and radically changed. My experience of Him and surrender to Him has been forever and radically changed. And those are the things I will write about. So please keep checking in here.

And...please keep praying. I remain expectant that God will be glorified through this. That is truly my deepest desire.

He is good, and He is faithful. I believe that He alone is my Healer and my Provider of all things on this and every journey of my life. And most of all, regardless of my circumstances, I believe that He is God and He is ALWAYS good.

If you agree with me, say so. Would you join me on this journey?

Happy Birthday, Dad!!!

2011-10-11T12:12:00.003-04:00

Me and Dad

I have vivid memories of my childhood summers. Constantly at our neighborhood swimming pool from its opening hour until booted out by the teenage-angst-filled lifeguards at closing time, my olive skin became very dark. I would be stopped regularly by the nosy inquirer who wanted to know if I was Brazilian or from some other far-off exotic place. But no, I was merely a little southern girl from Kennesaw, Georgia (by way of Miami). As I think about that memory, I find it comical. I was not an exotic foreign heir to fortune or fame. I was a simple girl from a simple town with simple taste. And I was the luckiest girl alive (and still am), because the values instilled in me by my parents were based upon recognizing the extraordinary in the simplest pleasures in life.

God has blessed me with the most incredible earthly father a girl could have. He oooohed and aaaahed when I twirled in my new dresses, he graciously pretended to eat elaborate imaginary platters of food I designed with little plastic “pegs”, and he never once forgot to leave me a beautiful heart full of chocolates on Valentine’s Day. Every Saturday morning, we had breakfast together at Kay’s Drugstore…it was our date every week. And every single day (no exaggeration), I would wake up to a handwritten note from Dad wishing me a good day, affirming me, and telling me that he loved me “very, very, very, very much”.

My most treasured memories with Dad, though, are the ones framed around those Georgia midsummer days that were so humid you could barely breathe. He and I would sit out on our deck in the hot sun, and we would share an ice cold can of fruit cocktail. Two forks. We would sit and talk and laugh with the sweltering sun beating down on us as we took turns reaching into a fifty-cent can of ice cold fruit. At the end, one lone cherry always awaited…and Dad always gave it to me of course. We would stay and talk and talk and talk until the sun came down. Dad worked hard to support our family. But he and a silly can of fruit cocktail always had time for me. From my perspective, there was no finer cuisine. The experience was not framed around an iPhone or iPad or Playstation or designer jeans or fancy trips or cameras or computers. There was just me and my Daddy, and an aluminum can of processed fruit between us. I was content, satisfied, and loved. I can’t tell you what I got for Christmas or my birthday every year, but I can tell you about those times on the deck with my Dad like it was yesterday. That, I remember. And that, I treasure.

If you look in my refrigerator today, you’ll notice a can of fruit cocktail on the top shelf. And if you know me well at all, then you know that there is always a can in my fridge. Always. Because I need to be reminded that there are opportunities every single day to find the extraordinary in the simplest of things.

Thank you, Dad, for your love for me and our family. Happy Birthday!

Needle and Thread.

2011-10-03T07:42:00.000-04:00

I wonder who she was. What she dreamed about. Did she have a husband and children? How old was she? Was she happy? Was she struggling to understand her life’s purpose? What did she think about? Was she tired, drained? I wonder if her hands were blistered or crippled with arthritis. Did her neck and shoulders hurt at the end of her workday?

We know nothing about her; not even her name. Yet she holds a critical place in history. Not one of prominence or notoriety, but instead behind the scenes of a story that has been passed down through the ages and will continue to be for all of eternity.
...

For the rest, go to (in)courage, where I'm a guest blogger today!

Vibrations of Worship.

2011-09-16T16:04:00.004-04:00

In my living room. Tuesday nights with people I love. Doing life together.

Seeking, broken, flawed, joyful, forgiven, teachable. Iron sharpening iron.

The welcome has been given. In moments of praise and worship before the study and discussion begins…

“…No beginning and no end... You’re my hope and my defense…”

As the music and our voices rise, under my feet the floor vibrates. The walls shake.

**************************************************************************

In the church office on Sunday morning. The early worship service begins. Kneeling in prayer for the hearts of those who will lead and those who will hear.

The welcome has been given. The band begins to play.

“All of a sudden, I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by Glory…”

As the music rises, my prayers are joined with the most beautiful sound as the building shakes and dances with a force so strong that I can feel it in my chest.

The walls quake with wonder.

Ceiling tiles tremble with redemption.

The floor shakes with praise.

Vibrations of Truth.
Vibrations of love.
Vibrations of healing.
Vibrations of hope.
Vibrations of freedom.

Hearts are awakened to life in the vibrations of worship.

Messy Joy.

2011-09-15T12:14:00.009-04:00

Joy is messy.

That’s a weird thing to say, isn’t it? But I think it’s true.

Joy always celebrates. But sometimes joy comes with aches. Sometimes, it weeps. Sometimes, it dances. Sometimes, it belly-laughs with anticipation.

And sometimes... like tonight ... joy does all of that at the same time. It's messy.

I got some news tonight (Wednesday).

My sweet friend whom I’ve never met is on her way to meet Jesus as I write this. While some would discount a friendship with someone you’ve never met, I would disagree. Sara Frankl has deeply impacted my journey with God through the words she has shared on her blog for the past 3 years. Her story is profound. Her pain is chronic and unyielding. But her joy … oh, her joy … it is made of something that celebrates and awakens the hearts of others to hope.

Not long from now, Sara will leave her tiny apartment for the first time in three years. For three years, her rare, mysterious illness has forbidden her from going outside. But soon and very soon, she will leave her home here and run into the arms of Jesus.

Sara often described her deepest passion that her life, her story, would not bring people to tears but would fill them with hope. In Sara’s words:

“Mostly, if you met me… if you came here to the condo I affectionately term "Gitzapalooza"… I would want to make sure you came feeling welcomed and loved. And that you left feeling more filled up than when you came. How that happens doesn't matter so much to me. What we talk about or do to make that happen doesn't matter so much to me. It just matters that you're filled.”

She did that. For so many, she did just that. Well done, Sara. Well done.

It’s hard to write this through a downpour of tears. My heart aches that her words, baked with messages of hope and grace, will no longer reach my eyes or fill our hearts. Her legacy spans to countless others who never met her, and a very, very lucky few who did. Yet I find joy through the weeping and in the ache. Joy dances in the blessed assurance that the one day Sara lived her whole life for is coming soon. Joy celebrates that she will no longer be in pain and will again be able to lift her beautiful voice in song to her Prince. And joy belly-laughs in anticipation of the delight in her Father's voice as He whispers, “Well done, my faithful, sweet daughter. Well done.”

With joyful tears, I celebrate for sweet Sara.

Blessed assurance. Oh, the entry into heaven that awaits her. The promise that on that day of her welcoming, the angels will sing. Sara’s faith on that day will become her eyes. What a party it will be!

As I sat down to collect myself and to pray, I received an email from another one of my dearest friends.

My friend Julie’s son Aaron, the sweetest 9 year old you’ll ever meet, accepted Christ today. He sweetly asked Jesus into his heart. I had a treasured opportunity to spend time with little Aaron this past weekend. His heart is tender and deep and generous and so loving. Joy dances in the promise of God's amazing plans for Aaron. Joy weeps in gratitude to a God that sent His son for our sin. Joy belly-laughs in anticipation of how God will continue to reveal Himself to little Aaron's heart.

With joyful tears, I celebrate for little Aaron.

Blessed assurance. Oh, the entry to heaven that awaits him. The promise that on that day of his welcoming, the angels will sing. Aaron’s faith will on that day become his eyes. What a party it will be!

Two people whom I love are celebrating eternal life today. Two people whom I love are dreaming of heaven today. My joy aches, weeps, dances, and belly-laughs in anticipation.

Joy. It’s beautiful.

And messy.

Three Years.

2011-08-10T13:37:00.007-04:00

Three years ago today, I woke up on a Sunday morning. Resulting from a nasty thunderstorm the prior evening, a power outage robbed my alarm clock of its one single (yet very essential) function. With only about 15 minutes to achieve my usual 45 minute “dress and groom” time, I ran down my porch steps, tripped, twisted my ankle, and broke the heel of my shoe. Forward-focused, I limped to the car and made my way 30 miles up I-85 and well into some windy backroads…only to discover that the directions were incorrect, landing me about 20 miles east of where I was supposed to be.

I finally made it, 20 minutes into the service. Hesitating for a moment, unsure if it was good manners to walk in to a service 20 minutes late at a church I was visiting for the first time, I soon realized I didn’t care. If the enemy had gone to this much trouble to keep me away, it must be good. And he certainly isn’t worthy of proper etiquette.

It only took one visit. I knew I was home.

Several months later, in the winter of 2009, we stood in the space that would become the church building. No walls were yet erected. The space had not yet been built out into its designated rooms, leaving exposed beams and lots of dust. After a time of worship and prayer over the building and the city, we were given pens to write scripture, prayers, thoughts, and dreams on the foundation.

I asked where the doorway would be.

Kneeling on the cold cement floor, I prayed…and I wrote. My prayer then is no different than it is now. In His Word (Hos 2:14-15), He promises to turn what was once the valley of pain, destruction, and trouble into a doorway of hope. My prayer for all who would enter, is that this doorway would be that very promised entry into hope, and that those who exit will carry the message of hope out into the community. The hope that is found only in Him and through Him. I signed with a simple drawing of a flower, because for me personally, those verses elicit an image of Christ standing in the desert with flowers in His hand, as He leads us from ashes to beauty. From woundedness to wholeness. From pain to hope.

Many have come to that place of hope over the past few years by crossing the threshold into a little piece of real estate off of Highway 211. Yet what an honor and privilege it is to be a part of this church who understands that the building is just that -- a building. WE are the church – you and I. By loving God through loving others, we become a doorway to hope for others as we unapologetically testify to His love and healing in our own lives.

If you don’t have a church home, check out The Vine. http://www.connecttothevine.org/. We’d love to see you there!

Stewards of Mystery.

2011-07-31T01:26:00.003-04:00

I go to Starbucks. A lot. It has become my almost daily unofficial office space for ministry-related meetings. The location that I frequent most often is small, and the tables are close together. It doesn’t take any intentional effort to hear the conversation next to you. Earlier this week, it went something like this:

(Woman 1): “I’m so sorry that you are going through this. Can I pray for you?"

(Woman 2): “No thanks, I don’t need to bother God with it. I know this is as good as it gets, I just have to learn to cope with it.”

Admittedly, my first thought was to dig into my purse and whip out my anointing oil and lay hands on this woman. (OK, I’m kidding…sort of). Since that might have been a disproportional response and also quite ill-timed, I prayed silently. But her words hung on me for the rest of the evening. My heart ached for her and I so badly wanted “Woman 2” to believe the truth of the power of prayer.

Driving home, God brought down his “holy two-by-four” and knocked me over the head with it. Ouch! The truth is that I often approach my prayer life that way, too. “It’s not going to get better, I just need to learn to cope.” I am no different than Woman 2 sometimes. Sure, I pray. But my expectations regarding prayer are often far too low. In the name of humility, have I become robotic in my response to prayer by believing that the best I can do is cope with what is?

Do I really believe He moves at the sound of my voice?

Sometimes, the answer is no. I can sometimes forget – and even worse, doubt -- that the God of all Creation, the maker of heaven and Earth, and the Redeemer of my soul not only hears my prayers, but is moved by them. God has not only told us unequivocally through His Word but has proven it time and time again in my own life, that He will allow Himself to be influenced through prayer. I’m certainly not saying that we are more powerful than He is, and indeed only God can bring change. He is omnipotent. He may not do everything we say or ask – He is God, and we are not. Yet His Word is clear that our prayers move His hand. Our prayers influence Him to move.

When I shut up the heavens so that there is no rain, or command locusts to devour the land or send a plague among my people, if my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land. Now my eyes will be open and my ears attentive to the prayers offered in this place. (2 Chron 7:13-15, NIV)

Oswald Chambers said that “Prayer does not fit us for the greater work. It is the greater work.”

I often think of and pursue prayer as personal worship and connection to God by praying for others and myself, and of course I have long recognized the power of corporate prayer to make radical Kingdom impact. I've seen it happen and have long believed. But I think it’s so easy to miss a simple but hugely profound truth. Whatever I “do” to serve others is superseded by a greater work. To pray.

Let a man regard us in this manner, as servants of Christ and stewards of the mysteries of God. In this case, moreover, it is required of stewards that one be found faithful. (1 Cor 4:1-2, NAS)

Do you see that? We are stewards of the mysteries of God. Wow. We have been entrusted with the secrets of God which have yet to be revealed, and we are called to be faithful to pray. What better gift can we give to one another than influencing the King of Kings to move on our behalf and to speak what is in His heart into being?

If that isn't a call to prayer, I'm not sure what is.

How can I pray for you?

Hello, My Name Is…

2011-07-29T16:50:00.001-04:00

As I type this post, I am sitting in my home office. Above my desk on the wall are framed diplomas and plaques, each bearing my name, representing my professional and academic accomplishments. In my work office in the city, a nameplate outside of my door bears my name and title, which for some reason causes others to respond with respect and recognition of my “status” in the company. My name is written on these symbols of accolade, and I am rewarded. And to be honest, I am proud of those achievements. Perhaps too proud.

My name is written in some places that I’d rather it not be, as well. On the hearts of ones I love, whom I have hurt with my words or actions or both, and their remembrance of my name may bring pain. Or during the years when I was far from God but still called myself a Christian, spending time with “friends” and making choices that now make me cringe to even think about. When those friends think upon my name, do they remember someone who acknowledged Jesus with her lips but denied Him by her lifestyle? And those few but memorable instances when others unjustly represented my name in a deceptive way. My name is written in these dark places, too, and sometimes I would give anything to be able to hit the “delete” button and clear my name.

For all of this, though, there is yet another place where my name resides. With the One who chose it. The One who bought it.

I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands…
(Is 49:15-16 NIV)

Regardless of what our name represents here on earth, our name belongs to Him because He is in us and we are in Him. And here’s the best part – ultimately, whether I or others celebrate or despise my name here on Earth, there is an audacious promise from God to us that not only will He redeem and restore our names on Earth for His glory (Romans 8:28), but we as believers in Christ are also promised a sweet heavenly reward.

Whoever has ears, let them hear ... I will give some of the hidden manna. I will also give that person a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to the one who receives it. (Rev 2:17 NIV)

One of our rewards in heaven is a new name. Our God-chosen name. Our untarnished name. A name so uniquely chosen and set apart that it is known only to Him and to the one who receives it.

"I will also give that person a white stone..." In those times, it was customary to cast a vote for someone’s innocence or guilt by using black and white stones. If a black stone was cast, the vote was guilty. A white stone meant that the person on trial was voted blameless. Pardoned.

Much like the Hebrews were given a name that revealed their purpose, we too will receive our heavenly name. Here on Earth, as a body of believers in Christ, we already share some names that I think sound pretty heavenly.

Redeemed.

Forgiven.

Beloved.

Grace-Given.

I can’t imagine that I have been given a heavenly name more beautiful than those, but the promise says I will. And I believe it.

Yet as awesome as that truth is, there is an even more powerful promise.

I am coming soon. Hold on to what you have, so that no one will take your crown. The one who is victorious I will make a pillar in the temple of my God. Never again will they leave it. I will write on them the name of my God and the name of the city of my God, the new Jerusalem, which is coming down out of heaven from my God; and I will also write on them my new name. (Rev 3:12 NIV)

There is also a name of God that has never reached our ears. One that has never been profaned or mocked. I believe it will be so beautiful that my earthly ears couldn't bear to hear it. More melodious than the sweetest song, and more beautiful than the gut-deep utterances and cries of “Yahweh” or “Jehovah” or “Abba” that cross my lips in my most intimate moments with God.

May we receive the promise given, that nothing can separate us from our names in Christ – our names are graven on his scarred hands.

May we, with excited anticipation, receive God's radical love given through the beautifully mysterious promises of heaven.

May we press on and into Christ so that we may live up to the potential of our new heavenly name.

Our white stone awaits.

Hallelujah!

Relentless.

2011-06-23T14:01:00.007-04:00

I haven’t been writing lately. On purpose.

I’m often quick to hear or read something powerful or profound and in my excitement immediately proclaim it as my personal truth. But historically, I haven’t often enough given new spiritual revelation or knowledge the opportunity to truly ferment in me. To become a part of me. To transform me. Instead, in my passion and excitement about it, I’m usually eager to encourage someone else with it or even rush out to teach the class about it. Good intentions but not always a great result.

So this season of “silence” here on this blog (and in my life in general these days) is intentional. The things God is birthing in my dreams, visions, desires, hopes, longings and yearnings is in a secret place exclusively designated for me and my Father as I allow it to take residence and set up roots in my heart.

I’ve learned something in the silence. That it’s harder this way. And that it’s so much better this way.

On the flight back from Africa, I prayed one very simple prayer.

“God, what is the one takeaway that You desire for me to grasp, to transform me so that I can be closer to You and serve You better?“

That was pretty much all I said to Him in my prayer. I was emotionally and spiritually exhausted and the experiences on this trip were huge. Deep. And there were many. It was too much. I was having trouble processing it all. And I figured with 17 hours to kill on a plane at 30,000+ feet, I might as well pray.

So this prayer was short and simple. For the rest of the time, I was in listening prayer. What happens when we move into listening prayer is always powerful and transformational, but it’s just so darn easy to forget to stop and just listen. In the listening , He allowed me to recall the intricate details of experiences that moved me so deeply during the 10 days before, as if I was watching an instant replay at a game.

Like the looks on the boys’ faces when they arrived at Masana. Street boys who arrived at Masana tired, sore-covered, beaten up and hungry whose eyes came alight at a mere first glimpse of Sarah, Ian, Lauren and Alexis . Those missionaries are the faces of God to the fatherless and the tangible expression of God's love every day. The boys’ faces moved from drawn, tired and defeated to joyful, relaxed, and loved as the day progressed. And then they returned to the streets, and the cycle started all over again the next day.

“If I have to show these boys my love day after day after day after day after day after day… for however long it takes, I will show up here and love them every day … I won’t relent until I have their whole hearts, because I love them that much.”

And on the second day, when Lauren called us into the living room of the Masana house to share with us that Sarah had only moments before learned that she has cancer. The raw emotion of her colaborers in Christ filled the room, and then prayer immediately followed. And then later that same morning, seeing Sarah emerge from her room after calling her family, in such pain, and then just minutes later smiling and laughing in complete joy the moment she saw her boys.

“I am here, My hand is on her and whatever it takes for My purpose in her life to be fulfilled, I won’t relent in my love, strength, protection, presence, or healing because I love her that much.”

And how in the middle of the street market, God revealed a part of my heart that I didn’t know existed. An unknown area of sin in my life brought to the light, something that shocked me so much about myself that I couldn’t breathe and could barely walk. Not one of those “yeah, yeah, I know that’s an area of sin in my life and I need to repent” things. This time, it was news to me. I had no idea. Something I’m not quite ready to share publicly but maybe, eventually. My mentors are encouraging me to share, but it’s dark and I’m just not ready yet. I think I need to bake a little longer.

One of my most trusted mentors asked me recently how I knew it was a “God” moment and not a moment that Satan was using to cause me to feel condemned or shameful and to throw me off track. It was an easy question to answer. Because standing in that dirty market on the other side of the world, when God revealed this unknown area of sin in my life, through the pain I felt (I’m not sure how to describe the depth and degree of brokenness I felt), I didn’t feel punished. I felt loved. Hugged.

“Melissa, if I have to fly you 8,000 miles from home to show you your heart, I won’t relent, because I love you that much. I want all of you.”

There were many more experiences that He brought back to my mind, for which there isn't space here to share. But all of them came back to one message of the truth and hope found in His love.

He will not relent until He has it all. All of my heart. All of yours. All of theirs.

He loves us that much.

Africa: Thursday

2011-03-10T06:51:00.001-05:00

Thursday was a little "hazy" for me because I got a touch of "Mozambiquan Revenge" if you know what I mean. I didn't have to sit out from any of the activities, but let's just say I wasn't feeling my best!

On Thursday morning, we spent time with the boys at Masana, and then after breakfast we took them to the city beach. It was HILARIOUS seeing the boys packed in to the cars. We got to the city beach and the boys ran to the water and had such a great time playing on the beach and in the water. They laughed and played for a few hours. Their lives are hard -- and Sarah and the Masana staff is very intentional about making sure the boys have time to just be kids. They were kids at the beach, splashing and playing in the water. It was beautiful.

We got back in time for them to have their school lessons, and then just before lunch Joanna spoke to them about loving one another, and they seemed to respond very well. A few of them told stories of times they demonstrated love to one another. The streets are a rough place for them, and there is often stealing and physically beating up one another. It was a good lesson to remind them that God loves us so much, and if we will receive that love from Him, then we can pour it out to others.

After the boys left, the staff members' families began to arrive, and by about 2:30 p.m., we were on our way (in three very full vehicles) to Nascera do Sol, which is about a 4 hour drive from Masana. Parts of the drive were very bumpy. Bumpy roads + a stomach dealing with "Mozambiquan Revenge" = lots of prayer. I'm just saying...

Part of our mission for this trip was not only to minister to the boys, but to the staff as well. There is not enough time or space here, but I could fill pages with stories of how the Masana staff members have poured into these kids, and many at great sacrifice. So the idea of blessing those who bless others had been burning in our hearts during the prep for this trip, and we knew it was something God had clearly called us to do.

So each of the Masana staff and their spouses and children (Pastor Paolo, Anacletu, Ezilpa, Mama Julia, Hilario, David, Luis) were given a weekend with their families -- for some of them, this was the first time they had ever taken a vacation with their families. The beach at Nascera do Sol was not merely beautiful -- it literally took our breath away. But even more beautiful was seeing those precious families have time together for the first time in many years, if ever.

The other goal of the retreat was to create connection between the staff members and their families. Most of the families had never met before. We believe that after this retreat, Masana will be that much more effective because of the unity between the staff members and families of staff members.

We had a great spaghetti dinner together, and then I shared with them the message of the white stones (Rev 2:17), but in a different way than I had shared with the boys earlier in the week. They were reminded that as they share with the street boys their new name in Christ, that they, too are given new names. The stones were handed out with their names, and they were encouraged to turn them over and reflect on the new name God had given them, and to draw up that for strength and promise as they continued to serve these boys.

It was a long day but a great one!

Africa: Wednesday

2011-02-24T00:08:00.001-05:00

On Wednesday, we spent some time in the morning with the boys, and then David, Hilario, Shawn, and Jason took them to a nearby soccer field to play. While they were gone, Sarah, Lauren, Ian, Alexis, Joanna and I (with Shawn and Jason joining us later) had a time of prayer. We prayed specifically that the boys would not merely see Masana as a place to receive food and teaching, but that they would understand that Masana is only able to provide that to them because of God's faithfulness and provision -- that God loves each and every one of them to provide those things for them. Then we went around and we each shared a specific boy whom God had laid on our heart this week, praying for each boy by name. We closed by praying for the health and protection of each housemate and staff member, and we also lifted up the retreat this weekend.

After that, the boys returned and we spent time with them. Joanna, Shawn and I went to a local Mozambiquan street market with Alexis. All I can say is "whoa". It is impossible to describe it in words -- something you have to experience to understand. More on that later.

After returning from the market, we spent more time with the boys, where Manual and Chico proceeded to "do my hair". I sat on the ground while Manual "styled" my bangs and Chico pulled my hair back into a ponytail twist. They kept saying "bonita, bonita" (pretty, pretty), and even with all of the uneven and loose hair, I thought it was beautiful, too, so I kept it that way for the afternoon. =) Unfortunately, we were all busy with the kids, so no pictures were taken!

Joanna knows Spanish, so she is able to communicate pretty well with the boys (the language spoken here is Portugese), so they love trying to talk wiht her. And seeing Shawn interact with the boys is just sweet. We knew Shawn's heart would be moved and it certainly has been. This place will mess you up, but in a really, really good way.

After the boys went to their classrooms, Shawn, Jason and I hung out and talked for a while until the boys returned for church. They sang praise songs (I will never tire of listening to those boys sing and "drum" on the table while lifting praises to God). Then, Shawn taught them about faithfulness from the Book of Daniel. It was so great!

Shawn told them the story of the three men in the fire, and how even though they could have avoided being thrown in the fire by worshiping another God, they were faithful to God and to each other. They loved hearing the story, and we loved how Shawn tied in the message of being faithful to each other. The boys will often steal from each other, so this is an especially applicable lesson for them.

After the boys left, Joanna and I spent time with Mama Julie learning how to make begias (I have no idea if I am spelling that right). I can't wait to get home to make them. It was great spending time with Mama Julia -- she is wonderful. We also got to meet some missionary friends of Sarah's (from Texas) who are loaning us their van to transport the staff and families of staff to the retreat this weekend.

Then, after a little bit of downtime, Lauren, Sarah, Claire (a lovely friend of theirs), Joanna, Paito, Tilfu, and Felix (the boys who live here), Joanna, Jason, Shawn, and I spent time on the rooftop having tea and talking, while eating some of the best cookies ever made. =) Also, Paito told us his story of how he came to Masana. He is a beautiful boy who is ALWAYS smiling. I was honored that he felt comfortable to tell his story. What a wonderful boy.

Then, it was a dinner time with everyone, which is always fun. We had fun eating and telling stories. Paito, Tilfu, and Felix are so gracious and serve so sweetly at dinner time.

And then, bed. We were all pretty tired last night. What a great day. Ready for tomorrow! =)

Africa: Tuesday

2011-02-22T16:14:00.002-05:00

It's bedtime in Maputo. What an amazing day. We woke up to the sound of laughs and giggles from the boys outside of the windows. I'm not sure that there is any better way to be woken up!

We spent time with the boys this morning while they washed their clothes and prepared for breakfast. After breakfast (Mama Julia is amazing), Sarah took Shawn, Joanna, Jason and I to the village where Juma and his family live while the boys had their school lessons. It was our first trip through Maputo in the daytime, and we were able to see the condition of the city. After a long and bumpy ride, we found our way to Juma's house, where he, his great grandmother, grandmother, and little brother and sister live. Sitting under a shade tree in the front of their house (which I'm guessing is about 12 x 10 feet and just tall enough to stand in) was Juma's great grandmother.

Juma's House

Kitchen

Juma's great grandmother, Luis, and silly Sarah

Juma's grandmother and great grandmother spoke a great deal about Juma's progress since returning from Masana several months ago. He returned to school, under the impression that he was at a third grade level. However, after only a couple of weeks, it was clear that he is at a fourth grade level, so he was promoted. Juma's grandmother and great grandmother said that Juma came back from Masana a different boy. That he is respectful, goes to church, and is disciplined at school. We saw a picture today of why Masana exists...of what God can do through us as we serve and invest in others.

There are so many things I am longing to share about our trip to Juma's house today. I am still trying to get my head around our experience there and will write more about it later. Our time there this morning is somehting that none of us will ever forget. You'll hear more about it later, I promise!

After returning to Masana, the boys had finished their lessons and were ready for church. Luis led worship. How amazing it was to hear those street boys sing praises to God in their native language. Wow.

I taught the boys that they have new name in Christ, with the verse in Rev 2:17. Each boy wrote his name on one side of a white river stone that we brought from the US. We talked about how people know us by our names, and I shared that sometimes when I make mistakes, I wish I could clear my name. But we read the verse and they learned that no matter what they have done, they are clean in God's eyes. So much so that God promises them a new name in Heaven. They turned their rocks over to the blank side as we read the verse, and my prayer is that they lay their heads down tonight knowing that God's love is theirs with no cost or requirement. I must say that teaching through a translator is different! But Luis did such a great job with that, and after I was done he again shared the message to be sure they understood.

Then, lunch was served. We had rice with a vegetable topping similar to spinach), peanuts, coconuts, and other spices.

After lunch, we said goodbye to the boys. Lauren took Shawn, me, and Joanna to the grocery store and we were completely giddy while looking at all of the interesting local foods. We had our first taste of Fanta Ananais (Pineapple) soda, a local favorite. Joanna and I are officially addicted. It's a really good thing that we don't have it in the US!

After our grocery store excursion, we took some of the to the city beach. Jason drove. And that's all I have to say about that. haha! Seriously, he did a great job! We only almost wrecked once!

The beach is very polluted so we didn't swim, but the boys did and had a great time. Sarah, Lauren, Joanna, me, Shawn, and Jason hung out on the beach and enjoyed being entertained, especially by Chico and Pai! Felix came along (Felix lives at Masana) and was, as always, a delight to be around.

After the beach, we said goodbye to Chico and Pai. Then we had a cookout and enjoyed some "smoky" conversation on the rooftop of the Masana house while drinking some seriously delicious hot tea. Our hosts treated us to a lovely Amerian dinner of hamburgers, potato salad, and baked beans. It was a great dinner with our hosts and the three boys who live at Masana -- Felix, Paito, and Tilfu.

The boys love touch, love to play, and love to laugh with us, even though sometimes we have no idea what they are saying!

The first day was amazing. We can't wait for tomorrow!

Thank you for your prayers, and please also pray for Shawn tomorrow as he prepares to teach the boys from the book of Daniel.

Africa Bound.

2011-02-21T16:01:00.001-05:00

I'm on my way to Africa. I mean, literally. As I type this, I am in the plane, at 36,957 feet over the Atlantic, near Namibia, somewhere between Sunday and Monday. With three of my dearest friends at my side, we will touch down in Johannesburg in about 4 hours, and then hop on a smaller plane (much smaller) to Maputo, Mozambique. There, we will spend 10 days with Sarah Olds and her team, showing the love of God to homeless boys in Maputo.

I started praying over this trip in August of last year, when the question was asked: "Will you go?" After a quick orientation, and a couple of weeks in prayer, I knew that God was calling me to go. As I sit with three others who shared the call, I can't imagine being anywhere else with anyone else right now. God has given us, both individually and collectively, a sense of peace and joy about this trip that is ... indescribable.

We are a uniquely diverse team, with varying spiritual gifts and talents, whom God has woven together for this purpose, on this day, for His glory.

Jason's heart for loving God through loving others is contagious, and as a pastor from our church, we are so privileged to serve under his leadership. Jason's discernment and humility allows him to truly meet people where they are.

Shawn's heart for others - and I mean all others - is wired to show love and help as often as possible. I'm not sure who will cry more on this trip -- me, or Shawn! If there ever was a humble, gentle warrior, it's Shawn.

Joanna's heart for the nations is apparent in her mission experience, as well as in her thirst for knowledge and going deep into understanding culture. Her insight has been critical to us during our preparations

Sarah Olds and her team are doing incredible work and changing a nation, one boy at a time. Raising boys to be honorable, godly men. What an honor it is for God to allow each of us to be a small part of it. We are humbled, and so thankful to God for this amazing opportunity.

As we obey in the small things, may we not seek to do great things for God, but to do all things for a great God.

Peace, friends. Your prayers and support are appreciated. Here we go...

As I finished typing this post, we reached the African coast!

Dreamy.

2011-01-06T12:19:00.004-05:00

A few days ago, I sat down to make my list of resolutions for 2011.

I know. You did, too.

My list looked unlike any list of resolutions I’d ever made before. It was a much bolder, deeper list than my usual ones like “lose weight” or “manage time better”. Not that those are bad...but the words staring back at me on my list not only shocked me about me, but will likely cause people to think I'm out of my mind for even daring to consider.

And then I realized:

I had forgotten how to dream for a while.

Has that ever happened to you?

Sometimes life is hard and discouragement snuffs out our dreams.

Sometimes wounds are untended and pain blinds us from our dreams.

Sometimes our lack of boundaries suffocates our dreams.

Sometimes, we give our dreams a funeral and bury them.

I did.

2010 was a year of breaking through some deep pain and finding joy, as I shared with you in some pretty heavy posts.

2011 is beyond the breakthrough.

So what’s on the other side of the breakthrough? An unyielding desire, passion, and ability to dream again. It’s like seeing the sunrise for the very first time.

Dreams are beautiful.

I have personally declared that this year, 2011, is the year that my dreams are

made,

celebrated,

pursued,

and . . . God-willing . . . realized.

Big ones. Because I refuse to dream small.

And those longtime dreams that died for a while? Jesus raises the dead.

Because those once-dead dreams are alive and smiling back at me on my ~~resolution~~ dream list.

I’ll be sharing some of my dreams with you along the way. I hope you’ll share yours with me, too.

In the Listening.

2010-10-14T19:46:00.033-04:00

Hello again. It’s been awhile. It’s good to be back.

I’m finding it hard to believe that Fall is already here. This is hands down my favorite time of year. The time of year that this non-outdoorsy girly girl actually enjoys the outdoors and nature. I was actually giddy last night during my evening walk/run as I saw the first leaves dancing down the street, singing the familiar pitter-patter song of Fall. A perfect, cool, breezy Fall evening. Windows open, pumpkin-scented candles burning, and beautiful evening skies with the constellations of the season returning their beauty for us to enjoy. I love everything about Fall.

I’m a bit under the weather tonight, but still enjoying this Fall evening from the indoors. The cool breeze, newly fallen crunchy leaves, and gazing at Orion through my window relax me to a place of quiet stillness. And tonight I find myself keenly aware of a simple truth about God…and about me.

God speaks. And sometimes I am so busy talking that I forget to listen.

The LORD said, "Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the LORD, for the LORD is about to pass by." Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake. ¹² After the earthquake came a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper. When Elijah heard it…” (1 Kings 19:11-13 NIV)

He didn't speak in the great and powerful wind. He didn’t speak in the earthquake. He didn’t speak in the fire. He spoke in the gentle whisper. And Elijah was listening.

Sometimes I am caught aware not only by my failure to stop long enough to listen for God's gentle whisper, but also my failure to listen to others whom I truly love and care for. Albeit with good intentions, often I am so quick to say “I’ll pray for you!” that I don’t take the time to truly listen to what the other person longs to express. Sometimes I am so quick to offer encouragement or counsel that I miss the sweetness of the opportunity to truly listen to a friend. Maybe the encouragement that would reach that person's heart is in the listening. And sometimes not with the best of intentions, I am too busy, impatient, or prideful to listen.

When we don’t listen, we miss something precious. We can see a person when we truly listen, when we study them and patiently listen for the whispers that reveal the deepest parts of their hearts to us. And after all, isn’t that what all of us want in our relationships – to be seen and known? Isn’t that what God wants from us – to see and know Him?

God, may we stop speaking long enough to hear You so that we may see and know You. For in that, you not only speak to our hearts, but you faithfully equip us with quiet hearts to hear, see and know others.

Two Years.

2010-08-03T22:22:00.000-04:00

Two years ago today, I finally said "yes" to God's prompting me to visit a church 40 miles away from where I was living at that time. A church called "The Vine".

I had no ties to Braselton or The Vine, other than some journal entries from 2006, when I began to pray for a leadership team about to launch a new church. A new church called "The Vine. I had been on the leadership team for another church plant, and we were looking at other church plants and praying for them. I immediately had a special affinity for The Vine, two years before I would ever attend a church service here. I had no plans or intention of ever driving across the state to visit this church or to meet the people. I just knew I was called to pray for them, so I did. For two years. But then, through a crazy turn of events, on August 3, 2008, I visited The Vine for the first time, for no reason other than God saying, "go". I knew it was going to be good because the enemy clearly didn't want me there. As I walked to my car to leave that morning, the heel on my shoe broke, and then I got seriously lost on the way to the church, resulting in my arriving over 20 minutes late. But as soon as I walked in, I knew. I knew I was home.

As I left the service, I saw a "for rent" sign for a house nearby. So I went to check it out. It was perfect. The owner said they had other people interested in the house, but they felt God tell them to save it for me. Before they ever even saw me. They turned people away before they ever met me.

Within 24 hours, I was offered a job nearby.

And within just a few weeks, I moved to a town where I knew absolutely no one. But I knew God had called me here. And He's not done yet.

Because "Greater things have yet to come, greater things are still to be done in this city..."

So you might be wondering...why did I do something so radical? Here's why:

(repost from September 16, 2008)

Vision.

I’m home!

The Big Move happened this weekend, and I am one blessed woman. The guys at The Vine came through in a big way. It was a LONG day with lots of lifting, sweating, and driving (2 trips at 80 miles each). These men (whom I had never even met until move day) ushered me right smack in the middle of God’s will for my life.

And it’s so good to be home, in the house that He has been preparing for me.

And in the very city that He’s been preparing me for.

And in the very church that He has called me to serve in.

I’m so blessed it hurts.

Yesterday, I was unpacking all of my kitchen boxes. There were a lot of them. I was drowning in a sea of cardboard and bubble wrap, exhausted, praying that God would renew my strength so that I could finish the task at hand. Then, I glanced across the room, and amidst the mountains of cardboard, I saw this:

And I was energized, because God reminded me why I am here.

I talk a lot about The Vine and my journey to The Vine. But I’m not here because of The Vine. I’m here because of the vision of The Vine. The people are awesome. The set design is off the hook. The music ushers me straight to God’s face. And the preaching is spectacular. All of those are great things. But none of them are why I packed up and moved to this place called Braselton.

I’m here because of and for the vision.

It wasn’t until the past couple of years that I have truly understood the importance of this thing called “vision”. For most of my life, my personal experience with a “vision statement” was in a corporate workplace context. “Vision” had meant nothing more than a loose statement casually published by a corporation to justify its existence, and which never had much importance or accountability attached to it. It was something that was often presented to me as a new employee in an orientation package of “corporate information” but was rarely ever spoken of or heard of again. And as embarrassing as it is to admit, in my early years as a Christian, I didn’t realize how much the Bible has to say about it.

However, as I have grown in my personal relationship with God, this thing called “vision” has taken on a whole new meaning. I’ve read and studied so much in the past two years about the biblical attributes of leadership, unity, and vision, and never before have I realized how much importance the Scriptures place on these concepts. Unlike my previous corporate perception and experience, I have come to understand that the vision of a church or ministry does not merely justify the existence, but it defines the existence. It is not something birthed from man, but is birthed from the vision of God through man. That’s really big stuff.

If I am to submit to God’s calling to be a part of something, I must be called and submit to the vision and not to the “thing” itself. I have seen firsthand both the importance and challenge of visioncasting, as well as the focus that must be placed on intentionality and purposeful execution of vision. And I have been on staff of a church plant that failed largely because of a lack of vision. So after my first visit to The Vine, I sat down with David for a few hours. I asked him some very tough questions. The burden on my heart was to really dig deep and understand the vision of The Vine so that I could prayerfully discern whether it was something to which God was calling me. Unfortunately, I have seen what can happen when a pastor is not clear about the vision of a church, and even worse, when co-leaders or members of the body are not unified in the vision. My heart has been broken over the paralyzing effects that this can have on a church or ministry.

So I needed to hear David’s heart. And I did…it was hard not to. Because David’s heart is really, really loud when it comes to the vision of The Vine.

And in the days that followed, as I prayerfully sought His leading, God released me to submit and serve at The Vine under David’s leadership. But not because of anything about David Walters, even though he’s an incredible pastor. Because of the vision that He, Himself, has birthed through David.

So that’s why I’m here. And a coffee cup sitting on top of a partially unpacked U-Haul box with “Kitchen” and “Fragile” tape reminded me of that.

If you want to hear more about the vision of The Vine, email or call me. Or, check out www.connecttothevine.org. If you come and check us out, you’ll get a really great coffee cup. But be warned…it might just change your life.

Time.

2010-07-18T20:14:00.000-04:00

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven…He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end. (Ecclesiastes 3: 1,11 NIV)

I am breaking away from my sequence on posts relating to my personal journey from woundedness to hope, but today is one of those days with a clear, discernible theme. You know those days when you feel like everywhere you turn, God is giving you the same message…I liken it to being hit by a “holy 2X4” over my head, when God is supernaturally repeating Himself in earnest, to ensure that I don't miss it. Yesterday, the Ecclesiastes passage above was my devotional scripture. Throughout the day, I saw that scripture twice more, in random places. And also throughout yesterday, I was reminded of this truth that some things are seasonal, and some are permanent. And then today, our pastor announced that our worship leader is leaving our church and pursuing the next phase of his ministry call. And in other areas of my life, I am facing the reality that God has placed me in seasonal situations that I would prefer to be permanent. It’s hard. But He is always good, and He is God.

I am not God. He is.

To everything, there is a time. Some things are forever, some are for a season. We’ve all read the sappy/cheesy poems and quotes about it. But corny or not, it’s true. Sometimes, there is a permanence to the situations or relationships in our lives, and other times, there is not. But regardless of whether a relationship or ministry assignment or job or any other situation is seasonal or forever…He is always good, and He is always working on our behalf. "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose" (Rom 8:28 NIV).

Regardless of whether God has placed something or someone in our life for a short time, a long time, or permanently, “He has made everything beautiful in its time” (Ecc, v.11). What a beautiful promise.

His ways and thoughts are so much higher than ours. We say that often as Christians, but I wonder if we will ever really understand this truth that God sees the entire picture of our lives, and that we “cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end” (Ecc, v.11).

He sees our life story…from beginning to end… through a heart and eyes of love that go deeper, wider, and truer than any other love we can experience from any other. Seeing it all and seeing it out of an unfailing love is a beautiful combination, don't you think?

So with this beautiful truth, may we "lean not on [y]our own understanding, but in all [y]our ways, acknowledge Him, and He will direct [y]our paths" (Proverbs 3: 5-6 NIV).

God, help me to trust in Your unfailing love, that You will make everything beautiful in its time.

Walking Wounded.

2010-07-14T23:30:00.005-04:00

In the first twenty minutes of the movie Saving Private Ryan, an extremely graphic scene of the Omaha beachhead assault of June 6, 1944 is depicted. Although it was nearly twelve years ago, I remember seeing this movie on the big screen and will likely never forget some of the images in those first few minutes. The directors of the movie explained that the graphic nature of the opening scene was so that the viewer could truly understand the reality of war and the raw nature of wartime violence and death, which was critical to the viewer’s connection with the main storyline for the film. But the images that I remember most from this powerful movie are those of the walking wounded in that opening scene. Like the soldier who lost his severed arm and searched for it and picked it up, carrying it with him as he sought shelter from the enemy fire. Broken, dismembered bodies with one goal – survival. With severed limbs, trying to find refuge in the midst of warfare that they had grossly underestimated.

In my last post, I began to describe my journey from the valley of woundedness and pain to the doorway of hope. (Hos 2:14-15). Like the walking wounded in this movie scene, those of us walking in emotional and spiritual woundedness seek shelter, but with broken hearts and shattered spirits. Like the walking wounded soldier, we, too have one goal…survival. Survival in warfare that we had grossly underestimated. When we’re in survival mode, living isn’t really living, it’s more like existing. The difference between broken bodies and broken spirits is that we can hide a broken spirit. We can look like we have it together spiritually. But inside, we’re dying. And too proud to tell anyone about it.

If our wounded hearts are walled with pain, shame, and guilt, and our wills are walled with fear and anxiety, then where do we go for refuge and healing? Usually not to the One who can heal. Usually, to other people to fill the void that has consumed us, because even though we are wounded, we still crave love, joy, and peace. God created us to crave it. But we forget…(I forgot)…that there is only one True Source for our wholeness. We forget that He created us to crave it from Him. And to seek it from Him. For a long time, I lost sight that although God gives me the amazing blessing of experiencing love from others here on earth sometimes, that it will never be truer, deeper, or wider than His love, His joy, or His peace available to and flowing through me all the time.

Because my pain originated from some male figures in my life, I naturally gravitated to seeking my value and identity…my wholeness…from men. I suppose it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out how that turned out. Maybe your pain originates from somewhere else, and you go to another source. How is that working for you? My guess is that it’s not working at all.

But there is good news.
Great news.
Wonderful news.
The BEST news.

The heart of the Holy Spirit lives in those who believe and call upon the name of God and His ultimate sacrifice, the risen Christ. The heart of the Spirit in me…and in you…gives us direct access to the healing that can only be found through the mind and heart of Christ.

God has revealed it to us by his Spirit. The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God. For who among men knows the thoughts of a man except the man's spirit within him? In the same way no one knows the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God. We have not received the spirit of the world but the Spirit who is from God, that we may understand what God has freely given us. This is what we speak, not in words taught us by human wisdom but in words taught by the Spirit, expressing spiritual truths in spiritual words. The man without the Spirit does not accept the things that come from the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness to him, and he cannot understand them, because they are spiritually discerned. The spiritual man makes judgments about all things, but he himself is not subject to any man's judgment: "For who has known the mind of the Lord that he may instruct him?" But we have the mind of Christ. (1 Cor. 2:10-16, NIV).

As Christians, we talk about the “power” of the Holy Spirit, and often. May we remember that the power of the Spirit comes from the heart of the Spirit, who only wants the best for us. If we allow our heart to meld with the heart of the Spirit, the walls come down. We receive his heart toward us, so we can give it to others. The way we give to and receive love from others is radically changed.

Our goal becomes so much more than to just survive.

We are no longer the walking wounded. We are alive, and we love without walled hearts. We live and love from wholeness. The heart of the Spirit makes us whole.

The Chase.

2010-05-26T23:30:00.008-04:00

In December of 2009, I began a journey that I had been avoiding for almost one year. Well, OK, if I’m being totally honest it was probably much longer than one year, but it was almost exactly a year before (November of ’08) that I had heard God clearly say “go”. I wrote about it here. Specifically, He said, “Melissa, I cannot release you into what I have for you until you allow me lead you from your pain to hope.” Not a destination I cared to see again. When you read my original post about it, you'll see that I chose to "go", and I had just stretched my foot out to take the first step when...yep, you guessed it.

Distraction. The enemy of my soul used Distraction to stall me (but he didn't win. He never wins. Keep reading...)

A year later, after a long, twisted, messy series of bumps and turns, the pain had only grown. My delayed obedience was nothing more than disobedience.

I was broken, hopeless, and at the end of myself. So I reluctantly said, “OK, God, I’ll meet you there, because I’m tired of carrying this around”. It seems silly, how simple it was to type that out just now. It almost makes it seem trivial. But I promise you, that was an extremely hard decision. Opening up a wound doesn’t feel good. It hurts. But that’s where the healing is. That’s where He is. That’s where freedom is.

With the Holy Spirit working through a trusted counselor to shepherd me through the process, I have placed one foot in front of the other, and walked into the valley of destruction that becomes Hope. I began to see the flowers in His hand, again. He compels me toward Him, draws me in, and my choice becomes having no other choice. He woos like no other.

"Therefore I am now going to allure her; I will lead her into the desert and speak tenderly to her. There I will give her back her vineyards, and will make the Valley of Achor a door of hope. There she will sing as in the days of her youth ..." (Hosea 2:14-15)

For the past six months, through the healing power of the Holy Spirit, my counselor and I have navigated through the mountains of unresolved pain-garbage that invaded my will and my heart like cancer. Out of my desire to guard my own heart by walling it off with the bricks of fear and the mortar of anxiety (and firmly braced by shame), I had been living my life trying to find my love, joy, peace, and value in others. That pain that I had never truly given over to Him was my prison.

And the scary part? I didn’t even know it. Because I didn't "feel" bound.

After all, I was serving God faithfully. I was called to ministry. I was speaking publicly. I was at church every Sunday. I was tithing. I was spending time with God every day, in Bible Study and prayer.

I was pursuing him passionately. But not wholly. Because I wasn’t whole.

Yes, years ago I made a very purposeful decision to never look back at that pain. But instead of allowing Him to meet me there, give me His perspective and truth about the brokenness, and heal my heart, I simply denied it was there. I had never invited Him in to it. I had never met Him there.

What I had failed to understand for all of these years is that He chases my pain. He chases my fear. He chases my shame. He chases my guilt. He chases my heart.

The Holy Spirit desires to receive my pain, guilt and shame just as much as I desire to receive His love, joy and peace.

I’m being chased by the very One that I pursue.

There is much, much more. The next few posts will be more about this journey from the valley of pain and woundedness to the doorway of Hope.

Hitting the Snooze Button

2010-05-26T22:02:00.000-04:00

Hi there...

I am thoroughly embarrassed at the length of time that has passed since my last post. Wow. That was a really long nap!

On April 1st, something happened both spiritually and mentally -- an unshakable, non-negotiable press to become more physically fit. So, I made some moderate dietary changes. I felt so good that I decided to hire a nutritionist/trainer. We started working together on April 15th, when I started the Maker's Diet and working out every day. Since April 1st, I have lost a total of 36 pounds! I still have a ways to go, but my resolve and motivation is stronger than ever.

Getting settled into a routine of waking up early (4:30 a.m.)to allow myself enough time for God time AND working out has required not only discipline, but also has had an effect on how I manage my time for the rest of my day. This has had an impact on my writing time...so I had to give in to the "snooze" button for a while. But I think I found my groove, so we'll give this another shot.

I'm so excited about all there is to share with you and learn from you. I love your responses through comments and emails, so keep 'em coming.

I'll be posting more, likely later tonight. So please stay tuned.

How He Loves.

2010-04-22T22:07:00.008-04:00

Not long ago, during my quiet time, I tried something a little different than usual. I was in a bit of a dry season. You know what I mean, right? Maybe it’s just me, but there are times when I don’t feel connected to God in my prayers, or when I simply don’t connect with God’s Word. I wanted to go deeper and overcome this separation that I felt from God. So, I put to practice a prayer method that I had learned about some time ago, but had never tried myself. Lectio Divina is an ancient, intentional approach to reading Scripture and experiencing God's Presence and His Word through reading, meditation, prayer, and contemplation. First, the Scriptures are read slowly, with an open ear to the voice of the Spirit identifying the new truth He desires to reveal. Then, time is taken to meditate upon what was heard, which leads to prayer (dialogue with God), and finally, a time of simply resting in His presence. It’s a beautiful, intentional, longer-than-my-normal-quiet-time process. And one that I intend to repeat often. Very, very powerful.

After I had finished with that part of my quiet time, it was blatantly clear that God was revealing to me through His word that I do not accept His love, forgiveness, or grace very well. I so often quantify His love and grace by my performance. Can you relate? Is it hard for you to truly accept His love because you’re not “good enough”? It’s just so difficult to understand His love for us with our narrow, human, finite minds!

I wanted to continue my time with Him, so I felt led to put on some worship music and just continue to rest, and to praise. I heard…

“Oh…How He loves us so. Oh, How He loves us…”

You know the song, right? In my view, one of the most incredible worship songs ever written.

He had my attention, and I was in the zone. But then something happened. I tried to personalize the song, to truly claim His love for me.

“Oh…How He loves me so….Oh, How He loves me…”

I couldn’t do it. I literally could not form the words and melted into my fear, shame, and guilt. I was overcome with embarrassment over His love for me. How could he possibly love me? After all of the things that I have done, how could he possibly love me? Realizing that even if I was the only one on earth, He still would have sent His son to die for me sent me into a pit of shame. despair. unworthiness. pain. guilt.

A pit of lies told to me by the enemy of my soul.

The reality of the depth of the condemnation that I held against myself for what I had done, even though I “knew” He had forgiven me, hit me hard. Even though I knew He had forgiven me, the old and already-canceled sin still held power over me.

A-Ha. I found my wall. I found my breaker.

In the time that has passed since this experience, there has been breakthrough. Some walls have come down and I’m learning to more freely receive God’s love and grace. We can’t give what we don’t have, so we need to receive His love and grace so that we can pour it out to others.

You’re going to see more posts from me about the strongholds that are being knocked over like Lincoln Logs by an angry 2 year old. They’re going down, one after the other, and it’s amazing to experience a new level of intimacy with God that I didn’t even know was possible. Yet even still, sometimes it remains challenging for me to accept His love and grace freely given.

I have come to realize that I do indeed receive His forgiveness. But here’s the part I was missing. Not only does he forgive our sin, but He actually breaks the power of canceled sin over me. How awesome is that. Many of us have sung the very words many times, from the hymn “O For a Thousand Tongues to Sing”. Check out the last verse.

“He breaks the power of canceled sin, He sets the prisoner free”…

Do you get how awesome that is? God KNEW that even when we receive His forgiveness, that we in our nature would allow ourselves to continue to feel condemned at times. But the Truth is that upon repentance, God sees us as blameless. Not only does he cancel our sin, but he breaks the power of that canceled sin over us.

Hear it again: He forgives your sin. And then He breaks the power of that canceled sin over you.

Receive it. Freely.

Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus (Romans 8:1).

Oh, how He loves you so.

Dear Fat Melissa...

2010-04-18T22:06:00.004-04:00

I confess. I have been holding back, which is why you haven’t seen posts in the past couple of weeks. Wow….wow. The journey has been intense. To be honest, I have struggled with what to write. I promised in my first post that I would be transparent and real here. But in this season, the “real” stuff I’m dealing with is pretty big and rather humbling! I have wondered what you will think of me. But God has shown me time and time again that transparency is worth the risk.

Today is the end of an era for me. It wasn’t a “today” epiphany, but one that God has been dealing with me about for weeks now. But today is “that day”…the day I let it go and allow God to take control of a serious stronghold in my life.

I don’t think I need to give too much backstory on this…it pretty much speaks for itself. This is a letter I wrote to myself today. Well, my old self. Whether it’s weight or something else, if you have struggled with laying down a stronghold, then you know it’s difficult to articulate the thought process. This letter may not make sense to you, and that’s OK. But I have a feeling some of you will be able to identify with it.

Please pray for me on this journey, and for those who are leading me through it.

Dear Fat Melissa,

I’ll bet you weren’t expecting a letter from me. But I’m afraid the time has come. It’s time for you to go. We have been “friends” for nearly 4 years now and have been through a lot of joys and heartaches together. You have been my constant.

This may sound strange, but I will grieve over losing you, at least at first. I don’t think it will be easy to let you go, and I cry over the thought of letting you go as I write this letter. It’s scary to think about my life without you. I have placed my protection in you over these years. I’ve hidden behind you, using you as my excuse not to live, love, and serve others. I have allowed you to enable me to simply exist…but not to live. I have named you as my excuse (if not outwardly to others, then inwardly to myself) that I am unworthy, unable and unequipped to do the things God has called me to do, and to be who He has created me to be.

You have been my shield and guard against allowing others to get "too close" to me. I have placed my security and safety in you.

Overall, you have made me uncomfortably…comfortable.

The thing is…I don’t hate you. Somewhere along the way, I actually came to accept you and worked hard to learn to love you. But God has changed my heart to begin to understand and reflect His Best Melissa. I now understand that my clothing size doesn’t change who He has created me to be or His love for me…and that I am fearfully and wonderfully made for His purpose. However, in that truth lies the revelation that I am not His Best Melissa if you are here.

He has equipped me, He has called me, and He loves and guards me. He is my protector, and He has created me for wholeness, health, wellness, love, compassion and grace. No offense, but I don’t need you anymore. You no longer define me. He does.

In a weird way, I feel grateful to you. So thank you. I wouldn’t be here without you.

Sincerely,

His Best Melissa

Rerun: Ready, Set, Jump!

2010-04-02T18:36:00.002-04:00

Well, hello again! I did not intend to take a week-long blogging break, but my long Emmaus weekend plus a seriously nasty sinus/upper respiratory infection has had me grounded until today.

I have so much to share, so I hope you'll keep checking in...but for now, I think the best depiction of my thoughts lately is from a post that I wrote back in July of 2008...and especially today after a compelling phone interview regarding a HUGE academic opportunity (fabulous, God-ordained, but a little scary). After my call today, my thoughts immediately evoked memories of a prior season in life...and the assurance that God covered me then, and He will certainly cover me now. I think I'm finally starting to get that. Finally.

So...an encore presentation of the post from July 11, 2008. Enjoy the rerun.

Ready, Set, Jump.

When I was in elementary and middle school, I was not a big fan of Phys Ed class. I hated it. I was a prissy little girl, concerned with my clothes and my hair. I hated to sweat. And for those of you who know me, you know that those things have not changed very much. (OK, so my brief stint in mountain biking several years ago was fun, but it didn’t last. I was, however, the only biker on the trail with riding gear that ALWAYS coordinated with the color of my bike, and lips perfectly lined with kiss-me-red lipstick. I fell. A lot. But if I was going to fall, at least I looked darn good doing it.)

Anyway, despite my disdain for Phys Ed class, and my utter lack of athletic prowess, there was one activity that I loved. The Standing Broad Jump. The fact that I can say that I enjoyed anything related to track and field events makes me laugh out loud. But as a kid, I loved this. For those of you who may not remember, this was a game where you would stand at a line, just behind a sand pit. Our teacher would shout the cue…”Ready, set, jump!” And from a standing position, you would jump into the pit, and the length of the jump was measured. The farthest jump was marked by a yellow flag in the sand. The person who jumped the farthest, with both feet landing together and not falling backwards, was the winner.

I am not sure why I loved this little event so much. Perhaps it was because it wasn’t a contact sport. Or maybe it was because I didn’t have to run and get all sweaty. I loved that it wasn’t “Dodgeball” day, when I literally feared for my life. I’m not sure what the lure of a pit of sand and a yellow flag held for me. But there was just something about standing still and summoning all of the strength I could muster from standing firmly planted on solid ground to propel myself as far as I could into the “sandbox”, not knowing where or how far forward I might land. I jumped with all of my strength, as high as I could. I remember Mrs. Stafford, my P.E. teacher, suggesting to us that we look at the yellow flag from the longest jumper and focus on a mark past it. I would fix my eyes on the asphalt waiting on the other side of the sand and would mentally charge myself to jump as close to it as possible.

Tonight, as I write this, I feel like a child again, standing at that chalk jump line. Just as I stood on the asphalt at the line as a child, I now stand firm on the solid ground that comes from knowing that the course of my life is in the God’s Hand and in His control. But He is now asking me to jump, yet again. All I can see from my perspective is a desert of sand ahead of me. But what a gift it is to jump from that standing position. He is the solid ground from which I will propel. But I must admit, it’s still a little scary. There is a weird mix of adrenaline, excitement, anticipation, and curiosity about what is next...and when. I know that at the perfect moment, He will call me to bend my knees, push off, and fly across the desert, that Great Divide, to the very spot that He has already marked for me with the flags of His promises and faithfulness. I can rest in knowing that He will ensure that both of my feet hit the ground and that I don’t fall backwards.

I have to remind myself that I must place my security in who God is, and not in the circumstances swirling around in my life. Sometimes it is hard, because the circumstances seem to be the reality of life. But the true reality is not in the circumstances…the true, unwavering reality is in our great God who sees the entire picture and is always working on our behalf.

One of my favorite verses is Hosea 2:14. Paraphrased, it says: So now I am going to draw her back to me. I will allure her into the desert. There I will speak tenderly to her. . . when she rests in me, I will give her back her vineyards.

This verse reminds me that He calls us to see the invisible, to commit to the impossible, and to do the outrageous. He never calls us to do what we can — only to do what He can through us. He calls us to rest and to live in His faithfulness, and only then can He return us to the vineyards of His fruitfulness in us. God will lure us into the desert sometimes —circumstances beyond us—and He asks us to endure the desert with no other thought than that His great heart will sustain us. And may we remember that the desert is all about discovering the faithfulness of God.

Ready... Set... Jump!

Emmaus.

2010-03-25T10:58:00.001-04:00

Luke 24: 13-53

Now that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem. They were talking with each other about everything that had happened. As they talked and discussed these things with each other, Jesus himself came up and walked along with them; but they were kept from recognizing him. He asked them, "What are you discussing together as you walk along?"
They stood still, their faces downcast. One of them, named Cleopas, asked him, "Are you only a visitor to Jerusalem and do not know the things that have happened there in these days?"
"What things?" he asked.
"About Jesus of Nazareth," they replied. "He was a prophet, powerful in word and deed before God and all the people. The chief priests and our rulers handed him over to be sentenced to death, and they crucified him; but we had hoped that he was the one who was going to redeem Israel. And what is more, it is the third day since all this took place. In addition, some of our women amazed us. They went to the tomb early this morning but didn't find his body. They came and told us that they had seen a vision of angels, who said he was alive. Then some of our companions went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said, but him they did not see."
He said to them, "How foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken! Did not the Christ have to suffer these things and then enter his glory?" And beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he explained to them what was said in all the Scriptures concerning himself.
As they approached the village to which they were going, Jesus acted as if he were going farther. But they urged him strongly, "Stay with us, for it is nearly evening; the day is almost over." So he went in to stay with them.
When he was at the table with them, he took bread, gave thanks, broke it and began to give it to them. Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him, and he disappeared from their sight. They asked each other, "Were not our hearts burning within us while he talked with us on the road and opened the Scriptures to us?"
They got up and returned at once to Jerusalem. There they found the Eleven and those with them, assembled together and saying, "It is true! The Lord has risen and has appeared to Simon." Then the two told what had happened on the way, and how Jesus was recognized by them when he broke the bread.
While they were still talking about this, Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, "Peace be with you."
They were startled and frightened, thinking they saw a ghost. He said to them, "Why are you troubled, and why do doubts rise in your minds? Look at my hands and my feet. It is I myself! Touch me and see; a ghost does not have flesh and bones, as you see I have."
When he had said this, he showed them his hands and feet. And while they still did not believe it because of joy and amazement, he asked them, "Do you have anything here to eat?" They gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate it in their presence.
He said to them, "This is what I told you while I was still with you: Everything must be fulfilled that is written about me in the Law of Moses, the Prophets and the Psalms."
Then he opened their minds so they could understand the Scriptures. He told them, "This is what is written: The Christ will suffer and rise from the dead on the third day, and repentance and forgiveness of sins will be preached in his name to all nations, beginning at Jerusalem. You are witnesses of these things. I am going to send you what my Father has promised; but stay in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high."
When he had led them out to the vicinity of Bethany, he lifted up his hands and blessed them. While he was blessing them, he left them and was taken up into heaven. Then they worshiped him and returned to Jerusalem with great joy. And they stayed continually at the temple, praising God.

Christ meets us on our own road, wherever we are. The Spirit walks with us even when we don't recognize Him.

I will be celebrating this story this weekend as I serve on a Walk to Emmaus team. Would you please pray for us? About 113 ladies will be walking and talking with Christ this weekend, laying down our phones, computers, and watches. Renewal and refreshment in Him.

I can't wait!

I'll catch up with you on Sunday evening, and I have a feeling I'll have a lot to write about. In the meantime, I encourage you to read this story again and again. Allow him to meet you where you are. Feel your heart burn within you. Hear what He has to say. Receive His love. Receive His grace!

De Colores!

Spills.

2010-03-23T22:36:00.008-04:00

I have a friend who is a wonderful father to two girls. His heart is passionate in its pursuit of God, and his vision for his relationship with his girls is that it would reflect the person of God to them. It’s good stuff, and what a precious gift it is to his daughters. Not long ago, during a long chat about everything under the sun, he said something that stuck with me. I don’t think I will ever forget it. He said that he knows when his parenting is “off” by his daughters’ reactions when they mess up. For example, if the youngest spills something, does she immediately look to him to see what his response will be? Does her face show fear? Does she tense up?

He explained that if she looks to him immediately with fear or tension when she “messes up”, then he knows he is off track and outside of the type of relationship he wants them to have with him, so that they can better understand…Him. So that they can experience grace, the freedom to “be” the whole of who they are in his presence. That way, the transition to understanding their Heavenly Father isn’t so foreign. He’s teaching them that it’s not about performance. It’s about grace.

That is an incredibly powerful illustration. Because I don’t see God that way sometimes. When I mess up, I often tense up and look to Him with fear instead of vulnerability and trust. I view him in the human perspective (narrow and shallow), and not as the God who welcomes His prodigal daughter Home, arms wide open…

Every.

Single.

Time.

I know that God wants me to run to him when I mess up. I know the verses. I have the education. Heck, I could probably teach the class. But that’s all just useless knowledge if I don’t really believe that it's all true.

Far too often, I feel as though I will offend Him by entering His presence dirty, ashamed, trust-lacking, and empty. The Father of Lies whispers to me that I am separated from Him and I am excluded. I am ashamed. Guilty. Just as a little girl who spills her milk, when I spill out my sin, many times I am more compelled to run to Fear instead of running to the One who is Mercy for help. For healing. For the forgiveness so freely given.

Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit of life set me free from the law of sin and death (Romans 8:1).

May we experience Jesus as the Grace-Giver. May our gaze not be fixed on our “spill”, but on the One whose mercy absorbs it. May the freedom given to us through His grace be settled in us.

She Remembers.

2010-03-22T23:17:00.016-04:00

The Garden is a ministry in Atlanta that provides homeless women and children with temporary shelter while they find jobs and permanent housing. The ministry assists the women in both spiritual and professional development. Jason Sebren, the outreach pastor at The Vine, has a special heart for this ministry and has been working with The Garden for quite some time. It is indeed a very special place.

I have had the privilege of leading the ladies in a few of their Monday night Bible study sessions. They are such beautiful women. Their stories of trials, perseverance, faith, and strength will truly melt your heart.

Belle Marie is a woman that could easily be a co-worker of yours or mine. A woman working as the principal of a school who fell ill and after a time, her insurance and disability ran out. She had nowhere else to go. Zu is a beautiful soul who left the life she knew out West to come here to start over with her children. The temptation and influences at home were too great. She walked away from everything to make a new life for herself and for her 2 small children.

These women could be any of us. Statistics show that most Americans are one to two paychecks away from being homeless if financial disaster struck.

And sometimes, it strikes.

And sometimes, leaving everything behind is worth it to make a new, safe, honest life.

He makes all things new.

During my first trip to The Garden, when I nervously spoke to the women with a message on that very Scripture, I shared a small portion of my testimony. Part of my story involves a song that holds deep meaning for me in my journey. It was the song that moved me to walk down the aisle at 11 years old to accept Christ.

"In moments like these, I sing out a song,
I sing out a love song to Jesus.
In moments like these, I lift up my hands,
I lift up my hands to the Lord.
Singing I love you, Lord…
I love you, Lord...I love you Lord…
I love you, Lord. I love you."

A simple chorus with a beautiful melody. A song I would never again hear until 20 years later, after running from God for twelve years. Nine years ago, driving home from a bar in the middle of the night, there it was on my radio. And everything changed. I found my way back Home.

He makes all things new.

At the Garden that Monday night a few months ago, we all sang the song together. It was beautiful to hear their voices lift to Him such a sweet love song. I was so nervous that first time at The Garden, and I left feeling disappointed in myself. For the most part, it seemed that the women weren’t very responsive. I felt as though I had failed to connect and that I didn’t make any real impact.

Fast forward to last month. The Vine sent a team to The Garden just before Valentine’s Day to lavish some love on these women and children in a very special way. On a special Saturday, the kids did crafts, played on inflatables, and enjoyed lots of fun games. The women were treated to a day at the salon – we did their nails, had a team of hairdressers to do their hair, and a team of makeup artists did their makeup. Here’s the really cool part: Jason’s wife, Nikki is an incredible photographer (LuvBug Photography, check her out!), and she took their pictures. You see, these women have lost nearly everything on the streets, including their family pictures. Think about what your family photographs mean to you.

Consuela, a shelter guest at The Garden, sat down at our nail table and extended her hand while I did her nails. As I held her hand to start her manicure, she began to sing…

“In moments like these, I sing out a song…I sing out a love song to Jesus...”

I didn’t recognize her. I didn't make the connection. I said, “Hey, I know that song, and I love it.” She said, “Yes, I know. You taught it to us a few months ago, and now I sing it every day. Do you remember?”

Do I remember? Yes, I remember. I couldn’t believe SHE remembered.

God WILL make Himself known. Whether we “feel” it or not, His Word brings impact. It truly is the sword that cuts through the darkness. The darkness that falls when you have no home of your own. His Word cut through her darkness. And mine.

He opens ears and hearts and minds when His love is shown and when Truth is shared. It doesn’t matter if we feel it. It’s there. And they remember.

I remember.

She remembers.

*Photographs included with express permission of LuvBug Photography.

The Face of Worship.

2010-03-19T00:01:00.013-04:00

A few weeks ago, I walked to the front of our church, a little nervous but mostly expectant. Expecting God to move in big ways in the hearts of His people. This was my first time doing this. This, what I was about to do, is my HEART, my passion, my desire. A day I’d waited for, longed for. That next little/gigantic step into what He revealed four years ago that He has called me to do. As I walked to the front, I silently and earnestly prayed for the Spirit to lead me in ministering to those who needed encouragement, healing, or truth.

My pastor had delivered a powerful and compelling sermon, and the call was given for those who needed to confess, pray, or accept Christ for the first time in their lives. The last song started as I turned around to face the congregation, to pray with and for those who were led to respond. I stood, not all prepared for what I would see. Or for what He was about to reveal.

Our stage lights in the worship center are bright from the stage itself. The rest of the room is dark, so the stage lights cast a soft glow across the congregation. It took my breath away. Faces that I see every Sunday, coming and going, from my vantage point at our Guest Services desk. Many faces that I have looked upon in small group, over coffee, or in my home as they shared their stories, their praises, their struggles, their pain, and their joy. These faces are my family.

But in this moment, as they marinated in the Truth of God’s forgiveness and love, they were radiant. These familiar faces were transformed in worship. The countenance of some revealed worship from a place of joy, and others revealed worship from depths of pain. Both bring freedom through His grace and love. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I wonder if it is just a tiny glimpse of what heaven will be like. I hope I never forget it. Lord, please don’t allow me to forget this. I felt as though I should look away, as if I was looking in on a sacred, private moment between each heart and God. Yet, I was drawn in and couldn’t look away.

I wonder . . . Is this what worship looks like to Him?

Imagine how much more deeply He delights in the beauty of His children as they direct their hearts toward Him in authentic worship.

How it must take His breath away.

How He must delight as He looks upon His children receiving His grace.

How He must delight as He looks upon His Bride.

What is Beauty?

2010-03-17T23:10:00.003-04:00

Sarah Markley is a wonderful writer, and I highly recommend her blog. She has challenged us to write a post this week about beauty. Sarah has many skilled and gifted writers in her network, so please consider this a very amateur attempt to participate along with those far more skilled than me!

So…the question. What is beauty? Of course, this is a huge question. Creation is beauty. Worship is beauty. Family is beauty. Love is beauty. So many things reflect God's creation and presence and can be called "beautiful". Since my first thoughts upon reading the question went directly to the standards placed on personal beauty, I'll address the question from that perspective.

Although beauty is not gender specific, I do believe women struggle with this concept more than men, in that at the core of a woman’s soul is a longing to unveil her beauty. I am 40 years old, yet still delight in my earthly father’s affirmation of my beauty. When he says, “you look very pretty, Melissa” (which he does often because he’s a wonderful father), my heart melts. This idea of beauty isn’t limited to the external, although the world certainly places an emphasis on that. This desire to share beauty is far more than that: it not only includes but demands the presence of an internal beauty – a beautiful heart. I do not feel beautiful when I am critical or mean-spirited or impatient or harsh. I do not feel beautiful when my relationships are not healthy and whole. I am not married but know that if that is in God’s will for my life, then I will long to unveil beauty to my husband, both in my outer and inner appearance. And, before others, we long to offer beauty to the world. This shows in many ways – our bent toward decorating a home, putting flowers on a barren table, or nurturing those we love with encouragement. Simply put, I am not at home if I feel as though I am not offering beauty to the world. If taken in the context of God’s image, Scripture says that “God created human beings; he created them Godlike, reflecting God's nature. He created them male and female” (Gen 1:17, MSG). God’s nature defines beauty, and if He created us to reflect that nature, then it’s easy to understand the longing to unveil beauty to those we love, and to the world.

That all sounds nice and flowery and clean. It probably is in heaven. But it’s not down here.

Because down here, it’s hard. The mirrors are distorted and deceptive. There are many other voices and pictures and ideals that tell us we are not enough. The first experience of rejection in our young lives can catapult us into a lifestyle of striving and performance. It is a bitter root that bakes slowly in us and over time, burns into our minds and hearts so deeply that we no longer recognize it. We move from freely offering beauty to withholding it, out of fear that it will not be enough, or even worse…rejected. But the desire to unveil it remains despite the rejection…so we strive and strive and strive to achieve some imagined benchmark that God never intended to exist.

I have been thinking and praying over this question of “What is Beauty” for days, since Sarah issued her challenge. And the word that God keeps giving me over and over and over again is “striving”.

It’s so simple, really. I feel beautiful when I am not striving to be beautiful.

When I’m not obsessed with my appearance.

When I’m not worried about what others think of me.

When I’m truly listening to someone else.

When I open myself to share with someone else.

When I freely accept God’s love, mercy and grace.

When I am no longer Melissa the earth-girl, but Melissa the Spirit-filled girl.

I feel beautiful when I am at rest, because that’s where He is.

And He is beautiful.

Those who look to him are radiant (Ps. 34:5).

Give and Take.

2010-03-17T17:22:00.006-04:00

I was reminded recently of a powerful short story that I read a few years back. In preparing to write this post, I tried to find it but to no avail. The details I remember are this: a young girl and her mother were living in a poor and war-torn area, and the only Bible they had was badly ripped and damaged. They were at home one night, and the little girl came running to her mother, joyfully shouting “Mama, Mama, look at this…” She had turned to the page of John 3:16. The page was torn, and the only text of the verse that was there read “For God so loved the world, that He gave…” The little girl was joyful, eyes beaming, smiling bright. “Mama do you see that? God loved us so much that He gave!” “Gave what”, her mother said. The little girl said, “It doesn’t matter what He gave, Mama. Isn’t it just great that God loved us so much that He gave to us!”

I wish I had the heart of that little girl, in its unjaded, uncompromised ability to receive the powerful simplicity of ultimate truth.

Recently talking with a woman going through an emotional time of loss, she was crying out to understand why God takes away things (or people) that we love so deeply. Her loss was new and fresh, and even as a strong woman of faith, she was trying to find His perspective in it all. She knew and had always claimed the promise of Romans 8:28:

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.

Her dilemma was in trying to understand how He could have dangled something in front of her that she loved so much, and that she felt Him calling her to, only to take it away from her.

I’ve been there before, too. Have you?

Just as a loving parent gives his/her child gifts, so, too, is the act of love of taking away something that will harm his child.

Remember the little girl in the story…”God gave!”

God, how do I find and share the heart of this little girl, the content and utter joy of simply knowing and believing that God gives? What is this beautiful mystery of how You give to us sometimes through taking away that which can harm us?

This is what I heard Him say: "It is because I gave so much, that I CAN take away."

He gives bread so that He can take away our hunger.

He gives water so that He can take away our thirst.

He gives light so that He can take away the darkness.

He gives peace so that He can take away our fears.

He gives comfort so that He can take away our pain.

He gives rest so that He can take away our weariness.

He gives love so that He can take away our loneliness.

He gave His only son so that He could take away our sin.

God gave. God gives.

No Ordinary Brunch.

2010-03-16T23:28:00.009-04:00

My Italian roots have bred in me an innate need to feed people. I can thank my Mom and maternal ancestors (and a few of my Dad’s, too) for that genetic wiring! From a very young age, I observed my Mom doing this. Creating a beautiful and warm home from simple things, and creating beautiful dishes for all to enjoy was and is something that she loves to do. I love to cook, but even more than that, the experience of bringing people together in a warm environment for great conversation and fellowship makes my heart sing. I love to connect with people and equally cherish seeing others connect with one another.

I first realized my passion for entertaining and hospitality when I was traveling through Europe on one of many overseas trips I took in my twenties. I was with a group of friends backpacking from Geneva, Switzerland into the quaint rural towns of the Swiss countryside. I laugh when I realize how carefree and adventurous I was back then…not a worry in the world that I was the only one in our group who spoke French or that we had no idea where we were going. As we traveled, we encountered small-town European families who lavishly welcomed us into their homes for wonderful meals, conversation, and shelter. I absolutely melted in that, and it was then that I realized despite my late-teen and early-twenties years of rebellion toward my Mom, that I was much more like her than I thought!

So here we are, twenty years later, and the passion is still here, even more prevalent than all those years ago. But still very different. In my years apart from God, it was just a fun thing to do. Now, and for some time now, my heart-view of this wiring inside of me is that is can be a form of ministry.

This past holiday season was a rough one. It was early December, and I was sitting at my dining room table, choosing a date to invite women to my home for a special Christmas brunch. I was exhausted. The year prior had been a rollercoaster of emotions…joy, falling in love, engagement...and then wounds. And only a few days before this morning at my table, I had said goodbye. I was broken, puffy-eyed, exhausted, with nothing left to give to anyone. But the press to host this brunch was hard and unrelenting. Truly, it was a God thing. He was calling me to do ministry. You have got to be kidding, God.

“God, no…not now. I can’t host a party.
You know I’m in pain, broken, scared, empty. I can’t do ministry right now.”

“Melissa, I can still use you. I love you, and I am with you.
Do this in my name. Walk in obedience, and trust me.”

With a heart resembling a two year old throwing a tantrum, I forced myself to go through the motions of planning the menu, writing out names, and creating the e-vite, all at the pace of an inchworm. I finally realized that with Christmas fast approaching, dates were limited. It was only about a week from the only day that was feasible to host these women, so I figured no one would come. So, I doubled the guest list, thinking that if I invited 20 people, maybe about 6 would actually show and it would be worth the effort of cleaning my house, setting the table, and cooking a full brunch. My finger hovered over the “send” button for what felt like 30 minutes…but it may have been longer! And I’m pretty sure I actually prayed for no one to be able to come.

Not more than ten minutes after I sent the e-vite, Cyndi, our worship leader’s wife called me. “Melissa, do you mind if I bring someone? Her name is Stephanie. She and her family recently moved from California, and I was just on the phone with her when your email came. Stephanie was crying, homesick, missing her friends and family, asking me to pray for comfort for her. She was grieving over not having been to one single Christmas party this year. I couldn’t believe it when I saw your email right at that moment.”

Oh my goodness. My entire perspective changed in that moment. “Yes, yes, bring her!”

In that moment, I understood why He was calling. For her. For me. For Him. The tears are flowing as I write this several months later, because of the powerful way He revealed Himself that day in the midst of pain, brokenness, and bewilderment. In the following 24 hours, 6 more women would call me with personal stories of how much they needed this time of retreat as a gift to themselves. I couldn’t believe the heart-heavy stories they were telling me! This was no ordinary brunch.

I know that God doesn’t “need” us. He fulfills His purpose whether we respond “yes” or not. But I am so glad that I said “yes” and received blessings beyond measure. Yet for this time I said “yes”, there are so many times that I resist and say “no”. I hate to think about the opportunities and blessings I have missed, and have caused others to miss. It's also pretty important to note that if Cyndi hadn't been obedient to God's nudge on her heart to invite her, this would not have happened!

Stephanie showed up that morning with a big smile…along with 18 others!!! I opened the door and saw her beautiful face enter my home, and I’m pretty sure she had a great time. She lights up a room with His light, and it has been a privilege to get to know her more since then and to serve with her in our church.

That time with those beautiful, strong, women of God that morning was a precious gift. And I thank God for using them as instruments of His love and peace in my life every day.

My friends, if you feel that urge to serve, say “yes”. Receive His healing as you serve others. Read the verse at the top of this blog. His power is made perfect in our weakness.

Your Stephanie is out there.

What’s in a Name?

2010-03-15T23:26:00.004-04:00

In my last post, I mentioned that God has refreshed and renewed in me His vision for this blog. Why continue writing? What does He want me to say? What’s the point of it all, really? Does anyone really even read this thing?

As is often the case when we begin to question that about which we were once certain, it is simply best to go back to the basics. What compelled it to become in the first place?

The title of the blog is very significant and meaningful to me. I chose it intentionally and with purpose. In 2002, not long after I had returned to God after a 12 year absence, I was at home listening to some Christian music. You see, after 12 years away from anything God-related, including music, I was rather unfamiliar with “contemporary” Christian music. Can you believe it -- I completely missed the Carman and Petra era [bummer]!!! For me, the jury was still out about contemporary Christian music, and especially anything that sounded too “rock and roll”. I had grown up with organ music and hymnals, after all! Hymns had always been special to me, but I wanted to give this new stuff a try, too. I felt awkward listening to newer music which was drastically different than 12 years before. I could still hear the deacons’ voices scolding us, calling it “young whippersnapper music”! Up until that day, I had not been brought to an authentic state of worship during contemporary music, so I thought of it more as a novelty, rather than a vehicle to sweep me away to the throne and face of God. I was sorting through a mountain of CD’s my friends had loaned me, and I slid one in to the player…

"There's a place that I lose myself within,
There's a place that I find myself again…
Dancin' with my Father God in fields of grace...
There's a place where religion finally dies,
There's a place that I lose my selfish pride...
Dancin’ with my Father God in fields of grace...
I love my Father, my Father loves me,
I dance for my Father, my Father sings over me
And nothing can take that away from me."**

In the middle of a Christian “rock” song, I was brought to a beautiful state of worship. And this chick DANCED! And 8 years later, it still takes me there.

My committment to this blog has been intermittent, at best. I can't lie...this past year has been the most difficult of my lifetime. And I confess...I focused on my circumstances instead of Him. In the pain, I stopped dancing. But in His healing, I begin to sway to the melodies of grace He sings over me. As His love envelops me, I just can't help it. I dance.

So the vision for this blog is that it would be a place for me and you to come and dance in His grace. To receive His love. To trade religion for a relationship. To get real about questions and struggles and blessings. To celebrate the days when we endure through His grace in our weaknesses, and to celebrate the days that we blissfully ride on His grace in the victories.

Will you dance with me?

**"Fields of Grace", 2002 version by Darrell Evans, remade in 2008 by Big Daddy Weave

Blog Makeover.

2010-03-14T22:44:00.005-04:00

Check out my awesome new blog design!

Vanessa at butterflyspArks is incredibly talented. I highly recommend her! I can also confirm that she might just be the most patient woman alive – as many of you know, I can be a bit … picky. I prefer to refer to myself as “reasonably selective”. However, others may disagree. (ha ha) Anyway, Vanessa listened intently, was thoughtful and mindful of the concept that I desired to convey, and she was committed to excellence through the process.

So…why a new design? Well…there is more to come about that very thing. God has birthed a renewed vision in my heart for the ministry of this blog. So you’ll be seeing more posts, more often. Check in tomorrow for some more details about that and about what is coming soon. I’m so excited about the new season, and I hope you are, too!

Until then...receive His unending grace, my friends.

(And please leave a comment...let me know what you think of the new design!)

Hands of the Healer.

2010-03-02T08:57:00.000-05:00

I sit staring at my screen, because any introduction that I could write to this video is simply futile. Hear Zac's story. Pray for his healing. Inhale his message of Truth. God is God. And always, God is good.

The Story of Zac Smith from NewSpring Production on Vimeo.

I Can Help.

2010-02-22T22:56:00.004-05:00

When I was a little girl, I remember dancing in the living room with my Mom, on our rust-colored shag carpet, in front of our shiny chrome entertainment center and “hi-fi” turntable/8 track/AM-FM combo.

Yes, I’m officially old!

(I can neither officially confirm nor deny whether the carpet, chrome, or turnable are still in Mom and Dad’s home...they "might" be...) But, I digress…

Our FAVORITE song was called “I Can Help”. When it came on, if I was in another room playing with my Barbies or in my play kitchen (complete with an Easy Bake Oven, of course), I would run…not walk, but RUN…to meet Mom in the living room, with the ruffled hem of my favorite little yellow daisy-covered nightgown flying behind me. She would have dropped whatever she was doing as well and was faithfully there, waiting for me. This was OUR song!

Dancing with her to this song is one of my most precious memories with Mom. A close second is laughing hysterically while Mom sang her “high note”. But that’s another blog post for another day.

Anyway, the lyrics of this old classic go something like this…

”If you've got a problem, I don't care what it is.
If you need a hand, I can assure you this,
I can help, I've got two strong arms, I can help.
It would sure do me good to do you good,
Let me help…”

There was a part in the song that slowed down a little, and we would move from our freestyle "boogie" pace to a slower one, and I would stand on Mom’s feet. I was good at the freestyle portion of our dance, but when it came to coordinated movements, I was too little to understand or to make any sort of synchronized slow dance steps with her (and sadly, my dance skills have never really improved). So she would gently guide me to stand on her feet and would hold my hands to guide me through the moves. I was able to keep my balance and sway and step along with her to the sweetest part of the song. It was beautiful, and she held me while I wobbled, her experienced and grownup hands and feet guiding my tiny, inexperienced ones.

My sister Lorri would hold my hand as she taught me to write…cursive…at age five. Yep, age five! (She also taught me to read by the time I was four!) I skipped a grade because of Lorri…none of us are surprised that she grew into the most amazing teacher ever. Even at her very young age, she would sit behind me, holding my tiny hands and guiding me to shape the letters correctly. Her hands around mine kept them steady and allowed me to create words in script.

God blessed me with wonderful parents and sisters to guide my hands and feet as they taught me so many things. Because of their steadiness, my hands and feet remained limber and could carry out the task at hand. Their strength, sureness, and firmness allowed me freedom of movement to dance and to create.

And there is yet another One who places His hands over mine and holds them strongly, tenderly and steadily:

Genesis 49:24-25: His bow remained steady, his strong arms stayed limber, because of the hand of the Mighty One of Jacob, because of the Shepherd, the Rock of Israel, because of your father's God, who helps you, because of the Almighty…”

What a beautiful picture of the omnipotent, sovereign, Almighty God, Mighty One of Jacob, and Rock of Israel. The One who tenderly, sweetly, firmly and gently places His hands over ours, as we rest in his strength so that we too can freely learn, dance, create, and sometimes so that we can fight the enemy's archers shooting at us.

God, may I never lose my identity as your child, with my Abba Daddy’s strong hands and feet guiding mine, as I dance...

”If you've got a problem, I don't care what it is.
If you need a hand, I can assure you this,
I can help, I've got two strong arms, I can help.
It would sure do me good to do you good,
Let me help…”

Overcoming.

2010-02-19T12:58:00.002-05:00

My employer makes sure its employees feel appreciated. So the head honcho around here hosts a birthday lunch each month for those celebrating birthdays. The luncheon is held in our most plush conference room, and is catered beautifully. The grand poo-bah (a super nice guy) says lots of words of affirmation and appreciation for our hard work, we receive a gift, and we get to enjoy a 1.5 hour lunch break. Sweet deal. We also go around the very large conference room table and introduce ourselves (a huge company, not all of us have met).

As we went around the table yesterday, I got to meet Allen. Allen sat a few seats away from everyone. I’ve seen Allen before, in the cafeteria here. Always sitting alone, a few tables away from where others are gathered, but always smiling. When I walk into our cafeteria here, it’s like re-living a bad high school flashback, when you’re not sure about where to sit, with whom, and that feeling of awkwardness when you just don’t fit in anywhere specific. So seeing Allen sitting alone almost every day makes my heart sad.

But yesterday, I got to hear him utter some words for the first time. Allen works in receiving, and logs in all of our lab samples. We get thousands of them every day. He is one of a team who makes sure that those samples get coded to the right patients. If that doesn’t happen, people can die. Seriously.

Allen stutters. But the more he stutters, the more he smiles. His hands are also just slightly deformed. I never noticed that before. I’m guessing it’s some sort of palsy. He moves slowly and talks slowly, but when he speaks, is very articulate. And have I mentioned he’s always smiling? Always.

I had to fight everything within me not to start bawling right there at lunch yesterday. But he doesn’t need me to cry for him or his disability. His big, bright smile tells me that.

I have an out-of-state friend who is a quadriplegic. I’ve known him for years. His injury came when he was 20 years old, in a skiing accident. He’s in a chair now, and has been for the past 20 years. But he still skis and skydives and bungee jumps and gets up every morning and leads a more active life than I ever have, with all of my limbs working fully. I cry when I think about him sometimes. I cry when I get a gift from him in the mail, because I know what it took for him to get himself out of the house, to the store, and to the post office. But again, he doesn’t need my tears. He’s good.

So why do I feel a lump in my throat and an overwhelming urge to weep on their behalf? I tell myself it's because they must be lonely and sad. But if I get really honest about it, I don’t cry or feel sad for them as much as I cry and feel sad for me. Because honestly, sometimes (most of the time), I don’t have a spirit of overcoming challenges like they do, and I grieve that.

I saw Allen again in the cafeteria about 30 minutes ago when I went down to grab lunch to bring back to my desk. On my way out, I stopped and wished him a Happy Birthday again. He expanded his already bright smile. I couldn’t resist. I asked him, “Allen, why do you smile all the time? Don’t your cheeks get sore?” He laughed, with cracker crumbs flying out of his mouth, as he said, “Because Jesus loves me.”

Yes, He does. And Allen, you just preached the most beautiful sermon to me that I’ve ever heard.

Religion vs. Relationship.

2009-12-17T14:29:00.000-05:00

“What would Jesus do?”
“Put on the mind of Christ.”
“Be Christ-like.”

Common phrases if you’re a Christian. The types of phrases that we can become numb to because we hear them so often. I’ve been thinking about them a lot lately, and what it means to be transformed to the mind of Christ.

In the thirty-something years that I’ve been a Christian, my perspective on what these phrases mean has been consistent. Do what Christ did. Simple, right? Paul is pretty clear about this, or at least I thought so. I have always thought about the mind of Christ being my response to what is happening around me. That my mind should be Christlike in my response – whether my response is by “doing” or by “saying” something. Respond with kindness, compassion, love, and peace. The action has been the key for me…the doing. I have always read Paul’s instructions to us from that mindset. After all, it makes sense, right? Jesus responded in these ways, so shouldn’t I?

I was talking with someone recently about this, and this person asked me what I thought was an odd and irrelevant question at the time. But this person is quite skilled at digging underneath the surface of what is presented, so I indulged this person’s little “question and answer” exercise. I was asked, “What was the last moment you [I] can remember that you consciously, tangibly, knowingly experienced radical transformation by the power of God?” Wow. Now, that’s quite a question. Over the past few years, I could point to a number of areas where I can now see, looking back, that God was transforming me, and I know that transformation has occurred in my heart in several ways (I still have a very long way to go). But this person’s question was not about those experiences – it was about a physical manifestation of the supernatural healing and transforming power of God…when last had it been so powerful that my body was aware of it as it happened? My answer to the question was a time about 8 years ago. On a late Saturday night/early morning in August, 2001, I drove home from a bar, barely dressed and reeking of smoke and alcohol. On the way home, I finally gave in to the longings I had been carrying for quite some time – to return to God and to reclaim my faith. Instead of driving home, though, I drove my car directly to the front parking space of a church near my home. I sat there for hours, just staring up at the steeple and praying, not knowing what to do next. Cars started to arrive. I realized that it was Sunday morning. I knew if I drove away then that I would not return. So I went in. Just as I was, half dressed in very immodest clothing, and dirty. The moment of transformation didn’t occur as I walked out after the service, but as I walked to the door to go in. I felt the old melt away and pour off of me as the front door opened for me. And I’ve never been the same since. Thank you, Jesus.

After I answered this question, I went on about my days but carried a little bit of frustration. Why is my last recall of a tangible, physical experience of transformation so long ago? I started to become very frustrated that I wasn’t able to point to other definitive moments since then. Have I not opened myself up to what is possible when I surrender to Him, so fully that my body is aware of it as the old melts away? How does this fit in to what it means to have the mind of Christ? Why has it been so long since I have heard/felt a true word from God to me? These have been burning questions for me. God, what is the barrier in me, in my heart, that keeps me from experiencing the fullness of your work and blessings in my life?

I got my answer. Just a few nights ago, in my old flannel PJ’s, standing over my bathroom sink, washing my face before bed. I wasn’t in some high and holy place, I wasn’t at church, I wasn’t in my prayer closet. I was doing my thing, a routine I follow every night. I lifted my face and in the mirror, and what I saw was my answer. My eyes were weary, red, and swollen from a day of grieving a recent and significant loss. And in the red streaks of my own eyes I saw my own heart. In that moment, God spoke to me that the true meaning of “putting on the mind of Christ” is not about what Christ did but why He did it. The mind of Christ is the heart of Christ. And the heart of Christ is about absolute surrender to the Father. It isn’t about the doing. The mind of Christ…the true character of Christ…is about full and ultimate obedience to and trust of His Father. He was not suspicious of His Father’s intentions for Him. He never went anywhere His Father did not lead Him. He never said anything His Father did not speak. He received God’s love. He received God’s grace. He trusted God. My body went hot and I felt the old melt away and the new take residence. I think I might have done my happy dance. Yeah, I’m pretty sure I did.

I can’t give love that I cannot receive. I can’t freely give grace that I don’t freely receive. I can’t give what I have shut out. I can’t trust from a place of distrust. And I have left a wake of destruction by trying to do just that.

I went straight to my Bible and started reading Paul’s writings again. They are leaping off the page with new life. Everything looks different. Everything is different. I guess this is where the “constant renewing of the mind” can finally start, huh?

So, I have a new answer for the question asked of me. I can’t wait to report back to the one who asked it. December 13, 2009, at 10:05 p.m. In my old flannel PJs at my bathroom sink. The night religion became a relationship.

Other People's Stuff

2009-12-03T12:57:00.000-05:00

Hi again. It’s been a while.

I have so many things to say, but my thoughts – and even my prayers -- exhaust me these days. I so earnestly need a clear and precise directive Word from God. Or, maybe more accurately stated, I need to accept and be obedient to the clear and precise directive Word from God that He may have already spoken to me.

Since my thoughts aren’t organized enough to put to paper (yet), I’ll leave you with these blog links well worthy of your time. Enjoy.

1. No exaggeration, I think I have read this post about 20 times in the past 6 weeks. God has led me into a very familiar environment that I happily left long ago. I didn’t want to go back “home” to this work life that held me in sin and bondage for years and years as an unbeliever and even for a while as a new believer. But I returned “home” as a much different person than I was when I left. The direction of my eyes, ears, hands, feet, and heart have changed. So when I feel weary, I read this. You should, too. Really.

2. You’ll want to park on Sarah's blog for at least an hour or so. Sarah has a wonderful gift of expressing hard truths in real, puncturing and loving ways. What she and her husband Chris have found, in their unapologetic, unbridled, and unwavering commitment to purity in their marriage is something that most people go for a lifetime without understanding. Don’t read it if you don’t want some hard, real truth. Then after you finish this single post, read her story. The reality of what can happen when we let little bits of our guard down. For any of us in marriages, relationships or one day planning to be married, I have realized that this commitment to flee (not walk, but FLEE) from temptation in the smallest areas of our lives is part of what it means to be “equally yoked”. If that commitment is not there on both sides of the relationship, then it very likely is not God’s best.

3. This one wrecked me for ~~days~~ weeks. This is so worth 2 minutes of your time.

4. To end on a lighter note, here’s a funny one. Well, it’s hilarious to me…and hopefully to you. My current object of lust is a black KitchenAid Stand Mixer. Oh, how I desire one. And oh, how I know it will be a very long time (like maybe 17 months when I’m DEBT FREE!!!) before I get one.
But my bloggy friend Annie (she used to live just down the street from me, how weird is that?) had her very special KitchenAid day a while back. She chronicled her journey to her KitchenAid Lover in this super fabulous video. And, I downloaded the song right after I heard it. Good stuff!

That’s all I’ve got. None of it’s original. I guess I’m sort of like a cover band today. But hey, at least a new post is showing up in your blog reader, right?

And the weiner is...

2009-09-08T14:57:00.008-04:00

(Sigh.) I love them.

All Drugged Up and Nowhere to Go.

2009-09-06T11:16:00.004-04:00

So...how was YOUR week?

Seeing is believing.

2009-04-29T00:07:00.007-04:00

"Faith is to believe what we do not see, and the reward of this faith is to see what we believe." St. Augustine

Our current series at theVine is “Sensational God”. David is taking us through an awesome journey of experiencing God through each of our senses. So far, we’ve covered seeing, touching, and hearing. The whole idea of intentionally experiencing God through the very senses that He wove into us when He created us is actually pretty cool.

Rolling through my mind tonight as I prepare for bed is this thing called faith. How do I reconcile that with my human notion of “seeing is believing?” I can look at contrasting stories of those with faith of the unseen compared to those who did not believe God’s promise. Moses “endured, as seeing him who is invisible" (Hebrews 11:27). But the children of Israel did not. Their faithfulness and obedience to God only came when the circumstances were favorable. In fact, they were governed in large part by the things outside of God that appealed to their senses, in place of resting in the invisible and eternal God.

The same applies today. When we are preoccupied with the circumstances in our lives, instead of centering on the constancy of God and in Who God is, we live intermittent Christian lives, at best. Stop…Go…Stop….Go. God wants us more and more to see Him in everything…to call nothing “small” or “insignificant” if it bears to us His message.

The children of Israel did not believe until after they saw--when they saw Him work, then they believed. They still doubted God when they came to the Red Sea, but only when God opened the way and led them across and they saw Pharaoh drowned did they believe. They led an up and down life because of this kind of faith, and we do the same thing sometimes, don’t we? This is not the kind of faith God wants us to have.

The world says "seeing is believing," but God wants us to believe in order to see.

So what about my seasonal blindness in my faith journey? Because let’s just be honest here…there are times when all I can see is the darkness. Sometimes, my cup doesn’t runneth over…sometimes, it’s just empty. How do I wait for hope?

For we through the Spirit by faith wait for the hope of righteousness" (Gal. 5:5).

How do I wait for hope when not even a glimmer of it shines, yet still refuse to grow weary and refuse to doubt God’s unyielding faithfulness to me?

How do I experience the pain of a gaping, vacant hole in my heart, yet still resolve not to allow any presence inferior to God to occupy it?

How did Job do it? How did Abraham do it on the road to Moriah? How did Moses do it in the desert? How did Jesus do it in the Garden?

When I’m waiting for hope amid darkness, how do I, Melissa, believe “as seeing Him who is invisible?”

There really is only one way. To refuse to let go of my empty cup and remain convinced that God’s eyes see eternally further than my own. To remain steadfast in my belief that in His perfect timing and in the completeness of His love for me, He will unhide that which is hidden to my eyes. I will wait with confidence to see what I believe.

Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall.

2009-04-28T15:27:00.003-04:00

If you know my story, then you know that my early years in the church were like many of yours may have been. I was taught sound doctrine based firmly in Truth, and for that, I am so grateful. But I also picked up some other things…some things that I wish I hadn’t.

I am not computer savvy enough to draw a circle below. But in your mind’s eye, picture a circle. In the center, write “Truth”. The diameter of the circle, though, should be labeled “religion” or even more accurately, “legalism”. I was taught Truth through the lenses of legalism.

Hold that thought for a second.

I have given much thought lately to the idea of spiritual discipline. Not long ago, I found myself the nastiest form of spiritual warfare I’ve ever experienced. So I’ve been checking myself … taking a self-inventory, if you will.

How do I relate to God?
Am I placing Him above all else?
Am I seeking Him?
Is there an area of unrepented sin in my life?
Am I consistent in my spiritual disciplines?

Most of us know what the components of spiritual discipline are. To name a few…fasting, prayer, quiet time with God daily, and so on. You know the drill.

My humbling exercise soon revealed that I have a serious problem with self-image. I wasn’t expecting that. I’m not talking about the outer image that I see when I look in the mirror. I already knew I had issues there. But like the outer shell of the circle I asked you to draw in your head, how I see my outer shell is merely a refraction of the lens upon how I see myself in the shadow of God.

There is an inherent “default” where my mind goes when I read about God and His instructions and commands to us. My faith, from the time I comprehended it, was grounded in an idea of performance and both subtly and blatantly, I was taught that my holiness was dependent on my performance and what I had achieved. Most often, those words were not spoken to me in a Sunday School class or sermon but instead were spoken – loudly -- through the actions and responses of the church in the face of someone’s spiritual fall. Those who did not perform well were not welcome. As a young kid, it framed my view of God. That stuff sticks and is really hard to wipe off.

OK, here’s where those two concepts come together. I understand, and have for some time, that discipline is a means of seeking God and receiving Him. I understand and firmly believe in the importance of “doing the things” necessary to keep me grounded in my faith. They are necessary. Period. Not because they area list of rules to follow but because they drive me closer to my Abba Father. As a matter of fact, I have often said to others that I do not look upon the list of spiritual disciplines as merely a set of rules to be graded against. I say that a lot.

But do I really believe that? We live what we believe. Do I really live that?

Nuh-uh.

When I meet someone who is more spiritually mature than me (i.e., more “holy”), I don’t see their holiness first. I see my unholiness. It is my focal point when placed in the shadow of holiness. When I read, think on, and meditate upon the attributes of God, I don’t see his worthiness first. I see my own unworthiness. My unworthiness is my focal point, not God’s worthiness. I am centered on my “uns”…which means my focus is on myself.

While the awareness of my unholiness and unworthiness is the very thing that humbles me before God (a healthy thing, by the way), shouldn’t my focus be on HIS holiness and HIS worthiness? If I am focused on my “uns” then the enemy has already stolen my thoughts by directing them toward the lie I am unworthy of God’s love, grace, and redemption. And guess what that probably means? That when I look upon others, I probably do/see the same thing. Ouch, ouch, ouch.

God, you see the image of your holiness and worthiness in me. You do not see my unholiness or unworthiness first. You call me worthy. You call me redeemed. You call me into your holiness. May I see myself and others the way that you do, through your eyes, and through your promise.

Psalm 51.

2009-04-27T16:14:00.006-04:00

Create in me a pure heart, O God,
and renew a steadfast spirit within me.
Do not cast me from your presence
or take your Holy Spirit from me.
Restore to me the joy of your salvation
and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me. (v. 10-12, NIV)

This verse, this “old favorite”, has become very special to me recently. I had gone through a bit of a dry spiritual season, and it was this verse that leapt into my heart’s memory and rekindled a flame that…I’m ashamed to admit… had dulled down to barely a flicker.

Somewhere along the way, while transitioning into this amazingly wonderful new chapter in my life, I had lost my focus. My gaze was fixed upon the details of my new journey instead of on the One who authored it.

I have meditated on this verse for the past week. It draws me in over and over again.

Sometimes, it evokes the well-known song derived from its words...most of you are probably singing it in your little heads right now!

I have always read this verse as a lament, a cry for forgiveness and redemption. Partly because my seminary class made me do it. I can’t argue. It is that, indeed.

But isn’t it even more than that? It is a promise. It is hope. David was at his end. His sin and worldly pursuits had left him dry. He had lost focus.

Wait a minute…so had I.

I don’t know what the theologians out there would say, but here’s what I’ve got.

David cried out for God to “renew” a steadfast spirit within him.

Renew. God had done it before, so He would do it again.

He then cried out for God to “restore” the joy of salvation.

Restore. God had done it before, so He would do it again.

Do you see it? Not only does He renew and restore us, but He transforms us. And the transformation that takes place draws us even closer to Him than we were before. Our hearts change and we forever pursue him differently…more deeply from that point forward.

I can cry out, with a repentant heart, for God to renew and restore me. He’s done it before. Too many times to count. And then … booyah … all done. The only thing left for me to do is receive it!

Now that’s hope.

The Vine, Year 2.

2009-04-22T11:20:00.002-04:00

This is why I moved across the state to Braselton. Check it out.

Standing in the Gap.

2009-03-01T21:03:00.007-05:00

If you read this blog, you know there is some exciting stuff going on. See the post below! =)

But as it is with life, there is never just one thing going on! Lately, for me, there is another dark season that coexists. A season that looks like a big, ugly wrecking ball, swinging unrelentingly with one goal...to demolish. A season of harsh and piercing words, questions that have laid unanswered for far too long, prideful arrogance, indifference, hypersensitivity, new wounds, and old wounds re-opened. Utterly at the end of myself, needing someone to stand in the gap for me. Needing someone to fight on my behalf. Desperately. Because inside, I feel numb and dead. Hopeless. Embarrassed and ashamed that I feel this way. And that’s not me. It’s not my nature. It’s not my heart. It’s not my theology. Something is broken. And I need protection. I need a warrior. I need to be led from despair to praise, because I’ve lost the path. I need help.

Have you ever been there?

Stasi Eldridge tells a story in her wonderful book, Captivating, that has “stuck” with me for years now. She tells a story of her husband, John, and how he stood in the gap for her. Of course it is a precious and powerful testimony of God’s design in marriage, and a perfect example of how a husband protects his wife from assault and warfare and leads her to Christ when she has fallen. But it is also a beautiful testimony of how we, the Body, can stand in the gap for one another.

We long for someone to stand between us and the vicious assaults of our Enemy. One weary night I had gone to bed early, overcome with despair and hopelessness. I felt pounded down, beyond saving, and worthy of condemnation. I lay still, engulfed in grief. Suddenly, John was at my bedside. He was angry, but not at me. John recognized the hand of our enemy. He began to take his authority over me as my husband and forcefully commanded the minions of Satan to release me. He commanded them to be silent, and he sent them to the throne of Jesus for judgment. When he began to pray for me, I was embarrassed. When he continued, I began to feel lighter. When he finished, tears were streaming down my face and my hands were raised to God in holy gratitude and joyful worship. I had gone to bed filled with unrelenting sorrow. I ended the night belting out heartfelt songs of praise.

He stood in the gap for her. Immediately. He didn't ask questions. He didn’t scoff at her or mock her. He didn’t judge her. He just got down to business and got it done. Sometimes it’s so easy for us to think that just because we can’t “see” someone’s heart injury, that it isn’t real. But oh, to the one who feels beyond saving, pounded down, and worthy of condemnation, the pain is very, very real.

So I would encourage you to stand in the gap for those you love. If you see a need, don't stop at "I'll be praying for you". Pray with him/her NOW, together with them. Let them feel the healing power of God as you lay your hands on them.

Look for those opportunities. Claim them. You’ll be blessed. And so will the one on whose behalf you have fought for.

Feeling Blue.

2009-01-29T16:22:00.002-05:00

So...how was YOUR day?

Carnage.

2009-01-28T20:39:00.004-05:00

Another one bites the dust. Please join me in a moment of silence for the froggie.

Amen.

Simple Things.

2008-12-18T01:58:00.003-05:00

I have vivid memories of my childhood summers. Constantly at our neighborhood swimming pool from its opening hour until booted out by the teenage-angst-filled lifeguards at closing time, my olive skin became very dark. I would be stopped regularly by the nosy inquirer who wanted to know if I was Brazilian or from some other far-off exotic place. But no, I was merely a little southern girl from Kennesaw, Georgia (by way of Miami). As I think about that memory, I find it comical. I was not an exotic foreign heir to fortune or fame. I was a simple girl from a simple town with simple taste. And I was the luckiest girl alive (and still am), because the values instilled in me by my parents were based upon recognizing the extraordinary in the simplest pleasures in life.

God has blessed me with the most incredible earthly father a girl could have. He oooohed and aaaahed when I twirled in my new dresses, he graciously pretended to eat elaborate imaginary platters of food I designed with little plastic “pegs”, and he never once forgot to leave me a beautiful heart full of chocolates on Valentine’s Day. Every Saturday morning, we had breakfast together at Kay’s Drugstore…it was our date every week. And every single day (no exaggeration), I would wake up to a handwritten note from Dad wishing me a good day, affirming me, and telling me that he loved me “very, very, very, very much”.

My most treasured memories with Dad, though, are the ones framed around those Georgia midsummer days that were so humid you could barely breathe. He and I would sit out on our deck in the hot sun, and we would share an ice cold can of fruit cocktail. Two forks. We would sit and talk and laugh with the sweltering sun beating down on us as we took turns reaching into a fifty-cent can of ice cold fruit. At the end, one lone cherry always awaited…and Dad always gave it to me of course. We would stay and talk and talk and talk until the sun came down. Dad worked hard to support our family. But he and a silly can of fruit cocktail always had time for me. From my perspective, there was no finer cuisine. There was no X-box or Playstation or designer jeans or fancy trips or cameras or computers. There was just me and my Daddy, and an aluminum can of processed fruit between us. I was content, satisfied, and loved. I can’t tell you what I got for Christmas or my birthday every year, but I can tell you about my time with my Dad like it was yesterday. That, I remember. And that, I treasure.

If you look in my refrigerator today, you’ll notice a can of fruit cocktail on the top shelf. And if you know me well at all, then you know that there is always a can in my fridge. Always. Because I need to be reminded that there are opportunities every single day to find the extraordinary in the simplest of things.

A Secret Place.

2008-12-17T06:46:00.006-05:00

This past weekend I took some time alone. Sometimes I get so caught up in the busyness of life that I forget just to be still. And as I’ve chronicled my journey over the past week or so…a place where I don’t want to go…I have learned the value of surrendering to solitude. First, it meant turning off my TV and music. And I have been amazed at how uncomfortable I am in the silence. As I have embraced it, though, my pull toward spending time alone in deep reflection and prayer has become more and more intense. Scripture tells us in several places to go to the “secret place” to pray to the Father. I decided to find a secret place outside of my home this weekend. I did, and it was incredible.

I found a small, quiet cove off of the lake. It was a beautiful date with my Father. No one does romance like He does. He woos me like no other.

I thought about a long list of things and prayed about an even longer list of things. As I looked out on the water, I caught a glimpse of something beautiful. The water was perfectly still and smooth, like glass. The reflection in the water was perfect…a gorgeous blue sky…heaven. If the water had not been at rest, I could not have seen this incredible picture. In that moment, I realized that only when we are perfectly still … when we are at rest in Him … only then can we reflect heaven. Only then can we reflect Him.

There are so many times when God speaks to me through other people, and of course through serving others. And I am moved to incredible heart change during corporate worship at times. But nothing can replace the intimate time I spend alone with my God. He says things and shows me things in the silent solitude that I cannot hear or see in any other place.

God, the more I seek You, the more I find You. The more I find You, the more I love You. I want to sit at your feet and drink from the cup in Your Hand. I long to lay back against you and breathe, to feel Your heartbeat. This love is so deep, it’s more than I can stand. I melt in your peace.

Words.

2008-12-14T20:44:00.007-05:00

I’m a sappy card person. I love sending cards and writing notes and letters. I suppose that shows my age a bit, but many times an email simply won’t do. When I receive a handwritten note or card from someone, it lifts me up in a way that an email or text message will never be able to. I love to think about the way that the person’s sentiment to me flowed from the heart to the hand to the paper, and made its way to me. I just love that. And when those moments come when the love I feel for someone overflows, then my pen comes out. If you get a card, a note, or a letter from me, then it means that I love you. It means that I “overflowed” for you so I had to express it. It’s a gift that comes from a deeper place than anything that I would purchase for you. And it’s usually a little long, mushy, and well…maybe a little sappy. Because that’s just me.

A couple of years ago, I saw a pile of words that I had written…words of love and encouragement to someone I loved deeply … tossed away in a trash can. That painful image was burned into my memory. And I didn’t write again for well over a year. I decided that I would never again make myself vulnerable in my words – not to anyone for any purpose. I had often been asked to write devotions for various meetings, and I stopped doing that. No journal entries, no more cards, notes, or letters to anyone. Every time I sat down to write, the image of the pile in his trash can flashed before my eyes. Opening myself to being vulnerable through words of love, confession, or encouragement was no longer an option for me.

Today, I burned some words. Lots of words. Pages of them. Words that proved deception and betrayal. Not my words, but tangible reminders of pain. The pain that God has been calling me to so that He can lead me to the doorway of hope. It had been ages since I’d read them, but for some reason, they followed me through two moves. They remained in a special box designated just for them. I held and guarded them for some reason…probably for many reasons. But they are no longer here. What I didn’t expect, however, is that the vision that I had been carrying for 2 years -- my words laying in the trash can -- was also in the flames. As the flames grew high and the heat intensified, it, too, burned away.

As He is always faithful to His promise, He will bring beauty from the ashes. Every single time.

Beautiful forgiveness.
Beautiful restoration.
Beautiful healing.

So check your mail. You might just be getting a letter from me very soon. I'm sorry it took so long.

Simple Truth.

2008-12-12T13:15:00.018-05:00

A former coworker and good friend called me recently. She is a precious woman whom I have known for about 3 years. I had been on my new job for about three days when she came into my office, closed my door behind her and said, “I don’t know what it is that you have, but I want it.” Keep in mind that I barely even knew her name. We had been introduced on my first day, and that was the extent of our direct communication. Her cubicle sat outside of my office, and she told me that she had been observing how I handled myself in certain stressful business situations. At first, I must admit, this conversation felt a little creepy. But she was persistent as she sat there, continually asking me where I got my “sense of peace”.

So I told her. I explained to her the role that my faith plays in my life. I didn’t yank out my King James Bible and hammer her with it. I simply shared my story with her in a very real and honest way. I didn't present myself as perfect. I shared my junk and my struggles with her, too. As we talked, I learned that she was an atheist. But I also learned that she was hungry for truth.

I have been sharing the Gospel and answering her questions for all of those 3 years. We’ve talked for hours upon hours, and I’ve given her books and she’s read all of them…twice. She is so close. I mean, she is right there…hovering just on that line. You know the one...the one that separates us from needing "one more bit of evidence" to faith. That moment when, really, it all comes down to one single choice. The choice to believe.

There have been times that I have been so frustrated that she hasn’t responded. There have been times when I wanted to give up. There have been times when I felt as though I was failing God and her. There have been times when I wished God would pass this challenging task on to someone else. There have been many times when I have wept from my core over what this precious friend is missing out on. I love her. I want this for her so much that it physically hurts.

We have experienced a lot during the past 3 years. She was a dear friend to me as I endured one of the most difficult and painful experiences of my life 2 years ago. I have held her hand and prayed over her as she has endured a failing marriage. We have also laughed until our sides hurt. We have eaten way too much cake together and consumed more lattes than I can count. Her children call me “Aunt”. And I love her deeply.

Her call this week was to request a retreat with me…a time for the two of us to talk. So, we have a sleepover planned for next week. I am considering installing outside locks on my house just to keep her in until she responds. =) OK, maybe not.

So here we go again. More questions. The same questions she has had for three years. But maybe, just maybe, this time the Truth will conquer her heart. And I will share the Gospel with her again, answer the tough questions (as best I can), love on her, tell her what God has done in my life (and remind her that she’s been on a front row seat for much of it). I will do this as many times and for as long as it takes.

Because someone did it for me.

Bridgette is my best friend from college. Bridgette lived out her love for God in a way that I had never seen before. I met her during my sophomore year at Kennesaw State University . Bridgette didn’t know me as you all do, though. Bridgette knew me as a lost young girl, seeking validation and fulfillment in my own selfish desires and addictions. During the countless hours we spent together for all-night study sessions, enduring difficult classes together, and traveling across the globe for international debate team competitions, she took every opportunity to share the love of God with me. I wasn’t interested in any part of it back then.

Oddly, despite our different journeys spiritually, we were inseparable. I had tasted “religion,” and I had been badly burned and deeply scarred, so I had no interest in anything that resembled "religion". We had a weekly tradition to meet at IHOP for sharing and prayer on Thursday evenings. Somehow, she was the one person – the only one -- in my life then who could convince me to pray or even think about God. Even with her difficult schedule and many other demands on her life, she was faithful every week to make time for me. Those few minutes talking with her each week were the only time that I thought about or talked about God at all, and even then, my heart was skeptical. But Bridgette kept it simple. She merely told me her story … simple ways that God was moving in her life.

As we said goodbye in the IHOP parking lot on December 18, 1995, she hugged me more tightly than usual and said “God is going to do great things in you, you just have to let Him,” and she quoted Jeremiah 29:11: “‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’” I had no belief at all that God could or would do anything with my wretched life, but it was evident that God had called her to great things. On her way home that evening, a drunk driver ran a stop sign and took her life. She died shortly after arriving at the hospital. Her last words were directions to her doctor to relay a message to the man who hit her…“tell him that God loves Him, and that he is forgiven.” Her final moments in death reflected her life’s legacy…investing in others. At her funeral, her mother showed us the inscription in her Bible. She had written on the front flap…“I want my life to bring lost hearts to You.” Oh, how God answered this prayer in my life and I am certain in the lives of so many others touched by her.

You see, Bridgette would not know the unexplainable impact that her bold, unwavering and unapologetic witness would bear on my life. She would not know that years later, the seeds she planted in my heart would come to harvest by my submitting my life to Christ. She would not have known the incredible impact that embracing God’s promise to us in Jeremiah 29:11 would have on my life. She did not know then that the legacy of God living in and loving through her would live through me for His glory. She did not know any of this. God had not given her a “written guarantee” that her efforts would be successful. But she invested in me anyway. Because she believed. And God knew what would be born in me and others she touched with her life.

Her last journal entry (the day before her death) read:

“I had my ups and downs and I fell a few times, but I did not give up. Don't give up, because God's reward is worth it all. I challenge you to listen, and see what God will do. Take a risk, chance it, trust in God. You will see what God can do with a willing heart."

Sometimes we make it harder than it is. We don't need a theology degree. Let’s just tell our story. For as long as it takes.

Tell them He loves them.
Tell them He died on the cross for you and them.
Tell them your story, how he made you new.
Tell them He’s the best thing that’s happened to you.

It’s really that simple.

Big Eyes and Belly Laughs

2008-12-10T13:18:00.012-05:00

Last night, my small group from church had Christmas Dinner together. Our last meeting until after the holidays, it was a great time of laughter, Christmas caroling, and spending time together. I love those people so much!

We have lots of great kids who come to our small group and hang out with us before going upstairs with the sitter. Last night, though, it was family time and the kids were in the mix. I hung out for a while with Ellie, who is one of the daughters of our small group leaders. She is just over two years old. What a cutie!

Ellie was sitting on my lap when I tried out one of our little family traditions on her. Mom used to do this with us, and in all of her years teaching children has had a 100% success rate with the giggle factor on this little gem. Some of you may have heard of this little song/game. I have no idea of what original context the song was written or when it was written…but it goes like this…

Sitting on my lap, I had Ellie hold her cute little hand out, palm up. I gently traced a circle on her palm with my finger as I sang, “Round round circle, put a penny here…” and then, slowly “walking” my fingers up her arm toward her shoulder, I sang “one step...two steps…” and then, unexpected to Miss Ellie, I sang “tickle under here!” and tickled Ellie until I heard the BEST SOUND IN THE WORLD…the belly laugh of a child!

Of course, you know what happened after that, right?

“Again, Miss Melissa!” So over and over again we went, and each time, when I got to the “….two steps”, I would pause dramatically, purposefully making her wait until she was about to come out of her skin with expectation. Her eyes were huge with anticipation about the best part -- the inevitable tickle-fest to come! She knew that after that second step up her arm was done, it was all about belly-laughing joy.

I drove home last night thinking about Ellie’s big eyes and belly laughs. Do I anticipate the next move of God’s hand with that kind of anticipation?

Ellie knew the game. She knew after the first time that the outcome resulted in her joy. In her mind, it was simple: “Miss Melissa did it last time, so she’ll do it again.” And each time, she believed the outcome was going to result in her joy. She trusted me to deliver it. So every single time, her eyes grew big in anticipation of what was to come. Because she remembered the last time.

God has always brought joy from waiting, uncertainty, or darkness in my life. There has not been one single time in my life when I have sought Him and not found the doorway out of the valley and into hope. I’ll bet you can say the same thing. How quickly we are to forget it. Maybe it’s just me, but it doesn’t take long for me to lose my focus on Him and gaze at the struggle instead. How quickly I forget that I’ve been here before. How quickly I forget to look into His eyes and remember…that He has never, never let me down. How quickly I forget that I can be confident in my current circumstance because of God’s past performance on my behalf.

For this reason I kneel before the Father… to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that we may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! (Eph. 3:14, 19-20, NIV)

This morning I caught myself belly-laughing in anticipation of what God has waiting for me on the other side of the door. Because I remember the last time.

Thanks for the reminder, Ellie.

With Flowers In His Hand

2008-12-07T22:31:00.016-05:00

Anyone who knows me probably knows that one of my favorite verses is Hosea 2:14-15:

Therefore I am now going to allure her; I will lead her into the desert and speak tenderly to her. There I will give her back her vineyards, and will make the Valley of Achor a door of hope. (NIV)

God lures us into the desert sometimes…deliberately, and with a purpose born completely out of His unwavering love for us. He speaks tender words of comfort to us there, and when we have found our rest in Him, He returns us to our vineyards. But here's the best part...he promises to make the Valley of Achor a door of hope. The Valley of Achor was once a place of judgment and destruction. But He promises to turn that land of pain into a doorway of hope, healing, and promise. I love this passage. I’ve been moved by this passage for several years now. But its meaning is engraved even more deeply in my heart during this particular season of my life.

God has been calling me into the desert. A place of deep and unresolved pain. Old pain and wounds that create a barrier to the "next level" of what He has for me. A place I don’t want to go. And I have been running hard, for months. For a while, I used the excuse “Well, I think that’s what He wants me to do, but I’m not sure, so I’ll keep praying about it.” That wasn't true...I knew what He was calling me to do, I just didn't like it. I have been hiding behind “praying about it”. (I’m not saying it’s not good to pray about things…but when we know what God is telling us to do and we use prayer as an excuse to delay obedience, that’s still just plain old disobedience). I have been hiding behind keeping myself “too busy”. I have been hiding behind a legitimate series of health issues. I have been using every excuse imaginable to avoid the grief and hurt in the place where He is calling me to go. I have been walking in blatant disobedience. And I’m worn out.

Over the past few days, I have had a recurring vision of Christ standing in the desert, waiting for me, with flowers in His hand, wooing me and luring me to the place of healing. Shielding the darkness of the pain with the beautiful brightness of His light. He stands calling out my name, whispering words of comfort and reassurance to me, and patiently waiting for me to trust Him enough to meet Him there.

I have been fearful about being transparent about this with others, for fear of what they would think of me…what would people think if they knew I really wasn’t as “together” as I appear to be? Would I still be enough? Would they still love me? The enemy wants us to isolate ourselves and believe we are alone, and somehow gradually I fell into that trap. There is one person in particular that I was especially concerned about revealing this to, but I knew that the time had come to be completely authentic and transparent. So over Thanksgiving, I first spoke it out to my family…who, can I just say, is the most amazing family anywhere? I am so blessed. I then shared it with a very close friend, who offered sweet prayers and encouragement.

But the last 24 hours have been so powerful and so packed with the presence and confirmation of God’s presence that my head is spinning and my heart is so full that I don’t know what to do with myself. Honestly, it’s a bit surreal and I’m still taking it all in. He has revealed so much to me about Himself. He has done this through His Word and as I sit quietly and listen for His voice on my heart. That would have been enough, but He is an abundant God. He is lovingly crafty enough to use a gathering of friends at a Christmas party last night to confirm His voice on my heart (and they had no idea!).

Also, only a handful of hours ago, with sweaty palms and a shaky voice, I finally opened myself up to the one person I was most concerned about. This person’s response was not at all what I expected…it was not critical, harsh, hesitant, or distant. It was gracious, compassionate, understanding, encouraging, merciful and loving. And when I returned home from church this morning, there was a special delivery waiting for me on my doorstep:

With flowers In His hand.

God revealed Himself by bringing to life the vision that He planted in my heart…the beautiful sight of Him standing in the desert, pursuing me, wooing me, and waiting, patiently, with flowers in His hand, for me to trust Him. And loving me in spite of my brokenness and baggage. Bringing beauty from ashes.

I’m ready to go to the desert now. I trust Him to heal me. The journey feels unsafe. But so, so worth it. Because on the other side of the Valley is a doorway leading to acres upon acres of hope. And I choose hope.

In The Garden

2008-12-02T19:37:00.016-05:00

It was exactly two years ago tonight, when I lay beside my grandmother (my Mama) on her last night on this earth. Tomorrow marks the anniversary of the day that she went to the Great Throne Room…the day she lived her entire life for…the day when her faith became her eyes.

I remember so many details about my last night with her. I remember the love and unity in my family as my father made the long, prayerful, heartbreaking decision to remove her life support. We were so proud of him, and I have never felt more honored or blessed to be his daughter. He led our family through a very difficult time with tenderness, compassion, and humility. The way he honored his mother while he and Mom were caring for her at home for those last years, and the way that he honored her during her last days on earth demonstrate the type of man my Daddy is...and the type of mother my Mama was to him. The selflessness of my parents during those years of caring for her in their home is something that I will forever admire and stand in awe of.

Everyone was utterly exhausted on that last night. But I had come to the hospital a little later than the others, so I stayed overnight to allow the others to get the extra rest that I had been able to enjoy the night before. Her life support had been removed earlier that day, and by that evening, her vitals were still in the normal range but were falling very, very slowly. The doctors were telling us that we probably had another day or so. That was so typical of her fighting spirit! Mama had several health problems, but the one that ultimately took her life was respiratory failure. As the body fights for every breath, there is a sound that I will never forget. I will hear it every so often when visiting a hospital, and it brings chills every single time. After everyone had left the hospital that night, I lay next to my sweet Mama as she fought for every breath. Over and over and over. I talked to her through the night, read from Isaiah and the Psalms (her favorites), and sang to her. The only times her breathing calmed was when we sang one of her favorite hymns to her... “Amazing Grace”, “I Surrender”, or her true favorite, “In the Garden”.

I knew that Mama had already begun her journey that night to her King. While I longed for her, one last time, to talk to me and tell me her stories as she had done so many times before, I wondered what she must be experiencing and seeing. I stared at her face for hours, stroking her cheek, longing to capture every memory I could of her face and her hands.

Mama had fallen down her front steps three years before, which prompted her moving in with Mom and Dad because she could no longer walk, go to the bathroom, or care for herself. She was in severe pain for a long, long time. Her mind and her heart were as alive as when she was fifty years younger, but her body was just giving out. She loved the outdoors so much but could no longer get outside, so we created a garden room for her with a rocking chair next to a big window, and her bed positioned by the window also. Dad placed bird feeders and plants right outside her window, and she had every single squirrel named. There was “Greedy Gut” (the bully of the bunch) and “Walter”. And she loved watching the birds. She would sit for hours and watch, and read from her Bible. Every so often, she'd squeeze in a little Judge Judy, too. She LOVED Judge Judy. Ha!

Mama was born into poverty and lost her mother as an infant. She was raised under severely adverse circumstances, yet still developed a strength and a spirit of perseverance that simply could not be broken. My grandfather suffered from addictions that made Mama’s and my Dad’s lives very difficult on many levels. Yet, as my Dad shared on the day of her funeral, she never made her children feel as though they were a bother… he testified that she always made her children feel important, valued, and loved. I am forever grateful to her for what she instilled in my father so that he could, in turn, give the same to his children.

As a little girl, I remember when she lived in Florida and would visit us for one week a year. I would sit in the car anxiously on the long ride to the airport to pick her up, and I remember the butterflies I felt waiting for her to exit the gate to catch the first glimpse of her sweet face. And the hug that followed was so tight that I couldn’t breathe! When Mama hugged you, you KNEW you’d been hugged! When we arrived home, she would always pull three gifts from her bag, one for each of my sisters and me. Mama drank Sanka instant coffee, and she would save her little Sanka jars. She would fill a jar with change, and bring it to me when she would visit. Dad and I would sit at the kitchen table and he taught me how to count it out. I would get so excited, that you would have thought that $3.00 in change was a million dollars. Then, a fun shopping trip with Mama would follow as I chose my treasure.

When I was little, I was also fascinated with all of her night creams, potions and makeup. Mama would sleep in my room when she visited, and I would sleep with her. My most fond memory of my Mama is the way she would smell. During those last weeks, when it appeared she wasn’t coming home from the hospital, I found myself in the drug store buying a box of her Coty face powder. Mama always wore it, and I longed to smell the familiar sweetness of her beauty. And you can still find that box of powder in a very special place in my dressing area today, for those times when the memory of her consumes me.

Of course as I grew up, I began to see her differently. I began to see her from an adult’s perspective, and began to recognize that along with the soft qualities I knew of her as a little girl, she held a great deal of strength, resilience, and faith. Her life was not about material things, glamour, or impressing anyone. She was so very content with so little.

Mama’s love for her family was unshakable, unquestionable, and unrelenting. Her faith, trust, and love in the Lord were also unshakable, unquestionable, and unrelenting. She had coffee with Jesus every day, she was a prayer warrior, and spoke boldly and unapologetically of her love for God. The mere mention of the name of Jesus brought a smile and a twinkle to her eye.

After our last night together, the next afternoon, with her family standing around her as she took her final breath, her once gray and lifeless face became bright, radiant, and exquisite. Holding her hand and witnessing this moment as she set her eyes upon her God was the most incredible blessing that I will ever receive in my lifetime, and I praise God that I was a part of it. There was no noise. No fight for her last breath. There was simply peace.

About 2 years before her final day with us, we were sitting in her garden room in Mom and Dad's house, just talking and talking. At that time, she was in a great deal of physical pain and had been for a long, long while. She looked at me, not with sadness, but with excited, eager anticipation, and said “Melissa, I’m ready to go. I want to be with Jesus. I am sure of my salvation. I have my ticket to Heaven, I just need a ride.” Mama, I'll bet that ride was amazing. And I’ll bet the Garden is beautiful.

I come to the garden alone

While the dew is still on the roses

And the voice I hear, falling on my ear

The Son of God discloses

And He walks with me

And He talks with me

And He tells me I am His own

And the joy we share as we tarry there

None other has ever known

He speaks and the sound of His voice

Is so sweet the birds hush their singing

And the melody that He gave to me

Within my heart is ringing

And He walks with me

And He talks with me

And He tells me I am His own

And the joy we share as we tarry there

None other has ever known

I'd stay in the garden with Him

'Tho the night around me be falling

But He bids me go; through the voice of woe

His voice to me is calling

And He walks with me

And He talks with me

And He tells me I am His own

And the joy we share as we tarry there

None other has ever known

Kingdom Coming by Shaun Groves

2008-11-25T22:07:00.002-05:00

Check it out...Shaun Groves' song, Kingdom Coming...download it for free here:

http://www.shaungroves.com/freemusic/

Jamie Winship

2008-11-24T22:27:00.002-05:00

We have had a guest at The Vine for the past two Sundays. Jamie Winship and his family have been living as missionaries in the Middle East for the past 20 years. I strongly encourage you to check out the podcasts from the past two weeks. Incredible stuff.

Be blessed!

Release

2008-11-11T22:48:00.001-05:00

God, I desperately want to let go of my fears and concern over those I love. I often find myself afraid for their health or their future, so much so that sometimes it consumes my thoughts. God, you know my heart, and that I don’t want to see those that I love hurt or suffer. Yet I know that you didn’t call me to protect those I love through fear, but by faith and prayer. So please, God, help me remember that as much as my heart overflows with love for my family and friends, that you love them far more than I do. Help me to rest in the fact that they belong to You and You alone. When difficult things happen to those I love, help me trust Your promise to work all things together for good for those who are Yours. I choose right now to trade my fear for faith in Your love and protection over their lives.

She's alive!

2008-11-02T20:02:00.002-05:00

Wow. It has been a ridiculous amount of time since my last post. Apparently I have at least five readers, because I have gotten five messages this week alone asking, "When are you going to blog again?" and "Are you alive?"

My move to Braselton went well and although I am still unpacking the last few boxes, I am essentially settled into my new home. Pictures are hung, furniture is in place, and the closets are organized...well, sort of. I love, love, love living up here, and it truly feels like home. It's been quite a whirlwind with completing schoolwork (2 theses this semester, ugh), packing and then unpacking, and unfortunately I've also been hit with some nasty health issues. Those, my friends, are the reasons that you have not heard from me in a while. It has been quite a ride.

So, let's just call this a fresh new blogging start. =) I hereby renew my vow to blog.

This is all I have for you five readers tonight, as I am exhausted. More tomorrow, I promise.

Good night, and may you feel God's arms wrapped tightly around you as you rest in His unyielding faithfulness.

Vision

2008-09-16T12:28:00.008-04:00

I’m home!

The Big Move happened this weekend, and I am one blessed woman. The guys at The Vine (and Aaron) came through in a big way. It was a LONG day with lots of lifting, sweating, and driving (2 trips at 80 miles each). These guys ushered me right smack in the middle of God’s will for my life.

And it’s so good to be home, in the house that He has been preparing for me.

And in the very city that He’s been preparing me for.

And in the very church that He has called me to serve in.

I’m so blessed it hurts.

Yesterday, I was unpacking all of my kitchen boxes. There were a lot of them. I was drowning in a sea of cardboard and bubble wrap, exhausted, praying that God would renew my strength so that I could finish the task at hand. Then, I glanced across the room, and amidst the mountains of cardboard, I saw this:

And I was energized, because God reminded me why I am here.

I talk a lot about The Vine and my journey to The Vine. But I’m not here because of The Vine. I’m here because of the vision of The Vine. The people are awesome. The set design is off the hook. The music ushers me straight to God’s face. And the preaching is spectacular. All of those are great things. But none of them are why I packed up and moved to this place called Braselton.

I’m here because of and for the vision.

It wasn’t until the past couple of years that I have truly understood the importance of this thing called “vision”. For most of my life, my personal experience with a “vision statement” was in a corporate workplace context. “Vision” had meant nothing more than a loose statement casually published by a corporation to justify its existence, and which never had much importance or accountability attached to it. It was something that was often presented to me as a new employee in an orientation package of “corporate information” but was rarely ever spoken of or heard of again. And as embarrassing as it is to admit, in my early years as a Christian, I didn’t realize how much the Bible has to say about it.

However, as I have grown in my personal relationship with God, this thing called “vision” has taken on a whole new meaning. I’ve read and studied so much in the past two years about the biblical attributes of leadership, unity, and vision, and never before have I realized how much importance the Scriptures place on these concepts. Unlike my previous corporate perception and experience, I have come to understand that the vision of a church or ministry does not merely justify the existence, but it defines the existence. It is not something birthed from man, but is birthed from the vision of God through man. That’s really big stuff.

If I am to submit to God’s calling to be a part of something, I must be called and submit to the vision and not to the “thing” itself. I have seen firsthand both the importance and challenge of visioncasting, as well as the focus that must be placed on intentionality and purposeful execution of vision. And I have been on staff of a church plant that failed largely because of a lack of vision. So after my first visit to The Vine, I sat down with David for a few hours. I asked him some very tough questions. The burden on my heart was to really dig deep and understand the vision of The Vine so that I could prayerfully discern whether it was something to which God was calling me. Unfortunately, I have seen what can happen when a pastor is not clear about the vision of a church, and even worse, when co-leaders or members of the body are not unified in the vision. My heart has been broken over the paralyzing effects that this can have on a church or ministry.

So I needed to hear David’s heart.

And I did…it was hard not to. Because David’s heart is really, really loud when it comes to the vision of The Vine.

And in the days that followed, as I prayerfully sought His leading, God released me to submit and serve at The Vine under David’s leadership. But not because of anything about David Walters, even though he’s an incredible pastor. Because of the vision that He, Himself, has birthed through David.

So that’s why I’m here. And a coffee cup sitting on top of a partially unpacked U-Haul box with “Kitchen” and “Fragile” tape reminded me of that.

If you want to hear more about the vision of The Vine, email or call me. Or, check out www.connecttothevine.org. If you come and check us out, you’ll get a really great coffee cup. But be warned…it might just change your life.

Afternoon Buzz

2008-09-08T14:25:00.003-04:00

It's 3:00. Do you know where your caffeine and sugar high is?

I found mine!

OK, let's hear it. Time to confess! How do you beat the mid-afternoon lull?

The Big Move

2008-09-04T16:24:00.010-04:00

I woke up today in a cold sweat. The big moving day is just around the corner. I'm super excited, but have tons and tons to do. My home is a sea of empty boxes that really should be full, taped up, and labeled by now. Hmmm. Wonder what I'll be doing this weekend!

Thanks to Kristi Crook for recruiting and coordinating a move team and trucks from The Vine for me. Unreal. I am blown away.

I'm also going to give a shout-out to some amazing godly men that have beautiful servant hearts.

First, men I have never met before came up to me on Sunday morning and said, "Are you Melissa? I'm on your move team!" How cool is that? And one of the staff members has donated trucks from his equipment rental company for us to use. Dang, I love my church. These precious men of God whom I have never met have volunteered their time to usher me in to the community.

Also, thanks to the Facilities guys at Crown who keep a steady stream of available empty boxes flowing into my office. I also had a love note waiting for me this morning in the form of four rolls of packing tape. Manna from Heaven. They totally rock.

And finally, I can't link you to them because they don't blog, but I have an awesome family and many other friends helping in so many other ways behind the scenes, loving on me and praying for me. It doesn't get any better than that!

Love you guys!

Mustard, Drive-Thru Rage, and Chun King

2008-09-03T00:19:00.009-04:00

OK, tonight it’s going to be a little lighthearted, because I’m tired and my hand is covered in mustard.

Yes, that’s right. My deliciously delicate and feminine Bath and Body Works Moisturizing Gloves, usually melded with my favorite equally deliciously delicate and feminine hand cream are, instead, joined with French’s Yellow Mustard. Why, you ask? (By the way, if you’re not asking “Why?” at this point, then I’d be a little concerned about you.) Well, I suffered a nasty burn yesterday on my right hand when attempting to pull a pan from my oven. I spoke to a Pharmacist who is probably still paying off her exorbitant student loans only so that she could tell me that “Burn creams won’t work, but lots of yellow mustard will.” The weird thing is, she’s right. And she's my hero! I’ve been drenched in yellow mustard for two days now. I smell like a hot dog at a baseball game, but my hand doesn’t hurt.

In other news, can we please talk about Drive-Thru etiquette? I have a recurring Drive-Thru experience that really tests my godliness. So let’s just call this my little accountability session for some serious Drive-Thru Road Rage that I’ve been nursing. This, friends, is why I cannot post a “Follow Me To The Vine” bumper sticker or a cute little silver fish on my car. I can’t handle that kind of accountability. Yes, I know, my spiritual maturity is astounding.

OK, here’s the scene. I’m approaching the Wendy’s Drive-Thru to obtain my favorite salad in the entire universe – a heavenly bed of baby greens topped with mandarin oranges, roasted almonds, Chinese crunchy noodles, and grilled chicken. The Sesame dressing…oh, the dressing. Good stuff. And all for under five bucks. I’m so low maintenance – no fancy dinners for me, no sir. Five bucks at Wendy’s for processed chicken and I’m happy. I mean really, why am I still single?

So, here’s the issue…I go to the trouble of driving all the way around the restaurant so that I can properly secure my place in line. It’s ethical, classy and good manners to do so, wouldn’t you agree? I’m sure Emily Post has something to say about this. But there’s always the jerk, er.....uh.....I mean the sister or brother in Christ that decides that he or she doesn’t need to drive around, but can merely enter through the “other” driveway and cut in line. What’s up with that? True story – a purple PT Cruiser (is that really even a car?) used all of the intimidation it could muster to cut in front of me. I’m fighting every urge I have not to make rude gestures (not lude, just rude) to convey that I will run her over in my tiny but scrappy Mazda M3, and holding back every urge to lecture her on the virtues of Drive-Thru etiquette, including the scriptural basis for driving around the building. I’m sure it’s in the Bible somewhere. The trouble is, I work and live in a very small town, so Little Miss PT Cruiser might just be a coworker, a neighbor, or worse, in my small group from church. So, I behave. Well, outwardly anyway. I don't know why this frustrates me so much. Does this bother anyone else, or do I need anger management therapy?

Back to the subject of Chinese noodles...once I released my Drive-Thru angst, I had the coolest flashback while opening the packet of crunchy Chinese noodles with my salad today. Do any of you remember Chun King Chow Mein?

Oh. My. Goodness.

My Mom is going to be miffed at my writing this, so instead of ending with a disclaimer, I will start with one. My Mom is an incredible cook – the best – and she has taught me so much that I, too, am a decent cook. But on some nights, of course, she didn’t “cook” something gourmet and from scratch. Sometimes … (gasp)… she opened a can. The highlight of the week was Chun King night. Chun King was in its own league and pigs-in-a-blanket or cube steak night didn't even come close to the mystique and awesomeness of Chun King night. Chun King was exciting and cool. It came in a cardboard box holding two cans -- one contained the crispy noodles, and the other can hid strange "un- American" vegetables cooked into soft, gummy submission, and a teeny bottle of something called "soy" sauce. Mom toasted the noodles, boiled the veggies and liquid, dumped the mess together, poured over the dark, mystery sauce and -- voila -- Chinese food! As a kid in Kennesaw, Georgia, a town that then only had one red light, it was the first Chinese food we ever had tasted. We were cultured. We were global.

Thanks, Mom. Chun King rocks. (Well, when you're a kid it does, anyway.)

Settled

2008-08-28T15:42:00.006-04:00

“Let it be…Let freedom settle in me… I know I was made to be free, so I let go of me and I hold on, hold on…”

These are the lyrics to an awesome song that Gregg Hampton led us in during praise and worship at The Vine on Sunday. I really thought I was going to pass out as the reality of those words pierced and conquered my heart. As I sang the words “Let freedom settle in me”, I realized just how far away from that true connection to the freedom given through God’s grace I had become. I had moved from a place of being settled in God’s grace to striving to earn it. Indeed, I had fallen into the trap of striving to prove to God that He made a good choice when He chose me. I was utterly exhausted from performing and didn’t even know it.

Maybe it’s just me, but isn’t it funny how a mindset can gradually creep in and take residence in your heart without your realizing it? Only when we truly stand in His presence are we able to realize the difference, and that was my experience on Sunday. As I lifted those words and cries of my heart to God, that He would “let freedom settle in me”, I began to let go of me. Only then did I realize how far away I had drifted from dancing in the freedom of His grace.

There is a true and authentic beauty that is only derived when we are settled in our freedom in Christ. Our intimacy with Him deepens. Our countenance relaxes. Our gait softens and is less hurried. We are more compassionate. Our words are more calm, sincere, and edifying. We are better listeners, friends, spouses. We are no longer judging ourselves or others in our own internal courts. We are at rest. But most of all – we receive God’s grace when we are living in the truest form of freedom that we find only in Him.

In a similar theme as the post below, God has reminded me that the freedom I find in Him is always there for me to receive…always. I just have to accept it. And receiving God’s grace is not something I’m especially good at most of the time.

I’ve had a spring in my step this week. I think I'm dancing again. Freedom rocks.

Faces

2008-08-26T09:25:00.004-04:00

These little faces sure do make it hard to leave for work every day!

You've Got Mail

2008-08-22T23:34:00.004-04:00

I got my first letter from Zipora today!

OK, so that's like the best thing I've ever gotten in the mail in my whole life!

Her counselor helped her fill out an activity and information sheet for me, including the names of her family members and her favorite things.

Her favorite subject in school is "singing is my best subject".
Her favorite food is "meat and rice".
Her favorite color is "bright yellow".
Her favorite game is "skipping the rope".
Her favorite Bible Story is "the time when God created the whole world".
Her favorite song is "Baby Jesus, I love you".

Her mother's name is Asayo, and she is 32 years old.

A personal note was also included, along with some drawings. Her counselor was very kind to create a "legend" for me by numbering the drawings and identifying them for me. Some of them were a bit hard to decipher. =)

Her dream for the future is "to become a teacher".

Her prayer request is that "I grow taller and study well".

And her sweet little signature is pictured here.

I'm feeling so blessed right now.

It Is What It Is

2008-08-21T21:36:00.006-04:00

I struggle with being content. I am in the midst of great moves of God in my life in every single area, and I am blessed beyond measure. Yet even still, I struggle with this thing called "enough". I was in prayer a few nights ago, in such a sweet place and connection with God. I mean the kind of prayer that takes us into the presence of God as if He were sitting next to us. I was staring straight into His face, and pleading with him to..."Make your grace enough for me...Make your grace enough for me..." I so earnestly longed for that place of contentment only found in the grace He offers so freely to someone so wretched. His response was not long or complicated. He simply pointed me to the word is.

In that moment, my God whispered a Scripture to me that is one that I know by heart and is one of my favorites. I've read it a hundred times. It's the Scripture for my blog! But this time, I read it differently than all of those times before.

He said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you..." (2 Cor 12:9)

Wow. I don't have to pray that He would make His grace enough for me. He cannot make His grace any more sufficient than He has already made it. All I have to do is get up and believe it, and I will, every single time and without fail find it to be true.

So may we remember that God's promises are. Period. They are ours to claim without question or hope that He will deliver. Because He always does.

I think I will lay my head on my pillow tonight...full of "enough".

Singalong

2008-08-21T11:56:00.003-04:00

Phil Wickham is offering Singalong, his first live album for free, via download from his blog. If you are not familiar with him, then it is time for you to meet him! He is a wonderful, gifted, humble Christian singer who has a really cool way of ushering us into the presence of God through his music. Check it out...

http://philwickham.com/blog/

He will be in Georgia (Powder Springs) on October 14th. So if you can't find me on the 14th, you know where I'll be. =)

The Vine

2008-08-19T11:23:00.014-04:00

I'd like to tell you about an awesome church. And an awesome pastor. And an awesome church family. My church. My pastor. My church family. It’s funny, because I haven’t really met very many people there yet. This past Sunday was only my second time there. However, I’ve been connected to The Vine for much longer than that. Kristi Crook coined the phrase that I’ve been "stalking The Vine” for a year. She’s right!

About a year and a half ago, I was involved in a church plant in the North Gwinnett area. I was a ministry leader there (assimilation), and as a part of our learning process, we were looking at other successful church plants to understand what they were doing and to learn from them. Also, it really just helped to read the websites and blogs of other pastors who were planting, because it gave confirmation that we weren’t the only ones who felt like we were in way over our heads. =) My friends, church planting is tough. So awesome and so worth it. But it’s tough. So during this time, our core team was becoming familiar and acquainted with the websites and blogs of a number of other churches including Newspring, Elevation, and other local church plants including Revolution, Freedom Church, New Community Church, and a few others, including The Vine. We also made some personal visits to a few of these churches to see firsthand how they handled everything from hospitality to assimilation to worship design to setup/tear down, etc.

The first time I saw The Vine’s website was right after David and the lead team launched The Vine. Then, I began faithfully reading his blog. There was something about The Vine that drew me in, even though I’d never met anyone there or had never set foot in the building. The Vine became a part of my daily prayer life, even when I was fully engaged and plugged in to our church plant. I didn’t try to figure out why, because I had learned by that point in my spiritual walk that so many times the Holy Spirit intercedes for us in that way, and how prayer can bind people together, whether they know it or not. I never intended to visit or contact anyone at The Vine, but I just sort of thought “OK, this is cool, God is allowing me to be a part of the prayers across the country that are going up for The Vine. And in that, I can know that the Holy Spirit is drawing others to intercede for our lead team here.” I felt a great sense of comfort given by the promise of Scripture that our team, too, was being prayed over by people we had never met, and may never meet in this lifetime. The Holy Spirit is pretty cool that way.

So that went on for awhile – many months. I have several journal entries during that time that specifically mention prayers that God laid on my heart for The Vine. For example, I had also begun during that time to read Rebecca Moon’s blog. Rebecca was leading the Worship Design aspect of The Vine, and was posting about what she and her team were doing, and sharing the challenges as well as the successes, and what they were learning about God along the way. It was awesome. And we were struggling with equipment and design aspects, too, in our church, so I could empathize with her. There were days that Rebecca and her team were so specifically and strongly in my prayers, and those days are marked in my journal. I also knew the other staff members' names and positions from the website, and I often found myself praying for them by name, and often about specific things, even though I didn’t really know why I was praying that way. It’s also true that I was very encouraged by the team at The Vine, even though they had never met me. Reading what was on their hearts often lifted me up on my dark days.

Before I go any further, I want to make something very clear. This isn’t about me or anything that I did. This is so much bigger than me or any of us. This is a testimony to the all-knowing God of unyielding faithfulness who ensures that when we are in need, we are covered in prayer.

Therefore He is able to save completely those who come to God through him, because He always lives to intercede for them. (Hebrews 7:25)

Have you ever been going through something really tough in your life, and someone calls you up out of the blue (someone whom you haven't told about your struggle) and says “Hey, you’ve been heavy on my heart today. I prayed for you.” That is the Holy Spirit interceding for us. And this prayer connection that God has allowed me to have with The Vine for so long is an example of this Scripture in real-life. God is just so awesome.

In the months that followed, I left the church plant that I had been a part of. This was around October of 2007, and I began searching for a church. I kept thinking about The Vine. But The Vine was nearly 50 miles away from me – it just wasn’t an option. So I kept looking. I went to some really great churches. I met great pastors, great leaders, and great people. Even so, I had never found the place that God said “Yes, Melissa, this is where I have called you to serve.” To be honest, it was driving me crazy and making me mad. I so badly longed to serve, and most of all, for connection and relationships. The search had gone on for months, and I was tired and weary.

Then, I lost my job in early July. Ouch. This is so not a good time to be unemployed! God worked in a HUGE way, and fast. Literally the day I lost one job, I walked into my house, and my phone rang. It was a ministry that I had long admired and a ministry that played a very significant role in my transformation in Christ – they were calling me about an open position. After several interviews, it was clear that I was called to be there. One problem – the ministry is in Gainesville, over 50 miles away from me. This would require me to move.

I started my job on a Monday, and later that same week I started house-hunting. I thought, “Well, I’ll look in Braselton. That’s where The Vine is. Maybe that will work out – I can look for houses here, and that will take a few weeks, which will give me time to check out The Vine for a few Sundays.” The first house I looked at turned out to be owned by the worship leader at Christian City Church in Lawrenceville, and he and his wife and family were so awesome, and so was the house! The house is in a subdivision called Mulberry Park and was perfect for me. The owners and I clicked right away, and I knew they would probably hold it for me for a few days. But there were literally people lined up to look at it, and I didn’t want to string them along in such a difficult market. So I told them not to hold it, because I felt like I needed to decide on a church first. Two days later, I went to The Vine for the first time. I broke the heel of my shoe on the way out of my front door to leave. Then, I got lost – really lost – trying to find it. The enemy didn’t want me there, and I knew it. So I walked in with a broken heel, 15 minutes late, to a sermon on parenting, which really doesn’t apply all that much to my own life. But from the moment I entered through the doors until the moment I left, I was totally captivated. I don't mean that I was captivated by the set or the music or the preaching or the people, as incredibly wonderful as all of those things were. I was truly ushered into the presence of God and captivated by Him. On my way to the car, the tears started and I cried out to God “Is this the place?” And as if he were sitting next to me with skin on, He said “Yes.”

I immediately called the homeowners and asked them if the house was available, assuming that it probably wasn’t. They said “Yes, it is. After you left, we canceled all of our other appointments, because we felt God telling us to hold the house for you.”

I met with David a few days later with lots and lots of questions, I attended the Beginnings class, and I will stand and make things “official” this Sunday. I understand now that if I had found The Vine earlier, I would not have been ready for it. I had to lay some things down – some tough things -- from my prior experience, and these months have given me the time and space to do that.

So I’m pretty darn sure that I’m where God has called me to be. This past Sunday, my car could not get me to The Vine fast enough. This is a church that not only is driven by a firm and clear vision to connect the world to Christ, but also a church that is committed to do so with excellence -- not just in words, but in action. David is a wonderful pastor and leader, and encamped around him are some of the finest ministry leaders that I have ever met. It is an honor and privilege to serve and grow alongside each of them.

I am so amazingly blessed. And you know what? So are you? If you have something heavy on your heart, take comfort that the Holy Spirit is interceding on your behalf, whether you can see and touch it or not. And don’t be surprised if someone randomly tells you they’ve been praying for you today. You just never know what He's up to.

Our awesome God is faithful.

Zipora Iyabo

2008-08-18T13:25:00.006-04:00

I would like to introduce you to Zipora Iyabo. Isn’t she beautiful? Zipora lives in Uganda, and I am sponsoring her through Compassion International. When I went to the site to choose a child from Uganda, as soon as I saw her, I knew she was the one. After I completed the application for sponsorship, Compassion sent me a file with more details about her (LOTS of details). I chose Compassion because they are not an organization to which you simply send a check and only receive generic communication and information back. Compassion is in the village, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, and runs child development centers that provide the children with education, Christian teaching and activities. I can get specific information about how she is doing, how to pray for her, and what is going on in her life. This is why I chose Compassion –they really work hard to facilitate building a relationship between sponsor and child.

So, a little about Zipora…

She is five years old, with her sixth birthday coming up on September 25th. Her favorite thing to do is to play her drum and sing. She also enjoys playing with other musical instruments. Her counselor says that she is quite the “teacher”… she loves to teach others – even the adults! =)

You are probably aware that although Uganda’s government has since stabilized, up until a few years ago there were remaining tribal wars. Just as things were starting to settle down, Zipora’s mother’s village was attacked by a rival tribe. As a result, her mother was raped and became pregnant. Zipora’s mother also has AIDS. Zipora tests negative for the AIDS virus; however, she is at great risk because of the rampant nature of the virus in this country. (AIDS has orphaned tens of thousands of children in this part of Africa.) Because of her pregnancy, Zipora’s mother was shunned from her family and was forced to move to another village. Her mother is raising her, alone, with no family support, in extreme poverty – beyond anything we can imagine. Her mother (I don’t know her name yet) works when she can as a peasant farmer and laborer in the village, earning approximately $6.00 per month. Zipora and her mother live in a “hut” made of mud-bricks which is often washed away during their rainy season.

Would you please join me in praying for this precious girl? I’ve shared with many of you that I have felt an unshaking pull toward Uganda in the past five or six months, but I’ve been putting it on the “back burner”. Finally, last month I stopped running, and God led me to Compassion where I found Zipora. And, about a week ago I received an email from one of my professors at Liberty who is gathering a team of 15 people to travel to Africa next year for a short-term mission assignment – specifically to Uganda. Go figure. If that works out, then Compassion would arrange a meeting for me and Zipora while I am there. How cool would that be?

Please pray that our relationship would further enforce what she is learning through the amazing counselors at Compassion -- that she matters to God, and no matter what her circumstances may be, that she has a purpose specifically and uniquely designed by Him for her.

On Holy Ground

2008-07-16T00:12:00.006-04:00

This is a picture of my drive home from church this past Sunday. The weather was not pretty!

Most of you know that I’m seeking a new church home. On Sunday morning, I attended a service at a small church plant up in North Gwinnett County, which meets in an elementary school. During an extended time of prayer while the pianist played a beautiful rendering of “Holy Ground”, I bowed my head to pray, when I caught sight of the floor, only to notice that the pattern of the “tile” was distinctly similar to the lunchroom during my early grade school years. The reality of the “rustic” setting in which I was worshipping gave me pause. I silently sang the words to the song playing in the background…

“Let us praise Jesus now…

for we are standing in His presence on Holy Ground…”

These words reminded me that no matter where we are – whether it be a large sanctuary or arena with impressive staging and sound, a school cafeteria, a grocery store, our workplace, or a remote area of an impoverished nation – as long as we are locking our eyes and hearts on Him, as long as we are seeking His presence, as long as we are lifting praise to Him, then His presence is with us... and thus, we are on Holy Ground. It matters not what is around us. It is not a steeple or pulpit or stage or sound system or projector or fancy lighting that makes a place of worship. It is the heart of each and every person there. It is the absolute abandonment of ourselves in worship to Him. It is us, merely standing in His presence. It was a humbling reminder.

As Nancy continued to play the song, the brewing storm outside became more intense, and quickly! Just moments after we entered into prayer under the serenade of this hymn, fierce claps of thunder and piercing lightning came from the sky. The storm was here, and it was brutal. I am normally a little skittish in thunderstorms. I get a little uneasy and when at home, I will close all curtains and blinds until the storm passes, just to ease my mind. But sitting there, in that elementary school cafeteria, I stared outside right in the face of the rain and lightning, and fought back every urge I had to stand up and belt out the words to the song at the top of my lungs. (It was my first visit, after all!) But in that moment, I had a powerful sense of the victory that He has given us over the storms in our lives. What an awesome picture of the almighty power, faithfulness, love, and protection of our God.

Psalm 91:1: He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

Sweet Virginia

2008-07-12T12:28:00.002-04:00

I miss my Mama today. I've been thinking about her a lot lately, missing our talks and especially her hugs that were so tight you couldn't breathe! To feel close to her, I pulled her Bible off of my bookshelf last night and ran my fingers over the pages she read every day, yellowed with decades gone by and filled with her written notes and thoughts. On the front flap, in her sweet handwriting, she wrote "I want God to be the center of my life."

As for our Mama, I doubt she's missing us one bit. She's rejoicing in heaven and sitting before the very God she served with her life. And she's probably making lots of biscuits. And decking all of heaven out with her beautiful yo-yo afghans and pillows.

Ready, Set, Jump!

2008-07-11T01:55:00.007-04:00

When I was in elementary and middle school, I was not a big fan of Phys Ed class. I hated it. I was a prissy little girl, concerned with my clothes and my hair. I hated to sweat. And for those of you who know me, you know that those things have not changed very much. (OK, so my brief stint in mountain biking several years ago was fun, but it didn’t last. I was, however, the only biker on the trail with riding gear that ALWAYS coordinated with the color of my bike, and lips perfectly lined with kiss-me-red lipstick. I fell. A lot. But if I was going to fall, at least I looked darn good doing it.)

Anyway, despite my disdain for Phys Ed class, and my utter lack of athletic prowess, there was one activity that I loved. The Standing Broad Jump. The fact that I can say that I enjoyed anything related to track and field events makes me laugh out loud. But as a kid, I loved this. For those of you who may not remember, this was a game where you would stand at a line, just behind a sand pit. Our teacher would shout the cue…”Ready, set, jump!” And from a standing position, you would jump into the pit, and the length of the jump was measured. The farthest jump was marked by a yellow flag in the sand. The person who jumped the farthest, with both feet landing together and not falling backwards, was the winner.

I am not sure why I loved this little event so much. Perhaps it was because it wasn’t a contact sport. Or maybe it was because I didn’t have to run and get all sweaty. I loved that it wasn’t “Dodgeball” day, when I literally feared for my life. I’m not sure what the lure of a pit of sand and a yellow flag held for me. But there was just something about standing still and summoning all of the strength I could muster from standing firmly planted on solid ground to propel myself as far as I could into the “sandbox”, not knowing where or how far forward I might land. I jumped with all of my strength, as high as I could. I remember Mrs. Stafford, my P.E. teacher, suggesting to us that we look at the yellow flag from the longest jumper and focus on a mark past it. I would fix my eyes on the asphalt waiting on the other side of the sand and would mentally charge myself to jump as close to it as possible.

Tonight, as I write this, I feel like a child again, standing at that chalk jump line. Just as I stood on the asphalt at the line as a child, I now stand firm on the solid ground that comes from knowing that the course of my life is in the center of God’s will. But He is now asking me to jump, yet again. All I can see from my perspective is a desert of sand ahead of me. But what a gift it is to jump from that standing position. He is the solid ground from which I will propel. But I must admit, it’s still a little scary. There is a weird mix of adrenaline, excitement, anticipation, and curiosity about what is next...and when. I know that at the perfect moment, He will call me to bend my knees, push off, and fly across the desert, that Great Divide, to the very spot that He has already marked for me with the flags of His promises and faithfulness. I can rest in knowing that He will ensure that both of my feet hit the ground and that I don’t fall backwards.

I have to remind myself that I must place my security in who God is, and not in the circumstances swirling around in my life. Sometimes it is hard, because the circumstances seem to be the reality of life. But the true reality is not in the circumstances…the true, unwavering reality is in our great God who sees the entire picture and is always working on our behalf.

One of my favorite verses is Hosea 2:14: So now I am going to draw her back to me. I will lead her into the desert. There I will speak tenderly to her. . . when she rests in me, I will give her back her vineyards.

This verse reminds me that He calls us to see the invisible, to commit to the impossible, and to do the outrageous. He never calls us to do what we can — only to do what He can through us. He calls us to rest and to live in His faithfulness, and only then can He return us to the vineyards of His fruitfulness in us. God will lure us into the desert sometimes —circumstances beyond us—and He asks us to endure the desert with no other thought than that His great heart will sustain us. And may we remember that the desert is all about discovering the faithfulness of God.

Ready... Set... Jump!

You're getting on my nerves.

2008-06-19T15:36:00.011-04:00

I promised to be vulnerable in this blog.

So this is officially my first confession.

Since only about 2 people know about this blog as of today, chances are if you are reading this, then I love you and love having you in my life. However, you should know that it’s probably also true that I have been frustrated or annoyed with you lately. You've really been getting on my nerves. But it’s not just you – it’s everyone. And you haven't done anything to justify my feelings. It's not you -- it's me. It's my junk.

I have been struggling lately with a general sense of frustration with people in general. There’s something sort of hard about my heart lately. I feel uncomfortable in my own skin, because this is an unusual state of mind (and heart) for me. I generally walk around with a “warm fuzziness” about people. I mean, sure, I get annoyed like everyone does at times, but generally, I’m an open and affectionate “I love you” sort of person. Usually, my heart feels especially at home when I’m encouraging or counseling someone. I usually want to know people on a heart level, to see them from the inside out, and to build intimate connections. Yet for some reason, lately, I don’t feel that gooey “love” thing about people in general like I usually do.

And that is simply not acceptable. So I have been wrestling with this for a few weeks now, laying my nasty, ugly self before God and praying that He would search my heart, and change it. And He’s revealed some stuff about why this shift has taken place in my heart. Ouch. I’ll save that for another post.

But for now, I thought I’d share what happened today:

In my Bible Study and prayer time late last night and this morning, I was reading from the book of Romans. I covered up the study notes on the bottom of the pages so that I could read them and listen to the Holy Spirit speak through the verses to me instead of reading them academically.

I landed in Chapter 5, verse 10 and was totally paralyzed. I have read this chapter many times. And I have quoted Romans 5:8 more times than I can count -- to myself and also many times to encourage others. We know it by heart, right? "While we were still sinners, Christ died for us..."

I have always approached this chapter from the idea of reconciliation and justification. God has reconciled us to Him and we are justified in Him. I get that. But this time, I found new life in these verses when I got to verse 10: "For if, when we were God's enemies, we were reconciled to Him through the death of His Son..."

I never really caught hold of the word "enemy" until last night.

Read it again. “… when we were God’s enemies…”

I was God's enemy.

We were God's enemies.

Here I am, having trouble operating from a place of love for people -- not even enemies (I don’t think I have any enemies), but just people in general, perhaps because their habits, mannerisms, response (or lack of), or behavioral traits get on my nerves.

We were/I was God's enemy. Not just like someone who got on his nerves a little bit or had a slightly annoying quirk -- but his ENEMY!

But still, He chose to redeem us. He chose to save us. And He loved his enemies so much that He sent His Son to die for us.

Here's what really got me: He chose to see His enemy in Himself and not in our sin, and then He gave us Jesus.

Before He gave me Jesus, He first looked at me and saw me in Himself.

And that's what I want to do...

To see others in Himself...No matter where they are...Through His eyes and not my own...And give them Jesus.

And I can't give or show Jesus to them until I see them in and through Him.

I love how God defines Himself by doing every single thing that He has called us to do.

He gets it when I pray and struggle with this sometimes. And He allows no excuses.

He had enemies – me. I was His enemy. And He chose to love me. And to save me. And if He can do this for His enemy, then certainly I can love the people whom I encounter. After all, He created me (and us) to do just that.

Thanks, God, for showing me You understand, and for reminding me what is possible when I fix my heart on You, and not on myself.

In The Beginning...

2008-06-19T15:06:00.009-04:00

For a while now, I have had this annoying recurring thought: “Hey, I could blog about this.”

I read lots of blogs. I think I'm addicted. So why not cross over to the other side?

This first post is awkward. It sort of feels like a weird blind date.

Blind Date: Should I tell him about my two yippy dogs and my cooky mother yet?*

First Blog: Should I get vulnerable about how God is breaking and transforming me?

Blind Date: Will he ever call me again?

First Blog: Will they ever read this again?

Blind Date: What if we don't have anything in common?

First Blog: Will the person reading this relate to what I'm writing?

Blind Date: What will I wear?

First Blog: Is my layout catchy enough?

[gulp]

I'm trying not to be nervous and to remember to take deep breaths. Hyperventilating on the first date is just not cute.

My goal for this blog is simply to share random thoughts about God, ministry, and life in general. I promise to be real and honest about God and the work He is doing in my life -- the whole journey, and not just the pretty parts. I'll get vulnerable and share some ugly stuff, too. Overall, I want to focus on God's grace in my life. That's why I chose the name "In Fields of Grace". My prayer is that both you and I will be encouraged by it.

Thanks for reading!

*My mother is not cooky. OK, well, maybe a little. But she is hilarious, wise, and she has instilled godly values in me that have shaped the woman I am becoming. I am proud to call her my "Momma"! I love you, Mom!