The Face of Worship.

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.

No Ordinary Brunch.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.