Happy Birthday, Dad!!!

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 small town southern girl. 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.

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.
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Vibrations of Worship.

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.

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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.

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.

Stewards of Mystery.

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?

Africa: Thursday

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

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! =)