The Fight Against Self or The Fight For Justice

Many years ago my pastor preached on Isaiah chapter one, and since that time it has become a favorite of mine. The Word of God is full of commands, some regarding purity laws, some mention various festivals they were to keep, some about sacrifices to be made, some in reference to how they treated others, etc. As much as all of us like to rebel, our hearts really do desire the structure of orders. My flesh would take the Law over Grace any day, and one must only look to various religions to see it pans out the same way: earning one’s redemption. But there are certain rules we like and others we avoid. In the first chapter of Isaiah this is depicted quite well. They had the sacrifices down pat, they had the routine of coming to the temple for their religious days, and they were good at going through the motions of crying out to God. But God calls their bluff- it isn’t originating in their hearts! Enter verses sixteen through seventeen:

“Wash yourselves; make yourselves clean; remove the evil of your deeds from before My eyes; cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice, correct oppression; bring justice to the fatherless, plead the widow’s cause.”

In light of the cross and the freedom we’ve received through that, the first part of that should be easy. We’ve been washed, we’ve been made clean, Christ has removed our sin, and we are free to live in righteousness! But what I’ve noticed through the years is that this is where the Church gets hung up. Though there is desire to live in such a way, the follow through isn’t there. People who have had such godly potential spend their entire lives in a cyclical spiral of trying to just do better and being unable to find freedom. And because their focus is so absorbed in verse sixteen, they are never able to reach the second half of the command.

I am not a holy person by any means- let’s grab lunch, and I can unpack the massiveness of my depravity for you- but I would say that I seek to live in the latter part of those verses. I want to fight for justice for all people, I want to love the orphan and oppressed and poor, and I want to intercede for them however God allows me to do so! There’s a lot that attacks my thoughts, my heart, and even physically as I try to live this out. I’m constantly tempted to go back to the first part of those verses. I’m wicked. I know how dirty I am. I can’t do anything good on my own. I live like I’m not free so much of the time. And before I know it, I’m hung up again and rendered useless to live out verse seventeen.

As I look at my own heart and the state of the Church, I feel a surge of anger rise within me. You see, we are living in a world that desperately needs the gospel, that needs justice, that needs someone to enter into the suffering. You and I will never do this if we can’t get past our own sinfulness. We can’t help save someone from drowning if we never stop drowning ourselves! God calls us to live in freedom not for our own selves, but for the sake of those He loves that don’t yet know Him. Oh friend, be filled with the Good News- it isn’t about you cleaning yourself up or making yourself better. He’s done that already- take the steps to open your eyes to this. I battle this on a daily basis, but my hope is that I (we) am never too bogged down to look to the cross, see the victory bought us there, and get back up to enter the fray. 

Uncompromising Pursuit

I was twenty-one when I 'fell in love' for the first time. We were working at a summer camp together, and it was one of the funnest times of my life. He had so many of the characteristics I'd always dreamed of one day marrying a guy with. But there was one thing that really bothered me throughout the summer and even spurred me on to tell him no to dating as the summer drew to a close. I was very imperfect in my relationship with God, I still very much so am, but it was a deep passion of mine to be known by Him, to press on to know Him, and to make Him known. I tried to spend time with Him daily, I tried to spend time in prayer, I tried to talk about Him often, etc. As broken as I was, I wanted to fight hard to pursue Him. He was my Treasure! This guy I liked sort of was all those things, but it wasn't his primary focus. He was a more 'go-with-the-flow' Christian, not a fighter or pursuer. Though I was young and blinded by love, I did recognize this was a problem. So, I went to the Lord in prayer over it. I knew He'd brought this guy to me for some reason, and I was hoping it was marriage. My prayer went something like this: "Okay God, I know that this guy is perfect for me in so many ways. I really like him! But I feel a bit unequally yoked with him regarding loving and following You. Maybe I can just back off a bit and wait for him to catch up to me. I mean, spiritually the guy is supposed to lead, right? So, if I just don't climb any higher right now, then he can be able to lead eventually. Is that what You're wanting me to do?"

There wasn't an audible voice that spoke to me, but I remember it as vividly as if there had been. God told me NO. He told me that I should NEVER sacrifice my love and desire for Him for anything in this world, even when it looks like a good thing. That my purpose in life is to pursue hard after Him. Anything that calls me to compromise this is not a good thing and should be let go of. So, I sacrificed 'my Isaac' on the altar before the Lord, and He didn't raise him from the dead... and looking at my life and this guy's life now, I am forever grateful He didn't. There have been a few other 'Isaacs' sacrificed through the years. Each one extremely pain-filled, but always I could look back with a grateful heart that God stripped them away.

This morning I received an email from a guy friend who got married a few years back. We'd struggled through being single missionaries on the same field years ago, and he understands the difficulty of this. He closed his email to me with a line that flashed me back to being twenty-one: "I pray God brings you a man worthy of your company and spiritual capacity." More than anyone else, I am very aware that my spiritual capacity is small, and that I am a wretched mess of sin and idolatry! But my desire for and pursuit of the Lord is strong. And so I sit at the age of thirty-two still single, bound and determined to never fall into compromise... having watched too many friends do so throughout the years. Yes, I eagerly want to be married, but I wouldn't trade my life for theirs of backslidden complacency. I'm glad eleven years ago God told me a loud and strong NO!

I have a lot of single friends. It's been hard to personally go through singleness, but for some reason it's even harder for me to watch them face it. I hate the loneliness they feel. I hate the doubts that arise. I hate the lies that circle in their heads. I hate the temptations that come. I want so much to take it all away! But the One who can doesn't, and He doesn't slacken His standard of uncompromising devotion to Him. He continuously calls them to climb higher and swim deeper into the vastness of Him, not beholding the fact that there is no one of the opposite sex around doing the same thing. He calls us all to trust Him. To rely on Him. To give whatever is in our hands over to Him, letting go so that we can embrace what is better: Himself. Maybe one day I (and they) will marry- who knows, but I want to walk down that aisle knowing that He is still my everything and I am getting more of Him through this union. If not, I'll still have a Wedding some day... and for sure I will get more of Him there, because He'll be the One waiting for me with His hand outstretched for mine!

Making Them Known

There's a strange thing felt as one walks into a refugee camp. Gazing across the hundreds of tents, the vast expanse of mint green and white canvas crowding the horizon. Plastic potties dotting the edges of the area in a parade of despised necessity. Fences topped with razor wire, perhaps intended to keep some out or some in. It is a lot to visually and emotionally drink in! But the real challenge is walking up and down the endless rows of makeshift lives and making eye contact. Hollow, empty, forgotten, helpless and hopeless, void of all emotion, just trying to survive... These are the eyes that greet you.

These people have become my friends, nay, the family of my heart. They are beautiful. They are important. They are valuable. And they deserve to be heard, known, and given attention! That has been my goal these past months. Beyond any shadow of a doubt, I want them to know that they aren't completely forgotten and abandoned, or locked away as a dirty secret the world is trying to hide. That they are loved! Though it's hard, I want to listen to the details of their stories. Nearly all still drip with the blood of unstanched grief. It is heavy and it is hard, but they need it, and I've found that so do I.

So, without further ado, pieces of stories I now carry in my heart as a cry to my Abba:

Her baby was starving inside her due to the poor conditions of the camp, so the doctors took her two months early. For over a month she was unable to see her baby, as she had to return to the camp and her little one stayed in an incubator. Now they are together, but living as a refugee is hard enough for an adult, much less a teeny baby who's still forming things that should've grown in the womb. Now her sister, still living in her war-torn country, is facing the exact same situation, but without access to any medical care, nutrition, or help.

He, like everyone else, has been sleeping on a concrete floor for months now. Years spent as a fighter in his country have rendered his body scarred and ragged. Disc and nerve pain nearly have disabled this man, who is only in his late 20's, to the point where it's difficult to take care of his family.

Her family had to flee the war, leaving her unable to even begin high school. Years spent working in another country just to survive meant not being able to go to school. Now here she is, stuck ambiguously at the age of 17 years old, with a dream of being surgeon, with four years of school left before she can even think of going to university.


His father passed away senselessly, because no one in the camp cared to help. Suddenly he found himself thrust into the role of leading the family at a very young age. What seemed like the best idea led to entering hell on earth as they sit endlessly in another camp, praying their mother, with her deteriorating health, survives this ordeal.

They got married, and one year later had to flee to another country. For four years they sat in a camp there, waiting for the bombs to end and life to return back as it had been. It didn't, and now they find themselves in another country, in a camp where the conditions are ten times worse than previously. Six years of marriage are marked by five years in various camps and an inability to have a baby. The doctors say nothing is wrong, but the trauma and stress of the war and camps have rendered her unable to conceive.

She is three years old, but still doesn't speak any proper words. One of her ears and nostrils doesn't work, and she is plagued with chronic asthma. There is so much anger inside her that she often erupts in violent outbursts. Trauma from the war and life in the camps is all they know, but chances are high that there are ulterior problems at work in their little girl. Perhaps help could be acquired, but not here and maybe it will be too late when they are finally allowed to leave.

Once employed by the top salons in a beauty capital of the world, she now possesses nothing as she lives in squalor. Her husband, once an incredible fashion designer, has been reduced to sitting idly day after day. More than anything, they just want to be able to work again. Life is slipping away as they sit powerless to do anything.

In the tent directly behind hers, a group of single guys live, daily drinking and doing drugs. One night their tent caught fire, while she slept unknowingly with her small baby and husband only yards away. The police watched idly, and continue to do so as this group (and others) abuse the weak and lonely. Each night her husband stays awake so she can sleep with their baby in their unprotected tent that has no lock. Consequently, he then must sleep all day as she tries to entertain their child with no toys and no proper food.


For night months he hasn't seen his wife, as she's been living far away with their young son. Trapped in a camp with their four daughters, he feels powerless to be able to help her or unite his family.

I could go on and on with stories about women being raped following watching their husband being murdered- never to know if the child she bore was his or not, or those who've watched family members be blown to pieces in front of their eyes, or countless other unspeakable horrors. Their stories are raw and gory, filled with the stains of gross sins committed against them. And instead of healing and comfort, they've been given the gift of more pain, more fighting, more survival, more hate, and being forgotten.

I plead with you: don't shut your eyes, don't turn away, don't forget! Be a part of ripping the disgusting bandage off that the world has used to try to silence and cover up these stories. May your heart be the one that these vacant eyes come to behold.

Thoughts on Death

Death: the subject no one wants to speak of. That is, except for the one who has tasted its touch in their life. Then there is a perpetual, silent plea for someone to willingly enter that dark arena with you. To sit in the silence it brings forth. To delve the depths of loss together. As much as we hate it, death is one of the few things that unites all humanity onto an even playing field.

So, today I went and spent my afternoon sitting in a cemetery. Perhaps an extremely odd decision for someone who's reached their capacity for entering into suffering and death each day. But I needed to be reminded of truth! I grew up being fed such lies in my culture... Comfort is the number one thing you should pursue. Death is preventable, or at least postponable  Or that one can medicate suffering. But when I travel the world, these things aren't the universal things I find. Mostly cemeteries are, which instantly debunks those lies. Little babies and children lie there. Beautiful women and men in their prime of life accompany them. The suffering can almost be felt as you walk through them. Unfinished stories and life stripped away, filling those left behind with deep heartache. Yes, suffering and death are indeed a part of our journey around the sun.

These last weeks have been filled with unprecedented numbers of killings and the death toll world wide climbs higher daily. The news has been filled (though not all stories are mentioned there) with suicide bombings, shootings, and horrific acts of hatred. My mind can't wrap around the sheer number of people that are now deceased from these actions of deranged people. But it sure is forced to try as I go from tent to tent and my friends update me with pictures of various family members and friends that are no longer with us. Death has become as common place to them as breathing. Being on the other side of things, my heart still is screaming: "NO!" What they have come to accept, I still want to fight against. Partly because I can from my comfortable world, but mostly because this is not right or just! People shouldn't lock other people away in a forgotten camp. People shouldn't massacre their fellow countrymen. People shouldn't use other people as pawns in their own agendas. People shouldn't... But they do and are doing this. And the incense of death rises heavenward in innumerable calculations. 

I have no answers these days. Just tears and prayers. However, it was good to be reminded of truth in the cemetery as my heart falters. These poignant words of Jesus bring the much needed salve for my heart: "I have told you all this so that you may have peace in Me. Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world." (Jn 16:33)

Dancing with Jesus

I've written about singleness a few times (here and here), all of them being while I was Stateside. And, while it is a big struggle for me there, it pales in comparison to what I face when I live overseas! I get asked countless times how old I am, why I am not married, or get hit on by creepy men. I'm normally surrounded by cultures where it's unheard of to be this age and single... not to mention childless! But the real difficulty is found in my own heart: alone-ness is amplified, the desire to be fully known, listened to, and have someone to just share life with increases as I feel overwhelmed, and every night I collapse into bed simply desiring to be held. Lots of tears have been shed through the years, as I've laid my head alone on countless pillows in various countries!

I don't know that words can fully depict how hard this trip has been emotionally. A small evidence of this is that it normally takes a lot for me to cry- it's like a damn breaking oftentimes. This past month I've been crying multiple times a day! So, as you can imagine, correspondingly, the desire for a lifelong friend and partner has revved up.

Yesterday, as tears cascaded down my cheeks yet again, I poured out my heart to God about this pain. As I closed my eyes, this small scene from the movie Gladiator played out in my mind:

Granted, it wasn't fully like this, because I wasn't dying, but it was Jesus waiting for me down the path, beckoning me to run to Him. I was in a white dress, my hair flowing freely in the breeze, and laughter flowing off my lips. It was as if, in this moment, all my needs that had felt neglected for so long were satisfied. And all day long, as I saw pictures of relatives who'd been blown apart by bombs or tried to communicate love without the use of a language, whenever I closed my eyes, there He was. Eager to hold me, to remind me of Truth, to run with me... I can't explain it, but it was the essence of joy and peace in the midst of pain and chaos!

This morning I turned to Zephaniah 3 and read the sweetest thing of all: "The King of Israel, the LORD, is in your midst... The LORD your God is in your midst..." What beauty! And it doesn't stop there: "He will rejoice over you with gladness; He will quiet you by His love; He will exult over you with loud singing..." I don't know or understand why He delights in doing any of those things- I know the ugliness of me. But I'm so grateful He does! And, in light of the people I'm seeking to serve right now, it brings such sweet joy to continue on reading and see: "And I will save the lame and gather the outcast, and I will change their shame into praise and renown in all the earth." He doesn't just invite me to the abundant life of being with Him, He's drawing others to do the same through them seeing my life and story!

God, help us to be a people who use even the worst suffering and unmet desires to draw others to Your Name!

Deep Pain

Many of my blogs are written riding on the curtails of my raw emotions. Sorrow, anger, joy, angst, etc. But the truth is as I sit here tonight, I don't know fully what to say, how to express the well of feelings raging inside me right now. To sit next to multiple people in a day's time and have them show you pictures of their family members who've been blown apart by bombs. To listen as they tell you the story of how yet another person close to them was killed violently. To see how their homes have gone from beauty to indescribable destruction. To feel such immense sympathy and massive inadequacy at the same time that no words can be formed that seem relevant to be uttered. To know story after story of hopelessness, but fighting to still enter in and feel each thing they describe, because it's their life and indeed all they have left in this world. 

The people I encounter day after day have been thrust from a world of often comfort and even luxury to a horrific world of day-to-day survival. Sometimes our visiting them is the only thing that allows them to surface back to a bit of normalcy. Serving their guests tea, sharing stories, laughter, and tears with another who cares, and knowing that they will be back in a few days- not abandoning them like everyone else has (willingly or unwillingly). 

Today, as I was leaving one of our families, she held my hand and tried to describe in broken English how special it was that I visit and that when I leave her to go back to The States, she's going to be heartbroken. I know I am to, but it doesn't compare to her. She bears deep pain in her eyes that, though I've suffered some in my lifetime, I can't even slightly comprehend. I have less than two more months here, and truth be told, I don't know how I'm going to leave... So tonight I just sit here and weep, trying my best to enter into their pain, but knowing it can't compare. This post has no tidy ending- just raw pain that needs to be expressed!

Walking In Their Shoes- Part Two

A continuation of the story I've written attempting to depict the life of someone thrust into the status of 'refugee' in such a way that others around the world can relate. Read the beginning here.

The sweltering, stagnant air inside the tent seemed to seep into the pores of your skin and slowly strangle the life out of your heart as you lay silently on the ground next to your family. Trying to keep still as what felt like a million thoughts assaulted your mind, knowing that even the slightest movement could awaken your exhausted child who'd just spent an hour crying himself to sleep. Tired wasn't the right word to describe your current state. Tired was bypassed months ago. No, soul crushing weariness had taken over your being as you attempted the impossible task of simply keeping your family alive in the various refugee camps you'd been rotated through. Hours filled with the merciless sun beating down, days filled with endless growling stomachs, weeks filled with unknown illnesses due to improper nutrition and hygiene, and months filled with no answers, movement forward, or even a slight glimmer of hope. Despair floated from your being in the form of a long sigh as you closed your eyes against the blackness surrounding your tent and life.

The 4:00AM dawning of the day came all too soon as light boldly crept into all corners of the tent. Soon various needs were expressed from all the children, mostly unvoiced, as they'd learned there was nothing you possessed to help. Tears, unconscious scratching, hacking coughs, and rumbly stomach noises filled the quiet. A short distance away, in another privacy-less dwelling place another family began their day with fighting and strong words. Surveying your comparatively peaceful family, a small amount of gratitude flickered in you. Suddenly the indescribable ache rose up once again inside, almost suffocating you this time: "They are good kids! They have amazing potential. They deserve better! What hope do they have? How can I rescue them from this? I've failed them..." Jerking your eyes closed in an effort to silence those thoughts before they rendered you paralyzed to be what they were needing you to be today, you tiredly ran a hand through your hair and remembered what was on the agenda for today. The only thing on the agenda for today: finding a way to wash everyone's hair. In what felt like a lifetime ago, this would've been a simple evening chore that was quickly finished. Now, with no running water access nearby and mobs of people always surrounding the water truck, it was nearly impossible to clean anything more than your hands. You'd always prided yourself in being a kind, good person, but now, in order to help your family survive, you had to push and fight for merely the right to be human. If it was just you, it wouldn't be worth it, but one look at the state of your children, and your heart mustered enough strength to get dressed.

Once you arrived back at the tent, trying to block out the person you just had to be to simply get this small bucket of water, you began the long process of creating a wall of privacy for everyone. This meant blocking the small amount of wind circulating, which felt tortuous, but what else could be done? One by one everyone sponged off and dipped their hair into the small bucket that was slowly looking less and less like water and more and more like mud. Your oldest child unfairly had to go last, for fear of spreading the horrific, unknown, never-going-away rash to another. Though a far cry from being sanitary, it did feel good to be cleaner than you all were before. Quickly the rigged up privacy barrier was removed and life returned back to the incessant project of trying to capture the most air movement inside the tent. With nothing to do but sit and stare at one another, even silly things like this became all-day-consuming undertakings. In between moving one flap and shifting everyone around, your mind flashed back to when life had more meaning. Your existence had more meaning. There was work, there was school, there was cooking, there were holidays and family, there was travel, and there was even paying the bills. Things that seemed to validate your humanity. Now there was this: absolute nothingness. It was what filled your day yesterday, it was filling up today, and you could count on it being there to meet you tomorrow. The only consistent thing to be done was sending someone to go meet the food truck that came sometime every morning, afternoon, and evening. It was called food, but honestly you'd never seen or tasted stuff such as these items in all your years. Nonetheless, it was all you had, so what choice was there but to consume it and hope it kept you all alive until you could leave this life-sucking place.

Part Three shall be coming soon :)

Walking In Their Shoes- Part One

I'd like to take you on a trip, you know the sort that your elementary school teacher would invite you along on as you closed your eyes and practiced imagining things. Let's imagine together!

It's late one evening, you find yourself collapsed upon the couch, exhausted from a long day. Your family surrounds you, playing, talking, eating, and just enjoying being together. All the sudden a horrific sound splits open the sky and pulses the ground beneath you. Screams fill the room and outdoors, as your family rushes to grab hold of one another. Huddling together on the floor, the children begin weeping as the rat-tat-tat of a machine gun cascades down through the open windows. All too quickly there is a sharp beating upon the door, followed by loud commands. Slowly you rise up to gingerly peek through the cracked door. What follows next becomes a blur in your memory during the next months. All you can recall is being hurled across the room as the door is slammed into being fully opened. Strong words, commands you can't believe, and slowly watching everything you have ever known as yours being burned from your sight and life. Forced to flee for your lives, you find yourselves on your brother's doorstep in another city. Fear fills his face as you see him quickly steal a glance around the curtain next to the door. Relief floods through his features as he sees who it is. The horrific news cannot be refrained as he opens the door and utters the words that continue to haunt your heart. The bombs that constantly fall day and night in your country are not merciful or just. The strength he's had to masquerade behind for days crumbles and sobs break the silence. His family, save his littlest daughter, is all gone. Your own flesh and blood gone, in a flash of light and sound. The only visible remnant of the event is borne upon your niece's body, as shrapnel mangled her flesh, and in her vacant eyes as she trembles silently in the corner, oblivious to all around her. What hope is left for your family? For your people? For this land? Three different armies are rumored to be marching toward this place. What else is to be done but empty your bank account and steal away in the night?

Quietly and quickly your family tries to cross over into the neighboring country in the stillness of night a few days later. The ever watching border patrol is not kind or even humane, often taking the lives of those who sought to do what you are about to attempt. Through some random luck, a call comes through the radio, beckoning all hands on deck for a crisis in another part of the area. Silently you grab every hand you can hold and make a break for the distant lights of a village that represents freedom. Tired, thirsty, and beyond hungry, you noiselessly plod along the rural roads, unsure of where you even are anymore. Days merge into weeks as mere survival becomes the lens through which life is encountered. Finally you all are able to locate a eclectic gathering of people speaking your language and fleeing the same war. Talk spreads quickly in such circumstances, and it doesn't take long to hear of what seems like your only shot at hope: being smuggled far away from here. The cost is your entire life savings, but what choice do you have as you look from face to face of your weary family?

After a few days of rest, you start the long journey to the other side, where good conditions and satisfaction have been promised and even guaranteed. Night after night, you sink to the ground, masking your growling stomach, bleeding feet, bloodshot eyes, and aching body with a smile, softly singing your heavy-ladened children to sleep. Small sobs unconsciously ripple from your smallest's body as she collapses in exhaustion. Will you all ever arrive there alive?

After nearly a month of traveling, you finally make it to the coast where your smuggler has promised the embodiment of hope in a raft that will safely carry you all the way to freedom. But what you find awaiting on the shore isn't any of the agreed upon things. Instead of 40 people to ride along with you, there are a staggering number of 70 waiting along the shoreline for the raft to come. Children wail in unspoken fear, while the adults express inabilities to swim, the life vests that are filled with rubbish instead of foam, and what could lay ahead. After everyone is forcibly shoved onto the boat, the smuggler then announces that he will not be traveling along to navigate, but suddenly designates the nearest man as the captain of the vessel. With no time for anyone to digest this information, he shoves the raft filled with panic-stricken people into the cold waters. Silently he turns and walks off, without a look behind to the people who just made him $60,000 for doing nearly nothing. Knowing that this boat will sink without everyone working together, you try to help the fear-filled captain with seeing around the mass of people. The crashing waves seem endless as the wind picks up on what was once a clear night when you set out. Fear erupts through the entire boat as you are all nearly capsized. As people shift and squirm, you quickly pull out a small baby that has lost its mother and is nearly trampled beneath the mass of humanity above it. Holding on for dear life to this child and your own children, you begin to pray that nothing is lurking out in the dark, unable to be seen as the moon's light vanishes behind yet another cloud. Minutes stretch on into hours, as suddenly a loud sound fills the air as wave upon wave finds another object to crash against. Though you've never been out on the sea, dread fills your heart as you instinctively know this is the sound of water pounding against rocks. Without an act of God, this group would all drown!

Breaking through screams and splashes, a welcome voice is heard nearby shouting in a strange language that they are there to help. In an instant the boat collides into a massive rock and begins to lose its buoyancy quickly. Strong hands start pulling the baby from your arms. Under normal circumstances you would never let go of her, but knowing your own helplessness in this moment, you attempt to shove your own children towards more waiting hands. Land, a dry blanket, food, and warm smiles greet you all as you make it ashore. The relief is short lived as news passes around of how borders have just been closed yesterday, and decisions have been made that will force your family into a holding pattern. The fear that filled your heart as you watched your family being tossed about on the sea returns tenfold into the pit of your stomach. The culmination of all the stress of the last month boils over as hot tears fill your eyes. What now? Where can you go? Caught in the middle of war and rejection, what options could possibly lay before you now?

This is part one of what I hope is a glimpse into the very real pain and struggle thousands of displaced people in this world are currently facing. It is no one's story; rather a compilation of the various pictures I've had painted for me these past months. I hope you can put yourself into their shoes. The passport you own isn't deserved by you anymore than they deserve to be victims of a horrific war. Enter into their story, because, but for an act of mercy from God, it could be yours.

I'm Just One Person

When I think about the hundreds of stories of loss I've either heard, read, or watched during this last year, I feel small. I think about the young man whose whole family is now gone, and he's all alone in this world. Or the young woman who was raped and petrified to sleep at night for fear of another attack. Or the boats of countless people who've disappeared to the depths of the sea. Or of those who've lost loved ones in prisons or from being shot, bombed, or beaten. Or those who've died from a lack of water or food. Bombs, guns, fear, despair, pain, difficulty, hopelessness- these are the things that mark the stories and faces I hold dear in my heart now. I want to enter in, to share their pain and sorrow, to try and bear some of the burden, but the truth is that it's too much. When I stand at the entrance of just one of the thousands of refugee camps throughout this world, I feel so insufficient to even the needs there. The physical needs alone are staggering in these places of true squalor! But the spiritual and emotional needs far surpass what can be seen on the surface. One need only to look in the eyes of just one of the people trapped there to feel the staggering weight and gravity of the situation. When I think about myself, my abilities, and my weaknesses, only one word arises to my mind: helpless. I can do absolutely nothing that bears lasting impact here... I just want to sit down and weep.

But God... I praise His Name that there is a 'but God', because there most definitely didn't have to be! And truth be told, I'm surrounded by people who don't realize that there is a 'but God' to cling to. "But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which He has loved us" entered into our pain, our suffering, our weaknesses, our failures and dwelt there! (Eh 2: 4-7) When I think about the various camps that we are visiting, and the various families we are seeking to help, I'm only able to walk forward because there is a 'but God' and He already resides in these places. He's there- I see Him everywhere. I know that sounds weird: how can God be in such a forsaken, horrific place? He's there because He's the essence of all that is good, all that is beautiful, all that is life, all that is love, and all that is hope! And though evil has triumphed over much, it hasn't destroyed those things completely. It never will, because He wins! And even though I'm small and powerless in and of myself, I am a mighty warrior on the side of the King who wins this whole blasted war with ugliness, pain, disease, sorrow, and death. 

You may look at the news as you sit on your couch each evening and feel the same way: helpless. What can you do? What lasting impact does saying a prayer really have? Or tossing some funds toward the massive black hole of need? Truth be told, there's a lot of hard things happening all around right now- there's not a continent untouched (not sure about Antartica!) by immense suffering! It challenges the core of what you truly believe, if you let it. I'd like to encourage you to go to that place. Examine these hard things, wrestle with them, ask the tough questions, and stop turning a blind eye because you simply don't know what to do. Jesus calls us to follow in His footsteps, so ask Him how He wants you to enter into the fray. It could be at home, it could be on your knees, it could be in a far away land, or it could be all those things. Whatever you do, please don't sit back and think that you're just one person and incapable of doing anything. God already did it, join forces with Him!

A Poem About Freedom

This past week I encountered a bit of my youth, as I ran across my only claim to fame: a poem included in my community college's yearly publication. I was 20 years old at the time I wrote it, and while I wish I could change some of the lines to not be so extreme and judgmental, there is still much truth found in pockets of it. I leave it untouched...

Your Unknown Possession

You, the American, the fortunate one

Wake each day to priceless opportunities

Gifts from some distant forefather

One who allegedly shed blood for you

You partake in these benefits daily

Without thought or even thanks

You attire yourself in hundred dollar skin

For which you will one day pay, but

Not now, thanks to Master Card

You transverse borders with no thought

Traveling from country to communism

To civil wars and back again

Simply relying on a blue, stamped book

You view fires, hurricanes, and starving children

From a Lazy Boy with beer in hand

Flipping screens if too boring or gory

Dismissing images with learned apathy

Christmas and Easter, ritualistic visits

To shell out dues to who knows what

God, merely a name seen when

Purchasing unneeded merchandise

Or maybe pondered on September 11

But only in fear or anger

You stroll from spouse to spouse

That is, if you decide to marry

Children and pets are good when lonely

But require no effort or instruction

Then you wonder about Columbine

You pour time, effort, and money

Into legalizing marijuana

And fail to connect overflowing jails

To the growing addictions

You idealize stick skinny supermodels

But send teenage girls into suicidal depression

Yes, you would be 100% American

Fortunate? Well, you should have been

But in your freedom you lost it

Enslaved to the incessant demands of self

Ask those living in oppression about it

They know the very essence of liberty

Buy you, you only know bondage

Slavery to the freedoms you think you so deserve

Modern Day Joseph

In a perfect world no boy in his early 20's should ever be looking me in the eye saying: "I have no hope anymore" and meaning it with all his heart. Though I meant my words: "No one is ever without hope!" with all my heart as well, they still feel petty in comparison with his story...

Growing up Kurdish is difficult in and of itself, in ways I can't even begin to grasp or detail out here (I'm not trying to be political, just seeking to understand my friend). Being part of a people group with no land of their own and finding yourself surrounded by warring nations provides a glimpse into his childhood. Moving from place to place when he was young, he finally settled in Iraq to begin to work when he should've been pursuing a university education. For three years he found himself bent over nearly double carrying massive stones on his back in the blazing hot sun for 12 hours a day. The pay was minimal, but after saving every penny, he was able to help his family move onward in their journey to what he hoped was a better life. His family set out through the mountains of Iran, seeking entrance into Turkey. It was here that the police took them captive, placing them in a prison for over 2 weeks with no food. His mother has diabetes (I can't imagine how she survived this!), but it was his father that had a heart attack, received no medical help, and died there. How horrific to be treated as so worthless that their lives mattered not! Upon release, they were hit with the cost of burying him in a foreign land: 2,000 Euros! Knowing they needed to keep moving forward, they sought out help to get to Europe. The corrupt man they encountered promised them a safe passage on a boat with 40 people, maximum. He charged them 4,000 Euros for this, and then used force to place them on the boat when there were 70 people climbing aboard instead. All their money was gone, and now their very life was in danger as they set out in the pitch black darkness across unknown waters. A miracle of God protected them as nearly collided head on with a black, almost invisible, ship- they were able to spin out of the way just in time and hang on as the wake nearly toppled them over. Once reaching Greece, they spent 3 months in Idomeni, the worst refugee camp at the time. But a few weeks ago the Greek government decided they were going to remove all the existing camps (able to be seen by tourists, which would affect their money intake during the summer months) and move all the people to military camps (concealed in far off abandoned warehouses). The camp his family was moved to isn't open to most organizations entering, likely because the conditions are so bad, so we sat outside the gate and talked. For 15 days no one emptied the trash bins at the camp! The amount of trash produced by 300 people is massive. There is a family there that they've heard has tuberculosis. The others have been told that there is nothing to worry about, but as they walk through the camp coughing, fact-based fear triumphs over the empty words of the guards. One look at anyone in this camp reveals one of the most horrific issues of all: mosquitos! Some people easily are covered in over 100 bites, as there is zero protection from the nightly onslaught of bloodsuckers from the nearby lake. His mother's health has nosedived as the health care provided is severely limited. There is given no information as to what the next steps will be. There is a Kurdish camp in Athens with people who've waited 10+ years for resettlement! Will this be their story? If they do get resettled in the next year, will they get to choose where they go or be sent to a far off land to live in another camp similar to this one? Will his mom be able to hold out for this seemingly never-ending resolution? Question after question plagues his thoughts. The future is unknown and seemingly bleak.

As I laid on my bed that night, pondering his story, I couldn't help but think about the life of Joseph in the Old Testament. Sold into slavery by his own brothers, falsely accused by his owner's wife, unjustly imprisoned, forgotten by the man he'd helped, etc... A true tale of woe! But through it all, God worked! It even mentions that God's steadfast love was with him when he was in prison. In my mind, steadfast love doesn't equal imprisonment, but in God's kingdom of redeeming evil to good and ugly to beautiful, it can mean this! Maybe steadfast love means injustice, refugee status, unknowns, heartache, and trials beyond compare. God alone knows what redemption of this all will be!

"As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive, as they are today."

Sharing Their Tears

After a few months of being home, I am now back in Eastern Europe helping with the refugee situation again. The circumstances are vastly different than before. When I was in Serbia, I was at a transit camp of sorts. People came and went all day and night. There was not time to really get to know someone or build a deeper relationship. Today marked my first interaction with the horrors I've been reading of these past months. Thousands of refugees packed into makeshift camps, with no idea of what the future holds. I've seen and experienced first hand some really awful things during my times overseas, but I struggle to have categories for this. I played with a little boy who'd lived his entire life in various camps. I talked with a mom who'd been forced to deliver her baby a month early, because it was starving inside her due to a lack of proper nutrition- the baby is extremely small and is now many kilometers away in the hospital (2 hours walk) for the next few months. The children have been unable to attend school for years, so an entire generation is falling through the cracks- them being the hope of maybe rebuilding their country, should the war end anytime in the near future. The list could go on and on...

Today I met a man who is an incredible artist. He not only is gifted, but he is also able to vividly capture all the heart and emotion behind something. As we were all sitting and talking, his wife pulled out about ten sketches he'd made depicting their situation: the war, the EU decision, being stuck in Greece, religion, etc. I am a very strong person, and it often takes a lot to make me cry. However, by the third picture I couldn't hold back the tears. I could barely see the sketches anymore, but I was able to make out clearly one of the last ones. There was a tight rope stretched across a canyon. On the rope were all the refugees, struggling to hang on. Behind them were their own people yelling: "Unbelievers!" and wielding guns. In front of them, with a knife posed over rope, was the EU yelling: "Terrorists!" Where can they go, who will help them, and what hope of a future do they have? I can't imagine being in their situation, but after months of simply reading about it, it was good to share in their tears today. I know there will be many more in the coming months. Please keep praying for the war to end, for them to be able to return home, and for Shalom to come to their hearts fully!

When Pillars of Fire Become Mundane

As I am reading through Exodus again, there is a thought that continually arises: that of remembrance. Truth be told, the entire Bible is full of God commanding His children to remember what He's done, His love, and His promises. The Israelites seem to flunk out of this class repeatedly, even while they are in the midst of the love and provision transpiring.

I can't imagine being guided by a pillar of cloud by day or a pillar of fire by night! How crazy would it be, when you're starving, for there to all the sudden appear sweet wafers on the ground that taste like honey? Or what about flocks of quail surrounding us just as our tummies began to rumble? Whenever I'm thirsty, God brings forth a stream of water out of a rock! Or my clothes never wearing out for 40 years?! Looking back on these incredible and mighty supplies of God's grace, it seems so foolish and ridiculous for the people of Israel to not trust God, to spend their time grumbling, and to doubt His love. How could you see the waters of the Red Sea parted one day and then spend the next cowering in fear of the unknown? Logically it makes no sense!

But then I look at my own heart/life... I have fear (more than I wish to admit), I complain, I grumble, I doubt, I distrust God's love, I forget His provision- all on a daily basis! My heart wants to point out that: "Yeah, but I didn't have the waters parted or the manna fall from heaven into my lap!" But truly I have! It just doesn't look like a sweet wafer or a pair of clothes that never becomes threadbare. I know some of the most incredible people in all the world! God has brought about miracle after miracle to bring me to the place I am with Him. Jobs, financial provision, food, clothes, vehicles, houses, roommates, furniture... and I could go on and on! Countless things, big and small, that were provided when I was at the end of my rope or, even worse, when I thought I could do it on my own. He ALWAYS steps in with love, with grace, with mercy, with compassion, and gentleness. And yet, day after day, my own pillars of fire become less miraculous and less special and and even mundane. I forget, because I no longer see the beauty and power behind it.

There's a reason God requires His children to have certain celebrations throughout the year (passover, booths, etc). He knew they needed a reminder to remember! A chance to not lose sight of His beauty, love, and provision. And there's a reason He calls us to abide in Him daily. He's so good to us- are you able to see that (and Him) today?

Dependency & Relationships

In November of 2013 I wrote this blog,
but never finished it or posted it:

These past years have been rough in regards to relationships. People coming and going in my life. People being really far away. Some people I didn't want being very near. Investing heart and soul, only to have someone stripped away. Being unavailable in times of happiness or sorrow. And lots and lots of prayer.. After saying goodbye to family and friends in the Fall of 2008, I embarked on a sharp learning curve. Part of that process meant (this count was made in frustration at God one day) getting really close to and then saying goodbye (maybe to never see them again) to over 70 people. Other missionaries, short termers and long termers, people in my organization, folks in my church, and local friends. When I say close, I'm not sure the American mind really understands that, because we are part of a society that is independent, take care of myself, and need very little from others. The sort of relationships I shared with people were deep- 'I'm drowning here', 'I have no family or friends around, will you listen and let me cry', 'I don't see or understand God right now', 'My family says if I come to your meetings I'll be punished, so can we have coffee instead'.. A whole new picture of family for me. Some were in my life all 3 years, some only a matter of months. People I came to depend on.. at least initially, until so many moved home, moved cities, or shut down and shut people out. My already independent spirit became even more so. My already un-trusting heart began to let even fewer inside. And so was the state of my heart and life as I moved back to the US. Broken and feeling very alone!

I can't look and analyze these past years and place things in a box of 'right' or 'wrong'. 'Followed God here, but what in the world happened there!' There weren't times of blatant sin, where I walked away, stopped seeking Him, or rebelled. And that's what confused me so much through it all. 'God, I'm following You! Why is everything in my reach turning to shambles and failing?' But looking back (and even to the present), all the crises, all the pain, and the un-understandable moments have been drawing me to this one point: Jeremiah 17:5-6. Oh, I had verses 7-8 memorized! I'd quote them to myself often.. But verses 9-10 are the key to whether a man is trusting in himself and others or trusting in the Lord:

The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it? “I the Lord search the heart and examine the mind, to reward each person according to their conduct, according to what their deeds deserve.”

Unknown to me, I had fully deceived myself. I was trusting in myself! I blogged here about strengths and weakness, having told myself and convinced others I was strong, fearless, and no mountain was unconquerable with God and I. But the reality of how that looked was more like this. I was (am) utterly weak. Maybe one of the most fearful people you know. And I was trusting in my own strength, and God was after His glory, which in my life meant breaking me to show me who I really was.

So, where does that leave me? Simply with an understanding and realization that I am a shrub in the desert. The only place trusting in myself will ever get me is to being a shrub. That tree spoken of later, next to the river with lush greenery, that's only found in trusting the Lord one hundred percent.