What an Experience!

Ok, I've stared at this blank screen for minutes now, trying to find words to express what is within me, grasping at some way to eloquently explain the details of Monday night through Wednesday morning. Forget eloquent, I'm just hoping for adequate at this point. Here goes...

Monday evening I began to send support letters to friends and family for my upcoming trip to Haiti. The key word in that sentence is began. You see, I never got a chance to finish. Within 48 hours of sending the first letter, God had provided in a big way! I woke up Wednesday morning to find my personal need of $900 met. Done. Finished. I hadn't even sent all my letters! I was fully prepared to embark on at least a month-long endeavor of support-raising. I've seen it firsthand. I lived with a dear friend who does full time missions. She and several friends have shared with me the joys and trials of support-raising. To be honest, I've more often heard of the trials. So I bolstered myself with a prayer of faith (probably the size of a mustard seed...) and approached the dreaded task. I'm not one to love math, but even I couldn't help but try to work out equations of "this many people would need to give this much to meet my need..." Each time popping the math bubble in my mind with an abrupt reminder of God's faithfulness.

And faithful He was. Our Jehovah Jireh not only confirmed my call to go on this trip, but He also caused my faith to deepen significantly. I spent most of Wednesday in disbelief, longing only to fall flat on my face and praise my Creator. I blared praise music louder than ever before...if that was even possible. I teared up time and time again. I almost did a cartwheel down the hallway at work...almost. It was truly a feeling I've never felt before. I felt like God had picked me up, twirled me around, and set me back down to continue on with my day. The God of the Universe had given me this incredible blessing! I am, of course, beyond grateful for my family and friends. Their love and support will walk each step with me in Haiti. 

While my personal goal has been met, I do however encourage anyone to continue with what you feel God is leading you to give. There are vaccines and supplies I need that are not covered in that $900. Also, anything above and beyond my personal need will go to help the other team members - and if there is any left after that, we will buy supplies to donate. I know that there are a few people on the team specifically who do not have support of their families in this trip, so they may benefit greatly from  the overflow! Donate to the Haiti trip by clicking here.

I'll close with some Scripture that speaks to where my heart is firmly planted:

Psalm 52:8-9

...I trust in God's unfailing love for ever and ever. I will praise You forever for what You have done; in Your name I will hope, for Your name is good. I will praise You in the presence of Your saints.

Psalm 95:1-7

Come, let us sing for joy to the Lord; let us shout aloud to the Rock of our salvation. Let us come before Him with thanksgiving and extol Him with music and song. For the Lord is the great God, the great King above all gods. In his hand are the depths of the earth, and the mountain peaks belong to Him. The sea is His, for He made it, and His hands formed the dry land. Come, let us bow down in worship, let us kneel before the Lord our Maker; for He is our God and we are the people of his pasture, the flock under his care.

Praise Him!

Those That Wish to Remain Unnamed

Fear. It's a four letter word that likes to hold significant power, yet it doesn't get this power on its own. We have to give it. It's amazing how much it can affect the outlook of my life, my week, my day. At the same time, those I interact with on a daily basis probably have no idea of the fears that nag inside. We all have them. So how do we get rid of them? How do we remove them from our lives, reclaiming all that God intends to be ours? We name them. That's right. Giving them a name, calling them out, shining light on them (ugh, I don't like the sound of this either), that is what causes them to shrink and disappear. So, without tons of explanation, I'm naming some of mine. For all to see. I've had friends who've done this via blog. I sense it's freeing. And scary, but mostly freeing. So here goes...

I fear failure...I began to conquer this after arriving in New Zealand - I apparently need to reconquer.

I fear missing the point of why God has me here...in this world, in Georgia, in this season of life.

I fear not being able to follow through on the point of why I'm here...lacking gumption.

I fear all things financial...enough said.

I fear I will have to "go it alone." (Wording from U2's "Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own.)

I fear getting hurt...it's a fact of life, but I'd sure as heck love to avoid it.

I fear hurting others.

I sense God desiring me to purge these fears. As I said in my last post, He's working on some things in me. I think He has some things to show me that require a progression, a deep-set call to continual attention, not just a sudden change. I feel like my verse of the year is 2 Corinthians 12:9: 

"But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me." 

As God began working these things at the start of the year, something became clear early on that I am seeing come to fruition. And it took some fear conquering to get me on board. Ever since my experience in the Philippines, I've been longing to go back. And I believe I will someday. But first, He's asked me to go somewhere else...

HAITI. I've been accepted to travel with a team from 12Stone Church on April 2-10!!!! I felt the pull to apply one night while I was listening to Louie Giglio talk at Passion2011. There was a heaviness in my heart for this country and an excitement that I could be a part of the hope in the rebuilding. I had heard of the opportunity a few weeks earlier but to be honest, I felt nothing. I talked myself out of it before I even gave it a shot. Fast-forward a few weeks to the first weekend of the year. Getting the last-minute opportunity to volunteer at the conference, I knew there was a reason for me being there. Worshipping with thousands of others seeking God. Meeting a dad and his daughter from Haiti who have suffered greatly from the earthquake. Talking with a doctor who pinpointed the reason for my medical burnout. He encouraged me to pursue nursing outside the US, in a place where getting medical care is a luxury, where red-tape, protocol, and all sorts of other passion-killing things aren't even on the radar. All people want is proper medical attention. I had lost sight of the need for medical care. It's common and expected here. And so much of it on the healthcare provider side is so far from the personal interaction. It's paper and charts and computers and red tape and people making decisions from behind a desk that have never walked a day in the life of a nurse. And so I'm going to Haiti. A medical team of me and 9 others will be serving in any capacity we can. And I'm pumped! Beyond excited. I'm begging God to wreck me. Yes, you read that right. To...wreck...me. To take these now named fears and give them no ground to stand on. To blow them so far from my life they'll quiver at the thought of returning. It will take vulnerability. And transparency. And emotion. Just a few things I like to shy away from. One could even call those weaknesses in my life. But that's just the spot for God to enter in and reveal His power! 

The Pull and Tear.

There is a certain pull on my soul as one leading a life following Christ. The world and all its expectations try to tell me one thing. Beliefs and faith tell me another. It's easy to feel the pull to become one among the crowd, to be "normal" along with everyone else. We have TV ads, magazine articles, educations even telling us who and what to be. Pursue this career, move to this area, read this book, watch this movie. The world even goes so far as to tell us when we should be married and starting a family. But then there's Jesus. He also tells us what to be. He doesn't say anything about being one among the crowd or being normal. His life, in fact, was quite radical. He shattered expectations on so many levels. And I believe we are called to do the same.

But there's still that annoying pull. That innate desire to go with the flow of life, of the world's expectations. Sure I desire to be settling down, getting married, starting a family. It feels OK to follow this for awhile, but at the core I know something is wrong. My focus begins to shift off the One who leads me and starts to settle instead on instability. I wander off the solid ground of Truth, and my footing becomes shaky. But all the while I'm praying for God's will to be done in my life. Praying that He would become greater and I would become less (John 3:30). Praying for Him to have His way with me. Society and cultural norms call loud and clear (even when we don't want them to). Yet God's still small voice is ever-present under the din of worldly temptations, if I would only listen. I sense the pull getting stronger toward the true, narrow path. God's Spirit is moving in me, pulling me back to Him. And then it happens. The pull gives way to a tear.

I've lived in that pull the past few months. Desiring some sort of safe, comfortable, normal life. One where I might meet someone and "settle down" - whatever the heck that means. Basically desiring a life that I can fit into a box. Here's where the problem starts: God doesn't work in boxes. He is so outside of the box its ridiculous! But in my prayer for Him to have His way with me, what did I expect? Did I expect comfortable or radical? Safe of crazy? To be honest, it was the comfortable and safe. I tried to see how God would work all the while limiting Him to the safe box. Longing for a way out of what seems to be this holding pattern stage of life, I looked to how He might be shaping the future. But then there's Crazy Love. His crazy love! What does He want for my life? Marriage and family? I don't know. I just know I've felt the pull to get a routine, a sense of a comfortable life. And God can be in that. But I'm sensing that's not for me right now. He's asking for more. Something more radical. And so I tore.

It happened this past weekend as I volunteered at the Passion 2011 conference here in Atlanta. There's just something incredibly moving about worshiping with 22,000+ university students, serving for an amazing ministry. It will take awhile to unpack the great messages I heard, the enlightening conversations I had, the passion that was rekindled. I was reminded that this life is all about Him. It's really not about what I want. It's about me bringing Him glory. That's it. That's why I'm here. So what happens in the wake of the tear? Well, I don't know exactly. I can say so far that God is entering in and beginning to change my outlook and my mentality on a few things. It's strange, there's seemingly less certainty in this spot, but oh the peace! The joy of knowing He's at the center of it all. The exact "tear moment" that happened this past weekend is something I'll elaborate more on in the very near future. All I'll say for now is it involves a more radical outlook on my current purpose, more fully embracing this Crazy Love and beginning to pursue expectations outside the box. And it might just involve me taking a short trip outside the country...

My Friend Peter

Friday was a good day. Scratch that. Friday was a great day! First off, it was Friday, thus making it automatically a good day. It never lets me down - it begins the weekend...every week. I began work at the bakery at 8:30, as usual. But this morning my coworker, Liz, and I decided to spice things up a bit - we played Christmas music!!! Now, hold on a second, I can just hear you arguing that Thanksgiving gets cruelly left out as we speed ahead full on toward the 25th of December. Well, for those who care to know, Thanksgiving is in fact one of my favorite holidays. Simply put, playing Christmas music beginning November 1st (now your eyes are really rolling!) in truth helps me get in the holiday spirit altogether. Come up with some Thanksgiving music and I'll play it. Until then, I'll revel in my holiday music collection as I enjoy Thanksgiving as much as Christmas. I don't discriminate.

Now that that's off my chest, I can adequately move on to what turned a good Friday into a great one. It involves Peter. I've mentioned him before. He's a mall walker. An elder British man who seems to have a bit of a chip on his shoulder while still having a soft side hidden somewhere in the crusty exterior. He came into the bakery the other day while I was in the back room. One of my coworkers said, "Hey Erin, your friend Peter is here." It struck me as funny to refer to him as my friend. He is, of course, but admittedly it's an unlikely friendship. Peter and I have never had more than a 15 minute conversation (although the one 15 minute conversation we did have provided a rather large window into his life story). I've never run into Peter anywhere but the bakery. We have no relatives or friends in common. He is 57 years older than me. Prior to yesterday I'm not even sure he knew my name. But we see each other five days a week...and he's my friend. I always inquire about his agenda for the day. Our exchanges often remind me he's quite the quipster. But he makes me laugh, and I feel like there's a part of him that enjoys my extra-cheery smile and "Have a great day, Peter!" as he walks away with his coffee in hand.

During our "life story" conversation, he shared with me that he would be 83 on November 19th. Apparently I misunderstood this, as it's actually his mother's birthday, but I swear to you he said it was his. We'll chalk it up to miscommunication due to either his old(er) age or my inability to sometimes understand his accent. Either way, I was under the impression that Friday was a day to celebrate Peter. So I did. Awhile back we made British flapjacks at the bakery. He loved them! His eyes lit up as he recounted memories of his mother making them. He's been on me to make them again - one day he said, "I'll see you later, now go make some damn flapjacks!" Well, I took him up on that. I made some Thursday night and boxed them up for him with a card tucked on top. I was so excited to see him at his usual time on Friday morning! When he told me it wasn't his birthday (but it was his mom's), I pressed to know the actual date of his birth. He wouldn't budge. So I told him I declared yesterday the day we would celebrate it since he wouldn't tell me the real day. I told him if his mom wasn't born, he wouldn't be born. Reason enough for me! He agreed and read the card. I busied myself as he read my attempt at dry cynical humor as well as honest kindness. The look on his face and the exclamation that came from his mouth as he opened the box of flapjacks was the moment my day became great. He looked so smitten. We got to talking about his weekend, his plans to go to the fresh market to stock up on British items as well as a stop at the British bakery for pastries. He commented on how it can be lonely at his age..."after living with someone for so long, it's quiet when they're not there..." He thanked me, picked up the box and his cup of coffee and said, "This is the nicest thing anyone could have done for me" and was out the door. I held back tears as I turned back to the tasks at hand. There were no other words that could have brought me more joy.

It was a great Friday, indeed. Next Friday has a lot to live up to...

Cookie Cutters (as promised...) and Treading Water

I once told someone "Cookie cutter cookies are good. Cookie cutter friends are bad."

It sparked a conversation. And a promise. A promise to expound on the meaning of my words via blog. On the eve of this dear friend leaving the country to pursue God's calling on his heart, it seemed an appropriate time to do just that. I've thought a lot about friends lately. How you gain new ones from each life stage. I keep in touch with friends from high school, college, post-college, and world travels; now I'm developing relationships with people here in Georgia. But that doesn't mean I love those from cities past any less. To be honest, no two of my friends are alike. And I like it that way. They all bring something unique to the table, I connect with each of them on different areas. It's kind of like the Olympic rings. Yes, I just compared my friend network to the Olympic rings. They're all different colors, they all connect somehow, but they all stand alone in their own way. That's why a cookie cutter wouldn't work for friends. Aside from being too much of the same thing, there would be no challenge, no interest. It'd be just plain boring. Let's face it, none of us would be who we are if it weren't for our friends.

And so tonight, one of those uniquely shaped non-cookie-cutter friends is stepping on a plane to a distant land (although distant is now relative thanks to Skype). He is following God's call. Giving (up) everything to help bring the Kingdom to earth. Moving to Thailand for a year is no small thing. Neither is the work he will be doing there. Lyrics from Bebo Norman's "The Hammer Holds" comes to mind.

But my dreams are not the issue here, for they, the hammer holds
The task before me seems unclear, but it, my Maker holds


This move, this act of obedience, it's what life is all about. It's radical made normal. It's accomplishing something that a cookie cutter friend never could.

Ok, I've been wracking my brain for some great segue into the "treading water" part of this blog, but to no avail. So I'll just jump in. (Ha, no pun intended.)

I was worshipping at church a few weeks ago and assumed my usual worshipping position: both hands halfway raised or one halfway and one all the way. With eyes closed, I had an image. I saw a child reaching for his parent, obviously with both arms stretched high. I thought, why don't I do that? Why don't I sing to my Father with both hands stretched upwards, a gesture of surrender, of asking to be held? There's something humbling about doing this as an adult. Sure children do it all the time. They fall and cut their knee, they want something to eat, they long to see up on your level...they raise their arms up in the hopes of being picked up. Doesn't our Daddy want us to do the same thing? Raise our hands to Him in a gesture of surrender, longing to see up on His level? I hadn't thought of this again until Friday night when I was worshipping at a conference. One of the speakers used this illustration of both arms of a child reaching up to his parent. God's subtle reminder of something He revealed to me, His words echoed in the voice of another.

At this same night of worship, I was hearing God speak to me about faith. I'll admit not much scares me, but I am seriously afraid of swimming in the ocean. Like past the point where my feet will touch. I don't mind swimming pools. But you put me in the ocean without a life jacket and it's panic. Heart pounding fast, shortness of breath, the whole shebang. But I'll go as far as my feet will take me (with my height that isn't very far!). God was pressing in about trusting Him to take that bold step of faith into the water. I told him I was afraid of the ocean.

He immediately responded with It's ok. I'm not asking you to tread water. I'm asking you to walk on it.

The War

The past week and a half hasn't exactly been the brightest and cheeriest of times. What happened, you ask? No specific event or circumstance. It's just that something seemed "off." I wasn't myself. Each waking second seemed to present a new set of challenges. And not big ones, ones that days earlier would have been no problem. But in that time, it took everything I had to do things right. And the thoughts in my head were pretty stinkin' horrible. I felt a warring between my "new creation" and my old fleshly self. Like serious warring. I didn't like me one bit.

Sleep seemed to be the only escape. So I slept a lot. For some reason, however, I'd wake up and nothing was different. As much as I wanted it to be, I just couldn't make it different. And everything was affected. Interactions with family. Conversations with coworkers. My relationship with God. And that was the worst. I'd pray, but I just didn't feel anything. I'd look at the Scripture hanging on my bathroom wall (telling me I'm redeemed, that the God of the Universe knows me by name...some big stuff!) but couldn't bring myself to read it. I didn't feel it. I was ashamed at my own selfishness, at my own lack of interest.

But I learned something this week. I learned that when you don't feel it, you DO IT ANYWAY. You read Scripture anyway. You pray anyway. You worship anyway. Through the course of these days, I found myself worshipping at church in two different services. If you've read just about any of my posts, you'd know music speaks to my soul. So you'd know then how difficult it was for me to be in the worship setting, feeling nothing. But I found myself singing anyway. Did it feel dishonest? No. Because I believed it. My mind knew the Truth. But my heart just didn't feel it. This is not to suggest that we shouldn't be honest in our worship, but sometimes speaking those words reminds us that we believe it. And this past Wednesday, in the midst of serving the middle schoolers in youth group at church, my heart was called back, awakened, reminded of how to feel for our God. My head knew all week what to THINK, but I just couldn't get past that...until I found myself amidst a sea of middle schoolers singing these words:

Change my heart and make it Yours, everything I am for Your Kingdom's cause

Talk about a humble statement. It took a whopping declaration of humility to burst my balloon of selfishness that had been throwing a pity party for days. This life is simply not about me! Yet there is a great God who loves me anyway. That is weighty stuff when you're in the midst of selfish self-loathing. I KNEW the love, but I just didn't feel like reciprocating it. And yet God loves me. Seriously? That is incredible! His love eventually broke through and awakened my heart again. In worship. In giving back. In serving.

I awoke on Thursday morning with a cloud lifted. I felt like a completely different person. Same circumstances, same routine, but an entirely different outlook. I took that experience with me yesterday to a leadership retreat (for the middle and high school youth group volunteer leaders). All the youth pastors, including Brett Moore, pastor of middle & high school at 12Stone's Flowery Branch and Hamilton Mill campuses, spoke some great words. But one sentence he said broke through on a very personal level: "It feels like we are warring with someone (pause for dramatic effect) because we are." We are warring with "...the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms" (Phil. 6:12). Satan is out to cause fear and failure. He doesn't want us to succeed! And when we are on the verge of great things, he has to try harder. But God's love is stronger and unceasing. His peace eventually began rushing into my soul again. It pulled me out of my funk. It showed me two things: there is a very valid war being fought in our midst every day, and that when you just don't feel...you do it anyway. I have a sneaking suspicion this lesson may come in handy down the road with a marital relationship...or maybe married couples feel like loving all the time (aaah, if only!).

Mall Walkers and Senile Old Men

If there's one thing I've learned from working at the bakery - located in a busy mall - it's that the mall is no longer just a place to shop. (You thought I was going to say something about baking, didn't you?) In the early morning hours, the mall is actually an indoor track for the 60+ population. Ask any one of them and they'll tell you that one loop around is a full mile, unless of course you don't go into all the inlets, then it's just half a mile. Oh yes, we've got the power walkers, those that mosey their way around, some clad in tennis shoes and baseball caps, some in khakis and polos. They are certainly of their own unique breed. Quite a few of these mall walkers - who rarely miss a day - make a stop off at some point for their morning cup of coffee, and sometimes a danish or two. I always get pleasure out of seeing them, asking about their morning walk as I ready their usual cup of joe. Sometimes they're late. Sometimes they seem pretty tuckered out from their laps past the risque storefronts (I often wonder if it's more from disheartened spirits than from physical exertion). Sometimes they miss a day. I like to think they enjoy being known and inquired after. So I inquire.

There's one gentleman in particular I enjoy seeing. I've taken him on as my project. Meet Peter. He's an elderly, widowed, hard-of-hearing, borderline senile British man. And he likes his coffee simple. None of that flavored "rubbish" - his face will contort into something dreadful if you even ask him if he wants something other than Columbian. Today he chastised me for opening the gate late. He was sitting at one of our umbrella tables in the hallway; it's his usual resting spot before he comes in for his caffeine fix. I always ask him how his morning is. He typically grunts some answer in response. I've gathered he has a rather despondent outlook on life. One morning his response was particularly cynical. 

Me: "How's your morning going?" 

Peter: (looks at his watch and responds in a defeated shrug) "Well, it's only 9:30, there's a lot of it left."

A few days ago I asked him his name. He seemed surprised and almost looked as if he didn't believe I'd just asked that as he gave his offhand answer. I've made a point to call him by name since. And yesterday he responded that he had a lot of errands to do upon my inquiry to the rest of his morning. Exciting errands? Not even close according to him. I tried to get him to see that it's all in the journey and anything can be made exciting. He didn't buy it. He quipped back something about "you young folks." 

But today I feel like I made a breakthrough. He wasn't gruff. He was almost pleasant. I thought I'd thrown his morning off-kilter when I opened the gate 7 minutes late (which, to be technical is still 23 minutes earlier than the mall actually opens). I noticed, however, that Peter was all dressed up. Far beyond the usual khaki shorts and polo, he was in dress pants, dress shoes, and a button up. I never really got down to why he was so dapper. I commented on him being "spiffy" - which he promptly denied. But when asked how his morning was, he actual responded with "not too bad" and proceeded to comment on my shirt. It's progress, folks! When you only get mere minutes to interact with someone, you've gotta take what you can get. I'm hoping these daily few minutes might just make an impact with Mr. Peter. Not only do I get to hear my beloved British accent, but I get to work towards my mission of being a bright spot in this man's life.

If you ever feel like getting a workout and not having to pay for it, come take a stroll around the mall. And be sure to stop in at the Kneaded Perk - I'll be glad to fix you a cup of coffee. And I'll even ask you how your morning is going.