tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45575368089457419722024-03-13T20:23:36.305-07:00Just LizeeElisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329024680812902738noreply@blogger.comBlogger271125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557536808945741972.post-39431677543673787762017-04-06T21:40:00.000-07:002017-04-06T22:33:34.152-07:00Monachopsis<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The other day I accidentally used a South African word for something and it sort of caught me off guard. For some reason, I momentarily forgot where I was. And I had to chuckle. It's been a while since that happened. Because I love being home. As much as I complain about school I'm thankful to be getting a great education. I don't take lightly the community around me that I miss so dearly when I'm traveling. And who can complain about living in a state where I can go to Disneyland, hike Yosemite, or sit by the waves on any given day off? Who wouldn't want to know that in a few years they will have a dynamic career with a variety of choices? Sure I love it. Sure I want it. It's that dearly loved American Dream. But something just hasn't been sitting right lately. Do you ever glance around you and feel the most out of place in your own environment? Because I do. I often feel like I am in the wrong place. I want school. I want to enjoy being here. But do you know what I want more?! I want the chaos of traveling without perfect plans, with last minute changes and things happening beyond my control. I want a life where I'm always on a trip that is unpredictable. Meetings that require a drive without GPS-just a paper map and the adventure of figuring out how to find my destination. I want to be living on support in a way that forces me to draw near to Jesus because it's all on Him. To be filthy dirty because I've been loving on and playing with kids during the day. To listen to 4 languages every time I go to the store. To be exhausted from a long drive on a dirt road to get to a family I need to check on. To spend days with a worn out missionary or leader who's been working too long and hard, talking and hashing out the junk and pain of life and ministry with Jesus by our side while we hike in a reserve with Zebra and little naughty monkeys in the trees until they experience breakthrough and healing. To live simply without all the wifi and people with phones in their faces everywhere you go. To have unrushed conversations. To get up to birds chirping, taking a walk in the dead quiet, never knowing what kind of large lizards or other creatures you'll run across. To be frustrated by "Africa time" when you have a meeting and to hunker down during load shedding in the hot sticky evenings, no electricity. Only a candle, some art supplies and a book to entertain you. To drive into town in the morning and then to pass up Zebra and Giraffe on your way to the townships in the afternoon, going from one world to a complete different one in half and hour. To wonder each morning exactly what he Lord has planned for that day and to be open to it and excited about it rather than to drive to the office to a desk and a daytimer filled with appointments. To live in a culture where people call or show up unexpectedly. To be at the ready for your plan being changed in one quick moment. Is it easier here? In a lot of ways. Do I want it here? In a lot of ways. But I want the messy, dirty, frustrating, beautiful stuff more. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hetL_TWey8g/WOckmKCjCgI/AAAAAAAABZ0/QTmTIJWcofIEHtF5yACvFmftNZlvYM7-gCLcB/s1600/1005547_10156362442345191_6353702977808939709_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hetL_TWey8g/WOckmKCjCgI/AAAAAAAABZ0/QTmTIJWcofIEHtF5yACvFmftNZlvYM7-gCLcB/s640/1005547_10156362442345191_6353702977808939709_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 22.6667px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></span></div>
Elisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329024680812902738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557536808945741972.post-5613017409205602902016-11-04T17:59:00.003-07:002016-11-19T21:32:35.575-08:00We're All Mad Here Part 2: Twilight Zone Moments. Yesterday on my way to work, a man jumped out in front of my car. On Highway 99. There was a lot of traffic and I was going at least 70 MPH, and he jumped right into the fast lane! By the grace of God, he didn't get hit, and in all of the swerving to miss him, none of us collided, which was truly improbable. I was a bit shaken for the rest of the day, feeling thankful nobody was hurt and being reminded of how precious life truly is. Then in the evening, a realization suddenly hit me. This marks the 4th year in a row in which I have had a close call event in traffic during this very week of November. The last 3 were pretty serious car accidents that I shouldn't have survived-totaling the car I was in and leaving me miraculously okay.<br />
It struck me pretty hard that it keeps happening on the same week every year. And as I thought about it, I can see that I was in the middle of doing something important each time. Important relational things, moves, decisions, and projects. Here, in Houston, in Southern California....do I think it's a coincidence? No.<br />
I think so much more goes on in the Spiritual realm that we can comprehend. And I think that God uses these things to wake us up a bit. You see, the incident yesterday made me really step back and think about life. My priorities. What I'm doing and investing in.....if I ended up in an accident yesterday and was suddenly in the presence of my King, would I be content to say I truly poured myself out with everything I had while on this Earth? What an opportunity to evaluate the areas of my life and take this chance to adjust accordingly. I continue to see that pouring into people is so important! Relationships done well and deep rather than halfway and through social media are so pivotal. Being diligent and making the most of my time is also important. Our existence is so brief. We truly don't know if we're here tomorrow. So I don't want to waste any of it. I want to be a fireball of power and hope and world-change. I want to be active and healthy, a vibrant ball of energy that just makes things happen everywhere I step foot. I want to bring sunshine and hope and solutions and answers and relief. I want to not shy away from ugly, dark, deep, and awkward. I want to be strong. An example to others. And I want to be all of that and hilarious at the same time, never losing that special corner of myself that is untouchable to anyone but Peter Pan. Always a sense of Peter's spirit ready to take off to Neverland and bring everyone with me. I want to be able to offer that magic too. I want so many things with myself in this brief life that it's exhausting. But exciting and full of possibility and fun and amazement and hope. How about you? What thoughts fly through <i style="font-weight: bold;">your </i>head when you think about life being brief and what you want out of it? I'd love to hear! But, first, after writing all of that, I'd love a nap!Elisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03193100070793652138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557536808945741972.post-22265116373931683742016-11-04T17:54:00.002-07:002016-11-04T17:54:37.825-07:00We're all mad here part 1: Mexico dirt livingThis last semester, I had a classmate who lived in her car. She was dedicated to school, worked hard, had a job, and was cute and put together every day that I saw her. But she lived in her car. She didn't have a place to make a home. A family to support her. She was doing this whole thing on her own. I was quite impressed with her bravery.<br />
<br />
The other day, my coworkers teased me as usual about all the typical things they like to tease me about. Among them was the fact that I seem to just know everybody. It's rare for me to see someone at work I don't know or go to a store or restaurant without running into people I'm connected to. This is a running joke at work. They also tease me about the consistently changing array of keys on my key ring and the fact that they can never keep up with where I am staying. I've been house-sitting for about a year solid. It began with a few friends who have always had me watch the house when they're gone, and it grew. Now I am booked for months in advance and I have no idea how it happened. I hold 5 keys to the homes I'm most often at. And some of those homes are so wonderful. There are a few places I stay that have become more "community" houses over the years. These families truly use their places to bless others. My favorite thing is that the keys are hidden in the yard and when I'm there, sometimes a mutual friend will come over for the pool or to borrow some clothes and just walk on in shouting "Hi honey!!!!" It delights me. And it's something so normal to me. It's how our community of people do life. Lovingly invasive. Sharing and living alongside each other. And something is just so right about it. I don't often remember that this isn't always considered "normal" for people until I see my classmate and it hits me that the only difference between us is the fact that whether I deserve it or not, I would never have to worry about sleeping in my car. That just isn't something that would happen to me. Because of Jesus. And my coworkers voice how strange it seems that I know so many people, always have somewhere to sleep, and always seem to be doing life with others. They comment on how unusual this looks from the rest of what they know in life. And I think about that.<br />
<br />
<div>
<div>
Over the next few days, I saw what they meant. </div>
<div>
Case in point; a text conversation with a friend I haven't seen in months:</div>
<div>
<u>Me:</u> Hey! I miss you. We need to catch up!</div>
<div>
<u>Her:</u> Yes! On the Patio? Saturday? </div>
<div>
<u>Me:</u> Perf.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Do you see what I mean? That was the whole conversation. And we both totally understood it. </div>
<div>
(Again, so do a lot of you! Which has a lot to do with my point.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Another example. I ran into someone while shopping who I haven't talked with in several years. In 90 seconds, we talked about having children, school, church involvement, health. By 5 minutes into the conversation, we had discussed doctors, insurance, depression, psychologists, and friendships. How does this happen so quickly? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Example #3: Many times I'll be house-sitting for someone & receive a call from a mutual friend: "Hey. Are you house-sitting for Sue? Can I go over and use the pool? I know where the key is hidden."<br />
This makes me so happy. As I consider all of this, the only way I can explain it is Mexico Dirt Living.</div>
</div>
<br />
A lot of you know exactly what I mean. Mexico. The infamous Easter break mission trips in high school. The army tents, dirt, lack of sleep, service projects, sunburns, cloth bracelets, ministry sights, gross shower stalls, close proximity, and messy way of doing life together. That is a picture of what it looks like to be in the body and community of Christ. And we so often forget that this is a rare beauty and blessing that not everybody gets to experience. I don't have a particular or deep philosophical point to make here, just the thought that this is a beautiful and amazing thing. Beautiful and amazing enough to be the joy of my life. The reason I don't move back to Texas or live in a "nicer" city. I adore doing life with each person I'm in community with <i>here. </i>We ought not overlook this or take it for granted. This week, make time to be in intentional community. Be lovingly invasive in another's life. Look someone in the eye at church and ask a meaty, deep question. The kind of talk you'd have with them if you were on a Mexico trip & in the middle of a gritty, dirty week, with no phone pulling you away from a conversation in which you really talk about things. Show up and drop off something unexpected at someone's home. Cookies. Flowers. A card. Just because of the fact that we are in a community where we <u style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">can</u>.<br />
<br />
<br />Elisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329024680812902738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557536808945741972.post-76435565340630904582016-10-20T21:04:00.001-07:002016-10-20T21:04:40.398-07:00Doing the ugly well.I'm very used to dealing with high functioning anxiety. Which just means that I have a relatively consistent flow of anxiety that stays internalized, that I do life quite fully with, and that rarely shows itself to others. I'm pretty accustomed to that, so trust me when I use the word <i style="font-weight: bold;">big </i>in the next sentence: Today I had a <span style="color: blue;"><i style="font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">big</i> </span>panic attack. Now, I haven't had an extremely large number of panic attacks. And It's been a good while since I've had one at all. But today was definitely an experience. It happened at work. And composure proved challenging to gain. Which made me uncomfortable because I'm typically the chill one, the very professional one, the one calming others down. So the morning took an interesting turn. The details aren't important and won't really be helpful to anyone, so I'll spare you that saga. Instead, I'd like to share what I learned from today. Because I think it could be a very good thing to walk away with. Little important healthy reminders that honestly, we all need sometimes....<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
1. <b>It's totally okay to fall apart</b>. It doesn't mean you're weak. It's just your body/mind saying "Hey! guess what? I'm just human!" Bonus: Psychology says that when you let others see you in a vulnerable state or moment, it may actually make them like you more, trust you deeper, and feel closer to you. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
2. <b>Being real with others is healthy and helpful to all involved. </b>First of all, it can bring healing to simply tell those around you what's been going on with you. They may surprise you with some incredible comebacks and support that will help you heal. And sometimes by being open, we allow others to see and learn what it may be like to hurt or walk through something they haven't. Super valuable. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
3. <b>Pain can be positive. </b>Whether it's physical, emotional, or mental pain, it's a signal that alerts you to something going on and it's actually a GOOD thing. It's pointing a flashing arrow to something. Cool! Dead giveaway to a root or a problem. It can only go up from here!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
4. <b>Celebrate your strength. </b>Whatever challenging or consistent struggle you may be dealing with, embrace the strength it creates. It's almost like body-building but with internal muscles. God allows me to deal with these things to make me strong. We don't get ripped if we avoid the gym. In the same way, hard issues in life create the opportunity to work out through sweat, tears, learning, and growing. This makes us wiser, stronger, more powerful, and more capable of handling tough things and helping others find healing. Now THAT is a beautiful thing, my friends! </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What are your consistent thorns? How ya doing? We can't always control the what. But we can choose how to walk through it. Let's do this thing well. </div>
Elisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03193100070793652138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557536808945741972.post-38617042940157791212016-07-21T17:58:00.001-07:002016-07-21T18:01:55.052-07:00The smallest biggest words.Yes and No. They are the smallest words. But, sometimes, they can be the biggest thing you say.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Yes, please!"<br />
<div>
We go through the phases of wanting to say that to everything. Do we want to help? Yes, please. Do we want to be involved with the new project? Yes, please! Do we want to commit to that new class at the gym or even get certified to teach it? Yes, please! Do we want to go to the party this Friday and the weddings all next month? Yes, please! Do we want to apply for that promotion? Yes, please! Do we need to stop and take a vacation? Yes, please! I recently read Amy Poehler's book by this title and it had me nodding in agreement with her excitement over life and all it's possibilities. She's a geniusly talented woman who goes deep and works her butt off. And I'm writing Leslie Knope into this year's ballot.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"No, but thank you." </div>
<div>
Most of us either have a struggle with saying this, becoming very uncomfortable when we need to, or we are in a stage where we just want to say this to everyone and everything in the world. It's extremely challenging to learn the balance. I read a book recently called "The Best Yes" and surprisingly, it is about learning to say no well and choosing the best option and the best investment with your "yes".</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The more I've been pondering these concepts, the more I've come to believe in the importance of them. Of balance. Of saying "Yes, please!" to the things and the opportunities that are right-even when they're scary and not the first or comfortable choice. It's so much easier sometimes not to try to weigh and think through these types of issues. But when we come to a place or realizing and learning how beautiful a balance can be, it is freeing and healing and life-giving. Not just for you. For others. Because what we often forget is that when we carefully choose our "yes" and our "no", we take better care of our lives and ourselves. And when our lives and ourselves are better managed, we can have better investment in others. I believe all over scripture, it's talked about. It's pointed to. It's shown as the healthiest way to do life. Balancing your "Yes" and your "No." And I absolutely suck at it. I've been to counseling for it over and over and over. And I STILL suck at it. I want to please everyone all the time and I want to hide from them when I know I can't. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The last year has been a lot. Working all the time at 4am at a minimum wage job and going to school has not been good for my body. The doctor called me out recently with test results showing thyroid levels being wonky again, PCOS, high cholesterol, and a bad liver. Apparently I contracted a temporary form of hepatitis in Africa that hasn't left my body and I'm bordering Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. Blah, blah, blah. Whatever. I've seen disease in Africa. I have friends with cancer at the moment, I'm not sitting in a pity party. The point is, I have a choice now. I'm presented with the facts. And I need to choose what direction and option to take. So I think about my "Yes please" and my "No, but thank you" and what is wise despite it being scary. And I make a few large decisions:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After a decade with them, next week will be my last day at Giacomos Espresso. I'm not 18, and my body has some serious issues. I just can't be getting up at 4am anymore. And there's no shame in that. </div>
<div>
Between Starbucks, Borders, and Giacomos, I've been a barista for 15 years. You can bet change is scary. But it's good. I have had 4 job offers. Saying "No, but thank you" is so dang awkward. But it's good. Saying "Yes, please" to the right one for your life is the best thing you can do for you and those watching you. Your choices speak to everyone in your life. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My body is not great. I have PCOS. My thyroid is broken. My liver isn't looking too pretty right now, I have serious problems having any energy, I have the acne of a Jr. High girl going through puberty, and I need to lose weight for my health. What do I do? What is the best way to face and deal with all the issues in one big swoop? I think. I pray. I research. I ponder. I ask questions. And I make a decision. A decision to say "Yes" to one big thing and "No, but thank you" to almost everything else offered to me. Is it easy? No. It's terribly inconvenient. But I believe it will be worth it. I chose to transition into being a (mostly) raw vegan. For many reasons I believe this will be best for me. It's huge, but it's something I think I need to do. I'm in my first week, and I've had 2 meals out that probably had animal fat in the beans, but by next week, I plan on full-on saying "No, thank you" a whole lot. I will get backlash. People will tell me it's not right or not healthy. But I've been in this health world for a long time now. I've taken classes on this lifestyle. My decision isn't naive. I know what I'm getting into and how to get the nutrients I need. Let's hope this helps clear out, reset, and nourishes my body. I've had fun so far this week creating things.<br />
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jt7oJi5xmX8/V5Fnu4gsqtI/AAAAAAAABXw/kvwYB8DV8WsnJj6dY8k1pJomnc0CAhPEACEw/s1600/IMG_0788.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0QIw4yrsqv4/UGyUw2icXLI/AAAAAAAAC48/xuReuAeohWg/s1600/fig+salad.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0QIw4yrsqv4/UGyUw2icXLI/AAAAAAAAC48/xuReuAeohWg/s200/fig+salad.JPG" width="199" /></a><img border="0" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jt7oJi5xmX8/V5Fnu4gsqtI/AAAAAAAABXw/kvwYB8DV8WsnJj6dY8k1pJomnc0CAhPEACEw/s200/IMG_0788.JPG" width="150" /></div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am wired in the arts and haven't said "Yes, please" to anything in music or theatre for years. The other day I sat down and played the piano for the first time in forever. And I sang musicals. Something I forgot I can do. I serenaded my professor with "Popular" and she loved it. I even remembered every word to "Trouble" from The Music Man. Because playing that role (Even though it's always been for a man) is a life-long dream and I refuse to let it die. (You want to know where rap began? Just watch the clip below!) So I'm saying "Yes, please!" to getting back into singing, playing music, and being around the theatre. Not just because I want to and love it, but because by being fully me and by fully using my gifts, I will better pour into and influence others. </div>
<div>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/LI_Oe-jtgdI" width="560"></iframe></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What kinds of things do we all need to stop and consider our "Yes" and our "No" to today? What areas in life are we just going through the motions in that should be evaluated? What decisions are before us that require us to consider a best yes? Not a yes that pleases someone, but a best yes? Because the freedom that comes with being able to choose just one best thing to say "Yes" to is astounding and changes life. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
</div>
Elisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329024680812902738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557536808945741972.post-5219717332721283762016-07-08T14:41:00.000-07:002016-07-08T20:56:49.832-07:00Why 1:16 matters today more than ever. <span style="color: #454545; font-family: "uictfonttextstylebody"; font-size: 17px;">Last week at BVG we began a series called Not Ashamed. </span><br />
<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "uictfonttextstylebody"; font-size: 17px;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "uictfonttextstylebody"; font-size: 17px;">Today, as I woke up to the country in turmoil yet again, I thought and prayed about what I would want to say to my friends who seemed to be genuinely panicked and upset-this shooting leaving them feeling as if all hope and safety is gone. </span><br />
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
As I drove to work in the dark before the sun even rose, I saw the usual people in downtown area. Stumbling about. Shouting and hollering at nobody and nothing except whoever in their minds they assumed was there and listening. And I thought to myself "Yeah. If I didn't know hope, I'd be there. Without hope, I couldn't face this world & life & remain sane." </div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
Then a friend texted to tell me about some dangerous & corrupt things going on in ZA & as I pictured how it's changed in the year since I lived there, I thought "Yeah. If I was living under some of that stuff with no light at the end of the tunnel, I'd probably turn completely angry & go a bit nuts, too!" </div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
A customer pulled through early & shared that she's just been diagnosed with cancer & doesn't see an ounce of meaning in her life. I thought to myself "If I didn't know this life was a moment in something so much grander, I'd feel the exact same way. I'd be done for." </div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
Then I thought about the series we started last week: Not Ashamed. And I saw just how perfect and how needed this series is RIGHT NOW. There are many reasons for us to be unashamed of the gospel. Of the truth that God did so love us that He gave Himself to save us and give us an entire Kingdom-just to be with us. But with so many things going on right now, it's more important that EVER before to fully grasp Romans 1:16: for it truly is the power to save. To save your friends, coworkers, neighbors, and family. Not just save them from an eternity separated from God. But to save them NOW. In this life. In this moment. This week. This fear. This danger. This disease. We have the truth and the hope that heals, redeems, restores, and makes ALL THINGS NEW. All things beautiful. If there was ever a time in your life to brave up and speak up about the Jesus who's radically changed your world, now is the time to do that! Now is when it matters. Let's be that hope this world so desperately needs today.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GoJcW_uYbWg/V4B18mzb7uI/AAAAAAAABXQ/BbgSjmELNDolMAYP0WZSDcedR3aeCh4NACLcB/s1600/13575984_10157122944710191_4233895159398570133_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GoJcW_uYbWg/V4B18mzb7uI/AAAAAAAABXQ/BbgSjmELNDolMAYP0WZSDcedR3aeCh4NACLcB/s320/13575984_10157122944710191_4233895159398570133_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
Elisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03193100070793652138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557536808945741972.post-32846338376531764592016-05-16T16:38:00.003-07:002016-05-16T16:38:34.453-07:00We're all mad here (An introduction)I don't necessarily adore being a barista at 5 am every day. But every day, I see my regular customers. I know their lives. I sense their pain. And I understand that (especially) the difficult ones are difficult because of the pain they live in. Emotional. Physical. Mental. And something in me knows that I may be the only person who looks them in the eye and listens to them today. I may the only one who notices them for something other than what they can offer at their places of employment. Several of my customers get hot chocolate or decaf coffee every day, and I speculate as to whether it's just a daily thing because they know I'll ask and listen about their lives. And so often, I witness someone being shy or embarrassed to share with us. Wanting to talk about what's on their mind but afraid that they're weird and the only one going through whatever mud they're tromping through. My most commonly said phrase with everyone all day is "Oh, you mean you're suffering from that being human thing, too?" And then we all laugh. I watch them feel accepted by that one phrase. I see their shoulders drop an inch or two. And I know there must be so much truth in that simple sentence for so many people to drive away feeling peace, bravery, and a sparkle after hearing it. We are all human. We are all messes. As the Mad Hatter said in Alice in Wonderland, "You're mad, bonkers. But I'll tell you a secret......all the best ones are."<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Guess what? I am in school to be a Psychologist. And I suffer from depression and anxiety. Strange. A little mad. But truth. I dealt with it for years in the past. I thought I had been completely healed from it-the last season has been good and any tough times were largely due to the circumstances around me and not so much my mental and emotional state of things. I'm told that I'm known as the continually positive bee buzzing around work and school. But this year, I was hit very hard with depression. In a way I haven't experienced for a LONG time. I've been hiding in silence and in my schoolwork. Cutting myself off from a lot of my world. Having insomnia. Always anxious about my future. Broken over my present. Worn. Driving in the country late at night with my sunroof open and Hillsong blaring until I feel the bass rattle in my bones while I sob. Because who wants to admit that while they're in school to be a therapist, they're sometimes feeling bonkers themselves? Who wants to admit that there's some serious pain and struggling happening? Who wants to be the one not doing well, needing to get their spark back? Who wants to fall off the pedestal of being so solid and strong and put together spiritually as a missionary or leader in ministry? Not me! It makes me squirm to admit it or talk about it to others, even though when it's <i style="font-weight: bold;">their </i>struggles, I'm happy to listen and talk all day without feeling awkward. (Yeah. I chose the right field to go into.) I don't want to talk about mine. I don't want to admit to it.....Except when I look into the eyes of my customers, classmates, and fellow believers. And I see that they, too, all struggle with something. Because it's so true.....we're all mad here. </div>
<div>
<br />
That theme seems so silly and Disney. But I have been thinking, pondering, talking, and journaling about it. And I believe I have a lot of things to say. A lot of things I've learned and experienced. And if done right, I think I can say things in a way that will have us all laughing and learning at the same time. Finding similar ground and similar joys in the journey. Feeling more connected. Feeling less like the only one. So let's give it a shot. Consider this the Preface. Let's see what the chapters that follow hold...... </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Elisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03193100070793652138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557536808945741972.post-71196448888609434552016-04-23T18:38:00.004-07:002016-04-23T18:38:56.807-07:00Factory Defects<div>
Sometimes in life, you can find yourself in a weird pit. Living in a haze or a fog and not realizing it. </div>
<div>
I have had several challenging circumstances happen all at once and they culminated to become a fog over my head for a few months. But I didn't notice. Until last weekend. </div>
<div>
Last weekend, something kind of cool happened. </div>
<div>
I was driving to work at 4:30 in the morning. Yeah. That happens almost daily. </div>
<div>
It was a still, quiet morning. Because it had been raining all night it was clear and the moon and stars danced quite vividly before my half-opened eyes. And suddenly, something seemed different. I thought to myself, "Why is everything so clear all of a sudden? What's going on? It all looks strange!" After a minute I realized with a chuckle that everything appeared very different today because of the car. You see, I received an upgraded car recently. It is in beautiful condition. And I love it dearly. The windows are all completely perfect. This is a big deal because the 1998 Nissan I've driven for YEARS has a factory defect in the glass. The entire front windshield is filled with little bubbles in the glass itself. Not really any big deal. That car and I have spent years together and I couldn't tell you the last time I even noticed those bubbles. Until I was driving something so much better. Until I was in the middle of looking through different glass and seeing the world through a new lens. As I chuckled about this that early morning, my brain woke up and almost instantly I knew there was more to this. I felt in my spirit that this was deeper than this moment. And as I stopped at a red light, I simply said, "Lord, what is all this really about?" I sat there, waiting for an answer. And it came. All at once. I instinctively knew that this was about where I was in life. And a picture of how we get so used to the things we're in and doing without even noticing when they aren't as they should be. Just like I would view the entire world around me through a windshield that was filled with defects, I have been living, sitting, hiding, and remaining in multiple situations and attitudes that are not healthy. Because I was used to it. Because it had been going on consistently and so I ceased to notice it was even present. And because realizing it and making changes means work and not fun things sometimes. But that's not a reason to stay put. Wouldn't anybody rather be viewing the world through a windshield that is functioning as it's supposed to? Isn't that what God wants for our lives, too? Yes, yes it is. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My windshield is my mind and my body. And it's been viewing the world for a while through glass that is filled with defects. I'm a bit broken. I have been walking around in depression and total bunk about myself and my life in my head. I didn't realize that after I returned from Africa, this started and continued to grow. I didn't stop to clearly see that I've been living in the middle of a few unhealthy and abusive situations and that caused my mind be in quite a messy state. And I didn't notice as it became the normal thing for me. I ceased believing truth. And I ceased to even try. I was just dry. Until the windshield woke me up. And the world began getting beautiful again. It began having more color. More alive-ness. The last few weeks have been a process. Recognizing all the areas in which I've viewed things through the defected window. Wanting to see everything through the new "perfect" window. And having to face and take action to stand up against the things that try to force me into that old car again. Being bold. Being open about it. Seeking and asking for the assistance to make it happen. Saying "no" when it gets you backlash. And putting up all the boundaries. But it's worth it. Let me tell you, the view is so beautiful out there. Don't allow yourself to get swallowed up. Don't allow an old defect to hinder the view. Because those stars are beautiful when you see them clearly. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Elisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329024680812902738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557536808945741972.post-44762507449913104582016-03-23T10:56:00.001-07:002016-03-23T11:17:47.743-07:00GRACE or THE INCREDIBLE PEOPLE I ENCOUNTER #2Most people are simply impressed that she had given up whatever career and big money she could have chosen to agree with her husband that they would move the entire family overseas. Away from anyone they knew or were related to. Away from friends, familiarity, security. No material items and no guarantee or promise of anything specific for the future. Just a deeply planted knowledge that Jesus saves and others needed to hear that. And to this day, that's what most people know and see of her.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I knew who she was for years but didn't really ever speak with her. One day, as I was considering a future in missions, I found her on Facebook. We became friends and I introduced myself. Over time, we chatted across the continents. And I began to see what a beautiful person she is. I saw all the things others did. But I also slowly learned so much more. I began to see what many others don't know. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What they don't know is all the details of what and how she does life. What they aren't aware of is how much she went through these last years. How hurt she was by people she should be able to trust. How uncertain the terrain looked for a while. How little she had and has at times. How many times she's been robbed. And the way in which despite all of that, she doesn't let the attention and knowledge of this fall on her. Instead, she cares deeply about people. All people. The day came when I traveled overseas on a short-term trip and I finally got to hang out with her in her town. And I saw so much that she wouldn't ever let onto. She is so much smarter than she lets on. She is a linguist. She's learned multiple languages and continues to learn more. She often speaks her husband's childhood language when talking with him because it's what he grew up with. She flips back and forth between several languages with ease when out in public. She sees-I mean-REALLY sees- everyone she comes into contact with. The first time I hung out with her, I was struck by the way she really looked at every waiter, every person working in a toll-booth on the road. She stopped and thanked them. Showed them compassion. Every time. It taught me something I wanted to learn and do in my own life. I was astonished by the way in which she really listens to you. Hears not only what you're saying, but what your heart is feeling underneath your words. And she focuses fully on the conversation and asks meaty, deep questions. Then, when you're done venting, she always cleverly thinks of a way to make you laugh hysterically until you've found some healing. How she manages to do this is beyond me. And even though it isn't her main focus, she easily creates art, writes and sings music beautifully, and should she have time to sit and write anything out, she creates vividly beautiful stories. Yet all of these things are kept quiet and unseen by most. Her daily life is spent quietly and busily serving. She serves her family. She serves her church and the community around her. Her heart weeps over the tough lives of the teens she works with. And she goes through each day simply loving on and really seeing every person. Again. And again. And again. Seeing. Loving. Inviting them into Jesus. Seeing. Loving. Inviting them into Jesus. The passion with which she does this is convicting to any person who sees it and my life has been deeply influenced by her example, her life, her days, her love. And the way she sees, loves, and invites me into Jesus. Again. And again. And Again. The quiet and unassuming way in which she does this is to me a picture of a real "missionary." A picture of what it looks like to set aside all the "coulds" for the simplicity of seeing, loving, and inviting into Jesus. That, to me, is Grace. And that is what I call her. </div>
Elisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03193100070793652138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557536808945741972.post-29305002922603607602016-03-21T12:06:00.000-07:002016-03-21T14:03:34.830-07:00What it's doing to me. <div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m angry. No. Not just angry. Furious. And I don’t even know how to express it all except to bang on this keyboard until I’ve gotten most of it out into solid words. Even then, I’m not sure what to make of it. </span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-0fbe4d4d-9a7f-65ee-9869-3de235d2a0d5" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">About 2 months ago, I deleted the Facebook app off my phone. I didn’t announce it to anyone. I didn’t write a post or have a sarcastic speech in which I explained why I am now so much better than facebook and everyone who chooses to continue “wasting time” on it. I didn’t even delete my whole account because I have friends all over the globe and I DO believe it’s a wonderful way to keep in touch. I simply took away the temptation to be on it every day. Not because I think it’s stupid. Not because I’m bitter of fed up with people. But because I realized how broken I’ve become. I realized what the entire concept of social media can do. And I realized that if a mature, level-headed, healthy, aware adult can struggle with some of these issues, we need to be much more concerned for our teenagers. I wanted and needed to think long and hard about some of these things. So I did. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I already knew that I spent too much time on it. Not as much as some people, but too much. I knew I was missing out on a lot of things because my nose was in my newsfeed. That wasn’t anything surprising. I knew I looked too much at what everyone else posted. And I knew that meant I compared myself and my life to others. But what I DIDN’T realized yet was just how much all of that was affecting me emotionally and mentally. I hadn’t stopped to analyze the degree of impact this actually had on me. I knew I was an adult. Intelligent. Capable. Able. I’m going into Psychology for heaven’s sake, I should be able to handle things as much (dare I say even better?) than many others out there. But when I took all the time I had been spending on social media and used it be quiet, un-distracted, unseen, and to really consider how I was doing, I was surprised at what I found. So surprised, in fact, that it took a few days to fully comprehend. I had grown insecure. I had come to view my life as not only less than others, but embarrassing. I was ashamed of what I and my life looked like. I felt ugly, messy, fat, incapable, not good enough, not interesting enough, and less than everyone I knew. I had even begun to hide because I felt so much less than so many of my friends. I stopped going out so much. I began streaming church online because I was embarrassed to be on campus and have others think about how fat or messy I looked. I just felt like I couldn’t keep up, be enough, do enough. And I had fallen apart. All of this had happened because I was looking at everyone else's lives and comparing myself to something I can never obtain. Only when I deleted all the distraction did I fully see the extent to which it had affected me. And I got scared. It terrified me to think that this could happen to me. That I could end up in a pit like this. A pit like that is very hard to get out of. It takes a lot of time, work, intention, attention, strides, and help. Because of who I am and what I’ve lived, I know I will be fine. But I became so concerned for others. My friends. And teenagers. And the generations to come. What about them?!?! What about people who start this earlier? Younger? More often? And never see it and never get out of it? If I can crumble and get to the point of feeling this horrible about my life, what is society doing to us? I almost can’t even think to ask these questions because it disturbs me so deeply. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fashion. Thigh gaps. Plump Lips. Make-up. Pastel hair. Tattoos. Stretch marks. Short shorts. Botox. Libo. Fitness obsessions. Eating disorders. Laser surgeries. Hollywood. Magazines. Pinterest. Photoshop. Only in the last 10 years have we grown into a society of seeing this every time we pick up our smartphones, log into Google, or turn on the television. When my mom was young, she would have to hunt for and purchase a copy of Vogue to see any of this. And young girls today are viewing ALL of this before they’re even developed or able to think rationally. Call me extreme. Call me a feminist. Call me ridiculous. Say I’m starting to sound like an old lady. I don’t care how you want to label it. Roll your eyes. But think about it. We have a HUGE problem. I can't log into my social media and have any way to be as good as everything that flashes before my eyes. In what world is this healthy?!?! And unless we intentionally speak out about it and take some major action to fix it, society is going to ruin young women. We WILL be destroyed. I don’t have all the answers. I’m still working it all out. I still feel insecure. I’m still falling flat on my face. But I'm determined to walk the road of becoming healthy in an increasingly sick society. I'm stubborn enough to stand up and be irate at what we're doing to women today. And I refuse to stop saying that it's wrong and I need to see some real men stand up and say so too! But I’m doing it at the feet of the one who accepts and loves me unconditionally. I’m doing it in the safety of the one who lovingly hand-created me with intention and asking Him to show me exactly what that even means. And I’m trusting that He is using all of this for something beautiful and glorious, because He never fails to. He weaves it all into the most beautiful piece of art we could ever hope for and then some. </span></div>
<br />Elisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03193100070793652138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557536808945741972.post-40077878136015555902016-01-06T08:30:00.000-08:002016-01-06T08:30:45.051-08:00From brothels and bunk beds to the bush and the books.<div class="_39k2" style="background-color: white; margin: 0px auto; padding: 40px 0px; position: relative;">
<div class="_39k2" style="margin: 0px auto; padding: 40px 0px; position: relative;">
First of all, I would have never imagined being in urban ministry and working to end human trafficking in Houston, Texas. Guys, I was living in an old church filled with bunk beds and showers that sometimes didn’t work for days. My clothing in a suitcase under my bunk and a bus pass in my pocket. So let’s just consider how crazy the last season of life had been for me when I discovered that I would be starting 2015 in South Africa-literally landing on January 1st. The adventures with PLAY were incredible and I consider it a blessing when I can be a part of all that Lisa is doing. While I was in South Africa, I prayed about and considered deeply the next steps for my future. I love ministry. I love traveling. I love missions. I adore people. So I thought hard about what should be next. I knew that I once was an unhealthy mess in a pit of bondage and Jesus radically redeemed and rescued me. I knew I had to use that. I knew I loved serving others. I knew that I see the world through specific and unique lenses, but that was where it ended. After great prayer and deliberation, I realized my heart and passion for people has always been one of healing, wholeness, and peace. I see and understand the difficult things people deal with. I pick up on and sense the hurts. I intuitively know about the hard things that aren’t usually seen and the hesitation to talk about it. Particularly when one is in a position of ministry and put on a pedistal. So I swallowed hard, made a very difficult and concrete decision to go to school for a degree in Psychology, and returned home.</div>
<div class="_39k2" style="margin: 0px auto; padding: 40px 0px; position: relative;">
Here’s the part where I stop painting some exciting and glorious picture and talk about truth. Coming back was tough. IS tough. Reintegrating is different for everyone but is always a very hard thing. For me, it’s much harder to stay put in Modesto than to be in ministry and missions. With the decision to return, I lost my support system overnight. One day I was in South Africa at camp in the bush with the kids, and several days later I was in Modesto enrolling at MJC. The interactions I had with people changed. I was suddenly less interesting to many. I went from being a missionary to being stripped of all titles and support overnight. Finding my way into community has not proven to be as smooth as I hoped and I’ve been learning how to be in solitude and okay with it. Being single at my age and switching from missionary to student is rough and isolating. I am desperately trying to pay of debt, afford school, keep a very old car going, and get up at 4am daily to work without being unhealthy. I often run into people I know and get very interesting reactions when they hear I am making coffee at minimum wage. Your skills in ministry and missions don’t always transfer to much in this environment, and there isn’t always too much to choose from. But here’s where the hope comes out to shine like a summer day: </div>
<div class="_39k2" style="margin: 0px auto; padding: 40px 0px; position: relative;">
In the midst of some depression and exhaustion, there have been moments and days of incredible and intense beauty, an irreplaceable joy, and the knowledge that even when things get ugly, I can see the purpose in it all. Without these experiences-all of them-I would never be able to relate to and share in the knowledge of what it’s like. Whether it’s being on staff at a mega-church and experiencing relational hurt and high expectations or living in poverty to serve others right in your community who are unseen. Sometimes it’s working for a corporation that’s not turning out to be as glamorous as others see it or dealing with difficult customers each day. What about being in a society that is pushing a certain amount of materialism and you’re struggling with decisions over your future path? Maybe it’s navigating the ins and outs of living overseas and having given up all of your wealth and close relationships in the name of giving others the hope of Christ. Perhaps you’re returning home from one of these things and are worn and hurting and feeling so lost but afraid to talk about it because everybody seems to think you are someone who’s especially spiritually wise and put together. Maybe you’re single in a church world that caters to young marrieds having families and all you want is to not feel ashamed and to figure out how to flourish right where you are. Whatever the case, our King in His infinite wisdom has chosen to allow me the very incredible pleasure of knowing on a deeply personal level what each of these things is like. It’s been exhausting, but yes, it’s a pleasure. Because down the road, for years to come, I will have the unspeakable joy of relating to others and helping others and connecting to others who need hope and an ear. I will be able to say “I understand. Truly, I have literally been there” in a moment when someone desperately needs to know they are not alone. And that is gorgeous. That is worth all the tears and hurt and uncomfortable moments. To consider it brings me to my knees in awe and I am rendered speechless. Speechless at His perfection. At the way He is constantly weaving things together when we can’t see for the life of us what is going on. For the way it’s always so specific and with purpose and never overlooked or flippantly allowed or unseen. For the way every little detail is cared about deeper than we can imagine and for the way He loves us and has a plan that is extravagantly more than we deserve. He is mighty. He is beauty. He is purpose. He is healing. He is rescue. He is the answer. He is everything and so much more. The more we throw ourselves at His feet, the better it’s going to get. I hope that as you look back on your 2015, you see these things as well. He’s been there every moment. Can you find it? Do you see it? It’s woven into the fabric of your year. Blessings on you and yours as we journey into the next chapter of our stories.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Elisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329024680812902738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557536808945741972.post-9157970262815591272015-10-28T09:44:00.003-07:002016-03-23T11:04:57.786-07:00THE DAY I MET ROSIE THE RIVETER or THE INCREDIBLE PEOPLE I ENCOUNTER #1 Sue* was 98. Short, petite, hunched over, and wrinkled. Full of arthritis. But she would walk circles around the facility with her walker, and she would hum and sing. She was quiet and unassuming. The type pf person who's always around and just fades unnoticed into the background. Nobody knew a lot about her or talked with her a lot. Nobody thought much about it.<br />
<br />
I would play music from the WWII era on the sound system in the background. It played quietly all day. This helped everybody feel comfortable. It was the music all the residents had loved and lived by in an era where there was no television, men were off fighting a dangerous war, and food was rationed for everyone. Music was the glue that held our nation together and these people had in engrained in their souls. I loved it, too. I found it to be very therapeutic.<br />
<br />
One day, Sue began singing a familiar song at the top of her lungs. Perfectly. I laughed and asked her if it was her favorite....<br />
"Oh yes. They played this one in the factory every day. We all loved it!"<br />
"The factory? Did you work outside the home?"<br />
"Of course I did! We all did. It was just the way during the war."<br />
"What did you, do, Sue?"<br />
"Oh, you know. Just the usual. Worked a rivet gun in the airplanes."<br />
"Wait. You were a riveter? Like......a Rosie The Riveter?! That is the coolest thing I have ever heard. I have always been in love with that concept. How amazing! How glamorous! You women did so much to pave the way for women in society. For what women do today and how they are viewed! This is unbelievable! A real riveter right in front of me! I want to hear all about it! Tell me everything. How fun!"<br />
"Honey, come to my room a shake. I have something to show you."<br />
I went to Sue's room. She pulled a framed picture out of a drawer and handed it to me. It was a much younger and most beautiful Sue. I almost wouldn't have recognized her except for the fact that her blue eyes were exactly the same. She was in overalls. Standing in front of a plane holding a rivet gun. Covered in grease. With bright red lipstick on. Everything you would imagine from the posters we've all seen. Except her eyes held a sadness to them. They didn't sparkle with excitement and glamour.<br />
"Sue. This is amazing. You are an icon. You stand for so much that happened and is today. Why don't you talk about this? Why doesn't everybody know about this?"<br />
Sue just chuckled. "You young ones always about the glamor and recognition. To you, Rosie the Riveter is some amazing beautiful deal. But to us, it was just a normal thing on a normal day. We never thought it was fun, wonderful, glamorous, or that it was changing history. We were simply seeing a need and wanting to help with the war effort. Wanting to do our part. It was exhausting, dirty, painful, dangerous, and lonely. It smelled bad. And it was utterly common. There is nothing special about it."<br />
"Well, Sue, it turns out it was a pretty amazing thing later. How do you feel, knowing how people feel about it all now?"<br />
"Darling, it just goes to show you. The most normal and mundane things can end up having the biggest impact later. The question is whether you go looking for that or whether you're just trying to do your part in a world that is desperate for someone to do the exhausting and dirty work unnoticed. Don't you forget that."<br />
<br />
Sue, I haven't.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*Name has been changed for privacy reasonsElisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329024680812902738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557536808945741972.post-84359357356487510352015-08-23T19:21:00.000-07:002015-08-23T19:21:05.794-07:00Sunday afternoon daydreams, shattered hearts, and new chapters. As she sat at the table furiously penciling out how to make this paycheck cover everything, her mind wandered. She was transformed into a street in the middle of Kenya. A crowded, dirty street. There was a huge garbage dump there. And that little boy was digging through it. Looking for what, she didn't know. Food probably. Hoping to find something to sell, maybe. But something. The friend she was with seemed to know the boy. He shouted out a greeting in Swahili and before long the boy was walking and talking alongside them. She marvelled at his young age. It was apparent that the child had been living on these streets. He was filthy. No shoes. Smelly. Too skinny. And higher than a kite. It was the glue. The kids who tried to survive on the streets usually ended up huffing it to subside hunger and numb the hopelessness and fear they were feeling. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lmfmJXemy70/Vdp9bssGZmI/AAAAAAAAAYs/ojU-ydl6I_k/s1600/k1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lmfmJXemy70/Vdp9bssGZmI/AAAAAAAAAYs/ojU-ydl6I_k/s320/k1.jpg" width="234" /></a></div>
The whole concept crushed her. She just wanted to wrap them in her arms, tell them their creator is crazy about them, and let them play as kids should. As they walked the streets chatting with other kids, some joined them and some refused. They all had the same problems: Running away from home or told to leave and having nowhere and nobody in which to find safety. A few of the kids agreed to walk away from the streets and come back to the boy's home for rehabilitation and reintegration. But she wondered, would it work? Would it stick? And the ones that came only to run away would break the hearts of the missionaries she worked for. Hundreds of thoughts were flying through her head and she was struck by the harshness of the work that her friends did day in and day out. <div>
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Nzhx4UyObTk/Vdp90AhnsQI/AAAAAAAAAY0/yd8JHW4VCvk/s1600/k2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Nzhx4UyObTk/Vdp90AhnsQI/AAAAAAAAAY0/yd8JHW4VCvk/s320/k2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Her mind then flashed to Texas and the strange time she had there. Living as a "missionary" in the midst of a wealthy southern town. Taking buses everywhere and experiencing for the first time how difficult it can be to live without a car. Trying to offer hope to the thousands of homeless but seeing little improvement. Working to end human trafficking in brothels. Educating the church. Trying to help the girls. Being chased by pimps. Understanding more than she wanted to about this dark underground world. And seeing just how much evil and damage a person can cause. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
How did she go from there to South Africa, where kids live a life of tough experiences and dangers? Rape statistics at an alarming high. Parents often abandoning their children. Segregation causing deep economical and emotional wounds. And her friends live and work here every day. She was there just long enough for it to feel normal before being ripped away and sent home. And that was enough to break her heart for the country and her friends that struggled to make a difference in it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ogc_4pzqFDM/Vdp-EKdCDHI/AAAAAAAAAY8/eY0J3Q-bYZk/s1600/k4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ogc_4pzqFDM/Vdp-EKdCDHI/AAAAAAAAAY8/eY0J3Q-bYZk/s320/k4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And her mind wandered back to the table she sat at. And the budget. These memories seemed so removed from the worries before her. Like a distant dream that almost seemed to be scenes in a movie rather than real life. After all of that, how is she here? No money. Not able to even afford renting a place to live. Working a "normal" job again. Trying to make ends meet while desperately longing to be making a bigger difference in the world. Starting school all over again, sure of what she's working towards but not sure how to handle living while she does? The most simple, mundane season she's had in decades is suddenly the most painful, most difficult. Because she no longer fits into the box she's found herself back in. She no longer <span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: blue;">wants </span>to work in a job many are content in for years. </span>She's seen too much and can't forget it. The heart she left with when she flew across the world got shattered along the way and the pieces are scattered in the soil of Kisumu. The concrete of old brothels in Houston. And the bush of South Africa. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Tomorrow she will turn the page to the next section of her story. A very different and less colorful section: America. College. Studying. Broke. Not sure where and how to live. And trying to figure out how this new person she's become will do in this environment. She feels like she doesn't have much to show for the last 4 years: Debt. A very old car. No home and no possesions. But the one thing she does have has come to mean more than it ever did before. She has <i style="color: blue; font-weight: bold;">hope </i>and absolutely nothing can take that away from her. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_wtGxXzee0c/Vdp-VfemjrI/AAAAAAAAAZE/xb43NmBC0OU/s1600/k3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_wtGxXzee0c/Vdp-VfemjrI/AAAAAAAAAZE/xb43NmBC0OU/s400/k3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="color: white;">She an</span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Elisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03193100070793652138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557536808945741972.post-35203944197143217882015-06-15T20:15:00.000-07:002015-06-15T20:15:29.384-07:00Hidden in Plain Sight. Today I was quick to judge a customer, placing them in a category I had no right to and was thoroughly embarrassed when I later learned of their very tragic situation. As I contemplated this on my drive home, I began to recall many times in which I have seen people misunderstood. Or when I myself overlooked someone right in front of me, failed to see how painful their life may be, or just plain sat in self-absorption until I was oblivious to the needs placed at my feet. There have been too many instances to count. And in the last few years, I have also been on the other end of things more than I like. I'm becoming pretty darned sure that is because I need to understand what it's like if I will spend my future counseling others.<br />
<br />
I have only tasted a fraction of what a life in ministry and missions may be like. I am fully aware that I have dear friends who understand these intricacies with way more depth than I ever will. But none-the-less, let me use my tiny window of experience to paint a picture of what someone dear to you may be experiencing. I'm not saying these things to get feedback for myself. My goal is simply bringing awareness to this stuff....<br />
<br />
In the last few years, I have worked for several ministries. Being a missionary in a place like Texas doesn't seem like too huge of a thing. But while there, I experienced most of the issues missionaries would: Isolation, culture shock, severe loneliness, unhealthy authority, spiritual abuse, no way out, exhaustion, weariness, too much pouring out and not enough getting poured into, unrealistic expectations, financial hurdles, physical harm. These are all things that I would find most understood by my friends living in foreign countries. Going from that to Africa was beautiful, but African living isn't always easy and at times it was very lonely. Being in a place where people and things have a completely different rhythm and having to navigate it is a hard thing. I didn't always try to talk to friends back home about it because if they haven't been, they don't understand. Then the decision to come home and plant myself was one that began in excitement over being back where I know everything and everyone. Except that didn't happen.......things were suddenly different at church. I was beyond broke from the years of ministry and found I can't find a way to get back on my feet. Going from "missionary" to nothing without a way to provide and survive and feeling none of your skills apply here is a very common struggle for those reintegrating. Most of my friends had bonded in my absence and I suddenly felt I had no place. Wasn't needed or noticed or wanted. Things had gone on and changed. But even more than that, I had. I am a different person than the last time I lived here. Very different. In a lot of positive ways (I learned, am wiser, have grown, and understand the world a bit better). But also in some painful ones. I now have people and places that my heart has grown to love and I'm always thinking about them. Missing them. I suffer from some severe grief or even PTSD from some of the darker things I experienced where I was. Some days I have no energy and start crying at random times because I'm too emotional to stop myself. It might be that I really miss a friend in SA or the things I got to do there. Sometimes it's a sudden memory of something crazy that was said or done to me in Texas and in the moment I am overwhelmed with pain from it. With grief that it wasn't what I had envisioned and dreamed and I had to remove myself. And the problem is that it's hard to explain and the people who are used to the old you aren't able to understand this time. I am really struggling financially, too. This is something else that all missionaries and a large number of those in ministry deal with but don't like talking about. We often serve full-time until we have to stop for a while because we're more than broke. Not because we're trying to look good enough or do good enough. But because we love it and we're wired for it. We only stop when we have to. These are things I feel often go un-noticed by the very bodies who sometimes commission us. We come home and a lot of the details are missed or forgotten. It's hard. It can feel as if we are hidden in plain sight. Seen, but not <i>seen. </i>And I only share it all because I don't want people who work so hard in the Kingdom to become jaded and burnt out due to lack of care. Let's have our eyes open. Let's think about and notice those who need someone to love on them, care for them, simply see where they are and what they're going through, and help them heal and restore when it's needed.<br />
<br />
<br />Elisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03193100070793652138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557536808945741972.post-44934420339975223512015-06-02T19:06:00.002-07:002015-06-02T19:07:15.718-07:00A couple years, 7 ministries, and a continent later. The most common question I am asked since returning to the states is "So, is it hard to go between cultures?" Most of the time I answer "You have no idea." But what I'm really thinking about is the people I have worked for and what I saw.....<br />
<div>
The last few years of traveling and working for various Bible teachers, pastors, missionaries, and ministries have taught me one truth: People in these positions have a LOT of unique hardships that are rarely seen. And a lot of issues that their position brings with it. Things rarely talked about. Rarely understood by anyone who isn't in a similar place. Rarely dealt with. And they spend years feeling shame and the need to hide it. But how do I explain that to people here? How do I make it come to light? And what can I do about it, anyway? How do I handle the passion I've developed to see refreshment, wholeness, hope, and healing brought to people in these places?<br />
<div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Add to that that I've been going through a season of really struggling with my life. The last years, what I've been doing, where I am heading. I've been overwhelmed with all of it. I've often felt like I've simply wandered and floundered around the globe and when long-term missions or the ministries in Texas didn't work out like I'd hoped, I became convinced it was due to my short-comings. That I am just not good enough for anything but making coffee. During this last trip to Africa, I found myself having a bit of a freak-out. Single, in my 30s, more than broke, no plans after the trip, nowhere to go, nobody to go "home" to in any of my places. I was depressed. </div>
<div>
Until a friend helped me look at things from the outside. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
One day over coffee, she suggested that I think about what my passions are. What do I really want? What has God wired into me? And what's stopping me? So I thought. And I realized that I <i style="color: blue;">could </i>help those in unique positions. That perhaps the very reason for the experiences I've had the last few years may be to see the need that needs to be met. To experience a taste of what it's like to be in difficult positions, and to know what it feels like. And then to get trained to help. </div>
<div>
So I decided to return home after Africa, scratch everything, and begin all over again. Make every decision based on what I love and know I can do and be, rather than on what is easiest, fastest, or other people's opinion. It's been lonely, scary and exhausting figuring everything out. But it's also been kind of exciting. I've decided to go back to school. The best way for me to help others is to spend a few years getting equipped and trained. For the next season of life, I will be studying and working hard to get a degree in Behavioral Sciences and Psychology. I'll add a class in Pastoral Counseling and then see where the Lord takes it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I also decided to do some of the things I've always loved but believed didn't matter. </div>
<div>
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fS3YPW9oE9s/VW484QaLreI/AAAAAAAAAU4/-F-9E2-V3R0/s1600/10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fS3YPW9oE9s/VW484QaLreI/AAAAAAAAAU4/-F-9E2-V3R0/s200/10.jpg" width="200" /></a>I recently picked up my guitar again. I've marked MJC's theatre tryouts on my calendar. And since I was 3, I've wanted to dance. I was told my whole life that I should stick to my music because I was overweight. But no more. In September I will be slipping my feet into ballet slippers for the very first time. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's never too late. And your passions are put there for a reason. What have you always felt strongly about? What have you always longed to do? Learn? Experience? Don't let age, opinions, or easy ways out define your decisions. God designed you with certain passions unique to you for a reason. Go. Do it. Be scared. </div>
<div>
But sign up for it anyway. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Elisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03193100070793652138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557536808945741972.post-35265468505155893032015-04-25T22:07:00.001-07:002015-04-25T22:07:57.385-07:00To be brave would be an awfully big adventure.It's a word or phrase that seems to be everywhere. <div>
When you pick up a book it's hidden until the 3rd chapter, when you suddenly see it pop out at you. It's somehow in all the sermons you listen to, cleverly woven it. </div>
<div>
Regardless of the chosen playlist or genre, it will find it's way into your Spotify. </div>
<div>
And when you try to watch a movie to stop thinking about it for a few minutes, it ends up being the theme of the entire film. God's so incredibly creative and clever like that. When He wants you to learn something, there's just no use whatsoever trying to run from it. Might as well buckle your seatbelt and get ready for a ride. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It began in a conversation with a woman in South Africa. As I briefly explained what I did, she said "You are very brave." I kind of snickered before I could stop myself. Brave?! Nope. I just hang out and help people. It's fun for me. Nothing very brave about <i style="color: blue;">that</i>. But more people from home kept using that word in communication with me. I just thought of how ridiculous that is. Especially because as I was in South Africa, I began to experience some pretty intense anxiety and depression. Something I had not dealt with in quite a number of years. That certainly pointed out that I wasn't brave. I whined and complained to a dear friend about it all the time and the only thing I felt was unstable. (Thankfully she reminded me it's okay to be a mess.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When I found out I was coming home sooner than expected, it hit me hard. I cried. And complained. And was angry. A LOT. I freaked out about leaving. I freaked out about separating from my friends. I freaked out about changes. I freaked out about coming home. I freaked out about the future. I just felt not ready for all of it. My "older sister" brought me to the airport. She hugged me and told me I could "be brave." But all I was that day was so afraid of everything that the moment I had to separate from her at security, I simply began sobbing and didn't stop for about 7 hours. (The poor man next to me on that plane probably had the most awkward flight of his life.) </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After getting home, I couldn't decide if I wanted to see people or hide out. My emotions were all over the place and quite unpredictable. The thing that was so hard for me was that everyone wants to meet up with me and then spend time telling me I'm so brave. Which feels like the biggest lie in the world. I don't like that people see me that way while I'm sobbing as I drive home every night and texting Africa in tears saying "I can't do this. I don't want to do this. I'm so lost here. I just want to go back." But the thing is.....every time I turn on music, there's this theme of being brave going on with all the top songs. Every conversation with Africa ends up with "Be brave." Every book I open has the word popping out within pages. Every podcast I click on wants to tackle the idea. I can't get away from it! So I decided to do the only logical thing.....study it. Understand it. Dissect it. And <u style="color: blue; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">be</u> it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The more I've dived into studying the concept of bravery, the more I see that I knew nothing about it. My ideas of bravery before now included superheros seemingly without fear. Firefighters marching straight into flames. Soldiers working hard to fight for and protect our freedom. Those are all the pictures I'd put on the posters that plaster the wall of the grade-school classroom. And of course, when asked who the bravest person in the world is, I'd say Jesus. So naturally, I turned to scripture to study how He did things. My ultimate goal being to strive for His example.</div>
<div>
This is when things began to get very interesting.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Jesus. Brave. Okay. What kinds of things did Jesus do? </div>
<div>
He stood up for what was right despite what was popular. </div>
<div>
He defended and protected to unseen and forgotten. He redeemed the ruined. </div>
<div>
He faced the painful and the ugly rather than hide from it. He wept with those He loved. He felt all the emotions all the time about everything. He put others first. He served. He was humble. He didn't stop to build any form of home or empire or estate, even though He could've had the best. (“Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” -Matthew 8:20) He loved deeply. He hurt deeply for others. He noticed others-like <i>really </i>noticed them. He was honest. He rested when He needed it. He was real and vulnerable and raw. He often hid away to be with The Father. He truly sat with and listened to others. He looked into the eyes of the unwanted. The vile. The dirty. And told them of a King who was crazy about them. He believed when nobody else did. And He was simply himself. At all times. As I was thinking through these things, the whole picture of bravery in my head took on a new life. A new color. And a new form. I began to see what it could look like for me to be brave:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I can be weak. I can cry all I need to. I can be messy. I can be in a season where I have no clue what I'm doing with my life. I can feel lost. Homeless even. Unsure. Small. And I can be completely open about it without feeling any shame. As long as I am loving, leaning on, and putting my trust in the Lord. As long as I live in obedience to Him. As long as my daily goal is for others to experience His love, redemption, and grace. As long as I am serving and selflessly loving others. And as long as His Kingdom is what matters to me at the end of the day. As long as the mess isn't an excuse for inaction. You see, we don't have to have it all together. In fact, we don't have to have <i style="color: blue; font-weight: bold;">any</i> of it together. Being brave just means that even in the junk we don't cease being crazy about who Jesus is and willing to be like Him. He takes care of the rest. Is that beautiful news for you today? It sure is for me. I think I'd like to try being mighty brave.</div>
Elisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03193100070793652138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557536808945741972.post-85303378901878854962015-04-05T12:31:00.002-07:002015-04-05T12:31:28.440-07:00Easter Lessons. <div class="p1">
<span class="s1">This Easter was unlike any I can recall. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Sure, I love Easter. Best day of the year! </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Everything about this world, life, who we are and how we do it rests on one man, an incomprehensible sacrifice, and an empty tomb. I adore Him. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Most Easters consist of either being with the high school ministry in Mexico or celebrating at Big Valley Grace. It’s been years since there’s been any change in that. Until today. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">All week, the Lord has been convicting, teaching, working overtime on me. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">It hasn’t been the warm fuzzies. In fact, it’s been the total opposite.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Hard. Harsh. Tears. Conviction. Asking for a contrite heart and brokenness. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Eish. (As South Africans say.) Watch what you pray for. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I began the week being disappointed and trying not to sit in hurt and hold any form of a grudge. In the middle of desperately wrestling through forgiveness, I felt God saying “I want you to specifically do ____ for them."</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“But Lord, I’m in the middle of explaining to you why I’m upset. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">How can I possibly do that when they’ve hurt me?” </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Because I said so.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">So I begrudgingly obeyed. Feeling myself acting like a spoiled little child who stomps off to obey what she’s been commanded to do because she knows she can’t win this round. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">As the week progressed, the Lord gave me several opportunities to love on several people I just didn’t want to. Over and over. I did it with a grudge. What I really wanted was to withhold myself from them until they saw the light of things. Until they knew how I was feeling about their actions. And THEN. THEN I might decide to love them well. If they earn it. But knowing this to be quite an unhealthy way of doing relationships, I obeyed Jesus. In the middle of all that, I heard Him tell me very clearly that I needed to expand my willingness to love selflessly and give until it hurts. Now that’s one of those concepts that we often talk about, but it’s been a long time since He gave me a serious opportunity to learn this through action. I fought that. I could handle being selfless and forgiving and even loving well someone who has been really affecting my heart. But to give to them until it hurts? That was a very sore subject for days. And I finally gave in, knowing it’s pointless to try to argue with Jesus. And besides, it’s something I knew deep down I needed to be re-learning right now. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">This morning I was given another opportunity to lay aside what I wanted to do in the name of loving well. It was hard, but I knew the action itself is sometimes a physical act of forgiveness for us, so I stomped to it, mumbling grumpy things under my breath. And then thoroughly crying afterwards. (Hey. Forgiving someone doesn’t just make it all happy again overnight!) Then I went to church. And the pastor asked us if we’ve ever had to work at forgiving someone who didn’t even know they were hurting us. And how hard was it? He proceeded to remind us that Jesus did just that on the cross. His act was extravagant, totally selfless, forgiving, and giving until it hurt. (More than we’ll ever be able to comprehend.) He did all of this for every human-knowing how full of sin and ugliness and selfishness and rejection for Him we would be. </span>Can you imagine?!?! I can’t! He did all of that. with full foresight! </div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">And here I am whining about things that in comparison don’t matter one little iota. Can I live a life of generosity and extravagant love and forgiveness and selflessness? Without expecting anything back? Can I give until I am hurting and sacrificing, without it being tied to what the recipient will do for me? Freely and in joy? Perhaps without them even knowing what it cost? I have to try. Because my Jesus did it. And I want to reflect Him. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">This year, Easter has been different. It’s been a good long look at the self-centered person inside. It’s been brokenness over the ugly thoughts and desires I can have. It’s been realizing I’ve barely begun to grasp what loving lavishly and extravagantly at all times looks like. And it’s been the knowledge that I truly don’t know what it really means to give until it hurts. But I have the perfect example. The empty tomb meant resurrection. New hope began. The world was changed. And He continues all of those things. It didn’t stop that day. He is always at work on beautiful resurrections of things in our lives, hearts, homes, families, relationships. He restores. He brings things back from the dead. He makes them beautiful and gives new hope and a new beginning. And He even changes our entire world. The empty tomb doesn’t just mean Jesus was raised from the dead. It means everything else gets to be, too. </span></div>
Elisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03193100070793652138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557536808945741972.post-10223348619730005102015-04-02T13:03:00.001-07:002015-04-02T13:36:46.016-07:00Broken Tiles. It's been an interesting season. South Africa has swept in and whisked me off my feet. I've found myself falling in love with this place and missing others all at the same time. Living in a foreign country that sometimes feels so familiar and sometimes feels totally alien. Learning new things daily. Taking in the colorful tapestry of culture, language, accents, and places. And then-like being hit over the head from behind-suddenly trudging through the mud and muck of some very difficult things that I didn't see coming. Finding myself in the presence of that old familiar voice I never wanted to hear again. Anxiety. Depression even. Waking up one day and being shocked when I glance in the mirror to see that brokenness and messiness have hit me in a new and unique way and the person who was once inside this shell is somehow very different right now. That realization is quite frightening at first. And was fought against. Despised, even. Until finally accepted. Which is actually the best moment of all, because even though I may not see it all leave at that moment, I begin to learn the meaning of it. I begin to understand that only when I am shattered and helpless on my own can I truly begin serving others well.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I have rarely felt this many emotions at once. A visa extension was denied and instead of coming home in June or July, I am on a plane in 2 weeks. I went through some serious sobbing when I found out. Anxiety flooding my veins as if it was taking over and draining me of my life. I don't feel ready to leave this place. The people. New and old friends. The way Jesus has absolutely blown my mind with sunsets, people, nature, animals, children, culture, ministry. There've been days of watching Him work overtime. And days of talking, exploring, learning, and laughing with dear ones. Days of working alone and quietness and wrestling with myself. Sickness. Good health. Loneliness. All of it. And it's going to end more suddenly and abruptly than wanted. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Yesterday I awoke a bit different. A bit more like the person I am used to. </div>
<div>
A spark in my eye and an extra jump in my dance. (My feet aren't thanking me. Zumba blisters is a thing and they're not happy that I'm "all about the bass" lately.) There may be many things that are disappointing me right now-places and people and things that are taking me by difficult surprise. There may be the biggest mix of emotions ever felt at once. Emotions that change by the hour sometimes. Trepidation over a future I know nothing about. Will it be hard to adjust to things and will others understand? Will I fit back in or have to start over? Is there a place for me? What'll I do? Who will do it with me? How do I live? No idea. No plans. No fall-backs. No "Well, if THAT doesn't work out I'll just......." </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Yesterday the Holy Spirit whispered to my heart. He reminded me that this is the opportunity for the greatest adventure yet. And that it's okay to have a huge knot in my stomach right now. It's okay to say "I have no Earthly idea what the heck I'm doing." As long as I still choose to step onto the ride, lift my hands, and allow the operator to be in charge rather than insisting I understand where it's headed, how fast, what waits for me, and how long it'll take to get there. </div>
<div>
It's okay to feel all the things. It's okay to be in a million pieces. I am seriously learning that there is a way to absolutely flourish in that state. And do it beautifully. </div>
<div>
Being honest about things and refusing to sit in a dark self-focussed corner. It is possible to use that soft and sensitive state to love even better and gentler and more fully than before. After all, Jesus served all of humanity the very most when He was in His messiest, weakest, and most shattered state. One beyond any I will ever know. He spoke, encouraged, loved, took care of, and lived an example in the middle of unbearable pain. And that is the balance I must learn. To stop being ashamed of it and allow it to make me more beautiful even if I don't understand how that works. All I know is that when you have a bunch of shattered pieces of broken tile from different things and places, and you pick them up and put them all together, you have one of the most beautiful inventions of all time. A mosaic. Some of it is bright, bold, and beautiful. Some of it soft and lovely and inviting. Some of it even reflects whatever is around it back onto itself to be glimpsed in the light of the colorful beauty. It becomes something to behold, one piece at a time. And that is what I long for. That is what we should all want to be.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-t2rs_Mb67lM/VR2njFpS7cI/AAAAAAAAAUU/sL97BTtCpA4/s1600/download.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-t2rs_Mb67lM/VR2njFpS7cI/AAAAAAAAAUU/sL97BTtCpA4/s1600/download.jpeg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
Elisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03193100070793652138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557536808945741972.post-68472527579027476172015-03-23T08:44:00.000-07:002015-03-23T08:44:29.339-07:00Living In The Blender.<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Most of last night was spent laying in the dark with eyes wide awake. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">That seems to happen a lot these days. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I was upset about so much of the injustice I have seen and experienced here. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">A vivid imagination was playing scenarios over and over on the walls of my mind, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">continually upset about the unfairness that I have experienced even in a few short months. </span>Ridiculous fees that were unwarranted. Someone (I probably trusted) stealing good money and a phone from me. Anger burned under the surface, wanting to find just the right moment and spot to explode. </div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">This morning my dear friend reminded me that these are common things in South Africa. </span>I must not allow anger and bitterness to consume me, or I will be swallowed whole like so many here. This is the way the enemy is at work in these parts, and I have to let it go. (Let it GOOOOO. Let it GOOOOO. There. It’s in your head for a week now. You’re welcome.) All of this was coming from someone who’s repeatedly been robbed, mugged, and treated unfairly by those who should’ve been safe. To witness her attitude completely put me in check. I can’t imagine all she’s been through. </div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">My entire morning and then some was spent in tire shops, trying not to impatiently tap my foot and make it obvious that I am not a fan of the pace with which things are done here. Can’t they see I was dressed in my dance gear and trying to squeeze Zumba in at the gym? What was their problem? </span>I thought to myself how it will be such a comfort to be back in the states. And as soon as that thought entered my mind, something in me immediately said “Will it, though?!” I had a sinking feeling that little voice was very onto something. Something unsettling. I didn’t want to think about it, so I tried to get lost in my book. And ran smack into Kelly Minter describing the challenges of re-integration and reverse culture shock after spending time in the Amazon. Her beautiful and colorfully crafted words resonated so well that I believe she just may have taken a glance into my brain before writing them. </div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Here I was, sitting in a tire shop, reading about what I will soon experience upon returning to the U.S. </span>A sweet woman sat down next to me and asked me where home is. ( A question I am asked daily because as soon as I speak I give myself away.) </div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">For some reason, I completely froze. I didn’t quite know how to answer her. Nothing I could have said to make it simple seemed right. </span>I tried to maintain my calm composure as I slightly freaked out on the inside. <span class="s1">Home. Well, do you mean the small Dutch community I was raised in? Haven’t lived there for a long time. </span>How about the mountains my grandparents were forest rangers in-where I hiked and explored every summer? <span class="s1">Or the beautiful Oregon coast that hosted my Spiritual growth and taught me about unconditional love? </span>Perhaps it’s the Santa Cruz redwoods and the small conference centre where I worked and lived nestled away- finding Jesus and myself among the canopy of those old beautiful giants? Maybe home is the safety, beauty, and serenity of my friends and their property in the Washington countryside. A place where I know I shall always find peace and be allowed to simply be. Or the big southern charm of Texas, where my tendency towards big hair, country music, cowboy boots, and serious women’s ministry is completely normal. So much of myself needs not be explained in the big city and big ministries among the southern heat. Right now I’d say home feels a lot like South Africa. I’m used to the way things are here. And the various cultures, the beauty, the frustration, the visible scars that I see all over this place daily but love deeply none-the-less. The children and their un-briddled enthusiasm over the camp of a lifetime. The slower pace that life takes. The way my friends tell me I am considered “family status” and are always available and checking on me, making time for me, letting me share in meals and game nights and loving me well. The thought of “home” becomes suddenly quite overwhelming and lost to me all at the same time. And like Kelly describes in the book I’m reading, I will forever be missing all the paces I am not. Nowhere will ever feel complete to me again. And the gravity of a life lived with that fully begins to set in for the first time. When I am here I miss the states. When I’m in California I miss Africa and Texas. When I’m in Texas I miss Washington. It’s a puzzle. A puzzle of life in ministry and missions. I have only experienced a slice and I’m forever ruined for normalcy. This makes me even more amazed of my friends who’ve lived this for years. The puzzle is never solved outside of knowing my true home is waiting for me in eternity. Amidst the constantly feeling “out of place” with any group I’m around, I recognize the strange and unique blessing of living this way. Learning to love in all conditions. Extending mercy and grace especially when I may not feel like it. Especially when the people I most want to understand don’t. They can’t. </div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">As I contemplate these things, I simply say the the sweet woman sitting beside me: “Home is many places. I’ve been privileged.” </span>Just then the car is ready, and I smile, knowing that when I get to the gym, the same songs that we dance to in Modesto and Texas will loudly fill a room filled with at least 4 cultures. Suddenly everything feels a little less big and shaky. Sure, I have an interesting road to navigate from now on, but the little things like this make it all okay. </div>
Elisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03193100070793652138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557536808945741972.post-14719002818586575662015-03-04T08:44:00.001-08:002015-03-04T08:44:50.929-08:00Just Liz.<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I have been making some changes to some of my social media. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">It’s an attempt and a stand to go back to my roots and stay there. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Let me try to explain, because I think there’s serious truth here for anyone.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Without realising it, we all fall under a certain stream or category of thinking. Unintentionally, we listen to, study under, read, talk like, and begin to act out of the people we are “following” and highly revere. It just slowly happens. Most of the time we are unaware that we tend to head in a certain direction. </span>I know I didn’t see it. It took God dragging me back over here-half a world away- to truly rip off all the Americanised extras I have and sit me in the middle of having to slow down and be quiet and think. </div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">At first I had a very difficult time with the lack of connection and wifi. I didn’t want to say it out loud, but I struggled being off of texting and social media. Something in me felt a consistent agitation over not being able to “be out there.” And the day I realised that was my problem was the day everything started making more sense……..</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I have always been vocal. I’m loud. I write and say things constantly. Most of it encouraging others to be outside the box. Rebel against our society. Stop the social media madness, blah, blah, blah……And I mean that. But here’s the thing. A lot of the people I really look up to and follow are very into all that. They teach that in order to truly get out there, truly become known and advance to the place you want to be, you’ve GOT to be on social media in certain ways, at certain times, posting these certain things. And boy have I ever followed that to a “T”. Sometimes I thought I was being super smart about what or how I was doing things. Sounds a lot like manipulation, doesn’t it? Sometimes I did it because I knew certain people would see it and I wanted them to think a certain way in response. Control issues much? And yes, we all succumb to this behaviour. But I didn’t see just how much I have until the last few weeks. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I hit a point recently of literally crying and saying to God “But if I’m not posting people will stop supporting me financially. They might forget about me. I will move home and have been totally disconnected. What if they don’t want me for ministry because I haven’t been saying amazing things online? What if I’m nothing to everybody?” And as those words left my lips, it was like a veil was torn from my eyes. I saw just how much I’ve fallen into several traps. Traps of insecurity for one-which is hard to admit because guess who likes to portray herself as secure and all put-together? And traps of listening to man rather than my King. Man, who tells me what kind of thing I need to be doing with my life. Man, who says it’s a waste if I’m not passionately out there every second in ministry. Man, who makes me feel if I’m not rescuing victims of trafficking off the streets and locking myself in a prayer room I am too weak, can’t hack it, don’t understand what the spiritual battle in the heavenlies is all about. Man. Who says I HAVE to live in the slums of Africa or India to truly be living out what Jesus really said. That’s the biggest one. Do you know that until extremely recently I actually believed that? Because a teacher I had at Theology school actually says that the only true thing a believer should do is global missions. Period. No other option. And with his carefully chosen scripture to back it up, I felt I had no choice and I must do this or be disappointing God. So much poverty and need. Surely that’s what He wants. And why isn’t everyone seeing this, dang it? Wake up, guys!!!!! </span>I thought that if I don’t end up on the streets of Houston or LA or here in Africa long-term, I am a weak failure. The pressure of people like that teacher and the trafficking fanatics and the mega-ministry gurus have made me feel like I’m going mad with desperation. Desperation to make something of myself. I learned to swing conversations my way when I meet a new pastor or important person. I know how to sweet-talk and even name-drop some of the “big” people I’ve had the pleasure of being around or working for. (The funny thing is the biggest name I like to drop would never ever be okay with that. But others taught me that’s how you get ahead.) I have fallen low enough in recent years to actually sign up for stuff just to rub shoulders with certain people. And then the other day with just a few sentences, God blew it all out of the water. </div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I was sitting in front of the most beautiful waterfall. Just listening as the water cascaded over the rocks. Telling God I was here if he happened to have something to say........</span></div>
<div class="p1">
(That was dripping with sarcasm, btw…) </div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">And it came. Simple. But profound enough to blow my world apart: </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Stop. Stop all of it.” </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“What do you mean? Stop WHAT?”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Everything. Push every bit of it aside. Now answer this: Without all the ‘should’, who are you and what do you love? No churchy answers!” </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Okay. I love color. Lots of color. Art. Music. Oh, how I miss singing and playing piano and guitar! Theatre. Theatre makes my soul come alive. I just want to work on musicals every day of my life. I love the ocean. feeling girly. Literature: the smell of old books. Small cozy spaces. Traveling a lot. A corner of my own. Little House on the Prairie- why do I love that show so?! Older time periods. Nature. Animals. Food. Flowers…...” </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“That’s more like it. Do all that.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“WHAAAAAT?! I can NOT do all that. I can scarcely do ANY of that. Life is too short and this world is falling apart. I have to serve. To be in ministry. I need to influence people. Mentor people. Work at the church. Work in trafficking. Keep going to Africa…….” </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“STOP. STOP ALL OF IT.” </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“I don’t understand.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Stop it. Stop trying. Stop name-dropping. What do you think would happen if you never told others about working with _____ and being with ____ ministry? What would happen if you stopped it all and just did the things you listed and loved people passionately with my eyes? I wired you with all of that, you know. You think it’s all about ministering to others. But you walk away from the stuff that ministers to MY heart. Be you fully and simply. Those things do change a world that is falling apart."</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">And my world was shattered. It was like a high note had been reached and these glass walls that have been surrounding me fell into a million pieces at my feet. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">For the first time in my life, I understood the invitation to live simply and quietly. And I feel the freedom to just be……it doesn’t matter who sees or knows what I am doing. The ones who He wants to glean from it will be there. And that’s up to Him. What matters is that I fully do what I’m wired to do. All the way. That I stop listening to man and listen to my King. Will I work in ministry? Probably. Will I return to Africa? It’s likely. But I will first and foremost understand and make time for who I really am. And I will learn not to be ashamed of it. I will learn to enjoy the moments of doing what I love because I know He loves it. I will be colourful and artsy and imperfect and messy me. I will just be Liz. No other titles. Because that’s what really matters. </span></div>
Elisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03193100070793652138noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557536808945741972.post-27673685186215533062015-03-02T08:43:00.000-08:002015-03-02T08:43:02.294-08:00Wrestling.<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">A friend asked me the other day what I’ve been going through.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">As I tried to describe it, I struggled to come up with the words. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">After careful contemplation I came up with the best thing I could-</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">wrestling with God. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Now, at first I hardly dared mention it, something about that seemed so wrong. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">As if I shouldn’t ever do such a thing or at least admit to it. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">But as I drove home I considered that. And I remembered Jacob. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Who, after years of being selfish and deceptive spent one very long night locked on the floor mat with God himself. Wrestling. Working out his issues. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">What exactly did that wrestling entail? Was it physical? Very. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Was is spiritual? Commentators suggest that is was. The chapter that tells us the story even tells us he cried out during the night. Probably exhausted on every level. Probably facing his past and his mistakes. Asking with desperation for God’s hand in his future. And refusing to unlock himself from the grasp of God until he was blessed. It’s kind of an odd story, if you think about it. Whenever I read a story in scripture, I can’t help but ask “Now why is it that this particular passage made the cut? What about it was significant enough that God would want it in here for thousands of years and generations to come? And as I mulled that over with Jacob, I was again reminded of some serious truth….</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Wrestling by nature is extremely intimate. Extremely intertwined. You don’t wrestle with someone without getting to know them better. You pick up on their strength. Their go-to moves. Their way of weaving and moving. It’s almost a unique sort of dance, but there’s even more contact. And it can be stretching. Or painful. You can hurt yourself. You can’t ever really predict the outcome. Think about all of that while wrestling with God, and it can seem a bit frightening. Ah, but it can also be the most amazing, exhilarating, and beautiful experience in the world. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">If God has allowed (or perhaps even invited) you to wrestle with Him, it’s actually an invitation to know Him more. Almost nothing could be more intimate that getting down on the floor and locking arms, legs, and bodies. Going head to head. You get to know Him better. You see new things about Him. You learn more about His strengths-and yours while you’re at it. You are tangled up together so closely it might almost be difficult to tell who’s leg that is sometimes. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">It’s exhausting. But exhilarating. It may be painful but your muscles have gotten stronger. And you never really leave that match without learning something new from the experience. So if and when we have the opportunity to wrestle things out with God, let’s not walk away. Let’s not refuse. Let’s be ready for the challenge. Let’s bear down and lock ourselves into it. And let’s not let up too soon, either. For the blessings that will come after a long match will change us from the inside out. </span></div>
Elisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329024680812902738noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557536808945741972.post-91039609876741202432015-02-22T11:02:00.002-08:002015-02-22T11:02:38.856-08:00A quiet Sunday's thoughts. <div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Sometimes it feels strange to be in a another place for long.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The cultural differences can get to you. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Patience can be hard with things that don’t work like they do at home. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Everything takes longer. And doesn’t function like you’re used to. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Things can seem to close in and make you feel cut off. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Longing for what is familiar. For what you know and are used to. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Your eyes can forget to see the beauty around you. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Forget to appreciate what’s right there. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">But then. Then you sit over coffee with a dear friend and laugh about those very things. You make jokes about what is difficult. And you realize “Oh, they get it!” </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">You chuckle as you discuss home and the things you know so well. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">From now on when you’re alone and stuck with a cultural frustration, you laugh out loud remembering that your friend too knows how this is. Knows how you feel. And it’s not so bad. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">You pick up the Word one morning and realize it too hasn’t changed. You read familiar passages. You glean from them just as you have in other states and other countries all over the globe. They are familiar. They are unchanging. They apply to this culture. And your culture. And every culture. That’s pretty amazing to consider when other things rarely translate well. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">You sit in a class of at least 5 cultures. Looking around, you seem to notice the differences. But as everyone begins to discuss issues and share what they’ve written, you hear common threads running throughout the room. Emotions. Painful times and times of overflowing joy. They are common to man. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">And as you sit in church Sunday, you look around at the colourful faces. You don’t know any of them. You hear different languages being spoken, none English. There are various styles of clothing from all over this continent, none like yours. But you’ve noticed they all sit in the same section each week. They all worship similarly. They all seem to relate to what the pastor says. They all amen and agree with the points he makes. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">As you leave church, you see the one familiar face you know from home in the crowd. Suddenly it doesn’t feel as if you are in a foreign place. It doesn’t feel as if you are so different, plopped in the middle of something unfamiliar. It just feels, well, normal. It feels like the oldest most familiar thing in the world. This doesn’t look that different in any country or culture. Sure, here you may see colourful dresses and head wraps. In Texas there was major bling and very big hair. At home there are sandals and flat-irons. But the people you are with anywhere….they all struggle with the same issues and same emotions. They read the same scriptures. They even sing most of the same songs. They know and love the same God who has delivered them from many of the same trials and loved them through many of the same heartaches. Halfway across the world and you have a flash of feeling….well….home. </span></div>
Elisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329024680812902738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557536808945741972.post-29111564127582122752015-02-19T12:41:00.002-08:002015-02-19T12:41:58.331-08:00African Evenings.<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I sat at the edge of the lake. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Expecting a quiet sunset. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Wanting some time to gather my thoughts. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">As I let my mind sink into the world of deep thinking and imagination, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I forgot where I was. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Before long, I was interrupted by sound. What was that? </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Birds. All kinds of birds. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Different colors. Different families. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">It began suddenly. With one unique note being repeated over and over. Setting the time. It was as if the director had raised his baton and that first anticipated note had emerged from the orchestra and suddenly broken the hushed silence... </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Another note. Echoing the first. In perfect unison. Back and forth. Back and forth. As If the bird was saying “I was BORN to perform this one. Listen up.” </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Suddenly, out of all corners, there came the largest variety of notes. Some loud and shrill. Some low and soft. Each coming from a bird that seemed to inherently know exactly what it was meant to add to the mix. The African Dove landed in the Willow tree above me and joined in, not wanting to miss the opportunity to perform. His familiar coo and pattern keeping perfect time with the rest. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">They just sang. On and on and on. As if the song was the only and very reason for their existence. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I wondered for a moment what it must be like to live like that- not worried. No stress. No concern over where your next meal will come or where you will tuck your head in to sleep tonight. Just wild, raw freedom. Singing songs about the sunset. About the beauty you live among. And I looked up. I watched the sun begin to set behind the lake-as if the lake dropped off the edge of the earth and the sun with it. As the sky began to darken and shadows began to form, everything suddenly took on a new character and feel. Things seemed more mysterious. And larger. The willow trees in the shadows suddenly sprang to life-appearing to have very human-like qualities. I watched the reflections in the water as the sky turned from it’s vivid orange hues to a deep purple. And I sat back, breathed deeply of the fresh evening air, and thanked God once again for peace. For stillness. For symphonies of birds composing a wild concerto. And for the beauty that reminds me “The Lord will fight for you. You need only be still.” </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tEqzEjz4JN8/VOZKcyl5snI/AAAAAAAABTc/qzxq8_WtJ2o/s1600/Sunrise3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tEqzEjz4JN8/VOZKcyl5snI/AAAAAAAABTc/qzxq8_WtJ2o/s1600/Sunrise3.jpeg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
Elisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329024680812902738noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557536808945741972.post-62168568411821056392015-02-02T11:16:00.000-08:002015-02-02T11:21:59.615-08:00Morning thoughts.<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.4444446563721px; line-height: 21.466667175293px;">Being halfway across the world, I am out of the loop. For me there's no smartphone. No Instagram. no apps. No Netflix or Hulu. There's no superbowl here. There's no baseball season. There's alone-ness. Quietness. The only noise is the thoughts in your head that you can't drown out with a hundred distractions. I listen as the birds outside my window sing me a wake-up tune. The sunrise over the water is so silent I can hear the fish jumping. And I sit there with a cup of tea, t</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.4444446563721px; line-height: 21.466667175293px;">earfully letting my broken heart lay out before the Lord and the day. And I realize that until we can submit ourselves to a period of no phone, no T.V. and no constant postings of selfies, we have no clue what it's like to allow the King of this Universe to be the only affirmation and voice we seek. We don't even recognize Him anymore because He refuses to shout louder than the noise we let in every day. To have a spirit of stillness and quietness of soul for weeks on end is the most difficult and most beautiful thing one can experience. But I want it. I want to know His voice better than the oldest and most familiar friend. I want to have the gumption to say "Life has made me tired. I'm broken. I'm worn out in my spirit. I'm fragile. I will not decide what I'm doing next until I hear HIM tell me with crystal clarity. I will not hurry. I will sit at His feet and listen. For weeks. I will wait on Him. I will stop striving for a title and just be."</span>Elisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03193100070793652138noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557536808945741972.post-52951124105759223372015-01-29T06:46:00.004-08:002015-01-29T06:46:56.718-08:00A Day in the Life.For a laugh, I thought I'd give you a picture of the way this week's shaped up.<br />
You just never know how things are going to go here. Sometimes it's amazingly smooth. Other times you have to be the most flexible person on earth.....<br />
<u><b>Monday</b></u>: 6 hrs going into one of the townships to mediate some issues.<br />
<b><u>Tuesday</u></b>: I wanted to do laundry, answer some PLAY email and finish the first PLAY newsletter. I put laundry into the tub to soak. I tried to email but the internet connection kept going out. I worked on the newsletter but our power was out and my laptop battery died. A huge storm hits and I can't hang the clothes out to dry.<br />
<u><b>Wednesday</b></u>: It's still raining. The clothes are still in the tub.<br />
Still no internet due to rain. So I finish the newsletter.<br />
<u><b>Thursday</b></u>: I wake up and the sun is out, so I figure I can finally hang clothes to dry. I get that email done. I decide to wash some sheets. I bring them outside to dry. I then drop them in mud while trying to unravel the wet ball of cloth. So I wash the sheets again. I bring them outside to dry. And again, they end up in the mud. So I wash the danged sheets a 3rd time (mind you-this is all by hand in a tub), and I bring them out to hang. You guessed it. I drop them again. (Hey-unraveling wet sheets alone when you're so short is <i>not </i>an easy task!) I then gather sheets, give up, throwing them into the tub. I walk away trying not to curse. I then try to email the newsletter to Lisa. But the internet goes out becaaaaaaause..........a huge thunderstorm begins and it's downpouring on the wet clothes I just hung out to dry. Welcome to Africa, folks!<br />
(By the way, I've been waiting 6 hrs for the storm to end & internet to return so I could post this.) Grin.Elisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329024680812902738noreply@blogger.com0