Factory Defects

Sometimes in life, you can find yourself in a weird pit. Living in a haze or a fog and not realizing it. 

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. 

Last weekend, something kind of cool happened. 

I was driving to work at 4:30 in the morning. Yeah. That happens almost daily. 

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. 

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. 

GRACE or THE INCREDIBLE PEOPLE I ENCOUNTER #2

Most 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.

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. 

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. 

What it's doing to me.

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.

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.

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.

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.

From brothels and bunk beds to the bush and the books.

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.

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: 

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.

THE 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.

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.

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....
 "Oh yes. They played this one in the factory every day. We all loved it!"
"The factory? Did you work outside the home?"
"Of course I did! We all did. It was just the way during the war."
"What did you, do, Sue?"
"Oh, you know. Just the usual. Worked a rivet gun in the airplanes."
"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!"
"Honey, come to my room a shake. I have something to show you."
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.
"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?"
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."
"Well, Sue, it turns out it was a pretty amazing thing later. How do you feel, knowing how people feel about it all now?"
"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."

Sue, I haven't.



*Name has been changed for privacy reasons

Sunday 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.

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. 

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. 

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. 

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 wants to work in a job many are content in for years. 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. 

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 hope and absolutely nothing can take that away from her. 

She an

Hidden 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.

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....

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 seen. 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.