Epic Journey

Bekah called it “The Epic Move.”

After much prayer my friend and her colleague were to move from their remote village in the heart of Lesotho to an even more remote village in the northern mountains. Even at its most basic the journey would have been nothing less than epic. Six 4x4 vehicles. Three days. A rugged drive in and out of an isolated valley, over mountains, across a river, into an obscure village… At it’s most basic.

But life has a way of not working out the way we plan. And halfway through our “epic” journey we found that God had a greater adventure in mind.

The first leg of the expedition, aside from battery failure, a late start, hot breaks, painful goodbyes, and acquiring a chicken, went relatively without a hitch. Afternoon turned into evening, yet the day’s success was marred with the growing possibility that our valiant efforts might be thwarted by a flooded river on the next stage of our excursion.

Uncertainty and hope mingled. The caravan moved out in the chill air of the morning with guarded anticipation to the river.

We had heard that the dam upstream was releasing water to ease the burgeoning lake behind its mighty wall. We were told that the river could be flooded, even impassable. We had seen the swollen river weaving in and out of our line of sight as we snaked along the rock-strewn road. And there we were, our toes daring to press into the brink of cold and force flowing by, bringing us all –thrill seekers and homebodies alike– to a standstill.

We stood at the river’s edge, water swirling, rushing, racing over the cement driving bridge that spanned the river. I prayed for the waters to part. I prayed for the waters to still. I asked the Lord if we must step out in faith and cross the rushing river and just believe Him for safe passage. Speak Lord, speak!

And He did, O Faithful One that He is. He spoke in that voice He uses so often with me, the one where it is just a glimpse of quiet, a soft thought in my mind. The kind of quiet where I almost miss it. The kind of quiet that commands the busyness of my thoughts to be still and makes me strain to listen, as when one of my children stirs after bedtime and I stop all I am doing to discern their voices in the night.

A better way.

But what does it mean, Lord? No reply.

What do I do with a God who simply won’t behave as I think He aught?

When plans seemingly crumble before me…only to be resurrected to new life?

New life, new plans. Better plans. Better life. A better way.

Caleb’s Song

The late summer breeze is autumn-kissed. The willow trees’ vibrant emerald fades as glimpes of gold emerge. Nathan and I sit on our back stoop to eat supper, fajitas dripping, paper plates drooping. Across from us, Adara and Caleb share a green garden chair, a sea captain’s wayfaring seat.

“Where’s my water?”

Nathan examines his empty cup. I swallow a guilty gulp. He goes with an incredulous huff to find his missing beverage. “What wrong?” Caleb watches the scene unfold, sensing the unspoken banter hanging in the air. He tries to make sense of the emotions, playfulness disguised as frustration. “I drank all of Daddy’s water without asking. I should have asked him. It wasn’t nice of me.”

“Oh.”

Then, as if on cue:

“We have to share, we have to share, we have to share.

We have to lay down our lives… for Jesus!

We have to bow down to Jesus,

We have to bow down to Jesus,

We have to bow down to Jesus… in our love!”

I close my eyes and soak it in, the praise ordained from the mouth of my boy. Holy worship flowing from his lips.

We have to bow down to Jesus, We have to bow down to Jesus in our love…

“Did you know I could sing like that, Mommy?”

I open my eyes. His wide green ones meet mine. “No, Caleb, I had no idea you could sing like that.”

He smiles, a knowing smile. So full of life. “It was a great song, huh?”

“Yes, my boy, that was the best worship song I have heard lately.”

Spontaneous worship. Joyful proclamation. Heart song; life song; love song. Let it be mine. May it be yours. Holy Spirit, make this a reality for me today.

We have to bow down to Jesus in our love…

Dust

An afternoon walk, transformed into an adventure. The children wade through tall grass, inspect termites scurrying in and out of a crevice, leap over ditches and climb “mountains,” race down concrete water drains. Bottle caps and orange berries become treasures tucked tight in tiny fists. Bare feet, painted toes digging into soft sand, kicking up clouds of pale tan. Caleb and Nathan lead the way as Adara and I follow, hand in hand. The dust clouds billow out from those in front and I feel the clouds settling on my face and hands. I slow down with my little girl, watching the “men” walk further on. I try to avoid the dust shower that is trailing behind them. I don’t want to get dirty. I don’t want to deal with the grit of a joyful walk. And I am reminded then of being covered with the dust of my Rabbi.

“One of the earliest stages of the Mishnah, Yose ben Yoezer, said to disciples, ‘Cover yourself with the dust of [your rabbi’s] feet.’

The idea of being covered in the dust of your rabbi came from something everybody had seen. A rabbi would come to town, and right behind him would be this group of students, doing their best to keep up with the rabbi as he went about teaching…from one place to another. By the end of a day of walking in the dirt directly behind their rabbi the students would have the dust from his feet all over them.

And that was a good thing.” (Rob Bell, Velvet Elvis p 130)

As the father-son duo moves beyond and I fall behind, avoiding the spray of dust in front of me, I wonder where I am walking behind Jesus. Like today’s “adventure,” I suspect I am lagging, not wanting to get dirty. Not wanting to feel the grit. I am comfortable staying clean. But there is a cost. I am not close to Him. I cannot hear the laughter that comes from a far-away smile. I cannot hear His words over the din of life as it presses in on me…

An acquaintance greets me, “Long time no see!” I find myself telling “white” lies to excuse why I didn’t respond to her SMS. Why did I say that? I grieve the Spirit within me. I grieve myself. I am farther behind Him then I thought.

Adara is in my arms now and I am hit with the tragic realization that when I am far behind Jesus, so are my children. They are only as close to Him as I am.

Caleb and Nathan wait for us in a shady patch of the field just ahead. I hurry to catch up. Knee high grasses tickle my legs as I rush through them. Babe in arms, I leap over a ditch, eager to be reunited with the ones waiting for us, the ones I love.

So it is with my Jesus. There is no reason to delay. No penance to serve. Simply a humble and contrite recognition that I have fallen away. I align my thoughts, my will, my heart, to His. I hurry to catch up. He is waiting for me, the One I love. And suddenly the dust is a welcome friend. Thank you for the reminder, Lord. Cover me.

God Who Sees Me

Wednesday night. The children had just fallen asleep. Nathan was out that evening for a rehearsal at church with a worship band. I had the whole house to myself, so I chose to open up my bible study book and spend some time with God and His Word.

Low rumbles of an incoming storm filled the air as I paged through Beth Moore’s study Genesis through the lives of the Patriarchs of my faith. I read about Hagar, (the maidservant to Abram’s wife, Sarai) and how she had encountered the Living God, who saw her in a time of great difficulty. So powerful was her experience with the LORD that she gave Him the name El Roi, God who sees me. Beth Moore then posed the question: “Is there any particular reason why that name means something special to you right now?”

Right now. I had past experiences that I could draw upon to answer this and yet, at this moment, right now… I covered an undercurrent of guilt for not being able to think of anything to boast about my God by moving on to read the final paragraph of that day’s study.

As I read the sentences, building on this concept of God who sees me, a terrible flash of lightening caused the lights to flicker and vanish. I bolted up and, tripping over a bench that sits next to my couch, positioned myself next to the room where my babes were sleeping in case the booming thunder woke the children. They slept through the succeeding peals of thunder so I proceeded to light candles.

The warm yellow glow of the little flames made the dark home look cozy, and all the more so with the steady thrum of the rain. I opened the curtains to watch the stunning show as lightening danced across the sky. Shame, I thought, the neighbors on that side have electricity. I moved to the other side of the house. The houses just up the hill from our place also had lights. I peered around to see that the building next to our property had an electric glow emanating from the first floor window. Now wait just a minute… I unlocked and opened the front door and was greeted by a blinding flash and two very wet dogs. I poked my head around and, sure enough, the flat directly next door had power.

I came inside and made my way to the power box and flipped the breaker that had been tripped just minutes before. The light in the living room came on immediately, followed by the hum of the fan in the bedroom. I made my way back to the living room, pondering how strange it was that only my place would have been affected by the storm in such a way. Then a thought came to me, the Spirit quietly speaking into my mind and my heart in a way that awed me, excited me, chilled me. “I see you, Nicole.” Immediately I went back to my abandoned question and penned:

“You’ve got my attention, El Roi. You see me. If you would make yourself known to me in the midst of this storm, how much more will you reveal yourself to me in the storms of life.” Whether in a dire situation, like Hagar's, or in the mundane of an evening alone, God is with me, with us.

O LORD, you have examined my heart and know everything about me. You know when I sit down or stand up. You know my thoughts even when I’m far away. You see me when I travel and when I rest at home. You know everything I do. You know what I am going to say even before I say it, LORD. You go before me and follow me. You place your hand of blessing on my head. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too great for me to understand! I can never escape from your Spirit! I can never get away from your presence! Psalm 139:1-8

He is always watching. He is intimately acquainted with our every moment. Out of His great love this all-powerful Creator wants to share those very moments, good and bad, with us. With me. Lord, thank you for reminding me that You are ALWAYS with me. You ARE El Roi. You ARE God, God who sees me.

Lessons Learned From a Singing Asparagus

It’s a rainy Friday morning. Nathan left for a weekend trip to Johannesburg with his prayer buddies at four this morning. It feels more like a Saturday with the gray and lazy drizzle. As Caleb eats his Cheerios, I feed Adara a mushy bowl of Wheat-Bix and we all watch vibrant vegetables reenact the story of Jonah. The Vegitales Jonah breaks out into his musical number as he retorts that he will not deliver God’s message of mercy to the people of Nineveh.

“No, it cannot be. Your messages are meant for me and my brothers. We are your chosen people. And Nineveh, well, their not!”

He tells the Lord God that He will go anywhere that he is commanded to go…except the one place God has told him to go.

“Nineveh? Oh, Nineveh; NO! Nineveh is where I draw the line!”

Though I have heard this song and this story many times, as I sat on the floor feeding my babies breakfast, I was overwhelmed by Holy Spirit and how this attitude grieves His heart. All too often I find myself, like Jonah, passing judgment rather than dispensing grace. Yet He desires that no one would perish; He longs for lovers who willingly choose to love and serve the One and Only true God. Then why is it, having experienced this overwhelming, undeserved love, that I hesitate when His voice asks me to go…wherever?

“How, then, can they call on the one they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them? And how can they preach unless they are sent?” Romans 10:14-15a

How many times have I drawn the line, telling God that I will only go so far for Him? With Him? He went all the way to the cross for me, how can I give him any less than my all? O, that in my weakness You still love me, Yahweh, is still incomprehensible to me!

Jonah’s droll but haunting solo reminded me of when I moved to Lesotho and a team member told me that she believed the Holy Spirit was leading her family to a rural mountain village. I remember telling her how brave she was and how I didn’t think I was called to do what she was praying about. As I left her place Holy Spirit gently spoke to my heart, “Are you not called to the mountains because I have not called you there, or because you are unwilling?” I had drawn the line: I felt so justified in having left my home country to live in Lesotho that I decided in my heart, “I have done my part. This is as far as I need to go. I shouldn’t have to live in a remote village; living in the capitol is challenging enough.” I repented and told the Lord that, whether or not He called me to ministry in a remote location or not, I would be willing to go where He sends me.

Oh how merciful that God has not “drawn the line” with me!

“…He who began a good work in [me] will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” Philippians 1:6

He pours into me not just so I can enjoy the inheritance of experiencing His presence in this age and the assurance of the one to come. These are AWESOME realities, and I DO enjoy these! But there is so much more. My experience in Him is so much richer when I live selflessly and pursue the things of His heart, partnering with Him to share this great Love with those who do not know Him. Jesus also has an inheritance in those of us who belong to Him and I can bless Him by pouring myself into adding to the fullness of His inheritance, allowing myself to be a vessel used to “bring many sons to glory.” Not that I am obligated, my relationship with Jesus and my eternal salvation are secure. But it is out of deep love for my Bridegroom King that I desire to go all the way for love.

Oh Lord, I repent of having told You that I will not follow where You lead. Forgive me for my unbelief, and for not trusting Your faithfulness,. Good Shepherd, I choose to follow You wherever You lead. Help me to identify where I have made ultimatums that limit my love for You. I long to give You more of myself. Open my spiritual eyes to know Your heart. Jesus, because of Your great love, you went all the way for me. Beloved, where, and to whom, can I go for you?

Floods in Lesotho

Below are a couple of quotes from an online article regarding the state of Lesotho in light of all of the rain and flooding:

"The UN Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) estimates that in some of the worst hit districts up to 60 percent of crops have been destroyed while nationally at least 4,700 livestock, mainly sheep and goats, have died."

"It's going to affect food security in the worst way because Lesotho doesn't produce enough food as it is," Matsiliso Mmojaki, head of the national Disaster Management Authority (DMA), told IRIN."

http://www.irinnews.org/Report.aspx?ReportId=91925

These are just some of the difficulties that the people are facing and the situation will only get worse as harvest time approaches and there is no fruit for the people's labor. Please be praying for the Basotho, that in their great lack and need that they will reach out to the One who can satisfy them.

Summer Evening

It's 6:20pm. Usually we are eating supper or the children are splashing in their evening bath. Tonight we are sitting in the back yard. Caleb asked if he could play outside; "I want to play in the dirt." When his request was granted he asked, "Mommy will you come outside and watch me? Go get Daddy and tell him to come too." So here we are, the damp summer air cooling on our skin, the sparrows doing their evening dance as the day and night music of birds, crickets, and frogs mingle together in a dusk ensemble. Adara laughs as she tosses half a plastic easter egg of dirt on Otis, the dog. Caleb works diligently on a "road." Nathan reads a book to me as I listen to him, and the ensemble, and the sound of about 15 young boys passing by along the road. And I know that God is here. In the children's play and the boys' chatter, in the green, green grass that is growing too fast with the extra summer rains. In the sweet dewy smell as day turns to night. In the story of dragons and quests and the Creator of both. In the freshly made dirt road and the monster truck racing around the bend. He is here, with me, with us. How easy it would have been to miss this moment, to be busy with more pressing things. And yet as I sit here I know the laundry needing to be folded will not protest. The dishes in the sink will not cause grief for the delay. The children's bedtime will not begrudge if we show up late tonight. As I let myself be distracted by joy I find peace, and I find the One who brings it.