A Conference and A Wedding

Our family spent an April weekend in Estcourt, South Africa for our organization's first “Cluster Staff Conference.” It was a gathering of bases from South Africa (Bethlehem, Winterton, Durban) and Lesotho coming together as a larger YWAM family to grow in relationship with each other and with God. Though the scripture for our conference focused on being rooted in Christ’s love, two distinct threads wove their way into our weekend: becoming like little children, and disappointments that stemmed from seemingly unfulfilled promises of God.

As a result of the latter it was proposed that each person who could relate, who believed God had spoken about a certain issue and since that time had been strangely silent and distant, promise unfulfilled, each one of them was to find a stone. A stone for each broken dream, for every promise that had yet come to pass. In a time of worship and reflection each person would have a chance to bring his or her stone to the cross, laying it down before the Lord, offering back to Him the treasure that each was clinging to more than the One who gave it, a wordless deed conveying this: I trust You with this, God.

A small group of us had been asked to discuss how to arrange the chapel for this Saturday evening session. One woman said she felt like there should be candles leading up to the cross. Similarly, I felt like there should also be an isle leading to the cross, one lined with palm fronds symbolic of Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem –and ultimately to the cross– for the joy set before Him. After the brainstorming, I acquired the tea light candles and only slightly defaced the grounds for palm-looking branches.

Of course, you can’t be in the middle of a garden on your knees, with half of your body in a bush while you hack away at its branches with safety scissors, without attracting some attention.

The children of each staff family, immediately intrigued by my endeavors, asked if they could help. I “agreed” and set them to a parallel task of flower picking to keep them busy while at the same time keep them out of my hair.

The cross stood several meters opposite the double door entryway of the chapel. Halfway through lining the isle with palm branches I noticed that one of the children deviated from her assignment and began scattering rose petals and leafy bits down the center. I stared in disbelief at the colored flecks. I could feel my frustration mounting as other children joined in, joyfully tossing their flower heads and plant pieces on my isle. This looks like a wedding isle, I thought incredulously.

THIS was not what I had in mind.

Then Holy Spirit gently spoke. Reminding me, rescuing me from my acute case of seriousness: Be like a little child. The kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these.

Childlike.

I was so focused on the theme of broken dreams that I almost forgot the call to become more like a child. They were both major themes that God had been reiterating over the last 24 hours. How often had I allowed broken dreams to overshadow the invitation into joy? How often had I lost sight of the Dream Giver in the pursuit of the dream?

The overture was obvious. I shook off my own plans. Who cared how it looked. It was the Spirit behind it that mattered. “Don’t forget up here!” I called as I joined the children in their happy decoration celebration for the worship time ahead. Though we had finished the isle, the little ones continued beautifying the portico while the older children debated on what to “give” to the adults as they came into the tiny sanctuary for evening worship. So we prayed.

“What do you feel God is saying to you? Is He putting a thought into your mind that you want to share?” One child replied, “ I think God wants us to welcome them.” Another stated matter-of-factly, “I think He wants to give them love.”

To welcome us. To give us Love. We want to give You our grievances and YOU want to give us LOVE. How very like us. How very like You.

Twillight hues of burnt orange and deep fucsha made way for a royal night sky. Lights dimmed, candles lit, stones in hand we sang, lifting our voices in one accord to the One who loved us and called us. I sat on the floor, Caleb’s and Adara’s slumbering crowns resting in my lap. I looked at the isle, strewn in vibrant color. In the shadow and candlelight it looked very much like a wedding isle, ready for a procession, ready for a bride.

Then it struck me, a revelation that I knew as a concept in my mind yet for the first time truly penetrated my heart:

WE ARE THE BRIDE.

On one end of the isle stood a bride, a body of believers making themselves ready to move deeper with Jesus. On the other end stood a perfect bridegroom, willing and wanting to receive the bride before Him, for better or worse, seeing her faults and loving her anyway.

My breath caught in my chest and my heart began to pound. I couldn’t bring myself to look at the cross. I just couldn’t. Slowly my eyes would go down the walkway only to stop at the foot of the cross, yet all the while imagining that there, at the very place of the cross, was the radiant Bridegroom. “There’s gonna be a wedding, it’s the reason that I’m living…” The lyrics of a Prayer Room song rang through my mind. At that moment, though I knew what was at the end of this isle (after all, I had put it there) I knew that One day there would be a wedding, and the great marriage supper of the Lamb, and at the end of that isle wouldn’t be the symbol of a risen Savior, it would be the flesh and blood God-Man, Jesus Christ Himself, awaiting the bride who made herself ready for Him.

The hearts of children had heard the heart of God.

Making ready the way for Love.

“There’s gonna be a wedding, it’s the reason that I’m living…” Sweet Jesus, let this be the song of my heart! Take my heart of stone, fettered with the bitterness of unmet expectations, and give me a new heart, a heart of flesh. One that hears Your voice, strong and true. A heart like a child. You are coming for a bride made ready. Help me, Holy Spirit, in preparation for that glorious encounter with my Beloved.

When the Lie Seems Real

It began from the moment I awoke.

It’s not fair. Why can’t I do that? So and so’s not helping. I always have to do that myself.

One would have thought that the children had gotten an early start on the day’s sibling rivalry. But the broken lyrics were my own, a sad start to a Thursday morning song.

I stepped into my day with an unwelcomed restlessness in my heart.

I have only recently become acquainted with restlessness, a “holy dissatisfaction” that creates a longing and a hunger for the things of Christ. It stirs me to move out of the place of selfish ambition and to pursue intimacy with the Lover of my soul.

This was not that kind of that kind of dissatisfaction.

This was agitation, an internal riot. Churning. Roiling. Pointing out how overworked and underappreciated I am. I could feel the little roots of bitterness latching their weedy grip onto my heart. I am no gardener but I know this: Weeds are harder to pull the bigger they get. And yet I let them grow, my frustrations feeding their frenzy, my good judgment thrown off for a little self-justice. And why not?

Nathan peacefully (and obliviously) started and finished his prayer time while Adara climbed loops over my head and into my lap as I tried to answer my bible study questions. The children came behind all my cleaning efforts with train tracks and pots and pans and baby dolls and spilt milk and grains of rice strewn like confetti. Adara played her game called “Steal Whatever Brother Has and Run Away and If I Get Caught, Throw It.” Caleb sang his “I’m Gonna Stand on the Highest Thing in the House and Shout At the Top of My Lungs” songs.

I was losing it.

Couldn’t Nathan see my struggle? Why couldn’t he just do whatever so obviously needed to be done with out me having to ask? On it went, each query building on the other, breeding doubt. Giving way to mistrust.

I was unappreciated for my domestic efforts, and quite frankly held back in living out my “full potential.”

Honestly, God, I could be put to much better use than what You have me doing.

As I stood at the sink scouring hardened rice and starch from a pot I unconsciously stewed in my own self-pity, letting thoughts flow freely, a wash of emotion to the great neglect and disservice that I had suffered over the course of the day. I had convinced myself that my husband was of little help to me. Every time I thought it, it seemed more true. My husband is lazy.

I continued scrubbing, frustrated that I was home tending to children, left in what Nathan described as “a spirit of chaos” before he left. And where was he? Bible study. He practically had something happening every night this week. And everything he did all day long was in preparation for those things. All he does is work. My husband is a workaholic.

What?

My spirit, stifled from my cancerous thoughts, suddenly stirred.

That didn’t make any sense. How could I accuse Nathan of not doing anything only to charge him with doing too much? Something wasn’t right here. I backtracked, tracing my line of thoughts throughout the day.

Not one was uplifting.

Not one was life giving.

I realized that I had not taken any of my thoughts captive. I had not asked for the mind of Christ. Instead, I chose not to align my thinking with the Word of God. I had simply let my mind go wherever it wanted and oh how it had wandered! Rather than recognizing and renouncing those thoughts that instigated and brought division, I had allowed them to meld with my discontent until what I knew in my heart to be false appeared, in whatever twisted capacity, to be true.

Somewhere along the way I had believed a lie, giving birth to many.

Lies about my husband. Lies about my children. Lies about myself. Lies about God.

I knew God had invited me to walk the road of servanthood. I knew God had called me to a domestic ministry. He reassuringly spoke to my spirit that there was nothing greater that I could do than what He called me to do. And here I was, all day long, believing the lie that I was meant for something better than what God had planned for me. The tyrant, Pride, was suddenly unmasked and the great lie lost its power.

Oh, God, forgive me for my pride and for forgetting Your promises! Holy Spirit, help me to recognize lies masquerading as truth. Teach me the humility of my Jesus though His example of meekness in the ministry of the cross. Help me to stay grounded in the truth of Your Word. Jesus, You ARE Truth. Thank You for Your unwavering faithfulness, oh Lord, and for grace that takes me back, again and again. Oh how I love You!

“For though we walk in the flesh, we do not war according to the flesh. For the weapons of our warfare are not carnal but mighty in God for pulling down strongholds, casting down arguments and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God, bringing every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ…” 2 Corinthians 10:4-6

Epic God

Sometimes what God chooses to do is so fantastical, so unfathomable, so unbelievable, it is hard to put into words. As I attempt to conclude what happened the weekend of my dear friend’s “epic move” I laugh because it doesn’t seem believable, like a wild tale a child might tell. But it IS real, and the author of the tale is God Himself…

His ways are most definitely not our ways, certainly not my ways, and when circumstances reveal this truth I am suddenly confronted with His God-ness, His Other-ness, and I come to the realization that I don’t actually know Him like I thought I did. His Mystery meets my mediocrity, and I have to decide: Do I trust Him? His track record demands that I do, and yet there are times, to my own dismay, that I doubt. I doubt the Promise Keeper who’s Word is always true. In the midst of my doubt, when things do not go as planned or when God seemingly fails, I have the choice thrust upon me: Will I choose faith?

It was evident that we were not going to cross that river.

Why, Lord, would you bring us all this way, only to be thwarted here?

What exactly was this “better way” that God had in mind?

After some mapping out and phone call making, it was decided: all of Bekah’s and her colleague’s furniture would be stored in Letseng for safe keeping until the expedition leaders could arrange another weekend to finish the job they had begun. Because Letseng is one of the top producing diamond mines in the world, and so they know a thing or two about keeping things safe. I was caravanning with diamond mine people.

Our journey to the diamond mine took us though some of the most stunning Lesotho countryside I have ever seen. We followed the river up to Katse dam. Water rushing, heaving, the force so great the air rumbled as the open-mouthed dam thundered the reason we were not able to drive across the river.

We traveled down a personal memory lane as we bumped along a road I took on my first mountain drive in Lesotho, to the village of Motete. We journeyed across breathtaking expanse of God-formed mounts, untouched by the advent of technology, our sweaters gripped close as the winter chill already began to settle its icy grip upon the peaks.

We “followed” a rainbow to the diamond mine and when we finally arrived the rainbow hovered over the mine itself, end to end fixed firmly with the mine’s boarders. It was as if God was making it VERY clear that despite any misgivings we may have had, this was certainly a part of what He had planned.

So we stayed the night there, at the mine. All the while my mind reeled as I recalled the day’s events, how God orchestrated everything. How the river we should have crossed turned into a detour, which led to a symbol of promise over an unexpected blessing.

On our return journey to Maseru, the outreach team we were with arranged for a tour of the hydroelectric plant that generated electricity for Lesotho and some of South Africa.

Lord, who ARE these people to have these kinds of elite connections, and how in the world did I get the privilege of sharing in them? Truly you are God and I am your child!

Before we began our “electric” tour, the guide informed us that just days earlier two major malfunctions were identified within the plant, causing them to cut off the water supply to the generators. With the massive valves shut, the Katse dam was filled to excess. Which led to the need to release the overflow. Which caused the river to flood. Which kept us from our destination. I had to let it sink in…Did God really bring us to a place where our “why” could be answered?

We never made it to our destination. Because it really didn’t have anything to do with our destination. It had everything to do with the journey. Because God is all about the journey.

The God of the Journey had something bigger than “moving day” planned for that weekend. He knew that we were anticipating something larger-than-life to take place, something of epic proportions. He decided that furniture transport would not suffice. Instead He brought us a better way, through a test of faith and a detour beyond our wildest imaginations, in hopes that in our frustrations we would turn to Him.

In our weakness we would lean on Him.

And in our journey we would grow in Him. With Him. The Epic God.

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.