"Broken Pieces..." ~2 Corinthians 12: 9-10

     There's a beautiful church in the little town where I grew up, built with ancient stones and colorful stained glass windows.  The first time I visited it as a child, I stood amazed.  I couldn’t concentrate on the message, the songs, the people.  Just the windows.
     They were amazing.  The sunlight poured through the color, changing the scenes minute by minute.  They told the story of Christ.  Scene by scene, image by image.  They  showed His suffering, His glory as clear as day.  Without using a word.  Amazing.
     I was an innocent little girl then.  But those windows stayed with me as I grew.  As a teenager, I sang a favorite “special” over and over in our little country church.  It was called “Broken Pieces.”  The words are embedded in my mind, even today.  The song was about God being able to put things back together, when life has fallen apart.  At the time, it was just a song I memorized.  But it seemed to speak to my heart somehow.   I realize now that God was preparing me, even then.  Giving me tools.
     Fast forward many years, my well-ordered, perfectly-planned life had fallen apart.  I was filled with pain, ugliness and sin.  Broken.  Shattered in a million tiny pieces that ripped my heart and soul apart with every deep breath I took.  I couldn’t go to work, couldn’t see friends or family, found it impossible to walk into church and face people.
     But I could pray, and  I did.  Constantly, without ceasing, asking for Him to restore me, rebuild me from scratch, make me feel whole again.  Take the ugliness away.
     And amazingly, over the days, months and years, He began to put my pieces back together.  One tiny slice at a time.  It seemed an impossible, time-consuming task.  It seemed hopeless.  Pointless sometimes even, at least to me.
     Some pieces were jagged and rough.  Some smooth and liquid.  Some ware dark and stormy, others clear and pale.  But patiently He worked, day by day, reattaching the shreds, fitting the tiny pieces gently together and pouring His grace in the cracks.
     And a funny thing happened. The more scripture I studied, the more I prayed, the more I suffered, then the more He revealed Himself and His truths to me.  I lived in His world.  I depended on Him completely, trusted Him deeply, relied on His strength, wisdom, and forgiveness to get me through each hour, each long day.  And all that time He was rebuilding me into His plan.  In His grace, He still is.  All these years later.
      As I say often, my favorite Bible character is Peter, without a doubt.  Peter, Jesus’ loudest cheerleader.  The one who pledged to witness and protect.  Big plans, big promises, loud praises for all to hear.  But God knew Peter was shallow.  Nothing to back up the claims.  No spiritual depth or knowledge.  And when the chips were down, Peter folded, fell apart.  The hardest thing for Peter, I think, must have been the next morning.  Waking up to the truth and the consequences.  Waking up knowing the world as He planned it was shattered and broken.  Wondering where to go from there.  Feeling like an embarrassing failure. But Peter is a story of redemption.  Of God slowly and lovingly rebuilding him from the ground up.  And in the end, God used him mightily, in spite of his own weaknesses.  He put Peter’s pieces back together again, just like in the nursery rhyme.  Just like me.  Me and ‘ole Peter have a lot in common.  
     These days, I can’t look at a stained glass window without tears springing to my eyes.  For they represent what I strive to be.  Many jagged, hopeless, shattered pieces that have been restored to make up colorful, changing pictures of Christ.  That’s me.  Stronger than before, better in spite of the breaks.  My edges have been smoothed, my gaps filled in.  Yes, I am a work in progress.  I have to be maintained, patched up here and there.  But I am so much stronger and better that the big shallow piece of clear glass that I once was.
     And I hope as people look at me, at my jagged pieces, my different colors and textures, as they delve more deeply into my picture, all they will see are the images that are reflected of His life, His work, His grace and forgiveness.  His amazing, patient, loving Restoration.
…That is, just like Peter, the finished picture I want to reflect.

"Angel Sightings..." ~Matthew 26: 47-56

     Most days I move through life uninspired and un-amazed.  It is my belief that most of us do.  With my husband working out of town and my children grown, there are many weekdays that I am robotic like in my daily life.  Wake and have Bible study, hot shower and hotter coffee, long drive to work, eight hours of work, drive home, cook, wash dishes and laundry.  Read a little bit (or sometimes a lot). Sleep, wake, rinse and repeat.  It’s called the “daily grind” for a reason.
     Most days I find relief in this reliable repetition.  I am thankful for the predictable parts.  
Most days I am okay with the sameness of my days.  The lack of drama.  
     But once in a great while, without warning, a day comes along that demands a little more. 
     Once in a great while, I wake and feel rebellious.  I drink an second cup of coffee, read a few extra pages, stop at the grocery store on the way to work.  In my own tiny ways, I break the daily cycle.  (Even in my great rebellions, I’m not too adventurous! Ha).
     Yesterday was such a day.  I deviated from the norm by reading a few extra chapters in my Bible study, and ran across something that changed my perspective for the entire day.  Love when that happens.  It’s like a sweet, heavenly cupcake sent straight to me from God.
     I was reading in Matthew about Jesus defending himself.  He was saying He could call down twelve legions of angels to help Him if He wanted.  I looked it up.  That’s around SEVENTY-TWO THOUSAND  angels…I imagine them with swords, muscles and sweet voices.  The beautiful blond haired female angels of my childhood get all mixed up with the long-haired muscled men with flaming swords found in my adult Bible studies…my mind just takes off trying to picture them.  The image in my head is vivid.  Seventy-two thousand!   Probably more!
     All day yesterday, when my mind should have been on the piles of work on my desk, concentrating on my job duties, it was in the clouds imagining angels in heaven instead.
     I think we get bogged down in the ordinary here on earth.  We stare at ballgames and nightly news, bills and dirty dishes.  We stress over wrinkles and weight loss.  It’s so easy to make these our priorities because they are right in front of us.  Facing us.  Taunting us.  Taking our time and money.  Draining our energy.  Demanding attention.  These are the things that seem important.  Things that have to be dealt with.  Real and tangible.  They are “earthly’ things.
     That’s why a day like yesterday was such a gift.  Because right in the middle of my earthly duties and predictable daily schedule, God gave me some very dramatic heavenly thoughts.
     All day I imagined those angels.  I don’t think they are dealing with dirty dishes this evening.  I don’t think they dread the bills in the mail or worry about gaining weight.
     I think they are singing today.  Praising today.  Every day.  I think there are at least SEVENTY-TWO THOUSAND of them up there having a big celebration right this minute.  Clean, beautiful, happy.   Free of stress and schedules.    Close your eyes and think of that.    
      All my life I’ve heard of storing up heavenly treasures…concentrating on heavenly things…yesterday was a day when that made sense.  I got excited.  I felt ready.  I would have gone on to join them gladly if God had called my name.  Instead he just gave me a glimpse of what is to come.  A little slice of heaven in my mind.  A cupcake to start my day.
     I get too caught up in this earth.  I forget that I am just living in the first chapter of the book.  Maybe even just the introduction.  These are the opening credits.  I’m not even into the body of the book yet.  The body of Christ.  There is so much fun up there waiting on me!
     I am so excited to get there and see what it’s all about.  I am so excited to stand in the middle of seventy-two thousand angels singing and praising.  I can only imagine.  I can only imagine.  I can only imagine.  They are waiting on me and I can’t wait to meet them!
     For today, I will carry on with my “rinse and repeat” cycle.  I have already broken up the routine by taking time for extra reading and writing this morning.  I will go to work and sit quietly at my desk for the next eight hours.  I will look very earthly on the outside, with my wrinkles and weight gain.  But if only you could look into my heart and soul, you would see what I am imagining, anticipating.  Worshipping, praising, beautiful angels.  Thousands of them.  
Praising my Lord.  With me standing right in the middle, singing with the loudest voice of all!  

"The Drama Queen" ~Jeremiah 29:11-14

     For a long period of time there was drama in my life…I don’t mean little drama.  I mean big drama.  Divorce, unpaid bills, kids rebelling, house fire, church strife, homelessness…not only big drama, but bad drama.  The gossip and pain was humiliating.  I hated it. 
     I would say the number one goal I’ve set over the last fifteen to twenty years is to achieve peace and stability, for myself yes, but mainly for my three babies.  Peace and quiet for some people is a very elusive thing.  I am one of them.  Sometimes it seemed to be one calamity on top of another.  At times, it seemed that I would just stand up from one wave when another knocked me down.  It’s a gut-wrenching way to live.  It’s exhausting to struggle through each and every day, hour by hour.  But it taught me a couple of good lessons through the years.  Lessons I am grateful for, in spite of how I learned them.
      The first is, there is nothing like a painful disaster to put you flat on your face grasping at God’s promises.  Desperation equals dependence which equals God.  When we are torn in half by struggle and hurt, without fail, we turn back to Him.  Over and over.  Again and again.  It’s when I am closest to Him.  He knows it and I know it.  I am stubborn by nature.  Sometimes it was the only way He could really get my attention.  I used to joke that I had prayed for God to let just enough trouble into my life to keep me on my knees, but I quickly gave that particular prayer up when I got blisters from kneeling!  Seriously, if I can maintain that kind of closeness to Him when I am living easy days, then I will feel like I have achieved something.  He knows me too well.  He has to keep me dependent.  So I have learned to thank Him, even for the trouble.  The trouble He allows always has a purpose!
     The second thing is when some relatively peaceful days do come along, I don’t even know how to live them.  I am constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting , waiting, waiting, for the next blow to hit.  I’ve found out that being happy, settled, and drama free is not a natural state for me.  I don’t know how to handle it.  I’m not sure how to thrive.  I am suspicious of the easy life!  I’ve noticed this in a lot of people…they seem to almost anticipate the pain of the next tragedy.  They look for the attention and care from others that trouble brings.  It becomes a cycle of emotions, almost like drug use or alcoholism.  The focus is on dealing with the drama.  They have the prayer chains on speed dial!  And I know there are some friends and family members who began to cast me as the one that lightening always seemed to strike.  They became accustomed to my struggling and couldn’t imagine me in any other state.  After a while, normal doesn’t seem natural anymore.  Which brings me to the third and most important lesson…
      That drama filled life I lived for so long is a sin.  Bottom line.  No way around it.  Those attention seeking, needy, pain-filled  days are not what I was created for.  The sobbing, middle of the night break downs.  The deep heartache and stress.  That kind of daily existence is NOT God’s will.  Not for me.  Not for anyone else.  Period.  End of story.  
     God tells me that. Flat out.  I have plans for you.  Plans to PROSPER you. Actually, I like my translation, which says it this way in Jeremiah:  I have plans for your welfare and not for calamity, to give you a future and a hope.  You will call upon Me and come and pray to Me and I will listen to you.  You will seek Me and find Me when you search for Me with all your heart.  Then He goes on to talk about restoring me (which is a whole other page I could write about!) and bringing me back from exile (which is a familiar place I've visited often!).  Now read that again.  AMAZING!  God wants me to prosper.  To be restored.  He wants me to thrive.  I used to think that meant to be happy.  But I've come to believe it means to be at peace instead.  Peace from drama, pain and turmoil.  He wants me to be quiet in my soul.  To pray, seek Him and trust Him.  He will handle the rest.  He’s a big God.  A really big God.  He's got this!  Sometimes we lose sight of that in the middle of the storm we are fighting through.
      He wants contentment for me.  Instead of focusing on the trouble of the day, He wants me to focus on Him.  Things will work out.  Trouble passes.  Time heals that gut-wrenching pain.  I've seen it happen over and over in my life.  Problems that seem impossible, insurmountable, overwhelming, eventually just become another chapter in my (rather long and interesting) testimony.  Perhaps God can use my story to help someone else through theirs.  Perhaps He can use yours.  And maybe it’s just one more step on our journey toward a land of milk and honey.  A land of prospering and peacefulness.  That’s His plan for me.  And for you.  He said so!  He promised. 
     I read once that real peace is not absence from trouble and heartache.  Peace is calmness in your heart and soul in the midst of trouble and heartache.  It is knowing that my God is a God of restoration and deliverance from exile. A God that has created that peaceful land of milk and honey in preparation- just to give us something to look forward to.  Just for the people like me.  People with drama filled earthly lives.  
     I’m going to love it when I get there!  Hope he's got me a big warm milk-filled bathtub full of peace and quiet just waiting!

"I Remember..." ~Mark 11: 23-24

     Today is a Praise Day.  I have those randomly.  Un-expectantly.  In every other way, today was ordinary.  I put in eight hours at work, dealt with all the usual frustrations of a busy weekday.  It seemed like a repeat of many others.  But it wasn’t.  It was special.  Let me explain.
     I was looking for some old pictures of my kids this morning.  Digging through snapshots of memories. And they weren’t all good.  Isn’t is funny how a photo can take you back in time.  Make you again feel a forgotten moment.  That’s where the snapshots took me this morning.  Back to a time when every day was a mountain to climb.  Mountains of bills.  Mountains of broken dreams.  Mountains of heartbreak.  Thinking back to my days as a single mom.  
     I remember plainly what it felt like to be alone.  Really alone.  Alone in every way.  Alone with a house to clean, alone with a yard to mow, alone with kids to bathe, supper to cook.  Alone with laundry for three busy kids.  Alone with all the adult responsibilities, both large and small.  Waking alone and falling asleep alone. 
     I remember sitting in my church pew alone.  Nothing is more alone than that. 
     There were days that I didn’t want to climb out of bed in the mornings.  Days I didn’t want to work two jobs.  Times I didn’t think I could keep putting one foot in front of the other.
     Days the mountains looked too big. I didn’t want to climb anymore.  I wanted to give up.
     I remember.
     My pastor said last Sunday that ministry is done in the valley.  He is so right.  The valley is where we are broken.  The valley is where the mountains look the highest.  The valley is lonely.  I never needed Jesus and His people more than those days I spent in my deepest valley.
     The valley is dark and scary.  It’s Satan’s playground.  His favorite illusion is to convince us that the sun is forever hidden and the peaks are far too high.  He uses earthly heartbreaks.  He uses money problems and family issues.  He uses divorce and death.  He uses empty church pews and late night tears.  He has so many weapons in his arsenal. The grief feels overwhelming.  The loneliness feels like a wet blanket thrown over our faces.  It makes us struggle for each breath.  
     I know.  I remember.
     Years have passed since I climbed out of my valley.  And I didn’t do it alone.  God climbed beside me.  It took time for me to realize that.  Time for me to understand how close He was the whole time.  I couldn’t see him in the darkness.  I could only call out to Him and stumble forward.  Crying until I was blinded.  
     I was blind but now I see.  And He was with me.  Every minute in the valley.
     Time has a funny way of smoothing things over, fading the worst of the memories.  Blurring the edges of the most painful times.  Hurt eases a little and tiny steps are taken.  Tiny accomplishments celebrated.  Hours turn into days and days turn into weeks, then months and finally years pass.  We make it somehow.  We breath in and out.  We put one foot in front of the other.  And all the time we are climbing higher and don’t even realize it.
     Finally one day I stood in the sunshine.   I was still a single mom.  I still had bills and laundry.  I still went to bed alone at night.  But God and I had climbed my mountain, together.  Other mountains of mine He has simply moved out of the way.   Many times.  One tiny shovelful at a time. While I stumbled around lost, praying and crying.
     “My God- He can move the mountains...”  That line is in a praise song we sing.  I love it. It brings tears every single time.   It’s so true.  He formed the mountains.  But He formed the valleys too. To teach us faith. And praise.  He has reasons for forming both places.
     Every one of us faces mountains.  Scary, dark, steep and smothering.  The valley seems too deep.  The burden seems too much.  Our issues seem too big.  We stumble and cry, searching for His arms to hold us.
      And always, unfailingly, He does.  He is there.  Right where we need Him the most.  
     Today is a Praise Day for me.  Full of memories of the valley that He and I climbed out of together.  Full of recognition that He will always either climb beside me or move my mountains.       I am so thankful that I have never really had to face my deepest pain alone.  I am so thankful that Satan’s weapons are not stronger than my Saviors love. The mountains aren’t too high.   
     I am having a Praise Day today.  Just because I remember.

"In the Trenches..." ~Ecclesiastes 4: 9-12

     Uploaded some of my son’s wedding pictures onto Facebook the other day.  I only picked the best ones.  Didn’t want the extra pounds or wrinkles to show.  Eliminated the ones that showed stressful or hurried expressions.  Set aside any that didn’t meet my high standards.  I worked hard to customize the images that I showed the world.  It looks like a perfect day.  A perfect wedding.  A perfect family.  
     I do that often.  Pick and choose what people see about me.  Don’t want the cracks in the armor to show.  Don’t want anyone to doubt that I’ve got it all together.  Even when I don’t.
     Recently I spoke to a struggling young single mother who has been reading some of my online blogs.  She told me she had known me for years and had no idea about some of the hardships I had been through.  She identified with the pain in some of my writing.  She felt encouraged to keep on keeping on after reading about some of my experiences.  To keep fighting.
     It made me remember something that my husband pointed out to me long ago.  We love people for their weaknesses.  Not their strengths.
     I have a beautiful friend in my church.  She lives in a nice home, has a fancy car, a toned body and a beautiful face.  Strong marriage and pretty kids.  I have known her for many years.  We had been casual friends.  I had admired her from afar.  In my mind she was one of those have-it-all-together-women.
     Then our relationship changed drastically.  We went to a third world country together.
     We shared a small room with a bunk bed and a cold shower.  Shared one outlet for electricity when it worked.  We gave up on makeup and hair-styling by the second day.  Mud and sweat mixed with the tears on our faces as we fed hungry children.
     We lay in bed at night and shared our life stories.  We stood in front of strangers far away from our little town in Arkansas and gave our testimonies.  We talked quietly about where we came from, how we got there, and where we wanted to go.
     I received so many blessings from my time in Nicaragua.  But one of them is that I gained a sister in Christ.  When all the chips were down, and the barriers gone, we saw each others souls.
     Coming home was a hard adjustment.  Trying to fit back into “normal” was impossible.  We were changed forever, and our daily lives became a reflection of that.  
     I occasionally see pictures of my friend with her beautiful kids on face book.  Her make-up is back in place and she is beautiful as always.  She looks the same as before we went.  But she looks different to me now.  And I’m sure I look different to her too.
     I know her story.  I know her hurts and celebrations.  I know her dreams and wishes.  I know that her life is not the perfection that the Facebook pictures show.  And she knows the same about me.  We formed a bond in the trenches.  Our lives are tangled together now. 
     It’s so easy these days to only have surface relationships.  To only show our best side.  To pick and choose the best images.  In a day when everyone has total access to each other through all kinds of communication devices, somehow we have managed very well to hide our inner selves.  I think it is a dangerous thing. 
     It’s hard to love someone who looks perfect on the outside.  Houses, cars, marriages, smart and beautiful children.  The Christmas cards paint a pretty image.  All smiles and sunshine.
      We have to learn to share our pain.  Ask for prayer in our struggles.  We have to learn to tell our stories.  Maybe that’s the purpose of us living them.  One story can inspire hope in another.  God designed the Body of Christ as a support system.  He didn’t create one single perfect Christian.  And it’s the flaws that make us loveable.  Not the pretty pictures.
     Our natural response to pain should always be compassion.  That’s how we’re created.  And maybe the reason for our story is to encourage someone else.  So tell yours.  Pass on the faith.  Lift up the fallen.  It’s what the church is for.  It’s the design behind the fellowship.  
     Today, when you see someone whose life seems perfect, dig a little deeper.  Ask a few more questions, look beyond the plastic smile.  There may be a treasure chest of faith there.
     Everyone has a story.  Everyone is lovable.  And you may, like me, make a forever friend.

"The Anchor Holds..." ~Matthew 8: 23-27

      Are you fighting through a storm?  Do you feel like a little boat being tossed around by huge waves, crashing rain?  Do you feel helpless, hopeless, afraid?  Like you have lost all control?  Have you really "given up" and feel you‘re about to drown?  I know those feelings well.  
     There were so many people in scripture who shared those frustrations.  Some oblivious ones were Jonah, Noah, the disciples in the storm.  Other, less oblivious characters, were people Jesus encountered along his travels who were struggling with sin, with disease, with failure.  Broken, hurting people.  Not the great speakers, city leaders, kings.  Jesus was drawn to the people in the storm…to rain and pain.  To fear.  To failure.  To hopelessness.
     I’ve fought the rain and wind in a boat without a steering wheel, drifting without any control of where I would land, just like Noah.  I’ve run from God, tried to hide, and found myself swallowed up in dark nasty places, just like Jonah.  Sadly, I’ve run from God more than once.  
     But the story that really speaks to me is the one about the disciples in the storm.  I’ve been in that little boat struggling to stay afloat as wave after wave crashed down on me.  I’ve felt that fear as I struggled to catch my breath before the next disaster hit me.  I’ve tumbled around, trying to get my feet under me, just to be knocked down again and again.  Day after day, month after month.  I’ve been there.  I’ve wondered if Jesus was still with me.  If He saw what was happening.  If He even cared.  I’ve felt alone.  Abandoned.  Exhausted.
      The sad thing for the disciples is they had Jesus right there with them.  Not ten feet away.  Such an untapped source of strength and peace and stability.  They had traveled with Him, watched him heal people, forgive people, perform miracles right in front of their eyes.  They looked into His eyes every day.  Saw His power.  And yet, in the middle of the night, in the raging storm, they got scared.  And so do I.
     I think they got a little angry.  A little resentful of Jesus.  Sleeping soundly as they fought the waves.  I think they felt a little abandoned out in the that dark scary place.  And I think they thought for a while that they could handle things on their own.  And waiting so long to call on Him for help almost got them drowned.
     I have watched Jesus perform miracles.  Over and over in my life.  I have walked with Him, looked into His eyes.  Watched Him heal people, forgive people.  And yet, just like these men who fought the storm, I have gotten scared in the dark waves.  I have tried to fight on my own.  Rely on myself.  And have almost drowned because of it.  Sadly, not just once, but over and over.
      At times I have turned to Jesus as a last resort, just like Jonah.  After I’ve been swallowed.  After I have run and tried to hide.  After I have caused more damage than was there to start with.  I have waited until the storm had me beat down, the waves had taken all the life out of me, and finally I turned to Jesus in despair.  And there He was, waiting for me, just like the disciples, ten feet away.  Peaceful.  Strong. My life preserver.
       My favorite thing about the storm story is His calm.  He got up and rebuked the waves, and the sea. I love the peace after the storm.  I love the thought of Him speaking quietly to the waves, the chaos, the drama, the powerful forces of nature.  I love the way the weather instantly obeyed Him.  That’s my favorite part.  His quiet and steady power.
     He’s waiting in my storm.  He’s my peace.  He can speak to my chaos and drama.  He can make it stop with just a calm word.  Why do I wait so long to go to Him about it?  Why do I go as a last resort, when I am exhausted and almost drowned?  I’ve seen His miracles, His power, so many times.  And yet, sometimes I still choose to fight the storm on my own.  To struggle in the tall waves.  To gasp for breath when I could breathe easily.  I don’t understand why.  But He does.  And He lifts me gently from the deep water and places me back on solid ground.
      Because always, in the end, he’s my Lifeguard.  My Anchor.  Always.  Oh, thank you, God, for rescuing me, over and over, from the storms.

"Living on rice and beans..." ~Acts 1: 6-8

    My baby boy has a stomach virus today.  He is almost sixteen and is a head taller than me.  But he is still, and always will be, my baby.  We were up most of the night together, me feeling helpless while he lay in the bathroom floor in misery.  Now and then he would call out to me, wanting a drink of water or a cool wet towel.  Now he is resting, so of course I am writing. 
     I’m at my desk now, but I’ve kept the house quiet, listening in case he calls out to me.  Waiting and ready for whatever he needs.  Several times, he has roused up from sleep and called to me.  Each time, I drop what I am doing and say “Here I am.  What do you need?”
     It wasn’t long before God began to talk to me and use the situation as a parable for me.  I have a lot of those “Parenting Parables.”  God knows my dense and stubborn self all too well.  He knows how to talk to me.  And often, he uses situations with my children, knowing they are so close to my heart and soul.  Knowing my love for the them may be the closest I ever get here on earth to understanding His love for me.
     I am leaving on my first foreign Mission Trip in two weeks.  Traveling to a third world country to help fill the most basic need we human beings have: food.  Both for physical hunger and spiritual hunger.  Rice and beans to nourish the body.  Scripture to nourish the soul.  It will be a life changing experience for me.  Out of my middle class American comfort zone.  Everything there will be different.  Different language, different culture, different temperature, different way to dress and act.  Different style of worship.  Only one thing will be familiar.  The most important thing of all.   My God will be the same.  Whether I am at my kitchen table in hills of Arkansas or in the poorest part of Nicaragua.  He will pave my way.  Guide and protect me.  He will be my tour guide, my body guard, my inspiration and my interpreter.  
    I am getting more excited each day.  There is a part of my soul that has been preparing for this trip, and possibly others to come, for many years without even knowing it.  There is a part of my heart that feels this is really the beginning of something very important.  I am praying hard, packing carefully and counting the days till I board the plane.
     I almost said no to this opportunity.  It was last minute.  Someone had to drop out due to health.  I got the call to go.  My first reaction was to let Satan answer my phone and say “wrong number.”  Not me.  I had no vacation time at work.  No money.  No training.  Not enough time to prepare.  I don’t know people who do these things.  My church sends money.  I read books about people who go.  I study scripture about the disciples who went.  I enjoy the slideshows about modern missionaries.  I tape their names on my fridge.  I give extra during the Mission drives at Christmas and Easter.  I do my part.  No thank you.  I’ll stay here at home where it is warm and safe and familiar.  I’m a sinner.  Not a Missionary.  God will understand.  Only He didn’t.  
     My second reaction to the call was to grab my Bible and search.  I looked for any place where God would confirm my “no.”  I looked for where He says it’s okay to stay home and pray.  I looked for where He says He understands that I don’t like rice and beans.  I looked for the verses where He says he wants me to be comfortable, to stay in my own house, in my community, in my familiar home church and watch the Missionary slideshows on Sunday nights.
     I looked and looked and looked.  I couldn’t find those verses.  I was sure they were there, because I’ve been living by them for years.  But I couldn’t find one single verse where God says “stay.”  Instead I found “go, go, go.”  He even chose those as his very last earthly words.  Go! Go! Go! To the remotest parts of the earth.  To wherever we are called, to whatever chance we are offered.  To the places that are hot and cold.  Dirty and hungry.  Hungry for physical food.  And more importantly, for spiritual food.  The kind that lasts forever.  I have it.  They need it.  So I am going to go and give.  I am going to share.  I am going to say yes to the chance.   
   I am scared.  Not of something physically happening to harm me.  Not of death or disease.  I am scared I will fail to do enough, to say the right things, to make the most of this opportunity.  I am scared I will mess up and let God down.  But I will go and I will trust. Because He told me to.
    And because, just like when my son calls out to me…I should be willing, waiting and ready to answer God the same way.  “Here I am.  What do you need?”