Day 329

How are there only 38 days left?!

So is this what being on the homestretch feels like?

Because if so, it’s pretty terrifying.

Everyone is asking about the ending of my OYC coming up—Election Day.  I still laugh about that.  Funny, God.  There’s a joke in there somewhere, I’m sure.

The more people ask, the closer it gets, the more I kind of want to curl up in a ball.  Noooooooooooo, I’m content being single.  Noooooooo, I don’t want to add another person to the mix.  I know who I am now!  Why would I want to give that up?  Give up this happiness for cuddling?  No dice.

I’ve never been in a great Christ-centered relationship. (How could I be when this is the first time in life that I myself am Christ-centered?)   Things are going to be so different this time around—or will they not be?  God, I’ve got so many questions.

Will I really be able to find someone who can lead me?  Who I can submit to?
What if no one I want to date asks me out?

What if no one asks me out, period?

What if I start dating someone and I find out I’m really not into him and can’t get out of it, because I’m too terrified to walk away?

What if I settle?

What if I don’t stay in Memphis?

What if I move?
What if there are no Christians in California?
What if there aren’t any single viable men left out there by November 6, 2012?

What if I’m not young enough, pretty enough, and don’t make enough money?

What if he doesn’t like that I’m poor?
What if he doesn’t like dogs?

What if the wrong guys ask me out?

What if no one asks me out?

And all these questions (albeit funny) are a whole lot harder to answer than…

Hmm, what do I want for dinner tonight?

My single-life questions are a whole lot easier than dating-life questions.

Deep down I do know that God is in control of everything.  I’m just scared of being hurt again.  Of what it will mean to open myself up to dating again.

Guess there’s only one way to find out (unless I ask God for an extension).

This whole year has been dedicated to knowing God.  Knowing His character.  Knowing His love for me.  And really that’s the decoder for everything else.  What is His will for my life?  Know Him, and the rest is delivered with clarity—now sometimes it’s Godly clarity so we can’t see it right away, BUT what we can’t see, we trust for in Him.

As this comes to an end, my will to know God will continue, and I know if I can keep trekking, I'll be able to rest securely in the surpassing peace of Christ, because I'll know Him, I'll know His voice...and I’ll hear Him when the time comes.

My sheep listen to my voice; I know them and they follow me. John 10:27

Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you.  Matthew 7:7

It wasn’t worth it to give myself away / They didn’t deserve it but they had all of me / I tried to find myself in someone else’s eyes / A broken heart is all they left behind / And now the question that was haunting me / Is somehow comforting / Could it be everything that I was looking for / Could it be everything that I was missing before / Could it be everything that I could want and more/ Is only You Lord / Could it be the only one who really satisfies / Was always standing here right before my very eyes / Could it be You my Lord Could It Be, Anthony Evans

Day 327

Jezebel wasn't born with a silver spoon in her mouth

She probably had less than every one of us

But when she knew how to walk she knew

How to bring the house down

Can't blame her for her beauty

She wins with her hands down

Jezebel, what a belle

Looks like a princess in her new dress

How did you get that?

Do you really want to know she said

It would seem she's on her way

It's more, more than just a dream

She put on her stockings and shoes

Had nothing to lose, she said it was worth it

Reach for the top

And the sun is gonna shine

Every winter was a war she said

I want to get what's mine

Jezebel, Jezebel

Won't try to deny where she came from

You can see it in her pride

And the raven in her eyes

Try show her a better way

She'll say you don't know what you've been missing

And by the time she blinks you know she won't be listening

Reach for the top she said

And the sun is gonna shine

Every winter was a war she said

I want to get what's mine

--Jezebel, Sade

Day 326

It’s funny how worlds collide.

We’ve been working together for four years and our lives have been intertwined during that time, but never like this.

God has done some amazing things.

Her now husband becoming enrolled in Downline and listening to sermons by JB and Bryan...I feel like she’s a part of my church world without really being in, but being in it.  That doesn’t make sense, but it’s like she can see from the outside, like a different perspective.

Her husband and his friend who are both going through DL this year were sitting down at the dinner table the other night.

I came up in conversation.

Not because they knew me, but because, I don’t know…you know, when couples have single people over for dinner, their minds begin to think of other singles that they could connect.  It's a part of the circle of life, I think.

In response to hearing about my OYC, the guy said, “You know, don’t introduce us.  If we’re meant to meet, we’ll meet.”  God will work it out is the gist of what he was saying.

It’s weird to think in 40 days…phew, open season?

Nah, I can’t imagine.

It’s weird.  I’m not looking forward to dating.  I’m not not looking forward to dating.  I’m somewhere in the middle.  Balanced.

What that guy said?  That’s exactly how I feel right now.

If it’s meant to be, it will be.  If not, life will go on like normal—or as what’s close to normal as possible with how amazing this last year has been.

I have so much in life right now.

And, really, the only thing I’m looking forward to is holding my dad in a week, and enjoying that he’s still alive.  Still here.  Still breathing.  Heart still beating.

It’s funny that the end of my OYC falls on Election Day.  Any symbolism there, God?  Or is that only pure coincidence?  I know You’ll let me know.

Until then, I love Ya, God.  Thanks for sticking with me.  We're not done yet!

Day 325

In my few years of being saved, there is one sermon of which I am continuously reminded.  My dear friend introduced me to Matt Chandler long ago and I immediately fell in love with him fell in love with God’s character through him.

Christians have a tendency to give each other too much grace—a grace that causes more pain than healing, because sanctification is lost.  Love is arguably overshadowed in an over-giving of grace.  (Pastor Bryan Loritts sums up well the matter of loving your neighbor outweighing loving God in his book, A Cross-Shaped Gospel, pg. 33-34.)

I’ve learned much over the last few years, and I’ve learned that as much as it hurts, the people who care enough to say something about my behaviors or actions or words are showing me a love that is incomparable—priceless.  Unlike any other love.

And as we all have the duty to do such—edifying each other—I am always reminded of this part of Chandler’s sermon, appropriately titled Coffee with Granddaddy.  Solomon (btw, Solomon is a pretty gnarly dude!) sits down with us, wise man that he is, and covers us with the wisdom that only Solomon can, and reveals this (zoom 36 minutes into the sermon—it’s hilarious and worth the listen):

There’s a lot of wisdom in this next one.  It’s also one of the most painful to hear.  Verse 6, “For as the crackling of thorns under a pot, so is the laughter of the fools; this also is vanity.”

Solomon, as he sips down the last bit of coffee, looks across the room right at our face and says, “Wise people don’t laugh when they’re on fire, they scream, ‘Oh my God, I’m on fire!!!’”  He says, “You want to know a fool?  A fool will sit there, burning alive going, ‘Ha ha ha, what’s up?’”  “You’re on fire.”  “That’s alright.”  “What’s that smell?” “It’s my flesh.”  Wise people, they don’t giggle when they’re on fire, they scream at the top of their lungs that they’re on fire.

And it’s this one, more than anything else Solomon, our grandfather who has lived so deeply, wants to impart to us today. He’s going, “Listen, quit giggling while your world burns down.” Okay, I think the most destructive force in the universe is pride.  I do.  I know some of you are like, “What about the atomic bomb?” Okay, but if that ever gets used, I can bet you that pride is somewhere in the ranks. Now, I want you to follow me here, because here’s how I want to unpack this crackling pot, giggle thing. Do you know how many marriages could have been saved if early on, somebody would have screamed “fire” instead of giggling? So, what happens is, they grow apart and they grow apart and they grow apart and start smelling smoke. And they grow apart and they grow apart and they grow apart, and all of a sudden, this one’s mind is wandering, this one’s heart’s wandering. There’s coldness, but there’s commitment. There’s coldness, and then it’s another step apart. And now, the flames poof up. And they’re further apart and further apart. And the whole time, they pretend that everything’s alright. The whole time they chuckle like everything’s going well, and the whole thing is going up in smoke, burning right before their eyes.  And no one wants to scream “fire.”  Do you know how many people are constantly stuck in these devastating cycles of secret sin where they’re being owned by their lust or these behavior patterns that they can’t get out of?  And they just hide it and giggle like nothing’s wrong while all the while, their life, their world, their spirits are burning to the ground. And Solomon goes, “The wise scream out, ‘I’m on fire!’  They don’t laugh. They don’t laugh, they don’t giggle, they don’t pretend.”

And listen, the thing that makes this so frustrating for me is that so much of this has crept into the church. Like, do you want to hear something that’s really interesting about the Bible Belt? I keep running into people who love Jesus very much but don’t really like the church at all. Like, we just moved into a new house, and I got to go across the street to meet some of our neighbors. And they just seemed to have a real vibrant spirituality. They had a real vibrant understanding of Jesus and who He was and what He’s done for them, but they hadn’t been to church in like five years. Do you know why? Because everybody’s walking around on fire, pretending like they’re the only ones in the world that have never been burned. Which is crazy because Jesus goes, “No, I’ve come for the burn victims. I didn’t come for the well. I didn’t come for the ones who haven’t been burned. I’ve come for the ones who are currently being incinerated and for those who have had the flames put out and now want to be healers.”

…and Solomon goes, “Wise people, they don’t giggle while they burn down, but the fool does. The fool pretends that all is well despite the fact that the world’s going up in smoke.”

The friends that laugh at you, the friends that laugh with you, the friends that ignore the self-inflicted pain and wounding behavior?  That’s not love.

Love is edifying.  Love is that difficult conversation where you sit down, eye to eye, in love and tell the person what they’re doing is HURTING THEMSELVES.  Sometimes we’re blinded by the heat of our fire.  Sometimes we claim ignorance to not deal with the pain.  But it doesn’t make it go away.  It makes it worse.

First degree burns.  Second.  Third.  Fourth.  When does it stop?

When there’s nothing left but ashes?

No, those who love you try to stop you before there’s nothing left.

Let them love you.

Take the pain and embarrassment of someone noticing there’s something wrong, and look at it through the lens of love.

They love you.

They love you.

They love you.

God loves you as you are, but He loves you too much to leave you that way.

Cliché as it is, it’s truth.

And you can either not deal with it and burn.  Or let yourself be loved.

Day 324

A month or so ago, I took a young friend in.

I will not divulge too much out of respect, but I will say it has been the most challenging of experiences—in addition to the founding and sustaining of a women’s group, trying to share the gospel with my parents, being part of a church plant, and this OYC, of course.

It’s more than appropriate for this to have been bestowed during the last leg of my challenge.  Anything I wanted to know about being a wife, I’m learning now.  Anything I wanted to know about motherhood, I’m learning now.  Though this may not make sense to some of  you, I can see God’s hands in this.

And though she doesn’t believe God is using this time in her life for Him, I know absolutely that He is using it in mine.

Sharing a living room, a single bathroom, and somehow making two full-size beds fit in one bedroom is messy stuff.  I can’t remember if it’s JB or Bryan that say this, but if you take two people, it’s double the mess, because we’re sinners in a fallen world.  One messy person is just one mess, but two is twice the mess.  I’m learning just how neurotic I really am about my space and belongings, and am hearing God yell, “Don’t sweat the small stuff!”  What small stuff, God? It’s all big, and it’s all important!  And I hear him laugh as if I have no idea what I’m talking about.  Slowly I’m consciously trying to unclench my fists and turn them into open palms, which is difficult for someone who didn’t grow up with sisters and has lived alone for four years in blissfully selfish solitude.  I’m so thankful for her patience, which surely outweighs my own.

Sharing time and schedules has also proven challenging.  I always thought my parents had it so easy—living a life revolving around your children is pure delight, right?  Slowly I’m learning a little bit of what it takes to be a parent, and I’m only living it through a minor scale.  Waking up at 4:30 AM to have them at a place by 5 AM.  Taking them even when you’re sick and really want to sleep.  Spending money on groceries and toilet paper.  Messy bedroom, extra dishes to clean, more trash to take out—like I said, two people means more to do.  And all of this is on top of them having their own personality and making their own decisions.  The friends they hang out with, their habits, staying out late, whether they share in your faith or adopt their own.  Thinking back to my days at home, now I don’t wonder from where Dad’s gray hair came.  Being a parent means being there, but not being there at the same time; it means being strong enough in your relationship with Christ to let go, let be, and let grow, which is the hardest challenge of all.

It has been a growing experience for me in every direction in the greatest of ways.  I am so thankful to her and for God for wanting me to live this out.

The last challenge of this—and maybe the hardest—has been living this out in front of my coworkers, new acquaintances and some friends who may or may not see the sanctification and calling in it.  This isn’t something people normally do, taking someone into a home that is already lacking space.  When a friend recently sat down with me and tried to unmask supposed hidden motives—because no one does this for no reason, right?  “Your girlfriend…” he started...because people who cohabitate in such a manner must do so out of homosexuality and my OYC dating fast is surely just an acting front for such...blah, blah, blah.

It didn’t hurt because he questioned my sexuality—for I am secure in Christ there—but that he questioned my character in Christ.

Currently I’m reaching Holy Habits, which despite its ill-chosen title is not a listing of what will secure us a spot in Heaven.  Instead it is an insight in how knowing God’s character will grow our love for Him and how this love will change how we live our lives.

From a human standpoint, I’m sometimes met with wide eyes.  But it’s not going to deter me from following God and, equally important, it’s not going to cause me to feel amiss about following Him either.  And on top of that, I think it took Noah a hundred years to build the ark.  This?  I can do half a year, or more, however long He commands, because I love Him, and it is out of love I dutifully serve Him and His children.

That’s what this OYC is—a multitude of experiences, consciously aware of moments in this life.  Each one adding a plank of wisdom, of love, of understanding, of growth to His ship.  With God as the project supervisor, I’m going to continue my work, my sanctification, drawing closer to Him in every process.

Day 323

She set up the entire event by herself.

She set up every event by herself.

She is amazing in this way.

Instead of complaining about lack of friends and friends who failed to step up, she just did it.

The bridal shower.  The bachelorette party.  The wedding reception.

She handled herself with grace and humor.

I can’t say I would’ve done the same.  Maybe I would’ve cursed the friends who RVSP’d ‘yes’ and went to Redbirds game instead.  I may have cried when I spent days planning a shower and then that friend who promised she’d be there couldn’t even call the day of to offer regrets.  I would’ve cried.  I would’ve confronted.  I would’ve collapsed.

But not her.

And last night, when the last of the parties was over, I stayed to clean with her.  Friendship is synonymous with sacrifice, though I think more people choose to associate it only with forgiveness.  You sacrifice identities like pride and feelings of resentment.  You sacrifice your first choice for a second.  You sacrifice your time and your energy.  You get there fifteen minutes early and you stay fifteen minutes late, if you’re able.

And as I started stacking chairs, cleaning in my nice summer dress and heels, I saw her lifelong best friend (and said friend’s fiancé) cleaning beside me.

In her new dress and new cardigan, she shifted comfort to the wayside, and stayed behind to clean up the hall.  Her fiancé swept, cleared the tables, and waited around for more orders.  My heart swelled a little upon bearing witness to a small, but meaningful sacrifice—this act of kindness and love—and it thoroughly made an impression on me.

Friends aren’t necessarily the people at the party.  They’re the after-party people, willing and ready to serve in their new dresses in whatever capacity they are called.

In the old saying, everyone in your life is a branch, or a leaf, or a root.  Mostly everyone is a leaf, not everyone is a branch, and time will reveal the roots in your life.  Hold fast to them and let everyone else go.  Don’t sweat the leaves that are sure to fall away, because that’s energy wasted that should be spent at an after-party in a cardigan and heels with roots.

Day 322

My friend, who is studying for her degree in social work, and I went around west Memphis seeking out MATA buses, me not knowing just how much I would receive from this afternoon trip.

For the entirety of my life I’ve been blessed with working vehicles.  My parents always had a car—whether it was the old Bronco, the T-bird, or a regular truck—and when I began driving they always had the means and desire to provide me with one.  The only time I ever rode a bus was with SUSD and that was an experience I loathed, so I didn’t know what to expect from the public transportation system here.

When she and I first stopped, our dreams of riding a bus were unfulfilled.  Whether we were victims to a late bus or an incorrect schedule, we’ll never know.  MATA, as efficient as it desires and claims to be, is far from it.  Confusing routes are made even more illegible by conflicting or lacking information.

We walked around the neighborhood of Highland and Summer, where we met John, the owner of a quaint thrift store.  His mom had owned the place, a then-lavish furniture dealer, but “when 9/11 happened, and the economy shifted, I knew we needed to change or we wouldn’t make it,” he said.  And so it became home to old, but beautiful jewelry, bathroom sinks, aged furniture, classic and not so classic records, and a Cadillac bumper.  So much filled the store, I can’t even continue to list its keepings.  So much character in such a small space.  He seemed to know the story of every knick-knack that had come to him, and after a few stories we bid John adieu.  Only after, of course, I purchased an old ceramic piggy bank.  It's the banker in me.

We made our way to Poplar Avenue by car and sought out its alleged bus routes.  Weekend schedules may or may not be identical to the weekly routes, we came to (not really) find.  Finally a bus appeared, and we loaded, paying $3.50 for an all-day pass, and you must have exact change!  Though the bus was full, its passengers were uncommonly quiet.  Among these passengers was a man with groceries, a woman who had picked up her prescription, and even a woman in a motorized wheelchair—how she boarded, I have no inkling!

We passed East High and Central Library, finally ending our route at the intersection of Cleveland and Poplar, where there were four different bus stops, one at each corner.  We discovered you can text MATA (at atis@matatransit.com) with a ##bus stop number## and it will text you the next departure time for your station—that was pretty cool, actually.  So we waited, about 20 minutes, plus a few more, because the bus was late.  (How do people make it to work on time?!)

The people around me were nicely dressed.  Forgive me, for my expectation for bus riders was low.  Poor, disheveled, and lacking were words I thought applied to my stereotype of those riding the mass transit line.  Fully embarrassed now am I for making such an assumption, seeing nicely dressed women and average families board the bus.

We returned to the Poplar Plaza Shopping Center with ease, walking a small distance as we left the bus a little soon, anticipating we’d miss the next stop if we didn’t.  We ate at McAlister’s where we met a lady with Anemia and having a bout of misfortune with a swollen knee and no medical insurance.  Her spirit remained bright, thankful for receiving the first day of fall and her state of perpetual gratefulness made me thankful for “such a beautiful day.”

We shopped at Spin Street, admiring the many oddities, iconic bobbles, and the hipster employees.  Our last stop was a franchised clothing store, where, though minor, reverse-racism was experienced—all I could think of was Why I Did GetMarried? when one of the main characters is told to by the store owner, “We don’t keep cash in the store.”  It was thoroughly uncomfortable, and, yes, I hated the feeling of predetermined suspicion, but it made me appreciate what black and African-American women must feel like every day in a white man’s world—and this was only one day, a 30 minute spread of time!  I can’t imagine the incomparable strength that comes from a lifetime of racism, especially in the south.

Our day was over after that, and even though it was only an afternoon I am so thankful for the experiences.  I’m thankful to God for what He’s given me and prayerful for the lives of others He allowed me to see.

People are not so different, but we are.  The boggling contradiction from God is that He made us in His image, brothers and sisters, but that we are so completely different in walk and experience.  I feel like I learned so much about His character and compassion for us.  In His love and wisdom He made us so very different, and how much we see Him in others is directly correlated in how open our hearts are to receiving His children, eager to see Him in any one person.

John.  The anemic woman.  The young lady with the Willie tattoo down her arm.  The aged man sitting on the bus.  The Def Leopard shirt guy.  The employee with the Hello Kitty glasses.

Our ugly sin nature may all be the same, but His beauty in us sets us apart from one another.  Indulge in it.  Challenge yourself to see it in others for you are not God’s most beautiful work alone.

Day 321

She was a prostitute who had taken sanctuary in a church alongside twelve young girls and an American.

The Flowers of War was, in the least, a difficult movie to watch. 

I turned off the TV, my stomach turning from the images and the truths my eyes had witnessed.  Of everything I hated watching, there was one moment that meant something to me.

The hero and the heroine sat together in the sanctuary.  For the first time, they're honest with each other.  Yu Mo looks at John, the man she had come to love, with sad, but determined eyes, and said this:

"Like them, I was at a convent for six years.  But unlike them, I was raped by my stepfather when I was thirteen years old.  By their age, I was already forced to take my first clients.  I don't want them to go through that."

She knew what would happen to the girls when the Japanese returned to take them away.  And she had made a choice.  What little life she had left, what opportunity she had for love, she was sacrificing.  She was going to give her life for them.

That's what meaningful life is, isn't it?

Sacrifice.  Big, small.  Whatever it is, sacrifice.

To our younger generations, we women have a responsibility to help lead our young women down a different path from our own lives.

And we also have a responsibility to the women who are experiencing or will experience the pains of life we've experienced.  Our greatest mercy is sharing in the pain and walking with women as they walk paths that ride parallel to our own history.  To have a heart mended by God connect to a heart hurting, seeking out love, nurturing, and understanding.  We have a responsibility to provide emotional sanctuary, a guidance, because God gives us these experiences to build in us that heart, a heart that propels us toward His children.

We have a responsibility to walk with each other.  To sacrifice, to love, to protect.

For Americans, we're unhappy with the un-fairytale ending.  We want the woman to have a successful career or the last laugh, living independently on her own.  We want to the couple to fall in love, whether star-crossed or heavenly ordained.  We want to see the hero win the medal and be recognized.

Sometimes the truth is that the hero receives no recognition.  Sometimes the hero isn't remembered by millions of people.  Sometimes the lovers, as much as they love each other, do not end up together.

As much as I hated the movie, I appreciate its honest voyeurism of what sacrifice, of what love, of what a higher purpose can be.

We sacrifice for those needing sacrifice.

Not because we gain, but because as sons and daughters of the Ultimate Sacrificer, we should be encouraged to do likewise.  To show the same love.

Sacrifice.  Responsibility.  Love.

These could be synonyms—should be synonyms.

A life without them is a life wasted.

Day 320

I was flipping through my calendar and entering in events.

My girls’ group, September 29th.
Heading to California, October 4th.
The Color Run, October 13th.
My friend speaks at her church, October 21th.

My friend’s birthday, November 3rd.

And it seems surreal that the end of my OYC is almost here.

Tuesday, November 6th.

Crazy.  I can’t believe it’s almost been a year.  The end will be here before I know it.

With everything else that has been going on, I haven’t thought about it much.  But today, I did.

I’m both terrified and encouraged.  As much as you train for something, there are variables to everything—so many unknowns.  But I’m encouraged, because I know for what I’ve been training and changing and focusing and how He will not lead me down the wrong path.  And as long as I stay close to Him, I’ll be okay.  He’s shown me that lately.

Recently, I’ve nicely turned down some really nice men—some Christian, some not—who don’t know about the challenge, but it wasn’t because of the challenge that I said no.  It was because of the guys.  Because I knew that we weren't like-minded enough in what drives us closer to God, and He gave me the freedom to make the decision on my own.  I didn't feel the "rules" of the challenge weighing on me as much as I did the knowing of not being equally yoked.

I know my husband and I won’t be compatible in many ways, but I’m continuing to learn what exactly is important to me.  And if the guy who pursues me isn’t ministry-minded, well, then, there’s no point in wasting time for either of us.

As people continue to ask me what is it I’m looking for, for a husband, I really don’t have an answer.  No specs.  I don’t even say, “I’ll know it when I see it,” because chances are, I won’t.  It’s simply a matter of trusting God and being patient.

Even though the challenge ends in six weeks, I am in no rush to figure it out.

Day 318

I told her to call me at work whenever they were ready to take Dad in for the procedure.

So when I picked up, yes, I expected a weary voice, but this—this was different.  Worn, ragged, worried.  There was a desperation within her that broke my heart.

“Daddy’s not doing so good,” she managed to squeak, and as she passed the phone to my father I knew not what to expect.

With his heart having beat a million beats per minute for more than twelve hours, it was as if he was on the tail-end of an absurd marathon.  He spoke, but his murmurs couldn’t even form words.  When Mom took the phone back, I was a wreck.

Not only could he not eat before the procedure, leaving him weaker still, but Mom also revealed that there was a chance that even the procedure may not be able to slow his racing heart—that it stood the chance of failing.  And the possibility of a worthless procedure did nothing to quell my father’s fears.

I told her I was praying, and we hung up, her promising to keep me updated.  After I tried pulling myself together, I opened my Facebook and Twitter apps in an attempt to reach out to as many people as possible with as little energy as possible.  After all, I had none left.  My fighter’s spirit was present, but my energy had long been spent.

Desperation.

It seems to be God’s favorite tool.

But not because He’s an evil, condemning God, but because He loves us and wants to see us prosper.  And a way to prosper is to be forced into places and situations and feelings.  To be forced to react in a way aligned with His will.

Desperation causes a meek girl to set aside her pride and call out to the world for prayer.
Desperation causes two people who do not believe in God to not only receive prayer, but request it.

God has used desperation in my life as a key, unlocking so many doors.  The door leading to an opportunity to minister.  A doorway to trusting Him, no matter what.  Doors to being faithful and experiencing His faithfulness.  Doors to build bonds of community and brotherly love.

And yesterday, after only hours on waiting on God, He answered.

“One-eighty.”

That was the term the cardiologist used to describe the rhyhm of Dad's heartbeat.  It had done a complete turnaround.  The medical staff had changed nothing within the last few hours.  Not the medicines, or dosages, even the procedure had not been done—and now it wouldn’t have to be.

I ran up and down the ball halls at work when I heard the news.  Baby, if you’ve never seen a white girl shout, yesterday was the day.

God will take you through some things to teach you some things.  You learn how much you trust Him and how far you’re willing to follow Him, to what degree you sacrifice yourself.

After receiving the news that he would be returning home after an abrupt, spontaneous healing, I came home from work, collapsing on my bed from overwhelming relief and gratitude.  I have never had more reason to praise God.  Not even when He saved me did I rejoice as much as I did last night.

It was fitting then to spend the rest of the night in the large halls of Bellevue, being led in worship by Hillsong Live.  I’m pretty sure that if those awesome Aussies can’t get you to sing, no one can.

Singing at the top of my lungs, waving my hands high, fingers outstretched, the rhythm pulsing through my body, the echo of a thousand people worshipping, I had never felt God’s glory stretched so widely.

God orchestrates everything in amazing ways.  And I never case to be astounded by His love and compassion for His children.  To take my family through this, to challenge me, and at the end of the hardest day giving me a way to celebrate and feel close to Him.

Even when times are rough, God is good.  Even when it hurts, God is good.  And when it’s good, it’s God and only God.

We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure... Hebrews 6:19

Day 317.

As of today I have 50 days left of my challenge.

It almost feels as if I’m cheating myself by limiting this to a dating fast.  What it really should be called is a drop-everything-you’ve-ever-held-dear-and-practice-being-obedient-and-loving-God challenge.  But somehow that’s just not as pleasing to the ear.

Today, for the second time in a week, I was called Esther.  Now, I hadn’t read Esther in about a year, so I didn’t know quite what to expect when I opened my Bible today during lunch.

For the longest time I’ve only seen myself as Gomer, nothing more.  Something ugly, something to be despised.  Something only God could love and want to redeem.

But this challenge—this challenge has given me so much.  So much I never expected to know or feel or be.  Strong in an entirely new way.

…after being twelve months under the regulations for the women, since this was the regular period of their beautifying, six months with oil of myrrh and six months with spices and ointments for women—when the young woman went in to the king in this way, she was given whatever she desired to take with her from the harem to the king's palace (Esther 2:12-13).

There are many other verses God used to touch my heart this afternoon from the book of Esther, but this one stayed with me.

A year is a long time to consistently concentrate on bettering yourself and a relationship.  But it's been worth every second.  Every tear.  Every frustration.  Because beyond all of that is success, a closeness, a trust, a reliability, an evolution of a love I never knew.  I think back to the Gomer I was, the Gomer God saved, and can only see myself through the lens of Christ now.  Not cocky or confident in myself, but more safe in and loved by Christ than I’ve ever known.

This, still, has been the most amazing experience of my life and I love my King more now than ever and I’m still learning to let Him love me.  And, boy, is it ever amazing.

Fifty days left and a lifetime to go.

Day 316

Because maybe

You’re gonna be the one that saves me

—Wonderwall, Oasis

My dad is strong, but fragile.

It must be a Linford thing, how we let our emotions engulf us.

And it must be a father-daughter thing, how we know truly how the other is feeling without even a hint of it in their voice.

“It’s going to be okay, Jamie.”

I know deep down he’s saying that, because he’s the dad.  Because he doesn’t want me to worry.

But also because he’s trying to talk himself into believing it.

It’s so hard to be 2,000 miles away from him.  All I want to do is be there beside him.  But I’m not.  I’m here.

I saw a missed called from my parents after dinner tonight, and when I called back, I could hear it immediately in mom’s voice that something was wrong.

And then she passed the phone to dad.

I tried to hold it together, and I did, but as soon as we hung up, I just started bawling.

In the quiet darkness of my car, I just sobbed.

God, I thought we were done.

God, I’m so tired.

God, I don’t know if I can fight anymore.

God, what are you trying to teach me?!

Thinking that if I only knew what lesson was on His chalkboard that the test would cease, my dad would be home, and my burden would be no more.

But that’s not the case.  No, whatever God is trying to teach me, whatever He’s trying to teach us as a family has yet to sink in.

And here I sit two thousand miles away.  And there he lies, two thousand miles away, in a hospital bed, waiting for his heart to be stopped so they can start it again.

Even to be dead for a nano-second is still to be dead.

Is there symbolism here, God?  What are you working on, Holy Spirit?  For those who live must die to gain?  Is it too much to hope that this is but a turning point in my father’s life and not the end of it?

My prayers for my family to be saved haven’t stopped.  But I realize at this point that nothing of which I’ve asked from God comes to me as I think it will.  And no easy thing is it to accept Christ and welcome him into your heart, so by what means will it come?

Exhausted.  Drained.  Aching.  Hurting.  Desperate.

These are the adjectives that describe my family right now.

And these are the very same that described my life almost two years ago when I asked God into my life.

May this be what brings him closer to Christ and not the story we tell at his funeral.  May God be his wonderwall.

We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain, where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf... Hebrews 6:19-20

Jesus, you've been there, done that.  You walk before my father, you've walked before me.  You clear the way long before we even step foot onto the path.  Be with him tomorrow and let his heart be at peace.  And let me be at peace, knowing if He takes my father, God is still good.  If He doesn’t save my father, God is still good.  God is always good and His glory will always prevail.

Day 315

I think you can almost always tell what someone hasn’t gone through by the jokes they make.  Because I'm pretty sure if they knew how much it hurt, they wouldn’t make jokes about it.

…about the dirty people who have STDs.

…about the slutty girls who have had abortions.

…about the crazy person with Schizophrenia.

…about foodstamps.
…about being poor.

…about living in the ghetto.

I’m not perfect in this.  I’ve surely said my own hurtful comments.  But every time someone says or tweets or laughs about something that hurts me, it becomes even more of a weight on my heart to keep my “funny” thoughts to myself.

What makes you laugh may make another cry.  And they may have spent many nights of their life crying over it.

If we're trying to be like Jesus...what are the words we wouldn't hear coming out of his mouth?

Death and life are in the power of the tongue, and those who love it will eat its fruits (Proverbs 18:21).

But what comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart, and this defiles a person (Matthew 15:18).

There is one whose rash words are like sword thrusts, but the tongue of the wise brings healing (Proverbs 12:18).

Day 314

So much has happened today.

Good, and bad.

At the end of it all, I just couldn't help but cry.



Kim Mompean
35 minutes ago
Thursday...9/13/12 at 4:56 PM I watched my son Joshua Mompean ~ Joshua James Mompean take his last breathe. My heart is broken and yesterday...I lost one of my heroes. I hate Cystic Fibrosis for what it did to my son and what it is still doing to my daughter. If I could have traded places with either of them to avoid the terrible pain and long chronic suffering I would do it without a second thought. I watched my son be born and take his first breath and last night I watched him take his last. The sight of his lifeless body is forever burned into my brain and I want to wash it out because I tumble with every thought of that image. I am heart sick...the pain is almost...unbearable. 

This was sudden. I wqas up to see him in the hospital at Stanford on Saturday and again with my wife and kids on Sunday and we all had a wonderful visit. Josh was weak but had hope of having months left and wanted to come out of the hospital. Josh got to see and visit with his sister Sarah and brother Elijah. By Wednesday we got the call and by Thursday he was gone. It just ain't right.

I invite you to go to my son's page and read what his friends and family are saying about his extraordinary life. I am so proud of the man he became and the way he has helped so many people in his life. His 28 years were meaningful and I will forever miss him. It just isn't right...his friends called him Blue...he was my Josh...I love you bubby...with all of me...I love you...forever.

Day 312

My dad is still in the hospital, but I feel as if the weight has been lifted from our family.

Sure, there’s still the recovery.  The changes that will have to be made at home.

But he’s alive.  Albeit weary and nauseous, but alive.

I called Mom a few minutes ago to check-in.  She had already come home from visiting Dad in the hospital and was now cooking dinner.  Funny, on the other side of the states, her daughter was cooking, too.

I imagined us, the women of the family, standing in our kitchens, pots sizzling, fears calmed, anxieties dissipated, energy dissipated, but hearts flooded with relief.

“Jamie, thank you so much for being there,” she said after catching me up on Dad’s current state.

I laughed lightly.  To me, so far away, I felt like I had done nothing.

“Mom, I only did the best I could from 2,000 miles away.”

“Oh, honey, you did everything…and more, so much more.”

I expected her to stop there, but she continued.

“That Tango call really helped.  Seeing you before he went into surgery, I think that helped a lot.  He was so calm and peaceful…so unlike the first time.  I mean, and how could seeing all those pictures of all those people praying not make him feel at peace?  He was just so different from the first time…”

I leaned my elbow on the counter and covered my eyes with my hand.  I felt the tears.  It was like those words had been delivered straight from God.  Out of my mother.  The unbeliever.

The inner evangelist in me wanted to cry out then, to tell her it wasn’t me, to tell her about God, to tell her about why everyone was praying and Who they were praying to…

…but instead I just said…

“I love you, mom.”

And for right now, for today, for this time, that was enough.

When I hung up, I let the feeling of hope bath me.  The feeling of faithfulness.  Of love.

Thank you all for praying for my family.  For praying for my father, my mother, and me.  Thank you for it all.  I can’t even tell you how much and how amazing this experience has been.  Tragedies, yes, they’re terrible and awful, but in the midst of them, if you focus the scope of humanity, you are blessed with gifts that you otherwise would never experience.

Faithfulness.  Friendship.  Opportunity.  Love.  True, grace-giving, unconditional love.

And that is something always worth acknowledging.

Thank you, thank you, a million times, thank you.

Day 311

I sat in the leather chair in a room all by myself.

The paper smock crinkled over my skin.  And all I wanted to do was be home.

I don’t know what happened, but I was having a hidden anxiety attack by the time the anesthesiologist came into the room.  It was the five minutes before the operation that I began to panic, and the panic grew.  Unexpected terror.  I had to suffocate myself from crying, from sobbing.  It was one of the most terrifying moments of my life.

I remember it—a feeling so clear it still reverberates off the walls of my memories like it wasn’t really two years ago.  The older I’ve gotten, the more terrifying surgeries have become.  And I think it’s because when we age, as we age, our mortality sets in, in a way that it never could in our youth.  Youth held us in immoritality and impenetrability.  But age, oh, age, every year the golden gates are closer than the last and we know the inevitable is, in fact, inevitable.

I remember pondering all the shortcomings of my life in that moment, cradled by the leather chair.  I sat alone, the only people to surround me, strangers.

And it’s this feeling that makes my heart cave at the thought of my father going under the knife.  While much of life events are faced with family and friends, in an operating room, it’s just you.

Exhausted, I woke up early this morning to take my roommate to work.  When I reached my parking lot, I pulled out my phone and Tango’d my family.

There he was.  He was smiling, but his eyes were tired.  I wanted to reach out, to touch him, to hug him.  But from two thousand miles away all I could do was keep myself from crying.

And my mom was curled up beside him.  She, to, was tiered in layers of exhaustion.  Hair tousled, drowsy eyes, and a mouth that did its best to hold a smile.  Weak.  We were all weakened by the coming schedule of the day.

We talked for a  few minutes of simpler things.  YouTube videos of cats.  My upcoming trip in October.  Family from out of town visiting.  My OYC progress.  And then there was a pause.

“You’re going to be okay, dad,” I said, meekly.

“I know,” he almost whispered, looking at something far away, something I couldn’t see.
“Dad, you wanna grab mom’s hand and I can pray for you, for us...I’ll say a quick prayer?” I promised, trying to convince them both.

And he grabbed mom’s hand.  And I prayed.  I tried to keep my words simple, casting only love in easy language—to stay away from “Biblish,” as my friend called it last night.  Together she and my small group prayed I could away from overwhelming, eloquent Bible jargon.  I’ve been speaking it for so long I’ve quite forgotten how overwhelming it can be for an unbeliever.  And so I prayed, simply, for God to give dad peace and strength.  I prayed for mom that she would have strength to sit through the hours met with silence throughout the duration of the operation.  For her and my brother, to be there for one another, to find strength in one another.

And when I finished, we continued to talk.  Not so much because we had anything to say—we had long exhausted the remainder of our energy and the last of our words.  We remained on the phone because we knew what it would mean when we hung up.  Dad would be on his way to the hospital.

I just stared at my dad through the screen.  So close and yet so far.  It became an even stronger battle not to cry.  I knew I couldn’t, because I was the last not-crying member of the family.  If I cried, they cried.

And so I tapped the END CALL button on my phone, crumpling into a cardiganed heap of numbness.

I gave myself five minutes to pull away, out of my body.  I sat, still.  And even though the entire world was moving, my ears were met with the silence of the morning, and eyes sought out the digital clock on my dash, warring with time.

I replayed the short phone call, recalling my father’s slight smile and my mother’s tired eyes.

I am so tired, God.

So tired I just want to cry.

I just don’t understand.  How do people disciple people, be in small groups, be part of a church plant, volunteer their time to church, have a family, wake up extra early to drive their children to school, cook dinner after work, be a wife to a husband, lead small groups, meet new people, invest in new people, invest in the unsaved, maintain current friendships, have time to pray, make time for quiet time, and then add on all the other unexpected emergencies?

I’m worn.  I’m weary.  I’m exhausted.  I’m confused.

Is this where You want me, God?

So exhausted that I can’t do anything but lay in Your arms?

I hear You saying good and faithful servant.  I hear You say keep pushing.  But I don’t know if I can push anymore, God.

I’m just so tired.

Day 309

Sacrifice.

Sacrifice is important.

It should be a constant state of heart.

Lay down desires for the wellbeing of the bigger picture.  His picture.

So I made some sacrifices today.

Today was the opening day for Fellowship East.  And it was phenomenal!

Sure, I didn’t get to sleep in.

Sure, I wasn’t wearing a cute Sunday dress.

Sure, I didn’t get to sing along in worship.

And sure, I didn’t get to really listen to the sermon.

And sure, I wasn’t at Colonial in a familiar setting with familiar people.

And yes, I missed out on my good friend preaching his first sermon.

But, even in sacrificing my “would-rathers,” I got to see God work.

I got to be a part of a team.  I got to see the first day go down.  I got to welcome people to a new place.  I got to see a customer from the bank I haven’t seen in two years and hear him say, “That was impressive—pretty amazing.”  I got to see the friends who made the journey out east.  I got to bond with team members.  I got to feel like a leader and a team member all at the same time.

And most importantly I was able to feel the surge of passion met with satisfaction over feeling like I was at the right place, at the right time, with the right people, with the right purpose.

Sacrifice.  Following God means you don’t always get to do what you want or be where you might want to really be…but it also means expressing your trust in Him.  And I believe to the fullest that He honors that.

I walked away feeling more at peace than I’ve felt in a long time.  And not just because I was at a place in time with people serving a purpose, but because I was right where I needed to be.  Right where He wanted me.

Encouraged and deeply moved by this morning, and ready for whatever He would have come next.  Open palms, God, singing like Christy Nockels, waiting here for you.

Day 308

“Maggie!” he called, and slowly jogged toward us.

His mixed black lab-ish dog had found her way to Paris and was eagerly running circles around both her and my Pekingese.

Like his exuberant pet, he, too, was friendly.  His smile was warm, and his voice welcoming.  I was attracted to him almost instantly.

We walked down to the lake and watched as our frantic pets frolicked through the water, chasing each other and the other dogs through the mud and then back into the lake.  We laughed and it was easy being near him.

And then, I did it.

I walked away.

Sometimes honoring God isn’t always what you want to do—I’d argue that a lot of times, it’s the exact opposite of what you want to do.

In this case, me honoring God was simply resisting the urge to stay.  To stay and get to know him.  To stay and want him to ask me for my number.  To stay and start something that, one, would be breaking my fast, and, two, starting something that shouldn't be started, because chances are he wasn’t a believer.

I walked away from a handsome, charismatic, dog loving guy…because God said so.

I heard Him through the leaves, You don’t want anything less than what I’ll give you.

And I was reminded of what I truly want and for what I am willing to withhold myself.

A leader.  Someone who makes me laugh.  Someone who’s willing to dance even if he doesn’t know the steps.  And a man who makes conversation with anyone—not for popularity’s sake, but for the sake of souls.

I can’t say that I have a type, but I do know to what type of man I am attracted.  He has a heart wiling to make light of a situation when it calls for it.  To make me laugh, to laugh with me, and even to laugh at me sometimes.  Laughter is important.

A man who dances even though he can’t—that says more than words.  It says he came to have a good time, and he’s comfortable with who he is, and that’s priceless.

When I marry a man, I need him to be as passionate about saving souls as me, and the way to do this is through connection.  I don’t notice the man who goes to  a party and sits quietly by himself.  I notice the man who walks into a room full of people he doesn’t know and begins making conversation with strangers.  When we pursue those of the world, God’s children, he is going to have to be the man who is willing and eager to approach the unsaved.  I can’t be stronger than my husband in this respect, because I won’t feel as if we’re a team.

And I need a leader for this team—someone who has invested his life and his soul in The Word of God.  Someone who knows what he’s doing biblically and possesses sound theology.  Someone I can look up to and rely on to lead me closer to God.

So that’s it.  My four non-negotiables.  That’s all I’ve come up with.

And that’s enough to keep me moving on from the “less thans” and parallel to God’s will for me.

This train has been trucking for 10 months.  Two to go, and I’ve come too far to stop now for a nice smile and a dog named Maggie.

Sorry, Mags.  Better luck next time.  I got a challenge to finish and God to pursue. 

Day 303

Dads are their daughters' first loves.

I am convinced that nothing compares to the bond between a little girl scared of the monsters under the bed and the man willing to sleep on the flat, hard floor until she falls asleep, finally safe.

Well, that’s who my dad is.  The protector.  The quiet lion of the family.  And when the lion cries, oh, how ears of the daughter bleed in helplessness.

From 2,000 miles away, not much can be done.  I can’t hold him while the nurse injects him.  I can’t run my fingers through his silver hair.  I can’t even look into his pained blue eyes and reassure him that his life is safe.  From 2,000 miles away, my daughterly capabilities are limited.

In this moment, it occurs to me that God is following up on a lesson He began teaching me eight months ago when I was visiting my family.

It is not about me.

It is not about what I can or can’t do.

Because, ultimately, I can only do the same thing here that I can do there.

Sit.

And let God work.

Satan has not been kind to my family, ever.  A father whose childhood experience at church left him traumatized.  A mother whose parents were Catholic, but she can’t even utter the word ‘prayer’ without awkwardness.  A Paranoid Schizophrenic son who has episodes at the mention of God’s name.  And a daughter who swore away God as a child.

The enemy has been in my family a long time—but not longer than God, who has had His hand over us long before we even existed.  He who has given them a daughter and a sister willing to fight for them, has given them a hidden weapon of hope.

Game changer.  This is a game changer.

When I was little, when there was news of a kidnapping in the city, Dad sat me down, he said, “Jamie, if anyone ever tries to take you, you kick, scream, and fight.  If you let them take you, we will never see you again.  You have to fight.”

Well, Dad.  Here I am, fighting.  For you.

I’m fighting and my biggest weapon right now is the family I have here—the family that has held me while I’ve cried, prayed with me, and covered my father and family in prayers.  I’m experiencing family like never before, and courage like never before, through His love.

It’s not about me being 2,000 miles away.

It’s about being 2,000 miles away, and making every mile count, trusting God, and knowing that I can be there for my father through the Father and His children.

I can do more being farther away and creating an army to pray, than being at his bedside, stricken with panic.

My father has given me so much.  I’ve inherited his strength, his loyalty, and his compassion and so much more.  But my legacy to him will be this: the family I received when I accepted Christ, and the hope that is connected to them.

Our roles have switched.  Now I’m the one helping keep the monsters at bay.  But I’m not in it alone.  I have a Father who loves my father and He's the one watching over us both.  He's the Father of a greater family, and it’s this same family, standing beside me as brothers and sisters, praying continuously for a father they’ve never even met, giving me a high hope that his heart will be won for Christ and one day be part of the same family.

I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in his holy people (Ephesians 1:18).

Thank you to anyone who has prayed for our family during this time.  I have seen so much of God in each of you and I cannot begin to tell you how much you all have blessed my life.  I know my parents are different because of it.  I’m just so thankful for all of you.