Day 353

You leave home, you move on

And you do the best you can

I got lost in this whole world

And forgot who I am

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it

This brokenness inside me might start healing

Out here it's like I'm someone else

I thought that maybe I could find myself

—The House that Built Me, Miranda Lambert

The leaves fell against the windshield of my car as I sat, quietly passing time.  The words of Miranda Lambert's song stung my heart.

For the first time since my visit to California in February, I do not hear God telling me to stay in Memphis, but neither do I hear Him telling me to go.

In February, I heard His will clearly.  He wanted me to stay, to finish learning, to grow stronger.

But now, now He's quiet.  He has offered no direction and His unresponse has made me begin to think maybe it's due time to move back to California.  Back to the place I vowed never to live again.  Back to the place that sucked away years of my life.  Back to the place whose memories hold so much pain.  Back to the city where my family still lives.

I told God I would die for my parents if that meant they would be with Him in Heaven.  I would give my life to see theirs spared.

But I fear what He is asking of me is far worse.  Dying to my desires, dying to my will, and moving back home to my parents is a fate far worse than merely dying in their place.

The lyrics of this song mean so much to me, holding thoughts much deeper than I might chance explaining.

A friend reminded me that God does not want us to grow comfortable.  This isn't our home.  Memphis isn't any more my home than Stockton is.  Heaven is where I'm bound, and then, and only then, I can rest, comfortable, in the palace of my Father.  But until then, not growing comfortable is the best weapon of defense.  Discomfort allows for flexibility whereas comfort is all too dangerous a seductress, bending us to remain in her coils of coziness.

My lease ends next September, giving me a little less than a year to spend my days in prayer over the matter, trying to discern God's voice above my own.  Should I leave and move back to Stockton, my parents would surely never leave, which means I would also stay.  Another friend, who is very wise, reminded me that we spend and invest much into Biblical leaders here in Memphis.  But what is to be done when we raise up these leaders only for them to remain here?  We should spread ourselves throughout the world, taking what we've learned and sharing it with unreached cities, investing in the uninvested.  So what good is it that I stay in a place where there are many leaders when my city is dying, overrun with sin and crime?

Should I stay, eventually my parents will move here to be with me, which means they will leave a city where nothing but death resides.  I would continue to grow with the church I have grown to love.  But mostly my family would be safe and we would be together.  But we also short Stockton of one less stable family, a city already aching from moral deprivation, thereby adding to its inevitable demise.

What to do?  My heart is torn and I can't hear God's voice clearly.  All I hear is my own, whispering fears, concerns, and meek hopes.

This, while seemingly unconnected to the One Year Challenge, is very much a part of it.  Unsure of where to root my feet leaves me wondering at the appeal of stepping into a relationship.  For what is to be served should I fall in love with a man here if my calling is in Stockton, California?  What should happen to our hearts then; should he leave his own family to attend to mine?  Yet another complication added to the puzzle of life, leaving me to figure out what serves God best and how I have matured, as the decisions I make infer what fruit has taken seed in a life claimed to be devoted to God.

Then I think life and love are not so much these decisions, but our reactions to them, being a telltale sign of our ability to follow God.  Falling in love here matters not so much as love vested in Christ would be sure to have God's will working in its way. 

I know God's will prevaileth over all.  As Jonah resisted Ninevah, he still ended up there.  No matter how much he tried to not go, there he was.  And I'm sure my fate is the same.  Wherever Jesus wants me, that's where I'll be, qualms, questions, reservations, and all.  At least I know He will be with me wherever I sojourn, even in the deepest pit.

Day 341

The way she laughs.  The shine in his eye.  The curious smirk on his face.

These are the marks of my family.  Marks I wish never to forget.

No day is promised to us.  It should be very likely a day to come that is not filled with the words of my father’s wisdom, my mother’s compassionate murmur, or my brother’s endless knowledge.  Quiet walls.  When wrongness comes the space between is quiet and hearts fall dim.

With every ounce of my soul I wish they knew the Love that is greater than my own.  The Love that landed the stars in the sky, that causes the moon to rise, and the sun to shine on the gardenias in their garden.

Oh, how it were that my father’s hand would be at the pages of a Bible or on the wood of a pew.  That my mother’s thoughts filled with delight in unending grace.  That my brother’s ears heard prayers of love and justice and atoning sacrifice.

But alas, in a world all too familiar, they stand.  Unsaved.  Scared.  Unknowing.

And I hear nothing from God, but, “Love.”

Loving them means tenderness and gentleness, a giving I feel time does not afford.

But still I hear His voice say, “Wait,” and only, “Love.”

Love will draw them near.

And so I love.  I love with a love not of this world.  Not quick to anger or condemn, but lighting a path akin to those lit for planes, for flight, for direction.

I whisper, “Follow me,” in the small hope that they hear my Father’s loving voice—but not just my Father, no, the Father that gave them wind to laugh, hands to garden, and hearts to love.  The Father that formed them long before I knew them or they knew me.

And I wait.

I wait for the moment they say, “We hear.”

And though I fear that day I may not meet, though I underestimate the power of an all-powerful God, though I question the very God who brought I as a lost sheep to Him, my candle burns with the undying hope that perhaps.

Just perhaps.

And that time will then have no venture in our love.  That money will not dictate time spent together, but that our wisps of lives on this earth are all met with eternity.

Eternity where God holds us near, and love is complete and pain has been ushered to the unmentioned realm.

Perhaps.  Love.  Waits.

And so shall I never abandon, but fight with the quiet fervor as a warrior of The King, despicably desperate for all to be reached and for all to reach Him.  For it is His heart and His heart alone that propels the very world, and the only loss is given at the unknowing of He who made us, loves us, and wants us.

Here in lies the great meaning, we must lose our lives to be saved, but can’t do so until loss beckons our name.  Which voice shall be ultimately heard?  Which answered?  I hope in favor of the Father, the Redeemer of the Lost.

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.

Day 298

I went in for some water.

But she was sitting there, phone to her ear and panic in her voice.

In the midst of a hurricane hitting New Orleans, she was in our break room, talking hurriedly with her brother, a resident of a now flooded house with no rescue in sight.

By the time she had hung up I had walked over to her.  Embracing her and taking her shoulder, I listened as she explained her panicked tone.

Fast rising water.  No electricity.  Having to make it across the formed gulf for rescue.  A neighbor with a new born baby.  Rain.  Unending rain.

Her words flowed together like the very water she described.

I knew what the Spirit was moving me to do, and nervously, I asked, "Miss Wallace...can we pray?  Let me pray for you?"  I held out my hands for hers.

My heart ached for the right words, and only Lord knows if I found them.  I prayed over her, her family, and the rescue teams.  When I heard her phone buzzing, I ended quickly, leaving her to answer the calls coming from the rest of her family.

There are several times within the last year that the Holy Spirit moved me to pray with people, and I refused.  Making excuses, I withheld, letting others lead them in prayer, or walking away and avoiding the situation entirely.  It took months to be able to even pray out loud with friends.  Strangers?  No way.

And then, like everything else in my life, He usurped my wants and, in all my discomfort, has had me pray over two people within the last four days.

Crazy.

Though my words are simple, I know they're really His, and that the Lord will use whatever moments for His greater glory and divine purpose.

Not only have I been praying with people, but I've been creating prayer circles and prayer partners.  Suddenly the fear of no prayer is greater than the fear of being rejected.  And so I sought out a few others to pray for her intentionally.

Searching out people to pray for each other has become a mission.  And actually, prayer, all around, seems to be becoming a bigger portion of my life.

God is trusting me with so much, and I just want to do right by Him.

And I know that this is only just the beginning.

Day 260

I can't believe what she said

I can't believe what he did

Well maybe there's something I missed

But how could they treat me like this?

It's wearing out my heart

The way they disregard

They don't know what they've been doin' (oh no)

Oh, Father, give me grace to forgive them

Cause I feel like the one losin'

—Losing, Tenth Avenue North

·   Family Last night I spoke with my family over the phone.  I watched as the three of them sat and stood near each other on the sofa in the living room.  Dad was laughing, Steven was squinting, and Mom, I could tell, was keeping herself from tears.  The night hit me so hard and I looked upon each of them as if it was the last time I would see them.  I took in every smile, every word, every laugh, every far off stare that hinted at a sadness from our separation.  Just watching them I wanted to cry.  I just felt like I have betrayed them somehow.  Here I am, Heaven bound as far as I can tell, and they’re bound to Hell.  How can I convey that to them without scaring them?  It’s like we’re on a plane and it’s going down, and I’m panicking.  Grab this parachute!  This is an emergency situation!  I don’t know how to handle it gently.  I don’t know how to tell them about the love of Jesus—maybe I don’t believe it’s the love that would save them.  Maybe knowing of the imminent pain that awaits them would push them into God’s hands faster…but maybe that’s not the right approach.  Whatever the approach, I’m just lost and I’m just so sad every day that passes and they’re not saved.

·   Friends Being unsaved and having unsaved friends, things were much clearer.  When someone hurt you, the friendship was over.  Period.  There was no expectation of love continuing.  You took it back, they no longer deserved your love.  Now following Christ, there’s an expectation of brotherly love.  How do you love someone through the hurt?  And what’s more, how do you love them if they say what they’re doing, they’re being led by the Holy Spirit to do, or not do?  You question so much.  All I can say is, we can hurt others even while following Christ.  It’s not like we become saved and we never hurt anyone else again.  We might not be wrong, we may be as close to Christ as we can be, but just be sensitive to that—that we can hurt people even in our pursuit of Him.

·   Challenge I am so thankful that in everything that has been going on, these last few weeks, this year, that God has not allowed any men to pursue me.  It has made things easier.  I can’t imagine what I would do if someone walked up to me and said, “I like you.  I want to pursue you.”  Saying no would be difficult.  Either out of no interest or this challenge.  Can you imagine if I liked someone and he walked up to me and told me he was interested?  I would spend the rest of the challenge with him in the back of my mind.  I think of this now a little more than 100 days left of this OYC, and know this has been the greatest experience of my life, and as the end draws near…so does anxiety.  Maybe I’ll just never date again.

·   Twitter The older I get, the more I go through, the more I see—I just know every day is precious, and you never know when you’re going to go.  You never know.  You never expect to go.  Car accidents.  Shootings.  Heart attack.  Undiscovered brain tumor.  Cancer.  The list goes on and on of life ending instances.  And I think that’s why there is this heaviness on my heart—because I could leave any day, any time, by any way.  If I died tomorrow, I leave behind an unsaved family.  I leave behind unreconciled relationships.  I leave behind people who may not know how much I love them.  Two cute dogs.  Unsaved souls.  John Bryson said, “You have 16 hours a day you are not asleep, what are you doing with them?”  This story peaked my interest.  Alex Sullivan’s last tweet.  He never expected that to be his last day here…  What will I be doing before my last day...  How will it be spent...  Will I be able to say goodbye?  You never know.  Every day is blessing.

Day 195

"My only regret in life is that I didn't have another son for you to marry," he laughed.

"Aaw, I can still call you 'Dad,' right?"

We all laughed.  I was sitting at a table with my best guy friend and his parents.  A family preparing to celebrate a graduation and an upcoming wedding.  I'm ready to celebrate, too.

I reflected on the last two years with my friend and his beautiful soon-to-be wife being in my life.  What an impact they have had on my life!  I have no doubt God strategically gave them to me, knowing fully I needed them.

I remember meeting them several Novembers ago while I was in a terrible relationship, and thinking, "I wish I had a relationship like that one."

I remember as he became the first guy to really love me as a friend, showing me what a Godly man is, and watching him as he continued to lovingly pursue his girlfriend.

I remember as she, though being so young, led me spiritually in moments where I desperately needed a strong Godly woman in my life.  The nights she spent on my couch while she was in town visiting him, and how comfortable she is with who she is in Christ.

There is a part of me that will miss the pre-marriage version of our friendships.  I'll miss her spending the night or him counseling me through relationship and men stuff.

But, then, as I was driving the other day, I heard God say that it's okay to miss people and things and seasons of life.  We don't miss the bad things...

Oh, I miss him breaking up with me.

Oh, I miss her using me.

Oh, I miss that job that made me feel worthless.

If we miss something, it was special.  That's why we miss it.  And I don't know how I didn't understand that sooner.

There have been so many things I've been missing lately.  I wish I could go back to this time, this friendship, this season...

But then I'm neglecting the space for new things, new people, new experiences...

All the people I've gotten to know lately, all the delicious food I've been able to eat, all the fun first-time-things I've been able to enjoy...

If I held onto the same friendships, in the same seasons, in the same place, life would be routine.

Anticipating this wedding, I am so excited for them, and their new life.  She'll be living in town now.  Both of them right down the street.  She’ll be a wife and he’ll be a husband.  And they’ll still be my friends—friends that I’ll get to watch build a life and a family together.

Change can be good.  Change can be great.  And this is opening my eyes to how very good it can be.

Counting down the days to beignets, New Orleans, and seeing two amazing people tie the knot!

Day 124

When a heart is cold as ice you can't melt it with advice 

No one wants to listen to a list of things they shouldn't do 

So I build a city on a hill and I light a candle on the sill 

Knowing you'll be always knocking at the door 

Oh God I just want to love on everyone 

All I have is yours to give so let the people come 

Learning to Be Light, Newworldson

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Do nothing.

Say nothing.

Be patient.

Be quiet.

Be a listener.

Hold your tongue.

Doing nothing has never seemed to accomplish anything.  So when I went to California there was an emptiness that I felt when God told me to do nothing.

Do nothing?  How can I sit back idly and do nothing?

My family never spoke of my newfound religion.  They never asked about God.  I never shared about the love of Christ.  My family didn’t even want to go to church with me.

And so here I am, 2,000 miles away from them, feeling lost and unaccomplished.  Nobody was closer to Christ when I left.  How did I do anything?

Frustrating.

Tonight I listened as a group discussed the book of Philemon.

God spoke to me in so many ways,  but it was when they discussed being useful versus being useless that my heart perked.  I definitely felt useless during my time in California.  All God was telling me to do was be quiet!

Worthless.  Completely and utterly worthless.  How am I supposed to save people if I can’t save the ones I love the most?

Formerly he was useless to you, but now he has become useful both to you and to me (Phil 1:11).

And it hit me.  They are no more closer to God than a year ago when I visited for the first time when I first tried, my way.  I gave my brother back my grandfather’s cross.  I handed him his very own Bible.  I took him to church with me.  He had a curiosity.  He was interested.  And all that culminated to what?

Nothing.

That brought some comfort knowing that nothing I did changed anything in my family for better or worse.  Where they stood a year ago, they stand today.

And, still, what I think is useless is only seen as useless because there are no perceptible changes.

But, Jamie…  I hear God say.

If there is no change…then why did your  family say nothing, do nothing, ask nothing of you while you were in California…but when you came back to Memphis, they asked you, “How was church on Sunday?”

Two thousand miles away, and it makes no different.  My will is My will.  Their salvation has nothing to do with you or your successes or downfalls.  Their eternity is in My hands.  All You can do is follow Me.  And you did.

You were obedient.  I know you wanted to scream from the rooftops about My love.  I know you wanted to share in every way to every person.

But I also know that you’re kind.  Thoughtful.  Insightful.  And that sometimes being forthright isn’t the most loving way to bring someone to Me.  Sometimes it takes time.  You took 26 years to cultivate and even yet you are still young.  Confident in your obedience, I trust you to be patient with them.  Remember to listen.  Let them talk.  You don’t have to defend me.  I am God.  I don’t need defending.

And, no, you’re not crazy.

All things are useful to Me.  You are useful even in the moments you deem useless.  You can’t see all that I know, but you must trust Me.  Think long term.  Not short term.

And, no, no, no, no, no...you’re not useless.
Sometimes doing nothing and everything are one and the same thing.

Day 114

God, please.

I never thought I would say this, but I don't want to leave.

Please slow down time.  Please stop time.  Please let me stay in this moment.

Please, please, please, please let me stay.

I loved having breakfast with my dad.  He opened the door for me.  We sat in a booth, eating hashbrowns and eggs, talking about life.  There were awkward moments at first where I didn't know what to say.  I still feel like I'm five years-old when I'm around him, and the toughest part was talking to him as an adult.  But when I did, it was an amazing feeling to sit across from him and share in his wisdom.

He talked of grandpa, his past with mom, my brother's life, my life...we talked about his feelings.  His heartattack, his decisions, his love for his family, his mom and dad, and Grandpa Jack.  I talked about the possibility of me not having children, not being married, and about it being okay to just give him "grand-puppies."  I asked of his sacrifices as a father and a husband.  We paid, and donated to the UC Davis Children's Hospital.  "Jim & Jamie."  And brought home a truffula tree seed for Mom.  And we drove out to his cannery.  Or at least what used to be his cannery.  We talked of Grampa Jim.  His trailer.  Why he decided not to live with Mom and Dad.  How much he loved me.  His choices for his life...and how we all make choices.

And when we came home it was time for Mom.  I took the keys, and ushered her into the car without revealing where we were headed.  When we pulled up to Village Nails, she knew.  She knew and she was tickled...or maybe she was terrified.  I held her hand and we walked into the salon where she didn't kick anyone in the face.  I kept looking at her from my seat...just so happy to see her happy.  From there we drove to Sakura and bought seeweed, and beancakes, and crackers, and Japanese juice drinks.  And then after that we took her to Peet's, because I thought she'd enjoy raspberry flavored coffee.  And then we shopped a little.  That's something we never did when I grew up.  I was too much of a brat.  And I made her try on things she would never try on.  And I tried on things.  And we shopped.  And we enjoyed each other's company.

And on the way home she said, "I will remember this day forever."

Then as a family we ate at Pho Saigon Bay, which ironically Dad wanted to try weeks ago, but Mom said no.  They tasted new food.  And after eating heartily and leaving happily, we walked over to Tutti Frutti where Dad had sugar-free strawberry and...

...and I don't want to leave.

I don't want to leave.

For the first time I want to stay.

I want to be a part of their lives.

I want to be around.

I don't want to not be here.

I don't want them to die without me having put in every effort humanly possible to love them.

I don't want them to die unsaved.

I don't want another moment to pass where I can't see my mom smile, or hear my dad laugh, or listen to another of Steven's jokes.  And my grandma...my grandma who is so sweet and shopped for clothes for me and loves me so much.

How can I leave this?

God, change my life.  Change something.  Please bring me peace about leaving, because I'm about to fall to pieces.  Please....do something with these feelings.  Please, please, please...my heart is breaking, and I can't take it.

Day 112

I felt like I was in the palm of God’s hand as the sun set on the pier.

Alone, I watched the oranges mingle with the pink hues, warm colors blending into the cool night sky.

The ocean water reflected the remaining sparks of light, and soon these sparks were only glitters of the lights of the city.

Appreciating the majesty of the scene spread before me, I walked slowly to my car, drinking in every moment.  I knew it could very well be another year before I would be able to see again the wonders of the bay at twilight.

On the drive home from San Francisco, I thought thoughts to myself, contemplating, for the first time, the reality of moving back to the state I so deeply swore in which I’d never again live.

As I drove east on 580 crossing the stretch between Pleasanton into Livermore, a second ocean spread before me.  It was an expanse of sparkling amber and iridescent diamonds.  Rubies freckled the earth and the far reaches of the landscape drew me back to the years of my childhood.  I was driving down through the valley at night.  My family and I had made this same trip several times before.

The horizon shimmered before me, beckoning me with these tender memories.

And all at once the tears came.  My thoughts were indecisive, and too overwhelming.  Lyrics of a poignant, sad song filled my temples, my heart erupting in a chorus of confusion and pleas to God to light my path—His path for me.

The span of jewels blurred.  Leave California?  Easy enough.  Leave my family?  Tougher every year.

Instead of being held captive by the city below, I was bound by my memories.

And the sadness I felt was a reflection of the realization that future memories are limited.

I only have so much time left to make memories with my family.  How can I justify living 2,000 miles away from them any longer?

Through the dark hills, the lights drew me closer into the city, all the while losing their magnetizing luster.

The ocean of sparkles turned into streetlamps and taillights lit the road to my childhood home.  Like a landing pad for a plane, the sight drew me in.

If home is where the heart is, the question remains, just where is my heart?  And where are the lights bound to lead it?

Day 98

It was the room I remembered from my early childhood.

The blue paint, the matching nightstands, the bed placed against the wall under the window.  It was my parents’ old master bedroom.

My father was dying, and like a version of Minority Report, we already knew when and by what means it was going to happen.

It was his heart.

He was in so much pain.  His eyes filled with tears.  I sat kneeling next to the bed, holding his hand.  I was panicking.

I have 17 seconds, I thought.

He saw my eyes shift toward the phone.

“Why try?” he gurgled, his voice sputtering from pain.

“Because I have to!”

I had never dialed 911 before, so I listened intently as my finger pressed the last number.  A pause, and then the recorded operator picked up.

A recording?

“You are number 73 in waiting,” her monotone voice buzzed.

I dropped the phone, exasperated, and began weeping.  I held my father, and waited, precious seconds ticking down to the end of his life.

I felt a dark shadow smirk from the bathroom.  Through tears, I couldn’t make out its identity, but I knew it was not of God.  And as it leered, I continued to sob.

Needless to say, this dream terrified me.  Friday morning, my alarm woke me from that plane, and sent my heart into mourning.

Daddy’s little girl.  Sometimes this term houses irony.

Nobody’s words have cut as deeply as his have, and this is spawned by my deep love for him and deep aching to be loved by him.

As a father wanting more for his daughter, his desire for her to be ambitious and self-dependent grew in her a heart broken from unsatisfaction and a supposed inability to attain.

My efforts were never enough.  Congratulations were never just congratulations, but instead just a car on a train tailed by a caboose of, “Now what?”

Now what?

There was always something I could improve upon.  Always just one step closer.

One step closer to what?

As if one day I would reach something where accomplishing would no longer be had.

Never being good enough…

And this is where my heart has turned now instead…

To one father I will never be good enough.

And to The Other I will certainly never be good enough.

But it is by The Other’s unfailing grace, love, and faithfulness, that I can embrace not being good enough.

For if I ever beheld that I was good enough, everything that is good would fall from my life and I would forsake the most precious gift.

And it is by such a gift that when I go back to California, I can love the first father I knew with the love of The Second, who is really second to none, but the Number One Who has stolen my heart and protects it, redeems it, sustains it, believes I can be who He has called me to be.

And so I am his daughter.  The one who was hurt.  The one forgotten, and never encouraged, and never congratulated.  But because I am His, a new love exists and one so powerful that I am willing to fight for my family like I haven’t before.

And so, I begin in baby steps.  I cannot love my father unless I know father.  And as this thought reverberated in my core today, God placed a simple book at the tips of my fingers as I perused the walls of Francesca’s, the most unlikely of places—I assumed—for the Hand of God.

Scrolling through its pages, I imagined some of the answers I could hear.  I pray that this opens doors for my relationship with him, and that whatever hurt abided is flushed away, leaving healing to grow and flourish in its depleted place.

ACTION PLAN PA:            Share an afternoon at IHOP, relive old memories of his day at the cannery.  If the weather and season permit, plant a plant in his garden.  Ask him to write in this compilation, of which of his all his gifts bestowed upon me would be his greatest yet; discuss it.

Day 93

I stood in front of 30 people, my words slurred and eyes swollen.

Two years earlier, my brother was diagnosed with Paranoid Schizophrenia, and it was the day before my public speaking final in college that he had his first violent episode.  Him missing a day’s worth of medication would leave me with a bruised face, a split lip, and a humiliating final exam.

My presentation lasted less than 15 minutes, but my anguish and confusion would take years to heal.

The relationship between the two of us has always been strained, beginning when we were toddlers.  Our grandparents were taken from us by way of Cancer and alcoholism.  Our parents fought endlessly.  We were constantly bullied at school.  Neither of us had an easy childhood, but his was far worse.

He had an abusive sister whose battered spirit was self-medicated by inflicting deeper wounds on a child three years her junior.  Tormenting him, bullying him, and fighting with him and against him.

That’s not what big sisters are supposed to do.

Saturday was his 24th birthday.  And as our mom handed him the phone, I felt so blessed to hear the joy in his voice when he knew who was on the other end.

It is nothing short of a blessing that he loves me.  I look at the trinkets he has sent for birthdays and reread the cards written for holidays, and feel a deep sadness that pools in the pit of my heart.  I can’t imagine how I deserve any of his love.

The last five years I’ve pushed him away, and I’m just now realizing that it’s not because of what he did, but because of what I did to him.  The guilt of how I treated him keeps me from him.  Selfishness keeps me from him.

Viewed as a sweet Christian girl now, my brother is a piece of my past that reflects a very evil heart.  I tore apart the one who needed me the most.  How can I be good?  How can people love me when I’ve done such evil things to someone who I was supposed to love?

My pride keeps me from him, because I’m reminded of who I was.  Unforgiveness keeps me from him, because I can’t forgive myself for the past.

And yet, when I return to California I know that he’ll be the first one to rush to the escalator to hug me.  I know he’s the first to defend me.  I know he’s the first who will love me for everything I am.

My brother has a past filled with monumental hurt, and yet he still loves.  He has forgiven me for my transgressions, so why am I still tethered to them?

God died for our sins.  He died for what’s been done to me.  And He died for what I did to my brother.  And if I’ve been forgiven, then, to honor God, to honor my brother, my flesh, my blood, I must live like I’ve been forgiven.

This time I have an opportunity to love him like I’ve never before been able.  Though the past cannot be remade, it can be redeemed.  

God, please let past pain be used as encouragement for a new relationship.  Let me show my brother true love.  Let me be a sister of love, kindness, humility, patience, and complete self-sacrifice.  Help me fight the urge to run and let me show him Your love.

ACTION PLAN BRO:         Talk to him about our past, fully understand his perspective.  Take him for a drive, because he used to love driving on the interstate.  Stop at Lifeway, because he loves books, and see if anything is sparked within him while we’re there.  Tell him how much I love him, and how God has changed my life with him being in it.

Day 84

Today, for the second time in my life, I got a pedicure.

As I sat in my comfortable chair, water whirling around my toes, I observed the women around me.  Wives, young women, older women, moms, grandmothers, daughters—it was a comingling of every dynamic.  Every woman there wanting to be pampered, wanting to be just a little bit more beautiful.

It is all so foreign to me.

In a setting like this, I find myself always wishing that I had, had a better mom—‘better’ in the sense that I wish she had been the kind of mom who taught me how to be a girl.  A mom who told me what clothes are flattering, had opinions on make-up, could share beauty tips with me, wanted to go shopping together, would take me for my first mani-pedi, and would buy me my first heels—all the welcome-to-womanhood things.

But here I am at 26 just now learning how to be a girl.

The relationship between my mother and I has always been a difficult one.  There is so much resentment built upon my heart I wonder if I will ever move beyond it.

I took a shower earlier tonight, and the let the water run over me.  I looked at my feet, at my newly painted green nails, and somewhere in my thoughts decided when I go home I am going to take my mom to a nail salon.  I heard God saying this to me:

When you say ‘better’ you fail to realize your mom gave you her best.  She withheld nothing she had, and what you thought she didn’t do, she couldn’t do.  You look at your mom and realize that all those things for which you ache, maybe she possesses the same ache?  Did her mother love her?  Or did she grow up in a stern Japanese home?  Was she told she was beautiful?  Was she taken for manicures and pedicures?  Was she taught how to be a girl?  How could she teach you if she wasn’t taught herself?  How could she be anything else than the mother that she had?  You don’t realize how blessed you are.  You don’t realize all that I’ve given you.  Only now are you coming to understand My choices for you…the people I’m putting in your life now to help shape you and form you.  Do not be selfish with these lessons.  Do not withhold, but instead give your mother what she was never able to give you.  Love her like she was never able to love you.  The blind don’t lead those who can see.  Now that I am bestowing this vision unto you, do not take it for granted, and do not forget from where you came to be where you are now.

Purposeful, intentional love.  I am going to show my mom what it feels like to be a girl.  And now because Christ has given me these eyes to see, this heart to understand, so I will show my mom the love I longed for as a girl.  I will take these things I wanted from my mom and give them to her, because I’m coming back to love her with a new love.

There are a lot of things my mom never gave me, because she couldn’t.  But I can give her this, because now I can.  A small favor to some, but this is what I hope to be an illuminating act of love for our relationship as mother and daughter.

ACTION PLAN MOM:      A mother-daughter day being pampered and spoiled, and a lunch for just the two of us.

Day 80

For the last two months, I’ve ridden the tracks of forgiveness.

On my OYC train, I determined early on it was forgiveness that was going to grow me.

But last night, as my friend and I delved into my past, it became obvious that forgiveness was not for what my heart was searching.  So what was it, this ache so deep, so unnerving?

Wheels turning, heart idle, I replayed scenes, emotions, and thoughts from my life at home in California.

Tempers birthed damaging words.  Infidelity ushered away intimacy.  Absence and neglect grew canyons of nonchalance and defensiveness.

The actions hurt.  But the underlying pain is not the actions themselves.  It is the message my heart received.

YOU ARE NOT LOVED.

The resounding ache of the pain is not the yelling or lying or indifference—though those things do hurt.  It is what they meant, what I saw them to mean.  As a daughter—as their daughter—I was not loved.

And I have spent my life searching for that love I never received.

It wasn’t until God swooped me into His arms, proclaiming, “I love you!” that my weary, destructive, sad search ended.  Only then did I feel loved.  Real love.

Real love.  Worldly love.  There is not even a balance on that scale.  Perfect love and imperfect love.

Somewhere God was whispering to my heart that an act of forgiveness would not heal the relationship with my parents.  Forgiveness implies there is someone to blame, and I don’t blame my parents.  Dominos in the line of Adam, we do not possess the ability to love perfectly, especially those of the world who have not heard the Gospel.

It wasn’t until I even knew the love of God that I could begin to love others.  How could I blame my family for living of the world when they were not shown any differently?  C.S. Lewis shares this in Mere Christianity:

“And if you have taken a wrong turning, then to go forward does not get you any nearer.  If you are on the wrong road, progress means doing an about-turn and walking back to the right road; and in that case the man who turns back soonest is the most progressive man.”

I took a wrong turn long, long ago on the road of love.  Being adopted into the family of Christ, my life has been reset.  Flying to California in February is in essence my opportunity to about-turn and try again with this new love in my heart.

I am not searching out love in my parents.  My heart is full in Christ.  And because my heart is full, I am free to love them, knowing that I’m not depending on them or their love or their inability to love.

Progressive love.  Purposeful love.  Intentional love.  I am no longer bound by my unlovedness, but overflowing in the love of Christ.

And I pray, dear God, that You help me intentionally love and honor my family.

“[Love] is selfless, sacrificial, and transformational.  And when love is truly demonstrated as it was intended, your relationship is more likely to change for the better.”  The Love Dare, Stephen and Alex Kendrick

Day 49

2008--Christmas was the last thing I wanted to think about.

My first Christmas alone was at the end of 2008.

Two months prior I had ended an engagement, so the family I had known was no more.  My own family was 2,000 miles away in California.  My best friend, who had been within driving distance at Tulane for her degree, had moved back to the west coast after graduating.  And I was not saved then so I had no church family.  Other friends had invited me into their homes, but spending Christmas with another person’s family would have taken more energy than I was willing to spend.

And so I hung out by myself.

That was the longest day of my life.

After calling my family and my friends, I curled up in front of the tree.  And cried.  Alone on Christmas.   Stereotypical all-American Christmas Day tragedy, right?  I stared at the bulbs alit on the branches of my tree and wondered why I was meant to be alone.  And three years later, I feel like I know.

It’s so that when I arrived here—at this time in my life—December 24th, 2011, that there would be no mistake seeing from where I’ve come and where I am now.

In 2008, on that day I spent by myself, I wished desperately for a family of my own with whom to spend Christmas.  Now, 2011, on this night, I am so thankful for all I have. 

Throughout 2011, I desperately prayed for friendships.  I began the year with four, ended the summer with two, and went through the fall lonely.  As the months continued, God decided to bring some 30 new people into my life all at once.

Since the end of October, I have spent every day with someone. 

He not only answered my prayer from 2008—my wish for a family at Christmastime—but He did one better.  He gave me one for life.

Instead of having one day a year where I’m gathered with family, the last two months have been spent gathered with people I have come to love very much and who love me.  Forget about the gifts, forget about food, and forget about football.  But remember family.

Every day has been, and is, a celebration of the family I have found in Christ.  He is my Savior, my Redeemer, and He has very much redeemed that lonely place in my heart by adopting me into His family.  And I am more thankful for that than I can ever express through words, or gifts, or human emotion.  I am so grateful to Him and so thankful for my “now” and my “then.”

So as I turn off the lights and crawl into bed tonight, I may be alone, but no, I am not lonely.  I am the furthest thing from it.

Day 36

“I don’t have to…I get to.”

As the pastor continued teaching, I couldn’t let go of those words.

All week I’ve been praying about what of my story to share with my Sunday group.

How deep can I go?  What can they handle?  What can I handle?  What can I say to keep them from running?

Throughout the week I heard God telling me to tell it all.  To share everything.  Not out of guilt.  Not out of shame.  But to tell of His grace, His glory, how He pulled me away from my poisonous, addicted life.  The things He used to change my life aren’t pretty, but God builds beauty out of ashes, and, baby, I was burnt.

I don’t have to tell them, but I get to stationed itself in my heart.

As 5:30 rounded the clock, I was in a panic.  My heart was literally beating out of my chest.  Please let them love me after this, I prayed.

A friend reminded me yesterday that being obedient to the will of God is a lot better than wishing you had been.  And tonight I was obedient to God, and I shared my life with these girls who have so quickly become my family.  I don’t know how each felt afterwards, but I heard God saying, "One.  One needs to hear this."  And so I followed Him, knowing that if He said "only one" then that's the one that mattered.

At the end of the night, my eyes were met by gazes full of abounding love and grace, just as if Christ Himself had been sitting there, listening to me.

After the last few girls left, I curled up in front of my fireplace, partly from emotional exhaustion, and partly just taking a moment to praise God while Chris Tomlin and Audrey Assad’s song Winter Snow played on REPEAT.  The first time I heard this song was in my car, and it brought tears to my eyes.  I’m assuming it talks of God sending Christ to us, but my heart took on a meaning of its own.

It makes me think of how God didn’t bring me to Him.  He wasn’t quiet or gentle.  He saved me by ripping everything from me.

Could've come like a mighty storm

With all the strength of a hurricane

You could've come like a forest fire

With the power of heaven in Your flame

And You did, for me.

You could've swept in like a tidal wave

Or an ocean to ravish our hearts

You could have come through like a roaring flood

To wipe away the things we've scarred

And You did, for me.

For me, He did so much.  He tore away at the life I knew.  He took it from me by force, piece by painful piece.

What are you afraid of?  I hear Him gently.  This is the path I gave you.  Would you want anything different, anything less?  If they love Me, they love you.  Don’t let your fear keep you.  Peace.

Peace.  And I am at peace tonight, because He fell from the sky in the night to the earth below, and saved me.  And I get to tell that story.

Day 32

Yesterday ended with tears in the middle of an empty parking lot.

The holidays have only amplified my feelings of sadness and guilt over the nonchalant disregard I have for my family.  Over the last 26 years I’ve been building up a wall against them—not wanting to love them deeply enough to allow them to hurt me.  Within the last five years, it’s been a lot easier to keep my emotional-distance—mostly because, physically, we’re 2,000 miles apart.  But these last few weeks have left me thinking of them, constantly, and last night the wall I had so intently built up against them crumbled.

They were already on my mind, but when I walked into a local thrift store escaping my thoughts of them was impossible.  Above me were the familiar voices of Dean Martin and Bing Crosby, softly crooning Christmas music.  In front of me were discarded mementoes from holidays past.  I was amazed as my eyes met each orphaned trinket how much I was reminded of home.

I'm pretty sure my mom has this same squirrel.

Visions of our family tree sparkled in my mind, reflections of a happy time.  Dad would spend hours decorating, Mom made an event of wrapping gifts, my brother and I hung ornaments as an organized team—or maybe we only thought we were organized—and Grandma and Grandpa would drive in from Walnut Creek to deliver Santa’s toys.  Christmas was the only time the Linfords felt like a family, and it was probably the last time I ever felt like we really were.

In January, it’ll be two years since Grandpa passed away, and this year will make it my fifth missed Stockton Christmas.

The entire atmosphere of the thrift store sank my heart.  My chest gave way to choked breaths, and I all but ran to the cashier to escape the nostalgia.  As I closed the door to my car, my eyes swelled, and my thoughts raced.

Why am I so far away from them?

Why can’t we be together?

Why can’t we be a family?

Why aren’t they saved?

Why can’t I save them?

Why do I have to be in this stupid city alone?

What am I here for?

I was throwing a temper tantrum.  In the middle of a parking lot.  I felt like I was five.  But I was angry.  Upset.  And hurt.  God knew.  Why can’t I be with my family during Christmas?!  Why does everyone else get to have family?!  He let me cry, be angry, and vent to Him in that damp lot and all the way home.

By the time I snuggled up into bed that night, I was spent.  Hugging my Bible, and desperate for perspective, I asked God to take me somewhere.  He led me to Malachi.  These are the verses that stood out:

“I have loved you,” said the Lord. “But you say, ‘How have you loved us?’” Malachi 1:2

I read this and I felt ungrateful.

A son honors his father, and a servant his master.  If then I am a father, where is my honor? Malachi 1:6

A lot of times I only trust God a little—not a lot, not all the way. 

And he will turn the hearts of fathers to their children and the hearts of children to their fathers… Malachi 4:6

I pray often that I can be a light to my family and show them the love of God.  I pray their love for me in itself would cause them to be curious of my love for Him.

I wonder when I'll spend another Christmas with them.  I wonder if we'll ever feel like a family again.  I wonder if I'll ever have a family of my own...

Day 19

“Mom, can we please sit at the table?”

All I wanted was a family dinner, but the dining room table in our house was not used to dine.  Instead it was a filing system, old mail and magazines layered corner to corner.

“Please, I just want to sit and eat...like a real family.”

“Jamie, wouldn’t you rather watch TV while you eat?”

This was always the response I received from my parents.

I so desperately wanted to feel like a family.  My school life was terribly lonely, and at home my parents were too busy fighting their own battles to spend time with me and my brother.  If we can just sit together, maybe it could all change, I used to think.

It never changed.  Despite my attempts, we only sat at that table once a year.  At Thanksgiving.  For twenty minutes.  And then we would retire to our separate rooms. 

Eventually I gave up trying to be a family.

This sense of unbelonging created a desperate need to find love.  And so I buried myself in relationship after relationship.  This is the one, I would fool myself.  He can be the family I never had.

Always a false fit though, it wreaked havoc on my sense of worth.  Needless to say, my heart was left aching, and that family I wanted never came.

Until this year.

It has taken me a long time to realize that family doesn’t limit itself to biology—or to a husband.  After years of being alone and seeking fulfillment, God has placed in my life people who fill that void.

It was this summer while my best friend was planning her wedding, she told me her first dance with her new husband would be to Chantal Kreviazuk’s Feels Like Home.  She said they chose this song, because, until they found each other, they suffered from a feeling of homesickness.

Homesick—that’s exactly what I felt.  And for the first time in my life, my heart feels like it's home.  It feels full.  And God has blessed me with a family.  It is new and I know things are still changing, but there is nothing that can erase my thankfulness for the here and now.  Because I have been waiting all my life to feel loved and understood.

I compare myself to Alan.  Yes, from the Hangover.

You guys might not know this, but I consider myself a bit of a loner.  I tend to think of myself as a one-man wolf pack.  But when my sister brought Doug home, I knew he was one of my own.  And my wolf pack, it grew by one.  So were there two of...so there were two of us in the wolf pack.  I was alone first in the pack, and then Doug joined in later.  And six months ago...when Doug introduced me to you guys, I thought, "Wait a second. Could it be?"  And now, I know for sure.  I just added two more guys to my wolf pack.

Let me say, in no way am I ungrateful to my parents—because it is God’s path that I have traveled my entire life, so His plans include them.  But I am so thankful for this gift He has given me.  And to my friends who are reading this, I have been waiting for you all my life.  Through aimless days and lonely nights, nights of sorrow and moments of weakness, times of frustration, and years of utter loneliness—I have been praying for you.

As this boyfriendless-and-biological-famililessness-Thanksgiving comes to a close, I am so thankful for the people with whom I shared my day.  And not just in person, but through text and over the phone—you mean so much to me.  And I love you.

“The most basic of all human needs is the need to understand and be understood.” Ralph Nichols

I am thankful for Lauren, Lindsay, Tony, Charles, Jamon, Jason, Katie, Taylor, Neal, Emily, Nick, Leonard, Jon, Tabria Savannah, Christine, Sara, Jillian, Danielle, Egypt, Tracy, Paige, Roz, Lacey, Faith, Lizzie, Callyan, Mimi, Andrea, Justin, Micaela, Tabitha, Nicole, Tango, Megan, Chad, Deborah, Rachel, Meredith, Bekah, Mario, Ashley, Adam, Temeco, Gwen, Samontra, Tameka, Rita, Moncena, Fred, Allie, Kelly, Kalesha, Brandon, Candace, Lauren, Cindy, Maunish, Meredith, Mike, Shawday, Blair, Aidan, Mom, Dad, and Steven.