Trust in Trial

The last month of my life has been one in which I have been stretched thinner than ever, pulled in a million directions at one time, absolutely exhausted, completely weary, and yet, walking in hope and love that was not mine to begin with, and for this trial, I am so incredibly grateful.

Upon the passing of my roommate Bagheera on December 26, 2012, her daughter was placed into my care for thirty days while decisions were made in regard to her future.  Everything was unknown and entirely uncertain.  This situation was made more complex due to the fact Bagheera and her daughter were French citizens two months from the hearing that would grant them ten year greencard, despite a troubled marriage with Bagheera's American husband.

 Neither one could recognize they are both sinners in need of saving grace and they alone are not the point of the universe.  Sounds like most troubled marriages.  I haven't been married, but I sure did try to place all the blame on my boyfriend.  I watch countless gals at work always place blame on their boyfriends, too.  We are never the problem.  Never.  We are perfect.

 Bagheera and I would often talk about things like this and often I would tell her, as I have said to many others, Mother Theresa wouldn't marry Hitler.  Like attracts like, and whatever drew her to this man, is more than likely the same trait in every other man she has ever dated -- even the rescue she sought in her daughter's father as she ran from her own past.  

As this journey continued to unfold, where lies and truths were being exposed from all sides, I was continually amazed at this child who insisted she wanted nothing more than to stay with me.  Over and over from the beginning, that is what she said.  

Why?  She felt safe.

Many people didn't understand why I was chosen to be her caretaker, especially those close to Bagheera.  But there were many factors to this confusing story with many players on three continents.  At times, I didn't understand it either, I honestly was the most surprised out of everyone by this, particularly by this little girl's constant declaration she wanted to see no one but me.  I couldn't figure it out.

But that was the nature of Bagheera and I's friendship.  We had a friendship entirely unique to the other ones she had.  In a matter of one statement, I could somehow reach into her and pull out something that would have us in conversation for hours, that would have her checking her heart, and the wrestle with how much control she really had over her life would begin.  The first two weeks we lived together we had over ten conversations like this one. Each one of Bagheera's friends served a purpose.  Mine was simply different, not better or worse than her others, just different.  Sometimes, she would get really mad at me because she'd say I would be the "only one of her friends" who would point out risks rather than pat her on the back to what was easy and fun. I'd simply ask her why that was and let her sort that out.  Our relationship was uniquely devastating in a good and productive way; one that always had her asking more questions about the unrest of her soul...the Lord was drawing her to himself. 

We did this sober.  Entirely sober.  This is the one thing her daughter noted about me, why she felt safe with me.  I was no alcoholic, and by her words, the only one of her mother's friends that didn't drink.   That floored me.  I hadn't thought of it that way, never saw that -- but that is one of those details children see, that we are blind to as adults, going about life, doing as we know best, with the tools we've been given.

Bagheera looked at me one night as we closed our conversation around four in the morning and asked, "How do you do it, Hollie?"

My answer was and always has to be Jesus.  I have no idea how I had those conversations that were so transformative to her, and at one point had her on the edge of my black and white hounds tooth chairs, crying with her hands in her face declaring how tired she was of fighting and how much she wanted peace... you could see her heart cry for Christ but her mind wouldn't let her open her mouth.  I know that feeling.  That happened to me the day I was saved.  

Apart from Christ's constant grace, I truly cannot say how I went through thirty days of being plugged up to a phone charger, talking to everyone from friends to congressmen and senators, under threat of people coming who I don't know, that Bagheera always said were no good, dealing with government agencies, shocked family members, language barriers, managing a house, moving a house, learning how to set boundaries and not allow my people pleasing self to be a doormat for lost and hurting adults, while caring for the emotional well being of a grieving, angry, and scared child who knows she has absolutely no control over anything that happens to her.  She, a thirteen year old girl who just lost everything from her fish to her mother in nothing flat, who has no idea how to cry and is afraid to be angry because she was raised in a culture of earning approval and love, pushing down the bad and keeping to the fluff on the surface that feels good -- like wearing a mask of silliness when you are completely crumbling inside, or watching a tv show so you don't have to feel.  I could not allow other people's needs to be put on her shoulders.  She had enough to sort out.

These coping methods are by no means bad things.  They were the things that kept her mother alive in her youth.  Her compartmentalization of her life kept her living, and sadly, in her constant battle to fight for a good life, she taught her daughter to do the same. 

This is what we all do.  This is our sin against our own children.  This is our sin as adults who can't get past what was done to us by others, and our methods of coping carry on to protect us from hurt in our relationships as adults, with adults, even our own children.  I am guilty of this too...    

But in this, God is at work and is showing, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the control you think you have in your life can be obliterated with one phone call.  The Lord is in the process of redeeming the life of Bagheera and her daughter.  The word I kept getting thoughout this whole saga is legacy.  

This is but a small portion of what I had the privilege to endure and learn during January 2013.  As I am able I will continue to write, as I can figure how to lay it all out. This one month is enough for an entire book. But the most pressing point I wanted to share was this:

Two weeks ago I sat at church, simply exhausted. It was the last time this child came with me for Recovery at the Village before she was no longer in my care. A song was being sung, and although I swore I wouldn't forget it, I have.  As this song was sung, I instantly recalled something I read online.  When I reread these words in my mind I hadn't seen since I first saw them months ago, I simply wept at how good God is to prepare me for what's next: 

We are looking for men and women to work hard in small churches in difficult situations. There will be small reward, constant confusion and frustration. You will be misunderstood, misrepresented and maligned.

You will receive training and mentoring in an Acts 29 Europe church plant. This will equip you for a life of unknown, unsung, heart-wrenching and often unfruitful ministry. And an undying joy and wonder in the presence of Jesus Christ.

You will be a nobody who has nothing to offer. But you will follow Jesus, and you will know you need nothing else.  from Acts 29E

During this month much of what I had planned had to be put on hold because God had something else for me. 

 It still boggles my mind I was able to walk the Gospel with this girl, ground level, twenty-four-seven, living, giving, and loving beyond my means, depending entirely upon Christ for everything and throwing myself on God's character,  because that was the only certainty in this storm.  What a blessing it was to love like that...I have no idea if that is the closest to considering adoption I will ever be, but it certainly painted a picture of God's joy and Christ's obedience in His suffering to adopt me as His, and for that I am grateful.

Although I missed January's Re:Train session, I have been invited to finish the year and do what I missed in January 2014.  With that being said, the Acts29 Europe conference follows February's Re:train session on Church Leadership and Missiology.  God's timing is perfect, and to have the opportunity to immediately leave Re:train to use what I'm learning at a conference on church planting, is just spectacular.

Please visit www.gofundme.com/retrain to see how you can help fill this immediate need.

Thank you to everyone who has been a part of this process, for bathing everyone involved - Believer and Not- in prayer.  I thank you from the bottom of my heart for that, for continuing to pray, not only for me, but especially this young lady who is being thrown into a sea of uncertainty, that she would trust the only one who can calm the storm.

Into His hands i thse only place anyone can leave her, and His are the best, most capable hands ever.

Bagheera's Lillies

Today is the first anniversary of this blog that has been enjoyed by so many, and marks a perfect time to return to writing.  A break was very much needed as this blog became too important to me, and I had to let it go, waiting for the words to come again, in their right place and time.

Twenty seven years ago today, I lost my fourty one year old father to a heart attack.  I was six years old and my sister, Kim, was thirteen. Tomorrow, I will go to Prestonwood Baptist church at 11am, with a thirteen year old girl now in my care, to remember her mother, who, at thirty-nine years old, died the day after Christmas of an apparent heart attack. 

As a matter of fact, Bagheera has been to Prestonwood only once before.  Her first Christmas, she saw their Christmas production with my daughter, Amelie and I.  The most fantastic irony is that we were both fierce agnostics (and I hated Prestonwood), and both of us were there 'just for the kids.' 

So much has happened since my last entry about August's Re:train session, and my abscence from writing. The most important event was reuniting with my friend Bagheera in September at Kelly's Eastside for a beer and some lunch, to discuss what had happened in the time since we hung out regularly (we used to be with eachother everyday), and together, quite unexpectedly, we cried over some very deep conversations that day that exposed both of our hurting hearts, to a much deeper degree than we ever had in the three years we'd known eachother.

We had a moment that day, I swear, she and I cried together in the same millisecond of an instant.  It was as if our tears raced eachother to fall first. In that express moment that was quicker than a blink of her beautifully odd colored and flecked eyes, it was like we were sewn together.  That was one of the most intimate moments I've ever had with anyone.  To this day, if I were to run into the waitress, I bet she'd remember interrupting the two women toward the front, that hot, September day, frozen and staring at eachother, their faces laden with free falling and fat tears, as one remembered a past she ran hard to forget, while the other sat in the grief and emptiness of not knowing her past.


That was the day we decided to become roomates.  A short term situation, from October until January.



Who knew?

God did.

Casablanca lillies are one of my favorite things - if ever you want to make me smile? White lillies are the way to go. 

On December 22, 2012, Bagheera bought me some lillies for Christmas.

It snowed on Christmas Day.  This is Texas and that has happened a handful of times since my birth.

On Christmas Day evening, I "randomly" spoke with my aunt (whom I see about once a year) about my father.  She remembered how right after he died, I would sit up at night, six years old, wailing for my daddy to come home.  My mom, now a single parent of two girls, not knowing what to do, would call my aunt, and she would pray.  That was the last conversation I had before I left my mother's house to go home.

The next morning, I held a thirteen year old girl in my arms, in the kitchen, the day after Christmas, as I waited for an ambulance to arrive, and felt her sink when the EMT's said as gently as they could, "We are so sorry for your loss."

How great is our God that He would have me in that home, to be with this young lady whose only constant in her entire life was now taken from her, and to have stirred my heart to remember the grief and sorrow of losing a parent not twenty four hours prior?

When I went to bed that night, that first, terribly rough night, I noticed the lillies bloomed. 

And just today, on the eve of her memorial service, there is one lilly left that may last the day tomorrow. 

I have never had one vase of lillies last seventeen days.

This has been one of the hardest week' of my life, under the circumstances.  But this is what I have clung to... God is constant.  His love is constant, timeless, and unchanging.  Although I have been through insurmaountable grief in the circumstances, I have held fast to the fact that nothing has happened, not even one thought, that He, the creator of the Universe, was not aware.

Read this blog, and you will see a full year of His promise.

Just like He knew my father would die.  He knew my story, and He knew I'd be here for this child, in whatever measure, and for however long, to show her not only my love, but God's love, the author of love.   Christ's love is the only love that sustains, gives life, and can endure through the ages, no matter the circumstance, or even - country - you find yourself in.

Bagheera knew that. 

One thing she always said was that she knew God was with her.  Even when horrible things were happening to her, all those things locked up in the drawers of her aching heart, she knew God was there.

That is why this song had the impact on her soul it did.  Everytime she would cry.

God is in control of even our defiance of Him.

I believe she finally called His name. All it takes is the name Jesus.



 

Transformed and Re:train(ing)

Jesus Loves Me.  This I know.  Easy right?  Not so much.  It's easy to sing, but hard to know.

The first week at Re:Train was so mind-blowing and soul-bending I cannot even begin to strum the words quickly enough and allow for the time I need to write my first paper in response to drinking from five fire hoses at the the same time.

But I can show you how my week was framed, and I encourage you -- Believer or Not -- to listen.  The subtlety of this framework is the most beautiful experience, despite some convicting moments and exposed fear, but most of all,the need for complete total dependence on God was made perfectly clear.

Before I left for Retrain, Jarrett text me Saturday morning, asking to share my testimony at the Saturday evening service at Prestonwood.  He knows I firmly believe that it is God's story, I just lived it and it's here to share.  Go ahead.  "Share away!" is what I say, what's more, it's what even he tells me to keep doing.

Something told me to go to Prestonwood that evening.  I never do that.  I have to work.  What an incredible message to hear about fear and the power of a transformed life.  The message was powerful not because I got to hear this man who prayed for my salvation for almost a decade talk about me by name, but rather these paraphrased moments...

"We don't want Jesus in our business because we're comfortable. We're respectable sinners.  Respectable sinners are different from other people.  Jesus provokes change.  Most people dont want change, but more importantly, dont want TO change."

In the twenty to thirty minute range is when Jarrett starts preaching and talks about my conversion.  I have never heard him do this, particularly infront of the masses (with the expection of my baptism, sermon in which he also goes after the very thing in two simple words that still makes me cringe -- spiritual warfare).  It was so encouraging for me, especially being able to hear it while in Seattle, on  a Thursday morning walk to class at Mars Hill.

Transformed from prestonwoodsn on Vimeo.


 The Lord was working on me during that walk, revealing my need for him, for his truth, because all I began to hear was doubt.  All week we were looking at our identity, and all week I was seeing how mine is/was not crafted in Christ as much as I thought it was.  It still makes me shudder that I am so succesptable to believe lies, to think I dont have worth, that I'm a fraud, that I have no place to be an encouragement to others, that my desire to encourage is selfish in some twisted way... but even these things reveal my need for Jesus, because it painfully reveals my pride.

Being at Mars Hill blew my mind in so many ways.  I cannot go into it all here, but just today, I was reading Rid of My Disgrace, a book everyone should read, because statistically everyone knows someone who has been a victim of sexual assault, or is one themselves.  I've been trying to read this book for months, and I just love how gracious my God is in that his timing is always perfect and my pace for this book is set.  This paragraph describes my week at Re:Train, in everything I learned for myself and for class:

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You are accepted.  Isn't that what you long to hear, especially when you know you don't deserve it and can't earn God's acceptance? Undeserved acceptance is a great way of explaining grace.  It somehow changes guilt into assurance.  Grace comes to you when you are weak, not strong.  It's yours when you are in pain and restlessness.  Grace floods you when you feel that your separation is deeper than usual.  It runs to you when your disgust for your weakness and your lack of composure has become intolerable to you.  Grace is already there when the longed-for progress does not appear, when the old compulsions reemerge, when despair destroys joy and courage.  Grace is the wave of light that breaks into darkness, and you hear God say: "Because of what my Son did, you are accepted.  Once you had not received mercy, but now you receive mercy.  You belong to me.  Do not try to do anything right now.  DO not seek for anything; do not perform anything; do not intend anything.  Simply accept the fact you are accepted."

I just read that today.  Funny how those words were written by the very man who taught us on Friday, the very day a scalpel was taken to me to reveal a wound I still do not yet fully see.  The one thing I did see that day?  Grace.  It was, in a moment, so plain, in the form of a blonde executive assistant who sat with me, spoke truth into me, loved on me and prayed me for simply being a daughter of a king...it almost couldn't be true. I saw community just work itself out there, in that room, in that building, in the condo in which I was hosted.  I saw hospitality at its finest in a humble home from a complete and total stranger who had, for the past month, along with her community group, been praying for me.  As a matter of fact, Justin Holcomb was teaching about grace in the main room while I sat talking with this blonde headed woman speaking to me in a way I'd never in my life even known possible for someone like me.  Instead of hearing it, I experienced it, in the most profound and personal way.  Why?  Because Jesus loves me....this I know... for the Bible tells me so...

Singing and reading it is one thing, to know and feel it, is quite another.

Before I mentioned my week was delicately framed.  Dear Reader, I pray as you read on, you will allow what was laid out above to permeate your heart to see what I am attempting to explain.

For you and me, our identity is rooted in someone or something. If our identity is sourced in anyone or anything other than the love of Jesus, it puts us in a really dangerous place for our well being. If we don’t believe that we’re loved, we’ll end up using people, manipulating them, getting into unhealthy relationships. Counselors will call it co-dependency where we have a love addiction and we just need someone to love us.

Or if we believe that we’re unloved or unlovable, we become depressed. We become sad. We become, perhaps, even suicidal. “Why is my life worth living if no one cares for me?” When we understand that Jesus loves us, it transforms our identity and it reshapes our destiny. It changes everything. That’s exactly what it did for John, the one whom Jesus loved.

That an excerpt from the sermon I heard at Mars Hill the Sunday I left.  Here's a preview.

Did you see that sentence?

For some reason the whole sermon wont embed, but please view this message here...Atheist, Agnostic, or Believer, because he mentions and includes us all, and it is good.

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When we understand that Jesus loves us, it transforms our identity, and it reshapes our destiny.  Mark Driscoll

THAT sums up my first week at Re:train.

•  Jarrett's sermon Transformed is about the power of a transformed life, in which he mentions me by name, and boldly calls out  all "Respectable Sinners"
•  Identity:  All week we learned from Bill Clem, author of  Disciple:  Getting Your Identity from Jesus.
• Mark Driscoll's sermon Jesus Loves Us describes me, down to the codependancy and suicidal past, and ultimately exposes the "respectable Sinners" or consumers, in his own to the core, Mark Driscoll way.  Practical.  Hard, yet loving truth.
• The thread in all of this is LOVE
• I'm learning love.  I'm learning to trust in Christ.  I'm learning to listen.  To not be a "respectful sinner." To be the woman who knows I am loved, no matter what I learn about me, or how many times I fail or feel like a complete fool.

There is one figure I have identified with this entire year:  Ruth.  Ruth is my favorite character in my favorite movie, Fried Green Tomatoes.

My Sweet and Precious Grandmother Taylor's middle name was Ruth.  She lived on a lake.  I remember ducks in November.  It was also through Rhonda Ruth's  story and her death, the Lord began to pursue me earnestly.

 Ultimately, yes, these were strong women, because in their lives they displayed Christ's love for everyone. They were disciples. Even their deaths, in the vulnerability of loss, those they left behind found hope where only hope can be found.

Redeeming Ruth is the first sermon series I studied at Mars Hill, and the sermon God's Hand in Our Risks was the first sermon I listened to in that series where Driscoll says, and I remember when I heard it the first time, clear as day...

 Ruth has a genuine conversion experience along the way to Bethlehem and says, “No, I want to worship God and I want to be with his people, so I need to get to Bethlehem.” This would be akin to a young woman meeting Jesus and saying, “I wanna go to Seattle because I want to be a member of Mars Hill. 

In that snippet of the story are the words we all know, and even my sister, because of our favorite movie, used in her wedding, "Whether thou goest, I will go, whether thou lodgest I will lodge.  Thy people shall be my people."

To do this took guts, especially as women.  Women even in the first century were considered one step above cattle, not allowed to speak in a court of law, and without a man -a  husband or a son - you were essentially left to die.  Today, I know many women (I was one myself) that would feel like they'd die if they didnt have someone, a guy, to "love," that has "potential," that they could somehow "rescue," and "complete" them. That's codependency. When I finally let one go, my world fell apart.  All his stuff was gone, and I stared at my empty bedroom and felt all alone, despite the fact I have a little girl that was given to me by God, to love and to shepherd, just scares me stupid because I don't remember being a child.  I knew at that moment just how fragile the identity I had spent so many years crafting actually was.

I felt empty.

That's a pretty vulnerable place to be.  That vulnerability is important.  When I read that excerpt from Holcomb's book today, and read "Grace comes to you when you are weak, not strong," I felt that vulnerability.  When I listened again to Jarrett's sermon and I heard, " We don't want Jesus in our life because we want to be comfortable.  We're respectable sinners... We don't listen when we hear him say, 'Quit that job and move where I tell you to go...'  In the beginning when he mentions the two radical conversion he's seen, first my story, then John's and how he and John have every Monday for the past two years gone through the bible, and are currently doing - you guessed it - Ruth. When I heard Driscoll's sermon... this sermon, for the first time ever on campus, not online in a different state, all I could do was weep, coupled with the fact that Mark Driscoll tweeted he was actually in Dallas that very weekend, and I assume hanging out with his friend and my pastor, Matt Chandler.  This solidified to me this move is right, because I am following the message and not the man.

And I remember the one thing Jarrett has reminded me of consistently throughout this year while I have gone through the absolute and utter destruction of my previous life without Christ --

He honors obedience above all else.

And the Reconstruction is on the horizon.

Oh how great is our God to speak to us so sweetly.

www.gofundme.com/retrain

Thank you for reading, for your participation, and your prayer.

Folks, if you feel like helping me through Re:train so I can continue to learn, to grow, to ultimately give back and bless others, please give.  Please pray against fear, fear of change, fear of risk in learning to trust as I listen to the Lord's lead, that he will lift my clenched fingers that hold tightly to the guard rail, one by one, as he makes a way to move to Seattle.

Crowdfunding

Amazing: Putting Music to Order

PLEASE PARDON THE WHITE.  I DON'T KNOW WHY ITS THERE, WHY I CANT GET IT TO GO AWAY NO MATTER WHAT I DO, WHY the FORMATTING IS ALL WONKY, WHY BLOGGER IS MESSED UP.  ANYONE KNOW CODE??  PLEASE READ DESPITE THE WHITE I WILL GET IT FIXED ASAP

I leave for Re:Train on Sunday afternoon for the first week of training. I know many may think, “Oh, it’s just school, no big deal,” but really it is, because this is a huge and exciting risk that on my own, I could never do. I think many of you can identify with this, because we all experience it.

My hope is that in sharing my need and this video, you will be encouraged, in whatever you too are going through, facing, dealing with, or even trying to let go of, and just let God do.

You see, I have more needs than anything right now. I won’t go into them here, but if you feel led, message me. The only certainty there is, is Re:train. I go joyfully, knowing in this season of waiting and pruning, he is putting something together I cannot even dream of, but know like I know I must be obedient to.

In preparing to go and coming to terms with the fact I have absolutely nothing, and that I may very well be called to Seattle to stay, not knowing how to do that, not having any money, not knowing anyone, as well as sifting through not knowing where to apply for a job because I honestly dont know where I will live, its scary, especially as a single mom. Either city… wherever he wants me is where I will go. He’s got this, and he’s got me.

 In preparing for Re:Train, I am reading Disciple: Getting your identity from Jesus by Bill Clem. This past week I was blessed beyond measure to be at Family Camp with the Village church, and when I wasn't being stretched emotionally or physically by just being in nature (something this gal doesn't do well, but is open to try), I was being stretched theologically. I was not at church this Sunday, so eagerly I looked for the podcast, and when I saw the very title, “Disciple: Who am I?” I cried. That is a Godwink. I am headed in the right direction, despite my circumstances. How do I know that? Bill Clem's book and the fact Matt apparently wasn't teaching this Sunday, so each campus pastor preached his own sermon...and they are put online alternately on the Village's main page, and that is the one that was up when I went to the page to search for the week's sermon. Good news? This week there's not one, but three sermons. :)

When I heard the podcast, I was in tears because I was still chewing on something I read concerning how pride can cloud worship

"God measures meaning by a humble heart willing to achieve or leave the biggest deal on the table for the love of Jesus. Anything else is an idol." -Bill Clem, Disciple pg 113

You see, I’ve spent ten years trying to get back to Italy. Italy was put on the table for this summer. As a matter of fact, I was supposed to be there now for a two month vision trip. It was put on hold, and I remember not being angry, which shocked me. I just knew the Lord had something else for me first. I wasn’ t old “No,” I was told “Not yet.” That “Not yet” is a blessing.


Enter Re:Train. Tution has been gifted. First plane ticket blessed to me by a nonbeliever (how awesome is that?). A community group at Mars Hill I’ve never met may have a family for us to live with throughout Re:Train. I’ve been introduced to a church planting team up there. I don’t know – we shall have to see. Faith is whats unseen, yes? All kinds of things are being orchestrated around this. All I can think of is James 1:2.


-Consider it a sheer gift, friends, when tests and challenges come at you from all sides. You know that under pressure, your faith-life is forced into the open and shows its true colors. So don't try to get out of anything prematurely. Let it do its work so you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way.

If I must go to Seattle empty handed because that"s where he wants me, then so be it, amen?

I realized my ‘wanting to know’ is my pride, and it drives fear, and so I found myself getting all frazzled about all this, trying to survive the in between, getting my electricity and rent paid, to plan, to order the events as I saw they needed to go, etc. We all do, forgetting the fact that there are numerous evidences of Gods grace behind me, molding and crafting me, and those around me for the past year.


I've also had to search for some articles on the Resurgence. In searching that, I became aware of the conference coming in October, and Lecrae is going to be there. I've known who he is, but on the Resurgence, they posted something about his new single, and thus began a rabbit trail that is speaking to me profoundly...through rap and hip hop...and if you know me, your eyebrows just raised and you gasped in response, "What?" 

Just listen. So brilliant and powerfully wonderful, whatever your cultural context. Not only have the words spoken to me, but so has the music, how it all can fit together. It has reminded me of my situation, of my story, how he runs at the end, even the phone call in the phonebooth. Then it reminded me of my girls, their lives, their stories, and in this rabbit trail of songs, coming to know the world of Christian Hip Hop and Rap, I heard a song that just felt like it assaulted me, speaking directly to my girls and affirming what I already know to do but am scared to do.   

And that is to quit makeup. To quit the club. This weekend.

 that . was. hard. to. write.  

Not because of them or what they do, or that it is sinful -- it's just where they are, and where I was, per Acts 17 and Isaiah 23:17-19 she will return to her wages and will prostitute herself with all the kingdoms of the world on the face of the earth. Her merchandise and her wages will be holy to the Lord. It will not be stored or hoarded, but her merchandise will supply abundant food and fine clothing for those who dwell before the Lord.  

 

Abundance is not happening for me here, as you can see, and I haven't had enough cash to even buy supplies. Jesus told Peter it was time to go, and it seems, after a year of waiting, it's time for me to go. But I have been blessed in these hard times to simply see God at work. Seeds have been planted. There doesn't seem to be more for me to do there but show these girls the strength Christ can be when you face the fear and trust him. See, I'm enslaved to the clubs like they are -- it's guaranteed money -- but God.   

And that message just decended upon me as I drove through downtown Plano, listening to Lecrae radio on Pandora and this song came on. Not only that, this video will expose some hypocrisy and prejudice among Christians, as it did, even for me, very much to my surprise, particularly from one who was judged so harshly at one time for being so "different."     

Just this week I was discussing an opportunity coming up with a mentor/colleague of mine and in that I happened upon his Facebook page. I came across this video Jeremy’s page. I almost gave up on it, as he warned his readers not to do. The entire story I just told you, the reason behind why all of a sudden I am listening to and in awe of the beats and music in the least expected genre of Hip Hop and Rap music became clear. If you are into music, if you are into science - whether or not you are into Jesus - man! I am so glad I didn't give up in watching this video and I'm so thankful God is sovereign enough to have had my eyes look upon it and spur on this blogpost. It worth every single one of the ten minutes it takes to hear it. 

 

It reminded me of just who came up with putting things in order. In the end, I just had to thank the Lord for giving this vision, and hearing things this way, to this man. It also reminded me not to diminish the ideas, thought processes or gifts I’ve been given, no matter how absurd they seem in the beginning…bc that video seemed to drag a little, was a little ‘out there’ but man… in the end…  



 Talk about being in awe and just the absolute majesty of our creator God…how could I possibly doubt his goodness, craftiness, and just sheer ability to do anything, bring anything, anyone, and circumstance or much needed funds to fruition, in his timing, in his will, all for his glory…particularly amidst my piddly circumstances?    Hearing this has just…wow. Remembering work is worship, school is worship, risk in whatever we do..even having the idea to put this video together. or sharing our stories…is worship because it beautifully displays trust. I hope you are encouraged. So incredibly powerful.  


If you feel led to see how you can participate in what the Lord is doing in this, in any way, please visit and share  www.gofundme.com/retrain.    Please bathe this is prayer or give. $10, $20, $50, $100, or $1000...it all matters, it all counts, and is all very much needed and welcomed. 

Strippers & Strangelove, indeed

An invitation to a birthday party fourty eight hours ago has inspired every single conclusion that has been drawn and explained in this post.  Why?  Because I work on Saturday nights.  Always.  I can't not work on a Saturday night in my business.  But change is afoot and dynamics are beginning to shift.

 You see, today I sat on the grounds of Prestonwood, by the pond, staring at the church, in tears, in  the heat and didn't care.  I was fragile and all kinds of vulnerable, not knowing what to do as my eyes were opened fully to something the Lord has pointed to the last several years -- and I've only been a Christian for a year. Crying out to God, I made my pleas that he would continue to guide me and provide me with wisdom, and a peace not even I would be able to understand and the strength to carry out the message he gave me today. Crying out also for the provision surrounding every need in regard to the word he gave me in the direction I am to go and, more importantly, what I am to leave behind. I then thanked him for already providing the faith needed to even consider leaving my strippers behind.

Yes, you read that correctly.  Dancers.  Exotic ones.  In a strip club, sometimes referred to as a Gentlemen's Club (though not one gentleman has ever entered their doors.)  Three different clubs, with hundreds of girls I've had the pleasure to interact with, to build up, and be a light for in a very dark place.

A year ago I came out of the Christian closet.  Today I am coming out entirely, something that even my girls will understand. Right now as I'm sure some of my girls will read, I offer assurance I will not reveal who you are.  I am no dancer. I am their makeup artist, and we share closets, because many of them hide in there too.


Almost one year ago I was faced with some tough decisions, that all began the moment I came to know the Lord on July 14,2011. Nine days after Christ literally invaded a hardened heart only he could've transformed, I rolled my car on George Bush Freeway three, possibly five times on my way to work.  By all counts, I had at least three opportunities to die in that car accident.  But I didn't.

He had a purpose for me and the ten thousand dollars worth of makeup that was all over the highway, that was by his grace, accounted for and usable, the very makeup was recovered by a complete stranger whom I randomly ran into six months later in a totally different city.   That purpose was to use this same makeup this past year to show a club full of hurting, lost, abused and broken women, that would swear up and down they are anything but hurting, lost, abused and broken, what giving up everything to walk in the light means and what it looks like because I too am hurting, abused and broken.  However, I am no longer lost.  This agnostic skeptic has been found.  He saved me. 



Let me tell you -- they are curious, they are drawn, just like I was to Diane before I would even entertain the idea of Jesus, and I've known her since 2001.  But for these girls, I have been used in a way, in each one of these lives, each and every one who ever sat in my makeup chair to a degree I will never know, but am honored to be a part of.

So to these women, these same women who have seen the change the Lord has made in me, I dedicate this post to you, to your pasts and to your futures and the hope and promise that lies in giving up all control to the very one Jesus who allowed you to entertain the slightest inkling that led  you to believe  you could possibly control anything in the first place.

 I also say to you, that as you search for someone to love and care for you, to pay attention to you in that oppressive loneliness in which you live, that at first was seemingly luxurious on center stage and was later lined in sharp-dollar lies that have pinned you down in the plastic trenches of guilt and shame, I say that despite being surrounded constantly in that loneliness by people, money, designer bags and shoes to fill the hole and get the attention you so desire, you might  read this blog and see how much, how often, and how intricately this same Jesus is interested in, loves, and orchestrates every single aspect of the life you have, the life you live, and the future only he can make, free from every hurt, and full of something much weightier and worthwhile than any of the happiness you seek : something simply called joy.






To my girls, I offer safety in that I will never reveal your name.  To my general reader I ask that if you know the Lord, you pray for these women, for the men that drive this business and their hearts as they read this post.

Pray for others like them, that do not know this Jesus, and who, in every fiber of their being, despite themselves, seek his face, his radiance, his love and peace in all the gadgets, toys, and distractions this world offers them.

This announcement is an of itself is enough for an entire book.  The point here is to press into what the Lord revealed earnestly to me today:  working in the clubs is also my cage.  I am just as trapped and imprisoned as my girls are, and those shackles must be broken. 







Shortly after my conversion, I picked up Ed Welch's book, When People are Big and God is Small.  This was the first book I absolutely devoured, and while reading it one day, I was standing up, and tears began cloud the page.  I then dropped the book and fell on my knees and sobbed.  It was made very clear to me on that day why my life had unfolded the way it has, the why behind not being able to get into graduate school - the one thing I wanted more than anything else before I ever finished my bachelor's degree.

The Lord allowed life to get in the way the last two years of college, and it went by so fast, I was completely unaware I slid from a 3.66 GPA to a 2.39.  My senior year I was a single parent of a one year old, commuting to college, traveling over a hundred miles a day in order to use a free babysitter, working twenty hours per week at Starbucks for nine dollars an hour, with gas at three dollars a gallon and having to learn  the law to fight and ultimately win a custody battle in addition to every other aspect of my life as a mom and student.  Most of the time, I had no idea which end was up I was so tired or where my next gallon of milk was coming from.

Looking back, if you don't believe anything I just described as the Lord having the audacity to meddle into my affairs, how about this -- would you believe that even if my GPA had remained at a 3.66 grad school was still out of the question because there was not one Renaissance scholar in this giant state of Texas?  Not one.  Full of Medievalists, but not one Renaissance scholar, much less one focused on Italy.

That was a roadblock.  It was aggravating and frustrating to be sure, but his design is perfect.  In this decade I have begun to shed the self deserving skin that angrily despised the fact there was no one to serve my needs.  He kept me from studying the wrong thing.

And all of this is being redeemed in a way I would have never imagined.  You see, it was also imparted to me in Welch's book, makeup was a means to an end and nothing more.  This book was the catalyst that revealed I would go to seminary.  A day or so later I knew the Lord would call me back to Italy.  I also knew I would be called to vocational ministry and that I would, at some point, be speaking to large groups of people. All of this blew me away.

 About a week after that, Debbie Stuart of Prestonwood's Women's Ministry asked me to speak at an event.  I had never held a microphone.  But in the very moment I went on that stage, I literally saw all the hundreds of people who have told me my entire life I should be in theater.  I hate theater.  I cant help it, but I do. It was as if a wind came up behind me, and with complete ease and not one shred of nervousness, my mouth opened and I spoke.  In three days I had the opportunity to speak to about seven hundred women. The Holy Spirit enabled me to do that without reservation. HE also allowed me to understand the heart behind why I was told by so manyI should be in theater, and why I have the personality I do that allows me to be so transparent.  God wired me that way for a reason.


 It hit me that my time as a makeup artist was the season the Lord gave me to prepare my heart for him, for ministry, to hone my teaching skills, to listen and to meet others where they are. Even in a strip club.  And the clock is ticking.

I'll tell you-- I saw alot of hurts on the faces of the girls I have worked with the last four years.  Around Christmas I saw this video, and that's when I was first convicted for my work, and the struggle to sift through calling and purpose began.


Jacob's Story from Unearthed on Vimeo.


Many opportunities have come since this time, but only one fits the vision that was first given when I opened Ed Welch's book.  Italy was placed on the table, eagerly accepted the opportunity but instead I was told to wait.  I wasn't told No!! I was told not yet, and I was overwhelmingly surprised how not angry I was.  I have also been in this season of depending on the Lord for everything, and I mean absolutely everything.

But you see, therein lies the beauty in how much he loves me.  He wants me to succeed, and one cannot do that without Christ.  I spent twenty plus years thinking I could, and as I celebrated my first birthday in Christ, I cannot believe how far the Lord has carried me, what I am being delivered from, where I am being sent to, and the purpose and plan that was laid before God even considered (think about that) the very fist star or even where to put it.

 See, when he considered where to put that star, he already knew I would live through a childhood I don't remember, be a suicidal teen, a codependent lover, and a single mother, who would, at thirty two become a saved and ransomed woman that would one year later be sent to something called Re:train.


The music of Depeche Mode comprises the soundtrack to my life. Today, God used even this while I splurged and went to a sandwich shop for lunch.  Even as I pulled into Jersey Mikes, I wondered why I was going there.  I thought to myself, "They don't even have Coke. Oh well, I'll have water."  As I ate my turkey sammich, I sat considering the choices that need to be made before I even go to Re:Train, and as I got up to leave, I heard this song.  And then I knew why I went there in the first place. For now I will simply tell you this:  What a Strangelove, indeed.  The love freely given of this caliber and awe inspiring magnitude is absolutely the strangest love I have ever known. Yes, he does make my heart smile, and I can return the pain quite simply because I wasn't meant to carry it. I heard this song, from my favorite Depeche album, a song I've heard a million times over, like it was the first time.  I heard it with completely different ears... all I heard was this...     But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Romans 5     And I left that store in tears. But I will explain why later.

Timing and the Memory of Memorial

 My elementary school, ironically named Memorial Elementary, was torn down a few weeks ago. The timing of that is by no means an accident, as I come to understand, accept, and even grieve my lack of memory.

My father died when I was in the first grade, and I cannot tell you if ever he walked me up those steps pictured here.  I don't really remember my father. However, I do have a handful of my own memories that aren't influenced by photographs.

 For some reason, though, these are the years that are hanging over me.  I thought not remembering any of these years from earlier childhood to 5th grade and even later was due to my father's death. But it's these years -- these are years after his death -- I am finding that by talking with other people, I should remember them.  It absolutely boggles my mind that it's even possible someone can remember being six, seven, eight, nine, ten, even eleven and twelve.

That's right, I had this record...and the sweatshirt.

I had to laugh because even the fashions of 1986-1989 have returned.  Go figure. Having the opportunity to take my daughter to Justice, I nearly fainted when I walked in.  Hello! Ruffled skirts, neon anything, abstract patterns... shoot, talk about timing -- my family and I took a vacation across the country while Yellowstone was ablaze in 1988, and right now, everywhere you look?  What is everyone praying for on Facebook? Rain!  Why? Forest fires.  What is the purpose in the destruction of a forest fire?  To allow new growth.  It is a sweet irony that just reinforces to me the old adage, 'there is no time like the present.'  God has thrown it all together for such a time as this, so creatively, in fact, that if you have the eyes to see, little Godwinks like these are everywhere. 

 When I took this picture, so close originally to the front doors of the school, there  was air seeping between them, and I noticed the entry to my old school smells the same, and in that long whiff of sentimental debris, came a covering of something vaguely familiar. Smell is like that for me.  I can't explain it, but there is a smell in the air on the first day of school, every year, that I smell even in my own child's experience, that is distantly familiar.  Then, in an instant search for something familiar, I look to the grass. Because of a bright August sun, the grass glints in the morning dew and I remember the day Daddy died. He died January 6, 1986.  It's weird, but that is my thought process every first day of school.

And I am still that girl on the outside, looking in. Think about the dream I had. I saw that dream here, standing right there as I took that photo. That dream and this moment connected.  There is more to that dream I have not revealed, but those are details I feel can be left out for now.  But this, this too is a long hallway, and although different, it is in a state of destruction and chaos, just as my life has been the past year.  And then it hit me:     

 

The child that walked those halls still has walls built up around memories she doesn't have and are themselves being torn down.  As I stared into the belly of a school I don't really remember being in with the half of it already torn down — literally there was a light at the end of that tunnel. My own daughter is the same age, right now, as the girl I don't remember that walked those hallways.  

I've had to guard my heart while the walls that protect it begin to crumble. These are the images that can illustrate my life and everything in it thus far - even my relationship to my own child, because I cannot tell you how difficult it is to relate to a little girl that is the spitting image of you and you realize you do not know what you did, how you felt, where or what you played, the friends you had, your birthday parties, your friend's birthday parties, everyday goings on,  or even how you got to school or what you did when you went home.  

This class picture was either in front of or on the stage pictured below.  When someone on Facebook first tagged this, I thought someone had posted a picture of Amelie, that's how much we look alike.  In writing this, I saw the dates, 1985-1986 and teary eyed, I looked at myself and honestly cannot tell you if this picture is before of after daddy died.  Looking at this picture too, I do not remember being that girl at all.  She is a complete and total stranger to me.




 I can remember some names.  The little boy with the stripes I had a crush on, but I don't have an actual memory of him other than his name was Mitch.  The girl next to him is Carrie and she dressed like the Material Girl for Halloween one year, perhaps the fifth grade, complete with pearls and a black lace glove.  The girl with with the purple pants is Becky, although I do not remember playing with her until my 13th birthday party when she gave me earrings and someone else gave me a beautiful poster of Johnny Depp from 21 Jumpstreet (yes, be jealous!).  The girl on the very end stole one of my pencils in fifth grade.

Oh, but enter God's absolutely amazing grace!  He gave me a little girl for a reason.  She is also fatherless. We are both seeing how great the love of the Father is. If you have a crummy dad, no dad, or even the best dad on his best day -- is but a shadow of the Dad. The dream comes to mind again, illustrating that I must walk this hallway to remember so that I may be the mother He has called me to be... I can trust Him to hold me up when my knees are weak and when I'm overwrought with an invasive, terribly real, inexplicable and paralyzing fear when even a hint of a knowing, a connection  begins to show itself.

These are deep and dark waters, but Christ is in them, and He will show Himself and will be the only force driving me when and if a memory actually surfaces. You see, the only explanation I can give is that He took my memory for a reason.  God is that big.  He can do just that.  He can also restore them as He knows I can handle them. For the moment, that is all I know, and that is ok. I knew I was going to be shown what a Father's love is all about, but never in my life, did I think it would be this way.  How awesome is it that God let me know how much he loves me first, before ever making any connection to my lack of memory? What a display of Fatherly love and affection!  Whatever else I know two things: first, that He loves me. second, that I am safe. I am safe. I am safe.

 I went back the next day without Amelie.  Something told me to go inside what remained of the building.  There was even an open door that went into the cafeteria, and immediately I sank into something dimly familiar.

This is the cafeteria.  I sang on that stage.  I don't remember that, but I've seen pictures. The music teacher's name was Mrs. Schram. She had very curly hair. We played Oliver Twist. These pictures are what the few memories I have are like.  I took the second photo because I remembered that beneath that window is where the ice cream was sold. The last picture just had me, as I exited the cafeteria and entered the hallway.I was faced with the writing on the wall: Once a bobcat, always a bobcat. Confirmation to me memories are there, they are in my brain.  These memories have shaped me, because they left my heart damaged, and the heart drives all behavior, both the good and the bad.

I began to feel unsettled, but then I saw the paw print, that reminded me of a hand print.  A gal I met at the Village immediately came to mind when she said to me about six months ago, "I don't know you. I've only met you these handful of times, but I can see God's thumbprints all over you, every week."  That word picture has thankfully stayed with me and reminded me in this moment He has always been there.  When I was a toddler, a child of six who saw her father, dead on the floor, as a teen when I cut myself out of utter disgust of my very person, and the time in between. He was there in Italy, and even and most importantly, He is here, with me, in this thing called motherhood.

 As I continued through the hallways of what was left, I noted that though the interior of this building looked nothing like it did when I was there with the exception of that stage and the front steps. My sister, who is eight years my senior, described it to me.  She recalled the large pebbled floor that was so popular in the 70's, a floor she said many a  kid skinned their knees.  It had a high shine and there was lots of brown. There were also two trees, inside the main hallway, near second and fifth grade -- the middle and the end of the building.  All of the school save kindergarten thru second grade had been demolished.  As I walked one hallway, I remembered the school counselor, Mrs. Bennett.  I remembered her office.  After daddy died, I would go there.  She had a blonde baby doll with a pink brush, and how I would sit on her couch, brush that baby's hair and just cry.  As I went deeper into the hallways, keeping in mind there is destruction, debris, and dirt everywhere, a deep sense of 'you can't go here' came over me and I literally ran out of the school I was so overwhelmed. 

 I went outside and walked through the playground.  The modern day wood chip filler had been scooped up to reveal the rocks that were on the playground of my day.  As I held them in my hand, I remembered the white rocks. I used to draw on the sidewalk with them.  There was a swing set to the right, and I remembered someone told me the itty bitty curly brown  piles in the dirt were piles of worm poop.

Seeing that fresh slab of  concrete for what will surely be a space for basketball, I was also moved by how easily what is unwanted can be covered up.  What you see in that sidewalk is what was the parameter of our playground.   Funny how my greatest struggle as a parent is to simply be playful.       


   The thought of being playful has actually paralyzed me with fear.  The fear is a result of a wound that is buried, and so that fear has consumed my heart, and it is that fear that led me to choose the impish and childish boys I have historically dated. They were overly playful while I maintained both control and superiority of mind, you see. It  has also kept my child from having the mother God intended me to be.  I am coming to understand I was and have been for years self protecting, and the failure of that is slowly being exposed. He has been so sweet to me, to uplift me, to open and expose these wounds, and even to expose them to you, Reader, for whatever reason I cannot even pretend to know, because I would really like to keep these things to myself.  But then I realized, the progress made, and the fruit of that labor is not mine to keep.

 He has changed and loved me like no other, so how can I not lean into Him even further and rest in that I may not understand or even know what being a child is like, but He does urging me forward in childlike faith even in this.  He is, after all, the one who said, "Let the children come to me." The best part about that picture is the very fact that we are all His children. To those of you who deny that simple truth, you have no idea on what you are missing, and He will pursue you.  I'll bet He already is.  I mean, you are reading this blog, right?  

Although going here and allowing myself to sift through the wreckage of Memorial, just being obedient in that, I was able to leave that place, and I actually played with my daughter.  It looks like sidewalk chalk, but it was so much more.

 See, if God hadn't absolutely wrecked my life, I would have easily been too distracted to see any of  this, including Jesus.  See, the Lord took my relationship.  He took my business. What threadbare bits of my business I've lived on this past year are disappearing.  He  is closing the door entirely. Even my computer.  I have been thrown into a poverty I have never before experienced, but I will say I have never been more secure despite the fact I have absolutely nothing. I am in complete and total life transition. And it's exciting. He has a plan.



I have come to learn I have essentially struggled to survive my whole life, and now I am getting ready to really live, and the best part of that is I know like I know I'm going to have the opportunity to serve Jesus' church in a capacity I don't even yet understand, but will be revealed to me as I walk in accordance to his purpose and plan.  I walked on my own as an agnostic for thirty two years, and it all has led to knowing, loving, growing in and serving the one who put it all in it's place, and has loved me enough to work these details out even when I hated him most.  I am in a period of waiting.  How can I not trust him? He's got something up his sleeve, and I can't wait to find out what it is.


And then, six days after listening the the voice that told  me to go just sit and be still at Memorial, that the opportunity to prime the memory pump was about to be gone forever, the tug that told me I needed to go to my halfway demolished school, God orchestrated something absolutely amazing.  She came back, and it was as if she never left.