Category: Inspiration (Page 4 of 7)

 Allison Schrader is a truth telling, boo-boo kissing, coffee drinking, lover of Jesus.   A gifted teacher and aspiring author, Allison spends most days with her three littles. In the messes, the mayhem and even the mundane, she searches for the Holy and the Miraculous.  And, in the thick of it all she throws her hands in the air offering her Hallelujahs for this life she has been given.

I’m calling on the worn-out, tired, hurried souls.  I have a story for you.  In between laundry and dishes, ABC’s and 123’s, it was carefully crafted in the deep places of my heart.

On a search for worth and meaning a young woman, wife, mama, daughter, friend, found herself one dark night in a puddle of quiet sobs. Huddled over a sleepless baby in a big blue chair, face and eyes ruddy from the flow of feelings, she found herself at the glorious feet of Jesus.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.  Let’s start at the very beginning, since after all, it is a very good place to start.

There once was a woman, young and full of promise.  Newly married and ready to live her happily ever after, she jumped right into this grown-up life with all the right intentions and a smile on her face.  Everyday she headed up a great big hill and when she got to the top she did her job for the day.  Day after day and hour after hour she toiled away giving her all and giving her best, proving to others, but mostly to herself, that she was needed.  Proving she was valued; she was an integral part of a great big plan.

Well-liked and well-received, this young woman believed this was her best version of herself and her life.  Her hard work paid off.  She was paid the praise for which she longed, her craving for worth and significance, satisfied.  But in the quiet moments, when she let her soul slow itself just a bit, the word, “impostor,” flashed across the screen of her mind. Words like “fake,” “unworthy,” “not-good-enough,” haunted her. They drove her to try even harder to prove them wrong.  What had started a very long time ago in a garden with a snake and some sin was propelling her, pushing her.  This curse of striving became the driving force of all that she did.

Striving has a sneaky way of looking good.  Just like a bright and shiny piece of fruit, it can tempt us to think it’s the best way to go.  Everyone praises a hard worker.  Everyone loves the self-made man or woman.  ‘No rest for the weary’ is an admirable adage.

As she worked out her worth receiving the accolades of men and women, a thick cloud seemed to form over her head.  Chronic feelings of over-tired shadowed her days and as she began to stagger in the fog of it all she stumbled upon a fork in the road.

Five years into this grown-up life, she and her husband had grown into a family of three.  A sweet little toddler demanded more than this new mama could give after all the hours and all the days filled with all the trying.  Scared and uncertain, this young woman found the courage to raise her white flag and surrender.  With a  belly beginning to swell again full of new life and new promise, she started down a new path.

She headed home to stay.

He came two weeks early and they named him Noah.  In Hebrew it means ‘rest’ or ‘comforter.’ With hearts bursting they brought him home breathing in all the goodness of a newborn.  The first 8 weeks of his life were like any other tiny human’s: growth spurts, feedings, diaper changes— all the glamour.

It came so unexpectedly.  When things were supposed to be falling into a new rhythm, a chord of dissonance struck.  In the 9th week of Noah’s life something changed.  Instead of sleeping he was screaming almost every hour of every night.  Talks with the doctor, books about sleep, food restrictions, advice from many, were all tried and applied.  Yet nothing could bring rest to the one named, “Rest.”  All she could do was try to survive.

It’s true what they say about motherhood.  It can be beautiful and wonderful and all kinds of magical in so many ways.  But the truest things are often left quiet.  In the truest moments motherhood can leave a woman exhausted, anxious, bitter, isolated and feeling like she is the only one going through what she is going through.

In the midst of wrestling an infant to rest, this young woman’s heart began to wrestle as well.

One long night as she melted into the well-formed contours of the cushions in her big blue rocking chair, the floodgates opened.

This soul all broken and worn down had two choices: Keep on striving and trying or simply surrender.

Her war-torn spirit knew that anymore trying would just lead to more dying inside. With a small faith and big breath she said,“If I’m going to be awake all night, I might as well do something useful. I will pray.”

Her words marked a moment that would define her lifetime.  Surrender is simple, but it is the struggle to let go that often holds us back.  In her very human words she invited a very divine encounter: one that would change her forever.  No longer would she seek sleep as the answer.  Rest wasn’t what she really needed after all.  She needed to be ‘rest’-ored.

What began as desperate cries for a baby to sleep turned desperate cries for others and for herself.

She cried out from the deep places, the ugly places, the hurt places and every place in-between.  Night after night the prayers wafted up like incense, drenched heart-cries of a wife, mother, sister, daughter, friend, a woman who needed her Savior.

The days were still busy and her hands were always full with a baby and a toddler and a house and a husband and all the fixings that go right along with it all.  Yet, in the midst of unchanging circumstances her heart was changing day by day.

It would take some time to put words to the miraculous that had unfolded.  In fact, it would be many miracles down the line: a promise, a race, another baby, and many more surrenders, but one day she would stumble upon these words:

“I am the vine, you are the branches. He who abides in Me, and I in him, bears much fruit; for without Me you can do nothing.” John 15:5

This fancy word, “abide,” was a picture of surrender and trust: letting go of the trying, the control, the striving and instead, resting in the power of the Holy Spirit.  In between laundry and dishes, ABC’s and 123’s she saw His miraculous meet her mundane and she began to thrive.

–Allison

To read more stories of how “abiding” has changed one woman’s life visit Allison Schrader and The Abiding Place at www.allisonschrader.com.

Last Friday was Apple Day in kindergarten. When the yellow parent volunteer sheet came home I signed up right away. If there was a big day for my kid- I want to be there. (Our intentions are so good right?)

But then -life, and overcommitting myself, and trying to get the groove in my new job and schedule. And “Apple Day Eve” it was made clear that  I needed to work instead of going to Apple Day. So I sat down with my blue-eyed beauty and explained that mommy wasn’t going to be able to come after all, and that I was so sorry. She was quiet for awhile and then said, “I’m afraid I’ll be sad when I see the other moms…. but it’s ok, mom.”

Dagger!

I swallowed hard, then reassured her I would be in her class for the next event (WHICH I ADDED TO MY CALENDAR IN CAPITAL, BOLD LETTERS).  And then the inner dialogue began. “What kind of mother are you? How could you choose work over your daughter’s big day?  You won’t get this opportunity back. Are you choosing your work over her? ” And so on and so on and so on…

Mommy guilt. The struggle is real.  And sisters, WE AIN’T GOT NO TIME FOR THIS. It’s destroying us.

I’ve been in conversations with many different mamas the past couple weeks and in listening I’ve noticed a common thread:  Mommy GUILT.  These are moms I admire with good kids. But I’m discovering they struggle with guilt as much as I do. One mom who has grown kids mentioned she regrets the moments she “missed” when her son was little. A mom of a newborn commented on the struggle she feels when she needs to make dinner, but it means putting the baby down for a few minutes.  The stay-at-home mom  feels like she should be pursuing her dreams so she can model to her kids how to fulfill their callings. The mom of school aged kids who is working full time feels guilty that she can’t volunteer at her kids’ school.

It’s either we aren’t doing enough, or we’re doing too much. Our inner critic is ruthlessly attacking our soul.  Kim Fredrickson, author of “Give Yourself a Break” says…”When our shortcomings and mistakes are met with self-judgment and condemnation, we experience a lack of hope and begin to shut down emotionally.”  We experience shame for our guilt and we feel alone – like we’re the only one feeling this way.

Maybe there is power in coming out of that self-condemning darkness and into the light. We are not alone.

Yes, it’s important to prayerfully align our priorities with our lifestyle, re-evaluate often, be committed to GROWTH, and apologize when we make mistakes.

But, sisters can we show ourselves some grace???

I wonder how God our father feels when he hears us berating ourselves. Probably like we do when we hear our precious kids talking down on themselves. “No baby…you are amazing. Yes, you made a mistake, but you are still dearly loved. Don’t believe those lies.”  He sings over us Romans 8:1 “Therefore there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.”  Isaiah 40:11 says of God- “He tends his flock like a shepherd; He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those who have young.”

Let’s be real that none of us are perfect. Really…not even the gal who is “put together” everyday with her four beaming children who stand in age order beside her. She fails her kids too. She struggles with the same questions you and I do.

Let’s thank our moms for doing the best they could with us.

Let’s celebrate the victories in our mothering and cheer for each other.

Because here’s the raw truth: you were  chosen to be mom of your specific kids. We will all make mistakes. But they’re  gonna turn out alright..

We’ll give our best and then have a savings fund ready for our kids’ therapy funds when they need it.

I see you. You’re loving well. You’re doing the best you can with what’s before you.

Let your Heavenly Father remind you that you are dearly loved in your imperfection and your not done growing.

And at the end of the day you can hang your hat on this : you’re a good mom.

–Alyssa

To all of our new or faithful readers,

Welcome back!!!  

We knew we’d post less frequently over the summer. What we did not anticipate, until we were in the thick of it, was that we would need the entire summer to rest from storytelling. We launched this blog because we thrive on sharing the work God is doing in our midst. However, storytelling takes an emotional toll. Thank you for graciously allowing us a time of rest.

We look forward to entering this new season with you. What will God do? Let’s find out together.

It’s September: the end of summer spontaneity, the beginning of a new school year and new set of routines,  and the hope that apples and pumpkin spice are in our near future.

It has been a dismal few weeks in California- hasn’t it? The ground is dry – the land scorched by prolonged days of heat.

Temperatures have soared to triple digits. Green pastures have been morphed into dry, brown wastelands and the drought has everyone on high alert with regards to water usage. Our front yards are brown with crunchy grass. Folks are choosing to re-landscape with drought resistant materials or just resorting to painting their grass green! In the addition to the heat, our land has been sabotaged with wildfires. Dark brown clouds have filled the sky and the air reeks of smoke making it difficult to breathe. It’s a daily reminder of the devastation that is happening to our land and our people in areas nearby.

We have watched news reports on many who have lost their homes.  Firefighters and volunteers are putting their lives on the line. Newspapers tally the growing acreage of forests that are burning and growing exponentially every day.

There seemed to be no stopping the powerful force of darkness…

Lord, have mercy.

And then yesterday.. while many of us huddled inside with air conditioners on trying to avoid the heat and  smell of smoke, the dark billowing clouds suddenly released.

Tiny droplets of pure water danced on the windows. And for a moment…we gasped and stopped and marveled. Children ran outside and frolicked in the rain. People raised their heads to look up as the sky rained down small bits of hope. There was a collective momentary sigh of relief. This destruction would not last forever. A freshness was on it’s way.

It was as if all of nature responded, “this is not the end of the story…”

Don’t we need to remind ourselves of that truth?

In the same way so many of our hearts are suffering from drought. We are downcast, our souls feel dry, we are forgetting what peace ever felt like, and we are reeling with doubt.

Our hope is that REVEALINGTHESTORY  is a space that offers a little bit of refreshment to our sun-scorched souls. It’s here we encourage each other to REMEMBER.  We remind each other of the beautiful stories God has written through our individual lives.

Together we  battle lies with truth- We are not alone. This is NOT the end of our stories, THERE IS STILL HOPE.

So join us for another season. Read each other’s accounts of a God who comes near. Courageously share your story.

May the words you read here be like water to your soul.

My word for the year is provision. Maybe that was because  in January as I anticipated a year of potential challenges I needed to believe that God would provide. And each month I’ve had to look for it- with expectation. And friends, I’ve seen it.

We are just finishing some LONG  years in a ph.d program for my husband (any of you who understand the gravity of what this means- I welcome you for a support meeting later).  He has worked so hard and persevered. And so many times we thought we’d never make it. Upon the other side of this accomplishment, however came the realization that this meant a job change. Like Abraham we knew God was telling my husband to leave his current job (by faith) and follow Him without knowing where we were headed next.  “Walking by faith and not by sight.” This is not my favorite by the way- I’d much rather KNOW what the plan is and then create an exit strategy rather than  say goodbye and have to answer to a whole lot of “where are you going next?” questions without a concrete answer.

For 18 months my husband researched, applied and interviewed at universities around the country.   Our family also looked into various ministry opportunities overseas that aligned with our hearts.  One week I was literally trying to “picture”  potential opportunities which included: living in a country town in Tennessee, as teachers in a small village in Kenya,  as a professor’s wife on the beaches of San Diego, or helping start a new ministry in the jungles of Uruguay. Seriously?

We learned about being WILLING.  The process was good for us. Maybe God cared more about the posture of our hearts than the actual vocation and location we’d land in. We dreamt together again. We talked about our hopes and our desires, we invited our friends and mentors to speak into our lives and we prayed a lot. Our kids did too. Doors would open and then close. It was such a roller coaster. ( I apologize to those of you who we took on every bump and hill).

Time was winding down.

By May, the goodbyes and accolades had been given at my husband’s current job and we were looking at being unemployed  in a month later.  I began to get nervous. Did God forget us? Was he really going to provide? Didn’t he know we’d be out of a salary in a month and we have three kids to feed?  My prayers became a bit more urgent (and less faith-filled). A friend sent me this and it hit me between the eyes…

It felt like a  really LONG hallway lined with closed doors… But could I still praise Him?

I could praise Him for HIS UNFAILING CHARACTER even in uncertain circumstances.

And then the weirdest thing happened.   After applying everywhere, way late in the game, a professor job opened up at the very university my husband was working at.  Not just any job- THE JOB- the one he had applied for all over the country- the one he was preparing for in his years of late night doctoral studies-His dream faculty job, teaching undergraduate intercultural studies classes. And it was HERE- it’d mean we wouldn’t have to move- no leaving our church, schools, community that we so dearly loved. No one had seen this coming! My husband was contacted and asked to apply. The process was fast-tracked and a couple weeks ago he was offered the job.

I sit here trying to process all this I’m embarrassed at how I doubted before and how I began to believe that maybe this would be the ONE TIME God wasn’t going to provide. And yet in the ninth inning of the game- in OVERTIME- He did. He provided. A surprise.  Better than we could’ve expected. He made a way where there seemed to be no way. We are now on the other side and can breathe a sigh of relief. I write this to remind myself and you that God is a provider. For those of you in that hallway with doors that just seem to keep closing I wanna say- I know how you feel. I’ve so been there and I was messy in the hallway. But you, my friend – He knows you. He provides seed for the sparrows to eat every day. He clothes the lilies of the fields. You are certainly not forgotten. He will provide somehow, someway and it may not be as you expect. And soon you’ll have a God-story to share of His provision and we’ll celebrate with you.

‘Go to the mattresses’ has been a running theme for me. A reminder to look up, bare my soul, and reframe my perspective. I hope you can relate…

Have you ever heard the story of Job? It’s a tremendous tale of loss and restoration. I’ve always focused on the poor advice Job received as a lesson in what NOT to do when I’m in the mud with people.

Recently my sister opened my eyes to an earlier part in Job’s story, the account of what happened when his friends first discovered his muddy state. Job 2:12-13 says: “When they saw him from a distance, they could hardly recognize him; they began to weep aloud… Then they sat on the ground with him for seven days and seven nights. No one said a word, because they saw how great his suffering was.”

Wow.

What do you think they did during those seven days of silence?

Did they feel helpless? Were they talking to God? Were they racking their minds in search of solutions?

After seven days of silence (seven days in the mud) Job felt safe enough to become even more honest with his friends. You can read about it in chapter 3 – “Why is life given to the bitter of soul, to those who long for death that does not come, who search for it more than for hidden treasure.. My groans pour out like water.”

That’s when things took a turn. Job’s friends shifted from silently communing with him to advising and diagnosing – proposing ways to clean off the mud.

I wonder if the book of Job would have been shorter if his friends had understood the posture of power God offers us when we get down in the mud with people. It’s a posture as powerful as that of a fully armoured warrior kneeling to pay tribute.

That image reminds me of the Godfather scene from You’ve Got Mail – “Go to the mattresses. You’re at war. I know you worry about being brave. Don’t. This is your chance. Fight! Fight!” 

Jason and I like to keep moving even when we’re down in the mud with people. We feel the need to fight for those we love that are hurting.  For example, we won’t rush you through your grief process. In fact, we’ll watch your kids to give you more space to grieve. – Do you see how that is still an action?!

Action is great. BUT, sometimes God asks us to stop moving. To sit in the mud without flinching. To stop racking our minds for solutions and simply remember his power.

This is really, really hard for me. Especially if I’m down in the mud with a child. In that type of pit I find that reaching the end of possible actions feels like running at a full sprint straight into a cement wall.

I shared about one such wall in The Painful Side of Love.

There, at the wall of the pit, bruised by the hard cement, my Good God taught me something new.

He gently whispered Psalm 3:3 over my broken heart: “You, O LORD, are a shield around me; you are my glory, the one who holds my head high.

God reminded me that David uttered Psalm 3:3 when he was in serious danger. People wanted to kill him and yet David talked about God being a shield around him. God taught me that this type of shield was used when people were preparing to move deeper into danger.

That day my Good Dad, my Warrior King, invited me to go to the mattresses – to pray Psalm 3:3 over my muddy loved one. To fight the discouragement that’s only natural when you’re overwhelmed by mud and cement walls. To fight the discouragement in order to shift into battle mode — putting on my full armor and kneeling in tribute to my Warrior King.  I kneel because He crumbles cement walls. I kneel because He holds all answers. I kneel and keep my eyes wide open to watch and wait for evidence of my Warrior King in action.

We’re at war. I know you worry about being brave, Don’t. This is your chance. Fight! Fight discouragement. Kneel to the one who offers you the ability to look up, to hold your head up high.

-Laura

O LORD my God, I cried to you for help, and you have healed me.       -Psalm 30:2

I’ve been walking a journey of healing recently, that has been both emotional and spiritual. It’s been a difficult journey. It’s been a quiet, lonely journey. Not because people around me haven’t cared for me…but because this healing process has been internal and complicated.

We know this to be true of physical healing. When your body is ravaged by disease or bones are broken, you can’t heal simply by wishing it would get better.  You need the skilled hands of a physician to diagnose your condition, clean out your wounds, repair the damaged tissue, and set a course for your healing. Healing takes time.

We also know that wounds happen not only at the physical level, but on other levels as well. The journey to healing with these kinds of hurts are similar to the physical ones. To properly heal, it takes time, rest, and a skilled Physician. The journey is lonely. Quiet. Internal. A lot is happening but most of the time, until the scar tissue closes up on top, you can’t see a difference.

Some time ago, a bomb of sorts exploded in my life. I was pulverized emotionally.  My identity was attacked and suffered critical blows. I was silenced. Betrayed by people I trusted. The core of who I am was slandered. Judged mercilessly. Burned. I could barely breathe, my faith in God’s goodness brought to trial.  I stared at mountains of ash that had once been dreams and lifted tear stained eyes to my God asking where He was. The Enemy had prevailed, or so it appeared. I had followed God with everything and instead of obvious victory in a situation, I felt abandoned,  beaten, and bloodied.

It was a dark and painful time. Horrible.  It was easy to believe the lies that my God had left me. It was easy to make agreements with the Enemy of my soul that God did not care.  But truth said differently. Truth shouted that I was not alone, my God was with me.  

…for he has said, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.”   –Hebrews 13:5

Looking back, I realize that His presence was all that sustained me. He was close to my broken heart just like He promised, even when my tears kept me from seeing Him.  I know it now.  In His grace He sent help, friends and family, swiftly to my bruised soul to begin to  nurse me back to health.

I survived the attack.

But I was not healed. I was still wounded. Deeply.

And at first, knowing I was badly hurt and needed healing, I tried to be proactive. I tried to take over my triage…needing to control this trauma in my heart.  I wanted to be healed. I wanted desperately to feel better. I believed God could heal me. But in my eagerness to hurry up and heal, I tried to heal myself. I prescribed myself with a good dose of forgiveness for those that had hurt me. I filled my days with reading my bible, and turned up the worship music. I drank in lots of truth and surrounded myself with solid community. These were all really good…except for one thing; it wasn’t working. Completely not working. I was still hurt, still, ‘bleeding’ emotionally, still unable to forgive. I finally realized, through God’s endless grace, WHY it wasn’t working.  It was because I wasn’t the doctor. Deep down I really knew nothing about how to close up the gaping wounds in my heart.

One of God’s names in the bible is Jehovah Rapha.{Exodus 15:22-26} It means The Lord Heals. I love it, because healing is one of His names. His very name. His character is to heal our broken places. The God of healing.  Him…Not me.

I could not heal myself. And in truth, I just got in the way. I had the best intentions, but I was not able to do what only He can do. This was where I uncovered a powerful truth. I had to completely and utterly surrender my wounds to Him. Surrender.

The very last thing I felt like doing after the attack I had just been through was to let down my guard and trust enough to surrender. But it was in the total and complete surrender of my painful wounds to Him, the One who loves me beyond reason… that I found the deepest healing. It was when I slowly pulled my hands away from the torn places of my soul that His cleansing mercy seeped in to the deep pain. He was so faithful and so gentle to clean out my wounds and then bind them up. He protectively covered my bruised places with His own scarred hands. He breathed fresh life into the places that had died. He lovingly rebuilt my identity and reminded me where it belongs; in Him. He poured into me rich forgiveness that I did not possess on my own, that I might walk in freedom. It was beautifully miraculous.  When I let go of my time-table for healing, and just let Him be God….the God of Healing, He did. He healed my broken self. He restored my wrecked heart.

In this world you will have trouble, but take heart, I have overcome the world.    -John 16:33

I do have scars from all of this. I believe I always will. My scars are hidden to most, but they are there. Tender. Sometimes uncomfortable. Twisted flesh that speak of battles fought. Reminders. Not reminders of what the Enemy did but of what my Jesus did.

Reminders of His power to heal broken things.

Friends..I know so many of you are hurting also… and I hope that my story will help you. He wants to heal you too.  He wants to heal those places in your heart that have been ravaged, wounded and laid bare. I know this to be true.  He wants to heal those places in your spirit that hurt so much that they cause you to be untrusting, sometimes bitter and truly unable to forgive.   I pray you will seek and surrender to Him. Jehovah Rapha, The Lord Heals. If He is your Lord, He is your healing.

Those who seek the LORD will not lack any good thing.       –Psalm 34:10

-Kallie

I love happy endings. Don’t you? I intentionally pick books and movies that have them. Life is hard and when I want to escape,  I love stories that end with hope and resolution.

I realize this is not always realistic . We live in a broken world and sometimes there are circumstances, pain, and loss that are horrific, unexplainable, and leave us with more questions than answers.

One of the reasons I recently traveled across the world to Kenya was to visit my dear friends, Juli &  Allison. These friends have founded Living Room Ministries International (www.livingroominternational.org) : a home where no one has to die alone.  They provide dignity and quality of life to people in Kenya who are affected by HIV/AIDS and other life threatening illnesses. Their vision is to create a community of compassion that honors life and offers hope.

Let me just tell you: It is sacred ground. There’s no other place like it.

Come with me on a walk through the Living Room. You’ll never be the same.

Walking in to the breezy hallway you can immediately sense the peace and beauty of this place.  And then you remind yourself, this is a home for the dying. In a matter of moments you’ll be greeted by smiling faces of national caretakers who give their lives to serving people here.  Rachel is one of these angels. With a nursing and medical background she is the clinical director. It’s obvious she is highly educated, but what strikes you most is how she deeply values the individual patients (whom they refer to as “guests”).

You are guided through the hallways into the rooms of guests, many who have traveled miles and miles in hopes of quality hospice care.  It’s often their last hope. Here, no matter their physical condition, they are welcomed as guests, and known by name – so different from what you’d find in the cities where hospitals are filled with people , at least two to a bed, where the conditions are less than ideal. Their stories are listened to. They are individuals whom God loves and they are offered the best emotional, physical, and spiritual care free of cost.

I’m pretty sure if Jesus still lived on earth, this is where he’d hang out.

Walking out to the patio you see many guests lining the walls.  You walk up and shake their hands to greet them, because that’s the culture here. You’d meet Evangeline and Zipporah, women dying of cervical cancer. In hushed tones, you’d hear about their children and though they’re in the last stages of life they somehow smile as they speak. They’re mamas like us. There is a quiet tension in the air: the  reality of pain and death is eminent,  yet a strange peace also hangs in the silence.

You walk  from there down the ramp to  the gorgeous outdoor surroundings. Flowers, and trimmed bushes, and  green lush landscape, it reminds you of what the Garden of Eden may have looked like.  Patients are encouraged to be outside – to enjoy the sunshine- and so mats are laid upon the grass.  In the shade of the trees, they rest.

You meet Eddah, a mama who has suffered with an undiagnosed leg wound for years;  but here she is liveliest of the bunch.  She’ll challenge you to a game of Othello and you’d better watch out because she’s competitive and she’ll probably win!

Nearby, the childlike smile of Sharon captures your heart and though she’s the size of a 5 year old, you learn she is actually 12 -born with HIV and recovering from burns that disfigured her hand and face. Precious girl. She is here, getting stronger, and waiting for the day she can have reconstructive surgery.  You learn that while she’s been here at Kimbilio hospice, her mother passed away at home. She is now another of Africa’s millions of orphans. Jesus, have mercy.

You reach out to greet Violet, and her little bony hand rests in yours. To the eye, she is merely skin and bones one of the most malnourished sweet things you have ever seen.  And then you hear her heart -renching story:  at 17 years old, untreated diabetes  is eating away at her body.  You wonder if she’ll be one of Living Room’s “Lazarus” stories of being nursed from death back to life – you sure hope so.

And finally there’s Chepchumba whose face radiates with joy though her body is contorted with cerebral palsy. She’s been here at Living Room off and on for several years. In this caring environment she progressed all the way from a desperate state of malnourishment to being able to smile and laugh again.  She’s a teenager, whose body has been held captive to this disease. Her groans reveal that there’s so much she’d like to say.  

Up the hill, Living Room employees are carving wood preparing caskets.  The funeral home is awaiting the arrival of another family. You don’t want to, but you wonder…who will be next?

On this earth there aren’t always happy endings. Here, all are prayed for – some will die-being ushered into the presence of the King and some will be stories of victory where they are nursed back to life.  Is God good either way?

How do we respond to what we’ve seen here?

“Seeing suffering does not move me to act if I think of the person as “him”….but when I think of that person as part of “us”, part of “me,” then I am moved to bless.” (Soul Keeping, p. 160)

How then shall we love?

How then shall we live?

These are the questions we are left to wrestle with.

My spirit longs for the day when: “He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.” Revelation 21:4

 -Alyssa

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I remember first hearing the song “OCEANS”at church.

Your grace abounds in deepest waters

Your sovereign hand will be my guide

And there I find you in the mystery

In oceans deep my faith will stand

I will call upon your name. Keep my eyes above the waves.

When oceans rise, my soul will rest in your embrace.

For I am yours and you are mine.

Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders.

Let me walk upon the waters wherever you would call me.

I didn’t know then, that this would become my theme song!

 A week before leaving for Kenya, a friend texted me with the message, “are you watching the news?” Immediately my heart sank. I knew it could only mean bad news. With one click of my mouse I read the reports of young people, Kenyan university students who were being mercilously murdered…(especially those who proclaimed to be Christians). I fell to the floor and wept, partly at the horror of this evil and partly at the fear that this raised in me.

Of course, after 13 years of considering returning to Kenya, the week I’m supposed to fly there, there is a horrific terrorist attack. I had already been paralyzed with fear for so long. Now my fear of sickness was just intensified with a fear of violence and danger.  I prayed for God to make a way out.  But deep deep down I knew He didn’t want this to be the end of my story.  “Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders. Let me  walk upon the waters wherever you would call me.”

“PAIN has a way of clipping your wings and keeping us from being able to fly.” – The Shack.

I knew God wanted me to fly. He WANTS YOU TO FLY.

When oceans are rising and we’re really struggling with keeping our eyes above the waves – He is there, calling us.

In my captivity of fear, friends and family emailed, called, texted, and flooded me with encouragement and reminders of truth. God was in this, He was with me, the fear was not from Him.  There was a full on war in my mind.  I remembered hearing a speaker once say “the enemy comes to take courage out- DIS-COURAGE. Being faithful doesn’t mean the absence of fear….it means we have just a little more faith than fear.”

That’s all I had: just a tiny bit more faith than fear. Maybe that’s all you have too.

And so, on the faith of others, I got on that plane with my friend Jenn. I had printed out the verses that many had sent me and meditated on them for the duration of the flights and the line “your sovereign hand will be my guide” rang through my mind.

Landing in Nairobi, I could sense the tension and grief, and fear among the people as we passed through. I’m imagining it was similar to how New York may have felt the week after 9/11. Grief, disbelief, uncertainty, fear: what would happen next?

I was looking forward to getting to the village. I breathed a sigh of relief as we watched the tall buildings and streets lined with pedestrians be replaced by mud huts, and lush green acres of land, and open space.  I was going to a refuge.

Just when I was beginning to exhale, my missionary friend Juli explained that the statistics we read in the news were closer to home  than we thought. Though the attack was eight hours away, one of her neighbors, a young boy named Gideon was tragically one of the victims. He had been a sophomore. The first in his family to attend university. I can only imagine the sacrifices his family had made to send him and how hard he had worked to get there. Only the most diligent students have the opportunity to attend university. His life had been cut short and now the body was being transported back to our village, for his family to bury him on their compound. They were to arrive on Monday for the funeral. It took my breath away.

My own sin and selfishness grieved my heart. I was so worried about what could happen for me that I hardly grieved for the mamas, and sisters, and brothers who were grieving the REALITY of a loss of their loved one.

Part of the culture here is that as a visitor you have to be ready at any moment to give a speech, or testimony, or preach a sermon.  And so, when Juli’s husband asked me if I’d be willing to preach at their church that Sunday I shouldn’t have been surprised.  But my heart sank.  How could I preach in Gideon’s family’s church when this tragedy had just occurred? “What am I supposed to say? What in the world do I have to offer? Please, God make a way out.” And then I sensed  a phrase very clearly in my mind.

YOU KNOW WHAT IT IS TO FEAR.

Fear was plaguing the minds of many in Kenya, I had tasted that fear too.

And so, I called upon HIS name and asked the spirit of the great Comforter, the only truth, the one who knew what it was to watch his son be murdered, I asked by HIs grace, for Him to speak through me.  God allowed me to  look in the eyes of my brothers and sisters, and together we cried at the pain of this earth and reminded each other that God SEES us. He knows us. He is WITH us. And when fear creeps up and tries to control our minds, we have words of truth to combat the lies of the evil one.   I was reminded of one of our family’s favorite verses of promise: “Do not fear for I am with you, do not be dismayed for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” Isaiah 41:10. No matter the storms we face,  from this life to eternity we are offered LIFE WITH HIM.

I saw God give purpose to my brokenness. As He often does, he turned my fear and pain into an opportunity for ministry -to relate with others in His family. AND more than anything, spending time with those beautiful friends that day, we realized we a were more similar than different.  We were all clinging to Jesus.  He was there.

And “there I found him in the mystery. In oceans deep {because of HIM}, my faith will stand.”