In need of a Shelter

If you're like me the pressure of life presses in more often than you would like to admit. The frantic pace of trying to make ends meet, keeping up with kid's schedules, pursuing an illusive dream. The aching weariness of a constant stream of bad news. I can't even watch the evening news anymore; killings, hunger, disappointment, disaster, corruption, immorality, a steady dose I just can't ingest. The sorrow of a family member's illness, the fatigue of training up children in this world, the disappointment of personal shortcomings.

It all settles tight between the shoulder blades and threatens to overwhelm. Those moments, which are oddly interspersed with delight and wonder, crop up weed-like so often. When they do my heart is refreshed by remembering the words of Psalm 18:

As for God, his way is perfect: The Lord’s word is flawless; he shields all who take refuge in him. For who is God besides the Lord? And who is the Rock except our God? It is God who arms me with strength and keeps my way secure. He makes my feet like the feet of a deer; he causes me to stand on the heights. He trains my hands for battle; my arms can bend a bow of bronze. You make your saving help my shield, and your right hand sustains me; your help has made me great. You provide a broad path for my feet, so that my ankles do not give way. 

I don't know what weariness you are laboring under, what dreams you are investing in, what hurt is burning in your chest. But I do know the God who is your Rock and mine. He calls, he trains, he protects, and is patient. You've heard it before, but maybe you need to hear it again, God is for you.

Today if your heart is heavy, or maybe you are feeling worn around the edges, take courage, God has offered himself as your shelter. He never wearies of caring for his own and teaching us how to battle in his strength. 

Can I pray for us?
God as the world whirs on, noisy and fitful, quiet our hearts in your presence. Remind us to turn our eyes to you, knowing you always care for your people. Be our Rock, our shield, our safe place of peace. Your good news of grace and truth outshines the ugly of this world any day. Thank you God. Amen.

A Cat, a T-shirt, and how to Live with Cancer

My Mom was diagnosed with cancer in November of last year. Thursday evening she spoke about her journey with cancer at a Relay for Life dinner, I'm thankful to be able to share her talk with you here. Feel free to spread the encouragement, if you know someone facing cancer or a difficult time pass her story on.

Everything I needed to know about how to live with cancer I learned from a cat, and everything I needed to know about cancer I learned from a t-shirt.

15 years ago we lived in the metro Atlanta area. It was fall of the year, late October, almost Halloween. The air was crisp, beautiful fall leaves, pumpkins on porches. The feeling of change in the air. It was in that atmosphere that I stepped out onto my porch and saw a stray cat. He was jet black, had a big, thick Tom cat head, a flat nose like a boxer, a ragged ear that tilted to one side, a crooked tail, bald spots where scars prevented hair from growing, bowed legs, and he walked with a swagger. He was a bad cat with a bad boy attitude. I named him Boo.

Boo didn't trust people and I wanted to change that. I would call him whenever I would see him, offer him special treats, but he kept his distance. As it got colder Boo started coming into the garage for warmth. That worked to my advantage, I could have more contact with him. Boo had a need but he wasn't ready to admit it yet. He could make it out on his on, the hard way, or make it with me, a wiser choice. Finally he gave in, made the wise decision, and began trusting me. Our relationship was under way. But I knew Boo could not be the great cat he was meant to be until he had an operation. I trapped him in a cage, took him to the vet who did his job and when Boo came home he was a changed man.

He began to pursue me. Boo had not just been physically starved, he had been starved for love. He followed me like a dog, constantly at my feet. If I sat down I had a lap full of black cat. It was Boo's lap and he wanted in it. As far as Boo was concerned there was nothing else he'd rather do and no where else he'd rather be than in my lap.

I had been struggling with my relationship with God. God used Boo. I was Boo and God wanted me in His lap. Me! In His lap! I made the wise decision. I wanted to be like Boo, changed. I purposed to yield to the transformation commitment God had made to me in His word. As I spent time in God's lap I began to feel like Boo must have felt in mine; safe, comfortable, accepted, contented, welcomed, prized, examined, wanted, loved.

Two years ago I began having random symptoms; swollen, painful joints, lost range of motion, and even physical therapy. My doctor referred me to a Rheumatologist but by the time I could get an appointment my symptoms were gone. I had heart palpitations and blood pressure fluctuations. I had a night visit to the ER fearing a heart attack. I had a stress test, EKG, sonogram on my arteries expecting blockage but all negative. I had intense stomach pain and was treated for gastritis. I had fevers and night sweats. My symptoms would come and go but one thing was for sure I was losing strength and energy.

Last November 12 I began running a fever. I was treated for a UTI. Two weeks later I still had a fever. My doctor gave me an antibiotic injection. A week later I was still feverish. My Doctor ordered a CT scan suspecting I had an infection in my abdomen. By this time my strength and energy were completely gone. I told a friend "I fear I'm terribly, terribly ill."

After the scan the nurse at the radiologist sent me directly to see my doctor. I knew something was wrong. I saw the doctor quickly, I didn't like the look on her face. She sat very close and began her medical explanation. She handed me the printed radiology report. I interrupted her and said flatly, "I have cancer." She said, "we don't like that word." I don't remember what else was said, I don't remember how I got out of that room. I went out to my waiting husband and told him, "I have cancer." I do remember his loud, clear, definitive "NO".

I had become so dehydrated I was admitted to the hospital a few days later. A liver biopsy said that I had Neuroendocrine tumors in my liver, too many to count. It's a rare cancer, only 4 in 100,000 people have it. After seeing the oncologist on call I was stabilized and sent home. He called later with more lab results and a treatment plan. We learned it was inoperable and wouldn't respond to chemotherapy. But, we were assured, there were new medicines. The old medicines used to treat it had been only 20% effective but the new ones were better. I didn't like the tone in his voice. He was a great guy, we liked him, a good doctor to be sure, but his arsenal was too small for me. We knew we needed other options.

My husband asked his sister, Jeanne, who had lost her son, Beau, to synovial sarcoma two years earlier, what she would do? She suggested Cancer Treatment Centers of America. We had our first visit to CTCA on December 10th. I met my oncologist who passed me off to an Interventional Radiologist for the preferred treatment. My treatment would be an injection of between 2 to 8 million radioactive therasphers. These are tiny glass beads less than the circumference of a human hair fed through my femoral artery in my groin to be placed in the arteries in my liver which fed the tumors. There are only a handful of hospitals in the country with this new technology. I had "fallen" into the right hands.

I felt like a character in a science fiction movie as I had my first treatment on Jan 19. After an overnight stay I was sent home to wait for the beads to do their job. Those were long difficult weeks. I was in the capable hands of an excellent caregiver, my husband. He took family medical leave to be with me constantly. Our church and families were loving and supportive.

But you are never the same after you hear the C word. Cancer changes everything. It changes how you feel about time, relationships, possessions, even your own body as it betrays you. I prayed, asking, begging God to enable me to do this thing. Fear could overtake me at times. What if the treatment didn't work? But, God reminded me of Boo. I had allowed fear to get me out of the lap. Back into His lap I crawled, insisting on being there, finding comfort, rest, peace and trust. In those intimate moments God spoke to me of my fear reminding me that I need to live today, just today. Don't try to live tomorrow, don't look at it. He hadn't ask me to live tomorrow yet, but when He did call me to He would be there with me.

The last time we were at CTCA my radiologist told me that in January my condition had been scary. He didn't need to tell me that. I knew it. I knew I had been in danger, I had felt it. But, a stray black cat had shown me 15 years earlier how to live with cancer, how to walk the most difficult mile of my journey.

My two treatments were considered successful. At the last MRI I had no viable tumors in my liver. We go back to CTCA Monday the 13th. I'll have an MRI of my liver and hopefully find out about removal of the primary cancer.

The last time Silver, my little therapy dog, and I worked at Mission Cancer Center we walked past the gift shop window. There hung a t-shirt that stopped me in my tracks. Printed on the front was everything I needed to know about cancer. I know some medical facts about cancer. I don't understand much of it. I have an oncologist that presumably knows all he can know about my cancer. That's his job. But, what I learned from the t-shirt is what I need to know and it's this: "Cancer is so limited. It cannot cripple love, it cannot kill friendship, it cannot shatter hope, it cannot shut out memories, it cannot destroy confidence, it cannot eat away peace, it cannot silence courage, it cannot reduce eternal life, it cannot quench the spirit." That's my cancer. And that's your cancer. 

Pat Morton lives in a cabin in the hills of North Carolina with her husband Steve and an assortment of animal friends. She's a native South Carolina girl and a story teller by nature.

Un-surprised by Evil

Kermit Gosnell is you, and he's me; without the grace of Jesus active in our lives that is. I came to terms a long time ago that I was born with the cancer of evil pumping through my heart. Evil that I know could take me to dark places.

In our culture we tirade against evil and immoral people. My question is, why? Are we really surprised by sin and the media's inability to cover it accurately or well, or the governments ability to address it effectively? What I really want to know is are we moved enough to go places where people are ignorant, poor, desperate, trapped and meet the need? Are we willing to walk into darkness?

Is there a reason we think evil is going to give up the fight, roll over, and play dead? Why are we outraged when people act exactly as the Bible tells us they will without the illumination of truth? Why do we judge those who are already judged.

Of course what Gosnell and many, many others has done is disgusting and outrageous. But I don't see anywhere that Jesus was outraged by people, except by religious dead men carrying out a show, hording mercy for only those deemed worthy in their own minds.

What happened to the women and children at Gosnell's hands is gut-wrenching. But is it so different than what has happened for years to thousands of babies and women? Just because there is documentation of perfectly formed, breathing babies that died in his clinic does it make the legal death of a 15 week old pre-born baby less messy or heartbreaking?

Can there really be shades of death? Sin is sin, death is death. (Tweet This)

I wonder if our surprise over evil speaks of insulation. Let's don't insulate ourselves from the heartbreak and evil of this world. Babies die daily by the hundreds at the hands of violent men. Outside of our homes lies the carnage of sin, sometimes right at our very doorstep.

It's hard, I know, at moments to look. To truly see the socially awkward woman who was once a badly abused child. To witness the starvation of whole people groups. To know of children who suffer a life of not belonging. To look full faced into the eyes of a dying world. So very hard.

But let's go on and assume that today in our town a desperate woman will walk into a clinic and suffer violence to the very core of her motherhood and body, and in the process become an accomplice to death. Let's assume the worst around us. And then lets get involved.

Why not be the nosy neighbor, the concerned friend, the voice of truth, the one who goes into dark places for a rescue mission? I wonder about those babies and women who lost their lives at Gosnell's hands. What if? What if a church patrolled the area looking for victims to rescue, would they have died?

Of course we can't prevent every death, every wound, every violence. The question is, do we try? I'm asking myself. And I'm asking you. I wonder, where is the wound in my community? How can I be the one that Jesus uses today to run a raid on the enemy camp and bring the captive home?

I don't want to be surprised when the evil of my community, of my world, raises it's head. I want to already have been there, looking for the vulnerable to rescue from it's grip. Perhaps those are noble and idealistic dreams but I've always been a crusader I don't intend on stopping now.

How do you respond to the evil of the world, of your community? I'd love to hear about what you are doing to reach out to the broken around you! Inspire us!

Sing a Song to the Darkness

I was awakened in the early morning gray by the sound of one little bird singing. His sweet trilling call rang out strong and silver. I had to smile at his bold declaration, his confidence, that the morning was coming.

As the gray softened and gave way to the morning his lone voice was joined by many friends. After making a cup of tea I stepped out on the back patio. The luminous moon hung low and full behind the pines. By now the yard was alive with the morning song of dozens of birds, almost raucous.

Is your life wrapped in gray? Turn your ear and listen for hope singing in the darkness, and join it. (Tweet This)

"But as for me, I will sing about your power. Each morning I will sing with joy about your unfailing love. For you have been my refuge, a place of safety when I am in distress." Psalm 95:15

Other people are in the darkness listening. When your song of hope, of joy in your salvation, breaks out in the lean space between night and morning it touches another heart and invites your friends to join in the song.

When the job is over sing, when the illness drags long sing, when the news is bad sing, after a night of grieving sing. 

I believe in the spiritual discipline of mourning. Stuffing or denying our sorrow isn't healthy or wise. God is looking for followers who will join him in sorrow. Grieving their own sin and the effects of sin in this world. But after a night of grief joy comes. 

The darkness is all around you. Sing a song to it. A song of hopeful confidence that morning will come, a bold declaration of faith in Jesus unfailing love.

When do you find it most difficult to sing about God's love? Have you had a friend ignite hope in your own heart before? Tell us about it!

Packing up and Moving in

I'm dreading packing. You heard me, packing. For close family and friends the word packing has the drama of cereal when associated with my life, because after all it's me we're talking about. But seriously, I'm so tired of putting my stuff in a box, moving it around, and rearranging it in a new living space I could scream.

Thankfully I'm not going far, as opposed to other moves in the last couple of years which took hours, or days, of driving. This time I'm not uprooting my children, relearning a culture, and having to memorize directions to the nearest Walmart, all-over-again.

Nevertheless nothing reminds me, like boxing up my stuff, that this world isn't my home. It's a good reminder to face once in a while. It keeps me humble, dependent, and expectant. All good things on the whole.

The weariness that comes with thinking about the hassle of moving all of this stuff, again, isn't the only soft spot this move brushes up against. There's a tender spot that hesitates in the ongoing process of learning directions and customs and history and names, it whispers "you will never belong".

When you've yearned for community for as long as I have, when you've learned to lean close at the rumor of it's existence, when your heart's beat wildly at the sound of it's coming, only to have it snatched away before it's full grown, you start to protect a tender place in your heart. Just like you protect your grandmother's fragile china as it's loaded on a moving truck.

I'm excited about closing the half hour drive between home and church with this move and putting to rest what was, quite frankly, another painful experiment in biblical community. I'm excited, and, I find, hesitant. Hesitant because the last few months at church have moved me from friendly outsider to in-the-trenches member in this new body. And this coming move will only deepen an intimacy that's been growing. While that's a beautiful thing it also feels vulnerable. Do you know what I'm saying?

It's a strange place to be, believing wholeheartedly in the truth of God's promise and command of a living union for his followers, and yet having rarely seen the church actually live in that reality. Having born the consequences of that paradox quite personally I feel raw at times.

I want to jump in. Yet I hesitate. 

I've learned that when hope is broken another moving van waits on the other side, and I am so way over that. I'm tired of fit pitching and selling out to religion because the radical union Jesus offers is too hard. (I get it, I'm as stubborn, prideful, and selfish as the next person. Having to yield to others out of love for Jesus is humbling work. But I don't see any other way around it, do you?)

I'm bound and determined to pursue intimacy with Jesus' people, it's my birthright, it's a need, it's a command. But if you see me grit my teeth or hesitate, be patient, it may take me a moment to lift my eyes from the memory of burned bridges to the compelling eyes of Jesus urging me to trust. 

So, this month as I put my dishes back into a box, and sort through my things, it will be an act of trust. Trust that this world which never fully satisfies me will give way to a redeemed one, trust that God will establish a lasting unity with my heart and his people in this new place, trust that his faithfulness will never run out, and trust that when I disappoint others, because I will, that I will receive grace.

As my heart is stretched I hold to the truth that this world isn't my home, God's heart and his people are. I'm trusting that by faith he will make my heart rest, living out the hard work of unity, with his family, by his Spirit.

What does God use to remind you that this world isn't your home?

God is building a home. He’s using us all—irrespective of how we got here—in what he is building. He used the apostles and prophets for the foundation. Now he’s using you, fitting you in brick by brick, stone by stone, with Christ Jesus as the cornerstone that holds all the parts together. We see it taking shape day after day—a holy temple built by God, all of us built into it, a temple in which God is quite at home. Ephesians 2:19-22 ish, The Message

Snapshots of the Gospel

How do we display the gospel with our lives, matching words and actions, Jesus like? I love the way the Gospels paint pictures with mustard seeds and pearls, virgins with lamps and farmers.

God was speaking our language.

We can be tiny vignettes of real life gospel, painted and lived out before our neighbors. The dearest hope I have for my life is to become a miniature of truth coming to life, painting the picture of redemption by adopting. But not adopting just any child. There's a specific child on my mind and a particular community watching.

I imagine journeying back to Dom Veternik and walking up to blonde boys crib and saying "I'll take that one. He's my son." It gives me chills to think about.

Isn't that what Jesus did? He showed up to this huge orphanage called life and said, "that one, I want that one." And he paid a price, gave an inheritance, invited us home, became our family. Everyone's invited but not everyone has understood. What he did is still being talked about, it's still a source of wonder so many years later.

Very few children are adopted from Dom Veternik. When I spoke with one of the workers we struggled to communicate about the reality of adoption. She didn't understand why someone would adopt one of the children. They just live there.

I want to lift that bright eyed child who can't speak, or walk, or feed himself, out of his crib and carry him home. I want Lubitza and Anna and Yanna and Marina and Srjdan and Dragana and Zoran and whoever else is watching to rub their heads and wonder.

When I visited in October and held hands and sang and spoke softly to the treasures in beds Lubitza watched surprised. "Are there others like you?" she asked. I want to tell her that there is One so much better than me who cares and there's a band of us that imitate him.

I don't think I'll ever get over that boy. My heart is wounded, in a good way. I will never look at my worth in Jesus the same again. Even though carrying the burden of loving him, locked in my heart an ocean away, physically hurts I'm not sorry for it.

Look at that smile, he loves his physical therapist

At night when Chris plays with our son and daughter making them squeal and run I imagine little boy sitting in a wheel chair, or on the couch beside me, throwing back his head and laughing in delight. I see his eyes crinkled shut in happy. I whisper a prayer that he will be rescued, that he will be loved, that the Spirit of God speaks kindness to his heart in the dark.

I don't think I would be the perfect mama, I know I would get tired and discouraged. I know I would have to give up a lot to care for him and the future would be uncertain. I know it would cost a lot to bring him home. But I think it should, I believe it reflects his worth. And even though I wouldn't be the perfect mama, I would be his.

How are you living out the gospel? Are you bending a submitted knee in a time of illness repeating our big Brother's words "not my will but yours Father." Are you pursuing truth like a pearl even when your coworkers pursue dishonest gain? Are you sowing God's word into your little ones hearts like a farmer scattering seed? The gospel is meant to lift off of the pages of the bible and be replayed over and over again in the hearts of God's people, coming alive in us just as it came alive in the hearts of Peter, Mary, Lazarus, John, Lydia and hundreds of others.

Bed ridden due to meningitis at age five 

Adoption isn't the only snapshot to portray the gospel, but the Bible highlights it as very dear to God's heart, a reflection of what he's done for us, a powerful catalyst of his love in an often bleak world. You may not feel led to adopt but I have no doubt that God has a role for you to play in the display of his good news of grace. What is he calling you to? How are you living out the gospel?

Finding Purpose in Pain

Over the last several months I've wrestled with the concepts of suffering and healing, pain and deliverance in ways I never have before. The struggle is nothing new to the human experience.

An authentic balance between the hope I hang my life on and the ache of a wounded world is emerging. The supernatural as it collides with the material can be raw. The diagnosis of my mom with cancer, and walking among the forgotten of a Serbian mental institution, has fleshed out what I believe in deeper ways.

I have no issue with miracles. I don't doubt the parting of the red sea, feeding of the 5,000, healing of many diseased people, and ultimately the resurrection of a dead Man who was also divine. I figure if I can believe that Jesus is who he said and did what is recorded then anything's up for grabs.

But that's just my problem, anything does seem to be up for grabs. It's a fixation and fascination with the "manifestation" of God's power that sets me on edge. I've believed for a long time that we can expect God to move geography around to suit his needs, to do whatever he wants with the flesh he designed and created. It's all his, atoms have no will, he holds it all together anyway.

If you want to get me really excited and raucous then tell me of a heart that was dead but has come to life with the breath of heaven pumping in it's veins. A will that's been bent to Jesus,' a rebel turned family member, that is truly a mystery I can never get enough of!

But the hunger I see around me for miraculous signs causes me to pause. I distrust a pursuit of healing and a longing for a supernatural display. God rebuked the religious people of his day for asking for a sign when they had the very presence of God in their midst wrapped in flesh. They were looking for wonders and missing the Wonderful One. Jesus wearied of the thrill seekers looking for another meal and miracle. He questioned when they would allow what he had done to open their eyes to who he was. (Matthew 8)

I used to pursue the sensational. I was hard on another person's perceived lack of faith because of that thrill seeking mindset. If the room didn't shake or rushing wind fill the building or people get healed I questioned the power and presence of God. But as I've prayed and studied and lived I believe the supreme miracle that God performs for us, the one that takes the most faith and cooperation on our part, is for him to take a selfish heart and gently bend it to his will and likeness. For him to take a handful of individually redeemed human hearts and knit them together into one living, breathing, walking, talking, united body that longs more for his presence than for his gifts. Those are some mighty miracles.

In the midst of sorrow I've wondered if God would rather hear a child say "I want what you want and I don't want to miss you in this pain," than a bold declaration of faith insisting an illness be removed. I'm not saying we shouldn't pray for healing ever. The bible clearly directs us to pray for all things and that healing is a gift he offers to his children. But the bible also talks about suffering that produces dependence on God and a soft heart that is useful.

The bottom line is I want God more than I want to be safe or comfortable.

Which is what I think he longs for  us to desire. Instead of automatically assuming God wants to heal or remove us from a painful situation by supernatural means, let's ask him. He will tell us. There are times I've been led to pray for healing but more often than not I've been led to pray that God will make his presence known in the suffering, and that his purpose would be accomplished.

I'm uncomfortable assuming God's intention beyond knowing that he is good, I am loved, and it's all about his glory. I want to keep my heart soft and open. If God chooses to reveal his presence in supernatural, visible ways I welcome it. If he chooses to sustain me and meet me in the every day I welcome that as well. The point is I want Jesus. 

A.B. Simpson wrote,
"Once it was the blessing, Now it is the Lord;
Once it was the feeling, Now it is His Word.
Once His gifts I wanted, Now the Giver own;
Once I sought for healing, Now Himself alone.

I want my desire to be for him in whatever he chooses. I find myself in a way indifferent to healing. Not because I don't believe God can heal but because I believe as we seek him we will find himself, the Great Prize. His very presence is a balm and a healing. In the midst of cancer, for the blonde haired orphan I love, Jesus is enough. I rest in that, knowing he will give exactly what we need for our good and his glory.

Are you experiencing pain or suffering right now? I pray and trust that the immense love of Jesus will take that heartache and work in it something beautiful that will leave you more in love with him than before.

It would be my pleasure to pray with you in that hard place! Please leave a comment below or send me an email.

Leaving Behind I'm not, Embracing I Am!

It's easy for me to get stuck and recite in my head what I'm not. How about you? Statements like I'm not pretty enough, not organized enough, not thin enough, not successful enough, not patient enough, not good enough taunt me. But today I'm reminded to focus on what I am. Because God has revealed himself to us as I AM and shared his very nature with us, as his people, we too can say "I am"! (Exodus 33)

Maybe, like me, you have gotten stuck on the I'm not's. Instead I invite you, leave that broken record behind, and join me in declaring I am!

God's love has enabled us to say, I am chosen.
His mercy has empowered us to say, I am forgiven.
His Word has taught us to say, I am wise.
His presence has emboldened us to say, I am known.
His power has invited us to shed the robe of victim, and claim I am a conqueror.
His robe of righteousness gives us the right to say, I am beautiful.
His design has taught us to say, I am precious.
His promise has given us reason to say, I am hopeful.
His gifts have taught us to say, I am thankful.
His light has penetrated our hearts to say, I am alive.
His strength gives us confidence to declare, I am safe.
His Spirit allows us to say, I am equipped.
His invitation to serve with him allows us to say, I am valued.
His Son's blood has allowed us to say, I am worthy!

So today let's stand on his faithfulness and declare I am! No doubt you can add to the list of I am's based on God's word and your experience. Go ahead, in the comments below add a few to the list! And if you found this list encouraging why not send it to a friend!

Therefore, since we have been made right in God’s sight by faith, we have peace with God because of what Jesus Christ our Lord has done for us. Because of our faith, Christ has brought us into this place of undeserved privilege where we now stand, and we confidently and joyfully look forward to sharing God’s glory. Romans 3:1-2

Where I Long To Be

I dreamed this Christmas Eve of a place I love. A place I long to be. It wasn't the North Carolina hills where my parents and family are tucked warm into a cabin, snug together. Though my heart is there. Or here in the warm, velvety south with children and in-laws, though it is a delight to be together.

I dreamed of a room in another world that holds a golden haired treasure. Over an ocean, miles away, lie men and women, boys and girls, waiting. For some it's a good life, the best they will know. For others it's just not enough.

If I could grant wishes anywhere in the world it would be for the ones I love in Dom Veternik. Serbia haunts me and I often find myself shoving down the memory of my visit, locking it in a safe place, but it always finds a way to resurface.

If I could materialize a dream I would share a warm meal with my new friends, the staff who tirelessly care for the residents, and exchange small trinkets of friendship. I would ask them what they thought of the incarnation of God, the Son putting on flesh to be with us.

I would hug, and laugh with the residents who walk the grounds. Eventually I would make my way to the upstairs room of golden haired boy (it grieves me that I don't recall his name) where he lays with Boris, Petra, and a little girl whose name I've also forgotten. Maybe I would take a book and read to them. Most likely I would do what they seem to like best, hold their hands, and sing.

But I can't be in Serbia this Christmas. So I pray and trust that Jesus is. I pray that Jesus visits this humble place, filled with the fragile of this world. I think places like Dom Veternik are where he loves to be, with the meek and mild, the small and childlike.

I'm thankful for the incarnation of all that's holy, Jesus putting on skin to be forever linked with humanity, humbly taking our cross and bearing a load too huge for our shoulders. I'm thankful not only for what Immanuel means for me but for the weak I can do so very little for. The Child's coming gives meaning and hope to their quiet lives of longing. Seen, loved, and known by a humble King, they are not forgotten.

This is my prayer for the 600 residents of Dom Veternik mental institution on Christmas:

O Zion, messenger of good news,

shout from the mountaintops!

Shout it louder, O Jerusalem.

Shout, and do not be afraid.

Tell the towns of Judah,

“Your God is coming!”

Yes, the Sovereign Lord is coming in power.

He will rule with a powerful arm.

See, he brings his reward with him as he comes.

He will feed his flock like a shepherd.

He will carry the lambs in his arms,

holding them close to his heart.

He will gently lead the mother sheep with their young.

Isaiah 40:9-11

In his kingdom, as he leads with power, Jesus is not unaware of his needy ones. I trust he will reward and gently carry those whose lot in life has been a heavy burden. Today I'm trusting the Shepherd who caries lambs close to his heart. What a God we worship! In our bounty and celebration let's not forget those living in great need. 

The Lord Is My Shepherd

Hearing the beautiful words of the 23rd Psalm, read yesterday at church, has left an impression on my heart. I've never associated this passage with Christmas but the truth resonated and the season added a fresh perspective.

The Lord is my shepherd;

I have all that I need.

He lets me rest in green meadows;

he leads me beside peaceful streams.

He renews my strength.

He guides me along right paths,

bringing honor to his name.

Even when I walk

through the darkest valley,

I will not be afraid,

for you are close beside me.

Your rod and your staff

protect and comfort me.

You prepare a feast for me

in the presence of my enemies.

You honor me by anointing my head with oil.

My cup overflows with blessings.

Surely your goodness and unfailing love will pursue me

all the days of my life,

and I will live in the house of the Lord

forever.

Psalm 23

What a powerful thought that the baby the shepherds came to worship was their true Shepherd, he always had been, he understood them, he knew exactly what they needed. Because the Shepherd has come he leads us in a new way, guiding us in peace, caring for our needs, in person. 

Even in the darkest valley. I'm reminded of a passage in Isaiah 9. "The people who walk in darkness will see a great light. For those who live in a land of deep darkness, a light will shine... For a child is born to us, a son is given to us." This Christmas the dark valley, the shadow of death, has hovered over our family. Immanuel takes on a whole knew meaning. Through all of life's dark valley's Immanuel is the reality of God walking with us. 

Jesus' arrival puts into perspective that death, for those who trust him, is just a shadow. It's his goodness and love that pursue us, not judgement and wrath, and when we pass through the shadow from this life to the next, Immanuel will be a face to face reality. His house will be our home forever. "His government and its peace will never end." 

Jesus didn't come for a brief visit thousands of years ago, he came to stay. He came to lead us home. Whatever your life holds this Christmas, joy or grief, or a mixture of both, I trust Jesus will walk with you. That his goodness and love will pursue you, that he will guide you in right paths, and give your heart rest. Merry Christmas friends!

Jesus In The Real World

I really like to think of sweet little Jesus boy coming to a cozy stall, gently laid in fresh, golden straw. Thankfully the mirage isn't the reality. His Mama hurt like every other woman since Eve was cursed with pain in child birth. She couldn't blame Joseph with the look of daggers, saying, "it's all your fault." But even though she was submissive to God's plan I don't think for a moment it took the pain of labor away. Jesus was born just like every other baby, a precious, pink infant into a broken, dangerous world. 

His birth was heralded by angels, while taking place during political turmoil, and before long his family was on the run from a narcissistic king. He escaped, but the children of Bethlehem did not. I hate that part of the story. How do we go from good tidings of great joy to the wail of Bethlehem's mothers who won't be comforted because their children are no more?

And yet the world Jesus entered is the same world we entered upon our birth. A world of terror, a world of simple joy, all swirled together in the human experience. Attempting to sterilize the story of Jesus birth does us a disservice. We need him to be one of us.

It's precisely because violent men kill small children, then and now, that Jesus joined the human race. He came not to suggest a better way of living, or establish a utopia, he came to wage war. He came to lead us home.

How many Christmases have we spent festive and partying, celebrating a baby wrapped in tradition, obscured by culture, forgetting that the night the sky tore open and God's glory spilled out, it was heaven's warriors that came, announcing the strategy for the victory of an ancient battle. Jesus birth wasn't the soft, velvety scene from a Christmas card. It was full of political intrigue, murder plots, terror, and scandal.

This Christmas season I feel particularly tumultuous. I don't know why, it could be my own personal struggles. But I also think it has to do with the weariness I feel in this world. She's groaning and straining under the weight of the curse and either I'm more aware of what's going on or things are getting worse. The shooting at Sandy Hook school was terrible but let's be honest, was there really more suffering that day than the day before or the day after. Our world is suffering, violence is real.

Evil stalked Newtown on Friday, and carved out a momentary victory. Let's not forget evil stalks humanity every moment of every day. Which is why the angels shouted, good news Salvation has come! And why the shepherds were told to go and see. After the shepherds saw their salvation they shouted it far and wide, to men and women who lived in darkness they proclaimed the light. God was with them in a way he never had been before.

I want my neighbor, who's yard last night was full of cops and whose children were crying in the night, to know that God is with me, and can be with her as well. I want to combat evil with Christ in me, our only hope of glory, our only means of Salvation. Jesus is not a stranger to the ache of life, it's what he was born for. It's what I'm reborn for. To display his glory to dying men, that they may have true life.

"In him [Jesus] was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." John 1:4-5

A Broken Christmas

Not Okay

I'm not okay. I hate wrestling with the pain of life at Christmas time. It's supposed to be a season of beauty and wonder, right? I dreamed about Serbia last night. It left a gnawing ache in my heart.

So many things in my life I can't heal, I can't help. I can't heal my own wounds of painful and disappointing years in ministry. I can't heal my Mom's cancer. I have so little strength to help the disabled of Serbia, whom I've come to love.

Instead of boisterous and strong this Christmas I feel sad, weak, vulnerable. I keep shoving those feelings down, I'd rather pretend I'm okay. But I'm not.

If you've read my blog you'll know that I asked God to show me his presence this Christmas season. I suppose I had expected something mysterious and beautiful. Instead, I feel broken. I didn't expect him to take me to a place of vulnerability, dependence, need; but he has.

Instead of fighting it, I'm working on embracing this hard place. It's my gift to Jesus this Christmas, acceptance and trust. I choose to let him into the broken places.

Not Okay Is Why He Came

In my weakness I'm reminded that Jesus did the same for us. He embraced vulnerability, dependence, and ultimately brokenness for our good. What kind of a God would step into our messiness? I'm thankful for his presence in a whole new way this Christmas season. 

I wonder how often I've overlooked other people's pain at the holidays. It's inconvenient and messy to step into broken lives. 

But Jesus has set the example and I'm trusting him to lead the way. Painful days are exactly why God wrapped himself in flesh and came to be with us! If you're hurting join me in inviting God into your painful days. If you are in a strong place look for those around you who are hurting this Christmas to show compassion and love to.

The Word became flesh and blood,

and moved into the neighborhood.

We saw the glory with our own eyes,

the one-of-a-kind glory,

like Father, like Son,

Generous inside and out,

true from start to finish.

John 1:14

I'm resting on the generosity of the God-Man who moved into our messy world, who showed up to save, I hope you are too!

Near

Thoughts race, days swirl, noise abounds; ah, the Christmas season of a pastor's family. As we raced up to the season of holy days observed, just before we jumped in, I asked God to make me aware of his presence this Christmas. I wondered how he would do it. We weren't slowing down as we eased into the fast lane of the season. Decorating, Christmas caroling, gift buying, advent observing, writing, dessert nights, parade attending, movie watching, hot chocolate drinking; so much celebrating, so little time.

I whispered his name, began looking out for his finger prints, sought to prepare my heart with a fresh welcome but still it was the same story. I love "Immanuel", God with us, but it's nothing I haven't heard before. I was curious how he would bring his presence to the forefront.

This last week as I sat tucked into my parents cozy cabin in the Carolina woods I smiled to myself. All of a sudden every holiday tradition and desire this season had become irrelevant in light of my Mom's very serious illness. The whispered Immanuel had become an all out shout. His presence no longer a desire but an urgent necessity. "Oh, that's how he's going to do it," I thought to myself.

The C.S. Lewis quote, "Pain is God's megaphone to rouse a deaf world," has been rattling around my mind. There's nothing like being reminded of our vulnerability to bring into focus our great need of Jesus' sustaining presence. My hunger has deepened, the search intensified, I don't just want to know God's presence with me, I need it. Like air, or I won't survive.

Where do you find yourself as this season whirls about you? Are you hungry for God's presence dwelling with you, wrapped in flesh and beating inside of your very own heart? Are you desperate? Or are you distracted? God has the amazing ability to make his presence relevant to us, usually it's just a matter of time.

"The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth." John 1:14

How can I pray for you this season as you rely on Immanuel's presence to satisfy and sustain your heart?

The Nightmare Before Christmas

I didn't see it coming. All of a sudden right in the midst of lights and Christmas carols, shopping and a busy calendar my path has taken a sharp curve. Not a detour. I don't believe in that. God doesn't detour his servants, he leads them, and I'm no less led now than I was before. But goodness, what a jolt.

The dreaded C word has stretched out it's stinking shadow and touched our lives. I found out yesterday that intestinal and liver cancer are stalking my Mom and my heart. Unfortunately it's so severe I'm on my way. I've already started thinking of this year as "The Year of Tears". I don't say that to be morbid. I think it's the reality. Pain comes and it won't be avoided some times.

How do you ever prepare to hear such words? It's a kick in the gut and I'm still reeling. Not because I don't trust God, not because I fear he's looked away, not because I doubt his goodness. I'm reeling because I love her so much and this journey isn't what I would have chosen for her.

There is so much I don't know. But I know enough to know it's serious. I know enough to know that it's time to leave and hope she makes it until I get there. I know enough that even in this grief it is right and good to praise God, so I will. She's at the Emergency Room now and I'm working to get there as fast as I can. Won't you pray with me for her comfort, for God's glory, and our strength. Thank you friends!

“Be still, and know that I am God!

    I will be honored by every nation.

    I will be honored throughout the world.”
The Lord of Heaven’s Armies is here among us;
   the God of Israel is our fortress. 
Psalm 46

Join In

For the last couple of months our church has been talking about Vintage Faith. We've taken the passage in Hebrews 11 and drawn out some of the stories of faithful men and women. Their lives have given us a picture of what faith in the living God looks like. For me it's been a powerful time. I don't think I will quickly forget these messages.

Right in the middle of the series some pretty major things happened in my life, things that could have left me drained, confused, and overwhelmed. But instead I feel energized and excited. Why is that?

I believe it's because I've recognized that the men and women of faith we've been studying, Abraham, Moses, Rahab, Peter, etc., were all invited into the establishment of God's kingdom. Their success was based solely on the power and devotion of God to accomplish his plan. And I believe that is true in my life as well. 

I believe God has called me to be a part of the establishment of his kingdom in my corner of Alabama and in Serbia. He's called all of us who follow him to seek and extend his mercy and live in his reign wherever we are. Being present in God's kingdom, and drawing others in, is what it's all about.

That life doesn't come without opposition and hardship, but it also doesn't come without power. Were Rahab and Gideon, Abraham and Joseph exceptional in and of themselves, were they something all together different than we are? I don't think so, but they did have exceptional faith, faith God honored. The hardships they overcame and victories accomplished were all through God's power.

When we step out in faith to express mercy, to live holy lives set apart to God's glory, to live in a way that joins in the spread of God's kingdom, there is power to obey. God is already working to advance his reign and his glory, the display of his mercy to all mankind, it's our responsibility to ask him where and join him.

When I got back from Serbia my sister asked me a question I've been thinking about for a while. She wanted to know if the workers at the institution, and I imagine even myself, questioned where God was in a place like that, in the midst of the suffering.

I didn't encounter anyone at the institution who identified themselves as a follower of Jesus. But I saw God's presence in a way I didn't expect. I saw his image in people. Men and women who knew to be compassionate and merciful to those in need were bearing him in their DNA.

And I saw in the suffering a hope to hang on to life even in difficult circumstances and limited capacity. God was there. 

I believe more now than ever before that even though many of these people live rejected by society and on the fringe of life that God desires to establish his kingdom there. A refuge of his mercy in the storm of this life. I also believe he has graciously drawn me into that plan, he's already doing it, it's his work but he's invited me to join in.

Where is God working around you? Where can you see God stretching out his kingdom, offering people mercy? Are you joining in? There will be struggle in the journey but there will also be power, because it's all for his glory.

"And it is impossible to please God without faith. Anyone who wants to come to him must believe that God exists and that he rewards those who sincerely seek him." Hebrews 11:6

Steps

Steps up Petravaradin Fortress

Last week I wrestled between God's leading and my dreaming as I worked out a response, a vision, to the needs of Dom Veternik's institutionalized. He brought me to a place of quiet and trust, of waiting, that I thought could last for days, even weeks. Unexpectedly, I love how he surprises us, that time of quiet lasted much shorter than I thought. 

I'm catching a new vision, a new excitement, as God continues to soften my heart to people he loves. Beautifully he used a blog friend to confirm and solidify his plans. I never could have envisioned it but I'm so thankful how one step leads to another. All I have to do is take each step before me, in his power and grace. Sounds simple, feels like a mountain some days. 

This weekend I took a step that may appear small but felt monumental, and was accompanied by that momentary tremor of fear. But it's what's before me, the next step. I submitted a request of name for a non-profit organization. The name has been reserved by Alabama's State Department and I have 120 days to file paperwork to form a non-profit corporation. I had just enough money left from what was given for the trip to apply for the name. So I used it as a seed.

That's one of those moments that grab you by the heart and squeezes your insides. I wasn't sure if I wanted to do a happy dance or grab my head and panic. What have I done? I believe I've listened and trusted and risked. I'm expecting that the God who has given the love for the task will also give the power.

There is a lot to do. I'm trusting God will continue to call people into his love for Serbia as partners. Whether it's in giving or going or praying. I trust God will continue to raise people up to be a part of the ministry's board, he's already started putting together a team! I trust God will continue to supply the resources. Most importantly I trust God will cause our obedience to bear fruit, that people will come to know his mercy and his name will be made famous in Serbia.

If you feel drawn to be a part of the work God is doing in Serbia contact me and we can see what that looks like. I hope in the near future to send out an email and launch a website to keep you better informed and to spread the word to get others involved. Stay tuned for those exciting developments and of course for the unveiling of our new name!

In the meantime would you continue to pray?
Pray for God's continued leading and provision.
Pray for the seed of love that was planted at Dom Veternik to take root and draw people to Jesus.
Pray for the local church in Novi Sad to continue to grow in love and size.

Thank you friends for your continued support and interest. I'm thankful for the encouragement you provide and your hearts that celebrate with me the spread of God's glorious mercy!

Blue Eyed Boy

His blonde hair had been stroked by a mother, once. That was before the virus had come and stripped his body of it's memory. After the meningitis had had it's way with his brain it then stripped him of what was left; relationship, hope, a future.

The burden of his care had reduced him to the status of orphan. I wonder if his mother cried when he was taken to the institution. Did she go with him and watch as he was placed into the white metal crib that is now the extent of his world? I hope she didn't.

His innocent blue eyes still hold hope, lighting up whenever anyone gets close enough to notice. Little hands reach out through bars, grasping, looking for what's been lost.

He had five healthy years before the sentence fell. His body is still flexible, able to sit with supportive hands, able to reach. Unlike some of the others on his floor. 

They could tell stories, if they could speak. Once they could move and smile, but slowly, over time, they've turned to wood. Like real boys gone unloved turning back into the block of wood they came from. But this isn't a fairy tale, no good fairy coming to break the spell, just day after day of the same bars.

Of course there is one nurse, Lubitza, meaning violet, maybe she is a bit of a fairy, singing and kissing as she tends to needs. But the hands are so few and the needs so great it's not enough to stem the tide, not enough to make up for what was lost.

Blue eyed boy with the golden smile. I'll hope with you for a while and pray this isn't the end of your story. The saddest thing is, I can't remember his name. It bothers me that I can't.  Just one of hundreds of little lives, all who deserve hearing. I think the least we can do is lean in close and listen.

My husband would say I'm obsessed. I have to confess, he's right. I also have to confess, I don't care. I would rather be obsessed with redemption than anything else I can think of. What else is adoption, seeking out the lonely, praying for restoration, than redemption at a human level?

I'm messy at it, and I'm okay with that too.

How much more, then, will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself unblemished to God, cleanse our consciences from acts that lead to death, so that we may serve the living God! For this reason Christ is the mediator of a new covenant, that those who are called may receive the promised eternal inheritance. Hebrews 9:14-15a

Will you join in praying with me for this little one? That God will set him in a family and restore his hope. If you want to know how you can be a part of helping the residents of Dom Veternik please feel free to contact me.

{Update: I returned this summer to the mental institution, Dom Veternik, where blue eyed boy lives. I learned his name is Cedo. He is not available for adoption because his parents still have custody of him. They are unable to care for him due to financial limitations and poor social infrastructure for people with disability.}

Eyes on Jesus

Old church steeple, Novi Sad

Ever since I left Serbia words have clogged near the surface refusing to get in line and pour out, refusing to be ordered and typed. I've written posts but not one of them has satisfied me, each one has felt incomplete.

Perhaps it's because my foot stepped onto American soil and my mind started racing and I was ready to act. But every idea, every plan, and I have lots of them, has felt forced, like picking an apple while it's green.

So this weekend I stopped, turned around and faced God and re-prayed the prayer that started it all. "I went and saw God, I obeyed, now remind me what you love, what breaks your heart, what moves you? What are you doing about it? Give me a taste, let me be a part of your plan."

I wear Serbia like a wound in my heart, like a wedding band, she's an altar for me to lay down and die on. Her people live at the forefront of my mind. When I sing of God's redemption and power I raise my hands and they're full, full of beating hearts, full of lonely lives, full of broken dreams, Serbia's children.

Today God reminded me it's his work to do. I've spun my wheels and my dreams in the last couple of weeks wanting to save, to not disappoint. But when has salvation ever disappointed and salvation doesn't belong to me. I'm reminded I went to see God's glory, his mercy on display, and I did.

I hope. One day I hope I will go back, I hope to be a part of real action to meet need with ongoing love and support, I hope to speak truth and see a harvest, I hope to be a part of the story of God's love for a nation, I hope to be engaged in relationship.

Regardless of what role God allows me to play one thing I'm confident of is God's action. He is loving people around the world, stretching out his banner of mercy, calling out come home. I link hands across the ocean with my brothers and sisters in Serbia in worship to our Father and we intercede for the lost to be saved.

It will take real restraint not to make plans yet, I have so many ideas, but I'm laying it all down at Jesus feet and looking to him for direction. I have no doubt he will lead me, just like he has before, who would ever have thought I would travel to Serbia in the first place! But I'm not going to step out ahead of him. I'm still waiting to hear the voice of Mercy. In the meantime I'll be interceding, listening, staying in contact with my new friends, and funneling monetary support through the right channels as it's offered. But I'm waiting in a posture of prayer for direction before I commit to any permanent action.

I also feel like it's time to finish my novel and publish it before I make new plans. So you may hear less about Serbia as I pray, or you may hear more, it's hard to say! If you are led to do so will you join with me in praying? Pray that God will make his plan clear to those of us who are called to act, pray for the church of Serbia to grow in influence and love, pray for the little ones who wait, pray for the people of Serbia to respond to God's mercy. As I wait I'll turn my eyes to Jesus and watch for what he's about to do. 

Blessed are those whose help is the God of Jacob,

    whose hope is in the Lord their God.

He is the Maker of heaven and earth,

    the sea, and everything in them—

    he remains faithful forever.

He upholds the cause of the oppressed

    and gives food to the hungry.

The Lord sets prisoners free, 

    the Lord gives sight to the blind,

the Lord lifts up those who are bowed down,

    the Lord loves the righteous. 

The Lord watches over the foreigner

    and sustains the fatherless and the widow,

    but he frustrates the ways of the wicked.

Psalm 146:5-9

Expressing Faith

The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love. Galatians 5:6b

What a beautiful thought. Impossibly hard if we focus on ourselves. Amazingly liberating when we realize it's the life Jesus has invited us in to and equipped us for.

Faith being expressed through love has been on my mind for the last few days. It's what I pray for and am counting on for this coming week. My heart catches as I anticipate what feels like a free fall into grace, exciting and scary, but I have faith it's what God made me for.

My friend Nichole and I leave in three days for Serbia! How is it possible that the dream has become a reality?

On this coming Wednesday evening at 6pm Nichole and I will board a plane headed for Frankfurt, Germany. A couple of hours later we will fly to Belgrade, Serbia. From there we will bus to Novi Sad. If all goes well we will arrive in Novi Sad around dinnertime on Thursday!

Friday morning the real journey begins. We will meet with the staff of Dom Veternik, a mental institution housing both adults and children, and touring the facility. For the six days we're in Serbia we will be spending as much time as possible building friendships, learning about the institution, and interacting with the residents.

On Saturday we will also be connecting with Christians in Novi Sad that God has brought us in contact with, including joining them for church! I'm excited about making friends wherever we can.

As we prepare to go won't you join in praying with us? Here are some tangible things we could use prayer for:

• Our families as we're apart, for their peace and our safety. Calm as we fly for hours (I dislike flying!).
• Good relationships to be built with the staff of the institution and Christians in Novi Sad.
• Our heart's to be in tune with Jesus heart. For us to walk in confident humility, grace, joy, and compassion. For us to have tough stomachs and peace. 
• For Nichole and myself to experience a unity of spirit and purpose.
• For open hearts to hear God's direction during this visit, as well as to determine the next steps he would have us take.

We couldn't and wouldn't want to go alone. We take your encouragement and prayers with us, lifting us up and reminding us of the grace God has called us to! Thank you friends for helping us to express faith through love!