I first came across this amazing young woman’s blog a year or two ago, before her book, Kisses from Katie, was even published, and was so inspired and moved by her story, and how God was using her in Africa, that I would cry out to God, why can’t I be her? Why am I stuck here? I want, simply, to GO.

I posted an entry nearly three years ago (I can hardly believe it was that long ago—seems like yesterday) along a similar vein to what I’m about to share, titled, appropriately enough, “Go,” in which I used another video featuring another amazing woman of God, as a springboard for pouring out my desire and conviction on serving the “least of these” in other parts of the world.

That desire has not gone away. In fact, over the last several months, it has increased. Exponentially. To the point where I can no longer ignore it, and to the point where I feel it’s almost necessary I go.

I feel I am at an important crossroads in my life. An important crossroads in my walk with God. I used to think, God, I can never go, never be used by you, because I’m so screwed up. I’m not “normal” like Katie, or Jackie Pullinger—I’m definitely one of God’s “crippled ones.” One of the “least” myself. One of His weak and foolish ones. I’ve about given up trying to fit in with “normal” Christians, in “normal” churches. The more I sit in church the more I feel uncomfortable sitting there. I used to think it was just me. But now I think perhaps it’s not just me. Maybe what qualifies as a “normal” American Christian church is about as far from normal as it’s supposed to be, at least Biblically. And maybe I’m trying too hard to fit into a place I was never meant to fit in. Because if a broken person like me doesn’t feel comfortable in most American Christian churches, but feels comfortable with other broken people, with those who are considered the “least” by the world, then maybe being with the “least” is where I’m meant to be.

So, even though I love being a student, and still want to pursue a degree, the idea of spending the next few years of my life wrapped up in acadamia here in the US has grown less and less appealing, and the idea of simply letting go of everything I hold dear, leaving this materialistic culture, and going to serve and live with the poor in some other part of the world has grown more and more attractive. I’m hating more and more the person I’m becoming, as addicted to “stuff,” clothing, possessions, status, etc., as any ordinary, unsaved American beside me. And Jesus keeps whispering to me—as He has been for some time, only more loudly it seems now—”Let go.” Because following Him means being willing to give everything up for Him. And I’m devastated to see just how like the culture around me I’ve become, and how I’ve lost sight of eternal things, and what’s most important to His heart. And I also am beginning to wonder if the answer to all my “issues” is not years of more counseling, deliverances, etc. (none of which have helped me long-term anyway), but simply heeding God’s call, and going to where the truly broken and outcast are, so that my own problems are put into perspective. Living here in the US it’s simply too easy to become self-focused and complacent.

So I don’t know exactly what this means for me. I still desire to pursue the whole linguistics thing, and maybe still eventually serve with Wycliffe, but right now I feel as if He’s pointing me in another direction—maybe just for a season, maybe more long term, I’m really not sure at this point. I’m just asking Him, when, where, how? After this semester ends, I have no plans. Just a question mark I’m praying God will answer. I will have little to no debt, no obligations here, no attachments, nothing to hinder me (except for money—but I’m learning that when you’re in God’s will, even that’s not an issue) from simply going wherever He wants me to go.

Because I’m beginning to believe that it’s in the going that the healing comes. My most treasured, joyful experiences in life have been the ones where I was with the poor and needy in other countries, where self was forgotten, and the love of God filled my heart. I want to learn again what it means to be “poor in spirit,” to see the world not through these jaded, materialistic, superficial, American eyes, but through the eyes of the Spirit, which see not as man sees, but as God sees. In which the outcasts, rejects, and broken ones that the world overlooks—that even many in the church overlook—are precious and valuable.

Maybe I’m all wrong about this. There’s the possibility I’m not hearing God in this. But if I’m not, I sure hope He slams the door in my face. Because I don’t know for what other purpose these strong convictions and desires exist in my heart, and why they’ve been growing only stronger in recent months.

As Katie says in the video, Jesus does not ask that we care for the less fortunate—-He demands it. And I hear Him, more and more, demanding I care for the least, demanding my sacrifice, my obedience, and my surrender, no matter where it takes me. And though my flesh may resist, ultimately I know that what He says is true: those who seek to save their lives will lose them; those who lose their lives will find them.

“He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain that which he cannot lose.” ~Jim Elliot

I almost forgot this thing existed. But after consuming far too much caffeine (something I shouldn’t be consuming in the first place), I’m sitting here wide awake in my bed at nearly midnight, when I have to get up in about five hours or so.

So, I felt like writing. It’s been a while. Wow. It’s another year. How did that happen? A lot has taken place since my last few entries. Some good stuff, but also some bad.

Good stuff: I’m officially a full-time student now. I just started my second semester at the community college. Last semester went really well. I finished with a 4.0 GPA. I discovered that, yes, school definitely suits me. Though the community college atmosphere itself I don’t particularly care for, I love learning, I love being in a classroom, and I love being challenged. I liked most of my professors, though my favorite was the geology professor (geology was also my favorite class). Despite feeling a bit awkward at first trying to navigate the whole social aspect of school, I managed, and I actually met some lovely people. I discovered I’m not as bad at public speaking as I thought. I passed my public speaking class with flying colors (though I have to admit my teacher was a softie, so I’m not sure how much that says about my skills), and now, strangely enough, don’t fear standing in front of people and talking nearly as much as I used to. I also surprised myself in discovering how much I enjoy speaking up and actually participating in class. Yes, little, shy, quiet me! I’m not the “talker,” by any means, but I’m not afraid to open my mouth when I feel I have an answer.

So I think school has definitely been good for me. It’s given me more confidence in certain areas, which I needed.

But then there’s the bad stuff. Job, church…all that other stuff didn’t work out for me. I basically bolted. Then regressed. Fell back into my same old issues. I simply got scared when things started going so well for me, and I did what I always do when things seem too good to be true: I run. I stopped going to church for a few months. My relationship with God suffered. It’s still suffering, though I’m trying to get things back on track. I’ve alienated most of the few friends I have. I’ve become more and more reclusive. Which frightens me. And which I’m doing my best to fight. I did step out of my comfort zone a little bit for a few months by volunteering as an ESL teacher for a local charity. And I actually really enjoyed it, and totally fell in love with most of my students, many of whom were refugees. The children stole my heart in particular. But I recently ended that stint, mainly because it conflicted too much with school priorities—and, now, a new job as well. Yes, I did get another job, but it’s extremely part-time, so I make very little money.

So I’m not out of my valley yet. But this time around, I know it’s self-inflicted. I’m still here because I choose to be. Because freedom scares the h*** out of me. And until I deal with that fear, until I choose to believe the truth and not the lies, until I choose to put the past behind me, instead of letting it continue to taunt and torment me, I will never become the woman God wants me to be, and the woman I want to be.

God is still pursuing me. He hasn’t given up on me, even though I’ve almost given up on myself. He’s particularly pressing me in a few specific areas though, which perhaps I’ll share in another entry.

The caffeine is finally wearing off. Eyelids are getting heavy, so it is time for me to end, before I fall asleep at the keyboard….

A beautiful creature was held back by a glass wall;

It was afraid to fly, afraid it might fall.

God spilled the colors of the rainbow onto its wings,

God created it for love, for the joy it brings.

But the lid of deception holds it back inside,

And the beautiful creature is ashamed and it hides.

You see, the lid was an illusion in the butterfly’s mind,

It wasn’t able to see the truth, became blind.

But then one day it found the faith to give it a try,

It spread out its wings, and began to fly.

~Jodie Lynne Helser~

I am pretty much out of debt…I am officially enrolled in classes, starting next month, at a local community college (and it looks like I will be able to get through without paying a dime, due to generous financial aid)…I am starting a new job tomorrow…I just recently started attending an awesome church and have met some lovely, Christ-centered people there…I have been “loved on” by some amazing Christian friends in other spheres of my life…and a couple of those amazing people took me through a pretty significant process recently—a process called “deliverance,” in which I finally divulged the most painful, darkest, and most shameful secrets in my life.

My long and incredibly painful sojourn through the Valley of Achor has seemingly, at last, brought me to the brink of the Door of Hope. My biggest victory came earlier this week in my “deliverance” session. It lasted six hours. Six hours straight of nothing but sharing about my life, confessing and repenting of sin, and being prayed over. I just spilled my guts. No matter how shameful, I let it all out. And it felt like a huge weight just rolled off of me. And these two amazing women, instead of booting me out the door, showed me such unconditional love and compassion. It was the most freeing experience I’ve ever had. I felt like a different person when it ended, and I still do, to some degree at least (the enemy has been viciously attacking me ever since, of course). I now have two sisters in Christ who know practically everything there is to know about me, the good, the bad, and the ugly, and they still accept me. That is incredibly liberating.

After the deliverance session, we took the papers that had all my “junk” written on them outside, and my friend’s husband lit them on fire in the back yard. We burned them to a crisp to symbolize that the “old me” is dead. I am a new creation in Christ. And so, every day now, I try to remind myself of that. No matter how much the “old me” tries to tell me it ain’t dead. Forgetting what lies behind, I press forward to my high calling in Christ.

And I am obviously making strides forward, praise God, by going to school, going to a new church, and trying to put myself out there. I feel more optimistic and hopeful than I have felt in a very, very long time. God has done so much in my life lately, and I feel so incredibly blessed. He is healing me, in so many ways. After looking for the door of hope for so long, I am finally on its threshhold.

But I have a confession to make. Even as the Valley seems to be almost over, and freedom and hope lie before me, I find myself looking back on the Valley with a bit of wistfulness. Forgetting all the bad bits about myself, yes, but remembering how every ounce of pain drove me straight into the arms of God. I’ve been through some excruciating stuff, and some very dark times, but it was in those times that I often felt the presence of God in ways I’ve never felt it before. No matter how dark my darkness was, He was there. And the darker it was, the closer He usually felt.

I just watched the movie Shadowlands the other day, and was moved by some statements C.S. Lewis (as played by Anthony Hopkins) made several times in it. The statements were along the following lines: God doesn’t want us to be happy, He wants us to be like Him, and that’s the main purpose of suffering—it’s God’s hammer and chisel that chips away at us to sculpt us more and more into His image. It reminded me of C.S. Lewis’ other famous quote: “God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our consciences, but shouts in our pains. It is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”

The pain He has allowed in my life has definitely “roused” me. And, as I confessed in my previous post, it has also brought to the surface all the icky, dirty stuff in me as well. But that stuff is finally being dealt with. And as He deals with it, I find greater freedom. But there’s a part of me that says, Jesus, I know you can make me completely whole—and I want you to make me as whole as possible—but perhaps You’d better leave me a “thorn in the flesh,” just as You left Paul, so I will never get proud or stray from You. And I absolutely mean that. I don’t want a pain-free life. I don’t want to ever lose my dependence on God. I don’t want all roses and sunshine from here on out. I may be leaving the Valley of Achor behind, but I know, and almost welcome, other valleys that will come my way. I’ve learned, by the grace of God, the value of pain and suffering.

And so, that is why there is a part of me that looks back on my dark, dark Valley with a strange, longing ache. I rejoice that my loving heavenly Father is bringing me to a new place in my life, but I earnestly pray that I will not forget the lessons I learned in the “dark night of the soul.” And I hear His voice, challenging me more and more every day to be willing to give up everything for Him—to pick up my cross, deny myself, and follow Him. I don’t want to be sucked into ease and complacency—I have already been sucked into it too much and am trying to extricate myself. He is healing me so I can give of me. Not so I can sit back and revel in my blessings.

Some days I tell Him, just send me to some remote, third-world country right now, with no material comforts, and lots of suffering people all around me, so I will be forced to reach out. Because I think it’s harder to be a Christian in a prosperous nation than in a poorer one, due to the materialism and other temptations we face on a daily basis. But He’s challenging me, showing me ways I can die to self and reach out, even here.  Many of those ways are through the church I am now attending, which is very missional-minded. I attended my first small group of this church the other day, and I was humbled listening to these (mostly single, young) people share about what God was doing in their lives, and how He was using them to reach out to and witness to co-workers, family members, homeless people, and others in their path. So I’m in excellent company. So, so grateful to God.

So I’m looking forward to what lies ahead. I’m on a new path. But I know there will still be pain in my future. There will still be rough times. And I’m actually ok with that. In fact, as the world teeters on the ledge of self-destruction, I know for a fact there will be some extremely dark days ahead for all of us. But instead of cowering in fear, I want to be emboldened in the strength of my God, Who created me for a purpose, and wants to use me to touch a lost, blind, and increasingly frightened world all around me.

What a journey it has been. I feel old, hollow, and decrepit nowadays. A shadow of the person I used to be. The last few years have been, perhaps, the darkest of my life, and I barely recognize myself now, compared to the young woman I used to be. The Valley of Achor has changed me…in a few small ways for the better, but in other ways for the worse. I wish I could be like the heroes of the Bible, who went through dark, trying, and “purging” times in their lives, only to emerge strong and victorious. That has not been the case for me, unfortunately. I am more like the example John Piper once gave in a sermon, which I will never forget: when you bump or shake a beaker of liquid that has sediment or dirt in the bottom, the dirt gets stirred up and rises to the surface. And that is what all the bumping and shaking in my life has done: it has stirred up all the “dirt” in me, that I’ve tried for so long to leave at the bottom, and it has risen to the surface. And I now see myself for what I truly am. And it makes me cringe. The horror of my sinfulness, selfishness, pride, and filthy depravity stares me in the face every day, and I cannot bear it. I deserve death. And some days—though thankfully they are fewer and farther between than they used to be—I want death.

I have been through countless counseling sessions, healing prayer sessions, etc., over the last several years, in an effort to “deal’ with my issues, and instead of finding healing and help, I’ve come to the conclusion that perhaps most of it was actually detrimental rather than helpful, and that I may never find true healing through any of those avenues. And perhaps I’m not meant to. I’ve become so inward-focused due to all the counseling I’ve been through, that turning outward has become more of a challenge. And that frightens me. So I’m not sure where the answer lies.

Despite my disappointment in emotional and mental healing, however, I can’t deny that God has done some pretty miraculous stuff in other areas of my life lately, bringing rays of hope and light into an otherwise weary, dejected heart. I seem to have finally found my “calling,” and once-huge-obstacles in my path have been removed, practically overnight. One of the biggest burdens I have been carrying for the past several years is financial debt. The prospect of it looming over my life, hindering my freedom, for many more years to come, seemed pretty certain. I was making no headway in paying it off, what with my job situation being unstable over the last few years, and I had become pretty hopeless about it.

And then God stepped in. He paid my debt. Gone. Just like that. In a matter of weeks. I’m free. I’m no longer carrying the proverbial “monkey on the back.” It’s an amazing feeling. A huge part of my despair and depression hinged on my financial woes…now that those woes are over, my spirits have lifted. I’ve learned I should never, ever underestimate what God can do. What looks impossible to us is always possible with Him. I didn’t deserve this gift—but He gave it anyway. Just like I didn’t deserve my debt of sin to be paid. But He did that too. Why does He continue to pour out such grace upon such a wretched, undeserving sinner as myself?

So that was one miracle in my life recently. And I know it wasn’t coincidence that it happened very shortly after God seemed to confirm to me the direction He wanted me to go in my life. I have been mulling over returning to school for a few years now, and suddenly it looks as if, after a 12-year hiatus, I will be able to. Those 12 years, filled with work and life experiences that have honed and shaped my interests, have brought me to this point where I finally know what field of study I want to pursue. And a few weeks ago God further sharpened my focus, by showing me how I can pursue this education with the goal of using it for the advancement of His kingdom.

I am hoping to pursue a major in linguistics. I have always been extremely language-oriented, excelling in grammar and English in school, loving to write, fascinated by ancient and foreign languages, fascinated by the origins of language, and simply awed by how language works. Stints at teaching English as a foreign language, learning other languages (such as Spanish and Brazilian Portuguese), and then, most recently, getting a taster course in linguistics itself (learning about sub-categories such as phonology and phonetics) have whetted my appetite for more knowledge about the scientific and anthropological aspects of human language. But I didn’t realize till recently that perhaps God gave me this language-oriented bent for a reason. As much as I want to go to school simply to learn and gain new skills, I don’t want that to be the end in and of itself. There has to be a greater purpose, an eternal goal in view, for any venture in my life. And now I know there can be.

There is a huge need in the world today, vital for spreading the Good News, that is dependent on language-oriented people like me. And that is Bible translation. A couple years ago I would have said teaching English was what I wanted to do, or working with kids was what I wanted to do—and I still am passionate about these things—but my focus has shifted. There are close to 2,000 languages worldwide without a Bible, a solid statistic that I can look at and go, wow, maybe God can use me to pare that number down. And saying to God, ok, here I am, send me, doesn’t mean saying no those other areas of need. Being involved in translation work means being involved with whole communities, with whole people groups, and ministering to them in various ways.

So, here I am. At the brink of an exciting new chapter in my life. I am hoping to start classes this fall at a local community college, then transfer to another school within a year or so. There are still big obstacles ahead. Such as how to pay for my education. But I figure, if God can remove one financial hurdle in my life, He can certainly remove others. As long as I am in His will, I really don’t need to stress out too much about the money part. My biggest prayer is that I would remain in His will. To only follow as He leads me. And I know that means being willing to let go of my plans, and my goals, and my desires, no matter how noble they may seem. If He should suddenly close the door to my linguistic pursuits, and tell me to go serve at a mental asylum in some far-off, third-world country, then I should be ready to do as He bids. So, even though I’m excited about the possibility of going back to school, and getting involved in translation work, I’m trying to hold everything lightly, with unclenched hands.

Besides, I do wonder, with all that’s going on in the world today—natural disasters, looming economic crises, wars, rumors of wars, etc. (seems to me Jesus mentioned these things in reference to the end times, didn’t He?)—will I even be around to accomplish anything a few years from now? I am living in interesting times, and I can only cling to God, and hand over my future to Him.

Whatever happens, though, I can rest assured that His plans for me are good plans. I’m still a fragile, faltering mess of a person, and I’m not out of my Valley yet, but when I look back at what I’ve been through over the last few years, and where I am now, I stand amazed at the goodness of God. There is hope, even for one such as me. Because God is a faithful God, and He is a God Who is in the business of redemption and restoration.

I ran a marathon. A whole, stinkin’ marathon. All 26.2 miles of it. My first one. Ever. I’ve done a few halves, but have always dreamt of doing a full. And I finally conquered that dream.

It’s a total God thing, really. Only last year I stood on the sidelines cheering two of my brothers on, as they both ran their first. I remember feeling so incredibly jealous, remembering how it felt to run the half marathons I did many years ago. Back when I was in shape. In really, really good shape.

But only a year ago, at that point in my life, I had almost given up on my dream. Three years previous my health had been absolutely decimated…I went from being a pretty active, semi-serious runner, to barely able to get out of bed, climb stairs, or do anything at all. I felt my life was over. Doctors never found out what was wrong with me. Weakness, vertigo, extreme fatigue, and a host of other strange symptoms plagued me.

But slowly…ever so slowly I began to regain my strength. It took a year before I felt myself feel a little normal, two years before I attempted to slowly get back in shape. I started with the smallest of steps. Walking—just walking—half a mile became a huge victory for me. Then it became a mile. And then more. By the time that marathon last year rolled around, I had attempted to run a bit, but was still hesitant, fearful of moving beyond a few miles.

But watching my brothers run did something to me. It motivated me to get serious with my running. Somehow, someway I had to push through.  But I still thought a marathon was way out of reach for me. I remember lamenting in front of a good family friend how I didn’t think my dream of running a marathon was possible anymore. He looked at me and said, “You can do all things through Christ Who strengthens you. All things.”

My reaction, sadly, was a bit like Sarah’s when finding out she was going to have a child in her old age. I chuckled to myself, thinking, yeah, right. Oh ye of little faith! That friend, who is a wonderful godly man, kept after me, reminding me often that I could do all things through Christ. Well, only a few months later I leapt into a 10k race, my longest mileage up to that point being between 3 to 4 miles. I just decided to wing it.

Well….I ran the whole darn thing. And felt good doing it. It was a major turning point for me. I was so pumped, so excited, after that accomplishment. I had gotten my running legs back! My father also ran it, and it was quite the accomplishment for him too—just a year earlier he had had open heart surgery. So we were both excited. He encouraged me to push forward in my running, convinced this was a sign from above.

And so I did. Two months later I ran another 10k race, and even improved my time. And then it happened. Marathon training time rolled around again for my two brothers, and this time they convinced our father to train with them. They tried to convince me to do it too, but though I had gotten my running legs back, I still wasn’t quite up to a challenge that big yet. Not to mention that joining the training team would cost an arm and a leg. So I stood my ground. For a while. Until it became apparent my dad needed some moral support from someone who actually ran his pace. My brothers were faster and trained with different groups. This time I was told the cost would be covered if only I joined to run with my dad.

Not sure what I was getting myself into, I finally acquiesced. But even after joining, I still had my doubts. I just thought that, once again, I’d wing it, and see how far I got. No matter what happened, I couldn’t fault myself for trying. Plus, I told myself, I was really doing this for my dad.

Fast forward a couple months. Unfortunately, my father had to drop out, due to recurring injuries, and so there I was, the lone family representative in our training group. I missed my dad being there, and was sad he couldn’t continue, but the challenge still lay in front of me, and it was now up to me, and only me, to go on.

I couldn’t back out now. I had come too far. And much to my surprise, the task ahead didn’t look quite as daunting as it did before. The human body is an amazing thing, I’ve discovered. Within a few months I was running 10 miles or more…that progressed to a half-marathon in August….and before I knew it I had conquered 15, 16, 18, and finally 20 miles. I watched as my body grew leaner, my legs more toned and muscular, and through it all, though I put up with a lot of pain, I began to feel, overall, better and better physically. I ran through sweltering, sauna-like heat, I ran through rain, I ran in the dark, I ran in the cold…I buffeted and disciplined my body in a way I never have before. But the results?

Well, this past Saturday speaks for itself. I made my body run for over 5 hours. I made it pound the pavement for 26.2 miles. True, I nearly felt like dying the last few miles….but I made it. I accomplished my dream.

How did this happen? I keep remembering that friend, and what he told me: “You can do all things through Christ.” His words, based on Scripture, were truly prophetic. What seemed impossible for me was never impossible for Him. I owe everything to Him. He gave me the strength, He put the wings on my feet, He carried me through. He brought me from a nearly bed-ridden invalid a few years ago to a full-fledged marathon-runner today. I’m simply staggered by this.

But more than amazement at the actual marathon itself—which, in the scope of eternity, is really such a small, insignificant thing—I’m struck at the metaphor it represents in life. Knowing that my God can restore my body physically gives me the hope and the faith that He can restore the other parts of me that are broken and suffering too. I should never believe the lie that my problems are too big for Him. Life itself is like a marathon. The Christian life, specifically. Even the apostle Paul points this out, urging us to “run with endurance the race that is set before us.”

Endurance means fixing your eyes on a goal in such a way that, nothing—no matter how painful, how unpleasant, or how time-consuming—can deter you from reaching that goal. It means pressing on, even when everything looks bleak around you. It means grabbing hold of faith, and never letting go. This marathon experience has opened my eyes to the humbling fact that I have such weak faith. Thankfully, I can walk away from it with renewed, strengthened faith.

My God is a big God, and He can do big things. He’s going to bring me through my dark, dark valley, just as He brought me to the end of that marathon.

And I thank Him so much for giving back to me the gift of running. Not only does it make me feel better physically, but it often helps stabilize my mood as well. It’s like a form of therapy. Sometimes a good brisk run outside, under a blue sky, nature all around me, is just what I need to clear the foggy, crappy stuff out of my head.

Another marathon down the road? We’ll see. I’m up for it, if God allows. I’m just happy for now that, at long last, I can cross “marathon” off my to-do list. One dream down….several more to go….

Just last night I was in a “vale of tears,” sobbing my heart out, overwhelmed by my circumstances, and the depression and mental hell that ever push me to end my life. I asked God what I had to live for anymore. There in my darkened room, lit only by one small candle, I laid out all my agony and despair to the God of heaven, weeping as I have not wept in a very long time.

God, in His infinite mercy and love, reached down this evening and reminded me of what truly matters, and that no matter how dark my world may seem at times, I am still so incredibly blessed, and I ought not take my blessings for granted.

I think it was a combination of things, the atmosphere, the sights, the smells, and the people around me, that helped lift my eyes off of myself and see everything through different lenses. For one thing, I had “my” children for part of today. They always lift my spirits. They played at my house for a while, and then, because they begged to stay, had dinner with my family and I at my parents’ house next door. They love my large family, and I love to expose them as much as possible to a different kind of family environment than they’re used to. This was the third time they’ve had dinner with us on a Sunday evening, and by now they know pretty much every brother and sister, as well as my aunt and grandmother. M. is so funny and cute as she greets everyone in her bubbly, outgoing way, and even J. gets enthusiastic. But tonight was just extra special—it felt a little like Christmas. It was nippy and starry outside, but inside a glowing fire warmed the hearth, there was good food on the table, and all around me were people that I loved. While waiting for dinner, I had found a box with some old pictures of mine, and as I showed them to M. and J., memories flooded back of better days in my life, of the innocence and wonder of my childhood, and the feelings these photos stirred in me carried over for the rest of the evening.

And here is the conclusion: life is all about love.  Bottom line. No matter what I’ve been through in my life, no matter what hell I might still be going through, I can still look around at the people that I call family, and know that I am incredibly blessed. And know also that I am loved. As I sat there at the table, M. and J. beside me, joking, laughing, and hamming it up, and everyone else around me just chatting and smiling and being congenial, I knew life was worth living. It’s like the fog lifted, and I could suddenly see clearly.

I can sit and feel sorry for myself, or I can just see what’s right in front of me.

My Father in heaven heard my cries. He sees. He cares. I thank Him for my family, and I thank Him for my little rays of sunshine, M. and J. My heart right now is full.

I am still a shattered wreck, nervous, fragile, and faltering, but my prayer is that He will minister to me in Brazil. Perhaps nothing could be more healing to me at this point in my life than to be in the country I love and amongst the people I love. To be surrounded by smiling faces and warm embraces, rather than cold, hard stares and rude, condescending glares.

It’s strange, though. Looking back now on all I’ve gone through over the last few years (and I am by no means “out of the woods” yet), I realize that despite how utterly broken I feel, He has matured me in ways I probably never would’ve attained had I not gone through what I went through. It’s a truly humbling, painful thing to be disciplined by the Lord of heaven and earth, and He is still in the process of disciplining me; but in my saner moments—when my vision is not clouded by grief and agonizing darkness, pain, and despair—I can see what He has done in me, and I can see that as much as it hurts, it is for my benefit. And as Scripture says, those whom He loves, He chastens. So even though I don’t feel His love most of the time (that’s something I still struggle with), I can at least look at the evidence, and say with some sort of intellectual confidence, He must love me. For love seeks not one’s temporary ease and comfort, but one’s long-term good.

So here I am. I’m still a mess. I’m still meandering in my seemingly endless Valley of Achor. But no matter how tempting it is to give up hope, I’ve got to remember that Abraham didn’t receive his promise till the end of his life, Joseph spent nearly half his life in slavery, and Moses spent forty years in the desert before God used him. Perhaps I will be old and gray before I get out of my valley. Maybe I will never be completely healed. God’s timing is not my timing, and His ways are not my ways. Though He slay me—-and everything within me screams at Him, “Why God, why??” and “How long, oh Lord, how long??”—-I must trust Him.

One thing that’s been a little disconcerting to me lately is how much I think about the people I used to work with. Even the ones who hurt me excruciatingly. There is an incredible burden that is weighing down my heart, a grief even, over their lost and broken souls. I find myself crying over them sometimes. I feel a little self-conscious and pathetic admitting that, but I suppose I shouldn’t. After all, Jesus wept over others. I just hope the tears I shed, and the prayers I pray, are His tears, and His prayers. Otherwise they are in vain.

Yesterday I worked an all-day event with one of my former co-workers—it was good to see him, and he caught me up on all the recent goings-on at my former employment. The young man I wrote about in previous posts—the one I worked particularly closely with, and who had particularly wounded me—came up in the conversation. I was pleasantly surprised to hear that he had been seen on a few occasions, and that his greetings had been extended to me. He’s been much on my heart, and I still pray for him as often as I can, as I had promised him.

So one never knows what God can do. I keep thinking, with almost a childish hope and excitement, wouldn’t it be amazing if God completely redeemed all the ugliness and darkness I went through at that job by saving a bunch of those calloused, self-absorbed, and god-less people that contributed to my pain? I mean, certainly, if He’s God, and as big as He says He is, such a thing is possible? Well, I can dream at least. And pray. The rest is up to God.

Praying for others is often the only thing that keeps me going. Focusing on others, instead of wallowing in self-pity (which I am so prone to do, unfortunately), has often prevented me from completely losing it and attempting to take my own life. So I thank God for the burdens He has placed on my heart. Shedding tears over another is nothing I ought to be ashamed of. It is a gift.

The other day was my turn to celebrate leaving a job that has left me broken and completely run down. As if to emphasize His grace, and to provide an exclamation point to the rewards of being poor in spirit—which I just wrote about—-God showed me yesterday that nothing is beyond His redemptive power. I discovered that, despite my failures, He apparently used me to shine just a little—oh so very little—-of His light in a very dark place. I never knew so many looked to me as an example, and even liked and admired me. I could chalk it up, of course, to people just being nice to me because I was leaving, but it seemed to be more than that. The somewhat crusty older woman I worked with, for example, who complained a lot, and I often felt like I got in the way of, gave me a warm hug, and had tears in her eyes as she told me how much she was going to miss working with me. She also gave me a gift and a very sweet card, telling me what an adorable person I was, and even told me I could use her as a reference for future employment. I was so surprised and touched. God works in mysterious ways!

Then there was the Goth girl upstairs, who gave me a little gift, and a card which had been signed by nearly all my co-workers. She wrote in the card that I was “probably the sweetest person she’d ever known.” She told me the same thing later in the day as well, when I said goodbye. Then there were all the kind comments in the card—some obligatory, of course, but others genuine in their sentiments. I was so surprised, and again, touched. I was actually saddened that I couldn’t stay a little bit longer to get to know some of the newly-hired temps—an unusually nice and friendly batch of young people, who had been quite a pleasant change from the majority of temps hired in the past. I got especially kind words and fond farewells from some of them.

And then when I finally said my goodbyes—-there were hugs from people I didn’t even expect to get hugs from. The greatest surprise was a hug from the company’s owner. He had always intimidated me a little, and was not exactly known for being the warm and fuzzy type, but at the end of the day, he expressed his thanks to me for all I’d done, and came up and gave me a hug. I never would’ve seen that coming. And another guy I worked with told me anybody who got me next, as far as employment was concerned, was “very lucky.”

So here I was, thinking I could sneak out quietly without anyone noticing, and without one glance back—-but it didn’t quite turn out that way. I found myself actually leaving with a little regret. Not regret over the job itself—that part I will never miss—-but regret over the relationships I could have deepened and pursued further. Even the two new guys I worked with, who had replaced my former co-worker, had become fond of me, and I of them, and I was sorry to leave them behind.

God continually astounds me. That He can take even a miserable experience, and strained relationships, and things like gossip, slander, and unkindness, and even my own failures, and turn them into good, is so amazing. What grace. I realize now, too, that despite how broken I feel, He has instilled in me a strength that I never had before, due to what I went through at this job. A strength that only comes from Him, and comes from going through deep valleys and dark places. It is not an external strength—-but an internal strength.

I also praise Him for giving me the chance to be around difficult people, different people, and people even more broken and dysfunctional than myself. I don’t see people quite the same way I did before. I don’t see the exterior as much anymore. I see the interior. It’s so easy to be judgmental—-especially for those of us who are Christians—and it’s easy to look down on and outright dismiss some people, just because they dress different, or have piercings and tattoos, or swear like sailors, or listen to Satanic music. Certainly many of these people are godless, selfish, and worldly people—often demonically-influenced people, to be honest—but they are also lost people.

And that’s how God has enabled me to see everyone I worked with. Some got under my skin, some I really didn’t like, and some didn’t really like me….but, in the grand scheme of things, I see now that such pettiness matters so little. They are still people loved by God, that Christ came to save, and loving the unloveable is part of what we Christians are called to do. God not only enabled me to love that specific young man who hurt me deeply, but He has put a genuine love in my heart for everyone else I worked with as well. My heart breaks for them, and I regret so much that I could not have been a bolder witness to them—-but I rejoice that they apparently saw a tiny bit of the light of Christ in me. Hopefully my time amongst them was not completely in vain! So as I go forward now, each of them remains very much in my thoughts and prayers, and my dearest hope is that God draws many of them to Himself, in His perfect time, and in His perfect way. That His hand of grace will continue to redeem and restore, and that the wind of His Spirit will move upon the hearts of those that need Him so, so much.

“There are many servants of Christ who are given to prayer, doing good for the sake of others, fasting, and practicing self-denial so as to abstain from sin. And yet they miss the mark.

How quickly are you offended, scandalized, and stirred to anger by a single word—-all because you count it as a personal injury? How quickly are you offended when something you feel is yours is wrongfully denied you?

If you find this is true, then it simply means you are not yet ‘poor in spirit,’ counting nothing as your own—neither reputation, nor position, nor possession.

When you are truly ‘poor in spirit,’ you will despise everything that causes you to be selfish and self-centered. Soon you will become so free in God that you will take no notice of offenses, no matter how great or slight, so that someone might actually strike you on one cheek and you would not fail to respond in love.” ~Saint Francis of Assissi

Oh that I might learn this lesson of poverty of spirit. I read this passage this morning in a little devotional I have, one made up entirely of Scripture and Francis of Assissi’s writings, and I think it was simply God reminding me again about the importance of being poor in spirit. It was very timely, too.

To not take offense at sharp words, gossip, misunderstandings, and overt slights, is an extremely difficult and painful lesson to learn, but one God has been forcing me to learn of late. It doesn’t make it any easier that I am a naturally very sensitive person, and so I take offense (even though I may not show it) more easily than some. But the question always boils down to—-why am I taking offense? Is it my pride that’s been wounded? Is it my reputation? If, as Francis of Assissi indicates, taking offense really points to a love of self, then I have to examine, every time I’m offended, the root of that offense. If nothing is truly mine—if I know where my true security lies—-if I am truly poor in spirit—-then absolutely nothing in this world should personally offend me. I also read this morning, appropriately enough, in another devotional, the Scripture “If God is for me, who can be against me?”

Indeed—-if God is on my side, if my conscience is clean before Him, then what does it matter what others say or do to me? That is where the freedom lies that Francis of Assissi refers to. No one can touch me. I can be mocked, spit upon, scorned, rejected, slighted, and still turn to those oppressing me, and say, like Jesus did, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

Oh for the grace to always respond in this manner! Daily I have to ask for the strength to have this kind of poverty of spirit. Because it doesn’t come naturally. My flesh and my pride war within me, wanting to harbor bitterness toward those who have been unkind to me. Especially those who have been unkind to me for reasons I can’t even fathom. And this past year has been full of these kinds of instances. I used to be naive enough to think if I was kind and civil to someone they would return the favor—-but that naivete has been shattered, as I have come to understand more fully the true range of human nature. To be hated without a cause, to be disliked without reason, to be misunderstood, to be slighted, to be the subject of cruel gossip…..I have experienced all of these over the last couple years. I feel like God has allowed Satan to buffet me in ways I’ve never been buffeted before, perhaps to test me. And the buffeting hasn’t just come from unbelievers, but believers as well. Which is hardest of all to swallow. For of course one has different expectations of those that know Christ.

But isn’t that where part of the problem lies? Why should I have “expectations” of anyone (even other believers)? As God began to show me with the young man I used to work with (see earlier post), I have to continually lay down my expectations of people. If I love them with a need-based love, I am not truly loving them. Loving unconditionally—-loving without expectations—-is what God offers me, and what I must offer others. And the only way I can love that way is by being poor in spirit.

So perhaps it is this poverty of spirit that God is seeking to instill in me, as He has allowed numerous “barbs” to inflict me over the last year or so. I just pray that He would, in teaching me how to be poor in spirit, also restore the immense mistrust that has grown in my heart towards people. I used to trust so easily—perhaps too easily—and now I find myself barely able to trust at all. So I hope and pray that, in time, He will restore this part of me that has been shattered to pieces.

But He is for me! No matter how others might hurt me or let me down, my God, my Rock, my Savior, is for me. And as long as I have Him on my side, I can let the winds blow, and the rains fall, and my house will remain standing. I have endured so, so much already, and perhaps the worst is to come, but as long as my anchor is secure, I need not fear what man can do to me. So continue to teach me, Father, what it means to be poor in spirit. To let go of my need to be accepted, loved, understood, and praised by men, so that I can truly love others freely and unconditionally and never take offense.