The Girl at the Door

Twelve years ago in the middle of the night, I found myself regaining consciousness in a Days Inn of Maumelle, Arkansas.  As my eyes dared to open, pain surged through my head and body. I winced as I tried to turn and get up.  I felt like I'd been hit by a truck and I couldn't remember a thing about where I was, who I was with, or how I came to be waking up in this dark hotel room, but within seconds the memories, many of which I wont share, began crashing in.  Though they were still foggy and coming faster than I could process, I was at least aware of the room, myself, and a cloudy recollection of my friends who certainly must be somewhere nearby.  Nothing could have prepared me for the two strange Hispanic men I saw in their place seconds after my vision came into focus.  My friends were nowhere to be seen, and as I struggled to think and move at the same time, I realized I wasn't even fully dressed.  Suddenly, terror began to well within my core as I quickly scrambled to find my clothes, phone, and other personal belongings that accompanied me earlier in the night.  Though my head felt like it weighed a hundred pounds, I quickly dressed and searched for anything that was mine, but found nothing.  As both men began to stand, I spoke the first words through building tears and rising vomit, and asked "who are you?" but received no reply.  Instead, they looked at me and then at each other and I knew I had to get out fast.  As one of the men moved towards the door, I caught a glimpse of the other one moving in behind me as I also moved towards the door, but within seconds I had my hand on the knob and dashed out.  Not knowing where to turn or what to do, I began knocking on every door in a desperate search for my friends, but it wasn't until recently that I actually saw the girl at the door.

And Then I Saw It...

I woke up around 4:15 this morning to an upset eight year old conversing with me as though I'd been awake for hours.  Usually, when he needs something in the middle of the night or early morning before I'm up, he does the normal shoulder tap accompanied by a gentle whisper of "mommy, are you awake?" but this time was different.  He was already in full conversation mode by the time my left eye sluggishly began to open.   "What?" I asked, and then I heard him continuing with "...and I think I threw up..." at which point his little voice began to drift off again.  At this point, I wasn't even sure what was real and what was just a vomit detail of a dream gone gross, but there it was again, this time louder - "and it's on my bed..."  One eye fully open now, I asked him to repeat the problem.  "I threw up and it's in my bed," he loudly responded. Surprisingly, even then, I was still a little confused about what was happening and I wondered how long he had been talking into my nearly deaf ear.  "Did he say he threw up and it's in his bed?" I asked my husband with a few firm pats on the back to make sure he was also awake.  "Huh?" was his barely audible reply.  As the seconds passed, I became increasingly aware of my consciousness and somehow managed to open both eyes.  Coordination absent, I got out of bed and stumbled through the dark hotel room, certain not to miss the shoes left out in the middle of the floor. After I groggily found my way to the bathroom, I gave my eyes a good rub, flipped on the light, and called my son over to me. And then I saw it...

Say My Name

As my 33rd birthday recently came and went, I was uncharacteristically peaceful about the uncertain direction of my future.  Although today I know more about where I'm heading, when I started this entry, I didn't have a clue. I was still in the process of praying and trying to understand what had transpired as my best laid plans came unglued. Even now, I know things can change in an instant, and I leave behind me a trail of incomplete projects, manuscripts, and blueprints, yet I know each article of unfinished business is a piece to my life's greater puzzle and God's holy purpose. All too often over the years I've allowed myself to be swept away with who I am in the eyes of fellow men and women rather than resting in whose I am through Jesus Christ (Gal. 1:10).  As the days go by, however, I'm discovering a new confidence in Him that is increasingly unshakable by my life's unknown future and course.  This steadiness was further cemented by an almost unnoticeable verse in the book of 1 Chronicles.  In chapter four, we are given insight into the family lines of Judah and Simeon, but in verse 38, we're told that "these mentioned by name were leaders in their families, and their father’s house increased greatly." All of a sudden, I was engrossed by the four little words "those mentioned by name," as I wondered who wasn't mentioned at all.  What was so special about those mentioned by name, and at the end of the day who do I want to hear say my name?

What Am I Doing?

I listened to a sermon a few weeks ago in which my pastor talked about our church's food ministry, specifically, what it means to be a part of it, and it occurred to me that although my particular church is relatively small, its endeavors to feed the hungry are mighty. From providing help to the congregation and local townspeople each week to a group of young adults who take food to the Santa Ana homeless every Saturday night, Grace Harbor Church of Tustin, CA (http://www.graceharborministries.com/ ) doesn't just talk the talk, it walks the walk.  However, as I examined my own shortcomings, I realized that while it's appropriate to consider the collective church's ways, especially when looking to get involved, the more pressing issue is not - what is the church doing to help others in need, but what are YOU doing and what am I doing?  After all, what is the church if not a body of people (1 Corinthians 12:12-27) made up of flawed and imperfect individuals just like you and me? Or, better stated by John MacArthur in Ashamed of the Gospel: "The church is not the brick and mortar assembly in which the assembly meets; it is God's people in whom He dwells," but never forget that those dwelling places are also the home of our own inner sinful man. And yet remembering this, we're still content to point fingers from the comfort of our living rooms and sneer at all the hypocrisy in the church, but until we're willing to get out there in the middle of it and be the change we wish to see in the church, our mouths speak wiser words when they say nothing at all (Job 13:5).  Instead of asking what the church is doing, ask yourself - What am I doing?

Jesus in the Room

When I was 15, I attempted suicide with 59 pills of ibuprofen.  I had just gotten in more trouble than I had ever been in before and to be honest, the thought of living scared me more than the thought of dying, and though I didn't know whether or not the amount I counted out would have what it took, I went to bed and decided to try and sleep. If I was lucky, I thought, I would die peacefully while I dreamed.  Things didn't go as planned.  Instead, after considering for what felt like hours that I might have made a mistake, I decided it would be a far worse fate to confess my error in judgment and the best decision at that point would be to let whatever happened happen.  Though I drifted off to sleep somewhere through the night, I woke up with abdominal pain so bad that death couldn't come soon enough.  However, I spent the remainder of the night and early morning fully alive in the fetal position as tears soaked my face and sheets.  It seemed I would have to face a new day, and though I can remember wishing then that the pills had worked, I'm so grateful today that they didn't.  It is one of various key times throughout my life that I know Jesus was in the room.

The Present

In November of last year, I left my job with a clear vision of what I was going to be doing in the days and years to come.  I had been accepted at two universities to begin work on my doctorate degree and I was ready to do it, but in the preparatory weeks that followed my resignation, I began to sense God telling me otherwise, specifically, don't do it.  After all the time and effort I had put into returning to school for a third time, not to mention the others who had contributed their own time in the form of writing letters of recommendation, I was absolutely flabbergasted that God would ask me to change my plans and not go."What are you doing?" I asked the Lord in exasperation and confusion.  I was so certain after all that it was His will that had compelled me to make the decisions I had made, and in addition to that, if I didn't go after this degree I had no idea what I would do instead.  "Rest" seemed to be His overwhelming and consistent response, but "I don't know how," I repeated many times through prayer.  "Stop," the Lord continued, and to which I responded almost frantically, "stop what!?" "Everything," He finally said.   And there it was.  God wanted me to stop acting, stop moving, stop questioning, and especially stop talking. He wanted me to just stop everything, especially the constant running I so effortlessly do on the hamster wheel in my head.  More directly, He wanted me to simply clear my mind of...well, me, and be with Him here and now in the present.

Let Go

As the year of 2013 approaches, I find myself reflecting over the year that has been, and as I weigh the ups and downs I'm not sure whether or not I'm ready to embark on a new year just yet.  Though I've definitely grown closer to God through the tests, temptations, and trials that have been, I also find a part of myself wanting to regress rather than progress, and the further back the better.  In just one recent evening, I inundated my speakers with sounds reminiscent of my younger, less spiritually challenging days.  Among my selections were Savage Garden, Phil Collins, and even Cyndi Lauper.  It seems the 90's weren't far back enough, I closed my eyes and allowed mental time travel to take me back even to the 80's when my hair stood straight up and my greatest care in the world was which car Barbie should drive to meet Ken.  It's not that 2012 has been bad; on the contrary, it has been amazing, but it has been more difficult than not and I suppose my momentary return to the fetal position is just a whiny attempt to avoid continued growing pains that accompany spiritual acrobatics.  My most recent, and hopefully last, annual gymnastic feat of the spirit involved testing I never dreamed would come, when out of an unforeseen encounter my heart was insidiously catapulted from the present to the past and then forward once again. "Jesus, steady my feet," become my plea of recent days, and after a brief retreat to the oceanic views from Seal Beach, He finally did.  So, this year? This year, I let go.