High Schools and Lilacs

"Just Dance"  at youth event

I haven't had much chance to interact with youth lately. I look back on all I've done with ICI, and I look forward to being with them again, but currently my focus is all on support raising so I can get there quickly. My small group at church hosted a youth outreach - a video game tournament with guest artists, testimonies, and a presentation of the gospel. I'm not a huge video game person, but it turned out pretty fun! I went to the high school a couple times in the past week to hand out fliers and invite students. And boy, did it feel right! 

Being at the high school as throngs of teens surged around me made me so excited. I wished I was doing this for an ICI event, that I could actually get to know many of these kids long term. I could follow up and hang out and see them frequently. 

As I passed out fliers, I found myself seeking eye contact and interaction more with the demographic that I'll be working with in Logan Square and Humboldt Park. My gaze slipped over the primly dressed blond kid to catch the eye of a young latino or a lanky black teen. No, wait, offer fliers to the white kids too. I guess I have a bias!  

It made me so excited for when I'll be at Inner City Impact and get to do this every day. Interact with students. Bright, young, fresh, hurting, angry, excited, timid, insecure, cocky, imaginative, creative, lonely, lost students.  September, here I come!

But in order to get to ICI, I need to have 100% of my support raised. In order for that to happen, I need to share the ministry and invite people to join my team. To do that i have to get appointments to talk with them. To do that I have to make phone calls. *sigh* Therefore - make those phone calls! Tonight I get to talk with two different people about ICI. I'm excited!

In other news, my birthday was in May. The celebration of it stretched from the 21st to the 31st as I celebrated early with family who were going to be out of town (Edwardo's and Olive Garden), on time with a couple friends (brunch, late night swimming, and a conference call with my whole family!), and late for a weekend celebration with others (tacos at my place, cake made by my housemate Karin, topped off by the hat game). I am so blessed to be loved by all these people! And I am excited for another year of life. This past year was so eventful and life changing. I can trace God working and guiding me throughout the year as well as through years before that.

Also exciting: Lilacs are blooming! I brought some inside, and will probably go get more before they fade away. Lilacs are close to being my favorite flower, they smell so rich and sweet. If the whole world smelled like lilacs, violence would go down 85%. Let's get planting!

(The other thing we should plant is seeds of the gospel. That actually has a higher probability of decreasing violence).

Prayer.

I'm blown away by how much prayer makes a difference. By how spending time on my knees before Him - listening, praising, requesting - fills me with confidence and peace. By how miserable I sometimes am if I don't take time to pray. And by how I can see God clearly and specifically answering prayer.

I often look at the list of people who may be interested in the opportunity to be involved in my work with ICI and make excuses for them. They're probably too busy to meet, they probably can't give, they probably only care about overseas missions. I shouldn't even bother them. Recently I've considered removing a few from that list. I tried unsuccessfully to contact some, and am pretty sure others just won't be interested. A few days ago I sat down, looked at those names, and prayed. Should I continue to pursue them, or just highlight and tap "delete"? I decided to wait and see if God might give me some insight. "Lord, open doors, give me clarity of thought and speech, help me to know if I should contact them or just give up."

That very day one of those people contacted me.

The next another approached me after church, overheard my conversation with a ministry partner and wanted to know more. 

Immediate, direct answer to prayer. 

Why do I doubt?

God doesn't always answer the way I want him to. Some of the people I've asked Him to bring on my team He already has involved in other ministries. "No, Cristina, these aren't the ones. I have different plans for them. And others I want you to know." 

He doesn't always answer that clearly or quickly. I've spent long hours crying out to Him on behalf of family or friends, asking why He delays. I've asked for clear direction for a decision in my life only to realize I have to make it on my own using the wisdom and reasoning He's already given me. I can't always see the results of my praying.

But His clear involvement in all that I'm doing now gives assurance that I am doing the right thing. That my progress in support raising is definitely not by my own doing. And I know it is not just my prayer, but all of your prayers He is answering. Thank you!

Side note: My neighbor's tree is blooming. I love spring!

Just one of those days.

I sit reclining in the driver's seat of my car (which I am still amazed that I even have), feet propped in the corner of the open window. Cool spring breezes alternate with the heat of the engine blowing through the vents. I stare at the trees swaying in the wind, listen to the rustling, whispering of the branches. The leaves are still young, having only appeared a day or two ago. The trees are black silhouettes against a cloudy sky, city lights casting a pink-tinged glow. Something that had been uptight slowly starts to unwind in my chest. The rumbling idle surrounding me like a breathing giant, the distant sound of cars, and the wind talking with the trees are soothing.

Sitting in a car at night makes me feel safe. It reminds me of the countless times my family traveled. As we neared home I would gradually wake up from dozing but keep my eyes closed. My parents' murmured conversation from the front reminding me that all was right in the world. My now feigned sleep kept the spell hovering in the air, knit together by hushed words, dark night, and the constant gentle shake of the engine. As we turned into the driveway, Dad would shift into park and just wait. There would be a few seconds before Mom said "We're... Home!" As the car idled, I wanted that moment to last forever.

Now nearing my 23rd birthday, having taken on many of the responsibilities of an adult and watching several more loom on the horizon, I feel so old and yet so very young and inexperienced. I just want to be that little girl again, cherished and protected by her parents. All is right in that world, packed into a car with my two siblings sleeping beside me, my family all together, so close and quietly content.

The moment the key is turned and the engine dies down is a sharp reminder of reality. We have to go inside to squint at bright lights and brush our teeth, awakening lulled senses, trade warm clothes for more comfortable pajamas, crawl between cold sheets and wish that the bed had an engine that could sooth us back into oblivion.

Maybe that's why I'm still sitting outside in my car more than an hour after getting home. I want to delay reality, to be safe and loved - ironically alone in my car filled with nostalgia. I'm overwhelmed by the irrational desire to move back home with my parents, where responsibilities are measurable and acceptance and understanding are a constant.

Now, we all have our off-days, when it seems we got out on the wrong side of the bed (though the other side is against the wall, so I'm not sure how that works). But here's the thing: I've spent a good part of the evening trying to find something to make me feel better - food, chocolate, friends, TV, a trip to the store, sitting in the car. I've been trying to fix myself with all the things I know that help. But I've neglected what can help most.

He'll quiet me with His love, rejoice over me with His song.
He'll hide me in the shadow of His wings.

He restores my soul.
He cries with us, rejoices with us. And provides things like the wind to remind us of His goodness.

I am reminded to seek Him.

Yet I think its OK once in a while to allow the gentle vibrating hum of the car to lull me into contentment, to find solace in the physical that brings forth the memories of a treasured past. It makes me want to cry from relief. Or maybe I want to cry because its just been one of those days, where tears are inexplicable and a good long, solid mom-hug (or dad-hug!) is the only thing that can right a skewed world. 

To be honest, this - writing this - is also a way to quiet whatever is irrationally, inexplicably wrong tonight. Writing, guitar, piano, crafting - creative expressions make the world better.
And I think that is a gift. Something God gives us to deal with the stresses of life, something tangible. For others it may be running, or gardening, or sports, or - well, you know what helps you. If we have the right intentions, these can be an act of worship, of gratitude, of trust, using the gifts he has given us to handle life. 

So maybe it's a good thing I took time to simply sit in the car, watch the trees dance and let the words flow.

And maybe now I should let my poor engine rest and go inside.

Widow's Mites.

I held the cash loosely in my hand, touched by the man's generosity. Tall, well-built, clean cut, he offered only a first name, saying he was part of a ministry down the street. Delighted to meet a fellow minister in the service of Christ, I tried to remember if I had heard of it before. I was mildly confused as he explained the gift he had just slipped into my hand came from a small weekly stipend - his only source of income. Most ministries are able to compensate their leaders appropriately if they ask for full commitment. 

  

The lobby of the church cleared out as people hurried home to cook dinner or find a table at their favorite restaurant. My stomach growled, reminding me of the time. I was privileged to talk about my ministry with ICI during the morning service and had been meeting people afterwards. One of the things I learned growing up: the missionary nearly always leaves last. In a way, I felt I was carrying on a family legacy. I packed up my brochures and prayer cards as I waited for the family who had invited me to lunch.

I opened my hand discreetly and unfolded the gift. Two dollar bills sat in my palm. My curious thoughts suddenly stilled and tears welled in my eyes. What he had told me and snippets of conversation from those around me connected as it dawned on me. This man was not a leader in the ministry. He was part of the ministry, a transition ministry that helps people get back on their feet from the living on the streets or in prison. He was only given a few dollars a week, yet he gave to me, to God's work through ICI. The widow and her two mites rose in my mind and I heard Christ's words of approval, "this poor widow has put in more than all the others." 

I am so humbled. 

Do two dollars even make a difference? Yes. They make all the difference in the world. 

Glimpse into a Support Raising Day.

I pick up the phone. Put it down again. Open Facebook, start scrolling - No. The little red 'x' flashes briefly as I shut the window. Make the phone call. I pick up the phone, open 'Contacts,' stare at the name.  My stomach clenches to contain the butterflies, fear prickling at the nape of my neck. Breathe. Deep breaths. Dear God... Prayer momentarily emboldens me and I press 'Call.' It rings once, I hold my breath. Twice. I berate myself for my fear, slipping into Spanish to shake the tension and refocus. Three times. Please go to voice mail. Please. Please. 

The outcome after this varies. If the call goes to voice mail, I breathe a sigh of relief, leave a brief message and wonder how many days I should wait before calling back. If the phone is answered, I try to sound confident and not fumble over my words as I ask if I could share with them the ministry I will be doing with Inner City Impact. The moment I end the call I dance around and praise God. I did it. I did my part, opened the door. The rest is easy: I love telling stories of my time with ICI and how I see God at work. After that it's all up to God, there's no need for me to be anxious about the result. I sit down again and look at my list. Do I have to make another phone call? Maybe I could eat lunch. They're probably busy anyway. But you don't know if you don't ask, don't make up excuses for them. I pick up the phone.

"What's the worst that can happen? They say 'No?'" Intellectually, I know that what happens doesn't matter, it shouldn't affect me. And honestly I really am fine when someone can't support me financially. I know God will provide in another way. And I totally understand if they are already committed to others and can't join my prayer team. 

So what do I fear? 

People's opinion. 

I desperately want to be of good repute. To be known as a responsible, mature woman in Christ who cares deeply about others. I fear the false assumption that I only care about the money, that I look at people as a commodity that will enable me to not work. "Don't you understand these are unstable times? How do you have the gall to ask me to support you, why don't you just get a job and do ministry on the side? What about unreached people groups and orphaned children in Africa, why are you working in the States?" These are the words I fear. I constantly remind myself I am inviting others to join in the ministry God clearly led me to, not burdening them. 

Paul boldly asked varying churches to send him and frequently commended those who had. The churches of Macedonia "gave beyond their means, begging us earnestly for the favor of taking part in the relief of the saints... As you [church of Corinth] excel in everything... see that you excel in this act of grace also." - 2 Corinthians 8. 

So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. 

These words spoken through the prophet Isaiah whisper through my soul. I dismiss the lies of discouragement, whether they come from me or the enemy. And I continue in the path laid out before me, inviting others to be God's instruments in Chicago. 

I am compelled.

For Christ's love  compels us, because we are convinced that one died for all... that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for him who died for them and was raised again... God reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: that God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting men's sins against them. And he has committed to us the message of reconciliation. 2 Cor 5: 14-15,18-19.

These verses  aptly describe my own feelings.  I am compelled, something is driving me forward and I can do nothing less. If I have knowledge of the fear of the LORD, how can I not share it with others? 

The idea of reconciliation is exciting and awe-filled to me. Christ did not come just to help us escape judgment (just though judgment would be), upon receiving salvation we are not placed in a state of neutrality, but are brought into right relationship with God. What was irreparably broken has been overwhelmed by the blood of Christ. And, clothed in Christ Jesus, we stand before God - reconciled and confident (Heb. 10:19).

I look out into the world and see myriad broken relationships. Between friends, lovers, families. Between governments and their people, from nation to nation. All of these reflect the state of man's severed relationship with his God. This is so prevalent in Chicago. The murder count in January was 42. In a single month, a span of 31 days. This year I have felt overwhelmed by death, and long more deeply than ever for the return of my Lord. Come soon, Lord Jesus! I just want to go Home. But until that day, people still cry out, lash out, work out their wickedness and live out their broken relationship without God. I see young people, so many young people, angry, bitter, frightened, hurt, lonely. Trying to fix it, fill it, or make things right only makes things worse - drugs, violence, gangs, sex.  The hope, assurance and joy I have through Christ in a right standing with God - this must be shared. 

Death is a separation. And so, when we are spiritually dead, it is separation from God, a gap that we cannot even desire to cross without His leading. But He has given me life - union with Christ, reconciling me to himself. Those of us who live must no longer live for ourselves, but for him. And He has given us the ministry of reconciliation. I am compelled, controlled by Christ - I can do nothing less. I follow willingly, gladly, sometimes achingly. 

 I have so great a ministry, so great a message before me - God has directed me to share it alongside Inner City Impact with these broken urban youth. With so great a task before me, I can't be afraid to share it with other believers. Many are not able or led to devote the resources of time and presence, as He has called me to, but have other resources available to use in the ministry of reconciliation amidst the Chicago youth.  I can't be afraid to present this opportunity to others.

Can I?

Christ's love compels me.

This is why I go. Will you send me?

From MK to Missionary.

 I've always been a missionary. Or at least a missionary kid. When my parents stepped into missions, it became a family endeavor. We kids willingly took part, it was who we were. I space out my life by the two sides of missions - the "field" and "furlough." As a little girl  we visited many States-side churches. My sister and I were often models demonstrating Quichua dress, or helping volunteers dress up. I spoke a few Quichua greetings, recited John 3:16 in Spanish, and knew my parents' presentation by heart. People asked, "What's it like? Do they eat Mexican food? Say something in Spanish!" On the field, I patiently (most of the time) let dark, work-roughened hands stroke my hair and marvel at the long, fine, blond strands that were foreign to them. I picked up words here and there of the conversation, my limited Spanish and their blending of Spanish and Quichua inhibiting full comprehension. But with warm smiles and friendly hand shakes, clear understanding wasn't always important. For a shy girl, spending time with them was enough.

Kids from the prison ministry

As I grew older, I became more involved. No longer just the daughter who sat quietly in the background, participating when asked, I began to take part and help as I could. In Jr. High and High school I was involved in ministry in several different ways.

Translating at a church in Anguiñay

I know what it is to be the missionary. It means reaching out to people and loving them. It involves standing out and often alone. (But not completely alone, because family was always there). It involves telling people what God has done and pointing to Scripture and to Christ. It necessitates stepping up to lead when the ball is dropped, or reaching out to the quiet person in the corner, even though I want to be the quiet girl in the corner. I know how to be a missionary. Or at least, how to be part of a missionary family.

Family is a huge deal in Ecuadorian culture. Family is a huge deal in the life of an MK, as it is one of the few stable things in a transient world. So you can imagine how an MK who grew up in Ecuador feels as she steps out by herself into the life of missions work, into support raising. Alone. And as much as my friends, family, and those around me love, support, and encourage me, I enter into this venture alone. I ride the bus alone. I gather my courage to call someone alone. I meet with people alone, write thank yous alone. And I look into the next week, not knowing what I'm going to do, but knowing it will be alone.

Some girls from ICI

My inherent shyness, once thought conquered, comes rushing back. Last Sunday after church I stood fidgeting in the back, berating myself, "Go talk to someone. Anyone. Stop standing by yourself. A good missionary talks to people. Go talk to people." And I wonder, If I can't even initiate conversation and relationships in this setting, how do I think I'm going to do it with the girls at ICI? And yet somehow that seems much less daunting - I've always been better on the field in ministry than at "home."

Throughout my life, God has stripped away the things in which I placed my identity. At least five major changes in life left me groping for something secure. I now stand, stripped of my country, my family, and my school - alone. But not alone. Because each time something is stripped away, it causes me to lean more on God. And though it is painful, and sometimes I feel like Eustace as Aslan tore away the dragon scales and skin in C.S. Lewis' The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, as each layer is stripped away I know I become more of who He is shaping me to be. Each time, my flailing hand is grasped firmly by my faithful God. 

And so I have embarked on this journey out into the vast sea that is support raising. It's been four months. When I was stopping by familiar ports, staying near land, it was an adventure. But now that it is time to enter uncharted waters, the route is no longer clear. The ocean is boundless and structure-less, lacking landmarks to guide me. The Psalmist says, "I lift my eyes up to the mountains, where does my help come from?" In this mountain-less place, my eyes lift to the stars. As they do, I see that "The heavens declare the glory of God," and I remember where I am going. 

  You see, it was in the quiet of remembering to worship God for who His is that I was assured of going to Inner City Impact. It is in the quiet of sitting before God that I no longer fear. And it is in the quiet of gazing at God that I remember I am not alone.

Remember the raindrops? 

Grocery bag stockings.

The thick scent of the unwashed swept over me as she walked down the aisle saying, "Change to help with hygiene, so I can get a job?" She repeated this various times in a scratchy old voice, rustling a plastic bag to receive alms as her thin frame swayed to the rhythm of the train. The tan trench coat she wore was ripped all the way down the right side, her bare arm just moments before exposed to the fringed winter air. The dark skin was weathered and worn, like that the the Quichua women I had seen so often working in Andean fields, chapped by exposure to incessant, harsh winds. A fleece blanket, safety-pinned at the shoulder, attempted to give another layer of warmth, but failed to give proper coverage. Plastic bags peeped out of the worn black Crocs on her feet.
My heart wrenched within me as those on the train ignored her. I was guiltily warm in my heavy parka, tall fur-lined boots, fleece gloves and alpaca scarf. Should I give her my coat? Could I take her to a meal? Bring her home for a hot shower and warm bed? Did I have cash I could give her? Or was this all a ruse, did she really have more clothes to wear bundled in the old grocery bags that filled her folding cart? Maybe she dressed poorly on purpose to "sell" the homelessness. I had heard of people doing so. I averted my eyes as she walked by, tiredly pleading for others to care. Looking up after she passed, I briefly met the eyes of a smiling honey-blond man near my age, wrapped snugly in scarf and coat. Did his heart lurch at the sight of her, wishing to do something? Or did he look down on her, a dirty, smelly distraction on a cheerful Sunday morning outing? Why did no one else reach out to help her?
A small relief, the "Thank you" of her scratchy voice as someone behind me dropped spare change into her bag. "Dempster," rang out the automated voice as the train slowed to a stop. I stood and hurried to the door, wondering how I could be so cold-hearted. But what would my mother say if I gave away the coat she gave me? I couldn't exactly afford to buy another one. The scarf crocheted by my sister couldn't just be given away. Gloves I could easily replace - but by then I was  out on the platform heading to the stars, surrounded by chatting, laughing young people. Didn't I have a ten in my pocket? Why hadn't I given her that? How could I go about my day, sitting piously in church, when the woman on the train couldn't even stay warm?

I am already serving, already pouring out my life for others. Is that not enough? I grew up on the mission field; now, less than 6 months after graduating from Bible school I am raising support to work with inner city kids here in Chicago. How much more can I do? Do I pour out my every second, every breath into helping others? This is what my heart calls for, but I know from experience it leads to burn out. And I have seen the "help" that people give to those in need be detrimental in the long run. But couldn't I have done something? Should I volunteer somewhere? Carry around winter attire to give away? As a student, I walked by the YMCA and the gathering of the homeless on the railing more times than I can count. Sometimes I would smile and reply to their friendly comments, but often I would look straight ahead and rush by. Even now I often simply pass by the shaking cup or cardboard sign, the pleading mother or tired old man. I am ashamed.

So what can we, as followers of Christ called to care for those in need, do?

We can acknowledge them as people. Made in the image of God, precious in His sight. Look them in the eye and give them the dignity of recognition as such.
Remember that we can't help everyone. But be sensitive to the Spirit's leading, and be prepared to follow it. One blustery day in downtown Cincinnati I felt the persistent nudge to buy a cup of coffee for a man outside on the street bench. As he warmed his hands around the steaming Starbucks cup, I felt the pleasure of my Lord. We can't always do something, but we can be ready and willing. We can try to carry change, or a granola bar, or an apple to give away. Be willing to buy a meal occasionally. We needn't feel guilty for what God has given us, but we should never become callous to the needs of others. 

"Give me your eyes for just one second, give me your eyes so I can see everything that I keep missing. Give me your love for humanity. Give me your arms for the broken-hearted, the ones that are far beyond my reach." - Brandon Heath.

You Mustn't be Afraid to Dream a Little Bigger, Darling.

[a friend suggested writing about a quote, these words caught my attention:]

You mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling.

Dream a little bigger... this is something I indeed fear to do.
I have always been on the cautious side. As a little girl, I was afraid to go down big slides, and nearly refused to sled down a steep hill, not even enticed by a reward. It is much better to be safe. Instead of making friends with the neighborhood kids, I stayed inside and read. I hate going super fast on a bike, and am not a particular fan of roller coasters. I am cautious in friendships and relationships, especially after having been hurt.
Now, you have to understand, I never needed to thirst for adventure - there was plenty of it all around me. Growing up in South America and traveling constantly while visiting the States has given me plenty of variety and on-the-edge experiences. I have been eye level with a tarantula in my bedroom, felt the smooth cool touch of boa constrictors gliding around me, been in an earthquake, visited remote villages, been thrown from a horse, climbed a few mountains, driven on cliff-edge mountain roads - my life has not been boring. I yearn not for adventure, but for safety and security.
My aspirations for myself have not been big and grand. I don't need to be the next Deborah or Queen Esther. I don't need to march for women's rights and don't want to be at the forefront of a new movement. Yet I have always felt God had something in store for me, something He wanted me to do. I guess I figured it would be something small, something appropriately me-sized.

You mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling.

My sister has always been the dreamer. She dreams up plot lines and stories. She worried as she imagined horrible things that could happen while my parents were out. She dreams of being an accomplished author. She dreams of making a difference for foster kids and orphans. She dreams big.
The problem of dreaming big, is that as you fly sky high, soaring with your brilliant ideas, you risk falling and watching them all crumble.
Hence, I don't dream big. The risk is too real.

You mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling.

So for what do I aspire? Something simple. For most of my life, I believed it would be serving God in a setting I was comfortable in, preferably Ecuador.

And yet, I find myself preparing to work in an inner city ministry in Chicago.

A couple years ago as I sat in women's chapel at Moody listening to our speaker, something stirred inside me. I would love to make a difference, to share my passion, as she does. To help others catch a vision. To teach. Even hundreds of women. Wait - hold it. Slow down. Since when have I ever wanted to do something big? Since when have I ever wanted to be in front of people? Since when have I ever watched a speaker and thought "that could be me someday"? It's strange how God takes us as we are, and then molds and shapes us into who He wants us to be. I didn't want to go to Moody, but I went. I didn't want to be a Youth Ministry major, but I was. I didn't want to work in the inner city, but I did. And now I talk to people as I raise support for this ministry. Lots of people. Pretty soon, it will be lots of people I don't even know. At each step, God creates a love for what He has placed before me.

Is this shy, little Cristina, who hid in a corner with her nose in a book?

You mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling.

Sometimes, God gives people big dreams. Though He walks with them through bitter disappoints, He often helps fulfill them.
Other times, God has to lead people kicking and screaming to big dreams because they are too afraid to look that high. He has to shape them slowly and prepare them carefully, and lead them step by step. That's me. Are you sure, God? You want me to do what, God? You do know me, don't you?
I am slowly learning that the risks are often worth it. It is worth loving someone even though it hurts. It is worth trying to climb the mountain, even if I fail. It is worth trying to speak to people, even if I stammer. It is worth serving my God with my whole heart, even if the future is uncertain. His words echo through my mind: "Set your thoughts on things above..."

You mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling.

Sweeter than honey.

When I read God's Word, something stirs deep within my being. 

The words are sweet on my lips, warming my heart, flowing like music and poetry. My fingertips brush the page, tracing swirling patterns across the lines, lingering. This is my God. O, that all would know Him, would taste and see that my Lord is good! I wonder, do others treasure this as I do? Do my fellow brothers and sisters rest in the presence of their Lord? Are they moved by the sound of His words? Do they want to sing and dance and laugh with delight? Do they weep and tremble in sorrow and awe? 

Do you, beloved saints?

Or do you go about your lives, Christ carefully placed in the "Christian" corner of your thoughts, as you laugh at the cleverness of your wit, bemoan your circumstances, or drown your soul in your substance of choice? 

I, too, am so often distracted. I attempt to bury my fears and insecurities and sin and weariness in caffeine and sugar and fiction and people and busyness. I forget to turn to the words of my Lord, seeking Him for all I need. I am not on my own. I am not alone. 

He is waiting. Patient. Neglected. Forgiving. Calling out, whispering to us to slow down and remember. 

Remember.

Even as I settle down with this treasured Book, shameful of the days I have neglected it, my spirit stirs. I hurry on from chapter to chapter, I dwell for long moments on a single phrase; my soul has been starved and is eager to be revived. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly. Be at rest once more, O my soul, for the LORD has been good to you. Be still and know that He is God.

I want to weep for those who do not know this. I mourn for the believer who misses the depths available to him through the leading of the Spirit. I long more than ever for those who come to ICI to know this joy. In my mind's eye, I see the faces of the kids I know at Inner City Impact and long to impart this to them. I long for them to know Christ and Him crucified, that they might taste the richness and sweetness of His word. 

"These commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Them them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Write them on the door-frames of your houses and on your gates." - Deuteronomy 6:6-9

Is His Word ever before you? Teach your heart to desire it!

Words of the Psalmist, chapter 119.
 "How sweet are your words to my taste, sweeter than honey to my mouth!" v103.
 "I long for your salvation, O LORD, and your law is my delight" v 174
 "I delight in your decrees; I will not neglect your word" v 16.
 "How I long for your precepts! Preserve my life in your righteousness." v40. 

A Blinking Mind, a Thankful Heart

I close my eyes for a brief moment as we taxi to the runway. It is somehow soothing to be on a plane. As the engines speed up and we take off, rising smoothly into the air, I turn to look out the window. I love to fly at night and see the city lights dwindling below. And I suddenly don't know where I am or where I am going. Not to or from Ecuador, is my first realization. Nor to or from Chicago, is my next wistful thought. Then... oh, yes. Denver. I'm looking at Denver. It seems my mind blinked and forgot I was leaving somewhere new.

     It's strange how one's upbringing affects one's life. I grew up traveling. And somehow traveling just feels right. My 6 hours in the bus wasn't all that bad. The 16 hour road trip was delightful. And my 2 hour flight is soothing. I am very much looking forward to being home and no longer a guest, yet I find a certain familiar thrill in traveling and a joy in seeing people and participating in their lives.
     I sit on a Southwest plane, surrounded by the warm rumbling of the engines and the soft murmuring of my fellow passengers, and I think on how I have been blessed recently. Blessed to witness the union of two dear friends before Christ. Blessed to reunite with friends of old. Blessed to make new friends, though they are scattered across the nation. Blessed to be able to share how God has led me to join in His work in Chicago, to see others catch this vision as He moves in their hearts. 

     This last blessing is especially appreciated. For sometimes, in brief moments of discouragement, I wonder if I am doing the right thing, if life wouldn't be easier some other way. And yet, as I perused the departure board before boarding my eye strayed to the word Chicago - and my heart leapt. I sighed, realizing that was not my destination. But that is where God has led my heart, and that is where I long to be. I miss talking with my Jr. High kids, teaching during Bible time, driving van route, serving with the other ICI missionaries, helping the kids think through different aspects of the gospel. I remember kneeling in the pine needles in the forested mountains of Ecuador and hearing my Lord say "Go." Just as Isaiah said, "Here am I, send me,"  I am ready. Just as Jeremiah cried out, "Your word is like a fire in my bones, I cannot keep it in,"  I am compelled. These assurances I remember when I lose sight of the why of support raising. And I remember what a privilege and blessing it is.
     As the plane begins its final descent, I am grateful that on top of the privilege of meeting with people and sharing the exciting way God is moving in Chicago, I get to travel. By plane, bus, car, and train. I get to see prairie dogs and windmills, the Rockies and corn fields, each with their own unique beauty. And I am presented over and over again with opportunities to praise my Lord. 

O LORD my God, when I in awesome wonder
Consider all the works thy hands have made...
Then sings my soul, my Saviour God to thee,
How Great Thou Art!

Beautiful Colorado