Until then...

I guess I thought that it’d be easy, ‘cause people always speak of peace.  And now I’m picking up the pieces left of me, ‘cause I can see that it was You breaking me. -Chris August, “Water into Wine”

Well, I’m back.  It has been just over two weeks since my feet have hit American soil, and I hit the ground running.  Between making up classwork, writing papers, coffee dates with friends, Sunday School touring to share about the trip, and working almost an hour away from my apartment, I am BEAT.  I don’t sleep much these days.  I didn’t see daylight for THREE DAYS the first week I was back from Myanmar, and I still feel the jet lag lingering (hence my racing thoughts at 12:30am).  

Last night, I had the unexpected opportunity to meet with my dear friend and former roommate, and she is always a breath of fresh air.  What started out as picking up a film for a paper turned into a four-hour long conversation about life, relationships, God, and a little bit of everything else.  She has this way of pulling my thoughts out of me, and I realized something sitting on the couch with her:  I still haven’t given myself time to process the shattering of my heart on the other side of the world.  I haven’t given myself time to dwell on what happened to my heart, my soul even, overseas last month.  

I began aimlessly rambling about all of these things that had been jolting around in my brain, dying to become solidified memories and applications that I could cherish for the rest of my life.  I honestly don’t even know where to begin, but one common theme remains:  God broke me.

Culture shock smacked me in the face less than a week after being back.  One Wednesday, we were in a village in Myanmar, listening to Brad and Pastor Aung preach Jesus to people who were new to even hearing the Gospel, sharing testimonies, singing songs, coloring elephants, and clothing these beautiful people who had no material possessions.  The following Wednesday, I was in the kitchen with my grandmother, preparing a feast for my family, dipping cherries in chocolate and licking my fingers between batches.  The temperature of the room was comfortable, I heard Black Friday commercials in the living room, and I was texting my family on my iPhone, making plans for the holiday.  I couldn’t help but think about the children I met, their precious smiles, being ELATED to kick a deflated soccer ball around in dirt with me.  I felt so guilty.  I felt so convicted.  I didn’t understand what was going on.  

That Sunday, we shared about our trip to a class, and one of my team members said something that really stirred my heart.  He said that he received an email from one of the pastors we met asking how we were doing, and Shannon told him he was preparing for Thanksgiving.  The pastor replied that he would be going out into a village and evangelizing to a lost people group.  So while I was kicked back, watching football and being in a turkey coma, I know that one of my fellow brothers in Christ was spreading the Gospel.  

I keep thinking my heart has been heavy, but as I think through all of these thoughts, it’s the complete opposite: it was broken.  While I was in Myanmar, God shattered my heart into millions of tiny pieces, and I gathered what I could to bring back home, but I just couldn’t get all of the pieces. This road ahead of me isn’t easy.  Walking across campus, being asked what I want for Christmas OVER and OVER again, choosing an outfit out of my overflowing closet every morning, picking a playlist to listen to on my iTunes… it’s a different WORLD here.  I am struggling fitting back into it.

There isn’t an ounce of peace in my body these days.  I love Myanmar, and I love the Burmese people.  I know this has been a sporadic conglomeration of thoughts, and I apologize for that, but it’s what is on my heart.  If someone actually takes the time to read it, I guess I should have some sort of take-away so your time wasn’t wasted.

If you go on an overseas trip, you will be changed.  Prepare yourself for that.  But know that it is one of the best experiences you could ever have.  I am a different person coming back from Myanmar.  Our worship pastor, Brad, was our team leader, and he challenged us with this passage in Matthew:

Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. -Matt. 7:7 NASB

He told us to figure out what our “it” is.  My “it” was letting go.  Letting go of the person I have wanted to be, and letting who God created me to be take the reigns.  God is changing me from water into wine.  He is changing YOU from water into wine. He is making a miracle out of each of us, and how SWEET it is to know that He chose me to be a part of that.  

I know I joke about my love for Chris August, but in all seriousness, his song Water Into Wine has been my testimony post-Myanmar.  It spoke to me before, but little did I know that God was going to bring me to tears tonight listening to the lyrics to that song.  The quote at the beginning of this post is some of the most beautiful, applicable lyrics I have ever read/heard.

Brothers and Sisters, please search your hearts after reading this.  Find that “it” in your life.  Fall on your knees and ask God to break your heart for something.  The juxtaposition of the peace and pure chaos is invigorating.  It keeps me up at night.  With all of the stress and turmoil I have been through these last couple of weeks, I would do it all over again tomorrow.

marktheshark:

Was going through my phone’s voice memos today and found this nugget of joy. Mike D and I were sitting around in a greenroom on Winter Jam when this melody popped out and I quickly pulled out my phone to record it so it wouldn’t be forgotten. It later got turned into Sequence 4, or God You Came. 

²⁶ Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? ²⁷ And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? ²⁸ And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, ²⁹ yet I tell you,even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. ³⁰ But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? ³¹ Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ ³² For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. ³³ But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. Matt. 6:26-33

I live in the “country.”  My backyard is a pond, a garden, and acres of trees; my front yard is a 100-yd driveway with a cornfield across the street.  There are no street lights, hardly any speed limit signs, and I’m shocked that there are even yellow lines on the road.  I love it.  I can sit on the front porch and just listen and rarely be interrupted by sirens, horns, or the hustle bustle of the city.  It’s so… peaceful.

Last week, I was lying on the porch swing, eyes closed, trying to clear my ever wandering thoughts.  

All I could hear was…………. birds. 

At first, it was just a few, but when I relaxed my mind and focused, I could hear hundreds of them, singing in this insanely beautiful, semi-chaotic way.  Every voice, every chirp was completely different.  Every once and a while I could hear a couple of them communicating with one another.

I laid there for probably a good five minutes, and I found myself teary-eyed.  I began worshiping my Savior right there on the porch swing— over a bunch of birds!  All I could think about was how HUGE God is.  Just as each of these birds has a voice crying out, we are crying out to Him, and He hears us.  Just as each of those birds had a unique voice, we do.  I began trying to distinctly recognize one bird, or single out one, but I couldn’t.  It was just a big blob of chirps.  

How incredible is it that God can single us out!?  He hears our EVERY request.  Our every prayer.  Our every cry, hurt, and utterance of worship and praise.  I’ve heard it said that He knows every hair on our head and every blade of grass, but it was so REAL to me in that moment.  My feeble mind is incapable of distinguishing voices of birds chirping simultaneously.  How much GREATER is He who singles out BILLIONS of voices, crying out, in a choir of prayers, every single second of every day? 

Brothers and Sisters, when you hear those noisy birds, just rest in your Father’s majesty.  A mockingbird outside your window could go from a nuisance to just another way to fall on your face before Christ and worship Him. He really does know what He’s doing.  

Thank You, Lord, for the birds.

Tonight, I was invited to a small group meeting by some customers at the shoppe. In the middle of nowhere, I sat in a circle with about 15 40-70 year olds and listened to a lady share her story of redemption through the blood of Jesus. As I looked across the room, tears filled my eyes. This little tribe of older wiser adults that have lived full gritty lives and me, a selfish 20-something single... We’re able to gather in the name of our Father and just worship His greatness. We ate, we prayed, we sang… It was beautiful. I hope to do it again so soon.

Tonight, I am thankful. Thankful for Sweet CeCe’s and the connections it has given me. Thankful for fellowship. Thankful for freedom. Thankful for my Jesus.

1 Be gracious to me, O God, for man tramples on me; all day long an attacker oppresses me; 2 my enemies trample on me all day long, for many attack me proudly. 3 When I am afraid, I put my trust in you. 4 In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I shall not be afraid. What can flesh do to me? Psalm 56

I want God to be enough for me.  I want to trust Him.  But I don’t.  And today, a friend told me that (paraphrased) if I’m not trusting God, my perception of Him is off.  If I’m not trusting Him, then what I know of Him isn’t accurate.  It has haunted my thoughts all day to think I have a misrepresentation of my God, my Healer, my Protector, my Deliverer.  I feel so dirty.  I feel so ashamed.  I have ran my Jesus like an iPhone app, using Him to my convenience and letting Him run in the background until He’s just taking up too much of my energy, so I lay Him to the side until I need Him again and He’s worth the drainage.  I’m so selfish.  I’m so driven by my flesh and my deceitful wicked heart.  I can’t bear the thought of Satan grinning at my insecurity and lack of discipline. 

Lately, I have disappointed.  I have hurt and I have ignored.  I have looked out for my own interest like Paul’s letters have never been glanced upon by my eyes and soaked into my heart.  Those words are ETCHED into my memory… “not only looking out for your own interests, consider others more important than yourself…” 

What good is head knowledge, brothers and sisters?!  It’s VANITY if it isn’t lived out.  And my life has been in vain.  And I don’t know how to escape it.  This is my S.O.S.  This is my stress call.  This is my surrender.  God, please, I’m begging You…. Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.  I am a wretched fool that can do nothing but hide my face in Your presence.  God, please, redeem this terrible sinner.  I truly, truly, cannot go on like this.  My hands are so clean and manicured because I haven’t taken the time to get them dirty for You or Your Kingdom.  

Callous my hands.  Bruise my knees.  Show me what is good and keep me from my flesh.

kdecillo:

This is my inaugural Help-Portrait team.  I couldn’t be more thankful for this group of people who rallied around me in support while the vision was still foggy, the outcome still unknown. 

When I said I needed volunteers, I saw countless hands raised.

When I needed money for prints and supplies, it came—one envelope at a time.

When I needed backdrop fabric at 11pm the night before, tables moved, lights set up, workflow established— it happened.

When I needed to feed my volunteers, pizza was delivered.

There’s no way I can even recall all the little (or big) needs that surfaced on event day, and that’s due in whole to having a team of people who were willing to do whatever they could to serve the cause— even if it meant wiping runny noses or coloring with kiddos while parents proofed images.

December 12, 2009 is a day that changed my life forever. 

We were blessed with enough resources and man-power to comfortably provide 24 families with a portrait experience.  You know how many called to set up an appointment?  24.

I have similar stories from each instance of H-P— proof of the Lord’s hand in the details—reminders that He is so faithful. And while Help-Portrait is about giving hope and help to others, it helps me, too.  It’s my loaves and fishes experience. Every time I doubt whether I can trust God to meet my needs, I think about H-P and cannot deny that when you pray in faith, God provides.

When I look at this picture, my heart does a serious happy dance.  I can’t wait to meet my new H-P family in just three short days.

*I have to note that SO many people who were integral to H-P coming to life are regrettably missing from this picture.

I can’t get over how hilarious this guy is.  Derek showed it to me last night and I was cracking up the whole time.  So many one-liners… I can’t even begin to recall them to you.  We WILL see this guy on television one day.

Remember remember the Fifth of November, Gunpowder, treason and plot. I see no reason why gunpowder treason should ever be forgot!

Us guys know dis too: God make everyting come out all good fo da peopo dat get love an aloha fo him. Befo time, God wen go make plan wat he goin do fo dem, an he wen tell um awready, “Come wit me! Be my guys!” (Fo Da Rome Peopo 8:28)