Can I have your order?

I only had three hours left. It would take me three more hours and I would be home. The last few days had been tense. I was missing a lot of work that really needed to be getting done. And I was almost back to normal. Well, my normal.

A couple days ago I lost something of value. I am obviously not caught up in having stuff. That is made apparent by the country I choose to live in. If I can give up showers and electricity then I can give up everything, right? Sort of.  I still have a couple really nice things, mostly jewelry. One of them happened to be a watch. It was white gold. It had diamonds around the face. I wear it every day and have worn it every day for YEARS. It goes with everything. I actually had a pin replaced in the band back in June. Well, it happened. Some how… Some where… I remember checking the time. I picked some stuff up. Plopped the stuff down. Five minutes later… I feel naked. I went to check for the time and it was gone. I was upset, shocked, annoyed, and mad. I felt like someone had taken something from me. It is hard to explain, but like it had been ripped away from me. I could never replace something that expensive with the current life I live which is simplistic to say the least. I went back inside… Searched high and low. I went outside. NOTHING. I wish I could tell you that this story ends with me getting home and finding it. It doesn’t. It is really gone. I almost cried.  Till I remembered it was something that really didn’t matter because it is really insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but it does still sting. I don't lose anything except for my phone and car keys. This was so random.

I made one last attempt and re-traced my steps throughout the day. I even went back to talk to a manager at one of the establishments. I left my number asking for her to call if anything was found. She happily agreed and said, “Was it like a Michael Kohrs or something?” I chuckled, “Not really, it would be a Kohrs on steroids. If it is found and you pick it up, you will know it is mine. It is unique and nothing close to a category that would be sold here.”

I left not being able to track time. “Okay God, if it is gone I am okay with that. Your restoration is better than anything else.”

Now…  A couple days later. I am here. Lost, with no sense of time. Judging by the sun. I put another watch on. It immediately started to make me itch. I left it on thinking I would get used to it. My wrist starts to blister. Okay… Off it goes. I am living in the no time zone.

Yesterday, started really early for me.  I was going on tens hours of crazy and still had three to go. I am buying a bottle of water. Hit the bathroom. Head for the door.  I walked out beaming with the confidence of knowing where I am going and what I am doing. I unlock the car, slide in behind the wheel, turn the key… NOTHING!!! Not a click, not a ding. “God? Are you really looking out for me? I am all alone here. It would be really nice to have some assistance.” I see some people in the parking lot and ask for help. No… One lady is afraid I am going to attack her. Another has some place to be. It is hot. I must be looking quite crazy and gang like. I go back and sit. “God, if I am supposed to be here for something you really need to show me what it is. I am tired and want to go home!”

I see an older couple getting into a van. I ask for help. The man smiles and says, “that is what I am here for.”  They come and jump the car. I am so grateful and explain how the other people had said no to my plea for assistance. They leave. I drive off. Not two minutes out and they are pulled over on the side of the road. My heart beats faster. “Lord? Please tell me that wasn’t a set up! Please tell me what to do. You order my steps!” I was aware of the sunset behind me. I didn’t want to drive in the dark by myself, but I was grateful I didn’t have kids. I take a big sigh and I pull over. “Do you need some help?” He looked up and smiled. To be honest I wasn’t sure if it was the smile of the wicked witch saying now I am going to get you my pretty or if it was a genuine smile. Unfortunately you just never know what you are going to get here in Honduras. This is the country where your own employees order assasins to take you out. I must have shown my nerves because he said, “Go on, its getting late, we will be fine.” I drive down a few blocks.

“Lord, they helped me when nobody else would. You have to protect me because the least I can do is help them.” I turn around, I park behind the van. I hear someone praying as I walk past the windows. “Do you know much about cars? Is it something you can fix?”  He is holding the cable to the accelerator. He can’t get the van to start. “I have no tools, and I know nothing, but if you need a ride some place, need a phone, or maybe even if I just sit here so you aren’t all alone. I will do whatever you need. You helped me, now let me help you.”  The lady a little older than me walks over to me, “I prayed that He would send us an angel, He sent us you.”  Feeling a little relieved at this point that I wasn’t going to be shoved into the van or tied up and thrown to the side of the road like so many others I gave her a smile. “He has His angels around us, and He orders our steps, but we have to listen. Today, I just finally decided to set my agenda aside and to listen.”

Long story short, I ended up towing them to a mechanic. I don’t know how I found a mechanic, but I did. He ordered my steps and lead me down the path. We said our goodbyes and I was now leaving when I should have been arriving.  It was okay… I couldn’t really keep track of the time anyways, right? Had my watch been on… I never would have helped. When I am in public I tend to hide my phone so it doesn’t draw extra attention so I wasn't checking the hour. God knew. Had I been with my kids, I never would have risked helping. God knew.

I can’t say what could have happened. I don’t know what He protected both vehicles from, but I am sure it was something. He has His reasons. Both vehicle issues were simple fixes. Literally, just a matter of having the right tool on hand. To be honest, I get so caught up in the time or the loss of time and where it is I need to be or what it is that I need to be doing. Many times I miss all of the little miracles that are around me.

So I have a new challenge. Not just for me, but I am sure it applies to you too. “God, can I have your order?” I don’t always want it, but I know it is best.  “Father, lead me, guide me, direct me, You order my steps today and every day. Keep me from distractions and frustrations of the loss of time. Remind me that You are the Lord of all. And the Lord of all is either Lord of EVERYTHING or Lord of nothing. Today, I give you EVERYTHING!”  Everything! Even my silly little watch, the time keeper. He is the real time keeper anyways. AND I know that in one second everything can change so the reality is that watching the minutes pass by really accomplishes nothing.

Giving everything to His order… Submitting entirely to His plan. That is risky business. It is easy to say it. Easy to start to do it. It is so hard to follow through. We can do this! His plans. His will. Take His order. Follow His lead. We can do this together!

Free Sex...

Not for you. Don't get excited. Got you to come to the page, didn't I?

This week I was reading news articles with highlights from Honduras. One of the articles was addressing the massage houses that are overwhelming our cities and towns. The police have finally decided to start combatting this homes that are known for providing happy endings. You thought that was just happening in the Orient? Don't be so naive.

The recent raid included children between ages of 6 and 12. Free sex. You give it away. A normal prostitute has a price that they receive though they more than likely pay a fee to their boss man. In this home the kids receive what? The moms sell their children into these homes. The kids in return are housed. Kept alive. They have food and a roof. Oh and abuse. You do that the way they want it OR ELSE...  Free sex... Actually they are paying a high price to give it away.

If that is what is taught to these kids. And we are in the business of trying to help heal their innocent bodies and minds... HOW??? HOW will they ever be able to function as a normal child? They will never be able to play with Barbies or G.I.Joes in a normal fashion again. What they were made to do that they fought to not participate in becomes something like a drug that they begin to crave. Is there any hope for normalcy in their lives again?

All of the psychological help in the world cannot erase the things they experienced and suffered through. Some of the stories have me... Me... The girl that is numb to it all because it is all normal... It just took it to another level and has me speechless. The things these children are experiencing at such a young age is heart breaking. I pray for the home that receives these kids. They are going to have a lot of work ahead of them. The rage they will experience. The depression and depths of sorrow to overcome.

That brings me to another point. When will the death penalty be permitted in this country so infiltrated with murder and violence!!!??

I want revenge. I want that little girl. I want to hold her and brush her hair and teach her that there is more to life. I want to prove that not everyone is going to wish that lifestyle upon her. She needs someone to come in with love. Someone to teach her there is a different life. Someone to love her through all her nasties that she will now be trying on kids in school. Starting school will be a huge difference for her.

She has value! She is worth something more than just her body and the pleasure someone can get from her.

In these thoughts I have recognized that these same things are values I am trying to teach to my own daughter. In a world where you are recognized for your beauty, your body, or your moves... It is in almost every commercial on TV. It is re-enforced by music videos. We even re-enforce it in our own homes. When is the last time that you told your little girl she was beautiful when she woke up in the morning? Does she only hear those words when she is dressed up? What do you say about yourself in front of her? I am one of the worst at saying "I look gross!" or "Don't touch me, I smell." One thing I have learned from stinky indians is they all seem to have lovers. The stench released from beneath the pits is of no importance. That is so contrary to our culture. I think pheromones attracting the opposite sex is a line of bologna. There is no way that smell would ever cause me to desire a man.

Enough of a rant for today. Go love somebody just because of who they are. Not because of how they look or how they make you feel. Love them because it was a command. Loving the least of these isn't something that is always easy. Heck, I don't even know if I love my own kids when I find a bag of flour has exploded all over my kitchen floor or have that red juice spilled all over my nice clean white pants. It is definitely a choice. No matter who it is, how they smell, or what they do.

I choose to love you! I choose to love her too! Sex not needed. All kids are worth loving.

RAW

Raw. I don't know how to describe everything I am feeling. So let me say right now, this is raw. This is real. This is what I am feeling.

Don't be offended by anything you will read.

Raw.  Think of raw meat. Cold. Nasty. Bloody. It is the real deal before all the seasoning and cooking to make it a wonderful masterpiece. Just know... That is what you are getting ready to read.

I am struggling with complete surrender. I can give it all up. I can trust. I can believe. I have more faith the anybody that is sitting next to me. And for some reason... right now... I just don't know what is going on. I am not sure where we are. Where we are going. What we are doing.

Verification: I know that I am surround by a hundred kids and I am dedicated to making sure they succeed at life. And that is about all that I know.

Are you dedicated to them? Are you dedicated to me? Is this blog going to scare you away? Maybe. The sad thing is I am writing because I need back up and I am at the end of my rope. So can you maybe for a day overlook my cruel or offensive writing and try to see my real heart.

I am tired. I am scared. I am exhausted. I am feeling as abandoned as every child in our home and that is just where it all is. I know God is there. I know that He cares more than you or I, but in the midst of my current reality His timing and His caring seems really off. (I don't need you to write me a mini sermon explaining why this comment is insane, I already know.) Sometimes... it just doesn't feel like it. And that is going to have to be okay.

I have abused children experimenting with abusing others. I have rape victims with the desire for more of their past so they are escaping at night with men from the military. I have a monthly budget that is dwindling each month in a ministry that just keeps expanding as our children and monthly commitments continue to grow to support them on their journey. I have uneducated staff that when given time and materials to grow don't care to apply it or use it, they continuously ignore the help offered and just look for a paycheck. I have teams that hear needs of the kids and projects, but then just return home and kind of forget about us as the return to their luxuries. I have volunteers that are eager to help and assist, but don't speak the language and having to be a translator is exhausting when heaped on top of the responsibility pile. I have teachers with credential, but lack the passion and have us working overtime in the homes to try and keep the kids on track without having actually been taught. And I am surrounded by a community that is perverted and dangerous and at the end of the day looks for how they can benefit from us instead of trying to help or assist. I have human fecal matter being thrown over the wall onto the home and kids because a village is mad I won't give the front of our property to them for a family to live on. And I have to stare at a half naked woman crying on the corner of the road while watching the police laugh at her and fear stopping to help because of retaliation when I desperately want to just sweep her off her feet and take her home.

So where is God in all of this?

I know. He is right here. I know. He is still saying 'TRUST ME!" I don't doubt that part for a second. It is still a very lonely place to be standing in right now. As the rain pours down, my tears follow.

I hear Him. But do you know the fear that would surround you in the midst of the howling winds while standing in a tornado... That gripping, stifling, hopeless feeling... Fear.  I hear Him so loudly saying "Trust me." But the fear of what I am seeing has me almost paralyzed.

I am trusting. I am believing. I can't see how or when. All I see is darkness. I hear the truth, but I am in need of some serious back up.

The end of school is coming and with it is a lot of extra expenses. That is November. Right behind it comes December.

We are in need of some serious financial commitments. Our next home is very close to being able to open down stairs, but I can't even attempt to accept kids or open until I get some monthly supporters to cover what we already have going. I need a couple staff members just to cover employees during their time off. Full time care of these children is a heavy burden and it is extremely exhausting. Yet, I can't hire anybody else right now.  I need a math and English teacher for our school, but need an extra $600 a month before they will consider working for us because bi-lingual teachers are worth more money. I have a list of improvements that we would really like to see completed in the near future. I am looking at $1,800 in car repairs just for this month. Yesterday, I had to spend 8,300 Lempiras in repairs for one of the homes. I had another refrigerator blow out this month and have called the repair man twice a day for three weeks because it is supposed to be under warranty and it looks like he is waiting for the warranty to expire before he helps.

When I said raw... I was honest. This is the raw look at the behind the scenes stress that I am feeling. I need help. I need Spiritual back up. I need some serious prayer. I need financial assistance. I know that everybody goes through their own personal battles. I know that many of you are dealing with back the school costs and are already stretched to the max. But if every person that read this sent $10, it would really help ease the burden. I am making our needs known and praying for blessings. I am trusting and believing for miracles.

I know that God has brought these children here for a reason. I know that He has a greater purpose

than I could ever imagine. This past week as I stared at Olivia (Lil' Bit), I remember making a promise to her just over a year ago. When I brought her home I promised to give my all and that I would never abandon her. I made a commitment to watch her grow wherever she goes. With every child that has come in I have made that same commitment. No matter how bad it looks. No matter how much rice and beans we have to eat. I will never give up.

When you read in Hebrews, "I will never leave you nor forsake you" it is telling us not to be anxious. Our commitments to God will be rewarded. I made a commitment to God a long time ago to do what I am doing. I don't have to worry. Out of that commitment, I made a pact to forever do everything within my hands for these kids. I don't have to worry.

You know, further in the same chapter of Hebrews it is promised that He will equip (in Greek it states fully provide) and to bear with it. (Bear = Patience).

So I made our needs known. Now I just have to wait.

What are you stressing over? What are you anxious to see happen? Be patient. When it lines up with His plan all you have to do is wait. His timing doesn't ever seem right when we are in the midst of the stress. Actually, His timing seems awful. It gives me wrinkles and silver streaks on my head. The beauty of it all is His timing is always perfect and always leaves me awestruck. For those that can help in some way you can head over to Open Door Ministries (click to donate).  For those that need the same prayer of patience and are waiting for God to perform, lets pray together! There is power in numbers.

Battles With The Past

My silence should not fool you. If you only knew half of what was going on you would be exhausted.  Thinking about it gives me a migraine and reminds me how much I hate what I do at the end of SO many days. This bitter sweet relationship with these kids and the passion that burns frequently has me sick by days end.

This week I had to face a bitter reality from my past. I had a set of kids that came to live with us with their mom when they were younger. They continued to be abused while under our care to the extent that one day I filed papers with an attorney, took the kids to the forensic department at the municipality, removed them from their mom and kicked her off property. This was one of the hardest things I have ever faced. A girl. A lonely girl. Who just yearned to be loved and accepted and needed an education. I knew exactly what she needed. I just couldn't provide it and allow the cycle of abuse to continue.

Fast forward a year later and I receive a document that a judge is ordering the mom to take custody of the kids.

The judge happened to be a local acquaintance that I had a previous history with. Obviously I wasn't going to accept a document. I went to her and asked why. "My term is ending I have to close out all of my files. We don't have the staff to investigate. She comes in crying every week. I just need to close it all out. I am moving to a new city." SERIOUSLY!?! You need to remove a stack of papers so you don't even look at the history of abuse???  The history of pictures??? The reports on the refusal of psychological help??? The fact that she has no home, no job, and can't feed herself??? My heart

crumbled. I couldn't deliver the kids. (This is normal. I always send a staff member so I don't have to cry in public. I grieve for a few days in private and pop back.) I felt helpless when it was done and over. This was just the first time I would face a situation like this. It turns out that there have been many days that I come home wondering if it is worth my energy to try and protect these kids when in the end a judge can say they are going to live some place else. No investigation. No questions asked. Just a signature on the paper without asking for the file folder with the history that the document will soon be placed inside of.  I wish there was an office to report the awful and horrible work that this countries government officials, but the truth is that even in the upper ranks finding a person that actually cares is not common. They can be found, but the positions of power are always held by some political puppet.

Hence the reason I want to be the First Lady of Honduras! I will re-marry if it gets me the position. Just Kidding!!! Or am I? I secretly pray that a single man is voted into office and I can snag the position I desire and take Nilsson along as the pink house mascot. (We don't have a White House. We have a big pink building. Think rose petal pink, Not pep-bismol Mom!)

This week a couple new faces showed up at our feeding station. It has been a few years since I have seen them, but very little has changed. I think even their height is the same. Which is sad. My heart is over joyed to have them back in our lives even on a small level. I am so grateful that we have the feeding station to be able to help them out and even keep track of them while they are around. I can't believe that after so much time has passed they can still be picked out of a crowd. (They all typically look alike!) AND you know the best part? They have on clothes and shoes!!! Yay God! I say all of that to say this... Never stop praying for my kids. The current ones. The lost runaways. The few that have been sent away. My heart has a place for every one of them. I still lose sleep praying for my Fabiola's and Esther's. I keep in touch with the few that I can, but for those that I have lost... I just pray. The most strategic thing you can do for this ministry aside from financial support for the projects is prayer! And from this little heart of mine, there is nothing better than seeing one of the babies that I thought I had lost forever. My tears, for now, are from an overwhelming joy!!

Welcome Back Home Sweet Peas!!!! You have been missed!

Are you there mom?

Mothers Day brings a mix of emotions depending on who you are and where you are at on your life journey.

Mothers Day... It is like most other holidays for me. Stressful.

It is a time when most of my kids get emotional. When I get emotional. When I try and over do another project to make sure my house moms feel extra special on a day they don't get to share with their family because I need them to work. A day of resentment. Frustration. Angst. Sorrow.

A day in the life of one of my kids doesn't begin to open your eyes to everything they go through.

A life of abuse, but when all you know is abuse it is what you want. And on mothers day just like a healthy child you want to be with your maternal mom.

I had planned a beautiful lunch. I made every detail special and coordinated it all to go perfectly down to the games we would play as a family. Part of the day was only for my house moms. Part of the day for my teen moms. Part of the day for a big family celebration.

As one of my moms walked in I noticed something was different. I was so focussed on the details of the day that I never took the time to ask. Then during a time that I had set apart to ask my moms how they were and what they needed from me so they could be more efficient, she broke down. "I didn't call you because I knew you were busy. She ran away. She hugged us. She gave me my mothers day card. She disappeared." I was informed that one of my little girls ran away. She is eight. She is used to the streets. She is used to abuse. My reply? "Don't worry. She will be back. I am sure she wants to find her real mom for mothers day. Just wait."

Yesterday... They brought her home. Within four days she was beaten and bruised. Her hair has been chopped off. The joy we had seen dancing in her eyes has been stripped once again. I ache wondering what she experienced the last few days. With time, she will talk. For now, I wonder.

I wonder why she chose that life style to run back to. I know it is a cycle of abuse. I know she will desire parts of her past life until she is fully healed. I wish we hadn't taken three steps backwards after just starting to move forward. I believe God will heal her with time.

The part that hurts me the most is knowing she left see if a mom was still there. A mom who would hug her the way her tia hugs her in our homes. She left hoping mom would sit and listen. She left wanting a love that is best shown by a mom, but she doesn't realize her mom is sick and will never be able to provide that love. Unless... Unless she receives it first from God.

I am learning more each day how much God existence is like a light house and He guides us and lights the path, but we have to set our own course. These kids know the way. We are being used as a light house, but I cannot force any of them to follow the path before them. I can pray. I can wish. I can desire. I can lead. Even at eight years old... they have to decide.

They decide. In the midst of confusion. During the blurs of abuse. The stress of change. They decide.

I am just now coming to reality and recognizing they will forever wonder, "are you there mom?"

"These people tell me of a love so deep. A love so strong. And it comes through people I barely even know. If that is true then why? Why don't you love me the way they love me? Why don't you show me? Why do you hurt me? How can they be there for me even when you are not?"

In the midst of Mothers Day runaways and chaos I found a moment to chat with one of our oldest girls. She came when she was 16. She will be 26 this year. She is working for us and still studying in high school. I asked her how she felt when she came into the house that she one time lived in. Her reply left me kind of surprised. "Mama Lore, how do you feel when you go home to the States and walk in and see Mama Penny? I think I feel like that, but better. I knew how bad it once was and I know how good I feel here. This is my home. I find peace and happiness here." She once tried to run away. She thought about ways to escape. She learned, with time, where God placed family, hope, and a future. She took advantage of it.

I hope that all of our kids eventually follow in her foot steps. I know we will lose some along the way. For now we make sure that seeds are being planted and one day they will recognize a place they could call home and where they found a love like no other. And when they ask, "Are you there?" A response will surely be heard.

Go Ye... Donde?

You remember the feeling you felt as you walked down the hall in high school for the first time? The way your hands and knees trembled. The feeling that ached in the pit of your stomach as you were called up front for something by the homeroom teacher. Of the uncomfortable and awkward stress that engulfed every inch of your being as you sat in the huge lunch room. For those that went to a small school, maybe it wasn't like that. It was easy for me to be a big fish in my small private school. The year I went from a school of 200 to 2,000, something changed. I became insecure. What is funny about that is the way that every single one of those 2,000 kids had those moments, but rarely was it spoken about.

As as adult... Maybe because of random experiences, I developed more of an I don't really care mentality. (Most of the time that is.) If you want to try and make me care then I find myself pushing myself away from you.

Explanation:

If you are a valued member of my life then I respect your thoughts and opinions. I will share information with you. If you are not one of these members and try to force your opinion on me I become cold or just neglect to value what I hear. There is nothing wrong with this. I ask for advice from those I respect. I do not give respect nor do I value advice from those who have not earned it.

That is normal.

Respect is earned. Respect is to be valued. Respect is not demanded or commanded. It takes playing a part in the lives of the people around you.

This is so true in leadership. A true leader will fight with you. A true leader pauses to see what the hold up is on their teams and evaluating resolutions and working through to the finish line together. Osea (Like), Leading by example.

I am often dumbfounded by the way visitors tend to give opinions and thoughts on missions never having lived on the mission field, or lived in Honduras, or worked with abused children. I sometimes start to feel the high school intimidation consuming my body, then I quickly remind myself that I am starting to act like a child again and push myself beyond that moment. The problem really isn't me here. How do I know this? Because the criticism would be followed up by assistance to accomplish the correction if the criticism actually came from a person of value (in the instance a leader). And a true leader or person of value would not try to make you feel nor desire for you to feel the awkward intimidation.

Everyone has felt that intimidation. All of us have experienced the awkward feeling of not measuring up and not having value. From the Class Clown to Mr. Popularity. The difference is how we react. Do we embrace reality and press in so we can move forward? Or do we give up and back away?

I am trying to teach my son to be a little like Simba and "laugh at the face of danger." In other words push through uncomfortable moments and recognize value in the people around him. This is hard. So much of the confidence he will one day have comes with time. It comes with maturity. There is part of him that recognizes when he is acting shy. He is learning. He now reports when he is feeling this way. Teaching him to press in, pass it to the side, and do what it is he came to do is complicated. Little by little, we can get there.

Telling him these things is great. It doesn't mean much though. Living by example, well...
The other day I had to run for a meeting. I tried on several outfits. I fixed my hair and face four times. (I didn't look any better than before I started.) Jayden asked me why I was being silly. I recognized that I had regressed all the way back to my childhood. I had to be honest. "Jayden, I think I am just uncomfortable because I know they will be pretty. They will be professional. They will be prepared." I was coming from cleaning up baby poop and dealing with high school problems because one of our kids isn't doing very well in math. I didn't feel like I could put on a different hat to go meet with an attorney in the moment. The funny thing is that the attorney was asking to meet me because they needed help with a case. It had nothing to do with something on my end it was them seeking something from me. Isn't it funny how quickly we get consumed and start to feel inferior?

I am recognizing more and more the importance of not just suggesting... Not just speaking... But actually being the example. It is one thing to have the ideas. It is another to take the time to implement them help change the action.

For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. (Thank you Mr. Warren! This and your talk about absolute power follow me every where!)

If I want to cause a positive reaction, I have to create and be part of the positive action.

Whether it be in motivating my child to change or motivating staff to move in a different direction.  I can't expect an outcome if I am not willing to be part of the movement. What are you willing to invest to be part of the change? What is it that you don't like and why? How are you going to help change it? Words... they are just words. Change needs action! Action not hesitant because of intimidation.

In the last two years we have been surrounded by some really amazing churches. They may not have all the money in the world to help accomplish and change everything in the moment. BUT they have the hearts. Their people are full of love and compassion. They recognize the imperfection amongst all of us. They see our hearts are trying. Their pastors and staff have offered so much guidance and encouragement. They don't say "Hey! You guys have it all together!" NOPE!!!! They do say, "Keep going. You will get there! Keep growing!" Then they help us grow. One block and bag of cement at a time.  I learn so much about leadership by watching them lead. Watching their honesty. Hearing their stories. It is refreshing.

They have taught me that change needs action and it doesn't happen because you order it to. Unfortunately, Genesis has God resting on the 7th day and never saying that He empowered us to speak new change into being without actually becoming the change. In fact, I think when Jesus came into play it became more of an example than ever of the way we are supposed to be. Read that again. The way we are supposed to "BE." He is our example to follow. He became the change. Touching one life at a time. He didn't save everyone. He did save the few that He could. AND Other than demanding illness to leave and calling down miracles... where is there a story about Him commanding anybody into action? One exception, "GO YE!" He commanded us. Not some of us. He commanded all of us to take part in this change. High school intimidation step aside... Now Just GO! Take action! Be that change!

Scary? Yes, I know. One step in front of the other. Start now. Don't go buy that Starbucks! Stick that $5 aside to make a change some how, some way... You doing it. You sending someone to do it. Or you sending it to someone that is already doing it. You have the power. Start that mission or support that mission.

I, like many others, am running on very little sleep. I have a new born. She isn't mine. Can I be honest? I don't even want her. I am tired of raising kids. I know that nobody else seems to care for babies the way my momma would and it disgusts me so I sacrifice and keep her with me. I could just pay someone to be a nanny, but we don't have enough funding. I just had to turn away five kids last night. I can't take on any more kids. I am out of beds. I have two kids sleeping on the floor. I had to tell five kids between the ages of four and eleven that I could not take them home with me. I left them sleeping in the holding cell at the police station. I am trying to do all that I can to impact the lives of the kids that surround me. I need help. I need funds. I need people!

Are you hearing me? If you are supposed to be here helping... PLEASE COME!!! We need you!

I know that bills are forever showing up in the mail. I know that you probably already give to ten different charities, but if you can spare just and extra $5 a month... please give it! It doesn't have to be to ODM. There are plenty of people that are desperate for your assistance. Give more. Do more. Be a part of the change! Take some action!

GO YE!!

Dirty Little... Slut?

"Don't come home until you can bring me 500 Lempiras!"  I am sure that she was never told to sell herself. I am almost positive that she never wanted to offer her body to make the money. But I know that making that money in one day in this country doesn't happen very often. Unless, you are willing to work the streets! Every day the words, names, actions that surrounded her implied what she was to become. "You dirty little slut! You are worthless! You are good for nothing! I would rather be spliced with chicken wire than have to continue to look at your face! Don't you dare come home without that money."

I know that this week my own family is eating the basic rice and beans because we just haven't had the income. In a country where even with a college degree you are probably only going to make $600 a month. In a country where meat, gas, eggs, and milk are more expensive than where I lived in the States. In a country where the average income is only a few dollars a day. I can kind of "get it", you know? 

What if the label already ran in the family? Why wouldn't an hour of my time, no matter how miserable it was, be okay if it meant I had milk and bread for my kids? There are many that do it for free. Why is she more guilty? Because she received pay? Isn't sin, SIN? Who has the power to rate the degree of sin? When you speed? When you don't wear a seat belt?  Isn't it all breaking the law? How and who gets the priveledge of defining the level of offense? This has been my reply to my staff.

Forgive me now, this will probably be too much for you to handle. 

I have an employee that was/is a prostitute. And I will not fire her because of it. I am not capable.

For two years I have had the desire to work with prostitutes. I have longed to have donors designate funds for me to pay the girls for their time. Take them to dinner. Love on them. Be a friend. And send them home. Why? Because I know most of them are required to perform this way. They know without money in their pocket they will be beat. They know they will be gang raped on their way back home when their performance hasn't pleased El Jefe. They know their family will be hurt. They really don't have many options to escape their inevitable reality. Even if they don't want the red light outside their window the gang will just put it back up again tomorrow.

I believe she started for the same reason. I know that she was forced into some acts by family because of stories she has entrusted to me. I just never knew the depth. I never knew how recent. I never knew... Maybe I should have asked.

She is loyal. She is a hard worker. She is the most dependable worker we have. She is grateful. She is so grateful that she comes to me weekly with hugs and tears full of gratitude for the opportunity. On Easter Sunday she profusely thanked me for changing her life and allowing her to feel loved for the first time.

Frankly, I don't care what she was known for in her past. I know that she can have a future. I don't see her past choices affecting our kids. Actually, I see it helping her encourage them more in their studies and helping her to constantly remind them of their current opportunities. 

This wasn't my idea. I never planned on having a prostitute for hire help us with the ministry. Rahab married into one of the leading families in Israel. I can only imagine the judgement that came upon them. I would bet a million dollars her husband never dreamed he would one day marry the town whore. And the in-laws... I laugh as I think about dinner conversations as he suggests the idea and says "Mom, I'm gonna marry her anyway." What was God thinking as He allowed all of this to happen? Oh, you know, probably about how He could best accomplish His work because she was the willing servant that didn't give a crap about anything other than doing what she believed was right in her heart.

The balls it took for Rahab to betray her people. She was already an outcast. She was viewed as less than. She was probably disowned by her only family because of her lifestyle. She still stuck her neck out on the line for these "men of God". When you read the story and actually pay attention, she acknowledges that these men were sent "By the ONE true God." Imagine that. She chose, I mean the harlot decided, to help accomplish the will of God. Because of her heart to serve she married up! Not a little up... Big up! And check out the genealogy... The blood line that leads up to our Savior.

She is beautiful. She is valuable. She is worthy of second chances. She can bring a piece to the table that we are all missing. Help me love her! It is easy when I feel the need and can relate. It is easy, some of the time. In the midst of the ridicule... It is so hard. (I feel kind of skitzo because in my head it is more like this:  She is beautiful, slut. She is valuable to her pimp daddy. She is worthy of second chances to bring home more dough.) I want to cry as I write these thoughts. Whether flying through my head in a joking manner or not. It isn't fair. Not to her. Not to her family. Not to her kids. She is a treasure. Not because of who she can blow and how much dough she can bring home. She is a treasure because she, like me, is covered in the same blood. Her Savior, is mine. Her daddy, He is mine. He sees His daughter. His beautiful little girl. Worthy of nothing, yet she inherits EVERYTHING. She is the daughter of the same King. Her father, like mine, owns the cattle on a thousand hills. She is adopted into the family, forgiven of everything, crazy history wiped clean... I mean blank slate.                  She is beautiful.                 She is a princess.

So many times my part in the ministry has nothing to do with the kids at all. It is more about the staff. I need an open heart that is always willing to go the extra mile. Even if an entire town will judge you for it. I need the strength and stamina to continue pushing and pulling out staff in the right direction. Helping them heal and leading them to wholeness. I need the understanding so I don't join the rest as fingers are pointed and as judgement is cast down. Wisdom to say the right thing at the right time and that it would help to bring a calm in the midst of chaos. I need... To not care about the ugly truth of the past of any of them, but to continually see them as He does.

I didn't plan to save a prostitute. It just kind of happened. Now I have to not throw in the towel and quit on her like everyone else in her past...
Hey Val! I guess we finally started that side of the ministry. Ready or not. It just kind of happened! Help me!

Just Pray

I have been thinking a lot lately about a list of names that are pretty insignificant to a lot of people. But to me... They mean the world.

It is a long list. It reaches well over 100. It is a list a place my hand over and pray, plead, cry out for the protection and blessing on each one. I pray for their spouses to be. I pray for their kids that will one day come. I pray for their health. I pray for their provision. I pray for their desire to study and for their stamina to help the overcome. I pray for their healing and that there would not be a scar that causes confusion, doubt, or complication, but that the scars they find would catapult them forward.

Today as I analyzed this list... I thought about the Book of Life. There is a list that is very similar. It is a list of all of us that have been adopted into the family. And as I sit here analyzing this all that comes to my mind is if I do this... What does He do? My thoughts, prayers, and hard work don't compare to anything that He would do and/or does do every day. My efforts are petty and ridiculous and as much as I stress to accomplish all that I do He probably sits back and laughs at me on a daily basis. I guess I can be pretty entertaining.

I am sure any of us could be?

I remember my grandma. She was a very worrisome person in her old age. She would give you everything out of her cabinet even if it meant she went hungry. She was known for buying too many things just because they were on sale, but then she gave most of it away. She would make WAY too much food anytime she had family over and she would send it all home. She tithed, faithfully. She probably tithed in advance believing that she would win the lotto. She GAVE. If there was a guest speaker, a missionary, or someone in need... SHE GAVE IT ALL AWAY.  She was a widow. She had little to offer in the physical, but it was all she had and she gave it all. That being said, SHE WORRIED! She would give in faith and worry later. I remember calling her a worry wart. When I was first married I was so young. I was 19. And I had a kitchen with every spice that McCormick ever made. She gave me all of them. I can remember having her over for dinner and trying to make something special,  or even stopping by her place on my way home from work. We would sit and talk and watch the news. (THE NEWS!!! I mean this only caused her to worry more. And I enabled this to happen with being the bad company!) She would then talk about how awful things were and she began to worry. I could tell her not to worry. I did tell her. I would tell her to pray and release it to God. She would still worry. She was the type to check her coffee maker four times after pulling out of her garage just in case it was still on.

When she was younger her house burned to the ground. This happened more than once in her life. I can imagine it left her with a deep scar. A fear of losing every memory and all the physical property that she had to her name. After all, she would rather give it away than have it taken from her.

I don't know that she every stopped worrying. She was so concerned for the well being of her kids and her grand kids. And every day, in spite of the worrying, she kneeled beside her bed and prayed for every single one of us. She even prayed for the employees and clients where she worked.

She taught us all well. In fact, I told her to stop worrying so many times that I think I may have picked up her burden some where along the way. I started to worry about these kids. These projects. These staff members and key players in the kids lives. These families. What was I thinking? Silly me.




If I do this... Imagine what He does and just how much He is capable of doing?



All that is left to do is pray!

Hold On Tight...

It is a simple phrase. “Hold on tight, don’t let go.”  I say this phrase probably a hundred times a week.

“Kai hold on tight. You don’t want to fall off.” As I try and carry the bags and hope that my monkey child doesn’t loose her grip around my neck.

“Careful Jayden. Hold on tight until we get across the water.” As we cross the river that frequents our city streets this time of year. Once it is to my calves I typically decide to carry the kids across.

Driving down the road and the kids are hanging on the running boards of the truck. “Hold on tight Carlos, don’t let go.”

This phrase… I have heard it probably more frequently than I now say it.

As a little girl at the beach afraid the waves would pull me under I remember my dad saying “Hold on tight.”  Or as we speed across the rough waters in his boat I could barely hear him as he yelled, "Hold on tight!"

Parasailing with my little sister as we stared down out our miniature sized looking feet. I can still hear her “Hold on tight Lala, I don’t want to fall.”

And then there are the unspoken “Hold on tights”.  The day my brother passed away trying to remember his smell, his laugh, his smile, and the twinkle of his eyes. I remember thinking “Hold on tight Lauren, don’t let go of the memories.”

You know those moments of being overwhelmed. Feeling that you are in way over your head. A storm that is brewing and it is SO big and it is moving SO fast. You see it coming, but you see it only after you have been feeling the pressure and winds for weeks before hand. In those moments, “Hold on tight. Don’t let go.”

I don’t know if it is a don’t let go because something better is coming, or if it is a don’t let go because they still need you. Maybe it is a don’t let go because it is almost over. It will never make much sense to me and I will probably never understand it fully.

I am beginning to wonder if I have a sick desire for stress and extra pressure. Or maybe it is just that I am stupid enough to believe that I am resilient and invincible. This is all blended together by the fact that I STILL have not learned the word NO.

I mean, I know "NO". I say it all the time to a bunch of staff and to all my kids. No touching. No running. No screaming. No punching. No taking food off the table. No more leaving your things thrown all over. No standing on the furniture. No throwing rocks at the vehicles. No slamming doors. With all of these people around I can say the word NO!

I just haven’t learned to say No to the face of need.

I don’t know if it is because I am hearing, “It is okay. Don’t let go. Just hang on.” Or if I am imagining I hear it because it is etched into the tissues of my brain.

Last night we had a wind storm. No rain. Just wind. It knocked over the patio furniture and we thought our roof was being peeled back. This morning I went outside and it was a disaster. In front of our house is a HUGE Ceibon. This is a really large tree that grows huge here in Honduras. It is taller than a three story hotel that is close by. The tree was not touched. There were leaves all over the ground. A few sticks and twigs, but you know not one branch was on the ground. There wasn’t anything on the ground larger than my forearm.  Furniture knocked over, a solid table flipped sideways, my door flung open, and not one branch on the ground.

“Hold on tight.”

That was all that was said. I stared at the trees with the beauty of the mountains in the background. All I can hear is “Hold on tight!” It is spinning and flying in my head as fast as the winds of a tornado. Unscathed.

I don’t know who I am writing for. I know that I felt the need to share it. You will come out of this. “ ’Hold on tight. Don’t let go!”  The leaves will fall to the ground around you, but your roots grow deep. You are strong. You won’t bend or break. I have placed you in this very place at this very time. Do not think for a second it was all in vane. Did you hear me? I called you to trust me. When I said, Come Follow Me. It meant FOLLOW ME. Don’t hesitate to continue down the path even through the darkness. Do not look at the dark monstrous shadows that surround you. Come follow me. Listen to my voice and continue down the path. You are built to withstand this storm. ‘Don’t let go!’ ”

Don’t let go of His plan. Don’t let go of that dream. Don’t let go of the promise. Find His voice. It is gentle. It is constant. It is calming. It brings peace. It is full of wisdom. It is. He is. He will. He did. And He does. 

Hold on tight.

The Rains Came Down

For over a year I have been posturing myself to move onto other projects. I have had the heart to grow us in new directions. And I know that my deadline is a couple months away.

And the rains came down. 

Talking and planning and getting excited. Walking by faith as each step trembles a little with fear. By faith, we walk on water. By faith, we grow. Dealing with what has felt like contractions for a long time I got hit in the nose. 

A couple days ago I was informed that I had to take a bunch of old responsibilities back over. Not that it is a BAD thing, but before I can release it I need to focus on developing character and infrastructure. I know it will be okay. 

BUT! You know when it rains on my parade it can't just sprinkle, it has to downpour. Losing sleep trying to figure out the what's and how's left me feeling down in the dumps. It's not just one little thing. It is a bunch of things all at once. Well, more like a bunch of big things. Then something crazy silly happened that I want to share. 

Sunday, at church, after debating how the service was going to work out and deciding Yuri was going to be a one man show because some of us felt we had little to offer... He sang a kid song. 

"The wise man built his house upon the rock... the rains came down and the floods came up", and what came next? Nothing! The foolish man that lacked a solid foundation lost it all. But the wise man was steady, he brushed the drops off and carried on with life. 

This means several things to me. Most importantly, I need to yank my extended hands onto my foundation. And just as important, trust and continue in faith because I know who my foundation is and do not doubt the rock on which I stand. 

Growing pains hurt almost at much as birth pains sometimes. But the baby that is to come will be worth it. And the success of these kids... Worth so much more. 

How will you be affected by your rain storm? Are your feet planted firmly? Don't waiver. Trust and believe in your solid foundation. 

Labeled

I am writing this on such a personal level, I don't want to post it. I know so many people will read this that follow the ministry and will probably over analyze the words written. But I have decided I don't care.

I am writing this for myself, for my true friends, and for those that consider themselves my family. If you are not in that category you may want to stop and close out this page NOW.

I have been labeled. You have been labeled. We have all been labeled. And I find it repulsive.

One of my girls doesn't want to go to school any longer because she is 16 and has a 4 year old daughter. Kids at school make fun of her. She is labeled with "run around," "prostitute", "easy". Nobody thought to ask if she was raped or abused. I don't know of any little girls that want to be thrown into an abandoned building as they walk home from school and taken advantage of. But the outcome is a beautiful little girl. A life we rejoice in. She has an excellent Father from above who has provided for her and her mom. And no label applies here. I am proud of her mom for persevering and marching forward in life to try and improve her future. She is doing great and deserves to be lifted up and showered in words of praise.

I am divorced. I am fat. I am ugly. I am mean. I am spoiled. I am selfish. I am judgemental. I am...
You name it and I have probably been called it. Even the Queen B which probably does apply more often than anything else. A few apply, but NONE define. A few don't come close to applying and definitely don't even exist in my world. It doesn't matter. The label was placed. The words were spoken. The harm was caused. The hurt is now cured. The scar on my heart, however, I will forever feel.

I just listened to a lady cry as she was pushed out of her church because she is walking through the storm of her life. She is getting a divorce. How awful, right? I mean how horrible that she isn't just the submissive woman we were all called to be? What is wrong with her? Why doesn't she just shut up and hunker down? God hates divorce.

Oh... wait... I AM DIVORCED. I forgot what I wrote just a few sentences ago.

I don't believe divorce is an option! For some, it becomes necessary.

I don't have to write a list of excuses. Bottom line, from day one I knew it wasn't right and I couldn't let my joy be sucked dry any longer. No fault on anybody except for me. I said yes. I thought I knew what I was doing. I made the mistake. Then I wanted out. I regret none of it. I learned a lot. I am thankful all parties have moved on. I love my ex on some level and I always will want the best, but the bottom line is it wasn't for me. A lot of damage was done along the way. It created a lot more labels.

Our whole world is designed around labeling people. You go to get a new license and they want to know if you are married, single, divorced, or separated. You fill out a passport application and they ask for your race.

What does it really matter?

Labeling is so extreme that my four year old son was afraid to come home and tell us about a new friend because of their color of skin. "Jayden, did you think I would be mad because they were darker?"  "Not you mom, but Rolando's dad doesn't let them play together so I thought daddy would be mad too." For centuries people have been labeled because of their race or their religion.

Why are we afraid of something that looks, feels, or sounds a little different?   Jesus sat and laughed and enjoyed life amongst the oddballs, the uglies, the fatties, and even the town ho.

What is our problem?

A recent hire failed to show up to work. When I called to find out why I was told that her father said no. I asked for more information. "He is a pastor and he knows you are friends with the family that owns __________", a local restaurant. Really??

We are so blinded by these labels that we let it decide our life path on a daily basis. At what point do you stop it? At what point do we decide to love and support the people around us regardless? Not because it is easy, but because it is what we are told to do.

He didn't come for the safe and healthy people. He came for the sick and needy. He is a healer of all areas. Not just referring to diseases. He overlooks the imperfections and sees something better down within. He took the time to notice and care everything about you and me, but not them? Could that possibly be true?

It hurts when I look at the damage the church has created. "I didn't think you would like me or talk to me. Why do you listen so much?"  I can't help, but ask why I wouldn't? It is part of the commandment. He didn't send us out to judge and persecute people into righteousness. He sent us to exemplify His love and in turn winning them into the Kingdom. "I am here to help. Judging isn't going to help you, but I can love you and pray that He does the rest."  That is the only reply I had for a new friend full of questions after being shunned by the "Godly".

I think Honduras needs a church for screw ups because the only places around here with crosses require perfection to gain membership or rosary beads. I really don't know anybody that fits into the category labeled perfect, but I can show you some buildings that seem to think they are full of them. The weak, the hurting, the hungry are all around, but they aren't inside the walls they need the most.

Do something different to love them and change them. It starts with you and me. Because I am ________, but it doesn't matter. It was all erased because I am His!!!

Santa, Christmas, and Helping Others!

“Mom, I don’t want to stay here for Christmas. I want to go to Mimi’s!”

“But Jayden, this is where we live. Why don’t you want to be home for Christmas?”

“Because Santa doesn’t come to Honduras!  Why not mom? Why?”

I had to think. I wasn’t sure how to respond. I let the words I had just heard sink in. How do I defend this? Does it really need a defense? I was frustrated by his persistence on something so insignificant.

Christmas. A celebration. A party of sorts in remembrance of our SAVIOR! He didn’t say Christmas doesn’t come to Honduras. He said SANTA.  We have spent the last couple days preparing for Christmas at the orphanage. He has begged for every nativity scene to come home with us because we need to have Baby Jesus under our tree. He gets the reason behind the season I love. What he doesn’t get is why Santa doesn’t come here with all the pretty packages.

At first, I thought this was awful. This child of mine that wasn’t grasping the reason Santa is not in Honduras. Then I remembered a note that I received from the director of his school. “Jayden is the first in his class to help and give to another student in need.”  The thought was reassuring in the moment. The kid that makes once a week visits to the school nurse. The English speaking kid that gets in trouble every week for speaking too much Spanish in school. The kid that is too rough for his age, and while the teacher says he is just playing, some how the other students tend to get hurt. That kid. He is my little giver. My helper. I quickly had flashbacks of how many times I would yell for him to stop giving away his toys because he wouldn’t have any left. Then I remembered the days we couldn’t buy groceries and he would give away his last cheese stick to the little girl that came and begged at the gate. If anybody understands the giving principal it is him. He gets it so well. He thinks Santa should be giving too. It is the poverty and dirt he does not see.

He lives surrounded by the poverty in this country. He has helped feed the poorest of the poor. He plays with them. Laughs with them. And he has helped them brush off the dirt as they stand up from falling off the rocks outside the feeding station. How do I explain that the families can’t afford presents without ruining the mystery of Santa? The real reason there are no pretty packages is because of the poverty that surrounds us?

He has asked why I haven’t started preparing the baskets for our kids. He likes to put in the drink packets. How do I explain that this year the ministry doesn’t have the funds for Christmas baskets so we aren’t giving to all the families at the feeding station? We only have enough for some families so we have plenty of time to get it done.

I have similar thoughts to his all the time.

I have turned down at least one new child every day over the past week. I pray that God sends someone to meet their needs so they don’t go to bed hungry at night because I can’t bring them home. I sob as I try to go to sleep feeling an agony so deep that it pierces my soul in an excruciating way. “God, let them know they are loved!”

I went last week to meet with a girl that is not just wanting placement, but needs it. I want to say yes. I just can’t right now. On the way home I stopped to pick up one last ingredient for the Christmas cookies we were going to make that evening. As I stood in the check-out lane Jayden picked up some “pretties”.  With all of his excitement “Look it! Look it!! Mom!!! Look at this!!!” I reluctantly turned to let him know I was sort of paying attention. “Can we get this for the new girl for Christmas? She would like it!”

How do I explain to a four year old that has more compassion than I do, the reason I can’t bring home more kids?

I think every year Open Doors makes a plea for help with Christmas baskets and Christmas presents.

My plea is for something more. It is for consistent monthly support. It is for families to “adopt” a child from afar and send them support so they can feel and experience the love of a Savior. What if this year instead of sending corporate gift baskets a corporate sponsorship of a child was made? What if instead of a gift to someone that already has everything, you gave in their honor to someone with nothing?

I think it would be great to play Santa all year. Not just stopping in the month of December. Giving a gift that will continue to impact and change a life. Making a difference. If that is something that would interest you please go to our website and donate now! Help us continue to be a blessing! 

Donate Now!

Just a frayed string

I live in a country of extreme poverty. Amongst homes built of sticks, mud, and cardboard you can see mansions that any American would be happy to call home. Among the luxury cars that American teens dream of having, scraping by the glamour passes a horse drawn carriage collecting garbage looking to earn some sort of wage for the day. On the back of the cart sit kids rummaging through my five day old spoiled yogurt bottle and  quickly the top comes off as one takes a swig. 

My heart just hit the ground again. 

I recently had an encounter with a lady who has nothing. She has a few outfits, two pairs of shoes, a mat she calls a bed, and an arm full of bracelets made with string given to her by her son. "He made them for me!" I admire her arm, "they are beautiful." She looks at me out of the corner of one of her eyes, "but you would never wear something like this. It isn't good enough for you."

I wasn't sure how to reply. It isn't something I would buy. But that doesn't take it's value away. "I would be happy to wear one. I know it's a prized possession and it has great worth!" 

She wrapped her arms around my neck and placed a bracelet on my arm before I could blink. 

It isn't glitzy. It isn't even colors I normally pick. But it has become a daily reminder to pray for her. And I value the strings tied around my wrist. A month has gone by and not once have I taken it off. It represents a lot to me. 

I was given all she had to give and it was done with a heart of joy. 

I see her every day when I look down. I see her when I try to hide my arm because I catch a "friend" staring at it. I am humbled and remember to let go of pride. At least once a day I ask if it is beneath me. "Am I really to good for it?", Asking as I try and wear a silver bangle on top to hide the frayed strings. 

I am no better. I make no better choices. My blessings in life are no greater than hers. They just look different. 

I stop and wonder. If it were a bracelet made of gold would I try to hide it, or would I show it off? What gives gold it's value? The desire to be had by people? Or some man that decides it has value based on its shine and weight? Why don't people value humble hearts full of joy more than a thin string full of jewels? 

Could I be the old lady that offered the last of my two cents as an offering or would I stuff it in my pocket to save for another day?

And why, when I see someone digging for good in my garbage bag full of maggots, do I not invite them in and make a Kings Feast? What stops me?  Am I really too busy? Or do I really just not care? Or, am I afraid they will get my furniture dirty and make my house stink?

I get caught up in life. I get distracted with helping others so much that I don't help or value the few passing right in front of my eyes. Instead of sharing leftovers, I save them because I might be hungry later.  It is not just me. I look at the orphanage which is now full of people that have forgotten the sticks and shambles they have come from and are growing more self absorbed each day. 

How do we stop? How do we change? For me, keeping this bracelet on my arm is a start and a reminder. 

Cloudy Goggles

Most days at the projects I am awakened by a text, phone call, or knocking on my door. Most nights are spent reviewing my inbox and trying to reply to as much as I can and give as much detail as possible before my eyes cross and head hits the keyboard. The kids have a box that they can place their questions, concerns, complaints, and special requests in. The staff tends to use text or email.

Last night, I had seven emails from one person within an hour. All of them explaining situations and describing current frustrations.

My natural response is frustration and anger. The feelings apply to not just the person the email is written about, but towards the writer as well. So much time is needed to pour into, mold, create, develop a person/worker of excellence. When a typical reaction would be to fire and get rid of the problem. My heart is to pause, pray, evaluate, train, correct, and develop both parties into the employee that we so desperately need.

He said and she said happens all the time. Not just here. It is a plague that has infested the church and the body of Christ. How quick we are to act and react! Why don’t we hesitate and contemplate the ENTIRE situation, then with calm give a response. The way we respond to it separates us from being just average and a true disciple. What would happen if in the pause we looked through their eyes?

REACTING! Not only do the employees do this. I DO THIS! I do this not just with workers, but with kids in the orphanage. Not just those kids, but my own kids. Worse, I do it with my life partner. What spouse wants someone that will respond with haste? I don’t that is why I normally reply in bitter angst. Yours truly. I do that! Me! The one with the heart of gold. Haha. Last week I think I made a confession to my dad that someone demanded something of me recently. I didn’t do it. He snickered. I was feverishly angry. “Ask me for help, I will dedicate my life to it! Demand something from me, my feet will become stuck in cement as my arms fall off my side.” That is me!

Maybe that is why with our staff you don’t find me dictating. I will not command or demand. I let them be the mom of the house. When I see issues I will step in, draw attention to a problem area, and suggest a different way of handling it. Nobody wants to be ruled with an iron fist. Look through their eyes, understand the why, the frustration, the education or lack there of, then with love we can correct. No house mom is working just for the money. They wouldn’t last. The current group of staff members is there because of LOVE. Love for Him, Love for them.

My reply to the rambling email complaints was all of that paragraph above. This immediately brought on an additional three emails full of apologies, prayers, and asking for more help. Amazing how when we address things calmly and with love the response that we get in return!

You know the saying, "You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar"? Most of my family HATES those words. We are all independent, leaders, and we tend to be controlling so that we can get the job done the RIGHT way the FIRST time. Then I married someone just like that. Why? Because I was dumb and didn’t weigh the frustration that I would feel in having someone like that permanently by my side. Behind that, is the fact that God knew,  I need someone to stand by my side to get things done. I didn’t need someone that would sit on his butt until I was run over by the bus I was trying to stop on my own. I needed someone just as strong and powerful to stop the bus with me, or to push me out of the way when it wasn’t worth my effort. Now if I can remember to only see that side!

The basis for all help and assistance the root of it all is LOVE. What motivates you most in life? Are we not all passionate about making life beautiful and wonderful for the ones we love most? A man will work 20 hours a day to provide for his wife and children. (Driven by love.) A woman will work a 12 hour shift and come home to cook, clean, and do homework. (Again it is for love.) If something needs to change, if there is something wrong… How do you motivate the ones around you to change? Through LOVE!

Me loving you is showing you, changing you, growing you. It doesn’t matter if it is work, family, or friends. If you don’t do it for love you won’t stick with it for long. If a subconscious or material need is met by working your butt off, you will eventually become bitter with your boss. If you love what you do because of WHO you do it for and because of what will be produced, at the base you will find love.

 I do it for them... 

which in turn is for Him!

Haunting Prayers

There have been a few times in my life that I have known that I am right where I am supposed to be. Most the time I kind of guess and assume. Sometimes I am SO convicted to do something that I lose sleep. Right now, is one of those moments. I can tell. I know because of the emotional, mental, and physical obstacles I have been facing. I know. I am right where He wants me.

On occasion their faces plague me. They spin around in my dreams and stop randomly on two in particular. I find myself awake in the middle of the night praying. I am determined to make a difference.

One of them is a man I have been reaching out to. He isn’t in the best of situations. I have forced my partner in crime to accompany me to visit him at least once a week. Resentful at first, a month later Nilsson is pushing me to go twice a week. We sit, we talk, we visit. I ask questions, the man answers, half of his replies are covered in lies. I know this, but I don’t care. There is something about him. We took my dad to meet him. Now I think he may be becoming his best friend. Not really, but he for sure found a soft spot in my dads heart. The other day I found out Nilsson now visits him without me. This is a little scary. We went from not interested to bi-daily chats.

In a group setting I asked if I could pray for some of the members that surrounded us. They accepted. Then I called on “him”. I asked him to pray. To pray for himself, to pray for the group around us. He said he would pray with me, but not lead. He admitted in a group of people that would likely judge him for faith that he would accompany me in the prayer. It was a start. I accepted. We prayed.

A couple weeks later he admits to my father that his grandpa was a pastor. Interesting that someone labeled as the worst of the worst of people you could possibly want to know in this life has been rooted in the word. He knows the Bible. He believes in the Bible. He is asking for the Word. He knows where true life is found. He has never forgotten his roots.

A murderer. An addict. An abuser. A liar. A thief. An adulterer. An extortioner. We have tons of negative labels that are placed on people in this world. You and I are not exempt. Whether it was big or small every one of us is plagued with a piece of guilt from some place in our past. We have a label. When we call on God, He sees NONE of this. All He can see is a child of His. Lost or found, He can see you. He cares. The church was found, the Bible it was written, His son was given, all for you. Not for perfection, but for every flaw you would have. His blood was shed.

We all are born with a basic knowledge of this. We know, deep down, there is something more, something larger.  Our families are rooted in it. Yet sometimes it is hard to just surrender. A family history of ministry isn’t necessary. It is engrained from the moment we are conceived.

My little friend. His face spins in my head. I see him when I go to sleep. I am haunted with it as I awake. So I pray for him. And I know that if I continue to show the love he will come around. It is in our visits. Our talks. Our simple prayers that he will come around.

Prayer, no matter how big or small, prayer makes a difference. 

Breaking

Just a break

That is all. That’s it. A break. I want to wake up and not see your face. I want to walk outside and not have you greet me. I want to enter a store or a clinic without you asking for something. I want a day, an hour, even just a minute of peace and rest.

I am exhausted. I feel plagued. I have spent two weeks wanting to write. Two weeks thinking, processing, now I have silence… Then another clang is at my gate. Shhhh… I want a sign that says baby sleeping. You wouldn’t be able to read it.

I want a guard that sends you away and tells you to leave me alone. You wouldn’t understand it.

I pay you to take my garbage so you can find food amongst the smelly leftovers and buy water to drink. I give you my moldy clothes and broken sandles so you can be clothed. And daily you ask me for more. Daily you find me. I buy your half rotten oranges because I wonder what it would be like if it was all I had to offer the only form of survival. I offer you my last tortilla praying with every ounce of my being my husband will have a patient today so he can bring home dinner.

Then I watch. I watch your young children come with your babies hoping I will give medicine. I make them laugh. I play with them trying to catch a twinkle in the deepest parts of their eyes. I touch them giving them the only form of healthy affection that they will most likely ever know in their lives. I get annoyed by the frequent visits as I turn to go back inside.

I listen as the judge comes and tells me about the most recent sex traffickers being caught. I hear a name I recognize. It was her.

I begged to be left alone. I pleaded for silence. Now I am consumed by the guilt and the bitter frustration that I didn’t step in sooner. The voice that once annoyed me I wonder if I could have helped. The banging and knocking, the pleads for assistance. What if I had stopped and truly listened? What if my plans and to-do lists had been set to rest for an hour or two? Would it have changed your future? Could I have saved your pain?

There is no training. There is no preparation. The frustration. The guilt. The anger. The bitterness. The helplessness. Nothing could ever prepare me for the emotions I feel.

My heart aches. I think it is breaking into pieces. There is a love I know to be so pure. So kind. So genuine. I want to share it. I want to pour it out. I want to take each and every one of them and place them in the most beautiful crystal encasing and show them what it is to truly be a princess. A King. A Savior. A Provider. A Healer. The One that can change it all. The One that intended for all things good and beautiful, to know and be known. How would she ever know? How can she ever comprehend? Did He hear her cry? Does He see her tears? You can say yes, but when it only feels like a NO what is left?

She questions her birth? I tell her of a purpose and a destiny. She wonders if I’m drugged. If only she weren’t living. I assure her there is a bigger picture. One she can’t see. One she can’t trust. If the bigger picture was always there than why did she suffer the hurt?

Questions. Answers. Questions. Thoughts. Questions without answers.

Preparation? A life full of love. Pre-requisite? Willing heart. Duties? Too many to name.

Looking for someone to help fill some shoes. The one that walked before me left an impression to big for me to fill. Please send some extra hands and feet.