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.

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!

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!

What is Special. What is Need.

I stared out the window as my heart fell into pieces. I frantically began searching the car for food, water, and anything that I thought could fulfill a need. As my endearing husband passed me water that he took from my sister,  "Go do your thing Mother Theresa" were the only words he had to say.

He was maybe 18. It was obvious he had a case of Down's Syndrome. He was squatting beside the cart  outside of a gas station on one of the most trafficked boulevards in Honduras. I watched through the blur of my tears as he scooped water up from the mud puddle trying to get water into his little jug. As I walked over I called out to him. No response. I stood beside him speaking to him and still, no response. Finally, I squatted down and held out the water bottle. He took it. He said nothing. He responded to nothing. I realized he wasn't only mute, but deaf too.

I returned to the car and asked for some shoes. There were none. I walked to the trunk and pulled out a pair of mine, girly or not at least he has something for his feet. As I neared him this time he saw my shadow coming and stood up. I reached out with shoes and told them they were his. He went to the other side of his wood cart and leaned on it as he began to squeeze water from his jeans and clean off his feet.

We were leaving. I wanted to stay and observe a while, but we didn't have the time. As we drove away I watched as he sat up in the cart struggling to put on his new shoes. My heart ached. Where is his family? Where is his help? A child with Down's can grow into a functioning adult. This boy still needed a guardian and someone to teach him and allow him to blossom.

Later the next day as night fell upon the city we drove by the same gas station. He was there. Laying in his cart. Another piece of my heart fell.

For years we have had hearts to open a home for special needs children. People believe it isn't needed here. This country doesn't know what a special needs child is, means, or needs. I have a friend that moved back to Honduras from Arizona that worked with these kids. It was her major. Here she is just considered a nurse. Her heart is for more, but she is stuck living in a community of people that just don't get it.

I get it. I want to help too. We lack the funding. We lack the location. We lack the support.

There is a need. It is a special need. It requires a special heart of a special person to reach out and meet it.

Are you the one? Do you know someone that is? Please help us continue to reach lives. They all matter!

Open Door Ministries

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!

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. 

Desires

I am facing one of the hardest seasons of my life. Im torn between having my son or completing tasks and focussing on our projects in Honduras. 

I don't have a nanny or a baby sitter. Jayden has never stayed with anyone except for family and that is only maybe a week a year. He is with me 24/7. If I am up, he is up. If I am in the shower, he is in the shower. If I am on a project, he is on the project. If I try to escape to the bathroomfor privacy I soon have raccoon hands pawing at the door. 

On the projects we don't have the assistance we need. Over the next few months I am faced with not only doing all of the previous responsibilities that I was challenged with accomplishing, but I now have to host teams alone for a season. 

How will I do it with a toddler in tow?

I have decided to leave him in the states a while with family. It was really my only option. 

That being said, my heart is breaking. My desire is to be with my family. My heart aches not having him here. He is my delight. He brings a smile to my face. He brings joy. I crave his presence. 

Do you crave the presence of a loved one?

How much greater does our Creator desire our presence? He wants to hear our praise. He wants to hear our heart. He wants to be known. 

If my heart is aching, how much more does His heart ache?

We are passing through the time of year when we are celebrating Him. The Savior. The only son that offered it all for us. How well do you know Him? How well do you know your Father? It is fun to celebrate the birth.  How well do you really know the birthday boy?

He CRAVES you! His desire is to love you! Don't get so caught up in celebrations and traditions that you forget to celebrate HIM! Spend time with Him. Feel His love and presence where you are at. That is His desire! Like a new parent that coddles their new born. Take time to let Him wrap His arms around you today!

He Cried, I Laughed!

Some days I am surprised by the harsh, cold, rude creature of a man that accompanies me through life.

On the days that I cry and break down saying "I just can't do this anymore!"or "I want to give up! Another one wants to run!" or "The judge ruled in favor of the drunk uncle that is only going to sell

her, why did I waste my time fighting!?!"

The days my heart breaks watching a child walk out the door. The days when I am gripped by fear of the unknown for the precious one that I can no longer control the safety or influence over their little life. The day that one of the girls I love most, changes her mind and bolts, shoving in my face every sacrifice that was ever made... Those days, I question. I cry. Those days, he laughs. He pushes me forward. He smacks me in the head until it is screwed back on straight.

He is really warm and kind. As warm and kind as an angry gorilla! He has ice around his heart and just stays focussed on his list of tasks. He stays away from relational connection and he doesn't have to worry about the attachment to any of our kids. Right?

Apparently, down inside, it was all bothering him too! I told him that I still have a couple kids that hung on my leg as I tried to drive away. Why? Not for me, FOR HIM! "Llevame!!! Por fa!" (Take me, please!) Just for an hour, cried one. "It can be five minutes and we can come right back!" Yelled out another fighting to touch my skin, hoping they could then clasp on. In a conversation I was trying to push my angry gorilla to come out again for a couple days. "Just leave the clinic and come stay a bit!" "No, Lauren! Someone has to work! I can't pay the lights right now." My hopes are always that he will say yes. Like a little girl pleading with her father to go inside the pet shop and look at all the puppies.

A few days later, I push the buttons again. "When do you think you can come out?" The usual reply is, "I don't know, when I don't have any patients scheduled." My thoughts? Well, that is never. You only have one day off a week and you don't want to have to make the drive, or not rest because then you are too exhausted to work afterwards. I never let my mouth babble this out, I try and hold it inside.

Then, on some random day, I get a message from my Angry Gorilla. He is currently a Sad Gorilla.  He knew we were battling the courts for some kids. He knew it didn't look like it was going well. "I just wish I could be the dad that they really need. The one they have never had. The one that can fix it. The
one that can show them the love of the Father." Sobs. He cried.

Guess that today it is my turn to laugh. I love that his hard shell is soft enough to crack. I love that in my human doubtful nature I have a partner that shares my pain and sorrow, but pushes through to the end with me.

For now, I laugh. (You are such a tough guy! LOL)

Its Easy! Yet Hard!

Happy Thanksgiving! I know this is delayed. I was trying not to write. I didn't want to hurt any feelings.

Last Thursday was awkward. I was greeted by family that I love, but feel so different from. I was hugged and felt warmth, but still a frigid coolness that creeped over. I got to stuff my face with food that I no longer desire to eat. There was so much that it made me sick. I still had a bite of EVERYTHING, don't worry. I was surrounded by people that may be a part of me, we share blood, but don't have a clue what life is really like. They don't comprehend what it is really all about.

I was asked questions that were ridiculously insane.  "How is life down there?" "So what do you really do?" "What is it like?" "You love it, don't ya?" "How do you walk in those shoes?" "You must love living there, its so easy, right?"

My own family... They have no clue. I think I want it to stay that way. At the same time, it breaks my heart!

To those that know me from the work you have seen in Honduras, you know nothing about my secret desires of the past.

Growing up with a house too big too clean, swimming pool, spa, a foyer that was larger than my current bedroom, vehicles that only had the name exotic or luxury attached, a garage that is the size of our little home we now rent, a private driveway that was longer than the length of our current neighborhood, a personal bathroom that had two sinks and extended counter-tops so I never had to share. The screen room to the pool was larger than the average home. And everything around was decorated like a magazine, even the yard. Dad had the landscape guy change the flowers according to the season. Resort style. I was the girl that never walked out of the house without heels, make-up, and my hair sprayed rock hard. The girl that was well traveled. The girl that never hosted the parties for fear of what they would all say after being on the inside.

I was called the spoiled brat and I was referred to as the snob. Not just by friends, some cousins too. I once got into a dispute with a friend at school because a girl called me a rich snob. That week my dad had sold one of the cars so he could pay some bills. We were blessed. We were above blessed. But I also knew what it meant to make sacrifices. And sometimes you had to down size and decrease spending to maintain the good life. As much as we had materially, dad taught us Kingdom responsibility. Well into my twenties I worked the material things. I kept a pretty good life on my own. If I desired it, I had it. I realize now what I wanted and achieved then, is what people into their 50's still are hoping to attain, one day...

That was then!

Because my then is the only way my family sees me, they don't come close being able to comprehend my now.

Mattress made of cardboard setting on the floor.
No Air Conditioning
A shower that is a bucket of cold water and a cup used to pour it over my head.
Most days my dishes are done in the same way.
Laundry that is done by hand.
An old TV that is the size of my head
Cars that are at the mechanics once a month. One of them spending more time in the shop than running.
No closets
No furniture other than the crummy living room set and dining room set that the termites are eating. (Its okay, they are nothing pretty or spectacular.)
I work longer hours than a private business owner and for no pay.
I have a family that says I have time to raise everyone else in the world except my own blood.
I have heated conversations with my husband over the mold, rat poop, and dust all over the house. (I'm allergic to dust mites and animals and it causes an instant headache upon entry.) These conversations end in me crying once I realize how little time I spend at home and finally acknowledge my unavailability to clean for my family like a normal woman.
I have a child that is supposed to start school next year. (Public school goes to middle school and the kids come out ignorant and unstimulated! Private School option only, but yea... I no longer hold a real job.)
I get to see my entire family? NEVER   When I am home someone is always gone and I get to work on some newsletter, financial statement, or some random office project.
My last vacation was in 2005.
I spend my days being pulled in three hundred different directions because each child or worker has something urgent.
I have no time for me.
When I stay at the home for the kids I am up until 2am and back up at 5:30 so I can try and "get it all done".
I get to deal with Religious Legalism that tries to make every child conform to their law or they go to hell. (This leaves me with hours trying to comfort a girl that she is not going to hell because of the music playing on the street or at school.)
Then the language/cultural barrier that I am still trying to comprehend in SO many ways.
I am the only full timer I know that has no support or mission backing, no income, and no maid.
(House workers are common because of the intense work required to maintain the lifestyle and long hours required when working a ministry.)


There you have it.  I now live with the poorest of the world, not just amongst them. I live just like them. The orphans in our home eat better than we do on most days. They have better furniture. A better built home. A better water system.

But there is something in me that I have no matter how I choose to live my life. I have joy. It wasn't found in my black onyx travertine marble or granite beauties that surrounded my home. It wasn't found in the cars or luxurious items that I could find at my dads growing up. It wasn't found in the unforgettable vacations. But this is stuff that not even my family fully comprehends. It is fine to build a beautiful life. I won't lie. I miss driving my Lexus. I am pretty sure Nilsson misses his Mercedes. Nice things are fun and sometimes very worth the money. I am not currently a lover of Kia or Chevy. I would like to try at Nissan and Ford, or so I think. There are days when I miss going out every night of the week because I didn't feel like making dinner. I don't really know how to get you to understand how I live unless you come and see it. If you knew my before, you still won't believe it.

A couple months ago a missionary made a comment about me being the LAST girl she would have thought was going to move to Honduras. I stayed at her home when I was fourteen, I believe. That was from a missionary. Lol. What did I do? What was so wrong with me?

In May, a friend from school came to Honduras. I knew him since I was about ten. He rubbed his head one day saying out of everyone in school I was the least likely to end up here in Honduras. Why? What was it?

Just because of how life was lived?

These comments make me laugh. God calls. We just have to answer. For a while I may have been caught up in the newest Prada find (which I just found in a box and want to sell if you are looking!) I may have been distracted by the pretties that surrounded me. I liked to go to the store and find new home decor year round. It wasn't that I didn't hear Him, I just liked to distract myself from the burden I now feel so intensely.

My family, they will never fully get it. A couple will, but not all of them. Why would I give up the best in the world and choose to take the worst?

I think when Jesus died on the Cross that was exactly what he was doing. He gave up the best. He was born like you and I. He came to save the world, nothing else. He didn't have to. He did it anyway. He set an example for us to follow. I don't want to be a martyr. I pray the blood over me and my family. I plead for His protection. I follow His lead. I love the least of these. I caress the dirty, smelly, rotten of man kind. I live amongst them. I pray that my life, my love, my joy will flow out of me and onto them. I pray that they catch a glimpse of the love of the Savior and they grasp onto Him. I pray they learn the true treasures in life. I pray that a difference is made with the love and support that is provided when all they have ever known is rejection, hurt, lack. But I am willing to do what He wants me to do.

Not everyone will get that. It is far from easy. This life is the hardest I have ever lived. Most days I hate it. I hate not being able to fix the world. It sounds cliche, but I desire World Peace. I desire to heal the hurts and sorrows and provide a brighter future to those that have nothing, no one, and no way.

You aren't helping them, so I guess I have to. I don't say that with bitterness. So few are helping. I know! I was one of them! I was worried about housing upgrades and kicked myself for not getting that Bentley. Life is about SO much more. It is so easy. It is hard to let go. Relying on Him takes FAITH! With time and practice, it gets SO easy! Here or there, what are you going to do? What will you risk? Will you answer Him? Will you accept the challenge and step out in Faith? Someone needs you. Near or far. Someone is in need. Are you willing to be His hands and His feet? Your family may not understand. It doesn't matter. You know in your heart. He is calling!

Snagged...

I wrote this back in March and never posted. Funny, no matter how much we work on ourselves our flaws seem to snag something and hold us back!

You know that old saying... The grass is ALWAYS greener on the other side. How many times do you think you hear that growing up? I am sure between my gram, mom, and dad I have heard it at least a thousand times. Probably more. Yet I still get confused and forget it.

From time to time, I have kids that want to swap projects. They want to flip house moms, exchange beds, trade clothes, and live what they envision to be the perfect life the other is living. WHY? I don't get it. They are CRAZY!

Sometimes I am really quick to judge. Sometimes I jump to conclusions. Sometimes I too forget God has me where I am at for a reason.

I see another ministry that looks better developed, more structured, has more funding, and a lot more on the ground support, and my mind begins to wonder what it would be like to swap jobs with another missionary or minister in the states. When I dreamed as a little girl of being a doctor... I didn't think it would be on the spiritual and emotional level I find myself nurturing people back to health each day. I thought it was medicinal and would serve a physical purpose.

How easy is it for me to look at kids I went to high school with that are now practicing medicine and think about how wonderful it must be? I wish I had done _________. I wish I was more ___________. I wish I could just ________.

This is not something that has an occupational barrier. Those thoughts swiftly rush in about my husband, my kids, my home, my spiritual walk, you fill in the _________.

The truth is the grass is always greener in the areas where it is cared for the most. What are you spending your time nurturing? What are you fertilizing or feeding? What areas are you watering?

If you look around the housing developments you find some yards that are beautifully manicured. They are natural. It takes landscaping crews hours to develop, days to plant, and weekly visits to maintain. If you aren't happy with an area, what are you doing to change it? If you think someone else has it better, easier, or everything just looks prettier to you... STOP! Re-evaluate your own maintenance plan and start cleaning house. It is time for us to do some SERIOUS SPRING CLEANING!

It all depends on you! You can make it as easy or as hard as you want to, but bottom line is it depends on your choices and your actions. 

What It Really Is...

You know those days when you have SO much to say that you don’t know where to really begin? 

It is my fault. I took to long to write. I took to long to sit down and jot out some ideas. I have so many things to share and not many would you really want to hear about, but I still want to share.

We are packed! That is one that I am both proud of, and cringe in shame. In one year we have nearly doubled in size. Not in the size of houses. I mean kids. Why? Because I lack the word “no” in my vocabulary. Is this good? It depends on whose glasses you are wearing. Do you think my mom and dad jump up and down when I say there are more kids? Maybe, depending on the day. We all celebrate and at the same time we bite our fingernails wondering what is happening.

We have broken the odds. We fit into no mold. We never have, I am not sure why this still surprises me. 

We have done more work, touched more lives, and seen more success (depending on who you ask!) than any other mission our age in this country. Most people wait TWO years for approval to open a home. We waited less than a week. The number of kids that have been under our influence? I need to pull out all the old files so I can give an exact number, but it would knock your socks off. The amount of lives that have been touched, AMAZING!

I was recently asked AGAIN about our success stories. Well, what do you consider success? The fact that we are still open, and operating BY FAITH, and can continue to do all that we do, THAT is success.  Having girls that come in and are 11, 12,13, 14, 15, and even a 16 year old with kids that have never been in school and teaching them to read and watching them go through sixth grade, (The majority stop after 6^th country wide.), is pretty impressive. The girls that have come from abuse or have been abandoned and stick around because they recognize family, that is pretty awesome. The ones that runaway looking for their “real family”, and realize God has placed them in our home with their new family so return still leaves me astonished. And we have some that have left their young babies behind so they can work and try to find stability and they come “home” on vacation to see us and visit their kids. Those are success stories. Kids that now know, accept, and embrace unconditional love. What could be better? Little by little, one life at a time, a difference is being made.

A couple weeks ago Sandra, one of the first girls accepted into the home, had her youngest son in the hospital. I went on rotation with her as you cannot leave the patients unattended due to the lack of medical staff. On the third day I was exhausted. I wanted to leave. I was ready to go home and see my own family and play with my own kids. I was wanting to cuddle, and read bed time stories with Jayden. I just didn’t want to be sitting on a cold, hard, metal stool for another minute. Sandra finally walked back in the room. I went to buy more medicine and additional syringes to get them through the night. When I returned, I placed the items on the floor close by and started to say goodbye. I turned to walk away and Sandra tapped me on the shoulder followed with a nudge. I turned to nudge her back and gave her a look like she was silly. “Mama Lauren.” I looked at her with a smirk, still half playing. “Yes, Sandra?” “I don’t have a real mom, but I know what that love would feel like because of you and Mama Penny. Thank you for loving me, showing me, and accepting me.”  I wasn’t sure how to respond. I just kissed her head and squeezed her tight. That, my friends, SUCCESS!!! On the deepest level!

A culture so bombarded by the abandoned. In a country where you throw out people like you would throw out garbage. She senses a true love. A pure love. She can relate more closely to the unconditional love of our father because of how we allow Him to use us. We may not be touching the multitudes today, but we are raising the hands and feet that will reach the multitudes tomorrow.

Is there anything better than that?

Just Another Lump Of Clay

Out of the many people that come and go… There are few that stick around forever. This is something we all know very well. Each person that comes to the homes in Honduras definitely leaves their mark behind. All of them special and touching in their own way.

They all bring certain stamina to help us continue or bits of motivation. Some of the new ones help catapult me to the

 next level. It is odd though. The old ones, the seasoned ones, the ones that I had long forgotten and then suddenly re-appear… It is those that seem to keep me going for the long haul.

Having Teachers. Counselors.  Friends. Pastors. The significant relationships that helped create who I am… I am talking people from my past. It is currently my past that is pushing me forward. Normally I would neglect my history and focus on my future. Despite what my old history teacher taught me to do with learning history to avoid major pitfalls in the future. I want to keep my eyes straight ahead and look for what is coming down the road. But what am I driving? Where is the energy coming from? What is it made of?

Today, I had sort of an Aha Moment! He is the Potter, and I am the clay. I am still clay. And I always thought of Him as THE POTTER. Then, as ridiculously elementary as this is I remembered the hands
of The Potter. Nowadays, His hands are referred to as the church. And frankly, I, like many of you, have issues with what we now call “the church”. Back in the day, however, the church was a community of people. For Stephen it was small groups of people in homes. People that were hands. The hands of the Potter. I am clay. Clay that has been pushed, smashed, nearly destroyed, and molded back together. Not just by Him, but by you. By the people that love me. The people that KNOW me. The people that raised me. The people that molded the people that raised me. It takes more than parents to raise a child. It takes a community. My family did a great job, but so much more was left pressed, pushed, shaped, and molded by teachers. Pastors. Friends.

I find great motivation in having people that know who I was, and those that helped create who I am, come see and be a part of what I do. It drives me.

The fingerprints that have been etched in my clay are molded into my hands. My hands that now touch the lives of young ones around me. I leave my print, but in essence, I leave yours.

Green with Envy!

Lately at the Gates of Hope I am having issues with girls fighting jealousy, greed, and envy. The words that come from feelings of jealousy only lead to feelings of hurt by the other party. That hurt then turns to anger and eventually retaliation. It is really a vicious cycle. That same vicious cycle follows us our entire lives! From our youth, to adulthood, marriage, families... It is there!

What if we all paused in those moments of bitter hurt and frustration? What if instead of retaliation we hesitated for a moment and prayed? What if when we felt anger we sought Him to fill up our hate tank with love to the brim so it could do nothing other than pour out in every area?

I am trying to convince the girls to imagine what it would be like to be the other person. In order for me to teach them, I must first do this myself. Lately, I have been in the middle of a lot of gossip, hate, and accusations. I have been dealing with people going over me with a magnifying glass looking for areas in my life where I am at fault. In the beginning I shrugged it off. Then as I heard it begin to grow and realized the gossip lines were ringing non-stop, I got mad. I was hurt, so I began to feel angry. Then I became bitter.

A wise person came along and like a mother hen helped pick me up and brush me off. "Lauren, stop giving them validation! If I could go to them and put a stop to it, I would!" Something about those words resonated inside of me. First, she believed in me. Second, she helped me realize I was giving the crazy talk power and letting it rule me. I quit wanting to work. I was become frustrated with the kids. I was angry at the job I was doing. I let the words being spoken hurt my core to the point where I questioned why I was going to continue working. If I don't do my job it will cease to exist because I don't see any of the pointing fingers down here by my side helping raise me up to be able to continue. That just continued to push me down, but only because I allowed them to. Then I wanted to retaliate. Any speckle of an issue that they thought I had in my life was minuscule compared to the unjustified gossip and judgement. Then I realized I had started to point my finger back. Worse I felt Gods tug... "Hey kiddo, their actions do not justify your reactions! Love. I gave you love!" But God... Mine are just thoughts. I am not shouting from the mountain tops!! And none of their complaints are currently justified!

Sometimes God stops responding. Why should He waste time speaking to a deaf person? Thankfully, THIS TIME, I was smart enough to finally shut up and listen.

Love. Sprinkle it with love. I was taught to love. It is easy for me because I had a great teacher. I had Him. On top of my Abba Father, I had great parents that taught love. It isn't easy for everyone. And sometimes one word, one look, or even one moment of silence can cause hurt. Hurt will always turn to anger in the end unless we seek Him first.

Things I am learning: AGAIN!

Don't give words the power to rule you and keep you doing what you know is right and true.

Don't be afraid to be real, to be you, even if it means you are going to hit nerves with people. When a person has a deep wound sometimes it takes cleaning it out and hitting nerves that will cause pain before it can heal properly.

Never stop, not even for a minute, believing that God will use every bit of the bitterness experienced in life to bring Him glory!

Always rely on Him. He never stops guiding and bringing direction or providing protection!

1-800-Pest-Man!

Its over guys. My world is coming to an end! I am turning thirty!!! The last year has been full of changes in my body, hair, mind, and anything else I am forgetting to mention. A few months ago I remember commenting on looking forward to it. Women in their thirties are beautiful to me. Twenties is just fun, but there was something about thirty that seemed dignified, elegant, luxurious even. I dreamed of having a real birthday celebration for a change. Actually being surrounded by friends. Old and new. Thinking that all my old girls who are also now at this same corner stone would be around to help celebrate the loss of my youth.

It didn’t happen! None of the glamour I “thought” was going to happen seemed to appear. To make matters worse I began to re-evaluate the situation. This happens a lot! When I see the need that surrounds me and start to feel depressed the first thing I do is contemplate WHY I AM HERE! WHY HONDURAS? I can’t help it! I am still human.

Adding to my emotional retardation... It has been raining a lot! I MEAN A LOT! Like I cannot drive through town because the water is up over the hood of the suburban. This means that bugs, insects, and rodents are looking for dry ground. They are forcing their way inside my humble aboad. As if the normal couple of them that I find sleeping with me are not sufficient I now have an army of roaches living in the house. I pick up a shoe and one crawls up my leg. I move a cabinet door and there is another rat staring at me. This, sadly, is my breaking point!

I can live with having someone that I know personally being killed every week for a cell phone. I can live with kidnappings. I can live with no electricity 50% of the time in this crazy town. I can live with never having enough water to bathe or finish washing the dishes and laundry. I can live with the ignorance of making me stand in line for two hours at a bank to have me reach the counter and tell me there is no system. BUT DO NOT ASK ME TO LIVE WITH ROACHES! I can kill spiders. I can kill snakes. I cannot, however, for the life of me kill roaches and rats. They reproduce on an hourly basis I swear! PLEASE SEND ME TRULY NOLAN!!

Dealing with creatures makes me contemplate my existence on this earth. Sad, but true.

After spending all day crying over my miserable life that I at some dumb point in my life “chose” for myself. (Yep, stupid me, I make dumb decisions that plague me for life.) I read a message from a sweet friend wishing me a happy birthday. This woman was a scrap book queen, best mom, decorated for EVERY holiday ever, and now… Now she has mastered sending all these cute picture messages via facebook. Almost like bookless scrapping. Looking at her message made me jealous. She made me miss home. She made me think about the exotic vacations I used to take on a regular basis. She made me think about the glamorous life I once lived. And part of me missed it. I miss the nice things. I miss pretty pedicures, spa treatments, beautiful clothes that had their own jewelry and shoes to match everything. But then my friends message also put me back in check.

I commented on her post dreaming about meeting some place around the Bahamas for another adventure. She replied, “I think of that day more often than you realize.”

I was puzzled for a minute. Why God? What was so special? She still travels. It is me that does nothing fun. She still lives that life. Why does she think about that day? With me? It was nothing, just fun.

“Don’t let off the throttle!!” It was a day of adventure with crystal clear water. It was also her first time sitting on a jet ski. She was scared and nervous. Silly to some, but it was kind of a big deal for her. We were in the Carribean Sea on a jet ski. Trying to calm her I began to give her some instruction. “Look, whatever you do if you see a wave, don’t let off the throttle. Push through it.” Sitting on the back, letting her take control, I was concerned. All I could do was encourage, guide, and remind. “Don’t let off the throttle!”

It was one of my favorite experiences EVER! I had so much fun that day that I think everyone needs to experience it. However, God is also using it as a life lesson for me.

Things here are sticky, stinky, and dirty. Actually, a lot of things here are ugly. Yet, I am surrounded by His beautiful creation. This country is gorgeous. PLUS! Every time I get scared, nervous, or want to give up and go back to my pretty life I get this nudge… “Don’t Let Off The Throttle!”

He has called us on purpose and with purpose. He uses all things to work for His good in His timing.

No matter where you are or what you are doing. You are here, now, in this very moment reading this babble by me ON PURPOSE.

Press in, lean forward, and keep pushing on that throttle. You cannot just walk away because it looks dark and dirty or hopeless.

I can’t imagine what happened and the feelings that were incurred as the Israelites questioned God as they wandered for 40 years waiting to get to the promised land. 40 years!! He provided for their needs and He was faithful seeing them through. What if they had thrown their hands in the air and said forget it? What if they had committed mass suicide because it was “too much”? What if they surrendered to the roaches and rats and allowed themselves to be carried into the ugly rat chambers and eaten alive? Yes, they questioned. Yes, they doubted. Yes, they had fear. They were human. But they pushed forward anyways and He was faithful!

So no matter what… Don’t let off the throttle! And flick that crazy roach back into its filthy nest and run for the RAID! Or just call the pest man! ;) God always answers your calls.