something's gotta give

Two years ago, when my husband confessed to an 18-month affair, I didn't think things could get any worse. And then he filed for divorce.

And I had to close the ministry I launched 13 years ago.

And I had to give up my home, my car, almost all my possessions, and move back to America. Where I currently am living out of a suitcase, in people's guest rooms, with no income and no plan.

I'd say Transition has slapped me around pretty good.

And, the bully that he is, Transition won't leave me alone.

Change is my only constant. And I've gotta be honest...

I hate it.

It makes me want to scream. It makes me cry ugly tears. It makes me want to cuss.

I've lost so much -- am still losing so much -- to unrelenting Transition.

And -- sigh -- I don't think I've handled it very well. I haven't carried myself very gracefully through these changes.

I'm pretty sure I allowed Transition to steal my faith, hope, and joy along with everything else.

Something's gotta give...

I ended 2010 so ready to kick the year to the curb. But at the stroke of midnight, things didn't miraculously change.

And now, I find myself looking around, wondering where's the "new" in the new year. Everything's still the same. Only the calendar's different.

Transition's still taking a wrecking ball to my life. Hope still seems scarce. Tears I didn't know I had left, keep coming. The hard days continue.

And I know they will.

So I made the decision to look for God's hand in the midst of the hard.

My eyes have been blindfolded by Transition for too long.

I want to actively search for God in my brokenness. Seek out His beauty in my pile of ashes. Face the continual tide of change on my tip-toes, looking for God where I haven't seen Him before.

I haven't quite mustered up the strength to steal back my faith, hope, and joy. But I'm at least going to start looking for them. Which is more than I've done in a long time.

I can't stop change from coming. I cannot.

But I can choose to remember that He holds my ever-changing life in His never-changing hand.

Take that, Transition.

Originally posted as a guest post on Refine Us >

i am not an island

After a decade in Africa, I finally had a friend fly out to spend a few months with me. I'd had friends visit before, but only for a couple weeks at a time. If that. But I got the gift of Natalie for two solid months. She stayed with me in my house. We ate meals together and paused for coffee breaks during the day. We went on walks and took leisurely lunches. We filled our time with laughter and tears and hearts.

We did life together.

And then she left.

I'd moved to Africa at 19. My entire adult life was spent an ocean away from my closest friends. And I'd suddenly gotten to do everyday life with one of them for two months straight.

It's one thing to miss something you'e never really had. It's another thing entirely to miss something once you've experienced it.

When Natalie left, my heart felt an ache like it never had before. I missed having a close friend in my everyday life.

And when I voiced that to a loved one, I was told I'm not spiritual enough.

"You shouldn't hold people that closely. Jesus should be enough for you."

Along with so much of my Christian upbringing, a Biblical truth was distorted into something it was never intended to be.

Yes, Jesus is absolutely more than enough for me. I don't doubt His all-sufficiency. (Well, sometimes I live like I do, but that's a whole other blog post for a whole other day...) Jesus is enough for my salvation; He alone should be my source of hope and purpose and value.

In typical God fashion, there exists this paradox in our faith:

God is enough for me. But God also created me for relationships.

I was not made to be an island. I was not intended to live life alone. I believe part of the enough-ness of my relationship with Christ comes from my relationships with others. He wants me to bare my heart to people. To be real. To love deeply and be loved deeply in return.

I want to love hard.

To miss to the point of tears.

And I want to be loved and missed that much in return.

Because in the context of that kind of intimacy, I learn so much about intimacy with Christ. I grasp more of His love. I discover different sides of His character.

My heart hurts from yet some more recent goodbyes, but I welcome that ache because of all it tells me... about love, and value, and relationship.

And I realize anew the longing in God's heart...

For me.

Originally posted at Deeper Story...

a deeper story

One of my favorite descriptions of God is that He's the author and finisher of my faith. I love words. And I express my heart through these typed letters on the screen. So it makes me smile to think of God having that same passion. He is the author of my faith. The author of me.

He is writing my story.

I'm just watching it unfold before my eyes. Watching the path appear before my feet, written into existence by the hand of God.

He is the perfect author. He needs no editor. He needs no second draft. He needs no backspace. He writes it perfectly the first time.

Author and finisher. No abandoned writing projects. No half-hearted attempts. No arms-in-the-air, "I quit!" moments.

He finishes what He starts. Completely. Thoroughly.

He is writing my story all the way to the end.

He's writing yours too. Everything that's been and all the chapters you have yet to see... all crafted by the creativity of His mind, the unbridled love of His heart, and the mighty providence of His hand.

And because He's writing them (and we're not), there is power in our stories.

They are meant to be shared.

Life is found in that place where hearts are laid bare. Sermons set aside, opinions thrown to the wind... No soapboxes, only stories.

Jesus loves to multiply meager offerings.

And like the loaves and fish, He transforms our brokenness to create new life. In us. In others.

But first we must hold out our hands.

Open our hearts.

And surrender our stories.

I'm offering my lowly lunch to Jesus along with some other incredible women on a new site called A Deeper Story. Together, we're holding out the simple stories of our lives, trusting Him to make something beautiful and life-bearing from our menial crumbs.

A Deeper Story just launched this week. Will you come hang with us?

healing in the storm

Africa has the greatest storms. The rainy season finally comes after months of drought. By the time the first drop falls, the earth is cracked and parched. Lakes and ponds have all but dried up. The tall savannah grass is brown and brittle.

The earth is thirsty. Ready. Waiting.

And then, out of nowhere one day, the storm clouds roll in.

The blackened sky sobs heavy tears. You can feel the thunder deep in your bones as it echoes through the plains. The lightning makes you jump with fear and paralyzes you with awe all in the same loud, bright instant. The wind reminds you that only God could tie the trees down tightly enough.

Africa's storms are altogether wonderful.

And altogether terrible.

Water rushes into homes, through the cracks in mud hut walls and the gaps in old thatch roofs and the seams in tin shack ceilings. Gusts of wind blow right through bedrooms and marble-sized hail destroys gardens. Those with only their feet for transportation run for any cover they can find---the bus stop, the liquor store, the first home they can reach in the village.

The storms are harsh. And unrelenting. And inconvenient.

And yet, they are welcomed.

There is a joy about the rainy season. "We need it," is what you'll hear.

"We need it."

They find it easy to say. Easy to see. Easy to recognize and acknowledge that as challenging as the storm may be, good will come of it. It is, after all, an answer to countless prayers for the sun-scorched ground of Africa.

They know that the thirst can't be quenched without the storm.

Spring can't come without the rain.

New life can't bud deep beneath the surface of the dry, crusty ground until the heavens unleash their fury.

The drought doesn't end until the storms start.

We need it.

I need it.

I need this storm in my life. Not as punishment or discipline or as some cruel cosmic joke that has God chuckling to Himself. I need it because of what's waiting on the other side, that I can't see yet.

I need it because my cracked, dry heart doesn't remember anymore what it feels like to be filled to overflowing.

I need it because everything in my life has turned the bare, barren brown of winter. And I'm despearte for the life-awakening green of spring.

I need it.

Even when I hate it.

Africa reminds me to take joy in the downpour.

For there is healing in this storm...

Originally a guest post at Mary DeMuth's...

i kissed dating goodbye

I didn't date until I was 20, and my first and only boyfriend became my husband a couple years later. He is the only guy I've ever kissed; he's the only one I've ever slept with. And somewhere along the line, without even realizing it, I assumed that had earned me some brownie points with God.

After all, I'd "kissed dating goodbye". I'd saved myself for my husband. Subconsciously, I thought that guaranteed an incredible, lasting marriage.

But then he cheated on me.

And ultimately chose her over me.

In some ways, it feels like I'd saved myself for nothing... Like none of it mattered.

I know, at least on some levels, that that isn't true. I know that even my "all things" are intended for my good, even when it's impossible to see. I know that He is redeeming, restoring, rebuilding me, for His ultimate purpose.

I also know that redemption doesn't usually look like we think it will.

And that there are no brownie points to be had. There are no guarantees, no obligatory blessings, no automatic protections or provisions.

Life is just plain hard. Even though God is good.

Even though God is good.

And even when I "kissed dating goodbye".

I hope to someday see the bigger picture. The full circle. The "none of it mattered" transformed into "every bit of it mattered".

But even if I don't, even if I won't, I'm still called to trust Him. To live on the truth of what He says and who He is.

Because then and only then...

All of it mattered.

Originally a guest post at Love Wins

eternity in our hearts

"He has planted eternity in the human heart."

Such a beautiful, divine thought...

Eternity is planted deeply in the soil of my heart. Placed there by God Himself.

If eternity is within me, then the past and the future exist in each moment just as much as the present does.

Trying to wrap my brain around that makes my head hurt. Such an unfathomable concept.

But the idea that eternity courses through me with every beat of my heart, seems to make some sense of my too-often struggle with being fully present in the moment.

I'm not very good at living in the now.

I am more likely to dwell on the past or restlessly wander ahead into the future. Both hold fears and hopes, of entirely different kinds. And both can either rob me of my present or enhance it.

God is timeless---existing simultaneously before now, after now, and right now---and He's planted the seed of His timelessness inside me.

As a gift, not to be fought against, but to be embraced.

There is a reason He wants me to live in the tension that past, present, and future create as they collide in every single moment. There is a purpose in the struggle.

Maybe embracing the now doesn't mean switching off the ever backward- and forward-wandering of my heart.

Maybe, instead, it means choosing to engage my present in light of the regrets and joys of my past, and the hopeful, sometimes fearful, yearnings of my future.

I need to remember that the One who was and is and is to come, lives within me, stabilizing me in the uncertainty of what was and is and is to come.

When I do, I live more mindful that God is in control. I live with more active trust in Him.

The constancy of Christ at work inside me---He who is the same yesterday, today, and forever---provides an anchor for my unpredictably inconsistent heart.

And that anchor holds fast.

No matter how turbulent the storm may be.

[Originally a guest post at Mel's World...]

just me

There's a reason (or many of them...) that I don't video-blog. But I made an exception... My friend Toby is hosting Ladies' Week on his site this week, and I feel incredibly honored to be a part of it.

When he first asked me, I had lots of excuses reasons why I couldn't. And then I ended up deciding I should. I don't know why... I just felt like I needed to...

So please remember that I'm better at writing than speaking (dang, I love me some backspace), and (please?!)  have grace for my awkward, stumbling-over-myself ways... and then link over to Toby's to watch my video interview...

Here's me.... Sharing my story...

(and then stick around Toby's site to watch the videos of the other amazing women taking part in Ladies' Week. In-cred-i-ble!)

let Me love you

When my husband's affair was exposed, my entire life turned upside down. Everything changed. Overnight.

And though I didn't think it was possible, everything crumbled into even smaller pieces when he filed for divorce.

In one big swoop, I lost my marriage... my ministry... my home.

After a decade of living in Africa, I've now been back in the States for a year-and-a-half. Almost nothing in my life is the same as it was two years ago.

Nothing.

My world fell out from under me. And it was surprising to see the people God used to catch me.

It wasn't who I expected. In fact, some were people I never would've expected.

But that's just the way God works, isn't it?

Often, those we think "should" be there for us, aren't. And those we'd never expect to be, are. It's painful in some ways and joyous in others, but ultimately it reminds me to keep my eyes on God rather than on man.

And while it never plays out the way we'd script it, God uses people to bring redemption and restoration to our lives.

The greatest hurts always come from relationships. But so do the greatest healings.

In the past couple years, I have felt the deepest pain of my entire life. But I've also felt more loved than I ever have before.

It's as though the raw hurt was matched, depth for depth, with immense love.

Deep calls out to deep.

And I wouldn't know how to love and be loved so intensely if it weren't for the pain I've endured in my life.

In the midst of such indescribable personal grief, God built an amazing support system around me. In unfathomable ways.

He gave me friends who've loved me hard even when I had nothing to give back to them. Friends who've prayed faithfully and sincerely for me. Friends who've held me as I cried, talked me down off the proverbial edge when hopelessness set in, and pushed/carried/dragged me when it felt impossible to take a single step.

In a lot of ways, being on the receiving end of so much care and support has been really hard for me. But over and over again I've heard God's unmistakable voice:

"Let Me love you through My people."

In allowing myself to receive others' love, I've discovered new depths of the love of God. I've experienced more of His character. I've learned to love more deeply in return.

I am grateful for the community God's given me. I'm thankful for the amazing people I get to call "friends" and the ways God uses them to bring healing to my heart.

He continues to show me aspects of who He is that can only be expressed through His people.

In spite of great loss, my life feels incredibly rich.

And it makes the pain worthwhile.

So I lift my eyes and whisper... "Thank You."

[Originally posted on (in)courage...]

missions is God's heartbeat

I've heard people talk about the Biblical basis of missions. But I think it's more accurately stated as the missional basis of the Bible. It's so easy to assume that missions is a New Testament idea. But it's not. It's been God's heart since the very beginning. His passion for the nations is evident throughout the entirety of the Bible.

I know many often struggle to reconcile the God of judgment and wrath in the Old Testament with the one of mercy and grace in the New. But if we look closely enough, we can see His heartbeat as a thread all throughout.

It's so evident in the Bible stories we learned in Sunday School, but amid the flannelgraphs and illustrated kids' Bibles, we may have missed it.

Way back in Genesis, God promised Abraham overwhelming blessings. Not so Abraham could live an abundant, selfish life. But so that "all people on earth will be blessed" through him. All people.

The story of Noah and the ark shows us more than God's wrath on the sinful world and the rescue of every kind of animal. It reveals God's mercy, compassion, and love for the nations of the earth. The promise set forth in the rainbow was God's covenant with all of mankind---not just Noah's family. Not just the people of Israel. Not just the Body of Christ. God's covenant of grace was "a covenant for all generations to come." All generations.

What was the whole point of David and Goliath? Little beats big? God on your side is the majority? We can do all things through God's strength? All of those things and more. Ultimately, it reveals God's heart. David conquered Goliath so "the whole world will know that there is a God." The whole world.

Then there was Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, the three young Israelites in the fiery furnace. In the end, King Nebuchadnezzar decreed that the people of "every nation" will know that "no other god can save." Every nation.

Not only did the Lord spare Daniel's life in the lion's den, but "all the peoples, nations, and men of every language" heard about it. The king issued a decree that basically said, "There is no God like Daniel's!" Every language.

Even in the Psalms we can read of God's heart for the lost. "May God be gracious to us and bless us and make His face shine upon us that Your ways may be known on earth, Your salvation among all nations." David's prayer was "Bless us, Lord, so that all nations may come to know You!" There are so many other passages like that strewn throughout the Psalms. All nations.

As you read the Bible this week, look at everything through the missions lens. You'll see things you never noticed before. And you'll discover the heart of God in a whole new way.

God's ultimate plan is for all nations to know Him.  As Christians, as God-followers, we are called to be a part of His plan.

All of us.

Originally a guest post at my friend Becky's

a little somethin' for the guys

I don’t know that I’m the greatest candidate for a marriage series. I mean... I’m going through a divorce... Sigh...

So I’m gonna keep this short.

But I wanna talk to the men for a minute. Just for a minute, I promise. I’ll get right to the point...

: : :

So guys... Come finish reading on Fireflies & Hummingbirds > (It really is short...)

maybe even more so

It's so normal to me that I don't even really think about it anymore. Most of my friends are people I met online.

Although I've gotta be honest... Using that phrase "met online" bugs me. It seems to diminish or devalue the experience and the friendships because of the negative connotations it holds for so many.

I never make distinctions like "online friends" and "in real life friends". There is no delineation between them. A friend is a friend, no matter where or how we met.

The friendships I've built over the internet are every bit as real, deep, and authentic as any I've ever built face-to-face.

Maybe even more so.

Because I articulate myself better in writing, I'm quicker to dive into weighty topics over Twitter, email, and blogging than I probably would in person. Then once that groundwork is laid, it's a whole lot easier for me to carry on that conversation offline.

Authenticity breeds authenticity. And while there are those who misrepresent themselves online, the majority of people I've gotten to know have proven themselves to be genuine.

Being real makes others feel safe to do the same.

And that's how great friendships get built.

My life is full of them. And I am so incredibly grateful.

I have more friends now than I've ever had. I don't say that to try to sound popular. (Because, trust me, I'm not. At all.) I say it with a shake of my head and disbelief in my voice. I can't seem to find the right words to convey how astounded and humbled I am by the relationships God has gifted me with.

Because they truly are a gift.

And they have carried me through the most difficult season of my life. Even those people I haven't had the chance to hug yet.

Honestly, as long as we're bringing our true selves, it doesn't matter if we get together in Starbucks or in an email.

Friendships are about connections of the heart.

And hearts hang out in the strangest of places.

Originally a guest post at PrudyChick.com

even me

I knew the entire 18 months that my husband was having an affair. At first it was just a suspicion; by the end, we were fighting every single day about her. He kept denying it. And insisting that the real issue was me. How dare I accuse him of something like this?!

Until I confronted him with undeniable proof.

I don't know what I thought would happen after that. I don't know that I was thinking at all. But I certainly didn't imagine everything that's transpired in the year-and-a-half since then.

I never anticipated the bottom completely falling out of my world, making every single thing in my life uncertain and unsure. I never expected him to leave me for her. I couldn't imagine that things would get far worse long before they'd ever start getting better.

I wonder if I'd have gone through with it if I had known what would happen.

I was so crushed, depressed, and broken, that I'm not sure I would have. And that breaks my heart.

It also makes me realize that---and I'm almost afraid to say this out loud---I'm grateful. With tears streaming down my face, I'm thankful that my life shattered to pieces... because I am already more whole than I was before all this happened.

Don't get me wrong. The past few years have been hell. They've been harder than I ever imagined I could survive, and I wouldn't wish that kind of pain on anyone. Even her.

But sitting here today, I have a clearer picture of my value and worth than I ever did in my marriage.

I still have a long road ahead of me. I will live with the pain of this heartache for a long time. But today... Today I feel hopeful that God is redeeming this.

He doesn't waste a thing.

Everything can be made new. Everything can be redeemed. Everything can be made whole.

Even this.

Even me.

[Originally a guest post at Pearl Girls...]

faith in the key of plan b

I've experienced God's miraculous power in my lifetime. I've seen His divine protection and provision. I've watched Him do incredible things. But when my life crumbled around my feet a couple years ago, what God can do and what He was doing didn't line up.

God could have stopped my husband from cheating on me. He could have changed his mind about leaving me for the other woman. He could have saved my marriage, protected our ministry, and kept my heart from the deepest pain I've ever endured. He could have. But He didn't.

And I realized something simple yet extraordinary.

There's a difference between faith in what God can do and faith in who God is.

From my microscopic vantage point, it often seems like God's actions and inactions---what He allows---aren't consistent with His character. But I can't see the big picture from my tiny corner in the vastness of eternity.

Because the truth is, His character never changes. No matter what I'm experiencing in my life, God is loving, faithful, and trustworthy. He is just and merciful. He is Healer and Redeemer. And He doesn’t waste a thing.

Nothing---neither the best nor the worst that I’ve known---is wasted. Ever. Everything can be made new. Everything can be made whole. Everything can be redeemed.

Nothing is wasted.

Even when it doesn't appear that way right now.

My faith is supposed to be about much more than trusting Him to make everything work out according to my "perfect plan".

After all, He is more concerned about my holiness than my happiness.

So while life continues to unfold very differently than I'd ever imagined, I want to live with active trust in who He is, even in the midst of pain and brokenness.

Easier said than done, I know. The only way I can even think about making this shift is in moment-by-moment decisions of faith.

So right now, I'm choosing to anchor myself in the unmovable bedrock of God's character.

And trusting that what feels like Plan B (or maybe Plan F) is really His best for me.

Originally a guest post at Refine Us >

my altogether different africa

The Gypsy Mama and I have been living each other's lives. Well, kinda. I've lived in South Africa for 12 years. Just about as long as she's lived in America.

She's a South African married to an American. I'm an American married to a South African. Or at least I was. But that's a whole other story for a whole other day.

South Africa has become home for me, although it was certainly an adjustment. Things are just different. Like the common practice of not refrigerating condiments. And grown men grocery shopping in their bare feet. And the fact that jam means jelly and jelly means jell-o.

We drive on the wrong left side of the road in cars that are more ladylike than they are in the States. They have bonnets and boots instead of hoods and trunks.

There's no central heating (even though we get snow where I live!) but I've learned to build fires in my fireplace the old fashioned way. I'd make Bear Grylls proud. The windows, which are permanently open in summer, have no screens. And I hate bugs. ::shudder::

I'm still trying to understand the difference between the South African phrases now, just now, and now now. Because they basically all mean I'll get to it when I get to it.

Speaking of... Things happen slower in Africa. Which often causes a flare-up of my Kinko's-quick American impatience, but has taught me some valuable lessons: Faster isn't always better. God cares more about the missionary than the mission. Relationships matter.

Nuggets of wisdom lace every contrast between my here-home and there-home. And I love that. There is a unique joy in discovering more about God and myself in the tapestry of cultural diversity.

I love my altogether different and altogether beautiful Africa.

In all her grit and glory.

[originally a guest post on The Gypsy Mama's site...]

the double standard of my heart

For months I've been praying for my husband's heart to return to the Lord. For Niel to feel the conviction of the Holy Spirit.

For the consequences of his decisions and actions to open his eyes to how deceived he's become.

For him to hit rock bottom.

For God to do whatever it takes to get his attention.

But if I'm being most honest, I wasn't as concerned with Niel's repentance as I was with him feeling the weight of what he's done.

The reality is that I sometimes still want him to hurt like I've hurt, more than I want him to live forgiven and free.

I've had to come face-to-face with the double-standard of my heart.

Because my struggle to genuinely pray not only for Niel's repentance but also for his forgiveness really only means one thing---

I don't realize just how much I've been forgiven for.

I want to accept the work of the cross for my sins, but not for my husband's.

As if my sins have been lesser.

Or even fewer.

When they are neither.

"...God's kindness leads you toward repentance."

I remember gasping out loud when I saw that verse as if with new eyes.

And I've wrestled with Him long and hard over the implications of it.

It has taken me a very long time to get to this point, but I've begun praying---with tear-filled eyes still---for God's kindness to lead Niel to repentance.

I've started asking God to smother him with His goodness and grace and mercy.

Some days it's easier to pray that way than others.

Some days I can't at all.

On those days, I just sit in the reality of what it truly means.

And I pray for God's kindness to lead me to repentance.

Originally a guest post over at In Progress >

are you tired?

As we started this new year, I became mindful of my tendency to wear myself out for all the wrong things. You see, I was reading along in Isaiah when I tripped over this phrase: "You have not wearied yourselves for Me, O Israel." I knew exactly what God was talking about. And I knew I was just as guilty as Israel was.

After over eleven years in full-time ministry, I know full-well what it's like to weary myself. I've put in the ridiculously long hours. I've juggled an impossible schedule. I've reached the point of burnout and lived to tell about it.

And as I fall in bed exhausted at the end of a long day week month year decade, my heart sighs, "I'm weary..."

If I listen closely enough, I hear God's voice, ever loving and gentle. "But you haven't wearied yourself for Me."

Without even realizing it, I've been wearing my exhaustion like a badge of honor. My demanding schedule and ever-growing to do lists became my identity. As if fatigue is the mark of an accomplished missionary.

If I'm most honest, I wearied myself because I thought my value lay in my productivity. I mistook accomplishments for significance. I bought into the lie that busyness is the telltale sign of successful leadership.

But while I was getting stuff done, and even---by God's grace---impacting lives, I was ultimately toiling for the wrong reasons.

The work of discipling young leaders in Africa is worth every ounce of my effort and energy. I want to tire myself out doing what I love. But I need to keep the motives of my heart in check. Wearying myself for some self-serving purpose is just plain tiring.

So as I look out over the horizon of 2010, this much I know is true: I want to weary myself only for Him.

Is this something you've struggled with? What are some practical ways we can keep this in check?

Originally a guest post on Catalyst's blog...