Day Sixty-Four…Wrapping.

Well, it’s time to wrap up this summer’s Big Apple experience…

As I write sitting on a high green hill in grand ol’ Indiana, the smell of the subway and the blaring sounds of taxi horns are replaced with sweetness & silence.

As my cab sped from Greenwich Village to Queens on Saturday afternoon, I flipped around to stare out of the windows and pray over the city while it was still in sight.

The skyline of midtown Manhattan stretched on unending, and I quietly cried as my driver listened to Oldies and my heart swam through two months of memories…  The struggles that had heavied, the answers that had encouraged, the long days that were spent serving and the sometimes longer nights that were spent praying, crying, and turning restlessly in bed.

In our short time together we had patched quite a pleasant routine… I awoke earlier than Emily and showered while she french-pressed her eyes open, she chose the music while I blush brushed my cheekbones, and together we sang.  I gave a ten minute countdown, we took turns locking the door, we were warmly wished a Good Morning by the homeless man outside of Starbucks on our way to the subway, we rode in silence, we fought the crowds, we danced with our parking garage attendants, we prayed for the day, we met Zach and the team, we prayed again, we offered kindness to a broken city, we pleaded for darkened hearts,  we prayed for legal parking spots, we sang some more, we praised Him, we laughed and we knitted a sisterhood.

There was a great deal of excitement in our last week…excitement to see our families and get back to the world we knew, but there was also fear.  There was fear of what that that old world would look like now that we have changed, fear that the enemy would strike harder as we transitioned again, fear of all we have to process…

As my cab continued to speed towards LaGuardia, and my spirit flooded, I looked again at the city that had begun to feel like home and prayed fiercely for our omnibenevolent God to breeze in with intent and claim His kids, I prayed for the 450,000 people we had touched for Christ, I prayed for those we had ministered alongside of this summer, I prayed that God would be glorified.

My 137 pounds of luggage bounced in the back… it was time to go home.

That night my family surprised me at the airport with an armful of flowers, I came home to 12th street to find streamers and balloons and “Welcome Home” banners stretched across every wall.  The next morning I awoke before my alarm, buzzing with the anticipation of being back at my church with my beloveds.   Wrists spritzed with cotton candy and Bible slipped into my purse, I drove to Common Ground where a saved seat and my favorite soy iced chai were waiting for me.  My pastor shouted a “What’s up New York State of Mind?” in my direction, and my smile and hands tipped up to worship.

We lunched at LaPiedad, the laughter of my loves poured as we shared stories and snuggled their beautiful babies, we satisfied our sweet teeth at The Flying Cupcake, then hugged tight.

I packed my bags again, talked with an old friend, and jumped back in the Jeep to head north.  As I cruised along the highway, trying to acclamate my new New York driving skills to the Indiana interstate, the 72 degree breeze whipped through the windows and I turned the volume as high as it would go so as to catch every word Miss Brooke Fraser had to sing.  The warmth of the midwest got under my skin and encircled my soul, the sun dipped and painted the sky with broad strokes of lemon yellow and berry pink.  I breathed without exhaling for a full minute, almost willing the scent of fresh cut grass and dusk to lock itself inside of me.

Yesterday was spent listening to my brothers, cooking a meal that would make them smile, toasting marshmallows to top their dessert, and praying over them with hot tears and hands squeezed tightly together.

Bob and I decided to take the Thunderbird to go grocery shopping, we lowered the convertible top, my neck cradled against the headrest as my face freckled under the sun that raced above the trees as we raced beneath.  I smiled though no one saw, laid my left hand on the shoulder of my brother as he drove, and let the fingers of my right tap against the wind.  Dancing leaves dappled shadows on my skin and as this whole experience wrapped up, I realize that the gift isn’t coming home, it’s not feeling comfortable and content again, it’s not being known…

This whole heartbreaking summer was the gift.

Sure, this homecoming was sweet, but you know what is sweeter?

The atheist that listened to the truth of Christ, the granola bars placed in hungry hands, the prayers that only God heard and only God answered, the unbreakable bond tied between Emily and Zach and myself, the cards of thanks from the North Carolina team, the words of truth that have continued to wash over us from BridgePointe, the understanding and encouragement from our Journey girls, the love we felt from Riva, and every single high-five, hug, prayer, or facebook message from the teams, teens, church members and new friends we had the privelege of sharing New York City with.

As we unwrapped this summer, you were the beautiful present that was discovered.

Has anyone told you today what a gift you are?
Well then, please let me.

Day Fifty…UnThink.

The Lion without his courage, the Tin Man without his heart, and the modern American without her brain.

After a barrage of advertisements about others wanting to think for me, it seems to be that the scarecrow and I have more in common than how cute we look in hats.

It started on Saturday when a KFC commercial told me to “UnThink” and just buy their grilled chicken, followed by an online pop-up for Bing!… the new Google, that wanted to make my decisions for me.

I’d love to be a listening ear on these advertising pitches… “They’re exhausted! All of them! Just tell them that we’ll do the thinking for them and BAM! We’ve got ’em.”

Let me tell ya… I’d love for a volunteer to sweep our less-than-lustrous hardwood floors, I’d even take into consideration someone signing-up to peel my eyelids back when the alarm rings before the sun rises, and you know, come to think of it… an everyday manicurist wouldn’t be denied, but have I given up on thinking for myself?

The frustration that bubbled up at the Colonel’s suggestion that I couldn’t decide what I wanted or needed came to a quick halt when my Bible study landed in Matthew 22 & Philipians 4…

“Jesus replied: ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.”

“Finally brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely , whatever is admirable- if anything is excellent or praiseworthy- think about such things.”

Ergh.  Maybe Colonel Sanders and Microsoft have a point, or else I wouldn’t have this sinking feeling in my insides.

I know that I’m bad at holding the thoughts I shouldn’t be thinking captive… I let fantasy and imagination and anger and revenge and too much other unnamed ugliness roam free inside my skull that God must have quite the tough time being heard…being known…being believed.

I might not be letting an online search engine make my choices, but I am enslaved to the emotions that I let man the helm.

I’ve tossed the Captain’s hat to Hurt, Fear, Anxiety, Doubt, Loneliness, Discouragement and am content to rock below deck while the journey of my present and my future is decided & directed by everything other than what God commands.

This week we got hurt.  Both of the hearts in this little apartment were adrift in an ocean of tears and confusion and the dirtiness that comes from feeling used.  We clung to each other to lift up and breathe, we not only cried but screamed out to heaven.  My heart cried, my soul cried, my mind however, wallowed.

2/3 of the verse isn’t enough.
I think God commands love of our mind because He knows that without our mind believing His truth, our heart and soul will be hard-sells.  The peace that wanted to rain down on my furious and flurried spirit was held up by the whirring of a mind that couldn’t, that wouldn’t wrap itself around God’s goodness, His perfection in what seems wrong, in what had wearied us.

Interesting isn’t it how I’ll exhaust the energies of a perfectly capable brain on the man that isn’t returning my phone calls…and my heart follows.  I’ll rehearse words I’ll never say to a girl who makes my blood boil…and my soul dips ever lower.

My mind… oh my mind…
I guess I do in fact want to turn it off.  I want to hand over my decision making director’s chair.  I want to UnThink.

Thoughts of truth, nobility, righteousness, purity, loveliness and admiration, excellence and praiseworthiness take work…but what if they didn’t? What if my natural tendency was to believe the best, hope for the best, and expect the best?

Do I dare to think on the grandness of my God and believe He can change me? That he can get my mind to join my heart and soul in their pursuit of Him?

I’d like to think so.

Day Thirty-Five…Sparks.

New-Yorkers don’t stop.

They just don’t.
They’re always walking, talking, and Blackberrying.  I have yet to see a single hammock strung across someone’s premium-price penthouse patio.

They might miss the moment, but they never miss an opportunity…and America’s Birthday seemed no exception.

I am a hopeless romantic.  In the aftermath of a war-torn heart there is a sense that no gesture or sweetness or beauty is lost on those of us desperate to see God’s goodness everywhere in anything at anytime. We’ll melt as a warm afternoon dissolves into dusk, as dappled light shifts in our steps, as the sun goes to sleep.  And against the inky night sky, there’s nothing more dazzling than Independence Day…

Emily and I wandered out to the Hudson River, only a two block skip from our apartment, and walked the busy pier, looking for a spot to tuck in.
As we slipped slowly between revelers, I tipped a heavy smile at what I saw.
The moment done right.

Here “Going Green” means reusing a recent Prada shopping bag, now void of new purse to carry your picnicking supplies… out tumbled glasses for white wine and fresh fruit, cashmere throws, vintage cameras and decks of cards, books and bottles of Perrier.

We found two square feet of cement and snuggled between lovebirds and a giggling brood from Connecticut.
As we waited out the hour until the night sky was dark enough for the show to begin, I just breathed…
Breathed deeply of the fresh air and my surroundings and the communal romanticism of what was coming…

At nine o’clock, the crowd surged with expectation and stood to see into the distance.
Way in to the distance.
Way, way, way into the distance…. Uh-Oh.

The fireworks that we expected to roar overhead barely whimpered miles & miles away.  We all stood on our tiptoes to see a teeny-tiny somewhat flash of color so far away that even the crack and fizzle of the explosion couldn’t be heard.

And in that disappointing minute, every wine-sipping, moment-enjoying, Hermes-clad New-Yorker whined collectively.  They gathered their afternoon delights and started streaming home.  People who had been sitting in the hot sun for hours to save seats for the USA’s “largest fireworks display” walked past me grumbling and visibly upset.

Stepping closer to the railing and straining my eyes for the little light show,  I was determined to enjoy any bit of blazing color I could catch.

Determined to be content with the handful of inch-wide glitter I saw, I turned to find my sweet Emily and head home when,

C-R-A-C-K!

Above our heads the.most.beautiful. fireworks I have ever seen EXPLODED!!!

The crowd that was left erupted in applause and screaming! For twenty-seven minutes we stood breathless as the canvas stretched above the water was painted in flashing gold and red and orange and blue and purple and green and silver.  Etching the night was a show that surpassed the every expectation of every spectator.  The beautiful curly-haired preschooler next to me sat atop her daddy’s shoulders and stretched her little fingers to the sky exclaiming “I think I can touch them! I’ve almost got them Daddy!”

And I stood there shoulder-to-shoulder with my fellow Americans, and tears as hot as a lit match filled my wide eyes.  It’s one of my very favorite moments of every year.
I knotted my arms in tight against my chest and let the tears fall as the sparks flew.

It wasn’t just the weeping gold chandeliers in the sky, or the overwhelming emotion of love for my country…

It was that this 4th of July etched an illustration of God’s very grand goodness deep into the recesses of that sometimes-unbelieving heart of mine.

I chose to be content with what seemed less-than-ideal, a choice I rarely make…and as I stood thankful, something “immeasurably more than I could think or imagine” burst above me.

And isn’t He known for that? Lavishing us when we least expect it and holding out for our faithfulness when we do?

Tears both bitter at my too-often-doubt and sweet for His grace continued to pool.
This holiday followed quickly behind a week I’d never have guessed.
There was consistent surprise, blessing and tenderness in days wrapped in serving with new family.  God had orchestrated a perfect gifting as these brothers and sisters did more to bless our lives and rush our empty spirits with a palpable, pure, plain love than I have known in a while.

There was much, much, much needed laughter and warm embraces, and the most honest of prayers and certain gazes that made my insides shake, and somewhere between the surprise that was Riva and the brightly jeweled darkness, the breeze slipped over my skin and I felt God wooing me.

As I blushed at His pursuit, a beckoning I don’t recognize nearly enough, I listened intently for His voice and shared the longings of my soul…and let me tell you something…

sparks flew.

Day Twenty-Nine…Hate vs. Love.

Yea, ya heard me.

Yesterday was Gay Pride Day in NYC, and Greenwich Village was just a SEA of fishnets, rainbows & shirtlessness.  In the middle of the craziness, there was one weary girl driving a mini-van full of church supplies be-bopping to a Michael Jackson marathon and trying to find a parking spot.  Roads were closed off, police officers were EVERYWHERE… Roy G. Biv was fluttering through the breeze at all sides and it was clear that I wasn’t going to find a curb-hugging ten feet or so in the next millennium.

So I just circled the block, round and round and round, smiling at the men holding hands and the women holding hands and the drag queens with perfect lipstick and the cranky cops, and here’s what I thought…

Have we done this?

No, we didn’t blockade the avenues and pass out glitter and beads…but…can we take any responsibility for the circus that was yesterday?

Because not everyone was screaming and drinking and dancing and causing a ruckus… Some folks were just causually strolling, and seemed to feel such peace to be able to be out on the street, arm in arm, head on shoulder, fingers intertwined with their loved one.  And you could tell that they felt good about being surrounded by others who had their same situation…ideals…beliefs.

Have we spread hate instead of love?
The kind of secret hate that might not voice itself (or voice itself too loudly) that says “I’m going to stare at you, whisper about you, condemn you, blog about you, crack jokes at your expense, close my doors…my mind…my heart to you…” so that there has to be a designated day on the calendar set so “those gay people” can feel, well…normal.  That feeling “normal” can be something to celebrate.  Or that being outlandish and wild can be something to celebrate… Everything and everyone is welcome.

As I continued to ponder, I tagged out of the minivan, set up equipment for the service and was asked to be a greeter at the front door of the Greenwich Village Elementary School where we have our Sunday evening service.

As I stood there with a basket of candy and a HUGE smile on my face, I intentionally prayed for all those passing by, gay or not, that the love of Jesus would emanate from every pore. And you know what?
He answered.

Sure some crazy costumes and sex-toy wielding men and women walked past me without batting an eye in my direction, a few drunken couples grabbed handfuls of candy and wobbled off without a Thank-You, some church-regulars were welcomed again, and then a sweet couple- Trip & Miguel- stopped, and ever so politely asked if they could each have a piece of candy.

‘Of course.’  I responded.  As we chit-chatted about the lovely weather, they asked me what I was handing out candy for.  I pointed to our sign a few feet away and told them I worked for the church.

They stopped mid-lick of their Jolly Ranchers and stared at me.
“Oh, we’re sorry.” They said to me. “Why?” I asked them. “Well, we didn’t know this was a church thing, or else we wouldn’t have asked for your candy, we’re really sorry.  You people wouldn’t want us. … would you?”

“Duh.” is exactly what I said to them.  Then realizing that might sound more Joey Lawrence from “Blossom” then I had intended, I clarified… “Ask me again, and I will tell you absolutely.  We would, Jesus would, totally want you.”

We talked a bit about the church and then they continued walking, but that encounter with Trip and Miguel broke my heart a bit.

Why o WHY or maybe I should ask Who o who has convinced people, any types, sorts,  or kinds of people that the church wouldn’t want them? That Jesus wouldn’t want them?

Have we hurt others that deeply?  Because the day we start banning “those gays” from the church then we better start barring the doors to liars, cheaters, and thieves…and frankly, I see “those kind” of people in the pews every week.

The bottom line is this, somewhere along the way, Christians decided to make “homosexuality” some banner sin that we triumph as big enough for us to judge, hate and condemn and feel justified in doing so, maybe we should worry more about just loving people, and telling everyone that Jesus loves them too.

Do you think that’d make a difference?

Jeremiah 31:3 The LORD appeared to us in the past, saying: “I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with loving-kindness.

1 John 4:16 And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him.

Ephesians 3:16-21 I pray that out of His glorious riches He may strengthen you with power throughout His spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith.  And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge-that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.  Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us, to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.

Day Twenty-Six…Home.

Tying my arms into a favored cardigan with extra long sleeves, and safely knotting them tight to my chest, I walked from the theatre 2 blocks down Broadway back home.

Hmmm…
Back at home I would’ve still felt chill enough at midnight to swing the buttons through the holes on the same sweater, I would’ve still fisted my hands because they’re just as empty here, I would’ve still taken thoughtful steps while replaying the film, I would’ve still dipped my chin to my chest and taken deeper breaths while swallowing the night sky.

But back at home I wouldn’t have passed thirteen restaurants in my two block journey, I wouldn’t have spent an hours wages on the ticket, I wouldn’t have had to tip my head back to my shoulder blades in order to count the stories of buildings on my block.

I’m still ordering the same iced soy chai at the Starbucks on 70th & Amsterdam that I did on Mass Ave.  I am still sleeping with my knee up.  I am still fighting.  Some things have changed and some things haven’t, but adding one million new neighbors and I’m still walking home from the movies, alone…

I hope soon someone will find my heart,  find it lovely, find the welcome mat rolled out, find that it’s home…

Day Twenty-Five…Celebtastic!

The count is up to 5!  That’s right, here as a lowly intern at The Journey, who knew I’d be movin’ and shakin’ with some music, TV and movie stars??
First Justin Guarini left me a sweet message on Facebook thanking me for his granola bar, then I creepily snapped a photo of Mr. Michael Kors, after which I offered more Quaker goodness to the dad from Wonder Years… and then last Sunday hopped onto the Subway with none other than Queer Eye For The Straight Guy‘s Kyan Douglas…

And then yesterday, in the drizzly New York afternoon, I was wrapping up a day of servant evangelism in Bryant Park, prayed with our new Kentucky team, sent them home and was strolling through the park and back to the office when BAM! …Somehow I ended up in the middle of a scene for a new movie with RACHEL MCADAMS!!! So what’d I do? Spun around and snuck next to a tree where the random actors that walk/talk/sit in the scene were…so the crew members definitely thought I was one also! HA! It pays to behave like you know what you’re doing! So, while security ushered every other passerby on, I got to stay and snap sneaky photos on my phone and possibly be in the scene itself! Oh it was fabulous…

From what I overheard between cast and crew, the movie will also be starring Patrick Wilson and Harrison Ford, and is tentatively titled “Morning Glory” … so here are some pics! I’m off to practice my Oscar-acceptance speech! Have a great day my loves!

Day Twenty-One…Dear ol’ Dad…

I’d like to steer from the happenings in the city that never sleeps to something on my heart because of the calendar…

As you might be aware, tomorrow is Father’s Day…

I want to say a heartfelt “Thank You” to some men who do the job better than anyone I know…

Dr. Jeff Cook, mentor and hero…a man whose every word I hang on, a man who loves his wife and loves his kids in a way that reflects Christ and honors Him.  Dr. Cook adores his granddaughter, daughters, and loves his eldest in a way that made the story of the prodigal son jump off the pages of Scripture and become heartbreakingly real.  A man who has prayed with me and for me, someone who has shown genuine concern for my faith and well-being, and made me feel like a part of his beloved brood.

Pastor Chip Thompson…man oh man has this tender-hearted surfer dad of my best friend Katie blown me away with the way he loves his family.  Here is a man who flew all the way from Boston to Cedarville, OH in order to help his daughter study for her toughest exam, a man who dined with her friends and asked them some tough questions, a man who prays with power and loves everyone in his life in an obvious way.  A man who walked the darkest valley with his baby girl, all while holding her hand.

Dr. Tim Gombis…wow.  A man who is crazy-in-love with his spunky beautiful wife and his crazy kids.  The way Tim has chosen to interact with his daughter and sons has convicted me and given me a dozen directions on how I’ll want to raise my own family.  He loves in a way that is humble, in a way that is willing to get eye-to-eye to ask forgiveness, in a way that claims responsibility for the reality he is shaping for them.  He intentionally chooses to wash them in words of truth and life and love on an every day basis.

And now, for the star of the show…

Dr. Robert W. Martin III
My dad.

My heart sincerely swells when I think about him, pray for him, or talk about him.
I don’t know that there is anyone I’ve ever been prouder of.

From small-town boy who was told he’d never amount to anything, to one of the best physicians in the country.  A man who has completed three residencies, a fellowship at Johns Hopkins, and has more degrees and accolades on the wall than I have fingers & toes…

Yet ask him what accomplishment he’s proudest of, and you know what he’ll say?
His family.

Most days I can’t begin to imagine living up to the standard of determination and dedication he’s set.  Chair of his department, running his own dermatopathology lab, seeing thousands upon thousands of patients who absolutely adore him, finding the time to complete a Masters of Religion from Southern Evangelical Seminary, coaching his amazing sons and their soccer teams, teaching Apologetics and World Religion classes at his church, writing for countless medical journals and textbooks, teaching at Purdue and Indiana University, reading everything he can get his hands on, wringing his heart and hands in hours of prayer, making family meal-time a top priority, and watching a classic black and white movie every night with his family… my head spins just thinking of his schedule.

People always make more sense when you meet where they came from, and that’s never truer than here…with me.

Beyond our matching faces (though mine is stubble-free) there is so very much of my patchwork, so very much of the good, that can only be attributed to my dad…and not just his DNA…but his intentional conversation, advice, admonition, encouragement and example.

When I swallow chapters whole, enjoying every delicious word of a novel…that’s my dad in me.
When I comment aloud on the moments as they happen and pause to enjoy them with a tear in my eye…that’s my dad in me.
When I revel in the success of my brothers and love them with every.fiber.of.my.being. recognizing that family is sometimes all you can be sure of…that’s my dad in me.
When I speak with intent, washing brokenness with words, wanting to be heard…that’s my dad in me.
When I smile at a waitress and ask her name, so she feels like a friend by the end of a meal…that’s my dad in me.
When I catch myself saying “ma’am” and “sir” a dozen times a day, holding the door, and saying “Thank You”…that’s my dad in me.
When I laugh from my toes watching old stand-up comedy…that’s my dad in me.
When I seek God’s heart with a fury that burns, when I take up my sword to battle for what feels like the thousandth time, when I believe in what’s unseen…that’s my dad in me.
When I enjoy to the fullest a fancy meal, detecting every spice used in the dish, and lift my wine glass to toast the company I’m blessed to be with…that’s my dad in me.
When I finally just decide to do something, when all excuses cease, when I want to make a difference…only Jesus and my dad can take the credit.

At 25 I’ve found a firmer foothold in my independence this year, had my insides cracked open with grief, disappointments, and fear, finally found that God is a God worth trusting, and through all the darkness and all the light, the call I’ll tend to make first…the solace I’ll seek the fastest…the one I’ll want to affirm my personhood and pursuits is none other than guess who?

My Dad.

I’m so proud that he’s a doctor, a teacher, a writer and a warrior… but mostly I’m just proud he’s mine.

I love you Daddy-o.
Happy Father’s Day.

Day Fifteen…Grace.

So, day 12 there was no blogging due to shoddy internet…

And then, so much happened to my heart that I have put off writing because I simply do not know how to encapsulate it all in simple words.

So, a few posts earlier I informed you, dearest readers, that we had a fresh team in from Woodstock, GA.  I knew, I just knew that somehow these people were going to impact, and perhaps change, my life.

I was right.

On Thursday afternoon, I was in charge of driving the van to Bryant Park to meet the team while Lis led the group on the subway and Emily & Zach made our second run of the week to New Jersey to pick up more granola bars.  Well, there I was, frantic after a stressful race across the avenues, and in desperate need of a visit to the bathroom.  I found a “legal” parking spot, paid the meter, locked the doors, and was off.  Ten minutes later, the van was gone. 
G-O-N-E gone.

My stomach simultaneously twisted into a pretzel and dropped into my feet.  Before looking for a trash can to throw up in, I stopped to look at the street signs to ensure I was on the right road.  Yup, 42nd & Madison…WHERE WAS THE VAN!?  I called Lis, told her to gather the team and get to praying.  As I called our boss, and spent a half an hour scribbling notes in a nearby Sephora, come to find out where I was parked was not legal…and I had been towed to the Manhattan Pier 76 Tow Pound.  The cost of retrieving the law-breaking Ford was $185.  I was embarrassed at the whole episode and nervous about how badly it would affect my bank account.

I called Lis and told her where to meet me and to go ahead and send the team home, since there was no van full of granola for them to pass out.

As soon as I saw Lis, I started to cry… she hugged me, and I wiped my eyes and focused on the friends she’d brought with her… Daniel…one of the most tenderhearted teens from the team…Lindsey…one of the youth leaders…and Kevin…one of the GA pastors.  I wondered out loud why they hadn’t gone back to Brooklyn with the rest of the team, and I wasn’t prepared for their answer.

They came back just to make sure I was okay.  They came back to pray with me.  They dug into their wallets and came up with the $185 I needed for the tow pound within a moment of knowing there was need.  I tried to push the dollars back into their hands, and Lindsey simply folded my fist back around them and reminded me that in ministry there is a time for receiving.

One of the hardest lessons I have to keep learning.

That night, after retrieving the van and re-stocking it’s Quaker Oats Supply, after running home to change clothes and grab Delores (Emily’s guitar), we hopped on the subway to Brooklyn to go spend a night with the team.
They waited for us to get there to start eating, one of the sweet darlings had even saved me a seat.  We feasted on fried chicken and orange soda and laughed like old friends…

I love the bond of believers that that is able to skip so much of the unnecessary awkwardness and small talk.  After dinner, we gathered on a few chairs and couches as Mat & Lindsey (the precious married youth leaders) called for everyone’s attention and took out a spool of crazy colored yarn.

In words that I’ve only heard expressed as eloquently by Tim Gombis, Mat & Lindsey shared with the teens and leaders that they wanted to spend the evening pouring words of truth into one another’s lives.  And so, as one person spoke truth and washed over someone else with words of life, they would toss the string to them, the person who received the encouragement would then throw the string to someone else and as these words of love and of life swirled around every individual, tears flowed, broken hearts were mended, the devil was hedged, and the string wound in every direction creating a tangible web of connectedness to represent what should be the goal of every day… to love and to speak and to join together…

Our Georgia brothers and sisters even took the time to graciously speak to Zach, Emily & I.  Already shaky and uncomfortable from receiving a financial gift, I didn’t know if my insides could handle more of their gracious love.  The group spoke sweetly of my humor and Emily’s kindness and Zach’s biblical knowledge, and then Mat was moved to share words that only the Holy Spirit could have revelead.  He looked point-blank at Emily and imparted the truth of Jesus’ absolute and unadulterated love for her, of His singing over her, and her baby-blonde curls shook as she covered her mouth and cried.  I found out later that Emily oft times struggles to believe in God’s love for her and that Mat’s words were the balm to a wound known of us knew existed.  Mat & Lindsey spoke to Zach about his richness, his readiness, his heart… and with my eyes cast to the floor Mat flooded my weary spirit with the acknowledgment and announcement that I was a veteran warrior, battle-scarred and washed in the glory of my King.

Their words were yet another lesson in receiving.

After what felt like bathtime in words of life, we worshipped together.  I sat on the arm of the couch, hands out to the Lord singing as if my voice could break through the ceiling…I felt free and totally abandoned to Him for the first time in a long time.

After wrapping up with a simple recitation of the chorus… “Be blessed, be loved, be lifted high…be treasured here, be glorified, I owe my life to you my Lord…here I am…here I am…” It was time to head home.

Some of the boys and their pastor Kevin offered to accompany Zach in escorting us home, which would mean going 2 hours out of their way in getting us safely from Brooklyn to the upper west side of Manhattan and back again.  As we cruised the night on the train, Kevin shared with me over a dozen stories of brokenness and redemption as reflected in the lives of these teens that were serving alongside of us for the week.  Kids that I had learned so much from in regards to their boldness, their responsibility and their love were kids with really messy lives…lives that God was showing Himself so actively in.  Watching these young adults work tirelessly for His glory convicted and blessed me, and then to know that they were people with real hurts and real heartaches, well, increased their blessing exponentially.

The next day, Friday, was our last day spent with them doing servant evangelism…walking block after block in the rain, and I spent most of those steps just praising our Lord for His perfection.

This team was the tangible gift my words hadn’t wrapped around, yet my silent prayers had begged Him for… some sign that He loved me, some sign that He is at work, some sign that He is active… and here it was… packaged perfectly in 28 members of Bridgepointe Church from Woodstock, Georgia… and so…

To Kevin, Mat & Lindsey, Shelley, Chuck & Jill, Charissa & Caleigh and ALL of the LEAPers… know that you are a positively radiant reflection of our Jesus who has, is, and will be used mightily. You put a face and a heart to what grace really is… it might be uncomfortable to receive, but it is oh so beautiful.

I love ya’ll.

Day Eleven…Fun Stuff!

Well darlings, it’s a tad too much pressure to try and be poignant and thought-provoking every day, so let’s take a break for some F-U-N, fun!

Things that are great about N.Y.C.

*The fact that I can pay someone $15 to wash, dry & perfectly fold my laundry. (Roughly the same price as washing and drying it myself.)
*There is a Starbucks ON EVERY CORNER.
*One word: Pinkberry.
*The fabulous (and not so fabulous) fashions that parade by every moment of the day.
*The character of every building.
*That every single restaurant (fast food included) has the calories of each item posted on the menu.
*The organic options at every market and grocery store.
*The abundance of fresh flowers for sale.
*The muscular construction workers hammering away on every block don’t make for a bad view ladies.
*The amount of exercise we get every day.
*Fabulous celebrity sightings!
…Case in point, today while I was at 14th & 6th, I saw a very familiar face walking towards me… bronze skin, golden hair, black workout clothes, bottle of Fiji in hand…who IS this person I pondered…and right as he breezed by me, I realized it was MICHAEL KORS!!! American Designer and Project Runway judge! To avoid being totally creepy, I waited till he turned around to take a photo.  Not as cool as having his face on film, but less of a chance of being yelled at.

Cheers to the Big Apple! …And here’s to more fascinating finds and exciting experiences in the next couple months!

Day Ten…Uhoohhhh…

God is working.  He is wanting.  He is longing to expel the darkness in this city…and while He pursues His kids, we would be remiss to forget that it ain’t gonna be easy.

People have this visceral reaction to Jesus…to love…to everything we are and everything we want for them.
But it’s not the people, the traffic, the $120 ticket tucked through my window for talking on my cell phone…it’s not the humidity, the sore feet, the rejection…it’s the being oblivious that’s going to ruin this experience.

Because when I forget the enemy…that he came to “devour”, and not simply to snack…then I forget the power of prayer, the power of Christ- the power that I can’t wrap my mind around.

I need to come prepared to battle and I have to be honest… our long days, our sometimes wire-crossed-miscommunications and my ever-burgeoning heavy heart aren’t exactly encouraging me to lift a weary arm and fight harder…but that’s exactly what has to happen.  It’s at our weakest…saddest…loneliest…angriest…that we have to pray harder…otherwise…the enemy wins.

“Be sober, be watchful: your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.” 1 Peter 5:8