Sunday, September 25, 2016

take a hand...

He was running rampant on the gleaming wooden floor, and it wasn't his first offense for the day. But after walking the halls and attempting to keep the peace on the ramp, good morning wishes, hugs and handing out sweaters; I have learned that tough love doesn't always scream a solution. 

So I steadied my gaze and caught him before he burst out in another run, and I gently asked him to choose to take my hand. I held it out, halfway hoping/halfway pleading for a semblance of calm in a raging sea of chaos. Much to my surprise his dark eyes looked up at mine, questioning the choice, and he placed his hand in mine. 

The screaming, running, and kicking suddenly stopped. 

He held my hand during the wait, as we walked towards the bus. 

And I'm often prone to wonder and wander. I'm the kind that over-thinks things to absolute pieces, that creates something out of nothing. 

And so as I was driving away, I was struck with a few thoughts. 

I'm not any different than that darling boy, who often is overlooked or reckoned too much. 

Circumstances cause my heart to run amuck, and I kick and scream proclaiming that enough is enough. Inside screams are no different than outside screams; thoughts are heartbreakers, too. 

But if I just made the choice to look up. I know I would find his steady gaze, his eyes glimpses of grace, looking upon me. 

Tough love would be absent from his agenda and his hands would be held out in the open and up for my taking. But he wouldn't grab for my hand; He would wait for me to choose. 

So today, I wrestle with the choice and I choose to take his hand. My kicking and screaming ceases. Even the over-thinking stops as quickly as it started, and I take his hand. 

And I am calm.
I am safe. 

And before I close my eyes and bid another day farewell, I ask Jesus to give me eyes of grace, hands ready to hold, and a heart FULL, to love. 

As He is my safe place, I will set out to be theirs. 

Sunday, September 11, 2016

morelia & evansville: two worlds apart

To the little heart that sits inside your bones,
I love you and I will not let go.

Long ago, you mastered the art of packing your bags, but you still would walk up to check them with trepidation that they would be overweight.

Long ago, you found peace in the busyness of airports and waiting at your gate.

Long ago, you stumbled upon a country that was just another place on a map and you, my insecure girl who used to hide behind the pages of books, you would settle in for more than just a winter’s night.

Long ago, you would hold close to the chocolate-eyed children, the ones hungry for more than just food, the ones in dire need of love. And you would fear the goodbyes and the return flight.

You would be the g├╝era, the one that would spend years loving in the orphanage, the open air and the first NOE. You would be the lone gringa accompanied by sweet students that quickly turned into family and friends and you, my love, you would learn how to stay.

You found parts of yourself there that you surely would have never found elsewhere.

And now you are braving, you are trying to brave the transition…very similar to the transition that once took you there.


And here’s what I need you to know…

To the little heart that sits inside your bones, to the little heart that quakes because what once was familiar has now turned into the unknown.

I love you and I will not let go.

Here and now, you stand at the top of the ramp, you share good mornings and hugs, and sometimes all you are greeted with is a smile and a shrug.

Here and now, you see hunger, too. It’s a hunger for more than just food.

Little brown, blue, black eyes stare at you and at times question your willingness to give up your sweaters, your time and your lunch. And they never are asking for too much.

They look for you in the halls and they scream out your name in delight; they hug you, and they hold onto you real tight.

Little ones come up to you and spill out the day’s events in Spanish; they look to you, because they know that your love is one that stays, it is not one that can easily vanish.

Here and now, your heart is compelled to pray for the ones here and the darling ones that sit 2000 miles away. Here and now, you see the needs that are keeping you, here to stay.

Your burden for the children, my love, isn’t solely kept on the field.
The call to love isn’t something that you can refuse to yield.

So in the meantime, in this time of transition, when you are reeling at what it means to “just be.”
I want you to understand that the best thing that you can do is just LOOK TO ME.

I am the same God here, as I was there.

I know that missions is a call on your heart, a steady beating that rests within your bones, and I am not asking you to give it up.

Instead, I am asking you to carry on.

The 5:30 wake-up call is cause to remember that there are sweet little ones that need your love here, too. The 5:30 wake-up call is cause to remember that I am still not done with you.

Your burden for the children, my love, isn’t solely kept on the field.
The call to love isn’t something that you can refuse to yield.




Love, transitions are tough, but I AM ENOUGH.