completely vulnerable

This morning, Jesus tendered my heart to the idea of being completely vulnerable with you. 

I'm still lacking support, but I'm trusting Him. He is going to provide. He always has. He always will. Last check, I think I'm about 60 dollars away from meeting my monthly goal. 

If you would like to commit to praying or supporting me financially, 

for this new chapter of my story, follow the link provided here: 

http://onlinecfc.com/blog/2013/05/28/kristentomexico/

Save the date on your heart and prayers: I'm flying out August 12th!

Dear Fifteen Year-old Me,

It’s been awhile, since I’ve acknowledged you, I know. Time has worn the hands of the clock and left open wounds on my heart. You, darling girl, have held pain and clenched brokenness; you’ve sat with poverty and made your home in the dust.

Precious one, you’ve beheld beauty on many accounts.

A language that has never come naturally has wrecked you.

And those people, whose chocolate piercing eyes heavily contrast your blue-occasionally-green eyes, have wrecked you.

And it’s a wonder that we are still here. That 11 years later one trip spent wearing out the five-word vocabulary would do something to you, it is beyond me.

Yes, 11 years later that trip you took on a whim; it did something to you.

After that week you never were the same. Those children didn’t fade along with the pictures; their names never did flee from your memory. No, they stayed with you. Every waking moment, those sweet little orphan children stayed with you.

You tried to ignore it, pursuing the easy, but love, they wrecked you. And a few trips and years later, you heeded the call to move eight hours away and study missions, because you knew that was going to be your life.

You moved and He moved with you.

And still yet, you just wanted to pack up your bags and move away forever. Those short-term trips would be the keepers of utmost joy, upon seeing those dearly loved, and utmost pain, when it would come time for the inevitable goodbyes.

But you would go, as many times as you could.

You would return with tears in your eyes and you’d feel pain like never before, because you knew that you were made for those children.

You were made for their country.

But God would need to refine you. He’d need to break down your walls and unclench your fists. He’d need to strip away your tendency to cling to people-so that all was left was just you and Him. He’d need to prove to you that He was and is enough.

And we are on the other side, years spent coming and going with tear-stained cheeks and a pain so foreign to others; that they would just never understand. No, they wouldn’t understand the gaping wounds that goodbyes left on your heart. But He would understand. He would always understand.

He would gently slow things down and you would be pushed and challenged to return to a country, that once was home, but would now feel so foreign. You’d have to adjust and remember what it once was like to make friends, again, to find yourself on the other side of the world.

And you would do so, thanks to His graces, but still yet, you’d feel the pull and tug. However, God would make Himself known in the rejection and in the waiting.

You’d actively pursue things on this side of the world, relieving debts, uncertain of what was to come.

Mexico would be out of sight, but never out of mind.

A year would pass with many closed doors, tear-stained cheeks, and family ties that would be redeemed and strengthened around the table. Out of the ashes, your family would rise.

And in hindsight, it would all be clear. Your extra provisions would be just what your family and the people around you would need.

It was always enough. It’s always enough.

And as I write to you of your journey, fifteen-year old girl, I’m overjoyed to tell you that you’ll be returning home soon.

Your feet will soon settle onto the dusty streets and you’ll spend your days walking to work, taking in the sounds of the never-quiet city, loving on the people that He made you for.

Dear fifteen-year old girl, confidence has given you a voice in a different language, and startled that part of you that used to hide in the pages of a book.

You’ve been blessed with a burden, dear daughter.

And eleven years later, He is taking you home.

Oh precious girl, those tears were never wasted; yes, He’s taking you home. 

pull & tug

“I am blown away that my God, who could do this all by Himself, would choose to let me be a little part of it.” 

My heart strays to the teenage girls, the too-young mothers, the runners. And there's a pull and tug. 

A pull to wrap them up and hold them close within my heart forevermore. 

They changed me. 

Parts of my heart were challenged in those moments. My soul quickened, my heart tugged at its seams as they poured out their stories. They were locked up, thrown away without a key; they were deemed second-chance less. 

But I saw courage in their eyes. I saw life and joy, longing to rise. 

And they changed me. 

My heart strays to the sweet, little children who didn't understand but two words, when I walked unassuming into their country for the first time. And there's a pull and tug. 

A pull to return forevermore. 

They changed me. 

Food was sparse, but joy brimmed over. Orphaned, but they loved freely. 

Lacking much, but giving everything. 

And they changed me. 

My heart strays to the book that opened the door. The mere paragraphs that resonated deep within, inspiring me to reach out and attempt at applying. 

Unlocking thirteen months spent three separate times. And there's a pull and tug. 

A pull to be spent with gratitude. 

It changed me. 

I'm on the other side. 

I'm a just a girl, called to move. Compelled to live in the unfamiliar for forevermore. A girl who needs to be broken and poured out for people, for nations. Two hands ready to give, a heart ready to love, and two feet ready to take those next steps. 

It's not about going, anymore. 

We are on the other side. 

It's about moving. 

It's about release. It's about redemption. 

And there's a pull and tug. 

One that I can no longer resist. 

"I saw what I saw and I can't forget it. I heard what I heard and I can't go back."

Nothing can be undone. 

Nothing can be taken back. 

I have to love. 

I have to move. 

He has called me to undo the chains that bind me, to break down the walls that hinder me, and to move. 

To move with confidence, knowing He's providing, that He will provide. 

Because after all, He's changed me. 

won't you move?

I've got questions. I've got relevant questions, alongside dreadful doubts.

I've seen diligence course through their veins. I've seen weariness settle beneath their eyes.

And I wonder where is my anchor?

Where are You on these stormy seas?

I know You are here. I know that Your heart beats for mine, that You ordained us for this moment in time.

But I find my soul crying out that something has to give.

There needs to be a breaking tide that wraps us up in Your love, Your love that always provides.

And I know that You are providing,

but I have to do some confiding.

Harsh hardships have beaten down upon us like the unforgiving rays of the sun.

And so we sit in the shadows of Your shade, for a moment, head in hands around the table, cause we just need You.

we need you to move.

for us. within us. with us.

we need you to move.

And we are faithful, but sure there are moments when faith seems far from full- when it's less.


But You've come through, You have always come through.

So heed our cry.

send peace down like torrents of rain.
provide, lift us up out of pain.

all our hope is in You.

you are the anchor that holds everything together.

Broken jars.

Battle scars.

Torn hearts with forlorn eyes.

We are the daughters and sons, fully undone- waiting for You to move.

And You'll move with unflinching hands and a steady soul,

You'll move.

You will pick us up from this mess and throw out your anchor.

So we will keep our trembling hands out a little longer, knowing that You are providing, that You are moving.

a heart's call

"After all my job is to believe without wavering. 

His job is everything else."

Katie Davis

I think of the wearied sun-beaten mothers speaking truth over my soul and heart with their singing Spanish.

I think of the children, their chocolate-candied eyes brimming over with glee, screaming my name at the top of their lungs.

I think of the blazing sun, leaving imprints on my porcelain skin during the walk to the center, the one that stole my unassuming heart by surprise. 

Yes, Mexico, you've had my heart since I was fifteen. 

My waking, sleeping and dreaming moments have all been spent with you in mind. 

Pictures of you are plastered on the walls of my room and my soul, stowed to be forever kept. 

The children that latched themselves to my side, forgiving my four-word vocabulary. 

The little ones that we tried to feed, but instantly ran off to feed the twelve others tending to home.

The mothers and the fathers, whose stomachs were always empty, but hearts always full. 

The students that taught me more than I could ever teach them. 

I think of these and those. 

My heart can't resist the pull, the tug- to leave.  

It beats for the city of a million, and the always-loud streets. 

My heart beats for students to rise up and out of their circumstances, but not just that- it beats for them to feel drawn to MORE. That they'd feel drawn to the quiet voice of their Maker calling them home, to wave the white flag of surrender and to come as they are. 

And so, I'm left believing that support will come, that it's coming. 

I'm believing that I will go, that I am going. 

Every last thing that I need will be given in His sweet, perfect time. 

Every last penny, every last dime. 

I picture the future with a bright colored house and revolving doors.

Always having enough, never wanting more. 

I see the chocolate-candied eyes at home

without a need or a want to run away, to roam. 

And I'll be loving, holding nothing back, 

I'll be all things, and not what I lack. 

My hands will hold more than one, 

my heart will be full, my spirit sweetly broken and soul, undone. 

I'll be where, I'm needed. 

The call, will be heeded. 

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promises for the runaways

Your weak in the knees, your heart's bent for all it has seen.

And you stumble, yes, on the not-so-good days, you stumble begging for the light.

Cause your day has been dark and plagued with moments, draining the life out of you.
You're nothing but an empty shell, crying out to be filled again.

you've exhausted your prayers and God, He, seems to be scarce.

He's out of sight, but not out of mind.

Because deep in the dusty crevices of your heart, you know
His promises have been kept quaintly to His word.

You know it to be true, don't you?

You've seen the wilderness before; you've walked the dusty roads
and on into rejoicing.

Because Your Maker, He's always been,
&
He's always been enough.

His love is never silenced.
It's always singing.

Call out. Cry out.
Awake from your sleep, sweet child.

he'll come.

He always comes.

Those tears you've poured out onto your pillow are counted.
Those cries that have fallen onto deaf ears are heard.
Those struggles are known.
Those hidden pieces of your heart longing for love are seen.

You run.
You run the opposite way.

You run to people.
You runaway.

You run to drink.
You runaway.

You run to an immediate release.
You runaway.

But God runs to you.
He holds out His arms and whispers to you,
"run the opposite way, child.

Give up those things that have a hold on you, because when you run to them,
you're really looking for me.
Only I can fill the empty shells and breathe life to dry bones.
You're empty and oh so broken, but all is not lost.

All never was lost."

I wonder if you hear Him.
Do you hear Him?

I wonder if you feel Him.
Do you feel Him?

I can't imagine the loss you've experienced, the pain you've known, the words you've been dealt.
But your Maker knows all things. He has seen it all and He is ready to redeem you out of your dust.
Stop running the opposite way. Your past has been redeemed. You are loved.

You are loved to the core of your being. The parts of you still crying out for change.
The parts of you that still won't relinquish full control. He loves even those.
He loves all of you.

Run His way. 

He's waiting for you, love. 

worth fighting for

What dreams have you silenced? 

What lies have you received?

What have you done to the whimsical child-like heart of yours 

that used to twirl in the torrents of rain?

Maybe you lost it all, when people that walked in, quietly walked out on you. 

Maybe your heart broke in two, without remedy, when someone didn't fight for you, but you fought to the death for them. 

Nostalgia creeps in the crevices of your heart. 

It reminds you of friendships that were founded on truth, those that held your hand in the darkest hours. 

Emptiness quaintly enters in, and you look for reprieve. 

But times are hard, just when you think they're good, they become harder. They loosen your grip on the mountaintop and cry out for you to surrender, to let go. 

But God of the good days comes ever-so quietly into your bad days. 

He wakes you from your swollen-eyed slumber. 

He steps out of the darkness, to hold you. 

and He doesn't just hold you. He holds your heart. His arms reach around you, to the tips of your fingers, to the beating of your heart and the cries of your soul, and He holds you. 

You don't know how to pray, cause there are certain things that you don't have the answer for, you never will. But God graces you with strength, He graces you with His presence. 

He tells you it's all gonna be okay, one of these days, there will be no more tears, there will be no more fighting- to be known. 

You'll be with Him, and He'll be all you need. 

Depression and death will be conquered. FOREVER CONQUERED. 

Dreams will have their way, because you were made for more. 

You'll enter into a church and you'll be welcomed to tell your story. You'll be told that this time, people are fighting for your dream to become reality. You'll sit with tears standing in those already, swollen eyes of yours, because what you're being told, is something you've searched the depths of the seas for, it's what you've waited for. 

Your dusty prayers and traces of tears from ten years, all had purpose. All those goodbyes that left your heart spent when stepping on the plane, had a purpose. 

Every last thing had a purpose. 

And now you aren't alone fighting for your dream. 
People are leaving the shadows and surrounding you with support. 

People see you. God sees you. 

And maybe those people you poured yourself into, yes, maybe they're gone. 

But child, He sees you. He has you. 

He bottled the tears on your pillow. He kept count. He never lost track. 

The country He made you for, He's taking you there. He is taking you there. 

It's real. 

Stop doubting. He fights for you. He fights for your dream. 

lies of being left

I wonder if I sat down in a room of people caught up in the torrent of their twenties and asked for lies to be outlawed what would happen.

I wonder if I asked the questions, nobody wanted to ask, themselves- who if any, would silently nod their head in agreement, or heed the need to let their voice be heard.

How many feel like you're flailing amidst passion and responsibility, fight or flight?

How many feel like you're the battle-scarred and bruised, with no sign of reprieve?

How many feel like you're the leftovers?

Am I the only one?

I stood before the mirror today and I let myself get lost in thought. I reckoned with truth and out came words that needed to be written, immediately. There was no saving this for later, because otherwise I'd be scared to death to own up to it.

My heart feels like it's leftovers, and I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one.

These transitional twenties have left you barely breathing, you're weaker than when you were barely crawling.

In your heart, you look about you, friends are mothers and fathers, with sons and daughters. And yes, you'd be the first to admit you aren't ready for parenthood. But sometimes, you have to wonder. Wonder why your hands have to be left and deemed empty, why you can't seem to find someone to share your passion.

And then you think, all the more, and you're the friend that broke the silence, that danced in the rain, but you've become leftovers. The truest of friends have quietly whisked themselves onward and outward, and maybe you are partly to blame, but you are ALONE. They've gone, they come in and out, but it's not the same anymore, is it?

You are fond memories kept and stowed away in vintage cigar boxes, you are the notes that might rise up out of dusty drawers for one last look, you are the past, and all that you've become is leftovers.

And in my heart of hearts, I know this isn't true of me, or you.

But goodness, I'd be lying to tell you my throat didn't catch when the unacknowledged lie reared its ugly head. I'd by lying to tell you that I'm okay, alone. I'd by lying to tell you that I don't hurt sometimes, at how quickly friendships have faded, forever. But even still, I'm socially awkward, it's like I'm paralyzed, longing for friendships, but having forgotten what it means to befriend someone in person. I'm longing for it, but then I'm too tired to fight for it.

Is this any of you?

Maybe it's just me.

But I don't know, I feel like someone else might have needed to hear these words.

What it comes down to is, this, you aren't leftovers. You might have been left, sweet one.
But that means nothing in the grand scheme of things, NOTHING.

God hasn't walked away, child. He hasn't and He won't. I know that rejection hurts and leaves your heart stalling, too afraid to keep beating, but love, YOU. ARE. HIS.

He claimed you. He has you. Wherever you are. Whatever you are doing.

I'm begging you'll stand up with me tonight, let's be honest, it hurts, we're broken, but all is not lost.

Because praise Jesus, we are His redeemed first loves, overcome the lie, you aren't leftovers.