The Miracle Business

I met Mahek on her 17th birthday, but I never would have guessed she was that old; she was so thin and frail. Mahek was an AIDS victim, wasting away in an Indian children’s home. The doctors had given up hope. There was nothing that could be done for her. My eyes stung with tears as I joined the other children in a chorus “Happy Birthday,” for I knew this birthday would probably be her last.

But God… 

Today I received a Christmas letter from the ministry I visited in July. The first thing I saw was a picture of Mahek, face fuller and healthier than it was this summer. And there I read in her own words that God healed her of the disease I was certain would take her life within a year’s time.

Working at a mission’s organization, I hear miracle stories often. But this one was different. This one was personal. Because Mahek is more than a story; she’s I person I physically connected with. I saw her, I spoke to her, I touched her. I met this miracle.

Today Mahek is a reminder that Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever. Today her life bears witness that Jesus is still in the miracle business. Today Mahek serves as an encouragement to those of you who are waiting for your own miracle.

I’ve been in that place of discouragement before. I’ve waited so long for an answer that I’ve forgotten what it is to hope. If you’re in that place today, I pray that Mahek will serve as an inspiration to you. May her story breathe hope into your heart, and may you believe in miracles once more.

Mary’s Extraordinary Faith

Everyone has their own take on the nativity story. Mine has changed in the last week or so. I think I’ve always tried so hard to picture Mary as an ordinary girl that I overlooked the depth of her extraordinary faith.

I always imagined that Mary was too wonder-struck to say anything but yes. I figured that there wasn’t much room for logic in the midst of her awe, and imagined that it was only after the celestial being, mysterious message, and rush of excitement departed that reality set in. I pictured Mary instantly going from, “Wow!” to, “Oh snap, how am I going to explain this to my father?”

But then one of my co-workers got me thinking about some other Biblical heroes who weren’t quite as willing as Mary. Think about it:

When Moses heard his calling in the burning bush, he exhausted every excuse he could conjure up.

When Jonah was asked to go to Nineveh, he ran as far as he could in the other direction.

When Gideon was told he would lead his people to freedom, he asked for sign after sign after sign.

The Bible records at least three other cases of miraculous childbirths in which all of the parents had their doubts. They all wanted proof – a sign. Sarah even laughed out loud at the very idea of giving birth to a son (and she was a married woman, so it makes the miracle that much less miraculous than the one Mary was presented with).

Here I imagined that Mary simply didn’t consider the cost of her obedience when faced with the miraculous, but in reality, she was just like all these other doubters. Though she couldn’t fully understand the magnitude of what her obedience would cost her, she could at least imagine some of the challenges she would face – the ridicule, the gossip. Still, Mary didn’t make excuses. She didn’t ask for a sign. She posed only one question: “How?” And when she was assured that all things are possible with God, she said simply, “Let it be to me according to your word.”

That’s how extraordinary Mary’s faith was.

I think the way I once envisioned Mary was similar to what my response might have been. I might have said yes in a wonder-struck moment and been flooded with doubts once the angel disappeared. That’s why God chose Mary instead of me. Not that Mary didn’t have her doubts. I’m sure the shepherds’ words weren’t the only things she “pondered in her heart.” And there’s Biblical proof that she didn’t always “get it,” but she walked forth in obedience regardless of her understanding (or lack thereof).

Today I pray for faith like Mary’s. When I feel God call me toward the seemingly miraculous things of life, I pray that my answer will simply be: “Let it be to me according to Your word.”

Then There Was Hope

The moment I picked it up off the shelf, I knew that Morris Gleitzman’s Then was going to be a hard read. The book is the fictional story of a ten-year-old Jewish boy living in Poland during the Nazi regime. In a matter of hours, I laughed and cried my way through Felix’s story, and by the end of the book, I was as indignant as its youngest character.  “Bad things aren’t supposed to happen to six-year-old girls,” I found myself screaming at the author. “Don’t you know anything?”

But even as I mentally repeated little Zelda’s catchphrase, my heart clenched because I knew… I knew that Morris Gleitzman knows something most of us live in denial of. Bad things do happen to six-year-old girls. They happen everyday. Then is a beautiful read because it details the darkness of our world without forgetting the hope that walks us through it.

This is a timeless message because, although the Holocaust is over, there are a lot of people who live in fear and bitterness… without hope.

My favorite scene in Then is when little Zelda listens to the story of a little boy who has witnessed the most horrible of massacres. Zelda’s parents were Nazis, but they died and Zelda got mixed up with the Jews. She hates Nazis. She hates her parents. But as this young boy sits weeping before her, Zelda gets out her pencil and draws a picture of a man and woman with their arms around a child. “This is my mummy and daddy,” she says. “They’re Nazis. They’re saying sorry.”

I think all of us could afford to be a little more like Zelda. We should all learn to release our bitterness for the betterment of someone else. We should look for the ones who are hurting and do whatever we can to help ease the pain. To help restore hope. Sometimes it’s the smallest gestures that make the biggest difference.

Don’t you know anything?

Real.

This morning, I re-read a letter that was written to me when I graduated high school. Though I knew exactly what it said, I still smiled when I got to the final five words that have impacted my life so greatly.

The letter is from my old piano teacher. Old as in, I took lessons when I was only ten, but also old as in, she was in her mid-eighties when she started teaching me. I adored her. In fact, the only reason I kept up with piano for so long was because I wanted an excuse to see her.

So there I was, reading this letter that detailed her memories of what a joy it was to teach me (even though I must have been the most unskilled student she ever had). In the letter, she talks about her life and how much God has blessed her. It’s one of those letters you would expect to end with the words “God has been so good.” But it’s a different five words that flowed from Alberta’s pen.

Jesus has been so real.

I’ve let those words carry me through the times that Jesus felt distant. The times that I’ve found it difficult to see what God was doing. And I’ve let them sing to my spirit in the times that I stand in awe and wonder of the greatness of my God. And I hope that when I’ve lived ninety plus years, they’ll be the first words that come to mind when I think back over my life.

Jesus is real. Wonderfully, powerfully, inexplicably, you-wouldn’t-believe-it  real.

And I don’t know where Alberta is now – whether she’s a ninety-five-year-old woman bouncing around a nursing home or if she’s dancing with that very real God of hers – but I know that her words live on in my heart as I pray they’ll live in yours.

May you be reminded of just how real Jesus is today.

The Waiting Place

If the title of my blog hasn’t clued you in, I hate the word wait. It’s such an inactive, dreary, depressing word. If you’re honest, you’ll most likely agree that it doesn’t stir warm, fuzzy feelings in your heart either.

The other day, I picked up Dr. Seuss’ Oh the Places You’ll Go and got really excited when I got to the part that warns against “The Waiting Place” …where everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite
Or waiting for wind to fly a kite
Or waiting around for Friday night
Or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
Or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
Or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
Or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.

And I agree with Dr. Seuss. The Waiting Place is not for you. You’re going to go places. Oh, the Places You’ll Go!

And yes, life will have its ups and downs. Sometimes you’ll fly and sometimes you’ll trudge through the slump. Sometimes you’ll feel you’re on top of the world and sometimes you’ll feel all alone in the dark. But I certainly hope that even when life is at its lowest, darkest, loneliest moments, you’ll never resort to The Waiting Place.

Promise me you won’t be one of those people who “wait” their way through existence. Next time you need a little encouragement to live the journey, refer to Dr. Seuss. He gives some great advice. Trudge through the slump, press through the dark, and, Kid, you’ll move mountains. (98 and ¾ percent guaranteed.)

So… What are you waiting for?

Desperate Love Songs

So, there’s this song by The Band Perry called All Your Life. It’s kind of a cute little love song, but the bridge trips me up every time, and I find myself responding to Kimberly Perry. Our conversation looks a little something like this:

KP: Lately I’ve been writing desperate love songs.

Me: Really?

KP: I mostly sing them to the wall.

Me: Oh girl.

KP: You could be the centerpiece of my obsession…

Me: Sounds… intense.

KP: …if you’d notice me at all.

Me: Sweetheart, we need to have a little heart-to-heart.

Desperate love songs. Something about that sounds so… well, desperate. I’ve only written one desperate love song in my entire life… and it was a joke. (But if it hadn’t been a joke, it probably could have won an award for “Most Desperate of Love Songs.”) But aside from that, I’m not the kind of girl who sits around writing multiple love songs and singing them to the wall.

And yet, I feel like that’s the boat so many girls are in. Maybe they’re not literally writing love songs, but they’re desperate. But it’s not supposed to be like that. And while the desire to find someone to love you all your life is perfectly normal, the desperate love songs have to end.

Ladies, we’re meant for so much more than singing to the wall. Or the mirror. Or the camera. Or Prince Charming, for that matter. We’ve been waiting so long that we’ve forgotten that we were meant to live. Here. Now. In this moment. So turn off the radio, put down the guitar, and set the hairbrush aside until you need to comb your hair.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – this once upon a time life is so much bigger than the happily ever after ending. There’s no need to be desperate. Life starts now.

Throwing Up on God

I wouldn’t consider myself a particularly sensitive/emotional female, but sometimes I reach this point where there’s so much going on inside of me that I just snap and emotionally throw-up on someone. And that someone is usually God. I don’t mean to do it; it just happens. But I don’t really think He minds.

The greatest thing about throwing up on God is that He doesn’t try to give me answers. I hate venting to someone who feels like they have to calm me down or “fix it” right off. He’s the only person who seems to understand that all I want to do is just release my pent-up frustration.

I think we often feel like it’s not okay to be honest with God. Like it’s not okay to tell Him what’s really going on in our hearts. As if we’ve forgotten that He already knows exactly what we’re thinking and feeling. Maybe it’s the home I was raised in (one that was very open to expressing our emotions), but I don’t see anything wrong with spilling my guts to God.

But maybe, just maybe, you didn’t know it’s okay to tell God how you really feel. Maybe you needed someone to give you permission to throw-up on God. And maybe you needed to be reminded that the very reason Jesus came and died and tore the temple veil is so that you could approach Him with everything – even the emotional throw-up.

Because a Thankful Heart is a Happy Heart

Thanksgiving is a great holiday. It’s the one day a year that everyone is mindful of the many blessings in their lives. It’s a day that we’re reminded to celebrate the things we should be celebrating every single day of our lives. And while there are days I fail to express my gratitude, today I want to stop and say that I’m thankful for:

family who loves me no matter what I say or do:

friends who keep me laughing (and laughter that keeps me sane):

authors who have impacted my life with their words:

horses that let me ride them:

letters in the mail:

all the beautiful things you find at the ocean:

every morning I’m allowed to wake up to this glorious view:

the God who has blessed me so abundantly…

Happy Thanksgiving. May you realize how truly, wonderfully, immensely blessed you are.

What are you thankful for?

The Word

So, I may have a slight fascination with words. (That’s why I’m a writer.) I used to think that this fascination was the reason John 1:1 jumped out at me. But then I began to wonder… Perhaps it’s the other way around. Perhaps my fascination with the English language is a reflection of my fascination with the Eternal Word.

I dare you to read John 1 and not be moved by it. Go ahead and try to study it without having your mind blown. It moves from creation to salvation in a mere eighteen verses.

Jesus is the Word that spoke life into being. The Word that became flesh and dwelt among us. The Word that came to rebuild and restore.

The Bible says that no one has ever seen God, and yet… the Word – who came and walked among us, lived our lives, breathed our air, dreamed our dreams, and died for the sins of us all – has made God known to us.

So during this Thanksgiving season, I’m thankful that the Word became flesh and stepped into my story in order to tear the veil inside my heart and speak new life into my existence.

Sometimes…

To the One Who Came to Free Prisoners,

Sometimes I look out at the mountains and forget that they’re a reflection of how big You are. Sometimes I watch the clouds drift by on the canvas of the sky and fail to see the proof that You’re still creating beautiful things. Sometimes I watch the seasons change without realizing that they’re a reminder that You’re in control. Sometimes I forget that every single day I wake up breathing is a gift. Sometimes I forget to live the journey. And by sometimes, I mean most times.

I don’t mean to seem ungrateful; it’s just that I find it so easy to forget – so easy to allow myself to get caught up in the mundane and weighed down in the trivial. But I don’t want to spend the rest of my life this way.

Today… Today I want to see. I want to live. I want to embrace each moment as they come.

So if You don’t mind, I’m asking You to open up my eyes and help me embrace the wonder of this moment here and now. And the moment after that. And the moment after that. Until I am, at last, fully and wonderfully alive.