The man whose name I don't even know.

I don't even know his name, yet I can't get the image of his face out of my mind. Like most emergencies tend to be, we got hit twice within fifteen minutes of closing the center. The very-pregnant mama who had literally been walking the streets all day with her boyfriend showed up within seconds of the gentleman whose name I still don't know.

Doing everything in his power to support his pregnant girlfriend, the boyfriend never received his daily pay of $50 for working an eight hour day because the owner said he would have to pay him another day because not enough people had stopped by for business. Each day, the father-to-be would take his daily pay and rent a room at a cheap hotel because saving up for a rental deposit was beyond what he was able to do to keep her from sleeping on the sidewalk each night. But on this night, we received a blessing: we found her somewhere to be. Somewhere with a bed, a shower, a meal. At no cost, except for their separation for there was only one space available for her. It was a sacrifice the dad was willing to make.

We rushed to get a few things bagged up for them when the stranger appeared. With blood dripping off of his forehead, and obvious bruising on his arms and legs, he was quite a sight to behold. Requesting a bus ticket, we told him that we would have to work on it the next day, that it would take a little time to research. As he accepted the bandages we offered him for his wounds, he asked where the bus station was and then took off walking. He didn't want medical help, only a bus ticket to get out of town.

Once the pregnant mama situation was settled, I felt a stir in my heart for the bloodied man. I began to drive up and down Harkrider street looking to see if I could find him and somehow check to make sure he was okay.  Nowhere in sight. I pulled into the bus station and went inside to see if he was there, but he wasn't. I asked the attendant if she had seen anyone matching his description and she said that he had just left. Thank you Jesus, he had made it! But where was he now? The attendent told me that he had walked around the back of the store so I cautiously started searching. I found an area that I could tell had folks staying in it, but I dared not venture too far in alone. I was very careful to stay where cars in the parking lot could have a plain view of me and what was going on if things got hairy.

I began to yell out, and then cry. "It's me! Sarah from the Ministry center and I am here to help! Is anyone back there? I just need to make sure you are alright!" No one answered. No one came.

I left the parking lot with such an ache in my heart. Thankful to know that he had atleast arrived at the station, I wanted him to know that someone cared about his wellbeing, and not that he was "just another client."

I went on to church and listened to our children's pastor deliver a message about Jesus' response when he found out that his beloved John the Baptist had passed away. How easy it would have been for Jesus to shrink back and demand to have a little time to mourn for himself, yet how he instead selflessly began to take care of all the people who needed him for medical healings shortly thereafter. I tried to hold the tears back again as I struggled not to cry in front of the kids, but I am sure the one sitting next to me noticed my attempts to wipe my cheeks quickly (it was my son).

I pray to God that I did all I could do to show the man,whose name I don't know, that I love him and hope he is alright. I pray he comes back tomorrow. I pray that he remembers us for our kindness even though we didn't do a lot for him. And I pray that I never compare myself to the people from the Bible who didn't stop as they passed the beaten man lying in the road needing help, but rather as the Samaritan who did.

By His stripes...Not her own.

She cringed when she looked down and saw them. The scars had been with her for over twenty years, thus making their appearance less noticeable to her on most days. But today, she found herself staring at them intently. They represented the most painful time in her life--a time where she had once questioned if she would ever make it through. Yet, she somehow had, and had the scars to prove it. 

She noticed other people's scars, as well. Not everyone wore them the same, and their uniqueness carried a burden that only the individual who adorned them would understand for they were the  only one who had fought the battle. Maybe they had support, maybe not, but ultimately the trial that they faced at the time, they faced alone. Or so it usually felt.
Every scar-bearer had a unique story to tell, but her's wasn't one of courage, yet of fear. Fear of regret. Fear of rejection. Fear of life, or what it would hold. Fear of no longer feeling, or living in a world where she couldn't feel anything at all. And now she found herself thinking of the scars of some of her brave friends who had battle scars from double mastecto

mies, from colostomy bags, from ungrown hair patches that had never fully come back, and she was angered because of her own.

Each stripe on her wrist brought her back to the days where she felt more alone than she ever had. A time where she so desperately wanted some kind of control over her own life yet couldn't find it. A time where she questioned if anyone would notice if she simply wasn't around the next day.

And now, she bore the scars to remind her.

Then she smiled. She remembered. There was someone who bore scars, too. Only His scars were to give life to all who would accept them in place of their own. To the one with scars on their chest from a battle with breast cancer; to the little girl with a beautiful bald scalp from her chemo treatments; to the ones whose scars were often invisible. His would cover them all.

No matter if you are like me and look down and find yourself regretting the battle scars of your life, this is a reminder to look up. There you will find the perfect scars of the One who took yours upon Himself and breathed life into them.

"He Himself bore our sins in His body on the tree that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By His sins, you are healed." 1 Peter 2:24

Peace and love to you all, in the name of Yeshua.

Jesus.

Arkansas is such a beautiful state. It is truly a location worthy of every postcard that dons a picture of it's landscapes. From the hills north of us to the cobblestone streets that you can find in several of our touristy areas; to the springs that swell from the ground releasing: we are truly blessed to live here.

Conway isn't half bad either. Say what you will about our festive streets at Christmas time, the frog (sorry, toad)  that adorns the street of our city's main square, to the beautiful architecture found in many of our historic downtown buildings, it is no wonder why people who visit tend to fall in love and return (even if it's only one weekend in May, ribbit ribbit). 

I am proud to call Conway home. However, there are days where it is not the beauty that I see that God has graced the inhabitants of our town with, rather in the places where much of its forgotten townspeople reside. Now I don't say that to pour out guilt on anyone living in a nice part of town. Even my family is blessed to say that we live in a quaint subdivision where the wildest things that happen are when the trick-or-treaters arrive. Or the Wilson boys have their go-pro's out and their nerf darts  are whizzing by each others' head. Exciting times for sure. But what I am saying is that God has a way of opening our eyes to see things that we may not see without his lenses on.

I honestly think that before I answered the call of urban ministry (Conway is urban, right?) I, too, might have wondered what it was like beyond the picket fences and coffee shops. Would I be prepared to understand what it meant to lie down in a bed and wake up with a measle-like rash covering every inch of me that had slept on a bedbug infested mattress? Or what it might be like to have a roach fall on my shoulder because my living room had direct access to the outdoors because of how dilapidated the residence was? Or imagine a home that anyone could get inside of because the doors wouldn't stay shut, making every possession I owned public property the minute I left? 

I know what you are thinking. If you didn't like it, why not just leave? It's not that simple, and even for someone working two minimum wage jobs, the reason our country faces the issue of government -dependence is because of a lack of resources for the working class. And when your monthly budget is less while working than what you would receive from government subsidies, a home that costs $325 a month is all that makes sense, either way. So you are stuck and you either learn to adapt or go crazy. Or both. 

Now I know it seems like I am on a economic rant over here, but truly I'm not. Today I was reminded of something in one of the worst residences I have ever stepped foot in. Amidst the ruins, I saw a picture of Jesus hanging on the refrigerator. I snapped a pic and that is all I am going to show you because the rest of the pics I took are someone's home, and I am very protective of reserving the dignity of those I advocate for. But the picture of Jesus... That, I can't stop thinking about.  

To me, it is symbolic. To be completely transparent, I was very uncomfortable being in that house today. I found myself wanting to leave as quick as possible because I questioned what all I was coming into contact with. I wondered what the poor soul must feel like having to chose between the streets or this home. I asked myself what I would do. And then I channeled my own personal Jesus. There he was, in the mess of it all, proudly being displayed from a focal point of the house. How many times had this Jesus, (whom I fondly refer to as Yeshua more often these days because that is what his mama would have called him), met me when I was living in the rubble? When I had tough decisions to make about life and had chosen to remain in the muck and mire? When the grace that he offered me had been extended for the umpteenth time and yet he still called me beloved when I blew it again? 

Dear Jesus, let me be like you. 

And that's what he does. Scripture reminds us time and time again that he went to the people. Sure, he spent ample time in the church as well, but even Jesus realized that he had to go where the hurting was. Where the need was. Where people desperately needed someone to show up and say I don't care what you are living like now, I care about what it looks like with HIM leading the way.  

That's what he did for me. And that is what has made all of the difference in my life. 

Piper and Lincoln.

First let me begin this post with a heartfelt thanks for the many people that I know are keeping up with my niece's story and continue to pray for her and the family as she battles something that no parent should ever watch their kids go through. I sometimes wonder if they realize just how real their strength and faith through all this is to those of us looking in; how when we ask ourselves what we would do if put in the same position. I feel like even on the days where they don't even know how to express what this feels like, their underlying faith is testimony enough. It truly is nudging people to look inside and ask themselves,  "What does my faith look like?"

This weekend I was able to spend some time with Piper and Lincoln. We had a pretty good schedule going there for a few weeks of Friday visits, but due to life circumstances, I hadn't been to see her in a couple of weeks. I was expecting to see a new port so I was trying to prepare for what that might look like, understanding that she may have a couple of tubes sticking out of her neck. I must admit I was grateful to see that she hadn't had that procedure yet and pondered the thought of how many times her mom and dad had mentally prepared themselves for one thing or another in the last eight months. I asked myself if undergoing yet another surgery would ever be something that would be considered mundane in the grand scheme of all that her 45 pound body had already endured. I imagined that as a parent, accepting this as a new norm would never be really normal.  I sent up a prayer  asking God that he would never allow me to get complacent in thanking Him for each day that my own kids were healthy, as well as quoted the scripture that I have clung for Danny and Arellia throughout this ordeal, which says, "Because they trust in the Lord, they will renew their strength. Piper will soar on wings like eagles. She will run and not grow weary. She will walk and not be faint." (Isaiah 40:31) I believe this scripture with all of my heart and someday when Piper gets older, I am going to have someone monogram this scripture onto something for her to wear during her first marathon. And maybe her  wedding dress somehow, too. They can do that, right?

Back to my visit this weekend. Piper wantedt to watch Beauty and the Beast so we cuddled up on the couch and watched for a while until the kids got restless and we built a tent and chased each other through the tent entrance and exit. Lincoln confused the word tent with parachute and he kept trying to jump on top of it like it was going to bounce him into the sky or something, but were having fun and that is all that mattered. Once the kids showed signs of tiring, we cuddled back down just in time to see the end of the movie where that big jerk Gaston shoots the beast with an arrow while Belle looks on. Apparently during some part of this, and even though the kids have seen the movie before and I have seen it enough to perform it live on Broadway if ever I needed to, my face showed some signs of worry. I didn't realize it until I looked over at Piper whose face was crinkled up with concern. I asked her if she was ok and she said, "Aunt Sarah, just watch. He's going to be okay," confessing a response evoked because she saw the expression of fear laying across her Aunt's face. I immediately smiled at her and said, "I know he is going to be ok. I must have just forgotten for a second." Truth is, the emotion of the moment had gotten the best of me and there was no hiding it apparently. As soon as I smiled, the kid's faces lit up and we all returned to what we knew was the truth: that the beast would be transformed into a handsome young ruler who would marry Belle. And live happily ever after. I am blessed to have captured the moment with the kids when the beast became a man and you see that happily ever after is actually a reality for the story of Belle and her beast.


Several moments stand out in my mind from the past several months of Piper's journey, but the one that I can't tell without getting excited was when my brother stood before our church during a very-specific night designed to cry out to God on behalf of Piper. That night, my baby brother stood before every member present  and told them that when they prayed for his daughter's life, not to whimper in silence or beg for her life to be spared, but to boldly come to our Heavenly Father and thank Him for the life he was going to restore in Piper by the name of Jesus. The Healer. The Restorer. The Redeemer. The Shepherd. The Almighty. The One whose suffering can take the place of our own. Somehow.

How often do we ourselves forget what we know is going to happen in the end? Have we lived through hard times before, only to temporarily forget the ending like I did when the beast lives on? And when we do, how much do we affect those who may be going through their first storm yet see the fear on our faces instead of the goofy grins that delight in knowing that God already knows because He is already there? He gives us a reason to smile, even if it is for indescribable peace. We know that the world will give us trouble, but we stand on the cornerstone that is Jesus whom is able to see us through. What a reason to rejoice!

So tonight I am going to be a little bold myself. I realize that there are those of you who are keeping up with Piper's story and how Danny and Arellia's faith is strengthening your own. I am so thankful for that. But my question to you, beloved reader, is what do you believe? Maybe you are on the "Praying for Piper" FB page and find yourself questioning how people can handle something like this. Or maybe you casually comment "praying" every time Arellia posts something new. Maybe you really do, or maybe you just say that because it is politically correct to reply in that manner. I get it, believe me, I do. When I first felt the conviction of the Holy Spirit in my life, I searched for an outward expression to declare a change that I had experienced even though I may not have truly known what it meant. But there is real power there. My pastor reminded me today that the same power that rose Jesus from the grave lives in us. In you. No longer are the days where you have to wonder where to cast your anchor in the storm, because he is on the boat waiting for you to glance back and see him
. And when you do, and you release all of the luggage that you are carrying, the hurts that you have experienced, the disappointments in life, the times that you felt alone, please know that someone who suffered way worse is waiting for you to take a deep breath and whisper his name.

You may cry a little, or smile a lot, but whatever your response is to THE response that you make today is, it will be beautiful.

Please let someone know. I would love for it to be me. But mostly, I am glad it is HIM.

The power of a word.

I make people cry. A lot.

Now before anyone jumps to conclusions and assumes that I am some sort of cruel person who goes around making folks cry all day, let me stop you there. Truth be told, I struggle with assertiveness and any time I see someone in need of anything, my natural inclination is to try to find a way to provide what is needed. I am very much a "see a problem and identify a solution" type of gal. I see someone who is hungry, I look for food. I see someone who seems lonely, I sit down beside them. Whatever the solution is to my fixer-upper situation, I am all ears.  Just call me Sarah, the resolutionist. I feel like every problem has a solution and I am determined to find it. Even when it doesn't look like what I might have imagined.

Here's comes where I make people cry a lot. Well, technically I don't. I just get to be a middle man, I guess. God has blessed me by allowing me to be used as a vessel. Nothing that I do makes people cry, because the tears that I see streak down people's cheeks come from a source much higher than me. Honestly, I like to think that I have positioned myself as low to the ground as possible, and definitely on my knees in constant conversation with the One who sends me. He is the Alpha and the Omega and His resolution in people's lives is miraculously better than mine could ever be. He is my source and without His guidance, any of my fixer upper efforts would be in vain.

So maybe I need to restate the thesis of this writing...

I don't make people cry: that would be the intervention of the Holy Spirit doing that.  He works in the lives of hurting people who simply need to hear that the journey that they are has not left them alone wandering in the wilderness; instead, they are being carried by the One who sees their struggle and tells them to take up His yoke, for it is lighter. This isn't necessarily easy for me to do either. Remember, this fixer-upper would like to be able to bring the resolution in a moment's time so that when "A" is presented, "B" can be added, to produce the solution of "C" which is how I have learned to process over the years. But the "C" is representative of something else not of myself, rather of the Big C which is Christ and He is the truest answer to life's questions. Sure, I can try to provide a real tangible answer in the form of a food donation or a change of clothes, or anyone number of things that my human mind can think to provide, but the real action comes when I bow my head and begin to pray.

It is then that the beauty of the Creator fills a messy situation and calls the weary traveler into  a place to rest. Where He reminds them that He sees them. Not like some universal entity looking down from the cosmos with a vague perception of what human kind is up to, but more like a mom or dad who is calling them home because it is dinner time. He is calling their name in the direction that he knows that they are and is ready to serve up their favorite meal. Sounds silly, I know. But that's how I envision my personal daddy who is waiting for me to come running home and leap into His arms.

So, yeah. The tears will probably continue as I get to pour into folks the good news about a Savior, who already knows what the beginning and end look like. It is His faithfulness through each of their journeys that He is so good to remind them that even when they can't see it, He is there and He is the answer.

So go. And be a messenger. The world needs more of them.

God provides

I recognized the name immediately as the note came across my desk, and I quickly asked my coworker if this particular client was still on the phone, waiting for someone to pick up, and she said yes so I gladly jumped on the line to see if everything was ok. I know that a lot of the time when I write about what I do, readers are quick to assume that the clients that I have the honor to serve fit a certain mold. It's a preservation thing and I get it. No one wants to think that they could ever become homeless, or disabled, or unemployed. Sometimes putting people in a labeled box where you can put the lid on top of them keeps their reality separate from our own. Unfortunately, for the elementary school teacher, or the grocery store manager, or the cashier that deposits your paycheck every payday at your local bank, it is easy to see that the borders of the box aren't quite as concrete as one might think. All it takes is one catastrophic blow before the  financial  stability of a household is spiraling out of control. Sometimes a resolution is hard to find. Thankfully, God's bounds know no limits and when He allows me a small glimpse into what He's up to, it's a great day.

Back to the story. I make it a habit to pray over the lives of those I come into contact with. Whether they ask me to, allow me to, or I do after they leave, I always lift them up to the One who knows what the true answer for their predicament may be. Maybe they call because they need rent. Maybe it's a Conway Corp bill. Whatever they present with to me is lifted to the One who knows the true need, and is so good to save. Before I lifted up the phone to take the call, my God was already on the move. I listened intently as the voice on the other line told me how he continued to struggle medically, but confess his trust in Jesus as the picture he painted seemed grim. Suddenly there was a knock on the door and for a split second, I remembered what it once felt like to wonder if the landlord might be coming over with an ultimatum because finances were tough and money had fallen short. Alas, there was a sweet voice coming through the man's phone as I heard him emphatically thank whomever it was for dropping off some second hand clothes that his daughters could have for new school clothes. I reveled in the sound of his voice as you could tell he was holding back tears while graciously thanking the kind donor who had met a need. This story was just getting good.

Our conversation led to a few resources that I gave him that I felt like would be able to help in this financial plight that we were facing, and at the end of it, I reminded him to keep me posted so that we could fill the gap for whatever remaining needs were unmet. There was hope, but even bigger than anything we could give. I received a call this afternoon  from another organization that was going to pay for his entire rent! In the world of charitable agencies, this is huge! But it doesn't end there!

At the other agency, a man walked in. He struck up a conversation with one of the workers about how he himself had once been homeless. He knew what it meant to struggle, and his heart had led him to the place where my client now sat in the back room after receiving the news about his rental assistance. As the once-formerly homeless man described what he was being led to do for someone else, the worker knew exactly who she could refer for the gift, and he was still on the property after receiving rental assistance! It was the man struggling with a debilitating disease that left him unable to work, yet still offering praises to an Almighty God for providing clothing for his daughter, a paid way for whatever sports his kids wanted to play, courtesy of a once-homeless stranger, a place to sleep for atleast another month, and a case manager who is determined to keep the lights on and the air cool so that those kids can see the homework that they will be starting on soon.

You might be surprised to hear me say that the lesson I learned today isn't necessarily how God is so good at providing for people, because I already know this. He always has the final say so, and whether or not my friend received millions of dollars in assistance today or not, I would still confidentally say that. I would rather trust God while crawling through the desert versus relying on my own understanding any day, because his answer is always going to be the best. All of this is a given with me.

Rather, I thank God for the people that simply responded "yes" today. That were willing to take what little they had and watch it multiply when placed in the hands of the One who fed over 5,000 people with 2 fish and 5 loaves of bread. Not only did he do it back then, he does it now. From the donation of clothes, to the formerly-homeless man who felt nudged to help out someone else out, to all who will continue to strive to meet the needs of this family: God uses those who are willing to say "yes" to him everyday.

This story is not my story. It is the story of anyone who responds with a resounding "yes" to the call that God places on their heart that day, and it is the best place to be.

Much thanks to my friend for allowing me the pleasure of sharing this inspirational story today.

Our church

Ahhh, Vacation Bible school time again.

It's almost like a holiday, VBS is. Decorating, preparing, planning out schedules, buying gifts...And that's just in preparation for the event. Once VBS kicks off, there's a whole other level added.  Coralling three sets of age groups to each station, ensuring that everyone stays together. Making sure that every creative snack meets certain dietary needs. Comforting the youngest group who is ready to go home and go to bed thirty minutes before each night's ending, thus resulting in many a tearful eye that must be comforted. Even so, the dedicated volunteers return year after year because a church that has a flourishing children's department holds the keys to the future, and each child, whether he or she comes from a family within the church, is cherished.  Whitney Houston was right all along: "I believe the children are our future." We must teach them well, and let them lead the way. Well, sometimes. 

An outwardly faced church doesn't exist to serve only its members, but rather all who we come into contact with. I know of so many different local churches in Conway who truly serve as Jesus did, and that is in a way that sees no boundaries when it comes to showing compassion and love to strangers. Even if we don't look the same. Or dress the same. Or live in the same part of town. The church does not exist to create a wall of division between Jesus and those who we claim we are called to love, rather serve as a bridge to close the gap between the believers and those who find themselves on the fringe. Maybe they have faced judgement elsewhere. Maybe they feel like they would never be accepted because of what the paper trail of their life looks like on record. Whatever the reason, all should be welcome at this table. 

Tonight I witnessed a beautiful sight, and I hope my friend won't mind me sharing this. I am not going to tag her on here, but hopefully she will have a chance to read this and know just how much I was moved tonight by her heart. Like many of the children that we see grace our corridors during the VBS rush, there are always some that we don't know who they are. Maybe they received our flyer at a food pantry, or a doctor's office, or a friend of a friend told them about it. Whatever the reason, we embrace them at the front door. And sometimes, we realize that the safest place that they have set foot in might be our church lobby. That the only meal they might have tasted came in the form of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that one of our VBS kitchen volunteers made them when they cried because they were hungry; or received medical care for the dozens of flea bites that covered their body; or for the simple conversation that was had when they just couldn't quite understand how to play a game. These are the moments that we, the volunteers live for. 

And at the end of the night, when that one child looks up and declares what they have heard all night, how Jesus is their rescuer, too, we have done our job. 

Father, take this seed. You know these kids because they already belong to you. I ask that all of the planning, all of the memorization,  all of the crafts, all of the creative snacks that have been prepared for them pale in comparison to what you will do with each of their lives. And God, help us to love well. Help us to extend grace because of the grace that you extended. Help us to have patience for the many other sidewalk conversations that may come. I just ask that you would go before us and allow us to be used as vessels for the mighty work you are going to do in them. Amen.

A precious newborn baby

There she was, in all her glorious pregnancy. You could tell by the way that she held her stomach that she was the full embodiment of a first time mama. Like a protective mama bear, the sheer mention of her delivery made her face turn from that of a radiant glow to one with a stoic intent. This baby would be cared for, whether on the streets or elsewhere. That is the reality when a homeless situation turns into a "party plus one" event.

So here I sit, trying to count weeks in my head based off of her last period, because you know, women who survive on the streets are known to have regular menstrual cycles, right? Wrong. Stress takes its toll and what she thinks might be "normal" might not be. As I scramble around my house to find some clothes for her to wear, I scatter sticky notes all over the place. "Prenatal vitams?" on one. "Feminine hygiene products" on another. "Ultrasound!" is written on a list in my purse as I start to think about what organizations I can reach out to for help. But really and truly, I want to do a drive by. Not that kind. The kind where I drive by where her tent is and make sure I don't see her squatting in a field trying to withhold the pushes in time for someone to notice her and recognize her need to get to a hospital asap. 

Atleast she isn't alone. It takes two to tango, and knowing that she hasn't been abandoned makes me feel a little bit better. Honestly as a mother, I ask God to purge me of any judgement I have towards a husband who seems to accept this reality as the norm, remembering how thankful that I am that she is not alone. I thank God that even though this mama bear may not have the same type of blessed pregnancy that I had, His ability to work in these parents' lives is the same as it was mine. 

And while the world waits for the the arrival of the homeless baby, I will thank God in advance for how He is going to use me in all this. But moreso, for how He is going to move the hearts of man. 

Once again, through the birth of a son.

Judas's money

And so they took the money. It was literally blood money. It cost a man's life, and the saddest part of all of it was that the money came from the worst kind of betrayal that a person can imagine: from a friend's betrayal. The body that would soon hang on display for all the crowd to jeer at came at a price, and what a price it was. 

"This fulfilled the prophesy of Jeremiah that says, 'They took the thirty pieces of silver-the price at which he was valued by the people of Israel, and purchased the potter's field, as the Lord directed.'" Matthew 27:9-10.

The money of course, was originally paid to Judas Iscariot, world-renown betrayer whose cooperation with the religious leaders would lead to the execution of Yeshua, the Christ. In one final moment before Judas ended his own life, he offered the money back to the religious leaders, realizing his role in leading an innocent man to die for the sins of the world. And yet, God's involvement never leaves the situation as we read "as the Lord directed" at the end of verse 10. So the money was used to purchase a plot of land where immigrants could lay their loved ones to rest if they died while separated from their home land. 

Friends, there are times when I really struggle to understand what it is God is trying to get me to understand as I delve into his word. These few verses really lept off the page to me because to understand that God would still have something to do with a situation that is so purely evil. I just can't. As someone who understands what it is like to feel the sting of betrayal, especially from a human perspective, and knowing how anger, hopelessness, or depression can grip one's emotions during that time, looking for God in that equation can seem distant. Understanding however, that He says he is with us through everything, brings things back into perspective as he still has his finger in the universal purpose of what is going on in our lives, as well as others. 

God still had a plan for the blood money that had been used to betray his son. In stating "as the Lord directed," that tells me that further supernatural direction was still occuring. He had not turned away from the situation. He was still watching the money that had paid for the betrayal of his son get passed around, yet didn't separate himself from those who continued to pass it. He kept watch and directed. 

I think the reason I keep coming back to these thirty pieces of silver is simple: it is further evidence that God never separated himself from the evil that man had become. No matter how bad. No matter how loathsome. Or despisable. Scripture says that God sees the heart where man sees outwardly appearances. What a refreshing thought, honestly. I know that there was a time in my life where many of you would have had a hard time offering the same grace that God showed to the people that were passing around the blood money that killed his son, yet he chose to stay engaged. I thank God that instead of pulling away like we sometimes do when we look at what we might consider a lost cause, God does just the opposite: he gets involved. He takes up our cause. He redirects circumstances towards Himself where they are ultimately unified with Him.

But is that what we are called to do? It is so easy to throw out daggers that would put man in his place, the judgement seat where the world would see a lost cause not worthy of a second look. But when you have eyes that see things the way that God does, how beautiful to see what he sees and love them as such. By ourselves, we are a hot mess. But with Him, our failures, our flaws, our disapointments, our let downs become beautiful because that is what he does. He restores us. 

Beloved, God has his eyes turned to you. He sees what's going on in your life and is ready to jump in and save, as any proud parent is. He has his ears turned to you, and knows the things you are telling yourself: about how you are not fit to love, not fit for acceptance, not worth the time. He would remind you that those are all lies and that he already bought you with a price that cost a lot. He reminds you that you are not alone, and even though you feel that way at times, he is listening and ready to respond. 

Take that step of faith,and when you do, please let someone know. I will be waiting.  

"Hi mama"

The text simply said two words: "hi mama." When I opened it up on my phone, it was as if I could breath a deep sigh of relief. It was from Sawyer, who has been away at teen camp since Friday. Not that I am one of those parents who stays up all night worrying about how my child is doing when they are not in my presence or anything. Because I am not. But I could tell that Sawyer was a little nervous as the bus pulled away, this being his first time at teen camp. Excited, but nervous. His last words to me as I said my goodbyes were, "mom, I am not so sure about this." I assured him that he was going to have a blast with all of his friends, and that there was nothing to worry about.

Still, I couldn't get those puppy dog eyes out of my head as I pulled away.

Watching your child grow up is one of those things that you will never get quite used to. Sure, there may be times where you find yourself celebrating graduations, engagements, marriages, grandkids, etc, but if you are anything like I am, you will think back to the first day you brought them home. Or the first time they took their first steps. Or the first time they came home talking about falling in love. We delight in seeing our kids grow up but a part of us will always remember them as our babies.

I knew that Sawyer was having these last minute reservations because it was something that he had never done before. Instead of being the big man on campus, he was now the minnow in the sea and that is a scary place to be for the first time. Think of it as kindergarten.  I wish I could have assured him that this would be the only time that he would be nervous about venturing into an unknown place but the truth is that he was just getting started. As he grows into the man that God has created him to be, there will be lots of times where his feet would take him where his mind is unsure of, but that's the beauty of faith, isn't it?

As I ponder this getting old business, I thought about the times that God led me to the edge of uncertainty. How many times had He assured me that everything would be ok if only I would trust him. And how he has proved to me over and over that he knows what is best for my life, and continues to go with me into the unknown and bring me out on the other side refined? The times are too many to count. Each time I take that step of faith, I know that I am being carried on the wings of angels who are under the command of an Almighty Father who is already waiting on the other side. He assures the growth that comes from the step of faith that I must boldly take and is always waiting around when I get to the other side and send him a message much like I received from Sawyer: "Hi daddy."

I realize that I have many friends that are burdened by a step that God wants them to take. Friends, be bold. Don't look back. Seek God first in all things, and He will make your paths straight. You need only to trust him. What will you lose if you never take that step? Maybe nothing. But what will you gain if you do? Perhaps everything.








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Someone to care.

 As soon as I laid eyes on her, my heart sank in my chest.  This year had been a rough one on her, and I soon became accustomed to the phone calls that would come frequently and without warning.  The sound on the other end could be compared to the weep of a small child trying to make sense of an adult world for which she was not equipped to understand. I instantly fell in love with her and found my maternal instincts coming out as I tried to lead her through some important life choices that she had to make with as much care as possible. I soon realized that close relationships were something that she didn't have a lot of in her life, if any. Because of the nature of my job, responding to every last phone call and impromptu visit was not feasible for me to do, and before long, the calls lessened as I grew to discern what it means  to set boundaries so that I could love on the ninety-nine as well as the one.


The truth is that amidst all of the strife that I encounter daily, lonliness is perhaps one of hardest things that cuts deeper than a suffering pocket book. I have been blessed enough to always have friends and family to stand by my side through the up's and down's of life, but not everyone has that. In fact, there are times where the real work that God has called me to goes above any program guidelines or written case plan, but rather  in the form of a genuine regard of care and compassion. And when you get the chance to confirm to a wondering heart that yes, they are still your "number one girl," the smile that wraps around their face turns out to be the highlight of the day. Realizing that you have been given the gift to allow many, not just one person, have that kind of assurance is such a beautiful thing.

My relationship with my special friend will never be perfect, but I thank God for allowing me to serve as a reminder to her that she is not alone, not forgotten, not without a place of refuge. For where love is, there she will have peace. There she will have certainty. There she will encounter God and really understand that she is beautifully and wonderfully made by Him.

 But what about the others? How will they know? We have almost 70,000 people in this town alone, and some find it easier to build walls than tear them down.

John 13:35 By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.

So go. And love well.

He bowed his head and prayed.

The fear of judgement would have been easy to collapse under, yet one foot after the other, he landed at the foot of an alter and cried out to God. This man, who had convinced himself that the minute he set foot inside a church, lightning would probably strike him down, was now weeping with his face buried in his hands and crying out to a God who poured out his love for the one who had wandered from the flock. Destined to break free from the chains that held him breathless under a crushing restraint of life's regrets, he was ready to give his suffering a new purpose. 

What he saw when he turned around was nothing short of a miracle in his eyes: the hands that satan might have tried to use to condemn him were now praising God for the return of the prodigal. With hands laid all over his back, this son could feel the love penetrate his once-hardened heart from the congregation that now lifted him up and accepted him for who he was, but moreso for who God called him to be. 

That day would shape the future of a marriage, the future of a family, and the future of the kingdom of God. The warrior had now accepted his calling and even though many battles would come his way, the war was already won and a Messiah was the victor. 

Fast forward to a few years later, the call that had been placed on the soldier's life was still as strong as ever. As he prepared to accompany hundreds of kids during church camp to learn about the wonder of this Savior that he serves, his heart softened for each child as he reveled at the small role he got to play in each one of their lives as he told about the day that he laid it all on the altar and turned to face a church crowd who had loved him almost as much as his Christ did. The victory was made ever so sweet when during the last night at camp, I looked up at the altar and saw this precious man of mine  leading a young boy in the sinner's prayer that would change the direction in his life the same way it changed the direction of mine when Jesus took back what belonged to him already. 

I wondered if the tears that I saw coming down my husband's face were similar to the time he accepted God's love in place of the judgement he had feared; or if it were because he knew that this simple prayer would shape the future of the young man for whom he had led to Christ. Either way, I rejoice. 

Piper

I became very aware that I had been here before. Let me explain.

Last night I was allowed the honor to come and support some special little people in my life to  Sunshine Academy's dance recital. The night was filled with precious toddlers in tutu's, flitting balerina's that made Tchaikovsky's tunes come to life, and an audience that marveled at the spectatular ambiance of the night.  But there was one thought that held my mind captive: this show was missing one key player, and she is our Piper-girl.

Many of you know of my five-year old niece's battle with cancer that was diagnosed right after Christmas this year. Without blinking an eye, I recognize that the picture you see was time stamped this exact date one year ago. How can so much happen in a year? As I watched hundreds of dancers take the stage last night, I wondered if our little ballerina would return to the stage once more and claim the bouquets of flowers that she received from many relatives the night of her debut. If she would once again slip into her precious little costume made for this very special night in her life; or if she would smile with pride at her mama and daddy when they doted on their  little girl for a job well done.

To begin the festivities, the director of the academy offered those in attendance a scripture. Isaiah 40:31, the very prayer I have prayed over Piper's life since the diagnosis was given, and I recalled my own version of it: "Because [Danny and Arellia] trust it the Lord, they will find new strength, as will Piper. They will soar high on wings like eagles. Piper will run and not grow weary; she will walk and not faint." I started reciting this prayer over Piper and her parents and declared that God would be their strength. Last week, I was thrilled to learn that Piper was taking some initiative in walking on her own and immediately recognized that God was indeed showing off his strength through her and allowing me a small window to see that the faith we have all clung to was giving way to an ever-faithful Jehovah Rapha, the Almighty Healer.

Our pastor is having us participate in a congregational reading of the New Testament and as I read through Luke 2 last night, I recall that during a lonely night on the job, a group of shepherds were visited by an angel. Not only did the shepherds receive a miracle when they encountered "the armies of heaven," (vs. 13), they also learned firsthand about this baby that would be entering the world to save the soul of mankind. It was after the angels left did the shepherds rush back to Bethlehem to see with their own eyes what they believed with their hearts.

Shortly after the shepherds arrived to the place where Mary and Joseph were with their infant son, they excitement couldn't be contained as what they knew to be true was acknowledged for their human eyes to see. Verse 19 says that "Mary kept all these things in her heart and thought about them often." She remembered the miracle that was given to her for it could not be denied now.

 Today as I looked around the room during church, I recalled a few miracles that we have seen within our church family. I think about the pillars of faith that have sustained us time and time again, and even when the prayers we lift up in faith don't happen, the Cornerstone remains the same: Jesus is faithful and continues to pour out onto us with a peace that passes understanding. "The peace I give is a gift the world cannot give, so don't be troubled or afraid." (John 14:27) Remembering is sometimes hard for us to do, but we must because they remind us of God's faithfulness when  we are sometimes walking through the hard times of life.

So Father, today. I chose to praise you like the shepherds did. I chose to believe in faith the miracle you are allowing me to witness with each stride that Piper makes. I thank you for her parents! Father, bless them beyond measure. May the words of my prayers reach the deepest recesses of their hearts through Your Holy Spirit.

I thank you for Piper's body, Lord. I thank you for the day she climbs back into her dance shoes and ballerina outfit and leaps across the stage with the grace and mobility that only you can give her. I stand on the promise that you are working out all things for her good. Father, I pray for the faith of the onlookers who know about Piper's story and whose relationships with you are being strengthened through the tale of the beautiful ballerina named Piper.

My battle scars.

Tonight's entry takes a little bit of courage on my part, I fear. So lets all just calm down and take a deep breath. These are your peeps, Sarah. And it's not like you are standing in front of a crowd dressed in your birthday attire. We are just talking about tattoos for crying out loud.

It all started on January 7th, 1998, otherwise known as my eighteenth birthday. The day I could buy a pack of cigarettes, a lottery ticket, get charged as an adult, and even get a tattoo. Amazingly, (and because I had pretty protective parents), I didn't go to jail, buy a lottery ticket, commit a crime (that would come later), but I certainly did check myself out of youth group early that night and make my way over to the only tattoo joint in town, unbeknowst to anyone. The result was an homage to my love of the hippy way of life, or what I thought I knew about it because of pictures I had seen of my dad when he had a white-man afro.  Anyway, I ended up with a tattoo of a peace sign. It was about the size of a quarter and I managed to keep it hidden until one of the dozens of people that  I had shown it to during school opened their blabber mouth to my mom while a chance encounter in Walmart. Lets just say that there was a good reason I had been keeping it hidden and move on.

As I drifted through the last of my teenage years and rolled into my twenties, my life became a mirage of what i believed to be a very cool lifestyle, only being tempted into believing that I was invincible and my motto was "Go big or go home." The liquor was hard, the drugs were harder, and the bigger the tattoo, the cooler I thought it was. It wasn't until the crash of 2001 was I able to look back and see how messed up things really were and then shame started to seep in. I  enrolled in school and so there was somewhat of a forward progression of my life, but the tats kept me attached to this stereotype that I had become. By the end of this specific era, I had much of my back covered in a mosaic of ink, symbolic of the various stages of my life until that point. When I gave my life back to Christ in 2006, I realized just how aware I was of the artwork that adorned my body, keeping it covered up much of the time because my heart had changed and I felt like I had to hide some of the regrets of the past, tattoos included. 

When I started feeling called into ministry, I was very aware of the stigma attached to people who had tattoos and remember always being guarded when I could feel my hair part ways, exposing the footprint of my life represented by ink that was sprawled out on my back for the world to see. For me to wear my hair down, well, it took guts if I knew that I was going to be at church, or even in the presence of other church goers. I feared judgment to the point that I would not go up to the altar at church because that required me to lean my head forward to pray and my hair might part ways, exposing what I desperately tried to keep hidden. How sad to think that someone who so desperately wanted to cry out to God while kneeling at the foot of the altar, but wouldn't because the guilt and condemnation of her physical appearance,kept her fists clenching the chair in front of her to keep those chains locked tight that would lead her to freedom. 

When I was given the opportunity of a lifetime to work where God has called me to now, I remember the first time that someone saw the secret I was so desperately trying to keep hidden. My hair had been pulled up and fastened with a pencil holding it in place, when I felt a hand touch my upper back. I was busted.  I looked for the words to explain myself so that I could  give an explanation to the person who had discovered the tip of the glacier that led to its entirety that I had hidden for so many years. It was then that I was met with open arms of affection, acceptance, and praise for what God had brought me through. 

I no longer needed to hide the scars of my past because they were the successes of a Savior who had saved me in my darkness and carried me into the light!

I think the reason I am writing this is because I know that there are others like you who feel the old curse of sin and too, are holding on to it for fear of judgement or rejection. What I will say to you now is that satan is trying to keep you from surrendering your story to God and breaking free from the binding chains that would have you believe that you are just some old wash up unworthy of your own redemptive story. God is calling you out and saying that He is made strong in your weakness. That whatever you are holding on to that keeps you from taking hold of the life that he has prepared for you, you must let it go and give it to Him. 

Without Him, you will fall. But with Him, you will soar. 

By the way, some of the most Godly people I know have tattoos. They drink. They cuss. They get mad at their kids. They get irritated while driving.  They struggle. Do you want to know why they continue to win hearts to Jesus? Because they are real, and being a common-day disciple means stripping off our Sunday suits and showing people that we ALL fall short of the glory of God, yet His grace extends beyond our grasp of understanding. 

What a day.

There are just some days, y'all. 

Days when I mourn the disintegration of a family. Days when I see the posture of the world upheld by the strength of each individual. Days when the addict choses death over life. Days when the weary lay cold and naked on our sidewalks as we walk on by. Days when the father is ripped from his family and bound by the shackles that prevent him from leading his family that they so desperately need. Days when the stomachs of the hungry rumble, and the homeless search for a safe haven as they struggle with sickness, held captive by the very environment that keeps them sick. Days that see the inner beauty of God's creation compromised in the mind of the woman who labeled herself a whore before she choosed to believe what God really says about her.

There are just some days, y'all.

And I fall to my knees and cry out for them. Because I want them to know the God I know. I want them to know that their life is not a giant write off because of the choices that they have made or the things that have happened to them that caused these things in their life.

And then I look up and am suddenly taken to the foot of the cross where all of the condemnation of the world is dripping from the feet of a Savior who has taken their pain and made it his own. Who says that they have a life of abundance because of the price that He paid. He asserts that no matter the journey, he is the ending.

So for them, as well as me, I will rejoice in the Lord.

"Lazarus, come out."

I am going to just be competely real for a few minutes so I ask for grace when I put everything on the line for the world to see. You see, the truth is that I am good at dodging the questions that might have you wonder how my faith is, when in all reality, I too struggle. And while I know that I know that I know who my Savior is, finding His will in this mess of life is easier on some days, harder on others.

When my 5-year old niece was first diagnosed with cancer, after the shock had settled, I started to watch for miracles to happen. Obviously, both then and now, I prayed for that one miracle that would come in the version of an "all clear" scan of her body. No cancer. Completely clear. Now, three months later, I am learning to trust God in all things and praise Him as I see my brave brother and sister-in-law wade through the water holding on the promise stated to all of us believers in Isaiah 43:2: "When you go through deep waters, I will be with you. When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown. When you walk through the fire of oppression, you will not be burned up; the flames will not consume you. (3) For I am the Lord, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior..."

These miracle stories have come, and at first I found my praises being lifted to God for what I was witnessing. People were hearing about my niece and were beginning to pray for the first time in a long time. I even had an atheist tell me that they would "pray to my God on behalf of my niece." I'll take it and rejoice gladly! But before long, a different type of seed was planted and in no time, the bitterness crept in. It was a simple question that sounded something like this: "Do you really think your prayers can change the will of God?" Like a knife in the back, I tried to recover yet searched for the words.  Did I really think my prayers could change the will of God in regards to my precious niece's life? I thought so. But soon my tears were no longer being shed for the souls that were being drawn in to a closer relationship with the Father, rather they were being shed in anger. For example, I remember telling God about how messed up it was for my niece to have to go through hell for someone who had shared with me that "her situation had really made them think about God again." My heart had such a reason to celebrate this, as I mourn regularly over people who don't know the kind of freedom that Christ offered to those who believe. Yet my mind cried out in an imaginary conversation with them, "you know, God has always been here. Does my niece really have to suffer for you to get that?! Because you could have had this all along! Long before the suffering began!" I thank God for my husband who laid his hands over my body that morning and cried and prayed over me. I love you, Jarett. 

There is a famous story in the Bible that refers to one of Jesus's best friends, Lazarus. Lazarus had become sick and when Jesus heard about it, he didn't rush to his side immediately, saying "Lazarus's sickness will not end in death. No, it happened for the glory of God so that the Son of God will receive glory from this." (John 11:4)  So the son of God, the Almighty Healer, the Great Physician, the Great Deliverer, waited. He could have rushed to be with His friend, but instead, he waited. God would have to get his glory or it was all for nothing. Life is but a fleeting moment, filled with the moments from God that impact us somehow, and Jesus knew this. So he waited in order for the glory of God to shine. 

It has been a few weeks since that dark seed was planted, and would you believe it if I told you that the same person who asked me that pivotal question has since returned into my life? I will admit that my initial reaction was to hold my breath and wait for the scary blow of [her] reality to come baring down on me. Thankfully I belong to a patient God with a sense of humor and have dumped the rotten harvest from that first encounter  back through the gates of hell  where it belongs and now am full with the truth about God's promises that enable me to plant His seeds in her heart.  Have I figured out the answer to the question "are my prayers really going to change the will of God?" No, but I don't need to right now. All I need to know is that God is good all the time. And all the time, God is good. (And let her know, too.) 

Love your neighbor as yourself.

I believe that we are called to love. As simple as it sounds, many times we allow things to hinder us from our calling. Maybe it is politics. Maybe it is socio-economic differences. Maybe simply reaching out is hard to do, as I have heard from people before.

This entry is a little different, as I would rather the pictures speak for themselves.

A pair of shorts, the empty remnants of a snack bag, and a pair of sandals represent someone who might have been looking for the Conway Ministry warming station.

Signs of hope to point people needing refuge in the right direction. 

Was the basketball held by a child today?

The steps that lead to a warm meal, warm bed, and a caring team.

Signs of hope. 

Would the tear freeze to my cheek?

Church doors. A sign of hope from people who love. 

I should have rethought my shoe choices. By the time I had walked the premises and prayed for two hours, my feet were burning from the cold.