The Re-Imagined Tattoo

 I was about sixteen when darkness began to feel strangely familiar to me.

I was struggling in ways I didn’t know how to name. I was suicidal. I cut myself. I drank. And before meth addiction would eventually become part of my story, I found myself fascinated by spiritual things I did not understand.

At the time, I called it Wicca. Looking back through the lens of my Christian faith, I understand that season very differently. I was reaching into spiritual darkness while having no idea just how desperately my soul was searching for something transcendent.

I practiced calling the corners. I focused on the elements. I experimented with spells and different forms of divination. I was fascinated by the idea that there might be something beyond what I could see—another realm, another reality, something spiritual just beyond the veil of the physical world.

The irony is that I was right about that part.

There was more.

I was simply looking for it in the wrong place.

Then one night, I had a dream.

In the dream, I saw a specific symbol—a symbol I believed represented the spiritual world I had become involved in. It was so vivid and so compelling that when I woke up the next morning, I drove to a tattoo shop and had the symbol permanently inked onto my body.

I thought I understood what I was doing.

I thought I knew what the symbol meant.

But sometime later, I was at my parents’ house and showed them my newest tattoo. They looked at it and then disappeared into my old bedroom.

When she returned, mom was carrying a Bible.

It was the Bible my grandmother had given me when I was about seven years old.

And there, printed on its spine, was my tattoo.

The symbol I had dreamed about—the symbol I had permanently placed on my body believing it represented my commitment to darkness—was staring back at me from the spine of a Bible I had owned since childhood.

It was a symbol of the Holy Trinity.

Father.

Son.

Holy Spirit.

Even now, there is something about that moment that leaves me in awe.

Long before I understood grace, grace was there.

Long before I was searching for God, I believe God was
searching for me.

Long before I knew enough theology to call it prevenient grace

, I was experiencing the mystery of it: the grace of God that goes before us. The God who moves toward us before we ever think to move toward Him.

I had gone searching for mystery in darkness, and somehow, mysteriously, God met me there and pointed me back toward Himself.

That tattoo is still on my body.

It is small. It is faded. And, aesthetically speaking, it is terrible.

I have almost had it redone half a dozen times.

But I can never quite bring myself to change it.

Because that imperfect little mark has become sacred to me—not because there is anything magical about the ink itself, but because of what it reminds me of.

It reminds me that there was a time when I thought I was marking myself for darkness while God was already writing a different story.

It reminds me that I did not have to understand Him for Him to love me.

I did not have to recognize Him for Him to be near.

I did not have to clean myself up, find the right theology, say the right prayer, or somehow stumble my way back into the light before He would come looking for me.

Romans 5:8 says that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

While we were still.

There is mystery in those words.

God did not wait for me on the other side of my darkness.

He entered it.

And when I think about that sixteen-year-old girl now—the one searching for something spiritual, something powerful, something beyond herself—I sometimes wish I could sit beside her and tell her:

You are right. There is more.

There is a spiritual reality greater than what your eyes can see.

There is mystery.

There is wonder.

There is a God who cannot be contained by the boundaries of your understanding.

But you do not have to summon Him.

You do not have to manipulate the spiritual world to find Him.

You do not have to know the right words.

He is already near.

And maybe that is one of the greatest mysteries of grace: sometimes we spend our lives believing we are searching for God, only to look back and realize that God had been pursuing us all along.

Even in the wilderness.

Even in addiction.

Even in rebellion.

Even when darkness seemed to surround me on every side, there was a God who had already stepped into darkness Himself.

He hung on a cross beneath a darkened sky.

He entered suffering.

He entered death.

And He did it for sinners who had not yet learned to look for Him.

For me.

And for you.

That little tattoo still reminds me of something I couldn't understand at sixteen:

I thought I had chosen a symbol.

But every time I look at it now, I remember the God who had already chosen to come looking for me.

Who I once was.

Twenty years ago, I was placed in the back of a cop car for trying to smuggle contraband out of the store. It was the lowest place I have ever been in my addiction and while I wish I could say that that day was a turning point, it wasn’t.

Today I was leaving the store and remembered that day like it was yesterday. All of the regrets came flooding back and satan tried to convince me that I am just as broken now as I was then.

He reminded me of all the times that I had let my parents down. Let my church down. Let my community down. But mostly, let myself down. Let’s face it, when all we think we are is just a pile of wasted breath, satan has us right where he wants us.

Defeated. Broken. A lost cause.

As I was loading up my stuff, I looked across the parking lot where a woman I had recently prayed for came running up. When I first met her, she walked with a limp and could only reach out with one hand, the result of a stroke that nearly took her life. Yet today, she was moving with more fervor than anyone I had ever see.

She had a woman with a small child with her and asked me to pray for them just as I had prayed many times for her. They too, were facing a trial in their lives. There in the parking lot, three desperate people who might have told you that their lives were hopeless at one time, had an encounter with the spirit of the Living God.

The same living God that told the lame to walk. To see the captives free from their chains of addiction. To comfort a mourning mother whose child was sick and needed a touch from Jesus.

He is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. He is still restoring lives. He is still defeating the weak one. And he is still calling those of us who may have discounted the use of our broken lives to tell of a God who is able to rewrite the history of a broken world, because that’s what he does.

What satan meant for evil twenty years ago, God turned around. And now instead of telling this story through the eyes of an addict, I gladly tell it from the heart of a lost child who was relentlessly pursued by God and given a new life to lift high the name of Jesus.

His is the kingdom. His is the power. His is the glory. Forever, amen.

Joanna

One year ago today, I lost a client. Her name was Joanna and man, was she something.

So many in the homeless community knew Joanna because she had a way of pulling people in need to the places where they could find resources. She was a regular fixture of the Ministry Center and could be found regularly giving out snack cakes or water bottle additives from the lobby. What she had, everyone had. That's just how she was. The day she died, something happened to me and it's taken this year to discover that healing from her death has been harder than I ever would have imagined. Truth be told, I didn't recognize that the trauma of the situation had caused a change in my heart. It would take a simple Sunday school lesson for me to see it clearly like I do now. Let me explain.

Joanna was used to asking me for rides. It happened atleast once a week where she'd hop in the car with me and I'd take her somewhere to get a meal or back to her hotel. The last day I saw her alive, I couldn't give her a ride. I had to tell her no. Joanna walked out of my office and within fifteen minutes, had been hit and killed by a tractor trailer. My mind immediately went to, "If I would have given her a ride, she would be alive." No one could tell me differently.

The change didn't happen overnight, but looking back, I can see how it touched every part of my life. At first, I thought I didn't deserve the right to claim to love and care for people because I couldn't care for her. Masked under the label of being "Covid safe," I withdrew and that started something dark and scary in my life. Before long, I was believing the lies that would tell me that my husband deserved better. My kids deserved better. I wasn't worth the job that I had, and didn't even deserve to carry the banner of Christ.

I thought I wasn't worthy of the love of God, and surely he loved the world enough to send His Son, but that couldn't be for me. I wasn't worth it.

It wasn't until I confessed to my inner circle how I was feeling, did healing begin. They began to send me scripture and songs that reminded me of the Father's love for me. Healing began and now I can't imagine not having my small group of friends, my family (work and home) and my church to lift my eyes back to the Father who was holding my hand through all of my pain and telling me that I was worth the saving that God so freely gives.

I guess I am saying all of that to say this. A year ago if you would have asked me if I had a firm foundation of faith, I would have told you yes, I did! I have experienced Christ in some of the darkest places of my life: in addiction, in the loss of a pregnancy, of my marriage; my God has proven himself faithful more times than I could ever count! But I truly know that there is an enemy of our souls and friends, he doesn't always come like a whirlwind, destroying everything in a big way. Sometimes he sneaks in when we don't see and plants something so small, by the time we are aware, it's huge. That's why we have to put on the armor of God and stay in his Word, because it is Truth. It is alive, and I'm thankful for its words for jumping off the page during Sunday school.

I'll end with this. One of my favorite stories from the Bible comes from Luke 8 and it's about the bleeding woman who was desperate to get healing from Jesus as he walked through a crowd of people. She's so desperate to encounter Him and I can look back and remember times in my life that I was this woman, craving for God to bring healing to my pain. Jesus's words, "Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace," have spoken to me before, but when I imagine Jesus's voice, it has always been soft, soothing. This particular Sunday, I heard those very words said back to me in a way that I believe God knew he had to express to me in a way that would get my attention. He said, "Daughter! Don't you hear me? I've given you healing before. I have delivered you before. Now go, and get the peace that only I can give you now." The soothing voice that I had once heard was now being boldly said to me in a way that would shake me from the darkness and bring me back into His light. I'm so thankful that the Word of God is alive, for that is the only place that I could have possibly found healing.

Dear God,

My heart goes out to the one tonight that is hearing something that is not from you and is believing it. God, I know you know their pain. Would you pour your light into the darkness that surrounds them? Would you remind them that they are precious to you? That you paid a price for them, too? That they are loved and a treasured gift. Thank you for saving me out of the darkness and for making a garden out of a grave for me. And thank you to the person reading this that gets to see their garden, too.

Amen

87Sue E Wilson, Lynetta Baker Williams and 85 others

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Church camp!!

Sunday night, 1:10am. T-minus seven hours and fifty minutes until I get to leave for church camp. AHHHH!!! Church camp is the best! I look forward to seeing all of the kids, watching their little minds learn about this awesome Jesus that loves them so much, and eating smores around a campfire while I eat foods that no sensible adult should ever touch. And the snack shack. Oh, thank you, Jesus, the snack shack. 

So why am I sitting in the ER at this time? As fate might have it, I am looking at a big ugly diagnosis of strep with the following companion of a shot in my rump to fix the problem. Okay, no big deal. Church camp is tomorrow and this lady says I am good to go, so off I go! I get home in record time and fall asleep with a smile on my face knowing that tomorrow will bring so much goodness. 

There's only one thing. Just because that ER nurse said I was good to go doesn't mean that my body agreed. About two hours into the morning on the first day, my head starts to pound. My throat is on fire. My fever spikes every 3 hours and 45 minutes so I am eating Ibuprofen like they are M&M's. This first day will be the hardest and the rest of the week will be great! Or not. I carry on this way for the next few days, having times where I feel much better and am convinced I am on the uphill climb, only to feel my teeth chatter when the fever spikes once again. I enjoy the moments I can and rejoice through sick eyes at the fun taking place all around me. Good memories are happening, but I spend much of my time thinking about what it would be like to lay down in my very own bed. 

Today arrived and I am sad that it is time to go home. I think about the new little kids I got to meet and promise myself that I will remember their names for next year. I think about what kinds of backgrounds that some of them have and wonder what kinds of homes they will be returning to. I know most of the kids that came with my church, but there were over 300 hundred kids each with his or her own story. Did I aid in pouring into them during their time spent at camp, or did they see the sick,  crabby side of me? God, I ask your grace to go before me if I spoke from a place that was more human and less of you. I pray that I didn't, in all of my sickly crabbiness, that their main take away from their church camp experience is you.

We pull into the church parking lot to return kids to parents so that they can tell them all about the fun time they had at camp. I load up two people's worth of luggage into my car (mine and Paxton's) and finally am on the road to my own home, my own bed, my own medicine, my refuge. I unload everything and just as I can see the end in sight, hear the voice of my teenage son say, " Mama, I am really hot." Mama instincts kick in and before I know it I am touching foreheads in search of a fever, only to discover that the heat he is feeling is due to an issue with the central AC. What I thought was going to be bedtime now turned into an impromptu trip to the pool so that everyone could jump inside and not overheat. We make it back home just in time to hear the words "You have to leave it off for a few hours while it thaws." Yeah, so great. Who needed that bed? Who needed those meds? Who needed to sleep for about 16 hours to get back into a normal functioning mode? Apparently, it would have to wait. 

My gosh, what a pity party. I think about the kids from camp and what going home might feel like for some of them. For the little girls whose home is not a safe haven like mine is. For the little boy who doesn't know who will celebrate his decision to follow Jesus for the first time at home the way he was celebrated at camp. Or for the staff member who pours herself out year after year for the kids that pass through the craft hall yet will return to an empty home this time due to the recent loss of her husband.  I know Jesus came back to save us all, but I pray that those are the ones that he is especially close to as they go home. 

With or without their sickness. With or without their air-conditioned home. With or without their exhaustion. I pray that Jesus was waiting for them all at the front door the minute they walked inside. Would you pray for them? 

who I once was

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 mastectomies, 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.

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.

our story

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.

who I once was

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. 

"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.) 

Joy

Pre-Cursor: Thank you. You have listened to me describe some of the most intimate details of my calling at the Ministry center and have prayed for me, offered me encouragement, a listening ear, or even let me cry on your shoulder. God is indeed my strength, but you all have helped more than you know.

Do you have joy? 

I know that is one heck of a question to kick this party off with, but lets do it anyway. The reason I ask is because there are days that I question that in myself. Thursday and Friday are great case-in-point days for me to walk you through that might give you an inclination as to the great burden I sometimes bear versus the joy and love that I pray is displayed through my life everyday. Much of the case work that I manage is based on my perception of what could easily be described as emergent, or desperate. If I can't get this homeless patient the meds he needs, he will be found deceased in a car that he is temporarily staying in. If I can't find this single mom a place to stay with her kids by the time the hotel forces her to leave, they will have to sleep the streets until some other option opens up. If I can't find transportation for the addict to get to the rehab before they change their mind and decide that the physical pain of withdrawal is more than they can handle, I have lost again. 

Now, now, now. I must move on it now. 

A very dear friend reminded me that it is easy to get caught up in trying to figure out the solution to the problem before giving God the time to make His move. Sometimes that sense of urgency that sits on my chest can somehow hinder my own ability to rely on God and His timing, not my own. And [God] forbid if the pressure that I feel in a moment of dispair would hinder the glory that God is about to get by revealing His plans if only I would run to Him first instead of when I feel like the cards are stacked against me and my client  all I know to do is cry out to Him with all the breath that I have left in my lungs. 

Even if the timing isn't my own. Even if the answer doesn't come. The truth remains: all I need is Him. Yes, there is sorrow sometimes, but the joy that I have is not based on the temporary feeling of happiness that I have because it handled the situation like I wanted, nor is it based on the heartache that I sometimes see; my joy comes from knowing that I don't have to understand everything, but rather in knowing that I am a daughter of the King of kings and He has brought me to this place and equipped me to carry out His plans, and loves me no matter if I succeed or fail miserably.

So Father, thank you for this joy you have given me. Direct my feet, God. Close whatever needs to be closed, and continue opening what needs to be opened. Place me where you can use me, and continue to bless me with the joy that I get from simply walking with you, not on the temporary temperature of the day. Your daughter, Sarah

Typical nineties girl/work book?

I would like to wish a formal apology.

You see, I am a nineties girl. I graduated high school in 1998 from Conway High school (Hail to the blue and white, in all its radiant splendor, yada yada yada, go Wampus Cats, go!) and sometimes when I write on time sensitive subject matter, I forget that there are readers who may not realize exactly what I am in reference to. This is one of those posts, sorta.

The year was 1995ish. You see, while I may not have ever been a high school cheerleader (surprise, surprise, I know...), I was determined to wear the shoes that hit the nineties school yard the same way the flock of seagulls hairstyle hit the eighties. They were called Asics and they were beautiful. At the time, if you didn't own a pair of them, it was basically the same generational sin as if you were a girl who didn't own a Cabbage patch doll in the year 1986. The need was great to own a pair and in true-high-school-girl-drama-language, you were lame if you didn't. Or even worse, if your parents bought you the knockoffs from Walmart or somewhere else, you might as well banish yourself to the ball pit at Showbiz pizza (or Chuck-e-Cheese).

I had honestly forgotten about all of this stuff for a long time until I had kids. It was then that words like "North face" and "Under Armor" started surfacing on Christmas lists and I realized the kind of fear that my parents must have faced when I started uttering words like "Asics" or "Birkenstocks" to them. The days of simple clearance buys during Christmas shopping became utterances that mimicked, "I am not paying $58 for a fleece pullover just because the label reads a specific way." The grinch in me forced a smile on my face as I grumbled to the cashier, "You bet I want my receipt," as if keeping a record of the misery would somehow make me feel better when I was filing for bankruptcy after the new year.

Today, my outlook changed a little bit. (Don't act like you didn't see it coming...You knew this story would take a turn....Stay focused, people. Christmas is on the way for crying out loud.) For the last two weeks, I have had the honor to work with a precious family to which four children under the age of ten belong. Tonight, I was on a mission to find enough clothes to simply provide their mama for one outfit for every day of school per child. Each child had two complete outfits of their own, so I needed three additional outfits per child, or 12 outfits total. I headed to the pantry and pulled out my list with each child's size as well as if they were a boy or a girl and started digging in. With every piece of clothing that I placed in its pile according to the child's need, I remembered those old Asics. I remembered how proud I was of mine that I had to wear them like all of the popular girls. As I examined each shirt, pair of pants, and even nightgowns, I wondered what these kids would feel like when they didn't have to wear the same outfit every other day because that is all they had.

Suddenly I began to feel angry when I would find a shirt or pair of pants on it that had a blemish on it. I remember thinking about how special I felt in those Asics. How dare I find anything but the best for these kids?  

Folks, I know I get on here a lot and talk about God's plan for each one of our lives and how His love is so abundant, and how it changed me. That is all true, and I will never backtrack on that statement. -My life is the result of an ever-powerful, ever-loving God who saw something in me that I sometimes have a hard time coming to grips with. Like me, really? But yes, and you too. There are also days when I question why the answers don't come as clearly for this person as they do for that one; why God deals His hand this way over here and a different way over there. But what I do know is that while I may never know that answer until I come face to face with Him, I cannot stand by and do nothing.

Matthew 5:14 says that we are the light of the world. We are. So ask yourself, how can I shine my light today? Is it by checking on an elderly neighbor? Is it by making calling up a local pantry and seeing what they need at the moment? Is it by simply initiating a conversation with your checker at Kroger and telling them they are doing a good job? The possibilities are endless. The reward is eternal. <3