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.