Night to Unite

Tonight we gathered together with churches from across our community. One thing that stuck out to me was when the pastor of the Spanish church prayed. He said that the immigrants of our town came to the US looking for the American dream, but when they got here they realized that the true American dream is finding Jesus Christ. Isn't that powerful!?

I am grateful for the vision God gave to members of River Church to make this night happen. What a beautiful three hours. Worshipping God underneath a beautiful blue sky with so many members of so many different churches was so refreshing, and I felt like God really solidified some things He's been leading me toward: 1. I need a specific prayer space in my house. 2. I need to continue learning to understand fasting and then do so for this community, binding the evil in this county and taking it back for Christ and 3. I want to have a TV-less night in our house-- I feel like we would do so many other good things and get to know each other better.

Some great stuff! Thank You, God, for never giving up on me. You always come after me. You've never let up.

I love You, Jesus, and I pray that everyone I know would know Your love.

"Where I'm From"

My pre-service teacher did a lesson teaching this style of poetry. I loved creating my own! Check it out:

I am from good advice and proud embraces, 


From roiling sibling rivalry,

And the new adult love we have for each other.

I am from a tight-knit town with friends and family I’d die for,

From long rides to church and from the River family.

I am from sleepless college nights filled with darkness of soul,

From the black grip of depression and its deep stain.

I am from a relationship with Jesus Christ who changed my life,

From the One who can raise dead men from the grave

and who gave this girl her hope back.

I am from friends who stay friends for decades,

From sleepovers and manhunt and spoons,

From Jumping Ship and pigging out.

I am from innocence and Polly Pockets
From barrel-rolling down hills and picking strawberries

I am from Frank Peretti, Christy Miller, Mandie and C.S. Lewis.

From Charles Dickens, Stephenie Meyer, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, and Shakespeare.

I am from my completely opposite freshman roommate who I will always love,

From my sweet E, English connoisseur and soundboard.

I am from my high school sweetheart who is now my amazing husband

From sweet notes, starry nights, and feeling pretty.

I am from LAHS, the school I call home,

From each of my amazing students who make me love it here.

I am from Barbara Streisand, Frank Sinatra, Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant
From It’s a Wonderful Life and “New Year’s Rockin’ Eve with Dick Clark.”

I am from being missions-minded,

From social justice, Philadelphia streets, and Messiah-Temple.

I am from TobyMac and old-school “Jesus Freak” rock,

From Creation and “Comatose.”

I am from thirty Chinese students who taught me their culture,

From teaching English in both our West and their East,

From two amazing teams of teachers brave enough to go.

I am from men and women who loved me enough to teach me,

From Jerry Wise, Bill Walborn, Shari Taylor-Stuckey, Crystal Downing and Nancy Shoemaker,

From Jan Simmons, Mark Ritzman, Dr. Peterson, and Professor Miller.

I am from “joy unspeakable and full of glory,”

From “no guilt in life, no fear in death.”

I am from a huge family and a small one, 


From beautiful, tall women and strong, hard-working men,

From Poland, Germany, Wales, Ireland, England, and the First Nation,

From a brand-new one filled with people who love me

From Osterreich and "Das ist Wurst" and great big belly laughs.

I am from so much love.

A Returning!

Hello avid fan(s?)

Time has run its course, and God has been working his clay. I have been in such a beautiful, quiet season. Waiting, resting, observing. I was re-reading some previous posts, especially the last. It has been over a year and a half since that post and to this day, I have not quite recovered from that church split. In fact, last night, we were speaking with friends and realized just how many churches we have all been in-- churches that have broken apart. It is so sad that power-hungry people can ruin the beauty God desires for the body. And I believe with all my heart that God's will is not done and has not been done in such situations. Not everything that happens is the best way, and perhaps that is why I still feel so unsettled in the area of my church home. We have been going to River Church of Juniata County, the branch-off of the church that we broke away from, but my spirit is still restless. I have not fully settled myself there. As we spoke with our friends, I realized for the first time that perhaps, ten years ago, God's will was not followed when yet another church was viciously torn apart. And perhaps that is why we feel the way we do-- could it be that things were supposed to work out differently, and our paths were supposed to lead in other directions, but none of it happened because of a few people's arrogance and politics?

I don't know the answers, but I am thankful for the challenges. Being in church is messy, and it would be easy to abandon it altogether, but I feel that God wants us to be in fellowship and worship with people for a reason. To flee the church would be to run away from things God wants us to learn. And so we continue to go, to learn to love people despite their humanness and to be blessed by love from others despite mine.

Below, I have copied a note I wrote on Facebook a few months back that I feel speaks to this issue:

I had a dream last night… tons of weird stuff happened... you know, the typical weirdness, including Marc and I getting married secretly and "honeymooning" (if you know what I mean) in the stacks of a random, huge, super cool library. When the rest of our Hispanic (yep... don't know) family found out, they were angry with us because they thought we weren’t married, and for some reason, we never told them we were. Seems simple now. All I know is there was a lot of fast, angry Spanish talk going on.

Anyway, at the end, Marc and I were in this big, beautiful building and I knew it was on fire, so I was hurrying to get a few things and get out. A group of people was gathered in the great room having, what I think in my subconscious mind, was a committee meeting. I got the feeling it had something to do with a church issue, so in my sleep, I think I then translated my surroundings into a church. Marc and I rushed around our “house” (because in my mind I couldn’t put my thumb on what it was supposed to be) grabbing things we wanted to save while yelling to the committee that the house was burning down. They didn’t listen to or even acknowledge our warnings. They ignored us. The last thing I remember was grabbing my two Bibles—the NIV and the NASB (of course!)-- and my purple journal and rushing out the door as the committee stayed behind in a house that was going down.

Whoa. Symbolism? I definitely think so, being the romantic I am. What a great story that could be… suspense novel? I wish. I can imagine it, even if I never write it. The church committee is so possessed and/or blinded at the end (after a book full of situations where people keep doing things that seem right but are really wrong, and people who are your typical protagonists are really working with Satan) that the house, which is supposed to be a house of God, burns down around them. The ship is sinking, but the crew doesn’t know it. They are dead before they even stop to look around at the rising water.

I don't know what this means, if anything, but I do know I have seen so much go wrong in my short life in the church. I know I want more. I know we need clearer vision and more determined hearts. We need every day to be prepared for warfare. We need to be prepared for Satan's assaults. Oh Lord, wake up your church. Wake me up. Radical changes need to be made in our everyday hearts and minds if we want to find victory in You in our own lives and in our church family. Wake us up, Jesus. Motivate us. Give us the determination and drive to stay on course every day in all we do. Please.

So take from this what you will. :)

On another note, Marc and I have been living in a HOUSE. Yep, a HOUSE for 3/4 of a year. December 12 will be our move-in anniversary. We love our place, and we love being on our own and making our beautiful house a beautiful home for both of us. Check out Facebook for photos. We thank God constantly for the HUGE blessing this house was to us-- from start to finish. The price, the location, the neighbors, the taxes, the new furnace and roof in/on it... continual blessings, blessings, blessings!

Wherever you are, be all there. (Jim Elliott)

My eyes glazed over as I stared at the cool light of my MacBook screen. In front of me was a list of all the churches in the surrounding region: Mifflin County, Juniata County, and beyond. So many... but yet. So few. Marc worked busily beside me on his sweet mini-Lamborghini. Model car building was a new favorite pastime for him. He was so great at cutting out the tiny pieces of screen, gluing all the miniscule pieces onto exactly the right places... windshield wipers, pieces of the engine, wheels...

I sighed as I sat back in my chair, and he looked over at me, taking a moment from his car and wiping his hands on the rag in front of him. 

"So what should we do for church tomorrow?" he asked me. The never-ending question, it seemed. Every week since we left our church the previous November. It was getting tiring. 

"I don't know," I said. "I'm so worn out with this. I just want to find a church home and be able to be committed and involved-- but not have to drive an hour to get there!" 

I pressed down on the Apple and "Q" buttons on my keyboard, quitting the Internet application. Turning on iTunes, I began playing some worship music while Marc worked and I pondered. Church is not what it used to be, it seemed to me. There were so many churches, but it was so hard to find a place with an excellent, thought-filled message AND excellent worship AND excellent fellowship. Maybe Professor Miller was right-- God is doing something different in our time. Will house churches be the way to go soon? Is God looking for a different kind of worshiper, for an end to the "system" we call church now? What does His church look like? What does He want for His Body? I knew that church was His idea, yet it felt like we were missing something somewhere. 

I began praying in desperation: 

Lord, let us find a place. Let us be where you want us. Show us how to be plugged into what You have for Your people. Let us not be sucked into the church system, the "Christian power ladder" that is so prevalent. Let us be a people that emanates love. Your love. For each person. Your compassion. Break our hearts as a people for what breaks Your heart. Make us real, Lord. We want to be real with people in order to draw them to who You really, really are. We miss so much of who You are because we are so wrapped up in who we want You to be or who we think You are. Or even how we want people to see us. We're so tied up in ourselves. Take the blinders off our eyes. Change our hearts. Break us. Make us a people who are all Yours. We want to be all Yours.

Marc started singing along to the song that was playing: "I will wait for You, Jesus, my Strength and my Song, for You tenderly, jealously lead me along through the shadow of death to the fountain of life. Now forever together You'll be my delight." I smiled at the sound of his voice and the truth that was being sung. I knew God had us. I knew we would find our place in His Body. I was just an impatient girl and wanted to be in a church now. 

You have me, Lord. Let all the pieces fall together as they need to in order for Your plan for us to be fulfilled. 

I want more.

I Must

"A year ago, she would have gladly given an arm to get out of Kabul. But in the last few months, she has found herself missing the city of her childhood. She misses the bustle of Shor Bazzar, the Gardens of Babur, the call of the water carriers lugging their goatskin bags. She misses the garment hagglers at Chicken Street and the melon hawkers in Karteh-Parwan. But it isn't mere homesickness or nostalgia that has Laila thinking of Kabul so much these days. She has become plagued by restlessness. She hears of schools built in Kabul, roads repaved, women retruning to work, and her life here, pleasant as it is, grateful as she is for it, seems... insufficient to her. Inconsequential. Worse yet, wasteful. Of late, she has started hearing Babi's voice in her head. You can be anything you want, Laila, he says. I know this about you. And I also know that when this war is over, Afghanistan is going to need you."

This excerpt was taken from "A Thousand Splendid Suns" by Khaled Hosseini. Having just finished this book and before that, "The Kite Runner" by the same author, I sit here feeling overwhelmed by the knowledge of what so many individuals have gone through. These books simply make me cry with compassion...gratefulness...shame...empathy? The emotions are full, but indefinable. I imagine myself in Laila's or Mariam's or Hassan's or Amir's places. Can you imagine every day hearing the whistling sound of rockets being shot from the mountains over your home into some part of the valley or town? Every day, wondering if it is your house that will be hit, your friends' home, your grandparents'? Can you imagine the terror of hearing that sound coming closer until you realize it is your next-door neighbor's home they have randomly chosen that day? Or your own beautiful home, filled with people you love? Can you imagine your best friends out taking a walk and never coming home for supper because of random gunfire or rocket explosions? Can you imagine watching your town being destroyed bit by bit? A church today. The school tomorrow. Home after home as the weeks go by. Suddenly, going out of your home for anything is a risk. Neighbors and friends and family pack up and move far away. Worst of all, think of all the dreams you hold in your heart of hearts. The secret hopes. Those of marrying that boy you fell in love with in high school or graduating from college to go to medical school or owning a home or having babies or becoming a lawyer like your favorite uncle. Or seeing your grandchildren or finally going on the honeymoon you never got to have the first time around. The lost dreams...no words can describe the enormity of that. 

Many women in that country have such a struggle of a life anyway due to being married off at 14, 15, 16 to men twice or three times their ages. And some men still force the wearing of the burqua, for to them, it is only the privilege of a husband to see their wives' faces. Of course, this also means no working outside the home or being friends with women whose husbands do not enforce these rules. And then when the Taliban took over, they simply forced these rules upon everyone (From A Thousand Splendid Suns, some of the Talibanic laws-- "Attention women: Cosmetics are forbidden. Jewelry is forbidden. You will not, under any circumstance, show your face. You will cover with burqua when outside. If you do not, you will be severely beaten. You will not speak unless spoken to. You will not laugh in public. If you do, you will be beaten. You will not paint your nails. Girls are forbidden from attending school. Women are forbidden from working.")

All this because of being different. The Shi'a and the Sunni. Or because of power. The Soviets wanted control, then the Taliban. Then after September 11, the United States wanted to help, and they began dropping bombs on the city to rid the Taliban; however, to the people that lived there, it was still another year of bombs destroying their homes, gardens, schools, hospitals...Thank God that at the end, things began looking a little brighter, and though some do not agree, Bush had made a good decision and progress began in that country. Yet I simply cannot comprehend that some people lived entire lifetimes in war. Losing children and husbands and hopes and dreams. I try to imagine myself in this situation, here in my home, in my town, at my job, with the circle of loved ones I have. Try to imagine hearing news of a rocket destroying a relative's home and with it, their entire family. I try to imagine not being able to leave my home without covering my face and being forced to quit my job as a teacher because I am a woman or because I cannot risk driving there due to the missiles being rained down on us. Or because I cannot go anywhere without a male relative to escort me. What a life we would have. How many dreams would be shattered. So many personalities would fade and die. When your biggest goal is to see tomorrow, it is difficult to hope or dream of anything more. 

And I am struck by the stark opposite my life is comparatively. I am a woman who works outside the home, with a loud laugh, my own personality, and my own mind. My husband loves me and encourages me to be me. In fact, it's why he loves me. He would be appalled at the rules set down by the Taliban or the traditional Muslim men. As would my father and many of the men I know. We live in freedom-- to leave our homes without fear, to go to church and worship our Lord together and openly, to write satire about our government, to disagree, to have a say in our country's laws, even to impeach our president. We are free to dream big dreams. I struggle with dreaming sometimes because I like to know ahead of time what will happen. This way, I am not disappointed. Yet I realize that I need to dream. For all the women who could not, who cannot, I must. For all the men who lost their dreams of family, of life, of success, I must. And I must continue to seek the Lord, asking Him, "How can I help?" I hear over and over, "To whom much is given, much is required." I have been given much. Much is required of me. But what can I do? What can I do? I want to ease suffering somewhere. Afghanistan is not the only war-torn country in this world. There are so many refugees, so many orphans, so many lost dreams. 

Lord, show me what to do. How to pray. Where to go. What to give. How to give it. Who to speak to. Who to touch. Show me, please. Break my heart again and again. Let me not forget that I have been SO blessed. And others need me because of that. Let me not forget to dream. Perhaps because I dream, someone else will be empowered to do the same. Bless those who hurt. Comfort those in sorrow. Provide for those in need. Hold them, Jesus. Give them hope.

For more information, visit the author's website at: www.khaledhosseini.com or go to the Office of the UN High Commissioner of Refugees (UNHCR) to read about refugees in various countries of the world. Also check out Relief International.

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. 

Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. 

It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. 

We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? 

Actually, who are you not to be? 

You are a child of God. 

Your playing small does not serve the world. 

There is nothing enlightened about shrinking 

so that other people won't feel insecure around you. 

We are all meant to shine, as children do. 

We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. 

It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. 

And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people 

permission to do the same. 

As we are liberated from our own fear, 

our presence automatically liberates others.

--from A Return to Love by Marianne Williamson

Lord, help me to shine, to be all You want me to be.