When the Music Fades

If you've been in church for any length of time, you've probably sung, or at least heard, the song "The Heart of Worship." It has a catchy, Churchy beat, for the 90's, but the lyrics always seem to strike a chord. It starts out saying, 

"When the music fades, and all is stripped away, and I simply come. Longing just to bring, something that's of worth, that will bless Your heart. I'll bring you more than a song, for a song in itself is not what You require. You search much deeper within, through the way things appear, You're looking into my heart." 

Originally, this song was written after a Pastor wanted to get back to the basics of worship, without the fancy lights, the intricate chord progressions, and the talented singers, all in a sense "leading" people into worship, only to have many still miss the point. For thirty days they sang without any equipment or instruments, simply to understand the basis of it all and to "come back to the heart of worship."

To be honest, I've felt stuck in a rut these last few months, and I'm not entirely sure how to get out of it. I realized I have been stuck in a "Christian Bubble" most of my life, and while it was burst several times, it always had a wall of protection in the midst of the chaos. I grew up in the Church, then went to a Christian pre-school, then a Christian school from k-8th grade. I went to a public high school, but I was still heavily involved in volunteering at Church and being a leader in my youth group. I moved away to go to college in a completely different city, but hung out with a Christian organization called InterVarsity. After a semester there, I moved back home, dealt with some junk and then joined Youth With a Mission. I did that for about two and a half years and then quit and moved to Texas where I went to seminary for three years. Got engaged thirty minutes after I graduated, got married six months later, and boom.

Here I am now.

But I'm not immersed in Christian culture.
I found a Church that I love, with awesome people who support and genuinely care for me as an individual with feelings and struggles, not just a "growing" congregation where they mistake numbers for members.
But I'm not on any ministry team. I don't serve anywhere.
I'm not apart of some non-profit group that has a mission focus to serve Jesus.
I don't openly preach to people at work, or to my non-religous friends.
I work at the front desk to a high rise condo in downtown Dallas where it's 70% gay men, 1 lesbian couple, and a bunch of random people who have their own beliefs and truths they follow.
There are some Christians, but they seem to keep to themselves and don't openly talk about it with the other residents.
Then there are some of the gays who openly claim to be Christians, and I will not judge them and cannot say one thing or another against or for them.


And frankly, I don't care.
I don't care what they believe or who they follow.
They're entitled to their own beliefs and they have the freedom to think what they want.
I know, that sounds horrible, and completely contrary to what I grew up thinking.
But I'm learning something in my "break" from the ministry world.

Not everyone wants to hear about Jesus, in fact, a lot of times they don't want to hear about Him because they already know who He is, and they don't want to hear about your version because they have heard of so many other types, shapes, colors and sizes, that they want to know the real deal but not many are willing to talk about that Jesus. So they settle for the one they know.

I had an hour long conversation last night with one of the residents, a young kid who goes to SMU. He goes and parties and drinks and has a blast with other people, all the while being underage but using his mature looks and charm to his advantage. Last night he admitted he has read the Bible through three times, grew up Christian and his family used to go to a Church in Carollton, and he knew verses, stories, and characters backwards and forwards--better than I do. He had compelling arguments on doctrine that at one point made me zone out simply to reaffirm my own beliefs. But at the end of our conversation, he admitted he knew he was wrong. He believes in God and Jesus, and He thinks Christianity is crucial for American society, it's a crux to our cultural beliefs, but he knows he is wrong. He alluded to Paul on the road to Damascus, and said, "Honestly, I think the only reason I'm not a 'Christian' is because I haven't had that Damascus encounter to prove what I think really is wrong."


That's when it clicked.


This kid has everything in the world he could ever want.
Great friends, a solid job, a phenomenal career in the making in real estate, insane intellect, money, power, charm, fancy cars and a condo in a high rise in downtown Dallas.
But he doesn't have faith.
And he doesn't have faith because he doesn't really know Jesus.
He knows of him, but he hasn't had the encounter to know Him.


I hate doctrine talk because I get so confused and sometimes frustrated by it. I'll listen to Rhys and our best friend Troy talk and I get so lost that I start to daydream, until they ask for my opinions and then I freak out and try to sound smart.

I have more money than most of my friends, thanks to this awesome job, and I have a pretty rockin' car -- even if the old girl is 11 years old and has over 100,000 miles. The 6 mach speakers still drop the bass well enough to drown out any sounds around me. I'm smart...enough. I'm married to an awesome guy, we have a great little apartment with a huge kitchen (bless God!). But I know Jesus. And I know Him pretty well.


I've run the guilt circle for several months now, feeling like I needed to do something or go somewhere to prove that I still love Jesus as much now as I did then.
See, I'm not in the Bubble anymore.
I don't have to go to worship/chapel every morning at 8AM.
I don't have classes that teach me about doctrine, or how to spread the Gospel, or that break out in "Holy Spirit moments".
I'm not serving in Church. At all. I got asked to help with the graphics and felt overwhelmed by it so I asked if I could pass.
I'm not apart of a small group, or any sort of a Bible Study.
I don't have to fast and pray for the summer outreach on Tuesday's and Thursday's.
I don't have to read the Bible for a grade.
I don't have to come up with new revelations for a teaching for the summer camp I'm about to lead.
I don't have to call Churches and try to enlist in their youth groups to come to our base for a missions rip.
I don't have to preach a sermon (with an iPad in one hand and a latte in the other).
I don't have to teach (in skinny jeans with a checkered open shirt, plain tank and colorful TOMS).
I don't have to take a cold, bucket shower. And only do my hair on Wednesday and my body on Friday because the whole team has to share what little bit we have.
I don't have to eat weird food because I don't want to appear rude to the hosts.
I don't have to do anything...


I can just be me.


I've never done drugs, but I imagine this must be how a withdrawal feels. I feel pressured sometimes to do something otherwise I am being a hypocrite. I'm not a Christian unless I am bringing people into the reality of Heaven, and serving my Church, and sharing the Love of God.
But I am, and I do.
I just am learning to do it in a different way.

One of the other things the kid said last night, which made me smile, was he thanked me for listening. He said he will try to talk to other Christians, or people in general, and they will shut down his ideologies. They will tell him he's wrong and say he's going to Hell unless he changes. They try to force religion down his throat, when all he wants is someone who is willing to hear him out. He knows he's wrong, but he still needs to sort through the mess of thoughts and revelations which form questions without answers.

After listening and briefly sharing my beliefs (which can be boiled down to I love Jesus, and as long as my relationship with him progresses me to becoming better tomorrow than I was yesterday, I must be doing okay), it clicked again. I don't need to do anything.


There's a song by Bethel Music, sung by Jenn Johnson, called "A Little Longer", and it messes me up every freaking time. I'm tearing up right now just thinking about it.


The lyrics say,

"What can I do for you, what can I bring to you. What kind of song would you like me to sing? 'Cause I'll dance a dance for you, pour out my love to you. What can I do for you beautiful King? 'Cause I can't thank you enough, no, I can't thank you enough."

For the longest time I've always thought I had to do something to show God how thankful I am and how much I loved Him. It wasn't out of legalism (all the time), it just was I felt like I had to do it. I didn't feel pressured or bullied, I just felt like He had done so much for me, I need to do more for Him. The problem with that is you get burnt out, that's why I'm taking a break. That's why I'm not doing much these days in the areas of ministry or missions fields or raising money for non-profits. It's just, after a while, if people don't get back to the basics and remember the true reason for why they do what they do, they will find themselves trying to act holy and get right with God when they are completely empty. Then they won't have much to bring which makes them feel worse, so they do more, they serve more, they seek more. But they don't take time away to understand they don't have to do anything.


The end of the song, "A Little Longer" is the most beautiful part, I think, because it is a pure, lovely response from God to His children. It says,

"I hear You say...
'You... don't have to do a thing
Just simply be with me and let those things go
'Cause they can wait another minute

Wait... this moment is too sweet
Would you please stay here with Me
And love on Me a little longer
I'd love to be with you a little longer
'Cause I'm in love with you'."

I'm slowly realizing that while it's great to serve God in epic ways like being the assistant director to a summer camp that teaches teenagers and young adults how to evangelize, or printing t-shirts and then selling them at the largest spirit filled camp in America to remind the campers what God did that week, or preaching the Gospel in India or on the Strip in Vegas, or going to a seminary where you spend every morning getting to worship the most beautiful person in the universe, none of that really matters. What matters is the heart behind it all. Your words and your actions don't always determine your heart. I can be miserable and cussing up a storm, but my heart can be crying out to Jesus for help. Likewise, I can have my hands in the air and say the most beautiful prayer, but my heart can be black as sin. (Look at the Pharisees and the Samaritan.) 

I do want to get back in a place of ministry, and witnessing to people, but for now I'm doing things a little different. I don't think there is a set way to do things with Jesus, there is no formula, no list, no do's or don'ts, just a bunch of messy human beings trying to find truth to settle their minds, and then get it right in their hearts. And that's all God really wants. He loves our sacrifices, but only if our hearts are in the right place (look at Cain and Able). So don't sacrifice yourself, or the things and the people you love, because you want to be more holy. Abraham didn't have to sacrifice his son, his beloved, his dream, his legacy. Neither should we, We just need to go back to the basics and remember why we love Him.

When the music fades and all is stripped away, and I simply come. Longing just to bring, something that's of worthy, that will bless your heart. I'll bring you more than a song, for a song in itself is not what you have required. You search much deeper within, through the way things appear, You're looking into my heart.

I'm coming back to the heart of Worship, where it's all about you, it's all about you, Jesus.

It is well,

-Saint

Tonight's Recipe: Chicken, Potatos & Demons

It’s funny how God always moves when you least expect it– at least, that’s how He works with me. Take the last two weeks for example. I was bombarded on social media of my classmates that I graduated with, almost a year ago now, out doing wonderful things for the Kingdom. They had gone to do what we got our degrees for: Youth Pastor. And what am I doing? Being a concierge at a high rise condo in Downtown Dallas. (In short, rolling in the deep of monies by simply answering phone calls and making rich people happy.)

Two weeks ago, I sat at my kitchen counter, tears falling on hot cheeks, telling my husband I fear I made the wrong choice somewhere. I felt bad for not preaching every week to a group of teenagers and young adults. But I didn’t fit in with that crowd. The thought of preaching a new sermon every week, typically with an iPad in one hand, a latte in the other, rolled jeans and TOMS and backwards hats and curled hair and checkered shirts doesn’t sound appealing at all. (Even though I own an iPad, married a barista and wear the exact outfit I just described….) Still, it’s not me. I mean it is, but I’m a different kind of whatever it is I just described.

I’ve always been different, even when I look or act the same. I stand out of crowds even though I seem to fit in perfectly. It’s a strange dynamic.

Like I said, two weeks ago, I was crying thinking I was being a horrible Christian. I wasn’t doing anything I was supposed to, not the “Christian” things I grew up thinking you were supposed to do. And after having all that instilled within my very DNA after going to private Christian schools for 10 years, being in Church all the time (unless we were on vacation), and being in YWAM for 2 years and graduating from a seminary after three years, I thought I knew it all.

A daily checklist would (“should”) include:

• Pray and read your Bible everyday.
• Have quiet time, usually in the morning to set your day up right.
• Spend time in worship. (Can be during your quiet time.)
• Heal the sick. Raise the dead. Witness to the multitudes. Love your enemies. Memorize Scripture.
• And my personal, least favorite: cast out demons.

I hadn’t really done the full checklist, or most of it, in a while. It’s not that I didn’t want to do those things, it’s just… I got caught up. I am recently married and suddenly I put myself under a lot of pressure to be the “good wife.” You know, the kind who cooks her husband good, homemade food, does the dishes, cleans the house, does the laundry, runs the errands, grabs groceries, makes her husband happy, and have a full time job that consists of working 3-11 five days a week. Needless to say, being the kind of “wife” I had in mind came with a lot of pressure.

Recently though, I got hit with the realization: What I think a “good wife” is supposed to do, doesn’t mean that’s something I have to do it all by myself.


So I started having Rhys (my husband) help out with some stuff. Turns out the very thing I hated doing the most, he enjoys and loves to do: Laundry. (Thank. God.) While this sudden realization that my husband is the greatest God-send on Earth simply for the fact that he doesn’t mind taking care of my dirty laundry (in more ways than one), we were happily surprised with a text message from my Mom in which she asked if we could help a friend of a friend who had recently moved from Vegas to our area.

Ironically, Rhys and I had promised one another that we would not do ministry for the first year of our marriage. It hasn’t even been three months and we have done more in three days than we have in our first three months of being married. But we were secretly, subconsciously missing it terribly (at least I was), so we agreed.

What started out as a simple get-together lunch discussing spiritual warfare and strongholds and spiritual shenanigans, would turn out into an all out war I did not see coming, nor felt strong enough to face. I was always under the impression, simply out of my own thoughts and conclusions from past “notions” you need to be at a certain level to handle certain things. Like to pray for healing: how sick the person and their being healed is directly proportionate to the amount of faith you have for them to be healed. If they need to be healed from the flu then that’s easy faith. If you ask me to pray for cancer to be depleted, I need to fast and pray for at least a week, and then hope I built a skyscraper of faith.

Sadly, I had no time to prepare for the challenge presented at hand, and my faith has never felt weaker.

Several hours after meeting with a Mother and her daughter, I received a call from the daughter who voice was stricken with anxiety as she told me her little brother was wrestling their Mom to the ground, throwing her against the wall and screaming, “Why won’t you kill me now? I deserve to die!”

I just wanted to boil my potatos and bake my chicken as we had a friend over who was dying Rhys’ hair. And of course, he had all the demon deliverance experience, I had none. Well, never any in leading against that kind of stuff. But Rhys was unavailable, the daughter was desperate, and the screaming from the other side kept getting louder and louder. Pardon my language, but in being honest, the first thought that came to my head was, “Oh s**t, oh s**t, what do I do!? I can’t do this! I don’t have time for this! I just started boiling the potatos!!”

But I didn’t have a choice. Sure, you could argue that I could have simply said, “I’m sorry, I don’t have enough training in this area.” Or, “Jesus said this kind has to come out after praying and fasting, I have not really done either today so I cannot help you. Good day!” Or even, “Well, you’re a Christian, you do something!”

But something inside simply whispered, “Yes, you can. I am with you.”

And just like that, with no Scriptures coming to my mind, and no idea how to even start, I asked her to put me on speaker so I could talk to her Mom and try to get a better feel for what I was dealing with. I knew it was a spirit of suicide, what else would make an 11 year old scream “I deserve to die, kill me now”? (The Mom told me he has been suicidal since he was 6.)

After praying in the Spirit for a few minutes (which was the only thing I was really taught, after 5 years being in Pentecostal Evangelical environments, that’s what you should do at some point when demons show up), I started praying for peace and for Jesus to give us direction and clarity. (Mainly because I had no idea what I was doing.)

I won’t go into detail, because it’s not necessary for you to know what happened or how it happened. It was a hard, difficult, strenuous 30 minutes of me trying to pray, not knowing what to say, trying to block out the terrifying screams of a little boy in pain, and just praying and hoping with everything inside of me that His Word would not return void in saying that if we resist temptation, if we stand firm against the Enemy, he must flee. I had to believe that God was bigger than the demons, no matter how big or small my faith felt in that moment, I had to hold onto the Truth.

State Farm is a good neighbor, my God is a good Father. He showed up exactly when we needed Him most.

Needless to say, after a lot of warfare and screaming and rebuking and freaking, the demon finally relinquished its stronghold and let the child be. We said a few more prayers, I briefly spoke with the Mom about what happened, and then we hung up. I stood outside of my apartment by the stairs that lead to our floors, with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. The first and only words I could say were, “Thank you, Jesus.” And then thanked Him that nobody came outside to hear some random blonde chick rebuking demons over a phone.

I was shaken up for the rest of the night, so much so I set my smoke alarm off trying to cook the chicken in a skillet as it didn’t bake–thankfully my potatos boiled quite nicely. I briefly explained to Rhys what happened, which we had to explain to our friend who dyed his hair as she did not have any knowledge what so ever when it comes to spiritual warfare, but she believes in God, Satan, and some supernatural things. I stayed really quiet the rest of the night, wrestling with mixed emotions of fear, peace, shock, and awe. In fact, I would continue to wrestle with those emotions for another 48 hours.

It wasn’t until I was driving on my way to work yesterday that I came to the realization that what I did is what I am supposed to do. And I don’t need any special training or preparation, I just need to be willing and open. I don’t need a lot of faith, I just need a small mustard seed. (Imagine that, it’s true, again!)

I may not be with my peers in front of crowds, standing by pulpits, preaching a powerful message about the love of God, but at least I am living it out. I may be working in an environment that seems to be closer to evil than good, but at least I can shine what little light I have. I’m still preaching in a different form. Like I said at the start, I fit in perfectly with the crowd, but I stand out.

I’ve never done a deliverance before in my life, and it is a true miracle (and a hilarious one at that). The fact that God even made it happen over the phone makes me laugh harder, and drop my mouth in awe even more. Not because I am any sort of holy hot shot, not by the least bit. I hadn’t fasted in months. I wasn’t daily reading my Bible. I hadn’t prayed for anyone to get healed in a long, long time. I wasn’t doing what I thought you were supposed to in order to do what it was that I would have guessed was necessary to get done what I did. (Sorry, I’m writing this late at night…)

What I’m trying to say is there are no formulas with faith. Either you are willing to let God use you regardless of your training or background, or you fall into the trap that you can do the miracles based on what you’ve done to accomplish the level of faith you think you have.

I realized on Monday it really, truly has nothing to do with us. It has everything to do with God.

On my own, within my strength, I was not prepared to handle a situation like that, especially not over the phone. Sure it was possible for other people to do it, but they had to be spiritual giants like some of my teachers from YWAM and CFNI (the seminary I went to). Not me. Maybe me in a few years when I was immersed in ministry, and at the top of my game, but not while I’m having a friend over to dye Rhys’ hair blue and I’m just trying to boil my potatos so I can pour the creamy garlic Campbell sauce on them with the green beans and chicken (which I burnt after setting off the smoke alarm). (I swear I really can cook, my brain was just in other places.) I was being normal, and normal people don’t change the world.

But a normal person can influence another normal person which can lead to changing their world.

I think we, as Christians, get our heads so full of premonitions and thoughts and lies that we convince ourselves we have to be at a certain level to achieve certain tasks, and be used by God. We think, we tell ourselves, we cannot do that because that’s not for normal people. That’s for the great saints like James, Peter, Paul, John, and Pastor (So and So).

Who taught us we had to be of a particular caliber to do what Jesus said we would do? And more! He wasn’t talking to the greatest saints of all time, he was talking to the normal people. The disciples went back to what they knew before they met Christ after He died, which means, for me, they were normal people. They were fishermen. Tax collectors. Doctors. HUMANS. They didn’t become “Saints” until after they died and we proclaimed them as such, sometimes in an idolizing way, even though Jesus said anyone who is in the Light as He is in the Light is a child of God–which by default makes us “Saints”. We just don’t recognize ourselves as such because we think a “Saint” is someone who is super holy, and didn’t mess up, and performed a million miracles.

A true “Saint” is simply a human being willing to be used by God at any time in any way.

That’s why I like my tagline and decided to call this blog “A (Sin City) Saint”. I’m from Las Vegas, NV, born and raised and though I traveled and moved a lot for several years, I kept coming home–until I got engaged to my best friend and decided to stay in Texas a year ago. Some people back home would say I have done some really awesome things for Jesus. And I agree, I have. But none of those things could save a young boy from a suicidal demon. My background, my “training”, my history of places I went to for missions trips, or teaching youth groups how to evangelize, or going through intense training and studying how to be a youth pastor and getting a degree, none of that matters. I can have all the experience and training in the world, but in the end that will not save a life. Being terrified to do something completely out of your comfort zone, taking a risk, trusting Jesus with the tiniest, mustard seed faith, being willing will save a life. You don’t have to be Super Saint to do that. You just need to be open, put everything aside, and just listen to what the Spirit of the Lord is saying. In the end, He knows what the outcome will be, and He knows what’s best for everyone.

….even if that means sacrificing the chicken and potatos to deliver a family from a living nightmare they’ve undergone for several years. You may feel embarrassed in the short run, but in the long one, it’s well beyond worth it. (Though Rhys still says it was really good. He’s a keeper.)

To God be the Glory and Praise forever and ever,

Amen.

-(Sin City) Saint

I Learned (A Very Long List): Reviewing 2015

Things I learned in 2015:

I learned it's okay to be single, but it's never good to be alone. 

I learned as much as I like having a big bed to myself, I like the feeling of someone's arms holding me close and having their feet keep mine warm better.

I learned good things truly do come to those who wait, and rewards are far more satisfying when they are received after determining to wait.

I learned that it's okay to change your career path 1,001 times.

I learned that as long as God is in charge there is no such thing as choosing a path too late. 

I learned to let go a little more of the self-inflicting blame game and finally accepted the truth that there are some things that happened to me, that were completely out of my control, that weren't my fault. 

I learned that it's okay to go against the status quo in society as well as in Church.

I learned I'm okay not being skinny.

I learned I kinda prefer myself with glasses than with contacts.

I furthered my learning in how to love sinners regardless of the sin.

I learned gay people, though different than me, are some of the nicest people I've ever had the pleasure to know.

I learned America struggles deeper with racism than we are willing to admit.

I learned further how to see the color of One's heart not the color of their skin. 

I learned love heals all things, but hate is a strong poison to fight. 

I learned it's okay to let some friendships go. 

I learned I don't like the way some Christians reflect Jesus.

I learned to be careful I don't end up becoming like those Christian hypocrites I can't stand. 

I learned what I don't like in someone else is often something I secretly don't like within myself.

I learned I don't want to be like other people, because they don't bring the same joy I get when I genuinely act like myself.

I learned I don't pray enough or read my Bible enough, but it's not about how much you pray or read, it's about your heart.

I learned Dr. Lindsay was right, it's always about a heart issue.

I learned I have more of a heart for Muslims than I realized. 

I realized I don't like when I'm stereotyped and thrown with hateful Christians for my beliefs, neither should I stereotype Muslims with good intentions for Muslim terrorists. 

I learned I don't talk to my family as much as I should, and I've tried to be better. But even if I cannot, I've learned it's okay, because I am still a good daughter, and a good sister. 

I learned you can't do anything without money.

I also learned it is truly God, not man, who give me money.

I learned it's okay to want nice things.

I learned it's okay to have nice things.

I leaned it's okay to make good money, but sometimes it's better to have no money.

I learned a husband, when a marriage is truly United with God, does not compete with the placement of God being first, but rather fulfills it in showing me a physical side of God's love and character I could never know before.

I learned sex is a beautiful, God thing that should not be shamed or become a taboo topic in the Church.

I learned it's okay to drink alcohol, as long as you don't get drunk or use it as a dependency crutch. 

I learned I like wearing dresses--once in a blue moon.

I learned I can drive 13 hours in one day across three states.

I learned I'm not as good at driving as I thought. 

I'm learning the importance of eating healthy and working out.

I learned how to survive a tornado.

I learned more about me, and that me is a bit of a huge dork.

I learned I'm happiest when I'm in dork mode.

I learned Rhys (my husband) is happiest when I'm in dork mode.

I learned I don't want to be a youth pastor anymore.

I learned I want to be a mentor to the youth, but do so in a brand new way that's never been done before.

I learned that to pioneer a new path is one of the hardest things I've ever done.

I'm learning the hardest things are rewarding for me, but not as much as it will be for those to come. 

I'm learning to follow God even when I want to quit.

I'm learning it's okay to be human, and to wrestle with apathy.

I'm learning it's okay to have apathetic moments, but never have an apathetic life. 

I'm learning it's okay to have doubts, they challenge my faith and strengthen it.

I'm learning to give money is to give joy.

I'm learning how to trust Jesus more, especially in the unknown and with money.

I'm learning the tithing concept is legit. 

I'm learning life doesn't get any easier as you get older.

But above all else, I'm learning life is determined by the choices we make based (sometimes) on the choices we made.

And so, as 2016 nears, I pray for that new year I simply learn to choose wisely.

-Saint

The Void.

Can I share a piece of my heart that has lingered and crept in the shadows for a long, long time, yet I know I am not the only one who thinks like I do. I know there are others out there, exactly like me. Maybe they're only a few, maybe there's many, but I want to say something. I don't have answers, and I haven't thought it all the way through, but what I have thought and regretted and wondered is coming from many years in the making.

In short, I grew up pretty rich. Not like millionaire status rich, maybe, I don't really know because my parents did well to teach my sister and I that our money is not our own to use for our personal gains. But in comparison to my friends, I was rich. My bedroom back home was almost as big as my first apartment. I never lacked nice food or fancy clothes (for a teenager). I drove a Mustang with 6 mach speakers as my first car that I got for my 16th birthday, which made my parents upset that I was given something so nice by the same family member who gave my sister a 1989 Chevy Z convertible for hers. (But hey, that Chevy was still awesome, but it was 15 years old when she got it, mine was 1.) I still have that Mustang, and with her having almost 100,000 miles she's still really good to me. I grew up in Christian academies and had an education that led me to be at least two grades ahead of my classmates in high school when I transitioned to public school--except in Math, in which I hated it so I struggled no matter the level. (Except ironically for Probability and Stats honors in which I barely missed an A.) But I didn't realize how "good" I had it, or how much I had, until I became a missionary. I know they didn't mean it, necessarily in a negative light, but many of the people in this particular branch of the organization really stressed leaving everything of the world behind and selling it all for Jesus. I was surrounded by dozens of people who quite literally did exactly that just so they could afford to come to the school segment, and then they believed in Jesus for the rest. Mine was paid in full before I boarded the plane by my parents. My friends and co-workers struggled to pay the $200 a month to pay for rent to stay on the base located in a ghetto neighborhood. I spent $250/month just on gas--some of which my parents helped pay. I remember when I went to India, thinking how many of them I could sit comfortably in my room at home which I thought was good enough for just me and my desk, futon, bookshelf, bed, dresser, and nightstand. (At least 25 was my guestimate.) I saw naked babies clinging to their mothers, starving, begging for one rupee (45 rupees was the equivalent to $1). I lived out of one camping backpack and a small duffel bag for three months.

I may not know what's it's like to be poor, but I know what it's like to struggle and have faith. For the first few months after graduating from CFNI I struggled with money and time. My job wasn't giving me full time and the pay wasn't covering the bills. The only reason I was never late is because my parents blessed me with some money as a graduation gift, I ate three meals a week at the hotel - sometimes more when co-workers blessed me with free food. I was stingent on power and spent the first week using only one small light in my living room and candles with no furniture except a borrowed blow up bed and a few sketches and decoration plaques I picked up along the way of school. I had an amazing relationship with my fiance, but he lived 36 miles away. And when your car gets 12 mpg that wasn't an option to see him but once a week if I was lucky, maybe twice. But I cannot tell you that I was satisfied, in fact, I was miserable.

I sometimes thought about my time in India or my time with the other missionaries, and how I still had it pretty decent overall. But then I would look on Facebook (but only for a few minutes because I couldn't afford wifi), and see my classmates and friends from the mission filed, wondering if I made the right choice. Part of me felt like this was a punishment from God for choosing money over missions. I was so sick of church politics, and the stereotypes and the fake people who would mistake faith as a "fake it til you make it." I didn't want any part of those people anymore. I would skip church some Sundays because I didn't feel like I belonged, I felt like I was just the trophy girl of Rhys in some of their eyes and they wouldn't greet me, even though you couldn't miss me. And please forgive me for saying this, but I have to be honest, but for a little while I hated the Church and I started to dislike Christians. I was mad because I felt like I wasted time at a place I didn't feel like I fit in or studied  subject where I would sit in some classes and wonder if I belong. Mind you, I did not hate Jesus, not in the least, I still loved him, and I would continue to trust Him as bills would pile high, and I made sure to tithe to someone because I had to prove to myself that I trust God would pay my way. I would open up to Rhys and cry and ask for him to forgive me, because he was the closest shadow of Jesus' love that I could find for a short time. I would sit in my car and weep because there was such a deep struggle within me. Even now as I type this, tears stroll down my face. I weep for the human race.

We are so torn, we are so divided. We have drawn the lines and cast a line, and now we play a horrible game of tug of war in which the loser will drown while the winner rejoices over the death of the weak.

How did we get so far from the Truth? Why do we let political sidelines decide our religious beliefs? Why do we choose to hate the sinner for the sin? Why do we stereotype and point the finger when we are no better? We may not be firing a physical gun, but we are persecuting and shooting our enemies with fiery darts rather than embracing them with loving arms.

I am guilty.
I am torn.
I am human.
I have made mistakes.
I have judged wrongly.
I have accused horribly.
I have lied.
I am a hypocrite.
I am trying to repent and to make it right within my own heart and life.
And for all of that, I am sorry.

I've been scared, scared of the unknown, scared of misconceptions, and misconstrued notions.
I was scared of who I was supposed to be, because I see now she is different than anything or anyone who has ever and will ever live again.

In the last few months everything was turned upside down.
I got a new job in which I make double the money I did. Some months more.
I am married to my best friend in the whole world, and we have never fought, never argued, never even had a dispute.
I live in a country where I have the freedom to do as I want and what I please.
I found the most amazing Church where I feel at home, and like they not only know me (as me) but they want to be with me. They don't care about where I came from (which says a lot in Church-ese since I hail from Sin City). They want to help me get where God wants me to be.
My parents blessed Rhys and I with a far better wedding than anything we could have ever hoped or dreamt of having.
Rhys and I live in an apartment full of blessings that people gave us to help celebrate our new life together, and it's in a safe neighborhood (no more gunshots, sirens every five seconds, or drunks screaming threatening to kill one another).
My bosses love me and continue to encourage me and tell me I am doing a great job.
I have the whole world in my hands, and yet I still struggle,

I struggle because I go back to India. I go back to verses like Luke 9:58, Romans 12:2, and Mark 10:17-30 where so many have taught that it's best to have nothing but Jesus than to have the world. I struggle because I see some of my friends on Facebook who struggle with finances and purpose and identity. I weep because I see friends who feel they have no purpose and they take their lives, like my friend from high school theatre, Lindsey, did last week. I struggle because while I drown in favor I see others who drown in failure though they strive for faith. I struggle because I don't understand. I struggle because I don't have the right perspective, the bane of my existence and the thorn in my side.

It took a late night drive home in silence, mainly because my radio has been junking out on me and randomly stops, for me to realize that it's all okay. I am okay. Jesus is still in control of my life, and this is His doing. I work in a high rise condo where it's 28 floors and the homeowners are mostly multi-millionaires. One of them is the founder and owner of a gas and oil company. Another is the CEO of a company that builds most ATM machines we use in America. One is an actress who is working on having her own TV show on Bravo. Another is one of the main advertisement providers to huge names like Toyota, Honda, Paul Mitchell, Fox News, Facebook, and Sony Pictures just to name a few. It consists of 60% males, and 85% of them are gay, and married. There is even one possible transgender, but I am never going to dishonor them and ask. Many are divorced and it breaks my heart when their kids are dropped off for the weekend only to be ripped away come Monday morning. One of the divorced couples live in the same building, but are 10 floors apart. They drive Maserati's and Ferrari's and Bentley's and Viper's and BMW's and Range Rovers, but they drink until they pass out and hire call girls to attempt to fill a void that aches and groans for something their millions can't buy. A few of them go to Church, but they don't know Jesus past his name. There are a few who do know Him, and they know Him quite well, but overall this place is dark. I patrol the rec centers and gaze at the beautiful view of Downtown Dallas from the edge of our infinity pool on top of a roof, but it has nothing for me. So I sometimes pray. I'll get a call about how the Fitness Room needs more towels, or someone spilled a beer in the hall, or someone's dog pooped in the hall, or salsa spilled in the elevator. But no matter what it is, I remember what my AGM told me the day he interviewed me, which put simply is this:

"By serving them, we are serving Him."
And in serving Him, by serving them, I am sharing His love which is what they need.

It's taken me many, many years, but I'm finally coming to realize that it's okay to be "rich". It's okay to have nice things. I don't have to be homeless, or struggle to keep a place that isn't home it's just where I lay my head until I can leave and find work to be safer, though not much more peaceful. It's okay to make decent money, good money even, and to drive nice cars and to eat fancier foods. It's okay to be madly in love with another human being and not be so afraid that they will replace Jesus' role in my life. They won't. If anything Rhys just fulfills it by showing me the physical representation in the best way humanly possible forgiving the mistakes I know he will make because he is not perfect reminding me that I still need my Savior. One of the ladies I work for, who directs and organizes special events and parties for the Homeowners is a God-fearing, lovely, praying beast of a woman, once told me when I first met her, "It's okay to have money, how are you going to do missions if you don't have money to get there? The money has to come from somewhere." That's when I remembered that though I grew up rich, as I said earlier, my parents never hoarded our money for us, they blessed others in need. We would have many missionaries from all over the world come and stay with us, and my Mom would always make them feel like Kings and Queens when they arrived while my Dad worked hard to send a check with them on their way to help further the Gospel. They would give to several charities and churches and always attested it to the faithfulness of God as to why and how they could give. And they always were able to give more and more each year, even though my Dad's pay was cut more than half ten years ago after a bad business deal in which he had no control over the situation as he owned 1% less than the one who pulled the trick.

I'm realizing more than just monetary revelations. I'm learning how to love the unlovables. So many people in the Church bash gays but in their condemning the sin I don't think they realize how much they are also condemning the sinners. I love gay people. They are some of the nicest residents in the entire building. And while I am still contemplating how I feel about gay marriage, as I have heard powerful arguments from both sides and it depends on the perspective from which you look. But, I can at least say I understand that they're doing what everyone else is in that they are just trying to fill the void and find what (or who) makes them happy. And I cannot, and I will not, fault them for that. If anything that just drives me to be nicer and to honor them and get to know them better so I can show them the true love of Jesus and the joy my relationship with Him brings, to then hope it will shed some light on their situations. I've only been there 4 months, but so far I have come very far with some of them. Same goes for those who party hard only to wake up the next morning with no clue as to who they met or what they did only hours before and the drunks who try to drown their sorrows and emotions only to remember them with deep regret and a migraine the next morning. Same with the one who hires the prostitutes to come twice a week, and the same goes for the prostitutes themselves. They don't know what's missing, but they recognize they are not whole. But how many Christians do the same? We know Jesus, we have a relationship with Him, yet we still fall for the trick and then into the trap of not being made whole and longing for things of our past convinced that will make us feel better. But when the bottle is empty and the smoke rises, nothing has changed. Either you realize how much more you need Jesus, or you move on searching for the next big thing.

When will we realize there is no difference except for that of opinions and beliefs? We came to this country searching for religious freedom, and now we are condemning people for not following ours without giving them reason to believe. It breaks my heart when I am driving home and I see a billboard saying "Islamic Muslims believe in Women's Rights, Social Justice, and Human Equality." When did we allow the stereotype to go so far as to convince ourselves they are all the same, and the same is that they are nothing but terrorists? What if that's what people did and thought of Christians in the same light after the Crusades? I'm not saying I agree with Islam, though we do have similar beliefs in some areas, but that's for another day.

I realize I have said a lot, much more than 1,000 words, in this post, but here's what I am getting at: I am tired of seeing humanity die out because we are fighting each other over words of hate and stereotypes led by hypocrites who will not humble themselves and say, "I was wrong and I have not reflected the One I profess to love and of Him I claim to be led."

Like I said earlier, I'm a hypocrite, because I too have judged and pointed the finger, and did not reflect the one I love of whom I claim to be led. And for that I am sorry. I hate those people too, and like the gays, the Muslims, the drunks, the prostitutes, the John's, the partiers, the teenagers searching for identity, and the single mothers and fathers, the abused, the shooters, and the forgotten, I want to find the satisfaction that fills that void. But my problem, my struggle which they do not know, is that I know the void and I have the one who gives the fullness of that which I seek, and yet I will not yield to Him. I fight like a mule rather than relent like a horse. And for that I am sorry. I don't fight as much, for with time and over the years, I am gaining understanding. I am learning to trust by faith and not by sight, and not faking it, I am either admitting I cannot do it just yet and asking for the grace to handle the convictions which I sometimes mistake for consequences. Or I am relenting and fighting my flesh to give in to that which I know will be best for me in the end.

I cannot justify signing the usual, for I am the furthest thing from being a "Saint" of Jesus Christ. But regardless of what I have done or said, one thing remains clear, and that is my identity that strives to be the best me that I can be. And so dear ones allow me to sign off using my real name, my real identity, and my reminder that one day, with the love of Christ leading me, I can, I will fill the void.

-Lauren

Three Lessons of Adulthood I Learned as a Child

I'm getting married in 33 days, and I turn 25 in 10 days. Needless to say, if adulthood hasn't kicked in yet, it's about to really kick my butt. But when does one enter "adulthood"? When they reach a certain age, when they mentally mature to a particular degree? When we start paying bills and making life-altering decisions? (Hopefully not because that would mean some of us became adults before we became teenagers.) How do you measure it? What's the stick? What's the line? Where do we cross it and how? 

I don't know if any of us really know, because some of us never enter adulthood (and those of you who work in customer service can say "Amen!" right about now). But as I was driving up to the closest coffeeshop to my ghetto little corner--which I leave in 17 days, thank the Lord!--I began to think about a statement I heard not too long ago in that adults are simply overgrown kids. And even now as I sit, and I watch, and I "stalk" and stare just a moment too long, I can see it. Everyone here, from the hipster college gal sitting across from me, to the teen flipping his football in line, to the business man in a suit waiting for his latte behind me, to the old man reading his newspaper in the big, comfy chair with a tall Americano, to the graphic designer with Beats by Dre headphones, and even the New York accented older employee named "Mark" who is making his fellow workers laugh, we are all just overgrown kids. But sadly, we forget that because we reach a certain age or go to a certain place in our education or work and suddenly our minds transition to "oh, I need to be an adult now." Which is a good thing, because let's face it, none of us like those adults who act like children, but it's also a detrimental thing when we allow that to make us think we have to be independent from the Lord's help. Sure we can be independent from our parents' support and help, and we should all reach that place at one time or another, but when we reach that place of "It's okay, God, I got this," while we are struggling with a box far bigger than we are that hasn't even lifted the ground, and we are breaking our backs to even just slide it where we think it needs to be because we are "adults" and we need to take care of things on our own. 

I got a very humbling, rather large, taste of this independence bites the butt piece of pie earlier this year right after I graduated from CFNI. I thought, hey, I have a degree now (who cares if it is or isn't accredited, it's proof of an accomplishment that took three years of my life and I am dang proud of it!). And since I have a degree now I need to be more responsible, because that's what degrees mean. They mean jobs, real jobs, they mean life-changing decisions--quite literally as it was twenty minutes after I graduated, while I still wore my cap and gown, that Rhys got down on one knee and proposed. So that changed a lot of things too. I had decided a few months prior that I wanted to stay in Texas but I wasn't sure if I was supposed to, so I told God if He wanted me to then I needed something to prove that it was his will, like an engagement ring. (And boom, two weeks later there it was.) So I was looking for an apartment, but I had to find one that was close to work because my budget was tighter than a pair of yoga pants on a voluptuous, fat lady that doesn't realize you shouldn't wear those in public. Or Walmart. I finally found one at the last minute, four days before I had to move out of CFNI, but things are NEVER as they seem I am learning. 

When I first got there, I knew the neighborhood was sketch, not quite Oak Cliff sketch, but it was close. It would be North Washington Avenue and F Street in Vegas close. (That's where YWAM Vegas is located, and when I lived there they had an average of 5-8 murders a month.) But the problem is even though I lived in Oak Cliff I was on CFNI's grounds and we had guards and gates, and even the old YWAM base was a renovated rehab center that had gate codes on four doors (two of which were inside and led to the dorms) and it had bulletproof glass windows. But this new place was supposed to have a guard 24 hours and three gates that had key pads you swiped to open. Since I moved there on May 17, I have seen that stupid "guard" three times (once being the time I went to the office to sign the lease), and the gate has been broken and left wide open the entire time except for four weeks. (Yes, I've counted.) My only sense of security was their sick idea to put all of us white people in the same building on the third floor, the Mexicans on the second, and the African Americans on the first which is under ground level. I would hear car alarms of all kinds from "hey dummy, you locked your keys in here and now I'm gonna let everyone know as you try to break in" to "OMG SOMEONE THAT DOESN'T BELONG HERE IS ATTACKING ME, HELP" to "I'VE BEEN HIT!" at all hours of the night. The first month I would park where I could see my car as I was terrified it was mine, and then I just started slowly trusting that Jesus would take care of my car, and i started parking closer to the building so I wouldn't have to walk as far since I would get home between 10-Midnight most nights. I've heard a lot of screaming babies and screaming drunks, and one time about two months ago I had one lady think it would be smart to go outside and tell another neighbor in her theatrical voice level how she told this, and I quote, "$3 whore out into the parking lot where she would shoot her brains out" after they had a knife stand-off in the kitchen. I had half a mind to call the cops before the "drunken whore" was picked up by some random guy in a very loud truck, but since it was a personal dispute I knew they wouldn't do anything. Plus, they come through my neighborhood enough as is. Then there was the creep who would watch me from his car leave my car and go to my house every night and sometimes in the afternoon, never saying a word to me, just watching, for the first three weeks.

Oh, and did I mention the rent alone to this place cost me $575 a month? (That doesn't include my utility bills like electricity and water, with all that I was paying about $650/month.)

I'm pretty sure I paid more for the increase of my faith and prayer language than I did for the scenery and entertainment and "security." I put my 30 day notice in two weeks ago, and I got an email saying "Oh how we will miss you! Won't you stay? What can we do to make you stay with us longer?" (Mind you they wanted to up my lease to $605/month with an 11 month contract lease.) I emailed them back telling them what I have experienced and seen and that they would not have me stay a day longer than I needed. (It's also a whole new staff in the office than the ones I had when I signed, and it's only been five months.) 

So, Lesson #1 about Adulthood: DO YOUR RESEARCH &  DO NOT SETTLE. 

Granted, I didn't really have a choice or say in the manner as I literally contacted and looked at over 80 apartments in three months, and had three search agencies working with me to find one, and this is the best they could do with the time frame I had. 

Lesson Learned: I can be independent all I want, but at the end of the day, it is the Lord God alone, the Host of Heaven, that can protect me from the hand of my enemies (seen and unseen). 

Now here's the opposite side of that, and another swift kick in the butt about being dependent on God. While I had no peace at home, I struggled to keep it. I got a job at a hotel (the "humans hotel" as I like to call it) in January, and when I graduated I told them I could work full time--and was banking on that to support me enough to stay here in Texas. The problem is plans never seem to go the way we want, or expect. Not only was I living in a place that was detrimental to my health, but glorious for my faith, I couldn't afford it. Unfortunately, the hotel could not get me more than 36 hours a week on average, and when I had done my budget to find an apartment to begin with I couldn't make less than 38 for it to work. Granted, that was just one of those things that are out of your control and you have to do the best with what you've got. Thankfully, my parents blessed me with some money as a graduation gift so that's the only way I never got booted, but even my parent's blessing could only go so far. By August I began having the ultimate panic attack as my bank account was depleting as even with my budget I couldn't break even. And it wasn't helping that I was now stuck working ten hour shifts three days a week, leaving me with four off. (Granted, that was great so I could rest and see Rhys, but Rhys was 36 miles away one way, and I drive a 2004 Mustang that gets 14 mpg if she's lucky.) So I started looking for a second job, which I never thought in my wildest dreams I would end up doing, but when the rubber meets the road, you don't have much of a choice. 

It wasn't that I wasn't trusting God, mind you, I was definitely trusting Him, and even though things were very tight I made sure that I was tithing because I know from personal experience that if I honor Him with a small amount of what He has given to me, he will take care of me. It was more of an "I TRUST YOU BECAUSE I HAVE NO OTHER OPTION" than anything else. I know it seems like a backwards concept, but it's so true. When you sacrificially give to God, which when you make no money even that little 10% could go a long way in gas and food, you are not only telling Him you trust Him, but you are telling your flesh to shut up and rely on the Big Guy Upstairs because your brain, your heart, your soul, your flesh cannot compete and can do nothing on its own. I will admit, I stopped tithing for awhile because I thought I needed that 10%, but after being heavily convicted about it, I gave it another shot. And shortly after I was told about a job that had a guarantee of more hours, full time, and it paid $4/hour more to start than what I was currently making, Two weeks after that, I got the job. And it was the exact same distance as the hotel from my current apartment, but it was in the opposite direction and it brought me 11 miles closer to Rhys meaning I could easily keep it after we are married--and it had full health benefits included and would guarantee the same for Rhys if I paid a little more. Since starting this job, I have gotten overtime almost every week, and make in one week more than half of what I did at the hotel in a month. I am not saying to this brag, rather I am saying it to prove lesson #2 about adulthood I learned:

Lesson #2: Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.

When I was leaning on my own understanding, I was freaking out by the 3rd of every month as my bank account would be cut in half. Thankfully, the hotel did feed me three nights a week so that helped with bills, and random people would give me tips for driving the shuttle, or checks would come in the mail from kind-hearted people that love me (THANK YOU, GRAMA!). But that doesn't mean it was easy. Not by a long shot. It's hard as crap to have nothing and to still be willing to give it to God. I can't even imagine how hard it may have been for the widow who gave her last mite and was scoffed at by the Pharisees who gave so much but kept even more for themselves. Or maybe it was the opposite, maybe it was a joy for her to sacrifice because she knew God would provide. Maybe she had been in that time many times before, but she knew from past experiences that God would take care of her. Who knows? We never will this side of heaven, but we know that her heart was at (some level of) peace because if it wasn't she would have kept it for herself. I have to say, I'm not there yet personally, even though I am making a lot more money, I still am somewhat freaked out as I am about to move to a new apartment (which is so stupid expensive), my car could use a tune up as it is 11 years old, I am getting married which means moving things from Vegas to Dallas, which means a lot of money, I no longer get free meals and I am trying to eat healthier which means more money than the junk food, I had to register my car and get Texas plates and a new license, and I have to get another one in a few weeks as I will be changing my name which also means new social security card and bank account switcheroo's and a lot of other stuff that "adults do." There will always be something that requires the attention of money, and for most of us on planet Earth, we don't have that luxury of wasting cash like it's water because we have so much to spare. (Unless you live in the condos where I work in which case most of them are multi-millionaires, but the richest one of them all is also the humblest, which I think is super cool.) 

While driving to work last week, I was caught up in money and thinking of everything I needed to do and what it would cost, and how I was foolish and spent a little too much here and there, and the Holy Spirit stopped me mid-sentence and asked, "Lauren, who pays your bills?" I paused and thought about it for a minute before realizing, "You do, Lord." I could hear Him smile, then He asked, "So who do you think provides your paycheck? Man or Me?" Then I was the one smiling, "You do, Lord," I said. "So why are you so scared of not having enough? If I pay your paycheck, and I pay your bills, and I have more money than any this world has ever seen, why are you so worried? I could burn up all the money in an instant, and yet I will still be the one who pays your paycheck and pays your bills."

(Noted.)

The third and, for now, final lesson I learned is one I am still learning which ties into lessons 1 and 2. As I mentioned in the first sentence, I am getting married in 33 days, and as much as I love Rhys, he is not perfect, nor will he ever be. He will make me upset at times, but he also knows how to make me laugh, or at least smile, when I am feeling down. He knows how to encourage me and he knows how to combine the right set of words that make me shut up and think about what I am going to say because I am being more human than holy. But then he hugs me because he feels bad that I feel bad even though I brought it on myself because I was acted out of flesh rather than the Spirit. Proverbs 17 says it is good to find friends who sharpen one another as iron sharpens iron, and indeed Rhys and I do that well together. We are best friends who can tell each other anything, when we get the courage to do so as we are also a couple and learning how to word things and share at the right moment. Rhys has proven his love for me time and time again, and this last week he proved me wrong in that I am now questioning if maybe he does love me more than I love him as he shared a surprise of what and where we will be on our honeymoon. We have this thing, this phrase, that we coined as our own where one of us will say, "I love you", the other replies, "I love you more", and rather than the cliche ending the other will say, "then PROVE it." So our love and our lives are based on this friendly competition, which totally suits our personalities as we love a good challenge, of how to prove to the other that we do indeed love them more. We aren't doing it in a way of lording it or berating the other for loving less, we just do it because we both have so much love that we want to pour out, and we know that the other will receive it well. 

This is how I want to be with Jesus, even though I know I'll lose, but I can still try. I can still prove that I love Him more today than I did yesterday with my actions, my gifts, my thoughts and my words. And yes, I know he will prove me wrong, and just like Rhys did last week, I may think "crap, I have to up my game because I think maybe He really does love me more than I love him," but in the midst of that statement is a glorious treasure that can be overlooked. And that is the proof that it doesn't matter who loves who more because, right now, in this moment I know that HE LOVES ME. It doesn't matter what else happens or what anyone else says, I know that I know that I KNOW He loves me. Rhys loves me and that is what drove him to go above and beyond my expectations and surprise me with this gift on our honeymoon. Jesus loves me and proved it in that He went above and beyond the expectations in that not only did He die for us, but Hebrews 5 says he suffered like us. He understands humanity to the fullest because He allowed Himself to suffer in every way we have and will suffer which is why Hebrews calls Him our High Priest who comes on our behalf to represent us. Why? Simply for the fact that HE LOVES US. 

As a child we don't question how we are going to keep our home, what we will eat, how we will dress, who will protect us, what we must do to be loved, or even how we are going to pay for everyday necessities. We rely on our parents and we trust that they will take care of us. We are dependent on them. And though we may be adults now, we are still called the "children of God" because we are meant to rely on Him wholly and fully in every aspect of life. We are not meant to worry, and fret and fear and freak. We are to trust Him. We are to allow Him to be our Father, our Padre, our Daddy, our Papa. American culture says you need to be independent and rely on yourself, unless your parents are filthy rich and then you should make them spoil you and buy everything you want because they have the money for it. But the Kingdom culture says we should rely on the Father and allow Him to bless us because He loves us, and sometimes that blessing may seem better than we feel deserving, but it doesn't matter, He is blessing you because you bless Him with the way you act, live, speak and how you simply let Him be the adult and remember that you are His child.

An overgrown, highly mature, and quite possibly, as is in my case, "giant bodied" child, but His child nonetheless.

-Saint 

Welcome to Exile (Reality): The Struggle is Really Real.

I know I haven't written anything in about six months, but it's been an insane season.

For starters, I graduated Christ for the Nations on May 15, 2015.
That was also my and Rhys' 6th month anniversary.
And the day he proposed.
We are getting married in 73 days, the day before our one year anniversary.

And that's an insane God-story in and of itself.

I also moved out on my own and got my own little apartment, and a new job.
I left the humans hotel and now work as a concierge at a high rise condo in Downtown Dallas, and the penthouse for sale is starting at $9 Million. (I struggle to count to 1,000.)
Speaking of struggles, the struggle has been very, very real since graduating Bible college and entering into "life".

I'm reminded of a song from Paramore, one of Rhys' favorite bands, in which their lyrics read, "Don't go crying to your Momma, 'cause you're on your own in the real world." And let me tell you, good God she was right. But I have cried to my Mom several times on how hard everything has been.

The apartment that seemed like it would be a good investment has been from Hell. First off, if you haven't seen me, here's a picture (not to toot my own horn but just to prove a point):

(And yes, that's Rhys on the right, this was our first Valentine's together. Awe.)

I'm as white as white gets, with green eyes, blonde hair, and I'm about 5'11". 

Basically, I do not belong in the neighborhood I'm in. I'm in a ghetto. And I'm alone. 

I tell people where I live and I get a wide eyed, mouth drops, "why the heck are you THERE?!" look. Well, I'm there because that's all I could afford when I graduated, and I didn't want to move home to Vegas because I had a good job and a great boyfriend, turned fiance overnight, and I knew moving to another state 23 hours away wouldn't be very good or healthy for our relationship. Unfortunately, things did not go as I planned. (Then again, when do they ever?)

Within a few months, I had dipped into more than half of my savings just to keep up with bills, I was budgeting like a crazy person allowing myself one tank of gas for everything (which doesn't go very far when you want to see your fiance who lives 36 miles away), I ate a lot of eggs (before their price skyrocketed), a lot of ramen, and a lot of Taco Bell. (Hey, it's cheap! $4 and you're full... of gas.) My good job which I was banking on working full-time of 40 hours wasn't working out so well either. The hotel was under construction and complete renovations, so guests were not happy and we Front Desk/Guest Service Agents got the brunt of their anger, complaining and disappointments. In my last few months I also got stuck working 10 hour shifts only three days a week, which meant dipping into savings even more. And when I got home things weren't any better.

I would get home between 9-Midnight most nights, and the first three weeks of me moving there was a creepy guy who would watch me walk from my car to my apartment--which happened to be on the third floor. I had no furniture other than a blow up bed I borrowed from a co-worker for my first month. I was careful to not use too much water or A/C, and for the first few nights just lit candles because I was scared of racking up my bill. I took ten minute showers, most of them were cold because I couldn't figure out the faucet, which hit my head, but it beat a bucket so I wasn't complaining about that. My lullabies consist of car alarms, most of which I have learned to tune out rather than freak out wondering if it's mine, and abusive relationships. Two weeks ago I had a woman yelling at a drunkard in her kitchen, then yelling and telling another neighbor how she pulled out this "$3 whore" and told that B**** that she was going to blow her brains out in the parking lot. I've seen heroine needles left in the dirt by the stairs, which went missing later that night, and found hash laying outside my door. But my neighbor across from me has a giant German Shepherd, so she's the one I'm running to if I need anything. I woke up at 8 on my day off one day to drilling, terrified that someone was trying to break in, only to open the door and see two Chinese shorties and a random white guy who were just as scared to see the Bride of Frankenstein (as I imagine that's what I resembled with my gym shorts, crazy hair, and no makeup) as I was to see them. They were taking off the weatherstrips of my door, and the new ones they put on make it impossible to close my door unless I ninja kick it. Oh yeah, and it's kinda funny but a little racist in that all the African Americans are on the first floor, the Mexicans are on the second, and we whitey's are on the third. Granted, I don't have anything worth stealing, minus a couch I scored for $175 which was only three months old, and a Queen size bed and headboard I got from a friend. But it took three of us an hour to move those two things up, so I doubt anyone would even bother trying.


Needless to say, my relationship with Jesus wasn't so hot in the midst of this. I became really bitter, very angry, and very self-sufficient in thinking I could handle everything on my own and do it all in my own power. But recently, I have been falling more and more to my knees screaming, "Jesus, ayudame!" And indeed He has. I can't say he was okay or very happy with my attitude towards life, or my negligence to involve Him more, but He's gracious and loves us even when we are bratty kids who throw tempertantrums. And I threw too many. But He kept watching out for me. He kept providing. My grama would send me a little bit of money every month and that usually took care of my bills and a tank of gas which got me through one week. I "randomly" got $100 rebate for using a third party website to fly to Vegas so Rhys and I could see the venues and plan our wedding. (Which is coming in November! Woot!) I got another $100 a few months after that for using an apartment search agent--granted I don't like the place he got me, but the rebate definitely helped. I got a $200 deposit back from CFNI that my parents paid three years ago, but were gracious enough to let me keep. People would buy me meals. Co-workers would give me food they couldn't finish or didn't want-- I got a free pizza and sushi twice, and a Java Monster. I got random coupons and deals, like an $18 oil change for being with Progressive. My car insurance went down when Rhys added me to his plan, which cut his payments in half as well. So it was through random little blessings, that I was too busy and caught up in the freak out's of finances to understand or truly appreciate at the time, that got me through the summer. It was also the first summer in five years where I haven't done anything with ministry. (I was supposed to be a co-leader of a young adults group at a friend's church, but it fell through before it even started. Which ended up being a blessing in disguise as God told me to not join immediately post-CFNI, and Rhys and I ended up moving to a different church where we feel very welcomed and know we can find ways to plug in when we decide it's best.)

But it was the last blessing, the biggest one, that settled me and reminded me that God's in control, even when everything seems to be going to Hell. My old roomie from my last year at CFNI, got a job at a high rise condo in downtown and was making $4/hour more than I was. She knew I was struggling, and that I was looking for a second job (to add onto the hotel, originally I was looking at waittressing). She talked to her AGM and within a week she got me an in, which got me an interview, and within a week I had applied to two locations, both of which paid higher than I was making and were the same distance from my apartment as the hotel already was. Three days later I was hired at the one that paid $4 higher. For two weeks I had to pull some doubles as I was in the process of quitting the hotel and starting the concierge, some days I worked from 7 AM - 10 PM and I was exhausted. But I survived, by God's grace alone.

I just finished my first week fully at the concierge and it's been challenging in and of itself. It has 27 stories, 233 units, and they range from $500k - $9Million. While waiting for my interview I saw a resident pull up in the valet with a Rolls Royce. (He actually asked me to park it later this week and I almost fan girled and died, I shut it off but I quickly handed the keys to the valet saying, "This is your job, not mine!") There's another new family who own a Porsche Panamera and a Ferrari 360. They just sold their Lamborghini because he couldn't fit in it being 6'3". (What....?) It's a big step up from the hotel, and I'm having to relearn how to handle these people and respect them and know how they work, all the while remembering they are still people. As my Dad said last night, "They put their pants on the same way you do, Lo. One leg at a time."

I opened my Bible for the first time in way too long today. And ironically I opened it to Jeremiah 29:11-13 which is one of the few passages highlighted. I almost started crying right there in Starbucks. God hadn't forgotten his people when He sent them to Babylon. He sent them into exile, but in the start of 29 we read Him telling them to flourish, get married, have kids, help the economy, and carry on knowing they would be delivered in 70 years. He was telling them, "Hey! This is gonna be hard, but try to enjoy it as best you can, do what you would normally do in Israel. And know I'm with you. Remember, I'm the one in charge here. I know the plans I have for you. I have plans for a hope and for your future! I plan to prosper you in this place of exile! I plan to give you a future where you see death because you're surrounded by your enemies! Help their economy, build them up. But don't become like them. Be my people, I am your God."

Rhys and I had another session with our pastor today for "marriage counseling", and we got on the topic of where we live and how we are to bless those we surround ourselves with, and the places where we live. As much as I have despised living in this complex, I have to remember that there is a reason I am there--and it's not just because that's the only one that was available when I graduated. I'm sure the Israelites didn't want to go to Babylon, much less know they would be there for 70 years in which case most of them would die there. But they went. And just like God promised, He delivered them and brought them home. But they had to do as he asked, they had to marry, they had to plant gardens, they had kids and they helped the economy. And while Babylon no longer exists, the Israelites do--even though they have been attacked by countless armies, countries and tyrants. Thousands of years later, the Lord is still holding his promise to them because they held theirs to His. Granted, they complained a LOT, but then again so do all humans, we just don't get documented like they do in a book that is eternal. (Thank God.) 

"Don't go cryin' to your Momma, 'cause you're on your own in the real world." 
The real world is very rough and harsh at times, but we are still in it to help it flourish. Because it is in our obedience to God, who tells us in the New Testament to be in the world but not of it, where we learn to love our brothers and sisters and love our enemies as we love ourselves, and when we learn to trust God through thick and thin, and remember that He has great plans for us, plans to prosper us and not to harm us, that we will be okay and we will make it. 

My favorite Bible verse is actually Jeremiah 29:13, which is all too often overlooked. It reads, "...and when you seek me with all your heart you will find me." But in order to seek Him with all of our hearts, we must sometimes find ourselves in situations that break our hearts (or at least our wills) so that we can come before the King, as an empty vessel, wiped of all internal human strength, asking for His help and His grace to make it through. 

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. 
2 Cor. 12:9 (ESV)

Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.

Hebrews 4:16

And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.

1 Peter 5:10 

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you,” declares the Lord, “and will bring you back from captivity. I will gather you from all the nations and places where I have banished you,” declares the Lord, “and will bring you back to the place from which I carried you into exile.”

Jermiah 29:11-14 (NIV)

The struggle is real, friends, thankfully so is our gracious God.

-Saint