Last week my friend, Emily, posted a blog by the same title. It was part of a greater collaboration that you can ready here. The author urges other writers to open up about their journey of faith.
While reading Em's post I sat on the couch and cried. Y'all it was beautiful because it was a direct reflection of her heart. I remember those times. I saw her walk through them. I saw the light return to her eyes when Jesus healed her heart.
Last week in my kids Sunday School class they learned about Abraham and Sarah. They were told the story of how Sarah desperately wanted a child and how God promised that it would one day happen. Of course the next question was: Why did God choose to tell us about this? What is the point of this story?
The Bible is a guide to the heart of the God. On each page his character is revealed through the way that he interacts with his children. He shares this story of His character to illustrate that he is who he says he is, and he will do what he says he will do.
I think that's what our testimonies are. Evidence of the character of God....and should be shared!
Beth Moore tweeted the other day "Our testimony of Christ's work in our past is powerful and needs retelling, but our testimony is ongoing. Our today is part of tomorrow's story."
So......
Here's my story.
I am one of the fortunate few with parents who raised me in church. We were there every time the doors were open. When I was in elementary school a missionary came and spoke one Sunday night. I remember thinking that if the pastor was close to God then this missionary must be God's BFF. I honestly don't remember where he was from or who he was working with, but I do remember praying that night:
"God, I will go anywhere you want me to go, and do anything you want me to do, just please don't make me a missionary"
In my mind a missionary lived in a hut far away from their family in the desert in Africa. It seemed like the job that you didn't want, but had no choice in doing because God asked you to do it.
It took me many years to understand that God really does have my best interest at heart.
Although I chose Jesus and was baptized when I was 9 years old, I didn't really understand what that would look like until I went to middle school. It was rough. For the first time in my life I was faced with the decisions to go with the flow or I could do what I knew was right. I would LOVE to be able to tell you that I let temptation roll off my back like water off a duck. Alas, that was not the case. I learned, like most girls do, to gossip and put other people down, all the while attempting to cover up the internal battle I was facing.
At summer camp that year a man named Roger Glidewell spoke. His words changed my life. In a very dramatic way he showed an auditorium of middle school kids what it looks like when you fall for anything this world has to offer. I knew that I had to make a choice. I knew that it wouldn't be easy. I knew that it would cause me to be a bigger outcast than I already was. I also knew that this was the hill I had to die on.
A few years later, when I was in 7th grade, I felt like God was calling me to full time ministry. Growing up in a Southern Baptist Church that call didn't make any sense to me. (They are still not super fond of women in leadership) One Wednesday night, during church dinner, I sat at the secretary's desk and penned a letter to my youth pastor. I poured out my heart and shared what I thought God was calling me to, but that I really wanted to work with animals. I still have his sweet reply tucked in a bible. He encouraged me to seek God's will for my life, and that God wouldn't call me to something to make me miserable. He reminded me that we are all called to be mission minded and that being a light regardless of my career choice was the key.
When I was in 10th grade my family moved to a different local church. It was a difficult transition as I left behind all the people I had grown up with. The youth group at our new church was still a good size and many of them were people I knew from school. They took me right in and loved on me!
It's difficult being a teenager. You question where you fit in, who you belong with, and who you are. During this time I suffered from a broken heart. Months went by and I didn't hear from any of my old church friends. I had known many of them sine I was two, and I was began to realize that maybe we weren't friends at all. My new youth group was sweet, but I felt like an outsider looking in. They had grown up together and had a world of history with each other that I just wasn't part of. At one point, just before a mission trip, we went around in a circle and encouraged each other. There were several girls that our youth pastor said she wishes that she had given birth to....I was not one of them.
Honestly, it hurt. I felt more alone in those next years than I ever had. Like I was floating in the English Channel, not sure which landmass I should paddle toward.
Thankfully I had my surrogate family....the band. Yes, I was/am/always will be a band nerd! One night, after an away game in the playoffs, I had two seats to myself on the charter bus. I was thankful that no one was sitting with me bacuse I was dreadfully sick. Just as we started moving this tall, lanky boy decided that he needed my extra seat so that he could talk to the boy across the isle. I reluctantly let him have the seat, but promised to sleep on his shoulder and drool on him the whole way home.
Two weeks later I informed his sister that I would marry him one day. I was adamant. Everyone knew that he was mine. It took two years, and 3 other girls for him to catch up. We went to our senior prom together, where he asked me to be his girlfriend. Seven months later, at the stroke of midnight, on New Year's Eve he asked me to be his wife. Eight months after that we were married.
We both grew up in Christian homes. We knew that community with other believers was crucial, but we had such a hard time finding our place.
We were young. I was 19 and he had just turned 21. The people sitting next to us in Sunday School one morning told us "I don't even remember what it was like to be a newlywed."
This comment was less than encouraging.
Church became an option. Sleep and a day off became the victor.
We still believed in everything that we always had, but life consumed us and we were overwhelmed. We struggled to keep our heads above water...spiritually, mentally, and financially.
October of 2002 would change our lives forever. We found out we were expecting our first child. I was miserable. I slept all the time and could only keep down pineapple, Coke Icee, and soft pretzels from the mall. In June of 2003 we welcomed our daughter, Camber Elise.
The most amazing time in our life was overshadowed by the fact that I had severe postpartum depression. I remember telling my mom that I was going to leave Camber outside and hope that someone would just come get her, I just felt worthless. I was sure that I didn't have what it took to raise a child and that I would end up doing more harm than good.Thankfully my OB saw right through me at my 6 weeks checkup and gave a name to what I had been feeling. Things slowly started to get better and I began to enjoy being a mom.
With these new changes in our lives we started attending the church that I grew up in. Camber was the reason we started going back to church.
When Camber was 10 months old we packed everything we would immediately need into our red Dodge Neon and drove overnight to Michigan. Mark's mom had cancer and was being released to hospice. We arrived on Thrusday afternoon as they were getting her all settled. Sunday was Mother's Day...and the last day she was concious.
I hadn't been feeling myself, but I chalked it up to all the stress that we were going through. Mark begged me to take a pregnancy test, so I obliged. In just a few minutes two pink lines stared us back in the face. Baby number two would arrive in December of 2004.
Four days later, Thursday, May 13th, Marcia was permanently healed and went to be with Jesus. My heart broke every night as my husband, my pillar of strength, laid in the bed sobbing so hard it made him cough. There was nothing that I could do...
In the long months after Marcia's death we tried to decide if we were going to stay in Michigan or move back to Florida. We decided to come back. Cooper was born in December of 2004.
Life was a series of blurs.
We eventually landed in Milton, FL, which is outside Pensacola. We found a church that we loved and we got involved quickly. We attended small groups, worked in the nursery, served coffee etc.
Around the time that Mark was turning 30 (2009) he started having panic attacks. He felt like he was choking and spent a good portion of the morning throwing up. He saw a few doctors and they prescribed some medication, but I knew that it had to be more than that. I asked our pastors to pray for him because it seemed he was wrestling with something big.
Our small group at the time was reading Francis Chan's book Crazy Love. Mark had also gotten a book from our pastor called The Barbarian Way by McManus.
While at work one day he sent me a cryptic e mail. "I think it's missions" is all it said. I knew exactly what he was talking about.
We began to pray together about what full time ministry looked for us. What kind of clothes does it wear?
We had been reading through a devotional bible and one December day Mark left it on my desk with a passage marked. The devotion that day was about St. Patrick. It explained that Patrick was an Englishman who was kidnapped by pirates and enslaved in Ireland. He later escaped and went back to England. As an adult he had a vision that the people of Ireland were calling him back to tell them about Jesus.
It's an interesting story. It didn't seem to belong in a devotional in December, but God was guiding us. Mark has something in common with Patrick. As a boy his father was in the Air Force. He spent the majority of his life overseas. Now, back in the states, he felt that God was calling him to his childhood home of Panama.
We continued to pray.
For Christmas that year we got the kids the VeggieTales video St. Nicholas. The video started out with the French Peas packing up a box for Operation Christmas Child, a ministry of Samaritian's Purse. Larry accidentally falls into the box and in preparation for the box to be shipped they put the tag on that tells where he is going....
Panama.
After this we started seeking God in who/ what/ how of going overseas.
Mark remembered being involved with Youth With A Mission when he lived there, so we started to research the requirements of being missionaries with YWAM. The first stop was a Discipleship Training School (DTS).
The DTS is held in Janurary and July each year. It is comprised of 3 months of 'school.' Where a different teacher comes in each week and teaches on a different subject. The last two months are set aside for outreach. Each school is different. Some schools have the outreach already planed, some pray and seek God to show them where to go. Some include the price of the outreach in the total cost of the school, some fund raise together as a group.
We started a budget, contacted YWAM, and made plans to start our DTS in January of 2011.
My parents sweetly allowed us, and our two rugrats, to move in with them in an effort to be able to save even more money. A few times along the way we questioned if Janurary was right for us, or if we should go in July. It just made more sense for it to be Janurary because we would have all the money we'd need by then.
In June, 3 weeks before we were scheduled to leave, we realized that God was asking us to trust him. With only half the money we needed we stepped out, believing that he was going to provide, and announced that we would be leaving in July.
July 27, 2010. I cried most of the way to Panama. Who does this? Were we crazy?
We landed and were picked up by one of our leaders, Dale. We had nearly an hour drive back to the base in Chilibre. As we drove through town my heart melted.
How can you love a people that you've never met?
The next days were a whirlwind of meeting our team and attempting to adjust.
After a few weeks in Panama we headed to Costa Rica to celebrate with the rest of Central America YWAM's 50th anniversary. We were blessed to be able to hear YWAM's founder, Loren Cunningham, speak. He is a wonderfully sweet man who is a visionary. He has such a heart for the nations and desires them to see God for who he is.
After a secret team building week in Talamanca, Costa Rica, we headed to Isla Bastamentos. An island off the coast of Panama in the Bocas del Torro region.
The whole time we were praying about where god would have us do our outreach. Finally, as a team, we felt that God was asking us to go to Europe to encourage the body of Christ there. Our outreach would be spent in England, Norway, Germany, Northern Ireland, Spain, and France.
Preparations had been made, flights booked, clothes purchased, and we were off!
We arrived in England exhausted.
Y'all I am not one of those people can push through exhaustion. I NEED sleep!
That entire first day I was passed out. I got up for dinner and went right back to bed. We worked, we prayed, we laughed, we explored London. Then it was on to Norway.
Norway is beautiful! Except for the fact that the place we stayed is in the middle of the valley of seven mountains. It rains 350 days a year! Since most Norwegians speak English we were charged with going to mall one day and starting converstaions. The mall was a few miles away, and it was pouring rain.
We walked.
I. WAS. LIVID.
I was cold and wet and angry that anyone could have thought this was a good idea. I had a 5 and 7 year old with me and prayed the whole time that they didn't get sick.
I am also one of those girls who can't hid her emotions. Our leaders, David and Cerrita, knew I was angry. They said nothing.
It was a few days later when they locked Mark and I in the kitchen to 'talk.' Our leaders were concerned about attitudes that had been displayed. We talked, heatedly, for several hours. I shared my heart and felt like I was heard. I walked out of that intervention thinking that things would be different. That control would be loosened and that we would remember that we were all on the same team with the same end goal.
Two days later we were back where we started. I was in trouble again for discussing our secret meeting with another team member. I went to him to see if he had any advice, because I didn't feel that the leaders could give godly advice anymore. Talking to them felt like I was talking to a brick wall. I would share my heart just to be told "You shouldn't feel that way" and "That's not what is happening."
We left Norway for Germany. A church there had graciously found lodging for all of us and offered to help us in ministry all week. Germany was a really good time. We were on the same page. We were encouraged by the church. We laughed, played games, danced, and really felt like God was doing something big in this oppressed area.
One night, as a thank you to the church, we created a four course meal that we served to them. I was in the kitchen with one of the other leaders and two team mates. The atmosphere was pleasant. We joked about the potatoes that some of the boys picked out. (Yes, there is a difference between sweet potatoes and white potatoes)
Dinner was a huge success and we left Germany with full hearts and in expectation for what God would continue to do.
It was in Spain that our trip took a turn for the worse. We had planned an American Thanksgiving dinner for the people of the church and spent all day cooking and baking. That evening we were to host the event and mingle with the church goers. The kids asked if we could have dinner at McDonalds, which wasn't far from where we were staying. We went downstairs to ask David if that would be ok. He immediately said "Yes." I noticed that his best friend, one of the other team members was upset at his decision, but I didn't think anything of it.
When we were half way up the stairs David ran after us explaining that he couldn't allow us to go out that night, and that one of us would need to be present at the event. We said that we understood and went back upstairs to our cooking.
On the way back to the loft I told Mark that I felt like David's decision weighed heavily on his best friend being upset. I felt like she was the reason we were told no.
In an attempt to not let this issue fester and become a greater bitterness, which I had issues with in the past, I asked Mark to come with me to talk to David.
We got to his flat and he let us in. I explained how I felt and how it seemed that Andera's annoyance is the reason that he told us no. He assured me that this was not the case. I explained again that it seemed as if it was, and we didn't understand the reasoning behind us needing to be at the event if we wern't serving or part of the drama. He raised his voice and said "Are you calling me a liar?"
When I started to respond he yelled again "Are you calling me a liar?"
Being that I don't handle confrontation well, I turned to walk out saying that I just needed a minute. David reached between Mark and I and slammed the door. He kept yelling that I wasn't going to go anywhere, and that I was going to have to stay and hash everything out. By this point I was crying so hard I couldn't breathe, so he allowed us to leave and we went back to our flat.
The night dragged on. Mark went downstairs to attend the event and I stayed upstairs with the kids. David let us know that all the leaders wanted to talk with us the following morning.
I was thankful that my friend, Lauren, stayed with me (she was wicked sick because of her pregnancy). I talked to her about how I had been feeling, and she tried to help me form complete sentances that I would take into this meeting to make sure that I was able to get my point across.
I shared with her my fear that they would kick us out or leave us in Spain. She assured me that those thoughts were crazy! After all, it was our intention to move to Panama and be on staff with David and his wife Cerrita at the new base they would be opening in the city. Mark and David had just had a three hour converstaion the day before about 'when we move to Panama.'
The next morning was grim. My eyes were puffy from crying and I was terrified that I wouldn't be able to express myself correctly to our leaders.
When our meeting started I shared what I was feeling. They were met with more "You shouldn't feel that way" and "That's not what is happening." Honestly, after about 10 minutes I gave up. I felt like there was no point in trying to talk at all if everything I said and thought and felt was going to be shot down.
It was then that David informed us that our "Time with them had come to an end." Mark was shell shocked. All I could say was "What did I tell you..."
In the end the leaders of our group decided that I "hadn't shown enough growth in submitting to authority."
They informed us that we were no longer welcome to travel with them. We walked out of that room defeated, broken, and confused.
We were scheduled to leave for France the next day.
We walked down to the closest place that had wifi and proceeded to call our family to figure out how to get home.
All the while David was meeting with the rest of the team to explain that we had chosen to leave and that we were going to be fine and that we had already secured travel back home.
NONE. OF. IT. WAS. TRUE.
Thankfully, Lauren's husband, Mike, spoke up and asked that the leaders figure out how to get us home.
We were then told that the tickets to France had already been purchased, so we could use them. Once in France we'd be on our own.
We landed in Paris and watched our team walk away, headed to their next destination. We paid for 24 access to airport wifi, got the kids some dinner, and then began looking for a place to stay that wouldn't cost us everything we had.
After a $75 cab ride we slumped into bed exhausted....mentally, physically, and emotionally.
The next day we got bundled up and went exploring. We found a McDonalds, the train, and a nearby grocery store. We loaded up on food for the next few days and headed back for the warmth of the hotel so Mark and I could research ways to get from France to London, where our return flight would take us back to Atlanta.
We decided that since this was probably the only chance we'd ever get we would take the Chunnel. We purchased our tickets and prepared for the next day. Our day in Paris.
Paris was beautiful. Our children have seen things that most adults have never seen. The Arc de Triumph, the Eiffel Tower, the Mona Lisa, the Venus de Milo. We were happy to have a day to decompress and not think about anything.
The nights were the worst. With the kids asleep I would replay events over and over in my mind trying to see where I could have been different.
In the end I felt like a failure. I felt like we heard wrong, like we made the wrong move. I questioned if we went at the right time, or if we should have gone at all.
We later found out that tickets from France to London had been purchased weeks ago. We were told that if we could get to the airport on time we were welcome to use them. (Thankfully that evening there was a snow storm, and Eurorail was willing to refund our Chunnel tickets.)
Once in London we had to take a bus and 3 trains to get to the correct airport. We spent the night there knowing that the next day we would be home, and could begin processing everything that just happened.
My mom and grandmother were in Atlanta to meet us. I couldn't even speak. I stared out the window the 6 hours home listening to Mark snore. I was numb.
The following day we sat down with our pastor, he opened with telling us that he thought we went at the wrong time....that we didn't hear correctly.
I felt defeated. We were certain that God had orchestrated everything, but we couldn't understand why. To have someone that you know and trust and love tell you that they think that you made a wrong choice, when you know you made the right one. If my heart could have been any more broken it would have.
Days turned to weeks. We shared parts of our story with the people close to us. They cried with us, prayed with us, and prayed for us. Lauren and I talked a few times a week to encourage each other and try and help each other process through emotions and the things that God was speaking to us.
Y'all.....God is faithful. He stayed with us. Spoke to us. Showed us his heart.
He helped us take what we needed to learn from, keep the good memories, and toss aside anything that wasn't of any use.
He provided for us the entire time. We were never in need.
He has been the pillar of cloud by day and the pillar of fire by night (Exodus 13).
He has lighted our paths...though not always as bright as we felt we needed.
Looking back now, after the scars have healed over, my heart hurts for the relationships that are broken.
We have come a long way. We still believe in the promise that we will be able to leave the country again and equip others to go.
There are days when I feel like there is some great potential that I should be living up to, and am not.
Then there are days when a co-worker thanks me for being a godly influence in her life.
It all evens out.
Everyday I seek opportunities to share how good God is.
My faith doesn't look like it did when I was in 7th grade, but I am thankful for that.
It has grown, it has deepened, it is richer.
I trust God more explicitly now. I have anecdotal proof that he is on
my side and works all things together for my good.(Romans 8:29)
The second my feet touched the ground in Panama I knew that God was opening a place in my heart that I didn't know existed. I was built for this. My heart beats for people who are not my own. My deepest desire is that God reveals himself in a might and undeniable way to his people. I will do anything I can to point people to source of unfailing joy.
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