tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68566076417390065872024-03-05T22:58:37.543-08:00dreaming of a far away landAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06167296076230527064noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6856607641739006587.post-43452906173440834332013-08-01T10:33:00.003-07:002013-08-01T10:45:39.459-07:00Loving Ferociously <span style="font-size: large;">If I were to say to you that I've become more and more hesitant to declare that I'm a Christian, what would you say?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">What if I were to say that I've become so hesitant to tell others that I'm a Christian <b>because less and less people seem to understand what that really means? </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It has become increasingly apparent to me this summer that there are so very many people who have been hurt by the Church, by people who call themselves Christ-followers, yet judge and condemn harshly. And what does this do? It paints God as a high and mighty Judge in the sky waiting to hurl angry lightning bolts at whomever does wrong. Still others see Him as a benevolent Nothing who couldn't care less about all of the hurting people around the world because we, His people, choose to turn our backs on those who need us the most. </span><br />
<b><br /></b>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The God that I worship and serve is neither. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The God that I know is a gentle Lamb, yet an angry Lion all at once. He is fierce in protecting His children, His beloved, yet quiets to a whisper as He breathes life into a hopeless little girl. He strikes down in the name of justice those who adamantly disobey Him as they continue to disregard life, but then wraps His loving arms around those children of His who have been harmed. He could be seen as contradictory, I suppose. <b>But isn't it beautiful? </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But still there are people who think that we, as Christians, believe that we have some type of magic formula that somehow makes us better than them. I hear {from my own peers} all of time: "Oh, sorry, Bailey - I know you're too good for that." "Well, Bailey doesn't do that because she's a good girl." "Why would you even say that around Bailey? You know she doesn't approve." Once, I was even introduced to an entire high school health class by a classmate as, "Bailey, the good little Christian girl."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Now, none of those things are particularly bad; some
are even correct. I don't do or say certain things that I believe is
wrong or against God. I am a "good little Christian girl" {but why was
it said in such a condescending tone?}. However it is not because I'm a
"good girl" or because I think that I'm better than anyone. It's because
the Bible shows me what God calls me to, and some things just are not
included. And that's definitely not to say I've never made mistakes or
done anything that has gone against God {after all, I'm only human} but,
it's true, there are things that I refuse to do on principle.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Then
there are some things that just make no sense: "Bailey would never get a
tattoo - that's too bad for her." "Bailey wouldn't go to that party -
she's too good for that." "Don't tell Bailey - she'd definitely
disapprove." First of all, tattoos are not bad and I don't not like
them; some of them I really love, so I'm pretty sure those people judged
me more than I've ever judged them in that one comment alone. As for the party comment: Excuse me? I like to have fun too.
Maybe not exactly in the same ways those who made this comment do, but
it's not off-limits for me to go to a party. And, lastly, I'm not going
to stop talking to someone if they say a few things that I wouldn't say -
I may correct them if it's offensive to a certain group of people, but
I'm not going to try to act like their mother {despite often being called Momma Bailey}.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So, my question today is, <b>why?</b> Why do so many people have this misinformed idea about who we are {and who God is}? Why do we continue to push others down in condemnation through hate rather than love as ferociously {I love using this word because it mean to love "with unrelenting intensity"} as Jesus modeled for us? Why do we allow the Church to earn such a bad name for herself? Why do we allow our words and actions to be poisoned by the very things {hatred, insecurity, depression, etc.} that the Lord has saved us from?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Those who have not yet believed in Christ as their Lord and Savior {and, sometimes, even those who have} will be turned away from us, the people God has appointed to bring His Good News to all the nations, because we are not adequately showing the true character of God. <b> </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And their blood is on our hands. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So join me, would you? Join me in actively seeking to show the fierce love of Jesus to every person we come into contact with. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Love ferociously. </b></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06167296076230527064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6856607641739006587.post-69151622480780877742013-07-21T18:50:00.001-07:002013-07-21T18:55:56.421-07:00For Christ's love compels us . . . <span style="font-size: large;">Ever since I can remember, I've known that there is a huge world beyond the confines of the rolling wheat fields of my family's farm, the brick walls of my small town high school, even the cocoon that the American culture has created for it's children. I've always known this, I tell myself, and yet <b>I live as though I do not</b>.</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I live as though my world is the world,</b> as though my minor problems with school and work are the biggest in the world {though I know they aren't}. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">When I'm hungry because I missed a meal because of class or work, I selfishly proclaim that "I'm starving", though I know full well that there are people all around the world {even in my hometown} who truly are malnourished. When my feet hurt because I've barely sat down all day at work, I complain, though I know that there's a seven year old boy somewhere in Africa who had to walk ten miles to the nearest well {and back again} just to have enough water for himself and his two younger siblings to live on today. When I'm exceptionally sleepy because I had to be at work at 5:30 am, I grumble, though I know that there's a woman my age somewhere in the world who is exhausted because she just got back to wherever she calls home after a long night of selling herself to feed her two children and her deceased sister's five. When I come home crying because I had a hard day at work and people yelled at me for things I have no control over, it's hard for me to remember that there's a mother surrounded by her sick children on the other side of town crying because she can find no job. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Why is it so hard for me {and maybe you} to live what I {or we} proclaim to be true?</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Does God call us, as Christ-followers, to become what this world deems radical to help those in need? Or simply live a comfortable life of "good works"? If someone were to ask me this question, I would probably answer with the first choice. So why aren't I living that out? </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">There's a quote from Francis Chan that says:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"The God of the universe </b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>- the Creator of nitrogen and pine needles, galaxies and E-minor -</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> loves us with a radical, unconditional, self-sacrificing love. </b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And what is our typical response? </b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>We go to church, sing songs, and try not to cuss." </b></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">And isn't that exactly the way it goes? The Lord Almighty has chosen us {YOU and ME} to be a little lower than the angels! We are His children! He sent His Son to die for us!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">And I choose to go to church {sitting in the same seat every week because I wouldn't want to throw anyone off}, sing songs about a God who created all the heavens and earth and how awesome He is {when I'm comfortable and not being thrown any curve-balls}, and maybe go to a missions committee meeting every {third} month.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But that's not what Jesus wants from me.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3bRGerDBNZ7SBQDxjjBG07NPVvhdUKaiaq657f3D6jOA-mZtQmUsmySKMMtQzTDpaNheraYB0WjY9N8ETMbGoxBxh0I71bmGi8cRWD3P8M1rdld38y6yeftz1F89slH7xcGDKfMYTSA/s1600/outcasts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3bRGerDBNZ7SBQDxjjBG07NPVvhdUKaiaq657f3D6jOA-mZtQmUsmySKMMtQzTDpaNheraYB0WjY9N8ETMbGoxBxh0I71bmGi8cRWD3P8M1rdld38y6yeftz1F89slH7xcGDKfMYTSA/s1600/outcasts.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>
<span style="font-size: large;">He wants me to go to all the nations! He wants me to be His hands and feet to feed and clothe and house the poor! He wants me to love the least of these, the ones this world deems unacceptable! He's chosen ME {US} to do awesome things! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So why don't we? Why aren't we more excited to do those amazing things that He's loved us so much to allow us to be a part of them? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I think it's a very simple explanation {at least, for me - maybe some others}: I'm afraid. I'm afraid of what danger may be lurking in the blatant evil in the red light district in Amsterdam; I'm afraid of the disease running rampant through the Ugandan country-side; I'm afraid {much less now than my first time going} of the looks I get when I go to the courthouse in Columbus to listen to the stories of former-prostitutes. But why? The Lord definitely does not call me to be afraid - <b>He calls me to live with reckless abandon </b>because He will protect me. And so I do, and I trust, and I love {or at least try to love} each person He places in front of me. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"For Christ's love compels us,</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>because we are convinced that one died for all,</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>and therefore all died.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And he died for all,</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>that those who live should no longer live for themselves</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>but for him who died for them and was raised again."</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">{2 Corinthians 5:14-15}</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06167296076230527064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6856607641739006587.post-43726756800844844412013-06-10T11:40:00.000-07:002013-06-10T11:54:32.797-07:00All the Pieces... <span style="font-size: large;">I've heard the sayings, "Life is like a puzzle" and "The world is like a puzzle". People say that it is our goal in life to figure out where we are meant to be, what we are meant to do, where we fit in this world. That always scared me; I was afraid that I would never figure out what I was meant to do or who I was meant to be - what if I went all the way through life, trying to do good, but never doing what it is that I was <i>meant </i>to do? That thought terrified me. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>"One day I'll stand before You<br />
And look back on the life I've lived<br />
I can't wait to enjoy the view<br />
And see how all the pieces fit"</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> - Casting Crowns, <i>Already There</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">This song gives me peace. God is already there, waiting for me to come home, excited to show me how everything fits together in the end. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">But sometimes He gives us little glimpses into how all the pieces fit while we're still here on earth. He's showing me right now. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">* * * * *</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://dreamingofafarawayland.blogspot.com/2012/07/one-day-i-received-letter-in-mail-one.html">ONE DAY, THE DREAM BEGAN...</a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>"One day, I received a letter in the mail
- one of my favorite things in the world. But this one was special,
different from junk mail and ads. This was an old-fashioned, handwritten
<b>letter!</b> Its blue and red envelope spoke of far-off countries,
places I'd never seen and most likely never would see (or so I thought
at the time). The handwriting was blocky, like a child had written it,
and I couldn't wait to see what it contained. </i><i>My enthusiasm bursting, I ripped it
open and eagerly looked to see who it was from: a girl from Uganda. A
girl I'd never met. </i><i>As I wrote her back and we continued
to exchange letters, as I began to learn about her culture and people,
as she taught me bits and pieces of her language, we became friends. And
as we became friends, as I started to care for and lover her and her
family, I fell in love with Uganda. I fell in love with its people who
love Jesus with all their hears but own almost nothing, who put their
trust and faith in Him though they sometimes don't know where their next
meal will come from. It may seem odd to you that I can be
so passionate about this country and its people; that I can love them so
intensely, yet I've never even set foot on that land. Don't worry,
you're not alone. It's odd to me, too. But all of my uncertainty is
overpowered by my love of Uganda's people and the Lord who has given me
this love and passion. </i><i>I have dreamed of visiting this
country for years, I have read books about it and ... I still dream of a land
that is halfway around the world. And I truly believe that God will get me there. Somehow, some way" </i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://dreamingofafarawayland.blogspot.com/2012/08/i-dream.html">I DREAM...</a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>"Four years ago, my heart was completely and utterly shattered. And I thank the Lord that it was.</b>
I asked God to break my heart with what breaks His - and He did. Four
years ago, I did not know that there are over 27 million slaves in the
world right now. Four years ago, I thought America was the land of the
free; I thought everyone was treated equally and fairly; I thought our
days of owning one another had ended with the Emancipation Proclamation.
I was wrong. But I refuse to allow this kind of atrocity to prevail in
this world in
which I live any longer. I am sick of it and I will work to end it.
People have asked me if I really think that I can make any difference in
such a big world and such a big problem. My answer is simple: <b>I can
do all things through Christ, who strengthens me</b>, because He has deemed
human trafficking as my <a href="http://dreamingofafarawayland.blogspot.com/2012/08/holy-discontent_20.html">holy discontent</a> for a purpose - and I will honor
that."</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><a href="http://dreamingofafarawayland.blogspot.com/">DREAMING OF A FAR AWAY LAND</a> </i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>"The people of a country I've never seen and people whose freedom is locked tight by another. </b>I
thought that these two passions were way too different to combine
together, to share a blog. But then I started thinking. I have one
purpose when working with both of these communities of people: <b>to bring the hope and healing and love of God into their lives.</b> I have two passions...so what? I have
no doubt - in fact, I have complete faith - that the Lord will use both
of them for His glory. I used to think that I had to choose one because
I needed to give my entire life to one certain thing. I was wrong,
again. My one purpose in life is to live for God and to work for the
glory of His kingdom. I can do that wherever I am, in whatever I am
doing. I know that there's a reason that I have a heart for both the
people of Uganda and victims of human trafficking. If there weren't, God
wouldn't have laid both so heavily on my heart.<br />
</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>So now <u>dreaming of a far away land</u> is about more than just Uganda and its people. This blog is about me living for Jesus, however that may be."</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>* * * * *</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i>In the past few months, everything surrounding this trip to Uganda that I am planning has just seemed to have fallen into place. And why wouldn't it? That's what I asked from God, and that's what He did for me as I said, "Yes" to each thing He placed in front of me. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://dreamingofafarawayland.blogspot.com/2013/05/he-says-wait.html">He Says, "Wait"...</a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>"Throughout this past week, I have been
constantly thinking about Uganda; a place I love but have never been. Uganda and its people have seemed to involuntarily invade my thoughts
as nothing has before. So I began praying hard for this country and its people.<b> </b></i><i><b>Lord, what is it that You are trying to tell me? </b>I was reminded of a book called <u>Kisses from Katie</u>
by Katie Davis, one of my all-time favorite books, so I began reading .
. . and reading . . . and reading. And so I prayed hard for Katie and her children and her ministry, <a href="http://www.amazima.org/">Amazima Ministries. </a>Then I was reminded of some friends of friends who are full-time missionaries in Uganda. So I prayed hard for Shawn and Sarah and their son and their ministry.<b> Is this what You want, God? For me to pray for these people? </b>But I wasn't at peace with just praying. So I emailed Sarah
and asked a few questions about possibly spending some time there. I
was met with great excitement and cooperation as she promised me that
she'd research some ministries in Kampala, the capital of Uganda where Shawn and Sarah live, that work with prostitutes with whom I may be able to volunteer. </i>
</span><i><br /></i>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Realizing that God may be calling me to go to a place I have been longing to go{FINALLY}, I introduced the idea to my mom {yet again}. </i><i>By this time, I am very excited about
the prospect of visiting and serving in this country that I've been in
love with for years, but still have not had the privilege of stepping
foot in. </i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>And, hearing nothing from the Lord, I became discouraged and whined and pleaded with Him to just tell me what He'd been trying to. Feeling prompted to continue reading, I
started back at the beginning of Psalm 37 and, asking for wisdom and
discernment, I read. </i></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>
</i></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>
</i></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him . . . </b></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>I paused. </b></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him . . . </b><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>Well, God, that's good and all but I just -</b> </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i><b>Be still.</b><i><b> </b>{He interrupted me here.}<b> </b> </i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>But God, I'm not good at waiting.</b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b> </b></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Wait patiently. </b><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>I can't. </b></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>You can.</b><b> </b><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>But God - </b></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Stop.</b><i><b> </b>{Another interruption.}<b> </b></i><b>Just be still. Just wait for Me."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">And so I waited. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">FROM MY JOURNAL: HE SAYS, "GO"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>"'Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you.' (Matthew 28:19-20)</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>As I was praying, You brought this verse to my mind, God. Specifically, the part that says, "Go". That's all I heard at first. Then the rest followed and I recognized the verse. But that first part: Go. That's pretty straightforward, isn't it? Everything's starting to add up, Lord, and I'm pretty sure I'm starting to understand Your all-awesome plan. I will go."</i></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>* * * * *</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Today, I received an email from Abby, the woman in charge of <a href="http://www.aperfectinjustice.com/">A Perfect Injustice</a>, the ministry that I am {hopefully} partnering with this fall, letting me know that she and her staff have been praying about approving my application and will let me know within the next 48 hours. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">{My heart is racing just thinking about it.} And yet I feel that everything that has brought me to this point in my life has been so amazingly orchestrated by God that I think it has to be His will. Either way, I am resting in His peace. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">This August I will be flying to Uganda, Africa for 3 months to work with former
prostitutes to help them build a new life for themselves and their
families by teaching English classes and leading Bible studies
for the ladies. I will also be working with street children who have
special needs (developmental disabilties, whether physical or mental,
substance abuse issues, behavioral problems, etc.) by teaching
swim lessons as a reward for good behavior. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So here I am, waiting before the Lord to embark on this amazing journey, as He is showing me how beautifully my two passions {which I once deemed inappropriate to pair together} merge. How faithful is He! </span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I am in the midst of planning this trip, acting completely on faith; faith that API will approve my application, faith that God will provide both financially and emotionally, faith that I will be safe half a world away from everything that is familiar. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Please keep me in your prayers as I prepare lesson plans, Bible studies, etc. and work to raise/earn the money needed to make this trip a reality. Pray for guidance, compassion, peace, and strength as I prepare my heart to endure much more than anything I've ever had to before. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">If you would like to support me financially, please prayerfully consider donating to my youcaring.com page <a href="http://www.youcaring.com/mission-trip-fundraiser/dreaming-of-a-far-away-land-/65426">here</a>. </span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06167296076230527064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6856607641739006587.post-32770376659989545532013-05-03T16:15:00.001-07:002013-05-03T16:31:14.735-07:00He says, "Wait" . . . <span style="font-size: large;">Last weekend, my pastor's sermon was about worship; worshiping God and the blessings that flow out of that. He asked us to try to actively worship the Lord each day. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I took the challenge. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Throughout this past week, I have been constantly thinking about Uganda; a place I love but have never been. This is new for me. Usually, the topic always on my mind is the victims of sex trafficking and those involved in prostitution {especially here in America}. Though those people were never far from the front of my mind, Uganda and its people seemed to involuntarily invade my thoughts as nothing has before<span style="font-size: large;">. So <span style="font-size: large;">I began praying <span style="font-size: large;">hard for this coun<span style="font-size: large;">try and its people. </span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Lord,<span style="font-size: large;"> what is <span style="font-size: large;">it that <span style="font-size: large;">You are trying to tell me?</span></span></span></i></span> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I was reminded of a book called <i>Kisses from Katie</i> by Katie Davis, one of my all-time favorite books, so I began reading . . . and reading . . . and reading. I'd forgotten how difficult this book is to lay down rather than finish all in one sitting {which I would gladly do if I were given the time}. I highlighted paragraph after paragraph and reread those parts which particularly caught my attention. So<span style="font-size: large;"> I prayed hard for Katie <span style="font-size: large;">and her children and her ministry, <a href="http://www.amazima.org/">Amazima Ministries. </a></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Then I was reminded of some friends of friends who are fulltime missionaries in Uganda<span style="font-size: large;">. So I praye<span style="font-size: large;">d hard <span style="font-size: large;">for S<span style="font-size: large;">hawn and Sa<span style="font-size: large;">rah and their son and their ministry.</span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Is this what Y<span style="font-size: large;">ou want, God? For me <span style="font-size: large;">to pray for th<span style="font-size: large;">ese</span> people<span style="font-size: large;">?</span></span></span></i> </span></span></span></span></span> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">But I wasn't at pea<span style="font-size: large;">ce<span style="font-size: large;"> with just praying<span style="font-size: large;">. So </span></span></span>I emailed <span style="font-size: large;">Sarah</span> and asked a few questions about possibly spending some time there. I was met with great excitement and cooperation as she promised me that she'd research some ministries<span style="font-size: large;"> in Ka<span style="font-size: large;">mpala, the capital of Uganda<span style="font-size: large;"> where <span style="font-size: large;">Shawn and Sarah live<span style="font-size: large;">,</span></span></span></span> that work with <span style="font-size: large;">prostitutes </span></span>with whom I may be able to volunteer. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Realizing that God may be calling me to go to <span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">a </span>pla<span style="font-size: large;">ce I have been longing <span style="font-size: large;">to go</span></span></span>{FINALLY}, I introduced the idea to my mom {yet again}. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">By this time, I am very excited about the prospect of visiting and serving in this country that I've been in love with for years, but still have not had the privilege of stepping foot in. </span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">* * * * * </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>For as long as I can remember, one of my</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>favorite Bible verses has been Psalm 37:4:</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>"Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>you the desires of your heart." I used to believe</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>it meant that if I did what the Lord asked of</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>me, followed His commandments, and was a </i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>"good girl", He would grant all my desires and</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>make my dreams come true. Today, this is still</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> one of my favorite passages of Scripture, but I </i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>have learned to interpret it in a totally different</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>way. <b>It is not about God making my dreams</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>come true but about God changing my dreams</i></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>into His dreams for my life.</i></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> - Katie Davis, <i>Kisses from Katie</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><a href="http://kissesfromkatie.blogspot.com/">http://kissesfromkatie.blogspot.com/</a> </i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">As I read her words, I flipped to Psalm 37 in my own Bible and found verse 4 underlined and highlighted - I'd already found that promise. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>But, God, </i>I prayed, <i>what <u>is</u> your plan for me? What <u>are</u> your dreams for my life? I know You have something wonderful planned, but WHAT? Am I supposed to go to Uganda? Am I supposed to be <span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">interceding</span> for these people? </span>I hate uncertainty, I hate not knowing, I can't keep living in such uncertainty. <span style="font-size: large;">What <span style="font-size: large;">do <span style="font-size: large;">You want me to do? </span></span></span>Please show me. I need to know NOW. </i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">{By this time I was whining - I knew that - but I felt that He wasn't being fair, that I needed to know right then and there.}</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Feeling prompted to continue reading, I started back at the beginning of Psalm 37 and, asking for wisdom and discernment, I read. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Yes, I know<span style="font-size: large;"> I must</span> trust in You. Yes, I know I must do good. Yes, I know I must commit my life to You. Yes, I know You will do great things when I give you my life. Yes, I know . . . </i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him . . . </b></i></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I paused. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him . . . </b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Well, God, that's good and all but I just - </i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Be still.</b><i><b> </b></i>{He interrupted me here.}<i><b> </b> </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>But God, I'm not good at waiting.</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Wait patiently.</b><i><b> </b></i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>I can't. </i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>You can.</b><i><b> </b></i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>But God - </i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Stop.</b><i><b> </b></i>{Another interruption.}<i><b> </b></i><b>Just be still. Just wait for Me. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>* * * * *</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I think so often we are deafened by the loudness of this world we live in. We aren't able to hear God leading us where He wants us because we are distracted, we are deaf to His voice, or maybe we just don't care what He wants {which I<span style="font-size: large;">'ve </span>been guilty of}. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">But He is there and He is calling each one of us. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I don't quite know if God really does want me in Uganda right now {though I'm hoping He does}, and I truly do feel His nudging. So, I will wait upon Him and listen to Him and follow Him wherever He may lead. And I WILL wait for confirmation, but I REFUSE to second-guess the confirmation He may give me, and wait too long and miss whatever He has in store for me. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Trust in the LORD and do good;</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>dwell in the land and enjoy safe</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>pasture.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Delight yourself in the LORD</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>and he will give you the desires of</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>your heart.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Commit your way to the LORD;</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>trust in him and he will do this:</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>He will make your righteousness shine</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>like the dawn,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>the justice of your cause like the</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>noonday sun.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Be still before the LORD and wait</i></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><i>patiently for him . . . </i></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>- Psalm 37:3-7a (NIV) </i></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06167296076230527064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6856607641739006587.post-85779694665957337192013-03-17T16:06:00.001-07:002013-03-17T16:06:41.043-07:00The Prostitute on the Street <span style="font-size: large;">A few weekends ago, a friend and I were driving up High Street to the campus of The Ohio State University. She was home from school for spring break and we were {unexpectedly} trying to find a restaurant to have lunch at together. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b>It was a perfectly normal moment in a usual day in our lives.</b> As I attempted to not hit any of the pedestrians crossing the street, keep the radio at an acceptable volume, and catch up with my best friend, I was marveling at the sheer goodness of this particular day. I was happy, she was telling me a story, and the day was good. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> And then, suddenly, everything stopped; the world around me turned into a slow-motion portion of a movie, and I felt my heartbeat pound in my head. I think I mumbled something, but I can't really remember all that clearly.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> "What?" she asked as she looked at me. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b>"We just passed a prostitute." </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> "I didn't see anything," she said as she turned to look back up the street. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b>But I did see.</b> I can still see her, her image forever seared into my mind. I see her dark skin and long black hair flowing in a ponytail behind her. I see her black leather mini skirt. I see her red tanktop. I see her black high-heeled boots. I see her hand awkwardly in a man's. I see her leading him {seemingly confidently, but actually hating herself for doing this yet again} to a cab. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> That's all I saw. In those three seconds my eyes gazed upon her, I only saw those few things: her skin, her hair, her clothes, and the man she was to service next... </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> But in my heart, I saw so much more. I see her <b>hurt</b> and <b>pain</b>. <b>I see the scars; </b>on her body from her own self-hatred and on her heart from others who have hated her. I see the <b>tears falling</b> that no one else recognizes and I hear the <b>screams in the night</b> that no one else hears. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b> I see so much...and also so little.</b> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> I don't know her name or her age or her level of education. I don't know her background or her parents or her children. I don't know her at all...and yet I feel connected to her in an uncanny way. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Wanna go talk to some prostitutes with me?" I asked my friend in the passenger seat. I giggled to make it seem like somewhat of a joke; who would want to go talk to her prostitutes at the Arnold Classic? And I was joking...kind of. I did want to go talk to anyone and everyone who would listen about sex trafficking and prostitution, and everything that those topics entail. But I was also uncertain and a bit frightened, so I didn't. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b> I don't know this woman's story.</b> I don't know if she had a pimp somewhere within the Arnold, advertising his girls' services and forcing her to go with the man. I don't know if she "chose" "The Life" <span style="font-size: large;">{</span>what survivors often call their time in the commercial sex industry}. In fact, I don't even know if she was a prostitute. Maybe she wasn't. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b>But what if she was?</b> And what if I was the only person who noticed the red flags {of a life of pain}?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b>And I did nothing? </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> "But I guess I just don't know the signs." My friend's words hung in my mind {and still are}. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b> Do YOU know the signs?</b></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06167296076230527064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6856607641739006587.post-84444653700261676462013-02-03T17:26:00.002-08:002013-02-03T17:26:38.094-08:00The Secret Behind the Super Bowl <span style="font-size: large;">She sits in the trailer she's been given for the day and waits. She waits for the next man to walk through the door. Some of them are already drunk, barely aware of their actions. Others are sober and completely aware of what they're doing. But it doesn't really matter either way . . . not to her. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> She hears the door open and keeps her eyes on her folded hands in her lap. She wrings her hands in agitation as he walks toward her. He smooths her hair as if she were his child. What he doesn't know is that she's actually two years younger than his own daughter - barely 15. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> She rises from her seat and it takes all that she has within her to smile weakly up at him. She falls onto the bed that has seen countless others just today. She closes her eyes to keep the pain away and tries not to think too much. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Her heart sinks even further into the pit of her stomach and she wonders if she'll ever get used to being in this business. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> Her breath catches in her throat and she fights the tears that well into her once-innocent eyes. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> Her head spins uncontrollably and she's afraid that she'll throw up if she can't bring something - anything - under her control. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> She sits up as he fastens his belt and slams the door behind him, loudly, as if signifying his finishing with her. A single tear escapes and snakes down her face as she wonders how long it will be before he's back again . . . maybe not with her, but with another girl who spends each moment pleading with God to rescue her. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> The room continues to spin and she vomits into a plastic bag. Closing her eyes, she presses her palm to her forehead. Why can't she control anything? Just one thing would be enough. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> <i> Here, use this to numb it.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> Numb what?</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> Everything. </i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> The conversation rings in her head and she reaches into the cabinet, pulling out a bottle of cheap vodka. An older, more experienced girl had shoved it into her trembling hands yesterday after he had told her she was working today. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> Today . . . of all days, had to be her firs<span style="font-size: large;">t</span>. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> She unscrews the bottle and sniffs the alcohol inside. She doesn't drink. She's a good girl. But not anymore. Now she's a girl men come to to get things they<span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="font-size: large;">can't get any<span style="font-size: large;">where else.</span></span></span> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> The self-hatred rises like a flame within her and the vodka burns a path down her throat, but she doesn't care. After a few more drinks, she won't be able to feel anything anyway. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> On her third swallow, she begins to sweat so the burst of cold air feels nice when the door opens. For the few seconds it is open, she can hear the loud cheering and announcers' voices. Then the door is shut and the outside world is gone just as Beyonce takes the stage for halftime. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> But what does it matter? <span style="font-size: large;">Besides, i</span>t's not like she really likes football anyway. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06167296076230527064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6856607641739006587.post-34893034275808583752013-01-22T13:07:00.002-08:002013-01-22T13:11:50.213-08:00But what about the consumers? <span style="font-size: large;">There are parts of my passion for those enslaved in the commercial sex industry that often confuses others (and, at times, even myself). I say that it is my dream to help set free those who are held captive; to help them escape their captors. And that <b>is</b> my dream.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b> But what about the prostitutes?</b> The question inevitably comes from those who are not educated about sex trafficking, and also from those who are. As the question swirls in my mind, I find that I do not have an answer. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> I understand if they're physically held with chains and locks but if they aren't, they could just walk away. </b>This one forces me to bite my lip and hold back the bitter words I want to spew out.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b> </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> They have a choice. They could stop if they wanted.</b> These
statements anger me because I've never considered that those in slavery
have a choice. Then I wonder how much truth they hold, and I have to
listen to some music and forget the debate for a while to keep my head
from exploding.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">* * * * *</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> I think it's easy for those of us whom have never been in contact with the commercial sex industry to sit back and judge the women who provide the services, calling them horrible names and looking down upon them as if they're less than we are. It's understandable; when we think of the word "prostitution", we think of a scantily-clad woman standing in four-inch stilettos on a street corner as she lures men into buying the one thing she has to offer. We think of a half-naked woman dancing on a bar, hoping a man will approach her and ask to go into the back room. We think of a woman high on whatever her drug of choice; a "good for nothing" woman with no work ethic and no future.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b>We think of the women.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> But one question no one seems to ask is, <b>What about the consumers? What about the people who buy the prostitutes' services? </b>Why don't we think about the men that use and abuse these women and shudder with disgust at the thought of them, rather than the other way around? These men treat these women with no respect, with no thought to how these acts must make her feel, and with no care at all to how this one sexual act with him will affect her for the rest of her life. And, yes, the individual men and experiences may begin to fade together and she will do what she must night after night, but those faces, those groping hands, those hardened hearts will continue to haunt her in her dreams. <b> </b></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> * * * * *</b></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b> But what about the prostitutes? </b>I still see a broken and hurting person who needs help to shake off the devil on her back, whatever that may be. I still see a soul who needs the love and grace of God. And I will help her regardless. </span> <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> I understand if they're physically held with chains and locks but if they aren't, they could just walk away. </b>Physical chains and locks aren't the only means of keeping someone in bondage; there is also the need for drugs to avoid excruciating detoxification, lack of anywhere else to go and/or anything else to do for money to support families, and paralyzing fear. In the words of a former prostitute: "The psychological games he played
[with us] were just amazing." Not everything is so black and white. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b>They have a choice. They could stop if they wanted. </b>Imagine being
a single mother with no education and five children who need you to
provide for them, but it's impossible to work because two of those
children are not yet in school and you cannot afford childcare. Even in
imagining that, I know many of you will claim that you would still never
sell yourself. Please don't speak out on something that you don't fully
understand from experience. It's so easy for us to judge from on high those in a pit of despair. Be careful. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> So, my question to you, to American society, to the world; <b>What about the consumers who keep the commercial sex industry booming? </b><span style="font-size: large;">Remember, n</span>o industry can survive without people willing to pay to purchase the product for sale. </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06167296076230527064noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6856607641739006587.post-88489767849872057842013-01-03T16:59:00.002-08:002013-01-03T17:00:44.054-08:00Today Was Not a "Usual" Day<span style="font-size: large;"> Today, I had the amazing privilege of attending <b>CATCH </b>court. CATCH stands for Changing Actions to Change Habits. Sponsored by <b>DOMA</b>, an organization whose motto is, <b>"Empowering women. Embracing children."</b>, CATCH court works to end the ever increasing number of women who enter the cycle of being trafficked on the streets or online, being arrested and incarcerated for solicitation of commercial sex, then being released back onto the streets only to return to the one thing they know: their pimp. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> DOMA's website explains what CATCH court and <b>Judge Herbert</b> is trying to do: </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Judge Paul Herbert of Franklin County Municipal Court responded to
this cry [the cycle of trafficking, arrest and incarceration, and back to trafficking] after years of meeting women in court who were caught up in
Human Trafficking. CATCH is an innovative, voluntary, two-year program
to help ladies trapped in the sex trade. It utilizes a
restorative-justice approach to helping ladies through support,
encouragement, and accountability. It truly meets the needs of ladies in
recovery, and fosters a healthy environment for wholeness and
restoration.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><span style="font-size: large;"> "Franklin County Municipal Court created a specialty docket
court–Changing Actions to Change Habits, (“CATCH”), to address
multi-systemic needs of women charged with prostitution. 125 women were
screened, 96 assessed, 60 accepted and 40 committed to treatment for a
30 day minimum. They are over 18, charged with misdemeanor crimes of
solicitation, and/or prostitution, and request entrance into the 2 year
program. <b>All serve convictions for non-violent crimes; all have suffered
violent crimes done unto them</b>: 77% have traumatic brain injuries; all
were raped an average of 6 times; 90% were orphaned or abandoned by
their moms; 90% have PTSD. They have 13 arrests (on average) in a 2 yr
period; 100% are chemically dependent; 73% were juvenile runaways, the
average age is 34, grade level-10th.)"</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"><img alt="Read the STORIES OF HOPE and WATCH OUR VIDEOS HERE!" class="size-full wp-image-442 " height="234" src="http://www.domaconnection.org/wp-content/uploads/catch-horz21.jpg" title="Read the STORIES OF HOPE and WATCH OUR VIDEOS HERE!" width="324" /> </span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Usually, when I attend an event that is about an issue near to my heart, I come home raving about it. Usually, my fingers are itching to write about my experience and I end up composing most of my post in my head during the car ride home. Usually, the words just seem to flow from my lips and my fingertips, as if I couldn't stop the sentences from forming even if I tried. Usually . . . </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b> But today is not one of those "usual" days.</b> I am having trouble writing a post about the experience that I had today. It's not because the issue at hand is not one dear to me, in fact, the complete opposite. It's not because I didn't enjoy the time that I spent at this event; I absolutely did. It's not because my heart is not breaking for those that I visited today because it most definitely is. It's not because God didn't work in miraculous ways, for I saw so much of Him in the ladies I met. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> I have been trying for hours to figure out what exactly it is that I want to say about the wonderful women I saw today . . . and I have come up empty.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> The women I met today are <b>the most encouraging, courageous, humble,
loving, accepting people </b>that I have ever seen. They laughed with one
another over jokes. They cried with one another when one lady shared
that her grandmother had recently passed away and that the funeral is
tomorrow. They rejoiced with one another at the mention of a woman being
95 days sober. They encouraged one an<span style="font-size: large;">other, <span style="font-size: large;">freely giving their phone numbers so they c<span style="font-size: large;">an call <span style="font-size: large;">o<span style="font-size: large;">ne <span style="font-size: large;">of them when<span style="font-size: large;"> they just need someone. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span>They each felt what others in their tight-knit community
felt <b>. . . and that is a beautiful thing. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> Maybe I can't write about it because words don't even begin to describe what I felt in that room. Maybe it's because I don't feel that a simple blog post does justice to the women I heard speak today. Maybe it's because I don't understand all of what I learned. Maybe it's even because I don't want to acknowledge everything that I heard. Or maybe it's because I'm afraid that if I write about it, I'll "get it out of my system" and forget what I heard and saw and felt. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> But I think, most of all, <b>I can't write about it because I don't want to romanticize their stories.</b> I want them to be raw and real and true, and I don't quite know how to do that. And, even if I did know how, I don't want to tell these stories for those ladies; <b>they deserve to own their amazing stories of hope and redemption,</b> and share them themselves. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> These women are not numbers or statistics or probabilities. Rather, <b>these women are human beings. </b>They have <b>hurt</b> beyond my understanding. They have <b>tragedy</b> within their torn families. They have<b> guilt</b> and <b>shame</b>, just like anyone else. They have <b>brokenness</b> and <b>vulnerability</b> that they try to hide from each other, and even themselves, because this harsh world has taught them that they have no right to feel and that they need to bottle it up inside. They have <b>anger</b>, and every right to harbor that, <b>yet they learn to forgive and let go.</b></span> <br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b>These women amaze me to no end.</b> Where the world sees useless prostitutes who will amount to nothing, I see beautiful children of God. Where the world sees a drug addict and dismisses her as good as dead, I see a woman full of promise and potential. Where the world sees the least of these and turns away, I see the least of these and meet them where they are and help them how I can. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b>"These women are so beautiful,"</b> she whispered to me.<b> Nothing could be more true. </b></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06167296076230527064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6856607641739006587.post-21905210987504302812012-12-26T18:43:00.001-08:002012-12-26T18:43:04.725-08:00Christmas in a Brothel<span style="font-size: large;"> It's Christmas Eve and I lay in bed, curled up under a pile of blankets and my head resting on a fluffy pillow. I close my eyes and begin to drift into a shallow sleep, the place where, on previous Christmas Eves years ago, my head would be filled with dreams of twinkling Christmas lights and beautifully wrapped gifts.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> But not tonight. Tonight, gruesome images startle me and I jerk awake quickly. I calm my breathing and my heart rate slows, but my mind continues to race with unstoppable force. The images flash in my mind's eye and sorrow fills my heart.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> An eight-year-old girl is crumpled in a corner, broken and bloodied, but her heart is too hardened against the world to care. A young teenager struts across a Las Vegas street to meet a customer and slides into the cab, uncertain of where it's taking her, of where she'll end up at the end of the night, of whom she is leaving with. A 20something young woman lays on a table, the tears silently falling from her eyes as a doctor removes the child growing inside her womb, her fourth abortion, because her pimp considers these precious children a hindrance to his business. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> And then my own tears fall and I squeeze my eyes shut, guarding myself against the harsh thoughts that assault me. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I pray and I cry and I fall asleep soundly within the comfort and safety of my home. </span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">* * * * *</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Throughout the Christmas Day festivities with my family, the images reappear at times and I cringe, but they disappear as quickly as they come and I do my best to ignore them. I talk with my relatives, laugh with my cousins, and eat my grandparents' amazing food, almost successfully evading thoughts of children being sold and women my age servicing dozens of men a night. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Tonight, I sit on my aunt's couch, surrounded by my cousins and their children and dogs and four different types of desserts. And I think again of those images that swirled in my head on Christmas Eve and my heart is heavy because I suddenly realize that Christmas has come and gone. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b>What about them? </b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b>My heart lurches and I wonder what Christmas is like for a girl being sold every night. Is it just another night? Does she know it's Christmas? Does she know what Christmas means? Is she filled with sadness that she cannot be with her family on this day? Or maybe anger that her captor keeps her well within his tight grip? </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> And then I feel sick as heat washes over my body, and I wonder who comes to a brothel with money burning in his pocket <b>on Christmas Day?</b> I imagine the state of mind he must be in to do so. I imagine his family and wonder if they know. I ache for the wife he may have, for the children that may be anxiously awaiting his return. I wonder what drove him to that pay-by-the-hour motel that he so often frequents and, <b>yes, even for him, my heart aches. </b></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I know that each and every day is an unimaginable nightmare in the lives of these about whom I dream. I don't overlook every other day of the year for these for whom my heart breaks. But Christmas is a special time of the year; a time when magic seems to fill the air alongside the bell chimes and Christmas carols, when love and kindness abound more than ever before, when the human race as a whole is reminded of the reason for life and we are more gracious and forgiving and loving than usual. Christmas has always seemed a bit mystical to me and I cannot imagine not feeling that way when the snow begins to fall. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b>But for them, oh, how much different it must be . . . </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Christmas. In a brothel in Cambodia. In a pay-by-the-hour motel in L.A. In an abandoned apartment in Ohio. Christmas. As an object of pleasure. As a non-person. As a slave. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b> Tonight, my prayers rise to the cloudy sky for these whom I describe. Tonight, my heart lies with theirs. </b></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06167296076230527064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6856607641739006587.post-36294889651487382122012-11-29T19:54:00.002-08:002012-11-29T19:57:46.563-08:00Oh, the places we go...<span style="font-size: large;"> <b> I am in the process of writing a book.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> Wow. Written out like that, it sounds frightening and intimidating. It also seems a tad self-righteous. I mean, who am I to think that I could write a book? I have no degree in English, Journalism, or Creative Writing . . . in fact, I am not even majoring in any of those areas. Who am I to think that I could write a book about sex trafficking, such a complicated and touchy subject? My Social Work degree is not even halfway complete. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> These thoughts plague me day after day as I struggle to complete this book by the contest deadline. Even now, I'm not certain that it will be done and polished and perfected and ready for the critiquing eyes of others besides myself. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> But even if I hide these pages away from the world, allowing no one but myself to see them, they will still be there. And the characters I have created will still live in my head. And the places that I have described will still exist in my heart. Because <b>places are meaningful.</b></span> <br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">* * * * *</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> I stumbled across <a href="http://comegrowdown.wordpress.com/">a friend's blog</a> today; her latest post is about places and how we leave a part of us in each place that we visit. I know exactly what she means. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> She and I have always been similar in our thoughts and ways we enjoy spending our time. ***I am about to embarrass both myself and her immensely<b> (sorry, Noms!)</b>.*** I can remember countless days that we played in the woods behind my house, pretending to be Indians and Laura and Mary Ingalls and runaway slaves working our way along the Underground Railroad (only us . . . I don't really know where that one came from). We would rather run around barefoot outside than sit in front of the television (then again, neither of us had cable . . . maybe that's why we were - and are - the way we were . . . ). We may not have been the most talkative pair when it came to "real life", but our imaginations made up for that. We became the characters that we imagined and lived the stories we created. <b>Creativity was always our outlet. </b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Now, we both still remember those days; I long for those times where my imagination was vivid and alive and I hope that I can tap into at least half of that creativity that I know is hiding within me somewhere for this book that I am penning. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">* * * * *</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b>She writes of places she's been, places she's cried, places she's dreamed, places she's prayed . . . and I can identify.</b> As she describes the rusted fire escape on her college campus, I see the tree-stand in the woods behind my grandparent's house. As she talks about the spot in the ivy that is still indented even though she's been absent all summer long, I think of my own spot in a tree by the creek behind my house, a place I haven't visited in years. As she writes of the road engulfed in a tunnel of trees, I imagine the path snaking through the trees that I have walked so many times before. As she shares about the dark field that visited when she needed to clear her head, her Super Secret Stargazing Spot, I think of my horse pasture that I frequented when I needed to be alone, yet longed for silent company, which Annabelle and Emily (my <span style="font-size: large;">pon<span style="font-size: large;">ies)</span></span> provided. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDbcsuECVedTM1IrlTlygRgwUPkoXjxnbyklRj683ZAHAJcgXbrcgFjVjVm4uBGQVSxQV-Vg_QvHodDbl6lPBiAtdRpAtfYOpr-Z1rY9ttf-ln3hVzupK9S1jNp6OiwI3NWpXJWfXSrQ/s1600/DSCN0593.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDbcsuECVedTM1IrlTlygRgwUPkoXjxnbyklRj683ZAHAJcgXbrcgFjVjVm4uBGQVSxQV-Vg_QvHodDbl6lPBiAtdRpAtfYOpr-Z1rY9ttf-ln3hVzupK9S1jNp6OiwI3NWpXJWfXSrQ/s320/DSCN0593.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"> And then I think of places that technically do not exist . . . not outside of my mind, that is. The room a seventeen-year-old heroin addict lives in to avoid her abusive mother. The small house built upon the red Ugandan dirt of a young missionary, scared to death, but more scared of what will happen if she does not follow where God leads her. The drive-in theater parking lot where teenage boys go to smoke weed because they want to escape the chaos that is their lives. The natatorium where Olympic dreams are built and worked for, and often crushed. The warehouse full of drugged underage girls being raped five, ten, fifteen times a night by men old enough to be their fathers. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b>These places are those that I have created in my head and heart. </b>Some for stories I've thought up, some for poems I've penned, and some from the book that I am currently pouring my heart and soul into. These places truly and vibrantly exist for me; you cannot tell me that they are not "real". </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> I have left pieces of myself in each one of them. I have cried in that young woman's room . . . I have dreamed in that missionary's home . . . I have<span style="font-size: large;"> cursed the <span style="font-size: large;">nightmare that <span style="font-size: large;">I am living</span></span> </span>in that theater parking lot . . . I have worked harder than I ever thought possible in that natatorium . . . I have begged for mercy in that warehouse . . . </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b>Because I am a writer and I am a dreamer and my imagination flies freely when I let it. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">* * * * *</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> She's right. We do leave part of ourselves in the places that we visit and cry in and dream at. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> And, in my opinion, that includes all places. The ones that you physically visit and the ones that you go to mentally and even the ones that you emotionally create in your heart. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b> <span style="font-size: large;">Pl<span style="font-size: large;">aces are places. And places are mean<span style="font-size: large;">ing<span style="font-size: large;">ful. </span></span></span></span></b></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06167296076230527064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6856607641739006587.post-24799263479419349092012-11-23T19:13:00.001-08:002012-11-23T19:13:59.514-08:00And I give thanks for:<span style="font-size: large;">1. <b>Life;</b> that I was given a chance to live and that I still am being blessed with life to this moment. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">2. <b>Love; </b>that I am blessed with friends and family that love me more than I will ever know.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">3. <b>Being born in America.</b> Lately, I've heard plenty about how we as a nation are destroying America and all it has ever stood for . . . but I am so thankful that I was given this life in this country, free and happy.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">4. <b>Opportunities;</b> that I have been given the chance to finish high school and attend college (complain as I may about it . . . ), that I was able to get a job when I turned 16 years old, still have that job today, and even work a second job during the summer. And, may I add, I job that I love!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">5. <b>Compassion.</b> This may seem like an odd thing to be thankful for, but I truly am. I've heard people talk about having to work to become compassionate towards people. God has blessed me with a sense of compassion that is almost second-nature <b>(though it <span style="font-size: large;">is</span> difficult at times - I am no saint)</b>. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">6.<b> Freedom.</b> Isn't that what this blog is all about? Freedom from captors, from circumstance, from addiction . . . I am thankful for my freedom. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> Though I know that this is a few days late, the past few days I have been thinking a lot about my life and how much it differs from others. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b>My life is a blessing in and of itself</b>, and I think that's worthy of my recognition. I want to (and need to) understand how blessed I am and the best way I could think of to do that was to list what I am thankful for, especially those things that weigh heavy on my mind: life, love, opportunity, circumstance, and freedom. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> These are the things that separate me from those that I long to help. If any one of these things had been compromised during my life, <b>I could have been any of those people that I live to love. </b> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I could have been aborted as an unborn baby had I not been given the chance to live. I could have been an orphan or ward of the state had I not been blessed with the love and circumstances I've been given. I could have been a prostitute surviving on drugs, believing there's no other way for me to support myself, had I not been blessed with freedom and opportunity. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I could have been in so many different situations, yet God blessed me abundantly. And for that, <b>I am thankful beyond words. </b></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06167296076230527064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6856607641739006587.post-47206222222434739062012-11-04T18:36:00.000-08:002012-11-04T18:39:54.423-08:00The Forgotten People of the World<span style="font-size: large;">"When we got here, we felt..." and, among a dozen other adjectives
she listed, I heard one louder and more clearly than all the others: <b><i>
forgotten</i></b>.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> The word resounded in my heart and mind as tears flooded my eyes and I willed them not to overflow.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> <i><b> Forgotten</b></i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> What a powerful word. What a powerful feeling.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">
And, as I sat in that community room in that building decorated with
colorful, hopeful banners surrounded by fences lining the premises with
razor-sharp barbed wire looped around the top of them, I understood.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">
Not that I really understood the extent at which she meant it...I know I
probably never will. Not that I really understood her circumstances...I know I probably never will. Not that I really understood her...I know that I never will. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> But in that moment, I felt like I connected with her. I felt like I understood a small part of what she was trying to get us "outsiders" to understand. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> And besides, I've always been one to notice <i><b>the forgotten people of the world</b></i>. </span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">* * * * *</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Today, I had the priviledge of visiting the Marysville Women's Reformatory during the closing ceremony of Kairos. Some of the residents got to go through a retreat of sorts the past three days and the closing ceremony is where they have an open mic and they stand up and talk about their experiences. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> It's amazing to hear their stories. I've always been fascinated by stories in general, but especially people's life stories. I think it's utterly astonishing to learn what some people endure and even thrive during and after. I think people's stories shed more light on why they are who and how they are. I think it's essential to know a person's story as you get to know them. And these women...wow. They are some of the bravest, strongest, most beautiful, most intelligent, most loving people I've ever met. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> And you know why no one knows about them?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Because <i><b>they</b></i> are the forgotten people of the world. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii-sVARQ5zf9jmTArMasL_QHHNdkvOFxykINoh-PNkSXrh4eff_yFCUQYDB1_zrnzsiMe030qFqF9LeaelIUTor5iUU_xJWs7gW62TOTR1Zx9PhVOGY8Y-RVTNGdCwzlX2IPRpIbyo5w/s1600/forgotten.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii-sVARQ5zf9jmTArMasL_QHHNdkvOFxykINoh-PNkSXrh4eff_yFCUQYDB1_zrnzsiMe030qFqF9LeaelIUTor5iUU_xJWs7gW62TOTR1Zx9PhVOGY8Y-RVTNGdCwzlX2IPRpIbyo5w/s1600/forgotten.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> I've always said that I care about the people no one else does. I care about the ones that others look down on. I care about the people that others question my (I'll admit it) sometimes seemingly obsession with. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b><i>Simply put...I have odd passions surrounding subjects that others my age don't even know about, let alone care about. </i></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i> </i></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> How many of us think daily about those confined within the fences of Marysville Women's Reformatory and so many others like it all over this nation? And, let's face it, even when we do think about them, how often are our thoughts surrounding it caring ones filled with love rather than fear and hatred? </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> How many of us think daily about those children in Uganda, Africa (or anywhere else in the world, for that matter) who have no family, no food, no love, no hope? And even when we do, do we care enough to do something about it? Or even just stop and pray for them?</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> How many of us think daily about those chained to their circumstances and paralyzed by fear in brothels and pay-by-the-hour motels all over the world? And, again, even if we do...are those thoughts ones of love and compassion or judgment and scorn?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> How many of us think daily about those in bondage to their addictions, fighting each and every day for a way to get money in order to score their next supply? And even when we do think about them, do we think of them as people who need help but are too deep in their addictions to realize it? Or do we dismiss them as the scum of this earth?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Today, I realized something. All of my passions can be summed up as one. <b><i> </i></b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i> My passion is for those who are the forgotten people of the world. </i></b></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06167296076230527064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6856607641739006587.post-18089358343689129912012-10-14T19:27:00.004-07:002012-11-23T18:14:32.565-08:00Building a home there...<span style="font-size: large;"> <a href="http://kissesfromkatie.blogspot.com/2012/10/our-van-pulls-into-bumpy-dirt-space.html">Katie Davis</a> writes the most beautiful blog. Her love of the Ugandan people is so evident and I can just imagine her sitting among those lovely people, telling stories and reading Scripture as the grace of God flows from her lips. In her latest blog post about the people of Masese, Uganda and how they have become her friends though they turned away from her and seemed to even hate her when she first arrived in their community with a pot of bean soup, ready to feed the starving, she quotes Nouwen: </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Compassion is not a bending toward the underprivileged
from a privileged position; it is not reaching out from on high to those
who are less fortunate below; it is not a gesture of sympathy or pity
for those who fail to make it in the upward pull. On the contrary
compassion means going directly to those people and places where
suffering is most acute and <i>building a home there." </i></b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i>How beautiful those words are and how accurately Katie Davis has lived them out, and continues to do so. She didn't learn about the countless orphans in Uganda and decide to send money to an orphanage. She didn't see a man struggling with alcoholism and decide to volunteer some of her time at a treatment center. She didn't hear stories about people with no food and decide to donate canned goods to a food pantry. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b> No.</b> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> She learned about the countless orphans in Uganda and adopted thirteen lovely girls who have become her daughters, showing them just how much they are worth...the body of Christ broken and the blood of Christ poured out for them. She saw a man struggling with alcoholism and invited him into her home, helping him detox, showing him that someone cared for him and breathing purpose into his life with every word spoken of the God who could heal him from the battle raging inside him. She heard stories about people with no food and went to them, giving them her own food so that they may have the strength to live a little longer and with a little less pain. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Katie Davis truly doesn't offer fake compassion...she's the real deal. She made a home in Uganda, among the people she now calls friends <b>in order to give them hope of a better life and pour God's love down on them to show them that life doesn't end with one's last breath.</b> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">* * * * *</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> As a sit here and mull over this quote, listening to the wind howl and the rain pound on my roof, my thoughts drift to where they always seem to: the children huddled on the floor of an abandoned warehouse, chained to the walls, dreading the next time the door swings open...the girls hanging their heads in shame and despair on a street corner, popping just a few more pain killers so they won't have to feel the pain so intensely, waiting to be bought... <b>These thoughts seem to live in my head, constantly plaguing me, prompting me into action. </b></span><br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> But tonight I'm not satisfied in writing a heartfelt blog post about my passion for justice and dream of seeing the end of this atrocity. Tonight, I'm wondering what it would look like for me to <b>"build a home there"</b>. <b><i>There</i></b>...in the midst of the commercial sex industry? <b><i>There</i></b>...on the street corner with the least of these? <b><i>There</i></b>...with those who take drugs to evade the constant pain they feel? <i><b>There</b>...?</i></span><br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i>How do I possibly build a home <b><i>there</i></b> where my heart lies? The fear of the danger that<b> </b><i><b>there</b> </i>brings paralyzes me. The fear of the unknown that<b> </b><i><b>there</b> </i>brings terrifies me. </span><br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i>Yet, I know that <i>there</i> is my calling. </span></b><br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> How could I ever build a home <b><i>there</i></b>, where I know I am supposed to be?</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06167296076230527064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6856607641739006587.post-85588377275769224272012-10-11T09:09:00.005-07:002012-11-23T18:15:17.051-08:00They are SURVIVORS! <span style="font-size: large;">President Obama recently spoke about human trafficking and is attempting to make some changes as to how victims of trafficking are viewed and treated in society as a result of a petition that <a href="http://www.ijm.org/">International Justice Mission</a> drafted and I signed.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> In his <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e4DnpRI-5ds">speech</a> as said, "We'll treat victims as victims - not as criminals." Wow. I honestly think this is one of the greatest quotes I've ever heard. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Can you just imagine what would happen if we didn't arrest girls for commercial sex and put them in jail because we understood that they are being forced to do so? Can you imagine what would happen if survivors of trafficking knew that they could confide in and trust the police, the people who are supposed to keep them safe but so often hurt them further? Can you imagine what would happen if we viewed them as people who need help and a way out rather than as a threat to our society? </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDIJBfVk5xwJ0zr_GR_D6l0UzOn9TWyY6kCG3MwneFOFFFSwdxIr579Gz-Xw4upuWSDxVE3uMTlkoPksIn7XisbZjTrnBXi7dm3g2YBu5FRG7oo70to18O29dDoqN8ZfSQdS59SmQSnA/s1600/dark+alley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDIJBfVk5xwJ0zr_GR_D6l0UzOn9TWyY6kCG3MwneFOFFFSwdxIr579Gz-Xw4upuWSDxVE3uMTlkoPksIn7XisbZjTrnBXi7dm3g2YBu5FRG7oo70to18O29dDoqN8ZfSQdS59SmQSnA/s320/dark+alley.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I can.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I believe these survivors would come forward and speak out against their traffickers and what has been done to them. I believe they would realize that there are people in the world who long to help them and not all people want to hurt them as they may have been lead to think. I believe they would begin to view themselves as survivors rather than someone who deserves what has been done to them. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> If we treated them as victims, better yet as SURVIVORS, I believe we could end sex trafficking and the commercial sex industry. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><u>one word</u></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">one word to describe her:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">strong.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">though it seems she's victim to her own circumstances,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">she's a survivor. </span><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06167296076230527064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6856607641739006587.post-75646187902337551052012-09-11T10:36:00.001-07:002012-11-23T18:15:42.882-08:00Too Dangerous to Try?<span style="font-size: large;"> There was a time that I was too afraid to raise my hand in class, let alone venture into the dark, dangerous corners of the earth.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7YbVo28lgvUnYiY79hctPz_iDZVtVFOPzfL9NlxuGUARV-WDtPTQy9RpaHvuG_kuQdXdGpjPXEodWqQfFD4mItMUzrI4YqI4QJ7-sDSJe1ObBKBPolNTE1Ry5HYnAiIui_Qrm9e_qxg/s1600/dark+corners+of+the+earth.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7YbVo28lgvUnYiY79hctPz_iDZVtVFOPzfL9NlxuGUARV-WDtPTQy9RpaHvuG_kuQdXdGpjPXEodWqQfFD4mItMUzrI4YqI4QJ7-sDSJe1ObBKBPolNTE1Ry5HYnAiIui_Qrm9e_qxg/s1600/dark+corners+of+the+earth.png" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I think I'm overcoming that fear. But then that presents an entirely new issue because now there are times that I don't fully think through the situations I may one day find myself in. People have called me naive because I act like I'm invincible. People have called me crazy because I choose not to think about a lot of the dangers that my life work will probably place me in. People have told me that I cannot succeed and they don't understand why I even try to take on such an impossible injustice as human trafficking or orphans in Uganda. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Luckily, I don't really like to listen to people...especially when they tell me that I can't do something. So I will continue on this journey...wherever it takes me and into whatever situations it leads and to whomever I may meet along the way. Because, yes, it's scary sometimes to think about certain situations that I'm likely to end up in. And, yes, it's hard to think about the fact that I can't do everything and I can't save everyone I want to. But I also think it's worth it. Because if I can rescue <b>one </b>person and give them back the rights that were taken from them and show them love that they haven't known maybe ever before in their lives and introduce them to the King of the Universe...I've done my job and I will be satisfied. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> And as to the dangerous part: I think Christine Caine says it best in<a href="http://www.christinecaine.com/content/videos/gjeo5c#.UE9180TmvKw.blogger"> this video. </a></span><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06167296076230527064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6856607641739006587.post-14908029828307290772012-09-10T10:21:00.001-07:002012-11-23T18:18:25.942-08:00Mishpat and Tzadequh: Biblical Social Justice<span style="font-size: large;">***My de<span style="font-size: large;">votional with the high school <span style="font-size: large;">youth***</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span>How many of you guys have heard about or talked about "social justice"? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I often talk about "social justice" - my term to describe making things right with the world in areas where injustice resides. I'm going to school to be a social worker because I want to better society for the people living today and also for the next few generations that will be coming in. I don't want my children and grandchildren to have to worry about these injustices and problems in the world that I worry about today. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I've used the term "social justice" so many times, but I just recently discovered what it means in the biblical sense. There are two Hebrew words used in the Bible that are tied together over 30 times: <b>mishpat </b>and <b>tzadeqah</b>. When tied together, the English expression that best conveys the correct meaning is "social justice". </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Before we start talking about <b>mishpat </b>and <b>tzadeqah</b>, we're going to listen to a song by Sara Groves called "When the Saints". It's kind of like my theme song because it's really inspirational and encouraging even when I feel like I'm drowning in all the injustice of the world. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>(Listen to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xc6X_ZBpqQs" target="_blank">this song.</a>)</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> Also, if you guys have any questions while I'm talking, just let me know and we'll talk about it. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b>Mishpat </b>simply means to treat people all the same no matter what. This includes both punishment and protection and care. If someone does something wrong, they should receive the exact same punishment as the next person and the person after that; no one should get a harsher treatment because they are not as important in the eyes of the world and no one should get a more lenient treatment because they are more important in the eyes of the world. Everyone must be given the same penalty. But <b>mishpat </b>also has another side: giving people their rights and caring for them. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> When <b>mispat </b>is talked about in the Old Testament, there are four groups of people who come up time after time: widows, orphans, immigrants, and the poor. These people were so often talked about in the Old Testament because these were the ultimate vulnerable populations during that time because they had no social power. Today, we could include the refugee, migrant worker, homeless, single parents, and older adults. <b>Mishpat </b>means taking care of them; if we were to neglect them, we would be violating justice because we would not be giving them the rights that they deserve. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b>Tzadeqah </b>means being righteous in relationships; the way you conduct all relationships in your family and in society. They must all be treated with fairness, generosity, and equity - in short, being kind and good in your relationships with everyone. In your family, that may mean helping out around the house; in your friendships, that may mean keeping someone's secrets when they confide in you and not spreading it around to other people; in society, it means to speak up for those who cannot: the unborn baby, the girl forced into prostitution, the man receiving unfair wages...ANYONE who doesn't have the power to defend themselves. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b>Tzadeqah </b>also means being in a right relationship with God. If
everyone were in a right relationship with God, can you imagine what
would happen in the world? If everyone had <b>tzadeqah</b>, everyone would treat everyone else with fairness and love, which means there would be no injustice in the world. If all injustice was eradicated, we would no longer need <b>mishpat</b> because everyone would have the rights that they deserve and no one would need punished. </span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">* * * * *</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> So, how many of you guys have a group of people or a population of people who you are passionate about helping because they are vulnerable and cannot speak up for themselves?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>(Make a list on whiteboard/paper.)</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Now that we have the people we're passionate about helping...how can we help them?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>(Make another list on whiteboard/paper.)</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Okay, now I am going to share with you guys what my passion is and what I am planning to do to help. </span><br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Some of you who have known me for a few years might know that I am really passionate about helping those who are trapped in human trafficking. At first, it was all forms of human trafficking: labor, sex, and domestic. Over time, however, I have become more and more focused on sex trafficking and forced prostitution so now that is my first and foremost passion. </span><br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Before I tell you all what I am doing to help end this, I want to show you a short video that will show you what I'm talking about. This is a promo video for an organization called The A21 Campaign, which is the organization that I will be sending the money I raise to. The lady talking in it is Christine Cain who is the founder of the organization and a huge abolitionist. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>(Watch <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=stxmmQqKL0E&feature=player_embedded" target="_blank">this video</a>.)</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> I love this organization because they know what they're doing. They have both the <b>mishpat</b> and <b>t</b><b>zadeqah; </b>they have lawyers that punish the traffickers and they also have the safehouses where the survivors can go to be cared for and their rights are restored to them. </span><br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Does anyone have any questions about the video or sex trafficking before I go on?</span><br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> For a few years, I've just been talking to people about it, making sure the people in my life know about it and are at least somewhat educated about it. A couple of years ago, the youth group raised about $500 for the Loose Change to Loosen Chains campaign, which helps end human trafficking. And then I graduated high school and went to college and I kind of forgot about these people that I was once so passionate about helping. One day, I suddenly remembered the plight of these girls and women and my heart broke all over again. So, I talked to Josh about an idea that I had and the ball started rolling. </span><br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> We are making Freedom Birds, which we will sell to help raise awareness and remind people to pray for those enslaved in the sex industry. If any of you would like to help sew these, please let me know. </span><br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> So, I was pretty content to just do little fundraising things like this until Kathryn Sabine came to me and started talking about starting nonprofit organization to raise awareness about sex trafficking and eventually open a safehouse to restore the survivors. We're really focusing here in Pickaway County, in Circleville and Ashville because we are convinced that it's happening here. The police may not know about it - actually, I know they don't; they told me it's not - but I want to teach them if I have to because I do not want people to have to live through this horrible reality any longer. When Kathryn told me about her idea, I actually thought she was crazy. I mean, both of us are social work majors, which is great, but neither of us know anything about running a business. But Kathryn thinks that nothing is impossible, so we are doing it! And I am really excited about it, though sometimes it still overwhelms me when I think about it. But I'm learning that big dreams are exciting and so worth the worry they may cause. </span><br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> I'm telling you guys this because I want you all to find something that you're passionate about and do something about it. And don't be like me and be content to settle for something smaller because you think it's not possible - it is. </span><br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> And if you aren't sure what your passion is, pray about it. Pray that God will break your heart with what breaks His; that's the prayer that I prayed and then I learned about human trafficking. He will honor your prayers. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06167296076230527064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6856607641739006587.post-40093880586897097862012-09-02T11:31:00.000-07:002012-11-23T18:19:02.885-08:00Most of you don't even care...<span style="font-size: large;"> "You know what's a shame? That 50,000 people have died of hunger today.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> You know what's an even bigger shame? Most of you here don't even give a ****.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> And, you know, most of you are probably more upset that I said **** than you are about the fact that 50,000 people died today of hunger."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">* * * * *</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> My pastor told this story today at the end of his sermon on Acts 6:1-7. He heard Tony Campolo speak once and this is a quote from him. Acts 6:1-7 is about a problem...and a solution. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> <i>In those days when the number of disciples was increasing, the Grecian Jews among them complained against the Hebraic Jews because their widows were being overlooked in the daily distribution of food. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> The problem: People were going hungry because of injustice in the area. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> <i>So the Twelve gathered all the disciples together and said, "It would not be right for us to neglect the ministry of the word of God in order to wait on tables."</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i>The disciples knew that they needed to help these people but they also knew that they could not let themselves be distracted from the task that God had entrusted them with: to spread the Gospel. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> "Brothers, choose seven men from among you who are known to be full of the Spirit and wisdom. We will turn this responsibility over to them..."</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i>The solution: They chose people to make sure that these people would get food and not go hungry any longer. And, when they chose people to give this mission to, they had high expectations: for them to be baptized in the Holy Spirit and have godly wisdom. They chose people that they knew they could trust. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> <i>"...and will give our attention to prayer and the ministry of the word."</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i>They refused to be distracted from their calling...even by something great!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> This proposal pleased the whole group. They chose Stephen, and man full of faith and of the Holy Spirit; also Philip, Procorus, Nicanor, Timon, Parmenas, and Nicolas from Antioch, a convert to Judaism. </i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i>As my pastor pointed out, these names don't mean a whole lot to us because we don't know these people, we don't know what they mean. However, all these names are of Greek descent, meaning that all of the people that the disciples chose to oversee this mission to feed the hungry were Greek...just like those who needed help. They were so sensitive to the needs of the people they were trying to help and realized that they may have felt like outsiders and needed people who could identify with them! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> They presented these men to the apostles, who prayed and laid their hands on them. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> They did everything with prayer!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> <i>So the word of God spread. The number of disciples in Jerusalem increased rapidly, and a large number of priests became obedient to the faith. </i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i>As a result, they had SUCCESS!</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">* * * * *</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> How tragic to think how true this quote really is... How often do we get stuck sweating the small stuff? We get hung up on denominations...the way people look and dress...pastors cursing during a sermon...kids playing (maybe a little too wild of) a game... There are so many things that are just not THAT important. When it comes down to it, the real question is: Are we showing people who God is and what His love is like? Are we living out our lives for Jesus? Are we being good examples of Christ? </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> <i>The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me, because the LORD has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners. </i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> This is Isaiah 61:1...and it is also Luke 4:18. When Jesus went to Nazareth, we was taken to the synagogue and stood to read. Out of all of the passages that he could have chosen to share with the people gathered there that day, he chose this. This...which told them that he had not come for the popular, the privileged...but instead for the poor, the brokenhearted, the captives, and the prisoners. Because God loves and cares about those people, the least of these, that we so often brush to the side, to the far, dark corners of the earth. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> But because God has a heart for the broken, we should as well. We should care for them and help them because we have been blessed with so much. God has given us more than some can ever even imagine...why? I don't believe that God wanted anyone to go hungry or live in such extreme poverty. So why are we so content to allow it to happen, day after day?</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> And it isn't just those who are hungry either. That's not where God's love and compassion ends, and neither should ours. His heart also breaks for the unborn child about to be killed in that clinic; for the little boy in the orphanage in Uganda or Ukraine, or in a foster home only fit on paper here in America, with no one to love them and show them how wonderful and lovely he is; for the young girl who should be dreaming about being a teacher when she grows up but instead she is not even enrolled in school herself because her parents do not have the money to pay the school fees; for the 21-year-old young woman who has been raped more times than she cares to admit, to think about, because she's been enslaved by her pimp for the past 12 years. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> These situations are so incredibly unjust. Some of them are too difficult for us to even imagine being in because we live in such extreme wealth, whether we realize it or not. But it's time to stand up and refuse to allow this injustice to rule our world. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> We need compassionate generosity. We need to share what we have with everyone else. Why not? If we have to have a little less so someone else can stay alive? </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Really, how big of a sacrifice is that?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i> </span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06167296076230527064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6856607641739006587.post-60910647613965383832012-08-30T08:17:00.002-07:002012-11-23T18:19:42.644-08:00Sometimes, I don't want to hurt anymore...<span style="font-size: large;"> I honestly thought that my heart could not be broken further, could not be shattered into any more pieces...I thought I was as broken as broken can get. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsxnQVY71s1t4VwR19lWaPPJnAjaN1d8D35EacyA_qKUFVfAAfRPhZ-uPzMM0nIFRsVPwBjLaUjj123es3RFpd-o0LUGRMGLV4reNLDRIczW9y71MMwQMZtuM3ViL9IQrxP-zVXbBjuQ/s1600/shattered+heart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsxnQVY71s1t4VwR19lWaPPJnAjaN1d8D35EacyA_qKUFVfAAfRPhZ-uPzMM0nIFRsVPwBjLaUjj123es3RFpd-o0LUGRMGLV4reNLDRIczW9y71MMwQMZtuM3ViL9IQrxP-zVXbBjuQ/s1600/shattered+heart.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b>I was wrong.</b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I feel that each day I am broken even more. When I first learned about sex trafficking, I thought that was the most I'd cry for those women and girls that my heart hurts so much for. When I first realized that there were children who had no family, no one to care for them, I thought that was the most I'd feel for them. When I realized just how much injustice there really is in this world, I thought that would be the angriest that I'd be.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> But each day, it hurts more as I realize that it's just one more day that <b>over 100,000 girls</b> in America must live through the unimaginable as men use and reuse them over and over; just one more day that <b>millions of children</b> in Uganda (and all over the world) must live with no one to love them, no one to show them how lovely they are.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b>And that utterly and completely shatters my heart.</b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Sometimes, I find myself asking when this pain will cease, when I will be able to make it through a day without hurting for these people that I feel so deeply for. <b>Sometimes, I don't want to hurt anymore. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> But then I stop and really think about it...and I'm glad that it has not ceased yet because it motivates me, spurs me to move and work to end these cruelties. And that makes me hope that I will never stop feeling this. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b>Good things will come from my pain. </b></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06167296076230527064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6856607641739006587.post-63879404030147719922012-08-26T17:43:00.001-07:002012-11-23T18:20:18.802-08:00This is her story...<span style="font-size: large;"> She stands on the street corner just outside of the small town. Her clothes reveal who she is, what she does, to those passing by. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>They think I'm worthless...nothing...worse than dirt. In their eyes, the world would be a better place without me in it. </i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i>She is glad that the dark veil hides her face so that they cannot see who she really is. They can glare at her and they can judge her, but really they don't know her true identity. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>If only they knew...</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i>She is young in years on earth but old in life experience. She's been in love, been married twice; both times her husband has died. <i> </i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>God must be punishing me. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> A man approaches her and she knows what he wants. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>That's why I'm here...to service men like this. </i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i>He tells her that he has no cash on him at the moment, but is sure that they can come to a compromise.<i> </i>She knows she has no choice. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>He'll just take what he wants without paying me if I don't agree.</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i>They barter for a few minutes and finally agree on the terms of service. He hands her his expensive watch and chain necklace for her to keep until he returns with his payment, and she takes him to a room. He seems eager for this exchange and it sickens her to think about. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>If only he knew...</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i>And then it's all over and the man is gone and she is left all alone in the world, surviving only by selling what she has...the only thing that she has to offer. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>He never even realized...</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i>A few months pass and she finds out that she's pregnant. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>What am I going to do?</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i>She's scared and alone and doesn't know who to turn to. And then it gets worse. Word gets around town that she is the prostitute that has been spending time on that street corner - her identity is revealed and her reputation is completely ruined. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Oh, the judgment...the condescending looks...the degrading remarks made in passing...</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i>And one day, she is arrested and taken to prison for the solicitation of commercial sex - as if it's all her fault. Nevermind the men who have been with her countless times. Nevermind the man who has gotten her pregnant. Nevermind the circumstances that have forced her into that situation: selling her body just to get by. Nevermind the fact that both of her husbands have died and she is still in immense pain and confusion because of that. Nevermind the fact that her family kicked her out because her husbands died, which has only reinforced her fear of abandonment. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Nevermind... Because she is the guilty one. <i> </i></span> <br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>If only they knew...</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i>The day of her trial comes and there are people all around her, surrounding her, who are condemning her because of what she has done. She looks around at the crowd and she recognizes man after man who have bought what she's been selling.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>How do they sit there and judge me when they've done something just as wrong?</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> And then her eyes come to rest upon one particular man and she is filled with hate and disgust and contempt. He is the one who got her pregnant. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>He doesn't even know...</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i>And she vows to never allow him to hurt her again, no matter what, as she stares with complete and utter hatred at her father-in-law. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvRWFFhwaMN5HnsbHYRdQdVfzlYY_mi9HBbkHD6APJ01YxrbRENq704a8wEwkwwyHqLW8vWRML5CzdikfZ3rG8xlSMzpWCuOvmWRkqrUZCJ5B7-XfkYpJuLoSwhGSrbMzxDajcoiWCdg/s1600/prostitution.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvRWFFhwaMN5HnsbHYRdQdVfzlYY_mi9HBbkHD6APJ01YxrbRENq704a8wEwkwwyHqLW8vWRML5CzdikfZ3rG8xlSMzpWCuOvmWRkqrUZCJ5B7-XfkYpJuLoSwhGSrbMzxDajcoiWCdg/s320/prostitution.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i>Despite my changing a few details...this is the story of Tamar from Genesis 38. My eyes were opened to this story that I'd never heard of (or at least never really paid attention to) while reading <u>From Congress to the Brothel</u> by Linda Smith, founder of Shared Hope International. She relates Tamar's story with the stories of thousands of others around the world and, in fact, right here in America. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i>I'd like to point out that yes, this isn't just happening in India or Cambodia; it isn't just happening in L.A. or Las Vegas (although it's certainly happening in all of these places). It's happening here in Pickaway County. In Ashville. In Circleville. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> There are girls being sold for sex as if they were objects simply to be used for mens' pleasure. There are girls fighting to survive and, in order to do so, must sell their bodies to meet their basic human needs such as food, shelter, etc. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> These girls are not the criminals. They do not intentionally corrupt our community. They do what they do as a result of the already corrupted community...because they know that they can survive by doing it. Sometimes pimps keep them scared and brainwashed to the point that they will never even think about leaving because they know what the consequence will be. Sometimes their circumstances lead them to this situation and they know that they will die if they don't find a way to make money. Sometimes it's a desperate act. But it's still slavery...they are still trapped by something that they cannot control. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> And that is the heart-breaking truth of our society today. </span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06167296076230527064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6856607641739006587.post-89807245101356456472012-08-20T12:54:00.001-07:002012-11-23T18:21:12.061-08:00Holy Discontent<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Holy discontent.</b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b> This is a phrase I had never heard until last night, yet it so fully describes what I have been feeling the past few years. At my life group at church last week, Suzy began talking about <b>holy discontent. </b>She describes it as when you are so uncomfortable with something in the world that you <i>have </i>to do something about it because you can no longer stand it being tolerated. <b>Holy discontent</b> does not mean something you simply think is wrong and disagree with; it does not mean an injustice that you are aware of. It means action. It means that you are so utterly uncomfortable with an injustice that you simply <i>have </i>to do something about it. It means a literal ache in your heart an dyour soul and your very <i>being </i>about something that you know is wrong. It means a call to action that you are so willing to take because you know exactly whta is at risk if you don't: a LIFE. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Human trafficking. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> Three years ago, my heart was completely and utterly shattered. And I thank the Lord that it was. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> When I was sixteen, Linda was teaching the high school Sunday School class through the book "Do Hard Things" by Alex and Brett Harris. It is about teenagers being expected to do literally nothing during their teen years because it's their time to have fun before they have to enter "the real world". These brothers defied that stereotype and challenged themselves and other teenagers to do great things for the Kingdom of God during their teenage years. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> As we read through this book together, Linda challenged us to pray and ask God to break our hearts with what breaks His. I decided to do it and prayed daily for God to show me what He wanted my heart to break over. <b>It turns out that you should be careful what you pray for...God just might do exactly what you ask. He did for me. </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b>But it took a while and just when I began to get discouraged because I didn't think that He was listening, He answered. One Sunday morning, Linda read from "Do Hard Things"<b> </b>and it was about a boy named Zach Hunter who had begun a campaign called Loose Change 2 Loosen Chains, which empowers students to raise money and awareness about modern-day slavery. I was shocked. As a history and book lover, I knew about slavery in the 1700's and 1800's and I knew about Abraham Lincoln and the Emancipation Proclamation, which supposedly gave all human beings in America freedom. <b>I did not know that there are still over 27 million slaves worldwide today.</b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> That day, I went home and did extensive research about human trafficking. I ran across story after story of trafficking survivors and I cried as I realized that this was happening in America. Most of all, I was devastated that no one had told me about this before then and, as I began talking to others about human trafficking, I became angry that no one at all seemed to know about it. <b>I knew then that this was something that I was designed to be broken by, that I was designed to do something about. </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Sometimes, I get so overwhelmed by this injustice that I just want to find the people who are in bondage and free them myself no matter what I may have to do in order to do so. I just want to go looking for them because I so desperately want them to know t<span style="font-size: large;">hat</span> someone loves them, that they are worthy, that they were created by Him for a purpose, that everything that they have endured is not their fault. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Sometimes, I even want to find the traffickers because I want them to know the love and grace of God as well, as twisted as that sounds. When I say things like that, people get so angry with me because they think that I'm condoning what these people have done, the heinous crimes that they have committed. I'm not. I simply don't think we are anyone to judge them. Maybe we haven't sold a ten-year-old into a brothel where she's raped fifteen times a night. Maybe we haven't tricked a sixteen-year-old into leaving the only home he's ever known for a "good job" only to enslave with a lifetime of debt, which he will pay off making bricks in a crowded factory where the death count grows at a tremendous rate. Maybe we haven't forced a seven-year-old to roll cigarettes for eighteen hours a day while she's chained to the table and given only a cup of water and a few crumbs of bread. Maybe we haven't committed these crimes. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>But we have been tolerant of other people committing these crimes.</b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Do you really think your hands are clean? </b>Mine aren't. <b> </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> But I refuse to allow this kind of atrocity to prevail in this world in which I live any longer. I am sick of it and I will work to end it. People have asked me if I really think that I can make any different in such a big world and such a big problem. My answer is simple: <b>I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me, because He has deemed human trafficking as my holy discontent for a purpose - and I will honor that. </b></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06167296076230527064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6856607641739006587.post-61440733748555718272012-08-16T16:55:00.001-07:002012-11-23T18:22:03.173-08:00I dream...<span style="font-size: large;"> A few days ago, I created another blog. I just deleted it.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I thought that if I had something else, another social justice issue, another passion, to write about, I needed to create another blog. I thought I needed to keep my passions separate because they don't belong together because they are so different from each other.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> At first, this blog <u>dreaming of a far away land</u> was about Uganda and its people and my intense longing to go there, to experience life the way that they do, to help...to bring the love of Jesus into their lives. The description of this blog used to read: "Slowly, but surely (and definitely not all at once) I began to fall
in love with Uganda. I fell in love with its <b>people who love Jesus with
all their hearts </b>but own almost nothing, who put their trust in Him
though they sometimes don't know where their next meal will come from.
It's odd that I can be so in love with a land and people that I have
never met. <b>But all of my uncertainty is overpowered by my love of the
Lord who has given me this strange but wonderful love for these people</b>."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> My second blog's description said this: "<b>Three years ago, my heart was completely and utterly shattered. And I thank the Lord that it was.</b> I asked God to break my heart with what breaks His - and He did. Three years ago, I did not know that there are over 27 million slaves in the world right now. Three years ago, I thought America was the land of the free; I thought everyone was treated equally and fairly; I thought our days of owning one another had ended with the Emancipation Proclamation. I was wrong. But I refuse to allow this kind of atrocity to prevail in this world in
which I live any longer. I am sick of it and I will work to end it.
People have asked me if I really think that I can make any difference in
such a big world and such a big problem. My answer is simple: <b>I can
do all things through Christ, who strengthens me</b>, because He has deemed
human trafficking as my holy discontent for a purpose - and I will honor
that."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The people of a country I've never seen and people whose freedom is locked tight by another. </b>I thought that these two passions were way too different to combine together, to share a blog. But then I started thinking. I have one purpose when working with both of these communities of people: <b>to bring the hope and healing and love of God into their lives.</b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I have two passions...so what? I have no doubt - in fact, I have complete faith - that the Lord will use both of them for His glory. I used to think that I had to choose one because I needed to give my entire life to one certain thing. I was wrong, again. My one purpose in life is to live for God and to work for the glory of His kingdom. I can do that wherever I am, in whatever I am doing. I know that there's a reason that I have a heart for both the people of Uganda and victims of human trafficking. If there weren't, God wouldn't have laid both so heavily on my heart.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> So now <u>dreaming of a far away land</u> is about more than just Uganda and its people. This blog is about me living for Jesus, however that may be.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b>I dream about Uganda.</b> I dream about the red dirt that covers everything that I've heard so much about. I dream about children playing in the streets, waving to passersby. I dream about women gathering to make beads to earn a living. I dream about all of these beautiful things. And then I think about the reality of most of the people in this foreign country...and my heart breaks. I think about children, starving to death because they were abandoned two years ago. I think about mothers being forced to sell themselves on street corners to earn enough money to feed their children. I think about fathers leaving and never coming home to their families. And I realize how broken the world is. And I long to jump on a plane and go to Uganda and see these children and mothers and fathers that I dream and think about so often.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b>I dream of a ministry that shelters those rescued from sex trafficking and prostitution in Pickaway County.</b> I dream about room after room of nice beds and bathrooms in a safe place so that they may sleep soundly. I dream about Christian social workers and psychologists and doctors and lawyers coming together to help these women and girls overcome their fear of the world. I dream of people coming to Christ and learning to love again, softening hearts. And then I think about the circumstances that these people first must be in to fuel this kind of ministry...and my heart shatters. I think about girls who have not yet reached puberty being raped twenty times a night. I think about women who have been enslaved more of their lives than free. I think about girls being beaten, physically and emotionally, until they are no longer human, until they are just a shell of the person that they used to be...because its easier to sell something that's submissive and obedient rather than someone who will stand up and refuse to be broken.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> In short, I dream of heaven. I dream of a new earth. I dream of a world free of sin and evil. And I know that it will come; that I will no longer have to dream one day because it will be a reality. When Jesus returns, He will create a new heaven and a new earth - and it will be beautiful. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><img height="480" id="il_fi" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDet0Z407Jx-5cYBjomX9Dd4e0r4_2uJxa2jUKxXYfElZy5SBrV6r4obOH9AAg0f3wqrwFUVwfa0zs-fgOwiqEUB8BJpwdlDPYL2Bo2g31_fB9STK0tHy7sW5TpZ9ehyphenhyphen3XSKmnbKivzI0h/s1600/heaven.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="640" />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06167296076230527064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6856607641739006587.post-40003627130363765222012-07-11T19:03:00.001-07:002012-11-23T18:22:39.824-08:00Homesick for a foreign land...<span style="font-size: large;"> “Every dreamer knows that it is entirely possible to be homesick for a
place you've never been to, perhaps more homesick than for familiar
ground.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> This quote by Judith Thurman caught my eye because it so entirely fits the theme of this blog. I don't know who Judith Thurman is, I've never even heard of her...but I love her thinking!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> All my fellow dreamers out there, you know what homesickness we are talking about. That feeling that you get right after you finish a really fantastic book that you never wanted to end because it was just so awesome...that's what I'm talking about. That intense longing to go back to wherever it was that you were within those pages. When you look up after you've just read and read and re-read yet again the last few lines of that novel because you can't believe that it's really the end, and you realize that you've just taken that whole journey all by yourself despite the wonderfully magical friendships you've made with the characters along the way. And as much as you want to talk about it with someone just as you would after you've gotten home after physically going somewhere...you can't. Because no one else has been where you've been and they don't understand. I often try to tell my family all about my journeys through book after book, but they don't understand because they haven't gone on it and, until they do, I'm on my own. I've longed for the prairies of Minnesota (just to be with the Ingalls family...), for the bush of Africa, for the busy-ness and anonymity of New York, for the carefree-ness of California...I've longed for many places. Only, my homesickness transcends just place to interfere with time as
well. I've dreamed of the Wild West, of Victorian England, of the 1930's in Virginia
(just be with the Walton family...). </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> And sometimes, when my imagination is really running free, I find myself homesick for places that don't even exist;
places that you could never find on a map because they simply are not
there. They are in my imagination and I love these places and I sincerely wish that they were real because I would just spend my life there, in the land that I've created in my mind. I tried to create one of my places that is in my imagination once. I went out into my woods where there is a little creek bubbling through the long grasses and tall trees and wild flowers. When the sun hits the greenery just right, I swear it's like magic. It's the most magical place I've ever seen...and it's just yards away from my house. So, I decided to build a little house out of tree branches and braided grass and decorate with flowers and old glass jars. Unfortunately, it didn't survive the next summer storm...but it was so wonderful while it lasted. And, surprisingly, it actually did resemble the land in my dreams. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> This feeling...this longing...this <i>homesickness</i> (which is just the greatest way to describe it, though I'd never thought of it until this quote came along)... It's happened so often and intensely to me that I'm getting used to it. I'm kind of glad because it's like I am constantly being ripped apart at the hands of a paperback. But at the same time...I hope that I never get entirely used to it because that means that part of my imagination would become average, and average is definitely not my goal. Maybe it was once. But not anymore.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> And so this is the way that I feel about Uganda. Though I've never been there, though I've never set foot on that land, I long to be there. It's strange and it's confusing, even to me, but I know that it's somehow so right. </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06167296076230527064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6856607641739006587.post-83117689418450305222012-07-08T15:14:00.001-07:002012-11-23T18:23:24.228-08:00Oh, the mystery...<span style="font-size: large;"> I want to know the woman who made this bracelet I now wear. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr7Xbkanp4_guf5SeZ1bZJGXadufCRXxJGSJ2iWCXwWtvQnKtpXurLqmUjmWXHaVgBFjU86cKT4uazUMAiqCmaufOBZmJh45E3AqL3NmLolRnGhPXjA2EzOdhJ7OXIej31pJVfjijhzg/s1600/DSCN0830.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr7Xbkanp4_guf5SeZ1bZJGXadufCRXxJGSJ2iWCXwWtvQnKtpXurLqmUjmWXHaVgBFjU86cKT4uazUMAiqCmaufOBZmJh45E3AqL3NmLolRnGhPXjA2EzOdhJ7OXIej31pJVfjijhzg/s320/DSCN0830.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I long to know her story, her life. I want to know the good and the bad. I want to know what circumstances she has been in, the hardships she has endured. I want to hear the pride in her voice when she tells me that she can send her children to school now because she has a steady income from these bracelets she makes. I want to see the relief on her face as she tells me that she doesn't have to brew alcohol or sell her body to put food on the table anymore. I want to sit with her and just talk. I want to see her home, however small and barren it may be. I want to spend a while with her, living the life that God has so graciously, for some reason, spared me from. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I want to become uncomfortable. I want to become so uncomfortable with my life and the way that I am living; so frivolously, in such incredible abundance. I want to understand the condition some people live in so that I may be more thankful than I am, so that I never again take the things that I have for granted. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I want to see her smile when I tell her the bracelet is beautiful. I want to look her in her eyes and tell her that SHE is beautiful, that SHE is lovely. I want to speak words of love into her heart, I want to be an instrument the Lord uses as He breathes life into her soul. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>...the LORD, who remains faithful forever. He upholds the cause of the oppressed and gives food to the hungry. The LORD sets prisoners free, the LORD gives sight to the blind, the LORD lifts up those who are bowed down... </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> - Psalm 146:6-8</i></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06167296076230527064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6856607641739006587.post-81269865135326286792012-07-07T11:16:00.001-07:002012-11-23T18:24:04.014-08:00Just show up...<span style="font-size: large;"> "I don't really know what's going on, I just show up," he said with a smile as he climbed onto the block, preparing himself for the race ahead. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> This wonderful sentence came out of one of my swimmer's mouths this morning at our swim meet. And so I began thinking. How often do we all feel that we need to know EVERYTHING in order to do ANYTHING? For example...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> "I can't work in the nursery - I don't even have kids yet." </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> "I can't write a book - I don't have a degree in English or Journalism." </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> "I can't teach Sunday School - I'm not a teacher." </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> "I can't sing/play in the praise band - I haven't had music lessons." </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> "I can't help with the youth group - my kids aren't teenagers yet, I don't know how to connect with them."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Seriously? We don't have to know everything (or even ANYTHING) about what it is that we are led to do. Like my swimmer understands (at least partially), God isn't going to not use us just because we don't know everything. He just wants us to show up and let Him work through us. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> If I was too afraid of going to Uganda just because I don't know things, I'd never go. Let's re-cap everything I don't know that has to do with going to Uganda:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">1. the language</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">2. BABIES (I'm going to use the "I don't have any yet" excuse here...)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">3. how to board a plan (seriously, I should've paid more attention on those mission trips...)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">4. how to make my own food (most of what I eat is prepackaged and frozen)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">5. how to do my laundry in the sink (I did this in Dominican...I might remember?)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">6. how to live without electricity for long periods of time as often happens there (longest time without power: 8 days) </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> So, yeah, it's scary leaping into the unknown and having to fully trust that God is going to take care of you. But it's so worth it! I think I'm ready to try just showing up and letting God do the rest. Because, seriously, <b>what am I going to do that God can't do better?</b> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06167296076230527064noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6856607641739006587.post-52102536854746253962012-07-06T19:51:00.003-07:002012-11-23T18:25:20.635-08:00Christians don't have fun...? <span style="font-size: large;"> I don't know where we get the idea that Christians don't have fun. I mean, seriously? And yet, I find myself thinking that often. When I was little (fine, I'll admit it...I still do sometimes), I dreamed of being a singer (country, of course!). I never thought of being a Christian singer because "they don't do fun stuff with their music and shows". Right. You clearly haven't been to Icthus. When I was twelve, I dreamed of being a writer (still dreaming...) and, again, I never thought of being a Christian writer because I wanted to write "exciting stuff". Go read a Terri Blackstock or Ted Dekker book. Exciting enough for you? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> We, as Christians, have the best, most exciting story to tell and song to sing. And it all points back to the One who created us and gave us our talents, whatever they may be.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> To everyone who is still convinced that Christians don't have fun, I have a few suggestions for you:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> 1. Icthus Festival (<a href="http://www.ichthusfestival.org/" target="_blank">http://www.ichthusfestival.org/</a>) and/or Alive Festival (<a href="http://www.alive.org/" target="_blank">http://www.alive.org/</a>) - it's Woodstock BUT Christian!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> 2. International House of Prayer (<a href="http://www.ihopkc.org/" target="_blank">http://www.ihopkc.org/</a>) - go to a worship service. Most amazing worship EVER! Or just live stream one on your computer and have your own little worship service.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> 3. Go on a mission trip. Period. It can be anywhere - outside of the States, in the States, whatever. Truthfully, it does not matter. God will use you (and the people who - apparently - you are supposed to be ministering to...oftentimes, I've learned more from them than I think they learned from me). Some of my favorite memories involved mission trips.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> 4. The Way Skatepark (<a href="http://thewayskatepark.org/" target="_blank">http://thewayskatepark.org/</a>) - I have NO idea how to skate and, truthfully, it scares me to death every time I go and see these kids flying around the building. But they love Jesus and they love to have fun and it's a blast to see them doing so! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> So, here's to the music video that inspired this post. Do you see how much fun these guys are having, performing their music and giving all the credit to their Lord and Savior? And, let's face it, this is one of the coolest songs I've heard in Christian music in a while. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=he32vwlKQPY">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=he32vwlKQPY</a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>All i know is I'm not home yet </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>This is not where I belong </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Take this world and give me Jesus </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>This is not where I belong</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> - </i>"Where I Belong" by Building 429</span><i> </i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06167296076230527064noreply@blogger.com0