me 2.0

I just stumbled upon the beginnings of a blog post that's been collecting dust in my drafts folder since January. I am the queen of unfinished ideas and unpublished posts. Sigh...

Anyway.

Back in January I attended Dream Year Weekend here in Nashville. I was wrestling through my own feelings of dreamlessness, and didn't know how to reconcile that with all the amazing stuff I was hearing at Dream Year. I had some candid conversations with a few key friends to help me sort through my own heart thoughts.

Segments of one of those conversations (a text convo at that!) have been sitting in my dusty draft blog post folder all this time.

It is amazing to see the truth and strength of the words spoken to me almost a year ago, and how they have taken shape in my life over the course of this year.

The cliff-notes version of my friend's wisdom:

• You don't need to find a new vision.
• Your vision, purpose, and passion are the core of who you are. You are all about influencing people to change for the better and to pursue Christ. That is your heart, and that hasn't changed.
• Your ministry in Africa was the vehicle and tool you used to express that and live that out for 13 years.
• Now you need to discover a different vehicle and tool to express it. But your heartbeat hasn't changed.
• That's why you've continued to be an influence through your blog, your relationships, & your Twitter interactions. That is simply who you are, no matter what.
• As you look forward into the future, the vehicle for living that out and expressing it will need to change. But the essence of who you are and what your passions are won't.
• Let's work on discovering a new vehicle...

That was a whole lotta wisdom and a whole lotta truth. In a text conversation. That my friend probably doesn't even remember having.

You know what I titled the draft post I had those bullet-points saved in?

"Me 2.0"

And a year later, I find myself finally realizing and embracing that.

Me 2.0.

I've begun recognizing ways that my passions and heart can continue to be lived out, even though my ministry in Africa closed. Even though it looks totally different than anything I'd ever anticipated.

So as I sit here thinking through all this, and finally turning this dusty draft into a real, live post... all I keep thinking is this:

You really never know how impactful your words can be in someone's life. Even a simple text message can make a world of difference.

So, today...

Speak into your loved ones' situation. In person, on the phone, in an email, via text... whatever. Just speak life into their heart.

They need it even more than you'll ever know.

i'm sorry

When my husband confessed to his affair, my world began crumbling out from under my feet. Actually, the crumbling started almost two years before, when the infidelity and incessant lying began. With each piece that shattered, I withdrew into myself a little bit more.

When all this started, and all I had was a gut feeling and doubts and stories that didn't seem to line up, we were the leaders of a non-profit organization. I didn't know how to deal with what I feared might be going on, and I certainly didn't know who I could talk to.

So this quiet girl grew even quieter.

Then doubts gave way to undeniable proof...

And then the bombshell was dropped that he was done. With me. With ministry. With all of it.

And he walked away.

And while it didn't seem like it was even possible, I withdrew even more.

In the past few years, I have fought through divorce, depression, chronic health issues, the closing of our ministry, the loss of my home, the seeming loss of me... And while I am ashamed to admit it, I haven't had the energy, strength, time, or resolve to pour into my friendships. Not like I used to. Not like I'd want to.

I simply haven't had it in me. Leaning into people seems to demand more of me than I've had left.

So emails and Facebook messages have gone unanswered. Calls have been unreturned.

In a lot of ways, I fell off the face of the earth when it fell out from under me.

And in the process of that, I know I've hurt some people. Some people I care deeply about. People who mean very much to me. People who infused me with strength through their emails and texts and voicemails, even if I didn't know how to reach out and respond.

My lack of communication has communicated that I don't care, and that's the farthest thing from the truth.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry for any way I may have disregarded, dismissed, or ignored your gestures of love and friendship.

I'm sorry for not speaking up, even if it were only to say that I have no words.

Please forgive me.

Anything YOU want to get off your chest?

taking it deeper: the double-standard of my heart

Photo credit: taliesin from morguefile.com

For years I've prayed for my ex-husband’s heart to return to the Lord.

For him to feel the conviction of the Holy Spirit.

For the consequences of his decisions and actions to open his eyes to how deceived he’s become.

For him to hit rock bottom.

For God to do whatever it takes to get his attention.

But if I’m being most honest, I haven't been as concerned with his repentance as I am with wanting him to feel the weight of what he’s done.

The reality is that I sometimes still want him to hurt like I’ve hurt, more than I want him to live forgiven and free.

I’ve had to come face-to-face with the double-standard of my heart.

Because my struggle to genuinely pray not only for his repentance but also for his forgiveness really only means one thing—

I don’t realize just how much I’ve been forgiven.

I want to accept the work of the cross for my sins, but not for my husband’s.

As if my sins have been lesser.

Or even fewer.

When they are neither.

“…God’s kindness leads you toward repentance.”

I remember gasping out loud when I saw that verse as if with new eyes.

And I’ve wrestled with Him long and hard over the implications of it.

It has taken me a very long time to get to this point, but I’ve begun praying—still with tear-filled eyes—for God’s kindness to lead my ex-husband to repentance.

I’ve started asking God to smother him with His goodness and grace and mercy.

Some days it’s easier to pray that way than others.

Some days I can’t at all.

On those days, I just sit in the reality of what it truly means. And I pray for God’s kindness to lead me to repentance.

Originally posted at Deeper Story. Read the comments there >

this is my story

I moved to Africa with a couple of very-full suitcases, $200, and a heart-cocktail of faith, naivety, passion, and foolishness. I was only 19. I didn't know much, but I knew that I loved Africa and her beautiful people. I didn't set out on any grand mission or with any huge goals. I just wanted to meet needs where I could, and see what God would do with my meager fish-and-loaves life. I was hopeful that He could write a magnificent story for me and with me.

In the chasing of my dream, I found love. I got married, and together we pioneered a ministry that trained leaders and taught AIDS prevention in the poorest region of South Africa. God did astounding things. Constantly.

I watched Him open blind eyes, show up with eleventh hour provision, stop wildfires from destroying our mission base, and radically transform lives by His Spirit. After a decade of ministry, our team had grown to over 60 staff members, primarily African nationals. We trained over 100 pastors a year and taught 4000 public school students each week about living lives of purity and purpose.

God was writing a story I never could have imagined.

He truly multiplied our fish and loaves to nourish the masses. He created something out of our nothing. He made life out of our brokenness.

And then the story changed dramatically.

Everything crumbled to pieces when it came out that my husband had been unfaithful. For a year and a half. With a staff member, a friend of mine.

The pieces shattered even further when he announced he was done---with me and ministry. No matter how tightly I tried to cling to it all, I couldn't hold any of it together. Not my marriage or my ministry or even my life... Everything seemed to unravel out from under me.

I fought both my story and the Story-teller. This isn't how it was supposed to be!

It felt as though my story came to a screeching halt. But He kept writing...

After 13 years of ministry in Africa, I was forced to close down our operations in December. I permanently relocated back to the States, walking away from my home, my work, my community, my vision, my history.

I've been divorced for a few months now. It still feels strange to say, and even stranger to truly accept at a heart level. Losing someone by their choice evokes a grief deeper than death. There is loss and there is hurt. There is sadness and anger and mourning and relief and remorse. Sometimes all in the very same breath.

And underneath it all is the hole left in my everyday by the loss of someone I've lived one-third of my life with. It's the small things I miss the most. Our comfortable routines. Our stupid jokes that no one else would ever think is funny. The way he'd draw diagrams when he was explaining something to me. His laughter...

The missing is deep. It's a missing of what was. A missing of who was. A missing of what could've been. A missing of the story I was once living.

It's as though I lost not only my future, but also my past.

I can't find words to really capture what it means to feel as though I've lost my own history, but lately that is what I'm grieving the most. I don't have a single person left in my life who walked that African road with me from start to finish. No one who was with me for all the memories, all the provision and lack, all the joys and heartaches. No one to corroborate what happened, fill in the blanks where my memory forgets, simply remember with me.

There is a unique loneliness in that.

And even as I type these words with no clear end in mind, I hear Him whisper: I was there. Sigh... To be honest, it is so hard to feel content and satisfied in that. But I know it's true. He was there with me. In Him I still have history.

His. Story.

My history is more His story than mine anyway.

Whether  or not anyone else knows the details, or my fuzzy brain loses track of it all, or I ever get to speak them out loud again, they are still there. They are His. And they are mine. No matter what.

In Him I still have a future. It is going to look very different than the one I'd been on track towards just a few years ago. It will be nothing like I ever thought it would. But He is already there, going before me to prepare the way. And to prepare me.

My story is more than the sum of my experiences. It is more than what I have seen and done and endured. It is more than what has happened to me.

I, too, am more than the sum of my chapters. I am more than my past or my present or my future. I am more than my history, forgotten or remembered.

I am His.

No matter what.

And that is my story.

: : :

Published in the Praise & Coffee online magazine. Follow @praiseandcoffee on Twitter. Click below to see the entire magazine.

refine us

Some friends of mine, Justin and Trish Davis, have walked a road similar to mine. But ended up in a completely different place. After infidelity and separation, their marriage has been restored and God uses their story to minister to countless people every week. I believe strongly in them and their ministry, and felt really burdened to pray for them on Monday. Through that, I ended up writing something for them that they put up on their website today.

I'd love it if you'd link over to Refine Us to read my post and, ultimately, find out more about the incredible ministry and resources there.

Maybe this is for you...