5 Minutes with Discipulus

I'm being interviewed over on the Discipulus website today. My friend Moe asked me some killer questions. Like:

• Having served in Africa for thirteen years, what is the greatest lesson that you learned?

• You have gone through so much in life, and yet, you choose to love. What is the driving factor behind that love?

• Jesus asked His disciples, “Who do you say that I am”? Who do you say that He is in your life?

So to hear me unpack discipleship, soapbox about "avoiding the appearance of evil", and speak courage to fearful hearts (including my own), link over and read through the interview.

You are invited to ask questions in your comments there on the post, so if there's anything you wanna know about/from me... feel free to ask!

Hope to see you there...

in the cleft of the rock

"God said, 'Look, here is a place right beside me. Put yourself on this rock. When my Glory passes by, I'll put you in the cleft of the rock and cover you with my hand until I've passed by.'"

~ Exodus 33:21-22

Sometimes when it's the darkest...

God is the closest.

heart homelessness

Sometimes I feel like my heart is homeless. As though she has nowhere to land. And I'm swallowed up by loneliness, even if I'm surrounded by people. And my feelings are all over the map rather than in one specific place. And home—a place where I feel safe, understood, seen—is nowhere in sight.

Each of us walks such individual journeys, that even someone who has been somewhere similar still can't fully understand the place we find ourselves in. There is a unique loneliness that comes with our paths. A loneliness that cannot be avoided. An inevitable they-just-don't-get-it-ness.

Heart homelessness.

Sometimes it feels more overwhelming, and sometimes I don't feel it at all. It comes and goes like the tide, though without predictability or rhythm.

And my heart's left carrying around her makeshift cardboard shelter... always looking for a place and a people that feel like home.

I know deep down that Home is only in Christ. That He is my shelter, my refuge. He is my security. In Him I am always seen, known, understood, loved, and safe.

But I also think He calls us to find a mirrored sense of home in community.

In those times when it happens, it is absolutely beautiful! A miraculous gift... I have lived this, experienced this, time and time again. There are no words to describe the matchless wonder of this tangible extension of our Heavenly Home...

Yet relationships have seasons... Friends move on... Even the best-intended aren't always trustworthy (myself included)... And everyone's journeys are different (even when they are similar)...

So sometimes our hearts simply have nowhere to land...

What then?

I don't know...

As usual, my writing (like my heart) takes the shape of a question mark rather than a period. And so instead of presuming to have an answer, I ask you...

What do you do when your heart feels homeless?

monday morning confession

I love kitchen gadgets—well, to be honest, I love pretty much anything kitchen-related—but I don't even like to cook. I figure that if I have to do it, I might as well do it with the best stuff out there.

Makes perfect sense to me!

Okay... Your turn.

[see previous monday morning confessions...]

bittersweet

When people hear I got divorced after 10 years of marriage, the question is inevitable. "Do you have kids?" I usually purse my lips together and shake my head while I answer. "No... No kids."

And then I hold my breath.

Because nine times out of ten, the response is the same. And I catch myself bracing for it.

"That's good."

I keep my lips pressed tightly together, and slowly nod obligatorily.

I understand what they're saying. With as much as my life fell apart when my husband decided to leave with another woman, I am grateful there weren't children's hearts also so deeply wounded. So yes. That part is good.

But what most people don't realize is there is such a bittersweetness there.

I don't not have kids because I didn't want them.

I longed to have children, and we were finally at a place of attaining certain goals that would allow me to step back from working full-time so we could start a family. And the irony is that he began pushing for a baby right when he started his affair. And since I knew something was going on—even when I didn't know how bad it really was—I knew adding a baby into the mix wouldn't "fix" anything. So I'm the one who made the decision to wait. Because I needed to be sure we were okay.

And we weren't.

And we never had kids.

So while I'm glad there weren't little people dragged through the devastation of my past few years, and I'm beyond thankful I don't need to figure out an international custody arrangement, there is also a huge sense of loss for what could have been... and for what will never be.

It's an added layer of grief. Of mourning. Of letting go. Of uncertainty about ever having the opportunity again.

So yes. "That's good." But it also sucks.

Just think twice before you make a quick remark to someone. We never know the whole story. We can never comprehend the full situation. Don't presume. Don't preach. Ask.

Ask questions. Hear what the other person is thinking... feeling... saying... not saying...

Don't jump to conclusions.

Just ask.

And love.

Originally posted at Deeper Story. Read the comments there >