second decade (2 of 3)

Here are some more lessons from my first decade of ministry that will help me as I head into my second.

• Do what only you can do. There is so much work to be done, and in the early years you're forced to be involved in all of it as you get things off the ground. As soon as possible, though, start delegating. Determine those things that only you can or should do, and focus more of your time on doing those things. Delegate anything that doesn't fit into that. Spend your time and energy on that which makes you the strongest asset to your team.

• Give authority with responsibility. If you give someone a job, give them full authority to actually do it. Paint the picture of the end-result you're looking for, but give them the freedom to determine how they get there. Micro-management inhibits impact. Trust your team; they have strengths in areas you don't.

• Do it afraid. Don't wait until you have all the answers or feel fully confident before you step out and do what God's called you to do. Courageous leadership means making tough choices when you don't feel brave at all. Fear paralyzes, but courage shrugs its shoulders and takes a step anyway.

second decade (1 of 3)

I've been in Africa for almost ten years---ten years that seem like a lifetime. I arrived as a clueless 19-year old, with nothing more than a heart for the people of Africa and a suitcase filled with things I deemed important. I've learned a lot on this journey and know I will only continue to learn more. Here are some lessons from my first decade of ministry that I'm taking with me into my second.

• Get clarity on your vision, and stick to it. There will always be a ton of things you can do, but you need to focus on what you should do. Get clarity on the specifics God has called you to, and use that as the yardstick you measure every opportunity against. If you're presented with something that's a great idea, will impact a lot of people, and help meet a need, but doesn't line up with the vision God's given you, say no. Just because you can doesn't mean you should.

• Everyone should know the vision. Your vision statement shouldn't be restricted to a plaque on the wall or a page on your website. It should drip out of you every time you open your mouth. It should come up every time you address your team, explain a decision, or talk strategy. Your team should hear the vision so often that they can--and do--easily share it with others. That means it needs to be concise; if you can't sum up your vision in one sentence, you need more clarity. Momentum in ministry only occurs when everyone's clear where you're headed.

• The right people make all the difference. Look for people who support the vision, are high in competence, are strong in character, and with whom you have chemistry. They need to be passionate about going in the same direction as you, otherwise they'll bring division. Your work is too important not to have people who are skilled at what they do; don't settle for those who are simply willing to serve. You also don't want someone who is extremely gifted but lacking in character; integrity matters highly. And while it's foolish to expect everyone to be best friends, it's vital that a staff member clicks with their supervisor and direct coworkers; the emotional taxing that occurs otherwise just isn't worth it. A strong team multiplies ministry effectiveness.

bare-handed

The story of creation is an incredible one. For so many reasons. But mostly---at least for me, anyway---because it shows so beautifully the unmatched worth we have in God's eyes.

God spoke everything into existence, which is a whole mind-blowing thing right there. "Let there be..." and there was. That is just incredible in a way I can't fully comprehend. And a reminder to me of how my words have the power to create or destroy. Yeah. IN-credible.

So there God was, balancing between time and eternity, forming galaxies, hippos, mountains, and clown fish with His words. But when He created mankind, He used His bare hands. He stooped down to make us great. Words would not suffice. He wanted us to bear His thumbprint.

"The Lord God formed the man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life..."

I can just picture His monstrous hands playing with the dirt as He creatively and carefully decided how we should be put together. I've seen pictures of some pretty amazing sand sculptures, but I'd say that God's takes first prize.

He loved us enough to form us with His own hands. He wanted to hold us, rhythmically massage our hearts to kickstart their first beat, and be the first thing we saw when we opened our eyes. I'd venture a guess that our first case of goosebumps came from Him caressing our skin.

And then He breathed into us. Face to face, we inhaled our first breath as He exhaled into our nostrils. I cannot even fathom the worth, the wealth, of that breath of life. Woah.

God still wants to get down and dirty with me. When my life is a mess or it feels like I'm wallowing in the mire of my emotions and circumstances, it's easy to think God is far-removed from it all. But He's right here in the dirt next to me. It's nothing new to Him. He's been there, done that. And more than willing to do it again.

How can I doubt that God wants to be intimately involved in my life when He made me with His own bare hands?

the truth you know

"Let us live up to what we have already attained." What I hear in that statement is act on the truth you know.

I may not feel ready to do the next-right-thing that's in front of me. I may feel as though I lack the knowledge, skills, or sheer courage to put one foot in front of the other. I may not know the fullness of what to do to fix any given situation. But I typically know enough to start. I can act on the truth I know. I just usually don't.

It's easier to wait for God to lay it all out. Because then my paralysis is His fault, not mine.

When I feel overwhelmed by a situation or an aspect of myself I need to work on, the enormity of it all makes me shrug. "I just don't know where to start." Because I don't know how to do it all, I do nothing.

And I call it "waiting on God". Meanwhile, He's waiting on me.

Why should I expect God to show me the whole plan when I'm not being obedient to the small thing He's already shown me? Why should I expect Him to keep speaking when I haven't acted on what He's already said?

As small and inconsequential as it may be, I need to do the bit I know to do. Take that first step. And trust that His light will shine at the exact moment I need to know what to do next.

I love the encouragement and challenge that's wrapped in the charge to "press on," a mere two verses earlier. I've never read on, though, and continued the thought. It's as though the next part is telling me how to press on. By living up to what I've already attained.

Press on. By acting on the truth you know.

lessons from virgin oil

You're probably familiar with the story. Jesus told it. Ten virgins were waiting for the groom to arrive; five were wise enough to have oil in their lamps, five were foolish enough not to.

All ten showed up seemingly ready. From the outside, they all looked prepared. Only someone who knew what was going on inside those lamps would've known they weren't ready, would've known they were actually empty inside. There's always more going on than you can actually see. You need to look closer, dig a little, peek inside.

The foolish women tried to borrow oil from those that had some, but they couldn't. What someone else has will never be sufficient for me. I can't live off my husband's. My ministry's. My yesterday's. I need my own for today. And I need to get it myself.

How often do I show up with nothing to give? And what am I gonna do about it?

walk on

Sometimes walking is hard.

And I prefer to wallow instead of walk. Wallowing is easier; it doesn't really require effort from my end. I just float. But with each passing minute, I'm actually sinking deeper into the murkiness, making it that much harder to climb out of it.

It takes a conscious effort, a decision, to walk instead of wallow. To press on when I want to just sit. To move forward when all I want to do is keep things the way they are. To take another step when my foot feels too heavy to lift.

If I'm hoping in Him, I won't grow tired in my walking. My endurance is fueled by my hope in Him. So when I am feeling walk-weary, I need to check my hope tank. When it's running low, I need to remind myself: Put your hope in God.

I'm wrestling with that concept as I try to figure out what that really means. Telling myself to hope in God doesn't seem sufficient to actually make it happen. It helps, and it serves as a challenging reminder. But that can't be it.

How do I build up hope that's diminished? I don't have the answer. But I need to do what I know: Remind myself. Ask God for help to hope. Chew on passages that describe His character. Be strengthened through the encouragement of others. Take time for a selah.

When I hope in Him, I won't be disappointed. And I can't settle for wallowing. When I hope in Him, I can't help but walk.

Put your hope in God and walk on. I'm right beside you.

morning prayer

I love reading Psalms because I absolutely love how David poured out his heart before God. He wasn't ashamed or afraid to vent how he was feeling, even when much of it would be considered sacrilegious. David prayed filterlessly. (Yes, I just made up a word.) I filter my prayers all-too-often.

As I was reading in Psalms last night, I paused when I came to a simple 8-word prayer that David prayed. I read it over and over, and then prayed it for myself.

Say to my soul, "I am your salvation."

My soul needs to hear that and believe it.

What would happen if my soul truly hears and believes that? I am strengthened. I have hope. I am not alone (and I know it). I feel loved, unconditionally. There is light in my tomorrow. I have a hand to hold. I have peace. I even have joy. I am amazed.

So God... Again this morning, say to my soul, "I am your salvation." I will listen and believe.

simple truth

(I wrote this on Christmas, but since we’ve been internet-less for a few days, I’m posting this a bit late…) It’s only Christmas because my calendar says so. It doesn’t feel like Christmas. And not just because I’m in Africa, and it’s summer. This year, Christmas just feels…distant. Maybe it’s not so much that it doesn’t feel like Christmas, but that I don’t feel like Christmas. That makes sense inside my brain; I’m not so sure it does outside of it.

But I’m thinking about Christmas, since my calendar reminded me and all. And the thing that keeps skating around my thoughts is this: There is always redemption. I think God had that in mind on the very first Christmas, and He has it on His mind on this one.

I need to remind and be reminded of that simple truth often.

Months ago, I read something that is so simple and yet so powerful. The Hebrew word shalom (peace) literally means nothing missing, nothing broken. And the word shalim (restore) means as if it never happened. There is such hope, such promise in those words.

Nothing missing. Nothing broken. As if it never happened.

There is always redemption.

Merry Christmas, friends.

casting my cares

"Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you." I know that. Cognitively. He cares for me. He cares about what I care about. I should cast my anxiety upon Him. All too often, though, I subconsciously take the word cast to mean the same as it does in fishing. I give it to God, but I'm still hanging on to the other end. As far as I throw it, as much as I give it away, it's still attached to me. Because I'm holding on tight.

"But I gave it to God..." I try to convince myself. Meanwhile I'm poised and ready to reel it back in whenever I want. And reel I do. I decide to take it back from God's hands. Which means I think it's better off in my capable hands than in His.

Oh to be so smug.

I looked up the word cast in the dictionary. When it's not referring to fishing, it means to get rid of, to discard, to throw off or throw away; to hurl or fling. I need to let that sink in a bit. I need to let it sink in a lot.

When I give something to God, I need to hurl it at Him (He can handle the blow), get rid of it (forever), throw it off me (with as much vigor as I can muster). And then I need to leave it there. For good.

Sigh...

"Cast your cares on the Lord and He will sustain you..."

I'm trying...

be kind. rewind.

I was reminded recently of the stickers that used to be on the video tapes I'd rent from Blockbuster back in the day. "Be kind. Rewind." When I heard that phrase again, I couldn't get it out of my mind. So I wrote it down. And I kept looking at it. There's a nugget in there somewhere.

I've been mulling it over ever since.

I haven't come up with any life-changing nuggets, but I've had a few random thoughts.

Be kind. Rewind. For the most part, my past-dwelling-ness isn't a good thing. I too easily focus on my past mistakes, failures, and self-disappointments. I can too readily call to mind the ways others have hurt me. That kind of mental rewinding isn't healthy or productive. I need to rewind more often to replay the parts about God's faithfulness, others' love and care for me, and things I've overcome in my life. I need to dwell on those a whole lot more than I do.

Be kind. Rewind. I keep thinking of the whole "need to look back to look ahead" thing. And it's true. The road ahead is so long. From where I stand now, it just seems to go on forever. And it looks very steep. It's daunting and scary and paralyzing. If I take the time to look back every now and again, I get a new perspective. As much road lies ahead of me lies also behind me. When I can see how far I've come, all that I've conquered, it gives me strength for the journey ahead.

Be kind. Rewind. I need to spend more time dwelling on truth. I need to continuously hit the rewind button and allow truth to play over and over -- like a toddler's uncanny ability to watch Finding Nemo 19 times in a row, everyday. If I allow truth to play on that sort of constant loop in my mind (and heart), I know my life would change significantly. Far better than being able to quote Nemo, I'd be able to respond with truth to the situations I'm facing, to the internal dialogue I'm constantly battling, and to the people I interact with.

That's all, folks.

one step

Sin never dies of natural causes. It must always be killed off.

I wish that weren't so. I wish that, on their own, the things in my life that I despise would just shrivel up and die. That the sin that lives in me would spontaneously combust. That the whole "I must decrease" thing would just hurry up and happen already.

But sin never dies of natural causes. It will never happen on its own. No matter how much I wish it would.

Sin must be killed off. Intentionally sought out and hunted down. With a "take-no-prisoners" mentality. This takes effort. Purpose. Energy. Time. Intentionality. And the power and grace of God.

With a lot of emphasis on the power and grace of God.

I'm still trying to figure out what this looks like. How to "just add light" as well as intentionally root out sin from my life. I don't have it all figured out yet. I don't think I ever will.

I just hope that today I'm one step closer than I was yesterday.

just add light

I've always heard and understood the process of renewing my mind and making transformational life changes as this: Remove and replace. Take out the bad; replace with the good. Remove the lies; substitute with the truth. Take out the wrong; replace with the right.

There is truth in that. Take off the old self; put on the new. We need to stop believing the lies in order to believe the truth.

But I think I may have always put too much focus on the removing, the stopping, the taking-off-of-the-old. Those are all daunting tasks; ones that never quite end. So it's easy to get bogged down in the murky waters of all that needs to be fixed.

I need to focus more on the replacing, the starting, the putting-on-of-the-new. More than focus on my need to stop believing the lies, I need to focus on simply believing the truth.

To get rid of darkness, I don't focus on the pitch-black I see all around me. I don't continuously tell myself that the dark is bad and I really need to get rid of it. I don't try to convince it to leave. "Shoo! Go on, get outta here!" I do one simple thing.

I introduce light.

I flip a switch. Light a candle. Turn on a flashlight. Immediately, the darkness is dispelled. I don't have to get rid of darkness to replace it with light. All I do is add light, and darkness leaves.

As I seek to renew my mind and transform my life, I'm learning to adjust my line of sight. Instead of staring at all I need to get rid of, I'm trying to stare more at all I need to add. I'm locking my eyes onto the cross.

When I introduce the power of the cross to any area of my life, everything else gets pushed out of the way.

When I add light, darkness leaves. It doesn't have a choice.

you are not crazy

"You are not crazy." Seems an odd statement to made when asked to speak to our team of staff and interns. But Isaac made it. He said it several times in fact.

He reminded us that we've chosen to fight a battle we don't need to fight. We are fighting on behalf of a people not our own, a country not ours, and a cause we could easily ignore. And while others may think we're crazy for doing that -- may even tell us we're crazy for doing that -- we're not. The size of the task and the significance of the challenges we face don't make us crazy for choosing this fight. They just mean we're courageously obedient.

But I don't feel courageous.

"You could do anything you want with your life" equals "You are crazy for doing what you're doing."

The constant financial struggle, the ocean-sized distance from loved ones, the mountains that loom before us, all shout, "You are absolutely nuts to be doing this."

But above the din, above the constant noise, is the faintest whisper: You are not crazy. You are obedient.

I am not crazy.

You aren't crazy either.

The work you've chosen to do, the time you've dedicated to your children, the money you've given away, the stuff you've purposefully gone without, the things you've done for God and others... You are not crazy.

You are obedient.

hello my name is

Today I'm secretly wearing a name tag that says:

I'm wearing it because that's what God calls me. I am pursued, looked for, sought after by God Himself. I don't often feel that, see that, sense that. I need to be reminded often of this nickname that He has for me. If the realization that I am sought after by Him really sinks in, I will certainly see myself in a whole new light. I will see a lot of things in a whole new light.

Hopefully the name tag will help me remember.

all of me for all of You

All of me for all of You. Surrender. Hands in the air. Defenses down. Heart open. All of me for all of You.

Here is all I am: My messes, weaknesses, failures. My successes, strengths, victories. Here is all I am: My muddled thoughts, my doubts and fears, my misgivings. My hurts and questions, my joys and confidences. Here is all I am: The parts of me I love, the parts of me I despise. Everything I know, everything I don't. Here is all I am: My pieces, my fragments, my whole parts. Here is all I am: My insecurities, my all-too-securities. Here is all I am: The things I often give and take right back, the things I've never given before, the things I'm not even aware of. Here is all I am: Everything I know I need You for, everything I think I don't. Here is all I am.

Take all of me with Your gentle hands.

Even when I feel I can only open the door an inch, this is me giving You permission to bust it wide open. Even when I feel I'm unable to offer You more of me, this is me asking You to go ahead and take it anyway. Even when I feel I have no words, this is me asking You to respond to my one-word prayers for "Help" with all You know I need.

Be aggressive with me. For I'm not aggressive enough on my own behalf.

Take all of me and bombard me with all of You. All of You is certainly more than I can handle, but I want to feel crushed under the weight of that burden.

That burden isn't a burden at all.

things that satisfy

We were singing a song in worship tonight that had the line:

Only things that satisfy come from You.

Or maybe it was:

The only things that satisfy come from You.

I don't really know. I realized that I'd always heard it sung (or maybe I just sung it wrongly) as the former, but the worship leader tonight sang it as the latter. I pondered the difference between the two statements while singing continued all around me...

Only things that satisfy come from You implies that only good things come from God. Only good things. Meaning no bad things. From the hand of my heavenly Father comes neither sickness, curses, calamity. By His own hand He uses those things to bring glory to Himself and to miraculously bring benefit to my life, but His hand doesn't deliver the blow. Only good things come from Him. Only things that satisfy. There's a difference between something that's good and something that's satisfying. God only gives me things that will bring true satisfaction: that which makes me feel fulfilled, content. What a promise.

The only things that satisfy come from You implies that these satisfying things come from no one and nowhere but God. Anything good in my life, anything that is fulfilling or satisfying in any capacity, has come directly from God. From Him to me. It's easy at times to forget this. To think my own efforts, or the love and generosity of others, or even a good meal is the source of my satisfaction. I'm not looking deep enough when I stop there. God is the source of all satisfaction.

So, all that to say -- I'm not sure what the real words to the song are. But either way, I like it...

And who knew a "the" could make such a big difference.

thoughts

We hosted a pastors' conference this week. Some friends came in to speak at it, and I really enjoyed hearing what they had to say. Here are some of my random note-jottings from the past two days:

• God never insults the dignity of a person by calling them to something easy.

• A good friend isn’t someone who makes you feel better. A good friend is someone who makes you do better.

• Worship is about pursuing God. It’s not about pursuing the feeling you get from pursuing God.

• People’s eternities are changed in an instant; people’s lives are changed over a lifetime.

the hem of His robe

The woman bled for 12 years straight. Physician after physician shrugged his shoulders. She’d given up all hope of ever getting better. But then she heard about Jesus. The miracle worker. Desperate, she knew she had to get to Him.

As she clawed her way through the crowd on her hands and knees, she carried with her much more than her illness. She carried shame. As if in a bag over her shoulder, she dragged along a heavy burden of rejection and fear. She's referred to as the “woman with the issue of blood”, but her issues ran much deeper than that. Her physical ailment made her an outcast in her own culture.

Her emotional hurts and scars were far worse than her physical ones.

Finally catching up to Jesus, she reached out and frantically, yet faintly, grabbed the hem of His robe. Immediately, she was healed. Jesus turned around and faced the crowd. “Who touched Me?”

She told Him the whole truth. She told why she had touched Him and how she had been instantly healed. Jesus cared enough to listen to her story. The long version.

He just let her talk.

He was on His way to heal a dying girl. People were rushing Him. Pressing Him. Insisting He keep going before it’s too late. But He silenced them long enough for her to tell her story.

When she finished talking, He responded by calling her Daughter. It’s the only time recorded that He addressed someone that way. The love she felt in that one simple word must have been overwhelming.

After pouring out her heart, He'd responded with pure affection. Gentle yet aggressive love.

If Jesus’ aim was simply to heal her, He would have kept walking after she touched Him, for she was healed instantly. If that was all He was concerned about, He wouldn’t have stopped, turned around, asked the question. He wouldn't have looked straight at her, talked to her, listened. But He did all those things. He wanted to let her talk. To tell her story. He wanted to call her Daughter.

For that is when her heart was healed.

He wanted to heal more than her body. His aim all along was to heal her heart.

I can picture Him looking her in the eyes as He talked to her. And making her look into His. The healing began as, face-to-face, His love was visible, and it resonated within her soul. It broke down walls. Shattered barriers. Smashed through the defenses she’d lived behind for so long. His love broke through with a simple gaze, a listening ear, and undivided attention.

It wouldn’t have helped if He healed her physically, but left her to still carry the hurt from her 12 years of rejection and disgrace. Despite her physical healing, she probably would have continued to stay holed up in her house. She would have been the same cowering little girl she always was, still dragging her bag of shame behind her. But as Jesus looked into her eyes, He saw the woman He created her to be, and He wasn’t content to leave her drowning in her pain.

The greatest healing isn’t the miraculous cure of her incurable disease. It is the passionate healing of her heart.

God’s primary concern is still the condition of hearts. Physical health and a blessed life pale in comparison with a restored soul. God’s heart hurts for our hurting hearts.

He still brings love, grace, and healing through a touch of the hem of His robe.

And we are the hem of His robe.

gossip

I came across this poem, titled Gossip, for which I found no author's name. It speaks for itself...

My name is Gossip. I have no respect for justice. I maim without killing. I break hearts and ruin lives. I am cunning and malicious And gather strength with age. The more I am quoted, The more I am believed. My victims are helpless. They cannot protect themselves against me Because I have no name and no face. To track me down is impossible. The harder you try, the more elusive I become. I am nobody’s friend. Once I tarnish a reputation, it’s never the same. I topple governments and wreck marriages. I ruin careers and cause sleepless nights, Heartaches, and indigestion. I make headlines and headaches. I make innocent people cry in their pillows. Even my name hisses. I am called Gossip.

Love: The Ultimate Survivor

Love arrives; and in its train come ecstasies old memories of pleasure ancient histories of pain. Yet, if we are bold love strikes away the chains of fear from our souls.We are wearied from our timidity. In the flash of love's light we dare be brave and suddenly we see that love costs all we are and will ever be. Yet, it's only love which sets us free.

~Maya Angelou

For my one friend, March is "humility month". For me, I think it's love.

I've always known a lot about love. I grew up experiencing the warm embrace of it in a loving family. I have been blessed to feel the incomparable goodness of true, loving friendships. I am married to an incredible man who shows me daily what true love is. And I am enveloped, each moment, in the unconditional, life-altering love of my Heavenly Father.

I have tasted of love's goodness. I have also mirrored that love I've received to others, albeit in broken, imperfect fashion. But this month I feel like I'm needing to learn -- truly learn -- about love at all costs. Love in spite of what's said, what's done, what hurts... It's not easy, and I'm certainly not "there" yet, but it's my journey for March.

We've heard it said in jest that the only problem with ministry is all the people. I still chuckle at the sound of that because, in many ways, it's so true. (But the same can be said about any aspect of life -- we sinful humans sure know how to mess things up!) The biggest challenge for me in my missionary life has always been relationships. That challenge has taken on many forms: how to maintain friendships long distance; how to establish new friendships cross-culturally; how to balance friendships with those we also need to lead; how to grow, develop, and run an effective, thriving, loving staff team, etc. And because relationships involve other fallible people, hurt happens.True forgiveness -- keeping no record of wrongs -- is a tough aspect of love. There's a portion in one of the curriculums we wrote that still challenges me deeply: You must realize that Christ died not only for what you have done but for what's been done to you. The power of Jesus' blood to cover what you have done also covers that which has been done to you. I know it. I believe it. And this month, it's being put to the test.

I love the famous "Love Passage" of I Corinthians 13:4-8 in the Phillips Translation:

The love of which I speak is slow to lose patience--it looks for a way of being constructive. It is not possessive: it is neither anxious to impress nor does it cherish inflated ideas of its own importance.Love has good manners and does not pursue selfish advantage. It is not touchy. It does not keep account of evil or gloat over the wickedness of other people. On the contrary, it shares the joy of those who live by the truth.

Love knows no limit to its endurance, no end to its trust, no fading of its hope; it can outlast anything. Love never fails.

Survivor's slogan is: Outwit. Outplay. Outlast. Only love can do that.