anxiety

Resting in His Heart Beat

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Recently as I was holding baby Max, he was doing his little grump noises, where he sucks on the pacifier and “complains” with each suck. He was sleepy, but fighting it, and his whole body was becoming more and more tense. As I held him close to my heart and patted his little bum, I felt my own body tensing up. Slowly I inhaled – 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 – held it for 7, then exhaled for 7 and started again. Box breathing, I think this is called, and I learned it from my counselor as a way to regulate my nervous system. I’ve started to incorporate breath prayers into it. As I breath in I think, “More of You,” and as I exhale I think, “Less of me.” It’s quite effective and helps me center my body while putting my gaze back on him.

This time, however, my own body was tensing, and Max was becoming more and more agitated. I had always heard that babies can sense your own state of mind. So as I breathed in and out and set my own heart to a calm pace, I prayed, “Calm his heart,” and “Give him peace.” I slowly watched Max calm down. Soon his breathing and heart were regulating to mine, and we were both relaxing into peace again.

It’s not always that simple. Sometimes he is hungry or needs a diaper change. But often it is just that he needs a little help regulating all those emotions and that growing nervous system. I get it.

As I was staring down at Max’s little face, God once again used this little one to remind me of his love for me. Psalm 27:8 says, “You have said, ‘Seek my face.’ My heart says to you, ‘Your face, LORD, do I seek.’” In seeking him, sometimes this means the restlessness in me is simply hunger. I need his Word to nourish my heart, mind, and soul. I need to be intentional about spending time taking it in and allowing it to transform me. As I hunger and thirst, his word fills and quenches.

Sometimes seeking him means coming with the mess that I can do nothing about on my own. I come in my filth – my dirty diaper or my vomit all over me. I can’t clean myself up – only the work of Jesus can do that. I can only look to him to do it. If I try it becomes worse and worse and I find the mess smeared all over me and everything around me. But God is not scared of it. He looks at me, his child, and reminds me of who I really am now with this new, exchanged life with Christ.

Other times, probably more often than I care to admit, seeking his face simply means laying my head over his heart, listening to that steady beat, taking in the soothing, calming, life-giving breath of his Spirit, and regulating my system to his. Sometimes all I can do is rest. Truthfully, this is probably the case for me more often than not. I am a do-er, I like to get things done quickly and efficiently. I like to see results and move on the next thing. Sitting and resting – intentionally quieting the world around me, closing my eyes, and listening only to the heartbeat of my Savior – that seems, well, inefficient, lazy even. There must be something I should be doing.

I don’t think that when Max is laying on my chest struggling to calm down. I whisper, I breath deep, I trace my fingers over his face. Because I know that his little body needs sleep so he can keep being who was made to be. He needs rest, he needs help with all those emotions and reactions within his body. As he rests, his body becomes stronger, his mind becomes healthier, and his emotions more stable. He is able to wake and be joyful and engaged.

Why do I have a hard time believing I need the same?

Once again Max is pointing me to Jesus, but not by anything he does, rather simply by his own neediness. It’s ministry through weakness at it’s finest.

My “Celebration Era”

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Recently I had a day of looking back on our life in South Sudan. It came from a friend popping up on FB suddenly that I had not seen in a long time. I opened his blog, which lead to other teammates blogs. All old, with nothing new on them since we were all in South Sudan, but suddenly it was like a portal to another world opened.

I don’t think I will ever experience anything as foreign as living in a rural African country that is at war. As our Bishop use to say to us, “We hope to one day be a third world country.” Poverty, no infrastructure, and so many scars from decades of civil war made it a place was hard to describe to most people. I heard more than once from people in the States who were living vicariously through us that I was “living the dream,” when truthfully all I wanted was to sit in an air conditioned room, watch tv, and order Chinese food. “Simplicity” is not really that simple – just the work to feed my family every day took hours, and we were still not figuring out how to get enough protein in.

But the funny thing is that despite the fact that it was the absolute hardest living situation I have ever had, when I think back on it, I do not see the lock-downs from war, the food poisoning from bad food, the lack of power, electricity, or a flush toilet, or even the bugs. (Ok, maybe the bugs still stand out…It was an adventure every time we went to the latrine.)

What I remember are the times of celebration.

I remember walking to a friend’s house one day with my teammate and friend, Larissa. We were talking about how we were not sure we could ever live somewhere else again, despite the fact that there were several times a day when we wished for something different. I remember that day was one of the rare days where I felt like I might actually be able to live there long term. It was bright and sunny, but not too hot. My feet were covered in red dirt from the road. We were laughing about the comments from people as we walked – the little kids either running away in fear, or following behind in curiosity while shouting the same phrase over and over. We had our backpacks with our water and snacks that we would share with the people we were visiting. I had my language book and was practicing phrases with Larissa, who was amazing at communicating in Moru.

My thought of never being able to live anywhere else did not come from the idea that I loved Mundri so much – though in that moment I did. Rather, it came on the heels of a simple team time the night before where we had celebrated a teammate’s life. One thing about living in a place like Mundri – you work HARD because life in general is hard and complicated. That also means sometimes we mourned hard together, as well as doubted, cried, and got angry. In order to counter that, we also played HARD! Our lives intertwined, and we lived it all out together, in view for people to see. In Taylor Swift terms you could call it my “Complicated Celebration Era.” I had my community – it was worth honoring.

Because one thing that I loved was that, as a team, we took every reason to celebrate that we could. Holidays, of course, looked different – we could not get a turkey or ham, and pumpkin pies and cakes were always made from scratch, and there was certainly no Party City around the corner for supplies. But we did big birthday bashes – the type of parties normally reserved for little kids. There were themes and dressing up, and figuring out decorations and games and food for several weeks in advance, because it usually meant a lot of creativity and time.

It was not just the “big” things. I have pictures of us laughing with our heads thrown back while playing a game. We did movie and pizza nights most Fridays as a team together. We celebrated all the things – birthdays, graduations, college acceptance letters, the days that the internet would actually work properly, or when the one real restaurant in town had enough potatoes to make “chips” for all of us! When we found limp carrots in the market, we would buy them up, bring them back and put them in ice water for a while, then savor them with some homemade ranch dressing while thanking Jesus with big smiles and words of gratitude. Celebration, it seems, means taking nothing for granted. Naming the things – big and little – in intentional ways.

To top that off, I learned what it meant to celebrate the little things as I walked alongside our Sudanese friends. These are people that had been through the absolute worst things you can imagine, yet when it came time to worship, to celebrate, or to rejoice, there are few people who can top the laughter, the smiles, the dancing, and the ululation that came from these friends. They reminded us that joy can still be found when we know Jesus, even in the hardest places. It was not forced or a performance – it was a real joy that burst from deep inside. These friends knew how to mourn – deeply and intensely, but they also knew how to celebrate.

I’d forgotten that in this DC life. Busyness steals the ability to have a lot of depth in relationships and also keeps people on the go so much we rarely have time to sit over a meal and just talk. How could we celebrate (or mourn) anything if we don’t share our lives? The culture is one of striving and exhaustion. I have fallen easily into that, and stopped naming the good things. While we were in Kenya, we kept the intentionality of gratefulness going as I asked the kids everyday on the way home from school to name 3 “positives” from the day. But somehow here I have forgotten about the fact that joy, true joy, comes from living in a posture of gratitude, which comes from a place of trust. That’s on me – not the place I live or the people around me.

It’s obviously something God is is lovingly reminding me about. I marvel at Max every single time I hold him. He’s just a little peanut, with nothing to offer really, except his presence, and I can’t get enough of him. I am also reading a book called, “What if It’s Wonderful,” by Nicole Zasowski, and I am realizing how often my reaction to good things is anxiety – how long will this last? Is this a test? Celebration comes blanketed in fear so often in my life. It is only the practice of standing before Him and saying, “Here I am again,” that will lead me back into the truth of who He is and who I am in him. That is where true joy will come from.

This week as I hung out with my daughter, she exclaimed – TWICE- “Thank you Jesus!” over little things. And as she did that, I saw His hand in each of those things and felt His lavish love pouring out on us. So I am going back to to the small, intentional habit of naming the joy in the little things. Let there be dancing, laughing, and songs of praise in this home, because we are a house that serves the Lord. There’s no place for fear here, because I know who my God is.

Let my “Celebration Era 2.0” begin.

Practicing Presence

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I live in a city that is never quiet. It feels like no matter how early I get up or how late I stay up, there is always noise happening around me. I’ve spent the last decade of my life in a bustling city, so in some ways there is familiarity and safety in that. But recently, as I have tried to sit on my porch and spend some time with God, I find my anxiety being heightened from the constant construction, the traffic, the people walking by, the dogs barking…all normal noises, but never ceasing.

Until 3 AM.

One of the unexpected benefits of helping with my newborn grandson’s middle of the night feedings is the absolute silence and stillness that is around. As my friend said this morning, there’s something special “Reading about God’s presence, in the quiet of the wee hours, while you’re being present with your kids (who need rest) and your grandbaby (who needs nourishment).” Somehow, in the stillness that is the aftermath of the bottle and with a baby sleeping in my arms, I can hear Him and his presence more clearly (despite the sleep deprivation.)

One morning, as I sat marveling at this new being that takes my breath away, I said out loud, “You are so amazing.” That very moment, I felt God say to me, “Daughter, this is how I feel about you.” Max can do nothing for me – he literally relies on us for everything, including nourishment, clothing, a safe place to sleep, and cleaning off a poopy butt! There is nothing he is doing, no performance he is putting on. Yet I cannot get enough of this little guy. I wake up sleepy, but excited to have the privilege of feeding him and getting some cuddles. Max doesn’t need to do anything to earn my love – just being here is enough.

For some reason I have a hard time believing this about God’s love. Even as Shawn is reading the Westminster Shorter Catechism to Max (might as well start them young), I am reminded that the chief end of mankind is to glorify God and enjoy him forever. As I gaze at Max, emotions run deep and overflow. I’ve always known I was God’s daughter, but somehow in that I pictured myself as an independent daughter – running around, laughing, talking, being able to do things for myself and him, but not needing too much help from him. However, now I have this picture in my mind of being an infant, nestled in his arms and all my needs being provided – even my dirtiness being washed off – as I sleep in peace. He just wants me to come ready to be with him. He just wants my presence.

As I have been sitting with Max I’ve been reading a book called, “Every Breath We Take,” by Terry Wardle. This week I have been on vacation from my full-time job, and Shawn and I are both on Sabbatical from church ministry until the end of the month. I didn’t realize how exhausted I was in ministry, trying hard, striving, wanting to prove my worth – to God, others, and myself. I need time for healing and for restoration of joy. But I lack the ability to rest. It isn’t just a busy schedule. While I believe that God does want me to look at some priorities and make more space for this, my inability to actually rest came from something deeper, yet I could not put my finger on it.

Then I read this: “Rest is fundamentally about trust. You are called to actively believe that God is deeply connected to you and promises to be the source of fulfilling your deepest longings in life. What you are incapable of securing through a lifetime of performing and pleasing, God has given you by grace through faith in Christ. You are loved, accepted, secure, significant, understood, and have purpose. This is a done deal in Christ, and God invited you to enter that rest with him. Today, whether your worst day of following Christ or your best, these things are true of you. That is the heart of this breathtaking Gospel of grace.” (Emphasis mine)

Rest is about trust. Is God really enough? Will he do what he says he will do? Is he really who he says he is? And how does all of that play out in my life – for me, my purpose, my joy, my needs, my desires? Can I really just be in the moment – the present – and enjoy my Father and his great love and joy of me? Can I rest in his arms as he smiles at me, delighting in his creation, and says, “You are so amazing,”?

So I am practicing! Practicing being in the present and being present. My ADHD brain is all over, my exhaustion right now (that was present even before late night feedings) sometimes makes my brain feel like mush. But each time I wander, I stop and (without self condemnation) intentionally turn my mind and heart back to him – in this moment. I’m making a practice of intentionally looking at this very moment and not letting my heart go to the questions and anxieties about future things with my kids, my family, my ministry, my finances, my health. In this moment, He is here. I want to know the joy of that again, so that I can truly rest.

So, here I am, Lord. I’m yours. I am aware of your presence with me, even if it looks or feels different than it has in the past or it will in the future. And it is enough.

“Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it. Prone to leave the God I love. Here’s my heart, Lord, take and seal it. Seal it for thy courts above.” (Hymn: Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing)

When He Speaks

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What does it mean to hear from God? I feel like this is a question I have had a lot recently as I talk with people about fixing our eyes on him and allowing him to lead the everyday parts of of lives and not just the “big” things. I was thinking about this as I drank my coffee on the porch this morning, because as I was praying through a particular situation this sudden peace came over me, and I knew not only had he heard, but he spoke hope to me in it.

Normally my brain is a whirlwind of ADHD chaos. It’s filled with thoughts, ideas, and plans – and backup plans, and backup plans for my backup plans. It’s filled with a million musings of what sounds like fun and who I want to experience that with and how we can make it work. It’s rumbling with the uncertainty of how to repair a broken relationship and why it even got to that point in the first place. It’s thinking through the schedules of not just me, but my family and all the people I work with and who I need to check in with, complete a task for, and lift in prayer. It’s filled with the realization that for some people I am too much and for others I am not enough and it never seems to be that I am just the right amount. It’s questioning my every thought and motive.

Often there’s shame mixed in because of the “should haves” and “could haves” along with some arrogance because of the “Well, I would haves.” There’s grief and laughter and confusion and joy, but most of the time it is all so intermingled that if I tried to type it out it would look like the first draft of this jumbled blog that I quickly tapped out on my phone with fat fingers that had so many typos I couldn’t translate some of it.

But then there’s those moments.

The times where suddenly everything is still and quiet inside, and I know he has entered and heard. There’s clarity, peace. It seems obvious and a weight lifts that makes me know, yeah – this is him. The one who says his yoke is easy and his burden is light. The one who came to seek and save the lost and loved us while we were still his enemies. The one in whose image we are created and and in whose image we are being sanctified and transformed to be more like each day. Jesus has spoken. The Spirit is here.

That’s how I know it’s him – when he calms the storm that is a constant in my heart and mind and reveals himself to me through the peace that passes all understanding. Sometimes the stillness is a brief moment, and the clarity seems fleeting. Other times I rest in the gift of a season of knowing and being confident in that knowledge. But even in the biggest turmoil and the most broken times I can live in the truth that God, whose word formed all of creation, speaks to me in personal, intimate ways filled with power and hope.

Amen! How do you hear him?

Stillness

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There’s been a call to my soul recently from the Father that has had my heart longing in ways I cannot remember doing before. It’s a call to stillness – both in body and soul. It’s more than something he is asking my to do. Asking sounds like an assignment or a favor. It feels like there is a checklist that I should complete to help someone or to earn praise.

Rather this call is something more akin to an invitation. He is calling me, inviting me into something more – and it is a holy moment, a gift, a sacred glimpse at the ancient and the beautiful – the true Life.

It’s how my ADHD mind that can’t complete a sentence without another thought interrupting learns to hear the whisper of the Father and feel his breath on my face as he sings over me. It’s how my heart, that is hungering and thirsting for so much more than this world has to offer can finally be satisfied.

It’s not a task – it’s an invitation, a pursuance, a proposal to something deeper, more intimate and more real than I’ve ever know.

I find myself both giddy with excitement and wary of disappointment at the same time. It’s a tension of wanting to do everything I can do – striving and learning and praying harder and pushing in, and still knowing that I need to simply sit and be still. No talking, no reading, to background music. Just sitting together – me and my beloved Jesus. It’s the tension of knowing that he might not speak, but he still wants me to be there, present, with him, and that is enough.

But is it really? Can I trust this overture, this ridiculous idea that the God of the universe, the one who created absolutely everything, really wants to meet with me in this day, this hour, this minute? That all of it is purposeful and intentional and very important to him – both now and as he took it all on at the cross?

In her book The Liturgy of the Ordinary Tish Harrison Warren says, “The Psalmist declares, ‘ This is the day that the Lord has made.’ This one. We wake not to a vague or general mercy from a far-off God. God, in delight and wisdom, has made, named, and blessed this average day. What I in my weakness see as another monotonous day in a string of days, God has given as a singular gift. When Jesus died for his people, he knew my name in the particularity of this day.”

So as I wake up and rub my eyes and groan about getting out of bed (I am NOT a morning person), even before the coffee, I am trying to learn the practice of taking a few moments to simply allow my Father to sit with me, to rub my back as I slowly start to move, to listen to his song over me, to see his smile and adoration of me that he gets to spend another day with his child fulfilling his good and perfect plan in and through me. I will be still and remember that my belovedness, my position of being his daughter and being adored by him, comes not from my own strivings, but from the work of Jesus on the cross and who He is. And that is more than enough.

I am Here

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When one of my children was younger he struggled a lot with anxiety and fear. He comes by it naturally. Both Shawn and I have struggled with these things. It has come out differently in each of us – Shawn tends to shut down and internalize while I talk myself into a frenzy and speak the lies out loud. Neither way is helpful if you continue to sit in them and allow them to shape you and the way you react. When I realized this child was on the verge of a full blown panic attack I knew I had to get him back to reality as soon as possible. I physically grabbed his face, put it right in front of my own, and said, “Look at me, son. I am here. I am right in front of you. I love you. Nothing will ever change that. You are my child.” I kept speaking these truths to him and slowly he started to breath at a more normal rate. As I held him in my arms I continued to pray over him. This didn’t stop the fear from creeping in again later, but in the moment there was peace. He looked at me. I looked at him. Truth was spoken and the power of that changed both of us.

I’ve spent years (decades) in counseling all over the world. Some of it was not so great, but the counselors that I connected with changed me from the inside out. They knew the words to say and the questions to ask to help me see truth. I am all for counseling. But now as I am older I see that it doesn’t help just to know the roots of my issues, or even to pull them out, but I need to replant in this soil that has sat empty. I need seeds of truth to sprout so I can be a person who not only survives in this world, but thrives in the love of my Father.

I need God to grab my face and point me to him.

Isaiah 43:1 says, “But now this is what the Lord says – he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel, “Fear not, for I have redeemed you, I’ve called you by name, you are mine.”

God will always love me. I am his. No matter what happens or how I feel, nothing changes this truth. I am sealed with the Spirit, redeemed and covered under the blood of the lamb. When hard, or even unthinkable, circumstances come my way, I can stand firm in this truth that is stronger than and brighter than any fear, circumstance, or trauma I face. Even when I don’t feel it in the moment, this truth is still truth. Thankfully my faith is not defined my me but by the one whom my faith is in.

When I feel like I am being swallowed up, consumed by the things of this world me and brokenness is all I see, I can look back to this truth and know that God – the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End, unchanging from everlasting to everlasting, the Papa who calls me to crawl up in his lap and will cover me in the shadow of his wings, the warrior who defeated death once and for all already – that God love me, Heather. He knows my name, the number of hairs on my head. He knew me before I was formed in my mother’s womb and already had my days planned out. My name is written in his book of life.

When everything around is out of control and I am dizzy and nauseous with uncertainty and fear, I can find this truth and focus on it alone. I can picture the Father grabbing my face and saying, “Focus, breathe. I love you, daughter, Heather. You are my beloved. Be still and know I am God. I am singing a love song over you that more beautiful and healing and whole than you can ever even imagine. I am fighting your battles. I am weeping with you. I am here. I am here. I am here.”

On Things Above

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This morning I was cleaning and organizing around my house, burning off nervous energy. I was waiting to hear about a situation that was causing me stress, and so I was praying and taking control of the only thing I really have any control over – the closets. This has always been my go-to when I feel out of control. You would think I have the cleanest, most organized closets in the world. However, I also have 6 people living here, so that is just not true.

As I was cleaning and praying, I was fretting to God and suddenly I very clearly heard him tell me, “The only thing that changes when you take on this anxiety and allow it to rule you is the atmosphere of your home.”

Ouch.

While I know practically that it is true my worried attitude does nothing to help things, it always seemed like it was my “right” to have in the midst of struggles.

Many years ago as I was just getting to know my husband I spent some precious time with his aunt. We went through Colossians 3 and she had me memorize it. At the time I was doing it more to impress her and get in good with the family, if I’m being honest. But now, 28 years later, I find myself often repeating this chapter as I sort through how I’m feeling about things.

“Since then you were raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is your life, appears, then you also will appear with him in glory. Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature…you used to walk in these ways, in the life you once lived.”

Later it goes on to say, “Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.  And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful.”

No where in that (or any other place in the Bible) do I see where God says, “It’s ok. Go ahead – it is your right to be angry, hurt, worried, etc.” Even if it is the natural response, my “rights” are gone as a child of God. They were put to death on the cross. My life is in Christ. And while he did freely express his desires and feelings to God – to the point where “his sweat became like great drops of blood falling to the ground,” he circled back around to the peace that came from being in tune and in harmony with his Father. And “for the joy set before him,” he endured the cross.”

Friends, you know I’m not talking about “fake it ’til you make it.” We can earnestly and genuinely come to the Father with our fears, concerns, tears, anxieties, and everything else we experience. However, what I was doing – falling into the pattern of allowing that initial response to govern everything I did and felt for the rest of the day- that falls in to the category of idolatry. I was putting my trust in myself, in my response, in my emotions, and allowing them to rule me rather than in the one who created all of those things. Even more so, I was believing the worst about God in the middle of it. My default was to disparage the very God I professed to worship and serve. That overflowed into my actions and my attitude, and changed the whole atmosphere of my home.

So as I confess this to my Father I am so thankful that he, in return, reminds me of his great and abundant love for me. I started to speak my thanks aloud, and recounted the numerous ways over the years he has provided – sometimes above and beyond and sometimes just enough in just the nick of time, but always completely. And I continue to set my heart and mind and things above.

But God

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Often in my life I find myself caught up in the cycle of anxiety and worry. I am constantly asking, “What if…?” What if this doesn’t work, or what if so-and-so thought this, or what if it’s not enough, etc. Recently as I have been navigating a particularly hard emotional issue I have found myself saying these words to my husband. He surprised my by saying two different words – “But God…”

I know those words are part of a popular worship song that constantly plays on Christian radio. Honestly, I tune it out most of the time when I get sick of the same songs over and over again. But when Shawn said those words to me a few different times recently, I realized how much the words we choose to tell ourselves shapes how we think, how we act, and how we respond to the world around us.

Yes, maybe something seems impossible if we are looking at it through the eyes of this world. But we are not citizens of this world if we have a relationship with Jesus. Our destiny is different, but so is our daily living here on Earth – we do not have to wait until Heaven. We are not bound by the laws of physics or the intentions of man – instead we are given access to a storehouse of heavenly resources and we are given the inheritance of those who are children of God. We are not limited by a broken creation because we have been chosen by the Holy Creator, who is making all things new again.

I need to stop wondering if or how or even why and start saying, “But God…” But God is in this. But God promised me. But God is for me so who can be against me? But God sent his son to die for me. But God inclines his ear to me. But God is the author of all of this. But God is good. But God IS enough.

Where are the areas of your life where you need to remember this truth today? Because we may see a limited, murky, confusing scene in front of us, but God is who he says he is and will do what he says he will do. We can’t…but God.

Did God Really Say?

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Security: an idol we bow to and work for and dream of.
Security: an illusion we imagine and discuss and plan for.
Security: a gift we find here and now and in memories and in hopes.
O God of ever-present love, help us to embrace true security, fleeing from idols and exposing illusions. All things are passing, God never changes.
Amen.
Let it be so.
(Lina Toth, in Celtic Daily Prayer Book II)

Immediately these words above gripped my heart. I read this passage recently and was struck by how many times I have chased after false security because the true Security didn’t seem logical, or was too hard, or felt obscure. This false security is something that has become an idol to me in recent years. I know that there have been times before when it has overtaken my thoughts – particularly when it comes to finances. But we have made choices in our marriage about how we desired our family culture to look and that has meant we had to trust God rather than our own plans. Sometimes (oftentimes) people didn’t understand, and even those who meant well and loved us fully couldn’t comprehend or agree with the decisions made. Through it all God has been more than faithful and we have had an abundant life.

But when we were making the decision to move back from East Africa a couple of years ago my heart was going one direction only – stability. We needed it. We craved it. We longed for a place to go that would be home forever, where we could dive in and make friendships and know our place and who we are. No more foreign cultures that we loved in so many ways yet made us question every action and motive every day. No more friends that we were just starting to feel comfortable with leaving because their term was up. No more relying on people to give financially so we could do ministry and live. No more terrorist attacks in our city or stressful, dangerous elections where we need to be on lockdown. No more insecurity.

My desire was security and the idol I was relying on to make that happen was America. Ouch. As a former missionary I hate even admitting that!

All of us have seen that idol fail this year. So many of those things that I listed above are still true of our life here. We live in one of the most transient places in the US, and people leave regularly. Because of that those who are the stayers are more hesitant to open up. I get that – we were the stayers for a while. The very thing I love about DC – the international flavor and the ability to see the world in a glance – is the same thing that makes it exhausting as we try to know people and understand their reactions and our relationship with them. Diving in and making friendships has been close to impossible in some ways this year thanks to the Pandemic. And I don’t need to tell you about stressful elections! Yet we know we are suppose to be here – this is home.

Over a year ago I sat on my porch praying to God about my calling here in DC. I have always loved being in ministry with Shawn. I loved being a pastor’s wife – I still do. I feel like it is in my DNA to care for people this way. However, over the last couple of years I have found myself being drawn to be more official in that role. I wanted to see how God used me – Heather. Not Shawn’s wife (or the “preacher’s wife” as someone affectionately called me before.) What did it mean to be called as a woman, as Heather, as a daughter of the Most High? How could my life, my story, my gifts, my passions, and my weaknesses be used for Him?

This was not the first time I had prayed about that (and would definitely NOT be the last time!) But in that moment I knew – in that deep in your soul, no shadow of a doubt, truth in the core of your being way of knowing – that God told me to step into that and he would take care of the rest.

“But God, my family.” “But God, I won’t get paid. I really should find a paying job here.” “But God, I’m not educated enough.” “But God -security!!” But God, but God, but God. Still, I knew.

So I jumped into it. Well, let’s be honest – I trudged into it kicking and screaming at times. I am not a great student, and I knew it meant school, classes, papers, and interviews. But I started – I am doing the classes, doing the training, getting the licenses, and doing what He asks. And you know what? He has been faithful the whole way. He provides financially in ways we couldn’t imagine. He brings friendship and support from people in the unlikeliest of places and ways. He enfolds my children into his arms and helps me trust him with their care rather than thinking it is all me. There have been times of discouragement and what-was-I-thinking-this-makes-no-sense. Those times I hear a whisper of doing something that seems more logical or practical that speaks, “Did God really say…?” These happen when I have grabbed back the control of my life and plans from His grasp instead of letting Him lead. They happen when I demand security on my own terms rather than his.

Many times in scripture we see people falling out of the blessings of God and into a dangerous world of sin and self-reliance when the enemy whispers in their ear, “Did God really say…?” Adam and Eve are the first and most well known examples, but definitely not the last. And while I continue to push on, I am sure that I will hear those words again. Sometimes they come from frustration with people, sometimes from my complete lack of understanding of how to do a task in front of me. This week they came, over and over again, like rolling storm clouds shouting at me that I had no control over anything. In the middle of that storm I saw my orphan-ness come out and I felt myself wanting to fall back into destructive habits – ones that always reared their ugly heads when I was feeling out of control.

Thankfully this time my heart had expected this attack. I was prepared with the armor and battled back. By the end of the week I was weary and limping a bit, but victorious. Because when Satan slithered up and asked, “Did God really say…” I yelled back, “YES!” Not in my strength – we all know that. But by the power of the One living in me.

I want to encourage you, brother and sister. This is a hard time. There are so many voices out there, so many questions, so many things causing fear, instability, and chaos in our hearts. Are you taking time to listen? Are you standing in the presence of the God of ever-present love, asking him to help us embrace the true security that is Him?

Lessons from the Bathroom

/ shawnheather96 / Leave a comment

“I’ve peed in a lot of weird places.” This was my statement as I came out from behind the tree on to the trail we were hiking. The bathrooms at the foot of the trail were closed due to Covid, and so I had no choice but to find my own privy. It got me thinking about all the places where I have “done my business,” so to speak. In a hole in the ground in Malawi, freshly dug specifically for the Mzungu but with only 3 walls that went as high as my chest and kids standing all around watching. (Talk about performance anxiety!) Underneath an Acacia tree while a silent giraffe snuck up on me and scared me half to death. In front of the Land Cruiser in the middle of the dirt road we were driving on because all around me there were “Caution- Land Mine” signs. On the side of the highway with a couple of interns standing around me keeping curious baboons away while we all laughed nonstop from the awkwardness of it all. One time in South Sudan I was using a stall (again with no door) in the dark. As I was squatting, trying to hold my skirt up and not touch anything (because GROSS) while still getting the job done I saw a man coming towards me quickly. He didn’t hear me speak and kept coming, and I was alone and nervous, so I stood up mid-stream, shined my phone flashlight at him, and yelled loudly. He was startled, I was a wet mess, and we both walked away embarrassed. When you are out and about in other countries you don’t always have public toilets -at least not ones you really want to use! But using the toilet is not something you can avoid for very long in your life, so you quickly learn to adapt to your surroundings.

Ask any missionary and they will tell you they talk about adapting – a lot. (And probably about their toilet trials as well, but I will end that subject now.) We learn that the majority of things around you in a new culture are not necessarily wrong, they are simply different. Learning to pivot, to adapt, to change our original plan (or the second plan, or the fifth plan…) is a way of life when you live in a culture that is not the one you grew up in. You ask a lot of questions, you pray, you train your mind and heart to see it differently and to make it work. It’s a really good trait, but not one that comes naturally to me and can be really hard work.

I grew up in the US but like many of you, I feel like I have been in a foreign culture this last year. We came back from Kenya different than when we left. Our wounds from the previous 5 years were closed and scabbed, but not all completely healed. We had a whirlwind time when we first got back with doctors appointments, job interviews, college graduations, moving, and trying to settle into a city that was brand new to all of us. Just when we started to feel like we were getting our feet under us, the whole world stopped. Transition takes a full two years to go through the cycle of uprooting, moving, starting to feel like you might have a clue, roots beginning to go down, then being firmly planted. Two years of celebrations, traditions, local customs being watched and enjoyed, relationships being formed and tried on. That is what it takes to be familiar and at home. But we were only barely out of the pulling up stage when pandemic hit.

Suddenly we were forced to adapt again. I felt like I was taken out of my nice clean, private house with 2.5 bathrooms and set in the middle of the land mine road again with baboons around and people staring as I tried to do my business. This wasn’t part of the plan.

I had it in my naive head that we might have a reprieve from that type of adapting when we came back “home” despite all the reading I did that told me otherwise. I felt like our first 6 months here were good and we were on track. Then suddenly we were figuring out how to continue to connect with people we didn’t yet know that well, we were navigating counseling sessions with people who were hurting but we didn’t have a “before” baseline for, and we were personally mourning the loss of the avenues that we had been just starting to use to form real friendships. Youth group was cancelled, in-person service was cancelled, no one wanted to chance getting near anyone else because we didn’t yet have any understanding of how this mystery virus worked so there were no big meals and game nights with other people.

Like all the other times I had to adapt, when I finally sat back and allowed the Spirit to work and reveal things to me, I could see some of the good. I could see that God was not caught off guard by this, and while I may still think his timing stinks, I know that the truth is he knows better than I do and his ways really are good. We have gotten to know our neighbors well from sitting out on the porch and talking over the fence because we were all home; we have spent time together as a family – all of us in one house; we’ve cooked together, done puzzles, hiked, gamed, watched tv, celebrated holidays, and laughed a lot. We have also cried a lot. As we slowed down we realized for all of us that we had some grieving to do over the loss of our very full lives in Kenya and South Sudan. We missed friendships, church, the weather, and the teammates. We had not had the time or margin to grieve these things, but all things must be named and acknowledged before they can be healed.

We will continue to adapt as we keep navigating not only this pandemic, but life after it. How do we learn to really listen and love well? How do we help others heal? How do we step away from our own fears and step into the hard stuff with our brothers and sisters? We pray, trust, and adapt our view as needed.

And we do a lot of laughing as we try to avoid the monkeys while peeing.