love

My “Celebration Era”

/ shawnheather96 / Leave a comment

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.

A Prayer to Remind Us

/ shawnheather96 / 2 Comments

Your mercies are new every morning, Lord. 
Today I come, worshiping you.
The creator, the One who has no beginning and no end,
Who made me and knows my inmost thoughts,
Who equips me for the calling you give me each day,
Who holds my tears and heals my wounds,
Who sings over me with love-
May I hear that song today. 
With a joyful heart I worship you.

I come to you confessing that my heart is deceitful above all things
I often want to take on your role in the lives of those I love. 
I want to fix the problem, solve it.
Cause the situation to cease to exist.
Carry the whole burden and relieve them from the hard story.
I want to be their Savior.
But that is not my part.
I am NOT God – Amen and amen
And as you give me your strength to walk with them, I am aware of your goodness,
Your redemptive acts in the middle of the valley,
Your strength being more than sufficient in my weakness,
Your hand turning the ashes into beauty – beauty that is eternal, holy, and full.
Not temporary.
Not man made.

I come to you with a humble heart, reminded that I can give no more than I am willing to receive.
So, on my knees in a posture of humility and profound gratefulness I accept 
Your love.
Your gifts of the Spirit.
Your love song over me that renews and refills my soul.
Your love that never ceases.
Your invitation to climb up into your lap and rest.
Your hope that is the cornerstone of my faith.

I come with a thankful heart that I am not alone on this path. That I sojourn with friends, with colleagues, with family. 
With you. You go before and behind. You are not caught up in the dimensional restrictions that I am. You are with me and there is nowhere I can go to escape you. 

I come to You with all I am – 
The ugly, messy, and broken pieces
As well as the beautiful, redeemed, and victorious parts.
Knowing your story for me is good. Joyfully accepting your plan in all areas.
Believing you are who you say you are.
And that is more than enough. 

A Prayer for My Fellow Sojourners in Ministry

/ shawnheather96 / Leave a comment

Oh God who sustains as we cast our cares,

Meet us today.

As we love our families,

Serve our people,

See our communities,

and labor for you,

Meet us in our weariness.

You say, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”

Yet we are also commanded to love one another and bear each other’s burdens.

How, Lord?

How do we do this with others when we, ourselves, are so tired, so weak?

How can we carry more, when we have no more space, no more time, no more energy,

nothing left to give, no margin to be found?

We do this in faith that you are who you say you are, regardless of our feelings or circumstances.

God with us, Emmanuel, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace, our Rock and Redeemer, our

Provider, our Comfort, our King.

You hem us in, behind and before.

You, the God who created the universe, are invested in us, involved with us, care about us.

You know us.

You ask us to trust.

So we hand you our burdens and take on your yoke.

You give rest for our souls,

Peace in our chaos,

Comfort in our sorrows,

and healing in our woundedness.

You do so lavishly, in compassion and love for us,

Your children.

But not for us to hold tightly, scared to lose it.

Rather, so we can be a vessel of hope,

of peace,

of joy,

of love

To both your children and those who are still orphaned and alone.

We come, currently filled with self and feeling empty of anything life-giving,

Surrendering ourselves to you to be abundantly filled by your Spirit,

Overflowing,

Life-giving.

Knowing we are heard,

Seen,

Loved,

Redeemed,

Filled,

Yours.

And that is more than enough.

I am Here

/ shawnheather96 / Leave a comment

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.”

Chosen

/ shawnheather96 / Leave a comment

“Being chosen is the greatest gift you can give to another human being.” Trevor Noah, Born a Crime

All of us have an innate desire to know that we are chosen, loved, wanted. We think of it often in the sense of a romantic relationship, and that certainly is an important one. But we only feel real fulfillment in any of our relationships if we don’t feel like we are a burden or we were forced upon someone, but that they chose us and want to be in our presence. My birth father never made me feel this way. I don’t ever remember having that type of relationship with him. There were times where he was filled with guilt and apologized, but it was very apparent quickly that it had more to do with easing his conscience than actually having relationship with me. My mom met my stepdad when I was in 1st grade. He and my future step brothers moved next door. By the time I was 8 they were married, and I really don’t remember my life without this man being in it.

As with most step-families, ours was complicated. I often refer to our family as the dysfunctional Brady Bunch since my mom had three girls and my dad had 2 boys, then together they had my sister. But one thing I always knew – though I was not his by birth, I was his by choice. I was never just a tag along or an addition because he loved my mom. As I sat on his lap around the time of their wedding I clearly remember the conversation about how he was my dad and I was his daughter. He was adamant about the fact that one day he would be the one to walk me down the aisle and give me away. I don’t know why that was so important to him – certainly an 8 year old wasn’t thinking in those terms. But the conversation stuck with me, and I equated it to meaning I was his to give away. Maybe an “old fashioned” notion by today’s standards, but one I was happy to live in. And he did give me away – all the while joking as we walked down the aisle that, “It’s not too late to turn around, kid!”

It wasn’t just Dad. His family welcomed us in with open hearts and arms. They are a large family with their own chaos and craziness. But there was never once a feeling of being on the outside. His nieces and nephews became my cousins and my best friends – the kind where every time you are together you plot to stay over night and be together as long as possible. I spent countless nights with all my new Aunts and Uncles, and never questioned their love for me.

I was chosen. Invited in.

I wasn’t just acknowledged, begrudgingly accepted or tolerated. I was wanted, loved, and immersed. My family tree suddenly had new roots grafted in deep and permanent.

It was healing to the soul of a little girl who didn’t feel wanted and loved by her birth father. But here’s the thing…If I had not chosen to allow myself to be loved and choose to love back, it would not have been a relationship. If I did not believe that their love for me was real, I could not have grown up with my huge group of family members and love and laughter and friendship. I had to choose back.

Despite the fact that my step father was far from perfect, and my new family and I all made mistakes, their choosing of me opened the pathway for me to think about the love of my heavenly father more. He also chose me. Before I was formed in the womb, before I existed. I was his. My name is graven on his hands. The Spirit lives inside of me. I am his masterpiece – wholly and dearly loved. He gives me good things, he knows what I need before I even ask (or I even know!). He took me out of slavery and fear and bought me with the price of his son’s life so that I could be his daughter, a co-heir with Jesus. I am adopted, wanted, desired, pursued, and loved.

My mother went to be with Jesus 12 years ago. My stepfather just died last week. Tomorrow we will celebrate his life and I will be with the family that took me in and loved me well. I am aware that in a physical sense of the word, I am an orphan. But I have family that loves me, and – even more so – a heavenly father who promises that he does not leave us orphans, but that he comes to us and makes us his. He has chosen us – we just need to choose back.

On Things Above

/ shawnheather96 / Leave a comment

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.