Top Ten Unconventional Overseas Packing Tips // Find Me Over Here

That You've Never Thought of Before 

...but you'll thank me later... 

{{ find my guest post over at Alisha In Progress today }}

The Girl with Blonde Hair

I had never been so broken before.

My heart thundered, then stopped, then thundered a million more rolls again.

I couldn't leave. I couldn't. 

This place where my heart was planted deep in the rocky terrain, where I bled and I cried, where I laughed and my heart was opened to joy again. To letting people into my brokenness. To being raw and vulnerable without fear.

Where my hand was opened again to receive His good gifts. 

Where I physically saw Him answer prayer in ways I could have never imagined.

Where I fell in love with Him all over again. 

Where He romanced my heart, danced with me through the storms and showed me just a glimpse of the breathtaking vistas He has in store.

I'm not a very emotional person. I could probably count on one hand how many times I've cried in public my entire life. Next to the time when we found out my brother's cancer had returned, I had never sobbed so hard in my life. Wracking sobs that shook my soul.

I felt like I was being emptied. I felt my heart leave my chest, heard mom calling my name, pulling my hands to get onto the van, but my eyes couldn't leave this place. They roamed and scanned wildly and tried to lock in every detail through blurry vision, eyelids blinking to clear.

Now thousands of miles away, months later, it's still a moment I relive a hundred times a day. The burning ache where my heart used to be, my soul yearning to be reunited again.

Some people don't get it. They try, but they just can't. They haven't seen what I've seen, felt what I've felt. They haven't had the dirt run through their fingers and the vision seep into their veins until it wraps and engulfs their very core.

And yet, others do. 

I may relive that moment a hundred times a day, but there's more than just feeling my heart being torn, falling onto the sand. I see more than just blurry images through the tears.

I see a girl with blonde hair. 

She followed me all that day. Hugged me. Wiped tears from her own eyes as she saw mine. She stood by me for hours as we waited for the bus. She whispered words of hope into my ear, then was brave enough to stand there in silence to give room for both our thoughts. She was real- beautifully real- giving of her soul not because it was the "right thing" to do, but because she simple did it without any pretenses or reservations. I may have been seven years her senior, yet she so faithfully ministered to my needs without even a clue. She didn't make it her "ministry". She didn't do it for praise. She just did it- because that's what love does.

And after 3 weeks of pouring into everyone around me, her action wrapped around me like a warm blanket that assured me I wouldn't be alone in this.

She didn't say it would be okay. She didn't say I'd get over it. She didn't tell me to stop crying, that the tears wouldn't stop the inevitable. She didn't say that I had a purpose elsewhere and that's why I had to leave.

She reminded me that He still loves me. 

She reassured me over and over that this was not the end- that He would bring me back. This was not a once in a lifetime experience- it was the beginning of a lifetime of purpose I had never known before.

That this look was not the last. 

There were others who had come by my side that day. They spoke as well, gave hugs and even prayed. But somehow, the girl with blonde hair vividly stands out from the rest.

She silently lived with me through that moment. Didn't speak the profound, just told me what my heart needed to hear. She cried, but she didn't leave. She stood with me as the minutes dragged tortuously onward as I waited for the van. She ran with me. She saw the unglamorous and jagged and didn't shy away.

I want to be like the girl with blonde hair. 

Want to live with people in the moment, in the broken, and be fully there to pour into their souls. Not because I have to, not because it's right- but because I'm right there with them. Not to be the hero- but to be the whisper in their ear that He still loves you. I don't want to shy away from the ugly, from the painful, but to embrace it with the arms of Christ.

It's not a duty, not a job to fix the world, never a place of glamor. It's a position of deepest humility, knowing you can't make it better, knowing your words are nothing.

It's standing there, even in the awkward and uncomfortable, to let Him live through you.

Even in silence and not saying a word. Through just being near. To say "You're not alone, because I'm choosing to walk this hard path with you"

And in that memory, I choose to live like that a hundred times a day.

When Faith Feels Like Dying

You'd think I'd be used to it, having family that's done this before. No trepidation, no hesitation, just a let's-go-get-'er-done mentality. 

And I do. I really do. 

But makes it a world of difference when you're purchasing your own ticket for half way around the world. Makes it a whole lot different when it's yours and not someone else's. 

It's your world that will forever be changed. Not your dad's or your brother's or the widow next store. Your world. 

And what are you supposed to do with that? With all the unknowns and the less-than-ideal environment and late nights and early mornings and food you normally avoid here in the States- and that's not even the spiritual warfare and mental exhaustion and mountaintop highs and valley lows. 

By faith Abraham left. 

Up and left even though he didn't know where he was going. Didn't know what God was going to do. 

Sometimes faith feels like dying. 

Dying of yourself. Your dreams. Your control. 

I've never really admitted to anyone, but I'm scared of heights. I blame it on one too many times of siblings pushing me towards the edge of a cliff, then "heroically" saving me as a scream and flail. Take me to a mountaintop, and I will stay at least three feet away from the edge. Knees turn to jello and my stomach bottoms out. 

So when it's the two of us girls standing at the bottom of the climbing wall, looking up at the zip-line, she panics and says she's not going to because she's afraid of heights. 

Ditto, girl.  

But I lift my chin and say that I'm doing it- and she can, too. We climb to the top of the rickety, curving staircase, boards jutting out and slanting precariously. The attendant clips my line, secures my harness...

And I can't take my eyes off of that one inch wheel, just sitting loosely on the rope, holding me from sudden death. 

"Just jump," the attendant says, nudging me. I gulp. Jump? Really? Won't the wheel come off the track? I sit at the edge of the tower, feet dangling in the air. I clear my throat nervously. Shift back and forth on the platform, slowly inching myself off but hands still gripping wood. 

God, please don't let me fall. Please don't let me fall. Don't let me fall....

I close my eyes, suck in air, and grip the rope like it's my lifeline.

It was the most terrifying 45 seconds of my life. 

Faith is just that. Feels like dying. Feels like letting go and you're just going to fall and shatter every bone in your body. 

But faith feels like living, too. 

Wide awake, adrenaline surging, heart pumping, lungs screaming. Every part of you tingling, senses alert, soul flying. 

It's when you die to your control when you truly can live....whether it's here or halfway around the world. 

Personal // Like Challah Broken

Shabbat is like a whisper of calm, a gentle breeze of peace that floats in through the windows as the sky turns to fire. The music low, the candles lit, the glasses filled, the bread broken. And now, just me alone in the rocker with Mr. Kitten snuggled over my arm as I type. The house quiet. The boys asleep. Mom at the table with the lights dim, book open. 

After one crazy week, peace feels so good. 

My life is not your typical American stereotype. It's a lot of reaching out, a lot of giving, and least I sound like a selfless religious angel, it's often a lot of giving I don't like to do.

Giving my time during a busy week. Giving my family when I feel like I haven't had much time with them myself. Giving our food and money when we're not sure when the next paycheck is coming. Giving up my schedule. Giving when it doesn't feel like it's appreciated. 

This week was a long one (you know, typical stuff- neighbor got arrested, another friend had a texting fight that got sent to our phone, huge misunderstanding over e-mail, having one hour notice before picking up a young teenage girl from the inner city, having said girl's stay turn into a week and a half instead of the originally planned four days, and completely feeling overwhelmed at the ticking clock as we rush to get packed for Israel. yep, can't see how it could get more typical than that), and peace is what my heart has been longing for. 

I've been broken- broken like challah, then passed around. Passed around until I feel like there is no crumb left for myself. 

That's a place I never want to be. 

If I'm at that place, I turn bitter- self-focused instead of other-focused. Too consumed about my own comfort that I withhold that last morsel of nutrition for myself instead of giving it to another soul in desperate need. When I don't like to give- of my time, family, resources, of myself- it's because my eyes have strayed from the goal. 

I'm not asked to give only to those who appreciate. I'm asked to give it all, to all, as He has given to me. 

I have truly experienced that it is more blessed to give than to receive. The neighbor arrested? His mother was the first ones to call us for help. It's wonderful to feel needed. The e-mail mix-up? It was a self-check for us to respond with humility. We all need to stop and look in the mirror of Scripture. To examine. Scrutinize. Become holy as He is holy. The inner city girl? She taught me so much- from grace and unshakeable faith to what areas of the city to avoid (yikes), what weave is (total enlightenment), and how squatters turn on the water and electric (not that I needed that. just sayin'). Everyone is a teacher if our hearts are willing to become a student. 

And packing? It'll get done, even though we'll blink and time is up. What's needed will end up in the suitcases, even if one of us forgets something else. It'll get done, because this is what Yehovah God has called our family to- and He's asking we step out of the boat and onto the waves. Giving to His people. Giving to His Land. 

When you live with hands cracked open to grace, you will be broken and poured out and- even in the chaos and drama- you will be blessed sevenfold. 

Shabbat shalom...sabbath peace...it fills the rooms on our last weekend together, and I cannot begin to imagine the lessons and the blessings this new venture will bring. 

And being broken like bread, passed around? Isn't this what Yeshua has done for us? Do it- whatever sacrifice or giving you're asked to do- in remembrance of Him.

Carving time to Breathe

Things have been silent on the screen, but much has been happening away from it. Another adventure to pack for, suitcases laying wide to be filled on the old honey-colored planks of floor, outfits spilling over the bed- a hodgepodge to be sorted, ordered, and made sense of. Evenings like this make my heartbeat quicken, makes it yearn for the things He's going to do. 

Yet it's a quiet evening, because in the midst of skirts and snacks and journals I carve out time for myself to simply breathe. 

This playing softly, in anticipation of a holy weekend of worship. Tea steaming in my old grad mug, perfect size for little hands like mine. Scripture scrawled on the wall, a reminder of His branding on my life, my very being, what He names me. Candles flickering on the table. 

I close my eyes and breathe. Breathe prayers of eucharisteo. Thanksgiving. Grace. Joy. Ponder the work He is doing, how He's weaving this story of mine. Taking frayed ends, tying them off, and weaving threads of gold through this tapestry instead.  

Who knew a story would be written like this? Not I.

So much higher. So much more beautiful. So much more meaningful. 

It's not just my story- it's yours, too. He's in the midst of your story, too- scripting and sculpting and burning away the dross. Bringing beauty from ashes. It's a promise- I've seen Him do it. 

So take a step back and pause. Close out the world. Take the time to breathe- when we stop rambling into the windy storm, shut our mouths and just listen, we will hear His still small voice in the whisper of the breeze. Enter in- and let Him show you the glory He's weaving, the ends He's snipping, and an awe-stirred realization of His faithfulness in your life. 

He's there in the quiet if you carve the time out to meet Him there. 

A Tied Heart

It happens every time. My heart gets tied. 

I was born and raised in the North. I breathed in industry, metals, rubber, plastics and oil. I drive through smoggy cities and jammed roads. I've grown up walking under the shade of buildings rather than that of trees. 

And I've loved it. It's my life, it's all I've known, it's the familiar. It's where I know I fit in, because it's in my blood. 

My first trip south was a culture shock. 

Life was completely different. The slow pace, the landscape, the houses, the fields, the roads, the people. To be honest, I couldn't wait to return North. I didn't belong in this Southern place where my voice gave my identity away and animosity towards the Civil War still ran strong. The climate was vastly different. The way of life was vastly different. No one could relate to my love of the city. My life was foreign to the South, and their lives foreign to me. 

But time has a way of changing things. 

Expectation is the killer of joy. My expectations of the South can make or break my enjoyment of any trip there, or a trip anywhere else for that matter. I've learned to let go of expectations and accept circumstances for what they are, as either a blessing or a lesson from God. I've learned that people need a few days to forge friendships in the South, unlike our fast-paced relationships of the North. I've grown to love the people with every trip I've taken, and every time I leave, half my heart stays behind. 

So when I packed up this week and headed out for the long trek home, tears came and I didn't want to go. 

Home is where family is.  And these people, these people have become my family and make the South a home for my heart. 

Back home in the North, my heart is still trying to adjust to the life I've always known. Life without the people who have become so dear within such a short amount of time. 

Funny how a vast city can feel so empty. Funny how there was a time when I dreaded to go to the South, and now I'm counting the months, weeks, days, until I'm reunited with people whose hearts are bonded to the same cause as my own. 

We're bonded by faith. By love. By grace. 

That's what makes people family. But the South doesn't have to be the only place that holds the fellowship. The beauty. The community. I have people here- family here- too. 

I've returned North with a vengeance. To reclaim and rebuild and to restore. To do my part to bind us all in unity. It's a lot of work. It's an uphill battle. But the South is not the only place in the world that can hold the love. 

Our hearts are big enough to hold it all, too. 

So while my heart is tied, torn between two places that I cannot be at once, I'm doing my part.... how about you? 

Beautiful Brokenness

How do you put into words the beautiful brokenness that this journey gives you? 

Sometimes, I just have to sit back in silence to see what Yehovah has done. To breathe. To recall, to remember. To claim His promises in the dark, to hold on to the flickering light of hope. 

This journey is painful. It burns. It strips away all that I thought was certain and sure. It causes me to let go of what I hold dear. I don't want to. My flesh, it wrestles against it. I want my will. I want my desires. I want to demand of God to give me what I want, what I think is best. 

But oh, His ways are so much higher than mine. 

And you know? It's worth it. It's worth it to be humbled to this place of surrender. It's worth it to be able to stand boldly on the promises of the Most High. It's worth it to have faith- a deep, undying faith that cannot be shaken. 

This cancer journey, it's been filled with brokenness. Broken emotions, broken dreams, broken hearts. But, it's in this brokenness when we're vulnerable and able to share openly with each other without reservations. There is so much deep beauty in that. 

The memory I treasure the most from our Texas trip was holding my brother's hand after he came out of surgery, the way he lifted his head to kiss my cheek, the way he told me over and over that he loved me and squeezed my hand as we talked. 

But my next favorite memory? It was beautiful brokenness with my cousin. 

I have always admired, respected, and looked up to my cousin. I don't think I've ever seen her not put together. That gal looks beautiful even after she just rolls out of bed. She always says the right things, beautiful things that somehow make you just spill your heart out to her. But that night before the surgery, as we all line up to say goodnight- and goodbye- to my beloved brother...she sits there. I kiss my brother, and I wish I could hold him forever...but I see her in the corner of my eye. I see the tears. I see the brokenness. 

And God moves me. My arms wrap around her, and the broken prayer comes forth from my faltering lips as she cries and I fight the tears and I ask the Father to help us because I am so broken and worn and tired. It was brokenness...beautiful brokenness. To hold this amazing woman that I love so much and to be able to cry together to the Father. This, this is what the journey is all about. 

Falling at His feet....humbled that He works in our lives. 

And today? My bestie and I sit on the floor, and we pour our hearts out in joint prayer over so many things that are laid on our burdened hearts. And all of the sudden, the tears burst forth from my soul. I start sobbing as I pray, and she wraps her arms around me. There's so much on my heavy heart, so many loved ones that I'm crying out for. I'm worn from praying, from wrestling in prayer. I'm so broken. So unworthy to come before this Mighty God. But there's so much beauty here. Broken sisters. Vulnerable together, laying down burdens before His Throne. 

Oh, it's beautiful. Because we don't have it all together. We're human- we're broken. We fail. We aren't perfect. We aren't humble- but He knows how to humble us and to show us just how Mighty He is. It's in the fire that unyielding trust and confidence is forged in Him. He doesn't give us these trials to inflict pain upon us- He's so merciful to allow these things into our lives to cause us to dive into a deeper relationship with Him. To allow Him to hold our hand and to walk us through these things. To allow Him to teach us. To shape us. To use us. 

It's beautiful to be broken. 

Faith // Flood Me

Faith. 

When plan A goes right past plans B and C and on through plan W and we still don't know what we're doing, when we're doing the things He asks us to and yet we're not completely sure why, when you're walking downtown and you don't just see "the homeless"- you see their faces and you hear their voices and would you still have the faith to proclaim the name of Yehovah and speak of His goodness as that man did today when I walked in the park? Would I?

Faith. 

When you're jumping elevators trying to climb to the 22nd floor, when you wonder why drawing near to God couldn't be this easy too, when you're overlooking this vast city and feel so small towering high above the stadiums and hospitals and high rises, when you feel even more insignificant knowing that all this, this is no more than mere specs in the palm of the Creator, and how can we ever feel like we're truly somebody?

Faith.

When you sit up there and wait for the sun to set and never doubt that it will, when you're standing this tall above the world and never question that the floor won't slip out from under you, when you have the courage to let your heart spill- through music, through conversation, through a life lived without reservations- or will you just hold it all inside from fear of the unknowns?

Faith.

When the cancer patients gather here, when they emerge from their rooms to watch this glorious glow of fire, when you know that some must wonder if this sunset will be their last, when you listen in the silent hush to the two cancer patients behind you as they encourage one another to believe His promises, that He's always been enough, and how many times a day do I doubt His sovereignty in my perfect little world? In things so petty?

Faith.

When you're talking to the 36 year old woman who has only known since last June that cancer is wrapping itself around her body and engulfing her liver, when you listen to her say that she still believes in miracles as she sits there with feet tucked up underneath her and more monitors on the pole than I've ever seen before, when you see her beautiful face and yet your stomach is sick because why do these things happen? And how can she keep this faith aflame?

Faith.

When you're angry because you just can't fix all these problems, when you pray and the words come stumbling out, when the head hits the pillow and sleep finally falls- and now here goes the fire alarm, and we all go crazy out the door, and what are the most important things to grab? What do you grab in 10 seconds without your mind thinking? Adrenaline soaring?

Faith. God, flood me to overflowing. 

Faith and trust. They go hand in hand. So God, give me the faith to trust You, and the trust to have faith in You...come what may, day by day, for You, You alone, are more than enough for all my needs.

(tomorrow we say our goodbyes to Texas and head back home. prayer appreciated! and don't just keep Ryan in your prayers- keep 36 year old Kelly there, too.)

Joy // Flood Me

Joy.

When you're praying with a sister and come back from the prayer closet and this news greets your ear, when your heart sings a thousand hallelujahs, when the birds sing in the trees and who knew a brown Texas could look so green and beautiful? 

Joy. 

When the sunshine outside can finally touch my soul and He warms me from the inside out, when the flowers perfume the air and you can see beauty in this broken world, when each step you take is with more confidence in Him and isn't this what trials should do to you?

Joy. 

When the men break their fast and dad holds me while our hearts sing praise, when you're standing in the center of the food court reading the news and we gobble up His story before the food hits the table, when you follow the Father's leading and you SEE how all these fragments fit together, and shouldn't we all stand in awe that He should reveal a glimpse of His majestic sovereignty?

Joy.

When this story of our lives touches another cancer patient, tears streaming down her face, and dad tells her that her Creator loves her and has beautiful things for her, and we're all in a puddle of humble tears as  Yehovah God moves us and leads us for His glory- because isn't this what pain is all about?  

Joy.

When a father goes back to see his son, and can you imagine the love the Father has for His? 

Joy.

When I hold his hand and he squeezes back, when we say "I love you" again and again because we know now that this life is so fragile, when he kisses my cheek and I am overwhelmed with thankfulness, when this smile won't leave my face because I'm talking with him and we have undivided attention, and when's the last time you gave your brother yours?

Joy. God, You have flooded me to overflowing.

(yes, two posts in one day. but this heart is singing praise- even though it's not all over yet. with the surgery behind us, these next few days are critical and he's not out of the woods yet. continued prayers for pain management and healing!)

Strength // Flood Me

Strength.

When I'm running on 48 hours with only 6 hours of sleep, when there's no time for a shower but just slap some make-up on and hope I look human, when we all sit around in the lobby at 5 in the morning waiting, when he finally walks in the door and how can you add the "good" to the "morning"? 

Strength.

When you watch this brother kiss his sons goodbye and watch as the wife takes a last photo of them being kissed by daddy, when you watch the two of them walk these long steps towards the hospital hand in hand, when you hear the horrible details of a surgery and know the pain he will go through and why is it that we can't share the pain with him? Ease it somehow?

Strength.

When the familiar smell of the cancer ward hits your nostrils, when the memories hit of a summer full of chemo, when we all gather in this waiting room, when you watch your father lay his hands on his son and we all gather 'round and do the same, when you watch your big brother cry across the room by himself because how does a man let these emotions out as you watch your sibling suffer?

Strength.

When you hear him say "See you on the other side", when you hug him and kiss him and wish you could hold on forever, when youngest and oldest siblings embrace in tears and I wrap my arms around these two big men that I love with all my heart and I sob with them, when my arms are full of them and yet they feel so empty because we're missing one of us. 

Strength.

When this head pounds, when you see your father and oldest brother sitting side by side and pray their hearts heal together, when you're in a waiting room full of people of all different situations, when everyone shows their emotion in their own way, when you're praying you can be His Eyes and His Voice and His Hands and His Feet but sometimes perhaps we are just called to be His Tears?

Strength.

When it's not even 7 in the morning yet we're already exhausted, when physical strength wears out with the emotional, when this surgery hasn't even begun yet but this day seems like an eternity already, when I know there's others that haven't been able to show their emotions and how do you help them know that it's okay to share?

Strength.

When your mind is filled of the horrors he must go through, when you think of clamped lungs and gasping for air, when it feels like the air is being sucked out of my lungs, when you're not sure how to minister to others because you need to be ministered to, too, when you see the doctors in their white coats and scrubs and caps walk by and you wonder whose lives will be forever changed? 

Strength.

When you just feel lonely, when you need a hug, when there are those who are hundreds of miles away but I so wish I could just cry on their shoulder and be held and feel secure in someone's arms, when I'm the one praying broken prayers and how long O Father do I have to cry for help? 

Strength. God, flood me to overflowing! 

(today has come- surgery day. may we all be filled with His strength and rest in what He has planned from the beginning of time.)

Grace // Flood Me

Grace. 

When you've gone from adrenaline rush highs in the dimly dawning morning, when you've hopped from airport to airport, when you've flown 32,000 feet about this bluish green spinning marble we call earth, when you've dragged bags and slung others, when you've prayed for those you pass by and beg for Him to give you His Eyes and who knew cancer was such a conversation starter? 

Grace. 

When you realize that all these things you think are "needs" are really "wants" and all you really want to do by the 3rd airport is rid yourself not just of these burdens but the burdens of your soul as well, when plans change and flights delay and people aren't where they are supposed to be- and you forget they really are where He wants them to be, when the news from the doctor are promising and there is always hope and why do we doubt His sovereignty? 

Grace. 

When these worn feet finally kick off the shoes but can't kick off the exhaustion, when this family is tired and yet we cannot waste this precious day, when a surgery looms on the morrow that could change it all, when my arms ache to hold my sister and my brothers and be together again, when my strength is gone, and yes, does He not say that this is when His strength is shone? 

Grace. God, flood me to overflowing! 

(yes, safe and sound, here we are. continue the prayers, please? these next few days hold many uncertainties, but we trust the One Who has had this planned from the beginning of time.)