Friday, March 28, 2008

Forgive them, Father

Last night I went to a church service at my dad's church & while one of the speaker's was... well... speaking, he told a really moving story.

One of his friends worked at the slaughter house and he was in the "cutting position". So, these lambs would come by him on a conveyor belt and he would quite literally cut their head off. I know, it seems pretty gruesome but stick with me. One time, this guy was at work and a lamb came by, he slit its throat and then the conveyor belt malfunctioned. So, he was talking to one of his buddies when, all of the sudden, he feels a warm sensation in his palm. He looks down to see the very lamb he just decapitated licking the blood off his fingers.

A lot of you are going "eeeeww" and squirming in your seat. I was a little, too, when I first heard it. But, this guy made a good point. Show me a more accurate representation of Christ's love for us.

It is because of our sin that He was sacrificed. And, had none of you done anything wrong, He would have done it for just me. He would've done it for only you.

Then, after He was beaten and hung on a cross, He rose again. To lick our wounds. To remove His blood from the very hands that hung Him on the cross.

To present us blameless before the Father.
He cried out to Him
"Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do! They know not what they do."

I have no doubt that as Christ intercedes for us at the right hand of the throne of God, He has to intercede daily for me, saying, "Forgive Rachel, Father, she knows not what she does."

And I walk around, we all do, taking flippantly the sacrifice that was made for us. For our sins. To cleanse us.

There is the Lamb, who we didn't kill, but who offered Himself for us. And turning His broken body, He looks at the children of God and says, "It was worth it." He looks at liars, greedy, selfish, ugly people and says, "How beautiful are my sons & daughters."

And He licks His blood off of our garments, comforting us in this world of sin, presenting us holy & blameless before the Father.

We know not what we do.

Saturday, March 22, 2008

Yiayia & Papou: Ministry, Kosovo Crisis in '99

Don't start reading this blog unless you have a lot of time on your hands. I have a lot to reflect on & I don't need your help.


Ever since I moved in with my grandparents I've learned more & more about their mission in Albania.

I don't know how I could ever tell about everything they do and every area of ministry they're plugged into. And, every time I think I have a grasp on it, another story or question pops up & I find out something new.

It started years ago as: my grandparents own a restaurant & a few churches in Tirana, Albania.
Then: My grandparents own a bookstore.
Lately: My grandparents own a bookstore, a restaurant, churches, orphanages, moving company, electrical company, warehouse, etc etc etc.

Now, when I say they "own" it I mean they "run" it for the Lord who "owns" it. Never in my life have I admired two people more than I admire my grandparents. As I sit & write, tears flow down my cheeks in awe of how God has turned a gypsies son & a poor schoolgirl into History Makers.

When my grandparents were first deciding to go onto the mission field my dad was the one who was going to pray the prayer on the morning the church commissioned them.
He recently told me that during the service the Lord gave him a vision, God spoke to him and told him that my grandparent's names would be written in history books in years to come. Dad never said this in front of the congregation because that's a lofty claim to make. It was a simple lack of faith on his part, but I don't think it makes the statement any less true. They are history makers.

And I can't explain how aside from absolute faith in God, and willingness to go where He leads.

I know that missions is my passion & it's what I will pursue. Oversees missions, I mean. But, I don't know that I'll be successful. However you determine success on the mission field, I haven't a clue. But, I know that there's a voice in my head & a voice in my deceptive heart that is whispering 'You're a failure.' Plain and simple. And, naturally, that's the voice I choose to believe nine times out of 10.

Then, I look at my grandparents. Didn't know they were going to Albania until they randomly saw it on a map one day. Just sitting there next to Greece. All small and deprived. Only just coming out of communism.

So, here's this couple on a plane to Albania. No time to take language courses. They'll learn it when they get there. And they did.

Then, they get there with a task. Which turns into another task. And yet another. Until their ministry is rapidly unfolding before their eyes. Their oh so humble eyes.

They don't question it, they don't advertise it,
Because they have faith in all of God's mysteries. And humility before His very hand.

Tonight, my Aunt Louise got curious about what exactly they do in Albania, much like the rest of us.
I honestly think their ministry is very literally beyond words. So, we try not to ask much.

My grandma (who from now on will be referred to by her proper name: Yiayia) had my grandpa (from now on: Papou) whip out some of the tapes of their ministry. Old, beat up VHS tapes. Shaky footage, grainy picture tapes.

It started with some simple footage of the restaurant, a few orphanages, an old folks home (yet another discovery tonight). Then, we stumbled across a video of Yiayia & Papou serving in the Kosovo crisis. I can't explain this image to you, but I will try.

They hauled one of the largest most monstrous trucks I've ever seen through the mountains of Kosovo along the unpaved cliffs with a 2 foot drop on the one side. Papou hops up onto the back of the truck, swings open the door and you see bread. Heaps, mounds, of unboxed bread. Loaves that were clearly just thrown into the truck on a fly. Loaves upon loaves upon loaves. Straight from Yiayia & Papou's bakery (once again, with the revelations) into that ginormous truck.

Quickly, Papou starts ordering people around to get him boxes. He loads up box after box when 2 other men (I'm assuming they traveled with him) hop into the back as if the 50+ yrs they've been alive has done nothing to their body. I know, of course, soul was taking reign over body for the time being. For this crisis.

Let me explain to you why they needed bread.

A couple of years ago a great tragedy happened in Kosovo (a Serbian region very close to the Albanian border). Kosovo is made up of mostly Albanians. However, it is a territory of Serbia. Therefore, the Serbs are almost always trying to ostracize the Albanians in Kosovo to drive them out & purify the nation. A few years ago, the Serbian army went from house to house in Kosovo collecting all the weapons belonging to each family (gives you a whole new perspective on the right to bear arms, eh?). The army attacked about a week later. Driving the Albanians out of their country. Similar to what is currently happening in Burma, and roughly what is happening again in Kosovo.

So, the Albanian/Serbian border was soon full of refugee camps. I wish I could show you the footage. Rows and rows of white tents, with dark-skinned children and sad faces hanging out, cooking what little food they had. Isolated. Alone. And volunteers EVERYWHERE like busy buys. Distributing, videotaping, interviewing, donating.

The United Nations will not give refugees more than they absolutely need because they want to encourage them to find a home ASAP. My grandparents, however, took them in, thousands of them.

As the trucks arrived at the site full of bread, Papou boxed it up & started passing boxes of bread out to volunteers them out. Soon, you see staff & volunteers at barbed wire fences handing loaves of bread to refugees. Beautiful sight, really.

Later:
Thousands of people were housed by my grandparents in a strong, clean building with partitions for each family. They offered a better refugee camp than the United Nations ever could. Complete with bathrooms and areas for them to cook that didn't mean red clay and ants in your teeth. Not to mention, they offered them love. The purest love. The love of Christ. Which I would be a fool to overlook.

Yiayia talks about this time as a time that you know when you're getting no sleep, not enough food, no rest, God is doing something supernatural. God is making this happen. Because you could never be strong enough.

She said the people they cared for were like a big, gigantic family God put in their pathway.

Being with my grandparents in America makes them seem so ordinary. They make me do the dishes and clean my room. They like to have high-tech gadgets and they grumble when they miss a doctor's appointment.

They aren't easy people. They aren't perfect people.

Just goes to show, God doesn't need those people. Those people can go try to make it on their own, and fail.

Meanwhile, He'll take the broken, the incapable, the HUMBLE, and He'll make something great out of them. He'll give them tasks too long for their granddaughters to write in a blog. He'll touch lives through them. He'll inspire people because of them.

This isn't about my grandparents. This is about God. This is about how afraid I am to do missions work. How afraid I am to even go to Albania for a month. & about how afraid I am NOT to do missions work. This is about God overcoming all of my fears. This is about the fact that God can do ANYTHING.

If anyone made it through this blog, which I doubt, I need to tell you something:

God can do ANYTHING. I know that you claim to know this. And maybe you do know it. But you will never understand it. Because, ANYTHING doesn't fit into our box. ANYTHING is too big.


BUT: NOTHING is too big for God. Not even ANYTHING.

Thursday, March 20, 2008

People seem not to know that their opinion of the world is also a confession of their character. -Ralph Waldo Emerson

I have problems.

I mean we all have problems. But, I'll be the first to shout it from the rooftops.
It's great to live in a world full of fallen people, you know? I mean, it would be better if we could all be in perfect harmony with our Maker and with one another.

But, if we're going to have problems I want it to be all of us. Together.

Many people don't know this about me but I don't remember the last time I got mad at someone for disliking me.

I think a lot of people look at me & think that I think that I have it all together. They hate that about me. Especially people @ school and a few at church. Mostly just the people who know nothing about me and that I have NOTHING together.

Today, I had an encounter with someone who disliked me.
I never had the chance but I was just going to ask him why. I like knowing how people view me. It's kind of odd and some might view it as masochistic but I feel better about myself when I know my faults.

People who get mad at or get sad about people not liking them are a mystery to me.

When I realized the guy today didn't like me, it kind of put a smile on my face. It reminds me we're unique. It reminds me we're fallen. It reminds me that we're all in this together.

Most of all, it reminds me that I agree with him.

I will never deny that I have faults. EVER. You will never hear me do that. Not because I try to be honest, and it makes me even more perfect. But, because if anybody knows my faults, it's God. And then, if anybody else knows all my faults, it's me.

Why would I ever get mad at someone I agree with?

I've always wanted to get together with an intimate group of people and ask them what they like the least about me, in an uplifting way. I would expect them to be honest & realize that my faults don't make up who I am. I would expect them to be sensitive. So, in the least pessimistic way possible, I would want to know what they dislike about me. Mostly because people are always willing to tell you what they like about you. What they DISlike is almost never discussed. I understand, too. It just isn't socially acceptable. And, you'll never find me with enough gumption to bring it up to someone else.

&, the thing is, there are people I don't like. But, I would NEVER get rid of them. They make me stronger. And, I love them. It's easier to love than to like. A beautiful thing, love is.


much love

God loves you.
I love God.
I love you.
God loves me.

Love Love Love
Amor.

Monday, March 17, 2008

Capturing Eternity

We're back from Honduras! An interesting thing happened last night...
I was laying in bed scrolling through my pictures kind of editing some of them within my camera and I think I must have started going fast & not really paying attention to what I was doing because, next thing I know, I deleted ALL my pictures.

It was hard. I know it sounds kind of petty but I just started tearing up. I was heartbroken. There I am, holding memories upon memories and the faces of children that I fell in love with and all the sudden *poof* they're gone. It was no fun. It was a struggle. So I lay there for a while praying that God would miraculously restore those pictures. I thought maybe that if I had enough faith He would just put them back in my camera. And if I promised to glorify Him for it, He would have mercy on me. Then, I realized that while it's important to have faith, God's will will be done anyway. I haven't run into God's voice saying "No" very often. But He says it sometimes, and it was particularly hard for me to hear that last night after I got off a trip full of Him saying "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

I'm not trying to make God out to be a bully. He's so far from it. My point is that God's will is better than any will we could think up on our own. He has blessed me by not restoring those pictures in a way that I don't even understand yet.

And in all of this I learned especially how to store up my treasures in heaven. God spoke to me. He met with me. He knew my pain and He healed it with His soft and comforting voice.

While I can't see the faces of the kids anymore. Those pictures were going to burn one day anyway. What will remain is the hearts & souls that I touched just by being a broken vessel.

In the end, the pictures don't matter. It would be nice to have them, sure.
But God had something better for me than a reel of Honduran sceneries & portraits. He has a kingdom that is welcoming them in one-by-one. He has angels rejoicing after names are scribed in the Book of Life.

And that's enough for me.

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

"We're pretty tight"

I've been WAY stressed lately. Stressed in a way that I don't think glorifies God. I know I said in a previous post that I had peace.. and I did. But the last three days have been INTENSE. I was at the church for 10hrs Sunday, 7 on Monday, and only 2 & a 1/2 today! There's been a lot to do & I haven't really had time to press in to the Word much lately.

Honestly, I haven't had much faith this week. I thought pretty much if I didn't get stuff done, or make sure that it got done, failure was in store.


God has been faithful, once again, to show me in such a gracious way His great love & power.

I was doing dishes tonight (it helps me unwind, honestly) and I just got to thinking about how much I miss God. We're pretty tight & I haven't had much time lately to talk to Him or listen to Him. So while I was thinking about it, I started talking to God & I'm like "I miss you!" and I just could feel Him speaking to me saying, "I'm right here. I sent my Son so you wouldn't have to miss me ever again."

I love Him! He always speaks into my heart the right things at the right time. Then again, He is God.

So after 3 days of spiritual thirst & hunger, come to find out, the food was sitting right in front of me the whole time.


How comforting to know He's never going to leave. He'll be with me in America, Honduras, Albania, Thailand, Jamaica. Wherever I go, He's with me. He's the ONLY One who's always with me.


"They were all filled with awe and praised God. 'A great prophet has appeared among us,' they said. 'God has come to help his people.' "
Luke 7:16

Saturday, March 1, 2008

"Ain't love the sweetest thing?" -Bono

I feel kind of obligated to write a blog about how excited I am about Honduras. Oh, am I EXCITED. But, that's not really what I feel like writing about because, if you know me, you know how excited I am. You know where my heart is.
I've been trying to figure out excitement lately. Before we left for Thailand (feels like just
yesterday), I remember only ever being able to say "I'm stoked, I'm excited, I'm pumped, I'm amped!" and so on...

What does that really mean if you're excited? I don't get it. I know that's ridiculous. It's like asking why the sky is blue. It just is. Excitement means you're just excited. I don't know,
though, I feel like I should feel more than that... & I do. Oh words, how you cheat me. I feel so
peaceful. I've been going CRAZY lately with preparations. Making copies, revising schedules,
making phone calls, stapling, paper clipping, stuffing stuff in folders, organizing, & reorganizing,
revising, revising, revising. YOU KNOW WHAT? I'm peaceful. I know that things are going to
work out. I don't care about the crafts, I don't care about the games, I don't care about the kids
learning English. I want to show these kids the very love of Christ. Those are just the ways I'm choosing to do that. Those are merely tools. Organization, being prepared--these aren't my goals. These are stepping stones getting us to our ultimate goal. Our goal of sharing the love of Christ with every child we come in contact with. Every person we come in contact with.

Our theme for the week in Honduras is creation (I all of the sudden put all the team members on Blog spot at a slight advantage.. you lucky ducks). I looked over the curriculum last night & it talks about basic stuff (God reveals Himself through creation, God is glorified by creation, God created everything in 7 days, etc). It reminded me of a poem I wrote once about being God's work of art.
art of love

oh and you've made us such beautiful people
wrapped in crisp sheets of faith around our ankles
finding redemption in submission
and only you could stroke our hearts in such a manor
that the breeze screams out your name

my hair caresses the dome of my shoulder
you've made my eyes to reveal your dwelling place in my heart
from the shadows on my neck to the curl of my toes
you painted me, your portrait
i feel the bristles of the brush as you stroke me into existence
you texture me throughout the canvas of your glory

my voice it sings your name
my arms they want to reach you
i stretch each fine muscle in my body
in hopes of embracing your nature

and every time i sing that tune
every time i sketch that daydream
every time i paint that fantasy

i feel you.
oh yes, i feel you.

from the part of my hair
to the arch of my foot.

you are my dwelling place
take me, I'm yours
your work of art.
my art, your work.
I know, I'm no Robert Frost.
Anyways, I was reading an old article today from the April 2006 publication of National Geographic called "Inside Chernobyl". After I finished reading it I referred back to the chapter in Searching for God Knows What where Donald Miller talks about the "Children of Chernobyl". In a portion of that chapter he mentions a boy named Sasha who is severely deformed as a result of the Chernobyl devastation. I googled Sasha's picture expecting to be repulsed and humbled. Nope, Sasha is BEAUTIFUL. Not to our standards. Put him next to an ordinary human & he looks deformed. But if you look in Sasha's eyes you'll see his beauty.
"you've made my eyes to reveal your dwelling place in my heart"
His childlike creativity. He's not even smiling but I know that he holds great things in that bound up heart of his. It amazes me that the Devil can mark all over God's sketch of the world & even still, His glory is evident, His beauty shines through. Satan can take Sasha's body, but he can't touch Sasha's spirit.
That is beauty, friends.