Lessons Learned the Honduran Way: Part 2

It started with a slight tapping.  I can deal, kids need to move-- no big deal.  It moved to a standing and tapping... well, my kids at home throw imaginary "footballs" and hit imaginary "baseballs" while learning-- again, no big deal, I can deal.  Next, sliding a chair across the room... Ignore, just ignore-- it will work, it has to work.  Now, we're standing up dancing instead of listening to the story of Moses... okay, ignoring's not working.  "Let's talk in the hall."  Mistake #1.  Rookie Mistake.  It only amps up from there, and, quite frankly, I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I lost my cool.  I wasn't kind.  I wasn't loving.  I was, for lack of a better word, mean.  Mistakes #2 - 15?  My words may not have been directed at him, his character,  or who he was/is, but in my anger, I did not want a changed behavior, I wanted revenge.  My pride reared its ugly head through anger, frustration, and unkind words.  I knew it as I felt the words roll off my tongue.  I felt it.  I was immediately convicted.  It was at that point that I realized/remembered/experienced that you can't take words back.  Once they're said, they're said-- for better or worse.  No matter how much I tried to rewind, I tried to back-track, I tried to recover, the words were said, his behavior was amplified, and I was sitting in the aftermath.
I'd love to say that I took this to heart, humbled myself, apologized immediately, and chalked it up a lesson learned the hard way.  Unfortunately, that would be stretching the truth.  No, I went to lunch crying in frustration.  I called for the social worker to come talk to him because he was "out of control."  That's when her question hit me... "Can you tell me what happened right before he (insert the amped up behaviors)?"  Do I tell her what I wished happened?  Or do I tell her what actually happened?  "Well..."  I recount the story to her-- how it all started, how it escalated, and how I lost my cool... Talk about a pride check.  I recounted the story not just to her, but to a few others as we decided together the best way to handle the situation.  I knew the best way to handle the situation.  Grace.  Mercy.  Love.  But my pride kept me from saying so.  So, I spent the afternoon in my bed wallowing in my own self-pity.  Why me?  Answers in my mind:  Because you're a poser.  Why would you think that coming to a foreign country would change the way you dealt with kids?  You lost your cool-- yet again.  The same way that you lose your cool in Oxford.  You're wasting your time, you're wasting the Ranch's time.  Fake.  Poser.  You don't deserve grace.  You don't deserve a do-over. 

Every bit of this would be true... "BUT GOD, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ -- by grace you have been saved -- and raised us up with him and seated us in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus.  For by grace you have been saved through faith.  And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast.  For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them" - (Ephesians 2:4-10)

His voice is louder.  Through the doubt, through Satan's lies, through the shame, through my sin, through all that I deserved... LOVE.  GRACE.  MERCY.  He overshadowed it all with His love.  He washed it in His grace.  He covered me in His mercy.  His Word cut through the layers of doubt, insecurity, and self-protection in my heart and refined me.  (Hebrews 4:12)  

Still lying in the same bed of self-pity that I'd made only an hour earlier, it was as if the Lord spoke these words of scripture over me.  His grace is enough-- even when I use mean words, lose my cool, and make things a million times worse.  His grace is still enough.  It's not about how righteous I am.  It's about Christ's righteousness in me.  It's out of that righteousness given to me by grace alone, not by merit, that I begin to see a transformation in the way I walk, talk, and act.  That doesn't mean that I'll be perfect.  I'll definitely fail.  But that's the point of grace.  When I do fall, when I do fail, He's there to pick me back up.

That leads me back to my tapping, chair sliding, dancing friend.  The Lord convicted me, and I knew that I had to apologize.  So, I prayed through it, gave it the night to settle in, and I planned to approach him the next morning.  That's when the social worker met me at breakfast the next morning... "How would you feel about giving him a chance to earn his reward back?"  GRACE.  YES.  So, I apologized, we talked.  We did some one-on-one math together, and he earned his reward back.  It was during the sweet one-on-one time that I saw myself in him.  In the same way as he'd acted out the day before acting impulsively and not thinking about his actions, I had as well.  God gave me grace in heaps and bounds, and I was able to share that grace with my sweet little friend.  As we sat and talked about grace while he worked his math problems, the Lord made it so very clear to me that this moment was "why me."  This is why the chaos happened in the middle of my "normal."  So that I might get just a glimpse of the power of grace, and that I might just begin to understand that the little bit of grace that I got to share with my little friend was infinitesimal compared to the vast oceans of grace that He has given me.  

And that moment... that realization has forever changed me-- as a teacher, as a daughter, as a friend, as a sister, as a person. (to be continued...)

Lessons Learned the Honduran Way: Part 1

Disclaimer:  I've stared at the flashing typing cursor for about ten minutes now trying to figure out what to type or how to even begin to put into words the experience of this summer and all that the Lord taught me through it.  Just now, as I sit in silence, I realize... I can't.  If it could all be put into words, I'd have a better response when people ask me how my summer was besides "awesome" or "soooo good" or "life-changing."  While all of these things are good, they only begin to scratch the surface of what I saw, what I felt, what I experienced, and what I learned.  So, please know that a short response, a simple response, is not meant to be a cop-out on sharing my experience.  I want to tell you what happened.  I want to share.  And I will-- little by little.  If you'd like to know more than what I give, please feel free to ask questions.  Good ones to ask would be-- "Tell me about a moment you'll never forget."  "Tell me about _ (fill in the name with a child)." (**Note:  If you're around me for long enough, a sweet name and probably an irresistibly adorable picture is certain to come up.) "What is one thing the Lord taught you on this journey?"  "How has adjusting back to life in the States been?"... etc.  There are so many more questions that you could ask, and I will be happy to answer any and all that you'd like to know.  I'm fully open and would LOVE to share.  Let's have coffee, let's have dinner, and let's chat.

In the meantime, I'm going to write a series of blogs on the big things that the Lord taught me this summer -- the incredible, the good, the bad, and the ugly.

So, without further ado, here's blog one. (At this point, I don't know how many there will be.  I'm just going to write until I run out of stories to share.)
....

I was sitting on the porch listening to the mountain rain.  It had quickly become one of my favorite things.  I loved the way the rain sounded as it pounded on the tin roof, blew through the trees, and settled on the green mountains and valleys that seemed to run forever in all directions.  The power was out as it was almost every day of our first week in Honduras.  No power meant no wi-fi.  No wi-fi meant no connection to home.  No connection to home meant no reaching out to friends or family for comfort in moments of loneliness or fear.  No friends or family to run to meant that I could no longer run from being still and quiet in front of the Lord.  Sitting on the porch, listening to the rain, watching every aspect of creation move in worship to its Creator, the Lord broke me.
For months as I was preparing for the summer, I had been so caught up in planning every little detail that I'd missed the most important part.  I'd praised God for His faithfulness in fundraising.  I'd praised Him for His guidance in every step of the journey.  I was so very careful and so very quick to give every ounce of glory for the journey to Jesus; however, somewhere in the midst of all of the interviews, and fundraising, and packing, I'd lost sight of the fact that this journey wasn't about me.  It wasn't about Rancho Ebenezer.  It wasn't about the kids.  It wasn't about Pinelake or WGO.  It was about Jesus.  Every part of this journey was intended to draw me closer to His heart.  Yet, until that day, sitting on the back porch, I was so caught up in myself and my flesh that I'd missed it.  I'd missed the fact that Jesus didn't need me to be awesome or extraordinary or a superhero.  Jesus simply needed me to be obedient to His call.  But this obedience was not for the sake of my own glory or for me to "help" those less fortunate, no, much bigger, much more important, this obedience was for the sake of the Kingdom, for God's glory.  So, I dove in, I dug deep into the word.  I prayed big and bold prayers.  I sat in silence.  I listened.  God spoke.  He comforted me in my anxiety.  His perfect love cast out my fear.  He silenced the doubt.  He reminded me of His promises.  He covered me in His love.  He washed over me with a renewed sense of peace and contentment in Him.

For so long, I've lived a life concentrated on the next big thing.  Over the past few years, that's been moving to Oxford, Grad School, Mexico, Honduras, and so many other things.  I've lived a life of jumping from one super focused thing to another, and, in the middle of the mountains, as I fought hard to discern what that next big thing just might be, the Lord spoke loudly and clearly through His Word.  Cease striving.  Be still.  Rest.  Trust.  You don't have to know the next big thing.  The Word doesn't say be still and stress out about what you don't know.  It doesn't say cease striving but panic on the inside about the "what ifs" of the future.  Quite the contrary, it says:

God is our refuge and strength,

a very present help in trouble.

Therefor we will not fear though the earth gives way,

though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea,

though its waters roar and foam,

though the mountains tremble at its swelling.     Selah

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,

the holy habitation of the Most High.

God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved;

God will help her when morning dawns.

The nations rage, the kingdoms totter;

he utters his voice, the earth melts.

The Lord of host is with us;

the God of Jacob is our fortress.     Selah

Come, behold the works of the Lord,

how he has brought desolations on the earth.

He makes wars to cease to the end of the earth;

he breaks the bow and shatters the spear;

he burns the chariots with fire.

"Be still and know that I am God.

I will be exalted among the nations,

I will be exalted in the earth!"

The Lord of hosts is with us;

the God of Jacob is our fortress.     Selah

-Psalm 46

He is our fortress.  He is our refuge.  He is fighting for us.  He is over and above it all, and He is victorious.  He has defeated my giants, including the giant of anxiety, so why should my fear of the unknown keep me from walking boldly in victory?  It shouldn't.  I'd love to say that that porch moment changed me so much that I have not had a moment of anxiety or fear since then, but that would be far from the truth.  I have struggled.  I have panicked.  I have been so quick to forget.  But another thing that God made so very real to me on the back porch in Honduras is that His grace always has been, is, and always will be sufficient for me (and you!).  We will fall.  We will mess up.  Our drive and ambitions will fail, but He's always there to pick us up, dust us off, and walk with us as we pursue Him once again.  So, here's to the journey.  Here's to chasing after Jesus with reckless abandon-- not for my own glory or accolades, but simply for Him.  I'm not chasing after a destination.  It's not about where I end up.  It's about meeting Jesus along the way and following him step by step... (to be continued...)