Unpack the Power

Prayer = power.

I've heard it countless times before.

Yet this past weekend as I sat beneath the great white expanse of a makeshift meeting place, something the speaker said suddenly grabbed my attention.

"Unpack the prayer. Unpack the power."

Hand reaches for phone. Fingers type quickly.
Eyes return to the front, yet somehow my mind is slow to follow.

The thought strikes me.

Fail to pray and you forfeit the power.

How often do I really, really pray?
I mean, the kind of prayer that you know has Power behind it?

It's a challenge to me.

Unpack the prayer. Unpack the Power.

Strength Costs

The clock ticks loud seconds away behind me. My arms and legs pulse to constant rhythm. Heavy breathing. Aching muscles. Active mind. 

Strength comes at a price. 

Discipline. Determination. Sacrifice. 

Light bulb moment in the basement. 

My strength — it’s not mine at all. It comes at a price. 

Sacrifice is the buzz word. 

If He hadn’t determined to sacrifice, if He hadn’t determined to give His life, my strength would be nothingness. 

Of course my strength is always nothingness, but there would be no alternative. No strength to infuse power into my weakness.

Yes, strength comes at a price. 

The price of sacrifice.

Live to Sacrifice

It has been awhile since I first caught a glimpse of sacrifice from this angle. Days and years pass. Time slips slowly into eternity. Struggles come and go, some still remain.

Yet as I sit here gazing out my window at the gently falling mist, at the blossoming apple tree, at the outside of my world, I remember.

It's not that I have forgotten. No, indeed.
This thought seared its way into my mind long ere this.

--

I had prayed to be "set on fire" for a long time. Years.
At times I felt it, I breathed it, I lived it. Other times I wondered where the fire had gone…

Yet early that morning as I listened to a friend share, I caught the secret to the fire.

Sacrifice.

It all seems so logical now. An altar is merely a relic without the sacrifice.
Without the sacrifice, there is no fire.

It only makes sense that the altar is the appointed meeting place between God and the soul because it is only at the altar that the fire is kindled. Yet a kindled fire is no security for a continued fire.

Sacrifice must become my life in order to keep the flame burning.

--

This world needs flames—rather it needs fires. Furnaces that cannot be extinguished because they are fed by such devoted sacrifice. A planet of fire fueled by a generation of sacrifice.

There have been in ages past those who have caught this fire. This world will go nowhere if our flames don't surpass theirs.

Live to sacrifice. Sacrifice to live.

Vindicated.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Mother-daughter walks. I love these. Sharing. Solving. Scheming.

We pass stately pines interrupted by the occasional aspen while deep in a discussion about various struggles and trials. Suddenly, however, my mind bumps into a tree-sized thought.

This man. Why hadn't I thought of him before? He certainly experienced trials dished out with a giant serving spoon.

Our conversation becomes rather one-sided as I cogitate upon the ramifications of this century-old story.

His name was Job.

Grabbing my Bible immediately upon returning inside, I flip to the book with the same name. My attention is riveted as I read through chapter one and reach the last verses. Wait a second here. Re-read.

What's this that Job does? What's this that he says? Hasn't he just been stripped of family, fame and fortune in a matter of hours?

He falls down, worships and blesses the Lord.

Immediate shame. Is this life of gratitude my automatic response to suffering and trial?

But that's not all. I read on into the second chapter.

Another meeting in heaven is underway, and Satan appears with devilish insatisfaction written all over his face.

I can just hear the fatherly pride in the voice of God as he mentions the faithfulness of Job.

"Skin for skin," Satan declares. "Touch his bone and his flesh, and he will surely curse You to Your face!"

Permission granted.

Did God just give assent to suffering? It's hard to read it otherwise. Sometimes He allows trials and pain to obscure our pathway, yet always for a reason—that we may vindicate His character.


Job's trials are painfully personal now. Health challenges. Interesting.

Yet how does God's servant respond once again? He simply does his best to alleviate the problem and gives thanks for God's gifts regardless of whether they appear as such.

Suddenly I see this story in a different light. I see my own life, my own trials in a different way…

These things that I face are not just trials.

This is a controversy. God's reputation is at stake.

Could it be that my struggles are actually part of a test to vindicate God's character?

And if I fail to trust, if I allow faith to falter, isn't His name immediately shamed?

I want His character to be vindicated.

What will my life testify? 

He Always Endures More

I climb part of the hill behind our house to my special place of communion. Rugged boulders wait serenely as though they were the thrones of majesties themselves. A cloudless blue sky envelops the world with brilliant rays of sunlight. In the distance I hear cheerful bird melodies while I watch a silvery-blue butterfly rest gently upon my bare toes. It's time to be still…

There are few things I cherish more than peace. 

My mind has travelled thousands of pathways in the last few weeks. Big decisions to make. Places to minister. People to love. 

Yet atop my mountain top perch with a birds-eye view, my mind wanders. 

--

A heavy groan pierces the silence of midnight. The stark moonlight shining through the olive branches seems to cut the blackness like a sharp knife. Huddled beneath their cloaks a few hundred feet away can be seen a few drowsy figures. The entire atmosphere seems triggered, waiting with cold tenseness.

Stillness is broken by a movement in the shadows. A pallid form raises from the hard ground shaking in sobs of anguish. Following the silent path of gravity, blood stains red the place of conflict. With faint but determined voice come the words, "Not My will, but Thy will be done. I choose to surrender. I will give all."

Suddenly His haggard form crumbles to meet the earth. This struggle has drained from Him every ounce of strength. He has made the choice.

--

I review this scene while gazing silently across the pined landscape and my mind returns to the cause of this remembering.

Upon the cross and in the garden over two thousand years ago He shouldered the sins for an entire world of ungrateful creatures.

He took them all. He bore it all. He chose it all.

And yet when everything is said and done, Satan will only suffer for the sins of the righteous.

Christ always endures more. 

His love encompasses, His heart throbs as one in our sorrow, in our agony, in our joy.

He has been through it all, and He understands.

Trust Him.

It's a Mystery to Me…

Wispy clouds sail past my window as I watch my home of three months fade away. Palm trees wave their gentle farewell while the shimmer of tropical summer reflects the heat along with all its side-affects that has kept me close company recently. Crazy traffic-crowded streets indicate a country where every driver is a law unto his own. Trash-covered roadsides, vibrant green mountains, people who have melted their way into my heart—it is all indelibly engraved upon memory’s hallways, paint still fresh. Shortly my mind is ensconced by cloud trails to match those outside. It's a mystery to me…

I walk at a brisk pace towards the immigration hall lugging my partially incapacitated suitcase behind me while endeavoring to maintain intestinal peace. My eaves dropping capabilities have majorly improved since I first encountered this airport in January. I laugh later as I bump into someone and catch myself automatically responding with perdón or permiso despite the fact I’m now surrounded by English speakers. Other curious habits cause me to smile. Has this language, this culture, really become so much a part of me in so short a time? My mind is still whirling. It's a mystery to me…

It’s my last flight. The flickering lights of city night-life hold me captivated. They always have. Soon the view out my window evolves into complete blackness. I try to see the stars while attempting to avoid the draft coming from the exit row window. I’ve never been known to sleep easily on planes, yet at least I have an empty seat beside me this time. I curl up as comfortably as possible, heavy eyelids descending slowly. True to history, sleep eludes me while once again the inner recesses of my brain step into high gear. It’s a mystery to me…

My eyes cast a bleary gaze around my room. I'm frozen, standing in tired delirium at the doorway despite the fact that it is two o'clock in the morning and I'm incredibly sleep deprived. This room, this house, this country. How could I have become so comfortable as to count them normal? It's a mystery to me…

This enigma, this mystery has fastened its iron-fisted grip upon my heart. And in the silence of quiet morning broken only by occasional flame crackles, I find an answer.

It’s not the poverty, the necessity or even the simplicity of life, it's the contentment. 

These people accept their surroundings and day-to-day realities with a smile. They are satisfied to continue making tortillas and cultivating coffee on the mountainsides like their grandparents. 

If perfect contentment to accept with joy every situation God places in my life can make even a full life simple, that is true living. I can still dream, but I am satisfied that where He has me right now is the absolutely most beautiful place in the world to be.

It is no mystery…

Fun at the river…

Lettuce harvesting day!

Lost… :)

A weekend at the coast…

A friend in the nearby little mountain village of Cero del Torro

Promoting lettuce in San Pedro Sula

Now these are lemons!

Friday is craft day—my turn to teach… :)

The verdant garden

A caving adventure…

Mi amigas en el restaurante! 

A first-time mom, younger than myself, who I was privileged to assist through labor and birth

Hungering for Sacrifice

Sometimes I want to post. Sometimes I could care less. But if anyone has been wondering why so much silence, it's because there is too much happening. My journal is basically full, and it has only been two months. I had to go hunting in town for a new one (not quite my fancy, but at least it doesn´t have disney characters on the front). :)

I'm across the mountain now. Dividing time between La Zona and Santa Barbara. Time at the restaurant. Time at the school. Time at the hospital. My days are full...

Yet deep inside, I feel myself growing in new ways, discovering parts of myself I never knew before. And I'm glad for that…

Learning to take sacrifice to a new level.
Learning more perfectly the inexpressible joy of service.
Learning to create stillness and calm regardless of circumstances.

But the more I learn, the more I hunger. For one thing...

To see the sacrifice of my Savior played out in my life.

Because my life is not my own. All to Him I owe.

I love these mountains…

Gavi and Waleska, my friends and roommates :)

René teaching school

Picking delicious organic lettuce

Seedlings

The restaurant, La Canasta de Vida

Mouthwatering…

A batch of cookies I made…

This specialty, called Torta Fria, is absolutely delicious! I had the privileged of making and decorating it this time…

A friend in the cesarean ward

Cleaning off a cute little newborn

One of the nurses, Damaris, who has become a good friend. :)