Light it up, So they can't put it out

      I don't really know how to describe you.

      I can use words like passionate, loyal, fierce, beautiful, tender.... but really, they are just words, and I am not sure if they will do you justice.

      Really, for someone like you, words don't really seem to work all that well.

      So, I will try to do everything I can to honor you on your day, but I am sure the words will still come up painfully short.

       When I was in Miss Bonifay, I was asked to give the person I most admire. The person who came to my mind was not Gandhi or Mother Theresa or even a celebrity like Beyonce. No, the person who immediately came to my mind was you.

        Really, I have always admired you, and really, I have always wished I could be a little more like you.

        Passionate... you have this fire inside you.  Sometimes it scares me just a little, but you exude this contagious fire that warms everyone else around you, and it's beautiful. Whatever makes you excited, you can't help but share. Conversations with you are never merely surface level. They have to be deep, and as a result, I always walk away challenged.

         People like you change the world because they just can't help themselves. They see needs and those needs must be fixed. As I walked with you through my slums, I wondered about how your heart and mind would process the brokenness around you. You didn't weep for the pain you witnessed. Instead, you questioned and began thinking of solutions. Your heart never could settle for grief... you have to do something. And you will.

         You are never afraid to ask questions, hard questions. And it's okay to ask questions... because once you find your answers, you hold fast to your beliefs with all of your heart. When you truly believe something, there is no turning back.

         Loyalty... you don't give up on people. You love until it hurts, and you have been hurt. However, your hurts have not hardened you to the world. Instead, you love smarter. And that's what I love about you... you still choose to love.

        Fierce... I mean, work it girl, because you can. I wish I could saunter in heels like you do.

        Beautiful... What do you see when you look in the mirror? Do you understand how truly beautiful you are? Do you see the inner beauty that reflects to the outside? You have these breathtaking blue eyes and those freckles I have always wanted that just add to your charm. But your smile is my favorite. Because when you smile, your whole face lights up. And your smile is contagious. It gives. It invites.

        That is your beauty... the kind of beauty that invites others closer.

         Tender... That may not be a word you are used to hearing, but really, there are moments when all I want is just to be closer to you. You tell the truth (and sometimes it stings), but there is compassion in your words. Your tenderness is a gift, especially to those who really need someone to just be there. It helps me trust you more, knowing that whatever you speak will be spoken with wisdom and love.

          It's rare to be able to say that someone is every inch their name.

          But really, when He inspired your name, He knew that it would personify who you are.

          You are Joy: a source or cause of keen pleasure or delight; something or someone greatly valued or appreciated.

           You are greatly valued for who you are, for who you are to others, and for who you are to me... my little sister, my dear friend, someone I can't imagine my life without.

           I hope that this year, you draw closer to His heart. Go to Him with your questions, your doubts, your fears, and let Him amaze you.

           I hope this is the year that you are genuinely amazed. I hope this is the year that you find joy in the little things, that you discover how to use your gifts more and more for others.

           My prayer is that this is the year you fall deeper into Him, and you discover more of who you were created to be.

           Because people like you were meant to change the world.

When the lights turned down, they don't know what they heard. Strike the match, play it loud, giving love to the world. We'll be raising our hands, shining up to the sky. Cause we got the fire, and we gonna let it burn....
                                                                                    ~Burn, Ellie Goulding

Love Song for a Savior and a Letter to Say Good Bye

In open fields of wild flowers, she breathes the air and flies away. She thanks her Jesus for the daisies and the roses, in her simple language. Someday she’ll understand the meaning of it all…

He gave me a song for you. 

I watched you dance to this song, your first ballet. You would sing it around the house with the other kids. We listened to it over and over until I begged you to make it stop. 

I sat there in the dark after I was given the news, and I asked Him for something to let me know He was there, that you're ok.

And the melody began to play.

And then I realized, the song is you. It's me. 

And the tears finally began to fall.

Our human minds can only comprehend so much. We look around and see pain and suffering. We wonder where He is in this... where is the purpose, the hope? If God is so good, then why this?

And really, my mind is so simple. I thank him for the daisies and roses, when really, he offers me so much more... more than I can even imagine. 

And even though this doesn't make sense, we have to trust... someday we will understand the meaning of it all... why this pain, this heartache, this stretching, this disease, this ache... Why? 

I’m jealous of you.

I’m jealous, dear little one, that you get to understand before I do.

My mind is struggling to comprehend it. My heart doesn’t want to believe it. But you are gone, and all I can do is try and figure out what to do with the jumbled pieces of memories and moments.

How do I grieve you? My little sister, my friend.

There was so much you wanted to do… become a flight attendant, have a family, graduate from college in red high heels.

And now it won’t happen.

You were so frustrating with your stubborn personality. Sometimes you absolutely drove me crazy.

And in my selfishness, there were moments when I would rather do anything in the world except take care of you.

But really, dear girl, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

I wouldn’t trade the sleepless nights, the arguments, the moments of frustration and tears because for all of those moments that made life difficult, there so many more moments of joy….

My excitement when you finally could eat something and keep it down.

Hugs out of nowhere.

Fixing your hair and makeup for church.

Singing and laughing with you.

All of our talks about boys.

Praying, reading Scripture, learning how to love Him more and more together.

Watching you grow stronger and stronger.

Sing “Happy Birthday” to you over a beautiful cake, the tears you cried over the joy of experiencing this birthday, the one you thought would never come.

Watching you dance, your smile, your joy.

I miss your laugh.

I miss you.

And there will probably be a part of me that always will.

You are the first little one I have been able to give tears, actually weep.

And today, as we sang “Revelation Song” in church, they filled my eyes as I pictured you with Him. You and I had worshipped together in this church, and now… you are home. I have been given a taste, and you have experienced everything.

Did you run to Him?

What was the first thing you did when you walked inside heaven? Are you still running, finally able to move without any concern of pain? Is your broken tooth fixed? Are you still smiling? Does your stomach ache from laughing?

It is such a beautiful thing to be able to have hope and joy in Christ, knowing this is not the end, but still, my human heart aches.

You were my miracle.

I wanted your story to be different. I wanted to always be your big sister... I wanted to watch you grow up and shop with you for those red high heels. I wanted to dream with you. 

I don’t know how to process this, and it will be years before I even begin to understand what in the world His plan and purpose in the past eight months has been.

Because, right now, I don't understand. And it doesn't seem right or fair. 

I don't get it. And for right now, that's ok.

All I know is that I loved you dearly, my little sister.

And I am so grateful that you knew I loved you.

I am so grateful that I was given the chance to love you, and although I made many mistakes, there was a lot, by His grace, I did right.

The Lord gave you to us, and He took you away.

And I will bless His name.

Being your Ate was a blessing.

I love you sweet girl, and I miss you so much.

You finally understand, don't you?

Someday He’ll call her and she will come running, and fall in his arms. The tears will fall down and she’ll say… I want to fall in love with you. I want to fall in love with you. I want to fall in love with you. I want to fall in love with you…

                                                                                            ~ "Love Song For a Savior"

                                                                                                           Jars of Clay

In a world where very little goes right, there will always be you.

Big sisters don’t often look up to their little sisters. I guess I am the exception, because you, my dear little sister are a challenge and an inspiration to me.

If we were the characters in Little Women, you would be Beth… hands down, you are Beth (whether you like it or not).

I say that because there has always been this kindness about you, a gentleness that draws people close and makes them want to stay a while. Maybe it’s because that’s what you do… you open your heart, welcome others inside, and keep them comfortable enough to relax, to take a breath, to rest.

In the same way, there has always been this beautiful trust and light about you. You see the world differently than most, and where others have to look for the beauty, it’s just there before you. For example, when you were little, you trusted that the squirrels would be kind enough to leave pecans for you to eat. You trusted that Cinnamon would one day be gentle enough to pet, even though the rest of us ran from her in her early puppy days. You are kind to the people I am afraid of, and your friendships have challenged my ways of thinking.

You have always been your own person, making no apologies, being yourself. Cowboy boots, beads around your head, red skinny jeans, leather jackets, really… whatever you want, you wear, and somehow you always look beautiful.

But really, you could wear a burlap sack and still be beautiful. That’s just who you are. Because your beauty on the outside is a reflection of who you are on the inside… fearfully and wonderfully made.

And really, my dear sister, you are one of my favorite people in the world, and you never fail to make me laugh. There are some moments that I can only share with you, and you always make me feel better when I am with you.

To your Beth, I will always be Meg… the “mother”, the nagger, the worrier, the one who just wants to protect you, because it’s not that I don’t trust you… I don’t trust the world. I want you to always be kind, trusting, gentle, seeing the beauty, and everything inside of me wield the Xena sword (or was it a frisbee?) to make sure no one ever tries to hurt you. The world needs more people like you.

And if the world had more of you… there would be more joy, more laughter, more silliness, more hugs, more time playing and less time worrying, less anger, less evil, more hope.

Unfortunately, there is only one you... so be you, please, and nothing else. Because the world needs you.

Don’t get me all wrong though, because although you are kind and gentle, you are also fierce, and sometimes terrifying, and thank God I have never had to be your opponent in an athletic competition. Because, girl, you are scary ("beastly" I believe is a word that has been used).

I don’t know when it happened, but all of the sudden, I blinked and you grew up. And I don’t want it to happen because I want you to always be little, and I want us to always be little… to never grow up.

But it happened… and today you are 20 years old.

I read this quote this morning, and it has really stuck with me:

“If you give God the right to yourself, He will make a holy experiment out of you—and holy experiments always succeed”. (My Utmost for His Highest)

I know the word experiment tends to conjure images of operating tables and Frankenstein… at least it does for me.

But here is the thing sis, you are not your own. Your gifts, your talents, your beauty, they are not your own. You belong to Him. And really, you only have one thing you can offer Him... the right to yourself.

My prayer for you is that this will be the year when you discover Him more deeply and fully than you ever imagined possible. Pursue Him and follow His heart, knowing His arms are open and He delights in you. He doesn’t just tolerate you. Oh no, my love, He delights in you.

Delight in Him. Not so that He will give you the desires of your heart or because it feels good. Delight in Him because you belong to Him, you are treasured by Him, and in Him there is joy beyond measure.

Become a holy experiment… offer you heart and life, and watch in amazement as he takes you on this journey of an incredible life you could not have dreamed for yourself.

Will it be scary? Yes. Will it hurt? Sometimes… but dear sister, there will always be grace. And there will always be joy.

Because more than anything, the world needs you, being yourself, passionately pursuing His heart. And when you do that, dear sister, you will be incredible, a force with which to be reckoned. And that is a beauty and a joy that time, evil, heartache, could never destroy.

I love you so much, and I wish that I could be there in person to celebrate your special day with you.

You are my Bop, my Jen Jen, my Beth, and my heart. 

When it's time to let go... Again

I know this stance well...

Shoulders hunched, looking down, hands cupped tightly around my hopes, dreams, fears, plans. I know them all by name. They have been constant, steady companions. They are my prized collection, my greatest treasures... they make up me. 

He knows this. He knows the deepest corners of my heart where these precious treasures lie. He knows  how I lie awake at night making plans and dreaming dreams for the future. He knows what makes my heart sing and soar with the thought of new possibilities. 

He knows how much I love them. 

And yet, there He stands with hands stretched out gently, asking me to give them up, once again. 

"Why?" I ask. 

I hold them closer, clenching them to my chest. Why must He ask so much? Demand so much?

Because maybe, just maybe, He has something better in store. 

It was this time four years ago that I made a decision to say yes when He called. He had called even before then, when I was eight years old, and I had said yes. And then, at 19, I stepped out. 

Four years ago, my feet touched the ground of a little island called the Philippines. Was it everything I had planned? Absolutely not. Was it my dream? No. 

It was even better. 

Time after time, He asks me to let go... names, hopes, dreams. 

Some decisions are more agonizing than others. Some require a continual letting go as the five year old inside of me tries to snatch it back and screams "Mine!!!!".

I hold my treasures close, assuming my defensive stance is one of protection, but really, it's destructive. 

There is a reason why the stance of worship is of open and outstretched hands...

When my hands are open, there are no more weights no more burdens... only freedom, sweet and glorious freedom. Nothing can chain me. 

With one hands, I can receive. 

Why though, do I always assume he wants to only give me pain and heartache? Why do I always assume that He will come with a fist of judgment and my hands immediately fly to cover my face from a blow?

Maybe, deep inside, I still don't trust, still need more trust.

Maybe, deep inside, I haven't fully understood the free gift of grace. I haven't let it wash over me, cover me.

And really it's all because of everything I have been holding on to... how can I receive grace with clenched fists? How can I welcome love with folded arms?

I want it all... more grace, more love, more and more of Him. But if I want it all, I must let go.

Slowly, yet surely, I name them, my precious dreams, hopes, fears... it feels like I am giving away a child, piece after piece of my heart.

And He takes them, one by one, with the kindest eyes and the gentlest touch.

He understands. He knows the pain of "Not my will, but yours".

I can trust Him.

I can breathe.

"Will I ever get them back?" I whisper... but I know the answer, and we have been here many times before.

I will trust. I will allow him to replace my dreams with His.

And something strange happens when I release my treasures into His arms... I feel joy. Unexplainable, perfect joy. And peace.

And my heart knows that my treasures will be safe with Him. He will protect, He will guide.

I stretch my arms and wiggle my fingers, cramped from holding on so tightly.

And I almost forgot... I can't hold His hands with fists. When I hold on, I am alone. But when I let go, I allow Him to come near, and I draw closer.

And together, we run.


"Lord, I give up all my own plans and purposes, all my own desires and hopes, and accept Thy will for my life. I give myself, my life, my all utterly to Thee to be Thine forever. Fill me and seal me with Thy Holy Spirit. Use me as Thou wilt, work out Thou whole will in my life at any cost, now and forever."
                                                                                              ~Betty Stam, missionary to China

Mirror People

     Maybe I should start calling them "Mirrors", these people God brings in to my life who seem to perfectly reflect what is inside of me.
   
     I see it in her eyes, the way they look down when she tells me her story, in the tears she spills as she recounts the pain. She doesn't want to die. But life has been so cruel and she is so broken. She grips my hand as we pray together, and she thanks me for being there, but really, what do I have to offer?

      Fear. Dear God, I know that feeling so well. I know him by name, and it doesn't matter how he manifests himself, he is always close by, ready to pounce, to destroy.

      I see it in her eyes.

      And I see anger, too.

      I've never really thought of myself as an angry person, but in the past few months, this has been my fall back emotion. All it takes is just one spark and I am engaging in this passionate inner dialogue where I curse the world and everything in it. If I am not careful, the anger will consume me.

      And I see what it has done to her. Illness has a way of destroying beauty, but the heart has a way of ruining whatever is left. And when you are cloaked in fear and anger, it is only a matter of time before the outside begins to show the wear and tear.

      But it's a wearing that doesn't have to happen.

      Yes, life is hard and things I will never understand happen. I wish I had answers, but every time another abused and broken little one shows up on the doorstep, I continue to ask "Why?"

       Why was she abused for five years?

       Why didn't anyone want her?

       Why is a six year old's body covered in scars?

       Why did their mother die?

       "I don't understand, and I always ask God why me....."

        I don't know.

        What I do know is that I have a choice... I can allow every hard circumstance, every instance of pain to destroy me and steal my joy, or I can say to whatever is in front of me, "Hallelujah".

         There is a reason why it is called the Sacrifice of Praise... because it means that I have to let go... of my pride, my fear, my demand for answers and reason, and I have to let go and simply love Him.

          May I always choose to praise, my Love. May I always choose praise.

When She Reflects Me

I met her in January.

We were walking by and she stopped us, asking for medicine. There were sores, painful sores in her mouth and other areas. I knelt and looked into her eyes. She was afraid.

Thinking back, I should have stopped and paid more attention, asked more questions. I should have prayed over her. But I texted my director for answers and we left.

I have thought about her since then, wondered if the sores went away.

They haven’t.

Instead, she arrived at our doorstep a few days ago, full of fear, her body covered in open wounds. They smell, they ooze infection; they speak of a cruel pain. 

Her body is in so much pain, but I think her heart even more so.

“Curse” they all whisper. Some turn their noses down at her, and some whisper the word in fear. But it’s clear all believe she has been inflicted with a curse. No one… not the hospital or the witch doctor… can do anything for her. She is cursed to die of a painful disease.

And aren’t we all?

It’s interesting to see a reflection of your own heart in the wounds of someone else. Open, painful sores as a result of the wrong choice. And isn’t that where my wounds come from? One moment after another of choosing myself over Him. Self-inflicted illness from a lifetime of picking me.

And it hurts to watch… because it didn’t have to happen. There is a better way.

I didn’t have to wound myself… there is a better way.

And who am I to deserve this... to be on this side, typing about her pain rather than living with open sores of my own? My choices have been no worse than hers, my pride no better, my sins no smaller. I don't understand. 

And I think back to her… the woman whose name I don’t know, but I know her story. Inflicted with an illness for 12 years, a bleeding disease, maybe from her choosing, maybe not.

But for twelve years, she roamed yelling “Unclean!” as her law dictated so everyone would know to stay away. No one knew her name. No one knew her story. All they knew is that she was unclean, dirty, cursed. She probably smelled. She probably didn’t have a friend in the world.

This is how she presented herself to Him, wounded inside, broken outside. All she wanted was just to touch and walk away. She risked the possibility He would be just like all the rest, that He would send her away, He would proclaim “Cursed”.

And He could have just let her walk away when the disease was healed.

But He didn’t.

He didn’t.

Instead, He called her out and made her come forward.

And in place of Unclean, He gave her a new name.

Daughter

In a culture where family is everything and for a woman, it’s who you belong to that matters.

Daughter

He claimed her as His own. He could have said sister, friend, woman, but instead, He chose the most intimate relationship he could, apart from calling her wife.

Daughter

She is mine. Flesh and blood. Unconditional. I claim her. I want her.

She is mine.

There are always consequences to sin and how quick I am to hold the judgment and condemnation over myself. I don’t deserve grace or freedom. I let the wounds fester until they become more than I can bear.

And yet, in spite of me, in spite of the fact that I have nothing to give Him, nothing that would render me useful, He still says, “Come”.

He still calls me Daughter.

I am His.

I don't understand why. I never will. So I can shove it away and run back to my life of selfishness. But I don't want to. I want Him.

And for her, He who has the power to break all curses calls her His own. He says “Daughter. This one is mine.”

And isn’t this our story? The story of a curse we are not strong enough to overcome, a curse that must be broken by One whose sacrifice paid our freedom, whose resurrection is life.

You are mine.

For the Baby who is no longer a baby (But you'll always be mine)

My dear little sister,

Today you are seventeen, and even though it was seventeen years ago, I still remember the details.

I remember calling mom from school every day for a week to see if you were coming.

I remember my teacher running into the classroom and screaming, “Yes!”

I remember shouting “My mom’s having the baby!” and my classmates singing the “Hallelujah” chorus (your arrival was welcomed with music).

I remember Mama Bebe picking me up on the way to the hospital, waiting in the lobby for two hours, and waiting for Papa Ole to finally bring me a cheeseburger.

I remember the first time we met. I had this yellow paper gown and a blue hair cover as I walked in the nursery. They asked me if I wanted to hold you, and I was scared I would drop you, so a nurse helped me. It was only for a few moments. I remember being excited because you were born with lots of hair, like me.

I remember wanting to name you Jasmine, but I was quickly vetoed.

In many ways, you were my first baby… the first baby I dressed (I was so excited one day when I could do everything but your socks… you kicked). The first baby I really helped take care of, the first little one I loved.

We call you the baby, and as the fourth of the 4 J’s, you have been raised with four mothers (and one day you will call it a blessing).

But now, you are anything but a baby.

As cheesy or as silly as this may sound, when I think about you, I always think of how impressed I am by you. There is so much that you do that I never could.

I could never get on a horse and actually ride it. I’ve always been too afraid. But you get on the horse, tell it to run, jump over things, fall off, and then do it again.

I could never catch a basketball. But you can catch, dribble, fight for it, and make others genuinely afraid of you.

I could never sing karaoke… but you can belt out tunes with the best of them.

You have always had this confidence, this fearlessness, I have never had. You are so cool.

And you are one of the funniest people I know. You keep a lot of things to yourself, saving your ammunition for the right moment, when all of the sudden you just come up with these comments that are so funny and can just cut people in half.

And I wish you could see your beauty… the beauty that goes far beyond makeup, clothes, skin and hair. I wish you could see your heart.

 I wish you could hear every time my little girls see your picture or ask where you are, because they still remember you. You let them cover you in make up, spent time with them, and even though it was uncomfortable for you… to them it said “You’re worth my time”.

I wish you could see how your whole face lights up when you laugh.

I wish you could see yourself… what you look like when you are completely focused on others, whether it’s playing with a little kid before a basketball game, walking through a slum, listening to the words of your friends. Because it is beautiful.

And on the outside you are gorgeous with your green eyes, long legs, and huge smile. But, honestly, it’s your heart that makes you so wonderful.

And I can’t wait to see what He does… how He changes your heart, shapes it, and lets it grow this year. I can’t wait to see the challenges, the dreams, the way He pushes you.

And I can’t wait to see how you respond to the calling He puts on your heart… how you struggle with Him when it seems impossible (because the struggles are ok), how you fail and seek grace (because you will fail, and that’s ok), how you will run harder and faster to Him, how you will snuggle closer to His heart and listen and breathe.

I wish I could be there in person. I wish that saying yes didn’t mean that I would have to miss so much of you.

But I love you so much sweet girl. My prayer for you this year is that you would taste and see that He is good. My prayer is that you would gain a deeper understanding of His heart. My prayer is that you would see yourself through His eyes... broken and hurting, yes, but redeemed, restored, full of possibility.

I am always here for you. You are my heart.

Happy Birthday!