As I was leaving our Hope Center celebration, the moon was full behind a high palm tree and someone was blasting a Spanish version of "I Just Called to Say I Love You".  It had been one of those perfect moments you can't plan:  smiling community leaders, weeping volunteers, chocolate faced kids, a full moon, and pretend Stevie Wonder.  These are the moments I live for.  If I believed in the stars aligning it would be the alignment of stars.  But I don't.  I believe in grace.  I believe in power.  I believe in the power of the grace of Christ to align the hearts of a Newport Beach debutante, an Oregon country girl, an ex-Mexican political campaigner, a handful of housewives, and college students and cocky teenage Mexican Americans.  Only Jesus could bring this group together.  And He did.  There we were crammed into an apartment, glowing in the joy of having achieved a dream, of having opened this community center.  As I walked toward home to the oompah of the Mexican Stevie Wonder, I reflected on the evening- there was Eric, the professional tutor who shows up twice a week to tutor Freddy, Juliet, the MissionYear graduate, who shared her cake with me.  Then Andy, the faithful volunteer read a note from his student and looked up with tears in his eyes saying, "That's the best thing anyone could have given me."  Juana bragged about her healthy salad and Claudia fretted if there would be enough food.  Then there was America.  America, the beautiful, the woman of grace who links us between languages and cultures.  America, who confidently introduces herself and graciously thanks all who participate.  She represents our hope.  All our hope- the moms want a daughter like her, the tutors want a student like her, the leaders want a disciple like her.  She is who we want other kids to grow up to be- one who loves Jesus, who loves the community, who graduated from college and works hard.  She is our hope.  She is also undocumented.

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So a second take on Chelsea King.   

I have been thinking about my prayers and the prayers of the thousands, most of which I assume would appear now to have gone for not.  Chelsea wasn't saved.  She isn't alive.  And most people are left with a feeling of, excuse the passion, "What the Hell is wrong with this world?"

It made me re-think something I wrote two years ago, when a similar thing happened, only that time it was cancer that did the killing.

Prayer changes everything and nothing - all at the same time.
I recently saw the familiar bumper sticker, “Prayer Changes Everything” and of course began to ponder if that is really true. In my opinion, often times prayer changes nothing at all because we are hoping, expecting, and searching for it to change something it was never designed to change – external circumstances. Can God change our circumstances? Sure. Does God change circumstances? Maybe. Is God’s focus on circumstances? Never.

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Last month I visited the International Justice Mission headquarters, not far from the Pentagon and just outside our nation’s capitol.  It was a beautiful day. The air was crisp and cool and the ground layered with the remnants of the recent snow storm.

Inside IJM, you’ll find a quant, but inspirational photo gallery. The walls are lined with telling photographs of beautiful people who are part of IJM’s work abroad. Each face on each photo has a story to tell of survival, of redemption and of justice at work.

An IJM church mobilizer, Lauren Johnson met me in the gallery. Upon meeting Lauren, it was clear that God has orchestrated her life’s path perfectly by placing her at IJM during this time. She was a terrific host. After a tour of the floor offices, Lauren and I sat down and we had a conversation about human trafficking.

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I have a confession.  I have been in a dysfunctional relationship for the past three and a half years.  It started one afternoon with my heart beating out of control and it has been a love/hate relationship ever since.  When things are in sync life seems bright and possibilities endless.  However, when there are long wrestling matches, I wind up jaded and broken, tired and hurt.  While tackling this relationship the past couple of years, I thought I could make it work. This relationship hasn’t made sense for a long time and it is one I must reconcile because I am not speaking of my marriage or my parents or my best friend, I’m speaking of my health.

2006 was definitely a stressful year: Graduating from grad school, the terrible job search, turning down a job I could see myself loving, but knowing it wasn’t where I was supposed to be. I also started therapy to face my torturous inner voices. And on top of all of that, I came face to face with many family members awful perceptions of me as a former fundamentalist that was once upon a time more interested in the “right” way rather than the loving way.  It was a long year, and in August of that year, my thyroid, which unbeknownst to me had been pissed off for months prior, really let me know how mad it had become one day by speeding my heart rate up to 120 beats per minute (resting).

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I saw an angel this morning.

Maybe it was our conversation last night at dinner. My daughter Alex was convinced that as she watched the trees swaying in the wind, she also saw an angel, waving at her, bringing her peace.

There has been a lot of un-rest and non-peace in the world lately. I’m like many, I’m sure…watching the news from Haiti, emotionally wrapped up in it. My brother’s family is adopting from Haiti, and his wife Kristen was over there visiting with her eight month-old baby, Karis, when the quake struck. She was evacuated safely with Karis, but the little boy they’re trying to adopt remains there…and it’s breaking my heart.

It’s more than just hearing of the numbering of the dead. It’s the story of a mom, lifting a blanket and discovering that the still form is indeed her son.

The state of my union is not that good. I don’t think you’re supposed to say that sort of thing, but it’s true, so I guess it’s worth saying.

I’m not talking about our country, which remains strong despite its many issues.  And I’m not talking about my marriage, which is still my greatest earthly delight.  The union I’m talking about is the union that matters most:  my union with Christ.

The struggle I face today is the cavern that exists between what I know and what I live.  I say that Jesus is the greatest satisfaction to our soul’s deepest cravings, and I believe this deeply.  But I’m not living in the embrace of this reality today.  There are just far too many concerns on my heart.  I tell myself this is simply a busy season of life, and this will all soon pass, and I’ll be able to reconnect with God once more before long.

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I received this video update from my friend Stuart who is on the ground in Haiti now. His team from a church in CT were there when the quake hit.

Stuart had this to share in an email only a few hours ago:

Thanks to all of you for your thoughts and prayers. Our team is still in Haiti, and we are doing fine. We have been working on various ways of getting out of the country. We are just taking it day by day. It has now been 4 nights since the quake and still most Haitians are sleeping on the streets, in open places, and huddled together. Most of them just have a sheet around them, or not even that. At 4am this morning I saw a man in shorts sleeping on the hard cement. They are sticking together though - it is vary rare to see people sleeping alone at night. We have continued to sleep outside as well, as the tremors are still rumbling quite powerfully. Please pray that the tremors would stop, that it would be safe enough for people to begin the long process of rebuilding there lives. Yesterday we were able to help find a number of Haitians whose relatives in the U.S. had heard no word from them. They are all alive. Today we will go out with different families in the community and visit their homes, pray with them, and help in any way we can. The smell in the air is getting worse as the morgues are overflowing. Though, being 40 miles outside Port-au-Prince, we are in a safe zone. Things sound to be getting pretty bad there, as bodies are lining the streets, and anger is rising as the days continue, the reality sinks in, and the scarcity of food and water makes its impact.

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We assume things about the poor, like they’re uneducated, drunk and contagious. Add a disability to the mix and you can add that they’re either a fraud, or beyond help.

Kathryn is poor and in a wheelchair. Been disabled six years and three months. I asked recently how her injury happened?
“How long you got?”
“How much you wanna tell?”
“Not everything, but I’ll at least give you the main parts.”
“Okay,” I said. “That’s how long I got, then.”

Kathryn started-out with a hell of a thorn in her flesh. Her mom shot her up with heroine at age three and her dad was never in the picture. Nonetheless, she somehow made it through high-school and college and eventually landed a job at a worldwide news conglomerate.

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It was the beginning of September 2006. Two Orange Line subway stops outside of Boston  exists an Irish Pub on a small cobblestone street. I was there on this night, having a meal with my friend Eric Nielsen (a.k.a. E). This dinner had two purposes really. One, I was getting out of dodge shortly after, heading back to my mother state, Ca., so it served as our farewell dinner. And two, E was laying the ground work for a very important mission he knew God was preparing him for and he wanted to share it with me.

 

Eric and I met on our first day in seminary. In Greek class no less. Yuck. Eric hailed from the hand state, Michigan. He loved engines and all things car related. Needless to say, he was friend and care –giver to my 4 Runner, Black Jack.

 

A little over two years since that meeting in Greek class, I was headed home and E was headed into his final year at seminary. So there we sat eating Irish Pub food, reminiscing over the past two years, and talking about our future directions. Like I said, E was on a mission and he was headed back to MI.; Detroit to be exact. Eric, along with a handful of other friends, was preparing a church plant in one of Detroit’s most broken and abandoned areas.

 

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Five years ago the Earth shook off the coast of Indonesia causing a tsunami to rise up on dry land and consume everything in its path.  The devastation was and remains, overwhelming.

 

• 226,000 dead or missing
• 1.8 million people displaced
• 13 Asian and African countries impacted

December 26, 2004 was no doubt a long and frightening day for those who lived through the chaos.

 

The Thomas Reuters Foundation along with International Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies released a short documentary which tells the stories of four individuals who are still picking up the pieces of the wreckage. I had a chance to view the short stories of these individuals. They are broken people, courageous people, vulnerable people and they are rebuilding their lives.

 

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