The Duct Tape on My Rainboots

Recently I wrote Beth Moore a letter. In it I said, "I'm not baptist, but I think an 'ooh glory' slipped out of my mouth at one point." It happens.

My hair is braided so I feel more in touch with my baptist sisters. Ask my friend, Hannah. I said "ooh glory" and "aks" to her both in one day. She's not baptist- she's a wonderful shade of Carmel Mocha that I can't achieve if I try, but God has blessed her with beauty. He blessed me with the jokes. We each have something. 

I'm reading through Joshua 7 this morning. He's just instructed the Israelites through yet another insane only God could do this miracle. God said march around this city. Yell stuff. Blow a horn. Watch. I'll make it fall down. And that's just what happened. Right after that, one of the guys in the camp stole from the people's treasury. He coveted and stole a rainbow robe and some jewelry. He took a bar of gold and some silver. 

Joshua. This guy. Am I right? Every time I read his story, this great great great great and on grandpa of mine, I find myself sighing so heavily and then an "ooh glory" slips out. 

Joshua figured something was wrong when he began losing what should have been an easy win. 36 of his men dead. He fell to his knees in prayer all day. Not some of it. All day. "Ah, Sovereign Lord..." He cried out. 

He asked for direction. He sought truth. "Why did you even bring us here!?" This last part was too far. 

At the bottom of it, Israel had sinned. Then they complained and blamed God. I do this. Ooh glory do I do this. 

In the Greek translation "ooh glory" can mean "God, please get the glory for my stupidity, complaining, and terrible choices. Work these things together for your glory. 

Sorry I was lame. Again. And then complained to you about my natural consequences. Again. And sorry I doubted that you are able to AGAIN get me past this. Again.

Sorry I ask you things and then ignore your words like you're my dad and I'm about to turn 18 and feel like I just need to try it. And thanks for sticking with me as I climb through those consequences. Oh and thanks for letting me question you without being offended. And for free will and my own thoughts. But thanks for always always saving a spot for me right snuggled next to your lap. I see where I fit. I see where you've saved a seat for me. Just. Thanks."

It's a loose translation. It's like duct tape on my Rainboots.

~Nonsense

Darn You Perfectly Brewed Americano

Some places just know how to coffee. Yes. I used coffee as a verb. Try and stop me. No don't. I bruise like a peach! 

Photo cred: I stole this photo from the web. 

I had a meeting at The Coffee Bar last night around 4:30. Just a quick stop to meet a new friend who gave me the low down on all the information I'll need for a smallish major new ministry with which I am helping. 

Awaken. 

I love them. These women love Jesus in a major way: with Grace and practicality. With heart and hands. Faith trudging through disbelief. 

So far I am all talk and coffee, but come Sunday I am jumping in. Two women are temporarily setting aside their high heels and heart breaking career of turning tricks at $200/hour to take their GED. 

Too big to grasp? Too contrary? Too "why should they even bother if they are going to go right back to that old life?" 

Yah. Well. I'm not in their shoes, but I know what baby steps are, and these girls are taking them. And for some reason, God is letting me help. 

So between an angelic Americano and this buzz of "what am I getting myself into? My heart is about to get vulnerable, I just know it. Lord, is this another mascarade that seems like I am the one helping, but really I'm about to get helped?" I find myself not sleeping. 

All through our meeting I kept saying, "the devil wouldn't be trying so hard to keep these girls down if they weren't about to make a huge difference for Christ. He wouldn't even care." And it's true. 

And by that, I mean if you don't feel the devil messing with you in some way, just maybe you don't matter enough to the kingdom. Just maybe a couple of 20 something year old prostitutes are closer to changing lives for Jesus than you are. 

Right along with that though? If you are enduring some heavy about now, there's a good chance you are in God's will. Youve tapped your chest and said "come at me bro" to a real enemy. Stay the course. You aren't alone. 

I feel shaken up by this. I feel like these girls are on the verge of something amazing. Noway am I getting left behind. 

I wanna jump up with my hand raised and shout "Let me come!" Like a typical little sister. I'm pumped. 

Photo cred: I stole this photo from the web. 

And then. I can't sleep. So I hang out on my twitter and the worst news story comes across. 120 children died last night. Six teachers. 

Taliban (tomato). These jack asses (tuh-mah-to) who think they are changing the world. And they are. And honestly, there is little I can do to change how they spend their lives. Waste their passion and faith. 

I can be their opposite. 

Now I see. A few more pieces just slipped into the puzzle. I'm to be contrary. I'm to be their opposite. 

When they spew darkness, I'll shine light. 

When they breed hate, I'll work harder for unconditional love. 

When they bring death, I'll breath life. 

When they marginalize, I'll be a peacemaker. 

When they shower depression, I'll pour on joy. 

In the same way they are too big and too far for my hands to affect them, my God is too big and my faith is too committed for them to touch me. 

Get behind me satan; you know your place.