Rejection.

The fear of man: being concerned with what people think about me

The fear of God: being concerned with what God thinks about me

People are inconsistent. But God is always happy with me, loves me, and thinks I’m awesome. So I would much rather fear God.

The fear of man is not just a fear... It is a temptation. It is a choice. Once I know what God says about me and thinks about me, I have the choice either to receive that as my identity, or to receive thoughts that are concerned with what people think. Being concerned about what people think is social anxiety. To live without this concern is to live in peace and freedom. But if we hold onto this concern, we will never reach our full potential to love. We have to get outside ourselves so we can be free to care for the souls of others.

But living without concern for what others think of me is HARD. And why is it hard? There is something desirable about the fear of man. It makes us feel safe if we are checking to make sure we are pleasing people. It helps us feel welcome, accepted, appreciated, & glorified. It is very hard to refuse to engage with what other people are thinking. But honestly it is none of our business, and it is sin to engage with these thoughts.

God is teaching me to be confident, not only in myself in the present tense, but to be confident in what I did, to be confident in what I said. It should be enough that He approves!

Contentment is an art form that I am determined to master.

Almost two months since returning from Africa, and I still don't feel as though I've gathered my bearings. I feel constantly shaken. People ask me "How was it?", as if it were a simple answer... equating it to a beachside vacation... "Just give me the high points!". It would be much easier to state what broke me, but no one wants to hear that, right?

It seems pretty angsty to state on a blog that I feel more alone than I ever have. Ironically, though, it feels more secure.

Sometimes I feel like everything is happening too fast and I am clutching at it, tight-fisted, and it is running out of the cracks, like sand or water.

Some scattered, post-Africa thoughts.

I've experienced love of the unfailing kind, the kind that never gives up but pursues me, even when I run like a wayward, disobedient child.

In the mornings, I sat with Him. I listened to the melodious sound of the Annankra family praising their Creator, I begged for His presence.

For a while, it was hard to distinguish His voice. After such a long time of refusing to listen to it, I didn’t know which voice was His, or mine, or someone else's.

Memories and feelings and hurts collided into an ensemble of my weaknesses. My hurt lay before me and there was nothing I could do but beg to be healed. My sin was oh so heavy, and I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing the depth of what I had done. There was so much I was sorry for. So much I wanted to forget.


If only I had chosen Him instead of myself, grace instead of my failed self reliance, passion and hope instead of harbored thoughts of fear of trust.

But God, my Redeemer, drew closer to me than I ever thought possible. In the quietness of the dawn He calmed my restless heart. I realized that there is no such thing as being too far from grace. “Too late” does not exist in the vocabulary of the Lord. And the sacrifice of my Savior is enough to cover it all.

It’s never too late, my love. You have wandered, that is true, but I have called you back to me. Do you know that you that my grace is enough for you? That your life will sing my praises? I have so much in store for you, just be patient, and wait on me.

In Yeji, the oppression, the islamic religion, it broke my heart. I realized that all that they were doing… none of it would be enough. My God is not a God who requires duty and law based living. He doesn’t give me specific times to pray, or forbid me to pray during a particular time of the month. And I’m happy, really, that these people trying to make a difference in the world (we all need people like that), but at first I was discouraged. I thought that maybe what I was doing wasn’t enough. But then I remembered, that I have something they don't have {yet}: the Holy Spirit.

ghana pics

I miss you.

Once you experience the indescribable love of the family of God, you begin to understand the most profound act of love that ever happened. The Lord gave me such a beautiful family {both immediate and spiritual} and when thinking and processing what full time overseas missions would look like, I will be ugly and honest and say I find myself already sad about saying goodbye to this particular family. I am the last person to advocate or welcome change - especially when that means saying goodbyes.

My Father gave His only Son... so that He could be glorified in us as we become His sons and daughters. This is especially raw and real to me right now.

First, I experienced love like no other. It was so amazing, I didn’t know such a height could be climbed. It was the radical, ridiculous love that was being shown to one another within my Emmaus family. It is beyond words. It is beyond words. It is truly other-worldly in nature. It’s lots of weeping. It’s weeping when we see each other, it’s weeping when we part, it’s weeping in sympathy when we hear of another going through a tough time, it’s weeping in celebration when our brother or sister is blessed in a mighty way. It’s feeling very deeply.

It’s knowing something more surely than you know the sun will rise tomorrow. It’s knowing I am loved and that’s never going to change.

It’s realizing that if I’m not loving, I’m not living. And learning to live an entire existence abiding in the love of Christ. It’s letting His love overtake me until I’m just a fool.

First I experienced this love, and I never wanted to leave. I grieved the thought of being apart from my family. A part of me thought I would be completely content sitting around a campfire, singing songs to the Lord... and I would have never grown tired of it for my whole life. ;-)

But the Lord gave me an opportunity to experience this love {step one}... and the second step is to carry it out to someone else. Many, many “someone’s”.

This lesson may be the biggest lesson I’ve learned in Ghana... at least, the lesson I’ve gleaned from Him thus far. For once, I feel I understand a bit of what the Lord felt when He gave His Son away. I bet He missed Him a lot. It was all for love. They both chose to share it with the world instead of keeping it for themselves. It took a great divide between them... but it brought billions into the Family - to be adopted to as daughters and sons!

I’m here in Ghana and even though 7 weeks hardly registers as a “sacrifice” - I miss my families so much! But I would send them all out in a heartbeat if it meant touching more lives, feeding the starving, adopting orphans and spreading His healing love to every nation.

I would send out all my best friends for love.

Jesus is not a cut-throat competition.

I’m beginning to notice a rather frustrating trend in the Christian Non-profit world. This topic has been festering for years, but always processed internally for fear of offending. In recognizing that truth [and really, the gospel] is offensive, I have finally transitioned my thoughts to paper.

Over the years, I’ve volunteered with various non-profits, been on the developing staff of multiple and am now a founding member of one that facilitates social involvement worldwide. I know this world - I breathe this world - I love this world... the majority of the time. This trend I’ve tried to avoid [but, I assure you, haven’t always been successful] is the one where we make sharing Jesus a cut-throat competition. We get defensive when someone else tries to step on our proverbial “turf”, and in essence - attempt to love the people we are already loving. As if we could somehow extend too much of that “love”. We turn up our noses when another missionary [outside of our elite group] passes by - or if we greet them at all, it is with icy cold insincerity. Our questions are poised and judgmental.

My question [to us all] - what is our purpose? If our purpose is merely to be a Christian humanist - reducing Jesus to some kind of product [whereas, you are saying your “package” of Jesus is better than mine] - we might as well quit now, before we make more of a mockery of our Lord.

However, if our purpose is worship, if our purpose is glorification of Christ, if our purpose is loving “them” like Jesus - why not begin by loving and serving and being in unity with one another? If we cannot fathom serving the person in front of us, then we have no business carrying His name to the ends of the earth.

Let me love them to life.

How can I help”? is the question we're most asked.

My answer is always "Very simply. You can always love and hug children. And you can spend a few weeks of your life to get a glimpse of how much of the world lives – and let your heart break. But more deeply, in order for you to be useful to the Master here – or anywhere – you must be close to Him and in love with Him. To the degree that you are intimate with Him, you will know what to do, what you must do. Jesus says drastic things in Scripture, such as ‘You still lack one thing. Sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.’"

[From a book we just finished - Always Enough by Rolland and Heidi Baker. HIGHLY recommended].

for such a time as this

Words have been pretty few this week. I can't tell if there is simply too much to say, or if I am just having trouble illustrating my heart on proverbial paper.

We're all a little crushed. The beauty and joy of Ghana almost masks how much injustice this country faces. We had a pretty emotional day this week. We received some frustrating information that brought our spirits down. Kofi sat with us on the porch as we wept for the sake of these children we so fervently ache for. Asking that the Lord would give US wisdom and endurance to figure out these next steps. Feeling not quite brave enough or strong enough or well equipped to handle this.

I was reading Foster's book on Prayer this morning. How sweet of the Lord to encourage me in the few chapters I read. Making sure I knew that a spirit of brokenness is the best place to be. Not to request or seek out tragedy - but to be alive and active in a hurting world. We know that we are capable of nothing. God is breaking the three of us in attempts to teach us what it means to be his hands and feet. We often pray that the Lord would "break us for the things that break Him"... and yet, we're surprised when He does exactly that. He has given us opportunities to practice humility, service, love [when it hurts], prayer when words are few, opportunities to look past our petty and selfish frustrations in order to serve the one in front of us. He is giving us very tangible ways to trust Him in the moment, to not feel overwhelmed or burdened by the task, but to be expectant of our God to come through [always].

The Lord is giving us huge responsibilities. It is both exciting and terrifying [to me, at least. I can't speak for Thomas or Erika]. Terrifying, because the task seems so huge and unreachable.Thrilling, because He considers us worthy to carry out these tasks... to be a part of His healing, to rescue children, to love the seemingly unknown and forgotten.

I consider it a great privilege to be alive and called “for such a time as this” – and therefore, by God’s grace, I commit myself.

Emmanuel - God with us.

We had the random opportunity to travel with a group to a village called “Mamachrome”. We visited with some of the children and helped a team from Texas with a program.

The first few minutes, I met Emmanuel. So small, I assumed he was 5 or 6. As I picked him up, he held onto me tightly and dug his face into my shoulder as I squeezed little body. Kofi, our dear friend, told me “He is my boy. You know, he is 15 years?”, “What? How could this be? He is so small!”

I later found out that his mother tried to abort him when he was in the womb. Therefore, his growth and mental capability had been stunted. He was so sad, so hungry, completely capable of stealing my heart.

Tears form, even now, as I remember how big his smile got when he heard a familiar worship song. His frail body moved to the rhythm, and his smile captivated my heart.

They named him “Emmanuel” which means “God with us”. He and I sat under a tree – just rocking back and forth and I prayed and proclaimed that over him… that God be with him.

We’re prayed together this morning… genuinely thanking the Lord for our crushed spirits. We pray for brokenness for the plight of the orphan.

a few mosquito bites, grey hairs and taxi drives

The title is somewhat self-explanatory: mosquitos are a part of life in Africa, I found grey hairs [what?! Already??]. It must be those adventures in taxis.

We came with no plans... no itinerary, just a few things that needed to be done for the children's home, visit with Fisherboys, Cecilia, Wonder, etc... but knew we needed to keep our schedules somewhat lenient so we could truly listen to where the Spirit lead us. And already, the Lord has blessed us with perfectly timed opportunities. We have some plans to go on a medical outreach at an orphan home in Aflao, in which we will stay the week in the orphanage. Erika and I will be traveling to a village about an hour and a half from here on Tuesday [possibly all of this week] to just love on some sweet people and share Jesus.

It's so different from any other place I've visited. Maybe there's simply more time to observe, but the people are just happier, more at peace and many of them know the joy of the Lord.

Val, our sweet Ghanian friend, invited us into her home and cooked a delicious meal [you guys, I ate beef! Those of you that know me know how big of a deal this is]. After lunch, we sat with Val and her husband for awhile.

I was feeling a bit restless and needed to hug some children, so I crossed the street in front of Val's house where a young girl was running a small store [candy, cokes, etc]. Evelyn. Talking to her, she tells me that she is 12 years old and runs this store herself while her parents work elsewhere. This is not uncommon at all, but a very tangible reality of how different life is here. After awhile, a group of children gather [I find that my skin color, NOT bubbles or even candy, attracts the children... and I'm perfectly okay with that].

Sometimes I can’t express in words how much I love people. And then I think bigger and harder, and can’t even begin to find the words to express how thankful for and in love I am with my Creator.

"Lord, fill my cup"

Greetings from Africa!!

We're on our second full day here in Ghana - and I'm already falling so in love.

There's a picture that sits beside "my" bed in the guest room Erika and I share - It says "Fill my cup, Lord".

From waking up to the sound of goats, sheep, and chicken outside of my window... the pleasant, breeze filled evenings on the porch with A.W. Tozer, African market experiences [that include, but are not limited to: Marriage proposals], embracing this beautiful culture, hugging sweet children, sitting in silence outside when all of a sudden a heard of goats come trampling by [inches from my toes], sweet morning bible studies with the Annankra family... I have to say - My cup is pretty full.

We received a call from one of the Fisherboys last night. He told Kofi that he was praying for us... and that "God is there" [with us]. I teared up then... and even now just thinking about what a statement that is. That this precious one would think to encourage us [privileged Americans who really haven't faced anything close to the travesty he has] that God is with us. It's difficult to not feel discouraged when you look at the magnitude of the problem and think "What can I really do?"

But the Lord reminds me faithfully to be strong and courageous. To let Him be the strength of my gospel audacity.

All of this is simply to say. My mind is full, but fuller still is my heart. It is full of love, love I do not understand. Love for things and places and people that I do not know well enough, that I do not do justice to.

In the past few months, God has been shaking everything that I thought I knew about Him, things I had read about and picked up and sensed and observed and could write about easily or tell others about, but never knew deep within my heart, never knew with ALL of my heart. And I know that as He’s been stripping away all these layers of superficiality that have been covering my heart and mind, He’s also been laying a foundation of knowledge and love for Him that will arise not just from head knowledge or borrowed experience, but from true encounters with Him, from boldly allowing myself to question everything that I thought I knew in order to find out just how much I don’t know, and letting God renew my mind and fill it with all of Him. From a hunger that is real and refuses to be satisfied by pat answers or easy formulas. They will arise as truths I will be able to hold with my hands and give to others with my heart. They will carry marks of brokenness from all the searching, wrestling, stretching that I know will one day make me whole. And I know that this foundation will be an unshakeable one, able to endure even the fiercest of flames and the strongest of floods.

the art of story

I cannot hide how moved I am by the art of story, and by the way the Master Storyteller has brought me to where I am today. I had lunch with a beautiful friend this week... during that lunch, this person asked me to tell them more about how I got involved with the people pictured above. This is a subject that I can [and will, if you're not careful] speak at length about. As I was telling this person His story... it was like God was revealing more truth to me as I was retelling it.

About two years ago, these faces took up permanent residence within my heart. When I fell in love with Africa 5 years ago, I never thought that I would still reside in America... at 22. I longed for Africa. For years, I tried to force my way back... any way I could. I had several trips planned [Kenya, Nigeria, South Africa, you name it... I signed up for it]. With each trip [whether I had funds or not], God eradicated my involvement. Why would he give me such a passion for a place – but not allow me to return?

In frustration, I gave God a proverbial shrug, and said “Fine, do your thing. I'm done forcing it”. Somewhere along the way, my life shifted. Not so much unlike the shifting of baggage in the trunk of a car, really. No wait, that just sounds like my life is nothing but baggage.. and over all it just seems like a very unappealing simile.

When people ask me what Shiloh is exactly, I answer by explaining that it was “God's answer to my 'send me to Africa' prayer”. He sent Africa to me.

This year has been a year of the Lord graciously releasing me of my desire to control. If I am controlling how/where/when I serve Him – it is more about me than Him. It is more about fulfilling my desires. How infrequently we pray "Not my will, but Thine."

Last year, a refugee/friend/father asked me to go with him to visit his 4 children in CPS custody. His wife was incarcerated and his kids were in foster care for about 6 months. It was really selfish on my part, because I desperately wanted to see these kids... I needed to know that they were okay. Bukuru, 11 [she is deaf], Bosco was 5, Kristella was 14 months and Eranse was only a few months old. About an hour into the visit, Bukuru caught on that she was not going home with her father that day. She flipped out. Sobbed, fell to the ground, wanted no one to touch her. I sat on the floor with her and held her as she sobbed. My eyes welling with tears, and satan in my head... telling me that I couldn't handle this. My heart broke as the visitation was over, and the transporter had to physically pry her arms from around my neck. Screaming and fighting her way back to me. I stood in the lobby of CPS - unable to do anything but cry.

I will be honest, this heaviness I feel – was never what I thought ministry would be. Naïve, maybe. I have often returned like a defeated soldier; I have been intimidated by the size of the problems at Shiloh. I have, at times, lost hope for my Beloved to cover all of us and our sin with His Kingship and blood. I left in confidence and returned in fear. I left in the arrogance of my own strength and have returned knowing myself to be incapable and weak.

But His love cries out to me to be strong and courageous. To take my weakness and my fear and let it be the vessel for His strength and gospel audacity. I am still too scared, too frail to promise Him that I will obey perfectly, that I will go in His strength, fearing Him alone. But I swear by His goodness that I want to. And I am sure that by His grace I one day will.

I never imagined life would consist of picking out infant sized burial dresses for refugee babies that had died, or read over legal documents after children were taken away by CPS - explaining to the parents why their children are in foster care, or be the first one to be called after an emergency, or cry at random times – just thinking about how much pain they are facing.

On my drives to/from work every day, I try to listen to various podcasts. Last week, I chose Mark Driscoll's “Suffering to Serve” series... based on 1 Peter 4. So. Timely. Ministry isn't about comfort... God uses suffering for good and wants us to use our suffering to serve others. And that Jesus is our example... He shows us how to endure suffering and serve others with it. We should look to often finding ourselves in the house of mourning. A beautiful, comforting, rich, peaceful and yes - even life giving house of mourning. Not to request or seek out tragedy, but to be alive and active among a broken and mortal world.




Once again, He caught me unaware. Emmanuel got his family back a few months ago. The investigation was over, and they came to the conclusion that there was no abuse happening. Rosatta, his wife, was released from jail... and I waited inside their home [along with the entire community] for their children to be returned to them. I stepped outside to get some air - overwhelmed by how beautiful this community is, and how - despite how much it has broken me, God allows these glimpses of celebration to occur. As I was holding back tears, tears of joy rather than sorrow, Emmanuel asks "What is wrong?". I laughed through the tears that had started falling, and told him "This! This is beautiful. I love this gift of Shiloh"... Emmanuel's reply "Ohhhh, yes. Everyone - they know you. They say 'Ayleeesabit! Ayleeesabit!'. They love you. It is good". It was something like the feeling I get when small talk turns into a conversation with depth and leaves me thinking for days, even weeks about it. It becomes one of those little moments of life that we seem to think are reserved for only those close to us, until they artfully overtake us.

This idea, suffering to serve, has been resonating within me this week... and really – how beautiful it is. How beautiful that He considers us [me, of all people?] worthy to represent Him.

I am breathing in the moments that keep approaching me, each with another piece to add to this story. It is a story of redemption taking hold. Of a Kingdom that is ever-advancing and pervasive. Of a God who is quite literally running off the front porch to welcome home His prodigal daughter, of sorts, with open arms.

And, as always, I am still an imperfect, messy work in progress that spends a lot of time falling flat on my face. He is so incredibly faithful to pick me up, over and over again, dust me off and whisper His truth and peace into my ear... even when I doubt, attempt to take the reigns and listen to these lies that satan whispers. I am so thankful that God has rescued me from the tyranny of my misplaced desires. I'm constantly thanking Him for His “no's”.

Tozer says, “It is doubtful whether God can bless a man greatly until He has hurt him deeply”

everything you once held dear