Search Results

I love science. I have always loved science. It was obvious from early on, considering I can remember dissecting a dead blackbird I found in the backyard before I was old enough to use pointy scissors! So, getting a double major in wildlife and fisheries sciences and biology, with a minor in chemistry, probably didn’t surprise anyone.   As a young mother of two, I found myself working as a research technician in the lab of a busy cardiologist—so busy I rarely saw him! Eventually, I would get my PhD in physiology with an emphasis in cardiovascular physiology. I did this with an ulterior motive. It would allow me to have more leadership in the lab, but it would also allow me to earn more even as I continued to work part-time so that I could spend more time with my young kids. Win-win!   Pushing the Boundaries of Innovation   Somewhere along the way, I read an interesting article in the local newspaper. A chemist at my alma mater, South Dakota State University, was working with an exciting photochemical with some really interesting properties. I remember reaching out to him to learn more about their endeavors and was excited to learn that our interests overlapped and our expertise complemented one another. A great partnership ensued that would take my career to places I never dreamed of going.   We were developing a platform technology, meaning that it could be used in many ways—in different fields, for different purposes. It could be used to bond tissues together, bond things to tissues, deliver drugs and tether them in place, and open blocked arteries without using a metal stent. Applications ranged from dermatology to ophthalmology to cardiology and beyond. It was an exciting journey . . . with its pros and cons. It resulted in patents and licenses and generated a lot of interest and much potential. It was also demanding more and more of my time. My resolve to be home more with my family was being tested, more travel was required, and Sundays didn’t seem to be off-limits. As exciting as it was and as much as I loved my team and the technology we were developing, I began to have a gnawing discontent.   Pushing God’s Boundaries   There is a dark side to the medical industry—perhaps to any industry—the part where power and greed overshadow benevolence. The golden rule here was “he who has the gold rules”! It became apparent why some called venture capitalists  vulture  capitalists—the mighty dollar was king. I saw a great tendency to set aside what would be common decencies or fair practice in other settings, rationalizing that the end justified the means. I can’t tell you how many times I heard, “Don’t take it personally; it’s just business.”   As my faith was growing and my eyes were being opened in so many ways, the contrast against this darkness that was emerging as we pursued lucrative markets and jockeyed competitive negotiations was stark. I remember having like six tubes of mascara at one point because I would find myself crying at work and needing to buy more! I remember in this season that, when typing my email, there were so many times where the “t” in my last name was somehow missed, and it came out as K- loser  rather than Kloster . . . and there was this nagging feeling that it had a ring of truth. I remember hearing the verse “What does it mean to gain the whole world, only to lose your soul?” over and over in my head—before I really even knew that verse or where it was found in the Bible.   Letting Go   I knew that we were called to be  in  the world, just not  of  the world, and part of me wondered if I was being called to bring “this little light of mine” into this dark place. But a greater part of me knew I needed to leave, and my husband agreed. It was probably one of the hardest decisions I have ever made, and it took me something like three years to do it. But leave, I did. And I had no idea what was next.   Looking back at that gnawing discontent, I have come to see it, perhaps, as a holy discontent.  God seemed to be squeezing from me the very thing I loved. And I was soon to learn that science was only the first of many things he would ask me to release. I was like a little kid who had had their hands in the candy jar. A loving parent asks them to give the candy back, knowing it would make them sick if they ate it all. The child may readily let them take the loose pieces, the ones hanging out the sides. But then there are those last precious pieces that remain in tightly clenched fists. God is a loving Father, and he was gently prying things from my clenched fists. Not to withhold good things from me but to leave me with open hands, ready to receive something even better.   “What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul?” Matthew 16:26a NIV   “For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light.” Ephesians 5:8 NIV   “Those who live according to the flesh have their minds set on what the flesh desires; but those who live in accordance with the Spirit have their minds set on what the Spirit desires.” Romans 8:5 NIV

I was in a big house. It was night. I was alone. There were many floors, many rooms, and so many doors —none of which were locked. And there were windows everywhere—none of which had coverings. The lights were on, and I was well aware that my every movement in the house was obvious to anyone out in the dark. There was no hiding.   Dark figures dressed all in black skulked about outside. Looking in the windows. Waiting outside the doors. I couldn’t see them nearly as well as they could see me, but I knew they were there. I suddenly realized that they had always been there, looking for ways to get in . . . I just had never really noticed them.   I had a sort of cautious respect for them and what they were capable of, but no fear. At one point, I was standing by an unlocked glass-paneled patio door with no blinds or curtains—nearly eye-to-eye with one of the dark figures. And yet, no fear. I knew, and had every confidence, that those figures would not— could not —enter the house. It was as though there was an impenetrable seal that I knew they could not break through. I was safe. Demons are for real!   Yet again, God brought Scripture to vivid life for me in such a graphic dream. Drawing up emotions and bringing insights, revealing truths that I knew but were not yet made real to me. You see, Scripture warns that the devil prowls like a ravenous lion, seeking to devour. We are informed that our battle is not against flesh and blood but against the powers and the principalities in the air. He does not leave us unaware but tells us that there will be spiritual warfare . . . demons are for real!   For those of us raised hearing Scripture read on Sundays in church, we know many of these truths, yet they are lost on us. We fail to acknowledge just how real the battle is. Whenever we become more aware, we can become fearful of such things. After all—demons are for real?!   I remember teaching the high school youth at our little country church about angels and demons. As I read scriptural passages that referenced spiritual beings, both good and evil, one student—who had been churched her entire life—asked incredulously, “You mean demons are for real?!” I knew we couldn’t stop there. God does not leave us unaware, but neither does he leave us unequipped. So we went on to read about the armor of God from Ephesians 6. He gives us the defensive weapons of the belt of truth, the breastplate of righteousness, the shield of faith, and the helmet of salvation. And then there is the sole offensive weapon, the sword of truth—God’s Word, the Bible. And, of course, the power of prayer. Sealed by the Spirit   Ephesians 1 also tells us that once we become Christians, we are marked in Christ with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit. Scripture teaches that while the devil and his minions (demons) may oppress us—pester and plague us, bringing worry, doubt, and fear—they may not possess us. Our souls are sealed by the power of the Holy Spirit! So, we can face these spiritual adversaries without fear. Our souls are secure. Impenetrable! We can let our light shine in this dark world, knowing with every confidence that the darkness cannot enter into our hearts. Indeed, we are to let our lights shine before others, that they may see our good deeds and glorify our Father in heaven.   This knowledge—this assurance—would prepare me for the mission field God was sending me to. I would go to some very dark places, but I found newfound courage and peace when I went with his light! So, turn the lights on, and don’t pull the drapes. And don’t fear that which has no power when we call on the name of Jesus. Let a watching world see that they may come to trust and love the God we serve, who is Lord over all and who can cast out fear! There are so many who, like that young student, need to know these truths. We will live out our faith entirely differently once we  know .   “Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.”  1 Peter 5:8 NIV   “For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.” Ephesians 6:12 NIV   “And you also were included in Christ when you heard the message of truth, the gospel of your salvation. When you believed, you were marked in him with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit” Ephesians 1:13 NIV   ”Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.” Ephesians 6:13 NIV   “In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.” Matthew 5:16 NIV

You’ve maybe heard this little story or some version of it.   As she prepared to put the Christmas ham into the oven, her husband asked her, “Why do you always cut the end of the ham off before you put it in the oven?” She thought about it for a while and realized she didn’t really know! “I’m not sure—my mom always did it. Maybe it makes it juicier or something,” she responded as she put the lopped-off ham into the roaster and into the oven. A few days later, she was thinking about her husband’s question and decided to call her mom. Expecting a culinary rationale for the long-standing tradition, her mother’s response came as a bit of a surprise. “Oh, I always had to cut the end off because my roaster was never big enough.”   I feel that there are so many things we do in the church that are kind of like that. They had a wonderful intention or purpose initially. We do them over and over, year after year. Gradually, it becomes just the way church is done. “We’ve always done it that way.” Over time, indeed over generations, we can forget the original idea behind it, and the spiritual meaning can be lost. The tradition itself becomes more important than the original intent or spiritual symbolism. While the Bible says absolutely nothing about what color the altar cloths should be in any given liturgical season or how long the sermon should be, what order the service should go in, or who can speak from which pulpit, these traditions can become very important to people. Maybe too important. It becomes eerily reminiscent of the legalistic traditions of the Pharisees . . . and Jesus didn’t think too highly of them. He scolded them in Matthew 15:8–9, “These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me. They worship me in vain; their teachings are merely human rules” (NIV).   Even more worrisome, what if our faith itself has fallen prey to the "my mother always did it" syndrome! Sometimes I wonder if we go through the motions just because it’s expected. What if we have come from such a long line of Christians during a particularly peaceful and prosperous era that we don’t even know why we believe. We just believe because we are "supposed to."   God has put some very special people in my life who haven’t "just always believed." I have seen how brightly the light of Christ shines against the darkness. I have seen people literally transformed and become new creations. I have even found myself jealous of these baby Christians and their precious, life-giving relationships with Christ. They have helped me see Christ in a whole new way. They have helped me to not take his precious gift for granted. I pray differently, I believe differently, and I have experienced God in ways I never knew possible.   What about you? Have you taken time to evaluate why you believe? What you believe? Why you go to church on Sunday mornings . . . or why you don’t? Are the traditions and obligations of church wearing you out, or is your relationship with Christ giving you new life? These are pretty important questions that we better get right—God doesn’t have any grandchildren. And somehow, I just don’t think he really cares what color the altar cloths are!   I am not saying that all traditions are bad or that we have to scrap everything and start all over, but we should never let traditions get in the way of true worship and effective evangelism. Sometimes, change can be a good thing. Not always easy, but sometimes a very good thing. Sometimes there’s a better way to bake a ham.   “You have let go of the commands of God and are holding on to human traditions.” Mark 7:8 NIV   "Woe to you Pharisees, because you give God a tenth of your mint, rue and all other kinds of garden herbs, but you neglect justice and the love of God. You should have practiced the latter without leaving the former undone."  Luke 11:42 NIV   "Yet to all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God— children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband’s will, but born of God."  John 1:12-13 NIV

The seeds that were planted at the Answers in Genesis conference I attended had been germinating—pressing against the soil of my soul, desperate to emerge and stretch towards the light. I learned there was going to be a four-day conference called Creation College. I had to go! It would be held at the headquarters of Answers in Genesis and attendees would get a preview of the soon-to-open Creation Museum. The good folks of my little country church agreed to sponsor my trip and I was on my way to Kentucky!   As before, there was this incredible sense of slipping into comfortable shoes. Many unrealized tensions were released as I learned more and more; I was like a sponge. I went to as many sessions as I possibly could, took copious notes, bought materials, and talked to speakers and people. There was one woman I always bumped into. She seemed to be at the same sessions, I would see her in the hallways, in the cafeteria. We ended up sitting together often, and eventually, I asked the standard question, “So, where are you from?” Her answer left me speechless. “I’m from Canton, South Dakota.” That was where I lived. Remember, we were in Kentucky! I marveled that of all the people I could have met, God orchestrated a meeting between two people from the same small town in South Dakota—in Kentucky. We couldn’t help but take note of the coincidence (not!) and felt sure we were meant to walk together in our ministries back home, armed with all this new knowledge and evidence for our faith.   Upon returning, my mental sponge was so full I just had to wring it out! I couldn’t stop talking to anyone who would listen about all I had learned—Acts 4:20 took on a whole new meaning. Admittedly, seeing Jesus do miracles would be far more mind-blowing, but I simply could not help but speak about what I had seen and heard. I led a Bible study, I spoke to the women’s group, I spoke to the high schoolers, and I even spoke to the primary school kids! I remember taking my kids’ Fisher-Price Little People pirate ship as a stand-in for Noah’s ark. I marched little plastic animals up the ramp, two-by-two. Dogs, cats, dinosaurs . . . Hold on! Dinosaurs? Two of these little preschoolers were brothers whose dad was an engineer. These kids knew a thing or two. And they were emphatic that dinosaurs did  not  go on the ark. They went extinct sixty-five million years ago, before there were even people. These kids were like four and five! I remember thinking, how could this be?! Indoctrinated—brain-washed—about evolution by the age of four! The world was speaking loudly—the church had better speak up.  We  had better speak up.  I  had better speak up.   You know, I did end up meeting with that gal a few times. I even loaned her some curriculum and materials I had purchased. But my creation ministry didn’t exactly flourish then . . . you know, the hamster wheel.   “As for us, we cannot help speaking about what we have seen and heard.” Acts 4:20 NIV   “If anyone causes one of these little ones —those who believe in me— to stumble, it would be better for them to have a large millstone hung around their neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea.”  Matthew 18:6 NIV

It was terrifying and chaotic. The sense of urgency was so great, and yet I felt completely helpless. I could only watch as the scene unfolded. It was like a short clip from an action film or, while this came to me before the era of mass shootings, it could have been a scene from a mall where there was an active shooter. In this scene, in my mind’s eye, there were escalators everywhere—going up, going down . . . passing to the right, to the left—packed with people. There was sheer terror and panic in the air. Pandemonium. I was on an escalator that was moving along at a steady pace, slowly moving upwards. There were others with me on that escalator. And from that escalator, I could see other escalators—destined for other places—packed with people. So many people.   I knew that mine would lead to safety, but I was just as certain that the other escalators would lead the people to danger and destruction. And they knew it, too. They were desperate. Pushing and shoving, climbing over and trampling others in their desperate attempts to get off that escalator and onto mine. I saw people that I loved on those other escalators . . . slowly and inexorably moving towards danger and destruction. But there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing they could do about it. It was too late.   Ushering Others to the Ultimate Escalator   I don’t know if it was my mind’s way of processing things or God’s way of revealing this really important truth to me—perhaps it was both—but upon awakening, it was clear to me that this was like a Hollywood version of Matthew 7:13–14 : “Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it” (NIV). A familiar scripture, one I knew well. But did I really  know  it? The Apostle John was given “the rest of the story,” and it is cryptically given to us in the book of Revelation. Cryptic, yet crystal clear. There is a day coming when time runs out. Jesus is coming again to judge the living and the dead. At that time, we had better be on the right "escalator"—the narrow road that leads to life. By then, it will be too late to change escalators.   But it is not too late now! We have been given time. God is a loving God and wishes that none would perish. But he has left us with a task. As believers, as his  followers , we have been commissioned to help people find their way to the right escalator! We are to go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations. Do we somehow know that without really  knowing  that? Do we believe, or do we  believe ? How urgent is our sense of sharing the gospel? Are we equipping ourselves to do so? Do we sense an imminency that motivates us to move from complacency to action? I cling to the feeling I had on that escalator, and it moves me to “go, therefore.” No one knows the day of his return.  So, we’d better get moving!   “Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.”  Matthew 7:13–14 NIV   “Anyone whose name was not found written in the book of life was thrown into the lake of fire.”  Revelation 20:15 NIV   “The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. Instead he is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.”  2 Peter 3:9 NIV   “Therefore keep watch, because you do not know the day or the hour.”  Matthew 25:13 NIV

A glance at my watch told me it was only ten o’clock in the morning, but the perspiration trickling between my shoulder blades told me that the temperature was already approaching 90. They told us we were lucky: it had been 115 degrees in Martin, South Dakota, just the week before. Perched atop the little white church, the sun radiated off the asphalt shingles, and I was pretty sure I knew what 115 degrees felt like. My daughter and I spent the week in Martin on a YouthWorks mission trip. The little town in western South Dakota, bordering a Native American reservation, struggled with alcoholism, unemployment, and racial tensions. Each week, 60–70 volunteers rolled into the local high school armed with water bottles, paintbrushes, and prayers. We were slated to spend two days painting and two days helping out with a children’s program at the city park. I was on my first mission trip and came to change their world. Was I Making a Difference At All? I guess I had come with visions of transforming weather-beaten homes in the housing projects into American suburbia—maybe they’d let me put in a white picket fence. Rather, here I was at this little white church. It actually looked pretty good. I mean, really good. The crew from the week before had already scraped and primed and had made quite a bit of progress with the first coat of white paint. My task was to climb up onto the entryway and finish the peak. From below, with the sun shining off it just right, you could see where the shiny new white paint ended and the dull primer started. Once I climbed onto the entryway roof, however, it was nearly impossible to see what needed to be done.   I started at the peak and moved down, trying to be somewhat systematic so I could remember where I had already been. I stroked, wiped the sweat out of my eyes, stroked, wished I had remembered my water bottle, stroked. Wait, had I already done this section? What about that eave? It looked pretty white—but was it shiny white or primer white? Oh, I’d just do it anyway. A second coat wouldn’t hurt. I stroked, swatted at a fly, stroked, blinked as a paint drip narrowly missed my squinting eyes, stroked. Was this what I had signed up for? Was I making a difference at all? Resolution Reset   I crawled down off the roof, getting scratched by an overgrown evergreen bush on my way down. It was time for lunch. As I pulled out my soggy sandwich, I made a mental note to myself not to put fresh tomatoes on a sandwich that you prepare four hours before it will be eaten. The pastor and his family lived in a little house next to the little white church. His wife came out to visit with us as we ate our sack lunches. She seemed genuinely grateful for our help. In visiting with her, I learned that she had grown up as a missionary’s daughter and ended up marrying a pastor. Although she wasn’t in the jungles of Africa or smuggling Bibles into China, she too had chosen to be a missionary. She and her husband adopted a family of five Native American children, allowing them to stay together after they were taken from a mother who struggled with alcohol. Instead of choosing American suburbia, she chose to live in a little house next to a little white church in a town where life wasn’t always easy . . . and make a difference in the lives of five kids.   Lunch break was over, and I headed back up the ladder. It was even hotter than before, and I still couldn’t tell the difference between where I had been and where I needed to go. Somehow it seemed better, though. Just think what a fresh coat of paint would mean during the next hard rain (did it ever rain in this hot, dry town?). The driving snow of the next South Dakota blizzard wouldn’t find its way up and under the siding, only to melt and rot out the wood. I stroked, smiled at the stories of the girls from Michigan painting the east side, stroked, laughed at the youngest boy playing with his dog, and stroked. At the end of the day, my little bucket of white paint was empty once again, and that little white church was looking fine, if I did say so myself. Painting with Hot Pink   The next day, we returned to the same place. Our next project was to tackle an old barn/garage on the back corner of the lot. It had once been dark green, but now the bare wood was exposed in as many places as there was old paint. We were to paint it a creamy beige with a pretty salmon trim. With my first strokes of the day, my spirits lifted. Now, this is what I came to do! Each brush stroke brought about a miraculous transformation. The dark, dingy surface was brightening up. We made up a crew of nine, more than half of whom were teenage girls. Like bees to honey, we swarmed about the exterior—some on ladders, some painting trim. It was kind of amazing, the amount of work that could be done in such a short amount of time. There was a lot more laughing that day, and even some singing! Though we could not finish the entire project, by the end of the day, we stood back and looked at our accomplishments with immense satisfaction.   It was an emotion-filled week. Hard work was interspersed by devotions, praise songs, and heart-wrenching testimonials. I had come there wanting to change their world; instead, they had changed mine. I’m not sure when it occurred to me, but it became clear that witnessing is a lot like using white paint. Sometimes you can see where you have spread your faith, but many times you cannot.   On Christian radio, you always hear stories where an evangelist sits down next to a troubled young woman on an airplane. In the two hours it takes to get from Minneapolis to Seattle, she has shared her life story, he has shared the entire message of the gospel, she bursts into tears, and her life is transformed. Talk about painting with hot pink! Or maybe it’s still white paint. Against the darkness of a soul without the light of Jesus, a little bit of hope makes a remarkable difference. Ready with Roller - God Picks the Color   As much as I would love to make such a difference, I’d never seen that amazing transformation. I found myself wondering the same question I asked up on the roof of the little white church: Was I making a difference at all?   Thinking back on my own walk in the Christian faith, I recognized a point on that path where I was a lot like the little white church. I had a good coat of primer: I had always been taken to church and Sunday school and had been baptized and confirmed. And there was a pretty good start on my coat of white paint: we started attending church more regularly again once the kids reached Sunday school age. But like the little church, there were still spots where a good wind could drive the snow up under the siding. My beliefs were not all convictions, and rather than black or white, wrong or right, many issues were just varying shades of gray. I needed more white paint.   There was a mechanic who played a Christian radio station in his shop, the same one who didn’t even charge me a dime to find out my car’s issue was only loose spark plugs. I’m sure he’ll never know that I now listen to that station daily—white paint. There was the friend that suggested a Christian book series that centered on pioneer life. I thought I was reading  Little House on the Prairie  books for big people. White paint. Then there’s my mother. She carries a five-gallon pail of white paint. Whether she knows it or not, her faith spills over to all who know her—white paint.   I know I still have spots where the paint is thin, and, like the little white church, the paint will chip and peel without upkeep. For that reason, God places Christians among Christians with their little buckets of white paint to touch up where needed. No glaring transformations, just reassurance when faith is shaken, peace when times get tough, and hope when there seems no reason for it.   So now I pray for patience, for acceptance that I may never see the fruits of my witness, to be satisfied with applying primer—letting someone else put on the finishing coats. I pray for a willing spirit to carry my little bucket of white paint and weatherproof those around me from the storms that life throws at them. But you know, I still hope I get to use hot pink paint someday!   “I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God has been making it grow. So neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow. The one who plants and the one who waters have one purpose, and they will each be rewarded according to their own labor. For we are co-workers in God’s service; you are God’s field, God’s building.”  1 Corinthians 3:6–9 NIV   “Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, ‘Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?” And I said, ‘Here am I. Send me!’” Isaiah 6:8 NIV

It has become easier to see the breadcrumbs God lays out for me, and I eagerly pick them up now. But once I have picked them up, I find I still struggle to know exactly where the trail leads. It’s like breadcrumbs in the fog. There is this great excitement in hearing from God and seeing him move in some amazing way. But ahead lies a huge wall of fog, and I really have no idea what lies within it or beyond it. Maybe it’s better that way . . . maybe we are not meant to know. Maybe we would say no if we knew what lie ahead! But in the vacuum of not knowing, I find I have this tendency to prepare grand visions along the way. Unsatisfied with the breadcrumb alone, I build castles in the air. Elaborate plans of how God and I are going to save the world. I do believe that some of them are, at least in part, of God. But often, I run ahead, making my own plans, too impatient to wait on God. Looking back, I can see this definite pattern: The breadcrumb—clear signs and invitations from God . . . The grand vision I tend to create . . . Then walking on, past my grand vision, to the place God had intended for me in the first place. I have come to believe the breadcrumbs aren’t really even about work he wanted to do in the world—an event, a program, a ministry. More often, I believe, they are about the work he wanted to do in me. What happens in the world as a result of the transformation in me . . . well, that’s completely up to God. Reminiscing on Revelation So, as I sat in seclusion with God in this moment away from the world, I reflected back on the journey . . . God called me from a career in medical research to HorsePower. I was going to expand programs to help people with disabilities and start this horse ministry to help troubled youth. I would build grandiose facilities and develop a network of collaborations in the community. God showed me how to love people who were very different from me. How to hear his voice, and trust his provision. God opened my eyes to the lukewarm church . . . and to the Pharisee that lived within me. God called me to a Christian church camp. I was going to build a big barn and offer all kinds of programming, using horses to help everyone from the disabled, to churched youth, to troubled youth, to women from the jail and their families. God taught me to buck “the system,” to make room for him to show up and show off so that all could see his glory. He revealed once again, in an even bigger way, that he would provide. He continued to break my heart for what breaks his and provided so much textbook and real-life training on trauma and how it affects his children—even his grown children. He moved me from operating under the Law . . . to yielding to the Spirit. He was teaching me how to love . . . lavishly. God opened the doors to ministry with FaithSearch International. I was going to speak to large audiences at all the local churches and I planned elaborate conferences. God sent me into the jail and the behavioral health center where at times I ministered to just one or two people. God showed me the power of ministering in the moment, to whomever he called for that day. God helped me set planning aside and learn to trust the Holy Spirit. God gave me glimpses of true discipleship and the power of exponential multiplication like that of the early church. Not by any of my own doing . . . but by the power of the Spirit moving in me and through me. There was a brief season where I held many “jobs.” Looking back, I still don’t know if it was a necessary time of “tent-making,” or if it was my disobedience or lack of trust. But even in that season, God continued to teach me many things. My eyes were opened even further to the ways that business practices have encroached upon ministry, where faithful missionaries can be crippled by the expectations of boards and bosses. The allure of a well-paying job and a brief foray back into science, brought rise to some of the “old me” —faint whisperings of comfort from a steady salary, accolades from peers, power from position . . . but the taste was bitter in my mouth. Rather, he sent a promise of provision so I could pursue him more fully. God called me to Chrysalis. I was going to provide a place to live, a place to work, and a place to heal. I pursued million-dollar properties. Almost singlehandedly, I was going to save these women, “fixing” them and all their problems. There was a rise of the Pharisee and a resurgence of the Law. God brought me back to my knees. God walked me deeper into the darkness. My heart was broken even more . . . even as I realized my complete inadequacy to fix any of what he had revealed to me. Less is More Perhaps the scientist in me will never really go away because, in looking back, what I could clearly see was an inverse relationship, which can be defined this way: “An inverse relationship is one in which the value of one parameter tends to decrease as the value of the other parameter in the relationship increases.” Plotted on a graph, over time, there was a clear inverse correlation between God . . . and me. Along each step of that journey, God became greater, I became less. That’s biblical, I know. But rather than a lofty, theological concept, I now see it as this big X on a graph, with God’s line rising over time, even as my line goes steadily down. I don’t know exactly where I am on the graph. I know we are past the midpoint, where God has definitely become greater than me in my own eyes. I pray now that I will continue to surrender until I hit zero on the x-axis. That I am nothing, but for Christ in me. I find comfort that this tendency I struggle with is not unique to me. Oswald Chambers, a man after God’s own heart and writing over a century ago, said it like this: “We always have visions, before a thing is made real. When we realize that although the vision is real, it is not real in us, then is the time that Satan comes in with his temptations, and we are apt so say it is no use to go on. Instead of the vision becoming real, there has come the valley of humiliation. Life is not as idle ore, But iron dug from central gloom, And batter’d by the shocks of doom To shape and use. God gives us the vision, then He takes us down to the valley to batter us into the shape of the vision, and it is in the valley that so many of us faint and give way. Every vision will be made real if we will have patience. Think of the enormous leisure of God! He is never in a hurry. We are always in such a frantic hurry. In the light of the glory of the vision we go forth to do things, but the vision is not real in us yet; and God has to take us into the valley, and put us through fires and floods to batter us into shape, until we get to the place where He can trust us with the veritable reality. Ever since we had the vision God has been at work, getting us into the shape of the ideal, and over and over again we escape from His hand and try to batter ourselves into our own shape. The vision is not a castle in the air, but a vision of what God wants you to be. Let Him put you on His wheel and whirl you as He likes, and as sure as God is God and you are you, you will turn out exactly in accordance with the vision. Don’t lose heart in the process. If you have ever had the vision of God, you may try as you like to be satisfied on a lower level, but God will never let you.” Obedience is the End So, as I reflect on this breadcrumb trail that he has led me down, it begins to make more sense. God’s plan does look very different in the rearview mirror than it did when I started down any given stretch of the trail. I see now that the breadcrumbs were still clearly from God, but what I thought would happen in between the breadcrumbs was often different than what God did in between the breadcrumbs. And, again . . . his plan was always better than mine. To quote Oswald Chambers one more time . . . “What we call the process, God calls the end. . . . If we have a further end in view, we do not pay sufficient attention to the immediate present; if we realize that obedience is the end, then each moment as it comes is precious.” May I learn to live in obedience . . . and in the moment. Trusting God with the plan, and the outcome of my obedience. A willing servant. Here am I Lord. Send me. I think of the “fires and floods” of these past years and I find myself grateful, for I am different than I was. Far from perfect . . . but hopefully just a little more Christ-like, every day. In this chrysalis of God’s making, I am being transformed by the renewing of my mind. I am a new creation. The old is gone, the new has come. I have been born again! So, take heart, my dear Nicodemus. There is more. Start picking up breadcrumbs . . . and trust God in the fog! With love, Kaia “He must become greater; I must become less.” John 3:30 NIV “Obey me, and I will be your God and you will be my people. Walk in obedience to all I command you, that it may go well with you.” Jeremiah 7:23 NIV “Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I. Send me!”” Isaiah 6:8 NIV “However, I consider my life worth nothing to me; my only aim is to finish the race and complete the task the Lord Jesus has given me— the task of testifying to the good news of God’s grace.” Acts 20:24 NIV

Life was busy, and it was a crazy summer. Even though I still worked only part-time as a research scientist, work seemed to be trying to demand more and more of me. My husband was a landscape designer, and it was his busy season. The kids were getting involved in more and more activities—swim lessons, ball games, 4-H activities, camps. We still tried to fit in some fishing and camping and horseback riding. I was on the hamster wheel, running as fast as I could and yet not really getting anywhere! Looking back, I don’t know if it was a foretaste? A prelude? Or an invitation. But there were a couple things that happened that summer that set some wheels in motion. Glimpses of a Foreign World   In late spring, I had attended some scientific meetings in Florida. At the very last minute, an undergraduate student had found a way to attend but did not have a room. Another professor and I were already sharing a room, and we invited her to bunk up with us. Indeed, she ended up sharing my bed! (Turns out they didn’t let you set up a rollaway anymore—fire code or something.) So, here we were. Sharing a room. Sharing a bed. And, ultimately, spending a lot of time together and sharing quite a bit about ourselves.   It was a beginning to the education God had in store for me. Learning the things I didn’t know I didn’t know. A glimpse into a world that was foreign to me. Eye opening. She was a single mom with a nine-year-old girl. She was only about 24 herself. You can do the math. If I thought life was "hard" as a married mother of two, with an education, a good job, and a supportive family, I had another think coming. This young woman was juggling being a mom, working to provide for herself and her daughter, and going to school. There was no one else to tag at the end of the day and say, “Your turn, I’m taking a hot bath!” There was just her. She shared more. A story of poverty, abuse. My struggles dwindled and my gratitude swelled. Here was this young woman with so many challenges but still seeking more for herself and her daughter. So hopeful. Even joyful. I should quit complaining. Through the Eyes of a Child   Another thing I had learned was that her daughter loved horses. So, upon returning, we vowed to find a time to get her out to the farm for a ride. The day came—a beautiful, sunny day. They emerged from the tunnel of trees leading to our farm, and we welcomed them to our home. They were greeted by the menagerie that roamed freely about our acreage—a calf, a sheep, a goat, a goose . . . dogs and cats and chickens. They got to meet my husband and the kids. We walked to our two-story farmhouse for a snack and a refreshing drink. Finally, we made our way down to the barn, saddled up, and took a spin around the section. I don’t think the little girl ever stopped smiling! Even as they pulled out of the driveway, disappearing into the tunnel of trees, I could see her look back and wave . . . smiling ear to ear.   Shortly after, I received a letter in the mail. It was a thank you from my newfound friend. I don’t remember all that was in the letter, but I remember this: “When we were in the car, she looked at me all wide-eyed and said, ‘Wow, Mom, their family and their house and all their animals they have is like from a fairytale. It was like we drove into a fairytale for the afternoon!’”   It really gave me pause. So often, as I drove down our drive after work, I saw grass needing to be mowed, fences needing repair, paint chipping on the house. As that little girl emerged from that magical tunnel, she saw lush grass and beautiful trees, sleek horses leaning over the fence to be stroked, a beautiful home filled with love. Her life so far had been far from a fairy tale. I should quit complaining. So Much to Learn   Later that same summer, our pastor and his wife asked if we might be willing to host two girls for the weekend. The girls had been staying with the pastor’s family, but the family would be gone for the weekend, and they needed to find a place for the girls to stay. We quickly agreed. As we were finalizing plans for the weekend and getting our instructions, the pastor’s wife assured me that she had already told the girls they couldn’t smoke in our house. Couldn’t smoke in our house?! These girls were like 11 and 13! I couldn’t imagine kids smoking at that age. Another case of, I didn’t know what I didn’t know. I had so much to learn. And learn, I did.   The girls were delightful. They were grateful to be at our home, and they were polite and respectful. On Saturday afternoon, we decided to go for a ride. This time, I trailered the horses to a nearby state park that had a beautiful trail system. As we meandered these trails, we chatted about many things—about their likes and dislikes, about school, about life. It was on these trails that my world was to be broadened once again. In the peace of the quiet trees, with no one else around, looking ahead at the trail not directly into their eyes—they began to share . . . It turns out their mother had left their father and was living in a homosexual relationship with another woman. The father had tried to kidnap their brother from their home. Now, their father was in jail and their mother was in the hospital for mental health issues. There was no one else to care for them. That’s how they came to stay at my pastor’s house. I wouldn’t have guessed the script. I couldn’t have even  imagined  the script! This was simply not a reality to me. These things didn’t happen in my world. But that didn’t mean they didn’t happen. A Foretaste or an Invitation?   I can remember our trip home—driving in the truck, pulling the horses behind. We were all hot and sweaty, a good sweaty with the faint smell of leather and horse. We were all quiet as the rig rolled over gentle hills and my mind processed their revelations. And then I said, “You know girls, you may not have had a lot of choice in many of the things that have happened to you. You can’t help what you are born into. But there are a lot of things you will have a choice in in the years to come. You can decide if you will study and work hard at school. You can decide who you will choose as friends and who you spend time with. You can decide if you will stay pure until marriage. You can feel sorry for yourself and your circumstances and stay stuck in this cycle, or you can make different choices. I am praying that you will be strong and make good choices. Your life could be different.”   I never saw any of those girls again. I don’t know if that one little point of contact in time made any difference in any of their lives. I  know  it made a difference in mine. I had gotten a glimpse of the world outside my picket fence. There was another reality out there that people were living through every day. Again, looking back, I don’t know if it was a foretaste? A prelude to what would come? Or if it was an invitation, right then and there, to step in and be a part of the difference. If it was an invite, I missed the party. I was too busy running on the hamster wheel.   "Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world." James 1:27 NIV   "Learn to do right; seek justice. Defend the oppressed. Take up the cause of the fatherless; plead the case of the widow."  Isaiah 1:17 NIV

I can’t say how it started or when the journey began. It wasn’t sudden or abrupt. It was more like a sunrise—the light slowly spilling over the horizon, night gradually turning into day. And as my eyes adjusted to the light, I began to see . . . I was a modern-day Pharisee. Following the Rules . . . Not Jesus   I don't know if this gradual, drawn-out process was a merciful act from God—that he didn’t just rip the blinders off, or if it was reluctance or obstinance on my part—an unwillingness to see. But I am thankful for the dawning realization that, for far too long, I had been following the rules. Not Jesus.   If you find yourself to be anything like me, the biblical account of the Pharisees is one from which we could learn—particularly from one named Nicodemus, a very religious man who went in search of Jesus.   You see, in Jesus’ day, the Pharisees were an influential Jewish sect—the "churchy" people of their time. They were distinguished by their strict observance of traditional and written law. And while they had gathered much prestige and power, they also tended to be self-righteous, judgmental, and hypocritical. As descendants of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, they had a rich heritage and were renowned as God’s chosen people. They took their godly heritage for granted and lorded it over others. They stressed the importance of ritual and tradition over love. And Jesus called them out on it. Whitewashed tombs, he called them. Beautiful on the outside but full of death on the inside. Missing the Messiah   Jesus was the antithesis of the politically connected, rich Pharisees—and his preaching threatened their position. Who was this carpenter’s son from the backwater of Galilee, with no rabbinical training or pedigree, who claimed to be the Messiah and challenged them ? Much of the persecution of Jesus and his followers would come at the hands of the Pharisees themselves—the ones who knew the Scriptures and the prophecies. They celebrated the Passover meal every year, which was rife with symbolism pointing to the coming of the Messiah. Yet, when he came, they knew him not.   In the three short years of Jesus’ ministry here on earth, he and his disciples caused quite a stir. There were many miracles—people were healed, and demons were cast out. Many began to follow Jesus. It was a revival. Jesus was restoring what God had originally intended. It wasn’t just about rules; it was about relationship. It was about truth shared in love . In Search of Jesus   Even as the Pharisees seemed determined to stop this man who threatened their comfortable existence, some were apparently curious. The Bible tells us of Nicodemus, the Pharisee who approached Jesus under the cover of darkness. Nicodemus was one of the most prominent Pharisees of the day. He was part of the Sanhedrin, the Jewish supreme council. He was very religious, and he was quite comfortable, but this man named Jesus had him wondering if perhaps there was more. Was he willing to give up his comfortable existence, go against his fellow Pharisees, and follow Jesus? We hear of Nicodemus two other times in Scripture. He stood up for Jesus as the Sanhedrin set out to arrest him, and he assisted Joseph of Arimathea with the burial of Jesus. While there is no written or recorded proclamation of faith, his actions and later church history indicate that he did become a follower.   And so it was with me. I had been very religious, an excellent church lady—faithfully attending, teaching Sunday school, singing in the choir, and serving at the coffee hour. I had checked all the boxes. Or so I had thought. Yet with my new foundation, set firmly on the word of God, came this dawning realization—where was the part about being the hands and feet of Christ? How was I helping the widows and the orphans? What about the lost and the least? Indeed, who was I helping? Who knew Christ because of me? I was beginning to realize there had to be more. I think I had let the comfortable existence of a "good life" lull me into complacency. Worse yet, I fear that I may have fallen into the same trap as the Pharisees, with a tendency to be self-righteous, judgmental, and hypocritical. I had retreated within the church walls and was pointing my finger rather than stepping out of the church and offering my hand. I had chosen legalism over love.   So—like Nicodemus—I went in search of Jesus. Piece by piece, I surrendered my heart more fully to him, receiving far more than I was ever asked to give. In exchange for my heart, I was blessed to experience him in ways I had never imagined. I could see God at work around me—and I was invited to join in! I was led to places I wouldn’t have dreamed of going, and I was getting to see hope restored, lives redeemed, and faith ignited. It hasn’t always been comfortable or easy, but I wouldn’t go back for anything! What Would God Do With Your Yes?   Where are you on your journey? Perhaps the sun is peeking over the horizon for you. Whether you are just beginning to consider a life with Christ or you are miles into your journey, perhaps—like Nicodemus—you have begun to wonder if there is more: more to this life, this faith, more to following Jesus. I hope that—like Nicodemus—you found yourself here today, reading this blog post because you are in search of more. As a recovering Pharisee myself, I can assure you that there is so much more! Don’t miss the Messiah, as the Pharisees did. Don’t miss the relationship with your Creator at the expense of religion. Come and ask questions. Come and seek answers. Come in search of more!   Through this series of blog posts, I will tell of my journey—my ongoing journey—from Pharisee to follower. From the murmurings in my conscience to radical steps of obedience, these stories will share the many ways that God—the living God—has transformed me by the renewing of my mind. Your story will look completely different, but surrender and obedience are common denominators. If you are willing to surrender your life to Jesus completely and receive him as your Savior and your Lord, you will discover what he will do with your yes. It may not be jail ministry or apologetics, but you will discover the joy of becoming a follower! I pray that as you read, God will open your ears to hear and your eyes to see, and may he open your very heart to receive him if you have not already, giving him every last piece of it if you have. May there be a new revival, at least in your soul. There is more.   With love, my dear Nicodemus, from your fellow Pharisee, Kaia   “Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of the bones of the dead and everything unclean.” Matthew 23:27 NIV “While Jesus was having dinner at Levi’s house, many tax collectors and sinners were eating with him and his disciples, for there were many who followed him.” Mark 2:15 NIV “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” 1 Corinthians 13:13 NIV “Very truly I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God unless they are born again.” John 3:3 NIV

This whole coronavirus thing . . . it is consuming people. They are baptized into the fear of COVID-19! We have put it on the throne. We give our time, attention, energy, resources—all to “the king” virus. It is probably no irony that it is a corona virus . . . corona means crown. Who will we crown as Lord in our life? Not just by flippant claims made on Easter Sunday, but by the way we live our lives. Whom shall we fear? Fear is not from the Lord. Where, oh death, is your victory? Where is your sting? I shall fear no evil, even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death. Our society is COMPLETELY being taken over by this thing that could take our life . . . our physical life. But the Bible tells us, “Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, be afraid of the One who can destroy both soul and body in hell” (Matthew 10:28 NIV). I have found myself wondering . . . Is the goal to not die? Or is it to live? I wonder what God is thinking of us now. Even some of the strongest Christians in my life talk only of this virus—the deaths, the spread, the masks, the ventilators, the stories repeated on the news . . . where does our hope come from? We should look different! We should not look like the rest of the world. We can still be respectful and social distance and cover our mouths and wash our hands. But we should be thinking of and praising and lifting up our Lord MORE than we think or speak of this virus. In all of this, however, though I may be “right,” I’m afraid I have been looking less like Christ. Crabby, ornery, short-tempered. How do I stand up for God and still look like Christ? Hmmm . . . I am realizing how much I miss my ministry!!! I am no longer allowed to go into the jail, the behavioral health center, the halfway houses, the juvenile detention center. It used to be that I would find myself waiting for the weekend to end, where I am more “normal,” so that I could go back to my crazy walk with the lost and the broken. Most people find themselves “making it” through the week so they can recharge on the weekends. I find myself charging myself all week and, while I enjoy my weekends, I can’t wait to get back at it. This crazy coronavirus season gives me time to reflect on what I am missing. What is “charging me”? Is it God? He hasn’t gone anywhere! Is it my service? Who am I doing it for, anyway? Who am I trying to impress? Do I miss captive audiences (quite literally!) where I get to espouse my beliefs and convictions, largely unchallenged? While bits of these may be true, I do really believe what I miss is being with others who are consumed by God! People who, that’s all they want to talk about. People who are not comfortable. People who NEED God. People who have hope, in the worst of circumstances, because they KNOW God. Not just know of him, KNOW him. People who see him at work. People who put their trust in him. I am missing my mission field . . . what does it look like now? The whole world is consumed because of the fear of death . . . what if we were just as consumed by the Lord of life?! Are we, maybe, to fear the Lord? Scripture says that all the time . . . we have really softened it in our culture. The fact that we aren’t consumed by God is a reflection that we don’t really fear the death we should. It is not the death of this physical body we should be worried about. This life is just brief and momentary. There is eternity ahead of us . . . and that is a long time. What if, rather than coronavirus, all our thoughts were consumed by him? What if, rather than sitting in front of the TV hanging on the words of the president and the director of the CDC and scientists, we couldn’t wait to sit down and read scripture and hear from the Lord? What if, rather than every conversation turning back to talk of this virus, every conversation began to be about God? What if on the door of every business, rather than a reminder to wash our hands and practice social distancing, there was a reminder to pray and to love your neighbor? What if, rather than a worldwide pandemic (that will destroy our bodies), it was an awareness of our sin (that will destroy our soul) that moved us to worldwide action and unity? What if, rather than being hypervigilant of those around us as “germ carriers” we were just as aware of them and their brokenness and need? What if, rather than trying to keep at least six feet from people, we were just as worried about drawing them close and loving them well? So, how do I respond? How do I behave in these crazy times? I may be “right” and maybe we should all be focusing on God more. BUT, how do I let God be magnified on the altar of my life? I don’t think my short fuse and critical tone is magnifying God very well! If I was filled with the Holy Spirit, I wouldn’t be acting this way . . . A-ha! If I am watching the news and filling even my visits with godly friends with talk of the virus, I am no different. I have been filling with and focusing on the wrong king! If I am not getting to go do my ministry and pour out the love of Christ and witness the transformations, my fuel is running low. My ministry in this time may be to remind others of this. To point people back to Christ. To not allow it to consume us. To find people who will talk about GOD, not the coronavirus. I look like the fruits of the flesh listed in Galations 5 rather than the fruits of the Spirit. I need more Jesus! I need to ( continuously ) be filled with the Holy Spirit! “Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, be afraid of the One who can destroy both soul and body in hell.” Matthew 10:28 NIV “You shall have no other gods before me.” Exodus 20:3 NIV “Dear children, keep yourselves from idols.” 1 John 5:21 NIV “Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable— if anything is excellent or praiseworthy —think about such things.” Philippians 4:8 NIV

It was a small group at the women’s jail, only four of them. While I used to count my success by the numbers who attended, I have come to cherish the more intimate small groups. It’s often when we can dig a little deeper. Little did I know that today, this group would be willing to go real deep. To share with such honesty and raw vulnerability that I was left once again acutely aware of how brightly the light shines in the darkness. It started with their simple question, “What verses tell us about how we can find hope?” By the end of the hour, I knew why they so desperately needed an answer to that question.   By God’s providence, we had "stumbled" upon a verse in Romans in the group just the hour before. It was about hope, and so I knew where we would at least start. However, the passage shares a difficult message. Difficult enough in privileged and blessed Christian homes . . . more challenging by far in the light of what these women had faced. Romans 5:3-4 shares that “ . . . we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.”  I went on to say how God could use even these hard times in their lives to shape them into something useful for his kingdom; that through these trials he was building their perseverance and character and that, in time, he could use the suffering to produce hope. And then they started to share their sufferings . . . One had been kidnapped, her captor telling her that she would either leave with him or in a body bag. The next had recently been raped, which she went on to describe in more detail than I wanted to know. Perhaps even more surprising was her trauma from it, because later she shared that there was a time in her life she had prostituted herself to make ends meet because she felt there was no other way. The third shared that she had turned to cutting, which she had hid from her family for three years—until it covered so much of her body she could no longer hide it. All of these women shared that at times they had felt so hopeless they had considered or attempted suicide. And I was trying to share with them that they should rejoice in these sufferings!   Wrestling With God   Even as I wondered how to help them make sense of that verse, the one who had been raped and prostituted shared yet another difficult issue to address. She said that she believed in God and everything, but she just didn’t believe in all the rules. She shared that since she was twelve, she had been in custody—incarcerated or in residential or treatment facilities . . . she felt as though she had never been free. Now she was at a place in her life where she  wanted to be in control for once! She didn’t want anybody telling her what she could do or couldn’t do or how she should act—including God. She wanted to have fun !    Recalling her account of her sufferings, I found myself gently asking her, “How has that worked out for you so far?” I went on to share what I had learned—if from the opposite end of the spectrum. I have learned that you don’t know what you don’t know. As I lived a very pious, religious life and enjoyed a nice home and a loving family, I thought I had it all! I thought what I had was "fun." And then God broke me to the point of surrender. I gave up control and let him in the driver’s seat of my life. At times I still try to grab the wheel! But I know now that life is far more exciting and rewarding with God in control. While I had been satisfied with "bread," God then let me taste "cake." I shared with that gal that her idea of "fun" was merely bread…God wanted to give her cake! I think so many have settled for "bread"—the things of the world that bring us temporary satisfaction, the best we know in our worldly striving. But once we have experienced what God truly has to offer—peace, joy, hope…in us and in others—that’s when we don’t want to settle for what we  thought was good, but rather for what God has called good. And as we give up our control, as we take that step of obedience, submit to his authority, we get to experience God in ways we never imagined possible. And that in itself can be addictive! We seek more and more of him, and we can’t help but tell others what we have seen and heard.   The Gentle Leading of the Holy Spirit   Sometimes I wonder why in the world God leads me where he does during these times of study, why that  scripture would come to mind, and this was one of those times. At first it seemed there was no way we could get from the suffering these women had experienced to finding hope through it! But God is good to provide all we need and as the women peppered me with questions I had verse after verse come to mind. We jumped throughout scripture, God’s word itself providing answers I never would have had on my own.   At one point, the same woman shared that she wanted desperately to be moved back into the dorms. She said she just couldn’t take being in "max"—where each individual got locked up in their own rooms at night. Downstairs in the dorms there was always noise, light, activity—at all hours of the day or night. There were always things to keep her mind busy, to keep her from dwelling on her sufferings. Why would God make her sit in a quiet, dark cell—alone with her thoughts? Immediately, the story of Elijah and his time in the cave came to mind. We went on to read the story in 1 Kings chapter 19. Elijah, a mighty prophet and a man of God, was running from those who wanted to kill him when he found himself hiding in a cave, all alone, mired in self-pity, confused and angry with God. God wanted to speak to Elijah and he wasn’t in the roaring wind or the mighty earthquake or the fire . . . he was just a still small voice. I said to her, “Could God possibly be telling you to stop running from those thoughts? That he wants to sit with you and tackle those issues . . . together? To deal with them and put them behind you?”    As we were wrapping up, the one with all the questions apologized for making us jump all over, but then I was able to point out that that is exactly how the Bible works! Every question we have can be answered in scripture. We need only to seek and we shall find, ask and it shall be given, knock and the door shall be opened unto us. They all nodded in agreement, marveling at the way their questions had been answered—through scripture, from Genesis to Revelation.    Sweet Surrender   The girl who struggled with cutting had been largely silent throughout all of this. She had come several times now and I had learned she had never believed in God, never really even opened a Bible. She had always appeared kind of quiet and reflective. She pointed out that normally she would be the loud, brash, know-it-all in the group (which I found hard to believe!). But then she said that she just loved listening to me talk. She was just soaking it all in! I assured her that I prayed they were not my own words, but those of the Spirit in me. That I was nowhere near wise enough to come up with the answers God’s word provided. She began slowly nodding and said, “I never wanted to be a believer. I never could see the need for it. But now I am starting to see that it is good. I think I am ready. I think I want to go all in! I think I want to let God be in control of my life!” We prayed, amongst many other things, that she might indeed surrender her life to Christ. That all of us would allow him to be in control. That he would not just be our Savior, but our Lord . As they went to leave, the air was lighter, the heaviness was lifted. There was light shining into their darkness. They left not only feeling heard and satisfied . . . but hopeful —even in the midst of such sufferings. Only by the grace of God!   “Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.” Romans 5:3-4 NIV   “Therefore, rid yourselves of all malice and all deceit, hypocrisy, envy, and slander of every kind. Like newborn babies, crave pure spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow up in your salvation, now that you have tasted that the Lord is good.” 1 Peter 2:1-3 NIV   “But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you all things and will remind you of everything I have said to you.”  John 14:26 NIV

We sat at a booth in the coffee shop as my friend poured out her heart. She and her husband had been hosting a little boy through Safe Families for Children, a program that helped families get through some tough seasons. It was a safe place for kids to go while their parents worked through some things—maybe to undergo surgery, find housing, go into treatment, or maybe even serve a stint in jail. It gave the parents time to get things in order so that the little ones could go back to safer and more stable environments—at least, that was the idea.   A Broken Childhood, On Repeat   My friend was at her wit’s end. They had had this little boy for a long time, most of his little 3-year-old life, in fact. And the mother just couldn’t get her ducks in a row. She kept making bad choices; the little boy was being exposed to things he should never have experienced. Tears were flowing by now. She was sad and  angry  at this mom, who didn’t seem to care about this little boy. She didn’t deserve him! It didn’t even seem like she wanted him!   I sat with my dear friend, and my heart broke to see her heart break for this little boy. They had given so much—not just of their time and money, but of themselves. And my heart broke for the little boy. I let her talk and vent her frustrations; her love for this little boy was evident. But as she railed against the mother, my heart broke for the mother, too. By now, I had met so many of these moms who once were just like that little boy—living in unsafe and unstable environments with parents who kept making bad choices and being exposed to things they should never have experienced. They  did  love their children; they just didn’t know how to be good parents. No one ever showed them.   I found myself thinking about all the trauma training I had received in order to be a host family for Safe Families for Children. We couldn’t expect these kids to behave or respond “normally” because of all the trauma they had experienced in their young lives. Rather than asking, “Why did you do that?” we should ask, “What has happened to you?” Yet, we expected these parents—who have also undergone so much trauma—to “make better choices.” Not that it was okay for this little boy to be mistreated or put in unsafe situations, but could we find it in our hearts to have compassion for the mom, too—especially since we cannot know all the circumstances involved? When we saw the hurting children, this was hard.   To Say or Not To Say   I sat without speaking, just listening . . . well, listening and trying to decide if I should say anything or not. This internal wrestling happens to me often—to say or not to say. It is times like this when I can empathize with Jeremiah, the prophet. There were words within me that I knew I was supposed to share—words I knew she wouldn’t want to hear. And yet the words were like fire in my bones, so they started to come out—my appeal for this mom, my plea for compassion. We needed to love them, not hate them. We needed to try to understand, not judge. It was  not  what my friend wanted to hear. “Kaia, right now, I just want to be angry!” And I didn’t really blame her.   She was crying, and now I was crying, too. It was time to go, and we hugged, loving each other even amid such a hard conversation. My heart was heavy. Maybe I should have prayed more and talked less? Even if what I said was true, had it been the time to bring it up? Like I said, I wrestled with that one a lot.   A Providential Prayer Partner   The next morning, I received a text from my friend . . . a long text. After she had left the coffee shop, she went to walk on the bike trails. She just wanted to cry, to grieve the lot this little boy had drawn. She was supposed to go to a prayer service at church that evening with a friend. She really didn’t feel like going, but she had already told her friend she would go with her. So, she gathered herself together, and off she went.   At one point during the service, they broke up into small groups to pray. There were half a dozen or so in her group. As they went around the circle, sharing what had brought them there that night, they got to one woman, and what she said raised goosebumps on my friend’s neck. “I just got out of jail. I am here tonight because there were these women that would come into the jail. They came every week. They seemed so happy and full of hope. They just loved us . . . and I want what they have.”   My heart was filled by these words. Somehow, even as I had brought the truth that would reveal their sin, it had been received as love! The Lord had been working so hard on this old clanging cymbal, revealing to me that while love and acceptance are two different things, truth and love are not. I could absolutely love these women without accepting their lifestyle choices. I could speak the truth and genuinely love them at the same time. And this woman had received it in a way that brought conviction without condemnation. It had brought hope. She wanted what I had, and she had found a church that welcomed her and would continue to walk with her in truth  and  love.   My friend’s text went on to say that it was as if God had sent this woman to confirm what I felt compelled to share. What she  really  needed to hear. How would these mothers ever change if all they felt from those who professed to be Christians was frustration, anger, and judgment? How would that ever draw them into a healing relationship with the Great Physician—the only one who could bring hope and healing to them? After all, who is drawn to the sound of a clanging cymbal? She stood so convicted. She must try to love better.   She looked at the woman in the prayer circle and said, “I know those women! We have coffee every week. Would you like to join us?” And you know what? She did! She joined us in that little coffee shop in a neighborhood far from the one she had grown up in, and all of us learned how to love better. I think she was a little incredulous that  she  was invited to coffee with us. And, to be honest, sometimes there were awkward conversations about topics that probably weren’t often discussed in that particular coffee shop! But they were conversations we all needed. We were all growing. That woman’s testimony against the backdrop of my seemingly insensitive remarks had made God that much more real—to all three of us.   Seeing the Backside of Our Obedience   It’s funny, but I didn’t even remember that woman from the jail. I had no idea I had impacted her or her faith. I meet so many; unless they contribute a lot to the discussion or ask for prayers, I may not even learn their name. But God is so good to show us, at times, “the backside of our obedience”—as another friend puts it—giving us glimpses of the fruits of the seeds we have sown. It encourages me to press on and to fight the good fight. My husband and I would pick this woman up on Sundays and bring her to church. She lived in a little trailer house on the west side with thick blankets hung over every window—attempting to keep her old world out as she made steps toward a new one. She sat in the darkness of that little trailer, ignoring the knocks of people seeking to draw her back into the darkness, but she had more light in her life than ever! Her contact list had gone from over two hundred (mostly customers in her drug-dealing world) to eight (her mom, her children, one other godly friend, and me). She lost so many “friends” but gained the Savior she really needed. This woman and I have become good friends, and she will often comment about how crazy it was—that God would bring an ex-research scientist and an ex-drug dealer together and that they would become  friends . God is good all the time.   “But if I say, ‘I will not mention his word or speak anymore in his name,’ his word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones. I am weary of holding it in; indeed, I cannot.” Jeremiah 20:9 NIV   “There is only one Lawgiver and Judge, the one who is able to save and destroy. But you—who are you to judge your neighbor?” James 4:12 NIV   “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” John 13:35 NIV   “Live in harmony with one another. Do not be proud, but be willing to associate with people of low position. Do not be conceited.” Romans 12:16 NIV