The Dream

"You would not have called to me unless I had been calling you."

-Aslan

I went to see the documentary Meru last week with a couple friends. It is a documentary about a climber Jimmy Chin who with a team climbed a mountain peak in India no other climber has reached the summit before. I was so excited! I have been waiting over a month to see it, living in Alaska things are slightly outdated when they reach us. After the movie was over, one of the girls looked at me and joked, "So are you ready to go buy all your gear and climb?"

Not really actually. The movie excited me. It was people setting their minds to do things other have tried, failed, and deemed impossible. They pushed themselves, not succumbing to limits they put upon themselves, they risked and pursued. They found something they loved and chased their passion.

Moving to Alaska was part of a dream spurred by summers working at camp. I desired to come back. There was one evening at camp I hiked one mountain with a friend and we were staring at another mountain across the valley. It was a late July evening, the sun was kind of setting, creating an early dusk feel. He said, "Crazy to think God says if we have faith the size of a mustard seed we could move those mountains." Yeah. It is crazy.

I returned to Alaska entering into what I felt God calling a season of rest. Rest does not mean easy. For example, I can see the mountains, but I can't get to them. Not easy.

Last week community outreach was to the Alaska Coast Studies Center. I had seen their building next to the ocean, so I contacted them to see if they would need volunteers. They did! For manual labor and entering computer data. We arrive, split our group into labor and computers. The gal shows us around the outside of the building pointing to all this stuff that needs to be moved. We would also have to be working around two of their interns who were skinning the sea otter hanging from a tree. We quickly finished our labor, and went to fold shirts and sweatshirts for two hours.

This week we went to AK Coastal Studies Center again. I almost vacuumed a bunch of animal bones I thought were twigs on the floor. I have never volunteer and found myself in situations like these before.

Sometimes we just have to lay on the floor and laugh with God about the adventure He has us in.

For work duties the past couple weeks we have been digging under our apartment building. Something about basement, water proof and some other things. I do not know. All I know, is we have to dig, fill 5 gallon buckets with wet dirt, haul those buckets about 5 meters on our knees, lift the buckets above ground, fill a wheel barrow then empty the wheel barrow. 7 of us. My spot: squatting to lift the buckets out of a stomach deep hole (sure seems like a Crossfit move put into the practicalities of the mission field).

Dream: mountains, Jesus, nations.

Reality: digging holes.

God, how did I get myself into this?

It is a wild ride when we choose to give our lives back to God. We suddenly have this freedom to enter the Throne Room. As Zechariah sees in a vision in the third chapter of his book, God brings us into His court room and says, "Behold, I have taken your iniquity away from you, and I will clothe you with pure vestments." We have the right of access to enter into His presence and dream with Papa.

When we stand in the Heavenly court room, we stand justified, free from all accusation. In understanding our true identity, that of the free sons and daughters, we are able to enact the heart of the Father to the nations. We have the identity of Christ the hope of nations, as the Royale Priesthood, it is now our duty to be the hope of glory in bringing our brothers and sisters back to the table.

The dream does not always play into the reality. Yet the reality always plays into the dream. The dream remains the same: more Jesus, more nations. We, the Royale Priesthood, the freedom chasers, the dreamers, the nation changers, are the missionaries sent to go.

The lies require performance, comparison expectation and standards all resulting in us never being good enough. Before you are tempted to spend the night in the arms of lies, spend time in the arms of our Heavenly Father. He knows us. In Him we find peace as we await His perfect plans to guide our feet. Lean into Him, rest your head upon His heart beating for His children. Listen intently to Him calling you. There is no great adventure then listening to Him calling you further up and further in.

"I have made you. I will sustain you. I will carry you. I will save you."

-God 

(Isaiah 46:4)

Unfiltered Love

We all have those photos were we look in the background and say, "What?!" Or those photos of dad mowing the lawn in too short of shorts and you question why the photos was ever taken, or the shorts ever purchased. Or those photos of you with the chicken pox, mom lined us all up and took photos as we were practically dying. Then those vacation photos of people awkwardly in the background, tourists with tall socks and crocks or fanny packs and mullets. We all have those photos, you know which ones I'm talking about, and you know you are the one awkwardly in the background being laughed at by someone, somewhere in the world.

Have we begun eliminating these moments?

We begin to see things through the lens of a life to be edited. We crop out the hard, the tough, the uncomfortable. The more time we spend editing out, the more time we spend disconnected. We miss the funny in the process of creating the perfect. All those little details will be cropped out to eliminate distractions from the center focus.

If we took the Bible, edited out the awkward, cringing, slightly questionable material, what would be left? The Old Testament had a lot of war, adultery and death. Ester would acquire a lot of photos likes with her queen like treatment. Solomon probably in the process of blueprints (think, dramatic shot from above of blue prints, ink well and pen, oh ya, super hipster). The birth of Jesus would be taken out cause let's be honest, birth in a stable without medication would be sick nasty! Jesus hung out with the demon possessed, lepers, prostitutes, fisherman, sick people, and outcasts, most of his life wouldn't make it. His water-to-wine miracle may acquire a friend-brag photo. John the Baptist lived in nature wearing weird animal skins and ate locusts (maybe the locust dinners would make Insta for the shock). The dramatic missionary journeys of Paul and Timothy would get some sweet likes, until Paul landed himself in prison again (again, Paul, really?). John on Patmos, dramatic nature shots with deep revelations (get it?). Okay, so maybe there would be some Biblical quality photos that wouldn't need edited, but what would the message behind the photo convey?

To Insta-worthy the Bible, things such as sin and death would be eliminated, taking out the entire concept of grace, redemption, love, acceptance, adoption, being heirs to the Kingdom, the things that give life quality and purpose. 

We snap one, two, three photos, flip through, choose, delete, edit, post, continue to check likes or comments. We capture the glory moments. We post the photo of how beautiful the sun reflects off the water at the well, missing the Samaritan woman and all her beauty.

This is not to dismiss the way photos inspire and share stories. We capture moments and carry them around. Each photos carries with it a testimony. Behind each mocha with impeccable foam is an artist displaying the creativity of a Creator. We document moments of intense bravery, moments where we courageously step outside our comfort zones, conquering what we once label as impossible. We push ourselves to limits, celebrating the weights lifted in the gym, the heights achieved on cliff sides, and speeches given with our knees trembling. We cannot begin to idolize the photo, linger on the moment, and forget the story.

There is a Steffany Gretzinger song with lyrics that say: It was you I was thinking of when I rose from the grave.

Imagine this. There is a beautiful sunrise with rays of light beaming through the trees of a garden. Inside of a cave there are these perfectly laid white rags, these rags fell naturally perfect, they were not folded eight times to give a perfect appearance, it happened naturally. The sun is hitting the rags and the white washed stone, the stone is shimmering. It is the most perfect photo, no need to edit. Jesus take a photo, tags you, and captions: "Shout of to my best friend (insert name here). She/He is incredible. It was him/her I was thinking of when I rose from the grave. #lovethem #eternalpartywiththem #nofilter #resurrection."

We write our testimony and say it many times, perfecting it to the core. We adjust details depending on our audience. There will always be one constant, no matter what filter you choose, God was always there with an unfiltered love and acceptance of us. The way Papa interacts with us is natural. He doesn't look through His options and decide which will look the best. He doesn't spend time contemplating what others will think or will gain Him a repost or a share. He sees our inner thoughts, feelings and emotions. He intimately knows us. He knows, and cares, when we rise and when we fall. Each moment was written long ago. Our days have been planned since the beginning of time, naturally written, unedited lives. He sees all our life, probably laughs at our ridiculous fashion choices and funny poses, and keeps them all. And all those photos of us messing up, there is a word, written with a big, fat, red, permanent marker: Forgiven.

Personal challenge this week: see the testimony within the photo.

And yes, *sigh* I will continue to contemplate my captions and edit my Instagram.

Side note: no photos were edited in the making of this blog

Transparency

A struggle for me has been not knowing the community, people, places and needs. The people all look the same, I cannot tell the homeless apart from the wealthy, they all wear Xtratuffs and flannel! Everything I need is within walking distance, limiting my ventures to other parts of the town. And the needs have been well concealed to preserve an outward appearance. 

I sent emails, made phone calls, and asked at different places for volunteer opportunities. Yes! Many! Many that require background checks, 30 hours of training, health inspections, high school or college transcripts, ability to lift 50 pounds, and no children! 

*Insert hopelessness, doubt and questioning if I am fit for the job*

A friend in the community (it's true! Yes, she used to work on staff here, but still!) suggested I call long-term care at the hospital, the last DTS here went there often. I called. Begging, compromising, telling God I would give up peanut butter for a week if He just opened a door! Not the best way to pray. I called, was passed to three different people, finally a cheery voice greeted me, ecstatic to hear we wanted to come. 

Thank you Jesus!

9 of us loaded into the large van yesterday and went to visit. There were two elderly ladies in the room, and two more "watching" Disney's Tarzan with their heads back, eyes closed and mouths open. 

An old song by Bon Iver has been coming to mind a lot this week. Part of the lyrics say: At once I knew, I was not magnificent. That is how I felt at long term care. 

Each one of us had a connection. The Swiss couple and a staff lady from California played games with a lady originally from California who spoke German; the couple was able to speak German with her. The Russian on staff had a previous connection with a guy in long-term care who came into the room; they spoke Russian to each other. The other student was able to pray and hold hands with an elderly lady; both in need of human touch. I helped served ice-cream with a long-term staff lady; she is originally from Iowa and her daughter is going to the same college I went too. And the Swiss girls scored ice-cream cones, their smiles ringed with vanilla sugary goodness expressed their delight in the day!

When I stopped, gave my desires all to Him, surrendered and prayed, He provided. No, it was not my idea to go to long-term, in fact I thought it sounded mundane, something everybody does, I wanted something "more exciting". I was slightly embarrassed, it was something the old school did all the time, I am the fresh new staff person from flashy Vegas, my pride said I should have equally as fresh, new and flashy ideas. 

“Real freedom is freedom from the opinions of others. Above all, freedom from your opinions about yourself. ” 

-Brennan Manning

And the feelings of doubt, hopelessness and questioning, they are real. Insecurities are real. Fear of rejection, not wanting to fail, the desire to please everyone, desiring to do an outstanding job, I struggle with them all, even as a missionary. Sometimes I believe the lie as a missionary I am not suppose to struggle so much, or at least not show it because God will never give me more than I can handle on my own.  

“There is a beautiful transparency of honest disciples who never wear a false face and do not pretend to be anything but who they are.” 

-Brennan Manning

Transparency. This would require us to believe there are others who will love, accept and welcome us, even after they see how broken we are. 

When we pray for divine appointments, expect divine appointments. When we pray for God to provide, expect God to provide. We are praying to the One with fire in His eyes, the One who sees us, knows us and desires to give us good gifts. His passion is far deeper than we can comprehend. He twirls us through a tender mysterious dance called life. And when the song slows enough for us to look around, it may not look as we envisioned, but He never once let go of us and does not plan to until the dance is complete. Then He will hold our hand as we walk into eternity together.

Thank you Abba, for knowing when I am pretending and loving me anyways. Thank you, Daddy, for freedom from expectation and freedom to enter the throne room. Thank you, Daddy, for never running out of grace, forgiveness or patience with me. Thank you, Daddy, for planning things far greater than I could conjure up. And Daddy, thank you for surrounding me with a family of broken Jesus followers.

Alaska update: cooked moose, halibut and salmon this week. Attempted to cook bear but the meat was four years old and did not look the best. A mile up the ridge from us received snow two nights ago, the cars coming into town in the morning bore the evidence. All the mountains across the bay are snow capped. Fall is here. Winter is close behind. 

Homer: in 10 photos.

Quick peek into Homer through pictures!

Our apartment building is two stories, the flat I share with two others is on the second story. Our view from our door is a beautiful one!  Here the fog has settled over the water, some days it is too foggy to see the water, and on clear days, the bay and mountains scream of His glorious creativity!

This past week was the first full week of DTS. Our director was the speaker, giving the three students an introductory to many different topics, including an overview of Genesis, hearing the voice of God, healing and spiritual warfare. I was able to sit in on a couple lectures. The incredible thing about God, is He never reveals Himself the exact same way to every person. Despite having gone through a DTS and hearing many of these topics I was being introduced to many new things. Papa is so rich and mysterious, we are never able to fully grasp all of who He is! 

I have been fostering my inner Alaskan. I wore my Xtra Tuffs all week, some days it wasn't even raining. I told my roommate, who is from Alaska, I felt silly at first wearing my boots on a sunny day, then I saw other people and realized I fit right in!

Tea time! One of my favorite things in my DTS was having tea time! Rachel, my apartment mate who is on staff, made incredible orange cakes with real whip cream. Fancier than Vegas, and the desserts are not expired donated delicacies either.

This is Nira. She is one of the daughters of a Swiss couple who are doing their DTS here. She likes to helps me organize shelves. Actually, she likes to pull food of the shelves, be held, look cute, and eat rice. I love sharing the kitchen with her.

This is Andrinna, the other Swiss girl. She only speaks Swiss German, but In Becoming American 101 by Livia she has learned how to do fist bumps and say, "Whats up!" 

Seriously, how cute is she?!

This past week she has been helping after every meal. She will help dry and put away dishes. Once I was sweeping, she tried to sweep with me, then discovered the broom is much to large for her! Her mom, Anna, the one washing dishes in this picture, makes most of the girl's clothing. Anna will use stripes, polka-dots and patterns all in one outfit. Somehow, the bright colors and patterns look perfect together!

My new favorite coffee shop has a porch, is a 10 minute walk from my apartment and a minute from the ocean. I go there often to read and have coffee dates with Jesus. The current book: Culture of Honor by Danny Silk. Incredible book!

The coffee shop also has a bucket of toys and a pebble area for kids! The past 10 days I had a new roommate, a gal who used to be on staff here. We went for coffee, a lot. She reminded me of the simplicity of Christ, how much Papa loves us, and the heart of worship. In coming here, I have been caught up in trying to figure out how to do things like grocery shop and make connections for outreaches, often overlooking rest, laughter and fellowship.

Three biggest lessons from this week: laugh because life is funny, worship because God is incredible, and seek fellowship because Jesus followers are family, and we need family. 

Joyful Freedom

I talked to my sister on the phone the other day. I am constantly floored by her bravery. She recently moved to Pennsylvania; we now sandwich our family in Iowa. She has over come and accomplished incredible things. She completed high school, excelled through college, flourished in social settings, and walked across the stage this past May receiving a diploma declaring her hard work. She did not settle for anything less than greatness. Just when I thought she was this great woman of ambition, she moved half way across the country to a town she was completely unfamiliar with. In this town she did not have a single friend, did not have a church body, did not know where the grocery store, she didn't even a have an apartment to unpack her belongings in, only a job. She moved with bravery and courage. She is a woman setting the bar high for the rest of us.

I think of my other sister who just received her second college degree. My brother in his senior year of college and his girl friend pursuing a nursing degree who spent her summer working in a nursing home, something she did not want to do and was not excited for. They are pursuing incredible things. I am so proud of them. They will soon all receive a title boxing them into a profession, but what is under their skin is so much more than a title could ever tell.

I am in a strange town. Life is mundane here; normal, average, consistent. I am currently sitting in the public library. Moms are shushing their children talking with voices echoing against the tall ceilings. Typical fashion: jeans tucked into X-tra Tuf boots, long sleeves (most likely flannel buttoned all the way), with a vest on top, or overalls (jean or Carhart) covering flannels and old sweatshirts; none of which is done to foster the hipster community, it is simply life. The fishermen stand out, their eyes seem to be glassy with colors reflecting the ocean, slightly bleached by the sun. Our sea side location welcomes the overcast clouds, the sun shines for about 14 hours a day still, but only when the clouds permit, maybe two or three times a week.

Last week we split base duties among our small staff of nine. My new job: kitchen coordinator, community outreach director, assisting in other administrative duties as needed and occasionally child care. All fancy terms for: grocery shopping, cooking, sweeping, and playing with children. 

I have often sat in silence before my three apartment mates have awoken thinking, "What am I doing with my life?" 

"Yes, God wants you to do signs and wonders. But the love of God manifested through you is what people really need. So you first must see His face. You must become so close to His very heartbeat that you can feel what others feel." 

-Heidi Baker

I sat in silence this past week with eyes looking at my empty hands, seeing nothing. My eyes were turned down ward. Love was standing in front of me, confused as to why I would not look at Him. Mercy wanted me to see Him, Salvation wanted me to see what He gave to me. 

It is the woeful Juliet, dramatically calling to her beloved Romeo, "Tis' but thy name that is my enemy..." 

I have began to read the book Culture of Honor by Danny Silk. In the introduction he speaks on showing honor by calling others by the name of who they are: apostle, prophet, teacher, pastor, evangelist. Names defining how we relate to each other: free sons and daughters, children of light. And names truly describing us: royalty, wealthy, benefactor. 

A couple doing their DTS here have two small girls. In reading Silk's book, these girls are not children of DTS students or my neighbors or cute little Swiss girls. They are life givers, shapers of nations, lovers of curiosity, devourers of eggs and rice, women of standards. They encapsulate vision, passion, dreams, and gifts, uniquely picked for them by the Wild One, not able to be fully expressed through their words yet. These young freedom chasers are missionaries.

"Define yourself radically as one beloved by God. This is the true self. Every other identity is illusion." 

-Brennan Manning

I suggest you all watch this video. Be inspired. Listen to Holy Spirit. Wait in expectancy of Papa Faithful as you cry out, begging for revival, signs, and wonders, not sitting around, but in turn faithfully stepping into the plans before us, loving the one as he has been loved and named by our Daddy.

(And yes, I have repent of calling life mundane. I have actually made many friends at the grocery store, become a regular at a coffee shop, and made new mom friends as I tote around two blond girls. He gives us a funny life if we allow ourselves to walk in joyful freedom!)

The New Addition

"As a father shows compassion to his children, so the Lord shows compassion to those who fear Him. For He knows our frame; He remembers that we are dust."

Psalm 103:13,14

10 days. I have lived in Homer, Alaska for 10 days. I sometimes feel myself become homesick for Vegas, something I never thought I would say. I miss our neighbor kids, the girls on our streets, the heat, sunsets on the desert mountains, and my Vegas family. The past two years have consisted of a lot of moving: camp, college, Pella, Vegas, Nepal, India, and several short places in between. My suitcase has become a familiar dresser for me. I feel as though it is time for me to pack up and move again, the concept of living in Homer has yet to fully set in.

Last Monday was my first day of work. We sat around a table as a staff, held hands, and our director led us in prayer before we shared a welcome breakfast for me. He started the prayer saying, "Family. God, we thank you for family."

Stung a little. Part of me does not want to give up all the family I have scattered throughout the Lower 48. But more so, it was welcoming. Yes, this is my new family.

Last week we remodeled an old coffee shop for the new YWAM base. As a family we divided jobs according to abilities, and worked together. We painted, trimmed, scrubbed floors, wiped walls, cleaned windows, and installed lights. There was humility in not being afraid to ask for help, no shame in what we were not able to do, and respect in helping others. This is what a family does, we work side-by-side, laughing along the way.

Yesterday part of the staff went halibut fishing. I'm not talking leisurely sitting in a lawn chair by the river on a Sunday afternoon fishing either, this was fishing on a boat in the ocean. At one point there was four of us on deck. Suddenly, the two salmon lines were being pulled and two halibut lines were being pulled. Catching a salmon is a two person job: one to real in the line and the other to hold the net. Our director and owner of the boat were going insane with the salmon lines, and the other staff guy and I had to bring in the other lines. After the madness calmed down, the boat owner laughed and said, "Man, good thing we have a good family out here today."

I have two apartment mates, one is a DTS student and the other a staff gal. We eat dinner together, often inviting others over to join us. We have a small table, six rusty folding chairs and a hodgepodge of dishes. The table has an antique looking, severely outdated dim lamp and a bamboo plant, not the most attractive centerpieces. Our dinners are randomly put together, not always matching in flavor. We share responsibilities, not keeping track of who did dishes last. And at night, there is no hurry away from the table, we sit around laughing, doing life together. 

The verse from Psalm 103 has been impressed on my heart. The way Abba knows our frame is an intimate love. He sees everything. He knows our wildest dreams, our deepest cravings, the silly thoughts we have throughout the day and every detail of our stumbling. It is mesmerizing to me how He looks at me, remembers I am dust, and still desires to know every part of me. He is the Creator of family. We are dust, not invincible humans, we need help along the way.When I am able to look at myself and those around me, remember God created us out of dust and breathed His very own breath into us, then I will be able to love as a family member is to love. 

They are the new addition to my family and I am the new addition to theirs. Just as when we bring another brother or sister to Christ, He does not forget about us, He rejoices with the growing family, this does not mean I am replacing or being replaced. We are bring more and more to the table, not replacing those already seated, simply rejoicing with the biggering party.

Finding Home

It was an adventure week. Two particularly popular C.S Lewis quotes come to mind:

"If we find ourselves with a desire nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world."

"Make your choice, adventurous Stranger; strike the bell and bide the danger, or wonder till it drives you mad, what would have followed if you had."

In traveling I have learned a few things. Two of the greatest things I have learned: home is a relative word, and love is an underused word.

For me, home is a place of refuge. This has come in many forms for me. For many high school spring breaks home was a tent in a church court yard in south Texas. For a couple summers home was a secluded camp in the mountains of Alaska. For a while home was Vegas, a cold marble apartment in Nepal, and an orphanage of 67 sisters in India. 

In Iowa, the best part of home was the kitchen table. It is where were friends would gather to become family. Age no longer mattered, I could sit and play games with my sister and her friends. My brother and his football friends would come, and it was okay for me to talk to them, only in the kitchen though, never in the hallways at school. My friends would come over for late night "study" sessions and laugh with my mom. Mom would lecture us all on the importance of school, working hard and retaining our morals, and we were all more than okay with it. My parents would no longer be Mr. and Mrs. Pezley, rather Jerry and Kris. All food was free game, they would no longer ask before opening the fridge door.

Home: a refuge. To find home, I learned, I have to be vulnerable. Acceptance, community and family comes at a risky exchange: comfortable walls crumbling to allow others to see all we are. 

The adventure and risk is worth it. The adventure may make you sick, you may get lost and become afraid, you may meet people who are unfriendly to you, you may find a thousand reasons to never desire leaving your home town. But along the way, you will find other things. 

In India I learned the impact of human touch. I have never been afraid of kissing and holding children, no matter how dirty and foul smelling. One beautiful little sister in India had head sores, very contagious. She was embarrassed. One day she was having another sister clean her sores, when she saw me she instantly tried to cover them with a scarf. When I tried to uncover them, she looked down, buried her head in her lap and covered herself with her hands, she was ashamed. I forcefully removed her hands, leaned down, kissed one of the sores and said, "I love you." My heart broke. I loved her.

The adventure is risky to the heart. You soon fall in love with people and places. Your pallet begins to enjoy the flavor. Your senses begin to welcome the strange smells, bringing you peace instead of fear. Your body relaxes in the company of others. So why not tell them you love them? 

I was ingrained with the mentality you love your family, a few friends, and your future spouse, otherwise to say you love something is abuse of the word. There is nothing more adventurous then falling in love with others, bridging the gap from people to family.

I love Jesus, friends, both male and female, coffee, biking, hiking, mountains, lightening bugs, baby animals, and picking flowers along the road side. I love running through life with others. I love pillows and adventuring. I love quotes, reading, and my water bottle. I do not love every situation I find myself in, but I love knowing God is with me in every situation.

We risk loosing a part of ourselves everyday as we push the covers back, planting our feet on the floor. We risk finding new things we love. Slowly, home becomes less about location, building or shelter. The more I travel, the more I realize we truly are not home. My soul is never fully satisfied. I may find peace and rest, yet my yearning for the Throne Room becomes greater with each adventure.