Giving Thanks

Thanksgiving. 

Has it really been a full year already? 

This season, as many people, I've been contemplating thankfulness and blessings, and I have so much to thank the Lord for. I have seen His hand in my life so powerfully and so intimately this year, and I have watched Him pour out blessings upon my family and me. This has been a richly favorable year for us in change and growth and love and memories.  

But in the midst of so much I could thank the Lord for, a group of senior citizens taught me how much I also take for granted. 

Last Saturday morning, I awoke with no official plans for the day and another weekend to myself what with my parents still gone on their cruise. So I decided to give a few hours of my Saturday to serving. I was severely tempted to stay in my warm bed and sleep, but I was convicted. I'm the girl who wants to move to Hawaii to serve in outreach. But I won't even wake up early and sacrifice three hours of my weekend to serve in my own hometown? So I woke up earlier than usual, picked up my usual Saturday morning chicken biscuit and hugged my coworker friends, and I drove to Downtown Atlanta. To the Atlanta Dream Center. 

I had never been to the Dream Center before but when I was younger, my church used to take a group down there to serve. I was out of my comfort zone there. Drastically. I never go to Atlanta, much less on my own. I never serve with urban ministries and outreach to low-income areas. And I didn't know a single soul there. I hadn't even submitted an RSVP for their Adopt-a-Block event like I was supposed to have. I just showed up. My inexperience even would've gotten my car towed had it not been for the kind volunteers who informed me that I had parked in an unacceptable space: once in a tow zone, the other blocking a florist shop driveway on the street. 

Something was there though. The tall buildings looked old and dingy and dirty. Graffiti wouldn't have surprised me. The roads were not in the best condition and iron bars were on the windows of the Dream Center. Parking for the Center was right in front of the ministry buildings or I otherwise would've felt wary of walking far alone. Overhead the sky was gray and clouded, casting the urban area in a cold pale light. 

And I felt something there. I felt a darkness in that place as soon as I stepped out of my car. I didn't feel in danger from anything in the physical, but I felt something imminent and threatening to me in the spiritual realm. Something that I feared might manifest itself in the physical.

I looked up at the buildings around me and an eeriness overcame me to realize that inside those buildings, in the backstreets of the heart of Atlanta, women and young teenage girls were selling their bodies to men every single day, either by choice or by slavery. There was a darkness to that side of the city that few people saw. It made me shiver and cringe. 

The people from the Dream Center were kind and welcoming to my joining them even though I hadn't submitted an RSVP. I signed a waiver, which I didn't read but which I assumed essentially claimed that if I got abducted or assaulted or injured in any way, it wasn't the organization's fault. The church was cozy and inviting, and we gathered all together into a warehouse-looking room for a brief time of worship. 

But I still felt in my spirit something there, and it terrified me. It made me want to jump into my car and drive away from that place as fast as I could. Something, or should I say someone, didn't want me there. 

I turned to spiritual battle, and I prayed against that evil spirit of darkness that I felt surrounding me. I prayed against it. And when I closed my eyes, I saw a vision of myself surrounded by a bubble of light. Against that bubble of light pressed a wall of darkness, trying to drive the light back. 

I realized that sometimes we'll never know how bright a light really is until it's placed in the darkness. You can't see the influence of a candle glowing until you see how far its realm of light extends into the dark. And my spirit was strengthened and encouraged because I realized that I had a Light to shine and a gift for shining it effectively to those around me.  

That heaviness and darkness I felt left, and after the worship, I joined two young ladies and an elderly woman in going to visit a group of senior citizens. 

Lija and I rode with Jordan to the high-rise home where the seniors lived, arriving some time before Miss Ruby did. Many of the elderly were shut-ins and looked forward every week to the Atlanta Dream Center volunteers' visit. We gathered in a circle with a group of about ten black elderly Christian men and women. I won't lie, as a Caucasian-Puerto Rican in a society that is so quick to create racial tension, I felt culturally stretched from my comfort zone. But it was good. I needed that. I might feel like a minority often in Hawaii. 

We read Scripture together and taught on meekness and humility. We brought them food- bread and pies and fruit- and new toothbrushes. We shared about our weeks. We introduced ourselves and shared something about our lives. 

We went around the room sharing one thing that the Lord had done in our lives that week that we were thankful for. 

And the seniors' thanksgiving all had a common thread: they were thankful for life. They were thankful for health and for a sound mind. They were thankful for another day that they had woken up and were given the opportunity to live. 

And it challenged me. It challenged me of how much I take granted the simple things that matter the most. Like food on my table. A roof over my head. A family and good friends. A car. A job. 

Life. The very essence of breath in my lungs and every morning I awake, the chance to see another day dawn with the colors of the sunrise.

I initially questioned my calling to serve with the impoverished when my eyes had seen reality for the first time that morning. I had questioned fearfully what in the world I was doing, going to Hawaii with a desire to minister to the homeless. But by that afternoon, I felt so fulfilled. I fell in love with the sweet seniors, so welcoming, so accepting, so loving. I enjoyed the group I served with and I formed a new friendship with Lija over sipping apple juice together back at the Dream Center before I headed back into the suburbs. 

I had gone to serve and to be a blessing. But I was blessed. Tremendously. 

And this Thanksgiving, I'm challenged to give thanks for the simple things. 

To give thanks for the beautiful gift of life and for the precious gift of Christ's blood on the cross that I may have life and eternal life abundant.

"The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly." John 10:10

"For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans 6:23

Be Still and Know

Last weekend was special for me because I got to spend so many powerful and precious intimate moments with the Lord. 

Saturday morning, I found myself at a local coffee shop I had been wanting to try. I sat outside on the deck overlooking the river and played my guitar and read my devotional. But mostly, I stood in awe. In awe of how magnificent our Creator is. It was so beautiful. The way that the water moved, so many droplets of water all moving together as one. The autumn colors of the trees were so warm and brilliant. The laughter of joy coming nearby from a young boy and his loving father, engaged and present, pretending with small tree branches that they were sword fighting. 

A few hours later found me at what used to be one of my favorite places on the face of the earth. The Monastery of the Holy Spirit. I used to go there so often with my mom. We would picnic by the lake, sit in silence, reflecting and resting our souls in the Lord's presence, and we would stay for the 5:20 vespers service. But now it had been over two years since I had stolen away to that place of solitude, silence, serenity. 

It was fairly busy that day. There was a weekend retreat being held so there were many people staying in the retreat house. There was also a group of elderly women from the Red Hat Club in their red and purple. There were tours being given, families spending the day, couples young and old strolling the grounds hand-in-hand. And there was me. 

Some things had changed, but it was much as I had remembered it. And I discovered that it's still one of my favorite places. I wandered the spots I used to go with my mom: the bonsai tree greenhouse, the lake, the Abbey Store, and the Abbey Church. 

But before I left, I brought out my acoustic guitar from the back seat of my sedan. I carried my gig bag over to a field. And I sat down in the dying grass and brown leaves. 

The afternoon sun was low in the horizon before me and behind me stood the tall white chapel, bathed in its warm rays. I lifted my guitar from its case and I began playing. People were walking by- it was a public place- but I began playing and singing anyways. "10,000 Reasons" I played. And the presence of God came over me so strongly. 

I was singing and playing openly, freely, without shame or reserve, though my skills aren't excellent in either. Usually I'm insecure in my playing and my singing alone. But I wasn't that afternoon. I didn't care what anyone else thought. I was worshipping Jesus and that was the only thing that mattered to me. 

I closed my eyes and at one point, stopped playing and lifted my hand to Heaven. I felt so much freedom wash over me as I lost myself in His presence.

I had been dreading the changing of the seasons. I dislike the cold so I had fought against accepting the inevitable approach of autumn and winter. I mourned for all of the precious moments I had spent with the Lord. The picnics, the walks, the prayer times outside at IHOP, the ice cream eating and Bible reading outside Barnes & Noble at the Avenue, the outdoor adventures. I had mourned for them, thinking that such special private times away with the Lord were over for me until next year.  My favorite places to get away from the busyness and distractions from the world and to focus wholly on Him are all places outdoors. 

But I realized last weekend that I was wrong. 

We don't need a place or perfect conditions to touch the heart of Jesus and feel His presence surrounding us. The seasons change, but He is ever constant and is ever wooing our hearts to spend time with Him and in His Word. He cares for us His children, us His treasured ones, so deeply. He is pursuing us and there is no place that we can run from His outstretched arms and His abundant love. 

In the changes of life, in the ringing noise of the day-to-day responsibilities and cares of this world... Be still. 

Be still and know that He is God. Not just in your mind. Be still and know in your heart that He is God. We are a busy generation, a busy culture, a very busy society. 

But we need time away with Him. He longs for us to seek His face and through our private moments with Him, He strengthens us, equips us, and uplifts us to live our lives more abundantly, more fully, more richly for His glory than we ever could on our own. Be that beneath a cathedral of blue sky, a quiet corner of a coffee shop with a cup of hot cocoa, or curled beneath the covers reading His Word on a chilly night.

Be still and rest in the confidence that our God never changes and He is faithful with no end.

Dancing with Me

The first of October, I found myself at IHOP for the Thursday night Forerunner service. I was feeling in need of some encouragement so I went into the prophecy room. 

For those who aren't familiar with IHOP's prophecy rooms, the intention of the prophecy ministry is simply to encourage and uplift, not to foretell of the future. To be honest, the idea sounded pretty creepy to me though the first time that my friends wanted to try it out, but it wasn't at all as I had thought. 

Among other words of encouragement, one of the women there praying shared with me a vision she glimpsed. 

"I keep seeing you dance. I just- I just see you dance and twirl and spin," she said. "And I mean... It's just beautiful before the Lord. I don't know if that's something that you do or... I just hear over you 'Dance with Me. Dance with Me, My beloved. Dance with Me.'"

Here's the thing. 

I don't dance. 

That vision struck me as strange and I didn't relate to it at all. Sometimes in my mind I imagine myself dancing, and when I was younger, sometimes I would dance before the Lord in my bedroom. I took ballet lessons as a cute five-year-old, and with my slender physique and long limbs, for most of my teenhood, I was asked if I was a ballerina. But that vision still didn't resonate in my spirit in that moment. I don't dance in worship. 

But it stuck with me. Something about that word stood out to me. 

This past Thursday, I was at the Forerunner service again. (I spend quite a bit of time at IHOP.) I was dressed fashionably in black satin high heels and skinny jeans, deep red lipstick, gold jewelry, a black top, my thick mass of curls clipped up. There was an altar call at the front for receiving the baptism of the Holy Spirit, and as I sat there in my seat, I suddenly felt a prompting to go outside. 

To go outside, to go down the porch steps to the grassy overflow parking where I picnic, and to dance. I felt my spirit stirred. I felt the Lord leading me to sneak out of the service and to steal away to dance with Him. Like a lover coaxing his beloved away from the crowd of a party and out into the night on the portico alone. 

I decided to follow. It was strange, and it felt so counter-intuitive, but I decided to follow. 

I left my things on my chair and I quietly slipped out from the prayer room where the ministry at the altar was still underway. Outside, the back deck was wet from rain and for me in a short-sleeved shirt, the night was a little cool. 

I crossed the wooden deck and I stopped at the railing, drawing a deep breath as I looked out across the overflow parking. Dark and vacant of anyone else. No one else was in sight.

I followed the steps down and gingerly picked my footing in my high heels across the gravel and wet clay into the grass. 

Then I stopped. 

I looked up at the treetops silhouetted against the darkening night sky. 

This is silly, I thought to myself. 

"I don't dance," I told God. 

And I heard Him whisper gently to my heart in a way that assured me He knew something that I didn't, "Oh, but you will." 

I took a deep breath, looked over my shoulder to be sure that no one was around, and I started swaying. There was no rhythm, no music, but I began dancing. Just a slow, gentle sway at first. 

Then I slipped out of my heels, my feet sinking into the soggy grass scattered with wet fallen leaves. And I began twirling. Like a young girl again, I began running and spinning barefoot around that little field cloaked in the darkness and the lamplight from the deck. I laughed breathlessly, wet, cold, feet growing freezing and dirty, my curls coming loose. 

I opened my arms and sunk down to my knees in the grass, my eyes closed as I turned my head up to the heavens. And for a moment, I forgot about everyone and everything else. 

It was Him and Him alone. 

No one else mattered. 

Sometimes we create such high expectations for ourselves. We seek perfection in ourselves. For me, I struggle with perfectionism. I'm organized, I exhibit mild symptoms of obsessive-compulsive disorder, I love planning and scheduling, I love routine, I love being in control of my life, and I've always loved the feeling of being put together, both in dressing well and in having my life in order. I hold expectations for myself that I can't always meet or always feel like meeting. 

And sometimes, that holds me captive as a slave to my own ideas of what I should look like, of how I should act, of the way my life should go. 

But this year since March, the Lord's been teaching me to let go. 

To let go, to let loose my fist-tight grip on my perceptions of reality and expectations for myself, and to embrace the joy of living. 

Truly living. 

Of living in the moment. Of spontaneity. Of following the prompting of His Spirit though they may seem like whims to discover intimate moments spent with Him in His presence. Of living more simply, more unhindered and carefree. 

More free. 

Living in freedom. 

Free from worries and overthinking. Free from expectations and barriers I create for myself. Free from concern of people's opinion of me. Free from my pride, telling me that I need to be a certain way. And free from the confines of what has always been "normal" for me, the old me. 

I've been embracing a new freedom in Him. 

And it's brought a lot of changes in me and my life. 

I've never felt like a more real authentic version of the person that I was created to be. 

I walked back into the prayer room Thursday night during the meet-and-greet and immediately a young woman greeted me. She asked me my name and introduced herself. And then she told me genuinely, "You are so pretty." My feet cold and dirty in my high heels, my curls falling out of place, blades of grass clinging to the wet knees of my jeans, breathless and wet and disarrayed, I felt like a mess. 

But I knew there was a spark of passion and life and love in my eyes, lit and let loose by laying down my pride before my Bridegroom and King. 

And the Lord reminded me that beauty isn't always found in perfection. Sometimes the most real beauty of all is found in the chaos, in the confusion, in the carefree, crazy moments of life spent with Him. Trusting and walking step-by-step by faith every day. 

Today is a new day. A day to begin again and to start afresh. To break off whatever is holding us back from stepping into the freedom in Him that the Lord wants to offer us and into the fullness of all that He has for us. He desires so much for us. 

Let go. Breath. Don't be afraid of falling into Him. He'll catch you. Step beyond the circumference drawn in the sand of that small circle called the Comfort Zone that you're content to live in. 

Let go. Be free. And believe. 

And watch all that He will do. 

He makes wondrous things from the pieces we place in His beautiful hands.