Count the stars...if you are able

After these events, the word of the Lord came to Abram in a vision:

Do not be afraid, Abram.

I am your shield;

your reward will be very great.

But Abram said, “Lord God, what can You give me, since I am childless and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus?”  Abram continued, “Look, You have given me no offspring, so a slave born in my house will be my heir.”

Now the word of the Lord came to him: “This one will not be your heir; instead, one who comes from your own body will be your heir.”  He took him outside and said, “Look at the sky and count the stars, if you are able to count them.” Then He said to him, “Your offspring will be that numerous.”

Abram believed the Lord, and He credited it to him as righteousness.  ~Gen. 15:1-6

My neighborhood doesn't have street lights (thank God) so climbing up on the roof to look at the stars is not entirely fruitless.

I needed space. 

Whatever glint of stars and half-hearted moon I could get would have to be enough. 

When I first laid down on the flat part of my roof that hangs over the back porch, only the half moon was visible amid the deep purple sky, but as my eyes adjusted, tiny flickers of light softly emerged from the darkness, like dust specks that get in your eyes but you can never focus on because they move along with your iris.  I let myself shrink as my sight drifted off into eternity.  I focus on one star and try to realize it isn't a piece of glitter, but a gigantic ball of fire light years away.  I try to imagine how far a light year is. 

Impossible. 

Trees surround my house, so from my view on the roof, the sky is framed by tree tops, so I decided to count the stars in the basin.  I had to start over many times, finally concluding with a rough total of 102.  A moment after, the sky suddenly seemed to deepen and brighten with a trillion more stars as if my vision was suddenly extended by light years.  The vision flashed and was gone.  With all my efforts, I could only count 102 stars, but how many more are really out there! 

I understand why God told Abraham to count the stars.  Imagine how visible they must have been without artificial lighting or pollution anywhere on the planet!

God could have said, "What, you don't trust me, Abraham?  Fine, count to a zillion.  What?  You don't even know what a zillion is?  Well it's a massive number that would take you years to count to.  Your offspring will be more than that number!"

But He didn't.  He brought Abraham out to look at the stars.  Not only were they impossible to count, they were beautiful, incomprehensible.  Abraham didn't know what they were made of, how far away they were, how or when they appeared... but God knew them all by name.  

Creation declares His glory.

Who needs a mental dump?  That's right, this mess-of-a-person right here.  So brace yourselves- this could get crazy.

Thank the good Lord for friends who randomly pick you up from work and take you to the sea!!  Reason # 4,132 I love the ocean?  My eyes have (          space          ).  When I look toward the horizon over the water, I can rest knowing my eyes are looking to the furthest reaches of their grasp, unblocked by a computer screen, wall, building, car, tree, star, anything!  Puts me in my place every time.  The sea goes on far, far, far beyond my sight.  What looks like a drop off into oblivion is really my eyes' inability to follow the curvature of the earth to Africa, Australia...  Physical proof that I am limited.  But God is not.  and I can trust Him.

And uh, speaking about trusting God, He's brought me through quite the ride these past few days.  Remember I was wrestling with the cost of following Christ?  Well...
So many things.  I don't really know how to accurately express them.  One out of every 3 women around the world are sexually abused.  1 out of three.  There are 3 women in my immediate family alone.  What gives us the right to be the one?  No, NO ONE deserves abuse.  But sin is destroying our world, and I have been beyond blessed in my life when I compare it to the statistics.  The very least I can do is spend my life rescuing and healing the other two.  Sinner that I am, I deserve NOTHING, no good thing, no assurance of freedom from present suffering, nor of eternal salvation, yet God generously and freely gives me salvation, so what care I of present safety?  I have Him.  My sins are not counted against me.  I will be with Him in Paradise.  What else matters?  What cost could possibly cause me to waiver?  What could possibly be worth more than Jesus?  Look at those who have gone before me.  When they had to choose between Jesus or anything else, Jesus was the only possible option.  
Stephen- while people stone him to death, he cries out to God for their forgiveness.  Why?  His soul was committed to Jesus.  He was eternally secure.  Stephen knew the people stoning him were in a far more tragic state than he was, and he was overcome with pity.  
Paul- knowing he is about to be executed, declares to Timothy, "The Lord will rescue me from every evil deed and bring me safely into His heavenly kingdom."   
John Huss- burned to death but singing God's praises until the roar of the flames consumed his voice.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Jim Elliot, millions of others....
And Jesus.  "who did not count equality with God as a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking the form of a servant... he humbled Himself to the point of death, even death on a cross!"  Jesus, who "was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed!"  Jesus suffered beyond recognition for me.  Died for me.  Took the responsibility for my sin.  How utterly ashamed this makes me feel to think I could ever doubt His worthiness.  
I don't want safety and comfort to rule my life.  I want Jesus.  I want to be eternally focused, focused on the place my Groom has prepared for me to be forever with Him.  A real, tangible place, that will come on a real, tangible day.  
My brother Jason said it so well,
"We are Alliens in a foreign land, misfits, outsiders. But we focus our attention on the great City. We speak of its beauty, its majesty. How the King is just and pure, that there is only love and joy for all Eternity in this City, this City of our King. We live in darkness but are filled with light. We walk in the shadows but our path is lit by the Truth. We are Alliens, the Salt of the earth. His glory shines from our lips leaving a sweet taste in the hungry mouth."- Jason "The Taste of Eternity is here on our lips. With Every Breath we sing, with every breath we sing of your Majesty here in our mists!"
"For here we do not have an enduring city, but we are looking for the City that is to come."

Warning: this post deals with adult content and is not suitable for all audiences. Lizzy, I wouldn't read this one.

Dreams are fascinating things.

Multiple dreams just won't let me go; they invade my sleep over and over again.  Some are just strange- the smoking dreams in which I'm chain-smoking cartons of cigarettes and LOVING every. single. inhale. feeling smoke burn and fill my lungs then thickly slide out the side of my mouth.  I've never smoked a single cigarette in my life, and because of these dreams, I'm terrified just one puff would make me addicted forever.  But I digress.

There are more, the tiny spaces dreams, the waking-up-in-an-ugly-wedding-dress-and-marrying-a-man-I-didn't-love dreams, the rabbit hole/Jabba the Hut dreams, the pulling-people-out-of-a-crocodile's-jaws dreams....

While unpleasant, those dreams are rather petty.

There are the nightmares, however. 

I've had them rather consistently for as long as I can remember.  For many years, I didn't tell anyone and tried to push the nightmares into the furthest corners of my memory.  I'd wake up, shudder, and force myself to forget.  But they persisted, and last year I finally started talking about them with people I love and trust.

One of the reasons I'm passionate about fighting sex trafficking is that I've been dream raped and exploited several times in my sleep.  NO, I cannot relate to people who have been raped and abused.  I am NOT saying I can fully emphasize with people whose vulnerability is exploited.  But I've glimpsed their fear and pain, and that simple exposure alone overwhelms me.  I know the nightmares are not real, but in the heat of them, I don't know what's real or not.

Sometimes I'm in a brothel with many women I don't know.

Sometimes I'm hanging out with friends and we're jumped in a parking lot.

Sometimes I'm home alone.

Sometimes I discover a room full of little girls locked up by a teacher.

Once, I had a 4yr old girl taken from me during a Sunday School class.

One of these nightmares came upon me in Ukraine last summer.  I dreamed I was in a room with a bunch of young girls and some men I knew.  Suddenly, I realized all the men but one had a dark intent in bringing us girls together.  I tried not to panic or let the men know I realized their plan while also trying to get the one honest man's attention.  But he fell asleep.  Then the other men attacked.  One had a knife and lunged to slit the sleeping man's throat, but I jumped in the way, grabbing for the knife while trying to wake the sleeping man.  He wouldn't wake up, but I was able to wiggle out of the knife man's grasp and bolt out the door and through a field.  I felt safe but sick with the knowledge of what was happening to the other girls.

I woke up.

I got out of bed and went to the sink to wash my face and hopefully my mind.  With water dripping down my face, I asked God something I'd never asked Him before,

"Why?  Why the nightmares, Lord?"

I don't usually heard God respond in a clear voice, but a thought shot through my mind,

"I don't want you to leave them behind anymore."

I realized a central theme in many of my nightmares.  I often got away, but the others didn't.

Was there a purpose in all this?  Maybe.  I'll never forget a friend telling me, 

"you've seen the need.  Now do something about it."

So I started doing what I could.  It isn't much, and there's so much more I'd like to do, but God hasn't released me to do it yet.  So I'll do what I can in the waiting/preparing period.

 

Why do I write all this?  Well, there's another theme in most of my nightmares.  Two nights ago, I dreamed a pimp and his boss were following me through an abandoned farm they had turned into a breaking ground for trafficked girls.  This time, I realized I was dreaming, so I cried out to God to wake me up.  Please Lord, just wake me up and all this will end.  Save me!

He didn't.  I felt hopeless and utterly abandoned.  Now I assume God wanted me to experience the whole dream for a reason.  I know He didn't simply ignore my pleas.

But it's been worse.

In one nightmare, I was chased and cornered in a two story building by an old, feeble man and a middle-aged, Hulk-sized man.  In my dream, I screamed,

"Jesus!  Save me!  Oh God, please rescue me!"

As the huge man approached me, unbuckling his belt, he laughed,

"Oh, God will save you, but only after we're done with you."

Could that be Satan lying to me and trying to scare me?  Sure.  Maybe.  But you know what?  In a way, he's right.  If I get heavily involved in fighting sexual exploitation, I'm not guaranteed safety.  Hell, I'm not guaranteed safety while typing this on my couch here at home!  Nefarious things happen to Christians every day and God does not always rescue them.

Tonight, Dad and I were the only ones at home, and that means war movie night!  This time we watched Act of Valor.  A good movie, but I don't want to go off topic.  At the beginning of the film, a female CIA agent is captured by Jihad members and she's gruesomely tortured for not talking. 

Would I do that?  Would I suffer like that if asked to deny Christ or in attempt to save exploited people? 

Ah, honestly?  I don't think so.

I know God will never leave me or forsake me.  I know He holds my right hand, hems me in, hides me in the shadow of His wing, but that doesn't mean He won't let me suffer.

Am I truly willing to take that risk?  To go out into the darkness even in the face of suffering and death?

I don't know.  I'm really wrestling.  It bothers me so much.

I don't know exactly what these dreams mean, whether they're attacks from Satan or messages from God, or simply terrors in my psyche.  But they've caused me to wrestle with some hard things.  I know God will bring good from it, and I know He's worth everything, and I know I can't live in fear of what may never come to pass, but this is all weighing heavy on my soul and I just needed to get it out somehow.

Stuck, Hobo Hunting, Faithfulness, and the Adventures of 23

"Sir, I'm serious.  I'm stuck."

"Oh! To my floor?"

"No, Sir."

"Then how?"

"Like as a person...  Remember when I was a little girl and I could play Rahmaninov's Second Piano Concerto and everyone was talking about my potential?"

"Mhm."

"Well, I am 23 now, and everyone is still talking about my potential, but if you ask me to play the song I know best... I'll still play Rahmaninov's Second."

- Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium

Stuck.  I'll admit, looking at my status in life at this current moment, it's tempting to believe I am so very stuck in the same place and as the same person I was last year.

I'm not faithful in many things, but I have faithfully kept a prayer journal this past year, and what a strange year it was!  Last year I spent my birthday in Lviv, Ukraine.  This year I spent it in a minivan, in the rain, searching for homeless people and ending up eating Mexican casserole with my family and a young man we met at Albertson's named Joshua.  

Who would've thought? 

Going through my journal, I'm easily discouraged by the person I hoped I would become by now.  I set such high and noble goals- live each day with intention, walk humbly, share the Gospel boldly, live in faith... and some lesser goals- move out, get a job with IJM, publish poetry, move to Ukraine, become an advocate against human trafficking, stop watching TV and wasting time on the internet, read a million books. 

Whelp.  So much for all that. 

But something much bigger than my failed attempts at epicness pushed through those journal pages.  I'm sure if I created a word cloud for last year, the largest part of the cloud would read, "GOD IS FAITHFUL."  Over, and over, and over, and over again, stories of God's faithfulness fill the spaces between my ambitious attempts at personal holiness.  Who cares that I am a failure? GOD IS FAITHFUL!  It's okay that I am not perfect, that I

waste time

get tired

that my faith wavers

I'm a fool

I'm not the smartest

I'm not the most talented

I don't know

I struggle

over and over and over again

that I hurt

I'm weak

I need people

I need

I'm shy

I sin

I'm not beautiful

I'm selfish

God has conquered all this!  NONE of this binds me or keeps me from Him!  And though I am not the person I hoped I would be, I am molding into the person God has created me to be.  And I trust His craftsmanship utterly and completely, more than I ever have before.  As Comrade wrote to me back in August, "No matter where He takes you or who you are ministering to, your ultimate purpose is always going to be displaying HIS love and HIS power to all you come in contact with.  Your circumstances, struggles, temptations may change, but His faithfulness will not.  Your purpose may look different, the methodology may change, but the ultimate goal will always be the same- glorifying Him by loving Him, by loving others, and by making Jesus beautiful!"  So I will holdfast to the anchor of my soul, rejoicing that I can walk in a manner worthy of the call, because the One who calls me is faithful, and He will surely do it!  My weaknesses prove His strength!  My ugliness proves His beauty!  Bring on 23!!!

The kindness of our God

So you know this joyless girl who's been whining about her problems over the past few blog posts?  Well, God took her on an impromptu trip to the shoreline for sunrise yesterday...

And then He told me this...

He will make me a joy... He hears my prayers.  He cares. and He is so generous with messed up me.

Rigid

Rigid.
That's the word someone used to describe me years ago.
He hoped it wouldn't offend me.  I took it as a compliment. at the time.

In case you haven't already figured this out (maybe I'm the only one who hadn't),
I am a wretched human being- selfish, arrogant, and unloving.  If I've ever served or loved anyone it was either a front to improve my image or a merciful gift from God.  I'm not saying this out of obligation.  I'm not compelled out of humility.  I'm relating a brutally honest self-realization.

Abigail means "the joy of her father."  I lost joy a long, long time ago, gradually.  As pride grew, joy withered.  You know that C.S. Lewis analogy of a heart locked in a box?  Yup.  I want to be perfect and  the farthest thing from vulnerable.  Nothing gets in the way of the person I present myself to be.
Whelp.  That doesn't fly with God.  And frankly, it's never caused me to fly either.  It's trapped me.

I want my heart to break for what breaks the heart of God.
I want His freedom.
I want to be His joy.



I am a great sinner, but He is a great Savior.
Hallelujah.

"So much of my life reminds me of something I read in a book once, when really, shouldn't it be the other way around?"

I admit.  Since graduation, I have undergone a dramatic and rather unsettling identity crisis.  While in the Keys last week, I thought being on and in and under and (fill in all remaining applicable prepositions) the ocean cured me of said crisis.  Wrong.

I was reading this beautifully crafted and well told memoir titled, The Hungry Ocean.  Linda, the only known female swordfishing captain, doubts whether or not she really lived the life she wanted.  She battles regret.  That last word, my friends, is one I am TERRIFIED of associating (even syntactically) with my life.  Years ago, I wrote a pathetic poem metaphorically describing life as a burden I was terrified of wasting.  The poem's long gone, but the fear isn't.  I couldn't bear looking back on my life and regretting how I spent it.  I've actually become overwhelmingly depressed at the thought of growing older, just because being older meant decisions would be behind me, not in front of me, and what if I regretted those decisions?  I want to die exhausted, every breath of my life intentionally and purposely spent.  Yes, life from this perspective IS a heavy, heavy burden.

So I finished the book and nearly went mad.

I'll spare you the gory details; let's just say total panic plus post-ocean depression ain't purdy.  I finally gave up in a sobbing, snotty mess on my way back to work.
God. help.
You have prospering plans for me, but I can't see them.
You are good, and you keep your promises; but I don't believe you.
In Your presence there is perfect peace, but what the heck is peace?!

What He told me was really so simple- it doesn't matter what I do with my life.  It only matters who I give my life to.  My life is the Lord's.  It's not my own.  I laid it down.  And it WILL be my ~overwhelming joy~ to say, "Your will.  Your way.  Always."

I could be a missionary in a foreign land and never get married- and NEVER regret my life.
I could be a stay-at-home mom with 7 kids and never leave the country again- and NEVER regret my life.
I could be a teacher- and NEVER regret my life.
I could work at Publix for the rest of my life- and NEVER regret it.
I could die tomorrow morning- and NEVER regret my life.

My life belongs to the Lord.  He will use it for His glory, and a life that glorifies Him can not possibly be wasted.