& with a name that means grace

One of the best things about missions and YWAM is the opportunity to get to know so many people. I’m currently sharing a room with seven other girls, a new record for me. We come from Minnesota, Colombia, Canada, Brazil, New Hampshire, Bolivia, California, and Chile. It’s quite the mix, and we end up communicating in some strange combination of Spanish, English, and Portuguese, haha. I want to write about one of these women, Nancy, who is from Bolivia.

Nancy is 29, sweet, petite, cheery, and beautiful. She is radiant with comfort and unconditional love. I often find one of my other roomates, the baby of my school, curled up next to Nancy, absorbing all of the peace and comfort she offers through her presence. This lovely Bolivian woman came here to take a break from her hectic, heavy job of being a social worker. I once asked her what she used to eat for breakfast in Bolivia, but she told me she never had time to eat breakfast. That she was on the go all day every day, working with children and families in need. Since I desire to be a social worker, I’ve often thought of how I hope my life at the age of 29 looks something like that, except, myself and with a nice bowl of oatmeal in the mornings. Basically, I love and admire Nancy so much, and think of her as an example and a role model for myself.

Last night we were in our room talking, and she was sharing with me how she dreams of one day going to India or Africa to work with children at risk, and how much she adores little black kids. She was laughing and telling me how she always thought that if she didn’t marry an African she would adopt an African child. I remembered that I have a picture of a little Ethiopian boy that I’ve sponsored through Compassion International for years, so I showed her the picture, knowing she would be delighted about his dark skin. But instead of instantly crooning about his afro, when she saw the Compassion slogan above his picture she gasped and said, “Brittany, I was in Compassion.” I thought she meant she had worked in their ministry, because that’s the type of woman she is, so I looked at her, not understanding her reaction, and she pointed at the picture and said, “I was here.”

She was a sponsored child. I started crying, and she was crying.. and as I struggled to process what she had told me and why I was crying, she grabbed my hand and told me that what I was doing by sponsoring that boy is something so, so good. I didn’t need her to affirm my sponsorship of him, on the contrary, I realized that I was crying because I carry this perception, which I know is wrong, which I’ve been taught is wrong, which I want so desperately to go away and that I thought had gone away, that I am somehow better than those I long to “help.” That I have something that the rest of the world needs, more empathy, or creativity, or peanut butter, or something. But here was this woman, whom I love and admire and think of as my equal on every level, someone I look up to, and she had come from the same kind of life, the same kind of vulnerability, as the child in the picture that I send my tithe to.

My dear friend Alisha recently touched on this topic in her blog, and I love how she puts it:

“2) A few months ago, God convicted me of something. As Americans, we tend to feel like we have something to offer the world. I guess we know how privileged we are and feel sorry for the people in the world who have less than we do. Yet we forget that we’re not, in fact, better than those who were born into a small, poor community in Africa, or a little colonia here in Mexico. This morning I was looking through some of my notes and I saw something scribbled in the margins: “We can’t go into ministry if we think of the people as less than ourselves.” I’m not sure why we tend to do that.” -Alisha

I believe the other thing, (the prettier, easier to write about thing,) that elicited my tears is that whenever I pray for the little boy I sponsor I pray that he will become a man of God, a man who uses his life to better the world. When I look at Nancy I know that is possible, that God not only works on behalf of the vulnerable, but also uses lives like hers to carry His heart into a hurting world.

“just dance, it’ll be okay..” ♫

“Everything I am, everything I long to be I lay it down, at Your feet.  I lay it down, I lay it down, I lay it down.. at Your feet.  -Matt Maher

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen Pride & Prejudice, but it’s filled with visually beautiful scenes, one of which takes place at a dance. All the women are wearing white dresses, there are candlesticks and tapestries and other 1800’s such things. It’s beautiful, really. Well a few weeks ago while I was praying God showed me a scene that looked startlingly similar to what I’ve just described, but with myself inserted into it, pretty white dress and all. Jesus was also present, standing solo on the dance floor looking rather dashing in his suit, haha. In my vision I’m sitting at a table with people I love, eating healthy organic food I love, chattering about my college plans I love, and it’s clear that the table I’m seated at represents everything I love and desire. My family, my friends, my town, my education, my job, my clothes, my independence, my bicycle. Good things, things that are important to me and that I want. But Jesus stands on the dance floor, and he’s waiting for me. He wants me to get up from that table, to let go of all of those things, and dance. Not like I’ve been doing: not to promise a few dances with the thought of then going back to the table to be with everything I want. He wants me to get up without knowing when I’ll sit back down, to show Him that I love Him THAT much, that I trust Him THAT much, that I will give Him everything. That if He asks me, I will dance with Him forever.

In non-romantical words, God is telling me that I need to let go of everything I want. Because my life is not about me anymore, and it’s not about what I want.

Those are not easy words to accept, at least not for me. Accepting those words implies accepting what that means for my life. It means that if God tells me to stay in missions, I’ll do it. It means that if God says no to those college degrees I want so badly, I won’t earn them. It means if God doesn’t want me to get married, I’ll stay single. It means sacrifice, or at the very least, being willing to sacrifice.

It’s an awfully pretty table to sacrifice, I must admit. Especially when my family is so fun to talk to, my plate of vegetables tastes so good, and it’s such a pleasant place to be.  However, I’ve decided to lay it all down. Which might mean not going home for Christmas, not going to college, not ever losing the ten pounds I’ve gained abroad. It might mean a lot of sacrifices. But I’m finally willing to make them.

So.. I guess it’s time to dance.  = )

& I will smell like the sea.

I once listened to a lovely woman I know describe her relationship with God as like being in the freezing cold Pacific oceanwater, wading in deeper and deeper; that it was painful to be there because of the cold, but good. Painful, but good. I remember thinking she was so beautiful, but not understanding what she meant at all. How could wading in deeper to God be painful?

I get it now.

I’ve been in Pichilemu for two weeks, I came with a strong, clear, promise from God that He was going to do a work of healing in my life here. That by learning how to counsel others He was going to counsel me, comfort me, restore me. So far, my classes have been brilliant. An important principle that we’ve been learning is that as counselors, we need to be able to differentiate between wounds, and sins. We’ve all been wounded, and for those wounds a person needs to receive healing. We’ve all also sinned, but for that we need repentence.

Many of my classmates seem to be dealing a lot with the places inside of them that have been hurt, and that is what I anticipated that God was going to be doing in me as well. Well.. He’s spent the past few years working on healing those wounds in me, what I’m experiencing is that NOW He’s showing me how those wounds have influenced me and caused me to sin. God is revealing to me sin after sin that I struggle with, and even sins I have struggled with in the past. Why?

So that I can repent. Confess.

I’ve always maintained that 1 John 1:9 “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” (KJV) refers to confessing our sins to God. But I’m learning I was wrong. God wants us to confess our sins not only to Him but to other people as well. And why would God want us to do such a thing as that?

Because it heals.  And it humbles.

There are sins in me that have laid there buried and forgotten for years, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay for them to remain there. And there are other sins that I struggle with everyday. Criticzing myself, criticizing others, being arrogant, and a whole lot more. Through confession I have the opportunity to give God permission to work on those areas of my life, and to take away satan’s authority to use them against me.

I experienced this for the first time a few days ago. My three pastoras and I sat in a circle, and I imagined a fire was there in the middle of us, and that with everything that I confessed to them and to God I was throwing it into that fire, getting it out of me, and giving it to God to destroy. I took some really ugly things out of me, I want you to know. Things I didn’t want to ever admit to anybody. But I did it. It took some time, and a lot of crying, but you know what?

It was beautiful.

God is purifying me, refining me, making me into a living sacrifice for Him, holy and pleasing in His sight. And just like walking into that icy oceanwater that stings and hurts, it’s not easy. It’s actually really painful to see those things inside of myself, to confess them, and to allow God to change them.

It’s painful, but it’s good.

“Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship.” Romans 12:1

My baptism, August 2006.  Five years later and I’m still wading in daily, allowing Him to cleanse me of all that keeps me from being His holy bride.