A Salvation Story

It’s Friday and that’s a pretty good reason to celebrate but there is a much bigger party happening this weekend and I want you to know about it! I want to tell you a story about a very special group of young ladies. These girls are very dear to my heart yet that doesn't compare to how precious they are in the sight of our God. He’s loved them from the day they were conceived. He’s known them from the beginning of creation. He thinks of them daily and pursues them with His everlasting love.
But when she was born, the eyes of her heart became darkened by lies. She wasn't able to recognize His love because she was taught that love was a lie. She’s accepted pain and rejection as a way of life learning to defend herself by building vast, thick walls. She has a Creator but she knows none of the benefits of knowing Him intimately.

Until now. Lately He has been working on her heart, preparing it. She couldn't see it, of course, but she could feel. Sometimes it felt like hurt, other times there was a gentle and tender feeling she’d never felt before and maybe she was a little confused. But she liked it. She had certain adults in her life that were teaching her about Jesus and how His love was different than anything she knew. She wanted it so badly. Then there was the heart of another one of the girls who also heard about this great love. She felt that she wanted it but what if it rejected her like everyone else has, what if it failed? No, that’s too much pain, she’ll build another layer to the walls around her heart.

This is where this story becomes great. I can’t wipe the smile off my face. This past weekend God invited eight young ladies on a camping trip to the Blue Ridge Mountains in Bedford, Virginia. He hand-selected them, knowing the tender state of each of their hearts, He knew they were ready to trust Him. They went and heard the message personalized for each of them. They heard the message that neither height not depth, not anything else in all creation, can separate them from His loving presence. This salvation was presented to them as a gift that they could chose to believe and receive. Their faces beamed as He captured their hearts and gently made them white as snow. Each one made a decision that evening to become a brand new person by putting their trust in the only one who could save them from their sin. They felt unique and special as they learned they were finally a part of a family they would never ever have to leave. Though invisible, they are now clothed in garments of salvation, their faces radiant in His robes of righteousness. Shantia, Princess, Shameeka, Anyah, Anaijah, Amirah, Jade, and Demi are no longer orphaned, but welcomed; no longer fatherless, but cherished eternally.

I wanted your hearts to be able to rejoice alongside ours as the party in heaven continues! We are so excited to see decisions made and ask that you would be in prayer for each of our girls. God can use them in mighty ways in their dark world. Pray also for us leaders as we look forward to this privilege of being able to disciple the girls. Pray that we will not grow weary and lose heart and that we would be diligent in completing this race set before us. 

Katie's Courage

I read this blog post by Katie Davis and I think you should too :) - kissesfromkatie.blogspot.com

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Just one little bird.

She’s up when the stillness of 5:30 nudges me awake and I struggle to peel back heavy eyelids. She’s up and she sings. I wonder how she can even tell that it’s almost morning. I wonder why she sings yet. I tip-toe to the coffee pot and flick on barely enough lights as to not wake my children, and this is my quiet time and I briefly just wish that one little bird would be quiet.

“It’s not light yet. Shhhh. It’s not light yet.”

I lift my eyes from the worn pages of Isaiah and my gaze falls on Sarah’s notebook, left haphazardly on the table after yesterday’s writing assignment. She wrote that I was brave. That I had courage. But as I sit there in the dark, I think that I am not.

I miss my friends. I know where they are, and that it is better, by far, than suffering and sickness, but I wish they were here. I miss Betty’s smile as I wiped her forehead and the way her weak hand felt in mine, her fingernails hot-pink. I miss the still, quiet hours by her bedside and the way her eyes understood even if her ears did not. I miss Katherine’s laugh, loud and audacious and when I see her children smile, I see her, and I wish the ending had been different.

And I see Sarah’s words on the paper, “Our sick friend lived with us for a long time and my mom was brave and took care of her. I saw her praying for her and I know that she was loved and cared for. My mom kept her, and she had courage.”

And I cry, because I do not feel courageous. I feel downright defeated sometimes. Maybe courage is not at all about the absence of fear but about obedience even when we are afraid. Courage is trusting when we don’t know what is next, leaning into the hard and knowing that it will be hard, but more, God will be near. Maybe bravery is just looking fear in the face and telling it that is dos not win because I have known The Lord here. I have known The Lord in the long, dark night.

The little bird sings loud in the dark. And slowly, the sun peaks over the horizon.

At school I ask Joyce what her definition of courage is, and she says, “to have faith.” Maybe that is just it. That we still tremble, but more than that we have faith. That even though we feel uncertain, we press into a God who is so certain, so sure, so steady. He carries us, He lifts our heads. And His unfailing love and comfort becomes our courage and our hope.

It is days later and it is raining. The huge drops pelt our tin roof so hard that we can hardly hear a thing, but as the rain slows, I make out a familiar noise and I laugh. It is the same little bird that cannot contain her song too early in the morning. I wonder where she is and how she can keep singing in this storm. I wonder why she sings. But the rain slows to a trickle and the sun peaks from behind the clouds and suddenly all I can hear is her glorious song.

“To have faith, “I think. And I wonder, does she sing because she knows the sun is coming?

And I want to be just like that little bird.

Hope is a crazy thing, a courageous thing. That little bird, she feels the sun coming, knows with certainty that it will come, even when she can’t quite see it yet.

We live in a world where innocent people suffer and good friends die and stories don’t have the endings we prayed for, and the pain and the hurt, it is everywhere. But the Joy and the Hope that we find in our Savior? It is everywhere, too. I do not have all the answers; in fact, I don’t have many at all. But this is what I know: God is who He says He is. And in the hurt and the pain and the suffering, God is near, and He is good, even when the ending isn’t.

And I can sing, because I know what is coming. I can hope, because I know Who is coming.

In the dark of the night, I have seen His face, and I have known His promises to be true, and I know the Light is coming.

And I want to be brave enough to hold out the hope of the Gospel to a world that is hurting and alone and afraid. Not a hope that is the absence of pain or heartache or suffering, not optimism disguised as hope that waits for the best-case scenario or happy ending, but a Hope that is the knowledge and full assurance that our Savior is on His way.

It’s not light yet, but I know Him, the One who is the Light.

And so in the dark, I will sing.