India (Part Two)

I have wrestled with how to share of what impacted me the deepest in India.  I have even wondered if I should.  Because I will not be able to relay the beauty of what God is doing in the lives of the broken there, hidden in a city of twenty two million people. 

But, I feel I must try.  Because people need to know.

The current statistic for people who are suffering from human trafficking worldwide is 27 million people.  But, there is no statistic that can even come close to communicating the depth of pain in the face of one woman caught in the sex trade.  And there is no number that can describe the innocence lost of her child now being brought up in an orphanage with AIDS.  There are no graphs or charts that can move the heart with the enormity of injustice more than seeing it with your own eyes.

And that's what I saw. 

I saw women whose bodies have been freed, still working out the freedom of their souls.

I saw children who have been snatched out of harm's way, only to fight for their lives from disease.

I saw courageous warriors who are risking everything to save those who have no voice.

And I saw so many more who need to be fought for.  So many more...

If you've ever wondered if the seemingly small things you do to help fight social injustice really help, let me be one voice to say they do.  I saw what transformations are happening in the lives of the broken with the help of ordinary people just like you and me.  And they are transformations on such a deep, profound level that I am honored to be counted in the host of people who are joining together to say human trafficking must end, and I will help end it.

So, don't grow weary in the helping, my friend.  If you've never given of your time or money to use your voice for those who have none, find a group you can support.  There are many wonderful people around the world who are doing the work and just need our resources to take it to the next level.  If you already have a group to support, don't stop.  Lives are depending on you.

So remember them.  Don't forget them. 

Because God hasn't. 

And what he remembers should be remembered by me.


Author's Note:  Here is a list of Christian ministries I am aware of that are currently actively helping those who have escaped or are trying to escape the sex trafficking trade.  If you need a place to invest in, these would be a good place to start.

Sower of Seeds International

Rescue Her

Eternal Threads

India (Part One)

I've returned from a twelve day trip to India, and it's taken me a little while to adjust back to my home time zone, the amazing softness of my own bed, and the ability to turn on the faucet and drink water without wondering if it's clean or not.

Such a simple thing...water.  I use it three or four times an hour throughout my day without giving it a second thought, but for great parts of the world, it's a precious commodity.

During our first day in India, our group walked the streets of a slum in the city of Mumbai, passing row upon row of houses made from whatever supplies were available.

I can't really describe the scene I witnessed except to say it's poverty on a level one simply does not see in the western world.

And then it happened.

We turned a corner, and there in the middle of the slum neighborhood, was life.

It was color.

It was vibrant.

It was smiles.

It was sounds of children singing.

It was just alive.

And after we had been there a few moments, I realized the life was coming from the water. 

The story I learned was the village had only had one dirty, contaminated water source until recently.  But some people who wanted to help partnered with a church in the slum and dug a new well, a well with multiple spouts running down the length of this street that now teemed with life.  Instead of walking a far distance to wait in a long line for dirty water, the people in this slum could now access it right here...here in front of this pastor's house and church.  A pastor who, bent over from the waist, loves his people day in and day out, giving them water from the well and water from the living well.

And it was this water and this love that made life in the desert.

"Jesus answered, 'Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.'"  - John 4:13-14

When You Have to Leave Them

My husband and I have had the wonderful privilege of traveling quite a bit in our seventeen years of marriage.  Most of it has been one of us at a time for missions, but a couple of trips have just been for the sheer joy of experiencing new places together.  We love it.

What we don't love is leaving each other or the children behind.

And that part never gets easier for the one who is boarding the plane. 

But, we have found a small way to make it a little easier for the ones left behind.  And this simple family tradition, going on a decade strong now, is still loved in our house when mom or dad is saying goodbye for a big trip.  All it takes is a little time to prepare, a few dollars, and some brown paper lunch sacks.  Sounds exciting, right?

Well, when our kids were toddlers, it was extremely exciting.  Now that our house is tipping the scales in the teenage direction, I would say its mildly enthusing.  But, even if it doesn't incite what it used to, it still tells the hearts left at home that they are important and missed.

All we do is count up the days the traveling parent will be away from the family.  My upcoming trip to India is ten days long, but I will see them the morning I leave and the evening I get home, so this time, the trip day total comes to eight.  Then, the traveler fills up a sack for each day they will be gone with small surprises, and lines them up in a place they can be seen, but not reached by baby hands.  Either every morning when the kids wake up or every evening after supper, the kids get to open one bag, making a wonderfully visual countdown until they get to hug mom or dad again.

When the kids were little, the bags would hold a McDonald's gift certificate, stickers, or small pieces of candy.  Now that they are bigger and don't care for McD's anymore (can I get a Hallelujah???), it tends to cost a little more to fill the bags.  But, the point really isn't to spend a lot of money.  It's just meant to say, "I love you."

And now that I have begun to prepare for getting on that plane next week, I'm just wondering if I can talk them in to making me some bags to go in my suitcase. 

Ten whole days. 

I'm going to miss these people.


Author's Note:  All funds for the trip to India have come in, and I'm looking forward to what God has in store for me to do there!  To read about the purpose for the trip, click here.

Laughter Soothes the Soul, Love Heals the Heart

Author's Note:  I am honored to be featuring a piece written by guest blogger, Paige Allen.  Paige is an amazing woman of God who has the ability to stir passion in your heart when you listen to her speak.  In fact, she recently spoke at a beautiful event in our city as we banded together as women to raise money for a ministry that advocates for those caught in the sex trafficking industry.  When I heard her speak that night, my heart was even more moved for the plight of these precious 27 million people around the globe who are being sold for sex.  So moved, in fact, that I will be traveling with Paige to minister to women in India this November. 

Please take some time to read Paige's report from a previous trip to the country, and allow your heart to be moved as well. 

If you would like to partner with me in prayer or financially, you can log on to my You Caring site here.  I receive 100% of gifts given at this link towards my trip to India.  All gifts are tax deductible, and, if given before October 7, every donor will be entered into a drawing for a Carry Lovely handbag, thanks to their generous donation and tireless work to end sex trafficking.  (To receive tax credit and be entered in the drawing, please make sure you leave your contact information on the You Caring site at the time you make your donation.)

If you would like to read more from beautiful Paige, you can visit her blog, Becoming Paige.  It's a life-giving source of encouragement for women, wives, mamas, missionaries, and followers of Jesus in general.

Be blessed as you read her stirring narrative:


I had the privilege of being involved with a retreat in India at one of the most amazing places I have ever visited. It was an oasis in the middle of crazy India and it housed men, women, and children who have been rescued from the streets and all manners of horror.

The retreat was specifically targeted towards 85 women who were rescued from sex trafficking. Many of these girls were sold or kidnapped into prostitution and others of them were the daughters of prostitutes who also were abused and mistreated on the streets. If you can imagine, I was literally on the verge of tears when I allowed myself to imagine the horrors these girls have faced. Yet, I didn’t see pain or sadness in their eyes, but great hope and joy. There was an occasional flicker of longing or lament, but most of the time I just saw life!

I preached on Friday night about being a daughter and of course in my mind, I envisioned it looking something like what I experienced last year – girls crying, sharing their hearts, praying with the all-wise Americans, etc… Guess what? After I finished what I thought was a pretty good sermon and gave the invitation for prayer, only five girls came forward – yep, that’s it…five. I hate to admit it, but I was about to question God about why He would send me and not use me when Mandi (a fabulous girl from Dallas) started to sing a song acapella – “Child of God.”

I stopped in my mid-complaint as she began to sing because this song was explanation enough from the Lord. You see, God’s revelation to my heart about being His daughter as my identity occurred before I got married, and the story was the focal point of my sermon that I shared that night. Over 8 years ago, the one song that ministered to me in that time was “Child of God,” and it was so instrumental that I even had it sung at my wedding. So, when Mandi started singing this song that is almost 10 years old, the Lord said to my heart…"Paige, you just do what I tell you to do and then trust me to heal their hearts – they are my children.”

I looked out over the sea of women and saw that though they weren't coming up for prayer, some were silently crying, some were writing in their journals, and some were sitting and letting the Father love on them. So, although I didn’t see what I had envisioned, I left with an unwavering knowledge that God is at work in the hearts and lives of these young women.

Later that night, I found out that God wanted to redefine "ministry" for me. He reminded me that there are different seasons – a time to cry & a time to laugh. And after dinner we laughed so much! In fact, I think that perhaps the most good I did that entire weekend was allow the girls to teach me to Bollywood dance…They were doubled over in laughter at times - not sure if they were laughing with me or at me...but the point is - they were laughing!

And as I went to sleep that night, God whispered to my heart, "Paige, they've seen enough tears - tonight I just wanted them to laugh." Who knew my ministry this year would not just be in speaking or prayer but Bollywood dance?!

So, I share a few pics of this fun night, and I ask you to pray for these women, and let these ladies stories...their faces become etched in your hearts.  It changed me...and it will change you.

If only we might do our small part to see more laughter replace the pain that MILLIONS of women face across the world.

      

The God Of All Comfort

My husband and I just returned from a ten day trip to Eastern Europe.  We spent time in three nations, four hotels, and seven airplanes.  An exhausting, but glorious adventure.  Exhausting because we're getting older and felt the intense schedule a little more than we used to.  Glorious because we spent those ten days encouraging church leaders who are quietly doing the work of the Kingdom day in and day out, in nations where they are not only few in number, but often persecuted.

I was humbled to sit across table after table, drinking coffee after coffee, listening to their stories.

The band of brothers who met Jesus from reading a Bible after communism fell, with no one to help them in their new-found faith.  They are now four churches strong, each a vibrant fellowship.

The seaman who drove us to the airport who found the Lord when an elderly man asked him what he was looking for in life, and then proceeded to share with him life's greatest treasure.

The smiling pastor and his brilliant wife who have launched the only Bible school in their nation, pioneered three churches, and built a pre-school to minister to gypsy cast-offs.  They have now once again handed their work over to someone who will take it with care, and are starting over from scratch in yet another un-reached area.

The shoe maker who drove us over the mountains who has shared his faith at great personal cost, introducing everyone he meets to the love of his Jesus, even if that person happens to be an influential mafia leader.

The teenage girl who still loves Jesus, despite being often mocked as the only Christian in her entire high school.

The earnest church leader who prays with his teenage sons every morning for three hours for God to open up Heaven and rain down grace on his city.

The young woman who just married a pastor, whose face glowed as she told me they will travel to a new region to lead the only church in the city as they begin their lives together.  She is absorbing every teaching she can sit under and asking every question she can think of, just to be ready to love people and love them well.

The person after person who told us how they first heard of the name of Jesus, most of them late in life, a testament to how rarely His truth has been proclaimed there since the grip of communism first clenched the life out of their countries.

I was humbled because these people are heroes, living out their faith in a reality I have never had to walk in. 

I was humbled because they do so with joy and hope that what they are doing will make a difference in their nations. 

And I was humbled the most because they thanked me for sharing myself with them.

And when I returned home and faced the problems I had left on my desk and the new ones that had accumulated while I was gone, they didn't seem as impossible as they might have before.  In fact, they seemed quite possible.

So today, as I think of my new friends in the far-reaches of the earth, I pray Paul's thousands year old prayer,

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ's sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too."  (2 Corinthians 1:3-5)

May those who suffer for His name be filled with all measure of comfort and joy.  May they never lose sight of the great reward of seeing the lost come to faith.  And may I, when I face suffering, be as courageous as these.  Amen.

The One and the Many

I had dinner under the stars last night.  It was a beautiful evening, with just the right amount of crisp, October air to warrant wearing my stylish new trench coat.  I sat and dined with my husband and a couple of close friends, eating gourmet dishes from an amazing local caterer.  It was a benefit dinner, so as I waited for my dessert and coffee, I listened.

I listened to a young man tell his story.  A story about hearing God's voice at the age of 19 telling him to go to Africa.  A story about obedience, because he went and his life was changed.  For it was there on that trip, which he funded himself, that the plan of God began to unfold for his life.  And what an amazing plan.

That young man is now married with three kids and another on the way.  And yet, he doesn't just provide for his family.  He now also feeds and educates over sixty African children in the slums of Nairobe, Kenya.

That young man who spends most of his time putting food on his own table through his own construction business also travels to Kenya once or twice a year, checking on and growing the school that employs four people and gives hope to children who otherwise would have grown up without it.

It all started when he met a girl named Agnes, who at the tender age of sixteen was providing for her entire family without the benefit of education.  He decided he could do something to help, so even while he still a college student, he began sending money for her to go to school.  And as the years went by, he began to provide education for more and more kids until he finally hired a pastor and a teacher and a cook and opened a school in Kenya.  He and his wife now oversee the non-profit organization called H.O.P.E., and are looking to buy property in Nairobi to open a permanent orphanage facility that will house the school.

And I was struck as I listened to him tell his story that he is just one man.  Just one ordinary man who saw a need so overwhelming that he decided to help just one person.  And through his obedience in helping just one, God is using him to change the course of an entire community. 

One became many. 

Dreams became reality, until he had to dream bigger.

And now he's outgrown his dreams again, so it's time to go back to dreaming bigger.

And as I ate my dessert and drank my coffee and looked at faces of children whose lives are being forever changed and marked by the Kingdom of God, I hear the question rolling around in my heart.

Who is your "one?"

Where is God calling you to obedience so that the "one" can become "many?"

What do you have to give that can be multiplied in the hands of a miracle working God?

If you've never asked yourself those questions, it's time.  The many are waiting for you.



Author's Note:  If you'd like to find out more about H.O.P.E., the school in Kenya that is making a difference in so many lives, please log on to their website here.

The Greatest Sacrifice

For far too long when I read the pages of Scripture and encountered the faith of the martyrs, I glossed over the sacrifice, my eyes accustomed to the story.  John the Baptist was killed to satisfy a woman's bitterness at his insistence to preach the truth.  Stephen was stoned while praying for those who hurled the rocks.  Paul was beaten and left for dead, yet got up and preached again, and again, and again...only to be beheaded. 

I could appreciate the courage of their faith, but rarely stopped to empathize, to put myself in their sandals that traveled to take the gospel to one more people group, one more person in need of the truth.

My inability to empathize ended the day I met  a man who is now a dear friend of our family's.  That same friend is tying on the disciple's sandals and embarking once again on a journey to a nation hostile to the name of Jesus.  The danger is real, and it is intense. 

This friend will never have his name in lights.  He can't even have a Facebook account.  It's too dangerous to associate his name with the believers he helps or even the country he travels to.

He will never  be wealthy.  Every penny he brings in goes to sustain believers who will never know the extravagance that was at my dinner table this evening.  The "sandals" he will wear throughout his months long trip are the same pair he has worn for five years, pieced together time and again with glue.

When he embraces his family and steps on the plane this week, he will do so with the knowledge he might never see their faces again.  If he is caught preaching the name of Jesus, his wife and children could spend the rest of their lives not knowing how it ended.

And I am humbled by this man, who without fame or fortune, could be called "the least of these," yet is one of the greatest men I have ever known. 

I am sobered to know it could be my son who steps on a plane one day, if the Lord calls his name. 

And I am grateful that if my son receives that kind of call, he will not only have the heroes in Scripture as an example, but he will have another set of footprints to follow.  Footprints left by a man who counted it all joy and followed his Jesus, no matter the cost.

Author's Note:  Are you wondering what you can do, in the here and in the now?  Spend a moment praying for this man and all the nameless and faceless others who suffer for the name of Jesus.  Pray that the Holy Spirit ministers fresh grace, peace, and courage to their hearts.  Pray that their sufferings will reap great rewards in the Kingdom.  And pray if you are ever in their "sandals," you will follow in the same courage they show to their King day after day.

The Perfect Wedding Dress

I made a decision to be a follower of Christ at the tender age of seven, almost three decades ago now.  Decades that translate to so many seasons I've spent discovering His goodness, seeing my life transformed into His likeness.  So many years to watch how He works, tracing the patterns of His grace through time.

And for years I've been following a thread, tracking it from the fruit I see around me back to His heart.  Every time I see evidence of it, I am provoked to amazement, for how can He be this good? 

The fellowship of the believers.  The communion of the saints.  The church as the bride.  All names for the thread I've watched weave itself back and forth for years in the lives of those around me, producing fabric of indescribable beauty and incredible strength.

I noticed it for sure the first time on the mission field to Mexico at the age of sixteen, listening to Spanish speaking believers pray with fervency.  I didn't understand their words, but I had no problem joining my prayers to theirs, knowing the God we prayed to understood us both.

I saw it again the first time my husband and I attended a new smallgroup.  We sat with people we had just met and shared our revelations about Scripture, our questions about the same, and what we saw God doing in our lives.  We didn't know these people, yet they could relate to every word we uttered because He was doing the same in their own journeys.

I celebrated it in the Czech Republic when the wife of a pastor and I prayed together with the help of an interpreter, both of us hungering for the same things and desiring the same touch from God as we lived lives thousands of miles apart.  And again in Poland.  And again in Austria.  And again in Guatemala.  And again in Brazil.

I marvel at it when I pick up a book written by a believer who I will never meet and discover the questions I have asked have already been asked in his mind and the answers I have sought are being freely shared, for the Kingdom of Heaven is all about giving and receiving.

I stand in awe of it when I listen to a living room full of ordinary people pray over a family they have just met, their prayers specific and accurate not because of years spent with one another, but because their hearts are knit together by the presence of the Holy Spirit.

The fellowship of the believers. 

The communion of the saints. 

The church as the bride.

How beautifully He clothes her.

How grateful I am to have been woven in.