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Yesterday felt like “one for the books”.
Final paycheck.
Cleaning out my office.
Saying goodbye to our laying hens in a rather sudden fashion.
Finding out that we can move with Baby K at any point.

There was a certain finality in yesterdays’ events.
The stark realization that I wasn’t being Punk’d, but that all the things that had unfolded in the last several weeks were, in fact, real. That our everyday was about to look very different. That my life for the last almost 7 years was actually ending. It’s not just the job… because, when you live and work at camp, losing your job means losing a lot more than losing an occupation.

In the finalities, however, there was also so much blessing and goodness.

As I rifled through the things in my office, it felt like a fitting departure. After all the office moves, I was ending where I started. Saying goodbye where I said hello. A perfect bookend to a season I didn’t anticipate ending in this way, but every ounce of me knows: It is time.

I don’t know how to describe the inner workings, or the thoughts, or the feelings… but I can assure you that even in the moments of the deepest pain, there also exists a deeper peace– a peace that resolutely knows it is time.

Time to move on.
Time to explore what’s next.
Time to discover new beginnings, new challenges, new (and maybe old) friendships. Time to trust God in the uncertainties, in the unknowns, in the anticipation and excitement of what could be. And there are a lot of those.

If you asked us today where we will go and what we will do, we would have some ideas. Our current plan is Columbia, Missouri (where I grew up). We’ll be boomerang-ing for a while, which I imagine my parents are both thrilled and terrified about. Kel is already working his way through a real-estate course and dreaming up non-profit start-ups.

I, on the other hand, have been slow to latch onto anything concrete to pursue. I think a lot about discipleship, spiritual formation, counseling, church ministry, etc. … but then feel content to just wait, to be, to see what happens. At least today. In the coming weeks, I imagine I’ll be fine-tuning my resume and casting it out to the masses in hopes that something catches….something that I can be passionate about.

It’s been both hard and good to watch the life we’ve built up for ourselves crumble around us. As we purge, clean, and sell so many of our possessions, there is a great reminder that this world is not our home. It’s a great reminder that so many of the things I store up, the things I place value in, the things that I hold onto… they only last for a finite time. It makes me reconsider what I want, what I buy, what I spend time on, what I value. Because, in a moment, everything in our world can change. Everything we found comfort in, security in, hope in. I’m so thankful that today, this only means our jobs, our house, our community… and that today I still have my husband, our baby, and our health. Today we are still a redeemed humanity, saved only by grace – even while we were sinners. How beautiful that this never changes. May we rejoice in this truth alone!

It is time to sing a new song on this earth.
While we’re not leaving today, or tomorrow, or the next day… our remaining time in New Mexico has an end in sight. We know it will fly by. We grieve, we mourn, but we rejoice in celebrating the end of an incredible season and the beginning of another. It is time for new beginnings, new routines, new dreams, a new way of life.

May our hope be resolutely found in the One who does not change, even when all around us can and does. May we rejoice in what is true, despite the hardest, saddest things that may be surrounding us. May we fix our eyes on what is unseen, may we be unified in our love for the Lord and others as we navigate through these “unprecedented times” and through the uncertainty of what lies ahead.

AND, if you have any great suggestions for next my career moves, I’ll happily add them to my list to consider 🙂

Baby K rolls!

A few months ago, I had some hopes and dreams about what life “ought” to look like.

They involved slowing down.
Effectively, it had everything to do with actually turning life upside down.

Oh, the irony.

A dear friend had presented on Sabbath and it reminded me of this deeper longing within. A longing to be a person of God, first and foremost. Not a wife, a mother, an employee, a person people go to for solutions, etc. etc. etc. I can still be all of those things, but ideally, the first informs all the others. That being one of God’s people means that I know Him, love Him, spend time with Him, am changed by Him…and that drastically impacts the way that I then relate to my husband, my child, my co-workers, my community, the strangers I encounter…

I remember thinking, How do I even do that? 
How do I make my life so about Jesus, first, and fill in the rest of my life around that? How do daily and weekly habits, routines, and rhythms change to become centered on Him? How do I slow down, how do I stop doing all the things that I’m doing, how do I decide what is good and what needs to cease?

As a result, Kel and I decided to adopt some new habits. Ones, we hoped, that would center us back on Jesus each day. We were committed to slowly working them into our life, convinced that if we added them in at turtle-pace, we might be successful at developing new, lifelong habits. We invited others to journey with us, basing our “new habit” adventure on the book The Common Rule, by Justin Whitmel Early.

We had just begun when coronavirus hit.
Slowing down became a new way of life for us. Work from home. Eat at home. Video calls by day and by night.

And then we lost our jobs.
Staring into the face of our first week without 40+ hours of work brought up a lot of thoughts and emotions: anxiety, worry, fear, sorrow…questions about how we would fill the time, if our life would lack purpose.

And then I remembered…
Just a few months ago I had wanted to somehow, miraculously, turn life upside down.
And here I was, with my life turned upside down.
Living in a bit of a nightmare, but also living in one of my dreams.

Here before us was a chance to be.
For the first time, and maybe the last time.

What a gift.
We are literally “stuck” in New Mexico as we figure things out with Baby K- for weeks, if not months.
We are literally “stuck” in our home, as the pandemic rages on – for weeks, if not months.

I have hours each day to choose how I will spend my time.

I wish I could say that this week has been filled with pure joy and adoration of the Father. I wish I could say that every waking moment was marked by prayer, gratitude, and a seeking to know Jesus, even in the uncertainty.

There’s been some of that, for sure. Some of it has come about through grief, as I work through the pain and loss only to be reminded of God’s generosity and kindness. Some of it has come about through confession, as I am ever-aware of my sinful state that demands to know, that seeks to be right, that pridefully believes I am “better than” while simultaneously believing I am nothing. In these moments, I humbly encounter the Savior who washes His betrayers’ feet…the Savior who restores, redeems, and places faith again in those who deny Him. In these moments, I beg that the Spirit would be strong when my flesh is so weak.

In this upside down world, we have new habits.
Kneeling prayer – morning, midday, and evening.
Lunchtime walks.
Times of solitude. Time that I’ve resumed journaling.
Time to talk…time to dream…time to think about what could be and where the Lord might lead us next.
Time for projects, for clean-up, for packing.
Time for egg-collecting, plant-watching, and baby giggles.
Time for making more new habits – ones we pray will stick with us in this lifetime. Ones that we pray will center us as people of God, first and foremost, so that everything else is rooted in that.

Before us, each day, we have hours. Hours of opportunity. Hours I do not want to waste.

In this upside down world, life looks different.
And, as we move and find new careers and a new community… I hope and pray that our new “normal” looks a bit more like our current upside down world (coronavirus-free, of course). Slower. Rhythmic. Centered. Purposed and overflowing.

We have an opportunity press pause. To start over. To establish a new way of life. To create a new normal.

To be instead of being consumed by what I do. Because, I (sooooo easily) get consumed by doing and finding worth, value, and purpose in that alone.

What a sweet, hard opportunity before us.
It is one that we are painfully thankful for.

A few things we would covet prayers for, if you think of it:

• Figuring things out with Baby K and (hopefully!) the adoption process. 
• Jobs: Kel and I are both excited about what COULD be with our next careers, but pray that we would seek, listen, and be willing to go where the Lord leads. We have loved being a part of camp ministry and would love to love our next jobs, as well. 
• That we would be able to mourn, but also rejoice – even in a hard, sad season. 
• That we would invest in our community while we are still here and wouldn’t withhold or draw back (we have continued to be blown away by the love they have shown us during all of this). 

Thanks, friends.
We are forever grateful for friends/family near and far who rally around us through all the seasons – good and bad.

(Also – if you want to join in on the new habits, let me know!)

There aren’t great words in the midst of a pandemic.

Sometimes you want magical words to fix things.
To provide certainty in the midst of absolute uncertainty.
To assure you that there will be enough jobs, enough money, enough time to figure out the next steps. That there will be full healing and restoration. That life will go back to how it used to be.

These are imagined promises that might never be fulfilled. Perhaps they’re never meant to be. We get to figure out the reality of being okay in a new world. A post-pandemic world. If we even make it that far.

This weekend, Kel and I joined the 22 million people who have filed for unemployment in the past month. The last 144 hours of our lives have been filled with grief, pain, anticipation, hope, gratitude, and a million other things in between. Our last day of work was Friday. I sent the following email to our staff and, rather than try to recreate it, I feel like it continues to sum up the cry of our hearts right now. So… here you go. 

_________________________________

I was putting Baby K (our foster baby of almost 8 months) to bed the other night, processing through the weeks’ events. Through the tears, I looked into the bright blue eyes of this miraculous gift and found myself choking out the words of the catechisms we sing to her often. 

____________________________________________

And He is so worthy. My little human mind can’t even begin to really comprehend it. But I am humbled that He calls me daughter. Relieved that He takes care of His children. 

We don’t know what is next. 
And that’s okay. At least today. 

More musings will come, as we will have ample time to process, to reflect, and to share. 

For a little while, we will remain in New Mexico as we figure out the adoption process with Baby K. And for the foreseeable future, we will wait. We will pray. We will trust. And we will seek to glorify the Lord however we can, in the midst of something only the Lord knew was coming.

If you would have told me a year ago that in 2019 my mom would break her hip, that we’d work on a farm in Costa Rica, that I’d have a new job in Human Resources, that we’d have 22 chickens and take in a stray kitten, that a homeless woman would live with us, that my 2-year-old niece would be diagnosed with Leukemia (and that I’d work remotely from California for over a month as a result), that we’d be given a newborn to take care of for a third of the year, and that I’d finish my Master’s degree…

I would have only partially believed you.  

I should be writing a paper, but instead I’m blogging. Typical.

We’ve had Baby K for 5 weeks yesterday– which means she’s 6 weeks old today. Crazy. Time is flying.  We have a heavier lump to carry around now. She’s fattening up from 5 lbs 7oz (the day we got her) to right around 10 lbs now.

She eats. She sleeps. She poops. She cries. She refuses to sleep when she’s clearly exhausted. She stares at us with wide eyes and I can’t help but wonder if she’s actually looking at me or looking into a blurry abyss. She’s really cute. I’m thankful for that, especially on her fussy afternoons.

We’re tired.
Our words are little sharper. Our patience a little less abounding. But, we’re making it.
I’d like to think if I had 9 months to prepare for a newborn joining our family that we would have a little more figured out by now. Like, what we’ll do about childcare. Or our jobs. Or school. Or our social life (what’s that?).

It feels like a lot sometimes. But, lots of times, it just kind of feels normal. Why not get a stork-delivered baby dropped in your lap and just figure it all out on the fly? (If storks were real, I bet it would feel a lot like this).

I get a lot of my steps inside now instead of on the walk to the office. My left arm is getting stronger as I’m figuring out how to be an ambidextrous baby-holder. It’s insane how she can sleep for hours…and then cry for hours. The dietician at the WIC office told us this week that with babies, “…nothing is normal”.  Great.

The other night I was walking, rocking, swaying, singing baby girl to sleep (anything that might work), and found myself digging up some old songs from the recesses of my mind (Waterdeep, anyone?). One of the oldies was straight from Isaiah 43:

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you…
And the waves, they will not overcome you.  

Do not fear, for I have redeemed you.
I have called you by name, you are Mine.   

For I am the Lord, your God
For I am the Holy One of Israel
Your savior  

Do not fear, for I have redeemed you…

It’s one of those moments where the Lord quietly reminds me that this fussy baby isn’t mine… but His.  One of those moments where I’m tearing up in a dark room remembering the Lord’s goodness, His faithfulness, and how He redeems even the darkest of nights. One of those moments where I remember my place in the grand scheme of all of this. I’m a steward of this life. What an honor. Will you pray that I remember that?

Many days later, I’m shedding tears for a different reason. Maybe it’s exhaustion. But mostly I’m so frustrated at my inability to be like Jesus. Impatient, quickly frustrated, accusatory…broken. I imagine all of you parents are laughing right now as we experience this depravity of the soul for the first time. You know this song.

But man. How much I’m reminded that I need grace.
I told my small group last night that I still have the tendency toward self-righteousness… but having Baby K reminds me just how sinful I can be. Oh, amazing grace…how can it be? Jesus is really, really good. To love me, to want me, to take me in… when I am such a fussy little baby. Isn’t it ironic?

Kel and I just celebrated our 5-year anniversary last weekend, too. We had, what I’m calling, an “Awkward Anniversary” gathering. We invited friends and family in… and asked them to challenge us with things they have seen in our marriage that need to be refined, to encourage us with things that embody Christ, to hold us accountable to our vows and the things we want to improve on, to pray for us. But mostly, to remind us that we can’t do anything of that without first running to the Lord.

How hard we try to be all the things we think we’re supposed to be and all the things we want to be without first going to Him… as if we could muster up any of it on our own.

Having a baby has been awesome (really, truly).
Easy? No.
As hard as I thought it would be? No.
We love her a lot (probably a whole lot more than we are frustrated with her).

Would you pray that every day we have her that we could be like Jesus to her?
To extend grace upon grace, to love selflessly, to serve joyfully… even when she’s a fussy little baby.
Pray that we remember that our time with her might be so limited, to embrace the moments we have left, no matter how few they may be. If there were ever a time to live in the present, it is now… for we really do not know what tomorrow may bring. Pray that we would be stewards of this baby girl, and remember to Whom she truly belongs.

Also…
We have continually been blown away by the generosity of people during this season. Strangers, even. God takes care of our every possible need. Amazing grace…how can it be?

Thanks for loving us.

It’s been a whirlwind.

I am sorry to be texting you so early but we have a 10 month old child that we have been unable to find placement for- it is a boy, and we also have a newborn baby girl that will released from the hospital today. I was wondering if you all would be interested in placement of one of these babies? 

Imagine our surprise to find out that we were actually officially licensed and certified foster parents in this way!

I don’t know if you can ever really prepare for this type of moment and the things that you’ll think, or the feelings that you’ll have. My immediate reaction was that it felt impossible. We had committed to be there for my family during my niece’s leukemia treatments.  How could we possibly take in a foster child? Truthfully, it had been so long since we had heard anything, I had personally taken it off the table as a possibility. It was starting to feel like we were weren’t ever “supposed” to have kids.

But here we were – faced with some choices.
So we (…I mean I…) freaked out. We prayed. And then we went to work.

We felt like we needed to see if we could make it work out, so we told the placement worker we were interested in the newborn and that we were going to try to adjust some stuff (since Kel was also supposed to be traveling the following week).

My family was the most gracious and excited. When I called my sister-in-law to see what she thought, she reminded me that Berit’s treatment had been deescalated to standard risk instead of very high risk, and it felt like the Lord’s timing that we had just received that news a few days prior this unexpected text. They weren’t even sure they would need someone there full-time.

So we kept moving forward.
Text after text, a knot growing in the pit of my stomach– angsty about the unknowns and the possibilities.

We drove into town that afternoon to pick up a few baby things from the county that they were able to provide us (a bassinet, a boppy, some size 1 diapers…). We ate lunch at Chick-Fil-A. We drove to Target, to get a car seat… and some newborn diapers, wipes, a cat litter box (the essentials). We waited in Target, cart packed and ready to check-out… waiting for the text that told us that it was time to pick her up (and IF it was time to pick her up– it was only 98% likely to happen).

We got the text.
We checked out.
We struggled through putting the car seat in correctly in the Target parking lot (which took far longer than we anticipated).

She was a lot smaller than I could have ever imagined:  5 lbs 7 oz – no idea how long. Healthy. Helpless. Ours… at least for a little while.

Before we knew it, we were driving home with the tiniest of humans on board.

We have had five nights with Baby K.
We’ve learned about diapers and Butt Paste.
We’ve learned how to stick tiny appendages through tiny sleeves.
We’ve learned about sleepless nights and constant worry that we’ve probably done something wrong.
We’ve learned about laundry needing to be done every single day.

We’ve learned that we are surrounded by family and friends who are generous, kind, and so willing to help us out during this crazy time. Within hours, we had baby girl clothes on our counter, baby swings in our living room, swaddles in our arms. We were given baby bathtubs, burp cloths, nose suckers, tiny gloves and socks, bottles. A meal train was set-up for us and we have eaten like royalty without having to prepare a thing. We have been so, so humbled by our community.

Kel’s parents made a last minute Labor Day weekend trip to meet Baby K. Lee Lee taught us how to  keep her clean. B worked hard on our chicken coop (because yes, chickens…). They held this new baby like she was their own granddaughter, loving her as such until she is not.

We have talked and FaceTimed with my family often. Sweet Berit loves to see Baby K, encouraging her use of the binky. We have heard from countless friends who are excited and supporting us in this endeavor, whatever it may bring. 

What a beautiful picture of the Gospel.
A beautiful picture of giving and sharing with one another when they are need.

We literally had nothing prepared for an infant.
Now, I can barely think of anything else we could need.

We don’t know what the future holds for us and Baby K– or how long we might have her. But we know that we love her a lot and are thankful for the time that we do get with her. Pray that we would be good stewards of this little one that has been entrusted to us during this season. That we would love her well, that we would keep her safe, that her future would be one filled with hope and joy.

Pray also for Kel and I as we figure out the balance between newborn life, full-time jobs, and both of us being in school (not to mention tending of the Beal farm). Pray that we would trust the Lord in His timing, in His ways, and in His goodness.

It’s been a whirlwind… but the best kind of whirlwind.

(Also- this is NO surprise, but my husband makes the best daddy).

I’ve been living in Cupertino, California for the last 4 weeks.
Because life never turns out the way you think it will.

If you had told me a year ago that Kel and I would have legitimately contemplated moving to Costa Rica, that I would be working a job in Human Resources, and that my two-year-old niece would be diagnosed with leukemia… I probably wouldn’t have believed you.

But, here we are. Another year under our belt and a whole new set of challenges before us.

The last several months have felt like a “stripping down”. A getting rid of the excess. Of having to set aside the things that just don’t matter as much. A necessary living out of Colossians 3 (and if you’ve talked to me in the last few months, I may have already told how this passage has been rocking my world). Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth.

It all started when our full-time staff was encouraged to fast for 40 days from something as we prayed through some organizational changes. Because of some of the books I had been assigned to read from seminary, I was readily aware of how social media was impacting me in negative ways and so I chose to give it up for a while.

This was the beginning of learning more tangibly what it means to show up.
It meant that I was no longer on my phone swiping or scrolling to see what was going on in someone else’s life halfway across the country that I hadn’t talked to in a decade. Instead, I was present with the people physically in front of me. Instead of only taking pictures because of how “post-worthy” they might be, I was taking them for my own personal enjoyment or to send to one or two people. Instead of being on my phone because there was nothing else to do, I was showing up in my own thoughts, forcing myself to deal with the silence. Instead of judging a neighbor because of something they said or posted on social media, I learned how to love them in person because I have to take the time to actually know them and not just assume that I already do.

While the 40 days passed months ago, I am still an infrequent visitor to any social media platform. The changes that giving up the habit have caused in my life have been so rewarding, it is hard to imagine going back.

Not too long after, I felt that there was something else I needed to give up that I had been avoiding for a long time. Every time the thought surfaced, I didn’t want to acknowledge the harm it was causing in my life and I justified its existence. The truth is, I think that sometimes our habits turn into addictions and oftentimes, these addictions become so acceptable in society. My addiction? Binge-watching TV shows. In a lot of ways, it felt like my reward after a long week of school and work. I justified hours of episode after episode because it wasn’t my “norm”. It was a way to disengage with my reality. A way to calm my restless mind from thinking about all the things going on, without actually dealing with those things.

I had felt this prodding before– the demand to give it up. And, every time, I had talked myself out of it. It felt too hard. Which, I know, sounds silly. Mostly I just didn’t want to. But I knew that sometimes I was anxious to get home from somewhere so I could escape into an alternative universe for an hour or two before bed. I knew that sometimes it could too easily become a way for Kel and I to co-exist, without actually engaging in conversation with one another. I knew sometimes that I was avoiding time (or drastically reducing) with the Lord because the weekend only has a limited number of hours in it and, if I’m being honest, Netflix got far more of those hours than Jesus ever did.

So, I quit. Because I wanted to be different than that. I wanted to show up for people. I wanted to show up for Jesus, for my husband, for the people in my life. I didn’t want to leave early because I really wanted to watch something. In fact, my priorities were all wrong. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. The verse continually pounds into my brain. Put on compassionate, kind, humble, meek, patient hearts. Forgive, put on love. Let the Word of Christ dwell in you richly… 

Cold turkey, I stopped watching TV shows, right in the middle of a season.
Because suddenly, they didn’t matter. I didn’t want to look back and consider the hours and hours (and days and weeks) that I had spent thinking about and caring about fictional characters’ lives. I wanted to care about the real lives of the real people around me. To care about real souls. To show up.

I went most of the summer without watching TV, and have yet to enter back into a place where I feel like I should (or want to) watch shows on my personal device, alone.

The craziest part about all of it was that I never really missed it.
I had gained back time. And space. And conversation. And probably some sleep.

I was learning how to show up again with Jesus. The quiet space, where I might normally have thrown on a show while I cooked, or cleaned the house, forced me to be more present with where I was really at, and what I was really going through. I pray more. Listen to music more. Exist in silence more. I tended to the new plants, the chickens, the dogs, the cat.

I show up more.
For the Lord, for others, for myself.

Don’t misunderstand: I’m not saying that social media or TV shows are bad or wrong. I know there are so many benefits for social media and the connectivity we have through it. I know that I have missed big life events of people I legitimately care about because I am not perusing these platforms daily (text me, if that’s you!). I just know that right now, in this season, being more removed from it allows me to be more fully present with those I am physically with. And, I have not been legalistic about television shows and also believe this can be a communal, fun, enjoyable thing to do with others. What I am actively staying away from currently is the binge-watching, by myself activity that can become entirely too addicting for me as I get carried away in a new storyline and new characters.

Not long after all of these decisions were made, we found out that my 2-year-old niece, Berit, has leukemia. After a lot of conversation and prayer, Kel and I felt like I should come to California to help my brother and sister-in-law out while they navigate living in a completely new area (they just moved from Florida a few weeks ago) and figuring out what treatment will look like for Berit. They need someone to watch Alta, their 4-year-old, while they are at the hospital a few times each week, and while my brother gets his new job figured out.

My new HR job allows me to work remotely and camp has been so, so incredibly gracious in allowing me to do so. In a lot ways, the saddest parts to me about coming to CA for an extended period of time was not being able to see how all of my time with the plants and the chickens would pan out. And not getting to see Archie, our new kitten, grow into a cat. And, once again, the verses pounded within: Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth.

Show up for people.
In even the silliest ways, I had shifted my TV-watching addictions into a more “fruitful” activity– watching and tending to things as they grow. But, even this, I was reminded, doesn’t really matter. It doesn’t have eternal significance.

So I left on July 13 for California.
I will get to see my husband again on August 13- it’s the longest we have been a part. At this juncture, I am planning to be in California for most of the fall, minus 5.5 weeks total (where I’ll be back at camp and with my husband!).

At every turn, I’m learning more about what it means to show up.
Learning more about what it means to be stripped of the things that don’t matter, and to consider how I let the things that do matter become a priority. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. It’s like the Lord is saying:

Show up, Debbie.
Show up, in even the littlest ways.
Show up for people.
Show up for Me.
Press into the hard things.
Seek Me, and find Me.
Don’t forsake your True Love.
Don’t let the opinions of others matter, it is I whom you should please. 

Will I give up all things for the sake of knowing Christ?

I met her about a year ago.

We were serving together at a homeless shelter. As we talked, I began to piece together that her and I were pretty different. She wasn’t just coming to serve because it seemed like the right thing to do. This place, in fact, was her current home. She was serving her friends and her roommates, some that she interacted with on a daily basis. I was serving strangers that I might see once a month, if I made the time for it.

I saw her at church a few times after that.
I tried to make it a point to talk to her each time.
When it was time for our church to serve again at the homeless shelter, she apologetically told me that she wasn’t going to help serve because last time she hadn’t gotten a chance to eat.

Months went by without seeing her. I would often wonder where she was and how she was doing.

But then, in January, she came back to church. I began talking to her before the service started, but we were quickly interrupted by the music beginning. I found my way to my husband, with a ludicrous thought bubbling up from within. Kel, I whispered. I think we need to invite her to live with us. He graciously nodded his approval and the second the benediction ended, I scurried over to her. I hadn’t thought through much about what words were coming out of my mouth or how I ought to say them, but I found myself asking questions and eventually inviting this woman into our home.

I never saw her again.
We went to Costa Rica, came back, got busy with work and school, went to church, served at the homeless shelter…and she wasn’t anywhere.

On May 5th, she reappeared at church. We pulled up into the parking lot and saw her immediately. We hugged and throughout the course of the morning (before and after the service), we had ample time to talk. She was still at the homeless shelter, still not able to find a job… but she was interested in coming out to our community group on Monday nights. I told her she could stay the night afterward, if she needed a place. We drew her a map and wondered if we’d see her again.

On May 6th, she appeared at our house.
On May 29th, she left.

There’s been a vacancy since she left that I’m not quite sure how to describe.
I learned a lot in those 3+ weeks of having a stranger live in our home.
I learned a lot about generosity. Not just with our things or our money… but with my time. With my ears. With my space. I learned that maybe those things aren’t really mine at all.

I learned that I can’t control outcomes, or people, or that maybe what I think is best is not actually was is best. I learned about letting go, about trusting, about simply not knowing.

I learned that sometimes when I think I’m the one who is supposed to be giving or offering…that maybe I’m supposed to be receiving. That maybe the Lord wanted me to learn from her much more than He wanted her to learn from me. I learned the beauty of listening, of paying attention, of being present…even when I had a million other things that I would have rather been doing.

It’s been a lesson on getting over self.
Of recognizing pride.
Of walking faithfully, even when I don’t know what that actually accomplishes.
Of opening our home, even when we don’t know the outcome (or even the person).
Of redefining “ours” and “mine”… and learning how to replace those pronouns with “His”.

I don’t know who the Lord might bring into our lives next, but I do know that I am more convinced than ever that my job is to let them come in. Into “our” home, into “our” space and allow them to take up “our” time, and eat “our” food and use “our” things. To let them come into our lives. And to do what we can to love them, no matter how long or how short that season may be.

In a world that is pressing more than ever for us to take care of “our”selves, I’m quite convinced that Biblically we are called to do quite the opposite. To consider others as better than ourselves (Phil 2), to outdo one another in showing honor (Romans 12), to bandage up wounds and to take care of others–even those whom we might despise, or might be completely opposite of us (Luke 10).

I don’t know where my new friend will go or if I will ever see her or hear from her again. I don’t know if her short stay in our home did anything positive for her or made any sort of lasting impact in her life.

But I do know that it has affected me.
And I think God is ironic in that way. Reminding me that I know so little and have so much to learn. Reminding me that He is King of my whole life, not just some aspects of it. Reminding me that He is God…and that He brings about growth and change in His timing and in His way.

“Our” home feels more open now. Less like it’s mine to control or protect. More like it’s His to bring in whomever He will, for however long He will.

And it’s hard.
And sad.
And heartbreaking.

But it’s good. Worth it.
A reminder that this life is meant to be lived not for my glory or my benefit… but for His.

Why me? 

It’s a question I have asked a lot in my life.

Sometimes, the question is in response to the hard things.

Sometimes, the question beckons a different type of answer. Too many times in my life, I have felt like I needed to know the answer because the answer held the secret to all my security.

Why do you like me?
The voice of a 4th grade Debbie asks her admirer.
The answer speaks value to my little blonde self. Because I’m pretty. Or smart. Or fun. These become the critical components of likability. These are the answers I need to know…because I need to know how to do more/be more of these characteristics so more people will like me.

Why do you want to date me?
This is the voice of high school Debbie. I know now that puberty has changed me and looks only go so far. Because you love the Lord. Because you’re the type of girl I would want to marry. Because you have faith. My legalistic heart checks these off the list. Do more things like this, and more people will like you.

Why me? 
It’s a question I have asked a lot in my life. Sometimes audibly. Sometimes in the deepest places of my heart. It’s a question that points to my insecurities, my fears, and my worries. It’s a question that’s hidden motive is more about wondering if I’m actually enough or how much the person in front of me really wants me.

I had the privilege of getting to stare at this painting in the chapel of Gordon-Conwell’s Charlotte campus the other morning.

The Parable of the Sower, at Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary in Charlotte, North Carolina. Painted by artist Gerald Steinmeyer.

Some of the most ludicrous fights I have are with myself. 

It’s a shift of perspective.