Thank God I'm a country girl...

I went to the country over Labor Day Weekend. Not a country. The country. The kind of country I was raised in—with small-town people and home-cooked meals and wrinkley grandmas and precious cousins and dirt roads and tractors and hot guys wearing cowboy boots and bugs—LOTS of bugs.

That kind of country.

I was visiting my sweet 83-year-old grandma and a small gaggle of cousins in western Oklahoma. In addition to my annual Christmas visit, I started making a mid-year trip a few years ago, wanting to capture some special moments with grams because time is precious.

So I have to chronicle this most recent trip because it was so much fun. I'll let the pictures speak for themselves (with a few added captions here and there).

These are my feet and unusually large cankles, 

but not my SAS comfort shoes. 

Those finely-crafted leather beauties, 

with soft rubber soles and form-fitting velcro snaps, 

belong to Betty (said grandma mentioned above). 

I have a bad habit of stealing them from her when I arrive so I can perform everyday farm tasks (including, but not limited to, the occasional family softball game). They make sliding in to home plate 

a dream and a half.

Speaking of things I take over when I arrive on the farm... 

She lets me drive this head-turner around. 

Don't let the wear and tear on this age-old speed demon fool you. 

I could easily fit at least 17 people in the back camper 

if push came to shove.

One of the things we did was visit my uncle's massive garden to pick peas and watermelons—where, mind you, hundreds of thousands of blister bugs, wasps, bees, and other creepy-crawlies have made their home. 

Needless to say, my reactionary comments throughout the whole picking process were dang near Rated R.

Just had to throw this one in. If my mom knew I'd posted a picture of her behind online for all the world to see, she'd curse the day I was born. 

(Dad, don't tell mom, k? It'll be our little secret. K...thanks.)

Red Oklahoma dirt. Word to the wise: 

Do not, I repeat, do not lay in this stuff and roll around in it. 

It will NEVER come out of your clothes. They'll be ruined for all eternity.

This is the pond on my grandma's land. My cousins and I spent MANY a summer fishing in this very spot. And I spent many a summer gagging and faking seizures every time I had to bait a hook with an oogey, wiggly, "tobacco-spitting" grasshopper.

Grandma's house. This is a sight that never grows old. I could probably drive here with my eyes closed, using only my sense of smell, following the enticing aroma of her delicious biscuits and gravy.

See that barn in the background? That's a picker's DREAM, my friends. I was like a scrappy scavenger in that place. All I needed was a camera crew and my own TV show.

That's my Uncle Mike in the tractor, 

doing what he does best—being a farmer. 

I kind of wish I could drive one of these in real life in the city, so I could sit 9 feet tall above the ground and pick up random stuff along the way—like joggers or jay-walking squirrels or litter.

I love this sweet lady with my whole heart. She's such a godly, strong prayer warrior of a woman, who loves our family deeply. 

We brought her sacks full of peas from the garden to shell. 

She said, and I quote, "Oh, I just love shelling peas. I could do it for hours and hours and hours. Don't you just love it? I just love it." 

So cute and precious and funny and wrinkley.

 

The whole family met up in Elk City and went to the rodeo
—with box seats, y'all. Wha what?

I could write a book on how much I love this event, but I'll spare you the mush and gush. Instead, I'll just say it's one of the places I feel most at home with my people.

And look at this sweet, precious, darling, sugar-plum, pumpkin-face, baby cousin who was wearing his full-on bull-riding gear. What you didn't see was him leaning over the fence every few seconds to spit in the dirt

—like a real cowboy. Atta boy, Lukey.

Dad, cousins, and I ran (ha)—yeah right, walked—the 5K to support the Elk City Booster. It was hot. And I mean... 

H-O-T, 

sweating bullets, 

wanted-to-die, 

take-me-home-Jesus, 

need-to-cool-off-in-a-vat-of-ice-cream-after-this-is-all-over 

kind of heat.

They may or may not have started tearing down the finish line when I crossed it, but we made it!

Can't have a proper rodeo without a proper downtown parade. The entertainment was priceless. And I kid you not...there was even a very large man riding a horse with his boom box duck-taped to the side of the poor creature.

This picture was taken right after I wiped the drool off my mouth and picked myself up off the concrete. 

Give me a man riding a horse...

with a 5 o' clock shadow of stubble on his face,

wearing boots, jeans, and a flannel shirt,

and I'd leave the normalcy of my 9-5 in the city 

to be barefoot and pregnant on a farm in the middle of nowhere 

for the rest of my days.

My cousin let me jump in the saddle and go for a ride around the arena on this ol' girl. Her name is Mod. 

She's looks innocent enough, right? With her hair all tied up in pretty ribbons? And her head bent low in humility? 

Ha. On the contrary, she's a sassy lil' devil with an attitude.

Look at her. Just look at her. 

She's already smartin' off and complaining 

and asking for a drink of water in the 102-degree heat. 

Suck it up, Mod. Giddyup. Let's go.

I shouldn't be so harsh on Mod. She really is a sweet girl. 

She even made me look like a bad-a** cowgirl in this photo op. 

Thanks for the memories, Mod. I'll get off now so you can breathe again.

This is what one calls "working the sheep." 

My cousins (see cute brother-sister duo above) make BANK on them at competitions. They're experts at making these guys behave and look pretty for the judges—all because they "work them" for hours and hours every week so they'll be ready.

So they showed me how to do it. Let's just say...I smelled like a 

sheep's butt for at least a week after this photo was taken. 

The stench stays with you. 

P.S. No, I don't have a Bump-It in my hair. That's just my natural Texas Tease. Leave a comment if you'd like a private tutorial.

Rodeo #2 – Gah. Sigh. Love. Dream. Drool.

Just put me out in the middle of the arena and let me lay in that red dirt for the rest of my life with the cowboys and bulls and broncos stampeding around me. Heaven.

Wait. My clothes. Never-ending stains. I forgot. Nevermind.

Daddy wanted to enter the Dodge Ram drawing so bad. 

(You wish, Pastor. Mama would throw a fit.) 

But he stood there posing next to it, looking like he already owned the whole dadgum kit and kaboodle. So I obliged his little fantasy with a photo to document the encounter.

God bless, 'Merica. The end.

I'm telling you, people. The country does a body good. 

Try it. Drive 30 miles outside of your city and stand in the middle of a field. Then take a big whiff. Once you can get past the pungent fragrance of cow manure, your lungs and the depths of your soul will thank you.

Yes, they're real...

So let me just make something perfectly clear. On a scale of 1-10, with 1 being slightly thought-provoking and 10 being "Help! I've fallen and I can't get up from the soul-slaying I just received," this blog post is probably a –0.25.

That's because I'm going to talk about mascara. That's right—as in a plain old beauty product. 

It's just that when I find something cosmetically lifechanging, I feel like I need to share it with the world. And, by "world," I mean the four people who follow this blog, which includes my dad (Hi, Dad!).

Now, for the backstory. I went into Sephora (the mothership of Beautyland) back in the spring, looking to break free from the pain I was inflicting upon myself using Givenchy Phenomen'Eyes. Great product. Bad execution (literally...of my eyeballs).

One of the girls took me to the mascara counter and showed me Benefit's "They're Real" Mascara. She whispered, "This is the best mascara I've ever used. It's got magical powers or something."

All of a sudden, I felt like I was in NYC's Chinatown, being led through the hidden door in the wall to the secret room that holds all the fake Coach and Kate Spade purses. You know what I'm talking about? I think I may have even looked over my shoulder a few times to make sure I wouldn't get caught.

So I made my purchase and tried it out the next morning. She was right. My lashes looked A-W-E-S-O-M-E. I immediately did a Herkie in front of my bathroom mirror and proclaimed myself an addict. Thank you, Sephora.

A few weeks ago, I went back for a fresh tube, but they were sold out—and had been for WEEKS! Disappointed, but in desperate need of something to coat my lashes, I bought some rando brand that I'm not even going to give the time of day on here and started an online search for my beloved Benefit. But everything online was sold out too.

That led to my arrest for stalking the cosmetic employees at Sephora every day of my life. Kidding. But I did harass them by phone at least three times a week until they confirmed it was back in stock. Because that's what a junkie does until she gets her fix.

Well, hallelujah and praise the Lord! They got a shipment in last week. I ran a few red lights and broke a few speed limits to get there over my lunch break, but I coasted in and purchased as much as my bank account would allow.

Girls, I'm not asking you to branch out from your own mascara, I'm telling you to do this. Trust me. I wouldn't lead you astray. And you won't regret it.

Waiting on winter to turn into spring...

As a single woman, I have my ups and downs. And I'm not the only one. I have these conversations all the time with other young women, so my craziness doesn't seem so crazy when I know I'm not the only one. But sometimes it gets lonely out here.

The ups are the days I could shout from the rooftops, my moving car, and any and all social media outlets for the world to read: JESUS IS ON THE THRONE! WE GOT THIS, Y'ALL!

The downs are the days when my attitude is sorry, no good, and very bad. The days when I feel like I suck at life. The days when I want to stay under the covers and feel sorry for myself. The days when a pint and a half of Ben & Jerry's Chubby Hubby is the only thing that'll soothe my achy breaky heart.

This morning was dark. Real dark. And it's been coming on for a few days. I can always feel it brewing and bubbling up like a storm. So I wasn't really surprised when all hell broke loose in my heart and head this morning right before church. 

I was ugly crying on the inside—and I mean UGLY crying like when Chris Crocker begged the world to leave Britney Spears alone via YouTube (don't watch if you don't want to hear the F-bomb casually thrown out every four seconds). Which, in turn, made me act like a butthead to those around me.

So after lunch, I made a mad dash home to take my place on my face. I needed an intervention of the holiest kind. I willingly laid myself on the altar of give-me-the-soul-lashing-I-deserve so Jesus could put me back into my right mind.

I always forget that going to Him is all it takes to turn my world right side up, to tweak my attitude, to align my thoughts with His. So I dove neck-deep into the vat of His Word this afternoon and just stayed there to marinate for a bit.

There wasn't a specific passage that led me to a conclusion. It was simply taking my one of my dearest friends Karla Worley's advice: "When you approach the Word, you're approaching the person of Jesus Christ." (That word of wisdom changed my Bible-study-lovin' world.)

That was all it took. I went into the presence of Jesus and He was there. And here's what I got: It may be hotter than hell in the middle of August, but the season of my life is smack dab in the dead of winter. And that's exactly where He wants me to be.

It's not a winter that means death or hopelessness. It's just a time when things are eerily quiet, when there's no growth, when the evidence of life and movement are lying hidden and dormant.

This isn't exactly the season that a spring/summer-kind-of-girl wants to be living in. But it's where the Lord has me. And He reminded me that I can't have the spring, the summer, or the fall without the winter. Because He meant for all four to be put into play in this life.

The good news? I won't be here forever. I have to believe God is always active and moving. He never meant for me to live in one season for the rest of my life. And even though this season seems longer than I'd like, another one is coming. It's on its way.

During this time, there's a lesson to be learned. It won't be the only winter moment of my life. There will be plenty more where this came from—seasons that will hopefully shove and squeeze me into the narrow-turned-narrower-turned-even-narrower path of sanctification.

So I have to remember that, in all seasons, He's good, He can be trusted, and He's for me. Always. Period. End of story. Even when it seems like I'm all alone and He's hiding from me in a cave somewhere in the Alps. (Duh. He's not.)

And, in the middle of all this, I have to remember what the infamous Eldredges like to say: "We live in a great love story, set in the midst of a war." Amen? Amen.

So here I sit, in the middle of winter...

living in a constant state of prayer...

standing firm against the enemy...

wearing all my armor...

calling Him faithful...

staying alert...

and waiting on the first sign of spring.

My Mission Journey: Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

In June, I got the amazing privilege of traveling with a team of 20 people from our church to take the message of Christ to the people of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. We were evangelism team that just happened to be doing medical missions while we were there—through an eye clinic, medical clinic, pharmacy, and dental clinic.

My technical responsibility on the team was in the pharmacy. But my real responsibility was to take the gifts I've been given and the ministry I already do full-time through BBC and use those on the mission field. My job was to tell stories—stories of life change, Jesus, poverty, healing, and redemption. (And to love on some Brazilian babies on the side.)

I blogged every day. I snapped pictures every day. And, in the midst of all that, my life was changed by what I saw and experienced. You can go back and read all the updates, see the pictures, and watch the videos that I posted throughout the week (starting on June 10).

I write this now (one month after we've returned) because it's taken that long to process. And I'm not finished. It'll continue to drip into my thought processes, my language, and my reactions for the rest of my life.

When I say, "My world was wrecked," you can go ahead and consider those four words the grossest understatement of the century. 

Here...let me try that again: "Jesus took my heart out of my chest, beat it into submission, and then broke it into the shambles. Then, he put it back together. Then, he took my mind, including everything I've ever known and been comfortable with, rearranged it all, confused the old, and replaced it with new. After all that, he took my soul and ravaged it, changing every ideal, perspective, and preconceived notion I'd ever held on to."

Does that do it? Nope. Still doesn't cover it.

Bottom line: it was well-organized trip. I never once felt fear or unsafe. It was one of the most geographically gorgeous places I've ever seen. It was home to some of the most beautiful, kind, genuine, warm-hearted people I've ever known. And, on top of it all, it really wasn't as physically hard on my body as I thought it was going to be. 

So why did I come back a broken person? Why did I have to be sent home from work two days after I returned because I couldn't hold it together? Why did my emotions furiously bubble over with the mere mention of the insignificant in my own culture? Why did I lie awake in bed every night for two weeks trying to understand what I was supposed to do with all this new information?

I still haven't figured it out. 

I prayed two things every morning when we climbed on the bus to head to the slums: 1) God, break my heart for what breaks yours, and 2) let me see you bigger today that I did yesterday. And because God heard and answered, I experienced some serious—I mean S.E.R.I.O.U.S.—sanctification. 

Before I left, my good friend Meredith said, "You're not going to understand this until you get there, but mission trips are just as much for the people going as the people you're going to serve." 

That didn't sound right the first time I heard it. It sounded so selfish. But, now, I understand. The people there were the catalyst for change in my life, and I hope I had something to do with the change in theirs. The giving and taking went both ways. 

I'm the queen of words (and not always in a good way). But, for most of what I experienced in Rio, I still have no words. Just let it be known:

• My life will never be the same.
• There is no such thing as an ugly Brazilian baby.
• The weather in Brazil is to die for.
• This is only the beginning for a lifetime of telling God's story around the world. 
• If you like feeling bloated because of all the sodium-infused meat, go to Brazil.
• I caught a glimpse of what heaven is going to be like one day.
• Outside of time with my family, I've never felt more ME than I did while I was there.
• I've never seen the bride of Christ look more beautiful.
• The legends are true: Speedos are in abundance on the beaches of Rio.
• My new life goal is to learn another language, thanks to Portuguese.
• Christ was made known and his name was lifted high among nations.

Sweet Terazina, a leper at the colony we visited. I bought this pottery she painted.

Love me some babies

One of the highlights of my life is the friendship I have with my sweet friend Elizabeth. She and her family bring my life so much joy.

Elizabeth and I once worked together in the church. We walked together every day, shed tears and joys on those long walks, ran (errr...walked) the Country Music 1/2 Marathon together, and shared an office where she got to know full well my...ah-hem...behaviors and nuances.

She became and still is one of my very best friends.

In the course of our friendship, she and her husband went through IVF (in vitro fertilization). It was a painful, nerve-wracking process for her, but nonetheless, we prayed God would give her and her husband babies.

He answered...as He always does. She became pregnant with two precious little boys, Hudson and Brayden. And I've prayed over them since.

Now, they're one year and almost three months old. I'm so incredibly grateful that Jesus let me share so many moments of that experience with my friend. And I'm thankful I get to watch them grow to know and love Him.

I love those babies so much. How could you resist their little smiles and laughs?

When it doesn't make sense...

Back in the fall, I was discontent. It was growing out of control. I wanted out—out of Tennessee, out of my job, out of this neutrality. I wanted to go home to Texas. No, desperately wanted it.


I talked about it, prayed about it, and thought about it to an unhealthy, annoying degree.


But it made complete sense to me. My parents are getting older and I want to be close to them. My brother and his fiancee are settling down in Dallas. My favorite church and pastor are located there. And I love Texas. No, seriously, I really, really love it, y'all.


This was my chance.


So I told God what I was up to and began hunting. (Funny = I told Him what I was doing, yet again. Sad = He didn't stop me.) On my "hunt" (keeping with this theme while acknowleding it's wildly inappropriate and gruesome), I only went straight for the throat of one particular church species—The Village Church.


I attended there before my move to Houston and subsequent move to Nashville. I loved it. I didn't get enough of it. I still dreamed about it. I podcast the sermons and listen to them regularly today.


So I contacted them, sent my resume, and crossed my fingers hoping something would be open. And, I'll be doggone, if something was available.


The HR lady said the position opening up was similar to what I'm doing in the current church where I serve. Praise God—an open door.


The ball started rolling fast. Really fast. I set up an interview over Thanksgiving when I went home and had the most fabulous conversation with two of the Communications Team members. They were wonderful. I was enamored. I felt at home. But, then, I also didn't. 


Something wasn't settling right inside me. Almost like when you eat the wrong kind of Mexican food and it stays with you overnight (and sometimes for a few days). Ew.


I couldn't put my finger on it, but I pushed through. I began talking with them about coming there, visiting again over Christmas to meet other staff members. I was excited. I was finally going to get what I wanted.


But I couldn't sleep at night. Something was off.


I sought counsel from those I love most here. They were against it and it annoyed me to no end. Why wouldn't they support me? Why wouldn't they want this for me? Why wouldn't they be excited about a new adventure?


My parents, on the other hand, were silent on the issue. I'm surprised they didn't disown me after all the late-night emotional calls and frantic text messages I sent. I later found out, being the spiritual giants in my life that they are, they only wanted God to guide me and not their counsel.


But I knew. I knew what the answer was. I knew what I had to do. I knew where this was headed. I just didn't want to believe it.


The Holy Spirit works that way. He's like an itchy fungus (in a holy, reverent way, of course). He'll pester and bother and taunt me until I finally scratch and say, "Alright! Fine. Have it your way. You win."


In my final over-dramatic, desperate attempt at getting a word from Him, He said: "I could bless you in both places. I would use you in either job for my glory. The choice is yours and there's no wrong decision. But... if you really trust me like you say you do, if you really want to obey me in all things, if you really think I'm good and for you, then listen carefully. Wait. Stay where you are. Don't move. Live, love, and be right where you are. I'm not finished with you there. Trust me."


I asked for it. I wanted a firm answer. But, naturally, my response was: "What?!? Are you serious?" (Insert seriously distorted, confused face here and some serious head shaking. I still take on this posture when I think about it just as I'm doing right this very instant.)


It didn't make sense in December and it doesn't make sense now.


When I made the call to back out, I told the Communications Minister it was about $$$, but it really wasn't. That didn't matter—and never really has—in the big scheme of things. No details really matter when it comes to God's place for us.


It just happened to be the only logical excuse I could think to tell him. I couldn't put into words and explain what God was telling me to do because it sounded so abnormal and puzzling. I was afraid he would've thought I was crazy too.


But I had to do it.


I cried for days after that. I still ask "why" every day (more to myself than to Him). I still have occasional panic attacks, asking myself, "Oh no... did I do the right thing? Did I give up my only opportunity at my dream job, dream location, dream situation?"


Bottom line: I'm a screwup. I've made the most jacked up decisions for myself in the past—having turned my life upside down. But He's never steered me wrong when He's in the driver's seat. So what have I got to lose? Everything. Trust me, it's almost happened before. That's why I trust He knows what He's doing.


Why do I tell all these intimate details of my life? Because you need to know that God's ways don't always make sense, but we need to trust Him enough to be obedient.


I mean, He made it extremely clear: "My thoughts are nothing like your thoughts. And my ways are far beyond anything you could imagine. For just as the heavens are higher than the earth, so my ways are higher than your ways and my thoughts higher than your thoughts" (Isaiah 55:8-9).


I'm no saint. I'm not saying you should pattern your life after mine. God help us, please don't do that. I'm just saying He's good, He's for you, and His ways are better than yours. And we need to tune our ears to His heart to know what those ways are.


He's the "shield around us" (our protector), our "glory" (the One who grounds us), the "one who holds our heads high" (Psalm 3:3). Glory to God in all things—whatever He decides for our lives.

My 30-by-30 List: New Item #24

Before I turned 30, I made a 30 by 30 list—a list of thirty things I wanted to do before or during my 30th year of life. Some of those items included: buy my dream car, get out of debt, and get in shape. Those are a few of the big rocks, two of which I'm still working on. Pray for me.

The one I'm most excited about is taking my first international trip. I don't have to dream about that one anymore. It's on the books. I've got my ticket and I'm leaving on a jet plane in September for Paris, France. Check.

I don't think I know what I'm in for. On a good day, I'd say I'm a street smart, cultured, refined young woman. But I really don't have a clue.

Yesterday, I met with a guy in our church for coffee. He's a former Turkish Muslim turned Christian minister who has taken up residence in America.

How does that happen? That's what I wanted to know. So I decided to get his story and write it down.

His story is fascinating. What amazed me the most about him (he who is only a few months younger than me) is how vastly different his childhood was from mine. Of course it was. I knew it would be. But, during our 90-minute conversation, reality smacked me in the face. I really am a clueless small-town girl.

Let's be honest. I've always thought anyone from the Middle East secretly wanted to rid the world of all Christians or any Westerner, for that matter.

To heck with what the government says—my own Homeland Security Threat Advisory System level has always been at least two levels above what they've suggested. I mean, I specifically looked for a different route out of the country over Detroit when booking my trip because I'd always heard Michigan has the highest population of Muslims.

Are you kidding me? I'm embarrassed. But, hey, I'm just being honest here.

Apparently, "they" are as scared of us as we are of them because of how we've responded to most after 9/11. It makes my stomach queasy to think about how ignorant I've been when it comes to my Middle Eastern neighbors. That's definitely NOT how Jesus would've done it.

Some are radicals, for sure. But my new friend informed me about the grand number of "secular Muslims" rising up in that area of the world.

I shot him a blank stare and he smiled. With a thick Turkish accent, he said, "It's kind of like your Christians who only attend church at Christmas and Easter." Oh. OK. I get that. They're everywhere here. I'm related to some of them.

Most Easterners don't want to be like Westerners because of how they see us represented on television, in music, and through magazines. According to them, we're "unethical" and "immoral." They find it repulsive to see American teenage girls having sex with older men, people overdosing on drugs and drowning their sorrows in alcohol, and men leaving their wives and families for selfish reasons that no one can explain.

The culture we demonize is more moral than we are and find us sickening and grotesque. Go figure.

This has only peaked my interest. Now, I want to know so much more about my Middle Eastern neighbors. It's sparked a fire in me to reach out to those who live in my own apartment complex.

It's even affected my psyche in preparing for my trip to Paris. I'm excited about the architecture, history, and people, but I don't think I know what I'm in for. The world outside of Small-town, Texas and Mid-Size-Town, Tennessee is big. I mean BIG. Bigger than what I've ever known or can even handle. Big—HUGE.

I guess I'm not as "smart" as I thought I was. Hopefully, my upcoming adventure will educate me—you know, school me on a few more things about life, people, and God's role in it all.

And I've found a new item to add to my 30 by 30 list. Item #24: Befriend and reach out to a Middle Easterner in my community.

Finding my way

I'm pretty consistent about getting into the habit of blogging a good two times a year. It's a lot like the amount of times I start getting really serious about diet and exercise. And then, of course, I fall off the bandwagon every time. Here I am again...trying to make a new start.

My problem with blogging is that I don't know how big my filter should be. Who in the world wants to know every details of my life? That I go through my apartment every night before bed to make sure every appliance and piece of furniture is situated correctly? That I am a freakish creature of habit? That I talk to my parents at least three times a day and play a few games of mobile phone Solitaire every day just for fun? See? It's not very interesting at all.

This I do know. I love to write. I love telling stories. So I'm looking for my voice somewhere in the vicinity of that passion to tell stories. Not just any stories. Stories of life change that inspire us to be better, do better, and love God more. Be back real soon...promise.

Change is a comin', folks...

Life is changing and it makes me uncomfortable.

1. My roommate is getting married and moving out; therefore, my living situation is changing. As a matter of fact, several friends have announced they are either engaged or preggers in the last few months. Ugh. Happiness for them, indeed, but change nonetheless.
2. One of my recently established soul sisters moved out of the country. Sometimes you cross paths with people in life who were made to be insta-friends with you. It sucks when you both realize your kindred spirits only weeks before she obediently follows God's call to serve Him in Paris for a year. Happiness for her + Sadness for me = A hot mess of emotions all at one time.
3. At Christmas, I noticed for the first time that my grandmother is truly getting feeble and older—and actually looks and acts it now. My heart broke as she hobbled around the kitchen and shied away from any sort of extra-curricular activity for fear of breaking a bone.
4. I had strategically planned and mapped out my parents' future since I've lived here. My mom retires in May, my dad can move his ministry to Tennessee, and we'll all happily be together again. My mom recently informed me they probably aren't going to be taking that course of action. That means I get to live in a foreign land all by myself while my family gets to enjoy each other in Texas FOR THE REST OF OUR LIVES! I know—maybe that's a little dramatic, but just let me get it all out and I'll be fine in five minutes.
5. My life still isn't where I planned it to be in the last year of my 20s. (Note: God has an unique way of smashing your plans into a trillion tiny pieces so His plans for you can continue to barrel like a steam roller through your life. Ahhh...the joy of surrender.)

I could go on and on.

I used to be the kind of girl that consistently lived with a mild case of cabin fever and thrived on new environments. I didn't like to stay still for too long. If you offered a new, exciting situation, then I could give you a girl who wanted in. I was the life of the party—always on the go and never missed a show. I think you get what I'm saying.

The older I've gotten, the more I've become a homebody, the more I like things to stay the way they are, the more I like stability and consistency. Oops! Does that mean I'm becoming set in my old maid ways? Not good for a single almost 30-something, folks. Not good at all.

Don't worry. I'm not in spinster training yet.

I've recently had an itch—an itch for an exciting adventure (beside the obvious: get married to the man of my dreams/prayers whose madly in love with Jesus and make babies with said man).

The whole idea of change and adventure makes me uncomfortable, but I don't dislike the feeling either. Deep down, the young, spontaneous, spunky Kaylan is trying to claw her way to the surface. I can feel it.

As I approach my 30th birthday, I've only had a few major breakdowns. Up to this point, the idea of turning 30 has equaled the end of youthful me, four-inch high heels, and the privilege of shopping at Forever 21. I've readied myself to usher in stray gray hairs, stuffy cardigans in every color, and a membership in the local quilting club.

But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe my discomfort means a good thing is coming. Maybe God is prepping me for a thrilling new ride in this next phase of life. Maybe I should embrace a "thirty, flirty, and thriving" attitude and look forward to the days ahead. Maybe turning 30 IS the adventure I've been waiting for.

Ready or not, Thirty, here I come. Let the countdown to a new era begin.

Trust & Obey

Growing up the daughter of a small-town Baptist preacher, I soaked and marinated in that life for 18 years. I knew all the hymns by heart, became a professional at incorporating the right Christianese terms into conversation (when needed), mastered church traditionalism by age 7, and even became a closet fan of the Gaithers. I experienced and relished in everything that comes along with the proverbial PK territory.

Sure, I look back now and roll my eyes when I think of all the cheese that oozed out of the church I grew up in, but make no mistake, at home, my parents were Jesus lovers/followers to the core. When it came down to it, they believed and lived the transforming gospel of grace—and they still do. If it weren't for them, I may still be trapped in a "less God, more religion, please" mindset.

Since my childhood, my dad has repeated one age-old phrase from a timeless hymn over and over to me—"trust and obey"—so much so that it still makes me a little queasy every time I hear it. That is, until about a year ago when I started a spiritual trek up what seemed like a treacherous, impossible mountain of trying to understand why God hadn't seemingly "come through" in certain areas of my life and trying to be obedient to a sacrifice He called me to.

For over a year, I've wrestled with God. I don't mean a controlled verbal debate. I mean I've been acting like a spoiled 5-year-old child who isn't getting her way. In the beginning, he patiently tried to teach me to wait in faith, asking me to specifically follow his instructions, but I would always walk away from our conversations kicking and screaming, yelling, "I want it now! Why not now? Why don't you just bless me now! You're not a good daddy if you don't give me what I want."

You see, since I was five years old, I've had my life mapped out—centered around a dream that first developed when I began playing with Barbie and her Ken. In my plan, I would graduate college, put a successful career in my pocket, marry the man of my dreams by 26, have my first child by 28, and own a home by 30.

Milestones have come and gone. Currently, I'm a 29-year-old woman (soon to be 30) with no husband and therefore no kids, a career in ministry (which wasn't in my plan, but one that I DO actually love), and overpriced apartment rent. In my mind, God hasn't come through on his part of our plan. And, as a result, I've lived the last few years as an frustrated woman, shaking my fist at the Almighty and questioning his goodness.

Nearly a year ago, God finally submitted his rebuttal, "When did I ever agree to this plan?" And then he asked me to lay my precious, lifelong plan on the altar and stick a knife in it (so to speak)—a similar command he gave to Abraham.

I've read Genesis 22 over and over again—slow, fast, in various translations. My favorite is in the New Living Translation:

Some time later, God tested Abraham’s faith. “Abraham!” God called.

"Yes," he replied. "Here I am."

“Take your son, your only son—yes, Isaac, whom you love so much—and go to the land of Moriah. Go and sacrifice him as a burnt offering on one of the mountains, which I will show you.”

The next morning Abraham got up early. He saddled his donkey and took two of his servants with him, along with his son, Isaac. Then he chopped wood for a fire for a burnt offering and set out for the place God had told him about.

On the third day of their journey, Abraham looked up and saw the place in the distance. “Stay here with the donkey,” Abraham told the servants. “The boy and I will travel a little farther. We will worship there, and then we will come right back.”

So Abraham placed the wood for the burnt offering on Isaac’s shoulders, while he himself carried the fire and the knife. As the two of them walked on together, Isaac turned to Abraham and said, “Father?”

“Yes, my son?” Abraham replied.

“We have the fire and the wood,” the boy said, “but where is the sheep for the burnt offering?”

“God will provide a sheep for the burnt offering, my son,” Abraham answered. And they both walked on together.

When they arrived at the place where God had told him to go, Abraham built an altar and arranged the wood on it. Then he tied his son, Isaac, and laid him on the altar on top of the wood. And Abraham picked up the knife to kill his son as a sacrifice.

At that moment the angel of the Lord called to him from heaven, “Abraham! Abraham!”

“Yes,” Abraham replied. “Here I am!”

“Don’t lay a hand on the boy!” the angel said. “Do not hurt him in any way, for now I know that you truly fear God. You have not withheld from me even your son, your only son.”

Then Abraham looked up and saw a ram caught by its horns in a thicket. So he took the ram and sacrificed it as a burnt offering in place of his son. Abraham named the place Yahweh-Yireh (which means “the Lord will provide”). To this day, people still use that name as a proverb: “On the mountain of the Lord it will be provided.”

Then the angel of the Lord called again to Abraham from heaven. “This is what the Lord says: Because you have obeyed me and have not withheld even your son, your only son, I swear by my own name that I will certainly bless you. I will multiply your descendants beyond number, like the stars in the sky and the sand on the seashore. Your descendants will conquer the cities of their enemies. And through your descendants all the nations of the earth will be blessed—all because you have obeyed me."

Can you imagine what Abraham thought when God asked him to sacrifice Isaac—his "son whom he loved so much?" Why wouldn't God have asked him to sacrifice something easy like a ram, a sheep, or even some nomadic luxuries in life?

I can relate. I begged God over and over to take something else instead of my dream. I even went so far as to offer up myself as a lifelong foreign missionary, never to enjoy Tex-Mex, cable television, or shoe shopping again, just so I could keep it—the dream I loved so much.

It took me nearly a year to make it up the mountain and I knew he wanted it all—every piece of it. So, I slowly sauntered up the side of the mountain for a long while, hesitating all along the way, clutching it tight in my arms, and wondering if I shouldn't just turn around and sprint back to the bottom.

Along the way, I laid down some heavy items—insecurities, issues that weren't yet resolved, things from my past—and I worshipped. In my pain, I worshipped. In my joy, I worshipped. Every time I got discouraged, he reminded me to "trust and obey." God was more concerned with my obedience than my sacrifice (see 1 Samuel 15:22).

At the top, I hesitantly laid it all before him, then flinched, waiting for him to lick it up with fire or provide a substitute. He didn't do either. I learned that sometimes God sacrifices our happiness and plans simply for His glory and our holiness.

One precious mentor even told me on the journey, "Kaylan, if you'll just lay it down, then it will free up your hands for the next thing God has."

Along the way, I removed an idol from our relationship which freed up space in my hands for God to give me several blessings: an authentic awareness that he's enough and he's for me; victory over the enemy despite his attempts to spiritually pummel every day; belief in the fact that God is genuinely good, faithful, and trustworthy in this life; and a new understanding of "trust and obey."

Beautiful

My prayer today:

Here, before your altar, I am letting go of all I've held—of every motive, every burden, every thing that's of myself. I just want to wait on you, my God. I just want to dwell on who you are.

Beautiful, beautiful—I am lost for more to say. Beautiful, beautiful—Lord, you're beautiful to me.

Here, in your presence, I am not afraid of brokenness, to wash your feet with humble tears. I would be poured out until nothing is left. I just want to wait on you, my God. I just want to dwell on who you are.

Beautiful, beautiful—I am lost for more to say. Beautiful, beautiful—Lord, you're beautiful to me.

Holy, holy, holy—you are, you are. Holy, holy, holy—you are, you are. Holy, holy, holy—you are, you are.

(Kari Jobe, "Beautiful")

Jesus is 1st, 2nd, 3rd...

Jesus said, "That is why I tell you not to worry about everyday life—whether you have enough food and drink, or enough clothes to wear. Isn’t life more than food, and your body more than clothing? Look at the birds. They don’t plant or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren’t you far more valuable to him than they are? Can all your worries add a single moment to your life?"
—Matthew 6:25-27

A small excerpt from my daily reading of Oswald Chambers. Such good stuff:

"Jesus did teach that His disciple must make his relationship with God the dominating focus of his life, and to be cautiously carefree about everything else in comparison to that. In essence, Jesus was saying, 'Don’t make food and drink the controlling factor of your life, but be focused absolutely on God.' Some people are careless about what they eat and drink, and they suffer for it; they are careless about what they wear, having no business looking the way they do; they are careless with their earthly matters, and God holds them responsible. Jesus is saying that the greatest concern of life is to place our relationship with God first, and everything else second. It is one of the most difficult, yet critical, disciplines of the Christian life to allow the Holy Spirit to bring us into absolute harmony with the teaching of Jesus in these verses."

I will never leave you...

Ever since I was little, I’ve always had a fear of being alone. I think it all stems from one particular experience I had as a child. You see, I was a sneaky kid. My mom had to literally put extra bolts on the doors and watch me like a hawk because I would figure out ways to unlock them and get out of the house and into the streets.

Once, when I was five, I woke up in the middle of the night to discover that the house was empty and I was left all alone. To this day, I'm not sure how I came to that conclusion. Maybe I was sleepwalking and dreamed it.

Nonetheless, I got scared. I put my little coat on over my nightgown, finagled my way through unbolting the locks on the front door, and set out to find someone—anyone—who could explain what was going on. I walked down our road (we lived in a very small town, so we were somewhat in the country) to find the first house I could get to.

It was scary enough that it was at midnight when I decided to take off on this little jaunt, but even scarier was the fact that our neighbors were extremely sketchy. And the first house I came to was full of sketchiness. I really don’t know how to explain it to you except that they were extreme hillbillies with very few teeth, they smelled bad, and they were all sitting in rocking chairs around the furnace in their living room when I knocked on the door. I’m not kidding. This is what I remember as a child.

I remember sitting on one lady’s lap for quite a while as she rocked me. It wasn’t long before my sweet daddy came frantically banging on the door looking for his little girl. I was never so glad to run into my dad’s arms and just stay there. He carried me safely home, squeezing me close.

Now, lying in bed some nights or randomly hanging out by myself, my mind rolls through a billion thoughts—a few of which choke me up sometimes: The fear of being left alone on this earth. The thought of losing my parents one day. The thought of dying alone in a nursing home somewhere.

When I let fear overwhelm me as a child growing up, I’d always run straight into my daddy’s and mama's arms and cry through the fear. As a child, my dad would always say, “Kaylan, the Bible says God will never leave you or forsake you,” “Sis, you won’t be left alone. God is always with you,” or “God won’t abandon you, Sis. The Bible promises you He won’t.”

Last night was no different. I started thinking about how fast time is passing. That led to me thinking about how precious time with my family is. Then that led to me thinking my parents time left on earth is limited and I live so far away from them. And that led to me thinking I might be left all alone one day.

God has blessed me with a GREAT dad who loves me unconditionally, who I know has given me a small glimpse of just how much my heavenly Father adores and loves me. So, I called my daddy, the pastor, and asked him to pray for me about this for the fifteen millioneth time. My dad prayed that God would comfort me once again before I went to sleep.

I decided I would just read one section before going to sleep since I hadn’t finished all of chapter three from our book a few weeks ago. So I opened to pages 34-35 and read the section titled, “Watch God.” At the end of the section, Kay said, “Instead they hear His promise: ‘I will never leave you nor forsake you, so that you can boldly say, ‘The Lord is my helper, I will not fear.’”

Revolutionary! It’s so sweet to hear God speak loud and clear when you need it most. This section of chapter three spoke to so many areas of my life—my desire for a husband and family one day, my need to trust in His ways always (even when I don’t understand them), and my assurance that He will always be with me. I was finally able to go to sleep last night—in peace—praising God for these reminders.

Each girl in my small group is taking one verse a week and memorizing it. So the verse I’ll be memorizing in full this week? “God has said, ‘Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.’ So we say with confidence, ‘The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid’” (Hebrews 13:5-6).

Give me my daily bread

As a kid, I used to think Jesus' prayer for daily bread in Matthew 6:11 literally referred to three square meals a day. And it does. But I've come to realize that it goes beyond that.

I've been learning a lot about what my daily bread looks like. It crosses lines of activities in my life—training for the 1/2 marathon in 2009, waiting for what God has in store, dieting, relationships, etc.

And I've been trying to make a habit of getting up every morning and letting the first words out of my mouth be, "Give me what I need from You for today. I'm not going to dwell on yesterday or worry about tomorrow. I'm only focused on living for You today and understanding your grace is sufficient for right now."

I think we get so caught up in the "what's to come" that we waste time not living fully right now. It's reassuring to know that he is enough for each day. He gives me what I need to live for him in this moment. I can trust that he is truly in control and my past, present, and future is in his hands.

Growing older and, hopefully, wiser

I love where I'm at in life. I love my friends. I love where God has me right now. But lately, I've really been evaluating my life.

It's really been a combination of things: Will I ever get married? Are my decisions the smartest I can make for a healthy lifestyle? I'm 28 and single...why not just leave where I'm at and go live in Italy for a year? Where will I be in 10 years? How should I prepare for that?

I guess this all came about when I got a recent invitation to my 10-year high school reunion. It made me think about how far I've come...and ironically, what I've accomplished during that time. I wasted so many years on being the most popular and fitting into the A-crowd that I missed out on serving God completely...with my entire life. And now, I obsess sometimes with making sure I'm always on track with Him.

Today, my number one desire is to serve Him--wherever, whenever, and however He calls me to. But life reflection always causes me to take a hard look at where I'm at and what I'm doing. It causes me to ask myself: Am I doing everything I can to glorify the Lord with my life? Am I being too lazy to connect people to Jesus every day? What more could I be doing to impact the kingdom?

All good questions, but sometimes I don't have a clear answer...right now, today.

The biggest questions I've been pondering (probably like every other single girl my age) are: Am I ever going to get married? Or am I going to stay single for the rest of my life? If I'm going to remain single, how should I be stepping out and taking risks? If God is going to bring someone into my life, how do I need to be preparing to be the best wife and ministry partner to that person?

I go through periods where I ask these same questions over and over. This time, I've been doing some serious research in Scripture lately and lots of praying...seeking out answers (because that's what I do).

I decided to get some wise counsel from a few trusted spiritual mentors on this issue. I explained my situation and my desire to know clear answers as to which way I should be preparing myself to one person in particular. He gave me the best advice.

He said, "Kaylan, it doesn't matter which way you go. At all times, you should be serving God and pursuing Him...that's all that matters. That means you asking Him every day for your daily bread--not tomorrow's, not yesterday's--just today's and He'll supply. You're not promised tomorrow, so seek His kingdom first (meaning seek Him first) today, and all these things shall be added to your life."

I realized in that moment that I had lost sight of the most important thing...pursuing God...with everything I am and all that I do. I get so wrapped up in doing "things/activites" to please God that I forget to daily seek Him, spend time with Him, and give Him the praise He deserves. I forget that He just wants me, my time, and my devotion. And I forget to heed the advice of my Daddy: "Trust and obey, for there's no other way to be happy in Jesus..."

Lesson learned in August 2008: Pursue God passionately, ask Him to supply my needs in this moment, and know that He'll give me what I need today (and maybe some of those answers in His time).