When he opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven for about half an hour. And I saw the seven angels who stand before God, and to them were given seven trumpets. Another angel, who had a golden censer, came and stood at the altar. He was given much incense to offer, with the prayers of all the saints, on the golden altar before the throne. The smoke of the incense, together with the prayers of the saints, went up before God from the angel's hand.

--Revelation 8:1-4

     Take a moment—perhaps even half an hour—to be silent and envision this scene. Think about the seven angels. Look through their eyes. What do they behold? What are they gazing on? Let the Great Mystery settle in your heart. Behold it. Think about your present circumstances in the light of this reality.

     From my prayer this morning: I want to know You with myself out of the equation. I base too much of my knowledge of You on me…My relationship with You is one-sided. The conversation usually revolves around me and what is going on in my life. I am interested in what You have to say only as it applies to me. Forgive me this selfishness. Please purify my heart. Help me to lay myself aside as I come to know You…I don't just want to know You as You are in relation to me—that is so limiting!

I have thought a lot about who I am in relation to God. And I have thought a lot about who God is in relation to me. Surely He is a lot more than that. I want to know Him better. For His sake. Not just so I can figure out my life or my circumstances. Just to enjoy who He is.

     Preparations for this summer's ministry have begun to consume most of my days here in Mexico. The details—many things I "should" have been working on months ago—threaten to overwhelm me. I begin to dread the footsteps in the hall outside my office, the list of phone calls to make, and the emails that pile up in my inbox. I am trapped behind my desk. Others notice it. They hesitate to "bother" me. And then I become frustrated that I would ever make anyone feel as though they were a "bother" to me. I hate being unavailable. The messy corners of my life become harder to ignore. They crowd in on me and I feel claustrophobic. I need more breathing room. It feels hectic, even chaotic at times.

     And then I am reminded how already on several occasions this year I have seen God reveal His order out of what appeared to be chaos from my perspective.  

     These are the days that I must choose grace and peace. I have to fight for it. I have to consciously put the details in perspective every day. And I don't always succeed. I find myself abiding in the Lord inconsistently at best.

     But at the end of the day, life is good! I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. And I am more excited than ever about the ministry that is going to happen here this summer.

     I, like Martha, am prone to be distracted by all the preparations set before me. To become worried and bothered by them. To let self-pity creep in. Perseverance and endurance are not enough if they are not motivated by love (Rev. 2:2-4). So pray for me in the coming weeks that I find Jesus in the distractions—that I am not distracted from Him, but by Him. Pray that I remember that only one thing is needed. Pray that I operate with eternal perspective. Pray that when I feel like I am out of love, grace, time, or energy for others that I choose to tap into the limitless supply that is available to me. Pray that I surrender to being my sister's keeper. Pray that my thoughts are fixed on Jesus.

     And pray for the ministry that happens here this summer. Our two work crew leaders and an intern fly in on May 27th. Then the work crew team—nine high school students who will serve behind the scenes—arrive May 28th. Most of our staff will show up on June 2nd for training. And then our first project begins June 7^th. Pray that we engage one day at a time. Not running ahead of the Spirit or falling behind. Pray that we keep in step with Him. Pray for unity, for pure hearts, for servant's hearts. Pray that we return to our first love.

     Earlier this spring I found myself in a bit of a financial tight spot due to some poor planning on my part. As I watched Jesus bail me out and cover my debts once again, I began questioning for the ?th time whether or not I am just being frivolous with this whole living on support thing. If I have the capacity to go out and earn an honest living, is it irresponsible of me to remain dependant on the benevolence of others just so I can live out the dream that I believe God has put in my heart?

     It brought me to the point of crying out on a Tuesday morning, "I thank You for the peace that You have given me about my finances. Take away any false or sinful "peace" I have regarding my lifestyle or spending habits. I ask for fierce conviction when I spend Your money unfaithfully. I ask for fierce conviction regarding whether or not I should be living on support. Open my heart to the Truth. I thank You that Your Words are ever Spirit and Life. Let whatever You say to me create Your image in me. Help me to receive what You speak in deeper places—with more surrender."

     Moments later, I walked into my office and found three checks on my desk made out to me for a total of $575. A tear rolled down my cheek with a sensation more of fierce humility than of fierce conviction. I am overwhelmed every time God condescends to remind me that, yes, it is His will that I live this dream. And even when I am unfaithful, and I let my finances get messy, He remains faithful—and there is produced in me a renewed conviction to be faithful with everything that He does give me stewardship over.

     I am so thankful for each one of you who has supported me so generously and invested in my life in so many ways! My cup overflows. With all of the good and worthy causes in need of financial support, it is a wonder to me to be considered such. But then, God's economy is not like mine. He does like to choose the unlikely after all, and uses the foolish things to shame the wise. So I thank those of you who have been willing to give foolishly, to perhaps a "foolish" cause, so that I may "foolishly" waste my life on Jesus. Especially my parents! All of you encourage me, bless me, and spur me on towards love and good deeds—and perhaps even more foolish living.

     For the last week and a half I have had the opportunity to cover some English classes at two different schools in Matamoros. I have found myself both enjoying the teaching a little more that I would like to admit, and also a bit inadequate as I am untrained in education and have little time to prepare for the classes. I also find myself a bit weary—physically and mentally—from trying to juggle the classes with the increasing pace of preparations for summer at the Gateway.

     On Sunday evening I went out to visit Pastor Jesus Blanco Martinez and worship with his church,Fe, Victoria y Amor. I brought American youth groups there for four weeks over the summer while working as a project facilitator at the Gateway. Each week the Americans crowded into the tiny church to worship, usually spilling out into the street, and served alongside Pastor Jesus to reach out to his colonia.

     At Fe, Victoria y Amor the door of the church is always open because the borrowed, make-shift, three-sided church has no door. The congregation sits in plastic chairs on a concrete slab under a tin roof. The wall of the adjacent house makes one wall of the church and the other two walls are made of thin panels of wood. The humble structure is a jar of clay filled with the treasures of faith, love and open hearts.

     During the summer I noticed sparrows nesting in the block wall that the church shares with the house next door and I was reminded of Psalm 84:3, "Even the sparrow has found a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may have her young-- a place near your altar, O LORD Almighty, my King and my God." This church is truly a home for sparrows, and God has his eye on each one of them.

     During the first week of the summer, Pastor Jesus and his wife, Adrianna, showed us an empty lot two doors down from the church. They told us they were praying that God would give them the lot so they could move out of the space they were borrowing and construct a full building to house the church. Each week the groups that came to serve joined with them in that prayer, asking God to give them that particular lot. One American pastor even prophesied that they were going to get the lot for free. And I prayed, too. But I doubted.   

     One week I broke off with a few members of a youth group who felt led to pray for the land. They wanted to surround it, with someone standing in all four corners of the lot. But rain had flooded the colonias that week and left one of the back corners unreachable. Now, I didn't really believe that it was spiritually significant for someone to stand on every corner of the lot. And I couldn't ask one of the youth to risk the murky waters to get there. But I was a little bored. A little frustrated. A little spiritually dry. And so my stubborn streak and my need for adventure kicked in. I started wading through the filthy soup toward the back corner. About halfway out, what I thought would be an ankle deep venture became knee deep. I almost turned back. But then I thought, if I am already this far in, I might as well go stand on the stupid corner. So I did. And we prayed.

     But even after that I never really believed that Pastor Jesus' and his church were going to get that lot. I counted my stunt one of foolish, silly, pride—trying to make something happen that I didn't really believe in anyway. There are so many complications with buying land here in Mexico. There was something about going through a "syndicate" who works for the factory that owns the colonia. And then there was this name, Dr. Gabriel Martinez. They said he owned the land. But no one knew who he was or where he was.

     So last week, when a translator who was at the Gateway told me that Pastor Jesus' had gotten the land, I didn't believe it. I thought it must be another lot. Somewhere else. In the next colonia over. Not the one they wanted. Not the one I prayed for. So Sunday evening I went to visit my friends, to worship with them, and to see for myself. I worshiped with them in the familiar little building with no door. And then I stood with Pastor Jesus and Adrianna on the lot two doors down and I heard them tell how they finally got in touch with Gabriel Martinez, who had given the land to his dad. I heard how his dad came to the church and told Pastor Jesus that the lot was not for sale, but asked him what he wanted it for. I heard how when Pastor Jesus told him he wanted to build a church there, he said that they could have the land on one condition—they must use it only for a church. And I heard how he told Pastor Jesus that he was not going to tell him how much to pay for the lot, that Pastor Jesus was going to set the price for the land. And I saw the twinkle in Adrianna's eye that told me they believe he is going to give them the lot for free. And then, shaking my head, I believed.

     This summer we are going to again have groups working with Pastor Jesus and his church. Please pray that at this time next year God is still producing fruit for this body of believers from the ministry that happens with their American brothers and sisters over the summer. Thank God that He does use short term missions to produce long term fruit, both in the lives of those who go on the trips and in the communities where they minister. Thank Him for using this to reveal that it is not really about us anyway, it is not about how much faith fills our prayers, or how effective our strategies seem. It is just about joining with Him in what He is already doing and bearing witness to the works of His hand. Thank Him for using the foolish things to shame the wise, the weak things to shame the strong, and the things that are not to nullify the things that are. Thank Him for letting me see fruit! 

"Because you have seen Me, have you believed? Blessed are they who did not see, and yet believed."

Matthew 22:29

"Beware of the pleasant view of the Fatherhood of God—God is so kind and loving that of course He will forgive us…The only ground on which God can forgive us is the tremendous tragedy of the Cross of Christ; to put forgiveness on any other ground is unconscious blasphemy…Forgiveness, which is so easy for us to accept, cost the agony of Calvary. It is possible to take the forgiveness of sin, the gift of the Holy Ghost, and our sanctification with the simplicity of faith, and to forget at what enormous cost to God it was all made ours. Forgiveness is the divine miracle of grace; it cost God the Cross of Jesus Christ before He could forgive sin and remain a holy God…The revelation of God is that He cannot forgive; He would contradict His nature if He did…God's forgiveness is only natural in the supernatural domain. Compared with the miracle of the forgiveness of sin, the experience of sanctification is slight, sanctification is simply the marvelous expression of the forgiveness of sins in a human life, but the thing that awakens the deepest well of gratitude in a human being is that God has forgiven sin…When once you realize all that it cost God to forgive you, you will be held as in a vice, constrained by the love of God." -Oswald Chambers

     Just what, exactly, did it cost the Father to forgive my sin? I could spend eternity exploring the answer to this question and failing to successfully articulate the answer. In his book, Dangerous Wonder, Michael Yaconelli writes, "Alan Jones says that priests 'are not so much people with the answers as ones who guard the important questions and keep them alive.' The church exists to guard the important questions. Keep them alive. When the questions are kept alive, our souls have a chance of staying alive." This, I suspect, might be one of the important questions—what did it cost the Father to forgive my sin? Let us keep the question alive, and meditate on some aspect of that expense.

     Forgiving my sin cost the Father His very Son. My life has been filled with sincere Christ-followers who would sacrifice anything to obey His call—except perhaps their children. I am not a parent. I do not know what it is like to be a mother. And at this point in my life—believe it or not—I am, in fact, quite aware that I am neither a wife nor a mother. But thanks for the reminder, Mom. So confessing that, I proceed.

     In a Christian world where family values are everything, the sacrifice of a child is almost unfathomable. After all, they depend on us. But the idea that God may call us to sacrifice family, and, yes, even children for the sake of the Kingdom is not without Biblical precedent. And I am not referring here to a call to lead a single life. It is the call for Abraham to sacrifice Isaac (Genesis 22). It is the words of Jesus, "If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters—yes, even his own life—he cannot be my disciple." It is our heavenly Father sacrificing His only Son on my account.

     Is it possible that our families, our children even, can become idols? I cannot count the number of stories I have heard of parents making tremendous sacrifices for their children. But when it comes to sacrificing at our children's expense, that is where we balk. In America, we live for our children. If—one day, when I am a mother—God calls me to do something that means my children will get less of my money, my time, my resources—less of me—will I be willing? Will I sacrifice not just me, but "mine"? Will I trust God that if what He calls me to do leaves a void in my children's life, my family's life, that He will fill it with something better—something better than me—perhaps even Himself? How do I balance that with the ministers that we are so quick to scorn for neglecting their families? Perhaps it applies not just to our families and our children, but to our friends, to those we disciple, to everyone who "depends" on us, to all those we are eager to lay down our lives for—to those people for whom we long to be everything. Will I obey even when those very people may not understand—may hold it against me—may feel bitter about not getting whatever part of me to which they feel entitled?

     When will I stop trying to be all things to all people, finding that I always fall short, and just abide in Him and His all-sufficiency? Will I ever really believe that the very best thing I can do for my children or anyone else is to set the example of obedience to the call of Christ no matter what it costs, no matter the sacrifice, even when it means sacrificing the feelings of those I love the most? How can I not trust the One who did not spare His own Son, but gave Him up for us all, to graciously give me and them all things?

     Just what did it cost the Father to forgive my sin? It is essential that we keep this question alive. Else we may begin to think about everything that we have earned, the vacations we deserve, the gratitude that is our due. We may forget that the only thing that has ever been owed to us is death. If we worked hard, persevered, endured hardships, and did our good deeds to earn spiritual retirement or a pat on the back—rather than as the only appropriate response to His extravagant love—then it was all for nothing (Rev. 2:1-5). Let us not forget our first love, lest we be tempted to call in our debtors and risk having our own debt called in (Matthew 18:21-35).

What did it cost the Father to forgive your sin? Keep the question alive…

     Two weeks ago today, the Gateway was swarming with people. Over 300 participants and staff were gathered on the property for the final day of ministry in Johnson's Ferry Baptist Church's annual visit to Matamoros, Mexico. We spent weeks preparing for the arrival of the group from Marietta, Ga. and we worked to put the Gateway back in order after they left. For those of us who live here year-round, it can be easy to feel that they intrude on our solitude and overrun our home. But then we remember that this is, in fact, why we are here. It is why the Gateway exists—to host the mission teams who have come to serve the people of Matamoros who have grown so dear to us. We are here to serve and to extend a gracious welcome to those who bring so much Life here.

     The Kingdom is indeed here, if we but have eyes to see it. The groups that pass through the Gateway come in wide variety. They arrive with varying expectations, perspectives, and motivations. The temptation is to despise some of them for their "wrong" view of missions, their poor approach to evangelism, their "need" for a particular level of creature comforts. But again we remember that this is why we are here: to expose, to challenge, to look with compassion on the multitudes who sometimes arrive harassed and helpless like sheep without a shepherd. Life is hard for American teenagers. The battle for their hearts wages fiercely. Jesus told His followers that the Kingdom was in their midst (Luke 17:20-21). And so as the groups come in and go out we pray that the reign of Jesus expands not just through their ministry, but in their hearts.

     I firmly believe that God has a specific and divine interest in every individual who steps on property. When I see a sea of faces, He knows the number of hairs on each head. The Gateway became a bustling hive during the week that JFBC was on property—except for just after breakfast when a singular, quiet spell descended. I would look across the property and see the landscape dotted with colorful t-shirts. They filled the sidewalk that I walked to the office. And my heart came a little undone by the prospect that each one was, or at least might be, engaged with the Living God. Perhaps each heart was seeking Him. Each ear listening for His voice. Surely He would be drawn to that. To hundreds of hearts turned to Him in the same place, in the same moment.

     It is in this barren place that people step away from all that is familiar, from all their distractions, and let God step into the void. And perhaps that is why so many people are drawn to return to the Gateway year after year and why so many of us who live here have fallen in love with this place. Thousands of American youth and adults have had intimate encounters with the Living God on this very property—many hearing His voice for the first time. It is hallowed because in the midst of our brokenness, our lack of understanding and our flawed attempts at ministry, God has chosen to meet with us here. He graces us with His Presence and He fills the voids.

     Yesterday I was talking with Juan Jose, a good friend who often works as a translator with our projects. He said it was important to him that things go well here at the Gateway. He said it is a holy place. "I recharge my batteries here," he said. Juan compared it to Bethel, where Jacob saw angels ascending and descending on a ladder reaching to heaven, and Peniel, where Jacob wrestled with God—saw Him face to face and yet his life was preserved. I, too, believe that God's glory rests here in a special way—but it is mysterious to me. And who can stand under the weight of His glory? When the glory of God comes to rest on a person, often they are broken—like Jacob's hip. And when things break curiously here at the Gateway, I wonder whether it is from the pressure of 300 people or the weight of His glory (II Cor. 4:16-18). Scripture tells us that where there is brokenness, God is near (Psalm 34:18).

     The Kingdom is advancing here. Pray for us as we engage in the battle for the hearts of the groups we lead, for the Mexicans to whom we minister, for our own hearts, and for His glory.

Then Jacob awoke from his sleep and said, "Surely the Lord is in this place, and I did not know it." He was afraid and said, "How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven."

Genesis 28:16-17

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Matthew 5:3

     Sitting in church on Sunday, I labeled this verse in my Bible as the most hopeful verse in Scripture. And so it has been often, in my experience. Here in Mexico my nearly automatic response to the frequent, friendly inquiry, "Como estas?" (How are you?), has become "Bendecida"—blessed. Last week, however, the question more often drew an uncertain and unconvincing "Bien" (good) from my heavy heart. "No bendecida?" (Not blessed?), my Mexican friends would press, probably due more to the clouds in my eyes than the word choice. And I wished that I was better at concealing the rawness of my heart and at faking the smiling, cheerful response they have come to expect.

     And then Sunday I remembered that I didn't have to fake it. I heard the voice of Jesus identifying the truly blessed on a mountainside 2,000 years ago—and he was pointing out the spiritually impoverished, the mournful, the hungry, the thirsty, and the persecuted. These, I heard Him say, are the blessed, and yes, anne, that means there is hope for you, too.  

     So, then, it is the moments when I am most convinced of my own inadequacy, most aware of my own desperate need, most excruciatingly conscious that I am a spiritual destitute and that even all of my morality is inherently flawed—ahh, it is then that I am truly blessed. It is then that I can enter the Kingdom and begin to possess it. The Kingdom where a widow's copper coin is worth more than the gifts of the rich and where it is only by celebrating a prodigal's penniless return home that a brother can recognize the riches that have been his all along. It is when I give out of my poverty and not out of my wealth that my gift becomes precious. It is when I understand I have nothing to offer that I realize the full worth of all I have access to.

     And so today, and last week, and for the last month, and always in this life, I am blessed. And I have hope. For if I know anything at all, I know that my spirit lives below the poverty line, that it is deprived far too often of its basic necessities—that it is starving. And the gnawing hunger keeps me coming for the Bread of Life (John 6:35), from whom I never go away hungry. And when I seek His Kingdom first, then I do not lack for anything else (Matthew 6:33).

     I pray that we are so blessed that we do not fall under the rebuke of Revelation 3:17-18, "You say, 'I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.' But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked. I counsel you to buy from me gold refined in the fire, so you can become rich; and white clothes to wear, so you can cover your shameful nakedness; and salve to put on your eyes, so you can see." And when we are so rebuked—when like the emperor we realize that we were blinded by the lie and we stand naked and exposed—I pray that we feel His love in it (Rev. 3:19). I pray that we will not cling to our curses as though they were blessings, nor shun our blessings as though they are curses. I pray that we remember that riches are found in poverty and strength is found in weakness.

     "The poor in spirit are those who are truly aware of their sin and truly understand the hopelessness of their situation. It is the poor in spirit who are hungriest for God. They are hungry for God as the poor of this world are hungry for food. Being poor in spirit is not a temporary state." -Bob Beckwith   

     When I came to Mexico it was not to save lost souls. I came to save my own soul. And it is surely being saved—even or especially from myself. Bonds are being cut. Death comes to that which needs to die, promising new life in its wake. And I am reminded that freedom is often won on a battlefield and that the battle is not always pretty, that salvation was purchased by the blood of the cross.

     The last month and a half has been immensely challenging. I have struggled on several fronts. But I believe it has been a good struggle. A purposeful struggle. In the beginning, I forgot who I am and why I am here (not here in Mexico—but here on earth). Why this life? Why do I live and breathe and walk this earth? What is the point of all this living? Why can't I be with Jesus now? All questions I have asked before, but I either could not remember the answers, or the old answers no longer satisfied.

     Emotions swarmed in truly unfamiliar territory. Where I have always entered life head first, suddenly I was entering heart first and I could not process it. I felt like I was losing my mind. I seriously considered shaving my head for about 24 hours.  God told me to light up the darkness, but when darkness came close to home I felt as though my light was shrinking before it. I longed to retreat into the light. I feared being stained by the darkness. I felt isolated in it. I wrestled with answering God's call to confront darkness and the possibility of being influenced by it.

     I value the opinions of others too highly. I define myself by what they think of me. I seek their approval rather than their best interest.  I completely identified with a statement in an email from a close friend, "I felt overwhelmingly like I am absolutely too much, and yet never going to be enough at the same time." At one point I wrote,"I am tired of failing. I feel more selfish and prideful than ever before and therefore I feel like a worse person. However I have a sneaking suspicion that I am not actually a worse person, but that I am simply realizing my own depravity. Therefore I feel less lovely and I choose not to let God love me in my unloveliness. And thus I struggle." I kept trying to love others in their unloveliness without letting God love me in mine. I feel inadequate, insecure. I have nothing to offer.

     I have been confused. I lack understanding. I have been uncertain of everything but God. And that is where the light breaks in—because I have been certain of God, unlike in the last season of significant struggle in my life. Though I am certain only of Him, that makes all the difference. Until probably a year and a half ago, I don't think I was ever thankful for life in a real sense. At some level I viewed it as something that was forced upon me that I must simply make the best of. Somewhere in the depths I resented that I was given no say in the matter of my existence and yet I was still accountable for it, for finding and believing Truth—which seemed so far off and inscrutable. But now, even in the midst of struggle, confusion, and darkness, I find that my heart is screaming thankfulness for an opportunity to live this life. I am thankful, simply for the opportunity to exist in this world, for the chance to experience it with all five senses, to know its beauty and its pain, and above all to know Jesus. Life has become so precious, whatever it brings, in a way that I cannot explain. Now nothing seems so dreadful as being without existence at all, without any opportunity of ever encountering Him in His glory, His splendor, His redemption, His awfulness, His love.

     Discovering that God had birthed such gratitude in my heart, gratitude that remained not just in 2007—a year so full of light—but also in a season of darkness, inspired hope. When life ceased to make sense, I was reminded that it is not supposed to make sense for I was not made for this world. And that made sense. Though I do not know the purpose of the struggle, I know that there is purpose. And that is enough.  

     Over and over again, I have seen God's strength being made perfect in my weakness. In a week where I've never felt pulled in so many directions or had so many distractions in so many areas of my life, I got to lead the best missions project that I've ever been a part of with Adventures in Missions. I was touched by the character of a group of college students from Samford University and richly encouraged by the transformation occurring in them and through them as they helped a family renovate their home into a drug rehab, built a relationship with Francisca, a young pregnant woman in the local prison, and visited with Roberto, a lonely aging alcoholic, who wept as we shared scriptures with him. After missing several of my weekly visits with Carmen, my friend in the Ejido with whom I study the Bible, I went to her house for dinner and heard her husband talking about God for the first time. In the midst of my brokenness, others see Jesus in me. He reveals Himself. I discover how little really depends on me.

     After running only two or three times in February, I was reminded, once again, that running is a gift that God has given me to deal with and process this life. That running keeps my mental health in balance in a way that medicine does for others. That if I do not take my medicine—enjoy the gift of running—then I am no good for others.