To Be Continued

It is a new season, a new adventure.  With Jesus, always a new adventure! 
As He continues to lead, I continue to write.  Now, I will be writing using a different format.  You can click here to continue to my new blog, which picks up right where Facing Midian left off, or you can go directly to the site using this link:

www.rhythmsofcourage.wordpress.com

Dios contigo,
Jordan

Seeing.

I heard him before I saw him.  He was one of three small boys that burst into the room, laughing, chattering loudly in Spanish, and overflowing with energy.  His boots clomped loudly as he ran, echoing off the walls.  They were faded rubber boots with dinosaurs printed all over them, still mud-stained from this morning's rain and all the rainy mornings before.  He grabbed a juice box and a small bag of chips, still conversing loudly with his friends.  Our eyes met for a moment -- mine wide with the caution and curiosity of a newcomer, his bright and sparkling with mischief.  He cracked a grin at the group of gringos in his school cafeteria, then in a flash was dashing out the door, his boots echoing clomp-clomp-clomp as he and his friends ran back to their classroom.  

Boots and all his energy had certainly made an impression on me.  He is very small -- I doubt he will be in my third grade classroom.  I wondered how I would respond to him if he were . . . but I shrugged it off and continued with our tour of the school where we would be student teaching for the month of January.  Belize had enchanted me from the start, and it felt wonderfully familiar.  The Lord was letting me get my feet wet in the field He is calling me to.  That morning, I was escorted to my classroom and was introduced to my wonderful cooperating teacher and the third grade class.  Their eager smiles and whispers made my heart skip.  

Later that day, we began our field placements, and I returned to that third grade classroom for observation.  At first it was difficult to tell the students apart, but I knew it wouldn't be long before I could.  Each one had a stand-out personality, plus more energy than I've seen in a year!  

It was in those first few minutes that I saw faded dinosaur boots suspended just a few inches off the floor, and their owner squirming in his desk chair, waving his arm wildly and calling out to the teacher.  

I didn't know what to make of Boots.  I watched him closely that day, wondering where in the world he got his energy, feeling unsure about his behavior in the classroom, and processing how the month would go knowing that my classroom dynamic would include the antics of this small boy.  When I taught my lessons, how could I reach him?  How would I inspire him to listen?  Could I get him to behave?  

After school, I shared my questions with my cooperating teacher, who gave me the greatest gift he could possibly give.  

The gift of seeing.

Boots, my teacher explained, was a broken little boy who was hurting over some painful instability at home.  His behavior in the classroom was the natural outflow of that.  Because home was sometimes unstable, Boots was building walls to protect himself.  He was in self-preservation mode.  Some children in these situations withdraw and avoid interactions with people.  Boots, however, was putting up the tough-guy front.  He was small, but he was definitely king of the mountain.  

Boots filled my mind all night.  When I returned to school the next day, I cracked a smile as he walked in.  I'm onto you, Boots, I thought.  Although his walls had almost fooled me the day before -- all I noticed were his behavior and his volume -- it was as if those walls were now made of glass, and I could see right through them.  Now, everything Boots did or said looked and sounded different to me.  I could see him though the glass.  

What I began to see was beautiful.  Boots had a smile that could bring sunshine into the darkest room.  He was eager to please, and he craved approval from his peers as well as from his teacher -- and me.  He seemed very confident in himself, yet his incessant need for affirmation suggested otherwise.  I found myself fascinated by him, and I felt like the Lord was placing a special stubbornness in my heart for him -- determination to see Boots through the end of the month and love on him the way he obviously needed to be loved.  Determination to see past his brokenness and to see the real boy inside.
He was on my radar, so to speak.  I noticed every time he moved or switched seats or ran out of the room or sharpened his pencil or grabbed his friend's homework and hid it.  I was beginning to see.

Time for a language arts lesson.  I love language arts, but as I scanned the room I noticed Boots' shoulders slump a little.  As he sullenly grabbed his pencil and began copying the header onto his paper, his face settled into thundercloud mode.  As my cooperating teacher taught the lesson, I moved around the room, observing students' work and kneeling to assist them as needed.  When I made my way to Boots, he glanced up at me, blinked hard, and said two words:
"I cannot."
"Sure you can!"
"No.  I no read.  You help me."

A pang hit my heart, hard.  I have no idea what happened after that.  All I know is that Boots and I dove into that worksheet with a fervor I've rarely felt.  We sounded out letters, synced words with their meanings, and formed complete sentences on paper.  
"Your handwriting es muy bien," I remarked.  
Boots was unusually attentive while I worked with him, concentrating hard and putting forth great effort.  I noticed how easily he could accomplish his work if I stayed there and spent time coaching him through it.  If he ever thought I would leave him (several other students were calling for me to come check their work), he would lose focus and flounder in a panic.  I sensed the importance of my staying there, and I assured him I wouldn't leave until he was finished.  
 
Just before the bell, he scratched out his last word and slowly made his final period.  He looked at me for further direction and seemed surprised that I was grinning.  "You're done!" I said.  "Great work!"  I moved in a little closer so only he could hear me.  "I knew you could do it.  You worked really hard, and you should be very proud of yourself.  Estoy muy orgullosa de ti."  
Boots sat back in his chair as though exhausted from the effort, but his face glowed with pride.  We locked eyes again, and I knew that some sort of deeper victory had been won that day.  

For the remaining weeks, Boots and I were close.  He brought me bracelets and stickers, drew me pictures, and ate lunch with me during lunch hour.  I drew him pictures too, and played fútbol with him and his friends after school.  I teased him, and he would dish it right back to me.  I found that this pint-sized third grader had a stubborn streak that almost surpassed mine (this made for some interesting interactions!).  On the day I brought stickers to school for the students and made a rule that each student could have one sticker, he somehow walked home with three.  I FaceTimed my mom back in the United States to tell her that story, and we couldn't stop laughing.  There was just something about this boy.  

That's why leaving was so painful.

He cried -- hard.  Perhaps something had happened at recess to upset him, but I wondered if his tears had more to do with his realization that I was leaving.  For my students' sakes I acted as normally as possible, and we successfully kept the atmosphere cheerful and celebratory.  My tears would come later.  
I had all the students sign a t-shirt so I could take their signatures with me back home.  Each student eagerly participated and drew hearts and flowers alongside their name, but Boots refused to sign for quite a while.  I assured Boots that he didn't need to sign the shirt if he didn't want to.  I would love to have his handwriting, but I would not make him do it.  

After a good while, Boots came up to me quietly and asked for the marker.  He sniffed, rubbed his eyes, and then bent over the white fabric and labored over his name in large letters.  With each letter, I felt the significance of the moment.  Boots was letting me go.  
When he had formed the final letter of his name, he straightened and flashed that familiar, mischievous smile.  Later that day I gave notes to each of the students and gave them hugs as they left school.  Boots was one of the last to leave, and as he clomped over to me, his cocky smile was still intact.  
"Miss!  Miss Jordan!  You -- give me -- letter?"
"Sí, por supesto!" Yes, of course, I said, kneeling to give him a hug.  When we pulled away, he blinked at me a few times, then dashed out the door, flashing a grin at me over his shoulder as he ran into the field to play fútbol with his friends.  His large backpack smacked his small back as he ran out into the sunshine. 

My brave boy.  My Boots.

The gifts of God sometimes come in pint-sized packages.  This little boy and his story remain etched in my heart.  I try not to think that I may never see him again . . . and I pray for him.  For his heart.  For his family.  For his future.  I dream about what he could be, about the plans God has for his life.  His story is a familiar one; broken people are all around us.  Walls have been erected everywhere; masks are worn to conceal the pain inside.  But through Boots, God gave me a gift that I will carry with me wherever I go.  The ability to reach beyond those walls.  The care and determination to truly know what lies beneath those masks.

The gift of seeing.

"Espero"

Native English-speakers use so many words.  Millions of them.  We have formal and slang words. We often have several different words to describe the same emotion or object. We even invent words -- and use them (YOLO, bae -- and so on)!  But for all our words, I still occasionally find that even my complex English can fall to its knees in the wake of the simplest word spoken in another language. 

Like tonight.

For awhile now, I have been learning Spanish as I walk forward into preparation for international work and ministry, which I believe God is calling me to do with my life. (For more on how that came about, click here.) 
Spanish is a beautiful language.  It is complex yet gracefully simple.  I am now at the point where I can converse [very simply] with native speakers (who are remarkably patient with me), and few things give me more joy.  
Because I am learning, my brain hears a string of Spanish words and then whirrs into action, hastily calculating, translating, and rearranging the Spanish words until they make sense to me in English.  When I understand the meaning in English, I then re-arrange, re-translate, and "mentally file" the Spanish phrase -- successfully learned.  (Learning is exhausting sometimes.)  

However, sometimes it takes just one word to stop me in my tracks.

Tonight I was listening to worship in Spanish, and I was thrilled by how easily and quickly my mind was recognizing and understanding the words.  I felt such freedom to worship in my new second language!  
The music continued, "Espero aqui . . . ."
My brain snagged, and the mental hole ripped open wider and wider as I continued to translate the rest of the sentence, but simultaneously remain fixated on that one word.

Espero.  

Something wasn't quite right.  I knew that word, didn't I?  I quickly identified what the problem was.  Why my brain couldn't translate it immediately.

It has more than one meaning.         

I don't often encounter Spanish words that have more than one meaning (as is common in English).  Maybe it's because I'm not that advanced yet, but this word threw me for a loop.  

Espero is the I-form of the verb Esperar, which means, "to wait."  It also means, "to hope."  
I wasn't sure whether to translate "espero" as "I wait", or "I hope".  And just like that, I felt God smile in my heart.  Exactly, He seemed to say.

English-speakers have differentiated between the two words, giving them not only different names but dissimilar meanings and associations.  But in Spanish, the two actions are represented by one word, one concept.  If I am waiting for God to move, Espero.  If I am hoping for God to move, Espero.  

In most cases, waiting is a form of hoping.  And sometimes, hoping does mean waiting.  I know for a fact that God is calling me to begin treating waiting and hoping as the same verb.  As Esperar.

This summer, a friend told me that there is little point in "trusting God" if hope is not attached to that trust.  Hopeless "trust" is really just "resignation" wearing a Christian mask.  How often I have succumbed to resignation in my faith-walk, convinced that God might show Himself good in my life someday, but until then, I couldn't expect a life of abundance or joyful intimacy with God -- or a faith that "worked."   Sometimes I find it ironic that many Christians feel the same way, yet spend their whole lives trying to convince others to adopt a faith that isn't even "working" for them! 
Has life dealt you some blows?  Do you owe the enemy a few?  I sure do.  And I want to hit him hard when I do.  This leads me to ask you a few questions that I've already asked myself:

1.  Do you believe God is good?
2.  Do you believe that God's heart toward you is good?
3.  Do you believe that God will be good . . . to you?
4.  Do you believe that God will do what He says He will do?

God hasn't just told us that we can trust Him.  He's shown us.  I don't have to look far to know with conviction that God can take the ugliest mess, the most searing pain, and the deepest darkness . . . and completely transform them into radiant beauty, gentle wisdom, and triumphant healing.  This God can raise hope from the ashes of shattered dreams.  He can make clear roadways where there appear to be only brick walls.  He can bring monsoon rains to desert souls, and suddenly, tangibly fulfill promises long-awaited.  This God can most definitely be trusted.  When He speaks a word, He will bring it about. 

If you are in a waiting season, how would you characterize your waiting?  Do you wait with resignation?  Do you wait with bitterness or despair?  Would you dare to say, "I wait with hope?"  Do you trust Him enough to go before Him, nestle into His everlasting arms, and whisper, "Espero"?

I have decided that life without hope in God is no life at all.  With God's help to keep my heart strong during seasons of waiting, I will continue to say, "¡Espero!"  May He breathe hope into you as well.

Dios contigo. <3

When Grace Spoke

Outside my window right now, storm clouds are hovering and wind is combing the tangles out of the tree branches.  But no rain.  Perhaps it is too warm outside, and the rain is evaporating before it hits the ground.  I can't help wondering, however, what the earth would look like if the clouds released their fury and the storm was set at liberty.

The thirsty ground would receive water,
The wind would clean the air,
The old would pass and the new would come.

I returned home for the summer without much of an agenda, but knowing my God definitely has one.  He promised that He would give me Himself, and that He was all I needed.  Sounds like a beautiful storm, if you ask me!  Every day so far I have eagerly anticipated the restorative work He has promised to do.
So has the rain come?  Has the wind come to usher out the old and bring in the new?
Not just yet.  

Why not?  I was asking that question until today.  

Last summer, I learned a lot about myself, including that I have tendencies to strive for perfection, to strive for "progress."  Long-term trusting with few results wears down my resolve to trust, and I lapse into striving.  My wound-up-tight heart condemns my lack of progress and grows more and more convinced that God is waiting on me to get my act together before He comes in and does His restorative work.  

God surprised me today.  I sat down to spend time with Him, and five minutes in, I could once again sense that nothing was going to happen.  I felt sort of disgusted until God spoke to my heart.

Will you let Me?
Will you let Me heal you?  
Will you let Me pursue your heart?
Will you let Me restore you and bring abundance?
I want to do this for you.
Will you let Me?

My impulse was to hurriedly say, "Yes, of course, God -- I've been waiting for You to do it!"

Will you let Me?

"God, of course -- yes.  Haven't I been waiting for --"

Will you LET Me?

It took a minute or two, but it finally dawned on me.  The storm has been hovering over my head the whole time.  The wind has been brushing against me like a lovely invitation.  But I haven't given the rain permission to fall.  I've been too busy holding a leaky gardening hose over the soil of my heart, trying to "help God along" and "get my act together" so it can finally rain for real.

The rain has been right above my head the whole time, but I was too busy striving . . . striving . . . .

I looked down at the page.  Psalm 46:10, "Cease striving and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations; I will be exalted in the earth."

The whisper again,
I want to do this for you.  
Cease striving . . . and let Me.

God never operates through guilt, manipulation, or stress.  He never demands that a heart "get its act together" before He moves.  All He requires is a heart that yields to His touch and that chooses to rest in grace, not trying to "accomplish" anything or trying to "clean itself up" before presenting itself to Him.  Not trying to "help Him along" so that the healing can come faster.

Grace speaks soothingly to the red-faced, crying child and whispers, It's okay.
Grace whispers, I know.
It mattered.
It matters.
You're safe now.  

When grace calms that angst-ridden, weeping child (look into the face of that child . . . doesn't he or she look rather familiar?  Could it be you?), that child can look up through bleary eyes and see Love. 

Grace allows you to admit that you've taken some hits on the battlefield.  Grace gives you the ability to simply lie on the stretcher and let the Physician restore what's been damaged.  Grace gives you the freedom to cry, to breathe, to rest, to laugh, to love, to dance, to be.  And somewhere along the way, as you danced with Jesus and soaked up the lavish love He rained upon you, you realize the healing came when you weren't even aware.       
  
For the heart that strives: Grace.
For the heart that grieves: Grace.
For the heart that rushes ahead in excitement and stumbles: Grace.
For the heart that wanders and doubts: Grace.
For my heart; for your heart.

Breathe in, breathe out: Grace.

(P.S. Outside my window, it's raining now.)

Where My Trust is Without Borders

I kept as quiet as possible so no one could hear me, and I hid behind a wall so no one could see me.  But I wasn't the only one who saw my tears splashing the bathroom floor at school.

A dream shattered.  Well, not shattered, really.  But delayed.  Delays can be shattering sometimes.
"God, what now?  Did you hear her?  At least two more years, and maybe more!  All I was trying to do was obey You . . . . I never even wanted this in the first place . . . . I said yes to this crazy idea just because You told me to.  Two more years . . . ."

But like I said, I wasn't the only person who noticed my tears splotching the floor of the ladies' room at school on October 16th, 2013.

That Voice I've come to know so well, that loving, gentle nudge in my spirit, spoke.

I've got this.

Five Minutes Earlier

At the beginning of the semester, my program director at school had told me that in my current early childhood education track, I would be qualified to teach internationally (which is what I believe God is now leading me to do as of this summer, and I'm walking forward obediently in that, trusting and hoping).  However, after I brought her some more information about the schools I was researching in other countries, and what those schools require of their teachers, she shook her head.

This degree will not be sufficient . . . you will need extra certification . . . you're looking at two more years of school at least, and after that, who knows . . . . Jordan, you are Not Qualified.

It seems ironic.  Not qualified to obey God.  I believe that if God wants you to do something, He qualifies you to do it.  But sometimes, obeying God means seeking extra training in the area to which He's called you.  Hiding in the bathroom at school, I had to face my new reality: transferring was now my only option.  I'd spent three years at that community college, and they had been three of the darkest and most challenging years of my life -- how tempting in that moment to feel like it had all been wasted.

Where Trust is Without Borders

I was broken.  The news about my degree only added insult to injury, because there were several other personal crises that were causing me extreme anguish at that time.  Please give me grace for not going into the details; the reason I mention them is because you can only truly see the breathtaking power of my God if you first understand that there was an incredible amount of private suffering in my life.

In that week (and many weeks since), I spent hours surrendering, praying for guidance, and searching the Bible.  In Isaiah, I kept coming across verses like these:

"Behold, the former things have come to pass; now I declare new things; before they spring forth I proclaim them to you." -Isaiah 42:9

"I will lead the blind by a way they do not know; in paths they have not known I will guide them.  I will turn the darkness before them into light, the rough places into level ground.  These are the things I do, and I will not leave them undone." -Isaiah 42:16

"Do not call to mind the former things, or ponder things of the past.  Behold, I will do something new!  Now it will spring forth; will you not be aware of it?  I will even make a roadway in the wilderness, rivers in the desert." -Isaiah 43:18-19

"You have heard; look at all this.  And you, will you not declare it?  I proclaim to you new things from this time, even hidden things which you have not known." -Isaiah 48:6

I sensed God was up to something, and I could feel anticipation mounting.  My response was to keep praying, and to worship.  The lyrics to "Oceans" by Hillsong United became my prayer:

Spirit, lead me where my trust is without borders,
Let me walk upon the waters
Wherever You would call me.
Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander,
And my faith will be made stronger
In the presence of my Savior.

And then . . .

New Things

Here is something I discovered: those lyrics are scary.  And if you truly make them your prayer and mean it with all your heart, watch out.  Your life will flip upside down.  Think about it: what are we  really asking?  "Lord, whatever You call me to do, or whatever situation You call me into, let it be that I would have to walk on water in order to follow You.  Let it defy rationality.  Let it defy reasoning.  Let it defy all other voices that are telling me I will drown.  And while You're at it, take me deeper than what is humanly possible into whatever it is You have for me."

Scary prayers.  Prayers that God answers.

My mom and I began searching for Christian universities that had my major.  We prayed over each step and narrowed the list down to six.  From that point, my mom told me to research each of the six on my own and draw my own conclusions (she would do the same), and then we would compare notes.

I got online and researched each university.  For five of the six, I found something that gave me a strong red flag -- a dealbreaker.  Sometimes the program was a wrong fit; sometimes it was something about the university itself.  But in the end, there was only one university that I had complete peace about; the only one whose program seemed incredibly tailor-fit for me; and ironically, the one I'd been advised to look into ever since this summer on The Experience (I didn't think anything of it at the time because I thought I would get all the training I needed at my community college)!  It seemed . . . too perfect.  I honestly felt frustrated.
I told my mom about my results.  "Maybe I'm biased because I was told to look into this particular university this summer.  But I looked at all six and have been praying so hard . . . this is the only one I still feel complete peace about."
I did not expect my mom to say that she had come to the same conclusion.

I called Mount Vernon Nazarene University that day.

One Word That Snowballed

Through conversations with the wonderful staff at MVNU, scripture, and prayer, God confirmed to me several times that He wanted me to transfer to MVNU, and at first that was so exciting!  As November wore on, however, the newness wore off, my personal suffering remained, and I assumed that I had a long road still ahead for me in Michigan.  God is never in a hurry, right?

I dully continued with my plans to remain at my community college, graduate in May with a degree that would do me no good (according to my program director), and then transfer to MVNU next fall, if I were to be accepted.  Thinking about my certain future (which was so in contrast with my old dream of graduating in May and then jumping right into international work) sucked the last flicker of life out of my already broken spirit.  But I was resolved to say YES to whatever God told me to do.  If He wanted me to finish here and then transfer for 2-3 more years, I would do it because I loved Him and wanted to obey Him.  My purpose in life is to bring Him glory, and if He would be glorified through this, then so be it.

One morning I was up before dawn for work and was reading my Bible, troubled, as usual, by the school situation.  My mind wandered for a few minutes, and as it did, one word suddenly dropped into my mind, completely unexpected and uninvited.

February.

I knew exactly what that meant, and I immediately recoiled. "No, God!  I can't drop everything and transfer in February!  I can't just leave my job.  I can't just leave Michigan after this semester.  I only have one semester left.  Don't You want me to do things the long way?  No, not February.  I know it's my imagination." I quickly dropped the subject and left for work.
But the word remained burned in my mind.  It drove me crazy!  I dreaded the thought of leaving my job, knowing it would put my boss in a very tough position.

My advisor at MVNU told me that if I chose Mount Vernon as the place to continue my education, it would make more sense financially for me to transfer for the spring semester, instead of finishing my degree at my community college and then having to re-take the student teaching practicum.
"Okay," I said slowly, "so when does the spring semester start?"
"February," he replied.

Suddenly, life became a whirlwind.  Right around that time, God led me to a story in the Old Testament that blatantly confirmed that I was to leave now instead of waiting.  Didn't He realize what He was asking me to do?  Leave my financial security and do something crazy, something that could cause people to make incorrect judgements about me or my motives?  I wasn't even accepted by Mount Vernon yet!

And now the words of my earnest prayer came back to me as a gentle but firm reminder:
Spirit, lead me where my trust is without borders,
Let me walk upon the waters
Wherever You would call me . . . .

Walking on Water

Although I had a pretty good idea that the answer was YES to Mount Vernon and YES to February, I still registered for my last semester of classes at my community college and pressed forward with the paperwork for those classes.  The deadline to submit the paperwork was just before Thanksgiving, and as that day approached, the Lord convicted me that I was arranging a Plan B just in case He didn't come through!

The day of the deadline arrived.  All morning at work, I felt Him asking in my spirit, Do you trust Me enough to let go of your Plan B?
My answer had to be YES.  I decided not to submit my paperwork for next semester at the community college.  A radical decision.  Now I was really throwing myself on God in trusting dependence.

Only a few hours later, my phone rang.  I was officially accepted to Mount Vernon as a transfer student for February 2014!

Once I'd decided to obey, give two months' notice at my job, and put things in motion with Mount Vernon, the attacks began.  The enemy ruthlessly opposed the process and my efforts, from intense and ongoing guilt trips, to important documents getting lost in the mail, to all sorts of hangups and delays and discouraging hiccups with the application and admissions process at MVNU.  The moment the financial staff was trying to print out my financial statement, the printer suddenly broke.  They got on the phone with me and said, "Wow, it's just one thing after another with you!"
My family and I couldn't help but laugh.  The enemy was showing his hand -- his attacks were so obvious.  We were constantly in prayer, and God kept saying yes to Mount Vernon and yes to February.  The confirmations poured in, even to Christmastime and beyond -- to the time of this writing, in fact!  We knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was in His will.  These setbacks just told me that the enemy really, really doesn't want me to go.

Can I just stop for a second and rejoice?  How cool is this??

But life wasn't a big party.  The attack was heavy, and I was still suffering under ongoing problems.  I sometimes gave into worry, mostly about my boss and the students at our preschool.  She had no one to replace me, and if she could not replace me by my last day of work (January 24th), she would have to close the school.  I wrestled with the temptation to feel guilty about following God and leaving her in a lurch -- it seemed selfish.  However, God reminded me what He'd told me the day I cried in the bathroom at college: I've got this.
If God's really got this, He's got ALL of it.  And I had to obey Him regardless of the cost.  I chose to trust, get out of the boat, and attempt walking on water.  I pressed forward with my plans, prayed for His provision, and trusted Him to provide.

So What Happened?

Guess what?  If God calls you to get out of the boat and walk on the water toward Him, you will be able to walk on the water. 
Just about two weeks ago, God provided my boss with a replacement for me!  He is also answering my prayers to take care of my boss and the program by providing all these snow days so she can get more work done as she transitions her new assistant into the program.  God is continuing to provide for other personal crises I've been dealing with.  He even miraculously intervened in (and completely reversed) an ongoing situation of persecution I'd been experiencing!

But even if none of that had happened, even if none of my prayers had been answered and God hadn't started doing crazy things and showing His hand left and right . . . I don't think it would matter.

Because now I know my God better than I ever have.  I know who I am in Him; I know His heart toward me.  And that is the true victory.

So what do I have to say about God now?  Well, first of all, we serve a God of the eleventh hour!  And we serve a God who is completely sovereign, infinitely wise, and perfect in love.  If He weren't these things, we'd have no reason to trust Him or worship Him!
All my life I'd heard and believed that God loved me, that He was good, and that His plan is always best.  But it has taken an intensely dark season of suffering -- just me and Him -- to turn that head knowledge into heart knowledge.  It took persecution, pain, loneliness, and grief to teach me true surrender, true obedience, true trust, and true Love.

I am 100% confident that God is good.  I believe that the Lord is completely sovereign over my life, that He has been infinitely wise in His dealings with me, and that He loves me perfectly and completely!  I am 100% convinced of it; this time, I've experienced it; I know it.  Regardless of what happens in the future, I know I can entrust the story of my life to my brilliant Master Storyweaver.

I guess the only thing left to say is . . .

To be continued. :)

Choosing YES

The picture tells the story.  This has been a season in which God has been teaching me how to hold my plans and dreams in open (cupped) hands.  It is a posture of complete surrender . . . a stance of vulnerability that says to God, "Here I am, and here is my everything.  I trust You with it; do what You will."

The very first thing I wrote in my journal during my  summer trip was this: "Give me what is better, Lord.  Give me only what is You and of You.  I'm scrubbing my slate clean.  Do what You will.  My slate is Your canvas, and I can't wait to see what You paint!"

When I prayed that, God must've smiled, knowing what He had in store for me.  Only two weeks into The Experience, I strongly sensed God telling me, Give Me a blank slate and say YES to whatever I say.  

When I shared with one of the speakers what God had asked of me, he said, "Okay, so a blank slate.  Good.  What is God asking you to do next?"  I replied that all I knew was I was supposed to keep the slate blank and wait . . . and hopefully He would speak. 
The speaker cracked a smile.  "Do you struggle with control?"

My jaw dropped.  Suddenly I knew.  Control and trust, the two issues I have wrestled with consistently for 21 years.  God was forcing me into a situation where I had no control and would be forced to throw myself on Him in trusting dependence.  And I didn't like it one bit. 

But why worry? I thought.  If God is asking me to surrender my dreams, surely He will give them back.  I was confident (maybe even a little arrogant) about how I wanted to spend my life for the Kingdom.  I had it all planned out.  It would be powerful and impactful and very, very visible.  

Two days later, we were on a flight to Jarabacoa, Dominican Republic, to spend a week ministering at a school and in two rural villages.  I couldn't wait to show God what I would do!  I couldn't wait for the opportunity to speak and do up-front, out-loud ministry.  
But even in my arrogance, I was also listening.  As I listened, I distinctly felt the Holy Spirit saying, "Be quiet, Jordan."  Each day, the same message: be quiet.  Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet.  Day after day my teammates operated in their giftings and God brought about salvations and hope left and right!  Yet He prompted me to stay in the background, to wash dishes, to converse with locals in simple Spanish, and to help keep the team unified by corporate prayer.  Be quiet.  Stay in the background.

Eventually, when I found some time alone, I asked the Lord for the hundredth time why He was asking me to take on such a quiet role.  He answered gently in my heart, saying, How does it make you feel, Jordan?
"God, I feel frustrated.  I feel stripped of effectiveness.  I feel like You've taken away my identity."
Letting God lead me in that time of quietness, I started asking myself some hard questions.  It didn't take long for my arrogance to crumble in a misery of tears.  I realized that I had found my identity not in Him, but in what I did for Him.  I had so identified myself with my gifts that I no longer separated the two.  In the Dominican Republic, God showed me the beauty of quietness, the beauty of serving and ministering in ways that are invisible to all eyes but His.

We spent the next week in Haiti, where God brought me to the end of myself.  He allowed me to be broken so that when He used me, He would be using a humble, trustingly dependent Jordan, not a Jordan confident in her own abilities.  At the same time, God began putting me in situations and using me in different ways where I excelled, but wasn't so thrilled about.  My leaders began looking at me differently, saying things like, "Wow, Jordan, you really have a gift in this area."  I shrugged it off, not wanting to go there in my mind.  I still preferred my idea of up-front ministry, even after seeing the beauty of background ministry in the Dominican Republic.

On our last day in Haiti, one of my teammates suddenly spoke it out loud.  He told me what I would be doing with my life.  I wanted to walk away!  What he described was not how I wanted to spend my life for the Kingdom.  I had my own ideas of how I wanted to serve God, thank you very much.
But my teammate countered my argument with, "Jordan, would you do it if God asked you to?"
I grit my teeth.  "Well . . . yes.  If God asked me to, I would."
My teammate smiled at me.  "Will you pray about it?"
I said I would, but I walked away trying my hardest to forget.  My mind screamed God, no, no, no!

But the seed had been planted, and I could not get it out of my mind.  I did pray -- very hard.  I prayed that my teammate was wrong.  I prayed that this wasn't what God wanted to write on my blank slate.  
I wrestled with it in the airport on our way back to the US.  One of my leaders saw me and asked what was going on.  I explained my struggle with what my teammate had said.  "Would God really ask me to make my life's work something I am not passionate about?"

By the time we were reunited with our other teammates in Miami, I knew the answer.

Bottom line: my purpose in life is to glorify God, whatever that looks like.  And since He is God, He gets to decide what He wants that to look like.  My job is to say YES to whatever God says, obeying Him no matter the cost.  
Having passion and excitement for what He asks me to do are not prerequisites for obeying Him.  I must obey regardless of how I feel about it, and if He chooses to do so in His perfect, good will, He can bring passion and excitement to my act of obedience.

I wrestled with this for several weeks as the summer program continued.  At this point I didn't know how to really cup my hands (that would be something I'd learn in September), but as I slowly began unclenching my hands and lifting tearful, vulnerable eyes to my loving Lord, I chose to say yes.  Yes to whatever He wanted.  Yes, regardless of how I felt about it.  Yes, because I exist for Him, not the other way around.  

What came next was quiet, peaceful confirmation that I had finally stepped into His will for me.  I stood up and walked forward during a call to an international life.  There was no clarity beyond that -- just that He was pleased, and that was enough for me.  Through the final weeks of the program, God opened my eyes to see that His plan for me is wondrously, gloriously alive!  Filled with purpose and meaning, even though it is dramatically different than what I had planned for myself.  Different, but oh, so much better.  I felt so loved by God and soon was able to rejoice in doing whatever He wanted.  It was so sweet to please Him, so sweet to surrender and let Him write the story.

But what surprised me most of all was my heart.  Slowly, it had begun to change, and I didn't realize it until the day I caught myself thinking about "my new dream" -- and I stopped short, stunned.  

My new dream?

On graduation day, I was unexpectedly given the opportunity to FaceTime with the teammate who had spoken to me in Haiti and turned my world upside down.  I found myself saying to him, "I chose to say YES, and when I chose to obey, God changed my heart toward this.  Now, this is all I want to do."  

I fully believe that when we say YES to God, obeying regardless of how we feel about it, He can change our hearts.  He can open our eyes to a plan much larger and more alive than we could ever imagine.  He is GOOD, and His plan is absolutely flawless. 

“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.  See, I am doing a new thing!  Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?  I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland." -Isaiah 43:18-19

Choose YES.  I promise you, you will not regret it.  

When Life is Like I-69

Last weekend, I drove my family down to Fort Wayne, Indiana so I could attend a reunion of teammates from my summer trip.  We'd been planning the reunion for several weeks and I couldn't wait to get there!  

What I didn't realize was that the route we took would change my perspective on life.

My mom navigated from the passenger seat, and she instructed me to take I-69 all the way to Fort Wayne.  To the untrained eye, taking I-69 does not seem like the best way (the quickest or most convenient) to get from eastern Michigan to northern Indiana.  She assured me from the start, however, that taking I-69 would be the smoothest, least complicated, and most direct way to get to our destination.

Trusting her judgment, since she's made the trip many more times than I have, I began to drive.  It wasn't long, however, before the irony began to set in.  To get to I-69, we had to drive north -- the complete opposite direction of where we wanted to go.  And once we merged onto I-69, we had to drive west!  

Again, I trusted my mom's judgment, but I couldn't help feeling tense as we drove westward, hour after hour, seemingly getting nowhere close to Fort Wayne.  It felt like a waste of time.  If we needed to go south, why did we have to go west?  Would the road ever turn south?  

Mom assured me it would.  Once we arrived in Lansing, she said, I-69 would curve around the city and we would begin to head south toward Fort Wayne.  Sure enough, about two hours into our trip, I-69 curved around Lansing and we were finally heading in the direction we had been wanting to go!  

My mind was very busy as I drove south for the next few hours.  

Life is often like I-69.  In our lives, we often have a deep desire to go a certain "direction", or to get to a certain "destination", but the route from A to B -- when taken on God's terms -- can defy rationality.  Why would God ask you to head the opposite direction?  And once you made the transition to the "route" He has planned for you, why would He set the course westward?  You're running parallel to the destination.  You are no closer to Point B than you were before!

Or so you thought.

See, my mom chose I-69 because it was the smoothest, least complicated, and most direct way to our destination.  She could have chosen the more common route, which was riddled with changing interstates, heavy traffic congestion, construction, and the stress that comes with navigating through large cities.  She chose I-69 because it was easier and more peaceful, (which she knew would benefit me because I'd never driven to Fort Wayne before). 
All along, we merely stayed the course.  We didn't have to change interstates or drive through congested cities.  We let I-69 take us all the way to our destination.

This is a beautiful picture of how God guides us.  He may lead us onto a road that makes absolutely no sense.  It may be frustrating.  It may lead us into a season of spiritual drought or silence.  It may feel lonely, like a desert.  We're heading west when all we want is to head south! We may begin to doubt God's logic -- which can spiral into doubting His goodness, His character, and His love.  

The world, the flesh, and the devil will tell you that while you're heading west, you are no closer to Point B than you were before.  All the angst, blind faith, and trust in the dark -- it's all a waste. 
But that's wrong.  You are much closer to Point B than you could ever dream!  It may not feel like it now, but if you truly trust God's heart toward you, you will see that the route He's chosen will take you directly to where He wants you to be.  

God's Point B may not be your Point B.  As I drove westward toward Lansing, I drew a comparison of the route to my own life since returning from my trip this summer.  I had to admit to myself that God's Point B might be drastically different than mine, and that He has made no promise to take me to my Point B.  All He has promised is that this road I travel (with my hand in His) will take me directly to where He wants me, wherever that may be. 
With this in mind, the road may keep going west!  It may turn north again, or it may even head back east.  Walk the road by faith and let Him decide which way the path will curve.  It may indeed take the turn you hope for and begin heading in the direction you desire! 

Remember why my mom chose I-69.  She knew that I had never gone this way before and wanted to take me the safest and least complicated way.  She chose I-69 out of compassion and love for me.
When God takes you a route you don't understand, remember that everything He does is motivated out of compassion and love for you!  Everything He gives, everything He takes away, everything He allows, and everything He doesn't allow are all colored by His faithfulness, His compassion, His protection, His mercy, and His LOVE, LOVE, LOVE!
  
While you are on your own I-69, traveling a path you don't understand, striving toward a goal you cannot see, cupping your empty hands, trying to figure out how to hope . . . may I suggest a new prayer to pray?  It is just seven words long, but those seven little words can change your life forever. 

"Father, align my heart with Your will."  

Welcome to I-69!  Trust your Navigator.  Keep driving.