It was out of my hands

I was laying in bed the night before we would leave to go on vacation. You know how it is before you go on a trip – your mind is racing, thinking of things you need to do. Did you pack everything, are you forgetting anything, don’t forget to turn off the coffee pot, etc.

It was going to be just Miá and I on our own on our flights because CJ and Zoë had flown out the week before to go to youth summer camp. I was a little nervous knowing I would have to go through immigration, customs and just the whole process without CJ, but I reminded myself that Father was with me and everything would be ok.

It was with these thoughts that I began thinking about some girls I had recently met who worked at a shop near where we live. At the time I met them, they had been reading a book about Buddha. Because my language abilities are so limited, I hadn’t been sure exactly what to say to them, except to say that I was a Christian and I believed in J.C.

As I was lying in bed that night kinda half-praying/half-thinking, I realized that I should’ve taken those girls one of the tracts we have in their language. It’s more than a tract actually. It’s a small book that explains salvation and the sacrifice that J.C. made for all people. It’s explains how we attain a relationship with Him and what happens after death for those who believe.  It dawned on me that I could take this book to those girls, and at that moment, I promised Father that I would do that as soon as we returned from vacation. After all, Miá and I were leaving very early the next morning and there would be no time to take them the book before we left. Right?

Miá and I were so excited the next morning, not just to go on vacation, but also to see CJ and Zoë. We missed them so much over the last few days while they were gone.

Our ride picked us up and we arrived at the airport to find short lines and smooth sailing. That is, until we reached the immigration office.

Let me make a very long story short by saying, the immigration officer decided I should have to go downtown to the headquarters to get approval to leave the country and his mind could not and would not be changed. (This was a Sunday and the downtown office was closed til the next day, of course.)

Distraught is an understatement compared to what I was feeling when I realized Miá and I would not be flying out that day. Not to mention that I didn’t know where to go downtown or what I would need to do once there. How would I communicate with the people who worked in that office and how much is this all going to cost me?

Walking back in the door to our apartment after being denied departure that day was devastating. I wanted to just sit down in the middle of the floor and cry, but I tried to put on a brave face for Miá. I didn’t want to upset her anymore, but I felt lost and helpless and alone – it was horrible. I didn’t know what to do except cry out to Father.

I wasn’t expecting His answer…

“Take those girls the Book,” He said.

“Huh? No, Sir, I was asking what should I do about this situation I’m in?”

“Yes, I know,” came another reply. “Take those girls that Book and I’ll take care of your situation.”

“You HAVE GOT to be KIDDING ME!” I may have even said those words out loud. “Really?!?”

Now, I don’t know if Father allowed Miá and I not to be able to fly out that day so that I would go talk to those girls about Him, but He sure did turn a bad situation into something worthwhile. And honestly, I wasn’t very happy about the Romans 8:28 verse that kept playing in my head at that moment.

But I acquiesced.

“If this is what you want, then I’ll do it,” I thought.

And I did.

After much practice and word for word memorization of what I needed to say, I searched out those girls and gave them the Book. Miraculously I was even able to share with them my short testimony in their language.

And just like He promised, Father worked out my immigration problems. A relative of a co-worker of a friend of a friend showed up at the office downtown the next day to walk me through every step of a long process.

All I can say is it was absolutely divine intervention that he came and took care of everything – every piece of paperwork, every phone call, every discussion that was required to allow Miá and I to go. This man was an angel in disguise who showed up completely out of the blue because without him, I would never have been able to accomplish what he did.

Miá and I were even able to make the last flight out of our city that night. Unfortunately, our connecting flight was late so the two of us had to spend an unexpected night in Bangkok, but we eventually made it to our final destination and into the arms of loved ones.

And, let me tell ya, our vacation was SWEET!

We soaked up every single minute with love and laughter and togetherness. It was great!

Most importantly, we returned to our home city refreshed and with a new vigor for the work He has called us to do.

On a sidenote: one of the girls that I took a Book to that day when we were held up is no longer working at that store. I discovered when we returned that she was gone and I will likely never see her again. If I had waited to take her that Book after we got back, she would not have gotten it. I’m so thankful now that I had that opportunity to share. His ways ARE perfect!

Here's a few snapshots from our vacation in the beautiful mountains of Northern Thailand...

On our drive through the mountains,
we frequently stopped to enjoy the view.

Miá's favorite hangout spot!

We rode bareback.

How did they get a comfy seat?

One of the bathrooms at the cottage where we stayed. :)

Climbing, hiking & trekking were some of our favorite activities.

Rafting on a few pieces of bamboo tied together with rope.

We'll definitely come back to this place!

Always time to stop and chat with the locals, especially such sweet kids!

Zipline in the trees!

Several boxes of goodies were waiting on us at the post office in Bangkok before heading home. :)

Get ready to die

What is your most embarrassing moment?

We all have them – those experiences that cause us to humiliate ourselves in front of others.

I always think back to one of my very first jobs working at an advertising agency in New Orleans when I fell over in my chair in front of the president of the company (wearing a skirt, no less.)

It’s inevitable. Everyone, at some point in his or her life, is completely humbled.

“Humbled” is also how I frequently feel throughout this process of moving to another country, learning the language and becoming settled in its culture.

When CJ and I and our girls left the States, we were on top of our game. We both had great jobs that we dearly loved. We had a home that was warm and full and brought us much joy. We had family and friends, and, overall, life was good. On top of that we got to do all kinds of ministry, and we both felt that we had strong, active and thriving relationships with J.C. So when it was undeniable that Father was calling us to serve Him on foreign soil, we knew we had to go.

Jump ahead to the current time and we are now living and working to do what He wants of us in Southeast Asia. But we have been completely humbled.

It’s like being a baby all over again. We can’t speak the language, we are dependent on others around us to help us and it’s a huge struggle. The jobs where we found much of our identity are gone, our family is left behind and the ease with which life flowed before has now transitioned into something more like climbing up a steep mountain without a rope.

It’s hard and sometimes it hurts.

In spite of all this, lately, I’ve been having some amazing devotional times. I’ve really been feeling Father speak to me in those quiet moments we spend together in the mornings, and I know He is working in my life.

I was explaining all this to a good friend recently saying I knew He was humbling me for a reason, I just wasn’t sure yet how or why. I was still waiting to receive that divine understanding…

This past week we attended some meetings for company personnel working throughout this area. It was a great time of refreshment and renewal and a much needed break from the stresses of our jobs. It was also at these meetings when I felt the Master speaking to me through the words of our company president.

He was talking about “dying to self” as found in a passage in the book of John, chapter 12 verse 24 which says: I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.

This great orator painted a picture with his words of a seed of wheat. As it germinates from seed to stalk, it stretches upward toward the sky growing higher and higher everyday. It basks in the light of warmth of the sun, til one day when it reaches maturity the stalk is cut down. The grain (if it had mind of its own) would surely be thinking, “No! Don’t cut me down! I love standing tall above the rest of the world, swaying in the breeze and savoring the light.” But that’s not what it is meant for. That grain has a different purpose.

The speaker said, “The Father does not intend for us to just grow to spiritual maturity. Sometimes we have to be broken to provide food for others.” Just like that grain of wheat that is cut down so that it may produce many other seeds, so must we.

Wow.

Tears started spilling down my cheeks at that moment. I knew this message was for me.

See, I think all this time, whenever I read this passage in John before, I felt like I had already died to self. I had given up everything in my life that was comfortable and satisfying. I gave up my own selfish desires of wanting what I want. I was doing what Father wanted, right?

So why is He continuing to break me and humble me completely?

It’s because He wants to use me.

At that moment I felt both sorrowful for my own ignorance and exhilarated to know that I get to be a part of His work.

He’s breaking me so that I can become less of me and more of Him.

He’s breaking me so that He can use me.

He’s breaking me so that He can work in the lives of the people of Southeast Asia.

Dying to self is painful. But what other choice do we have?

Withering up? No thanks. I think I’d rather fulfill my life’s purpose.

As I was listening to this message, I couldn’t help thinking, “I wish my friends and family at home could hear this message. It’s so powerful. It might change their life just like it’s changed mine.”

That’s when I heard the Father say, “They can hear this message. You must share it with them.”

I think Father may be calling some of you to be cut down. Aren’t you tired of just swaying in the breeze? Don’t you want to be useful for His kingdom’s growth even if it means being dying to self?

My pr’yer is that you do.

Seek ye first His kingdom, and He will do immeasurably more than we ask or imagine.

We're still here

“Girl, it’s been so long it’s as if you’ve fallen off the face of the earth!”

That’s the way an email began I received recently from a dear friend.

“You’ve not emailed, you’ve not skyped, you’ve not blogged…” she continued.

I know, I know.

But we’re not disappearing, we’ve just had some really challenging weeks lately.

The continuous power outages make getting on the internet impossible and the monsoon season makes going in a vehicle to where they have internet formidable. We’ve had several bouts of illness and language learning has been enormously time consuming. I’m not complaining, I’m just giving a picture of what life has been like on this side of the world the last few weeks. 

The good news is: vacation is just days away!

Mind you, this won’t be your typical American vacation. No, we’ll be staying in a hut in the middle of a rice paddy with a view of mountains and waterfalls from our patio. But more on that in the days ahead…

For now, I just wanted our friends and family to know we’re still out here. We still need your yarps and more than ever, we are glad to be in the place where Father wants us to be.

Don't forget us. Be watching for pictures of our vacation soon!

Sick and Saved

I didn’t sleep well on Monday night, so when I woke up Tuesday feeling especially haggard, it was no surprise.

Tuesdays are long days for me with not one, but two language classes back to back and that afternoon I was supposed to be going out to lunch and to the market with a colleague/friend.

“A hot shower and an extra cup of coffee should do the trick,” I thought to myself that morning. But I kept a chill, so I dug through our stacked trunks to find the thin sweater I had brought as a last minute thought before coming to live in a tropical climate. The temperature outside would reach 100 degrees that day, but my body felt otherwise.

I trudged through the language class and tried to nap in the car on the way to pick up my friend. I was starving from not eating breakfast but by the time our lunch arrived at the nice restaurant, I had lost my appetite.

It was at this point that my body began telling me, “Go home. Go home now!” But my friend needed to go to the big touristy market downtown to purchase some items she needed for a ministry project she’s working on, and I didn’t want to let her down. So we went.

Thankfully, she had a couple ibuprofen in her purse that she gave me and quickly, I was feeling more myself.

When we arrived at the market, she went off in search of her purchases and I decided to sit on a little bench and wait.

No sooner had I sat down when the beggers and the knick-knack sellers approached and hovered.

I remembered back to the first time I had visited that market, I felt a little intimidated by these people, speaking a language I didn’t understand and not leaving me alone when I said, “No.”

But this go ‘round, I saw it as an opportunity to speak to these people and practice my language skills.

One dodgy-little man was selling wood-carved, hand-painted, toy tops. He showed how to make them spin. He said, “for your children.”

I winked at him and said, “I have no children.” He knew I wasn’t serious and he saw the opportunity for fun.

His next approach he said, “for your husband.”

I replied, “I have no husband.” Even though he pointed to my wedding band on my ring finger.

Finally seeing no other way around my objections he said, “No husband, no children. You lonely! You need toy for you!”

He shook with his thunderous belly laugh as he walked away.

After all the vendors made their attempts to sell me their wares and had walked away, one tiny little girl came and sat beside me on the bench. Her clothes were dusty and worn, but she had a bright smile. A timid voice surprised me as she spoke in broken English, “I sell magnet. You buy magnet?”

“What is your name?” I asked in her language.

She was obviously a little astonished that I could speak in her native tongue. “Chimmey*,” she said quietly. (*name changed)

“Chimmey, why are you not in school like all the other boys and girls your age?” I asked.

“I don’t go to school. I work here to sell magnet. You buy magnet?” she replied.

“How do you speak English so well?” was my next question for the little girl.

“I am now ten years old. I have been working in this place since I could walk. I talk to the English speakers who come here and I learn from them.”

Chimmey and I struck up a conversation that afternoon. I asked her if she had enough food to eat and if she had a comfortable place to sleep at night. I asked her if she was happy. She answered, “Yes,” to all my questions, but the look on her face said otherwise. It was then that I began to share J.C. with this precious little child.

Ironically, through the whole experience, I didn’t feel sick at all.

No, I knew that Father had honored my request from earlier that morning to put someone in my path that I could share with. He always does.

I bought a magnet from Chimmey that day, but even more than that, I shared with her the road to salvation.

When I finally got home later that day, I collapsed in my bed completely and utterly exhausted.

Wednesday rolled around to a full-blown sickness. High fever, body aches, miserable… you get the picture. The Australian doctor we normally visit was out of town, so I tried treating my symptoms with Tylenol but by Thursday, I was in such severe pain that CJ decided to take me to an emergency walk-in type clinic. (It would probably be like going to the emergency room in the states.)

Thankfully the local doctor working there spoke decent English and I was in a diagnostic room in no time.

It felt like I was fading in and out of consciousness. By this time I was wearing a sweatshirt and long sweatpants and had brought a blanket to wrap around myself.

Pretty quickly he said that I needed an IV of fluids.

I kept thinking “Fluids? Yeah, yeah. Give me something for pain!” Eventually the nurse produced a couple of pills that I took without even asking what they were. (I would later learn that it was a fever reducer/pain reliever type medicine.)

They ran test after test and finally I was admitted to a room with a bed and a pillow.

I was near the end of my rope by this time. You know how it is when you feel really awful but you gotta get dressed to go to the doctor, you have to ride in the car for what seems an insufferable amount of time, and you have to fill out paperwork and answer questions. You have to be poked and prodded. You’re hot, but you’re cold and somewhere in the back of your mind you’re worrying about your children that you left in the waiting room around the corner.

I was just about ready to faint from all the trauma when the nurse appeared to set up my IV. I was trying to be still and the room was so quiet. I was fading, fading…

As the nurse placed the needle in my arm she whispered over me, “In Jesus’ name.”

“What? What did she say? Did I hear her right? Is that what she really said?”

I turned to her and mustered all my strength to ask her, “Are you a Christian?”

She beamed as she replied, “Yes I am, and don’t you worry. You are in His hands.”

As soon as she left the room, the tears started flowing. Sobs were pouring out of me.

I know CJ was holding my hand, saying something sweet I’m sure, but I couldn’t get the nurse out of my head. Somewhere, sometime, someone like me shared the Truth with that nurse and she believed. Now here she was, ministering to me.

As I lay in my bed on Friday night trying to write this story, still a little sick and still completely unsure of what’s wrong with me, the words of the nurse keep ringing in my head. “Don’t worry. You are in His hands.”

Sometimes I wonder why the Father has seen fit to bring me to this country so far away from everything that is comfortable and secure.

Sometimes I think it’s because He wants me to share His good news with those who have never heard. And He does.

Sometimes I think it’s to remind me that life is but a vapor, and we should use every minute to bring glory to Him. That’s true too.

But mostly, I think He’s reminding me that no matter where I am in life and no matter what situation I find myself, I am in His hands.

To be sure, this road has been difficult and challenging. But there is no place I’d rather be than in the center of His will for my life.

Please keep praying for me until I win the battle against this mysterious sickness. Would you also please pray for Chimmey that Father would continue to put people in her path that will share His love?

Finally, I ask that you pray for the nurse at this clinic who is trying to live her life for Him? I can’t give her name for security reasons but Father will hear your prayers all the same.

All to Him

We heard a song in church yesterday morning whose words moved me so much that I had to sit down and write them out.
I won't formulate an expository interpretation of the song because the words stand for themselves. Maybe they'll speak to you as much as they did to me.
The song is called "All to Him" and here are the words:

For every mountain that is high, He is higher
For every burden that is great, He is greater
For every valley that is deep, He is deeper still
More than we can know
For every fear that closes in, He is closer
For every doubt that comes on strong, He is stronger
For every battle that we face, He has conquered all
More than we can know
Our promise is Jesus
Our answer is Jesus
All to Him
All to Him we owe everything
Our savior is Jesus
Our future is Jesus
All to Him
All to Him we owe everything
We know the great God
We serve the great God
We owe the great God
Everything all to Him

The glass factory

It felt as if we were dropped in the middle of an Alice in Wonderland storybook.

I could not believe my eyes as I took in our surroundings. It felt like a dream, but this is no fairytale.

While enjoying dinner with some friends at our house recently, we asked them about their favorite thing to do in this city.

There are no real “tourist attractions” where we live. (There are almost no tourists here, so why would there be fun things for tourists to do?)

That’s why we’re always looking for new ideas of interesting things to do as a family.

Our friends told us of a place that they like to go to whenever they have visitors come to town. They said it used to be one of the largest “tourist” attractions in our city before Cyclone Nargis came and almost destroyed the place.

It was a glass factory back in the day. Large groups would come through to see first-hand how the beautiful glass pieces were made. Hand-blown and fired in huge kilns, stunning artwork was the final product.

Our friends told us the factory was now just a shadow of its former glory, that it was completely devastated after the cyclone. They said, however, that now it’s an even more unique experience, and quite the worthwhile trip.

So we met them one afternoon to make the short drive to the glass factory.

We had just barely turned off the main road when we arrived at a hole in the wall. Literally, we drove through a small opening in a long cement wall. The main entrance to the factory had been rendered unusable by the cyclone damage pushing mounds of dirt and mud against the original gate.

Our driver maneuvered through the new “entrance” and into a jungle-like setting. There were trees all around the dirt path we drove down, barely leaving enough room for a vehicle to get through. I couldn’t help but wonder how many snakes were out there…

I was just considering the idea when the road stopped – a dead end with more trees.

“Um, is this it?” I asked. There was nothing to see but trees and vines.

“There’s a path through the brush,” my friend replied.

It was about this time I was wondering what I had got myself into.

We unloaded the van and filed one by one through a narrow, winding path. Thankfully, it was a short path and it opened up at clearing revealing a building whose walls were no more. There were table displays in the open-air setting overflowing with glass vases, dishes, bowls, figurines and more. There was a gorgeous green and blue glass chess set and a small nativity scene made up of several pieces of hand-fashioned glass.

There were cabinets filled to capacity with every size and shape of glass, flute, goblet, chalice and cup. Every surface was covered with various and quite unique forms of crystal. It was amazing…

But then the manager of the place told us that there was more, much more.

There were paths leading away from the damaged structure. It looked like huge mounds of dirt overflowed along the sides of each path at first glance, but just then sun rays broke through the trees and I noticed flecks of colors glistening from the mounds.

The mounds were filled with dirt, but also with every kind of glass vessel as I had seen in the showroom.

Apparently when the cyclone came through, the water and mud spilled over all the glass but when the water finally receded, it left all the pieces mixed in with the soil and sludge in these huge masses.

Everywhere you looked there were piles and piles of glass heaps.

Even mixed with the soil, you could see brilliant colors of red and gold creating mini rainbows against the backdrop of the greenery surrounding the area.

But what amazed me most was that so much of the glass was unbroken. That’s where the factory’s business now comes from.

The cyclone destroyed the factory. The once humongous kilns now sit in a mass of broken down rubble. The tools all rusted and evaporated into the mud heaps.

All that remains is yards and yards of beautiful glass.

Now, individuals can come to the glass factory and sift through the mounds. Find what you want and buy it as is. The tricky part is getting the piece you want out of the mud without breaking it.

It was like a glass garden, but instead of pulling carrots out of the ground, it was unique vases and jars, light fixtures and pieces of chandelier.

Everywhere you looked, there was glass. It was absolutely amazing.

I pulled out of the dirt a small, yellow giraffe with brown specks running down its back. There were multi-colored, fish-looking wall sconces. I found drinking glasses fashioned in the shape of wood logs.

Once you found something you liked, you could give it to one of the staff workers and they would take it and clean it, removing the caked on dirt and debris. They could make any item look as good as new.

After much searching in pure amazement at all that was there, I discovered a tall, turquoise, bubbled-glass vase. In the states, the urn would surely cost more than a hundred dollars, and I almost hesitated to ask the manager the cost of my desired object.

She looked the piece over as she brushed some dirt and cobwebs out of the inside.

“Twenty-five dollars,” she quoted a price.

“It’s mine!” I said, trying to keep my cool before she changed her mind and asked for more.

“What are you going to do with that huge, old vase?” CJ asked me as he got out his wallet.

“I don’t really know,” I said. “It’s just so beautiful, and I want to remember this day and this discovery.”

The truth is, I kept thinking how much those precious pieces of glass were like life. We were all fashioned by the Great Artist, each one His beautiful and unique creation. But we get swept away by the world, and the storms of life mess us up leaving behind something dirty and hollow.

The Master doesn’t leave us or stop loving us though. No matter how far we wander from our Creator, He seeks us out. He gently lifts us out of the muck and cleanses our souls. He restores us to something that is beautiful and reflects who He is to others.

As I looked around the glass garden at the vast and immeasurable number of vessels there, I kept thinking of all the people who live in this country and in our home country that are just waiting for someone to tell them about Father.

Sometimes it seems overwhelming because there are so many, and I can’t do it all on my own. I wonder who else will do their part to share the Living Water with those who need to be rescued? Could it be you?

It’s not that hard. You don’t even have to do the cleaning or restoration work. You just have to let the Light shine through you, so that others can be found from within their dark places.

I know I’ll never forget the experience of the glass factory, and likewise I hope that every time I look at my beautiful turquoise vase, I’ll be reminded of those who are just waiting to be rescued.

Psalm 63:1-4

O God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you in a dry and weary land where there is no water.

I have seen you in the sanctuary and beheld your power and your glory.

Because your love is better than life, my lips will glorify you.

I will praise you as long as I live, and in your name I will lift my hands.

I know you!

The purple shades of morning had not yet cast their rays against the gray sky.
As a bustling city began to show signs of waking early on a Sunday morning, we departed for a short journey into the outskirts of a nearby village.
We must have looked like a scene from a circus as all eleven of our teammates (including four adults and seven children) poured out of our vehicle when we reached our destination.
We appeared to be at the intersection of two nondescript, dusty roads. There was a large, fairly-new looking, white building sitting in the corner of the interchange surrounded by a high cement wall along its perimeter. There were no people around and no noise to be heard except for the rare “cock-a-doodle-do” from roosters roaming somewhere beyond the nature which blocked sight of our surroundings. The morning was still and calm, and we felt the heat descending around us as the sun began to make its daily climb. The heat is one reason why this gathering group gets such an early start and why we had made our trek there before the break of day. With no air conditioning inside the gathering group’s two-story structure, it’s nearly impossible to bear the temperature later in the day.
I was struck by the serenity of the setting. Surely there was activity and life going on somewhere nearby, I thought to myself, but it was so peaceful I began to have doubts.
Then from the corner of my eye, I spotted a slender, aged man appear from the greenery beyond. He walked to small covered shelter that I had not yet noticed and pulled on a long rope hanging from above. All of a sudden, a bell began to toll. The sound produced by this single bell, hidden beneath its shelter, was loud yet ironically muted. It wasn’t the type of ringing that hurt your ears or grated on your nerves. It was the kind of sound that melts your heart emoting images of a bygone historical era.
As the bell rang, people began pouring into street one by one as they made their way to this gathering group building. I couldn’t figure out where they were all coming from. It wouldn’t be until later that day that I would discover village homes in the distance camouflaged by the greenery around the area.

The service that morning was with a tribal group known for their long-standing relationship with Americans and their fluency in English. After having only been in this country for three months and lacking any conversant skills in their language, it would be almost impossible to do any kind of “seed sowing” or training without their knowledge of OUR language. (I keep reminding myself that you can’t learn a tonal language overnight. In time, it will come.)

There’s a passage in the Good Book that Father has seen fit to put in my path continually in the last few weeks. It was on the t-shirt of a young man that we met during Water Festival (see previous blog), it was the point in a message I was recently listening to on the internet, and then, on this Sunday morning as I ascended into the interior of this gathering group building, I discovered it on some signage hanging from the rafters. I knew that, once again, He was speaking to me.
In the sixth verse of the fourteenth chapter of the book of John, the Son is answering some questions from his followers. In this passage He says, “I am the way and the truth and the life.”
You know, Father has many names, and I’ve always enjoyed studies focused on His names prior to coming to this new country. Now, I’m even more fascinated by the names used for Him here which take on completely new meanings. Because the people here believe in many gods, we have to use names to distinguish when we’re speaking of the One True God. Those titles include the Most High God, the Creator God or, my personal favorite, the Eternal God (towerah pay yah thakin).
Names are special. To call someone by their name is to say, “I know you.”
Now, I’ve never professed to be a theologian, but what I think He is saying here in this passage is huge. The Son could have expressed who He was using specific, identifiable names, yet He answered the disciples’ question using broad, generic terms.
When we call upon the name of the Lord using any of his many names to give Him glory and praise, we are saying, “We know you. We want to know you more. We recognize who you are.” But when He says, “I am the way and the truth and the life,” he is saying to Us, He – knows – US! He knows ME!
As I sat in this desolate building in, what felt like, the middle of nowhere I was struck by the thought that He knows right were I am.
When you move from a town of 5,000 to a city with more than 5 million, it’s easy to feel lost. Sometimes I’ve even wondered “what in the world am I doing here?”
I think that’s why Father keeps putting this Good Book passage in my path. I think He’s telling me that He knows where I am and why I am here. He knows my direction and my purpose. He knows my history and my future. He knows me.

When this realization dawned on me sitting in my pew, while sweltering in the morning heat, I knew I had to come home and write down this message to share with others. After all, this message is not just for me. He wants you to know that He knows you too. Wherever you are. Whatever you’re doing. Regardless of your past, your faults, or the path you’ve taken to where you are now, He wants you to know that He knows you and He loves you.

I’ve seen the Father go through unbelievable methods to get a message to someone who needs to hear it. I can’t help but wonder if everything I experienced this morning was not just for me, but maybe for someone else too.
See, you don’t even have to move to a third-world country to get the message like I did. But heed my warning, if you don’t listen to Him, He may just send you here to get your attention. :)