Today

Psalm 27: 13-14

I remain confident of this:
I will see the goodness of the LORD
in the land of the living.
Wait for the LORD;
be strong and take heart
and wait for the LORD.

Little ones to Him belong.

This week is Vacation Bible School, more conveniently deemed, "Pandamania" to entice tiny minds with visions of gigantic creatures wandering freely amidst their usual congregation of pushy siblings, cool older teenagers, boring mom look-alikes and exciting but obnoxious little peers.

It begins promptly at 6:30 (nothing is ever prompt when dozens of kids are involved) and let me assure you, this is one WILD ride. But from 6 to 6:30 we have games, spin art, a bounce house and face painting for the little ones (and the occasional over-enthused parent). During that time I am in charge of painting tiny cheeks and foreheads and sometimes noses with vibrant colors of an unnatural nature (but an exciting appeal). The kiddos are absolutely crazy about facepainting and at 6:30 we usually still have lines and I have to turn down little fellas and tiny ladies and it's sad because they've been waiting for so long.

When 6:30 rolls around we sit down in the sanctuary and sing crazy songs about how God is wild about us. And we dance like we belong in the Happy Hands club (circa Napolean Dynamite era), and I get a little crazy with flailing hands and stomping feet because I know the Love my Father gives, and I sometimes get funny looks from the other crew leaders, but I usually get laughs from the kids so it's worth it. Use the word 'usually' lightly.

We then wait patiently (nobody is ever patient when dozens of kids are involved) for our crew (Crew Amanda, shoutout-what up!!) to be released to begin a journey including a series of adventerous events. One night we found ourselves in the smelly belly of a giant fish. We met Jesus's pal, Peter, we've compiled everyday supplies to be sent to kids in other countries, and we've met a chatty little fella named Chatter and accompanied him on a wild adventure to restore missing Pandas to their homes (still on the edge of my seat with that one...).

Overall, it's been amazing. Watching children praise the God who called them forth is beautiful. Praying that the prayers they pray will take root in the fresh soil within their hearts is a passion. And seeing the smile in a child's face puts one on mine.

Hurt.

Sometimes I long for the stories of Jesus in real time. Why do we not see Him struggle with the hurt feelings that come along with being rejected? Or with the insecurities that nudge at the misunderstood man's face. How should I deal with frustration, sadness, rejection, and disappointment.

Why do I water the seed of bitterness in my heart when I know it can lead to unforgiveness and death? And how do I stop it before the roots dig deep.

I find myself fighting back big girl tears, old enough to know better, but hurt enough not to care.

Remember

Thoughts of a world I couldn’t change drowned the wind You sent to save me. Drowning in her streets, and she hid Your face from my eyes, then Your call from my ears.

Wind sent forth by sweet Jesus. He pleads intercession for the life that You gave me. I cry through the sins of my father and breathe redemption deep into my lungs.

Still she lied to me and I forgot what You told me, that I’d never be the same for the knowledge of You.

I forgot when you said You’ve been with me since Your beginning. I forgot when You showed me Your hands holding my heart when it was tiny enough to wrap palms around.

Until you broke through my deafness, breathed life to my veins thirsting for air, and waged war against me for myself. All the while, You write tears down as they fall to the floor like rain.

You

You.

You.You.You. You stir my heart and melt my flesh. You replace mine with yours and I am compelled by You. You. You. You. You. You. How my heart aches for the day we dance forever. May the moments that lay before that time be compelled by love in a word. You.

The vision

Oh God, the vision in my heart. Is it Yours? Resting inside Your precious will, oh help my doubt. Oh God the vision, how it grows. Like that of Betsie and Corrie ten Boom, obedient servants unceasing to the call. A home for restoration to the wounded of this world.

There is no place untouched on this earth by the repercussion of sin, the depravity of the things of the world. May this place hide those within the refuge of your wings.

Your healing touches gently, beautiful, and none can take its place. May I see it to its end but Oh, Father, your will be done, Amen.

A home for Your wounded soldiers to find healing in Your wings. A home for wounded children to find adoption through your Spirit. A home for the lost, rejected, to find their way, oh, once again. Send me, oh Mighty Visionary, may I will go with You to its end.

Yes.

When my heart goes out in search of the pieces that it needs to find home again, it shall find my Beloved waiting there, just beyond mountain.

Oh, precious faith, my gift, my guide. My heart dances wild in my chest as He plays the flute for me. Suddenly and all at once, He calls me, like the sweet dew of the morning, only the fragrance never fades.

I know that this is just the way He meant for us to be.

I cannot deny the overwhelming fullness in my soul at His faithfulness to my requests and to the Truth of His Righteousness.

He never fails me, though time and time again I fail Him. So it is, that the desire of my heart is to offer the whole of my existence to serving the call, as if He spoke it into those pieces before they made their way back to me.

Play Your flute, sweet Jesus. Wherever you call. My answer is yes.