There are some things that occur, beyond the realm of this world,
moments you couldn't hope to transcend into the history of written word.
Healings that leave your body and change the atmosphere of a room,
seeds not only planted, but ones you watch bloom.
Before our human eyes we watched God's hand,
the shifting of a bone, the strengthening of feet, the healing of old wounds.
We stepped aside, allowed a shift in our spirits, and watched kingdom come alive,
bidden in the desert, listening to the warrior angles sigh.
In a fight for desperation, against the drowning of our souls,
we beg this world to see, to find the beauty of being whole.
The moments our Father touches us, in the dirtiness of the earth,
is the moment something gives way, the moment of re-birth.
We watched a God of movement, of power and beauty and strength,
we watched a God reveal himself to the lowest of the lame.
I witnessed a first, as shyness fell from my eyes,
to the power of the spirit when you ask to be alive.
I felt things shift beneath my hands, as the mighty spirit fell,
struck by the tears, of the lifelong sick, the eternally unwell.
Something clicked. Something shifted. Inside my spirit that night,
as I watched the mighty Father strike in me a light.
Within the lowest, the lamest, he awakened my soul,
to the beauty of his power, as our healer - our all.
I had the privilege to work with the young ladies at Open Arms Ukraine for the weekend. They are an amazing group of women, filled with a God-inspired desire to aid graduating orphans. Their love for the kids we met was contagious and the safety of the atmosphere was captivating. Most of the girls started coming to Sumy, Ukraine on short term trips eight years ago, four years ago they felt the call to move here full time and they haven't looked back since.
They've watched these kids grow up in one of many orphanages here in Ukraine and walked with them through life; the struggles of fitting into main stream society, transitioning into the life and responsibilities of a young adult, and the trials of what little disintegrating home life they have remaining. In most ways these women have become family to these kids. Through warm laughter, a strong embrace or a delicate conversation, the love these women pour out is evident and genuine - the love of family. It was a blessing to serve this organization.
This video was taken at one of Open Arms' Graduate Retreats by Katy Catron. These weekend camps are a time for the orphans to find community, refreshment, encouragement, and unconditional love.
To learn more about this wonderful organization, please visit openarmsukraine.blogspot.com
For me the journey began about a year ago, with a story. A story that turned into a prayer. A prayer that allowed me to glimpse the emerging world of injustice, a world shrouded by social media; covering the very world that should be unearthed in our modern generation, not covered or passed over. In that time I began to look for the us's; the people that believed they were crazy enough to change the world right along side me, me right along side them.
So we crossed the country and then the world, on planes, trains, fishing boats, mutatus, piki pikis and just about any other means of travel you can imagine. We met the gospel in the grassroots of humanity and asked to walk alongside it. Encouraged by it's founders and moved to tears by the blood spilt over it. Our eyes are now awakened to the names and faces of statistices. We have a story for every picture, and a picture for every face we'll never forget; the people we've had to walk away from but will never truly leave.
Our feet have hit the soil and our prayers have hit the air; we are our own coalition, we are the radicalists, the anarchists, the warriors fighting for the cause, the gospel. We are the few who have abandoned reason, lost our way, and found ourselves. The us's willing to sacrifice anything in order to gain The Everything.
So in all this forward motion how have I lost my way? How is it that I find myself, at 6 am when my thoughts are too chaotic to sleep, surfing the internet for jobs and questioning the future in every manner of speaking - doubting God. I wonder when, and where, and how. I question the why and the reason. I beg for the answer but fail to find the quiet to listen. My anxiousness beats in my chest and my vision shakes as I loose sight of the very rhyme and reason I came. The love of God, the Gospel of Grace. My time isn't over - what am I doing focusing on the ahead, the yet-to-come when there is so much left for the here, the now. My prayers can float forward but my service is still in the present. I'm not sure how I lost sight of this so quickly, so easily.
These thoughts and questions mulled over in my mind, and followed me tossing and turning as I tried to sleep. Each new worry mounting on the one before until my present purpose was so clouded I failed to focus on why I'm here; until someone I respect put their foot down.
"...don't let anxiety take over. Meditate on Philippians 4:6 "Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God," then practice it. Pray like that everytime, then you'll be able to fully receive Philippians 4:7 "And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."
There it is - easier said than done, but no less truthful. So, regardless of the dificulty, here's my first step, my public prayer and petition. It is because of all of you, and the multidude of ways you have supported me that I'm here on this journey, and like I said earlier, He's not done with me yet (Phil 1:6). So I ask you to continue to support me through your powerful prayers; praising him for who he is and thanking him for what he will do.
Pray for the presence of mind and spirit and body, all the things we give to God I seek to give in daily ministry, because He is worth my everything.
Pray my heart seeks guidance and protection daily, because there is no other than will go to war for me like He will.
Pray I find quiet to listen to God, because his might is no less softened by the manner in which He speaks.
Pray for obedience, regardless of immediate understanding, because He says blessed are those who believe without seeing.
Pray for strength to finish, because when I have nothing left He shows up.
Pray I remember I serve a mighty God, because His service towards me was my salvation, so I might experience life and know love.
So as the morning comes alive and the sun begins to break off the remainder of the night, I give these things up and relinquish my worries to the will of God; praising and thanking him for what he's already done, entrusting him with what he will do.
We've arrived in Ukraine post winter and pre spring - it's a barren wasteland. The trees are stripped and the fields are burned, but the sky is a clear blue and we can see the sun again.
The camp where we're serving is in its off season, so its calm and quiet and desolate. I can see the potential of the bright summers where kids run and play and the grounds are loud and alive - but today this world is still.
We awoke today to flurries, barely visible they floated softly out of the sky and within an hour the barren wasteland looked magical; every inch of brown was now covered in majestic white.
Here's where my thoughts take a tumble:
We drove past the birch trees streaming along the country side, everything blanketed in white, majestic and calm and serene. Being from the south I don't see many white winters, and even when I do this white was something new, something truly magical. This world of winding roads through pine and birch trees belongs on a holiday greeting card.
I digress.
The point is, yesterday this world was brown and cold; a desolate wilderness, far removed from the pollution of the modern world, and today it's picturesque - breathtaking, awe inspiring, even mystical. What was once discarded has been made a new - sound familiar?
Possibly for the first time I really understand the beauty of our sins being washed white as snow. An unbelievable demonstration of God's beautiful mercy and grace; a covering so complete He no longer sees the gritty barrenness beneath the beauty. That's the kind of identity I want to exist in; living in the knowledge and safety of his covering, living a life worthy of His sacrifice.
Being a missionary in a foreign country, I could assume, is like walking into the Amazon for the first time - confusing and overwhelming. The light plays tricks on your eyes and you feel like everything is out to harm or kill you. You're overwhelmed by the beauty of it all, the grandeur of it. You're senses are too weak to take it all in, too human to understand the God of creation, too little to realize how big of a world we live in. So you find yourself buried deep in the wilderness, far from the path and buried deep from the light - like gazing at the surface when you're sinking beneath the ocean waves.
Then I find stillness, I stop and take in the world around me. I smell the earth rising in steamy heat and the calls of wildlife echoing into the denseness. I find calm in the peaceful chaos of life, I find my compass, my guiding light and I know I'll never walk abandoned by the Father or the Son, instead I'll find peace in the darkening sun knowing my feet will always be righted towards the coming of the dawn.
The newness of the world has tended to be overwhelming until I can find that piece of calm. Consider the world around me and find first the strength, and then the path to press on. My journey in the field has followed this mentality - first believing everywhere we tread was dangerous ground...assuming everyone and everything was the enemy out to et us...then a slow transition over the first few months opened my eyes to see the real light, not just the light we bring, but the light that exists in countries before we arrived...whether its been here for centuries or whether its been planted by missionaries before us - it precedes us. It's been a humbling realization and a caution to missionaries after us to remember that we are not the solution nor the answer, we simply are containers for the ultimate end all reason for being - God.
I didn't realize any of this though till I sat down, shut up, and absorb what was around me; keeping my self-rihteous judgement to my self until God could deal with it - with me.
So while living at KIM ministries we met this missionary named Caleb - He's awesome ...He's also a procrastinator and just finished a video of his time in the Philippines... I have therefore swiped his video because it shows everything we did, check it out, it's awesome!
And thank you Caleb Hatfield, even if you are a procrastinator.
Once upon a time, in a little village far far away, there wandered an elephant! This is my life right now, an elephant passed in front of our house on the way to the market and we got to ride it! Granted it took a few minutes of bargaining and a little USD but it was worth it - another one down on the bucket list!
Enjoy my teammate Scott's video of the entire shenanigan!
A good friend and spiritual confidant of mine, recently wrote me to ask (as usual) a deep thought provoking question about my time on this trip. Here is what followed:
How has your faith grown, and how has it honed your ability to speak the gospel through word and deed?
I don’t know where to begin. Not because there’s not enough to say, but rather because the myriad of emotions is too grand, and the possible paths to take in response is too far spread. I will, however humorous the following segues may become, attempt to answer; only because of who you are and who you have been in my life, and are therefore worth the headache this might produce...
Measuring my faith on a factor of growth is both highly time-consuming, and highly manic. Faith here grows by the moment. So, consider how many moments I have lived over the last six months;
how many life altering moments...
...how many heart breaking moments...
...how many God encounters...
...how many divine appointments...
...how many jaw dropping...
...heart pounding...
...adrenaline pumping...
...life-worth-living moments...
Then add them all together and multiply by a factor of divinity; maybe then we can adequately describe by means of the English language my scale of growth.
My ability to speak the gospel is an even further stretch of a human ability to measure. To be clear my ability has diminished greatly throughout my time gone. I have merely learned the measure of getting out of my own way, getting my own hand off the pen of God’s script, and removing my own addendums to the Maker’s master plan. I am, in truth, an inhibitor in my own pride and honor and if there is one change that can be measured it is the reality of my role as a conduit, a catalyst, and not much else.
On the field I have learned the importance, or rather lack of importance in language. Who ever defined sharing by speech? Language is one of the least important factors in my life as a missionary. What I have found instead is that my presence holds the heaviest weight in a place, not my words. It's the act of embracing a child, kneeling on a woven grass floor to feed an orphan, placing your hands on the grieving, laughing and crying and living with locals, exchanged looks of silent understanding - it's so much more than words.
Sometimes I feel like the thought I’m trying to get down on paper constantly slip away - a vapor, a dream. What more can I say to describe the world in which I live in; the real world, the world outside the comforts I've always known. Sometimes I wonder if I can truly give myself to everything I’m passionate about in this world what would open up to me. What grandeur not yet seen or understood... Other times I feel I try too hard to express myself too passionately and I miss the chance for simple truth, simple honest, God breathed… the whole world constantly changes around us, so what if
we only focused on God, what if that was all we did? What if God was all we knew, would it be enough?
Have you ever poured water into the dry earth of Summer, and watched it sink rapidly into
the deep waiting roots? That’s what I want. That’s what I’ve always wanted – a way out, into the world
that He formed and created for our movement. I want to move in this place by being moved. The first
song I learned that calloused and numbed my fingers was “Where You Go I Go;” it describes well the
reality in which I want to follow God
– reverently and eternally.
Where You go I go. What You say I say. What You pray I pray.
Sometimes I wonder if the words I write actually leave this page and enter the ether. Or I wonder if they fall on deaf ears. However, every now and then the hearts and minds of the people in this world open simultaneously, and every now and then we are better because of it. We are sent out through it. We inspire because of it. We find it as a catalyst and conduit, a means to reaching an unknown. Out there I can hear the way the world needs to be transposed. Out there I can hear the way I want it to be represented and released.
Out here I can be a part of it, and bring it home.
Just a quick note to apologize for my back tracked blogs. My account was down for awhile, so I'm currently playing catch up. Hopefully I'll be caught up before we leave for China since we won't have internet for the duration of the month. I'll start blogging again soon in Europe!
As always, thank you for your love and support, and the prayers this world (and myself) so desperately needs.
All my love,
Lacee
P.S. Thanks for reading my rambling thoughts and blogs!
I stopped short, sat back roughly on the hard packed earth and tried to take a breath. I don’t even know how to spell her name. I didn’t know until I had to know I guess. I'm not sure how long I'd been kneeling there by her grave, but long enough my legs were now numb and sweat began to bead in my hairline. The base of the incense stick bent drastically as I worked it through the wet cement, which was now drying quickly under the raging Cambodian sun - the same sun we'd played beneath; the same sun that lit her eyes when she called to us, she loved to say our names over and over; the sun that caused her to seek shelter in the swing under the tree; the same sun that had been absent from the rain the past twenty four hours. I reached the last line - her birthday, she was only seven years old.
I’ll never know why I wasn’t there when it happened. I’ll never quite be able to explain the feeling in the air when we got home that night, the look on everyone’s faces when the van door opened. The way, I think, I kind of collapsed beside her on the living room floor believing our prayers could wake her; as if she were only sleeping. I just kept picturing the way her family might react if she were just to sit up and call out for her parents. I just believed it.
The following two days are a heavy blur, like someone took my emotions, stuck them in a blender and then electrocuted them – confusing and constantly changing. I don’t know why I was so emotional over the loss of a child we’d only known a week. I don’t understand why one minute I was okay and the next I wasn’t. I don't understand why her. I don't understand.
I don't know where You were that day God. I don't know if you were in the water that day; I don't know where You were when the Father's wails woke us in the night; I don't know if we shared enough of Your love and truth with her; I don't know where I was when she needed us most- when she needed to be save, not from the water, but from death, from eternal darkness. Where is she God? Is she with You - did she hear? I hope so Dad, I hope she knew the truth before she left. Otherwise, what am I doing here??
I don't have the answers, but He does, and I think (for the most part) I'm okay with that. So I trust that we were in that village, at that time, for a reason - even if it wasn't to save her. I trust that our presence changed a village generation's view of westerners respect of death, after witnessing our grief over their child. Above all, I simply trust God.
