Sara Dawn Mundy [a blessing]

Last year, the summer before my freshman year here at Moody, I was praying frantically that Sara (my roommate) would get into Moody for that semester. Two days or so before orientation began, the chances seemed slim. However, Moody admissions finally realized what an honor it would be to have Sara attend the Institute. So, that was awesome that she got in, but we wanted to be roommates, and it didn’t look like that would happen. Fortunately, though, her volleyball coach convinced Student Residence Life that it was absolutely necessary for Sara and I to room together. Cha-ching. Everything worked out!

Now at this point, Sara and I knew each other fairly well. We had been friends for a while, since we grew up in the same (small) town, same church, and one of my best friends is her cousin, but we had just begun growing closer over the past year and a half or so. Thus, I was very excited to get to know her more on the level of college roommates!

Boy, was I in for a treat. Let me tell you a little bit about Sara Dawn Mundy. She is incredible. My friendship with her is a blessing for which I am forever grateful. Sara is constantly encouraging to me. As I watch the way she lives her life, I see how much she cares about others. She has a compassionate heart and is very passionate about what she wants to do with her life. Sara is wise, though she may not believe it. When I ask her for advice or her opinion on things, ranging from fashion to theology, I feel confident with her responses. I know she speaks honestly, and I know she takes me seriously. Now, Sara has endured some extremely difficult and painful things while here at Moody, and I hate to see her hurt. But it’s a privilege to be able to walk through life with her, to be able to pray with her and for her, and just to take part in her life. This girl has a heart for the Lord, and she takes on trials and obstacles with great faith. She keeps her eyes on her True Love, and she rests in His love and comfort. I am incredibly excited to see where God takes her in this life.

On a different note, Sara is one of the FUNNIEST people I know. I am going to live ten years longer just because of how much she makes me laugh. I mean, she doesn’t even have to try. She is hysterical, and hearing her laugh brings joy to my heart. Oh, and she makes delicious food!

Another thing I love about Sara is that she accepts me for who I am. I can be myself around her; I can tell her anything that is on my mind without fear of being condemned or judged. I know she loves me, and she has proved that to me countless times. She serves me in many ways, and I definitely don’t deserve it. She puts up with my overreactions and my obnoxiousness (That’s actually a word!). She gives me wonderful, warm, loving hugs. She really is a gift from God.

I told her last year, “I love that no matter how my day went, I can always come back to the room knowing you’ll be there.” And it’s true; it’s always comforting to know I can come back to such a wonderful friend and sister in Christ. I love serving alongside her and growing with her.

Sara is beautiful internally and externally. She will go far in this world, because her ultimate desire is to serve her Maker. She knows what she’s been given, and she wants to give back to Him as much as she can. It’s an honor to be her friend, roommate, and sister. ☺ She is absolutely great. I really love this girl—from the depths of my heart.

Unrecognized Sin

This is a story about a girl who thought she was doing pretty well. She was content with where God had her, and she wasn’t dealing with too much. She was preparing for her future at a nice little Bible college. It was a new year full of new friendships, new classes, new professors, new passions, new ideas, etc… Everything was new. Life was exciting.

But then, through a series of events, she realized something about herself. She was selfish, jealous, dirty, sinful, and not at all put together. The only reason she thought she wasn’t dealing with much was because she wasn’t allowing herself to see her sin. She couldn’t see the blackness in her heart. She couldn’t see her pride or her brokenness.

So, instead of continuing to live in ignorance, she knew something had to be done. Her solution: pray that God would continue to open her eyes to the ugly, filthy sin in her life. She prayed that God would help her purge her heart, mind, body, and soul of all the worldliness she allowed to infiltrate and didn’t even realize.

The incredible thing was, as she prayed, she saw herself begin to clean up. She could see her soul being sanctified, dusted off, and cleansed. But the unfortunate thing is that the process hurt. It was painful to see her sinful nature despite all the blessings and goodness God granted her. How could she hurt her Maker like that? How could she treat him like that? How could she treat others like that? It hurt to see just how depraved she was.

This process brought the girl to her knees; it completely and utterly broke her. With nowhere else to run but to the arms of her Creator, she fell before him while he looked on with love. His cleansing, bittersweet breath rushed all around her, surrounding her with warmth, protection, assurance, hope, and love. She was being purified—washed, rinsed, and rung out. And it hurt; in fact, it was incredibly painful, but in the end, she knew the pain took her right where she needed to be. It led her back to her first and True love.

I’m sure you figured out fairly quickly that this girl happens to be me. This is the story of what I am dealing with right now. Why share it? Because this is how I process. I write, and I share. And as of now, God is still revealing my unrecognized (by me) sin, but it’s good. I can the proverbial “light at the end of the tunnel.” God is refining my faith. Being brought to my knees, with an ache in my soul, and tears streaming down my face, is not a bad thing. It’s where I find God.

One Moment

This doesn't rhyme, and it isn't all grammatically correct. I don't really know what you would classify this as, but I was journaling and it just kind of spilled onto the page. It's a little bit harder to share, since I don't usually share entries like this. But go ahead and have a look.

In one solitary moment, your whole world was rocked,
In one moment, your life was forever altered,
You weren’t quite sure what that meant yet,
But you knew, with your whole being—it was changed.

One of the loves of your life was lost,
You held as tight as you could,
But that solid grip was loosened by an inevitable event called death.
You frantically grasped for any life that was left,
But try as you might, the beloved life was gone.

You kept reaching and reaching,
But to no avail.
The realization came then,
A life-sucking blow,
You gasped for breath.

How could you go on living?
How could this be real?
How could this happen to you?
Tears were shed. Hands were held.

Everything you held dear in that clenched fist slipped right on through your fingers.
And even though his last words served to be extreme comfort in a dark time,
Your heart ached—for you, for your family, for your friends.
And it still aches. The pain is cutting, burning, to your very core,
Because in one single, dreadful moment, it all changed.
Everything. Changed.

But, my dearest friend, I have no doubt about this:
One day, even if you knew it all along,
You will realize the hope that is sitting right next to you.
Everything you have been longing for will fill your heart.

In one single moment, love will overwhelm you.
When you are at your rope’s end,
And you feel that you have called on your Savior
Too many times and He hasn’t come to the rescue.
It seems He has deserted you,
It is at this point, this single moment,
You will find yourself overwhelmed by His sweet, pure, unconditional, and unfailing love.

You will embrace it,
Laugh in it,
And weep over it.
Because it is all the comfort you have ever needed.

And this may happen numerous times, because we lose sight of what is important.
We lose sight of everything we need.
But when you are almost to the bottom of the pit,
And you are only longing for His love,
You will see him, and you will see that he's been there all along.

He will never desert you, though it feels like it at times,
In those times—it is really you who has deserted Him.
So though, that one single moment was something terribly awful,
And it brought you to your knees in desperation and despair,
You will encounter another single moment, in which your world will be rocked,
Again your knees will hit the ground, but this time,
You will be filled. Filled with love and hope and beauty.

How could there ever be beauty from this misery?
You will know, one day. You will know.
In one single, solitary, moment, you will know.
Love will rescue you, in one second.
That’s what it all comes down to,

Because there is love in every corner of our lives,
And it is shockingly obvious in those defining moments,
When you are vulnerable and honest,
That is when it all changes.

And that, my love, is when you will know,
What you have really known all along.
That is when it becomes reality.
In that one moment.
Hope. Love. Beauty.

Good

It’s a late night tonight. Actually it’s not that late, but I have an early morning class. I will regret staying up to write, when my alarm vibrates in my ears around six-forty five. But inspiration doesn’t happen every night.

Anyway, last Saturday, I woke up around nine. I had the room to myself, because my lovely roommate went home for the weekend. So, I took advantage of the solitude and pulled out that Bible that had become my textbook. I opened it to find wisdom, understanding, discernment, and love—not answers for an exam.

And as I finished up, an hour or so later, my heart was light. No, everything in my life was not fixed. No, everything I wept over was not “better.” But I did regain sight of what is most important. I did remember that God won’t give me anything I can’t handle; so whether or not that means I’ll be praying for the same problems to be fixed for the next thirty years, or the next three years, it will not kill me. God will not leave me; He is still listening.

I even prayed for some very specific things—things that I didn’t expect him to answer, necessarily. And I don’t know why I sometimes pray with that mindset. Why should I not expect God to answer my prayers? Sometimes I just forget that God only wants us to ask for things, and he will gladly give them to us. So I prayed for a few things—a job being one of them.

What do you know? That night I received a call from a lady about a part-time nanny job. I just laughed after I hung up the phone, and I thanked my good Lord. I had also prayed for something else that was answered tonight. And again, I am chuckling. It’s just ridiculous that I forget about God’s goodness.

I read a book called Till We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis for research writing last year, and it is one of the best fiction novels I have ever read. In the book, Psyche’s (Cupid and Psyche) ugly sister, Orual, does not believe the gods are good. She believes they are “out to get her.” If something good does happen to her, it is only because they are playing games with her; the moment she accepts the goodness, they will crush her happiness—they will strip her of any sort of joy she received from that which was “good.”

Unfortunately, sometimes I think this is how I feel. I feel as though good things will only happen so that something tragic can crush my soul, and God can test my faith.
And I know this stems from a couple rough years in a row. I’ve had to work through always anticipating receiving tragic phone calls and what not. I felt for so long that as soon as my heart began healing, it would suffer a life-sucking blow, and I would end up on my knees again—pleading for peace.

My view is that God tests me, then I grow in my relationship with him a little bit, but as soon as I’m strong again, he has to test me again. I don’t deserve goodness, so he won’t give it to me.

But that’s not true. I am his daughter, and he loves me in way I can never comprehend. He wants me to share in his goodness. Yes, he does in fact, test me, but those are the times when I am closest to him. And I have realized that when I am on my knees, those are the times when I feel his goodness the most.

God is good, always. It seems like a simple idea to grasp, but it’s taken me awhile. I am learning now, to be content with living my life one day at a time. If I am always afraid of what bad news I will hear next, I might miss some incredible opportunities to serve God. I might not hear him whispering his goodness in my ears. I might not see his goodness surrounding me—a pregnant woman, a sunset, a couple holding hands, a nice text or phone call…

God is good. If you’ve forgotten that, take a moment to look at what he’s brought you through in your life. The journey may have been difficult so far, but are you not still breathing? Are you not still loved by him?

Why did it take me 1.5 years to remember this?

A Beautiful (but easy?) Community.

I live in a community of lovers: lovers of people; lovers of Truth; lovers of purpose; lovers of life; and most of all, lovers of the Lord. We are lovers of the one who loved us first.

I’m sitting in the middle of downtown Chicago, yet I feel safe, protected, and loved. It’s because I am sitting in the middle of the plaza of my wonderful school—Moody Bible Institute. I love this place, and I am incredibly grateful that God brought me here.

Sometimes I feel a little bit guilty, because I feel like a lot of my high school years were wasted. I lived in a sheltered community for the most part. However, once I hit middle school, then high school, that “shelter” was mostly destroyed due to just growing up, I guess. Anyway, the reason I have felt guilty is because I didn’t do much with my faith during those years. Granted, my faith wasn’t actually real to me until my father died—unfortunately (quite the wake-up call). But before my faith came alive, I wasn’t burning with a desire to reach the lost. I didn’t have an unquenchable thirst for the Lord. My passion for serving God wasn’t overwhelmingly strong.

Sure, after youth group trips, camps, Wednesday nights, and events along those lines, I may have been “on fire for God” for a couple weeks or so. And yes, I volunteered for FCDC, I helped with food drives, I helped with the Christmas jubilee, and all those functions that make you feel good inside plus they look good on college applications. Living well, following rules, not having sex, legalistically praying/reading my Bible were what I did to affirm my salvation. Yes, I had already accepted Christ, and now I
was “living” for him.

But I wasn’t living for him. Aside from serving at various events, my faith was idle. Consequently, I feel as though I did nothing significant at NorthWood Middle school and High school. Maybe I reached a few people here and there or at least planted a seed in their hearts, but only God can know that. I can only hope and pray that those years weren’t completely and utterly fruitless.

Then, as many of you know, came the hardest moment of my life, which changed everything—including the acting out of my faith. Through mine and my friends’ trials over the next couple years God would transform my heart in incredible ways.

He transformed my apathetic faith into a fiery passion for offering his hope to the hopeless. And somehow, through a series of events, he brought me to Moody. So, now I’m at my second home, with people I love, awesome professors, and so many opportunities. But I’m surrounded by Christians. I don’t struggle with finding friends who don’t party; I don’t struggle with trying to spread the Gospel throughout campus; I don’t struggle with feeling safe, supported, and loved. From the day I arrived here, Moody has been a family to me. That’s just what Moody is—a family. It’s great to be surrounded with others who love the Lord and are giving up their lives to serve him, but when I hear about the difficulties my friends at other schools have with finding other Christians, finding solid friends, and what not, I can’t help but feel a little bit guilty.

I guess it’s just a motivation to make sure I get out and get involved. What good is my faith if I spend four years in a city filled with hopelessness, devastation, and lost souls, yet I only focus on my studies and hanging out with friends?

So, maybe my point of this is just a reflection of my recent thoughts, but I want to use this to encourage everyone to start doing something you are passionate about now. Find a ministry to volunteer with, work for, promote, etc. Pray about your desires, and move.

I live amongst believers—followers of Christ. I love them. They support me, and they love me. And they are an incredible gift from God, and they bless me in ways they may never even realize. But I can’t get comfortable just being around them all the time (which is all too easy to do). I have to mobilize and use what they teach me to reach those people who believe they have no hope—the ones who no longer dream.

God may not have me at a secular university where I can witness to the students on campus, but he has placed me in a city filled the lost and the searching. And maybe he blessed me with the opportunity to come to Moody so that I would have the support of these beautiful “Moody” people while we go out and serve the Lord together—while we go out and change the hearts of these Chicagoans together.

The Joyful, Bubbly, Beautiful, Passionate Heart of an Incredible Friend

I have a wonderful friend named Monica. She is one of the most amazing women I know, and I am forever grateful that God has blessed me with her. Mon has brought more joy to my life than I know how to say. When I look at Monica, I see a heart for serving God; I see a heart for loving those Jesus came to love. She loves the unloved.

Monica is joyful, bright, excited, passionate, comforting, faithful, strong, and loving. I could go on and on, but these are some attributes that stand out in my eyes. Us two have always been fairly similar in tastes as far as boys, clothes, and opinions. And we always have wonderful conversations about God and what he is doing in our lives/the lives around us.

Tonight, Monica told me about a website in which her pictures are posted from her recent trip to Indonesia. She posted some videos, and she may start writing on the website. Hearing her talk about the people she met, and seeing her excitement while showing me the pictures and videos just made me smile, inside and out. She brings happiness to my heart, and she doesn't even know it.

So, this post is a tribute to her. I don't know when she will read it, if she even does, but that doesn't matter. I just want the world (not that the whole world reads this!) to know what a great friend and person she is. I'm posting the link to the website she was talking about and a link to her blog. She's great. Pray for her and get to know her if you can. She is passionate about life and the Lord.

I love you, Monica!

http://summaonline.com/LETU/Demo/HandsOnLearning/MissionAviation/index.html

http://mlengacher.blogspot.com/

A Simple Thought

I was just reading a post by Piper about why God created song and poetry. He says, "...we need to remember that God is most glorified when he is affecting us, and not just known by us." I wish I had more time to elaborate, but I wish I had more time to write numerous other things as well. Suffice it to say, I think that quote is awesome. Knowing God is great, but interacting with him and letting him affect our everyday lives is incredible.

Proving What's True (Remix)

Okay, so this isn't really a remix. I was just browsing through old archives, and I found this post from awhile ago. It is one of my favorites, because it describes an extremely important experience in my life. So, I edited it a few sentences and words, but it is still almost exactly the same as the original. I just wanted to re-post it, because it's how I have been feeling. I have been meditating on just how True God's Love is, and how I can never understand that.

Here goes:
I go through phases with my music. I always have my favorites such as almost anything country, Anberlin, Staind, Lifehouse, Third Day, and Relient K...and a few others, but I go through phases with different bands, where I'll listen to only that band for weeks straight. And I listen to them until I discover a new band that is totally awesome. One of my most memorable phases was the Acceptance phase. Too bad they broke up.

Anyway, I recently had an internship with a good friend of mine. He graciously allowed me to invade his photography studio just so I could escape a few hours of the mundane routine of high school. It was really great, because I didn't have any classes I needed to take at this point. So I was and am very grateful to him. Anyway, during one of my last days there, we were listening to some awesome music...like usual, and I noticed that he had Sleeping At Last, and I was elated; "Oh my gosh, you know about Sleeping At Last??!" I exclaimed. So, we talked about how awesome they are, and then we resolved to listen to "Ghosts" by this phenomenal band.

As we listened, my heart melted. These guys know how to mix the sweetest melodies with the perfect metaphors and other language devices. While listening to “Ghosts” I was reminded of a past music phase I experienced that involved Sleeping At Last...that was definitely a good phase. And then I wondered why I ever stopped listening to them. So, as I was re-introduced to the depth and beauty of the music and lyrics this band produces, I knew I would be continuing a past phase. So, as my Emery phase ceased, I downloaded a large quantity of Sleeping At Last music.

Consequently, my mind has been enraptured by only the lyrics and melodies of one of the greatest bands of all time. I am listening to them even as I am writing this.

One more detail to help tell my tale: last night at Axis, my same friend that gave me the internship, was talking about the wind. And I didn't mention it to anyone, but I absolutely love the wind. I love the wind, because I always seem to find emotional and/or spiritual healing in it. I have had a number of experiences and encounters in the wind. And I know it's not coincidence, and I know my mind isn't making things up. I know what I feel. And when I feel the wind, I feel God. So, as I walked home from Axis last night, I lifted my hands to the sky, and blasted "Heaven Breaks" by Sleeping At Last, and I let the wind enfold me. I embraced it. My arms were covered in goose bumps. And my body shivered. But I knew what I was feeling. I was feeling Truth and Security and Love.

The lyrics to the song "Heaven Breaks" are some of my favorite. And I realized why last night. At one point the lead vocalist says, "Only Love proves to be the Truth." Could it be any simpler? People ask me why I believe in God, and I decided that from now on, I’ll tell them because He is the only One that has proven to be true. Some truths may exist in other religions, but none of their gods have ever actually proven themselves to be true to me. My God has; it's so simple. I believe what is true. I realize it's not that simple for others, because sometimes it’s difficult to get to the point where you believe God is the truth. But hearing those words and feeling the breeze rush around me...I knew the truth. And I still know it.

Though later on last night, I wept in anguish and desperation for my dad to be back on Earth, in our home, making my family complete. I begged God—for what seemed the ten billionth time—to let my dad hug me one more time. But even as I felt like the loneliest person on the earth, even as those tears streamed down my face, and even as my heart ached for one more warm embrace, one more breakfast, one more day of homemade pizza and Saturday snacks, one more talk on the phone, one more smile, one more: “I’m so proud of you, Kel,”—even as my heart broke every time I called out for my dad, and he didn’t answer me, even as I laid there in the dark, wishing for my heart to stop beating so I could join my daddy in utter bliss, and even as I concluded this pain would never leave me, I was crying out to my Lord. I wasn’t just crying for my pain—I was speaking with God in a more emotional manner. I was communicating with Him in the only way I could—by grieving and crying.

As I was yelling and crying and praying for God to sustain me and comfort me—to carry my pain away, to take me home, to bring my dad back, to do whatever He needed to do to make me stop aching—I suddenly closed my eyes. Then I opened them. No tears spilled forth. My heart was calm; my soul was content. I wasn’t overjoyed or happy, and I didn’t have a warm, fuzzy feeling. But my soul was content, and my heart wasn’t aching. And that’s when I knew I was experiencing God’s comfort more intimately than I ever had. Because it was so sudden—as soon as I let the anger flow out of me, and I asked Jesus to hold me, everything stilled, and I was filled with comfort. It rushed through my bones, and I couldn’t move. I know He has brought me comfort more times than I can count, but I have rarely felt it as boldly as this time. I was still hurting, and I still missed my dad, but God was answering my calls for comfort. I couldn’t believe it. What kind of love is that? I’m this selfish little girl, thinking I deserve to be comforted—thinking I deserve to have this pain taken away from me, when in reality, I don’t deserve anything. I don’t deserve God to come to me when I call Him, but yet, He does. He never fails, either. He always comes when I call Him, I just don’t always feel it as personally as I did last night. What the heck kind of love is that? How can I ever comprehend that? I can’t. Ever.

So, that line came back to me, “Only Love proves to be true.” Love proved it again. God proved it again. God’s love proved it. He is Love and He is true. God’s love is true. It has been proven to me over and over again. And I can hardly contain it. It has made me an unusually emotional person. When I feel the slightest bit of love from anyone, a friend, a grandparent, a sibling, a parent, a stranger, I just want to cry. Because what else can I do? I can’t thank anyone enough for their love. So I’ll just cry about it. Sounds good. It’s too great of a thing for me to express my gratitude for it in any other way.

I know this is already extensively long, but I want to talk about one more thing. In, “Heaven Breaks,” there is also a line that says, “When Heaven meets the earth, we will have no use for numbers to measure who we are and what we’re worth. When Heaven meets the earth, we will have no need for mirrors to tell us who to be and where we fit into this awkward point of view.” And I absolutely love this line, because I hate numbers. I hate math. I hate everything about it—exponential powers, logarithms, balancing algebraic equations—I’ve always despised it, and I’ve always been self-conscious of that. And although, the song is not talking about numbers in math, it’s talking about “numbers” with which we “measure ourselves and what we’re worth” to society and what not, still, to imagine a time when we will have no use for numbers, just makes me so overjoyed and excited. I can actually hardly describe it. And also to imagine a time when we won’t need mirrors to see if we are fitting in today, and what we need to change about ourselves, physically, emotionally, spiritually….is so comforting and reassuring. Anyway, that doesn’t really fit in with my whole love spiel, but I wanted to mention that.

I also want to say that everyone should listen to Sleeping At Last. My favorites are “Ghosts,” “Hold Still,” “Needle and Thread,” and “Heaven Breaks.”

So, those are my most recent thoughts. I hope some of this makes sense to somebody. I hope somebody can sort of understand—I hope I’m not crazy.

Mighty to Save

Recently, I went on a trip to the Philippine Islands. This trip was huge, in many ways, to me. First of all, I joined a team of 17 or so people that I had never met, except at the meetings. The last time I participated in something when I didn’t know a single person was in third grade—when I moved to Indiana. I was excited to form new relationships; however, I was slightly terrified. Dear goodness, I came away from the trip with amazing, new, solid friendships!! I love my trip companions with all of my heart, and I am extremely grateful for them. We shared stories, testimonies, worship, concerns, prayers, jokes, and so many fun experiences. But I could go on and on about them.

Second of all, it was my first trip overseas. And let me tell you, it was phenomenal. I loved every part of living in another culture—I didn’t even mind “showering” with a bucket of frigid, cold water! I loved the food; in fact, my next baking endeavor will be attempting to make delicious Pan De Sal. I definitely loved the sun, but most of all, I came away with a great love for the Filipino people.

The people. I love them. Most of me wishes I was still there, among the ones who stole my heart. These beautiful people blew my mind. The kids we worked with for VBS had next-to-nothing. They lived in the slums—much like the ones shown on Slumdog Millionaire (which is an incredible movie). Despite the lack of worldly possessions, the precious, adorable Filipino children came running, full force, to both VBS sites at which I served. However, they didn’t just come running; they came running with beautiful smiles stretching wide across their faces. And they came with open ears and hearts—ready to listen to us.

On the first Monday, after VBS, some of the team split up to go to different slum areas and pass out milk and vitamins and lead a Bible Study. My group that day was Ryan, Darice, and Dominique. Now, I had seen what the slums look liked from the outside, but going inside them was a completely different story. It was like walking into a cave of a massive number of complexly interconnected, tiny rooms. The rooms, which were actually “houses,” with approximately one whole family per room, spread forward, to the left, to the right, and upward. My heart broke. I was dumbstruck by the way those people have to live. And they actually pay for it. It is devastating. So, God did what I asked him to do—he broke me, by showing me devastation that I cannot understand. Now, what can he possibly teach me from that?
Torn between understanding that God has a reason for placing those people there and questioning him as to what in the world he is doing—I chose the latter. God, how in the world could you allow your created people to live like this? I could not understand—for the duration of both weeks. It is still hard for me to understand, but I will get to that, in a bit.

While there, I was able to share the Gospel with many kids, and some even accepted Christ. Hallelujah! Right? I should be ecstatic with that right there; however, I was worried. I was worried that after I left, the kids would forget what they learned; they would forget about Christ’s love for them despite their dire conditions; they would turn to worldly things; and they would not try to stay faithful God’s commands. After all, they are just kids. Will they even remember what we taught them?

Since being back, I had really been struggling with this concept. I felt that God showed me the desolation and devastation in these peoples’ lives, and he left it at that. My eyes were simply opened, but I hadn’t learned anything. In one of my classes, one of my professors asked me what I learned, and I didn’t really have an answer. I said that God had actually just done a lot of showing me things I never imagined. He opened my eyes to a real, existent, and distant world. As I didn’t want anyone to think I was a bad Christian for not learning anything—because of course, you have to learn something about God from everything—my safe answer was, “I am still processing most of what I saw.” But was I? Was I really processing what I saw, or was I still chewing on the fact that a Sovereign (keep in mind my usage of “sovereign” here) God would allow his children to live that way? I knew the truth.

So, feeling depressed because I wasn’t with those kids, making sure they stayed on the “Christian” track, and feeling a bit irritated with God and the way he works, my days after the trip were mundane and probably lacked a Christian attitude towards life.

Then, this past Tuesday, in chapel, we sang a song called, “Mighty to Save.” Most people know this song. It is completely overplayed in worship services, today; however, I still love it. I love it every time we sing it. So, naturally, my eyes lit up when I heard the band begin to play the intro to the song. As we sang it, all I wanted to do was stand at the top of a mountain and scream those words at the top of my lungs. My heart was pounding, and tears were trickling down my cheeks. Then, I thought about it: Do I really believe this? Do I really feel this way right now, that God can move the mountains, and that he is mighty to save? Or am I just caught up in the rapture of the moment? Am I just caught up in the power of the words combined with the music combined with the voices and the lifted hands?

As I pondered that for a short moment, I understood what God taught me from my trip to the Philippines. I hadn’t believed that God is mighty to save. I hadn’t believed that he can move the mountains, at least not after what I saw in Manila and Bulacan.

But at that moment, as we sang about how God is mighty to save, the light bulb lit up.
Now, I love imagery and lyrics that depict Christ conquering death, and the hope that Christians have because death has been defeated. So, my favorite thing about this song has always been the line, “He rose and conquered the grave.” But as I sang it this time, the line, “Savior, he can move the mountains; my God is mighty to save,” is what struck me. Sure, I have always loved that line, because of its truth, but this time it was true to me in a new way.

I realized right then, that God can move the mountains. God is, indeed, mighty to save. I taught those kids to the best of my ability. I prayed for wisdom when I taught them. I tried to show them Christ’s love as best as I could. And for the ones who got saved, I emphasized and emphasized that we need to continue a relationship with Christ after we are saved. And I explained different ways to do that. And now, I continue to pray for them. But that is all I can do right now. In fact, I cannot control whether or not they stray away from God; I cannot control whether or not they strive to live the “Christian life.” It is not up to me whether or not they develop and grow a relationship with Christ. I did what I could.

Now, I have to leave it up to God, which is exactly what I had been struggling with. But why should I struggle with that? Did I think God couldn’t handle it? Did I think he would forget about those kids?

Apparently, I did.

Singing that song, that I have sung countless times, I realized that what those kids do now is not up to me. And that drives me crazy that I can’t stay in control of the situation.

But if I believe in a God that can literally move the mountains with a word, with a breath, with a thought, how can I believe that he would forget about those people—let alone anyone? How can I sing that God is mighty to save, but yet not be able to entrust the lives of others to him? Why, on earth, would I ever believe that I could do a better job than God in helping those kids? I understand now, that God is indeed Sovereign enough to help those kids. He is, of course, mighty enough to save them. Never in a million years, does God actually need my help. He just chooses to use me.

So now, I understand that God showed me that devastation, those dire living conditions, I understand that he broke my heart, to teach me how to trust him again. But not only to trust him with my life; I needed to learn again that I am not in control, and I need to trust him with the lives of others. God is Sovereign, and he is mighty to save.

I can trust my feeble, weak self, or I can trust in a God that moves mountains. Wow.

A Call for Moments Not Forgotten

This past weekend, I had a conversation with a good friend of mine somewhere between two and five in the morning. We were sleeping in a dark and slightly frightening basement, so we talked until we were exhausted.

While we were talking, I mentioned that I really miss my dad. (Now I hate to make most of what I write about my dad, but bear with me; it is what consumes me right now.) I mentioned that it was only by God’s grace, and it was no coincidence that my dad called me at four in the afternoon the day he died. It was not a coincidence that I just happened to be home, and I just happened to decide to, for once in my life, pick up the home phone when it rang. Obviously, I did not know it would be our last conversation. It’s funny that our last conversation was about my dog and my favorite cookies—Black&White—my dad was bringing home for me.

For the past (almost) two years, I have looked at that last call, that last conversation as a blessing and a gift from God. If not for that call, I would not be able to remember the last conversation I had with my daddy. And I still do view it as a gift from God, but when my friend and I were talking, she pointed something else out to me that I had never before considered.
She said while it is obvious that God did allow me that phone call in order to have unforeseen closure and some last words I would vividly remember and hang onto for the rest of my life, maybe there is another reason I picked up the phone that day. Maybe God prompted my dad to call the home phone that day, while prompting me to answer the phone, to show that he was with me in that moment.

At times, it is easy to believe that God forgot about my family and I that night; it is easy to forget that he never leaves us, never forsakes us. It is easier to believe that my dad’s passing from this earth into heaven that day was a mistake, and his time was not, yet. It is incredibly easy to think that during the worst night of my life, God was not there, because he was busy helping others out elsewhere. And it does not seem like this would be a comforting feeling, but it is slightly comforting when you struggle back and forth with the idea that God did not prevent the death of your loved one.

My point is, that while it is easy to forget those things, I do know with my whole being that God did not leave me that night. My mother, my brothers, and I were not alone; my extended family, my dad’s friends, my friends—none of them were forsaken by God that night, nor ever. So, looking back, I can understand now that while the most important phone conversation of my life was partly for my closure, my own comfort, and for my future healing process, God was showing me that I was not alone. He never left my side. He did not forget for one second that my father would soon be home with him; God did not overlook the fact that March 15, 2007, would be the worst night of my life. He was not gone on a business trip; he was not checking his email; he was not too busy watching TV or too busy with anything at all. He was right there with me. All the proof I need is in that phone call (and I could say that for Scripture, too). When my dad called at four o’ clock in the afternoon that day, I had no idea what I would find out five and a half hours later, but God did.

He knew I would be devastated. He knew all along that I would be terrified, sick, heartbroken, angry, and in desperate need of my Heavenly Father. He never forgot about me for one nanosecond. He was right there next to me even before I knew what was going to happen. It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t a forgotten moment. It was God holding onto me when I thought I could never stand up again. It was God preparing me for my future, whatever that may hold.

That night was not forgotten.

The most important phone call in my life proves to me that God was there, in the unknown. He was there with me. He was there with my dad, in his last hours. He was there with my family. Technology may be a nuisance every now and then, and it may be taking over the world, but I am forever grateful for phones.

I know that. ☺

I am also forever grateful for my God, who never leaves me—or anyone.

I forever know and believe that with all of my heart.

Deliverance from My Worst Nightmare

The ground shakes, as the train roars above me. I am laying underneath a freight train, scared to death. My heart is pounding, and I know that I am dying. But suddenly, somehow, through the train, I see my dad pull up in his blue van. The van in which the Pepsi cans froze one winter, and then exploded--leaving brown spots all over the interior. I see my dad sprint towards me, and I know that he will save me.

"Kelly, Kelly, it's okay. It's okay." I hear a voice speaking softly, and I feel a hand stroking my hair. My eyes flutter open, and I see grass. Exhausted, I close my eyes again. I wonder why I am sleeping on grass. Didn't I go to sleep in my bed? Wait a minute, did I ever go to bed? Why am I wet and wrapped in a towel? My eyes open again, for an instant, and I see some of my friends running around. The soft voice is still assuring me that I am okay. The voice's hands are still stroking my hair. I am scared, but I feel some comfort. This is the weirdest dream I have ever had.

I open my eyes once more. Reality hits me. I am not dreaming. I am laying in a real yard, actually wet, really wrapped in a towel. I am cold; I see snow on the ground. My head aches, and I cannot understand what is happening. Terror consumes my body. The terror of the unknown, confusion, loneliness. I am wracked with fear, because I do not know what is real, and I cannot comprehend anything. I see some of my friends: Jess, Mo, Mike, and Alan. I see my brother and my father. I realize that Jessie's mom, Sue, is holding my head, speaking those soft, comforting words to me. I look around, terribly confused. I literally have no idea how I ended up in this situation.

"Kelly, it's okay. You had a seizure. You're okay, just relax." I had a seizure? Doesn't that mean there is something wrong with my brain? Do I have a tumor? Cancer? Will I die?

My eighth grade year, in November, I had a grand-mal seizure in my best friend's hot tub. From what they have told me, I made some odd movements, and then slid underwater. Fortunately, my friend, Alan, pulled me out of the water. Apparently, I was unconscious for about five long minutes. I can't remember a thing. All I know is that I had a dream of being run over by a train, and I woke up in Jessie's yard. A couple weeks later, I have another one in Mr. Hess's social studies class. I feel the exact same feelings. Except this time, when I came to consciousness, and I realize I what happened, I scream "No!!!" At least, I did in my head. I cried. I was put on medication this time, and I stayed on the medication until June before my senior year. I had been seizure-free the whole time, so my neurologist decided to take me off of the medication. I was stoked! They never did figure out why I had the seizures, which bothers me still, but the important thing was, I had been seizure free since I had the second one.

I was off the medicine, and still seizure-free, until June 2008. I was getting ready for my second day of work at Pet Supplies Plus. I woke up on the floor of my bathroom. I heard the radio, but again, I thought I was dreaming. Although, I did find it odd that I was sleeping in my bathroom. My eyes opened and closed a few times, then I realized I wasn't dreaming. It happened. I stood up, trembling and unable to think logically. My first thought was that I was late for work, so I hurredly began drying my hair, but then I stopped, because I realized I couldn't go to work if I had a seizure. But did I have a seizure? Maybe I just overslept. But that couldn't have happened, because I was on the bathroom floor. Well, maybe I am making up the "seizure," because I really did oversleep, and I needed an excuse of why I was late. I began drying my hair again. A few seconds later, I stopped. My thoughts were jumbled, and I was extremely disoriented. I had overslept; I didn't really wake up on the bathroom floor--I am just making that up. I turn on the dryer, but then I look down at the floor. Blood. I look in the mirror, and I see scratches on my face--bleeding. I look at my hands--scratched and bleeding. Suddenly, I realize my body is very sore.

I put the pieces together: blood, scratches, aching body, disorientation, bruises...I have felt this all before--when I had seizures. I begin to cry, and I call my mom. I frantically explain that I'm late for work, but I think I had a seizure; I woke up on the ground, and I am not really sure what is happening. She comes home right away, and a good friend rushes us to the hospital.

Suffice it to say, doctors still do not know what causes these seizures, but I am medicated once more--possibly for the rest of my life, according to my neurologist.

What's my point? I don't really have one. I just can't sleep right now, and it is because I keep imagining the times I wake up from the seizures. They are horrific memories to me. I cannot explain the fear and terror I feel when coming back to consciousness after having an "episode." I have certainly learned some lessons from having them, but they still make me shudder and shake with fear. The worst thing about them is that I cannot feel them approaching. So, at any moment, I know I am at risk of waking up on the ground...and feeling the exact same things I felt the other times. I am especially scared of the "train dream." I had it for the first two, but not the third. Many times, I live my day in fear of blacking out and waking up, completely confused. These are my nightmares, because every time I have them, I believe I am dreaming, only to awaken and realize the reality of the situation.

Again, I do not really have a point, but while writing this, I have made a correlation between a certain part of the "train dream" and my faith. While being run over by the train, I see my daddy come; he comes to rescue me. And I know without a doubt, that he will be successful in saving me.

I'm sure you can guess where I am headed with this. Not to be cliche, but in life, I experience many "trains." The "trains" in my life, are my struggles, my trials, my bad days, my pains, my fears, my hindrances, my failures, etc. But just like my earthly dad rescued me from the literal train in my dream, my Heavenly Father will rescue me from the metaphorical trains in my life.

He will rescue me from this blindness I feel about my future; He will rescue me from my fear of the unknown; He will rescue me from my pain, from my loneliness, from my sadness, from my aching heart, from all of it. He will rescue me from the swift and windy and angry currents caused by the roaring, rushing, rumbling train overhead. He will calm my screams into weeping into breathing--softly whispering, "It's okay, Kelly. It's okay, daughter." He will stroke my hair until my trembling ceases. And once again, he has rescued me.

How can I ever believe my God will not save me when I am in distress, when I cry out, when I feel lost? Maybe I won't feel him at first, but he often moves quietly in my life. I have always been utterly terrified of that "train dream." But now, now I see meaning. Now I see the way my Lord saves me. Now I see the purpose of my father and my Father. My Heavenly Father came to rescue me for all time. And he sent my earthly father to be a wonderful example of my Heavenly Father's role in my life. He sent me a beautiful example, and when that example, that wonderful man, my amazing father, was taken from me--serving to be my greatest trial of all so far, my Heavenly Father reminded me that he has rescued me, and he will always rescue me.

Terror, horror, fear, these things are all temporary, and they are all defeatable. There is salvation from all of them. Maybe there isn't anything wrong with my brain. Maybe I only had these seizures to illustrate the salvation of my Lord. Maybe it's both. Either way, God worked through my "episodes" and he rescued me from my great fear. He delivered me from the most real nightmare I have ever experienced.