Wednesday, July 31, 2013

a vision illuminated.

photo credit: Pinterest
I have had a dream; a vision; a long-term, grand-scheme, God-given passion bubbling up in me for so long.

Several, really, but for now we're just talking about one.

It's been one of those things--you know the ones. You have a great idea, but can't put it into words. You can't map out a plan or get people on board because you're just not quite sure what to tell them. You just can't paint a picture that accurately embodies everything you're feeling, everything you're wanting.

I've been carrying around that kind of abstract vision for years. I still don't know what it will really look like or how exactly to plan the thing out, but I do know I can show you. I might be able to help you understand.

To lay a little groundwork, here are a few things that have led up to this point:

Growing up going to a girls' camp where girls were almost completely free to just be little girls and love God in big ways.

Tammie Head uncovering for me, four years ago, so many truths about the Lord and His desire for me to be in His presence, truths that were still cloudy for me even after being taught so well for so long. I told her at the end of that summer Bible study that I wanted to help girls get it earlier than I did.

Finally submitting and surrendering to teach and serve kids through whatever kind of ministry the Lord laid before me. It has been abundantly more than I could have asked for or imagined.

And so what the Lord had started, I couldn't wrap words around.
Until I saw this:

I've watched it almost every day since I first saw it.
I cry, start to finish, every single time.

That's it. That is so perfectly, wonderfully, everything-I've-been-looking-for it.

I want to create an evironment where girls are free. Free to be themselves. Free to worship. Free to be girls.

I don't know how big or how small or how old or how often. But that's exactly my vision in a four minute video.

The first time I saw it, the Lord so clearly whispered, "Look what I can do." ["I" as in "Him." Only He can do it.] And as I watched, I didn't see sweet little strangers, I saw the slightly more grown up faces of girls whom I know and adore. Girls whose boundless futures I pray for often.


My dream and my prayer and my hope for them is that they would be always comfortable in their own skin.

That they would laugh far more than they cry.

That they would walk boldly, unafraid of judging eyes.

That they would know early that God is who He says He is.

That they would blow us away by how they can be so small, yet walk so intimately with their Father.

That even though they'll undoubtedly be hurt by this world, they would seek Him first every time.

That with all the limits the world will put on them, they wouldn't put more on themselves.

That they would dance with confidence and love for people to be listening when they sing.

That they would actually feel beautiful and believe that they are radiant little souls.

That they would know they can really, truthfully, realistically change the world.

That they would never have to wonder whether or not we are watching them in wonder. They would know we are.

That they would know that their mothers and grandmothers and teachers and friends--their sisters--are cheering wildly for them as they run. That we would slow our pace and run with them.

That they would live confidently and without fear, knowing that we are begging big things for them in prayer. That we are on our knees for them, battling evil forces out to get them.

That they would be free.

Thursday, July 25, 2013

"whoa, lady!"

If you're game, I'm willing to jump straight into this post and pretend like it hasn't been four months since I've even looked at this blog. I'll even tell you my most embarrassing moment of the whole summer to make up for it. Deal?...Deal. Let's do this.

For a couple of weeks in the past month, I was wrapping up a project at our ministry's warehouse/workshop/catch-all storage space; and it was HOT.

July. In Houston. Outside. Doing work.
I honestly loved it, but it was honestly hot.

So I made many trips to the same Sonic, several trips a day in fact.

On one of those Sonic trips, I was picking up a couple bags of ice for a group coming over for dinner.

Long, embarrassing story short...

I went through the drive-thru, ordered my Route 44 iced tea with mint and two bags of ice, rolled up to the window, and Morgan (we're on a first name basis now that I've completely humiliated myself in front of her) handed the first bag of ice through the window to me.

I thanked her, grabbed the bag of ice, then leaned over to sit it on the floorboard of my front passenger seat. It was just enough leaning, just enough weight shifted...

that my foot ever so slightly released the break. Oh, no. 

Oh, yes. But I was still very focused on getting that ice put away. I didn't have a clue what was happening until I heard,

"Whoa. Whoa, lady! Your car's movin'!" 

And you know what? It really was. Not quickly. Not far. But it was moving. I looked out my window and all I saw was a brick wall. The pick-up window was at least four feet behind me.

I had to put that car in reverse, get my second bag of ice (after Morgan and I stopped laughing), and drive shamefully away.

When I went back the next morning for my Route 44 ice water with lime, I tried to assure Morgan that people do that all the time.

She's says they don't.
Thanks for the humility, Morgan.