Dream Maker or Dream Breaker?

As I sit in my living room on my over-sized yellow chair, the baby is napping, the house is quiet and my walls seem to fade into the background…

I am now sitting in the middle of my bed, legs crossed, indian style, like when you’re  a kid… because I am 14. The walls in my room are painted an eggplant purple with pictures of friends plastered around the edges of my mirror. I stare at myself until I can no longer make out the distinct features of my face, but rather they swirl and distort into a blur. Still sitting there, I blink. Slowly. Deliberately.

My eyes refocus and I ask… “What is my purpose? Why am I here?”

I’m not sure who I was asking. Myself or God, maybe both?

You see, a few years prior a missionary to Cambodia had come to my Sunday school class and told stories of her life. The adventures she had and heartache as well. Before praying for the class, in her conclusion, she passed out small cards and asked us to fill it out if we felt God was calling us to missions. I didn’t move, head bowed with eyes tightly closed. My chest was on fire, my heart bursting within me. I left the small classroom, walked right out. Yet, as I walked out I felt as if I was walking away from something, from someone. I quickly turned around and raced back to the room where I filled out my card and put it in the kind missionary’s hand.

I had a dream birth on the inside of me in that moment.  A calling of sorts. A purpose.

Flash forward to me sitting in my room just two years later with a door of opportunity in front of me. It was closed, but I was determined to open it. There I sat, crossed-legged, thinking about my predicament. I was 14, and I had just quit our 8th grade track team to get a job. You heard me, a job. I picked up my brother’s paper route and delivered newspapers promptly by 4:30 pm on week days and by 7 am on Sunday. All my hard earned money went directly into a jar that set on top of my dresser. I didn’t spend any of it. I was saving it for the missions trip my youth group was taking that summer. The only problem,  I wasn’t supposed to go.

The age cut off  for the trip was 15, and my birthday was not for a few days after the group would return. I submitted my application anyway. The rules didn’t apply to me, which is probably why I ended up in that one-on-one meeting with my Youth Pastor in his office. I had to write up an essay of why I wanted to be apart of this particular trip, and we were there to discuss it. I had explained in my essay that I was called into ministry and knew that someday I’d be a missionary. I didn’t know how, but I didn’t want to wait and since this was my purpose in life, why let my age restrict me?

He sat across from me, hands clasped loosely together, fingers interlocked. Staring, silent for just a few moments after I had spoken, as if rehearsing in his mind what he’d say next. I remember the tall metal filing cabinets making the room feel cold and the large calendar smack in the middle of his desk, scribbles marking up the page … that’s where he rested his arms. With a twinge of concern in his voice, he asked me to think about the trip again… The leadership was concerned about how I would act overseas. I had shown a bit of an “attitude” at times and what would I do in an unfamiliar nation when asked to obey? Would I be rebellious? They were unsure and didn’t want to take any chances.

I sat there, stiff, frozen in my chair. His words swirling through my head making me dizzy. My young heart had never been crushed. Not like this. I knew what disappointment was, even failure. But I was taught to get back up and try again until you succeed. I knew this feeling from my peers, friends that betray, but adults? A Youth Pastor. The person that is supposed to look at me, see inside, and believe the greatest things can come of me? To come alongside and encourage me into my destiny in God. I was speechless, but only for a moment. I swallowed hard, choking down my embarrassment  and requested he reconsider, since this was MY dream…

He agreed to meet with my parents…

… and they ensured him that I would be on my best behavior.

Spring had passed and I continued to deliver newspapers all summer long until August finally came. My Dad had taken me to get my passport along with a very large suitcase. My  mom helped me to pack everything on the recommended list and then some. I was about to take a journey that would lead me to my destiny. In front of our church, two youth groups boarded a large tour bus for our 5 hour trip to New York City. From there we would board the plane that would take us to Venezuela.

I could write so many things about this trip, recalling details even these 15 years later. But, today we are talking about dreams. Not the kind you have when you’re sleeping, but the ones you have when you are standing up, wide awake. The ones that burn deep in your soul. The kind that imprint an image of a little girl in another nation, living out of a cardboard box, thankful for the small piece of candy and sip of water you give her.  The face that haunts you as you ask yourself, ‘Why? Why am I here?’. It is her face that drives you to keep going when others tell you that you don’t fit the mold. That maybe you don’t have the right skills or talents. Because you know, if there is one like her than there are others…

Tears roll down my cheeks and I am overwhelmed thinking about the gentle faces of the lives we changed that summer. I think, what if I had never be gone on that trip. Too prideful to say I will listen and obey, too embarrassed to push my way through that closed door. When you are young, you believe you can do the impossible. You believe that with one spark, God will ignite a fire. You dream the grandest of dreams, but you are at the mercy of those who will dream with you.

So…

Will you be a Dream Maker or a Dream Breaker?

1 Timothy 4:12 (NLT) says,”Don’t let anyone think less of you because you are young. Be an example to all believers in what you say, in the way you live, in your love, your faith, and your purity.”

How I Met My Husband… (Part 3)

Previously: “During this year, I did not see Charlie at all. Church conferences came and went like the seasons and he was not there. His memory disappearing like leaves in an autumn wind. I had to move on. With no way of contacting him and nearly a year passing without seeing his face, I had almost forgotten him. I started making plans to move to Chicago and attend Moody Bible Institute, where I would continue my studies. Then I ran into his Pastor…”

It was Graduation Day.

The windows in the reception hall stretched from the floor up to the ceiling and through them you could see the stars glisten. The night was clear and crisp. The room was crowded, filled with dreams. They hung in the air, like the robes wrapped around each graduate. You could feel the electricity of excitement for those who had just accomplished something major. For them it was only the beginning.

So there I was, mingling with friends, offering my congratulations and best wishes when I turned slightly around. There stood a girlfriend of mine I had known for the past two years asking if I would like to meet her Father. Why not? Of course I would. Little did I know that the conversation I was about to have would set me on a course that would change everything in my life.

I made my way across the packed room to meet her Dad. As my friend introduced me…. she set me up. Her Dad just so happened to be the Pastor at the church Charles attended. When she told him my name, she casually mentioned that I knew Charles and went to school with him (since 2 years had passed from his graduation). With this, his Pastor immediately went into conversation about Charles.

He asked me, “Do you know what he is doing now?” No. Not really, I thought. “He is traveling all over, preaching the gospel.” What? “We just got back from Africa. You know what they say over there?” Um… No? “They say, this man is anointed, this man can preach!” Really?!

Well, I wasn’t shocked… just a little embarrassed as I noticed what started as a group of 6 people conversing was now just the Pastor and I talking about someone I had not even seen in an entire year. This, in turn, led to my awkward response of, “Charles will always have a little place in my heart.” To which he replied, “Well, come see him. Why don’t you visit Charles in Nashville?”

Wait. What?! Let’s take a moment to reflect here. Just a brief moment of silence please.

I know what you’re thinking. This is crazy.

He wanted me to come down and visit? So, just get in my car and drive 6 hours to see a guy I had been crushing on for 3 years… and then do what? Stand outside his bedroom window with a stereo over my head playing In Your Eyes. Like a sappy reenactment of John Cusack’s Rom-Com?

Reader, in my situation what would you have done? Exactly!

A few weeks later I found myself squished in the back of a friend’s pick up truck on my way to Nashville. We had planned a little trip with a few trusted friends and were headed to check things out…

That weekend seemed to fly by and at the same time was so surreal it was as if everything was moving in slow-motion. I guess that’s what it is like with God, when you have those defining moments with Him and know that things in your life are about to change. It is almost as if he froze time and each individual moment is etched into my mind like single picture frames of a movie reel. It was that weekend that I decided I was going to move to Nashville.

I had made this decision in my heart, and a few days later after meeting with the Pastors I was offered the Children’s Director position at their church. I returned to Columbus, Ohio, only to pack up the contents of a small room I rented and say my goodbyes to the few friends that remained after graduation.

Now, I am not going to lead you on. I won’t even act like that weekend Charles professed his undying love for me that he had somehow kept secret for the past three years. Not even close… But, he did remember me… and we picked up right where we left off. The memories of coffee shops, libraries, and Laundromats seemed to swirl around me as we discussed God, revival, prayer and our desire to see lives transformed.

It was there, that we fell in love… in those moments where we could just be ourselves and share our dreams with each other. We knew that we were meant for each other. God had a perfect plan in the path that led us to one another, though it had twists and turns, ups and downs… He was directing it all along.

This Monday, October 8th, will mark seven years of spending our lives together and fulfilling our dreams. Celebrate with me the beauty of Love… because when you let God write your story, there is no telling what each page will hold.

How I Met My Husband… (Part 2)

So where was I? Oh yeah, buddies.

That first year of Bible College we spent as friends. But my first year was Charlie’s second. So in a 2 year school I had a limited amount of time. I would purposely find him in the coffee shop between classes, or “bump” into him in the hall just to say hi. I remember one day, shortly after “the bookstore” event, I was sitting in the cafeteria after class, just eating my lunch with a couple of girls. We had finished our meal and I was just getting up from the table when I spotted Charles walking across the vast room. I tried to wait around and look like I was busy, by doing this I spilled spaghetti sauce all over the sleeve of my pink button up dress shirt (yes, we had a dress code of mainly skirts). I quickly looked up again after making a mess of myself and he was right beside me. He asked if I was busy. Of course, I wasn’t busy. Not for him anyway. That day he took me to the first and only public Laundromat I have ever been to. It was there that we began to talk about our callings and purpose in life. We discussed God and the supernatural and talked for hours. It was comfortable. Like your favorite sweatshirt that you snuggle into on a cold winter day. I remember looking into Charlie’s kind green eyes and I found myself getting lost in them.

 I had just turned 19 at this point and I did not plan on nor had the confidence to profess my undying love. So the year went on and so did the friendship. By the time graduation came we had not even exchanged phone numbers. As I sat in my dorm room, the size of a walk in closet, organizing my things to pack and take home, I thought I may never see Charles again. So what I did next was brilliant…

I may have purchased a simple greeting card that I felt would do a sufficient job of expressing my feelings and I may have secretly given it to one of his friends. To be given to him on his graduation day when I was at least 100 miles down the road, on my way home to New York.

Brilliant.

After that summer had passed, I returned to Ohio to finish out my second year of Bible College. I had not spoken to Charles all summer long and in fact I was pretty positive that I’d never see him again. So there I was, rushing in to register for my new classes. As I pushed open the swinging double doors to the Chapel Hall, guess who was right on the other side. Charles! Charles?! “What are you doing here? Nice hair.” Those were the exact words I blurted out.

 He was there to bring up a handful of students from his local church who were attending college during the up-coming school year. Periodically during my second year of college I would run into Charles when he visited for conferences, college days or registration. Remember, this was before EVERYONE had a cell phone, Facebook page, Linked In, Branch Out, or even sent text messages. Yet every time I saw him, despite what was going on in my life, I always heard that same thing inside, “He’s your husband”.

The year passed and after my graduation, I spent the summer interning in the Executive Office of the Church the Bible College was affiliated with. That summer was by far one of the best to date. It was there, in the back offices, that I gained lifelong friends and learned some valuable lessons.  I kept an entire journal of my daily obligations and the things God spoke to me from the moment I awoke at 6 am until I laid my head to rest, sometimes well after midnight. It was during this time that I was given the opportunity to speak with the President of the Bible College. He asked me, “If some students only stay for one semester, and you have already graduated from our 2 year program, why are you still here?” Good question! And boy did I have an answer…

{Remember how I told you in my last blog about the missionary man who came to my school when I was 13? Well, I didn’t wait until after Bible College to travel to the nations and do the work of a missionary. I started the very next year. At age 14, I boarded a plane for the first time in my life, and I flew to South America. Every summer until my 18th birthday I travelled to various nations. The summer before my senior year of high school I spent a month in China. It was there, half way around the world, drenched in sweat with no air-condition, taking cold showers, and sleeping on  the floor, that I met the most precious second grade teacher from Columbus, Ohio. She is the one that introduced me to the Bible College I attended (and met Charlie at).}

…So, because of this, my answer to him was, “I didn’t get what I came here for yet.” When I had returned for my second year, the Missions Program Director was no longer employed at the school. She had been developing a program to connect the students with missionaries around the world and tried to get them placed into a country. Without having this available now, I was still seeking God as to what his next step was for me. Hence, the summer internship I participated in, which lead to the third year program of Advanced Pastoral Studies. In this time of decision I meditated on the scripture, Psalm 37:23, “The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord: and he delighteth in his way.” I knew God was directing me in everything and held on to his promises for my life.

During this year, I did not see Charlie at all. Church conferences came and went like the seasons and he was not there. His memory disappearing like leaves in an autumn wind. I had to move on. With no way of contacting him and nearly a year passing without seeing his face, I had almost forgotten him. I started making plans to move to Chicago and attend Moody Bible Institute, where I would continue my studies. Then I ran into his Pastor…