Ridin Dirty

I don't really pick up hitchhikers, or strangers walking down the road. I mean, maybe I've given a ride to a woman and her child before, or maybe some kids from my neighborhood, just to shorten their walk home or to get them to their destination. But, my husband Chuck tells me that I'm not allowed to give rides to "strangers," if it's just my girls and I in the car. He on the other hand, oftentimes gets mistaken for the city bus. But for real! I'm pretty positive that he has given more rides to strangers, than he has to me. Which is fine, because he's in the ministry and his truck stays a disaster. It's like a ministrymobile, or a VBS on wheels. And it tends to smell of feet and fart. It just does. 

I say all of that to set the stage. 

There was one particular day exactly two years ago this month, on which my husband picked up another "stranger." I've heard this part of the story over and over and I never get sick of it. My husband was taking our 5-year-old daughter to dance, and he pulled over to see if this kid needed a ride. The kid said yes, and hopped into the stank mobile. That kid was 15 years old and went to the middle school right behind our house. He had just finished up cross-country practice and was waiting on a ride, but the ride was a no show that day, so he just started home. 

Trimming up that part of the story, I'll throw in that the kid lived 7 miles away from the school and often walked those 7 miles home. He was quiet. Thankful for the ride. And that was that. 

Or so we thought, until Chuck passed him again the next day. He slowed down and pulled over to the side as usual. The window comes down, and then, "Wanna ride?" It's his go-to. Nothing special just, "Wanna ride?" And you would actually be surprised at how many people are NOT afraid of a white male with super long dreads, in a blacked out truck. They just hop on in, like it ain't no thing. I'd for sure be dialing 9-1-1 on my cell phone off to the side where he couldn't see. But that's just me. 

It was the same situation. He had a cross-country meet and needed a way home. He couldn't find a ride, so he got to walking. No big deal. Chuck began to strike up a conversation this time. The kid was still quiet, a little insecure. Who could blame him?! Random nice guy gives me a ride two days in a row?! What's up here? 

This time, Chuck leaves the kid with his phone number and tells him anytime he gets stuck without a ride to just give him a call. And with that gesture, a gesture that showed genuine care and compassion and follow through, something incredible happened. 

Fast-forward two years to present day. 

I have three little girls. The oldest will be 7 in April. The middle just turned 5. And my youngest little precious angel baby darling is every bit of two and a stinking half. Can I get an amen?! Yea. And then there's Josh. He's 17 now. He adores basketball. Loves pizza and grapes. He eats ranch on everything. He's the cleanest and most hygienic teenage boy I know.  He likes school and does his own laundry. He's a homebody. His smile lights up the room. He loves Jesus and bringing friends to church. 

He lives with us now. He is 100% a part of our family. 

There are a million posts to be written about that period of time between when that phone number was given out, and now. There have been a million tears shed and a million battles fought. A million laughs laughed and a million memories made. There are posts that I long to share. Posts that up until now, I haven't felt released to tell. But now, it's time. Because I know that God has done something truly and absolutely beautiful under my family's roof. Something miraculous. Something insane. Something that could only have happened within His will and guidance. 

It's a dirty story. Dirty in a sense of flat out mess. And that is what life is about. Entering into mess. Getting dirty in ways that are sometimes uncomfortable or out of our cute little Christian worlds. I didn't even know I lived in a cute little Christian world until Josh. Until humility. Until discipleship. Until sacrifice. Until obedience. Until all of these things that I thought I knew, were quickly squashed. 

I look forward to sharing a huge part of our lives. If for no other reason than to have a written form of all that has happened over the past two years. Or....maybe just maybe....our dirty, messy story can be used by God as an encouragement to others to do the same. Surely not for our own glory. Quite the contrary, my hope is that Christ would be the only one seen and heard through ANY of this. For it is Him who we seek to imitate. 

Matthew 20:28

"For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve others and to give His life as a ransom for many."

Humility is something I suck at. I could've received a full scholarship to a university of my choice if the ACT cared about how prideful a person was. But when I pray to my Jesus and tell Him that I want to be more like Him, and that I want more of Him and less of me, or that I want to be lower and lower, so that in my life He can be lifted higher and higher, best believe that He'll  begin that work. And Lord knows it won't ever be a work that is finished, but I will certainly let Him do that work in me. No matter the cost. I'll say yes. I choose to serve. I choose obedience. And mess.  

Just your basic family pumpkin patch picture. 

Pray Like a Girl

Do you ever say things and you don't really mean it? Or maybe you say it, and you know you're saying it, but you have no intention of really following through? Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about…because I am absolutely positive you do. We are women. We are absolutely HORRIBLE at this type of bull.

Maybe you tell someone you'll pray for them, but you know good well you're gonna forget who it was you were telling you would pray for later, (both hands in the air here) or maybe you tell someone that you'll have them over for dinner, and then get too busy and figure, "Oh well. They probably forgot anyway." Or! play dates. We are soooo quick to say stuff along the lines of, "Oh my gosh! We have got to plan a date soon!" ughhhhh. I am groaning at mySELF here people. OR. Wait, wait, wait….here it comes….MAYBE you tell your husband you'll get to that….uhh physical need….later. OHHHH SNAP!! Yea. I SOOO just did.

I am NOT hatin. I am telling you that I am right there with ya. Sometimes we do have good intentions. We mean what we say. Or we THINK we do at least. Are you tracking with me? Anyone ride that train too? The "Say it but don't actually 100%-really and truly-with all my heart-mean it" train.

WOE IS ME!! I'm disgusted by how many relationships I am in, with which I do the above. But, I'll tell you. There is someone who is really good at holding me accountable to the crap I say. Or should I say….pray.

It's my own dumb fault. I get so used to doing it with everyone else, and when I'm praying and tell God things like, "I want to be more like You." or, "Help me to see people through Your eyes." Maybe you've said something similar to, "Grant me wisdom Oh God." I know I have. WAIT. I DO IT EVERY SINGLE DAY. OVER AND OVER AND OVER. The same stupid prayers. AS IF I can handle the wisdom of God. Or loving people like He does. Or becoming more like Him.

I CAN'T. I CAN'T HANDLE IT OR EVEN COME A LITTLE BIT CLOSE TO HANDLING IT. Phew. There I said it.

I think I want those things. And I pray them. And think I mean them. My heart and mind are in the right place, but y'all our flesh is STUHHH RONNNGGGG!!! Can I get an all women's HALLELUJAH CHORUS HERE?! I pray those things and God wrecks my world. Because when we pray those things and have good intentions. And attempt to mean them, He actually allows those prayers to be answered.

Sometimes the answers that God gives to us are "no", or "wait", or "you're dumb if you think I would answer that." JK, He wouldn't say that. Well, matter of fact, I don't know. I used to pray for boobs in middle school, and He probably did in fact lean over to the nearest angels and laugh and say, "That Rachel, she ain't right." He did NOT answer that prayer. Just so you know. (Still a smidge bitter, but working through it in counseling.)

BUT. When I have recently began to pray like I mean it. Really study prayer and learning disciplines such as kneeling and interceding and other things of that sort, God is responding. He is responding to my prayers with a very difficult third little girl who stretches me in every way. He responds with people around me who need someone to step in and intercede in HUGE ways. He is responding to my prayers with a teenage boy living in my home who has baggage and past emotional pain that most couldn't begin to understand. He is responding to my prayers in ways that are HARDDDD!!!!

And then I all of a sudden find myself laying face down on my bed crying out to Him, "GOD WHYYY?!!!" And I hear that sweet whisper. In the midst of my ugly sobs and emotional breakdown and sweaty armpitted panic attack, I hear Him whisper to me, "I thought you wanted to know me more. Sweet baby, I thought you wanted wisdom. I thought you wanted to love like I love. I thought you wanted to see people like I do. I thought you wanted more of me. Less of you. And here I am answering those prayers, and you won't let me guide you through it. You can't handle those things alone, yet you won't bring those burdens back to me to let me do what I do best."

Y'all. I asked for it. I asked, and received. Imagine that. It's of my own doing. And His answers have proven to make me stronger. Make me a fighter. A warrior of sorts. Sometimes a weak and terrified rookie soldier, shaking in his boots. And sometimes a front line, strong, big muscled son of a gun blazing through the battles behind the God of angel armies. (Enter old school song, "I'm in the Lord's Army. You're welcome for that one.)

I guess when it all boils down. I do in fact mean those things when I pray them. I have good intentions. I'm just not always great on following through. And I'm working on that. He's helping me. And teaching me. And guiding me. And growing me. And ruining me. And humbling me. And everything else that He is and does. And it sucks. And it's amazing, all at the same time. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Matthew 27:51
"At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom."

From top to bottom. Not bottom to top, as if torn by man. But from TOP TO BOTTOM, because it was torn by God. Torn by God because He LONGS for us to enter into His presence. Longs for us to be near to Him. To know Him intimately.

As Easter approaches, let us not take advantage of the fact that as Christ took His last breath and cried out, "IT IS FINISHED!" God very well could have been in heaven, ripping the veil and crying out, "IT HAS BEGUN!"

God may we "enter in." Know you. Intimately. No matter the cost. Humble us. We lift you higher and make more of you and beg that you make less of us and lower us and empty us. We lift high our banners. We yearn for you. Make us more like You, even if it hurts. WE MEAN IT.