Readin'. Writin'. & Prayin'.

SO, the boy started kindergarten.

As a family, we decided we wanted to send him to a Christian School. There is a fantastic one very close to my office and the logistics all seem to work out. (There was a bit of a dramatic flare to the event, because he was registered, then we were told there was no room for him, then they called & had room for him two days after school officially started ...... but when is our life ever simple? Mmmmm) It has been an amazing, wonderful step for us. From the moment we walked into this school, we knew it was where we wanted to be. Even on the very first day, as tears spilled out of my eyes watching my big boy walk into the classroom, I felt such peace.

To say the boy LOVES it is an understatement. I pick him up in the afternoon and as he climbs in to the van he is rapidly discussing what he learned that day. His brain is being stretched and he is absolutely loving the experience. It is a fantastic adventure, one that we hope & pray will continue to be with him for his whole educational journey. We excitedly review the day's papers and he is actually disappointed when there is no homework sheet in his folder. And almost daily, the Poppa prays a blessing over the boy (& sister girl too) that he would "grow in widsom & in favor with God & man."

I am not alone in recognizing this is another milestone in the journey of motherhood. The emotion of it has taken me by surprise at times. I believed I was "super-woman" and would not be affected by this step. O.contrare. The transformation of my preschool son into a real, kindergarten, school boy has me scrambling for many a Kleenex. It hits me at various times, but most often as I watch him hop, jump & run out to meet me at the end of a day. His face & hands are usually grubby, his shirt disheveled and pulled out of his shorts, the grime and sweat making his unruly hair to spike up in various parts.

I look at him in that moment and I see it for what it really is.
A moment.
Such a beautiful one, but oh-so fleeting.
Five years feels like only a few days....

Recognizing the weight of this causes me to pray harder, more earnestly. And it feels like I am the one who is being taught. Learning to shape my life, my actions, my words after Jesus. Knowing that is only through His grace that I can be the mother my children need me to be.
Lord, help ME to "grow in wisdom & in favor" too.

And as Jesus grew older

He gained in both wisdom and stature,

and in favour with God and man.

Luke 2:52

Tidings of comfort.

~Psalm 23~
(A psalm of David)
The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He makes me to lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside the still waters.
He restores my soul;
He leads me in the paths of righteousness; For His name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil;
For You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
You anoint my head with oil;
My cup runs over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
All the days of my life;
And I will dwell in the house of the LORD
Forever.

Covering all the bases.

Once upon a time a harried mom & dad took a trip
With two adorable preschoolers, who both had to make an emergency potty break.
....blah...blah...blah..

The family chariot pulled off the interstate into a Target parking lot and both parents rushed to get the said kiddos out of the vehicle. Upon exiting the vehicle, they quickly realized that they had locked the keys (the only set of keys) inside the mini van while it was still running.
....wah....wah....wah

The Momma smartly said she was going to take the offspring and run away to the bathroom and while inside she would pray for the Poppa.
Once in the bathroom the Momma instructed the children to hurriedly do their business and that it would be wise, very wise for the wee ones to join her in praying for the Poppa & the-locked-keys-inside-the-van-situation.

The boy's prayer went something like this:
Dear God, Please help Daddy. Please help the locked van. In the name of the Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost, the Holy Spirit and all of the other ones too. Amen.
.....ha....ha.....ha
Very soon mall security came to our rescue, unlocked the doors and the family lived happily ever after.

The End.

Growing Pains

Personally, deep in the dark places of my heart where no one else knows me:
God is showing me some stuff that I don't exactly know what to do with.
Areas where I need to grow, to change, to improve.
Things that need to be pruned out of my attitudes.
Gaping holes that need to be filled with His grace & abundance.
Discplines that need to be cultivated.

While I won't go into specifics, nor will I share any more than just that, I will say that God has been amazingly good during this time. I began 2009 with a sincere quest to know HIM better, more intimately and He has been faithful.

This has been a good place for me, even if I have been silent here in this space. I never want to stop growing in my journey with this God who I continually fall in love with.

SMELL. (Our Ministry in 5 senses)

There is an edge to the people we serve on Sunday mornings. Often times as I come downstairs and encounter the line that is already formed, I am assaulted by the scent of....

Fresh sweat and dirty feet.
Dried blood from last night's bar fight.
Earthy, fluid exchange residue from being used.
Distinctive breathes full of hard liquor.
The rawness of not having the advantage of daily bathing routines.

These all mingle together into one intoxicating mess.
The very essence of broken people.

The folks who come to eat with us on Sunday mornings don't have their lives together. And in that aspect, they are very much like me. Sure, I may "gussy" myself up and spray some perfume, but inside I am broken.

And the only thing that could ever fix me was the grace of Jesus Christ.

So I humbly stand in line with them.
I eat my eggs and toast with them.
I look them in the eye, pat them on the back and hug them around the neck.
In our exchanges, sometimes I come home smelling like them.
And when I do, I sense God's favor.

TASTE.

The journey on how we came to minister at an inner city church could take a couple of hours to explain. It certainly wasn't on our horizon. Neither one of us had experience at this type of church. Looking at us from an educated perspective, we are unqualified. Knowing us from a personal perspective, it is surprising. This was not our dream. This was not our plan. This was not where we had aspired/hoped/prayed to be.

And yet, God has given us great passion for this place.
Intense passion.
Overwhelming at times.

We came with a handful of good folk dedicated to do Kingdom work. We were hopeful and naive and had no idea what would happen on the West Side of Charleston. We also had no idea on how to reach our community.

Many of us were familiar with the neighborhood, only through local TV coverage of the crime problems. We knew that there were large communities of public housing there. Rated: Poverty Level in the census reports. How could we declare the power & freedom of Jesus to people so entangled by poverty and generational dependence upon government programs?

We quickly realized that people came if there was food involved.
Hot dog cookouts attracted a crowd. (Large crowds in fact.)

Our resources were (still are) very limited. Our core group small. How could we utilize what/who we had with the maximum opportunity? Somehow we made the connection that we were there every sunday MORNING.
And what do people eat in the morning? BREAKFAST.

Let's serve breakfast!
When we hung out our little "Free Breakfast, Every Sunday @ 11:30" sign, we had no idea what kind of adventure we were embarking. We did not know that eventually this thing would grow & that sometimes we'd run out of eggs. We did not expect to serve persons whose faces sometimes appear on the Charleston's Most Wanted list. We didn't plan for the waiting line to sweep through the hallway & outside the building.

We simply opened the door, baked some biscuits & said Come on in!
Through a modern-day-miracle, God continues to multiply our loaves & fishes each week.
No one leaves hungry, instead they are filled up on hot coffee & warm, tastey food.

I like to think that everyone who comes would agree that on Sunday mornings at 814 Florida Street, the gospel tastes a little bit like scrambed eggs & bacon.
(Or sausage, whatever is on sale or donated that week!)

"Taste & see that the Lord is good!" Psalm 34:7

HEAR. (Our Ministry in 5 senses)

So much of what is said on Sunday mornings at our church is unspoken.

We serve a large crowd in a small space and yet for the most part, we don't have a rough and rowdy group of folk come through the serving line. (I won't lie, there has been an occasional scuffle.)

There is chit chat, greetings and a little small talk, but for 75 people, the noise level is minimal.

But if you stop for a moment, the screams coming from our people are deafening. Downcast eyes, full of hurt and pain. Slumped shoulders carved out from a life of rejection. Broken spirits inside of bodies that are tired, weary & worn down.

What I hear from our people is the silence of shame and embarrassment.

And it's intense. Louder than any shouting match you've ever heard.

No one plans on living a life where they need to accept a free meal on a regular basis.
No. One.
They are poor people, overwhelmed by the journey life has taken them.

I hear it when they look me in the eye and say thank you. I hear it when they reach for the bag from the food pantry and shuffle on out the door. I hear it when they clean their plates and hope for seconds. I hear it as they stuff their pockets with whatever freebie is on the table that week.

We've worked really hard to be a community that is generous with what we have. We are committed to being loving and kind and giving. Yet we recognize that this one small meal on Sunday mornings cannot erase a lifetime of choices & circumstances.

And so in faith, we continue to step forward, serving eggs & toast, knowing all the while that we are in partnership with THE ONE who hears these quiet cries more keenly than we ever can. It's why we do what we do. It's why we believe in what we are doing. It's what motivates us to continue, even when we are exhausted and cranky and ready to stop listening.

Because we know God hears the cry of human hearts everywhere, even on the West Side of Charleston, WV.

Time to get up, God—get moving.
The luckless think they're Godforsaken.
...........
But You know all about it—
the contempt, the abuse.
I dare to believe that the luckless
will get lucky someday in You.
You won't let them down:
orphans won't be orphans forever.

The Message, Psalm 10:12-14