God Saved My Son

Where am I? Sitting in a hospital room, with a mostly-sleeping family. What happened? A parent’s nightmare. Spoiler alert: everyone is fine.

Yesterday* was “one of those days” as a mom, where it seemed like my voice had no power and my frustrations kept getting the best of me. Late in the afternoon, I felt weighed down about getting snappy with Eliana and apologized to her (again).  Then after another string of more unheard mom-orders, Eliana looked at her feelings chart I recently made her and asked me, “How are you feeling?” To which I responded, “I feel frustrated because you all aren’t listening…” Then I quickly dressed our kids for the pool, Jonas first. After changing the baby Eva, I walked out of our bedroom and saw Jared step through the door to grab the car keys (he was apparently responding to a call about picking up a fixed window). I then looked down to see Jonas’s life jacket on the floor, but no Jonas. I verbalized (without really thinking it was possible) "What if Jonas got in the pool?" To which Jared responded, “Without his life jacket? He wouldn’t do that…”

My heart raced, in the same way my heart always picks up its pace when a what if? crosses my mind. I have those from time to time—all kinds of things could happen, so many directions a story could go, and I wondered again… “Oh no, what if?!” And so Jared ran over—just to check—and then he ran faster when he saw Jonas face down in the water. Jared jumped in the pool, cried for help, and one of the first people who heard Jared’s plea was Miguel, a Micah grad who was hanging out on the porch. A Micah grad who had JUST completed merchant marine training, complete with—you guessed it—CPR. Even so, as he and my husband held Jonas’s limp body.

Without a moment’s thought I dropped to my knees and prayed aloud, “Dios, salva a mi hijo (God save my son)!” Miguel calmly and quickly encouraged me, “he’s breathing.” (Just a little). And then—in a flash—I remembered the beginning of a promise I believed God to have spoken over my boy even before he was born: 

“I will save your son, but know that it cost me mine... He will be a warrior for my name.” 

This word over Jonas has been something I’ve clung onto, even reluctantly. This promise always had a foreboding feel for me—that something would happen someday. Something that would cause me to wonder—will my boy live? And before ever even laying eyes on my son I had a sense that this word was given to me for some event that I would never want to face… And now here I was, walking in those fears turned reality. But, as I anticipated, the peace God grants is for the moment he has ordained, not for my fear-clogged imagination. And now God was with my lifeless-looking son before my very eyes, reminding me of what I believed he’d told me years ago. (Something I couldn’t help but share to everyone around, even in the moment—appropriate or not…). 

The next hour was a whirlwind of sending Jared, Miguel, and another friend  off in our car with our boy in MIguel’s CPR-trained arms, gathering a circle of anyone around at Micah to pray, slow moments to wait and pray, trying to remind myself to answer Eliana’s continued questions (including, “Can we go to the pool now?”) with honesty and grace, a call from Jimmy that God had done a miracle (though there were still many unanswered questions), going back to our cabin with a handful of Micah friends to help me make plans and pack a to-go bag (one for me and Eva, and a separate bag for Eliana).

As I walked through Micah’s grounds with Eva in my arms, I had voice after voice telling me, “Jonas va a estar bien (Jonas is going to be okay),” as well as some hungry looks from the youngers, wondering what I would say. With my gaze fixed ahead, words surfaced with conviction in spite of my shock, “God allowed this to happen. He has a purpose for it.” 

I then waved Eliana goodbye and told her I loved her as she got in a van to go to Hector and Dajana’s house (a very special Micah family she and Jonas already have practice being watched by). Various boys gathered around Eliana, to encourage her. “Bye, Mommy!” she called out sweetly and confidently before we parted ways.

In the car I had time both to process with Jimmy and Miguel (who returned for me after Jared and Jonas got an ambulance to beat traffic) as well as to pray silently. Everyone around me was telling me Jonas would be fine, but what did God say? I knew things don’t always go “the way we want” and yet that doesn’t change God’s goodness. I knew the Lord promised me that he would save my son, but ‘saving my boy’ could most importantly refer to eternally, but I also had this nagging sense that God meant that promise to be for this side of eternity, too… and so I talked with God, and my heart had peace. In the entire ordeal I could swear I was hearing the Lord say that he had Jonas and that he would be fine (could this be true?!), and the phrase that kept surfacing for me to pray was to save him “down to the last detail.” Even so, I wrestled in my heart with full surrender. Do I really want to release Jonas to you ,Lord? To give you full control? I do… don’t I?

Once we got to the hospital, I passed by Javier and Oscar David (two more Micah family members) who pointed me onward to the room where I met up with Jared and where I saw our son, breathing but still unconscious. There were a lot of positive signs already, but there was still the lingering concern, “We still need to see him wake up…” Shortly after arriving I had the room to myself where I was able to sing "Come Thou Fount" (Jonas's song of request every night before bed) and— with an unexplainable peace—work through my wrestle with control. Knowing I needed to just state it outloud, I told God I surrendered Jonas to him, whatever happened. (But I also was sure to mention that my preference was for Jonas to live and be healed—down to the very last detail.)

And he was. Jonas’s brain scan, lungs, radiological something or other—all completely normal. His blood pressure was slightly low, but nobody seemed concerned. And when he woke up? He cried, for a little bit, but I was able to comfort him (which took longer than expected since we weren't allowed to take off his hospital ankle bracelet--his biggest concern). I asked him if he had felt afraid, and he nodded. “Jonas, I know you felt alone in that pool, but you were never alone," I told him. "God saw you that whole time, even when we didn’t. God saved you, Buddy.”  Jonas really seemed to drink in my care, regardless of whether or not he understood my words (though I think he did… at least to an extent). “God saved you, Jonas.” I almost chuckled to myself—Jonas (Jonah), of course that’s his name…

Some time has passed since first starting this blog entry, and now I’m sitting at home, reflecting on these events as the children all nap at the same time (that, too, feels like a miracle sometimes…). So many memories flashing through my brain—how the medical staff was in complete awe over God’s miraculous hand, how cute it was when the siblings reconnected (for the first five minutes before they started bickering), timely visits from godly friends, how funny and frustrating it was to see Jonas already up to the same sweet mischief—trying to slip out of the hospital room, sneaking extra skittles under the bed, jumping on the cushy chair…

At one point, I took Jonas to the bathroom and I asked him if he remembered the pool. He nodded yes and added, “I underwater and say ‘go out!’ but no…” I looked hard at Jonas and said, “Jonas you said ‘Go out,’ and you thought it was no, but God said, ‘Yes.’ He got you out of that pool, Buddy. It may not have been right away, but he got you out of that pool.”

Sometime after that I needed to step out of our room with a restless Eva, and I had some time to think as I walked up and down the hallway. In the hospital, I knew I was surrounded by an utter embrace of God’s presence and power down to the last detail. God had put every single person in the path to Jonas’s saving to be where they needed to be at just the right time. People just living their ordinary lives—like fixing a window and calling that it was time to be picked up—brought Jared to the cabin at just the right time. I saw his life jacket on the floor and the thought about him leaving struck at just the right time. Miguel was trained for CPR and sitting within earshot of the pool at just the right time. And there are many more details beyond these that I could share! The Lord was sovereign in allowing Jonas to enter that pool, and he was sovereign in getting him out. At just the right time. I knew right there in that hospital room that God was in all of this, just as he is in all things. 

On that walk with Eva I also had a strong sense that once I left the safety of the hospital, I would have to remember everything I just wrote down, because other voices would come—from within and without (and they have). I knew that I would face moments where I’d be tempted to be strayed towards the guilty ‘what-ifs’. What would the people think of me as a mom? What would I think of me? But instead of letting those thoughts reign, I remembered the cross. The cross already outed me as “guilty” (whether or not that applies here or elsewhere) and that weirdly brought me a real comfort and an ability to see past myself when my thoughts started to stray. The cross, which outed me of my guilt, was the very symbol that enabled me to not to play the blame game, even with myself or anyone. Why try to build a defense for myself (other than the cross)? I’m not a perfect mom—I’m never going to be—even though I strive to learn and to give God my best. Blame isn't the point, so I'm not playing that game. Yes, I remembered the cross, which came to mind not as a symbol of sin and guilt, but rather as a symbol of God’s power, mercy, and love—the very love that washed my guilty conscience clean before this event (or any others) ever even took place. The cross! The cross enabled me to see past any guilt that wanted to creep in so I could see my son, and so I could see HIS. HE is the point. Jesus died to save my son, and he also died to save me. God is good, he is sovereign, he is faithful, he is powerful. And God is all of these wonderful things whether or not Jared pulled him out of that pool alive or dead. Well, dead in this world's terms that is, because if Jonas wasn't rescued to his daddy's embrace, he would have been rescued to his Daddy's. Either way, as promised, Jonas would have been saved. I believe that. And yet, as my doctor said with tears in his eyes before he released us, “You have a testimony. It should be shouted to the world.” And so here I am, shouting. Because God had a story that he wants to share through us. Here it is. May he use it how he will in your life and mine.

[Oh, and by the way, I didn’t remember in the moment, but after every test result came back clear, I remembered the rest of the word I believed God had spoken over Jonas two and a half years ago:

“I will save your son, but know that it cost me mine. He will come out healthy and strong, and he will be a warrior for my name.”

God has a plan for you, Jonas. Momma loves you. Jesus loves you. We all love you.]

*Yesterday refers to March 10, 2025. This blogpost was written over a two-day period.

A Cup of Water

For truly, I say to you, whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because you belong to Christ will by no means lose his reward.

Mark 9:41

When I first got married to Jared, I remember staring at what was now our house with all its unfinished projects and imagined potential and saying something like, "As soon we get the upstairs done and I love it, that's when we will have to move." Well, our big upstairs project is almost done and as much as I never really wanted to move to St. Louis in the first place, I do love it now... and it is time to go (almost).

We are currently in a sort of time in between times. Jared just wrapped up his longstanding salary-with-benefits job to dive into a faith-fueled, nomadic summer as we begin language and cultural acquisition courses, prepare our house for sale, tour about visiting family, and, Lord have mercy, fundraising.

Oh, fundraising... I must admit, I had been dreading this part. Ignoring it, putting it off, wishing I could just apparate straight to Honduras and live freely off the land, but that's not what we are called to. And I think I am starting to get a little glimpse of why. We were never meant to live this life alone. And we were certainly not meant to do it on our own strength. We need the Lord, we need to trust the Lord, and so often the way he provides is through people.

PEOPLE?! The Lord’s love I can trust, but trusting people’s love can be a little trickier sometimes (I would know, I’m one of them). And yet, in the Lord’s wisdom, he has set it up for us in such a way right now that we need to keep remembering that he is with us through people. Not dreamed up, "out there" sort of people, but actual, broken, living-their-own-lives-too people. You and me kind of people. Thankfully, we really have had so many people give us encouragement, stamps of approval, the right kind of challenging questions, story sharing, and a whole lot of prayers along the way. Being supported financially, however, still feels vulnerable. At times, I am tempted to fear the thoughts and opinions of others. Will people think I’m being friendly because I’m trying to get something from them? What if our friends start avoiding us because they think we’re going to ask for money? What if we’ve come all this way and nobody wants to support us at all…

Even though I know this discouragement is not from the Lord, the enemy's voice still creeps in from time to time. Once I recognize what's happening, I slow down enough to hear the Lord's still small voice calling me to trust him. The more I lean into the peace that comes through that trust, the more I am freed up to remember the excitement of our call to Micah. When I can laugh off the discouragement I'm experiencing as an attack from the enemy, fundraising itself becomes part of the excitement--this amazing call isn't just for us, we get to invite others to be a part of it, too!  Support-raising (in whatever form it takes) is giving others a tangible way to say "we are with you” to us, before we head out and say “we are with you” to our Micah family.

The support we receive from others—whether intellectual, emotional, spiritual, or physical--is then turned into support for others. Every popsicle, every word of encouragement, every cup of coffee, every job training program, every porch chat, every English class, every pool outing, every Bible study, every movie night, every drama outreach, every prayer in time of need, every hand we are able place on another’s shoulder doesn’t just demonstrate our own support, but yours, too, and, ultimately, the Lord’s, whose hands made ours. The Lord loved those Micah guys before I ever got a chance to know them, and yet he has allowed me—us—to be a part of showing them that love. And at the end of this age, when we see the ones we have loved in this life robed in glory in the next, we will know the sweet reward of seeing the ones to whom we’ve given a cup of water along the way in the arms of their Savior (and ours). What an honor to be even a small part of the Lord's demonstration of love in another's life!

And yet, as excited and hopeful as we are to step into this call to Micah (with all its ups, downs, and in-betweens), we are still sad to leave our current chapter behind. We have such a wonderful community, beloved family and friends, meaningful work, shared joys and shared suffering, finished and unfinished projects, too much stuff to know what to do with, and the home where our family began. Going is great; leaving is hard. For this reason, I am grateful that we need as much support as we do--it's a way stay connected to those who go with us--through prayer, emails, visits, donations, treasured memories, and, especially, the shared hope we have in Christ. The sure hope that he is in the business of restoring broken families and bringing his people Home. To him. And to each other. Forever.

Would you consider supporting us as we prepare to move to The Micah Project in Tegucigalpa, Honduras?

Contact me if you are interested in signing up for our newsletter, joining our Prayer Team, or supporting financially.

 

 

 

A Bountiful Eye

Nearly a year after Michael Miller visited our home in St. Louis and prayerfully called us to work for The Micah Project, I find myself sitting on a plane to Honduras with my husband on my left and our toddler on my lap—both napping. Seizing the small window to snag a moment in the Word, I flip open my pocket-sized Bible. Out of any sort of regular rhythm, I check the date and flip to that Proverb: 22. With my brain already stirred up by the travel flurry, I have a hard time slowing down enough to feel like I’m actually grasping anything. Lord, help me see what you want me to see!

I linger a while on verse 9,

“Whoever has a bountiful eye will be blessed, for he shares his bread with the poor.”

A bountiful eye? What does that mean? I chew on what this phrase might be getting at for as long as my sleep-deprived mom brain will allow. Finally I finish out the chapter, hoping that some sort of seed has been sown in me. With such a quick and blurry-eyed devotional life, I admit that I sometimes wonder if my days of seeing and hearing from the Lord are long lost in a sea of diapers, fruit snacks, and googling how to attack various types of stains. Oh Lord, am I still of any use to you?

Later, after a warm greeting from Michael and his solid crew of rowdy yet lovable teenage boys, we all load up in one of Micah Project's fifteen-passenger vans (15? That’s it? Nah, there’s always room for one more!). As we drive along the windy highway, we come up on a toll way of sorts that is lined with people, mostly women and children, who are running up to vehicles with a small selection of typical treats, hoping to make any profit they can as they themselves bake in the hot sun. I’ve gotten so used to this scene that I forget the Christ-like compassion that the Micah boys apparently have not. Fifteen-year-old David leans out the window to call over one of the vendors. I imagine he is hungry for a sweet snack, but instead he surprises me by handing her the delicious Burger King whopper he has been saving for himself. Inspired by his generosity, every other Micah boy begins to join in, searching the van for every order of fries and burgers they can find, all so that they, too, can give them away.

And that’s when I remember and start to understand Proverbs 22:9,

“Whoever has a bountiful eye will be blessed, for he shares his bread with the poor.”

Oh… So this is what it means to have a bountiful eye—seeing another’s need and giving whatever you have to meet it! I am particularly struck by who I am seeing with such a “bountiful eye” in this moment—the very kids who come to us begging and hoarding and stealing, all because they have been trained to think they won’t have their needs met unless they have an eye out for themselves. And now look at them! Freely giving to another the very thing they just treasured moments ago (and, believe me, a whopper is no small thing to an ever-ravenous boy stuck who is stuck for hours in a van). How? A bountiful eye. Through these kids’ time at Micah, experience has shown them, they are cared for—a bed to sleep on, a roof over their heads, food on their plates, and love wherever they turn. Now full, they remember what it feels like when they themselves were once empty, cold, hungry, alone. And instead of turning their eye, they catch sight, they have mercy, they give.

And then I wonder… why didn’t I join in, shuffling through my own snack bag to experience the blessing of sharing my food with the hungry, too? And why do I doubt, after all this time seeing the Lord’s never-ending faithfulness to me, that he won’t come through "this time"? Why do I replay anxious thoughts, doubting over and over that I have “enough”? Will I get enough time in the Word to be an effective disciple? Will we have enough financial support heading out on the field? Will I have enough strength to do all that is on my plate--with a whole new kid on the way? Do I have enough time, enough energy, enough sleep, enough talent, enough money.... enough, enough, ENOUGH! 

Who do I think I am to doubt that my GOD is enough for me? Why do I anxiously wonder that what I need will eventually run out, when my proven-trustworthy Lord has promised me that he will supply all my needs according to his glorious riches in Christ (Philippians 4:19)? He always has, and he always will—even in spite of my not-enoughness. I look at these boys, and I wonder, could the grace the Lord has shown to them be big enough for me? Hint: it is. For me. For you. And the more time we spend in His house, the more naturally and readily we’ll begin to believe it, and the more naturally we and readily we will be able to share that grace, too

Where I Belong

(This past weekend at our church in St. Louis, Jared and I were asked to give a testimony on 'Belonging'.  Now days later, we find ourselves about to board a plane to Honduras once again. As we go, I carry the reminder that God truly is at work in us in both places. No matter what part of this earth we find ourselves in, we are always underneath our Father's roof.)

BELONGING

I didn’t want to come here. I’d just spent nearly five years with The Micah Project, and I had no interest in moving away from a place that I loved, people that I loved, a job that I loved, and--in my pride--a reputation that I loved. Micah was where I felt like I belonged. What could I possibly have here that I didn’t already have there? 

Oh right: him (points to Jared). I loved Jared, and Jared was here. But there were also moments and days when I forgot. Or, at least, when I wondered if that ‘love’ would be enough (no matter how great a job Jared did at showing me). A few weeks before getting married, a dear friend and staff member at Micah asked me what I was afraid of as I looked ahead. I answered, “that Jared would figure out he didn’t want me, and I’d be stuck in his life.” Would I really belong with Jared--in his heart and in his place?

After hearing me out, my friend responded, “Even if that’s true--which I really don’t think it is--you’re going to be okay.” And he was right. The answer to my fears was not convincing myself that Jared loves me--though I know that he does--the answer to my fears was knowing that the One who has always loved me will always keep on loving me. As I approached one of the biggest changes of my life, the biggest part of my life never would: the Lord. He is the same--always has been and always will be--and my standing with Him is sure, unchanging. I belong to him, and nothing--NOTHING--can change that.

So, what does that have to do with “belonging” at Central? Well, just as my marriage to Jared, though utterly beautiful and an incredible gift, is not where I find my ultimate belonging, neither do I find it at Central. My belonging, first and foremost, is in my identity with Christ. He has chosen me, and that type of choosing lasts for an eternity. Sure, I wish that my marriage to Jared would extend into eternity, too, but it’s not going to. Marriage is for this side of the Second Coming, but our connection to one another as fellow children and heirs of Christ? Well, that’s forever!  This realization doesn’t lessen my commitment to him, but rather increases it. Our bond in marriage is for a lifetime, but our bond as fellow members of the family of God is for an eternity. Likewise, whether you like it or not, all of you fellow children are stuck with me for an eternity, too ;).

You see, our membership to Central Presbyterian Church is temporary, but our membership to one another as members of the body of Christ is not. I don’t belong here because I have a prestigious business card I can hand you, or a host of nearby friends and family to boost my reputation, or a knowledge of this city’s rich history, or a stage where I can showcase all my talents to impress you. I’ll be honest, I wanted those things at first--to tangibly claim my place here--but God needed to show me (AGAIN!) that He is my entrance. And He is yours, too. Jesus is how we are connected for an eternity, and not just at Central but anywhere we go. But right now he has me--and you--here. And while he does, I look forward to seeing how God uses and shapes who he has made me (and you) to be through the power of the Gospel. We’re growing together. Broken believers bumping up against broken believers--confessing, forgiving, serving, praying, loving, grieving, and rejoicing (kind of like marriage, huh?)--together looking forward to the coming of Jesus--in whose heart and place we truly belong. Forever.

(Oh, and speaking of 'belonging', there is a new member to the family. Introducing BABY BULLOCK! Coming to you this summer :))

Loved to Loveliness

"Jared! Look!" I run up to my now-husband on our trip home from our honeymoon. I point to the Scripture I had just distanced myself to read. Matthew 4, the wilderness... post-baptism.


"Look, Jared!" I say again, as if he hadn't heard my previous shrieks in a public airport. "The Father told Jesus that he was his beloved son before he went into the wilderness! These were the words that were tested! This is what Jesus knew was true of him! That is how he defeated the enemy!"


Somehow in that moment I knew exactly what I was saying. After a clear and miraculous demonstration of love that was just showered on me, I knew deep down where I was headed next: the wilderness. And I knew that no matter how much I thought I knew I was loved now, that truth was going to be tested. But I also knew that truth would be exactly what I would need to make it through a dry season. And I was right.


It has been a sly trick of the enemy to attempt to convince me that I'm loved because I'm lovely, rather than the other way around. I didn't know how easy it would be to see pictures of myself in a wedding gown and feel pressure to always be that beautiful, lest my husband's eye for me start to wander. I didn't know how simple it would be to start letting his compliments regarding my heart for others turn into a rubric for how I must continue to look like a Proverbs 31 woman. I didn't know how much the lie had seeped into me that the love I'd been shown by him was actually something I had somehow earned and therefore would need maintenance to be up kept. And I certainly didn't know how much any belief in those lies would perpetuate the very thing I feared in the first place: looking and acting ugly. 


Anxious striving and performing--like a tumbleweed of never-going-to-be-good enough works that are blown away by the wind. And yet I keep chasing them down to try and prove myself to be as valuable as I felt when I was in the center of what I assumed to be God's will. And, yes, my time at Micah was certainly God's will for me, but so is this. This time of letting the 'my beloved' words get rooted in me without a stack of reasons I can cling onto for why I somehow deserve to be. The words that remind me of who I am. My new, unearned identity: his.


For some reason, though, those aren't the words I think I want to hear most of the time, because trusting those words means trusting someone outside of me. Trusting someone else's love. A love I can't control. And so I find that I would rather be the one loving, not the one needing. Need scares me. It's vulnerable. And most of the time, I don't like it. What girl wants to be thought of as 'needy'? Who could love a girl like that? But as much as I want to be in a place where I'm not rushing my husband to the urgent care because I slice my finger open when I try to cook. Or in a place where my house is no longer overrun by kids to take care of, but rather where I'm the one curled up in a ball and being cared for. Or where I find myself in a puddle of tears because even though my head knows the truth my heart is taking some time to catch up... But that's exactly where I find myself. And when I'm at my utter worst I also find myself wanting to go home, because I wonder if I'm really wanted in this one. Because I wonder if who I am is not enough. But when I believe that? I'm not trusting my husband. I'm not trusting his promise. And I not only hurt me, but him. And yet, even in the moments where my mistrust has turned into swords, Jared has still looked me in the eye and spoken all those lies away. He has given me his word... I just need to believe him--that I'm wanted, in our home--and, by God's grace, I do.


No, home isn't Honduras anymore. But neither is it is here in St. Louis. Or in the States at all, for that matter. Not really. Home has now become for me where my husband is. Home is where my heart is at rest with my husband's deep assurance that I'm loved by him. Not because I'm lovely, but rather, because his love for me is bigger than me, bigger than us. That the marriage promise really is safe. No outs. And thankfully, believing that is true puts my heart in the place where I become the wife I want to be for him: lovely. And that belief brings me to the place where I can finally love again, just like I've been loved: freely and fully. 


Yes, I've seen the Lord's love in a beautiful, raw, and vulnerable way through my husband here on earth--especially when I feel most unlovable. But, as wonderful as Jared is, his love has only been an imperfect glimpse. Though our marriage here on earth is a promise to be kept, as broken human beings we won't live into our vows perfectly. In the end, our confidence can't come from each other or we'll fall every time the other does. And, aside from that, our marriage here has an expiration date. One of us will inevitably feel the weight of that 'til death do us part' one day. But that doesn't mean our love and our hope are coming to an end. Because our hope for home isn't ultimately based in each other. We have a true Home that's coming through a marriage that is built for forever. Our true Husband has promised to love us--his bride, the church. A love that is free from fear that death will ever again part us. One day our Husband will bring both our hearts to the place where they are always truly safe: with Him. And we will never, ever have to believe the lie again that we have somehow earned his love. I don't want to play the game of eternal love-maintenance, and thankfully we won't have to... when we are finally fully lovely, because we are beholding the face of the loveliest Husband we could ever imagine: Jesus.

For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross.

And you, who once were alienated and hostile in mind, doing evil deeds, he has now reconciled in his body of flesh by his death, in order to present you holy and blameless and above reproach before him, if indeed you continue in the faith, stable and steadfast, not shifting from the hope of the gospel that you heard, which has been proclaimed in all creation under heaven...

Colossians 1:19-23

Fading Flowers, Lasting Life

"The grass withers, the flower fades,

but the word of our God will stand forever."

Isaiah 40:8

There are only a few weeks left at Micah before my pending wedding, and my heart is heavy. The weight of what I am leaving behind is as prominent in my thoughts as the new season to come. And though my faith is renewed by the reminder that the Lord--the I-AM God--is present in and through it all, I am still struck by the brevity--as well as the eternality--of life.


Holding onto Mocha's paw, I look into the eyes of this 91 dog-year old chocolate lab as the teary-eyed vet gives him his last injection. The gray-haired smile of Micah's 'grandpa' brings tears to all of our eyes as we gaze back at him. Mocha has been a companion and friend to many at Micah for what has felt like an eternity, but in this moment we all know his life in this world is not eternal at all but coming to a close.

I have encountered death in so many forms here at Micah, but this is my first time to sit with a creature at the crossroads. With each moment I have left with him, I wonder which one will be his last, and as I do time feels suspended--hanging in the balance. I know the moment I have with this dog now will soon be a memory. So how do I embrace each moment of life when I know that death is coming?

Before I know how to answer this question, it comes. Mocha passes--his body and memory remaining with us--and the day goes on.

The previous moments still lingering, I begin to clean out my room, knowing I won't have much more unscheduled time before the coming wedding. Going through pictures, notes, and prayers, I am reminded of the Lord's faithfulness through so many seasons. Seasons that have died but that still live on in memory. Seasons whose passing have always cleared the way for something new to come forth--bringing my heart great gratitude as I know another season is coming to a close... and another is beginning. One moment gone, another in store. For me, for those around me, for those I have never known... but all known by the Lord.


"All known by the Lord."

This thought brings me great comfort as I step forward into life alongside the man that I love--knowing there are so many I know and love here that I am about to leave behind. In body, that is, but not in heart--that is a place they will never leave. Even so, the Lord has allowed me to be here with them in body for a time--to live and to love those who he has placed me with in a way that is tangible to them. Not that I've done this perfectly--I have contributed both to the hurt as well as the healing in my time here--but somehow the Lord shows his unbroken love to and through broken people (me being one of them).  And I know that his unbroken love will continue to shower all over my Micah family--no matter where we all go. The Lord is with them as he is with me. And I want them to know it.

Elvin, our newest Micah boy, bursts into my cabin, "Is it true you're going to the States?"

Prepared for this, I affirm gently, "After we get married? Yes. For a while."

Elvin and I gaze at each other for some time until I remind him, "You know that we love you."

Elvin nods.

"And the Lord loves you," I say. "And just think about how faithful he has been to you."

I remind him of how the Lord had his eye on him while he was on the streets, that we were all praying for him there, that the Lord brought him to Micah, how the Lord has continued to be with him here, and how he always will be.

Elvin looks at me, listening intently. I tell him of how Jesus loved his disciples and trusted the Father's plan for him, knowing that he was to go the the cross and leave them for a little while, but how he then resurrected and returned--giving us hope that life together is forever. The separation is just for a while. And that, by God's grace, the family of God will all be together for eternity one day.

"The Lord will never stop loving you," I say. "I am just one of the many, many ways he has shown you some of that love."

As he looks at me, his current teacher (apparently he ditched class for this conversation) knocks on my door. "I'm looking for my student," she smiles at us with a knowing glance.

I look back at Elvin, "See? She loves you too. God is going to continue to show you his love through so many people."

Elvin leaves and walks off with his teacher, who loves him (by the grace of God). A grace I know the Lord will continue to show him--forever.

And so, as I look to the Marriage to come, I know that I can walk forward with confidence. Knowing not only I, but these boys, are in his hands. The Lord is on the other side of this aisle of life. An aisle the Father has walked us down. He has been by our side through each and every passing moment. And then, at the end of the aisle, when the Lord Jesus embraces us as his Bride, we will finally be able to truly experience the forever-life that he bought us through his love--a love that endures forever.

Lady in Waiting

Surprise, I'm engaged! 

While on a brief trip to the States to do a couple of Gospel of John shows, Jared (the incredible man over whom I made a RASH DECISION) flew into my hometown and proposed in my childhood living room--just a few days after he and his parents had visited me at The Micah Project in Honduras. And yet, magical as that trip was, Jared waited until I was back in the States. In the one place I always feel at my absolute worst: Rockford, IL. Where all of my brokenness, attitude, and unworthiness is most clearly on display. There--that's where Jared promised to love me forever. There--the place I'm at my worst. And, as magical as that location does not feel, I can't think of anything more romantic.

------------

Post-proposal Jared and I drive back to his current city--St. Louis, where I have another John show lined up. The days fly by--filled with so much love, encouragement, and support from friends and family. And then, far too suddenly, it is time to go again. Devastated, I get in the car to take two days to visit my dear friend and fellow Micah missionary, Stephen Kusmer*, in Indiana. Stephen was diagnosed with Stage 4 colon cancer this past January while I was in Rockford for my Grandpa's memorial service. Because he was suddenly rushed to the States, I haven't been able to see him since receiving the news. And though I have been longing to see him, right now my mind is blank, and I can't seem to think let alone get excited for this long-desired visit.

"Lord, help me to break out of this sadness--to be a blessing and encouragement to Stephen," I pray.

Prayer prayed, the sadness remains. I trust upon seeing my dear friend that all my sadness will fade away, even if only for the sake of my friend, but I still have a few hours left in this car ride and I don't want to waste them. Even so, I can't help but feel empty, not hopeful, so I pray again,

"Lord rather than be sad about what I've left behind, help me to prepare for what is to come."

Prepare... wait a minute... Oh my gosh!  I'm getting MARRIED!?! Suddenly I feel utterly unworthy. A rag-romping Cinderella in need of some sort of anointed fairy godmother. Entirely out of my element, I pray again,

"Lord, please help me with the dress!"

(Hint: he does).

When I finally arrive at Stephen's door, I am instantly flooded with peace and joy. After a wonderful day together, Stephen tells me that our Micah friends--Sara and Paty--are coming for a visit, too. Sara, from Honduras, moved to Iowa a year ago to be with her mom after nearly her whole life apart. Paty is in the area for a couple of days visiting Sara. So, of course, they decide to visit Stephen in IN the same day I do (my presence unbeknownst to them).

I open the door when they arrive, and they are obviously shocked to see me. (None of us have ever seen each other outside of Honduras). Paty immediately notices my hand, "KELSEY!?!?!?"

"Yup, I'm engaged."

Appropriate teasing ensues for the girl who 'never needed a man.' Paty grins and imagines me all done-up in a wedding dress. Ugh... the dress...

"Girls, I have NO IDEA what to do about a DRESS!"

Immediately, Sara chimes in, "I have two bags of wedding dresses in my car!"

Wait... What? She can't be serious...

"¿En serio? I just prayed for a wedding dress!"

"¡Sí! My aunt got these for me to sell to consignment shops so I could raise money to send to Honduras--to help people. But no one will by them from me. Since I'm Latina--"

She doesn't even need to finish her statement for me to understand--they think she stole them.

Imagining I must have heard wrong (second language problems), I casually follow her out to the car from which she pulls out two massive bags of, yup, wedding dresses. I take out the first and, to my surprise, it's gorgeous. I put it on, and I feel like a princess. I try on the rest, but this is the one I come back to. I check for the male approval in the room. "That one," Stephen affirms, as baffled by all this as I am.

Trying to find words, I tell Sara I have some money in my backpack (not that it would even be nearly enough) but she stops me, "NO! This is the will of God, Kelsey. These dresses were to help people. God wanted you to have it--it's yours."

Still stunned, I take in the sight of my dear friends. Friends, who have had particularly trying seasons this year, and here they are genuinely and humbly celebrating with me... And all I want right now is for them to have my joy.

"Alright!" I insist and gather them round. "I'm praying for YOU! Because this is OUR Father who has blessed me today, which means he's not only my father, he's yours, too. And that same faithfulness you see in God towards me is the same character of the God who loves YOU."

And then... I pray. Once I finish, I open my eyes to see hopeful, heart struck tears. And I know--this dress is not just for me. This dress is a sign, a symbol--of the Lord's extravagant love for all his children.

Yes, I'm getting married. But whether or not that ever happened this side of eternity, I know that the true marriage is to come. Our Lord Jesus is the ultimate romantic. He committed to us with a promise when we were at our utter worst--when we nailed perfect him to a sinner's cross--and he will see his promise through to the very end when he clothes us in the most beautiful and priceless garment we could ever imagine: his righteousness. And though it cost him everything, he has given us himself... no charge.
----------

*Read more about Stephen's journey here & please join us in praying for him!

**As Jared and I have been praying into our wedding, Jesus' parable of the Great Banquet (Luke 14:12-14) keeps surfacing. Feel free to pray with us into what this could mean for those around us as we prepare.