Growing, Falling Down, and Getting Back Up Through a Transition

Dec 15 |

2013-03-24_1364147030

 

I’m sure I will be apologizing a lot over the next few months, mostly because I will fail to meet someone’s expectations of me. So as the apologies have already begun, I thought I would pull back the veil and let people into this topsy, turvy thing we call “transition.” Especially in light of the myriad of questions I have been bombarded with over the three weeks I have been back in the States.
I’ve spent the last few years in another country(Kenya), but I also spent two years prior to that preparing to move there. The preparation and the living cross-culturally is a book in and of itself. You devote yourself to the calling, the living, and all that is wrapped up into surviving(no exaggeration) a life overseas.

 
And then God calls you back “home.”
If you’ve had any level of success, you now consider your host country “home.” So how do you leave home? The simple answer is you don’t.
I had three months to pack up, close up, and gear up for the countless goodbyes that awaited my departure from my beautiful, eclectic, hot and humid, wonderful home. A home that enlarged my family by a few dozen boys, gave me the priceless blessing of a family made up of teammates and fellow sojourners, striving to honor God through their walking in obedience, and stretched me to the absolute lengths that I never thought possible only to feel God’s smile as I clung on to Him for dear life.
Goodbye can be welcome or a slap in the face. It’s welcome when you’ve know you’ve come to the end of your task and are ready to move on to whatever God has in store for you next. The slap in the face goodbye follows a strong sensing from God that He has a new direction for you, just as you have grown comfortable and content with where you are(finally!). That is where I found myself. If the choice were mine(being honest here), I would be settling in for at least a few more years of hot, coastal living in Kenya. You’d find me beginning a new project of repairs in my flat(neverending) or having a nice glass of rose water with my ESL ladies. But let me make myself clear here, I am glad I am not making the decisions, because God’s ways are always better than mine! I speak from experience.
Where does that knowledge leave me?
Well…sometimes it means I’m sad(as I sit here crying writing this right now). I’m reminded of my precious boys and feeling guilty for being another person in their life that has abandoned them. I know that’s not necessarily true, but that doesn’t mean that feeling doesn’t creep in. It means that sometimes I dont want to talk. Let me explain that a bit further. It’s not that I don’t want to be in realtionship, but let’s face it, I’ve been gone a while and things have changed and nothing I am thinking about seems relevant to my stateside friends and familly. And sometimes I am preoccupied with making sure my kiddos are processing the transition well. This can take up every waking moment if I let it! I’ve got teenagers, there’s a lot to sift through!
I’m also tired and weary after a few years in the field. Even if you’ve had a great cross-cultural experience, the experience is wearing. It takes a lot more effort to live in another country, amongst a very diverse grouping of people, and navigate all the different cultural norms encompassing these beautiful people. And at the very same time, I find myself overwhelmed in my “home” country by some of the very same things I mentioned above.
So for me, each day I get up and do my best to take all the emotions, memories, and daily tasks as they come, moment by moment often times. I will fail many because they will want more from me then I can readily give just yet. And I pray somehow they can be patient with me. So If I have already failed you my friend or family member, I’ll ask for your forgiveness(it won’t be the last). But ultimately, I am trusting God to carry me through this process of transition.

 

DSC_0376

Taking off the Mask…Desiring to Live in the Reality of Who You Really Are

Oct 1 |

It’s October 1st, and I’m sure in The U.S. the Halloween stuff has been out for a while now.  Here in Kenya, all we typically see is some face makeup sets and fake blood.  We have to be a bit more imaginative with costumes here, no store bought costumes for us!

The idea of costumes had me reminiscing and then reflecting.  I flashed back to trick or treating in my neighborhood with my kiddos when they were young and the many “Harvest Festivals” we have attended and/or help put on. The youngest ones hanging tightly to their moms and dads when they catch a glimpse of an unknown sight, a person in a gruesome mask staring down at them and offering them a treat, Yep! I’d be a bit timid too.

For a young child, this is new territory. They have no idea that behind that mask is a warm and friendly soul enjoying a little holiday fun.  All they see is the mask and that is his or her reality.  Sensing the trepidation of the wee one, the masked soul removes the disguise and flashes a kind and sincere smile to the child, ensuring that all is not as it seems.  And hopefully, gaining enough trust that the also costumed little one will now partake in the obviously delicious treats the new friend is offering. 🙂

This is where the reflecting part enters in.  In the above story, the mask was not who the person truly was, it’s a facade. Who they really are is behind the mask and as we saw in this story, a much more inviting and encouraging one at that.  But what about us?  What kind of mask do we wear?  I think sometimes it is the exact opposite of the Halloween scenario.  We cover our true selves with a mask that is more acceptable (or so we may believe) than who we really are.  Many of us may believe that if we take off this socially acceptable, carefully crafted mask and allow people to see the muddied mess that we most often happen to be, that we too will have children and adults alike hiding behind the nearest skirt.

We fear rejection and judgement and aloneness.  Our hearts desire is to belong, to be in relationship.  We want to be accepted, desperately.  So much so, that we will become or at least pretend to be something that is so far from who we were made to be.  And yet, at the end of the day, we (or maybe just me) fall into bed feeling more alone than ever.  So why do we do it?

My sincere belief in our tendency to hide behind the mask is rooted in fear.  We have believed the lie and ignored truth.  We read, “You are fearfully and wonderfully made” and got stuck on “fearfully” instead of focusing on “wonderfully.”  Allowing the voices of the world to drown out the still, small voice of God has left us reading the scripture through a kaleidoscope, making us all dyslexic to the true reality that we were made perfect by our perfect Heavenly Father.

The mask we so delicately place in front of us each day has not only disguised our true selves, but also distorted our ability to see truth for it covers us in a thick mud of lies.  I have found that each new lie added another layer to my mask and soon it became a very large burden to bear, carrying it around and straining under its weight.  I finally had enough.

In my desperation, I cried out.  And the God of all comfort came to my rescue.  I was reminded of the sweet aroma that comes with a close relationship to Him, The fullness of his love and the warmth of His everlasting arms.  Realizing the absurdity of laying too high a price on other’s view of me and not enough of what God thinks of me, I slowly (emphasis on slowly) lowered my mask.  Does it really matter if someone sees me crying?  Or sad?  Or mad?  If my family isn’t perfect?

So here I stand today,  A reformed mask wearer, who still sometimes flashes it when new challenges arise, but hopefully remembers quickly all that I have learned and how far God has brought me. I am not perfect, never was, but will be when I join my Heavenly Father and my Savior one day. I am a sinner, saved by grace who still daily makes mistakes.

I’m just a girl, but a daughter of the King of Kings and Lord of Lords.  And He loves me. And His love is all I truly need to be truly fulfilled in this life and in eternity.

IMG_0055

Here I am, sans mask (or makeup!) with my best encourager.  Both of us desiring to live life through the lens of who God made us to be.

When You Lose Your Glue

Aug 9 |

chici

 

Just the other day as I was relaying to a young woman about the recent loss of my grandmother, she relayed to me a metaphor that I had never heard of before.  She simply stated, “Grandmothers are the glue in the family; they are what keeps a family connected.”

It was profound, deep, and couldn’t be more true for my family.  “Chici” was the glue; the reason we all gathered, the excuse for a meal, a meeting, a party…  She enfolded many friends into our ever growing, intertwined, weaving masterpiece of what my mother-in-law calls “Our Motley Crue.”  And there is a sense of loss of this glue without her.  Chici represented family, defined it, completed it.  And without her, I dare say we all just feel broken.

You have to imagine for a moment this glue that she represents.  It’s not the gooey mess that you are constantly struggling to be loosed from when it accidently attaches itself to your fingers.  It’s more like the sugary goodness of maple sugar icing you pour over just baked cinnamon rolls, that oozes all over, around, and through every crack melding together as one.

That’s my Chici.  Full of sweetness, sass, opinions, and more love and grace then I ever deserved.  She loved unconditionally, walked with grace, emparted wisdom beyond her eighty-four years, and left huge shoes to fill to continue the legacy started by her parents of open homes and open hearts.

Far too many memories to share in a blog post to accuratley give justice to all that she was to me and my family.  They will remian in my heart forever.  She embodied the scripture’s bidding to keep the commandments to love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and strength and impress them upon our children. As I look to the future, I remember the past and the glue.  May it stretch for generations to come and continue to hold us together and may Chici be looking down on us with pride that we are honoring her well.

The Greatest Risk We Face…Reflections While Watching Cinderella

May 5 |

cinderella pic

I often find myself chuckling when God uses such obscure experiences to teach, reveal, or convict me.  This time He used a silly little movie called “Cinderella.”

While taking a few days away in Nairobi, the family decided to see a movie.  Sydney had been really wanting to see the new adaptation of Cinderella from Disney.  So off we went on an afternoon excursion to a Nairobian mall. 🙂

The story was just as I remembered as a child- cute, quirky, corny, and sweet.  I told Sydney later it was like Cinderella for teenagers because the love story was a bit more grown up.  Then came the climax, Ella meeting her prince face to face in her true form.  And here is where God chose to speak to me.  The narrator is speaking as Ella descends the stairs and slowly passes the large mirror, glancing at herself, “The greatest risk we face is allowing people to see us for who we really are.”  *Or something like that*

cinderella pic3

I’ll admit, I teared up at that moment, and was so thankful it was a dark theater and no one could see me!  But in that moment, God was speaking to me.  In this silly little teeny-bopper movie, God was telling me it was okay to be me.  That me was enough.  Reminding me that authenticity is a risk, but it can reap wonderful benefits.

He whispered His words, I knew you before you were born, I chose you, I love you.

I have often struggled with insecurities; the pains of not fitting in are a part of my reality, my past.  I praise God that He has brought me through those lies and I know I am clothed with strength and dignity.  But I am thankful that I have a big God that knows when I might need a little reminder and I love His sense of humour in how He chooses to remind me. 🙂

A birthday to remember

May 5 |

Sometimes birthdays are memorable for the celebration, the milestone, or something learned. This last one will be remembered for an entirely different reason. After spending some time in the States to work on a few things I returned to Kenya to meet the family in Nairobi and have some quality time together. The day we were to return to Mombasa, April 1st (the day before my birthday) turned out to be the beginning of a long few days. We decided to drive across downtown Nairobi in order to avoid massive traffic jams on the way to our flight. A few days earlier it took us 2 hours to go 12km. However, this meant we had to sit inside of a coffee house (Nairobi Java) for about 4 hours. The kids studied, Erika and I read, we played games and ate. Every seat was filled and the place was packed. After about 3.5 hours we were getting ready to pack up and as I was exiting the bathroom Brennen came in an announced that we had a problem. With a strange look on his face he proceeded to tell me that Erika’s bag was missing. Now if I pause here just for a second and give a little background, it will help you understand my response. A few years ago the kids thought it would be really funny to tie every t-shirt and pair of underwear of mine together in a rope and then put them back into my drawers. I can still remember them rolling around on the ground unable to control themselves as the roared with laughter. Fast forward to Brennen announcing to me this seemingly bad news. Intent on not being hoodwinked again I made sure I heard him correctly and then marched out of the restroom and back to our seats with a big grin on my face. My smirk, which was meant to communicate, “you didn’t get me this time”, was not reciprocated in the way I was hoping. Erika had her ‘serious’ face on…yeah that one. She was not happy and I quickly realized I needed to switch gears. I prayed for God to give me the ability to handle and work through whatever it was that I was about to encounter. As it turns out, while we were seated in the crowded area, someone took her bag. Yes, the bag. The one that has ‘everything’ in it. And this time it had more than usual. We had just made several trips to the US Embassy to apply for new passports for the kids. This meant she not only had all of our passports, but their original birth certificates, not to mention $450 cash, credit cards, debit cards, her ID, our US taxes, her bible, journal and pictures of her great grandmother. Without IDs we wouldn’t be able to board the plane. Without money or cards we were kinda stuck. Since I have watched too many secret agent movies I proceeded to make the rounds of the mall, check all the garbage cans on the premise, walk the surrounding neighborhood (not quite advisable) and look into the windows of cars in the parking lot to see if I could spot someone rifling though Erika’s favorite bag and wallet. A funny aside is that as Syd and I stood looking out over the parking lot, her thought was that she was wearing sandals and if we saw the person she could kick them off and run barefoot with me to catch him. 

To make a long few days and story short I’ll just hit the ‘highlights’. We make some calls, cancel our tickets, ask our amazing friends the Hyodos if we can crash at their place and then arrange for a driver to pick us up. Two hours later, with all our bags and in the middle of heavy traffic we make our way to a police station to file a report. The officer proceeds to tell us that though they are the closest, the theft took place across the street and we needed to go to another station. So we made our way to the second of the night. We entered and had an officer stare at me for about 2 minutes before asking what I wanted. He reluctantly said he could do something for us, though the pace with which he moved could have fooled us. After about an hour (with the kids still sitting in a car down the alley) he opened a huge ledger book and asked us what was taken. Actually, he asked, “where are the items that were taken.” Barely able to control ourselves we patiently explained the situation. Then he took a white piece of paper, ripped a square corner off, wrote a number on it and stamped it. He then told us they only had one copy of the form we needed and that we could either come back the next day or go to any police station and they could help us. Now pause with me for a minute. There are no computers, no network…just the huge ledger and me with my torn off piece of paper. The thought in my mind was, “how in the world is anyone going to be able to help me at another station if all the information is in that book.” I was assured it could happen and was told something about them calling this officer and him reading to them what we had just enumerated. Completely unconvinced, but without any other options, we left to the Hyodos, arriving at around 11pm. We cancelled cards, called Jeff and Malia (great friends in the States), called the US Embassy emergency line and prayed (though we were praying throughout). The next day we woke up and went to our third police station in two days. I was semi-arrested a few days earlier and held for a couple of hours as they tried to get money from me so technically it was the fourth police station, but that is a story for another day. This station didn’t have even one copy of the form we needed, so a trip to a nearby cyber cafe was in order to print our own copy. With paper in hand we returned to the police station and the same process as the previous night ensued. The officer opened her huge ledger book and asked what was stolen. Erika repeated the same list, she wrote the list of items in the ledger and on our form, stamped and signed it and we were on our way. Next stop, the US Embassy. With copies of our passports in hand and an emergency appointment we were ushered into a completely full waiting area. 6 hours, one trip to get pictures taken later (serious security every time you enter) and $1000 lighter, we emerged with emergency passports for the whole family. 

It is Easter weekend so there are no available flights for 4 days. We invade the Hyodo’s home, which was already full of visitors and they graciously hosted us. We enjoyed an amazing birthday dinner which wouldn’t have taken place had we not been in Nairobi. We got some more down time and hung out with our friends. We saw God provide for us in the midst of what was a pretty stressful time. I don’t think I remember very many of my birthdays, but I will definitely remember this one. Life may suck sometimes, but God is always good. 

2 years later…what have we learned?

Mar 11 |

2013-05-02_13674999732013-09-02_1378101348As I look around my home here in Mombasa and reflect on the last two years, the things we have learned and seen God do is quite amazing.

Since March 11, 2013 we have lived in four homes. We have gone from a homeschooling, football playing, ballet dancing, swimming, youth group band playing, pastor’s family to an international school attending, football playing, youth group band playing, pastor’s family. We just have a few more kids. 🙂 Alot has changed and yet not much has changed. We are still the same family, just two years older, but with the same convictions, goals, and desires. We just live it out in a different location.

Trenton and I have always had a heart for youth; we still do. Trenton has a heart to teach biblical truth; he still does. I have a heart to minister to young girls, young moms, homeschool moms, and women in general; I still do! My kids have always loved to listen, play, and sing music; they still do. It’s obvious nothing has changed here.

Then what’s different? Haha! Everything and nothing! All at the same time.

We live in a different country, culture, and among a myriad of languages. Surrounded by a host of foreigners- a few Americans, but many British, Indians, Pakistani, Arab, Somali, as well as other Middle Eastern and African countries. Mombasa is a melting pot of cultures and always has been because of it’s rich port history.

The differences are apparent daily as we rejoice on the rare occasion fresh water runs out of our tap, we long for a hot shower(yes even when it’s hot outside!), we throw a party when fresh imports arrive at the local grocery store. We look forward to mail. Going to the bank is an all day event. People stare at us while we walk around town. We point and get excited when we see another “AA,” what the kids call an authentic Asian, whether they are Chinese or Japanese. 🙂 Dominos is gourmet pizza in Mombasa!

Those are just a smattering of the variances and similarities in our life in the States versus Kenya. Some days are good and some days are not so good, that’s life. We thank God for how he has been faithful to us throughout these past two years. He has loved us, cared for us, protected us, taken us out of our comfort zone, drawn us near, and sent us out, all for His glory. Some days we laugh, some we cry, some we are frustrated, and some we sit in awe. But each and every day we thank God and hope that He is pleased with us.

What have we learned? God is faithful. God loves us, as much as he loves all his people. He is bigger than any struggle we have and will face, and reminds us in his word:
“And surely I am with you always, to the very end of age.” Matt. 28:20

InstagramCapture_9639d4b1-2ae6-4272-a0e8-b0f0dd5cd3d6 InstagramCapture_79400a57-7b3c-41ae-8b7c-85e1b62cbb2f

The Movie of Life…

Mar 10 |

crazy loveI’ve been leading a bible study the past few weeks and we have been going through Francis Chan’s “Crazy Love” book. I have to read it in advance to filter out all the American references that Kenyans won’t relate to and summarize large chunks because we only have one copy of the book. But hey, it’s Africa so we can make due!
As we entered into chapter two, I struggled to summarize some of the ideas. The ideas of our control issues and focusing on us instead of God, but then I came to the part of the chapter where it has this one liner, “the movie of life…” This group loves movies, finally something they can relate to!
Francis describes the real movie of life, from creation, to the fall, to Abraham, to the prophets, to the climax-Jesus’ birth, death, and resurrection. The movie of life is obviously about God, not us. Yet, we live as if it’s all about us.
Then there was this statement, “In 50 years you will be forgotten. No one will remember your name.” This is a profound statement and completely relevant to a Kenyan whose lifespan is roughly 50 years. If this statement is true, then how can we think this life is about us? It has to be more than us and our brief time here on earth. It has to be about God and his son and his message.
I think it’s also true that if we will be forgotten in 50 years, than our life has to reflect something outside of time. We could read the above statement and ask “Why am I here then?” And the simple answer, is to glorify God. That alone will leave a lasting impact that will live well beyond you and touch all the lives of the people around you, with someone greater than you.
Let us focus on eternity.

What’s Your Worth?

Jan 22 |

What’s your worth?  An interesting question.  It could mean a number of things depending upon who you ask.

I’ll ask another question: What/Who decides your value?

A certain monitary amount in your bank account?  Having a bank account? With money in it?

A bunch of letters behind your name with periods in between them?  Or some piece of paper mounted on your wall?(or stuck in a filing cabinet)

Test Scores? Transcripts with mostly A’s?

It’s a constant “measuring up” in this world we live in, I’ve realized.  It’s a constant conversation I have with my children and the boys.  Where does their true value lie?

You see, I was not the best student(shocker!), not the smartest, the fastest, the tallest, the prettiest… I could go on, but that would be depressing!  Much of my teen years were spent desperately trying to fit in somewhere, anywhere.  And always wondering what my value was(although I wouldn’t have termed it that at the time).  It took Jesus, a loving husband, good friends, and some women’s fellowship bible studies to truly grasp where my value lied.  It lied in the One who created me and the One who saved me.

Seeing my own children struggle in finding their identities and not basing them on worldly things that we can’t take with us, I was determined that what they needed most from me was exactly what I needed as well, unconditional love.  Don’t get me wrong, I push my kids pretty hard to do their very best but if their very best is a ‘C’ on an exam(or lower, gasp!) they can be assured that Mom will smile, look them right in the eye, and say, “I’m proud of you and I love you no matter what.”  You are not a mark on an exam, you are a child of God.

Our boys have similiar struggles, mostly due to gaps in their schooling.  Many of them went to school as young boys, ran away to the street, spending several years away form school, and then when they finally returned to school were placed more by age then ability.  That can do a number on your self-confidence.  It’s amazing to see how far some of them have come.  Some struggled and then some really struggled.  We even had those who had to learn to speak and read in English in class 6 and 7!  Their determination to learn and succeed was awe inspiring, but I also worried for them if the results were not as they desired.

And so I started early with them, explaining, in conversations, how I approach learning and gauging success, and it had nothing to do with test scores!  Their worth is simply this- God created them, called it good, and loved them so much he gave his son for them.  And because God created them, he KNOWS them!  Every hair on their head, every scar, every ounce of stubborness, and most importantly He knows their heart.

I am so very proud of them and love them with all that I have, but God loves them more!  And they have infinite worth in His eyes.

He called me Mom

Jan 6 |

I was unprepared and it was unexpected.

From an unlikely source, came that word; he called me mom. He didn’t say it to my face, but in an emotional time of reflection over Christmas celebrations. Sitting in our living room, hunched over in a chair, hiding his teared stained face from his peers, he confessed his struggles over losing his real mum. And then he surprised us all, explaining how being able to call me “mamake” brought him comfort and made him feel like he still had a mom; that I was his mom now.

The tough exterior broken to reveal a soft and gentle soul that wants what most of us want- a family to belong to.

I sat behind the wall of others gathered in my living room on Christmas Eve and was in awe of what I heard. Stories of random moments over the last year that touched each person in a way I could not imagine. I’m always surprised how the little things in the end are what become the treasured memories to an individual in this journey of life.

A smile. A soft touch. A warm embrace.

Sitting in silence with someone as they mourn the loss of a loved one, it often times speaks volumes without a single sound being uttered.

Most of the time I have no idea what I’m doing, I’ll be honest. But I’m just trying to be intentional about my sincerity to love those God has placed in my care or in relationship with.

He called me mom. Those three little letters that form the word for the most beautiful job God has ever given me. That little treasure I will hold with me always.

Ever felt lost?

Nov 17 |

When someone feels lost it could mean at least a couple of different things. It could mean that they are lost (duh!). It could also mean that they think they are lost, but they aren’t. It could also mean that they know they aren’t lost, they just feel like they are. At various times and in different ways I have experienced all of these. I wonder where other people find themselves sometimes. Most have the appearance of confidence, a not lostness about them. Maybe I can give off that vibe too. I think I flit between the second and third categories (acknowledging full well that it is possible I am always in the first). My guess is that due the circumstances in our lives there are times when we just don’t know and are left to question. Maybe it is the loss of a job. Perhaps it is an illness that is threatening to end this life. Possibly a series of events has left you feeling hopeless. Maybe there is a crossroads and which turn to take remains a mystery.

I know people in all of these categories and more. I can find myself knowing exactly where I am supposed to be, what I am supposed to be doing and in fact accomplishing it…and yet still feel lost. I wish life was as simple as just knowing the way every time and the feelings always followed. However, I don’t think it is as simple as that. A few reflections on my side as I stand in one place, having the conflicting thoughts of knowing where I am and feeling lost at the same time. Maybe it will apply to the different categories of lostness and help some of us.

In my faith journey one of the things that I have come to appreciate is that God ‘knows’. By ‘knows’ I don’t mean he doesn’t know, but that He knows everything. If there is no where I can go where He is not present in His ability to affect things His ability is greater than mine. If before the foundation of this world He knew everything, everything that could happen, that would happen and that will happen and devised plans to accomplish His purposes, I think He knows more than me. When going on a trip using GPS or a map is helpful, especially if you are traveling somewhere you have never been before. If you don’t have either, an even better alternative is to take someone with you who has been there before. What surpasses even that is to take the owner of the land with you.

In God, we find all three. Scripture shows us how to live this life. God’s Spirit is always with those who believe to guide and counsel and direct. God Himself, the author of life and creator of all things is with us. Perhaps we are in a situation where we find it difficult to receive from God’s word. Sometimes it feels (though it is far from true) that God is far off. The truth that remains is perhaps the most significant. Maybe we don’t know where we are going and ‘feel’ lost. In a world where God is God and we are His, this feeling doesn’t translate into reality. For to be truly lost, we don’t know where we are and neither does anyone else. If God doesn’t exist I would agree that the feeling of lostness is a reality. It is worse than just a feeling, it is actually true. And it is true whether you feel lost or not because there is actually no where to go. When one feels lost it actually reflects the reality everyone else who is living without God is in, the difference being they think they aren’t. Let’s break this down a bit so as to avoid the situation where someone thinks I am saying everyone without God doesn’t do anything, isn’t productive or doing anything meaningful or doesn’t know what they are doing at all. In a reality where God does not exist a person is born, grows, interacts with others, does stuff and then dies, having no more meaning or purpose to their existence than the rock, monkey, or comet. Lostness is a reflection of the meaninglessness of life and is not a part, but the whole of it.

If you feel lost what is there to fall back upon? If there is no God, then one would have to manufacture some sort of meaning in the parts to justify continuing in the meaningless whole. Pause for effect…But if there is a God, then whether you lose your bearings, feel lost, lose your way or whatever else might transpire in this crazy world, a loving God is always there and He knows exactly where you are. Removing God doesn’t do anything other than ensure one’s true lostness. Inserting God isn’t done in order to just get by with the proverbial crutch, though I don’t see anything wrong with acknowledging our need and God as the provider of that need. Saying that God is there is the truth and the foundation upon which we rest when our emotions and our perceptions leave us feeling lost.

We are either lost and hopeless because that is all there is or we feel lost, but in reality we aren’t or don’t need to remain that way. For those that are lost may God show us the way. For those who feel lost may God show us the truth. For those that don’t feel lost and find no need for God may He show us true life.