Category Archives: My Personal Journey

to the church I’m leaving

I had been saved for four years, but had not been in a church yet. My prodigal husband had just returned to God. The service had already started when we walked into a little church, and peered through the closed sanctuary doors. I was shocked by what I saw. People clapping, hands raised, and, *gasp*, two women dancing in the aisle. I had heard about these kind of people, but had never actually encountered them. Like a child at the circus, I was mesmerized. And then my husband very calmly said “This is it. This is the one.”, followed quickly by my own voice saying “Are you kidding me?”.

And so began my life at Christian Fellowship Church of Crystal Lake, Illinois. Now, 19 years later, I am saying goodbye to my spiritual childhood home in a giant leap of faith to Texas. I am smiling at the thought that I am now firmly, unequivocally one of “them”…a hand raising, dancing, clapping, barefoot-in-church follower of Christ. So I want to do my best to honor the community that God used to raise me.

I was enveloped by the women of Christian Fellowship almost immediately. I think they saw “help me” written all over me! I knew nothing of being a Christian, and my marriage (and overall life) was a mess. It wasn’t long before a woman approached me and asked if she could be my prayer partner. My mind said “what the heck is that??”, but my mouth said “Okay”. She taught me to pray. Today, she remains my closest friend, and my prayer partner. But back then, she was someone I didn’t know who took me in, and met with me every week to pray for me. And then one day, after she had prayed, she said to me “Your turn”. I almost threw up at the idea of praying out loud, but I was on her couch and I had just enough manners to know that would have been rude. Thus began my life of pure passion for prayer, because I was taught that if you’re scared, then “do it scared”, but do it. Cheryl, for that and so so much more, I honor you and thank you.

It was here, among these women, that I learned what friendship really looks like. It’s a relationship of grace, forgiveness and kindness. And saying the hard things that need to be said, because of love. It’s laughing so hard you can’t breathe and crying just because they’re crying. When I first walked through the doors of Christian Fellowship, I really didn’t have any girlfriends, nor was I looking for any. Growing up in the world taught me that girls can be mean and true friendship is rare. Growing up in this church has taught me that women are a huge blessing, and their friendship is invaluable. To “my girls”, each and every one of you, I love and honor you. You have loved this woman, and all women, well.

To the ones who remained in steadfast friendship with my family through some very dark years, you’ll never know how much your loyalty has meant. Thank you for your prayers, your encouragement, and your willingness to remain connected to people who were so incredibly broken. I honor your warrior hearts for staying in the battle with us all those years.

We had been attending for about a year when the worship leader approached me and asked me if I wanted to join the worship team. You could have knocked me over with a feather! I loved singing, but even I knew that I wasn’t “worship team” material, and the thought of singing in front of the whole church made me want to throw up. (yes, it is my most common response to terror) I think I whispered into the mic for at least 6 months. But I learned from this worship leader. I learned that worship is not the same as entertainment or performance. It’s more than music and singing. It’s a posture of the heart. Don & Henri Peters, and the rest of the worship team, I will be ever grateful to you for giving me the opportunity to learn about the heart of worship. I honor all of you that hold open the door to the throne room every Sunday.

Through the many changes that a church goes through in almost 20 years, I have learned the meaning of commitment, as I watched people remain in commitment through extremely difficult seasons. I have so much respect for a family who stayed, when leaving would have been so much easier. They stayed through a trial that shook them as well as the church. Your determination to remain in community inspired me to tears. You know who you are. I love you both dearly. I honor your steadfast obedience and commitment to do the hard thing. “I tell you what.”

I learned that I won’t always agree with the decisions of leadership, but that if the decisions are not prohibited by scripture, then I am called to submit. Submission is a hard lesson, but it is an act of obedience that invites the blessing of God. I also learned what it looks like to respond with grace when someone is voicing their opinion about your leadership decisions. I was the recipient of much of that grace. I honor the leadership of Christian Fellowship for their gentle call to submission, and the grace that poured out during my times of stubbornness and disagreement.

I learned that if you stay in one place long enough, allowing your life to become entwined with others, offense will come. It will come to you, and through you. The choices are to leave in search of a mythical “offense free” church, or to stay and allow God to use the offense to teach forgiveness and humility. Offense is difficult to work through, but I have seen the power of God restore love and unity to those willing to persevere. I honor both the offenders and the offended in this church, those who have chosen humility and those who have chosen to forgive. You have unknowingly taught me well what overcoming offense looks like. Thank you.

Through the years of growing in Christ in this church, I was given a place for the gifts of the Spirit to grow and flourish, along with so much encouragement and opportunity to use those gifts. I learned how to do that for others, and how to give grace and room for imperfection. I honor this community for always seeking to notice and encourage the Holy Spirit in one another, and for their willingness to allow people to make mistakes as they learn and grow.

Over the last few months my life has been busy with packing and planning. I have been so excited that sadness had no place to sit down. But now it has pushed its way in and demanded my attention. I am experiencing the pain of leaving all that is familiar, all of the people who have made my life so full all these years. Leaving this state, my house, the evil winters…none of that matters. What has made my heart heavy is leaving the people who have been my family for 19 years. I am trying to allow my heart to feel what it feels, because it’s all part of the journey.  And the pain is teaching me perhaps the biggest lesson of all.

I was made for community. I know that I will never be able to follow Jesus well unless I am doing it in community with other believers. Christian Fellowship Church, I honor you for all of the love, grace, and friendship that have so blessed my life. I honor your commitment to Jesus and to His Church. I want you to know that I value the life I’ve lived with all of you, and the gift you have been to me.

Your sister in Christ,

Karla

an epic journey begins

To say that I am on a journey with God just doesn’t do justice to what is happening in my life, so I think I need to add the word “epic” in there. I have sat down at this computer numerous time to attempt to write a blog post about this epic-ness, and came up empty every time. Maybe this time I will find my words.

Two years ago, I turned 50, and asked something of God. My exact words, echoed by my husband, were “Lord, I want the second half to count. I want the second half of my life to be about Your Kingdom.” God would later stun me with these exact words.

A couple of years ago I looked up from my life to discover both of my kids had moved to Texas. My husband and I both entered into an emotional turmoil of sorts. We were sad, and missed them deeply, while at the same time being overjoyed at what God was doing in their lives. And while I would have packed up and headed south in a New York minute (not sure what that means…are minutes in NY shorter than in Illinois?), my husband was not keen on living “2 blocks from hell”, referring to the heat of Texas.

We listened as our children told us about their lives in Waco, and we both wept and marveled at what God was doing in and through them. They were both being transformed as a result of their “yes” to Him. He placed them in a community of believers like none I have ever seen, and I soon realized that they were learning to follow Jesus in a way that made me yearn for more of Him. The desire to relocate grew in my heart, not just to be with my kids, but to experience what God was doing in them.

Fast forward to a few months ago, when God spoke one word to my husband – “Pack”. We wrestled with it a bit, and then decided to do what we believed God wanted us to do. We began to pack. It took some time, and some confirmations on God’s part, but we eventually realized He was moving us to Waco. One of those confirmations stunned both of us. My husband had been asked to come to a little church and speak for 5 minutes about his ministry to the homeless. The church had two services, so we stayed for the sermon so he could speak at the second service. We did not know the pastor of this church, and he didn’t know us. His sermon was about getting free from debt, and in the middle of it he said these words – “Some of you are in your 50’s, your children are gone, and you are wanting the second half of your lives to count.” The very words we had spoken two years prior. We both felt the reverberations of God’s voice in our hearts. It was at that little church, during that sermon, that God asked my husband if he was willing to take a leap of faith. He was scared, but he said yes. Emotional turmoil just went turbo.

We have lived in Illinois for 27 years, in this house for the past 12 years, have attended the same church for 19 years, and my husband has been extensively  involved in a homeless ministry for 7 years. The roots are deep here. Suddenly, packing up our lives and heading south felt overwhelming, sad, fantastic and adventurous all at the same time, and when you’ve crossed the threshold of 50, that many emotions are hard to manage.

Oh, but I’m not done with the setup yet. In May, my daughter returned to Texas from an 8 month trip to Uganda, releasing me from a tension and anxiety I had been unaware was living in my heart. I would not get to see or hug her though, until June 6th when my husband and I arrived for my son’s wedding. Yes…my son got married on June 9th, so now we’ve added a brand new mix of emotions into an already emotionally overloaded heart. Overjoyed to see my daughter, thrilled for my son and his new bride, sad that the mother/son relationship is changing, proud as can be of the man that used to be my little boy, so very happy to be adding a wonderful woman of God into our family, giddy and scared to be moving to Texas, and so darn weepy over everything. Mind you, our house in Illinois is packed, and we sold off a lot of our stuff in a garage sale…but we have no place to live and no jobs in Waco. We are leaping.

My daughter and I returned to Illinois on June 10th, while my husband remained in Waco to look around at places to live and job opportunities. He returned a couple of days ago, having found us a house to rent that is way beyond what either of us expected, with a move-in date of no later than July 19th. But we still have no jobs.  We are in mid-air, too committed to the leap to turn around and reach for the familiarity of solid ground.

Throughout this whole process, God has been good, and utterly faithful. And that really is the point of this blog post. Because right here, in mid-air, He has chosen to encounter my heart. His goodness has revealed something that surprised me (as the contents of my own heart usually do).

The goodness of God makes me uncomfortable.

leave me broken

Once I was dead. But You found me and made me alive. I came up, like a miner from the underground, squinting at the suddenness of light. You washed me in blood, healed the sickness of shame, and convinced me of love. So much. You’ve done so much. I see it.  Mostly in glances stolen from my intent stare at me, and what still needs to be done.

Then today came and You did something new. You closed my eyes to the reflection of me in my various stages of disrepair, and opened them to a different reflection. I saw it there, behind the mirror.

Me. Desperately clinging to You. That’s my hand with a death grip on the hem of Your robe. Me. Hiding behind You from an enemy I couldn’t see, but knew was there, calling for my destruction.  Me. Trying to keep my feet in line with Yours. Touching Your scars in wonder. Not caring that I was still a mess. Just wanting, needing to stay close, to listen intently, to watch Your every movement. Me. Wanting You with everything in me.

I saw it and remembered. Desperation. Adoration. Unquenchable love.

I saw it and a prayer formed, rushing into me like brand new breath.

Oh God. Leave me broken.

Help me walk straight, but leave me with a limp. I need to need grace.

Strengthen my weak knees, but leave them bent. I need my face close to the ground at Your feet. Life is better there.

Train my hands for war. Make them strong enough to grip Your hand, but leave them too weak to hold my own life.

Help me walk with confidence and authority, but with enough insecurity to keep me hiding behind You.

Give my eyes vision, but keep it dim so that I don’t look past You.

Heal my heart, but leave it aching for those who still need to be convinced of love.

Once I was dead. But You found me and You made me alive…washed me in blood, healed the sickness of shame, and convinced me of love. 

Don’t stop. Refine me. Restore me. Baptize me with fire. Revive me. Make me whole.

Just leave me broken.

soldiers

In 1981 I joined the Army, and after basic training went to Germany to serve my three years. It was peacetime, and I was one of thousands of soldiers helping to maintain an American presence in Europe. While there, I observed three types of soldiers.

The first type were the young ones who had never been to a foreign country before. They were like kids in a candy store – all hopped up on sugar. They wanted to see, taste and experience everything they could in this foreign land. They learned enough of the language to get around and communicate with the locals, and even their living quarters took on a German look, as they surrounded themselves with the things of the land. Their military mission was more of a side-line in this adventure in a foreign culture. They talked about home mostly as a place they will eventually go back to, but in the meantime, they are enjoying this strange, foreign place.

The second type of soldier became completely immersed in the culture, and usually ended up making it his home after his time in the military was over. They usually end up retiring in Germany, often marrying German wives, and live out their lives there. They rarely, if ever, talk about home, because this place has become their home.

But then we have the third type of soldier. They are usually somewhat older, but not always. They rarely venture off base, learn little of the language, and are generally unbedazzled by this foreign land. They are there to do a mission and then get back home. They know it is important that they be here, but they also know they won’t be staying. When you talk to them, they always talk about home, and you can hear the longing in their voice. They are focused on the task they are there for, but you can tell that their hearts are somewhere else. They don’t hate this place, and even find enjoyment in the good things it has to offer…but they have no desire to stay here.

It all just begs the question…”which one am I?”. Which one are you? Have you accepted the gift of salvation offered by Christ, yet still want to taste, see and experience everything this world has to offer? Have you been transferred from the kingdom of darkness into the Kingdom of God, but remain fascinated with the things that belong to the darkness? Has the work of the Kingdom taken a backseat to your desire to enjoy life here to the fullest?

Have you made this place your home, becoming completely immersed in the culture around you? Has this place so captured your heart and mind that no one would know that you are a foreigner here? Do you ever talk about home, or is this place now home for you?

Or are you the one who keeps these things in mind:

“All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance. And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own.” Hebrews 11:13-14

“Dear friends, I urge you, as aliens and strangers in the world, to abstain from sinful desires, which war against your soul.” 1Peter 2:11

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.” John 14:1-3

Fellow soldiers, it is not peacetime in this foreign land. We are at war. We cannot make ourselves at home here, and allow the enemy to distract us with what surrounds us. Nor can we allow the devastation brought by war to cause us to retreat in fear and despair. We must stay focused. We must remember where we are and why we are here. And we must keep our hearts turned toward home.

“Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you.” Psalm 73:25

the writing in the dust

Twenty-two years and seven months ago I surrendered my life to Christ. I was an emotional wreck, my marriage was a mess, I had a 3 year old daughter and was 9 months pregnant with my son. I was in crisis and, for the next twenty years or so, I remained in crisis. My marriage went from bad to worse to dead, while at the same time my daughter went spiraling out of control into self-destructive darkness.

In the midst of all of that, I discovered God. He taught me how to fight, and how to run for cover behind Him while the enemy assaulted my family relentlessly. I came to know His faithfulness, His power, and His own relentlessness to protect and defend that which is His. I came to know my all powerful, ever faithful God through a very long time of crisis. And now, my marriage is restored, and both of my kids are living lives sold out for Jesus. The dust has settled, and God stands victorious over the enemy who sought so hard to destroy a family. So for the past two years I have been trying to figure out what this nagging feeling deep inside of me is about. Why do I feel like I am wandering aimlessly around, looking for something I cannot define? This morning I figured it out. Actually, God figured it out and then told me about it.

I don’t know how to do relationship with God without a crisis.

For two years I have blamed this emptiness, this total dissatisfaction inside of me on everything from empty-nest syndrome to menopause, and my latest one…depression. All of those things are true in my life, but they are simply words to describe my behavior. They don’t explain the ache deep inside of me that co-exists with complete numbness. My empty nest isn’t the real reason that I feel more lost than found, or why the scriptures that gave me life all those years now look like just words on a page. This is me, being real. Because I can’t be anything else right now. I don’t have the strength for it.

But at least I know what it is now. I feel as though God just wrote it in the dust on my dining room table (because depressed, menopausal women who live in empty nests don’t dust very often), and He and I just are staring at the truth in that dust. Now what? Do I introduce myself to this omnipotent Being who just pulled my family from the wreckage of hell, as we both stand here in the after-the-war silence? What do I say, when shouting and declaring His promises over my family seems out of place now?

It was the voice of my daughter that God used to write the truth in that dust. We had a conversation this morning…her in Africa, me here in this very quiet house in Illinois. As I told her a little bit of my “empty-nest” woes, she matter of factly said this, in so many words:

“Being a wife and mother is a gift God gave to you, but it is not why He created you. You were made for relationship with Him, so maybe that’s what you need to concentrate on now.”

That’s what I heard my daughter saying to me. But what I saw God writing in the dust was, “You don’t know how to be in relationship with Me outside of a crisis”.

So, here’s the deal. I love God. I love His Word. I know His faithfulness and His power to heal and restore the most broken things. I know Him as a victorious God that puts the enemy to flight, chases after prodigals until they chase Him back, and turns hearts of stone into hearts of flesh. I know Him in the rage, chaos and deafening sounds of battle. I know my place and my purpose in the war.

I’m just unsure of what to do in green pastures, beside quiet waters.

Standing across from Him, staring at the truth, I could think of only one thing…

“My heart says of You, ‘Seek His face!’ Your face, Lord, I will seek.” (Ps. 27:8)

my cinderella story

I had been a Christian for some time before I learned the truth.  I had not chosen Christ. Instead, He chose me. For a girl who had never been asked to a school dance, and was among the last ones picked for any kind of “team”, let me tell you…this was big news.

The enemy had set up some nice strongholds in me from a very young age, and my own worthlessness was the lie I lived with, and lived out.  The majority of my choices were made from the belief that I had very little value.

So the sadness of it all is not that I was never chosen, but that I never felt worth choosing.  

And then one day, God gave me a vision, and it led me into a season of transformation that dismantled the lie the enemy had worked so hard to build into me.

            I walked into a large ballroom, filled with people. They were beautiful people, especially the women. They were all much taller than me, dressed for a ball, hair done to perfection. They all looked like porcelain dolls. I, on the other hand, looked very much like a street urchin. Small and dirty. Dressed in what looked like something made of burlap, and no shoes.

            The beautiful people were all gathered around something, or someone, and I was in the back of the crowd unable to see what they were looking at. Then, the crowd began to separate, and I saw the object of their attention. There, on a throne, sat the most handsome of princes. He was smiling, and most amazingly, looking right at me. My head dropped in shame, assuming He would question how I got in and why on earth I was there, among the beautiful ones. Suddenly, he pointed at me and said , “I choose you.” 

I call it my Cinderella story. Even as I write it here, I can feel the emotion I had when God gave me the vision. It was so deeply personal because God had painted a picture of exactly how I felt as a new Christian, and I was overwhelmed by the fact that He knew it. He knew how unworthy and out of place I felt around other Christians, even though I was working hard to hide it. And He set me free by renewing my mind with His word.

” For He chose us in Him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in His sight. In love  He predestined us for adoption to sonship through Jesus Christ, in accordance with His pleasure and will—” Ephesians 1:4-5

I wasn’t chosen as an afterthought. The choice was made before He ever spoke the foundations of the world into existence.  Nor was it a reluctant choice. It brought Him pleasure to choose me, and it was exactly the choice He wanted to make.

“But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of Him who called you out of darkness into His wonderful light.”  1Peter 2:9

I am not a street urchin who happened into God’s Kingdom. I am the chosen, special possession of God.

 He called me out of darkness.  He called me. On purpose. So that I could make much of Him, declaring His goodness and His majesty to a lost world.

“What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us?  He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen?”  Romans 8:31-33

Who is it that beats me up the most? Who chastises me, tells me that I’m not good enough, tells me that I’m a failure, that I don’t measure up? Who tells me that I don’t belong, that I don’t fit in? Who is it that brings a charge against me the most, and tells me that God is against me? Me. Oh, I know what you may be thinking. Those are the lies of the enemy. Absolutely.

Satan may be the one talking, but I’m the one believing him. 

 His talking isn’t the problem. The problem is that God’s people believe what he has to say.  And then we begin to repeat it, to ourselves and to others.

This time I choose. I choose to stand on God’s word and believe that I am His choice, and that choosing me brought Him pleasure. I am not an urchin among the beautiful, I am royalty among royalty.  I am not worthless, I am His special possession.  I am His, not be default, but by choice. His choice.

And finally…

“They will make war against the Lamb, but the Lamb will overcome them because He is Lord of lords and King of kings—and with Him will be His called, chosen and faithful followers.” Revelation 17:13-15

cinderella2

 

I have been chosen for something magnificent!

 

i remember…

I just turned 50 in October. (I’ll pause while the clapping subsides.) My children have left my nest and gone to a far off land (Texas). For some reason, these two events have culminated in an urge to memorialize my journey of motherhood, in case I forget. Because I just turned 50. These memories will be in random order, as the majority of my memories are these days. Because I just turned 50.

I remember…that I didn’t want to leave the hospital after my daughter was born, because it meant I would be responsible for this very little person. Plants do not live long in my house, so I was skeptical about my daughter’s chances. Fortunately, very small people are much better than plants at survival.

I remember…the sensation of a child kicking in my stomach, and never feeling more like a woman, before or since.

I remember…the smell of my baby’s neck…possibly the sweetest smell on earth.

I remember…cuddling with my son, knowing how sad I would be when the day came when he would no longer need me that way. The day came and went. I was right.

I remember…somewhere along the way I developed my “calm voice”, because it was the only voice my highly emotional and dramatic daughter would respond to. It usually worked, but not always. I would then revert to yelling, which rarely worked, but usually resulted in a moment of satisfaction at the stunned, almost frightened look on her face. A brief moment, that I cherished.

I remember…singing both of my kids to sleep with “Puff the Magic Dragon”, of which I only knew one verse, and I’m not even sure I had the words right. I sang that one verse over and over. They didn’t care. Sometimes, to ease the ache, I find myself humming that familiar tune.

I remember…my daughter’s inability to go ask for more ketchup when we were at a fast food restaurant, so my son (3 years younger) did it for her. She’s much braver now.

matchbox-groupI remember…the sound of my son’s world from the moment he woke up until he fell asleep again. Never ending sounds of cars, trucks, trains and planes as he made his matchbox vehicles come to life, complete with crashing sounds (because what’s the point of a car that doesn’t crash?). The sounds are faint now, but still there.

I remember…longing for a quiet house, and now hating that quiet.

I remember…the sound of their friends…girls upstairs in my daughter’s room, giggling, squealing, whispering. Boys downstairs…yelling, laughing, eating (never whispering). Me, sitting at the computer, smiling at the sounds of life in my house.

I remember…the knot in my stomach (that has never quite gone away) that arrived at the same time as the first driver’s license.

I remember…a cold rag always made them feel better when they were sick or hurt. They didn’t know that it was all I knew to do for them.

I remember…getting up in the middle of the night, going into their room and watching them sleep. They were teenagers. The wonder of it never left.

I remember…the day each of them left home, waiting until they were gone to have my emotional breakdown because I needed them to leave without guilt.

I remember…my son’s sick-to-his-stomach excitement on Christmas Eve. Last year. He was 20.

I remember…the almost overwhelming excitement of my kids’ stepping into their future as adults, at the same time feeling just as overwhelmed with sadness that they were stepping out of their past, on their own, without me.

I remember…that my kids are healthy, strong, brave, and have hearts that are running hard after God. And then I remember that He was there through it all…loving them, protecting them, and making sure they didn’t go the way of so many houseplants.

There’s so much more. So many moments, sounds, smells that come upon me out of nowhere. Sometimes I smile, sometimes I cry, and sometimes I tell God I’m sorry.

But mostly, I thank Him for the memories.