The Best Moments

I led my very first team with 410 Bridge a month ago.

First time - solo leading - that is.

Eleven women and me.

And these women were.

Very strong.

Solid.

Good hearted.

Women who love Jesus.

We served in Chembulet.

A small farming community in western Kenya.

It was my first time there.

And it turned out to be.

One of the most impactful trips of my life.

Here are some of my favorite moments.


1)   Through Their Eyes

Seeing Kenya through the eyes of someone whose never been there before.

It's always so much fun for me!

It's almost like experiencing Kenya for the first time myself.

Just -- all over again.

I LOVE it!

These women left home over the Thanksgiving Holiday to serve with me.

They showed courage and hutzpah!

It was an amazing thing to behold.

I LOVED seeing this trip through their eyes!

2)  Meeting with Chembulet's widows


We took a message on prayer to share with the widows in this community.

I've seen close friends walk through the loss of a husband in this country.

It's no different there.

It's devastating.

And life changing.

But what is different,

Is the lack of a safety net for these women in Kenya.

Resources for them are limited - non-existent.

No life insurance.

No financial support for their children.

Most of them have never worked outside the home.

If they're part of a local church,

They do find spiritual and community support.

We saw that.

But it's obviously a very, very hard path.

It's hard to say this was a "best" moment.

But it will be one of my most memorable ones.

Looking into their faces.

And just seeing their pain.

One widow shared that her husband had cheated on her many times.

And infected her with AIDS.

He died.

Leaving her with six children to raise.

There was no light in her eyes at all.

Her eyes were completely vacant.

Devoid of any hope

I'll never forget her face.



We were told that Kenyans often think of Americans as having a perfect life.

Because of the transparency and courage of my teammates.

These widows learned differently.

One teammate shared her own experience with being abused.

Another shared her story of neglect and wrong choices.

Another described what it was like to lose her own husband just a few years ago.

Two others filled the meeting room with their powerful voices in song.

I watched the faces of the widows.

They must have been surprised.

That our stories often mirrored theirs.

One woman took her shawl and pulled it up to face.

Wiping tears from her eyes.

Others nodded.

In understanding.

I hope we encouraged them that day.

I think we did.

But they deeply impacted us.

It was a best moment of the trip.

3.    So welcomed

I've visited several communities in Kenya over the years.

None.

Were as welcoming as Chembulet.

Wherever we went.

On house to house visits.

Worshiping in the local churches on Sunday.

Spending "A Day in the Life" with families.

Learning how to cook traditional meals in their kitchens.

They welcomed us.

With open arms.

More than open arms.

With open souls and hearts.

On Sunday, we were made honorary elders in the church.

The women of the church wrapped our heads with special scarves.

Reserved for the honor.

During the community's welcoming ceremony,

We were all presented a hand carved stick.

Making us full members of Chembulet.

They told us the sticks represented authority.

And respect.

It was a symbolic and functional tool as well.

I went to Chembulet unsure how an all-women's team would be received.

I was blown away by their love for us.

It was quite an honor.

And definitely.

One of my best moments.

4.    The Courage of My Team

We did a lot of things in those 10 days.

We saw the beautiful vegetables and plants produced,

in 410 Bridge's  "Foundations for Farming" program.

We saw the drilling sites for fresh water,

where 410 Bridge is working to provide water for the community.

We toured a local health clinic.

And spent an afternoon with young girls in the area,

talking with them about being a woman of dignity.

We watched the mamas in the community laughing & competing in a game called "the Knot."

And witnessed giraffes and a herd of elephants walking feet from our vehicle on safari.

We got to put our feet in the compound where Danee & LJ Davis and their kids are serving

in Nairobi.

Living out their lives in one of the biggest slums of the country.

But nothing.

Nothing on this trip.

Impacted me more.

Than the courage I saw.

From the women I served with on this team.

It's always easier to just stay home.

Where it's safe.

And comfortable.

And predictable.

Where you generally know what to expect.

These eleven women didn't do that.

They got on a plane.

Flew over 18 hours.

To the other side of the world.

To serve in Chembulet, Kenya.

They said yes to doing the hard things.

For some.

The hard thing was just going.

For others.

It was sharing very painful and personal stories in their lives.

And singing.

Or leading team devotions.

Or sharing at evening debriefs.

But, they did it.

Sometimes, with trembling hands.

Sometimes, with shaky voices.

But, they did it.

I loved this group of women.

And I admired their courage.

They came home safe and sound.

But different.

That always happens.

And the process of how that happens.

Is always my best moments.

I'll be leading another team of women to Chembulet, Kenya with 410 Bridge in 2020.
If you'd like an amazing opportunity to grow in your faith and serve, reach out to me.   It could very well be one of the most memorable adventures of your life.  

Forfeiting Peace

God must look at me sometimes.

And shake His head.

I get that.

Because.

How many times.

Do I forfeit the peace.

He would love to give me.

Because of my own lack of trust.

In Him.


I've been reading this week in Genesis.

Sarah was told she would have a son.

But like me.

She doubted.

She worried.

She was afraid.

She forfeited the peace.

She could have felt.

She could have enjoyed.

If she had trusted Him to do what He said He would do.


I do the same thing.

During that space and time.

Between praying for something.

And seeing Him work it out.

I worry.

Like others in Genesis.

I take matters into my own hands.

Thinking He really must need my help.

I doubt.

I fear.

And I forfeit peace.




"....I look into your mind and see thoughts spinning round and round;

going no where, accomplishing nothing.

All the while, My peace hovers over you,

watching for a place to land.

Be still in My presence,

inviting Me to control your thoughts.

This is the most effective way to receive

My peace."       -- Sara Young

Buddy

He'd been hanging out in our neighborhood in Greenwood.

For weeks.

Shaggy.

Friendly.

Adorable.

All of our neighbors called him by name.

Buddy.

Even now as I think about that.

It's so weird.

Because.

As it turned out.

Buddy didn't belong to anyone in our neighborhood.

At first.

He drifted from house to house.

And then he settled in with us.

We started asking around.

Everybody in Fawnbrook said the same thing.

"He belongs to someone down the street."

But that didn't turn out to be quite true.

We walked our entire subdivision.

Door to door.

Asking if anyone knew who he belonged to.

No one knew.

We checked with the animal shelter.

But to no avail.

That "someone down the street."

Was never found.

That was 15 years ago.

Buddy joined our family.

We gave him a home.

And he gave us quite a lot more.

Love.

Loyalty.

Miles of walks together.

Gentleness.

Acceptance.

I think we came out ahead in the deal.

He was the best.

Buddy.

Loved mud puddles.

Drinking from them.

And walking through them.

He loved to chase squirrels.

And the freedom of a full out run.

He loved to go on walks around Due West.

And roll in the scent or remains of something dead.

He loved our neighbors, the Wilson's.

Cooler weather.

And rolling in the dirt.

While he tolerated our cats.

They adored him.

Which always made him a little nervous, lol.





This last year.

He started to decline.

At 17.

He was an old guy by dog years.

He became thinner.

His back legs grew weak.

His hearing was completely gone.

The light.

That was always in his eyes.

Was all but completely gone.

Scott was Buddy's favorite human.

And he took it hardest of all.

Friday.

We showed Buddy our last act of friendship and love.

In making the decision to put him down.

We said goodbye.

Rubbing his face and ears.

On the vet's table.

Telling him what a good boy he had always been.

Face to face.

Nose to nose.

Not ashamed of all the tears we shed.

As he fell asleep.

We brought Buddy home.

And buried him in a spot we can see from our kitchen window.

The rest of our animal family seemed to sense he was gone.

Gus especially.

He laid out in the middle of the back yard.

Inside Buddy's fence.

For a long time Friday night.

Lucy just watched.



What a sweet blessing he was.

I'm thankful for these years with you.


Sweet friend.

When I Make God Small

When I stand at the edge of the ocean.

Or look out the window of a plane.

It's easy for me to remember.

God is big.

And I am small.



But many times in my life.

When I'm in the routine of my day to day.

When my week ahead is all I see.

And I'm all about my plans.

What I want to do.

How I feel.

What I see.

Without even being aware of it.

I make God small.



It's in those times.

He's limited to my life experiences.

And my point of view.

He definitely needs my help.

I jump in and work things out.

And then.

Ask for his okay.

I see things through the lens of me.

The universe.

Is most definitely.

Revolving.

 Around me.




When I make God small.

I loom big.

So does my place in the world.





Thankfully.

He's patient.

And good to me.

It only takes a shift.

In my circumstances.

Or a disruption in my little world.

And then I see.

Oh, yeah.

Now I remember who you are.

You are God.

And you are not small.



You raised the Tetons.

 And filled the oceans.

You know the heart of every person on the planet.

And you've seen every generation pass through since the beginning of time.

But in a more personal way.

You've allowed me to know you.

During hardships.

And prayers.

Some answered.

And others not.

You've provided for me in a million different ways.

And made sure.

I always knew.

You care.



I may forget sometimes.

But.

Thankfully.

It's not for long.

And you wait patiently on me.

When I.

Make you small.

Room for the Davis's

They came home.

All six of them.

For ten weeks this summer.

Home from a full year of serving in Nairobi.

They are close as family to us anyway.

And we had plenty of room to spare.

Twelve suitcases rolled in that first night back.

A borrowed twin mattress was walked down the street from a neighbor.

And brought upstairs.

They were a sight for sore eyes.



The Davis's were in and out all summer.

Catching up with their families and friends.

Telling their story countless times.

To churches.

And groups.

And supporters.

Making sure the kids had time to just be kids.

Swimming, camping, beach trips, fast food, fun.

And hopeful God would provide what they needed.

Before it was time for the return back.



And.

It was no surprise to me.

At all.

That He did.

I'd love to share all the details.

Of how it all unfolded.

But, it's enough just to say.

He came through.

Boy, did He come through.



One donor covered school fees.

So the Davis kids could attend a safe, private, Christian school.

Another heard their story.

And provided for a much needed used car for them to get around.

Donations were given to support the orphanage and the children where they serve.

For beds and provisions and care.

Support came from everywhere.

Churches, and groups and people saw what we did in them.

Something quite special.

Something you don't see very often.

Not perfect people.

But people who live out what they believe.

With guts and backbone.

No pretense.

No religious mumbo jumbo.

Just the real deal.

The very real deal.

We made room for the Davis's this summer.

All six of them.

And when they flew back.

The twin mattress got walked back down the street.

To it's owner.

Borrowed vans got returned to Molly & Glenn.

And Danee's sister.

Family and friends settled back into a familiar, long distance relationship.

And the Davis's.

Went back.

Encouraged.

Provided for.

Loved.

And with certainty.

Which is a really good thing to have.

If you'd like to support LJ & Danee Davis as they serve in Nairobi, Kenya in the coming year, use their paypal account to give securely online:

paypal.me/davismovetokenya

or mail a check to LJ Davis, c/o The Dublin's at 8 Bonner Street, Due West, SC 29639.    I'll make sure your donation is deposited directly into their account.

You can also follow the Davis's on their facebook page: Danielleandlj Davis.

Pray for them this year.   LJ, Danee, Sonoma, Bob, Garrett & Alizah Davis.

They've got a lot of work ahead of them.

On Turning 60

"....It's only a number...."

Said to me by reassuring friends.

That are already.

Over 60.

"....It's all downhill from there..."

Said to me by a never encouraging younger brother.

"...You've never been more beautiful..."

Said to me by my husband.

(I know.)

He's ridiculous.



And.

Even this morning.

As the weekend of my 60th birthday approaches.

Jesus seemed to weigh in too.

In His usual.

Personal way.

I'm reading through Psalm right now.

And this morning,

Here's what He had for me in Chapter 92.

"..14:  even in old age they will still produce fruit;
they will remain vital and green."

(He has such a sense of humor!)



I know I'm not old.

But somewhere.

In all that I've heard and read.

About turning 60.

Is how I'm taking it in.

For me.

It's like approaching the curve on Fortner Mountain where I grew up.

I can't see around the bend.

It's hidden.

And a bit of a mystery.

I'm not sure what 60 will look like.

But I know who I am.

And I know what I believe.

I have people around me that love and care for me.

I'm healthy.   And strong.

I hope to keep my hands open.

Even when it gets hard.

To give.

And to receive.

Whatever He has for me.

And I hope.

60 brings me a fresh appreciation.

And even more gratitude.

For the things I hold close to my heart.

To live intentionally.

Every single day I have.

Focusing on what's important.

With peace.

And joy.

To be a voice of encouragement.

And strength.

In a world that often is not.

To love.

And to be.

The very best me.

That I can be.

Turning 60.

Grab Your Pen!

I grab my pen!

(That may be a generational thing.)

Although.

I do sometimes grab my phone.

To jot it down.

Before it slips away.

The thing is.

I'm finding.

When I build in the space.

Quiet space in my day.

Driving into work.

In the early morning with a cup of coffee.

Just to be still.

And listen.

Without distractions.

He will drop thoughts.

Ideas.

Answers to questions.

Solutions.

Inspiration.

Direction.

Into my thoughts.

If I'm asking.

I saw it happen this week.

More than once.

I needed the right words.

For an issue that was troubling me.

I needed to know how to handle a situation.

That I didn't have the answer for.

I provided Him some space in my morning.

In my quiet time.

In my living room.

Just to be still.

And He dropped His guidance onto me.

Like that one drop of rain.

That rolls off the overhead roof.

Just as you duck in the door.

Not in a mystical or wonky way.

But clear and direct.

Simple.

There's no way it came from me.

I was asking.

And He gave it to me.

For me.

Having God be so personal.

To give me the solution....the answer I needed.

Man!

I loved it!

I literally jumped up.

(Or in the instance when I was quietly driving into work,

 I reached for a pen in my bag.)

To scribble down what I felt Him say over me.

There it was.

By just giving Him space.

To be quiet.

To listen.

And be ready to grab my pen.

BeeBee

I didn't know what it would look like.

When I became.

"beebee."

But.

I took one look at this little man.

And though I had no idea.

What I was in for.

He.

Stole.

Me.

Heart.

And soul.

I become silly.

And light.

Completely in the moment.

In his company.

We run.

And skip.

And sit in the swing.

We hold hands.

And laugh.

And sing.

We make up stories.

About cowboy Amos.

Lassoing alligators.

And going on adventures.

With his trusty pup-pup.

We take naps.

And test the patience of the cats.

We eat popcicles.

And make lots of Facetime calls.

But.

The best part.

Of all.

The surprising part.

Is the love.

He gives to me.

His beebee.

It's been simple.

And sweet.

Pure.

And unexplainable.

This love I have for him.


It came.

Out.

Of no where.

And.

It's been the easiest thing.

I've ever.

Done.

Pause

This word.

I'm learning the importance of it.

He's teaching me.

To.

Pause.

Pause before I react.

Pause before I decide.

Pause before I speak.

Pause before I move forward.

Pause.

And give Him time.

To move.

Give Him space.

To work.

In the situation.

That's it.

Just.

Pause.

A Family Raised on Camping

I'll never forget the first time I stepped into a camper!

I was 40.

And it was love at first site.

We made our maiden voyage in 2000.

Kate was 14.

Taylor was 7.

Our camper was a 16' Jayco Kiwi.

A travel trailer with canvas ends that folded out.

We woke up after a great night's sleep by the lake.

I looked up to see tiny bird feet walking across the canvas over my head.

That's when I knew.

I was hooked!

Those were wonderful years for our family.

Weekends in the spring and fall.

Summer vacations at Huntington Beach.

Bacon frying on the griddle outside.

Pancakes and syrup on a paper plate.

A campfire to knock off the chill of the morning.

A hot cup of coffee.

Being outdoors.



It was often.

Sandy feet tracked in and out the door.

Towels hung up outside.

It was.

Steamy bath house showers.

And occasional not so steamy ones.



It was.

Going to bed with the dark.

And often getting up with the light.


It was.

Building campfires.

Poking the burning logs with a stick.

And talking.

Sitting around the fire.

Having conversations we might never have at home.

It was.

Being up close and personal with wildlife.

Nightly racoon visits.

Squirrels, snakes and birds.

The sounds of the ocean or the lake.


It was.

Sliding down inside your sleeping bag.

Laughter.

Giggling.

And talking after the lights went off.

In the early days of camping.

There were no phones.

Not even a TV.

The pace slowed down.

We rode bikes.

We walked the beach or campground.

We read.

One summer at Huntington Beach.

The four of us read thirteen books in a week!



There were.

Alligator sightings.

Bicycle rides.

Trips up to camp store.

And walks out to the marsh.



Pulling our camper across the causeway at Huntington Beach.

Was like coming home.

It was a wonderful way to spend time as a family.

And.

The years passed.

They always do.

But our camping continued.

Through middle school.

High School.

College.

And after.

It become a constant in our family.

A place of good memories.

Things familiar.

Good.

Comforting.

Yep.

All of our favorite things about camping.

Stay with us today.

We didn't have a lot of money back then for vacations.

But we never felt cheated in anyway.

We raised our family on camping.

Looking back.

I'm so glad we did.