A love greater than Jacob's.

"Is anyone among you suffering? Let him pray. Is anyone cheerful? Let him sing praise." (James 5:13 ESV)


"Who here enjoys love stories?" I asked the eighteen girls sitting around me.

Within seconds every single hand was in high in the air.

"Me too! Today we are going to talk about one of the greatest love stories of all time. It's about a man named Jacob, and his wife Rachel."

~~~

This was the start of one of my favorite girls clubs so far. Partly because of the story, I don't know of many other Bible stories that move me as much as Jacob's and Rachel's. But mostly it was my favorite because of all the time spent preparing for it. The eagerness to share with the girls. The effort put into planning.

As I read through some stories about famous women in the Bible, women like Esther and Deborah and Abigail, my heart always wandered back to the story of Rachel. There was something about her tale that so captivated my attention, and I couldn't wait until the next club to share it with my girls.

I researched the story, finding some historical contexts and cultural norms that were relevant. I must have read the story twenty or more times. I'm sure I could recite it back to you by heart! And each time I read it I was swept up in the moment Jacob and Rachel met by the well. I was awed by Jacob's resolve to work seven years to marry the woman he loved. Devastated when it was Leah, not Rachel, by his side the morning after the wedding. And moved to tears when he committed to work another seven years for Rachel.

My heart was wrenched by Rachel's barrenness, and her jealousy over her sister's children. And, oh, how I rejoiced when she finally conceived Joseph!

The thing that stuck out to me most about this story was Rachel's attitude. She never stopped loving God. She never stopped trusting Him to answer her prayers. Even when she came to Jacob and said, "give me a child or I shall die!" Even then, when Jacob reprimanded her, she turned to God for comfort.

Prayer.

A valuable lesson. One that Rachel taught us well.

To go along with our Bible lesson, I wanted to do an activity with my girls to remind them the importance of prayer. And with the help of my roommate, we came up with the idea to make prayer jars.

I scrubbed twenty-five jars to remove the labels and make them clean. And as I sat in my bathroom Friday morning, soaking and scrubbing for nearly three hours, I began to practice what I was about to preach. I prayed.

For each jar I scrubbed, I prayed for one girl who would be at girls club the next day.

I prayed that God would open up their hearts, that they wouldn't hear the lesson that I wanted to teach them, that they wouldn't just hear a beautiful story. I prayed that they girls would hear straight from God.

That He would teach them lessons beyond words on a page, beyond words from a twenty-year-old girl.

The more I scrubbed, the more my cuticles began to bleed from the combination of hot water, soap, and stubborn jar labels. And the more thankful I became for this opportunity. For some reason, God has chosen me to pour into the hearts of these girls. I don't know why, and most of the time I feel pretty overwhelmed by it.

But here I am.

And there I was. Sitting in front of eighteen girls, armed with a beautiful love story, and a handful of craft supplies. I felt pretty inadequate. But I forged on. Sharing with them the love of Jacob and Rachel. The victories and heartbreaks that they experienced.

And then we talked about prayer.

We talked about how much Jacob loved Rachel, how he worked fourteen years to marry her. That's a lot of love. And then I told them how God loves them even MORE than Jacob loved Rachel. Now THAT is a lot of love.

I told them how God wants to get to know us, to have us fall more and more in love with Him. And one really important way we can do that is by talking to Him. And not just talking to God, but trusting Him to answer however He sees fit, whenever He sees fit.

I broke out the jars and passed them around along with a handful of magazines and scissors. I told them that we were going to make prayer jars. That way we could remind ourselves everyday how important it is to talk with God.

And, just like these jars, each of our relationships with God is unique.

So each girl decorated her jar with different pictures and words from the magazines that represented themselves. They cut, pieced, and glued them to the jars.

I told them that, while they could do whatever they would like with these jars, I had an idea for them.

I suggested that they write down things that they are praying for on pieces of paper, and drop them in their jar. That way the wouldn't forget to talk with God about those things. And also to put in when God answered those prayers, and how He answered them, so that they could be reminded and encouraged by God' faithfulness.

I told them that in my jar I keep a piece of paper for my brother, who doesn't love Jesus. And I keep a paper that simply says "home", so that I remember to pray for my friends and family back in America.

It's important to remember to praise God in every circumstance. Whether we are caught up in a fairytale, and our lives are blessed, much like Jacob's and Rachel's. Or whether we are devastated by life's struggles, like when Jacob woke up next to Leah, or when Rachel couldn't have children.

I know this is cliché, but it couldn't be more true: God loves us. He wants a relationship with us. He wasn't us to talk with Him, about everything! He wants to hear our hearts. And He wants to answer our prayers.

We need only pray.

It's all about the feet.

"How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him who brings good news, who publishes peace, who brings good news of happiness, who publishes salvation, who says to Zion, "Your God reigns." (Isaiah 52:7 ESV)



This week during my time spent with God, and my time spent trying to survive life, there has been one word that has been constantly on my mind: feet. At first, it seemed weird. I don't like feet, I think they are gross, and they kind of weird me out. So for me to be thinking about feet so much this week seemed really strange.

But as the week went on, the more I understood why THAT was the word on my mind and in my heart. Life is all about the feet. In more ways than one.

Feet are the avenue by which you go places. They take you out of bed to the shower, from your door to your car, from your cubicle to your boss's office. They carry you through life, literally. But they don't have a mind of their own. You have to tell your feet where to take you.

My feet brought me here to Nepal (well actually is was a plane, but that's beside the point). My feet walked away from my parents at the airport. My feet dragged me up the stairs to my flat for the first time. They bring me to kids. Jesus' feet took him to heal the sick. His feet carried his limp body through the streets and up the hill to where his life would be given for us.

God gave me feet to use. And I do my best to make sure they are being used in a way that honors him. But that is a choice I have to make. I must tell my feet what to do, where to go.

There's a saying that goes like this, "A man's feet point at what he wants." Whether that's someone of the opposite gender, a nice car, or a certain flavor of ice cream. Now, I don't know how much I believe that, but I'll go with it to explain my next point.

Over the course of my life, my feet have pointed at a lot of different things. Things that I thought were important, things that I wanted. Things like acceptance, beauty, excellence, worldly happiness.

It wasn't until pretty recently that God showed me that at no point in my life had my feet been pointing at him. Trust me when I say that this realization will ruin your day in one swift kick. If my feet are supposed to point at what I want, and I called myself a Christian, shouldn't they have been pointing at God the whole time? Shouldn't I start each day with my feet pointed his way?

It was shortly after God readjusted the direction of me feet that he called me to Nepal. That's when his will for my life was put in to action. When I was fully focused on him. When things like popularity and perfection no longer clouded my judgement. It's a daily struggle to keep my feet pointed at Jesus. But there has never been a more worthwhile struggle in my life.

Now I've come to most important feet there are. Well, actually, it would be called "foot." I bet you can guess what it is...that's right. The foot of the cross. There is no better place to be than at the foot of the cross. There's no better place to lay your life, your desires. Your hopes, dreams, joys, and sorrows. It's where God calls us to, exactly where he wants us.

Usually, instead of doing what I know is right, I like to hold on to what I want. Not what God wants. I always want MY will to be done, because I'm terrified that it won't line up with God's will. That I won't get the things that I want in life. That I'll be left dissatisfied and frustrated.

But, in my limited experience, I have come to realize that there is no sweeter victory than submitting to Christ. "Delight yourself in The Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart" (Psalm 37:4). My delight has become daily giving my life to God. Coming to him with every fear, every triumph. Giving him my plans, knowing that his are FAR better than anything I could imagine for myself.

SO.

What are you doing with your feet?

Are you bringing the gospel to your coworkers, your lost family members? Are you using your feet to take you where God is calling you to go? Even if that's not easy?

Are your feet pointed at him? Or are they pointed at success, money, and recognition? Are you making an effort to desire closeness with Christ?

Most importantly...are you laying your life at the foot of the cross? Are you giving EVERYTHING to God? Are you trusting him to provide? To come to your rescue? To lay before you a path that leads towards him? Towards heaven?

Believe me when I say this...I DO NOT HAVE IT ALL FIGURED OUT. In fact, I probably have less of a handle on it than most people. But the important thing is that I TRY. I don't give up, even when it seems like the best option. I don't say that it's too hard, because God is my strength. I don't retreat in hopes that tomorrow it will become easier, there will always be obstacles in my way.

Trust me, I have a lot of second thoughts. I'm human. I mess up. I doubt God. And I have a feeling that you do, too.

But remember this...

GOD IS FAITHFUL.

He will never leave you hanging. He gave everything for you. EVERYTHING. And he is asking that same thing from each of us. And the best that we, sinful humans can do is try.

America the beautiful, and slightly out of reach.

"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul." (Psalm 23:1-2 ESV)



GO HAWKS!!

I was blessed with the opportunity to watch the Super Bowl live (5:15 AM my Monday morning) surrounded by friends! We had wings, chips and salsa, and other "normal" Super Bowl foods, just like I was in America. And with the windows and curtains closed, the game projected on the wall just like a big flat screen television, listening to a mixture of cheering and laughing, for a split-second...I was IN America. Watching and rating the commercials, seeing the fireworks over the stadium, fawning over Bruno Mars. Seeing the extravagant waste of the country I so dearly love. I was swept away to the life I used to live.

But I had quite the time of it coming back. After being crowned World Champs, my roommate and I stepped back in the real world. Back to our normal lives. And I was smacked in the face with bright sunshine, busy roads, a lack of white people, and the realization that, in fact, I wasn't in America.

Talk about a brutal truth!

The rest of the day was a bit of a blur. I remember feeling discontent. I hadn't realized how much I missed America until that morning. The mirage I had sat in for 4 hours faded into my reality. One that I tried to resist all day.

Tuesday my roommate and I made our way down to Thamel, the tourist center of Kathmandu. Not my favorite place to go, but we had errands to run, and there was the promise of a steak dinner hanging over my head. Steak is, by far, my favorite food. Ever. And it's a rare find in Hindu territory. I was stoked.

And when we entered the restaurant, and I opened my menu, I was once again taken back to the land of stars and stripes. Of freedom, democracy, Starbucks, and washing machines. I blissfully ate my $6 steak (one of the best I've ever had) and chatted with my roomie for 2 hours.

Then we stepped back out into the street. And I was struck once again by the stark differences between my home in America and my home here in Nepal.

A true internal struggle was had the next day. I tried to hold onto the spirit of thankfulness I've acquired over the past 4 months. Thankfulness that we have internet, even if it's incredibly spotty. Thankfulness that we have a source of heat, even if it fills the room with the smell of gas.

But I felt it slipping away.

A lot of time was spent in prayer Wednesday morning. Prayer that God would help calm my heart, that He would stop the downward spiral that I was afraid was beginning. Prayer that He would revise my perspective one more time.

And He answered me.

In the form of my kids.

Oh, how I love my kids! They never cease to lighten my burdens, to rejuvenate my heart. An evening spent with them was just what I needed.

A flood of boys ran from their rooms all yelling "Megan Auntie! Megan Auntie!" We talked about soccer, school, and took plenty of pictures with my phone.

Dozens of little-girl hands tugged, ripped, and played with my hair. Risking lice was worth the joy it brought all of us.

I rocked a little one to sleep, who wasn't feeling well. And I was able to visit with some of our women, whom I have come to dearly love.

The Lord is good. All the time. He knows EXACTLY what I need, and when I need it. He allows me to struggle with things. To find where I stand. To find what I will run to first when things don't go my way, when they get hard.

God wants my full attention. My full devotion. But I am imperfect, and I fall short of giving Him those things CONSTANTLY.

Yet He doesn't withdraw from me. He doesn't stop loving me. He doesn't stop providing for me exactly what I need, exactly when I need it. Not a minute too soon, not a second too late.

I love how He loves me.

Sticks and Stones

"Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it." (Proverbs 22:6 ESV)


This last week was a whirlwind! So much was happening that I barely had time to catch my breath. But I've had a chance to relax, and to process everything that happened. And there is one day in particular that stands out as a "God Day". And that was Thursday.

Over the past few weeks the older boys and girls at our campus had received training on how to plan and execute a vacation bible school. They had learned so much, and I didn't want them to just stick it on a shelf. So I set out to help them organize an outreach so they could use all of the wonderful tools they had learned.

I showed up to the campus on Thursday morning expecting to spend an hour or two coming up with a  lesson plan, so that we could keep it in our back pockets for when the right time arose to use it. Little did I know that God had a different plan for us that day!

When I walked through the gate, I was greeted by 12 eager faces, ready to take on the world with the gospel. Somewhere in our cross-cultural communications, they had come to believe that I had prepared a lesson for them to teach, and I was going to take them out that day. Being the over-planner that I am, the idea of piecing together a lesson and then sharing it right away had my stomach in knots (honestly, it was probably just something I had eaten the night before). But how could I look at those sweet faces and tell them no?

So we sat down and quickly came up with a two lessons, one for the boys and one for the girls. And then we were off! Rita, one of the house moms, and I took the girls down by the Bhagmati River, picking up children as we went. We found a great little venue, an empty dirt field with dead rice stalks littered on it. When we started, there were 9 kids with us, and by the end 11 had gathered!

My girls were THRILLED! They could barely contain it as they skillfully explained there way through 45 minutes of vacation bible school.

I wish I could say it went off without a hitch, but God wanted to open our eyes just a little more.

About 10 minutes into our lesson, I watched an elderly lady cross the river towards us, carrying a large stick in her hand. She came right up to us, and started yelling in Nepali. I decided to ignore her, hoping that she would get bored and leave. But that didn't pan out too well. One of my girls came up to me and said the woman was asking why we were gathering here. Without a second though I told Premshila to inform the woman that we were talking about Jesus, and she was more than welcome to stay and listen to our story. That only angered the woman more.

She picked up a rock.

I went from 0-60 in half a second.

I calmly stood between the woman and my girls, braced and ready for whatever may happen next. You could have heard a pin drop in the soft dirt behind me, it was so quiet. We waited. And waited. And the woman continued to yell, pretending to throw the rock at my girls.

I turned around briefly to see the 7 terrified faces of my girls, looking to me. With all the strength I could muster, I shakily told them they could continue singing. Our new friend was more than welcome to stay with us, but if she wasn't interested then I believed God would protect us, and she would go away.

Honestly, I wasn't convinced it would end that simply.

But my girls didn't bat at eye, and just kept singing.

Then the Nepali woman threw her rock. It didn't hit anybody, just a big clod of dirt. I bristled. NOBODY throws rocks at my girls. Nobody. She started swinging her stick around, and I sent silent prayers to God asking for protection, knowing there was no protection we needed other than His wing.

And suddenly the fight drained from her eyes. She slowly lowered the stick, and retreated back across the river.

And for the first time in 10 minutes, I inhaled. What a precious breath that was.

God had protected the girls so that they could continue sharing about Jesus with our new friends.

After it was finished, I was ready to go back to the campus, exhausted and shaken up from our visitor. But the girls looked at me and almost in unison said "where are we going next?"

Oh the bravery, trust, and faith shown by my girls.

As we walked on, sharing the gospel with anyone and everyone, they kept telling me how excited they were to be able to talk to people about Jesus. They said that so many people talk to them about Jesus, and tell them what they should know and believe, but they never have the chance to share that with anybody else.

They were BEAMING as they shared their excitement, which bubbled over into my own heart.

How refreshing to see teenage girls who will stop at nothing to further the gospel. They inspire me each day to be more and more like Jesus.