I’ve been quiet. I’ve felt my spirit hiding, incubating with the Lord. I’ve needed more quiet space, more space to hear the Lord’s voice, more space to be prayed over and more space to let people love me.
I’ve felt tenderized, allowed the Lord to open up my tear ducts, pour a little more light into my eyes and show me just how beautiful the life He made for me is.
In a year wrought with disappointments, strange political pressure and the death of the big World Race 2020 dream, the Lord has poured beauty all over my life. Honestly. He has. And I see it, even now through alligator tear eyes. I see it.
He’s opened up the floodgates of Christian friendship in ways I never expected to experience. My community in NWA was a huge gift before, but now? Unbelievable.
The secure base I wrote about in “Strawberry Jam” this time last year is even more secure. Just when I didn’t think I could fall in love with any more people, I did. I added more love, hiding my secrets and best thoughts away in their hands and allowed them to love me in ways only God could convince me to. It was a new closeness this time. A more precious and enduring one.
And I authentically felt loved by them and by the Lord and in that love I felt free and old sludge began to slide off the top of my head and down to the ground as I stepped away. It’s true. Perfect love casts out fear.
Through their eyes I was new and through their eyes I saw a new me, one with purpose and beauty and the ability to bring those things to those around me.
To my friends, my family and everyone that expressed kindness to me,
You have built me up and sent me in ways my heart cries can’t poetically describe at the correct magnitude. You brought me close, you fed me physically and spiritually, you encouraged me, you reminded me who I was when I lost my lens, you cradled me, let me cry, you sang over me, you worshiped with me, you prayed for me and wrote me letters, you fought with me against the enemy, you gave me pieces of your heart and let me hold them, you introduced me to fellowship of the Acts church kind. You saw me, you pursued me, you reached out and said “You don’t have to be anything for us to love you.” And through you I have seen and tasted the miracle of Christ. I have recognized and swam in his immeasurable grace and love. I have demystified the humanness of Jesus and experienced pieces of Him through you. In you and in our memories shared I got a glimpse of what Heaven will be like. Praise God!
And though I am leaving and my heart is breaking to step away from the warm cocoon you have formed for me, I have received vision for what home looks like and I know in my heart what is waiting for me after this year. It’s you.
And yet, even in knowing the Lord has provided all along and continues to provide, this next step came with a tiny hammer that has been beating at my heart creating tiny cracks.
I’ll never trade authenticity for a nice story. The Lord is good. He is sovereign and beautiful and worthy of all honor and glory. He knows me and loves me and sees me. But that doesn’t change the fact that His latest command to Go has been hard and has hurt.
I haven’t wanted to go. I haven’t wanted to leave. I’ve wanted to stay right here coddled by my people, energized by their wisdom and love and forever smiling and laughing in their presence. I’ve wanted more cabin crew adventures, more late wine nights in my friends kitchen, more giggle fits at 2 am, more jam sessions, more hikes, more cooking parties, more freedom to spend time with the people I choose at the time I choose at the places I choose. I’ve wanted to continue sleeping in a warm bed, having the convenience of eating what foods I’d like and controlling my surroundings at my leisure. I’ve wanted it my way. The comfortable way.
The world isn’t the same world we launched into this time last year. It looks a little uglier, a little sicker and a little more dangerous than before. It feels more closed with less opportunity. The allure of new places, new people and new experiences has worn. I’ve wanted to stay home.
And that sounds exactly as it is. I’ve been spoiled, I know it. And I’m admitting it here.
And so the Band-Aid has been ripped off. I’ve said my good byes. I’ve packed up my pack and I’ve separated from my people.
As I sit here on the plane headed to launch on World Race Round 2, I do so less like an excited young gal ready for an adventure and more like a soldier prepping for battle. That’s the raw honesty. The bandage of love and support from home has been ripped off and the stinging redness remains.
That stinging has come with all of the usual attacks from the enemy mentally, emotionally and spiritually. It has been a doozy.
But here’s the thing.
He’s worth it. His kingdom work is worth it. His plans for my life are worth it and my discomfort and sadness are a miniscule sacrifice in comparison for the one He gave me.
I owe every bit of joy to Him. I owe every precious memory made this year to Him. I owe even these tearful goodbyes to Him because without his love for me and redirection of my life, I wouldn’t know many of you.
So I hold it all. I’m sad, I’m heading off with more grit than excitement. But I’m also so eager to walk alongside the Lord this year, do His work, see His purposes unfold and watch as He turns this hard yes into something beautiful like He loves to do. I’m happy to be on the side of saying yes to Him where I know good plans will unfold if not for me, for His eternal glory. I hold both.
This morning, the Lord gave me a sunrise to enjoy as my feet lifted out of Arkansas. I was in tune with the gradient of color from black to orange to yellow to blue. He knows I love these kinds of natural displays. As I wept thinking of my friends and wishing they were beside me, I heard Him yell “Lindsey, I am with you.” I laughed a little. A true interruption to that feeling of loneliness that was rushing over me. How can I feel lonely when the creator of everything is walking beside me protecting and nourishing my heart. I may be stepping away from the bulk of my friends, but my best friend comes with me. I don’t want to lose sight of that.
In a few days, my team and I will be headed to Antigua Guatemala to serve a local church in the middle of an impoverished community. We go with a lot of questions on how this is all going to work with Covid and a new ministry and a new team and a group of seemingly unqualified people who don’t know Spanish. Still, we go and the Lord goes with us.
Please pray for health for my team and squad. Pray that hearts will be open to hear about Jesus in Guatemala and that God will show us the impact we are making as we spread the Holy Spirit to new places.
And pray that the stinging redness of leaving subsides for me soon enough to be present and encouraged for How the Lord will move in and through me.
Thank you for your love and support. Thank you for being my secure base. Thank you for sending me.
