'Break my heart for what breaks Yours'

That's a powerful line. So much so that there should probably be an asterisk beside it leading to a footnote. Because I've decided when we prayerfully sing that line and mean it, we should get the same warning people quickly give you whenever you start to pray for patience. You the know the be careful what you prayer for because God answers those prayers.

Hear me out I'm not saying not ask God to break our hearts for what breaks His. What I am saying be ready for the reality of what that means.

For the last 6 months I've really struggled to have passion about life in Tremorfa. When called to a place we all go through moments where passion ebbs and wanes. There are reasons I feel like my passion has waned and I working through those, but this isn't the place those. The bigger is issue is feeling the loss of passion and how to be faithful in the call when your heart doesn't feel there. Last year the stuff I was doing in Tremorfa was the stuff that I felt brought me to life. This year the role has switched and the office based stuff feels more life giving. I don't want to exchange one for the other. I want to be passionate about both and feel both being life giving. I find myself daily reminding myself that I am called to Tremorfa. I guess it's the idea if you say it enough maybe you'll believe it. Again the being faithful even when you don't feel it.

As 2015 has progressed this 'break my heart for what breaks Yours' keeps popping up. This concept that being close to my Father's heart involves being close to the things that matter to Him, the things close to His heart. This idea that to have passion I have to feel and sometimes feelings means having your heart broken for the place you're called to.

You see in some ways it's easy to become numb living in Tremorfa. Because every young person has a tragedy. Every boy and girl has faced something too horrific too young. And the more you hear the more you have to fight against the numbness. Or even worse the feeling of hopelessness.

But I don't want to be numb. I want to feel deeply for Tremorfa. And the last few days I have.

I've felt when mentor on a Friday morning. And my one girl is so closed off and guarded. In some ways what she doesn't say speaks louder than what she says.  In the mist of the silence I know she has known a life of pain, rejection and instability. She carries too much baggage at 13 because the people who should be there for her aren't. She has already decided that there is no she can trust. And honestly who can blame her if rejection is what she knows?

I've felt when I spend time with these absolutely crazy teenage girls who do the strangest things but then let slip so casually that their mums or dads have abandoned them, they've been in foster care or that lack of fear they display when they casually go off to meet boys in the park. These girls are so value and too precious, and yet they don't believe that at all.

I felt yesterday when I look up my street and saw over 10 police men raid a house, only then to realise it was the house of the sweetest girl in our kids' club. She's one who played the angel Gabriel the last two years in the nativity with her arms raised high to heaven, and she's the most interested in Jesus in Sunday club. She's the kid I'm slightly convinced is perfect. And today the police raided her house for drugs as they targeted locations across the city known to be selling heroine and cocaine. She's eight and there are three younger siblings. She was probably at school when this happened but what will she come home to now that school is over. They made over forty arrests across the city. Was her dad one of those arrested? Was her mum? Did social services decide her house wasn't safe for her and her siblings? Is she now in care? When I was telling Michael about this he said she was the last kid to deserve this. But does any kid deserve this?

My heart and my head don't seem to live in the same place at the moment - to be honest I'm not sure they ever will again. I've grown up in church. I've been told since before I went to elementary school that Jesus is the answer. And I know He is. My head knows the right answers - I know this is a broken world. I know this all because of sin and one we'll go to heaven and this stuff won't exist. I know this. I've heard for as long as I can remember. I believe it to be true.

But knowing all this doesn't stop my heart from aching and crying out, "This just isn't fair!"  Please don't give the me life isn't fair argument because it's not fair that an 8 year had her home raided for drugs. My life hasn't been perfect but it's been good. My childhood and teenage years weren't without hard things and pain - but I knew I was safe, I knew I was loved. That was totally because of where I was born. These kids and young people - they may not be perfect - but so much of what they deal simply has to do with where they were born. A lot of these guys deal with thei product of their parents' bad choices. Even their parents a lot of the stuff they do and deal with again has to do with where they were born. It's a cycle. I'm not saying we don't have choices. But think about how much your life especially your childhood has been dictated by others. How much of it is about the family and community you were born into?

My heart breaks and the tears fall. And I'm okay with this. Because it feels like passion being restored. It's the reminder when I look at these seemingly hopeless situations - that there is Hope, that I carry Hope.

I've been in Tremorfa for a year and half now. And one thing I am convinced of so many of the problems we see, the cycles people are chained stem from one thing they have no hope. Girls have no hope that they are worth something. At 13 so many young people have lost of hope that anyone can be trusted. There's no hope for a child to know she's safe at night. And that's the lie that's been believed that there is no hope. And without hope the true life ceases.

But I know there is Hope. And I know His name is Jesus.

I imagine when He met Mary and Martha as they mourned the death of their brother they had lost hope, certainly that he would live. Jesus felt their pain. Jesus wept. I fully believe Jesus is that great high priest who sympathises with us. He understands. He wept with Mary and Martha. He wept for His friend. He weeps with me as I weep for Tremorfa. He weeps for this precious little girl who had her house raided. He weeps for the abandoned girls and boys in the estate. He weeps for the broken. He weeps for us. We are close to His heart. We matter. We are not forgotten. Tremorfa is not forgotten.

And then He responds. He does the impossible. Wept and then He brought Lazarus back to life. When I claim Him as my hope, when I claim Him as the hope for Tremorfa. I believe He does the impossible. I believe He weeps and then He will come to bring Tremorfa back to life.

And I carry this Hope. These last six months have felt quite stale. But I as I cry for what's happening in Tremorfa I reminded that this is what I'm called to. I am called to carry Hope to the hopeless. I love the story of when Jesus meets the Samaritan woman at the well. I love that it says that He had to go through Samaria. He had to meet this woman who I also think didn't have much hope. When she met Jesus, she encountered Hope. She was never ever the same. I was called to this estate. It's not easy and it will break your heart. But that's okay because I have to be here. I have to carry this hope. I can stop because of fear. I have to bring Hope.

It's easy to see the hard stuff and distance yourself. It's easy to become numb. But I know I'm called to the brokenness. I know I need to bring Hope. I need to be here in the mist of this place because their are kids and teenagers and adults who need Hope. 

Jesus comes into the brokenness and restores. And that's exactly why I need to be in Tremorfa. Hope is here. Hope is coming. Hope will be restored. 

Imagine the wilderness whooping for joy,

    the desert’s unbridled happiness with its spring flowers.

 

It will happen! The deserts will come alive with new growth budding and blooming,

    singing and celebrating with sheer delight.

The glory of Lebanon’s cedars and the majesty of Carmel and Sharon

    will spill over to the deserts.

The glory of the Eternal One will be on full display there,

    and they will revel in the majestic splendor of our God.

So, with confidence and hope in this message,

    strengthen those with feeble hands, shore up the weak-kneed and weary.

 

Tell those who worry, the anxious and fearful,

    “Take strength; have courage! There’s nothing to fear.

Look, here—your God! Right here is your God!

    The balance is shifting; God will right all wrongs.

None other than God will give you success.

    He is coming to make you safe.”

Then, such healing, such repair: the eyes of the blind will be opened;

    the ears of the deaf will be clear.

 

The lame will leap like deer excited;

    they will run and jump tirelessly and gracefully.

The stutterer, the stammerer, and the tongue of the mute

    will sing out loud and clear in joyful song.

Waters will pour through the deserts;

    streams will flow in godforsaken lands.

Burning sands and hardened wastelands will become pools, shimmering with life;

    the thirsty ground will drink deep from refreshing springs.

Abandoned villages where predators once lurked will become grassy playgrounds.

    Dry, arid land will turn lush and green.

Isaiah 35:1-7

My prayer & hope for Tremorfa

Comparison Kills Contentment

I have often (or maybe always) felt like a bit of an oddball. And by oddball I don't mean weird, though that adjective might also serve as a fitting description or at the very least awkward would also work.

But no by oddball I mean I have always felt that I stood out. Often like a sore thumb.

I have insanely curly hair in a straight hair world (let's just say I spend the only decade that embraced big hair with no hair)

Caitlin in the 80's - rockin the peach fuzz

In elementary school I wanted to just be able to wear it down without it going big and poofy or know how to do it on my own without my mother's help to make it look good. My independent streak lead to a lot of brushed straight back low ponytails (insert cringe moment here). I longed for the Jennifer Aniston haircut in middle school but let's just say middle parts aren't the friend of curly hair girls. In university I was introduced to straighteners. For four years I tortured my roommate and hall mates with the smell of burnt hair. To honest I'm surprise they still speak me after all that. 

And then I spend a hiatus in Florida. AKA humidity central. Hair straightening + humidity + insanely curly hair = giant frizzy mane. 

Due not to wanting to look like a lion and being sick of the burnt hair smell and seeing how damaged my hair had become I decided to embrace it these curls of mine. And at 26 I can confidently say I love my hair. (I also love my hair dresser and Moroccan hair oil!) But I spend a load time wishing it could just be straight or go at least go straight easily. A lot of time wasted on comparison. 

Along with the insane curls I have always felt slightly out of place wherever I have lived. In Miami I wanted to speak Spanish and felt like I wasn't part of some elite club due to the lack of Spanish speaking ability. In Lake Placid I lived in a small town I wasn't originally from; that's harder than it sounds when you're in high school. In university I was one of the few who was from out of state who didn't play a sport. Let's just say I got really tired of the question, "So how did you get to GWU?" In Spain, well, it was the wasn't Spanish and didn't speak the language all that well. Though I can order off a Spanish menu like nobody's business. And now I live in Wales. I might not look as different but as soon as I open my mouth it's pretty obvious I'm not from around here (though I keep getting asked if I'm from Scotland lately).  I spend a lot of last year trying to not have to speak unless I knew the people - not the most helpful when you're trying to live intentionally and build relationships. All this to say that I can't remember living in a place that I didn't wish I was somewhat different. Spoke a different language. Was somewhere else. Had a different accent. 

With where I lived, with what my hair looks like, with how I look, with what I do, with this or with that...I have spend a lot of the last 26 years of my life comparing. I would even go as far to say have lived in a constant state of comparison for these 26 years. Spent a lot of time saying, "if only I had/I was/I looked like..."

Facebook and pinterest and wedding planning only add to the comparison crisis. And what does comparison do you...it steals joy, takes away confidence, causes jealousy, hurts relationships (or doesn't even allow them to form). Comparison is truly like a cancer for the soul. 

Comparison kills contentment. 

Let me repeat comparison kills contentment.

For all the time I have spend wishing I was something else or someone else, I have missed out on a lot to be content about. A lot to be joyful about. A lot to be thankful for. 

I am fearfully and wonderfully made. I am made in the image of God. And I don't want to spend another second not embracing the woman He's made me to be. I don't want to waste the time I've been given not celebrating and loving the people in my life, where I live and what I have been called to do. 

And as long as I live in state of comparison I can't embrace this. 

I don't want to be about comparison. Except for comparing myself to Jesus. I want to be like Him. I want to about His love. I want to be about mercy and justice. I want to be about compassion and encouragement. I want to be about generosity and grace. I want to be joy. I want to be about contentment. 

So comparison - I'm done playing your game. I'm not playing anymore. Hands up, surrender not playing.

I'm reviving my contentment instead. 

Quote by Theodore Roosevelt

Musings about Goodbyes

I've been thinking a lot about goodbyes this week. I've been thinking primarily how they never get easier. And to in some ways I feel like I should be a pro at them. I'm not. I actually think I'm getting worse at them. Or at the ripe old age of 26 I'm becoming a sap.

Though it's not been quite a decade yet, I think I can call the decade of my life since graduating high school the decade of goodbyes. 

At 18 I was eager for those goodbyes. I was ready to wave goodbye to Lake Placid from a rear view mirror. Even though we teared up as they left I was ready to leave my family behind for new adventures. I craved the independence that came with goodbyes. 

Now at 26 I still long for adventures. And I love a visit to LP but I still need to leave it in the rear view. But it's those goodbyes that get me. The goodbyes always loom over, waiting to pounce. I'm never ready for them and they always come too quick.

Between university, moving abroad to Spain and then to Wales I've lost count of how many times I've said goodbye to my parents, my brother and the rest of my family. 

The goodbyes to friends knowing it might be years or never in this life that I see them again. It the goodbyes knowing the challenge but necessity to keep in touch (the struggle that comes knowing you're not very good at keeping though all the while vowing to do better). 

It's only been a year and four months since Michael and I quit saying goodbye at airports every month. 

Living in Spain brought new meaning to goodbyes as it felt a bit like a revolving door, never knowing who was coming or going and when. I have to add an aside and say how much respect I have for those who commit their lives to missionary care especially to missionary kids - providing stability for them but also the strength they exemplify to endure goodbyes.  

Wales has brought about less goodbyes than Spain. I now have partner to navigate them with and to whom I don't have to say goodbye to. I have family here. I have a stable community. The goodbyes within Wales aren't as constant as they were  in Spain.

Expect for one type of goodbye. The goodbye to my family. The tears that still well up at airports as we wave to each other through security until we no longer can see each other. The knowing those goodbyes mean missing birthdays, milestones and everyday life. 

Those who are called to far away places know this is the reality and the sacrifice. Being called makes it worth it, but it doesn't make it easy. 

And Michael and I know without doubt we called to do life in Tremorfa. We aren't called here for a year but called to the point that this might mean forever. And even if God one day does call us to the US for us there will always be one side to say goodbye to. We will always have goodbyes. The goodbyes to family are the cost of the call that Jesus has placed on Michael and I. But as Rend Collection sings, 'I'm counting up the cost and You are worth it.'

And Jesus is worth it. Because Jesus is better. Hard to say but true. 

And in the goodbyes I have learned a lot.

1. Goodbyes make you cherish the time you get when you get it. You laugh more, argue less. Or at least you try. You make more time to just be together. You look at things differently. You try and capture moments in your mind. You try to make them last. Goodbyes mean you try to be intentional and make the moments matter. I'm not the best at this and am still learning how to do this both when I'm with family and just in everyday life. And one day I might just be good at keeping touch and make those most of those moments, too.

2. Goodbyes also mean hellos. If I can this the decade of goodbyes I have go also call this the decade of hellos. And where would I be without those hellos. Those hellos have brought me incredible friends (you know the type that you can just pick up where you left off). The hellos introduced me to the man I now get call my husband. Even though our relationship consisted of a lot of goodbyes the excitement of the hellos were always better. Especially the that hello September 2013 that meant we finally lived in the same country. Hellos have brought me two incredible countries. Hellos brought me to an organization that allows me to be apart of what God is doing in South Wales and used passions. Hellos brought me to Tremorfa, a diamond in the rough when it comes to communities but I love it. Hellos have brought me a new family in Wales, friends across the world and to a church I love. Yes, goodbyes are hard but hellos are so beautiful.

3. We weren't made for goodbyes. I've started reading through the Bible with the goal to read it all in 365 days. It means reading Genesis and I have a funny relationship with that book. But something really struck me as I read about Adam and Eve. Eating that fruit, that sin meant goodbye. It meant goodbye to that complete relationship with God. They had it so great - I mean they literally got to walk around with God and completely hang out with Him and be in His presence. I imagine they got to have deep chats with Him but I bet they also got to hear His laugh. How amazing to get to hear God's laugh?! 

But sin changed that. Sin forced a goodbye upon them and to that relationship. It meant separation and death. It meant pain. I think that's why goodbyes are so hard because they weren't intended. In the perfect world God created there weren't goodbyes. 

Thankfully, my God is about hellos. Jesus said goodbye to His Father and said hello to us. Which had to be hard, knowing perfect love with God but coming to embrace our rejection to give us a way to God. But Jesus decided we worth it. He did what He came to do, embraced us, taught us how to live, let us reject Him, murder Him even. And He conquered death, He conquered sin, He conquered goodbyes.

He conquered goodbyes.

We weren't made for goodbyes and because of Jesus and living in Him means one there will be no goodbyes.

And this girl is thankful for that. 

{The pics might seem random but they're all from my trip the visit my family over the holidays - the inspiration for this post}