Matchless

I wanted to get away today. 

Somewhere to rest, somewhere to write, somewhere in which I could not only see the mountains, but feel their beauty. 

As I drove, I was captured by the surrounding scene; the colors of the rocks,  
the now widening sky. 

Ah. 

                  

  "Lord! I have no idea where I'm going, but please lead me!" 

                                   I said aloud, after driving over an hour and a half

                                              to an unknown destination. 

                     

 As I neared Camp Verde both my bladder, and Spirit, were ready to stop. 

                                  My phone, about to die, searched nearby coffee shops. 

                             I had another fifteen minutes until I would reach 

                                          "Thanks a latte.." 

                My phone reached it's last breath as I neared Main Street.

                               Needless to say, I found my way.

                        Now in recollection, I know that this left my Spirit to rejoice (..and if there were such a thing as a "praising" bladder, than that was rejoicing, too.)

                                                                                             ;)

            I was unsure as I pulled through the back; a plain door reading:

"Thanks a latte ... ENTER"

Stepping inside,

A cutesy, quaint cafe.

                    

3 older women sat at a table near the entrance

          I felt like a foreigner 

as I walked in with my big Trader Joe's bag, and laptop case. 

               The feeling of being in a small small town, where, as our friends from "Cheers" might say.. everyone knows your name. 
Except here, everyone knew everyone else's name, but mine.

                                                         "Ah, Trader Joes." 

                   The oldest woman in the bunch looked up at me and smiled graciously. 

                              "I just love Trader Joes!" 

..suddenly feeling less.. foreign. 

                                     

Until .. "Dear, are you from out of town?" 

                                                     "Yes," I smiled at her. 

                                                           "Yes I am." :) 

                         "Well welcome, where are you from?.." 

                                      

We began the small chat and I shared my drive to an unknown
destination that led me where I stood.

                                          

                   Questions of life and faith, arose.

                          To hear of mine, they all just smiled. 

                        
 Well, this is a Christian owned business and... "Paul!" 

                                                          They yelled over to the owner. 

                            "This is Paul".. the ladies grinned.

         He smiled humbly at me.
So much smiling going on in length of this meeting 
I was happily reminded of everyone's favorite Elf, as he exclaimed-

 "Smiling is my favorite."

Gladys, the oldest of the group, was sure to tell Paul I was from out of town, and that I came up to Camp Verde to get some writing done. 
 "Camp Verde?" He chuckled. 

"You came all the way here for that?"
. . . . . .

As I travelled the quick road from foreigner to family, all i could joyfully respond was;

"The Lord sure knows what He's doing!.."

"Oh my, isn't He faithful?" Annette said with assurance.
I wanted to inexhaustibly exclaim:
"You have NO idea!"

But, she did have an idea-
which uncovered the grace of this moment.

I felt like Christian, the character in the ever famous The Pilgrims Progress, as he walks out His faith and meets many opposing his trek. 

He then stumbles upon his sweet friend, Faithful.  
Moments of much needed Grace.  
I answered more questions as they asked, and mentioned my upcoming trip to Mexico. 
Paul walked over again and said;
"Wait, so ya'll are just meeting??" 

We all laughed.  

 "Well, we're already sisters."

Gladys' words were so true, it was mind blowing.  
"He is the King of turning strangers to family." I said. 

The music seemed to grow louder after the conversation began its decent, and Paul summoned me to place my order. 

The ladies were getting ready to head out for their day. 
As they stood up Annette came to me saying, 

"Tell me the days you'll be in Mexico, I will be praying for you."  
"This Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday." I said. 

"I will be praying," she reassured me. 
I hugged her. 

Little Janice and Gladys came up from behind, and I turned and hugged them both, too.

                                           Sisters indeed.                                                                     I ordered my Pumpkin Latte, as Jeremy Camp resonated in the background.. 

"You opened my eyes to the wonders anew, 

you captured my heart with this love,  

cause nothing on earth is as beautiful 

as you."

Without further ado - before I start to well with tears - 
Our God, is a very near God. 

Nearer now than ever before.  
If you don't believe this? 
Start to. 

The closeness of the mountains as I sit outside of this seemingly perfect coffee shop? Comforting. 

The awing landscape on the way to find this picturesque place?
Amazing.

The reality of a God who makes His Presence known to me everywhere I go? 
Amazing and comforting. 

But also- 

matchless,

 priceless, 

and wonderful beyond compare. 
Rest for my soul

I came here to write and read about, well, not this. 
But this is what has come. 
I love the God of the Bible. 

I love Him because He first loved me. 

I love Him because when people in my life tell me I am full of fear, He says His perfect Love casts out all fear.

I love Him because I am made in His image- and therefore, and only therefore, I am myself, captivating. 

He was first beautiful, not me. And now? 
This matchless truth is growing my heart closer to match that of my Father's.
Matchless, Priceless, Wonderful beyond compare. 

A new melody.  

I came here to read and study more into the depths of my heart as a woman.  
Yet, the  more He shows up in my day-to-day, 
the more I learn about who I was created to be. 
A seeker, after a great adventure. A pursuer to unveil beauty.

The same heart as my Father, 
and I'm so thankful that His seeking and searching is for His daughter.
:) 

"Mia," Paul came to me,
"Just wanted you to know I'll be closing up here in about fifteen minutes."


I gathered my things together, and thanked Paul again for his hospitality.  
As I went to leave, a young woman who I had noticed earlier, called out my name. 
"I will be praying for your trip to Mexico, too." She said.

As it turns out, Lisa overheard some of the conversation that was had when I first arrived to the Cafe. 
One of the last things she said before I slipped out the door, was that it was good that I was starting in Mexico.
"Those are the real broken and forgotten ones." She said.
"I know," I replied.
"And that's exactly who He came for."
This caused tears to well in her eyes - it struck a heart-string that only God knew the full depths of.
I walked over and put my arms around her. 
I knew I would talk to her again.

As I got to my car, I opened the note that she had handed to me before I walked out, 
 it read:

"What a beautiful spirit you have .. I picked up on it from the min you walked in. God's love and grace is all over you. Thanks for bringing Him to me today!
God Bless you Mia
You'll be in my prayers,
Please keep me in yours."
-Lisa


Yes, a very near God indeed. 
Ask Him to lead you, and He will.
As much as people may believe He brought you to them, it just might be Him bringing them to you.
And it might be 
                   just want you need;

(And it might just feel  
                                        matchless.)

 "You have searched me, Lord,
    and you know me.

You know when I sit and when I rise;
    you perceive my thoughts from afar.

You discern my going out and my lying down;
    you are familiar with all my ways.

Before a word is on my tongue
    you, Lord, know it completely.

You hem me in behind and before,
    and you lay your hand upon me. 

 Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
    too lofty for me to attain.

 Where can I go from your Spirit?
    Where can I flee from your presence? 

 If I go up to the heavens,you are there;
    if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. 

 If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
    if I settle on the far side of the sea,

even there your hand will guide me,
    your right hand will hold me fast.."

p s a l m 139:1-10

70 x 7

I pulled into the apartment complex, and felt the uneasy settling of emptiness;

I looked straight ahead, and felt my eyes begin to blur.

An old Julie Roberts country song played in my head ..

.."I'd sure hate to break down here,

nothin' up ahead or in the rearview mirror.."

Blur.

We feel so strong - until we realize our strength was just a rush of adrenalin: Only to make us realize all the more, just how weak we really are.

I parked the car and quickly grabbed my bag and the rest of what I had taken home from the church. [I felt like the walk from the car to #6 was a million miles away.]

"Oh, Lord. Just get me in that door."

It's all I could whisper.

My heart felt weakened.

I thought about being back in grade school when the counselor would post up that "faces of feelings" sign; an assortment of nearly 50 different faces all expressing a different emotion, helping you to identify which one you felt closest to.

I often wondered what it would be like to actually have to sit and share those things with someone; I wasn't up for facing my current ...'face.'

Yet I knew, the importance of speaking the truth is nothing less than imperative; especially when it hurts. In fact, it's life or death.

There's an enemy against us all that creeps around with the intension of us to keep hidden the truth within.

Cover up, cover up, cover up;

Because in covering, there can never be truth .. and the covering only grows darker.

Jesus has trampled this enemy, and chosen to covers us with His marvelous light.

So, there would be no covering this sad, weakened, human heart.

Yet ...

All I prayed was that the moment wouldn't come from this point to my front door, that I would have to uncover to anyone at all, the hurt I felt. My prayer echoed:

"Oh, Lord. Just get me to that door."

I began to walk, simultaneously fighting back tears.

I walked steadily, and...

"Phew."

I made it up the stairs.

And then, I heard it.

A little voice bellowing something fierce.

It was one of those screams that stops you dead in your tracks. Agony from nothing but deep, deep hurt.

"GET BACK HERE"

She screamed, and sobbed. Her voice echoed through the air.

Chills ran up and down my spine; I stood without moving.

I knew it was Layla, yet my heart couldn't believe her little 5 year old voice could sound so violent and shaky.

I saw her big sister ride quickly past just below on her scooter, with a small grin on her face.

It felt out of character to want to keep walking - but I did.

To want to walk into my apartment, shut the door behind me, and pull the covers up and over my head.

What I wanted came and went.

I yelled down to Jaime:

"Jaime... Is that your sister screaming like that?"

Jaime looked up at me - the grin wiped completely off of her face.

"But Miss Mia! Layla told me she wanted to poke my eyes out!"

I began to make my way down the stairs, as screams and bellows still echoed down the apartment corridor.

The screams were frightening.

I made my way to Jaime, and tears began to well in her eyes.

"Why is your sister crying like this?"

"I don't know! But she said she was going to poke my eyes out!"

"Jaime, you have no idea, why your sister is screaming like this? None at all?"

"No!" And the crying really started.

Oh, the fickle, covering, human heart.

"Well, let's go find out. Leave your scooter, come with me."

We grabbed hands and began walking towards Layla, her head up against the concrete wall - just about paralyzed by whatever had most literally overtaken her.

My heart flashed to the truth of what was going on in their lives - knowing that no matter what kind of pain her big sister may have just caused her - it most likely stemmed greatly from the pain of having a mother addicted, and gone. I remembered them telling me their sadness at dinnertime, because everyone eats alone.

I bent down next to Layla and she continued to scream.

"NO!!"

...."I HATE HER."

She looked at her sister, as she tilted her head downwards and glared through squinted eyes. Her tension drove her body stiff, and that same tension was cutting my heart something awful. She felt like she hated her sister, and I felt like I hated it even more.

We all need truth poured into our little hearts; I knew right now they had little.

My heart remembered : Seventy times seven times.

Yes, this was how much we should forgive our brother.

"Layla." I tried to pull her chin up with my fingers.

"Look at me Layla."

Her little head was stronger than my grasp.

She pulled her chin down, and I was unable to move it.

"Ok girls," I said.

"Up to my apartment we go. I can't let one more second go by without you two coming to an agreement.

Jaime followed suit, and began riding towards my apartment, Layla - no budging.

She was holding on tightly. I knew how she felt.

I knew how hard it would be for her to forgive her sister - I didn't even know what the specifics were, but I didn't need to. It was written all over her bellowing voice and stiffened body.

"Layla, you must come with me. Give me your hand, you cannot stay here."

"No." She stated. She huffed and cried, and looked at her sister with a face of vengeance.

"I'm so sorry you're hurting Layla.

Look at Miss Mia - I KNOW what you feel. Trust me."

She wasn't having it.

And then, it was too late.

Tears welled in my own eyes seeing this baby filled with such ugliness.

I bent down again when she refused to walk forward with me, and she saw the tears in my eyes.

"Please Layla, it hurts my heart to see you like this. I don't want to have to walk you to your grandma, so let's get through this together. Let's go."

After moments of reluctancy I called for Jaime to come grab her sisters scooter, and Layla began to walk forward.

[Again, #6 felt no nearer than a million miles away.]

We all walked together back up the stairs, 2 little girls both enveloped in sadness.

Well, make that 3.

We got to the door, and I read the words as I do each time I walk in and out: "Praise the Lord. Let your light shine before men .."

"Layla, you sit here."

I pointed to the head chair at the table, and directed Jaime to the other.

The "faces of feelings" poster popped into my head once more as I placed my fist to my cheek and said quietly:

"Girls, what happened today?"

Layla still sat stiff, physically unable to move her head as a result of what was happening within her.

I then asked Jaime to tell me how she was feeling, she replied -

"I feel sad."

Why do you feel sad?

Because I hurt my baby sister.

I looked at Layla who still sat with her face down.

Layla, how are you feeling?

- - - - - -

Layla, I know you don't want to talk, but you need to talk.

Nothing.

We can't get up from this table until you both understand a little bit more about what it means to forgive and move forward.

I proceeded to ask Layla if she heard what her sister said about hurting her feelings.

- - - - - -

"Jaime, is there anything else you would like to say to Layla?"

"I'm sorry, Layla."

"What are you sorry for Jaime?

"Layla, I'm sorry for leaving you and riding away so that you couldn't catch up, and thinking it was funny."

Ah.

Truth.

Layla said nothing.

A tear rolled down Jaime's cheek.

I began to explain what hurt looks like inside of us when we don't talk about it, and refuse to let it go. I got a cup of clean water and asked the girls if they would drink it. Layla still had her head to her chest, but Jaime shook her head "yes."

I then asked if they would drink it if I decided to pour some dirt and mud into it.

As expected, a response was given on both ends with 2 little headshakes - from left to right.

No, they wouldn't.

I explained that when we won't forgive, our Spirit is thirsty, but we keep feeding it muddy water. Putting yucky stuff where beautiful stuff was meant to be.

As time went on I told these girls something familar that my mom had once passed along. I remember her telling my sister and I that someday we would feel the importance of our relationship to one another. She said that no one will understand our family the way our siblings do. She also went on to talk about someday my dad and her no longer being on this earth, and how it would be each other who would understand that loss the most.

Granted, we don’t know what tomorrow brings, and I know my mom didn’t either; all I know now is that she wanted so deeply for my sister and I to love each other.

That was all.

I then think about my dad’s recent words of strength, and the ache of a parent:

“Mia, you are strong.

And I’m going to tell you something else-

I just can’t take it when your heart breaks.”

"God is our Good Father, girls - He longs for you make peace."

My heart felt pierced by this day, and as Layla continued in silence I felt it even deeper. Her complete inability to even lift her head became hard to believe. Yet, I understood.

I told them it was time to go back down to their grandma.

With heavy hearts and hanging heads we took the scooters and walked in silence down the stairs. As we neared their door I stopped, knelt, and asked Layla if she was OK. She walked over to me, grasped her little hands around my neck, and dug her little face into my neck. Jaime looked over and I waved for her to join us; she came over and threw her hands around us both. I could hear little tears streaming from Layla’s eyes as both of their heads rested behind my shoulders.

The tension in her body was finally at ease.

And then, I heard it.

And this time- I heard something very different.

With both girls hugging me, and facing one another behind my back I heard Layla’s little voice:

“I forgive you.”

My heart skipped.

Jaime quickly pulled her head up from behind and exclaimed with utter joy “Miss Mia! Layla just said she forgives me!!”

Layla peaked her head around and was ear to ear - with the biggest grin I had ever seen.

Freedom.

“Layla, is there anything else you want to say to your big sister?”

She smiled and looked down.

“Do you guys want to hug me again?”

And as if the words couldn’t come fast enough they both clasped their arms around me once more, with their heads behind my shoulders.

“Will you forgive me?”

Layla asked her sister.

“I forgive you.”

:)

They let go - and immediately came back around and embraced each other in a hug.

And didn’t let go.

Freedom.

It is for freedom that Christ set us free.

When we picture captivity we sometimes picture bars and chains; I see a 5 year old girl screaming words of hate to her only sister, her body constricted for hours with anger.

When we picture freedom, maybe it's a scene of high waving arms and flags;

I see 2 little girls hugging, literally embracing forgiveness.

And suddenly, the injustice I had felt; the weight of sadness that laid heavy upon me, had lifted.

..and I considered the ravens.

...Then Jesus said to his disciples: “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat; or about your body, what you will wear. Life is more than food, and the body more than clothes. Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds! Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?

Since you cannot do this very little thing, why do you worry about the rest?..."

In the times you want to pull the covers high, and put the walls sturdy in their place, just remember - He has such greater for you, than this.

And so, forgive.

let go.

be free.

Again,

and again,

and again.

*names have been changed :)

Sing a New Song.

I was encouraged to post this, because.. well -

God is really really big; and I hope today, you not only know this - but I hope that you b e l i e v e it.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Oh sweet Lord, if I don’t get this out to all of you I am just going to burst. I’m here at work, contemplating leaving for the day, considering my current inability to hold back tears. I began to write a letter, sharing how broken my heart feels – and that for the first time I really understood when David wrote how his heart was "faint within himself."

These are the only words that keep coming to me. I pulled up Psalm 143 and printed it out; I just began to meditate on this amazing heart cry of David’s to the Lord. It brought moments of comfort. I started to write and write. I was writing about how in our humanness we run from the feelings of sadness and rejection; longing never to feel that empty weight. I wrote about my desire to face these emotions head-on, reminded of how Christ went before us, taking the cross for the joy set before him. Not to turn to fleshly comfort, but to the only Comforter of my soul. I felt broken as I wrote.

And then the phone rang.

It was a man who was staying in Rm 152. I knew something had been different with this room, he checked in after Audit nearing 3am, and had a woman calling for him a couple times in the morning. He had called down earlier to say he wanted to stay tonight as well. And then this phone call .. he was very drunk. He was slurring his speech something bad, trying as best as he could to ask me who had been calling for him. (These are obviously not the norm for phone calls). I told him I wasn’t exactly sure, and he lingered on the phone for a minute- and then I felt it. I was broken ... but this man - he was really broken.

..So I began to ask him about his heart, and he tried to joke it off in drunkenness. I told him he sounded very hurt. I began talking about the things of God and I started to hear a shift in his tone growing more serious.

I told him he needed to live with a sober mind if he wanted to live. He literally just started to sob, and sob, and sob. He began to confess his heart – when I would talk about Jesus and our need for true peace he would say “I know.”; but then he would literally scream as though in pain. He just kept crying saying he couldn't take his life anymore, he just wanted to die. He then kept saying he had hurt too many people.

He told me he

was

a hitman.

Killing men was his profession.

I’ve never heard anyone wrestle with demons the way I heard this man..

He began to have a conversation with someone, but I would soon come to find, there was no one in the room with him. He was calling this “someone” his “homeboy”, and was cursing at him from the core of his being. He was so angry with this “person,” blaming them. He told him to “GET OUT” and began SCREAMING, literally screaming. My heart grew sad within me because you could hear so much hurtand pain in his voice. I sat on the phone, and I just listened. I knew now that God had in some way prepared my heart for this just minutes before he called as I pondered the depth of heartbreak and Psalm 143. Yet, I still couldn’t believe this was happening like this. He continued to have a conversation with this demon. Literally conversing. He came back to the line and just continued to cry. I knew with the way he was screaming and crying out that it wouldn't be long before there would have to be some kind of intervention on our end at the hotel. I called someone to cover the front, and as I walked toward his room, right as I was about to knock he opened the door. He tried wiping the tears away quickly, and thought I was there to clean the room. I told him I was the person he had been on the phone with. He now let the tears fall openly, and just wept and wept. He was a very big man, native looking. He stood in the hallway towering over me and just sobbed.

He then began to say he was going through a divorce and his heart was so hurt. He talked about his kids and his wife, how much he wanted to love them, and I asked if that was who was calling – he said yes. All I felt I could tell him was to love. I told him how much God loved him and wanted him. When I said that he started to cry out that he didn’t know how!

...And then he began pulling at his shirt and looking up saying he couldn’t get rid of the anger in him. He was so wrestling with himself and with his anger. His arms would raise and you could see how badly he wanted to hurt, or kill, something. I felt as though I was now watching someone go through the heartache I had moments earlierbeen reading from the Psalms. He started to scream again, but then he cried out to the Lord just saying “God help me! I hate this life, I hate this life, I don't want to be a gangster anymore.." I just stood there with him and asked Jesus to help him. I’m crying as I write this.

He asked God to take his anger and his pain, and he just cried and pulled at his shirt.

He then moved over to the corner of one of the hallways by our fitness center and got on his knees and cried out to Jesus.. Seriously, just right there in the hallway.

I felt bad to hope that none of my team members would come down this hall and see us, but I knew there would be no stopping what was happening. He then began to say “Can God forgive me? I’m a hitman, a mobster, I’ve killed so many people.”

:(

- My heart just raced ; GOD HELP THIS MAN. -

I just got on my knees with him and told him God COULD forgive him but he HAD to turn this ALL over to Him.

He got on his face and just prayed.

He really prayed!

It was one of the most raw sounding heart-filled prayers I have ever heard. Over and over he asked Jesus to forgive Him! He began thanking God, and said "God make me born again, make me born again" .. I felt like I was dreaming - but I just kept asking Jesus to save him. John 3:3 rang in my ears. I read him Psalm 143 (because I had it already printed out and took it with me to the room, God is good.) He just kept asking for prayer. He started to get up and he looked SO much lighter, like a weight had been lifted. He then started to curse his mobster friends, saying "f them" "I'm done with it, no more no more no more." You could hear his violent anger toward them. I told him he would have to love them too, that it wasn't their fault - and then he got down on his knees AND PRAYED FOR THEM BY NAME as he wept!!

I walked him back to his room and when I opened the door he looked at the bottle of Maker's Mark on the table and said..

"that is my demon." Knowing if I hesitated for even a moment, I wouldn't say it: So, I quickly told him to give it to me. He walked over to the desk, and in my hands it was.

... I poured it out in the hallway bathroom toilet.

I was able to meet and speak to his wife when she came in. She told me a lot - it was a disheartening situation, but clearly God given. What do I do now with the fact that he said he was a hitman. He ended up leaving with the wife so no one else was really involved (except when management found that he was smoking in the room, and he broke a coffee mug, so we had to charge him an extra $250. My boss walked by and said "there was Psalm on his counter..." I didn't say anything.)

I had to share this. The power of testimony is great, and so is prayer. I'm so praying that he really did become born again. I gave his wife my number, maybe someday we will get an awesome report. Please pray for him with me. His name is Mark. The powers of darkness haunt this man, as they do with us all.

May the Light of Christ power over all, and put a new song in his mouth.

Needless to say,

in the middle of our broken hearts-

God is with us.

"He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear and put their trust in the LORD." Psalm40:3