The most vulnerable part of my heart.

I’m moving! The Art of Losing is moving to Heart of the Tico, my new website/blog where I will post everything about my life and ministry in Costa Rica. I will stop posting links here after the next few blogs posts, so please subscribe over there! It’s the same me, same writing, just a different space. I love you all and would love to take you all with me when I move.

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I was in fourth grade when I became reserved. I have memories of my younger childhood when I would run around the playground chasing kindergarten boys, giggling about the third graders holding hands down the slide, and playing with friends on the monkey bars.

But when I got into fourth grade it changed. I had a few friends, but really there was only one best friend — Heather. I remember feeling alone in groups of people and feeling like I wasn’t enough. I felt like I couldn’t do things well enough whether it was in sports, music, or academics (though I was very smart). I stopped trying because I always thought I would fail. With everything. Fifth grade was pretty much the same, but sixth grade was much worse.

And this is the part where I share the most vulnerable part of my heart…

Read the entire post at Heart of the Tico…

The stars don’t beg to be seen.

There wasn’t much to say that night that wasn’t already hanging in the air. She knew he saw it in her eyes, just as she could feel in his chest where her head rested and ears listened. She listened intently to the molecules circulating in him, pumping steadily the life that was ever-changing him and making him new.

They both knew it, but they wouldn’t give these emotions the decency of being put to words. It’s a shame, really. They would have been beautiful had they been uttered. But for now, those words would remain in her eyes and in his chest. Tonight was not the night for those words. Perhaps another night, or maybe not. Maybe those words were to forever remain there, hanging in the air, just as the stars hung in the same place in the sky, night after night, never wandering, never worrying about where to hang tomorrow. Just like the stars, those words were constant. They didn’t need to be seen or heard to be known. They just were and they would be tomorrow too.

She raised her head slightly to look at him, inquisitive of his thoughts, hoping to catch a glimpse of them in his cafe-colored eyes. The creases around his eyes etched a smile into his face as his eyes focused in on hers, wondering what her questioning eyes could want. His nose brushed hers and his deep, brown eyes asked for a kiss. But with her lips lightly pressed against his, she just smiled. To not only see it, but to feel a smile against yours, knowing that you are the reason for that grin — it’s perfect.

She pulled her face away from his and found his eyes again. She brushed her hands through his hair, kissed his cheek, and laid her ear against his chest where it had been before.

Words weren’t necessary, but he decided it was rude to leave them hanging around.

I love you, he whispered, but she already knew.

I love you too, she said, though he’d already seen it in her eyes.

The stars don’t beg to be seen, nor did those words beg to be spoken.

You know the stars will always be there, hanging in the sky just as they did yesterday, but you look anyway. Beauty doesn’t need to ask to be desired. It is because it is. And though there wasn’t anything to be said that night that they didn’t already know, those words were spoken.

They didn’t need to say anything at all, but it would have been rude to leave such beautiful words just hanging there.

Dusty prayers.

I wrote this last January when I was at the height of my struggle with depression. It’s been sitting in secret among my private posts. Yes, there are some things my heart holds back. I’m posting it now for two reasons, 1) I’m vain and I like my writing, and (mostly this reason) 2) I want to encourage those of you that are hurting, struggling, not sure what to think or how to feel. Sometimes life just sucks. But God can and will bring you out of that. He is always faithful, even when he seems farther than he’s ever been. So here you go… thoughts from the depth of my heart during the height of my depression.

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It’s been months since I opened this dusty box. Like a time capsule, it is filled with stale prayers and desires for wisdom concerning things that have long passed. Over half the prayers scribbled on scraps of paper are no longer significant. They have lost their place at the front of our minds. I laughed to myself, at myself, as I realized the stupidity of having a prayer box that collects dust instead of relevant prayers.

The problem is my complete spiritual dryness when it comes to prayer. My prayer life is a desert. Less than a desert. It’s like Jack Sparrow wandering aimlessly, hallucinating, and talking to himself in Davy Jones’ locker. There is nothing. There is jumbled words and frustration and lack of focus. And at the root of it all, I just don’t like praying. Not even a little bit. I know. It’s so against the foundation of Christianity, but it makes me so overwhelmed and frustrated that I don’t know where to begin anymore. I know it will help my faith struggles. I know it will make me more joyful. I know it will grow my love for Christ. My difficulty does not lie in my knowledge of how it works or of its power. It’s a heart thing. And maybe I don’t know how. I don’t know how to do prayer without being a hypocrite.

I wrestle with this because I know prayer is necessary for faith, but it is one of the most difficult things for me to do. My faith is young – not even 4 years old – but I grew up in the church, so prayer is nothing new to me. Perhaps that is why I struggle with it so much. Prayer is supposed to be powerful, but to me it is commonplace. It has the potential to be powerful. I do see that. I know talking to God is important. But it is not so much the idea of talking to God that I struggle with. It is the way I see it abused in the church. Among the church today it is a ritual before bed, before meals, before a service. It fills silences when words are hard to come by. Often it is mechanical and forced. But I know it can be good. I want to understand the power of prayer with its divine sincerity and sweetness and goodness instead of seeing it through this twisted sentiment.

The words, “I will pray for you,” are like nails on a chalkboard. It’s a nice thought, but it makes me cringe and I wonder it if is a lie. Do people really remember to pray? Am I the only one who forgets or struggles to talk with God about other people? How many times is it simply the thing to say in response to someone’s pain or grief when other words escape us? In my own experience, I have said those five words as a natural Christian response. I will pray for you. And 30 seconds later I have already forgotten. I do not remember to pray. I do not care to pray. But I tell them I will so perhaps they will feel comfort. Are they comforted by my false effort?

I am also frustrated with the manner in which Christians pray. We pray when the silence becomes too awkward, then stumble over words, trying to sound smart and spiritual. I am not against praying in community with others. I know it to be something very sweet as I have experienced the specialness of African prayer and the goodness of praying with my small group girls. But many times it seems that it is a challenge as to who prays the best or with the most zeal. I am a writer. I love words. Perhaps I am the only one who sees this unspoken challenge. Perhaps no one else notices. But to me it takes the sweetness and genuineness out of prayer. It robs prayer of its goodness and innocence. No longer is the prayer focused on God or the situation being offered to God, but rather on image and the words used to formulate sometimes-pious prayers.

And what happens when I don’t have the words to say? What happens when I don’t know how to tell God what I’m feeling or what I desire or how I’m hurting? What if my heart needs to be silent? Societal norms tell me I should pray anyway. They say my silence is awkward. They say my silence is a bold statement that I am struggling with my faith. So maybe I am. But don’t we all? We all struggle in our faith. We all need to be quiet sometimes. But sometimes we just want to fit in. We don’t want others to see our hurt. We don’t want them to know we don’t have words. We pray anyway, and that is how I feel like a hypocrite.

Perhaps prayer isn’t even the root issue here. Maybe it is an issue of acting instead of being. It is acting as the Christian whom people want to see instead of being the believer I really am — the believer who struggles and hurts and who doesn’t always feel like talking to God.

Because I’m not as innocent as you think I am.

The past couple weeks I dated a guy I shouldn’t have dated. He was a very handsome and very nice Mexican man. He had a ridiculously wonderful smile and he spoke in very sweet words. He made me laugh. He made me smile. He called me, “mi amor.” My heart melts for men who speak lovely words to me in Espanol.

He wasn’t a bad guy and he made me feel wanted and wonderful, so I dated him. But I shouldn’t have.

This wonderful man doesn’t love God and for a few weeks that didn’t matter to me. To be honest, it still doesn’t matter as much as it should, because, well… he is handsome, very sweet, and he had the balls to ask for my number. There is something especially attractive about a man who has the gumption to ask a girl out and actually take her out on a date. (Latinos are very good at this… possibly one very big reason why I love Latinos so much.)

This man told me that he believes in God (that’s is a start), but he’s not in love with the Lord like I desire to be every day. I tried to convince myself it was alright though I always knew it wasn’t.

He told me once, “I probably pray more than you because I pray every day when I walk to work. I thank God for the day. I thank him for my life…” I stared at him, frozen in the driver’s seat as we sat in my car just outside of his apartment building. Blink. Gulp. Maybe he does pray more than me, I thought.

If he prays more than me, does that make me a bad person? Does it make me a hypocrite for not being “allowed” to date him? Am I a bad Christian? And what makes me different from him? What makes me dating him so wrong?

He is a good person. Awesome.
He prays every day. Also awesome.
He has two jobs and is a very hard worker. So good.
He is going to school. Yes, a smart one!
He has an infectious smile. (Melt.)

But he doesn’t love Jesus.

Can I skip over that? That’s what I wanted to do. Does it really matter as much as I tell myself it does?

There are answers to these questions, and maybe I’ll get to them some other time, but the real question that has been driving me crazy is this:

Why, after 22 years of living and having never dating a guy who didn’t love Jesus, WHY did it now seem like a good idea to date this man even though my dreams for my life are still the same and my love for God still very much real?

Even now as I write this, I’m not completely sold on the idea that I shouldn’t date him. In my head, I know I shouldn’t. We aren’t going in the same direction in ours lives. (Major problem.) And I’ve heard the advice of countless friends that I trust to tell me good and true things. They tell me that I shouldn’t. I know it’s not good to date him.

Sin is a beautiful disaster, folks. It is desirable. It seems good. It feels good (maybe only for a little while or maybe for a long while).

But don’t make the mistake that I did.

Sin is still sin… even when it feels good, even when you like it, even when it looks beautiful. And when you say yes to sin, it only gets easier to keep saying yes.

When we say yes to sin, we say no to God. It really is that simple.

What’s your choice?

(Disclaimer: whatever you choose, the other choice is always there in case you change your mind.)

Forever inked.

So… I got a tattoo on Tuesday. It’s my first one and yes, it was painful! Some people say it’s not that bad, but let me tell you… it’s that bad.

I got it on my foot (which they say is one of the most painful places to get a tattoo) and please don’t let my description deter you, but it felt like I was torturing myself with knives. Ouch! Yet I would do it all again.

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As I am preparing to move to Costa Rica, I’m struck with the realization that my real world life is starting. I am about to go into ministry and follow the Lord to a country that is 3,000 miles away in order to serve him. When people hear that I am moving to Costa Rica, their next question is usually, “For how long?” and my answer is always, “Until God takes me somewhere else.” The truth is, I have no idea how long I’ll be in Costa Rica. It could be for a year or it could be for the rest of my life. I will stay as long as God can use me.

I got this tattoo as a reminder. It is placed on my foot for a specific purpose: to symbolize wherever my feet take me and wherever I go. The script reads “Gloria a Dios” which means “Glory to God” in Spanish. Spanish is the language of the country of my heart and the language of my soul.

Above the script are three sparrows. There is no reason why there are three except that I thought it looked better than 2 or 4. The sparrows are from Luke 12 when Jesus explains to the disciples that the sparrows are always provided for, yet we as God’s children are much more precious to God. Seeing as how God provides perfectly well for the sparrows, we do not need to worry. Surely, he will provide for his children whom he loves even more.

Putting that all together, here is what my tattoo means to me: Don’t worry about anything… about today or tomorrow or what will become of my life. God knows and God’s got me in his hands. Therefore, in everything I do, my purpose shall be to bring glory to God and when I do that, God will always provide and always be there for me.

I forever inked myself so that I am always reminded of my purpose in life.

Para siempre, toda la gloria a Dios!

What matters more.

I forget sometimes that it’s not about me. It’s not that I don’t matter, but that my mattering doesn’t come from who I am or what I do, but whose I am and why I do what I do. So much cheese in that last sentence, but it’s a truth I need to remember all. the. time.

I get in my own little world and I think I am going to school to get a diploma… to walk across that stage and receive that piece of paper… to have a degree… to get a job… to eventually get married… to provide for a future family… to live an American life…

But it’s so not about that. Not just that.

Everything I do is for the glory of God. Waking up in the morning, riding the bus downtown, going to class, learning about communications, speaking Spanish, talking with friends, blogging, texting people to encourage them, making coffee at work, answering phone calls… Everything I do is for the glory of God. That is the sole purpose of my life.

So when I think I’m going to school just to get a diploma and getting a degree just to get a job, there is something wrong with that. God has a plan for that. He has a plan for me. He has a plan for this. He has a plan for the heartache. He has a plan for the difficult situations. He has a plan for the blessings.

But nothing is coincidence. Nothing is without purpose. Nothing is just because.

When I get wrapped up in what I think I need and what I want over what God wants for me and what how my life is purposeful, I lose sight of what is actually important. I forget that it’s not about me at all.

Everything I do is for the glory of God.

Everything has a kingdom purpose.

Everything is significant because I live for something bigger than just me. I live for something bigger than a communications degree and moving to Costa Rica and getting married someday and having a family. I live for the glory of God — wherever I go, whatever I do, whoever I become.

And in the midst of all these things that I think matter the most, God shows me what matters to him. He shows me what it means to desire his glory above mine, and what it means to use these things — my education, my degree, my love for Latin America, my move to Costa Rica, my future — all for the glory of the Lord.

Because even in the normal, every-day-life kind of things that I think might only matter to me, it was never about really me. There’s always a greater purpose.

Update on moving to Costa Rica.

We’re already a third of the way through March and I can’t believe how fast this year is going by. I have about 5 more months here in Seattle before I move to San Jose, Costa Rica. Wow. Life moves fast. So, here’s an update on how it’s going…

I’m enrolled in 23 credits for spring quarter between SPU and a community college near my house. (Lord, help me!) This will nearly finish off my bachelors degree in communications except four upper division credits. That means I get to walk at graduation on June 9!

I will completely finish my degree in September when I take Spanish classes at Veritas University in Costa Rica. They have a very inexpensive program and it is fairly close to my house in San Jose. After finishing my Spanish courses, I plan to do an internship through Veritas. It is part of the program that I am signing up for — 4 weeks of intensive Spanish and a 12-week internship. School starts on September 3rd.

The more I tell people about what I’ll be doing in Costa Rica, the more I realize this is missionary work. Though I will finish my education and look for a job shortly after, my specific purpose in going to Costa Rica is to work with my church, Ciudad Renuevo. I don’t like the title “missionary” because I think it’s something every Christian should be despite location. It just so happens that my location will be different from the country I was born in. And in the American mind-set that makes me a missionary.

So, I’m in the process of developing a clearer missions statement and will be raising support to get me down there and to help me live until I can support myself. It actually isn’t much since I am single and the cost of living is much different in Costa Rica than in the U.S. (The average apartment costs about $200/month.) I will let you know soon how you can help support me.

What I’m most excited to tell you is about is something I feel God showed me last night. I know the problems in Costa Rica and I know that I need to go, but the ‘how’ in all of this was still fairly unknown until yesterday. After skyping with Leccy and talking with Abi, I feel like the ‘how’ to minister to Costa Rica lies in mentoring young women and building confidence in them.

In this past year I have discovered a passion for loving on women who are younger than me and being a confidant, someone whom they can look to for prayer and support and simply a safe place to share their hearts. I love being that person and mentoring young women who do not have role models in their lives. I have already learned that Costa Ricans have trouble trusting each other and sharing their hearts with one another. I believe it is because of this that other problems arise, for example, the hyper-sexualized culture in Latin America and the absence of commitment in relationships. It’s very similar in the U.S. When people hide mistakes and do not have a place to share their hearts, sin thrives.

I’m still waiting and listening for next steps from the Lord. But as I seek him, I am more confident of his plan for me in Costa Rica. Thank you for your continued prayers and support!

To love the one you cannot love.

The one where I’m brutally honest about something I’ve never posted in public.

How do you love a man who brings knots to your stomach and silence to your lips
whose voice makes your insides cringe and your outsides stiff…

who lies through his teeth, telling the world his beautiful lies,
claiming to provide,
though your family collects unemployment checks from the government
and groceries from the food bank
while he sits on the couch for 10 hours a day…

Not a care,
Not a worry,
No guilt,
And still no job applications…

How do you love a man whom you have always feared
to put you on the streets,
or in the hospital,
or in the grave,
though realistically, probably only from a broken heart
and shattered expectations…

How do you love the man who called you a rebellious liar,
a child, a runaway,
when you followed your dream,
and believed in what the Lord could do through the passion in your soul…

How do you love the man who calls himself a lover of God,
yet lies to his friends,
his church,
his family,
himself,

Whose anger you know better than his love,
whose yell you recall more closely than words of affirmation,
whose eyes have never seemed kind

and whose hands have always been an enemy,
instead of a
counselor
protector
comforter…

How do you love the man who has made you cry,
more than he’s made you laugh,
whose blood runs through your veins,
but whom you fear to call your father?

—–

How did he forgive them men who betrayed him for silver,
who mocked him,
beat him,
lied about him,
killed him?

How did He love the ones who could not be loved?

The heart of a muzungu mama.

Meet Lexi.

Lexi MacKinnon and I have never met in person, but by means of twitter and facebook chat, she is a constant encouragement to my heart, despite our physical distance.

Last year, after graduating from college, Lexi sold all of her belongings in order to pioneer Muzungu Mama Ministries and move to Eastern Uganda. Muzungu is the name given to white people in Uganda and Muzungu Mama was the nickname given to Lexi upon her first visit to Uganda.

On the MMM website you’ll find that MMM exists to “[bring] the light of Jesus into Eastern Uganda by mothering the motherless.” That is no understatement. Shortly after arriving in Uganda, Lexi was given the opportunity to adopt a beautiful one-year old girl, Hadassah Hope. Aren’t they beautiful together?!

In the past few months, I have been a faithful supporter of MMM and have watched Lexi’s heart grow for Ugandan people. A lot has changed already since Lexi first moved to Uganda last September. She has battled Malaria multiple times, had to move over an hour away from her first home and Ugandan family, and been learning how to raise her first daughter in a different country and culture. But Lexi is a warrior. Her heart is strong and her love for the Lord is stronger.

Lexi’s desire to see the light of Christ spread in Eastern Uganda is beautiful. Because of her recent move to a different part of Uganda and a loss of partnership with a ministry she was previously working with, MMM is struggling — waiting to see beauty from the ashes.

I encourage you to check out Muzungu Mama Ministries and Lexi’s blog, and support MMM however you can, whether financially or through prayer or sending a letter of encouragement to Lexi. We as the body of Christ need to encourage one another and build each other up in love. Let us not forget to show love to the ones whom distance hides from us.

(And no, Lexi has no idea I’m writing this post about her.)

For the cynics.

There are a lot of cynics around Valentine’s Day. They try to change the name to S.A.D. (Single’s Awareness Day) or Chocolate Lover’s Day. This year you could just call it Tuesday. But for all the people who hate Valentine’s Day because it seems that all it does is magnify their loneliness, I think you need to give it a second chance.

Someone told me the other day that they thought love made things worse. It made life hurt. It made life hard. I have to disagree. Sometimes love is broken and that is when it hurts. But it is not love in itself that makes our hearts ache. It hurts to see something die that we thought was good and beautiful.

Because I think we all truly love love. It’s the ache of broken love that we don’t like. Real love is good and beautiful and should be celebrated.

So this one goes out to the ones I love…

To all the ones who are in love and all the ones who dream of being in love…

Happy Valentine’s Day!