Every Tribe, Tongue and Nation

I've been meaning to get to the Spanish service that Church in the City has on Sunday afternoons, but until today hadn't made the effort. After being sick all week, I had a slow morning and so decided to skip English service and go Español this afternoon. It felt like coming home.
The first person I met was Brian. Brian is an older gentlemen who has lived in Denver since '57. He was a little disheveled and, well, he is white, like me. He refused to speak to me in English and so we had some Spanish chit chat before the service. He has been teaching himself Spanish over the years and is pretty good-- about where I was after 6 months in the DR. When we walked into the sanctuary, he introduced me to the Pastors and then to a lovely older Mexican woman named Marguerita. He took off and so I sat with her and listened to her talk and talk and talk about the Lord. I could not stop smiling. I don't know what it is about Latin Christian culture, but they LOVE to talk about the Lord and about faith and about trials and how God uses the trials to strengthen them. I am always humbled and built up after listening. And, also following Latin culture, everyone else who walked in the building (either before or after the service) came up to say hello, shake hands, exchange names and a 'Dios le bendiga, hermana' (God bless you, sister). The pastor never has to encourage Latinos to greet others-- it's ingrained in them. Also, If you don't know this, all Spanish worship songs are passionate and all about the Gospel. They are always completely focused on Jesus and His worthiness, not on ourselves. Because of this, they lead one into a place of worship of the Holy and I always feel the presence of God when I am singing Spanish worship. The prayers, too, are different than the prayers we pray in English. They always focus on His power, His majesty, His mercy, His blood. By the time the preaching is about to start, I am already filled with the Spirit. Today was no different.
The Chilean pastor had a burden to share his and his wife's testimony of their conversions, faith walk and life as missionaries (Brazil, Honduras, Equatorial Guinea and now Denver). He had his wife sit up next to him and they tandem-shared their mutual journey. With tears consistently leaking out the corners of my eyes, I listened for over an hour to story after story of times when they felt that God had abandoned them and then, after prayer, how God miraculously came through. With tears consistently leaking out of the corners of their eyes, they implored us to not forget the mercies of God, to not forsake praying for His promises to come to pass, to not become weary in well-doing and to pray always, in all circumstances, believing.
I needed to hear that today. Big time. I thought a lot about my call to nations and about how God has not removed that call from my life, even though I am here in Denver. In fact, downstairs, just below us, as we were having church in Spanish, there was another service going on in Indonesian. I could not help but reflect on my time in Indonesia 6 years ago and how just being there for two months made me feel connected to the people worshipping downstairs. I thought about how excited I am to start Hebrew classes at this same church in January and I wondered at God's excellent craftsmanship in bringing me to a place that has an Indonesian congregation, a Messianic congregation and a Hispanic congregation. In just one building I see God's thread in my life and marvel.
After service, I walked outside and met a young man coming out of the Indonesian service. He is Chinese, speaks little English and sometimes attends the Indonesian service with his wife who is Chinese Indonesian. He gets bored, he says, because he doesn't understand Indonesian. He and his wife, Macy, are fairly new to Denver as well and are looking for friends. I didn't get to meet her since the Indonesian service was still going on, but I plan on spending some time getting to know them in the future. What an awesome day. That's all I can say.

Never Alone

In just two days we celebrate Christmas. Before I chose to believe that Jesus was the only way to the Father, the only way to freedom and salvation and redemption and restored relationship, Christmas was a lovely time of homemade cookies, handmade stockings hanging over the fireplace, our traditional Christmas tape (now burned onto a CD) that my dad mixed many years ago, German Apple Pancakes in the morning, ripping open of presents. Come on, it's the best time of year. It's the best day. After I decided to believe in Jesus and call myself a Christian, Christmas actually continued just about the same, though I now recognize the gospel truth being sung out through many carols (how could I have missed that message all those years?) I can't say that I spend lots of time preparing my heart during advent or that I meditate for hours on his birth and what His coming to earth really means. I am one of those who LOVES the American tradition of Christmas and all that it entails. Neighbors exchanging baked goodies, Charlie Brown's Christmas, all the colorful wrapping paper and bows... I LOVE it!
This year, however, is a little different for me.
I'm not at home. It's my first Christmas without my family. I've never missed a Christmas. I thought that I would be okay with it. I mean, we celebrated it early since my brother and his fiancé, Stacy, were going to spend Christmas in Connecticut with her family and my little nephew, Gabriel, was going to spend it with his mom. And, I was leaving for Colorado. It all seemed okay. Then I got here and found out that Gabriel had to leave his mom's and come back to his daddy's. They couldn't afford to buy him a ticket to Connecticut, too, so they had to postpone their trip. They're all there, right now, at my mom's having Christmas parties, baking cookies, singing carols, hanging out the stockings, wrapping presents. And here I am, in a new city, watching the snow fall down, sick with a cold and spending endless hours with my roommate's Siamese cat Puss Puss Elvis while my roommate is at work. I'm trying not to feel sorry for myself, but it's not working.
This is when it hits me that maybe this Christmas can really be about Jesus. Even though I'm sort of at odds with Him at the moment as I question His motives for moving me out here, I can't help but feel inexplicably drawn to be nearer to Him than ever before. Loneliness has a way of doing that. As I watch out the window at the snow falling, I also catch glimpses of homeless men making their lonely tracks along broken sidewalks. I don't have any words of wisdom to write. I just feel sad as I watch them. I shoot up a prayer of thanks to God that I can be inside with a heater on on such a cold day. I think about God and kind of end there. I don't have all the answers. But, because Jesus came to earth, I can have Him. Not in the flesh. Not to be able to hug and smile at and crack a joke with, but I can have His presence because He promised it to anyone who would believe in Him. And, that warm relationship is just about all I want right now. I want that sense of family. The homeless men probably want that, too. Jesus was born all those years ago just so we wouldn't have to be completely alone, whether we have people around or not.
So, this Christmas, it's just me and Jesus. And Puss Puss Elvis.

Rise Up and Come Away

I was sitting curled up in a tiny log cabin, fire going, cup of tea in hand, listening to the raging blizzard that taunted me from outside. Thankful for this cozy shelter in the middle of a blinding storm, I closed my eyes blissfully and smiled.
And then I heard my name called.
"Amy!"
Faint at first, I laughed it off, believing the howling wind was playing with my ears. Then I heard a loud knock on the door, an urgent, forceful rap that could not be written off as a wayward branch being flung from a tree.
Reluctantly and with rightful alarm, I slowly rose and walked near the door.
"Amy! Get your things, it's time to go."
The voice was unmistakable. It was the Lord.

You know that sound they play in songs and movies of an old record being scratched to a quick stop, signifying a 'whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a minute' moment? This was one of those moments. As the record came to a scratching halt, I lucidly came out of this dream-like vision only to hear the Lord say,
"A time is coming when I am going to call you out, call you to leave a place where you have felt safe, and ask you to leave in what seems like the absolute worst time to go. You will need to just trust me and quickly obey."
I had this vision about 5 years ago.
Now is that time.
He is asking me to leave this place I've known to be my safe haven and go out to a new destination in the middle of a horrible storm. Emotionally, I have experienced so much loss and grief in the last few years that I often feel as if there is nothing left of me. I have been hard hit from every side and so much want a cozy log cabin I can curl up in and just ride out the rest of this winter season. But I can't. At what feels like the absolute worst time to me, spiritually and emotionally, God is calling me to rise up and leave-- to brave the storm and move forward to the next place he has for me. Ironically, it's also in the dead of winter and I'm headed toward the mountains of Colorado.
Many people have asked me, "Why Colorado? What's out there?" After being sent out on such cool, exotic missions to Australia, Indonesia, Nigeria, Guatemala, Dominican Republic, it's hard to not have a specific answer. People expect me to have some obvious purpose. All I can say is this: I don't know. I've always loved Colorado-- have always felt like myself when I come here (if that makes any sense). I am starting art school in February, but I am doing that online, so it is not determining my location. I found a church here in Denver that my friend Christine believes was designed just for me (it has Messianic Shabbat services on Saturdays, is held in the oldest synagogue in Denver, has an international staff, is missions oriented both internationally and city-wide, and has Gentile- style services on Sundays both in English in the morning and Spanish in the afternoons), but I did not come out here for that church. By the way, you can check it out at www.churchinthecity.org

Only God knows why I am here. But, I'm not complaining. I'm excited. I'm looking forward to getting a 'normal' job again and just meeting people and seeing what opens up. I am learning that for me, missions isn't necessarily about where you go, it's about who you are. I love going to nations and plan on going out again in the future. But, I also love seeing the hearts of the people around me and getting to share the incredible, all-powerful love of God with love-deprived Americans.

Thanks for sharing in my journey.
Also, a friend recently asked me why I changed the name of my blog from 'In God's Whirlwind' to 'It's Still Life'. It's simply because more often than not, life is found in the stillness, in the mundane, in the normalcy of being human. Sometimes there is a wonderful whirlwind we get to dance in and that was the DR for me, but for now, though I am still in the grace and will of God, I am reveling in the stillness. It may not be as wild, but it's still LIFE.