Battlefields

Saturday was a day. 

You know. 

Those. 

Not horrible. But intense.

It was a "processing day."

It started out too early... awake by 5:30, from scary and restless dreams. Those dreams had been plaguing me all week.

And as I lay in bed, too early to function, yet too awake to fall back asleep, my brain and heart began to process. And out of that, came my previous blog post.

It was a day spent in the kitchen. Processing fruits and vegetables from the feria, and making staples like gallo pinto, homemade spaghetti sauce for dinner, and chicken salad for sandwiches the next day.

Lots of mindless chopping. Lots of time to process.

When suddenly, the processing took a scary turn.

Body image issues, demons that I've struggled with my whole life, but recently gained some victory, began to crop up.

A voice in my head that has been put to rest for the last two months, suddenly became the loudest one I could hear.

Damaging self-worth thoughts, from which I've received some deep healing during my time here in Costa Rica... all started coming to the surface.

And this onslaught was on a body that was exhausted from lack of sleep, and emotions that were hurting from a week of bad dreams. My defense mechanisms were malfunctioning. And my ability to "take every thought captive" was... well, it was gone.

"Jesus - have I lost all the ground that we've gained in these eight months? Am I really back at the starting line?"

And yet, even as these questions came out of my mouth, I was saying, "I KNOW that changes have been made! I KNOW that Jesus healed me. I KNOW that today is just a 'day.'"

Sunday came.

I woke up, once again too early and from restless dreams. The pounding was the same.

But I had just read "take every thought captive," and spent some serious conversation time with Jesus in my bedroom, before I could face the day and the rest of the household.

And then.

We had a baptism.

A bus pulled up to the front of the church, and Ticos, Nicos and Gringos all got on. There was an air of excitement! Smiles. Laughter. Emotions.

Worship. Message. Testimonies.

And then... water time. Twelve precious individuals, proclaiming that from yesterday on, their lives would be different as they chose to follow Jesus.

People that we have prayed for. 

Lives that we have prayed over. 

And seen changed. 

And Jesus was getting 

All 

The 

Glory.

In our house, we talk about spiritual warfare a lot. We talk about it, because we experience it. Because we are on the front lines.

Sometimes it's so in your face, heavy with evil, that it's easy to recognize. And sometimes, it is subtle. Like, life is just seeming extra... lifey.

When we walked back into the house yesterday, Di said, "Now does yesterday make sense?"

It did.

Because we added twelve new warriors to the battlefield. Twelve new comrades to stand with us on the front lines.

Of course there was going to be opposition.

Of Capes

I'd always been a fan of my Super Woman cape. 

I wore it well. 

And often.

If a friend was in emotional, spiritual or physical pain, I was the hugger, prayer, or driver. If they were in the hospital, or on their way to the ER, I was the go-to person. There were countless nights that I'd get home after midnight, hang up the cape in my closet, and climb into bed for a few hours of sleep before heading out to work the next morning.

It's who I was.

What I did.

How I rolled.

My phone would be constantly making noise - countless emails, texts and phone calls each day.

Most of the time I loved it! 

It was who I was. 

I had worth, because I was needed. 

And then that was stripped away.
I was in a new country.
Without US cell service.

The first few months, I went from having a phone that received upwards of 30-40 texts a day, to getting one text a week - and that was generally from the phone company telling me I could purchase additional minutes and get double for the same price.

Near the beginning of my time down here, I was talking to one of my nearest and dearest, about a situation happening at home, where I desperately wanted to be there to "FIX IT!" She said, lovingly and firmly - "Lindsay. Do what you went to Costa Rica to do. Start praying."

And the internal struggle raged - 

BUT DON'T YOU KNOW??
     It's MY JOB!
          I need to FIX IT!
Not just... pray?
     To the One Who is actually capable of fixing it.
          Crap.
               Truth hurts.

Time and time again in my months here, I've had the realization that all I can do is pray. I'm thousands of miles away.

I can't drive up the driveways of friends who need me.

Or to ERs.

Or funeral homes.

Or psych wards.

Or grocery stores.

Or anywhere.

All I can do is - -

deploy   Jesus   into   the   situation. 

And sit back, and watch.

Yes - I wore the cape well.

But it wasn't mine to wear.

Boldly Reverent

I remember the first time years ago that Hebrews 4:16 became mine... And I realized that when it said, "So let us keep on coming BOLDLY to the throne of grace," that it meant I could come. And not hold back and just encourage others to go.

And when I pray, I do.

I go boldly.

(Ceiling of The Basílica in Cartago)

Jesus and I have incredibly candid conversations. My private prayers have been known to start with a humble, "God - we need to talk." My New England has come out when I was typing out a prayer for a friend in need, and ended it "In Jesus' wicked awesome name, Amen." And I horrified myself, when exhausted one night in Bible school, I accidentally referred to God as "Honey" in my bedtime prayer.

I am far from flippant in my relationship with God. I am aware that when I pray, I am addressing the God of the Universe. The Creator of all. But I also know I am addressing God my Father. The One who created me, loves me, and is fully vested in every detail of my life. Mom & Dad raised us to be incredibly respectful when praying, but also to know that God is big enough to handle the hard questions, when asked with a right attitude. And I'm grateful that when life is not making sense, or hurting too much, I can go to God and talk to Him. And not fear repercussions if I actually tell Him how I am feeling.

My first month in Costa Rica we visited The Basílica in Cartago, and the thing about that day that most affected me, was watching the devout Catholics humbly crawl down the long central aisle, to pray at the altar in the front.

(The Basílica)

And as I sat and watched I had conflicting thoughts.

One side of my brain said, "We get to come boldly!"

And the other side said, "When was the last time you humbled yourself enough to show that level of reverence when talking to God?"

(Making her way up the aisle)

We went back today, and the same conversation played over in my head as I watched numerous people make the long, hard journey on their knees to the front of the church.

There were people of every shape and size.

Those who were dressed up, and those in jeans.

Housewives and business men.

Old and young.

(Praying at the altar)

One little boy, Pokemon backpack plastered to his small back, was crawling as fast as he could trying to beat his mom up the aisle. He crawled so fast that he got a little top-heavy and did a face plant right next to the pew where I was sitting. He stayed flat on his face for a minute, then got up, flashed a huge grin at his mother, and flew down the rest of the aisle to the front.

The chapel was pretty silent, as people sat or knelt to pray, and I was distracted by talking behind me. Then, in my peripheral vision I saw that it was another person crawling his way to the front, praying out loud as he came. He was wearing a t-shirt, jogging shorts and bright yellow sneakers. He carried an empty water bottle in his right hand, that he periodically smacked into his open left palm. He had to stop frequently, because his bare knees bearing all his weight on the tile floor was painful. When he finally reached the altar, he crawled up the last three steps and stayed there to pray. And then, he rose and I watched as, instead of crossing himself he looked up at the statue of Jesus on the cross... and threw Him the peace sign.

So, I still don't have the equation of bold vs reverent figured out. I'm beginning to wonder if it's a time, place and situation kind of thing. And I know with certainty it is a heart issue. But that peace sign... deep down I kind of think that made Jesus smile.

 (Center of the ceiling)

Observations From the Back of the Bus

Buses have never been a part of my life.

School buses were not needed, because Mom taught at the tiny Christian school where I began my education. And from grades 5-12, a bus was not required (or provided, I might add) to go from my bedroom to the kitchen or living room.

And the tiny towns where I've lived as an adult don't have running bus systems.

As a child, I always wished I could ride the bus, and remember that each year when we went to our county fair my favorite part was riding in the school bus from the parking lot to the fair grounds.

My childhood wish has more than come true in Costa Rica... I've probably ridden the bus more in the past two weeks than I have in my entire life combined.

And I love it.

Love it!

Of course, there was the time a few weeks ago that I got on the wrong bus, and ended up... not quite sure where. I'd get myself oriented, and in my head scream at the driver, "Turn right... I'll know where I am if you go right!" And without fail, he would either turn left or go straight. This exhausting game went on for almost an hour before we finally ended up in a place that I was familiar with, so got off the bus and walked the four miles home.

Or the time that I was the only one on the bus for almost fifteen minutes. In San Jose. During morning rush hour. And I realized I could look at this one of two ways. Pretend it was the bumpiest, dirtiest limo ride of my life, or that the driver was most likely taking me off route to kill me.

. 

There have been countless funny, random things.

Realizing we'd been at this stop for a really long time and looking up to see that the driver was no longer on the bus. He was in a nearby store, recharging minutes on his cell phone. 

*

Sitting at a traffic light long after it's turned green, as the driver bought fruit or coffee from a street vendor.

*

Hearing the commuter train's horn, feeling the brakes slam, and the bus going into reverse as we narrowly miss being hit.

*

Enduring what seemed like a driver's first day of managing a stick shift, and repeatedly being thrown into the back of the seat in front of me as we went from gear to gear.

*

People immediately give their seats to older people (or pretty women) as they step up onto the bus.

*

Watching men, who when there are rows and rows of empty seats, still choose to sit Right Next To the pretty girls 

*

Making eye contact with fellow passengers, and smiling or laughing as all of these occurred

And there are the scenes that are forever burned into my memory and into my heart.

Watching two men step off the bus - the first stood quietly while the second pulled out his white cane and placed his hand confidently on the shoulder of the first... and then watching as the first also took out his white cane, and they began their slow, trusting walk into the chaos of a San Jose street.

*

Seeing a street vendor run over to help these blind men cross the trash-filled chasm between the street and the sidewalk.

*

The homeless man who was half in, half out of his cardboard box, trying desperately to find shade and comfort.

*

Or the other man, lying flat on his stomach on the wet sidewalk with a coat over his head - and as we drove by I was left wondering whether the coat was to help him sleep, or to block out the world that has gotten too cruel for him.

Redemption!

It's been a theme running through my mind recently...

He is a God who can redeem people.

And situations.

And I've been thinking a lot lately how He also can redeem bad days.

Here's an example.

Monday was horrible. It was the start of my third week of intensive Spanish classes, and as I sat there in the early morning listening to my teacher, I realized with horror that I could not understand one word she said. My brain felt foggy, and though I desperately tried to grasp what she was saying, it was as if all of the Spanish that I have learned in the past seven months had fallen out over the weekend.

And as luck would have it, we had a test that morning. I have never in my life scored as low on an assessment as I did that day. And as a perfectionist who has ridiculously high and unrealistic expectations for myself, I was devastated. Then I went to my conversation class, and stumbled my way through an additional forty minutes of groggy hell.

Physically drained from lack of sleep.
Emotionally exhausted from living in a culture different to the one I've known for thirty-four years.
Beyond frustrated at my failure.
I cried.
A lot.

Once home, frustrated and cried out, I lay down to take a nap before starting to study this language that seemed insurmountable.

And my phone rang.

Enter Ophelia.

This precious 85 year old lady lives here in Los Anonos, and views life from her bed or chair, because she can't walk. She has a left arm that is stuck bent at the elbow and clings tightly to her body. Her hand, nothing more than a little bird claw, constantly clenched -- all of this due to a stroke she had four years ago.

This past Sunday, a group was at her house and they prayed over that arm and hand... and witnessed a miracle, as Jesus brought healing and some range-of-motion for the first time in four years!

My phone ringing was Rodney calling to say, "Yesterday as we were at Ophelia's, I felt like God was saying your name to me. If you have time today, I'd like you to come with me to see her, and massage her arm and hand."

After hanging up, I pulled out my Bible and read stories of Jesus healing. And prayed for a long time, getting my heart and attitude right. I also began reading "Healing Unplugged" by Bill Johnson & Randy Clark, a book that I was excited about, but had put off starting because of school.

If God was going to do something big, I wanted to make sure I didn't miss it because I was too exhausted and me-focused to see Him at work.

Two hours later, I was kneeling on the hard floor of this woman's home, gently massaging her arm and praying without ceasing. "Lord, You did a miracle yesterday... but there is not full restoration. Bring life. Abundant life to this arm." She practically purred in quiet joy, as I went up and down her muscles, rubbing carefully so as not to tear her paper-thin skin.

I wiggled my fingers to show her what I couldn't express in Spanish - that I wanted her to imitate. And I'm sure her brain was asking her fingers to wiggle, but the only outward sign that came of that demand, was for the middle finger of her left hand to slowly unfurl. I giggled, feeling pure joy.

That afternoon, I knelt there with tears in my eyes - loving this precious child of God in a tangible way, bringing safe touch to a hurting body and hurting heart. I looked up at her and smiled, feeling like my heart was exploding out of my body through my eyes.  And she slowly reached out with her tiny right hand and started rubbing my arm as I worked on her left.

In that moment I knew that my day had been redeemed, for I had gone from a sobbing, frustrated mess to knowing that I was the luckiest person alive.

Today is a Tribute Sort of Day

 

Happy Mother's Day to my number one fan.

I can't remember if it was when I had my heart broken for the first time, or when I lost one of my closest friends in a car accident, that Mom said to me, "Your experiences are never wasted. Once you have healed, God uses each thing that happens to you, so that you in turn can be the light at the end of someone else's tunnel, who is coming behind you."

And if anyone embodies that quote, it is my Mom.

"Um, Mom... I told ________ your story, because hers is the same. Is it ok if she comes to talk to you?"

Now, I don't even ask Mom any more... I just sent 'em all her way.


You are learning that being a child of divorce hurts? Go talk to my Mom
You were abused as a little girl? Go talk to my Mom
Waited until your late 20's to get married, convinced it was never going to happen to you? Go talk to my Mom
Have in-laws who do not see or value your worth? Please, go talk to my Mom.

Her life is an open book. The healing that she's received, she freely uses to give hope and courage to others.

She's famous for saying, "You always have a choice - to be Bitter or Better." And when faith is small, or non-existent, I can't even tell you how many times I've heard her quietly say, "God has a good track record."

Mom is a consummate optimist. And she raised us in an optimistic home. If she's sick and you ask her how she's doing, her response is always "Well - I've taken DayQuil and had some orange juice, so I know I'll be feeling better soon!"


Technically, Mom was a "statistic."

She came from a broken home.

       Was raised by a single mom.

              And things happened to her when she was younger that we don't often talk about.

However, Mom refused to become a "statistic."

She (along with Dad & God) formed a rock-solid home for her own children

       Became the best mom, cheerleader, support system and friend, to not just her own three children, but many other people's children as well

              And she allowed her story of abuse and healing, to be the light at the end of countless other women's tunnels

And in the year between last Mother's Day and this, she sent me off with her blessing to a foreign country. 

Mom,

The roots of the tree that I wear around my neck every single day, symbolize the faith and love that you and Dad instilled in me. And the reason I can wear this tree with joy and confidence, is because of your faithful prayers during that dark time period in my life. 

You give me the courage to continue doing what God has asked. You faithfully pray for me. You laugh at my funny stories, and you cry on Skype with me when my heart is breaking. And you still use the word "when" instead of "if" when talking about my life-dreams that I've given up on.

I consider there to be no greater compliment than when people say, "You're just like your mom," because I want to be like you when I grow up.

Happy Mother's Day, most precious of women <3

All my love,

Me

Also - This Trip to PANAMA Happened!

So, our last trip for visa runs, was a total bust... THIS trip. AMAZING in Every Single Way.

 Our plane tickets... looked more like a ticket to get into a museum

Turns out, the plane was tiny enough to warrant tiny tickets!

The patchwork quilt hills of Costa Rica

More stunning beauty from the sky

Kayaking in the Carribean Sea!

Shadows on the outgoing tides

Palm tree roots

Gorgeous drift wood on the beach

Hamburgers as big as my face!

Kayaking and missing Evan

Drinks on the dock

Happy and thankful

DOLPHINS!!! Out on the sea, playing around our little boat... a direct answer to prayer, and a showing of how God loves me extravagantly -- and cares about my deep down desires.

Stunning contrast in colors

Goodbye, Panama

Hello, San Jose <3