An ache, a crazy prayer, and the joy of giving

One upon a time, a young girl prayed,

“Break my heart for what breaks yours.”

And she ended up in Africa.  She has an amazing story to tell, and I encourage you to read it.

One of Katie's kids, nursed back to health.
read more here

It is not a calm story, or a safe story, or a tame story. It is a story of the love of Christ poured out on to others in Uganda.  It is a story of being unsettled and uprooted.  It is a story of love.

Love is not stable. it is not calm and placid.  It is not predictable.  Love suffers, love upsets the normal order of things. Love is passion--love is dancing with those who dance, and aching with those who ache. Love gets hurt. Love gets wounded.

Love is vulnerable. 

Love often looks like weakness.

Yet it is so much more dynamic and beautiful and alive than a life of soma, a life of worldly, selfish happiness. 

Jesus, break my heart for what breaks yours.

I read Katie's story this summer, and it refuses to leave me. Reading her words led to more reading, and learning, and aching for those in this world who have so little.

And I look around here, at our abundance, the blessings that fill our home and our house so full that they spill over, get in our way, and even drive me crazy. 

Jesus, can I do something?  I know I can't fix it all, but can you use me to help, even just a little?

I thought about my vocation, and how there seems to be nothing left over of me for anything outside this house.  How can a person with nothing left give something?

Then, I thought about our home, and how well we are provided for by my husband and those who love us.  Then, I thought about my hobby- the writing I do in this place, and I thought about my husband who encourages me to write, yet refuses to kill the joy of it by pressuring me to turn this hobby into a career.

Words. I can give my words.

I can donate the profits from my new book.

And like a little girl asking her dad for permission to buy a puppy, I asked my husband what he thought of that idea. He thought it was wonderful.

I get to give. 

It may not be much, but it is something.

(I chose Project 24 in Kenya. Click here to find out why)

Maybe I can help just one.

Photo from childrenwithnoone.org

Perhaps you'd like to join me?

Read more about Project 24 here.

Tend to Me: Devotions for Mothers

Now Available on Amazon

Advent Ache

There has long been an ache in me for those in impoverished countries, but I have done my best to fight it. 

Those thoughts seem like they could lead to scary places, and I just feel more comfortable keeping that box shut.

I mean, if I open it, God might make me do something about it.

He might ask me to give something.

He might make me uncomfortable with what I have.

He might ask me to given even more. 

He might ask me to give too much.

He might ask for everything.

And everyone knows, I already have enough to do, and the things I have to do right now, I don’t even do them that well—God knows I require a heaping mound of grace each day, each week, to soothe myself after I have failed to love those around me, again.  I am spread thin already, just loving and serving the people in my own home, and doing church stuff, and managing our abundance.

I can’t handle another thing.

Besides, I can’t fix it. I can’t really do anything substantial to ease the suffering of people thousands of miles away. 

photo from childrenwithnoone.org

So what’s the point of looking beyond my home, or beyond  my country, and aching for the things that go on there? Can’t I just hide from the headlines, from the mission work, and keep on gasping my way through the work in front of me, just  doing what I do in my tiny corner of the world?

But, God said no. I am not allowed to hide, he said.

I must pray.

And praying?

That led to thinking. And reading. And learning.

And I feel my heart getting achingly bigger.

Do you feel this ache?

What do you do with it?

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Coming Soon: 

Tend to Me: Devotions for Mothers

by Emily Cook

Read more here