count it all JOY.

Late last night I found myself unexpectedly weeping in Steven’s arms.

We were having one of those “right before you fall asleep” discussions that started out quite normal. We were talking for the thousandth time about whether we should buy a motorcycle or car when we get to Thailand. (Steven has been advocating for a motorcycle since day one and I have been just as stubborn in making my appeal for a car. Who wants to go get groceries on a motorcycle? Not me.)

Here was the scene:
Me: “I really want a car. I don’t want to run errands on a motorcycle. That is scary and really intimidating, Steven. And what if we have a baby? Then what am I going to do? Strap our newborn on my back, hop on the bike and ride to the store? I don’t think so.”

Steven: “Babe, we’ll just have to wait and see. I just think a motorcycle is a good first step for us.”

Me: “Motorcycles are dangerous! You really need to think about my safety. You don’t care about it the way my dad does.”

Steven: “Yes, I do.” (I think he started to sense what I was feeling because at this point he pulled me closer)

Me: “ What am I going to do when my daddy is so far away? (insert tears here).”

Steven: (hugs me even tighter)

Me: “Oh, Steven... I AM GOING TO MISS MY DAD SO MUCH.”

And so, the weeping began. A gut-wrenching, let-it-all-out, deep, painful sob. One that admitted how much I was hurting. The type of sob that gives yourself freedom to express the pain.

And you know what? It felt so good.

One of the things that Steven and I have started to do recently is grieve. It may seem weird to some, but it has begun a really healthy process for us both. We are beginning to understand that "preparing to go" and "preparing to leave" are completely different things. "Preparing to go" gets us excited and pumped. "Preparing to leave" makes my heart heavy and my stomach upset. We realized that we have been so focused on getting to Thailand that we haven't allowed ourselves the freedom to be sad about all we are leaving behind. It's like we kept telling ourselves things like...
"Suck it up."
"There's no time to be sad."
"Just don't think about it."
"Deal with it later."

And maybe the worst one yet,

"This shouldn't be hard. We have no right to be sad. This was our choice."

But the reality is, this is hard. And even though we are excited about what lies ahead, that doesn't mean we don't feel this deep ache in our hearts about leaving. And as "unmissionary" as it may be to confess our struggle in our decision to serve God overseas, the truth of the matter is we do.

People always tell us what fun we'll have or how jealous they are of what we are doing. We always politely agree, but never tell them how we really feel...or how they would really feel if they were in our position. Because the truth of the matter is, it's not fun selling your things. It's not fun trying to pack your life into 2 suitcases. It's not fun missing out on holidays, birthdays, and family gatherings.
And it's definitely not fun thinking about saying goodbye to everyone we've ever loved and cared about.

Why would anyone be jealous of that?

The process of really admitting all these things to ourselves came a couple of weeks ago. We were doing a session about grief and loss during our training in Colorado. Our leader encouraged us to think about the specific losses in our lives that will inevitably happen with moving overseas. Our loss of identity, our homes, our support systems, our safety, our dreams. He had us write them all down, admit them before the Lord and grieve them together. As a community. Normally, we grieve alone. In our rooms. Behind closed doors. This time, he wanted us to experience the gift of grieving together as a community. With people who were going through the exact same emotions that we were. People who understood the paradox of being extremely excited and sad all at the same time.

And wow, what a breakthrough. For all of us.

We, all 50 of us--going to over 20 different countries all over the world, sat in a circle and shared our pains, fears, losses and confessions out loud with one another.

"I'm leaving behind my dream of a life. I'm no longer able to do what is "normal" for me. I'm leaving my hope of family behind. I'm accepting a life alone. It hurts."

"I am going from being my mom's favorite person in the world to her deepest pain."

"I dont want to watch my kids grow through pain. You are asking me to release my goals and pick up yours."

"God, it really hurts that I have to leave my family. I feel like I'm not myself when I'm not with them and they don't seem complete without me. Help me to know, feel and believe that you are my strength, my parents' strength, my sister's strength, my grandparents strength, my friends' strength."

"What if we leave as a family of 5 and come back less?"

"God, it's too hard watching my family suffer as we separate. I don't want to miss anything. I don't want to give up my mom, my dad, my brother, my sisters, my best friends. This is too hard."

"I'm going to miss seeing my nieces and nephews grow up."

"Jesus, I forgive you for letting me go through this alone, but knowing you're at my side truly makes me complete. Knowing you have other plans for me is daunting but I'm letting go and letting you."

Pretty soon the room was full of tears. Because as you saw different people stand up and share their personal losses, you deeply empathized with them because you were feeling the same loss. And in that moment, I began to feel normal. Understood. Not alone. It was there that Steven and I found such strength in our weakness.

"I trust that home will be where You are. I trust that there is more blessing in the unknown than the yellow house with a white picket fence."

"We feel like my goodbye to our grandparents is like saying 'see you in heaven'. And we selfishly want You to take them before we go, so we don't have to grieve their loss alone in Thailand."

"Why did You give us such great families that make it so hard to say goodbye to?"

"I give up my dream of the farm, the security of a job, the desire to live close to family. Your will, not mine."

So this is where we're at. Steven and I are learning to grieve. We are learning that when the sad moments come to not push them away. We are learning to be unashamed of our grieving and to welcome its sanctification. We are learning that in order to say "hello" well in Thailand, we have to say "goodbye" well here. And we are learning to cling to James 1:2-4...

"Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds,
for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness.
And let steadfastness have its full effect,
that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing."

My dear SPLICE community, may we count it ALL JOY. The goodbyes, the tears, the pain, the fears. May we grow in our faith through our grief and know the love and sacrifice of our Lord Jesus more deeply because of it.

Psalm 30:5b Weeping may last through the night,
but joy comes with the morning.

A transformed life.

It all started two weeks ago in a small-town, Colorado coffee shop. A bunch of us girls decided to go grab coffee together after an exhausting first week at Mission Training.

To us, it was just another Saturday. To God, it was the beginning of something beautiful. Little did we know that God was going to invite us in to see and experience His power like we never had before.

Her name is Sara.

And she was working at the coffee shop that day. As we walked in, she noticed our smiles, our joy and they way we carried ourselves with an inner confidence. She later told us that she had seen the power of God within us and knew we had something valuable.

Sara has lived a hard life. A young, single mother. A recovering alcoholic and drug addict. An ex-dancer with a torn up body. A wandering girl, looking for answers.

Unknown to us, God had been working mightily in her life that past week. From anonymous envelopes of money showing up on her door step to pay the bills, to random lyrics touching the innermost parts of her soul. Sara knew that God was trying to get her attention--as scary as that was to her. Naturally, you can imagine her reaction when a bunch of missionaries randomly walked into her coffee shop that Saturday morning. She knew it was another blatant act from God and something in her heart told her she could no longer ignore it.

And so, as we were leaving the coffee shop, Sara nervously rushed up to us. She explained that she had a lot of questions about God and that she couldn't let us leave without asking if she could talk with us.

And so it began.

Our two week journey with her. Lots of late nights listening to her struggles, her past hurts, her deep questions. Lots of conversations over God's extravagant love for her, what it means to be forgiven, and how becoming a Christian is more than just saying a prayer.

How it's a transformed life.

It's the power of God at work within you. It's His desires becoming yours. It's admitting you've gone astray and crawling back to His throne of grace. It's less of you, more of God. It's faith like a child, holding on to new mercies every morning, being in awe of the character and love of God.

And somewhere in the midst of all this, Sara began to change. God was grabbing hold of her heart and renewing her mind. We saw her struggle, yet only to be met with His grace. We saw her discover who she was in Christ, a new creation made for His glory. We saw her embrace forgiveness, understanding it better than so many of us.

We saw Sara come to know Jesus, falling in love with His love.

A week or so after meeting with her, she came over to read us a letter she had written to God. Still unsure of how to pray, we had encouraged her to write down what God was teaching her. We didn't know what she would write, but told her to be honest and vulnerable. We knew God would delight in whatever she wrote, but had no idea how deep and impactful her words would be.

This is what she shared with us.

God,
Who am I? Without you I am nothing. Dead in my transgressions and sins. A follower of my sinful nature and human desires. An object of wrath. A lost hopeless little girl. A wandering creature of darkness. A soul that is always searching, never finding, a soul that is dead. Empty and wanting, lonely, and desperate to feel alive. That’s what I am.

The faith I have is very small, GOD but it is pure. Please, I BEG you! Help me to find the faith of a child. Not doubting or questioning your truth with my polluted mind. God, I know so little about who you are. Show me! I want to know you. I want to experience every bit of who you are.

You are perfect, I know that. And I’m just me, Sara. I’m a sinner, I’ve sinned so much and I will sin again. I am human and therefore innately this way. Thank you, Jesus, for creating me as a human so that I could worship you. So that I could truly appreciate how incredible you are. I am so humbled that you sought me out! YOU PICKED ME! You! The beginning and end of EVERYTHING wanted ME! You said in the Bible, "I was found by those who did not seek me; I revealed myself to those who did not ask for me". Thank you for revealing yourself to me. Thank you for washing away my sin so that I can talk to you like this, right now. Your grace is incomprehensible.

Your love is amazing, wondrous. You sent your only son, Jesus, down from heaven, to die by crucifixion...the most dreaded, gory, and disgraceful execution ever conceived...all so that I could have a way to know you! And God, you didn't stop there. No way, not you! Then you said, "What more? What else? I want you to depend on me throughout your life on earth. I want to take all of your burdens on my shoulders. I want to take care of you, Sara." What love is that? Not any love I know of on this earth. God, Your love is unfathomable.

I AM YOURS GOD! You are my Savior, I believe that. Help me, God, to make you Lord of my life. I don't even know where to begin. God, come into my soul live right here in my heart...you have shown me that its where you want to be. You sought me out and you trust me enough that you want your spirit in me. I welcome you with a humbleness I cannot explain in words, but that I know you see in my heart. This girl was created for your glory, so here I am. Unworthy and sinful but ready for you. I am not my own! You bought me at a price. And a price no one could possibly measure. I abandon me God, I give who I was to you, and now God I ask that you show me who you created me to be.

I love you, and… I love the way you love me.
Sara

Wow, God.

I am humbled. What a privilege to watch God mightily work in her life. I couldn't believe that a week prior Sara had had no concept of God. She had never read the Bible, never stepped foot in a church, never even acknowledged the existence of God. To see Him reveal such depth to her has built up my faith. I am learning it is God who rescues, not me.

I am encouraged. Since that letter, Sara keeps discovering new things about God and can't seem to get enough. Within a week, she had read multiple books of the Bible and has been teaching me things about faith in God. I am learning from a new sister in Christ.

I am refreshed. She hungers for the Word of God much more than I do. Seeing her revel in the truths of the Gospel has made me do the same. I am learning to remember my first love--the saving power of faith in Christ Jesus.

What a honor to watch God's heavy pursuit of Sara. I am so thankful for such an eternal purpose--to be a part of His work here on earth.

Knowing Sara and being a small part of her journey with God makes me excited for the rest of my life. Thailand or no Thailand, God is at work everywhere, all the time. What a joy it is to see Him continue to transform my life, but also the lives of those around me. What a blessing it is to know and serve this great God, with whom all things are possible.