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I have had severe writer’s block, for weeks, with this idea/post. I’m tired of it swimming around in my head. So, although it might be incomplete or disjointed, I’m publishing it now.

I had an epiphany last night. Oooo, I love those. I realized that if I would stop having expectations with other people, then they wouldn’t let me down. If I stopped expecting things from people or for them to act a certain way, then I wouldn’t be disappointed in them.

I realized that that must be what defines unconditional love. Then I realized that that is how I needed to start viewing myself. I judge myself quite severely.

For most of my life I’ve felt defined as a singer. Not as a person who loved to sing but as, just a singer. If I messed up in singing a song, I failed in who I was. It was a horrible place to put myself. If I wasn’t singing, I wasn’t fulfilling who I was meant to be. If I wasn’t at the top of my list of accomplishing “all things I want to do and places I want to go” with singing, then I wasn’t complete.

I feel closest to God when I’m singing on stage at church and most complete when I’m singing, anywhere. However, I was getting to the point, before and after singing, of being unnerved with how I did because it wasn’t the best.

Being ONLY a singer was killing the value that I should have placed within myself. Having unrealistic expectations was killing the unconditional love that I should have had for those around me.

Once I realized that my problem resided in the expectations I had on myself and others, I quickly learned how to dissolve the issue.

In this seemingly simple act of change, I’ve lifted another incredible burden off of my shoulders. The difference I feel, in singing (whether it’s at home for an hour or at church), is tremendous. I’m not held captive to the feeling of being a failure if I make a mistake because I’m not just a singer. I’m a person that loves to sing. I’m a wife, a mom, a daughter, a sister, a friend, a mentor… that just loves to sing. This change has also lifted a burden off of people around me, whether they knew they were carrying this burden or not. If my family and friends failed in my expectations for them, then they were failing me. Now that I’ve dissolved those expectations, I feel I’m now free to love unconditionally.

No expectations = Unconditional love.

Several months ago, a friend of mine told me he was going to Afghanistan. As my eyelids shaped my eyes into spheres, I said, “I could never go there. People are always talking about humanitarian work in Africa and the Middle East and those are the two places that scare me the most.”

I was raised in a neighborhood where Caucasian was the minority. For the first sixteen years of my life, I grew to completely understand what racism was, from a very different perspective than the norm. Once we moved to a more Caucasian-populated area, I felt as if I was still the minority because I’d grown accustomed to feeling like I had Hispanic, African-American and Filipino roots.

I know what it feels like to, not only, be singled out because I’m white, but to be singled out because I’m female. Both of those, in and of themselves, are extremely terrifying to me. I used to carry a pocket knife to school in Junior High. Junior High! I was twelve years old and so fearful of harm coming to me, I would carry a weapon with me to stab a potential attacker. Why would I want to go to Africa and the Middle East and be singled out like that again? Especially when the media shares horrific stories of attacks in these places, over and over again. Why would I want to put a target on my chest and, essentially, scream out, “Here I am, you Violators of Women, you Haters of Americans, come get me! I dare you!”

Since my friend shared his story of going to Afghanistan, something began stirring in me. For the last several months, I’ve actually felt my heart becoming soft and intensely empathetic to the people of Afghanistan. I’ve reflected, over and over, on the fear I have of harm coming to me and the lack of faith I have in God if I ever had a chance to go to this country. I’ve cried, so many tears, as story after story of God providing a water well and a school and other supplies for these people in the desolate refugee town of Barek Aub. I’ve become attached to the familiar faces shown in pictures and videos as team after team travel from our church and help these people establish freedom after Russian and Taliban invasions have killed their family and friends and/or maimed many of them. The “least” of their problems has been a complete and total crush of hope… until our church became involved. The other day, someone shared how, for years, the Afghan people prayed to their god to bring water to their town. When we prayed to God, they got their well.

Our church is putting together it’s third and final trip of the year with a medical trip to Afghanistan. I applied to go and have an interview tomorrow morning. I have never been more passionate about doing something and more overwhelmed by fear, in my entire life.

Since deciding to go (once Jase gave his blessing, of course), I’ve been daily consumed with the pain the Afghan people have had to endure, the struggle they live with everyday and the fear a trip of this magnitude brings. I’ve also been consumed with wanting to share my life with these people.

How can I teach people (especially my own children) about Jesus’ love and passion for people, from the comfort of my free country, air-conditioned home and way-above-poverty income status? How can I show love when I’m almost a world away? How can I show faith in this God I serve if I never live that faith?

The more I try to write off the feelings of going, the more overwhelmed I am with a push to go.

If you pray to God, please pray for me and my family.

• I am very aware of the toll a trip like this will take on me and my loved ones as I’ll be gone for ten days.
• I’m aware of the danger I’m placing myself in.
• From fruitlessly trying to raise money as a teenager for fundraisers to fruitlessly trying to raise money as an adult for a couple of mission trips and given the state of the economy, I understand the struggle it will be to raise the funds.

Given that knowledge and the fact that I believe in a God that loves these people and dislikes what they are going through and longs for His people to share a message of hope and love and help these people attain stability on their own:

How can I do anything but take a step forward and trust?

I first heard about Invisible Children (IC) in 2004. I was living in Alabama at the time and since this was a hometown, San Diego, organization, I thought that I could only help from afar, by word-of-mouth.

Living in Colorado, I first got involved with Invisible Children in April 2006. The event was called Global Night Communte (GNC). I had been wanting, so desperately, to actually do something that I jumped at the chance to spend the night, in some strange downtown Denver park, with only my six year old son, Malakai, and our sleeping bags. I don’t feel I’m making a legitimate change in this world unless I can bring my family, my own children, with me in the plight. My children have such an amazing road of change before them. They learn best when actually experiencing change.

Me and Malakai: IC's GNC, April 2006. (Denver, Colorado)

IC's GNC, April 2006. (Denver, Colorado)

The second time I joined in an event with Invisible Children, it was for DisplaceMe in April 2007. This journey was a little more interesting, given the fact that I was now almost eight months pregnant with Cali and we would basically be hiking about a mile to our final location, while trying to balance water bottles and crackers, cardboard box “homes”, sleeping bags and my humongo belly. The numerous middle-of-the-night trips to the bathroom to pee, a quarter of a mile away from our “home”, through a field of potholes, in the dark, was very humbling. This time my nephew, Clay, came along with me and Malakai.

Clay, Malakai and me (with Cali protruding from my belly): IC's DisplaceMe, April 2007. (Parker, Colorado)

Just a small portion of those that attended our displaced camp. IC's DisplaceMe, April 2007. (Parker, Colorado)

Our rationed water, handed out when organizers saw fit. IC's DisplaceMe, April 2007. (Parker, Colorado)

Our rationed "dinner", handed out when the organizers saw fit. IC's DisplaceMe, April 2007. (Parker, Colorado)

Our shelter for the night. IC's DisplaceMe, April 2007. (Parker, Colorado)

Invisible Children is doing again. On April 25, 2009, thousands of people in 9 countries and 100 cities take part in abducting themselves and calling attention to over 300 children abducted to fight in a murderous rebellion army.

If you have a heart to change the world. I highly suggest you start by watching this video**. Jase and I don’t have money to help out every organization we attach our heart to.

However, we DO have time.

We have a voice.

We have limbs/a country/vehicles/freedom to actually take action with.

We have our own children and other youth, that look up to us to lead by example.

We have our own children, and other impressionable youth, that won’t ever have to fear being abducted by gun-toting rebels who pierce into camps and rape, pillage and kill in the middle of the night, or day.

I dare you to watch this video**. I dare you to take action. I dare you to spread the word as far as you can.

Let’s teach our children, the next generation of leaders, about those that have become Invisible. Let’s help those who have no voice/no country/no freedom of their own.

Put your apathy on the back burner.

**Disclaimer: The video is amazing and life-changing in and of itself, but it’s full of graphic imagery/audio/photos surrounding the effects of war. In regard to younger viewers, do with that as you will.

Does your past bury you or carry you?

In my life, for the most part, I’ve let my past carry me. I’ve let it be the fuel for my passion for life and people. I’ve let situations that would normally smother someone, breathe life into me. Since 1996, when I gave my life to following God, I’ve seemed a champion, a conqueror, of my unpleasant (sometimes horrendous) past. If I felt memories starting to drown me, I’d just absorb myself into something new.

Lately, something is changing in me. I’m realizing that I’m not so much a champion as much as I am a survivor. I’m still learning how to survive my past and not let it bury me. There have been times that my past has been a hazard, a hurdle, that has seemed too difficult to leap over, too tough a task to overcome. Guilt over a friend killing himself and another being murdered, the trauma of having been taken advantage of time and time again can sometimes reduce me to nothing but a shell of a person.

Would I change anything from the history that now seems to define the passionate, loving person I am today? I don’t know. There is so much that is ingrained into the foundation of who I am. So much of what I consider trauma allows me to empathize and understand people that others would walk on and ignore. So much of what disgusts me from my past allows me to protect my children in ways I never would have originally dreamed of needing protection. So much of the guilt from my past pushes me to never give in, never give up, never surrender in the fight for my own life and the fight for the lives around me.

Would I sacrifice the momentary pain, that sometimes still lingers, and the extraordinary love and compassion I have for people by changing my past? I think not.

I choose to allow my past to pave a path for my future and in the legacy I leave behind in the generations of life to come.

This is what I know: I sang at my church this past weekend and the set list was amazing and VERY moving, particularly with one song, “Healer”. When I started practicing this set list last week, I knew it was going to be an extraordinary weekend to help in leading worship. My problem, though, was that I had to stop practicing, several times, because I was coughing so bad. I’ve been sick for the last few weeks and to the point of partially losing my voice, several times. My throat was extremely scratchy and my voice felt like it would fall silent at any moment. I have been singing in public since 1990 and leading worship since 1997 and have never felt as determined and scared to be singing on a church stage. I’ve gone to many churches with strange people and strange religious practices. I’ve seen those close to me, dying of a disease and be prayed over for healing, only to still die. Because of this, I’ve lost my confidence in praying for God to take action in the form of healing. I’ve grown in doubt that maybe our prayers don’t really make a difference. I love God. I trust in Him. I’ve just lost confidence in asking Him to do what “inconsequential” me is asking for. However, I just felt something huge was going to happen this weekend at church and, ironically, the most moving song for me was, “Healer.” I wanted to sing this song from our church stage SO incredibly bad but have never had such a horrible issue with my voice in all my life. It was a strange place to be in and it freaked me out. I started praying for God to heal my throat/voice. In complete and total surrender and belief I prayed that, like the song, God would heal me so I could sing for Him and to Him.

This is also what I know: When I was on stage yesterday and Saturday, I never had to cough, I never had a scratch in my throat and I didn’t feel a hint of sickness. If I messed up at any of the five services, it was due to my lack in confidence. I was so fearful that my voice would give up on me, I’d end up pulling back or not singing certain parts. When I did sing with confidence, my voice felt stronger than ever. When I was backstage and on my way home Saturday night and Sunday afternoon, the coughing fits came back, my throat was raw and scratchy and my voice felt unstable again. Today, I feel sicker than I did last week. I’ve been coughing up stuff since I woke up, my nose won’t stop running, my lungs feel heavy with gunk and my voice is back to being unstable.

I write all this to share that I feel God showed me a miracle this weekend. He does heal. God does answer prayer.

I’m going to leave the lyrics to the song that helped me see that God truly does hear us and answer us but before I do, I want to comment on the song itself. “Healer” was written by Michael Guglielmucci and recorded onto a Hillsong DVD last year. Last week, when I saw the set list, I looked up the song on Google because I’d never heard of it before. I found the Hillsong video of it on Youtube and was blown away by the power of the song and the guy singing it. Michael was leading this song with an oxygen tube in his nostrils and he wrote it based on the terminal cancer he said he had. As tears were streaming down my face while watching the video, I noticed another video in the “related videos” on the right. A title caught my eye, “Healer (Cancer Faked) Mike Guglielmucci”. My eyes opened as wide as possible and my jaw dropped as I breathed out a shocked, “No…”. Sure enough, Michael shared in an interview that he had deceived everyone in his life, including his parents and wife, with his two year claim of having terminal cancer. He didn’t have cancer. He fabricated this story to cover up the fact that he was and is addicted to porn and felt that the cancer story would take the focus off of his true problem.

When I first read this story, I was pissed. I was duped again by some religious freak who caused me to believe his lie with his moving story and oxygen-tubed sickness. I wondered if it would be a good idea to sing this song at Flatirons and immediately had the answer. Yes. Yes, it is a good idea to sing this song. Although Michael stated that the song was written because of his cancer, it still “works” even knowing that his true sickness is with sexual lust, not with any physical sickness. This song was still written by a guy that was/is suffering. It’s an amazing song written by someone who was, and is, longing for God to heal him. The song is still true, whether it’s for cancer or lust, and it’s still true for me and many others who deal with other things they want healing from. No matter if the sickness is lust, cancer, depression, alcoholism, or any other negative malady, this song is still valid. I know “Healer” changed lives this weekend. It changed mine.

“Healer”

You hold my every moment
You calm my raging seas
You walk with me through fire
And heal all my disease

I trust in You
I trust in You

I believe You’re my Healer
I believe You are all I need
I believe You’re my Portion
I believe You’re more than enough for me
Jesus You’re all I need

Nothing is impossible for You
Nothing is impossible for You
Nothing is impossible for You
You hold my world in Your hands

Beating Heart

Hopeful Future

On the heels of feeling offended the other day, I realize I wasn’t. Not in comparison to this…

Offense

1 a: obsolete : an act of stumbling b: archaic : a cause or occasion of sin : stumbling block
2 something that outrages the moral or physical senses
3 a: the act of attacking : assault b: the means or method of attacking or of attempting to score c: the offensive team or members of a team playing offensive positions d: scoring ability
4 a: the act of displeasing or affronting b: the state of being insulted or morally outraged
5 a: a breach of a moral or social code : sin , misdeed b: an infraction of law ; especially : misdemeanor

I am sick of the way women are viewed, lustfully, by men.

I just read this and this, as well as the comments, and now I feel like I need a trash can to vomit in or a burka for when I leave the house later or a hazmat detox rinse. Reading these posts and their twisted comments quickly reminded me why sexual humor, focused on objectifying women, makes me feel like I never want to leave the house or expose my innocent daughters to anything resembling a testosterone-filled life form.

I am floored that men involved in youth ministry, reaching out to hurting, confused female teenagers can find humor in a cartoon focused on lusting after women as objects. What’s next? Laughing as some guy gets his kicks, raping some girl who “asked for it” while on stage at church? WTH?

Yeah, this struck an extremely sensitive nerve with me and I am furious that the president of Youth Specialties can be so insensitive (especially given the fact that this isn’t the first time this subject matter was the basis for humor with him). I am outraged that men in a position of such trust can laugh along at the disgust of lust and it’s hindrance to our relationship with God. Some fools even brought the I.Q. low enough to laugh about the possibility of porn and Playboy being used in church at some point.

As a girl who was molested by an uncle when she was eight years old, molested by a brother numerous times as a teen, raped by a stranger at fifteen and having woken up numerous times from drug and alcohol-induced slumber only to find myself being taken advantage of by perverts, time and time again; I.AM.ANGRY, to read the contempt, the catcalls and jeering by these pathetic men.

As I read the definitions for the word “offense”, above, I couldn’t help but see that these callous men fall right into the category of causing a severe offense, in every sense of the word.

Of course this is based on a cartoon, but it isn’t the “cartoon” that is causing the sickening remarks and the snickering… it’s the real life story behind it. The truth of it, the potential of what that truth can/may become one day in a place of Holy protection and safety for the people suffering in painful silence and judgment. As long as this subject matter is laughable, particularly with youth workers, the hurdle of helping guys that are suffering with lustful thoughts and caring for the girls being viewed and treated as objects, will always be an extremely difficult challenge.

There is a person behind that skin that you want to caress and stare at all day and laugh at as she is being raped by praying preying eyes. A person, with pain and trauma and confusion and naivety on what makes her beautiful and what makes her desirable. A person that, when her beauty fades and her skin is barely hanging onto her bones, will wonder if she was ever truly respected, ever truly loved for who she was and who she now is.

I love the NYWC and read about a talk given by Shane Claiborne. I’ve bounced around on some of the blogs giving recounts of this session and I couldn’t believe some of the feedback. People were actually pissed that he spoke from the bible… only. There was so much expectation from people who wanted to hear about him and his life journey but when he started reading straight from the bible they kept thinking he’d stop at any moment and give his own reflection on it all. It’s just amazing to me that we’ve become a society where youth workers are know-it-alls, “I know this”, “I’ve read that verse a hundred times”. Some people were so focused on Shane stopping at any moment that they completely missed his entire point. Sure, anyone could read straight from the bible but they completely missed the opportunity of hearing the Sermon on the Mount, in all it’s entirety, because they were so eager in hearing this guy’s opinion and autobiography. In that moment, they felt Shane’s life was more important than grasping the actual words (of Jesus) coming from his mouth. If we become like this, then what is the purpose of the bible? Why have a bible at all? If a verse is read once, is it set in our hearts and memory forever? Is it never applicable to our life again? Are our lives so redundant that verses become incapable of variant meaning at different stages of life?

How utterly profound that we go places, expecting God to speak to us, expecting to learn more about Jesus, yet when someone reads Jesus’ actual words, it’s considered an irritant and boring.