in the wee hours.

The sun did not want to leave this evening. It was as if he was holding on to this day with every grain of his being, lighting the sky on fire in his struggle to stay. Ah, but evening gently crept in, persuading the sun to let go in the end, assuring him that tomorrow would come when he could again blaze and shine forth. Relenting, he rode to the west, and in her ever gentle hand, evening softened her canvass with pale lavender, blues, and pinks of every shade. She allowed the stars to come dancing forth, laughing and winking at the dim earth. I love her, more than any other time of day, for she teaches me with her coming, to wait patiently for the morning. And what glories await in the morning!


There is something magical about the morning, before the sun has rubbed the sleep from his eyes and night is becoming ever softer. Night, just before the morning, is a much friendlier version of itself than the night that has a firm hand on the time between 10-4. The night that I greet so often in those wee hours just after four, begs to be known. It wants to be talked to or talked in. It assures me somehow, that my prayers are unhindered, if a bit groggy. It is in this pre-morning night, that I find the face of my God, that I discover sitting at His feet is the only place I want to be in the whole world. What is it about this time of the "day" that ushers in the stillness of He whom my soul loves, more than any other time of the day? It's quite astounding and beautiful and humbling. 


This is what I'm pondering in the dark of the night as I sit and think over my day. I'm pondering the joys that await with each new morning, with each day that I walk with my Jesus. I'm thinking of the oil of gladness that He was anointed with and I'm anticipating finding this in just a few hours. For to know Him is to be filled with joy unimaginable! 

a splash of red. a story without words.

little girl.

She was six years old. She wore thick rimmed glasses, that made her slanted eyes look all the more prominent. Her eyes were clouded, and even through the thick glass, I could tell that it was hard for her to see. Her mouth was slightly deformed and her black hair was pulled into thin pony tails. She was not beautiful.

I had many beautiful, delicate little girls in my class. They flitted here and there, like decorated butterflies, understanding that to the world, they were lovely. Most of them were as lovely on the inside as on the outside, and I loved each one that danced into my class. They would grab my hands, vying for attention, saying, "Seongsangnim (teacher), look! Look!" And I would look at whatever they had to show me that day.

She was different, however. She tried her best to blend into the background, not wanting to be noticed. Her clothes were not pretty and everything about her screamed how unlike all the other little girls she was. And from the first moment I laid eyes on her, from the first moment she entered my life, I looked into her beautiful, cloudy eyes and saw my Father. For the first time, I felt His heart and met one of the many who will be royalty in Heaven. I looked on this tiny student of mine, and I found that I did not just love her with a human love, I loved her with His heart. I loved her because when I went to bed each night, I ached and cried out to Him for her. And gently, in the dark of the night, when I thought my heart was breaking, He wrapped His arms around me and whispered, "If you ache for her, if you've begun to bear my love for her, it is only in the smallest measure. For as much as you ache, as much as you yearn for her soul to know me, I ache and yearn 100 times beyond that. Beloved, cry for her soul, desire that she knows who I am, and realize that she is only one of millions. If you want my heart, if you want my love, begin to hurt for them all." And in the dark of the night, the very core of who I was began to change.

It was not until weeks later, as I watched her begin to blossom and come out of the shell she had hidden in so long, that I found out she was going blind. It would only be few short years before her world went dark and there was nothing anyone could do to prevent it. Oh, perhaps somewhere out there was a doctor who could preform a "miracle" surgery on her, preventing the darkness from closing in, but this was not an option because of the family she came from. So, I wept and wondered why. Each night I lay there, hurting with the knowledge of what was coming for her and my Father gently whispered, "Do not hurt for the darkness that is coming. Hurt for the eternal darkness that will take her if she grows and never knows me. Hurt, ache, yearn, but do this all for her precious soul. For in physical darkness there can be found light. Pray that, though the darkness may come to her eyes, her heart may find me and in me the light she will see will be as bright as the noon day sun."

So, this is what I pleaded and prayed for. Each day she sat in my class and learned about the God who loved her beyond all comprehension. Each day she repeated the verses from the Word, which cuts like a sword through the darkness. And each night I fought in the unseen for her soul to know Him.

It has been seven years since I left Korea. It has been seven years since I last saw the little girl who began my journey to truly understand how to carry my Father's heart for someone. I know that by now, unless the Lord saw fit to prevent it, her world has physically grown dark. I have no idea where she is or what she's doing. I have no idea if she is growing to know Him, but I do know that I still ache for her. I still love her with that deep, abiding love that I have come to understand, only comes from carrying His heart for someone. For she was only the first and there have been many since. I pray there will be a great many more as I continue to learn daily to not love from only a human perspective, but from His.

So, I am wondering tonight, who your "little girl" is? Who are you aching for, not because of love alone, but for the love of the Father, who asks you to cry out for their soul? We are called, as the body of Christ to be His hands and feet to the least, the vulnerable, the dying. We are called to love as He loves and in doing so, it means opening not only our hearts but our very lives to whomever He places before us. Are we willing? Are we willing to give up the nice house, the nice car, the nice possessions we have and utterly spend ourselves for those He is calling us to? This is not someone else's problem. This is not something we can neatly brush under the rug and have it go away. No! This is a war and as His hands we are called to fight! We are called to anguish over the lost and dying, who have no hope, no future, no light, because we are comfortably sitting in our homes in suburbia, doing nothing! Oh God, may we understand, may we come to know the full measure of your heart for these little ones and may it utterly and irrevocably change our in most beings.

This is what I desire, I desire to remember my little korean girl every single day because of who she is and who she represents. I desire to be so anguished over the children I hear about, the children who are hunted each night by those who would steal their innocents, the children who are brutally ripped from their families and sold into untold horrors, the children who are taken unborn, with no chance to live, the children living out their childhood in the foster care system, the children who are sitting on the side of the road all over the world, alone, lost, without hope, and I desire that I would not sit here and do nothing. I want to love them so much that I would willingly die for any one of them, because He loves them and He died for them.

What do you desire?

i am small.

The sky is blue and the clouds are rolling in over the mountains. They are stark and clear, jutting up from the earth like proud giants, pointing to their maker. The wind dances across the plains. And next to this, I realize I am small.

The sea runs in and through me when I stand next to it. It's as if my soul can only be still standing here on this shore, digging my toes into the grey, cool sand. As if, this is the only place I can truly breath right. The seagulls soar and dive, crying a haunting melody to the tragic sea. The waves tumble and roll, chasing children away from their reaching hands. And next to this, I realize I am small.

Running, moving, breathing, pounding out my minutes on the hard pavement. Music gently filters through the headphones, and my lungs burn. My heart pumps harder, my blood flows faster, my breath comes quicker...and next to all this, I realize I am small.

She is glowing, and inside of her, life is moving, kicking, pushing. Her tummy swells and her time is upon her. Fighting with every breath, she brings him into the world, and he is beautiful. He cries for one brief moment and then, slowly opening his eyes, he gazes around his new world. I am infinitely happy and infinitely sad, for today life and death begin their war anew for this little life. For this first day, however, he is perfect and pure and utterly sweet. Life is winning on this first day and death has left no mark on this little one as of yet. And next to this, I realize I am small.

I stare up into the night sky. Stars twinkle and laugh while the moon looks on, gently smiling at their mirth. Moonshine pours gently onto a little lake and small field, bathing them in enchantment that only the moon can create. If anything is possible, surely it could happen now, next to this lake and this field. If animals could talk, they would here of all places, if I could learn to fly, I am almost certain I could learn here, in this moment. And next to this, I realize I am small.

The words ebb and flow, a living thing that pours forth like a fountain every time I open this book. I am pierced through, my heart aches and cries out. I am filled with joy, laughter, and my heart rejoices. I am convicted. I am spurred on. The words are in me, tangible and real, a weapon used for this war I am in. They are no longer words, they are the Word, a double edged sword given to me by Him. He placed the sword in my hands and this is what I cleave to. And next to this, I realize I am small.

Jesus. Yesterday, today, forever...next to Him, I am small. Next to Him, I realize I am loved beyond all I can comprehend. Next to Him, I understand that He uses the smallest in His hands to accomplish great and mighty things.

Breath, laughter, tears, life...I am small. But, my God is big. To know this is to not be small after all...

I am home and I am happy. I am so very blessed, it's a marvel to me each and every day that I wake up. There has been lots of Christmas shopping, baking, and general merry making going on around here! It's been wonderful.

One of my best friends from childhood is having a baby...due yesterday. We are really praying that this little boy decides to show up very, very soon. Like today. Not tomorrow though...maybe the day after Christmas. It's hard to believe, I don't feel old enough for her to be having a baby;-) So, in her 9 month pregnant state, sleep is not really coming all that easy. This is a perfect recipe for hilarity to ensue...in the form of baking...a lot of baking....till like 3 in the morning. Oh, yes, yes we did. She found this "really good recipe for chocolate no bake oatmeal cookies" that she just had to make. And thumb print cookies and chocolate dipped pretzels and sugar cookies and peppermint cheese cake bars. Oh, did I mention that we didn't start until 9 at night? And I made dinner for her and her mom and dad somewhere in the midst of all this baking and general chaotic goings on? I did. Boy, it was fun! I thrive in situations like that:-) Comes with growing up in a chaotic, loud, house where there were always about 50 things going on at once.

So, there we are, she's bumping into all the cabinets with her big tummy and I'm trying not to bump into her and baby and we are laughing so hard that we can hardly breath. Like the belly laughter that only comes at 1 in the morning, when every single thing you do is absolutely hilarious! Plus, nothing in any of the first few batches of cookies would go right. I mean, the oddest, most bizarre things were happening....and I thought baking at high altitude was hard. Well, this shouldn't have been difficult, but it was the nature of the night...and us...and the time. Yes. Then, baby wakes up and decides to do somersaults and flips in the middle of all the calamity happening in the kitchen. Looked like she had an alien in her belly. Ha! It really wasn't funny...well, yes it was.

And those chocolate oatmeal cookies. All I have to say about them is that I'm pretty sure you could've used them as hockey pucks. Seriously. Her dad almost broke a tooth on them and promptly said, in a very sweet and serious voice, "Um, honey? I don't think these are going to work...you should definitely give them away as Christmas gifts." Ha! She was highly disappointed in how they turned out, partly because I think she started craving them as she was making them:-D That would be a disappointment. Everything else turned out after the second or third batch, however. Saddest part? Most of them were pre-made, you know, the kind you can buy and just stick in the oven. Yeah. And I bake almost everyday from scratch at home!!! I don't know what was wrong with me. I'm blaming it on the very "large" time change;-)

Ah, but now it's Christmas Eve day and it's beautiful here in sunny South Carolina. Tomorrow is Christmas and it's hard to believe it came so quickly. I am not thinking about the gifts or even Christmas itself, however, but Jesus. Jesus who is so faithful and wonderful and who never leaves me. Who wipes away my every tear, who whispers, " My love, I've never and will never leave your side. I have loved you all your life. You are not alone for I am here." This is what I'm thinking about, what I'm hearing Him say to me today. And once again, I will never be the same, for it's the sweetest voice that calls to me.

This is what I'm thinking about on this day before Christmas. That even though it is not technically Jesus' birthday tomorrow, what a gift He was and is to me today and every day I draw breath. I could not live without knowing Him...or, I suppose I could, but it could not compare with this life of loving and being loved by Him. I am humbled and amazed when I truly begin to think about what a merciful, loving God we have, who gave His only son to me..to you. I don't care when His birthday actually was, I want to drop to my face before my God and cry out, "Thank you, thank you, thank you! I am not worthy, so thank you!" This is the gift I never have nor never will deserve, no matter when He was really born. That is trivial next to knowing and having a relationship with Him. Today, I am convicted to press into my Jesus all the more, because He was given to me by my Father who loved Him more than life itself...and loved me enough to freely send His precious Son as a baby. A baby who would grow to be the man who would hang on that cross for me.

Father, thank you for Jesus, though I'll never do anything to deserve Him. Thank you for His blood that covers me and makes a way for me to know the fulness of who You are. Thank you for the gift He was and is every single day. Thank you for life itself and for the chance to live it with You to the fullest extent. May I never, never forget or let what You did for me grow dim. Let it blaze before my eyes like the star that the wise men followed so long ago...

chest colds, soup, and gingerbread men.

I have a dreadful chest cold. You know, the kind that makes you honk like a goose when you cough...or at least that's what happens to me. The kind that makes you want to curl up in a ball and shut the world out for days on end with some nice chicken noodle soup. Maybe watch some old Doris Day movies with that soup. Ugh. Unfortunately, life will let me do no such thing and so trudging on I go in my foggy state. Thankfully, I adore everything I do, otherwise I'd be pretty miserable right now.

I feel like there's a band wrapped around my chest. I know what I need, but I won't get any till Saturday when I go home. I need some Avgolemono soup.

That's quite a name isn't it? I mean, with a name like that, it should cure everything! And it does. It's the Greek "cure all" for basically any ailment that may have come upon you. My step mom is greek and this is a traditional greek soup made out of rice, chicken broth, lemon, and eggs. It is the most delicious soup to ever slide over anyone's tongue and I live off of it when I'm home sick and she's there to make it for me. Knocks chicken noodle soup totally out of the water! So, the goal is to not die (because chest colds are so deadly) before I can make it home to consume mass amounts of Avgolemono soup on Saturday.

Alright, today I tried to bake gingerbread men...again...frustration. As much as I like to bake, gingerbread men and I do not get along. They are constantly trying to run away from me...or I'm decapitating them...or they have limbs falling off here and there. Dreadful. The kitchen began to look like a gingerbread war zone after a few hours of trying to figure out how to get them to not fall apart at this altitude, even though I was using a "high altitude" recipe that came "highly recommended" on the internet. You just can't believe anything on the internet nowadays;-).

I eventually had somewhat of a successful batch. Well, their arms were a bit fat and sort of ran into their necks...but hey, you could at least tell what they were...and there were no arms, legs, or heads left lying about when all was said and done. Nor were there any headless cookies to speak of. Whew.

tea roses. suitcases. baking.

So, here's the truth, I love tea roses. A lot. I have a whole bunch of them sitting on my little english desk and I'm drinking the sight of them in as I type this. Here's another truth, I have to pack for a three week trip and I am procrastinating. Big time. I always procrastinate packing really badly;-) And so, instead of packing like I should be, I shall blog because this is oh so much more productive. Ah, well at least I'm honest about the situation.

Speaking of packing, which of course leads one to think about suitcases, I love old vintage suitcases/bags/trunks. If I could collect them with any kind of good reason, I would. However, I can think of no logical reason (not that everything in life has to be logical...most of the time I'm not such a huge fan of logic) to collect such a thing. I might be able to think of why I should collect vintage bags, such as actually having the space to keep them. Can you imagine me trying to store old trunks and suitcases in my little space?! Bahaha! Maybe I could stack them all together, get rid of my bed, and put the mattress on top of them...would that be reasonable? A "trunk" bed. Might actually work...

I'm headed home for three weeks on Saturday. Haven't been back to good old S.C. in far too long, but I'm going to miss "here" very much. It says a lot about where you live and what you do, when you're torn in going on vacation. I am blessed...obviously. Mostly it's the people though. I am amazed at the incredible, amazing people God has given me to work and live with. Says a lot about a group of people when they can all live together, spend ginormous amounts of time with each other, and at the end of the day, not want to leave each other. Beautiful!

What's better than slice of delicious homemade bread? Homemade peanut butter with raw honey on the homemade bread! Oh-my-word! Can you say yummy?! I love to bake bread, however, I have had a very love/hate relationship with my efforts lately. Living at a very high altitude, baking becomes a whole other entity. I mean, how do you get bread to rise and cornbread to not fall apart here? Well, if there's any interest, I'll blog about some of my secrets;-) I have conquered the art of baking the perfect loaf of bread at this altitude, after months and months of failing. Success! I was truly beginning to sympathize with Anne and all of her cooking escapades.

Now, I'm off to try and figure out the perfect gingerbread cookie for a special little man's Christmas party. It's a wonder we're not all in a cookie coma after all the cookies I've been baking the last couple weeks. However, for those moms out there who are appalled at the thought of their children consuming mass quantites of sugar this festive season, I only have one word for you...xylitol! It's a natural sweetener that comes from some fruits and veggies, measures cup for cup like sugar AND here's the best part, it actually helps fight cavities! Oh, yes, you heard me right, cookies, candy, cake, and whatever other sweet creation you come up with that actually help your kiddos. This is something to rejoice over! Happy baking everyone:-)