supernatural affection.

It's a perfect day.  Literally.  I am sitting on the front porch of my new temporary home in my favorite old rocking chair.  The sun is glorious, the grass is super green, the breeze is delightful.  I just ate a yummy salad with fresh greens from the garden and some juicy pineapple from somewhere tropical I'm sure.  

I can't help but think for the 27th time in the last few days how very much I like Kansas City.  It's an almost unnatural affection that has caught me by surprise over and over again.  I'm a mountains and oceans and foreign lands kind of girl, so the thought of being captivated by a blah-blah city smack dab in the heart of the ho-hum Midwest is just, well, a bit peculiar to say the least.  I wrote "blah-blah city" just now in order to articulate the difference between places I've been and the place I sit right now - and yet, so thrilled is my whole being over Kansas City in this moment that it seriously pains me to call it that.  It feels unjust. 

I've always genuinely liked Kansas City, but I guess I've figured that after living here for more than a year that the newness would have worn off by now, that I'd be bored and ready for some fresh place to conquer.  I've spent the last five months in thriving metropolises like Las Vegas, Miami, and San Diego.  I've seen the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian Oceans.  I've hiked in mountains and canyons in  South Africa, California, Pennsylvania, and Nevada.  The old Lindsay would have been so ready to get out of here by now.  That's why I call this extraordinary endearment towards KC unnatural.  It is not in nor of myself.  And thus, I conclude, it must be supernatural - of my Father.  

The encounter with His love I experienced in Masiphumelele last week has altered the workings of my heart and mind.  I did not realize it in the moment, but that encounter was the answer to many prayers I've prayed these last few months.  I've been asking God to shake me in the way He first did - three years ago March.  It was my undoing, as I like to call it.  It was then that the Lord literally undid me by dousing me thoroughly with a spirit of wisdom and revelation over the matter of His affection for me.  I started true life then.  In some ways, every year I lived before that undoing seems like a blur.  The world went from black-and-white to full-on 3-D color.  I woke up from my spiritual stupor at long last and finally began to pursue the Kingdom with legitimate passion.  Everything genuinely changed for me - the grass actually seemed greener, the air had never felt so fresh, and the words on the pages of my Bible might as well have been jumping out of the book and dancing all over my body.  I lived, I loved God and people out of a gushing heart.

For the last three years I've been constantly aware that to love God truly and to love people well, I can only do so in response to knowing God's love for me.  The fire has never stopped burning, but it has been in dire need of a stoking and refueling.  A soul can't run a lifetime on just one revelation.  Well, maybe some souls can, but mine surely cannot!

All that to say - the effects of the weeping with Jesus under the stars in Cape Town have been reminiscent of those first days that I was swept up in enthrallment with the Lord.  Colors seem brighter, people seem more intriguing, and I just keep wishing I could drink the beauty of the city with a straw!  I am eager for His Presence and so quickly and thoroughly delighted by every single little way I see Him.  I am my Beloved's and He is mine!  Rest is actually pleasant for me now and being still is no longer agonizing.  

Let's seek the Lord while He may be found, let's call on Him while He is near... Let's give ourselves fully and wholly and entirely and utterly to Love.  Let's leave the former things, let's run after glory. 

I lived in Kansas City for over a year now.  That makes me an official resident.  That makes me part owner.  I'm not a stranger or alien.  I'm a daughter of the King and an heir to the Throne!  I have spiritual authority in this city.  I can stare racism square in the face with eyes aflame with peace.  I can walk down the street in friendly conversation with a transexual and invite them to lunch knowing the mighty devotion of the Father over us both.  I can walk unsettled past perverted men knowing full well that I stand blameless before my Father.  This is my city now.  And by the mercy of God, I truly love it.

My sin has been forgiven for His name's sake.  I know Him who is from the beginning.  I have overcome the evil one.  I know the Father.  I am strong.  The Word of God is steady in me.  And I have overcome the evil one.                                                                - 1 John 2:12-14

love in masiphumelele.

I was in Masiphumelele for the last two weeks.  Affectionately dubbed "Masi" by Americans who have trouble pronouncing the full name, Masiphumelele is a township in Cape Town, South Africa.  

Day after day we laid hands on the sick and prayed for them to be healed in Jesus' name.  Day after day we spelled out the gospel to people who have never walked with Jesus.  A young boy is finally rid of pain in his ear after a "fresh wind" blew in it as we prayed.  A dying HIV victim experienced the all-consuming presence of Jesus.  A battered wife wept at the love of a perfect Father.  A former Rastafarian is now reading the words of Life.  A grandmother has returned to work after her arm was miraculously healed.  An estranged young woman is now writing out pages and pages of God's words to her.  A teenager is now laying hands on the sick, his eyes so alive with the compassion of Jesus.  There was singing in the streets, worship to the Creator of every race, as a man who lost his leg to a gunshot wound stepped into new life.  There's nothing incredibly fantastic about any of us who were praying, or leading worship, or teaching.  We're just average humans who have been adopted into the family of God and who now walk as co-heirs with Christ, the Son of the King.

Many days as I laid hands on the sick, I was sick myself.  A fever wracked my body, and deep, painful coughs seized my body often.  Some days I could hardly talk, but somehow words of Life were still flowing out my mouth, pumping breath into limp souls.  It's not me, but a Spirit living in me.  I had nothing to give these needy people - my soul was weary from months of unending travel and ministry and my body was wanting to just shut down.  Yet somehow, when the day was over, a half a dozen impoverished people had received healing and salvation, and all I could think in between coughs is that the mercy of God is great.

Once again, I found my absolute favorite moments to be explaining who Jesus is to people.  Most of the time I walk away from a conversation astounded at the language I've just used to describe the gospel.  I've never heard it told that way, and I can't tell you how I knew to say what I said - except that the Gospel is alive and it lives in me.  A few of my teammates were marveling at the way I'd so succinctly and clearly just laid out salvation for yet another unbelieving individual.  I laugh, because I too am marveling!  Guys, for real, it's not me - it's Jesus taking over.

The day that marked me the most was one of the last days we were to be in Masiphumelele.  As I was wandering about with Chris, I felt a strong sense from the Lord that we were supposed to go to the soccer field.  It was a bit odd, since the soccer field was on the opposite side of where we'd spent most of our time in the township.  But after our scheduled meetings with people, we trekked across Masi towards the soccer field.  We had two young boys in tow, which was not unusual in any way - we nearly always had a handful of ragamuffins traipsing after us, holding our hands and chattering away.  These two little guys seemed rather special though.  I'd played with dozens of adorable kids over the course of my visit to Masi, but these boys had a unique tenderness that made me just really want Jesus to consume the whole place. 

We arrived at the fields not entirely sure what to expect.  The games were over for the day, and dozens of young people were packing up to walk home.  Chris and I sat down on the bleachers and began to just wait on the Lord.  There were kids climbing all over the bleachers, playing catch with a mangy dog.  We had our Bibles out and were chatting a little bit, but mostly we were just sitting and taking in the place.  There was trash everywhere.  Curled up barbed wire fence. Grass wasn't really anywhere to be found.  A few guys were smoking behind a little building.  I kept thinking that perhaps the Lord was going to send us someone who really needed to hear the gospel or something super spiritual like that.  

As we waited though, I began to dream about what Masi could be like.  About what would happen if a white family who loved Jesus moved into the township.  About what would happen if revival broke out among the young people.  I held the littlest of the kids who'd followed us.  He was utterly precious and melted my heart in a way that none of the other kids had.  

And I can't tell you why or how... all I know is that I encountered the Living God sitting on those rickety wooden bleachers looking out over a trashy dirt field, holding a runny-nosed smelly four-year-old, and tossing a deflated ball to a flea-infested dog.  There was no lightning falling from heaven.  No revelation shooting out the Bible open beside me.  No divine appointments or shocking prophetic words for an atheist.  But the God who holds the universe in the palm of His hand sat next to me there, and it was for me the most stunning moment of the whole trip.  

I didn't even really realize how impacting that moment with the Lord had been until later that evening, when back at the team house our whole group had huddled around a few young South African guys from Masi who loved Jesus and had been doing some translating for us.  As I placed my hands on the feet of a young man named Vuyani to pray for him, I began to weep.  I don't often close my eyes to pray, but as I did this night, all I could see was that trashy soccer field and that dear little boy.  The Presence of God hit me all over again and I knew... I knew I didn't know much, except that the Presence of God is worth living for.  

I had to leave the room I was so overwhelmed.  It was quite dark as I stepped out on the back balcony that overlooks the whole valley, the ocean, and all of Masiphumelele.  I began to pray in the Spirit as I continued to weep.  Scenes began to flash back to me from the last 6 years or so.  Scenes of orphans I knew in Russia, of street kids I knew in Mount Vernon, Ohio, of the poor and broken I knew in Kansas City, of the needy I had most recently known in South Africa.  Love washed over me.  Again, I can't really put words to it.  I just stood there clutching the bannister, weeping over the love of God, worshipping full throttle.  

I just want Jesus.  I don't care if I'm on the tip of Africa or the middle of North America.  I don't care if it's a ghetto swimming pool, a university in Sin City, the top of a mountain overlooking where the Atlantic and Indian oceans meet, or a trashy soccer field.  I don't care if I'm preaching to a crowd or sitting on a bleacher doing nothing.  I am loved by God.  Why, I won't ever pretend to know.  He is love, that's the only reason I'll ever be able to come up with.  The love of God is bigger than me, its bigger than anything I can see.  I can't conjure it up.  I can only be ready to receive it.

He is so very eager to invade our every moment.  Not just the ones we designate as spiritual.  He is so very eager to consume us with love.  Not just when we're anticipating it or praying and fasting for it.  He is so very eager to have ALL of me!  And so, Lord Jesus, have it all.  Your love is totally worth living for.  And totally worthy dying for.  This is IT.  Your Presence.  May this be what my life is comprised of - my living and dying and living again for eternity.  

the parable of the seed growing.

Yesterday afternoon I sat down in the rocking chair that faces the window in my bedroom.  

God, where should I read today?  Where are You going to speak to me?  

Mark 4.

That was the first thing that popped into my head.  I won't lie, it was promptly followed by a good measure of doubt that I was actually hearing from the Lord.  That doubt soon deepened when I opened up to Mark 4 and noted that the first half of the chapter is "The Parable of the Sower."  I sighed in disappointment.  Everybody's been talking about the parable of the sower lately, and quite honestly, I just felt "over it."  But, nonetheless, Mark 4 - that's the chapter of the day, right?  So I proceeded to read the chapter.  Well, maybe skim is a better word.  Parable of the sower, blah-blah-blah.  The purpose of parables, blah-blah.  The lamp under the basket, blah-blah-blah... Really, Lindsay?  Mark 4?  Whatever, you can't hear from the Lord, is what I was thinking.

And then I got to "The Parable of the Seed Growing."  

And he said, "The kingdom of God is as if a man should scatter seed on the ground.  He sleeps and rises night and day, and the seed sprouts and grows; he knows not how.  The earth produces by itself, first the blade, then the ear, then the full grain in the ear.  But when the grain is ripe, at once he puts in the sickle, because the harvest has come."

He sleeps and rises night and day.  The seed grows, and he doesn't know how.  He just scattered the seed.  The earth is responsible to grow it.  He can't make the sun shine, he can't make the rain fall.  He can't make the little guy turn into anything more than what it is.  All he can do is scatter the seed and expect a harvest.  Expect that the phenomenon that has occurred for thousands of years will continue to occur.  He scatters.  He harvests.  And everything in between is left to Something bigger than himself.  He sleeps and rises, sleeps and rises.  Night and day, night and day.

Shaba.

 I started writing today to elaborate on that.  But I'm not sure that I can elaborate any further.  I started telling a few friends about this parable at a party last night... and I couldn't really elaborate then either.  The gospel is simple.  Our role in the kingdom is simple.  Everything complicated is left up to Him.  Scatter the seed.  Sleep and rise. Sleep and rise.  Night and day. Night and day.  Expect the harvest, and bring it in when it comes. 

That was as far as I got in Mark 4.  I just sat in my rocking chair, taking in the calmness of the simplicity of my role in the kingdom.  Peace settled over me.  And since yesterday, those little unsophisticated words keep rolling through my head.

Scatter the seed.

Sleep and rise.

Night and day.

Expect the harvest.

chocolate chip cookies.

   A few years ago, when God was in the midst of teaching me how all this works, He showed me a picture.  Did you ever make cookies with your mom when you were a little kid?  I sure did!  Chocolate cookies were my favorite (and still are!)  Mom had the recipe, she knew how to put all the ingredients together in order to make the perfect cookie, and she had all the supplies in her cupboards.  At five years old, I had no idea how to bake cookies and if left to my own devices, I probably would have burnt the kitchen down!  Mom could have easily chosen to shoo me out of the kitchen and baked the cookies herself and they would have turned out beautifully.  But I because I was her child, because she loved me, and because she enjoyed being with me, she would invite me into the cookie-baking process.  If I looked her in the eye, listened to her instructions, and was obedient to do as she directed, the cookies would turn out great.  

   Of course, then Dad would get home, ready to eat some fresh-baked goodness.  What’s the first thing five-year-old me would most likely do?  “Dad!  Look at these cookies I made for you!”  And of course, Dad smiles at Mom because they both know if Mom had ever left the kitchen there would certainly be no yummy cookies.  There would be nothing but a big, big mess, and its likely I would have gotten burnt myself along the way.  

   Every time I’ve pondered this picture in the past, I’ve thought that the cookies turning out well was the point.  If I was communicating with Mom and obeying, the cookies would be awesome.  But as I was writing this little picture out just now, the Lord reminded me that the cookies aren’t even the point the story.  The love between a mother and her child is the point of the story.  The cookies always disappear fast, but the bonding that happened in the midst of baking lasts for years.  The grin on Mom’s face at the flour I got on my nose, the secret sharing of chocolate chips we snacked on, the stories Mom told me about when she was little, the hugs I got, and the tender encouragement I received - those were the things that endured.  

   At five years old, baking those cookies was such a big deal.  Mom got it though.  She knew that the whole cooking-baking experience was just a good excuse to spend time with me and pour love into me.  For her the most precious moments were not when I mixed the dough perfectly or poured the sugar without spilling it.  For her the moments that captivated her heart were when I would giggle, when I would look her in the eye and ask for a story, when I would listen to her share, and when I would act out of confidence in her love for me.  

   I want to weep right now.  The cookies aren’t it.  I haven’t gotten in it for so long.  I listen to her just because I want the cookies to turn out well.  I obey just because I want perfect cookies to impress Dad.  It’s always all about the cookies.  My motivation for listening and obeying are so misplaced.  

   I want to get it, God.  I want to live out of the reality that being your daughter is the point.  I want to take You in during the midst of this.  I know the cookies will still get baked.  And they’ll turn out alright.  Maybe even perfect.  But Your smile... that’s the thing that endures.  The assurance that I have that You love me... that’s the thing that lasts.  

not so serious.

serious.

full circle.

A little over a year ago, I crossed the border from Ohio to Kentucky and the Kentucky state sign jumped out at me.  It had a picture of a horse and it read "Unbridled Spirit."  The Lord spoke to me in that moment and I knew that the spirit of religion had bound up the Holy Spirit in the state of Kentucky.  I knew that the Lord wanted to unbridle the Holy Spirit to run free across the state.  I was on my way to the first ever state gathering of students and campus leaders who felt called to see a movement of prayer sweep Kentucky.  

The gathering that night was incredibly powerful.  The Lord had been pouring out dreams and visions in the hearts of leaders across Kentucky for months prior.  God confirmed to me that what I sensed crossing the border was true as person after person shared about the religiosity that was stifling true revival.  In the weeks and months following that initial gathering, the believers in Kentucky mustered themselves together for united prayer.  If my memory served me correctly, there was a season of 24-7 prayer that spring between multiple campuses.  Again that next fall, leaders fasted together for a week and held another season of united prayer.  And again this last spring, ten or twelve different campuses across Kentucky came together for forty days of 24-7 prayer.

I had the privilege of celebrating with students at the end of the last forty days of prayer.  As we huddled together in the middle of Campbellsville University Easter weekend praying and worshipping, I looked around the circle of gathered individuals and marveled at the fruit of prayer.  

I looked across at Shawna, a student at Eastern Kentucky University, who was not walking with Jesus when prayer began to burst forth in her state just a year ago.  She is now passionately pursuing the Lord, leading a large Bible study on campus, and witnessing to her fellow students and professors regularly.  I had the privilege of sharing the gospel to another EKU student alongside Shawna just a few nights ago.  

I looked across at David, who was a student at Eastern Kentucky University last year.  He's a brilliant percussionist whose life got wrecked by Jesus this last year.  Since September he's lived in his car with the legend known as Curt, traveling around the nation, praying on campuses, leading worship, and preaching the gospel.  

I looked across at Jackie, a student from the University of Kentucky.  She never knew Jesus growing up and has suffered from depression.  She now lives a vibrant, passionate life for the Lord.

I looked across at Chris, who graduated from the University of Kentucky a few years ago, and Jordan, who is a student at Eastern Kentucky University.  Both of these guys have been experiencing more and more of God’s transformative power in their lives recently and spent spring break down in Florida loving on college students with the gospel.  

Full circle.  I’m getting more and more convinced with each passing year.  This is how our feeble, whispered prayers work.  

A week and a half after the holy huddle in the middle of Campbellsville, I found myself back in Kentucky.  Late one night, in a house near EKU, I sat with this redeemed one named Shawna, her redeemed roomate named Amanda, my own redeemed roomate Jessica, and one very distraught young woman named Tau.  We swapped stories of adventure and the faithfulness of God, prayed over Tau’s broken heart, shared our stories of redemption, and explained the gospel until the wee hours of morning.

And I marveled.  I marveled that over a year ago, in the midst of a stirring for prayer on campuses in Kentucky a student named David got messed up by Jesus and loved another student named Shawna back into Righteousness, and how now Shawna is loving another student named Tau into the Kingdom.  

Full circle.

Today I checked my Facebook inbox and saw a message from a girl named Jacki who is from Kentucky, but is a student at University of North Texas.  And I'm reminded of the great stirring that's happened in Denton at UNT this last semester.  Students up all night praying.  Random kids from all over campus meeting each other by divine set-ups.  The intent search for a permanent house of prayer.  The professors and classmates that are getting witnessed to.  It hits me again how far reaching this movement is sweeping... from one state to another, from one campus to another.  

Brilliant, Lord Jesus.  Stunningly, shockingly, magnificently brilliant.

For as the rain and snow come down from haven and do not return there but water the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and breadi to the eater, so shall My word be that goes forth from My mouth; it shall not retun to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it.  - Isaiah 55:10-11