We decorate our trees with ornaments old and new. Store bought. Homemade. They remind us of good days, and days that weren’t so good at all. Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas streams in the background. Memories swirl in the invisible. We’re joyful, for sure. But below the surface, there’s a longing, a yearning for more. More than this.

Christmas anyway. 

We hang our stockings by the chimney with care, in hopes Saint Nicholas will soon be there. We ponder over stuff used to fill. Maybe it’s too much. Or perhaps, not enough.

Christmas anyway. 

We place presents under the tree, sweatshirts adorned with AWESOME, tractors made from recycled goods, gift cards and chapter books. Our desire’s to show our affection, our devotion. We love because He first loved us. But we’re really not sure when enough’s enough. One? Two? Twenty? How many will it take for us to feel, to know we’ve done enough, said enough, given enough, helped enough? How long will it take for us to know we’re enough? As we are. Goods or no goods.

Christmas anyway. 

We adorn our houses with care. Snowmen, snowflakes and Santa Clauses. Candy canes, wreaths and lights up the wazoo. Our goal? To make it just so. We waffle like bobbling dolls and teeter totters. One day, life’s good. The next? It’s wrong. All wrong. Our hearts long for eternity, our instincts tell us there’s more than this. We decorate to acknowledge beauty’s waiting to be uncovered, even in the mundane, even in the most dreary and disgusting of days. Beauty matters. Even so. Even when.

Christmas anyway.

We debate the goodness of Christmas carols. One loves Emmanuel, the other claims to hate Noel. One friend has seven Christmases because of multiple divorces. And another’s at risk of landing in a shelter because they’ve fallen off the wagon…again. An old friend lost her mama this year, and let’s be real, somebody’s baby is starving tonight. We argue about going to this church or that one. We’re not really sure we have a church home anyway, but we get dressed up and go anyway.

Christmas anyway.

We prepare Pinterest-perfect peppermint mousse cups. They’re pretty. Good in theory. But horrific in reality. We taste one spoonful each and agree. Horrible. Terrible. They’re tossed in the garbage in a big ol’ bag. And two hours before guests set to arrive, we run to the store for dessert number two’s ingredients. A good old fashioned trifle from the recipe box suffices. Fine. Just fine.

Christmas anyway.

We set the table, take great care. Cooking, baking and scrubbing have consumed our days. We long for unity, community and love, unconditional. It’s grace that gathers us. There’s no other way. We pass the bowls, serve the kids, and seat granddad at the head of the table. We pray. There’s no other way. Today, we’re desperate for this gathering, this being together as one. Yes. When we finally sit, we know. We’re one body, many parts, all longing to play our part. This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it.

Christmas anyway.

We wait. For Old Saint Nicholas. Soon he’ll be here. He’s gentle and loving, tenderhearted and giving. He wouldn’t harm a soul, the father figure we’ve all longed for. Whether we believe or don’t believe, we can’t help but love him anyway.

Christmas anyway.

He’s patient. He’s love. He’s divine. He’s come.

Jesus, yes Jesus.

Come. Come. Come, this day, oh Christmas Day.

He’s Wonderful Counselor, Almighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Jesus, yes Jesus.

You’re just what we need.

A Counselor.

A Mighty God.

A Father.

A Prince of Peace.

Come, oh come, Emmanuel. God, be with us. This day.

Christmas anyway.

 

 

 

 

Friends, I’m so excited to share some awesome news with you today! Let’s just say I’ve had a hard time keeping it to myself. I can barely contain the joy, so let’s get right to it!

When I went on the sponsor trip to Haiti with Compassion International last February, I met a 2-year-old boy named Charles. I wrote a blog post about my time with Charles and his mama. If you never read it the first time around, or need your memory jogged, now would be a great time to check it out (click here and the post will open in a separate window.)

I know some of you don’t have time to read the original post, so let me refresh your memory! I met two-year-old Charles and his mama at one of the Compassion projects we visited in Haiti. Charles’ mama shared her painful story with our group, and revealed that Charles had one leg. She was beyond grateful for Compassion’s Child Survival Program, as they have been a tremendous source of hope and support. Needless to say, I was deeply moved by Charles’ story. Later that morning, I had the opportunity to interact at length with Charles, his mama, a translator, and Compassion staff. By God’s pure grace, I was offered the opportunity to be Charles’ sponsor once he’s old enough to officially enroll in Compassion’s Child Development Sponsorship Program. I was, of course, delighted to say yes, and gathered all the necessary information to make the connection back home.

When I returned from Haiti, I spent nearly nine months trying to track down Charles. I wanted to do my part to keep the promise. So between February and October 2014, I called Compassion International’s hotline three times to see if there was a way to link Charles’ name with mine in the system. While Charles and his mama have been participating in Compassion’s Child Survival Program, Charles is not quite old enough to enroll in the Child Development Sponsorship Program, therefore, there has been no easy way to officially link our names.

Let me just say, after the first two phone calls to Compassion, I was beginning to realize it was going to take an act of God for this to happen. But I was determined to do my part and follow it through to an end.

During my third call to Compassion in October, I was advised to send an email detailing all the information I had so they could investigate the matter further.

I sent that email to Compassion on October 30.

Within a week, I received a personal phone call from a staff member at Compassion. She notified me that she was going to contact Compassion’s country office in Haiti, and would get someone on the ground to investigate the matter. The goal, to ensure Charles’ continued participation in the program and officially link his name to mine for sponsorship.

I was excited and hopeful, y’all. This was actually going to happen!

(So here’s where the story starts to get really cool.)

On November 18, 2014, a man named Antonio (aka Tony) posted a note on my blog’s Facebook page: “I would love to share my experience with your sponsored child Charles with you. Please contact me when you can.” That same night, I also found comments on my blog from Tony, one comment on the post I’d written about Charles, and another on a post I’d written about my love for Haiti.

Within four hours of the post to my wall, I was Facebook messaging Tony, this “random stranger” from Texas. Tony had just returned from a sponsor trip to Haiti with Compassion International on November 10-15. While he was there, he met and engaged extensively with Charles!

Within four days of the post to my wall, Tony and I agreed it would be awesome and much easier to chat on the phone about our sweet Charles. So we exchanged numbers and talked at length about our experiences. It was amazing. Simply amazing.

But friends, this isn’t the end of the good news! I saved the best news for last. Because it’s the biggest, most awesome and amazing of all!

Did you ever wonder how Tony tracked me down? How in the world did he know I had anything to do with Charles? I won’t bore you with the lengthy sequence of events Tony and I unpacked that ultimately connected us, but let me just say THIS WAS A PURE ACT OF GOD! There’s no way I would’ve ever connected with Tony and discovered these updates about Charles had it not been for God’s miraculous orchestration of events. Many hands were involved, friends. Many hands were involved. People followed the Spirit’s promptings, one after another, which ultimately led to me discovering and sharing the most AWESOME NEWS OF ALL with y’all today…

Our sweet Charles has a prosthetic leg! He’s well and joyful, and is moving about with relative ease! And his mama has a smile on her face that’s filled and overflowing with joy. I’m as tickled pink as I could be! For THIS is a miracle. This. is a miracle. Believe it, friends. Believe it when you see it.

This is an act of God, all the way around. He has worked. He has shown His glory. He has shown His great power and delight in bringing joy and healing to His children.

Today, a boy walks and dances.

Today, a mama beams joy.

Today, this mama sponsor beams joy, too, for she understands God’s sovereignty and goodness, even in our pain, even out of our darkest moments.

Today, a man in Texas understands the power of the Holy Spirit. Because he listened to the promptings in his heart and stopped to engage with a little boy in Haiti, we can begin to fathom the lengths to which God pursues us. Even when we aren’t aware, even when we don’t believe, He’s working. He’s sovereign. He’s in control. He’s got this.

It’s a miracle. Pure awesomeness.

 

 

 

Yesterday was #GivingTuesday. Perhaps you gave to the nonprofit of your choice. Perhaps you didn’t, but are moved by Charles’ story. Compassion International is funding a Child Survival Program for mamas and babies in India! Yesterday, Brianne McKoy wrote a lovely post about the opportunity to help fund this project. Check out her blog post and maybe, just maybe you’ll feel led to give. Because who wouldn’t want to be a part of this joy?! Or maybe you’ve always wanted to sponsor a child. Head right on over to Compassion’s website where hundreds of children are waiting for a sponsor.

We saw the smoke billow black from a distance.

It was obvious. Something was on fire. And we were headed straight for the flames.

The girls and I had a simple morning planned. Church. Lunch. Target. Home. But we hit a detour on our way to Target.

With every turn, the smoke got closer. We agreed before we got there, this was going to be the biggest fire any of us had seen.

We were right. It was the only house fire we’d witnessed that close, and it was a big one.

There it was. A mini mansion burning up in flames. Fire trucks, ambulances, police and what seemed like a hundred people stood by watching it go down.

We pulled into the closest neighborhood and made our way through sidewalked streets. Parents and kids on bikes walked towards the flames. Cars were parked at the intersection in lines, and continued to pull up behind us, too. The fire was in plain sight. Some stood. Some sat. We watched in amazement as the mini mansion went down in flames.

The girls and I sat for 15, maybe 20 minutes, just watching.

This was a rare sight. I wondered why nobody was doing anything. Why wasn’t the fire being fought? Why were the fire fighters letting this mini mansion go up in flames in front of their eyes? Why were we all just standing there? Why wasn’t somebody yelling, screaming? Stop the fire! Put out the fire! For God’s sake, stop the fire!

Everyone just stood there.

Nobody seemed worried. Not even a bit.

I decided. Either the fire had gotten so out of control that they’d decided to let it go down in flames, or the fire was intentional. But if it was intentional, the timing was sure weird. Sunday noon. Intentionally start a fire on Sunday, the holiest of days, the supposed day of rest? Intentionally start a fire on Sunday at noon, during family lunch hour? Why?

My nine-year-old snapped pictures upon pictures on the iPhone.

Layer by layer, the mini mansion burned in front of our eyes. The roof tumbled. Then the windows. And finally, after we’d watched a long while and the fire was nearing the ground, water kicked in from behind.

I felt like a tourist of things bad, so I told the girls it was time to go, time to escape this life going up in flames.

A week later, it still bugged me. I wasn’t sure whether that fire was intentional or accidental. So I asked friends who lived near the scene if they knew anything more. The fire was intentional. A couple had built the mini mansion, which all the neighbors agreed was beautiful, but later got divorced. A developer came along and offered top dollar for the property. So it burned baby, it burned, for the sake of cleared land for new development.

I wondered. What about the husband and wife who lived there? Did they have kids? Were they aware that this mini mansion of theirs was going down in flames that day? And if they were there, if they did know…

How did it feel to watch the life they once envisioned go down in flames?

How does it feel to watch your life go down in flames?

How does it feel to watch someone else’s life go down in flames?

We’ve all witnessed our fair share of fires.

We stand. We watch. And wonder.

Why isn’t anybody doing anything about this?

Why are we all just standing here?

Please, won’t someone stop the flames?

Somebody! Come! Make it all better!

This house. is on. FIRE!

Please!

Please.

Fight this fire!

Don’t let it go down.

Don’t let it go.

But it goes, anyway.

And we realize…

Perhaps the fire wasn’t ours to fight.

Perhaps there are times when we need to sit and watch the mess go down in flames.

Perhaps foundations were built on sand instead of soil, or rock.

Perhaps mini mansions were built where humble homes should’ve been.

Perhaps empires were erected where walls should’ve crumbled.

Perhaps egos took a front seat to others.

Perhaps dead things needed to burn to the ground before new life could rise again.

Perhaps our lives were never meant to be built, but to be broken, surrendered, and then lived.

God promises. “In this world you will have trouble.” But He also promises crowns of beauty for ashes.

So let the fires burn. Let the old, ugly, broken-down, used-up, long-ago dead things die.

Burn. Burn. Burn. 

Until there’s nothing.

But ashes.

Ashes.

New life. It rises from the ashes. It grows. It springs forth. It’s crowned with beauty, more radiant than before.

But when and how do we emerge as fellow human beings?

When do we turn from mere bystanders to helpers, firefighters of the most blazing kind?

We’re there in the kindling, before the flames ignite, before smoke’s seen with the naked eye. When something doesn’t seem right, when we get that nudge, when we hear bits and pieces of this and that going wrong? We lend a hand, open our ears and say “this is how I’m going to love you today.” We remind them they’re not alone. We point them in the way of hope. And we offer ourselves as a ray of sunshine. For God makes all things beautiful. In time.

We’re there when flames burn bright. When all’s failed, when all’s gone wrong, when there’s nothing else to do but let the flames engulf. We stand. We wait. We watch. We pray. We let them know we’re there. And we let them know we’re sorry. So sorry this is happening. So sorry your home is on fire. So sorry your life is on fire. So sorry. So sorry.

We’re there when nothing remains but ashes. When life’s hopeless, worthless, and pointless. When dusty black’s all over their feet and hands, and the mess is trailing everywhere they go. We’re there. Yep. We’re there. We’re there in the waiting and wondering if anything’s going to change. We’re there in the doubting and discouragement. We’re there in the believing nothing’s possible. But we know. Everything’s possible. All is possible. So we sit. In the ashes. With them. We get dirty when we don’t want to. Even when it costs us. Because we bear all things, together, even in the ashes.

We’re there when new life springs forth. When hope abounds. When things are looking up. When nothing but better days are bound to happen. We’re there. When dead things come to life. We’re there, rising forth as fire fighters. Trained. Determined. Ready to love and fight again.

And all the while, He’s there. Bestowing beauty for ashes, making all things beautiful. In time.

I never got her name and I didn’t get her picture. But that doesn’t mean she’s any less important.  

As I walked down the street in downtown Minneapolis, I noticed her coming towards me on the sidewalk. She wore a bright colored jersey coat with a number on the front. She carried nothing. And she was walking fairly fast, with somewhat of an urgency.

God prompted quickly – approach this woman.

The question of the month flashed through my mind.“If you didn’t have to worry about money, what would you do with your life?”

As quick as I recalled the question, I knew, without a doubt, that it wouldn’t be appropriate for this woman. So I’d decided I wasn’t going to stop her for an interview.

But there was good reason I’d been prompted to approach this woman.

Before I knew it, SHE was approaching ME.

She asked, with all sincerity and with all that was in her, “Ma’am, I’m really hungry and I’m really sick. I don’t have any money and I really need to get some food in me, now.”

Listen, people. I’m cautious. And I’m not ignorant of all the possible realities.

I’ve heard it all. I’ve heard the stories of fakes and fraudulents on the street begging for money when in reality they’re raking in thousands. I’ve heard about people who beg and then go spend the money on drugs and alcohol. 

And I’ve seen it all. I’ve seen what wasted looks like. I’ve seen what high looks like. I’ve seen what overdose looks like. I’ve seen what the worst of mental illness looks like. I’ve seen. it all.

And let me just say? This woman was none of those things.

This woman was hungry.

This woman was weak.

And this woman was sick. Physically sick.

There was an urgency about her, a desperation that I couldn’t ignore.

The woman shared that she had diabetes and was out of insulin. So not only was she hungry, but she was feeling very ill, too.

I knew she was telling the truth. This wasn’t a lie. So I dug in my wallet, grabbed a $5 bill and gave it to her so she could get some food. She thanked me profusely, gave me a hug, said “God bless you,” and took a few steps in the other direction as if she was going on her way.

Just as she’d taken a few steps in the other direction. And just as I was verifying…

“Do you need any help? Are you going to be able to get some food nearby? Do you need help getting your medicine?”

She turned her back to me, bent her head down, and hung her head over a roped off area where we’d been standing. She was quite literally spitting up a little bit because she was so sick. And she appeared to be sweating. This was not a well woman.

“Are you okay? Is there anything else I can do to help?” I said, as I broke out another $3 from my wallet. Common sense told me this woman needed food NOW and $5 wasn’t going about to cut it in downtown Minneapolis.

I passed her the extra $3 in a hurry, feeling like these $8 dollars were the least of the help she needed in that moment, feeling like there was something else I should be doing for this woman. But she assured me she was on her way RIGHT NOW to get some insulin.

This was all so urgent, and all so surreal.

She hugged me again (this time even longer) and said “God bless you” again, as we parted ways.

So what can we learn from this woman?

Wow. Where to start.

Can I say that sometimes we just need to follow our gut instincts? I think God placed those instincts, those natural reactions, in us for a reason. And in this case, I needed to know whether I should protect myself from a potentially harmful situation, or whether I should help the woman in need.

My initial gut instinct was to approach the woman. My instinct told me that my question would be inappropriate for her. Right again. My instinct told me this woman was the real deal, that she was really hungry and really sick. And my instinct told me this woman was genuinely grateful for my help because of the way she hugged me not once, but twice, and the way she said “God bless you” not once, but twice. There was an urgency and a sincerity I sensed that couldn’t be contrived.

Some time later, after we’d parted ways, I started doubting my response. I wondered if I’d just been played. And I had to decide that I hadn’t been played. I had to decide this was real. This was reality. In my face. As in, respond to this need NOW or NEVER. So I responded.

This woman brought up vivid memories of my time in Haiti, particularly the whole day I spent with our two sponsored children. I remembered how I quickly learned that I had to get them food FIRST, before we could do anything else. Because when you’re really hungry, and in this woman’s case, when you’re really hungry AND sick, you can’t think of anything else except eating and getting well.

So what would this woman do if she didn’t have to worry about money? The question was completely irrelevant at that point. She just needed to get some food in her and get well. All dreaming was down the tubes. This was a matter of survival.

So I challenge you, is there someone in your life who’s in survival mode, someone who’s completely UNABLE to dream because they’re merely surviving this day? What are some ways you could send them a lifeline?

 

 

 

*This post is a part of a month-long 31 Days series titled Dreams from the Street. If you’d like to read more from my series, click here and you’ll be brought to the series landing page where all 31 posts are listed and linked! You can follow me on Twitter at twitter.com/AmyBPederson where I’ll tweet links to all 31 posts using hashtag #write31days, and I’d LOVE to connect on Facebook at facebook.com/AmyBPederson! I’m so glad you stopped by. Make yourself comfortable and take a peek around the place. You’re welcome back anytime.

Meet Alex.

As I approached, I saw him talking with his friend Steve at the bus stop. Alex and Steve were an interesting pair, so even though the three of us were an unlikely match, I stopped to chat anyway. Because sometimes it’s good to learn from people most unlike you.

I’m not exactly sure why, but Alex and I engaged fairly easily and for some length. His story grabbed a piece of my heart. Perhaps he reminded me a bit of my sister’s days passed. Perhaps, I wondered, if I’m supposed to be chatting with more people like Alex?

So I asked Alex one question. “If you didn’t have to worry about money, what would you do with your life?”

This was his response.

Alex’s first reaction to my question was that he’d “do the same thing he’s doing now,” which he listed as the “music scene, going to shows, exploring, and art.”

But I probed further.

Alex gets general assistance from the state. Currently, he’s enrolled in a job program and has been looking for work. I asked him what kind of work he’s looking for. “Anything,” he said.

I probed further, and ultimately got to the good stuff of Alex’s dreams.

Ideally, if he didn’t have to worry about money at all, Alex would like to work 1-2 days a week, and then he’d really like to spend the rest of his time “doing shows,” selling art and clothing he’s designed.

Everything suddenly shifted.

I asked Alex if he’d designed his own vest. “Yes,” he said. I couldn’t help but reply, “That’s awesome! You have a gift, Alex.”

Alex designs clothes at home and in the coffee shop. He hasn’t tried to sell anything yet, but is “working on his designs.”

Alex shared that he attends an art program called Interact in downtown Minneapolis. He goes there several days a week to connect and “hang out” with people in the art community.

I encouraged Alex to get really connected at Interact, to find someone who could guide him and pour into his life. I reminded him that Interact might be the exact place he needs to be if he wants to do something with those designs. Now he just needs to figure out who has connections to the design industry, or who’s willing to take him under their wing and guide him.

So what can we learn from Alex?

A lot.

As I stood there talking with Alex, I wondered. Who has poured into this young man’s life? Who has been there for him along the way, encouraging him in the everyday? Who has been there to guide him, to love on him, to show him the way? Who has been there to foster his dreams, to tell him anything’s possible?

And I just had a hunch Alex really needed a lot more encouragement and guidance.

I also have to wonder. Do we disregard others’ dreams – as far fetched, totally impossible, not realistic – more than we realize?

If Alex was telling me the truth, that he really did design and make that vest by himself (which, by the way, is totally possible and probably likely), then clearly he has a gift for design and craftsmanship. Yet I know there’s someone out there who’d say he could’ve been lying to me about that vest. I get it. I suppose that’s possible. But he’s wearing his heart, dreams and desires loudly and boldly, right there on his chest.

So maybe I’m the one dreaming…

But if I’m not, let’s agree to this.

Let’s rally around people. Let’s encourage others on their journey. Let’s embrace others’ stories whether they’re like ours our not.

Does life seem impossible? Does a dream seem far fetched, like it’s never going to happen? Forget it. Let’s believe anything’s possible. For anyone.

I met Alex on a street corner at a bus stop. He’s on general assistance, but the guy has some dreams.

I wonder. I just wonder.

What would Alex’s life look like if one person really, truly poured into his life with love, encouragement, and ongoing one-on-one support. What would his life look life if two, three, four or five people poured into him on a regular basis?

If all things are possible, what could be possible for Alex? What could be possible for those designs he’s dreaming of?

I wonder. I just wonder.

So I ask…whose life can you pour into today?

 

 

 

*This post is a part of a month-long 31 Days series titled Dreams from the Street. If you’d like to read more from my series, click here and you’ll be brought to the series landing page where all 31 posts are listed and linked! You can follow me on Twitter at twitter.com/AmyBPederson where I’ll tweet links to all 31 posts using hashtag #write31days, and I’d LOVE to connect on Facebook at facebook.com/AmyBPederson! I’m so glad you stopped by. Make yourself comfortable and take a peek around the place. You’re welcome back anytime.