When Summer Has to End...

It’s MUCH harder to keep up with blogging when school is in session, but I at least want to finish writing about my summer experiences.  This is the last post about my internship at the house of prayer, but stay tuned over the next couple months for posts about Wyldlife camp and my engagement!!

I love summer.  At least for right now where summer still means vacation from classes and opportunities to do something fun, adventurous, and life changing.  For me, summer flies by every single year, and the toughest part is always when it ends.  Because, more often than not, the end of summer means that it’s time to say goodbye.  To new friends and new places and new experiences that I may never get to repeat.

Leaving IHOP:EG in early August was really sad.  Chris and I had found a home there among a community that truly felt like brothers and sisters in Christ, but it was just for a short season.  Yet although it went quickly, it definitely left its mark on my life.  Suddenly, the Bible started making sense and actually capturing my attention.  And suddenly, I felt that desire and fire and zeal stirring up after many months of dormancy. 

During our last week, I was finally able to see the shift that had occurred in my heart.  I was no longer frustrated in my relationship with God but was instead thankful for His mercy.  And I was excited to pray.  I felt connected to the Holy Spirit once again and was able to see beyond my own plan for myself.  After ignoring the blind man in Puerto Rico (see previous post), I was determined to obey the Lord when led to pray for someone.  I felt this conviction particularly strongly as our time at EG was wrapping up. 

First, it was in one of the Friday night services.  I saw a fellow staff member who looked distressed and knew I should go ask to pray for her.  Embarrassed that I didn’t know what to pray about, I was less than eager to approach her.  But the tugging on my heart persisted, and I finally obeyed, all the while reminding myself that if I was too scared to pray for another Christian in a House of PRAYER, I was never going to be able to pray for (or witness to) a stranger or unbeliever.  So I submitted and prayed for the woman, who expressed great gratitude.  Awesome.  But that wasn’t the end of the matter. 

During another service a few days later, I spotted a little girl standing in the back by herself.  Again, I knew that I needed to go up to her and at least ask if she was okay.  Completely unsure of what to say, I left my seat, approached the girl, and asked her if she knew Jesus.  She responded that she didn’t but that she wanted to.  And as I started praying and sharing with her, the girl seemed to come alive.  Although she’d seemed shy at first, she began to dance and cry out, “I love you, Jesus!”  I’m not sure what chains were broken that day, but it was clear that something at least had changed in her heart. Praise the Lord!

So I felt inspired and praying for people was awesome, but our last set in the Prayer Room was less than ideal.  Chris did great at leading worship, but my microphone was giving me trouble, and I felt unable to connect to the Lord.  Expecting our last set to be really amazing, I got very frustrated and struggled to focus on God.  In retrospect, it wasn’t that bad...just another opportunity to practice responding rightly to unmet expectations.  And anyway, the reality is that our prayer/worship sets weren’t even really about us at all.  They were all for God, so even when we felt like we were doing a bad job, the time wasn’t wasted.  God was still praised and lifted up, and He didn’t stop listening on certain days just because I didn’t sound as good.  What a relief!

Later that week, Chris and I decided to play on a Night Watch set so we’d have at least one experience of praying in the middle of the night.  We joined the worship team for the 2am-4am set, and it was an awesome time of praise and intercession.  Everyone present seemed more awake than most people who come to the Prayer Room during the day! There is definitely something special about crying out to God when most people are fast asleep! 

That Wednesday, we had our last staff meeting of the summer.  We felt so loved by the community and it was a privilege to share with them how much the summer had impacted our lives.  It was also exciting to hear another man share who had been sent from the House of Prayer into the mission field and was back to visit.  The brotherly love exhibited through his sharing really felt like a visit from Paul to the early church.  I was reminded of how important it is for missionaries to be supported by a loving community of believers. 

...But besides all the events of our last week, there was one other important factor.  You can’t leave a house of prayer without having LOTS of people pray you off.  Each time we said goodbye to a friend on staff, they offered to pray for us.  I love that!  What better gift could they send us off with than a sincere prayer? I was so touched to receive the prayers of these faithful ones who spend so much time at the feet of Jesus.

On out last night, Chris and I decided to make dinner for the staff.  After being teased all summer for our healthy eating habits, we wanted to demonstrate that constant fast food does NOT have to be part of the “missionary lifestyle.”  And plus, we really wanted to serve all the people who had welcomed us into their community and taught us so much.  However...we had never taken on a cooking task nearly so ambitious.  Dinner for 20+ people is no minor task!  We took one of our favorite recipes, multiplied it by 4, and bought a whole cart full of ingredients for ground chicken chili, salad, homemade guacamole, and black bean brownies.  Although the cooking was certainly a lot of work, it really wasn’t too bad except for the very intense moment where we realized that the chili wasn’t all going to fit in one pot.  But noticing it early on, it wasn’t the end of the world, and we were able to split the chili between two pots before anything overflowed or spilled.  Phew!

By the end of the night, neither of my two fears had become reality.  The food didn’t taste disgusting, and we had enough for everyone who came.  In fact, because we’d used Chris’ typical meal size as a serving size, we had PLENTY of food left over (I now know that one serving for Chris is probably about 3 normal-sized servings!).  Or maybe God just multiplied the food.  Also a possibility…

After dinner was our last Encounter God Service.  The pastor called me and Chris up front and asked the congregation to pray for us, which was amazing.  Many came forward and laid hands on us, and it was so powerful to hear a chorus of voices all lifting up our lives in prayer.  I know that God was listening, and I’m excited to see the fruit of all those blessings.  I cried as we drove home and couldn't help but recognize how crazy it is that the places I hate at first always seem to be the places I’m most reluctant to leave.  But maybe that was part of God’s plan all along.

Last night with Hans, our intern director

Chris stole my apron!!

feeding the gang...at least those that came on time, haha!

Signs and Wonders

Signs and Wonders Camp.  It’s a bold name.  You can’t invite a hundred kids to a day camp called “Signs and Wonders” unless you really believe that God is going to move.  Because the kids will come with expectation. 

At first, I thought the name was too much.  Too charismatic or something.  But really, it makes sense.  Jesus said, “And these signs will follow those who believe:  In My name they will cast out demons, they will speak with new tongues, they will take up serpents, and if they drink anything deadly, it will by no means hurt them; they will lay hands on the sick and they will recover“ (Mark 16:17-18), so if we’re going to a camp to encounter Jesus, we shouldn’t be surprised or even offended at such things as healing and miracles. 

So all summer long, I was excited about Signs and Wonders Camp.  It was my opportunity to help with children’s ministry at IHOP:EG, and I was eager to learn how to take kids past praying a prayer of salvation and memorizing John 3:16.  Those things are amazing, but I really believe that God can take kids so much deeper.  The volunteer training before camp got me even more excited.  The director shared about her vision for the week, and her energy and passion were contagious.

When the kids finally began to arrive that Wednesday evening, I began to think this would be like any other Vacation Bible School.  The children were just as young, just as cute, and just as goofy.  Many of them had very Biblical names (Elijah, Beulah, Joshua, etc.), but other than that, they seemed just like your typical 6-12 year old kids.  As my group of 9 and 10 year old girls filed in, we decorated our team shield, and they creatively named our team “God’s Girly Defenders,” covering it in glitter and stickers (again, just like any other group of little girls would do).

However, as we transitioned into worship, I started to see that these kids were not your average group of elementary school students.  Within minutes, hands were raised, eyes were closed, and kids were dancing before the Lord.  Not every single kid, of course.  But many.  And that in itself is amazing.  I have been to hundreds of worship services with adults who were much less engaged.  It’s easy to stand and sing the worlds while thinking about a million other things.  I know from experience.  But these children seemed to understand the value of truly worshipping their Creator with all their hearts, and I hope they never lose that.

Early into the service, the pastor asked the children to pray over the leaders.  I was so touched as children half my height surrounded me, praying aloud.  “God, I pray that she would make room in her heart for you,” prayed one little girl while another prayed over me in tongues, which I later learned was a gift she had received only minutes before.  It was beautiful.

After praying, the kids returned to worship and sang to Jesus for a long time, longer than many adults could handle.  The youngest children were tired and many sat down on the floor, but others stayed engaged, even long after my own feet were beginning to tire.  Following worship, the pastor gave a message about Daniel.  The children stayed impressively quiet and even took notes in their workbooks.  The youngest kids could barely write, but they carefully copied down the indicated scriptures and filled in the blanks.  One little girl later told me that these study sessions were her favorite part of camp (even better than a water slide, that’s crazy!).

The next morning kicked off the first full day of camp.  It started with worship and a time of prayer for Israel.  I was stunned to see these tiny little kids up at the microphone praying for the lost in Israel to be saved.   At the time, I didn’t even know what to pray for Israel or why I should pray for a nation so far from my own.  But these kids got it.  They prayed powerful prayers.  One girl in my group even told me that she had a vision of pushing the Holy Spirit to Israel.  As she raised her hands and cried out to God, it was easy to forget that she was only nine years old.  That is, until she suddenly opened her eyes and asked me to take her to the restroom.  Yep, these were definitely children we were working with.

After the morning session, we got to spend more time with our groups for breakout sessions, recreation, arts and crafts, and mealtimes.  One of the highlights of my week was having the girls in our group share what they were learning and experiencing.  Many of them were having real encounters with God, hearing Him speak to them, and having visions of healing in their home or shaking the earth with their prayers.  And because they are not so jaded as us adults, they had no problem believing that these things were from God!

The last night of camp was definitely the highlight of the week.  The kids knew that sick people were coming to receive healing, and they were ready to see God move.  Worship was high-energy, and the kids danced their little hearts out next to leaders who were equally enthusiastic.  I was especially moved when I saw a whole family (mom, dad, and two kids) worshipping together.  I realized I’d never seen that before.  Typically, the mom is engaged and the dad just stands and mouths the words.  Or the dad is engaged but the kids are playing on the mom’s phone.  Or one parent isn’t even present.  But as that whole family worshipped together, I really saw God’s vision for family.  Loving and worshipping God in unity.  And when that happens, it’s really powerful.

As I worshipped with the children, I felt an unprecedented sense of freedom.  Worship is supposed to be free.  We shouldn’t have to worry about what people think about us, even though we often do.  We should be able to be undignified before the Lord.  I love to raise my hands and do sign language during worship, but among these children, I felt even more freedom than normal.  For some reason, it was much easier to connect to God.  I guess it's just because I love God and I love children.  I could feel God’s pleasure.

After worship, it got even better.  The pastor called everyone in the room that was suffering from some kind of physical sickness, injury, or disease to come forward.  Forty or fifty people formed a line, and then the children were released to pray for them.  They laid hands on people with back pain, foot injuries, broken arms, and diabetes.  And they prayed.  Hard.  I know plenty of adults who struggle to pray for 5 minutes (confession: I used to be one of them!), but these children prayed for at least 45 minutes, probably more.  Some children roamed around attempting to pray for every person in the room.  Others set their hearts on one individual and prayed with them the entire time.  At one point, I saw one little girl from my group sitting down.  I approached her and asked why she wasn’t praying, and she replied that she was tired.  I encouraged her to keep praying and was so touched when I saw her take her 6-year-old sister’s hand and lead her to a person waiting for prayer.  If only people my age could see the value of pressing in when we don’t feel like it!

About the time when I thought the kids had prayed enough, the pastor called everyone in the room to gather around one young woman who need prayer.  He explained that she had cancer.  She was a supermodel and not much older than I, and it was shocking to imagine that death could be so near to her.  It was incredible to watch the room circle around this woman, covering her in prayer.  My heart broke as I watched a man on crutches hobble over to join the group, forsaking his own desire to be healed in order to partner with God in saving this woman’s life.  The children cried out alongside their counselors, and the prayers went on for a long time.  I knew that it was powerful but couldn’t help the nagging doubts in the back of my mind.  What were the chances that God would actually heal this woman of cancer?  People pray for healing all the time…and people still die.

Finally, the time of prayer ended.  There was no climactic finish, no one jumping up and down and rejoicing over their healing.  Just a short message and a slightly chaotic dismissal.  I left and couldn’t help but wonder  if anyone had actually been healed.  Perhaps the kids would simply leave thinking that God had done something when nothing had really happened at all.  I was a bit disappointed to be honest.  Camp was great, but didn’t God have something more in mind for these children who were so hungrily seeking His face?

Apparently He did.  Because several days ago, I received an email about Signs and Wonders Camp.  We were told that the woman with cancer had gone to her doctors over the past several weeks and had been miraculously declared cancer free.  Wow.  What a powerful sign of the age to come, where all of our bodies will be healed, resurrected, and glorified.  And what powerful proof that God stills does signs.  He still does wonders.

Let’s remember that.  Let’s pray.  And let’s teach the children to pray alongside us.  

To see pictures from Signs and Wonders Camp, check out the Signs and Wonders Camp Slideshow!

A Roller Coaster Ride

In my girls’ small group at W&L, we always start off our meetings with highs and lows. I think that’s the best way to sum up my first two weeks at IHOP:EG.  I wish I could say that I’m unshaken by circumstances and that, no matter where I am, I am confident and at peace because of my identity in Jesus.  But unfortunately, I’m just not that mature…at least not yet. So this internship started out with a bit of a roller coaster ride.

Low #1:  Although I could eventually no longer attribute it to culture shock, I was still stressed and frustrated about our seemingly disorganized schedule and my loss of a plan for housing.  I would sit in the Prayer Room, get bored within 30 minutes, and accuse God for the next hour and a half with lines like, “Why did You bring me here for this whole summer?" and “What am I going to do with myself for the next two months? I don't even have a place to stay!”  (Yep, I was full of myself… thank the Lord for His grace and mercy.)

High #1: I’ve played the flute for 12 years.  A lot of time, effort, and my parents’ money has gone into lessons, band, auditions, recitals, concerts, etc.  But until just a year or two ago, I never really used my flute to praise the Lord.  I didn’t know how.  I could only play music written on a page, which just isn’t very useful in Spirit-led worship.  However, last year, Chris gave me some tips so that I can now play by ear.  Suddenly, this instrument that I love can be used to make music to Jesus!  This is relevant to my internship, because now, for the first time since starting college, I play my flute for several hours a week.  And I love it!  In the Prayer Room, I actually get to live out Psalm 150:4 (“Praise the Lord with harp and flute”).  What a privilege!

Low #2: The Prayer Room is freezing!  I’ve gotten used to it, but at first, this was a big struggle for me.  I would try to pray but be so mad about how cold I was that I couldn’t focus AT ALL!  I tried using a blanket, but naturally: Sitting on the floor + wrapped in a blanket + closing my eyes to pray = prayer???  Nope….sleeping!

High #2: The teachings that we listened to rapidly began to change my view on creation and heaven.  Talking to some of the staff at EG blew my mind, and I found myself telling everyone about how heaven is a REAL place, not an immaterial realm where we float around on clouds.  Like a child, I was easily excited by even the simplest things we learned.  For example, God stretched out the heavens after He created them (Isaiah 42:5).  I didn’t know that!  And there must be at least some animals in heaven, because Jesus will come down riding a white horse (Rev 19:11).  And there are at least 3 heavens (2 Cor 12:2), with God dwelling in the highest heaven (Deut 10:14, Job 22:12)!  The stuff we were learning was just so cool!

High #3:  One of Chris’ friends shared with us how she really believed we were in the right place.  She knew I was frustrated about housing and the disorganization, but she stressed the importance of learning to be sent.  When God tells us to go somewhere, our job is to obey, even before He actually provides the way.  Naturally, as humans, we want provision before we go, but that takes little faith.  Real faith is demonstrated when we follow God before we can see how He will come through.  The next day, I found a place to stay that was much closer to EG.  So she was right. God provides when we take the first steps towards what He asks of us.    

Low #3: Now that Chris and I were no longer staying with his parents, I couldn’t rely on Chris to drive me everywhere.  The first time I had to drive by myself on the Garden State Parkway, I cried the whole way home.  In retrospect, it wasn’t nearly as bad as I expected.  All I had to do was merge on, stay in my lane for 3 or 4 exits, exit, and make a few turns on local roads.  But that first night, it seemed terrifying.  SO MANY LANES!  And headlights...EVERYWHERE!

Low #4: It rained on our first day off.  So much for our plans to head down to the Jersey shore. L

High #4: It turned out okay because we went to the Liberty Science Center instead and got to watch a lady dissect a cow eye (gross!), see an IMAX about sharks, and lots of other fun stuff.

Low #5: On the way back, we got stuck in traffic for the first time.  Not fun.  At all.  I think traffic is a great way to become better acquainted with our sin nature.  So much anger and so little patience.  It's a very simple reminder of how much we need God's mercy.

High #5: We attended our first Encounter God Service and Sunday Expressions, both of which were unlike any church service I’ve been to in the United States.  It was amazing to see such freedom in worship.  Everyone praised God in their own way, and no one cared what anyone else was doing.  It’s a beautiful thing to see people dance for Jesus. 

High #6: I discovered that it IS possible to cook with no stove, oven, measuring cups, or Pampered chef utensils.  A slow cooker and a toaster oven is all you need!  The EG staff have a term for such things….MISSIONARY LIFESTYLE!

Low #6: Just when I was getting used to things, it was time for my 6:30am flight out of Newark.  But it's probably unfair to count that as a low...I was headed to PUERTO RICO!  More on that in my next blog...

Liberty Science Center

New Jersey: My First Taste of Culture Shock

It’s a little surprising, but in all my trips to Peru, Honduras, Argentina, the Dominican Republic, and Puerto Rico, I've never really experienced culture shock.  Yet somehow, during my first week in New Jersey, I showcased almost every single one of Google’s top culture shock symptoms: homesickness, feelings of helplessness, disorientation, sadness, increased irritability, and excessive critical reactions to surroundings.  Looking back, I can’t even explain why.  There are a lot of things about New Jersey that are different (traffic, more people, more buildings, traffic, complicated roads, traffic…), but there are also lots of things that are just like West Virginia (trees, rolling hills closely resembling what us West Virginians like to call "mountains", bunnies, people who speak English, etc.).  For some reason, though, being in New Jersey really stressed me out at first.  Staying with Chris’ family, I was a bit less independent than at school, and I was very anxious about the fact that my initial plan for housing had fallen through and I might have to stay in Ridgewood and commute 40 minutes every day (plus traffic) for our internship.  Plus, I was unaccustomed to life in the Hu household, where they eat Chinese food, use the dishwasher as a drying rack, and walk around the house barefoot (which always results in a scolding at my house).  Of course, none of these are bad things, but when thrown in with feelings of homesickness, helplessness, disorientation, sadness, increased irritability, and excessive criticism, they felt overwhelming and kept me from seeing all the really amazing things about staying at Chris' house, such as the overflowing generosity and hospitality that I was receiving from both of his parents whom I'd only met a handful of times.  Most of all, though, I was flustered by the fact that our internship turned out to be very flexible and could not be carefully penciled into my color-coordinated planner as I always prefer things to be.  Unfortunately, it took me a while to get my eyes off myself and thank the Lord for bringing me to a place where I could learn and grow in so many ways. 

On my first night in New Jersey, one of Chris’ friends treated us to dinner.  I was surprised to see someone I’d never met give so generously and share so openly about his life and faith.  Through this occasion and many others, I've been encouraged by how easy it can be to connect with brothers and sisters in Christ just because we are all seeking the same thing.  That evening was especially interesting because a random stranger came up to us in Starbucks after hearing us pray and performed a magic trick sermon using a quarter.  His little show explained how the devil can distract us and steal away what God offers, a great reminder that God had something special in store for the summer that I would likely miss if I continued freaking out about the little details. 

The following day, I visited the church where Chris grew up.  It’s a Chinese church, so for the first time ever (at least in the US), I found myself in the clear racial minority.  There was only one other white guy in the church, and because he stood out like a sore thumb, I knew I must also be as easy to spot as a gringa in Huancayo, Peru.  Since I was so clearly a visitor, the man doing announcements had me stand up to be welcomed by the church.  Ironically, he misheard my name and introduced me to the church as Chris’ girlfriend, “Jersey.”  But that was practically drowned out by the crowd's "Awww" as the two of us sat down.  I'm pretty sure my cheeks matched my bright pink dress for a second there.  

On Monday, Chris and I finally got to go to the International House of Prayer: Eastern Gate (which I will often refer to as “EG”) where we would be interning for the next 2 months.  Still suffering from some culture shock symptoms, I was uncharacteristically irritated about the fact that the person in charge of our internship was not there on our first day.  This irritation rapidly transitioned to panic as we were informed that our time at EG would kick off with an on-the-spot audition.  Shaking like a leaf, I played my flute and sang a few lines of “Set a Fire” so that Chris and I could lead the 2pm set that very day.  It was pretty scary, but as soon as that was over and we entered the Prayer Room, I realized that EG is no so different from our Prayer Room at school.  Yes, it’s open almost 24-7 and is a lot bigger than our space at W&L.  And yes, the Prayer Room has a full sound system and a stage.  But just like at school, we simply worshiped. There was no big audience or crowd of people joining us in prayer.  It was just me, Chris, Jesus, and one or two others.  And for those 2 hours, my culture shock symptoms subsided.  Because in the presence of God, there’s just no place for such things.  

A Glimpse Back in Time: Part 7

As far as Prayer Room attendance, junior year was a roller coaster.  Although it was often just Chris, Joy, and I, several freshmen got involved early in the year and came on and off.  One guy was immediately drawn to the Prayer Room and joined us faithfully for several weeks.  But one day he stopped coming and never really came back.  Love and hunger for God can so easily be choked out by the pressures of college, especially at W&L.  High academic stress + social pressures + extreme busyness make it very difficult to devote regular time to God. 

Other freshmen would come daily for a whole week but then not again for a month.  We saw desire in them to really surrender everything to Jesus, but that desire was so easily overcome when homework got heavy or other fun activities seemed more appealing than singing and praying in a dim, lonely basement.

Spring Term, however, which at W&L means the last 4 weeks of school, was different.  Knowing that everyone was only taking one class, we decided to offer a challenge.  It was for anyone and everyone but especially targeted to our freshmen friends who wanted to commit more to God but needed a push.  And it was AWESOME.

First, we issued the challenge.  A week or two before spring break, we wrote a commitment on the whiteboard in the Prayer Room, signed it, and encouraged others to consider signing it as well.  The commitment was to come to the Prayer Room for all 25 nights of Spring Term.  It wasn’t about attendance or checking “God time” off a to-do list, but it was really about providing an opportunity for those that said they wanted to give God more of their time to actually do it. 

When Spring Term finally rolled around, we had eight signatures counting our own.  It seemed like a small number.  Eight?  Who would be excited about an event with eight people?  But coming from our usual three, eight was pretty miraculous!  Eight people would be praying for W&L EVERY NIGHT of Spring Term! 

The first night of the challenge was awesome.  I remember sitting on the floor and listening to the sound of the worship.  I don’t know if you’ve ever heard a group of 8-10 people singing in a small, open room, but it sounds AMAZING!  Especially when people begin to sing their own songs to Jesus.  It all blends together in this beautiful harmony, literally a new song for the Lord.  And I’m pretty sure we’ve been blessed with a greater than normal percentage of talented singers.

That night, a freshman guy who had never been to the Prayer Room before showed up and added his signature to the list. Already, our little group was growing.  And with nine people, there was an opportunity for community that hadn’t really existed before.  It suddenly became easier to imagine a group of students living lives abandoned to the Lord, forsaking the temptations of college, and enjoying fellowship with God and each other.  I really believe it was a glimpse of what we’re praying for down the road.

During those four weeks, we held many special events to better focus our time in prayer.  We did a prayer walk, where we prayed at different locations on campus, asking God to move there and touch hearts.  We visited freshmen dorms to pray with people and chat about their beliefs.  We invited the other campus ministries to the Prayer Room and met Christians that we hadn’t known before.  And we had post-prayer events such as game night and prayer for gifts of the Holy Spirit to strengthen both our friendships and our hearts.  It was truly a sweet time and such an answer to prayer.  Seemingly out of nowhere, people were hungry for God and acting upon that hunger.  Nine people were signed up, but on some nights, we had even more come to pray.

Of course, there were also nights when some of our committed friends were unable to make it.  But even those nights were sweet!  On one Friday or Saturday night, there were actually only three of us.  But as I looked at the freshman guy praying with Chris and I, I was touched by the fact that his experience in the Prayer Room was so different than mine.  In those 25 days, he came to our prayer meetings consistently, but he only experienced one prayer meeting with less than five people.  To him, the Prayer Room was exciting and full of life, not lonely and boring as I had so often experienced.  I wouldn’t trade my first two years in the Prayer Room for anything, but if no one else has to experience the difficulty of two-person prayer meetings each night, it will be a cause for rejoicing.

The last night of the prayer challenge was by far the best.  I cry every year at the last night of prayer, but this night was special in a different way.  For the first time, Chris and I were surrounded by a circle of faces, a circle of friends who had been deeply affected by the Prayer Room and by our prayers for them before they even started coming.  When I think back to each of those friends at the beginning of the year, it’s amazing how far God brought them.  One girl wasn’t sure she had a relationship with God.  One girl didn’t acknowledge Jesus as Messiah.  One guy couldn’t make God a priority.  One girl constantly said, “I’ll be at prayer tonight,” but rarely made it.  And me? I wasn’t sure if God was ever going to bring people to the Prayer Room.  But He changed us all.  And He gave us a hunger to keep on pursuing Him through the summer months.  Because the Spring Term Challenge was just the beginning!  Summer is round two.  And then comes the fall.  I pray that they all come back.  But regardless, it’ll be my last year at W&L, and I am going to give it everything I have.  Jesus laid down His life for me. Why should I do any less?

This is my last post for now about my time at W&L.  Through these “glimpses back in time,” I hope you have a better idea of where I’m currently at in life, ministry, and my relationship with the Lord.  Now you are ready for my posts about this summer!!

A Glimpse Back in Time: Part 6

It’s funny how, although it’s only been a month and a half since junior year wrapped up, it already feels like so long ago.  It was a great year, but part of me doesn’t know what to write that would entertain you as the reader.  So much of my story in college seems the same:  We prayed.  No one came.  We prayed.  No one came.  We prayed.  Someone came and was touched, and God reminded us that it’s all worth it.  Repeat.  Boring, right?

But it’s not boring!  Because each of those times, there was a real person at the center of it.  A real person giving their life to Jesus or recommitting or being changed.  And that matters!  As does all the time in between, where it was just me, Chris, and Joy huddling around the space heater, praying in the cold.  Because it was not just me, Chris, and Joy in that room.  It was me, Chris, Joy, AND the God of the Universe.  And regardless of how I felt during those meetings, He was never bored.  During every meeting, Jesus was on the edge of His chair (well, throne if you wanna be technical), listening to our every word.  What a special thing!

So though the year may seem like a lot of the same, there are amazing stories between each of the periods where God seemed quiet or distant.  One night, we had a friend bring a student from a nearby community college, and although we thought she hated the prayer meeting (which is generally our conclusion when someone sits stiffly with their eyes open and doesn’t speak), she returned a few days later and shared that she had committed her life to Christ because of that visit.     

Later in the semester, a Jewish student came to the Prayer Room.  I’m still not exactly sure why she came, but she kept on coming for many weeks.  And not only did she come, but she asked questions, started attending Joy’s Bible study, and began to read the Word.  Eventually, she concluded that Jesus really is the way, the truth, and the life.  Praise the Lord!

A few weeks later was our craziest night yet.  We were having a pretty average prayer meeting when one of our friends knocked on the door and motioned me to come out.  She explained that there was a girl in her car who had possibly overdosed on drugs.  Not knowing what to do, she had brought her to the Prayer Room.  After some VMI cadets (who happened to be praying with us, thank God) determined that she didn’t need to go to the emergency room, three guys who were also in the car carried her into the Prayer Room.  I couldn’t help but think of the paralytic man who was brought to Jesus on a mat by his friends.  Like him, this girl was helpless as the guys laid her on the floor with a blanket.  We prayed silently as she shook and cried out, and Joy often recounts that she was preparing for the girl to die before her eyes.  It was scary!  But as we prayed, she began to relax and her breathing slowed to a normal rhythm.  Finally, as Joy played “You Make Beautiful Things,” she stood up.  It was crazy...the closest thing that we’ve seen to healing.  At least so far.

 

Those are just the Prayer Room highlights, though.  I did other things of course.  I stood with one of the middle schoolers that I work with as she announced her decision to give her life to Christ at Young Life Camp.  As an RA, I prayed for and with freshmen girls that I had the privilege of getting to know.  I wrote a 30 page poverty capstone, which was the most difficult school assignment I’ve ever done.  And I went to a Switchfoot concert with Chris to celebrate the end of our first year of dating.  It was an awesome year!  But the best part by far was Spring Term, where some of the underclassmen who had come to the Prayer Room on and off really began to catch a vision for wholehearted pursuit of God.  

To be continued…

A Glimpse Back in Time: Part 4

Sophomore year started off much differently than I anticipated.  All summer, I envisioned a glorious return to the Prayer Room where a crowd of students would gather to lift up harmonious worship to the Lord.  I thought it'd be like Spring Term of the year before, where the musty basement had come alive, with 8, 10, and 12 students attending each night.  But the excitement had died down, and one of our faithful prayer warriors transferred.  School got harder.  Everyone got busier.  And after a few weeks, it was back to just me and Chris. 

That semester, I entered a season of loneliness.  Suddenly, the things that had once brought me pleasure were no longer appealing.  I began to desire God more and more, and that yearning to know Him consumed every other desire in my heart.  And not just the bad things.  Hanging out with friends, watching movies, and even reading novels no longer seemed worth pursuing in the face of a relational God of the Universe that I could get to know.  God was answering my prayer for more of Him, but it was difficult because few could relate.  People didn’t believe that I would actually rather sit by myself and read my Bible than attend a game night with friends.  But that's how I felt, and at times, normal, everyday conversations seemed so shallow and pointless that I wanted to explode.  Although my lips stayed sealed, my heart would cry, "I don't want to talk about homework anymore!  I want to talk about Jesus!"  He was drawing me away, and I think He really enjoys such seasons, though they may be painful for us.  (If you’re really interested in this, check out The Saint Must Walk Alone by A.W. Tozer or Apostolic Loneliness by David Sliker.)

So I was lonely.  But that didn’t mean that I was disengaged from what was going on around me.  God was really moving on campus and I was not blind to that.  Three of my friends got baptized in September, and one of them hadn’t even known about the baptism.  She’d been praying for over a year about getting baptized, though, and happened to run into us when we were on our way to the river, to a spot appropriately called “Jordan’s Point.”  Just a few weeks later, another girl who I’d been talking to and praying for accepted Jesus as her Savior.  She's from China and didn’t know much about God before coming to W&L, but now she loves Jesus, and I’m so thankful that I’ve gotten to be a part of it.  These events and others made it impossible to believe that God was ignoring our cries.  But at the same time, I struggled with understanding why no one would join us in the place of prayer.       

I think this piece that I wrote during Christmas break of that year helps explain what we were experiencing.  It describes a detailed vision that Chris received during that fall semester.  In the vision, the Prayer Room was like a prison that God had put us in.  But instead of breaking down the walls by our own strength, we needed to dig deep into God.  Check it out: 

Darkness is closing in.  Deep, deep darkness.  It’s all around.  You can almost taste it.  And with the darkness comes despair, anguish, and wickedness.  It brings great blindness and confusion.  The darkness has reigned for so long in this place that many people have forgotten the Light, most people even. 

They don’t realize what they’ve lost.  Some of them have actually come to love the darkness.  They embrace it and relish it with every breath, and the mere thought of the Light is completely unappealing to them.  Others are deceived.  Wielding a lamp or other cheap imitation of the Light, they think they are clinging to what is good.  But they have forgotten what the Light truly is. 

My heart breaks for these people.  Their satisfaction is counterfeit and they are missing out on true joy. I suppose it doesn’t look like joy, not while we’re in this cell, at least.  But it will one day, when the Light suddenly bursts forth to reconquer this place.  Then they will see.

I can’t blame them for losing sight of the Light.  The darkness is powerful, and it seems to control everything.  I hate it down here, often longing to return to a life where everyone loves the Light, or at least pretends to, a life where the darkness cannot parade before the people but must instead hide in the shadows.  I ask myself all the time why God sent me to this dark, dark place.  Yet part of me loves it here.  Because I’m being changed.  For the better. 

Even while the darkness seems overwhelming, every now and again, a tiny ray of Light slips through the cracks of our prison, reminding us that the hope we cling to is not in vain.  I love those tiny rays and the encouragement that comes with them.  When everyone else abandons the Light, forgets it, and gives up hope, we hold onto those little bits of sunshine, and we keep fighting.  Well…sort of.

In one sense, we’ve stopped fighting.  At least, the physical battle.  But believe me, war is still raging.  The battle has simply changed.  We used to pound the walls, beating the cold, metal bars until our knuckles were raw.  Our goal was the same: escape, returning to the Light.  But beating metal bars with fists of flesh never did a thing.  We'd eventually collapse, exhausted, without an inch of progress or a dent in the bars to show for it.  We’d get up and try again the next day, but still nothing.  And the darkness kept closing in. It thickens even now.

So we stop “fighting,” but now what?  We must get out.  We MUST.  This darkness CANNOT win.  Then what do we do?  We dig.

Now trust me, that wasn’t my idea.  I tend to go for quick and easy solutions, and digging our way out of this cell is certainly not going to happen overnight.  However, it’s the only way out. 

It’s hard to even start digging.  I look down at my hands, still clenched and a little bruised from beating the iron bars.  Inside each curled up fist, I feel all the things I still hold onto: the anxieties, the distractions, the fears, the pride.  I glance at my shovel.  Can I hold all this at once at once?  Perhaps I can dig with one hand and clutch all these other things with the other.  No way.  The shovel will be too heavy.  I have to let them go.  But I don’t want to.

I stand there for a while.  This is pointless.  We have to get out of this prison, and that means that we have to dig.  So one finger at a time, with some supernatural help, I pry open my hands, fixing my mind on the Light and letting everything else fall to the ground.  It’s harder than it sounds. Painful even.  As all these things I used to cling to hit the dirt and scatter, I resist the urge to snatch them back up.  I look at my empty hands and realize that I actually feel lighter, perhaps more free.  But I can’t stop here. 

After what seems like ages, I pick up my shovel.  As I press it into the ground and raise up the first scoop of dirt, I wonder how long this is going to take.  But I guess it doesn’t matter.  It’s the only way out, so we have to dig or let the darkness win.  And we’re going to have to dig deep.  Really, really deep.

It’s been about an hour, and my body is already begging me to stop.  The shovel is heavy and awkward.  My back aches.  My arms, which are pretty weak to start with, are screaming, and I’m hot and tired.  The worst, though, is my hands.  The blisters are emerging already, and I know that my palms will soon be rubbed raw.  I consider laying down the shovel and gathering all those things I worked so hard to let go of.  They were much easier to hold, much more comfortable.  But the Light keeps beckoning.  We can’t quit.

At least I’m not alone.  I give thanks for that every day.  Multiple times.  Yet even as I give thanks, it’s easy to complain.  Why is it just the two of us?  Is there really no one else who will help us dig?  There isn’t one other person here who’s willing to go deep? Lots of people think they’re willing, even say they are, but no one sticks around.  That took some getting used to.  We’ve had to learn to just keep digging. 

At first, I was really distracted by the others.  I still am sometimes.  First, it was excitement.  Someone would come into our cell, pick up a shovel and start digging with us.  I thought they’d stay forever.  I cried when they left.  Then, it was anger.  The first time some kid dropped by to tell us, “I love what you guys are doing!  Keep at it!” I wanted to hit him.  Really?! If it’s so great, why don’t you give us a hand?

After that, it was a bit of desperation.  Every time someone passed by, I tried to convince them to come dig with us.  I wanted to show them that it’s worth it even though it’s hard.  Maybe it was because I was lonely, but at least part of my motivation was wanting them, too, to experience the Light that we so dearly love.  Some of them showed interest, would even dig for a while, yet no one truly believed in escape, in the revival that we knew the Light will bring forth.  So they didn’t endure. 

Several times I was determined to make them stay.  I laid down my shovel to grab their hand, stopped digging to plead with them some more.  But they didn’t get it.  The darkness continued to cloud their understanding, and I couldn’t force them to stay.  I should have just kept digging…

We’ve been learning that we can’t pour our energy into these others if they’re not really committed.  We just have to dig.  And dig.  And dig.  Deep.  It doesn’t get easier.  Actually, it probably gets harder.  As we go deeper, the soil turns to hard clay, our bodies grow weak and weary, and our hands start to bleed.  Worst of all is the battle in our minds.  “Quit!” screams a voice within.  But we can’t.  What about the Light?

Somehow, though, as it gets harder, the digging also gets sweeter.  Our hearts are filled just as our hands were emptied.  We can soar even when we feel weary.  Escape is ever nearer.  Breakthrough is coming.  And we can hear, albeit faint, the river that lies beneath this prison, the river that will take us out of the darkness and back to the Light.

I wonder yet again how much farther we have to go, how much longer darkness will reign over this place.  When will people realize the goodness of this life we’ve found?  Who will be first to take up a shovel and stay with us?  Will it be the girl that digs with us for an hour or two every other week?  Or will it be the guy that stands outside and laughs at our foolishness, insisting that we should come drink a beer instead?  I think they’ll both have a shovel when this is all over with.  But how long?

I keep asking that question, yet I know the answer really doesn’t matter all that much.  Because whether we escape tomorrow or next month or two years from now, what we do in this moment doesn’t change.  Either way, we keep on digging.  We dig deep, and we don’t stop until darkness is conquered.  Because our Light, our GOD, is worth it.  And He’s with us all the way, never once despising His beloved prisoners.

Even crazier than the fact that Chris had this vision, so full of meaning and relevant to our experiences was the fact that, the next day, he stumbled upon this verse “For the Lord hears the poor and does not despise His prisoners" (Psalm 69:33).  Even now, there are times when I feel like God has imprisoned us at W&L, but He has not forsaken us. 

To be continued…