I don’t like to write about relationships that much.   Scratch that.  I don’t like to write about romantic relationships that much, because for some reason – when the Christian community talks about relationships it always gets a little too intense, a little too fast.  So I am going to say this upfront.  I am single.  But I am not looking to marry the first man that walks in the door and asks me out for coffee.  I am not anxiously searching for a soul mate to complete my walk with Jesus.  It doesn’t occupy my mind 24 hours a day ( I mean, I sleep for 8, right?).  And I don’t sit by my phone like Molly Ringwald in every bad 80s movie you’ve seen.

I think on Valentines, it’s safe to say that the commercialization of the concept of Love has snowballed into a multi-billion dollar business that hyper inflates emotional love and straight pins the hopes and dreams of the single community.  It’s not my favorite day.  Not because I am bitter and have been jaded by men.  And not because I have no one to share it with this year or because I am anti-commercialism.  My love history is emotionally successful and surprisingly drama free, and I enjoy a blockbuster rom com like everyone else.

I think the bigger issue of today, is that in the Christian Community – love has become an obsessive necessity.  I capitalize Christian Community for the purpose of archetyping the American church.  So I don’t mean to offend you or your church, I am not wagging a finger specifically at you.  I’m talking about trend here.

I can’t tell you how many people I have met that within their first three or four questions come to this one: So, is there a man in your life?

It is always accompanied with a nod and a wink.  And then disappointment when I reply, not yet.    Invariably it follows with, “Well you’re so pretty, it can’t be long now.”

Women, more than men, are fiendishly obsessive with marriage.   And I think I know why.

“Your desire will be for your husband, and he will rule over you.” Genesis 3:16

The Original Sin led to the Original Punishment.   A woman’s heart, according to the Lord, would now seek after a man, instead of after God.  That is her penitence.  That is her obstacle and her downfall.

The word desire appears first here, in this statement.  Out of the whole Bible, this is where the word desire enters our collective Christian history.    And in this instance, the word desire is actually closer to the word Lust.

It’s strange to see how something that was intended as a just punishment has been catapulted into a commercial sensation that only entraps men and women into perpetually making a penance that we have already been freed from by Jesus Christ.   But if you look at it, it’s Biblical.   And in this sense, the term he will rule over you – is also translatable as, he will control you.  The thought of this man, will control your thoughts.   Basically God said – “You wanted to eat the apple, fine.  Here’s what is going to happen.  Since you listened to the snake over me, you are going to listen to your husband over me.  He’s going to control (arrest) your thoughts now.”  And we’ve been in mental jail ever since.  Will he like this dress?  Does he like red hair?  Do I need to lose a few pounds for him to ask me out?

And so we as a female sistership have all fallen into this mess.   And now, as capitalism is very good at doing, everyone is making money and profiting and adding steam to this movement that was always intended as a stop-gap in our relationship with God.

I’m not saying don’t buy your sweetie gifts today.  And I’m not saying never get caught up in the fun that commercialism can bring.  (I LOVE heart-shaped balloons!)  And I am certainly not advocating for strange groups to start ‘Falling in love with Jesus Day.’  I don’t mean to frustrate you or make you think that Valentines day is bad.

Just take it with a grain of salt.  For what it’s worth.  This is why we tick tock the way we do.

But as an offering of peace to all my single sisters and brothers who are especially frustrated on today.  Relax!   Just think about all the money you’re saving by not going out to a $50 steak dinner!   Now you can buy yourself those shoes you’ve been eying, or that video game you want.

 And remember: You are loved more than you will ever know, by Someone who died to know you.”

But maybe I am wrong!  What do you think?

“You love Jesus.”  She proclaimed and stepped towards me.

“Yes. That I do,” I replied

Now two years ago, I would have written her off as a crazy person.  I would have seen her eccentric behavior and plain language as a level five on the insane-o-meter.  I would have judged her and known she was strange, and that she was about to say something weird that I should ignore.  But now, I saw in her eyes not crazy, but instead the crazy love of Christ.

“I could tell,” she said plainly.   “Do you need some prayer?”

“Well, always!”   I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that I thought for a half second first about my friends standing a few feet away watching this encounter. About how they stopped walking and grouped together and were talking amongst themselves.   How I assumed they were assessing how odd I had become since going on the Race, and why I was talking to this random woman.   The devil is a trickster – and he is quick for opportunity.   I shoved him out of my mind and turned to step toward the woman.

Before I could even approach her, she had approached me, and was standing square to my body in the middle of the traffic flow with her hands out to me.   She placed one hand on my belly and one out with palm raised, she started to pray.  Bowing her head, she searched for words – which came with little effort it seemed.

“Lord, I come before you and I ask for favor on this daughter of yours.  I can tell that she loves you so much.  (Pause) Favor on her (pause) education, favor on (pause) her health and favor on her transition. I pray for discernment (pause) in her writing and relationships.  Favor for the miracles that she is going to perform, and the lives she is going to change.  Amen.”

It was a simple prayer.  Took all of two minutes.   And when she backed away and looked into my eyes.  I… was… floored.

A total stranger – from the other side of the country – with no knowledge of my life or plans was praying for the EXACT things that I have been praying for myself.   I am old enough to be out of college a good five years, and yet she prayed for my education.  I am healthy in appearance but battle food allergies daily, and she prayed for my health.   And without knowing where I am from, or that I am about to move to Nashville – she prayed for transition.   She prayed for discernment about my writing.  And about relationships (what single 26 year old isn’t thinking about relationships). She prayed for me and the miracles I want to see happen here at home.

And as I tried to utter a word, any word at all – I looked on the ground and realized that I was standing at vendor 213.  My birthday date.  A number that is very meaningful to me.

And then there were tears.

It is my 26^th birthday today.   But really, it’s my 7^th.   It was seven years ago on this day that a dear friend led me to a church and God spoke to me in my brokenness.   It’s been seven years of battling with myself, wrestling with God and unyoking myself from the devil.  And it has been difficult and tiring and incredible.

But in this meek, straw haired, tiny woman – God showed me a mighty sign of prophecy and promise.   And all I have to say today is wow.   God knows exactly what you need before you can even take a breath to pray for it.

She took her hand off of me, gave me a hug and looked into my eyes and walked off from me.  I stood there, puzzled and alone in the middle of crowds of people, marveling at Jesus and his incredible love. 

And then she came back.

“I have a word of knowledge for you.”

“Alright.”

She looked at me in the eyes and said “You have a gluten problem, don’t you.”   Boom.  She nailed the health issue.

“Yes.  I am allergic.”

“It’s fairly new isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“God said you don’t need to worry so much about gluten as you do about the combination of sugar and yeast.  If you are not careful, that is what will severely harm you.  So be cautious – you are too important to the Lord to forget to watch for those things. Be on your guard.”

She hugged me again and left.   And I stood there, laughing.  Because God had told me the same exact thing two days before.   I had to pick up my jaw from the floor before walking over to my friends.  And Tina found me there again.  And prayed for my friends back muscles- without ever having been told that she was aching.

It really is remarkable.   Where you can find God.  Handing out towels in a bathroom stall in south Florida.  Walking along antique lined streets in Beverly Hills, California.   My prayer for this year is that we all find the eyes to see Him.  No matter where we are.  No matter what we are doing.   We keep our hearts and our eyes open, so that everyday can be a miracle day.

Standing in line at a night club bathroom (yes even missionaries like a little music and a good boogie now and then) I saw a woman, sitting at the end of the sink, handing out paper towels.   I noticed the hard lines on her face, and her clenched jaw.  She had deep black skin, and dark brown eyes.   The skin on her bare head was smooth and silky.  While she was in a menial job, working for tips, I could still tell that she was regal.  In the way that she sat perfectly upright, as if she had a grandmother like mine, who harped on her about posture.  Her eyes were focused and clear and bright.  I knew her mind must have been traveling a million miles a second on some type of thought not related at all to this bathroom, this bar, or even this city.   And as I was staring, probably a little to intensely, I watched as a drunk lady nailed her in the head with a swinging stall door.   BAM!   The girl stumbled out in a tight white mini dress, grabbed the lady, and petted her face saying “Omigoshsosorry.  Soooosorry.  Omigosh, areyoualrigh?”  The woman held her hand up between herself and the girl as an international sign of, it’s cool, now please stop rubbing my face with your peepee hands.  And the young lady tottered out towards the concert hall.  And no, she didn’t wash.

Well by the time the line went down, it had been five minutes.  And as I was finishing washing my own hands, the woman handed me a towel.   I took it from her, and having my curiosity piqued at the whole head smacking ordeal, I squared my body with hers.

“Are you alright?”

Without missing a beat, or even looking at me, she replied, “Yes ma’am.”

I changed my tone and tilted my head to the side to repeat my question. “No, I mean really.   Are you alright?”  I couldn’t tell through her pristine facade, but I knew something was going on with her.

Her eyes darted up from whatever void she was staring into, and she looked at me for the first time.  She looked like I had just electrocuted her.    And then she promptly started to cry.

“I’m fine.”   She stated plainly, with tears rolling down her face in effortless numbers.

I didn’t know what to do, so I reached into my boot and took out the money I had brought with me, and put it in to her tip jar.   I don’t usually think that cash will fix problems, but I didn’t really have anything else to say at the moment.    I looked back at her, as she was watching me intently.   Her tears had ceased almost as quickly as they began.

“Where are you from?” I inquired.

“I’m from Haiti.”

Shocked that she was from a place I had actually been to several times, I responded with a very gingerly, “ Mon sè, jezi renmen ou!”  Which means ‘My sister, Jesus loves you.’  I don’t know what made me say it, other than it’s one of the phrases I know in Kreyol.

She immediately started crying again.    And reached out grabbing me, to hug me.   All of the hardness disappeared from her face, as she leaned into me and cried.    After a moment or two she whispered  “You speak Kreyol?”

“Not really,”  I replied.  “I can understand when it is spoken, but only know a little myself.  But I have been to Haiti.”  She held me out at an arms distance, and looked at me sideways.

“Thank you for telling me about Jesus.”  She said,  turning to hand out towels to other women.  I had just realized they were there, forming a line to use the sink.   Standing there a sudden conversation orphan, I didn’t know what to do, so I just nodded my head, and said goodbye and left.

Heading back out into the club, I climbed into the sound booth with my friend Trey, and just sat down along the wall.   My mind was still racing.   I wanted to tell her so much more,  but I didn’t know how. I wanted to just walk back into the bathroom and simply demand she keep speaking with me, but I knew that wasn’t going to work.    So I found a cocktail napkin, and borrowed Trey’s sharpie to write a psalm down for her.

Psalm 46:5 (which is my favorite verse in the entire Bible)

“God is within her, she will not fall.  God will help her at the break of dawn.”

Underneath it I wrote, ‘This verse saved my life, I hope that it changes your night.”   I put down the marker and bounded off back for the bathroom.   Walking straight in, I bypassed the line, and was determined to give it to her.   She was still there, sitting in the corner, handing out towels.

So I walked over, and placed the napkin in her hand.   I told her, “I don’t know much, but I do know that this is true.” And I pointed at the napkin.   She stopped for a second, confused, then unwrinkled it and read it.    Immediately she started crying again.   This time, there was no holding it back, or telling the tears to stay put.   She looked at me with wide eyes.

“I read this last night.  I am a Christian.  And I tell you, I read this very thing last night.  But I don’t think it could come true.  I am a Christian. I am a Christian with cancer.”

There it was.   There was the thing she was thinking about.   Thrown out into the open.   Cancer.   

“I do not know if Jesus can love me through cancer.”   She stated, dropping her gaze to the floor.

“Jesus, my friend, can love you through anything.  Murder.  Cancer.  Adultery.  Blasphemy.  Anything.  About the only thing He can’t do – is not love you.  Because God is love.  And not loving you, well… it is against His nature.”

She went on to tell me about her two children.   About the tumor that’s growing in her belly.   About the chemo she just had the day before, and how it makes her throw up blood.  About how the treatment just wasn’t working this time.   But that my walking in there, had given her hope.

I asked her if we could pray.  Pray that Jesus would love her through the cancer.  That he would heal her right now, in this instant.  And she replied a huge YES!  So we did.   Right there in the bathroom.   In front of the line of women waiting.   With the stalls swinging, and the toilets flushing, and the sinks turning on and off.  We prayed.   With the retching in the handicapped bathroom, and ladies taking towels from the counter.   Velouse, as I had come to learn was her name, had put down her roll of paper towels, and put her hands out to Jesus.   And we prayed for healing.   Another woman even joined in, walking up to us and bowing her head, whispering under her breath, and laying her hands on Velouse.    We exchanged contact information,  and hugged, and then I let her get back to her work.

I wandered out of the bathroom, completely blown away.   I know it sounds funny, but that was a moment I had really not expected.    I have come to know that God is big, and can do anything.  But still.  He surprises me every time.

So next time you are out and about, I challenge you to have the eyes to see those around you.  To be bold in the way that you encourage them, and yourself.    If you want to change the world, then maybe you should start in a bathroom.   

I had my dreams as well.

When I came to know the Lord, however, all of the things that I wished for my life disappeared into a puff of smoke.  I headed off to become a missionary, instead of a business owner.   Missions, I assure you, was never in my five year plan.

It was painful.  If I’m honest, I would say it sucked.    Everything about leaving America meant saying goodbye to the dreams I had for myself.  The beautiful, well crafted, and specific desires I had nurtured and grown and born and babied.  They cracked and shattered like glass, and I left the pieces behind.

So when I washed up on the shores of America a week ago after two years away, I came home to a mess.  Broken dreams, and too much stuff crowded out my bedroom.  So as I was cleaning, an old bucket list I had written slipped out of a copy of Catcher in the Rye.  I had made it when I was probably 14 years old – long before I ever knew Jesus.

This is what it said:

To Do Before I Die:

• I want to be wealthy.
• I want to be a writer.
• I want to discover treasures!
• I want to sing in front of thousands of people.
• I want to have a family of my own.
• I want to be free to do whatever I want.

I picked it up off the floor, and started laughing.  What middle school dreams these were.   And yet, this was what I had wanted to do with my life, and this was what I had painfully laid down. This was what I was made of once and, in very secret places, am made of still.    And to my shock, as I read down the list, every single one of them had come true.   In each letter and swirl of the decade old ink was a trail of God’s irrefutable goodness.

And as I sat there staring in wonder, God spoke to me:

Stacey-

You said you wanted to be wealthy, I have shown you true riches.

You said you wanted to be a writer, I have given you stories to tell.

You said you wanted to discover treasures, how many have you gathered from among the nations?

You wanted to sing in front of thousands of people?  How many tens of thousands have you sang before in Africa?

You wanted to have a family of your own, so I have given you mine.

You wanted freedom?   Go.   Go where you please.  I will never leave you.

I could do nothing but laugh.  Laugh at the fact that God is the original dreamer. He takes the deepest desires of our hearts and makes them even more beautiful than any one of us are capable.  He takes an ordinary plan, even a plan without specifics, and crafts incredible adventures out of thin air.

So if you’re struggling, know that God’s plan for you is probably not your plan for you. 

 But don’t worry, because His is better.

]]> http://www.ahumerouslife.com/the-original-dream/feed/ 2 http://www.ahumerouslife.com/there-were-lights/ http://www.ahumerouslife.com/there-were-lights/#comments Thu, 15 Dec 2011 12:15:41 +0000 Stacey Hume http://www.ahumerouslife.com/?p=957 ]]> It’s hard to fathom the feeling of Christmas for someone who hasn’t seen a normal American Holiday in over two years.   Every turkey, every fire cracker, every easter egg all only gathered in the softening memories of childhood.   It’s amazing how quickly one forgets.

When my plane landed with a rough skid on the tarmac this weekend from Africa, I didn’t know what to expect.  I couldn’t remember what Christmas felt like.   I couldn’t even remember what home felt like.  I looked around the plane, to passengers clinging to paper wrapped boxes and odd shaped packages, I was more confused than anything else.  I walked slowly from the terminal amid the garland and spray paint snow.   Cold air hit me in the face like a sucker punch.  I should have kept my tennis shoes, and not given them away, because flip-flops were not enough.

And as I walked out past the security gate, I craned around to see if my parents were there, waiting for me.   As men and women and children collided into each other in flurries of hugs and kisses, I rolled my broken suitcase to the baggage claim alone.  They weren’t there.

It had been the longest flight of my life, as well as the longest fight to get home.   From Cape Town, my plane had been delayed three hours on mechanical problems, which then turned into everyone getting checked off the plane.  So I didn’t even get to sit next to Micah on the way to Amsterdam.   Spent a few hours wandering in the Amsterdam airport, only to find that my flight to London was now three hours late as well, since I missed the connection.   There were two frantic evenings in London where I wandered the city scape in a stupor repeating “this was a bad idea” in my head.  When Sunday finally came, I crawled into a late taxi to go to the airport.   My plane to Paris was on time, but not after they hauled someone off the flight due to being flagged by international security.   It goes on and on and on.  Just one of those days.  I got singled out by security three times, getting a pat down and the opportunity to re-pack my carry on every time.

So when the plane finally landed in Florida, I prayed that someone would come and pick me up, and hold me.   But  I wheeled and slubbed my backpack and broken roller to the curb, and crawled into the cab of my Father’s truck ten minutes later.  I proceeded to answer questions in the back seat but I was simply too tired to care anymore.

When I got home, my body was shutting down.   I just leaned forward and my feet followed.   As I ungracefully pushed into the room I use at my parents house it almost didn’t register.    My Christmas pajamas were on the bed.  There was a tiny white Christmas tree with a golden cross sitting on the dresser, all lit up.   And I was alone, with a queen sized bed.   So I sat down on the floor in the white light, and cried.

I cried for every child I have held in the last two years with AIDs and hopelessness.   For every victim of rape and abuse that needed a person to talk to.   For every starving orphan, desperate mother, disabled father, and exhausted pastor who needed prayer. For every Bible study and youth group and miraculous story.   For every healing and drug dealer who changed their life.  For every language I sort of learned, and every currency I didn’t know how to use.   For the 93 beds that I slept in on five continents.  But I cried, mostly for myself. And how much I missed carpet to sit on, and christmas lights.

I laid with my face on the Berber, knowing I was probably getting it dirty, when I heard Him.

“Stacey.”

Yes Jesus.

“Welcome home.”

All the frustrations melted away.  All the chaos and tiredness.  I closed my eyes, and fell asleep in the arms of my Savior.  To my relief, He had followed me back.  To my joy, Jesus had become my home.

So Merry Christmas to you all.  May it be the best one you have ever had.

Thank you for supporting me, for encouraging me and for sending me.