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When God Whispered my Name

I've been doing a bible study that talks about believing God. The part that I'm on asks you to go through your past in small increments looking for God's hand and provision throughout. I was struck almost dumb yesterday (by almost I mean, I was still able to call and chat with mom about it) when thinking back on the years 7-12 years old. These were very dark years for me.

My family was part of a cult that taught about God, but didn't know him, and offered no way to really reach him. We moved innumerable times and I went to 4 different schools. I had few friends, and because we kept the Sabbath and didn't celebrate holidays or birthdays, I didn't really get to know anyone and was always very alone. Life was chaotic at best, baby brother was the shining beacon of hope for the family, my older brother the tormented, misunderstood rebellious one that needed LOTS of attention. Somewhere along the way I realized that I was just totally alone. But somewhere, somehow, through the fog of legalism and the darkness of isolation, I heard someone whisper to me.

It was a voice that told me I was special. That my life was created for something. That I had a hope and a future. That there was more to God and faith than I could even imagine. I gripped that message and rode it through my turbulent teens until I reached that pinnacle moment of making the worst mistake of my life. I felt shame, guilt, sadness, isolation and yet I heard, "I've made you different for a reason Kacey. I am carving a need in you so deep you will only be able to reach up for me and find my hand."

Little did I know I would find a nail scarred hand, a crown of thorns, and a savior who said he'd take all my ashes and turn them to beauty. In one afternoon, in one breath, one cry, the Lord Almighty came into my lonely life. I have nothing to say except my life has never been the same. I have NEVER felt alone again. I have been blessed beyond measure. Suddenly, the pain and suffering of childhood faded as I saw the meaning in my trials. Only because of the hole carved deep in me by the masters hand would I truly be able to see the depth of my need and reach out for the hand that had been reaching out to me.

While I was yet a sinner, Christ died for me. This is the hope of salvation. It is the promise of redemption. That he can take an ugly, lonely, confused existence and give it meaning and purpose and beauty. I have been blessed by a wonderful husband and 2 beautiful children, but most of all, I know the one who whispers my name. He is the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. The one who was, and is, and is to come.

If you don't know him, if you are reaching out for meaning and significance and finding only air, cry out to him because he is never far from any one of us. Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine. A daughter of the King, Princess Kacey. He whispers my name.

LOST in LOST

Attention anyone watching Lost: if, by some small chance, you are looking for anything other than a muddy and slightly violent soap opera, please keep looking. WHAT THE HECK!! Is it just me, or do they keep adding more "mystery" while trying to give answers that makes the whole thing insipidly confusing and obtusely unsatisfying? Is there REALLY any difference between this sad excuse for night time programming and the ongoing plight of the Brady family on "Days of our Lives"? I mean, really. I hadn't watched Days since high school, I caught a bit the other day, and shockingly enough, it's EXACTLY the same, same plot, same people, same mysteriously "evil" antagonists... The allure of LOST is the symbolism, the literary references, the space-time-continuum conundrum. I can't seem to stop watching though. Shame on me. Hey, Jack? Catch you next week. And dude, please, stay away from the Asian tattoo parlors.

Roscoes House

OK, just in case you are afraid I've lost my mind, (shut up, seriously, I can hear you saying, "girl, I know you lost it!") the Roscoe's House of Chicken and Waffles promotional ad campaign located just to your right of this post comes directly from the mind of a somewhat mentally unstable and shockingly odd 31 year old man we'll call "Neff". Though I have eaten at the aforementioned establishment, and it was, remarkably, tasty, I would never have thought to spend an hour looking for a suitable photo to display, promoting this eatery. "Neff" on the other hand, took it as a personal mission. All this to say, it's stinking cold here and "Neff" is thinking back to days gone by when we could eat outside under the palm tress, wearing shorts, getting tan, and remarking to ourselves, "it's February". So. Cal., wherever you are, we're missing you right now.

(Roscoe ad deleted per blog owner request. Gratuitous promotion of highly caloric and cholesterol inducing edibles now strictly prohibited.)

A Residential Treatment Home

For those of you who don't know, in a bizarre twist of fate/irony or what I know to be the hand of the Lord, I who HATED high school and couldn't wait to be free, now spend much of my free time with teenage girls. Yikes. My friend Patty and I have the opportunity every Saturday night to go, by invitation, to a state funded residential treatment facility for teenage girls…and teach bible study. How amazing is that. These girls are there because they have drug and/or alcohol problems and have failed foster care, or they have committed a crime and are there through the xxx (state deleted) Youth Authority. Despite their backgrounds and experiences, they are amazingly resilient and insatiably curious young girls.

As you may imagine, these girls have been victimized repeatedly by numerous people throughout their lives. They come from drug homes, abusive homes, or transient homes. One girl rejoiced with us that her mother was in prison and could no longer take the drugs that were blowing out her veins. Another came to study one week glowing and joyous because she had finally had the courage to testify at her father's trial about her extensive abuse. Another sweet girl asks us to pray that she'll behave long enough to earn the privilege of shaving her legs.

I could go on and on.

We are studying with them right now the proofs of the bible and of Jesus as Messiah in the student version of "The Case for Christ".

These girls ask some of the hardest questions imaginable. They want to know if Jesus cares that they were abused and abandoned. They want to know if he was there while they were being beaten and neglected. If God could still love people like them. How can they know for sure? How can they trust Him? Why didn't he stop the abuse they went through? Can he help them be free of their addictions? What if they're mad at Him or forget to pray, are they still saved?

When I look at them I can hear Jesus as he said, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest...My yoke is easy and my burden is light."

Slowly and carefully, they are turning to Jesus. One precious girl came to to the facility thinking that god was in the trees and the animals. She asked, is that god? No, he is not the flower, but he made the flower. We should never praise the creation instead of the creator. If you could only see how far she’s come! Her face glows with the grace of God as one who has been washed in the blood of a perfect savior who has made her as white as snow. She can't stop talking about Jesus, she has met the one who makes her face radiant. "Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered in shame."

My purpose in writing this isn't to brag, though I love to talk about how wonderful they are. It isn't to horrify or shock you, though the things they've experienced are horrifying and shocking. My hope is that you will remember us on Saturday nights from 7-8, that you would cover all of us in prayer. For Patty and I, pray that we speak the word of God with boldness and that we shower them with the love of Christ in humility and kindness. For each of the girls, that their time at the facility would prove to be the time when they meet their savior, and their lives are changed for eternity. That they trust and believe that God is who he says he is, that He can do what he says he can do, that they are who He says they are, that they can do all things through Christ and that His word is alive and active in them.

Thank you, Father, for loving each of us so much that you sent your Son, Jesus. Thank you that each of us can become new creatures, free to live an abundant life. Amen.

Treasure Box

I think that every child needs a treasure box. Because I was finally exasperated by finding Baby Girl's "treasures" lying willy-nilly all over the house, today I introduced her to the concept of a treasure box. I just happened to have kept a Tinkerbell tin that had contained pajamas from Costco, so "voila", a treasure box. If all goes well, through her life she'll collect amazingly profound things like unearthed rocks and fallen teeth. Maybe it will even become the box that gets found under a floor board several generations down the line. Today, however, it consists of: chapstick, a card from Grammy, and a pocket calendar. The life of a 3 year old in a box.