What I Thought Was an End Was Actually a New Beginning

I really thought this blog was done.

I hadn't stopped writing; quite the opposite, I was writing more. But this was a homeless blog. And my homeless ministry had ended.

Or so I thought.

After all, it was no longer bearing fruit.

In Luke Chapter 13, Jesus teaches the parable of the barren fig tree.

“A certain man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard, and he came seeking fruit on it and found none.  Then he said to the keeper of his vineyard, ‘Look, for three years I have come seeking fruit on this fig tree and find none. Cut it down; why does it use up the ground?’   But he answered and said to him, ‘Sir, let it alone this year also, until I dig around it and fertilize it.  And if it bears fruit, well. But if not, after that you can cut it down.’” (v. 6-9)

My own timeline was similar.

What began as a great work had turned into something more secular. I was housing and transporting in the name of ministry but sharing the gospel had been pushed to the back burner. They still got a dose of the Word on Sundays when I picked them up for church, but from Monday- Saturday, nothing changed.

Actually, from the moment I dropped them off after church on Sunday, they quickly and willingly returned to their own spiritual filth. Proverbs 26:11

What was I doing?!!

Then, late last year, a series of events occurred that had me surveying my fig tree.

I completely lost hearing in one ear causing panic and a rush to find answers.

One of the clients in our permanent supportive housing became more than I could handle, given my already weakening state.

And three of my most beloved homeless guys (including Scooter) were given the opportunity to move into an apartment, no strings attached. No job, no money, nothing. They didn't even have to get sober. All they had to do was leave the homeless camp.

AND THEY REFUSED!

I didn't understand.

And I wasn't sure what I was doing anymore.

My heart was still with the homeless and I didn't want to just quit. But I knew something had to change. I asked the Lord (my vineyard keeper) to give me time to get things right. I knew it was going to require some deep tilling around the roots. I was quite aware that some of the problem lied with me and I wanted to get things right.

Reflecting back last month, I told my dad and sister I knew I was about to head down the wrong road to which they both snorted, "About to?! Honey you blew past THAT exit at 90 mph and never looked back."

Well, maybe they were right. I definitely opened a door out of fear and frustration and found the force of all I'd come against for the last couple of years standing there ready for a full-fledged assault.

But this time it was different.

In the past, I'd gotten derailed and then sulked and licked my wounds before I decided to return to serving the Lord. I no longer had that option.

It wasn't so much that I still had a church to stand in front of each Sunday but the words of Sister Ellen from my ordination service. "You are now held to a higher calling." There would be no sulking. No hiding. And no running.

It was time to stand up and fight.

I went out on the streets and told everyone I was taking three months off. I wouldn't be available by phone and I wouldn't pick up for church. I turned my housing clients over to other organizations and I canceled all meetings.

I went back to that place with the Lord where everything made sense. The cross.

I began writing, finally finishing some work I'd started years ago. Bible studies, reflections, devotions. I prayed. I read my Bible for hours at a time.

At the end of three months I was ready to survey my tree a little more objectively. Okay, Lord, I said. You can cut it down. Whatever you have next for me, I'm ready. But in the meantime I'm going to serve you, worship you, and rest.

I was enjoying it. After going 24/7, I appreciated the slower pace. I cultivated friendships. I took time to smell the roses, both literally and figuratively.

And I kept writing.

I decided that this was my new ministry. The Lord was going to use me through my words. I have 18 different titles in varying stages and I was sure this was His plan.

When I got the call asking me to once again chair the review committee for homeless grants, I declined. That part of my life was over. I'd hewed around that tree and it had toppled over.

But she persisted. And I agreed.

It was something I enjoyed doing and I had the time.

At the same time, the men's transitional home we'd been ministering in was about to embark on a new journey with a women's campus. Would we be interested in helping there as well?

Their program is a 9-month Christian transitional home for men (and now women in a separate campus) who are recovering from alcohol or drug problems as they re-enter society through the workforce by living and working in a controlled living environment with graduating levels of privileges until their graduation.

Having already grown close to the founders, we were happy to help. I could write curriculum for the women; I was already writing 6-7 hours a day. Not so coincidentally, I'd pursued a PhD in curriculum and instruction before we moved from Oklahoma to Mississippi, so this would be my way of "doing something" with a degree I was unable to complete.

Two months into my writing for women I'd yet to meet, I felt a strange stirring within. It wasn't as strange as it was scary. I couldn't make a ministry mistake again so I didn't immediately acknowledge it. I toe-tested the water.

Committing only to helping out from time to time, we discussed policies and procedures and plans and growth and problems unique to women. I kept writing, devising a binder of self-study devotions and program rules.

When the binder was 90% complete, I received a call.

"We're interviewing Program Directors this week," they said. "We'd like for you to be a part of this process and to help whoever we hire."

That stirring inside went into full-blown blender mode. No, I realized, the Lord has had this for me the whole time. I just didn't trust that feeling until now. But do I want to commit?    

"I'd like to do it myself, " I surprised us all by saying just three days later. "And I don't need a salary."

The last statement might've been shocking to them, but my husband understood.

As a young woman I'd wanted to go see a popular Christian speaker at my home church. Everyone was talking about it and it was a big draw for our town. But with four young kids, I couldn't afford the $35 ticket price.

I made a vow to the Lord right then. If He ever used me, I would not take a dime.

I've still held true to that promise.

We don't take a salary for the church or the ministry. The Lord provided by allowing us to manage a company owned by our associate pastor, a business that quadrupled its business when the proceeds began being used to further the gospel. I can work from home or on the road, taking orders and sending invoices. It is something I enjoy doing and not at all time-consuming.

It has been a true example of Where God Guides, He Provides. (Thank you, Jenni, for reminding me of that early on.) 

Once the commitment was made, we went full-force. I met the girls and started working on individual plans. My review committee meeting reminded me that transitional homes fall under homeless status.

My fig tree had life.

It turns out that something I thought was dead wasn't dead after all. I had been so focused on one dead branch that I didn't realize I was no longer looking at the whole tree.

My tree may have withered and fallen over, but it had a strong root.

And like the wild grass that peppers our church lawn, it may have bent over to the point where it looked like it had been cut, but all it took was a good rain to pop back up.

I'm excited for this new journey in my life.

It is new in many ways, but it's also a continuation of what the Lord started three years ago.

I'm excited to see where it goes.

I will continue to periodically share posts relating to the homeless ministry on this blog but I am mostly focusing on the new blog: www.askgigielizabeth.blogspot.com  Feel free to follow both!
 

Perception is a mighty thing

What does water taste like?

You'd assume there was only one correct answer. All other water had a funny taste.

But what I've come to realize is that identifying "normal" water is purely subjective.

I didn't learn that lesson until my husband and I vacationing and eating at a Cracker Barrel early in our marriage.

"This water is horrible," I complained.

"No, it's not," he replied while looking at me quizzically. "It tastes fine."

"It tastes like it came out of a ditch," I persisted.

"That's because you prefer your water with a lot of chlorination in it."

He'd said that before, drinking tap rather than my preferred Dasani bottles, but I always thought he didn't know what he was talking about. Dasani wasn't chlorinated; it was just normal water.

Like I grew up with.

But sitting in that Cracker Barrel, I realized for the first time that the normal taste of water for people is usually based on what the water tasted like where they grew up. All other water tastes different.

For some reason, this was profound to me.

Something as simple as water couldn't even have an absolute truth. No man can say, "THIS is the true taste of water."

It is all in our perception.

It took me a couple of years ministering on the streets before I realized that what I considered normal wasn't necessarily what others saw as normal. I knew I leaned toward the feminine romanticism a little more than most. For me, aprons and white picket fences and refrigerator drawings and roses for no reason were indicative of a life well lived. But if experiences were a Venn diagram, the things in the middle would be loving families, guidance, education, goals...

I didn't realize my perception was skewed by an upbringing that was only normal in my rose-colored world. Many people have led lives that we could never diagram because the shared experiences portion would remain blank.

But for them it was normal.

Going to jail wasn't an eye-opening experience. It was following in the family footsteps.

Drinking and drugging weren't done with the hopes you wouldn't be caught and grounded, they were done openly at home. Some were even forced to participate as young children, an amusing sight for wasted grown-ups.

Their normal was different from mine and their dreams were altered because of it.

I think this is the part that surprised me the most.

I knew that not everyone grew up the same way I did. I know some people had it rough. I just didn't consider that this changed what they wanted out of life. I thought that regardless of where everyone came from, they wanted to get to the same place.

And that's simply not true.

Some people just want to ride out their lives without any goals, dreams, or joy. They want lust, not love, and peace attained by a 6-pack is just as good as the peace God gives.

It is a different tasting water.

I've gained enough wisdom in this ministry to no longer try to get someone to accept my version of normal water as the only way. A job, a home, restored families...that's not necessarily the way for everyone.

But Jesus?

Well, that's one absolute truth in which there is no variance. James 1:17

When STANDING just isn't enough....

I’ve said before that if you can’t keep going, dig in your heels and just STAND.

I think I was wrong.

When you stop, the weight and the force of the world are coming against you. (After all, if you are walking with Christ, you ARE walking against the current of the world.)

And no matter how hard you fight it, that current can be mighty strong.

In the middle of a trial, you can be battle-drawn and weary. You may long to stop and rest. You may even want to surrender completely to the enemy, as it seems you are on the losing side.

But you aren’t.

That’s where faith comes in.

You have to KNOW that if you are in God’s army, you are on the winning team.

The war has already been won and the battle you are in is so very minute in comparison.

It may not feel so inconsequential though, especially when you are in the midst of it.

It may feel as if the whole universe has come against you.

That’s why you have to keep your eyes on Him and KEEP MOVING.

It’s the only way to keep from falling down.

I’ll admit I’m in the midst of a trial I do not understand at all. I don’t know if I’m lacking patience, faith, or obedience. Maybe I’m being tested. I don’t even know how I’m doing on this test.

I’m probably at about a C+ right now.

I honestly don’t know.

A week ago I completely lost the hearing in my right ear.

Thinking it was a simple fix, I tried a couple of tried-and-true ear opening methods. When those failed, I reached out on social media. I tried a few more things. I even went to a walk-in clinic and was given a clean bill of ear health.

Over the next few days later other seemingly unrelated symptoms popped up and I thought maybe I was coming down with the flu on top of a sinus infection.

On Sunday morning, I laid it all out for the Lord as we partook in the Lord’s Supper. I felt His presence and I knew I would be healed.

Only I wasn’t. Or maybe I was but the healing hadn’t manifested itself.

In any case, I broke down in tears afterward. I was so sure I’d be jumping up and down praising the Lord for restoring my hearing in that service that I never considered otherwise.

I was heartbroken.

I napped Sunday afternoon and returned to the evening service a little less enthusiastic. It was hard to hear, hard to concentrate. But I still believed.

So at the end of the service I called upon the elders of the church to pray over me. I was going to do  EVERYTHING by the (Good) Book.

Once again, I expected to share my delight at being able to hear again.

It still didn’t happen.

I went to bed frustrated, though not angry. I can’t let anger in; it is too hard to let go.

Was I doing something wrong?

I didn’t believe the Lord was punishing me nor did I believe he wanted this for me.

But what WAS He thinking?

I needed more time? More faith? More patience?

If I went back to the doctor, would that be wrong? A lack of faith? Impatience?

Or was it foolish NOT to go? To possibly treat something before it got worse…

I didn’t know.

I did know, however, that I couldn’t just STAND. Because I kept getting knocked flat on my rear and was ready to give everything up, ministry included. How could I help people when I couldn’t hear?

Even the dogs were aggravating me as their barks reverberated in my head, sounding louder in the one good ear and causing a headache. Their kisses, which I normally adore, were as irritating as nails on a chalkboard.

I couldn’t live like this.

I made the decision to see an ENT (Ear, Nose, and Throat doctor). I searched online since I didn’t know one here and found a doctor with great reviews in Mobile.

They were able to see me that afternoon.

What I didn’t realize was that this doctor specialized in auditory issues so I was given a comprehensive hearing screening upon arrival.

The news was not surprising.

Sudden hearing loss in my right ear.

I had that part figured out.

However, I expected him to discover a raging sinus infection the general practitioner had missed, give me some antibiotics, and, WORST CASE SCENARIO, have to surgically clear out my tube.

That wasn’t the case.

He diagnosed me with a non-rash form of shingles which had attacked the right side of my body.

That made sense.

The right toenails I’d ripped off because they felt like they were attacking my feet. The chest pains that I dismissed because they were on the right side only. The increased back pain I attributed to my increased consumption of Christmas candy.

It was all related.

But then came the scary part.

He could prescribe steroids and an antiviral for the symptoms of shingles but the hearing loss might be permanent.

Even worse, he suspected an acoustic neuroma. This is a small, noncancerous tumor on the nerve between the brain and the inner ear. It is confirmed with an MRI, way out of my price range without insurance. Then another hearing test back in his office, extensive enough that I must have a driver.

In the meantime I am praying for healing to avoid all of this. But in the event that it doesn’t come?

I decided I would just accept it.

Which is a little tricky.

Because I don’t accept illness as something God wants.

But if I don’t accept this, at least for now, I will put my life on hold. I will use it as an excuse to stop ministering, to crawl in a hole and have a pity party, and I will destroy everything.

I know.

I’ve done it before.

A few years ago, following back surgery, I quit living. Alienating my family and friends, I lived in a world of television and four walls, angry, depressed, and wishing I was dead.

I will not go back there.

So while I believe in a complete and total healing, I will not sit idly by waiting for it to happen. I am going to keep walking, even if it’s at a snail’s pace, until that day.

It’s a trial I don’t understand, one I may never understand this side of glory, but one I will willingly go through because it’s only a battle, not the war.

The war for my soul has already been won and the price He paid for that was more than I will ever have to endure.