Brandon

Brandon took us to a carnival he used to go to when he was a kid. There was a little kid about seven or eight in front of us. The carnival ride operator wouldn’t let him get on without an adult. I offered to ride with him. He told me no and told the kid to go find an adult to ride with him. I started to follow the boy and then turned back. I kept watching him walk and walk and not an adult in sight. Dang it. I should have grabbed him and rode with.

The guy was rambling on and on about how these parents don’t take care of their kids.

“with human trafficking and people’s kids getting stolen, serves them parents right for not taking care of them.”

I was biting my tongue. I knew he was rambling about nothing he really cared about. Part of me wanted to punch him and part of me wanted to jump off the ride and find that little boy.

“Brandon, did you ever come here like that when you were a kid?”

“yeah”

“That little?”

“yeah”

“Brandon what did you do?”

“I just got on rides like that little boy. Then I’d walk towards the river and watch the fireworks behind Meuellers”

“By yourself?”

“yeah”

“My heart can’t handle that. You won’t ever ride a ride alone again.’

Pull it together, Christi, you are at a carnival and trying not to cry.

Anything. I read that book last year. I blogged about it. It’s been the simple word I have uttered in the last year when I don’t understand what is happening or why God is allowing it to.

My best Anything is 17 years old. He’s the scariest Anything I’ve prayed about and the best Anything I could ask for.

A year ago my oldest daughter, Lauren, said she had a boyfried. She was 14 and couldn’t date, but she wanted to hang out with him which meant Youth Group, school events, and Church. I needed to know more about him.

He’s 17 (ouch a little old). Homeschooled (thinking he probably has strict awesome parents too ;). He’s in Foster Care. I just hung there for a moment. You did too. I’ll come back to that.

We picked Brandon up for youth group. At the time I was helping there and  I could monitor the situation.  He lives down the road with my old high school teacher on a sheep farm.

First thing I noticed was Brandon was shy, but extremely polite.

I watched him every week at youth group. I watched his eyes never leave the youth pastor when he spoke. One Wednesday Lauren was sick and couldn’t go. I told her to tell Brandon she wasn’t going.

He still wanted to come with me. He didn’t care that it was just him and I.

I asked him everything and told he didn’t have to answer anything. He did.

We let Lauren invite him over for dinner one night. “Mom, he’s nervous. He’s never eaten dinner at a table like a family.”

Then he started coming to Church on Sundays. Same thing, eyes never left the pastor. He showed up at our house an hour before we had to leave. He was excited. He decided to follow Jesus not long after that. Then the bomb dropped. I live in small town America and have a lot of people that love me and care about us. They thought we should know.

“Brandon was that boy that ran away with that girl in the news last summer.”

“Brandon got kicked out of school, that’s why he’s home schooled.”

“You need to be careful and protect Lauren.”

“You know he has ran with a rough crowd where drugs and alcohol have been around.”

I think the room spun out of control. I remember getting in my car with tears running down my face. I had grown to love this kid, but was I setting Lauren up for failure. I drove and drove. I prayed and prayed.

“God I need to know now whether to shut this door or keep walking. Anything, Lord. I am praying Anything.”

Peace. I just had peace. Keep walking. We are going to keep walking. That means some voices were going to have to be listened to and loved, but we were going to keep walking with Brandon.

I had nothing guiding me, but this pull in my heart.

One night someone asked Barney if he knew Brandon had a “past”. Barney said, “anything Brandon did before Jesus doesn’t matter to me.”

Amen.

Wednesdays and Sundays became weekends until bedtime and now every day. If Brandon is not here, we are all asking where he’s at.

Brandon has the keys to our truck. I can sign a check and he can go to the grocery store and get gas with it. Brandon’s in. He’s one of us. If you asked me how many kids I have, I answer five. I just ask Lauren to not hold his hand because that looks weird after I say that.

I wasn’t looking for Brandon and he wasn’t looking for us. We happened. It’s a beautiful collide.

I get a lot messages from people from that have known Brandon. They share with me how sweet of a boy he was. How they always knew with the right people Brandon would do well. I know they mean well.

Brandon made us better. Brandon made us slow down and enjoy the little things like eating dinner as a family. Brandon made us realize what we truly had.

 

Brandon added peace to this house. Brandon brought us together as a family. Instead of noses in the phones and electronics, they were playing cards in the living room, he takes the girls to the pool, they go shoot baskets at the park, they play the board games that collected dust, and they miss him when they leave.

Sometimes after those messages, I cry. I get angry. I wonder how in the world a kid like Brandon just bounced from place to place. I wondered why nobody grabbed that incredibly sweet kid and latched onto him. I realize it doesn’t matter. Our paths were headed down the path to cross and I am thankful for all the people that recognize the purpose that he has.  I I thank God, because he landed here with us. So, really I am selfish because I wouldn’t really want to share him anyway.

I asked Brandon one day why he was always so polite. He told me that in “the system” you learn to be nice so you are treated well.

I am thankful that God’s system doesn’t work that way, because he finds us, deep in the mess we are in and He loves us.

While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us- Romans 5:8  

That night we went to Good Friday service at church and they were asking for people to share. I felt like I should but didn’t want to be in the front. I walked up to Brandon and asked him to go with me.

I introduced us and told them how we met. I shared that Brandon told me he needed to be good to be treated well in the “system”. As we sat there on Good Friday, the symbolic night Jesus laid down his life for us,  I was reminded in our lives that his death brings us together as family. Our blood, our papers, our family doesn’t qualify us. We become family because of His great Love. We don’t have to prove ourselves to belong, we just need to believe in the One that calls us to belong.

When I cried last year that I would do Anything as I finished that book by Jennie Allen, I had no idea what that would look like.

I had no idea that one night Brandon would call me and tell me that he had to call the cops at the park because some guy strung out on drugs would pull a knife on his friends kid over eight dollars. Brandon got my girls into a car and called police.

When I got there it was dark around 9:00. Several kids were standing in the parking lot. As Brandon finished filling out the police report, four young boys came up to tell us what they saw. There wasn’t an adult around for any of them. All of their faces were little Brandon’s and my heart broke.

I prayed, “God how many Brandon’s are out there, because my heart cannot handle it?"

The next day at the pool, one boy came up to Brandon and asked him why he had to call the cops on his friend’s dad.

Brandon said, “because my little sisters were traumatized.”

Little sisters. My heart melted.

Brandon and I say we were brought together for a purpose. We know it’s bigger than family dinners and hanging out. I know there are a lot of kids out there waiting to belong unconditionally. I know my ears burn and my anger flares when I hear a kid being called a “foster”. I used to use those words, but I want you to know Brandon.  I want people to want to know their names and their stories. I want us to be less scared and more opened in our hearts, homes, and lives.

When I prayed Anything, I wanted it to be a clean job description. It’s not. God calls us to come walk with him. He then adds people to the path. He wants us to trust him.

I wrestled a lot. I told God this makes me look like a hypocrite. He knows we signed our rights away. He knows the depth of failure and heartache we have felt at not watching a little girl grow up. The condemnation was like an arrow piercing my heart. I know where it comes from, but some days it’s hard to shut out.

One Sunday, our pastor read Joel 2:25-26 “I will repay you for the years the locust ate..you will have plenty to eat, until you are full, and you will praise the name of the Lord your God, who has worked wonders for you; never again will my  people be shamed.

He was saying that to us and to Brandon. Because Brandon walked into our lives at 17 and I have learned it’s never too late. As we pray for his family, we pray also for the brokenness in our own.

It wasn’t the ideal year. I wasn’t ready, I lost my job, had lots of medical issues, personal issues, family issues, and church issues and God still said, Now. Sometimes God’s interruptions are the glue that holds it all together.

 Today we celebrated his 18th Birthday. He will be 18 this week. I wish he was only eight.

 

For the Love

A few years ago I went to Women of Faith in Kansas City. I remember seeing this lady on stage that didn’t seem like she fit the “mold” I was used to at WOF. Then, I heard her speak. It was tearing down the barrier between us and them and really reaching people for Jesus. I had tears rolling down my face. Her message was what I needed to hear. I hadn’t heard of her before. During the break I went to check out her book. I grabbed the book Seven. The lady behind the table said she was coming up to sign and I could jump in line to meet her and be one of the first. I said, “it’s ok, I don’t really know who she is.” Then I thought, what the heck and jumped in line.

Jen Hatmaker was so nice and genuine.

 

I read that book and then ordered her other book  Interrupted. I realized there’s a lot more people that are like me out there than I thought. I am weird but not as weird as I struggled with. I don’t want to be a pretty church ornament. I just want to be messy about his business. It doesn’t always look like clean buildings and organized Sunday School rooms. It doesn’t mean you have to volunteer for everything at the church either. Sometimes we just need to be the church. It might be the only church people ever see. (I am not saying don’t volunteer or be involved in your church)

Seems in every story I read in the Bible it looked messy to those looking in, but God always had a plan.

So, back in March I registered to be on her launch team with 5000 other Jen Hatmaker fans. It was a shot in the dark. Then after a particularly rough week I got an email that I made it in the “500” to be on her launch team. I got her book the day before I left for Nicaragua. It was my plane read. I laughed, I cried, I fist pumped, I cried and laughed some more.

It’s about fighting for grace in a world with impossible standards. Right out of the gate she says take some things off the beam. It’s ok. You know what? I hate being a room mom. I did it. I hated it. I can supply some snacks. The end. I’ll put my energy in things I am good at. Trying to get twenty-eight kids to throw Cheetos at a shaving cream head while cringing about the mess we just made for the janitor ain’t it.

I really enjoyed the turning 40 chapter. I am quickly approaching that time in my life. I am actually looking forward to it and she makes forty sound appealing. I am ok with mom hands and a few wrinkles. I am ready to love on the younger generation and tell them it will be ok. My friend, Janet, did that for me. My friends with kids in college and married daughters they breathe life into me. They give me hope that this all comes out in the wash when we keep our eyes focused on Him. I am ready to keep running this relay while handing batons off to the next mom of littles and saying, “you are gonna make it and you will like these people you made, they’ll tie their own shoes and you can read a book at the pool.”

I made it through Chapters one and two with some fist pumps and misty eyes and Chapter three let those tears fall. “If it isn’t also true for a poor single Christian mom in Haiti, it isn’t true.” There isn’t a status or place we enter that says we’ve arrived whether we are single or married, poor or rich, because God’s calling us to reach people. God just wants us to be faithful with what we have whether it’s thousands or mites, but really he said Go into all the world and make disciples.

Chapter 5 – Leggings aren’t pants and no one wants to see you nether parts. Manpri’s are a don’t.  Barney doesn’t have to worry that they’ll be under the tree for him this Christmas.

Ahhh.. It was sooo good to laugh after a cry.

Chapter Six – We can run our race, ladies. It’s ok to be good at things. It’s ok to have gifts and talents and use them. Hiding them does no good and it’s not arrogant to use them. Jesus gave us a lane. Run.

After I fist pumped and got excited I was in for more laughing. She talks about commercialism and the need to buy the next wonder thing. This makes me laugh as one who has done that. Tonight I sit drinking my apple cider vinegar water and ignore the ten thousand commercials and social media posts about the next energy boost. I’ve done that. I’ve bought the miracle cream and awesome hair stuff and I still look the same. Not buying.

The truth sets us free. It really does. I held a secret for over a decade that nearly destroyed everything and the moment I let it be truth I was free. I said it out loud in a room full of scary Christian women that at any time can label or judge me, but I am free. Because of my freedom my inbox is full of women saying it empowered them to be honest, to let the power of their testimony be a shout out to the one that makes it powerful, Jesus.

Jen says, “With every I am here, and I’ve been there and You aren’t alone and God has this, your scary truth gets less terrifying, less overwhelming, less paralyzing. It becomes fully exposed with no secrets left to threaten you.”

 We get to be 2 Corinthians 4 because darkness presses us but it cannot crush us. Amen.

Again, she lets us catch our breath after the heavy stuff because Chapter 8 is thank you notes. Like, Thank you maxi skirts for basically being crotchless yoga pants. You must read this book if just for the Thank You Notes! My thank you note would be:

Thank you Just Go Girl for ensuring I can burpee, squat jump, and do jumping jacks while wearing a diaper strip capable of holding ½ cup of liquid after having four small children tarzan their way out of my body. However, they make bear crawls appear that I Fooped. I hate bear crawls, anyway.

 

 

That leads right into being a Spicy Family. We are spicy. We are not quiet or sweet or reserved. I’ve tried and nearly combusted. If you’ve seen me on social media, it’s just the tip of the iceberg. There’s no secrets here and no shame. You ask me and I’ll answer because I don’t want sister Susie at school giving you false information. When my kid comes home in fourth grade and says, “so if I want to have a baby, I just need someone to reach up there and crack my eggs” we first calm Barney down because he’s yelling about worrying about your own stuff before letting someone touch it and I am  trying to out yell him to calm him down while making throat cutting gestures like a mime. Poor kid didn’t know what was going on, but yes, one day I’ll explain how to crack those eggs.

You get to laugh and you get to cry and then you get to say Amen. I won’t break down every chapter but I am telling you, you need to read this.

One of my favorite chapters is “Dear Christians, Please Stop Being Crappy”. Ok,  your version says lame. I liked crappy.

I love social media and the power of it. I do. I love seeing kids rescued and people helped. I love seeing old friends and connecting with new ones. What makes my heart hurt is how fast we will jump on something to show everyone what we are against. We tear each other down. We tear unbelievers apart before ever inviting them in.  The Gospel is good news folks. It’s good news. It’s Grace wrapped in flesh meeting the woman at the well, stopping the stoning of the adulteress woman, it’s eating lunch at the sinner’s house, it’s setting captives free. It’s good news people. Jesus died for sins. Come on. There’s a better way. They need to know us by our love. Loving sinners isn’t condoning sin. It doesn’t give a pass to atrocities happening every day to innocent victims. His kindness brings us to repentance. It’s Him, not your picket signs. We can meet them where they are. We have a  Gospel of beautiful examples.

Please stop being resounding gongs. We love  1 Corinthians 13 for weddings but not for everyday life, not for the people closest to us that are capable of ripping our hearts out, not for those living a life we don’t condone. People complained that Jesus hung out with sinners, was a glutton, a friend of tax collector’s and sinners (Matthew 11:19). I guess if being a friend of sinners was good for Jesus, it must be good for me.  

I saw how mean Christians can be to our own when they fall this summer. It was like a horrific train wreck that went on for hours on social media. We can do better church. I believe in us.

I have never had someone come to church with me because I said, “hey, you are a sinner, and you need to come.” I said, “I was a wreck, a mess, and Jesus found me, You want to come, friend?”

That’s a whole blog in and of itself. Go get the book. In September I am going to do a book club. There’s recipes we can cook together.  There's  more chapters and honest things we need to look at to really grow community, to grow with each other. There's laughter to be had and tears to be shed. There's conversations and friendships ready to be built as we tear down walls and masks.  
 
 

 

 

In a few weeks I am headed to Jen’s house for the launch party. Since March I’ve been in a community of people on facebook that have not just catapulted a book into #1 but loved each other through some really tough dark times, rejoiced in some pretty amazing days, and laughed together while being scattered across the world. I am going to meet some of these ladies in person, thank them for the beautiful community they created, and pray that somehow right here in my little neck of the woods we can create a community that says For the Love of Jesus, I am walking with you.

 Go Get it! Comment on this blog and I am picking one lucky winner next week to get a book from me.

Have I Wasted All This Time

I wrote this poem (at the bottom) eight years ago when I really thought life was falling apart. We were very close to our pastor and his family. They were our family. We loved them. The church is no longer here and they don’t live close anymore. It was heart wrenching. It was also in the midst of a massive financial crisis. Everything we owned decided to fall apart. The ceiling collapsed from broken pipes during a -17 degree night. If one car was running the other was not. If Molly didn’t have pneumonia it was coming.  

I found myself wondering if I had not heard God right. Was I supposed to be there? Why was I so naïve and dumb to not see the fall sooner.

Eight years later, I sit in a similar place. I’ve sat under the teaching of a man I greatly admired and respected. I believed in the “even unto death” sermons. I hung on every word of the “set the captives free” sermons. I worked out twice a week in his boot camp class. I was part of his “we can build a wheelchair in under five minutes” team in Nicaragua this summer where we all felt close like a family. I loved his passion to get wheelchairs third world countries because “no one should have to crawl”. I became a Big Sister in the Big Brothers Big Sister program because he told us the plight of the community with fatherlessness, broken homes, and drugs. I wanted to do my part. I believed like he said that churches are “made of circles and not rows”. I wanted to love people like he said because “the cross plus anything is nothing.” The recent, “don’t get distracted” message hit home. I had been utterly distracted and my heart was not in a good place. I was struggling.

He said, “people rarely just walk away from the faith the devil gets you out in to the weeds”. My kids took notes and Brandon got saved under his teaching. My friends started coming and inviting their family. I shared his sermons on my facebook page for all of my friends and so many said they looked forward to that each week. They weren’t getting that kind of teaching. I went to baptisms where so many people said they stumbled in to this church and God grabbed a hold of them. My good friend, Rachel, said “its like God keeps drawing me back.”

He walked away from his church, his family, and said he hasn’t even believed for the last two years. He has a new relationship.

Sucker punched. In the gut. A whole church reeling and in shock.

I have been here before. It hurts terribly. If it hurts this bad for us, the families affected are feeling it even deeper.

I was cleaning out my dresser and I found this poem. It’s when I thought we were losing everything, when I was told I was out of God’s blessing and he couldn’t hear me, when I begged him to just take my life, when every day was a struggle to get dressed, and little kids were at my feet.

I thought of Peter and the disciples. Heartbreak is not new to us as Christians. Disappointment is not foreign. Doubt and embarrassment is not a new concept.

I told my kids as they cried all the way home from church, Haley so broken she said, “but I l earned so much from him”, God’s word does not return void. Fallen teachers and pastors can’t cancel God’s word because of sin. Even the best of us fall down. God used a donkey to speak. He says the rocks will cry out.

The disciples listened as Jesus said he was going to be killed. Peter was going to bravely defend him, even cutting off an ear of a soldier. Yet he died anyway. It’s not what they had planned. It’s not how it was supposed to end.

I have been there, when the world comes crashing down. I am left standing there screaming “Have I wasted all this time?”

No. He gives us the years the locusts eat. He builds from our ruins. He gives beauty for our ashes.

Today, so many of my friends are staring at the bare tree, in a pile of rubble, holding onto the ashes asking God, “Have I wasted all this time? Will my life go back the same? Am I part of some God forsaken game?”

No, friends. It’s not how the story ends. We will, like Seth said, Hold Fast to the promises because He is Faithful.

He makes crooked paths straight. We win. We make it. We are being cheered on by a great cloud of witnesses that know our pain, know our struggle, and they say “keep running, friends”. It’s worth it.

We are not alone. Like our friends in the book of Nehemiah, we have to build now. We will work shoulder to shoulder, young to old, neighbor to neighbor.

We can rebuild this place and each other. Our broken pieces make the beautiful stained glass windows the world looks through.

 

Have I Wasted All This Time

What have I been doing? What did this all mean?

Can’t you fight back these men and set yourself free?

You healed the sick, voiced the mute, and lifted up the lame.

You brought hope and beauty to lives engulfed in shame.

You displayed your power and left this world in awe

Open up your mouth, Jesus, and bring this crowd down, show them who you are!

It’s not too late. I see another breath.

Get down from there and end this crazy mess.

I tried to watch, but hid, as they laid you in a tomb

I am hurt angry, Jesus, and so madly confused.

I have been walking through these hills replaying all you said, but I watched them tear your body down and lay you with the dead.

 

Have I wasted all this time? Will my life go back the same? Am I part of some God forsaken game?

Can you hear me? Where are you now? God, I know that you are out there, but I don’t understand.

Give me one more moment, to look upon your face, I never meant to hurt you or bring you my disgrace.

I’d change it all right now, I would take it all back. I need you, Jesus. God, can you bring him back?

I see the holes where they nailed your hands and feet. I hear your voice so steady and so sweet.

My heart is yearning, Lord, for one moment alone.

I failed you, My Lord, I didn’t say a word.

When they asked me if knew you I heard the rooster crow. You said it would, I know.

Finding my new normal, I head out to catch my fish

On the shore you are standing, is my mind playing tricks?

Give me one last chance Jesus, I am swimming to the shore.

I want to make this right, I’ve never loved another more.

You did this for me. It’s not what I had planned.

You were planted like a seed to set a whole world free.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Good Good Father

I love to go anywhere. I love to see new places. If there’s a training or an event, I am there.

In September tickets went on sale for the IF Gathering in Austin. I was hoping to get a ticket for my friend, Becky. They are living between Texas and Kansas and I thought it would be fun to road trip together. Before I got online I prayed that if God really wanted me to go, I would get a ticket. I did. It sold out in fifteen minutes before I could Becky a ticket. I sat on the ticket praying for the last few months.

I prayed that if it was his will he would open the doors and if it wasn’t every door would shut.

My first prayers:

If you want me to go, help me find someone to ride twelve hours with. Help me to find very cheap lodging so I don’t have to spend much money and if I am supposed to go let Barney be okay with it.

I posted in the facebook group a month before and asked if anyone was driving from Kansas. I met Jessica, who lives in Hutchinson and we decided to ride together. She has a baby the needed to go with us. Becky said I could stay with her sister in Austin, but Jessica thought logistics would be better if I stayed at her great uncles with her. I told Barney and he said I should go. Ok, God. Maybe I am supposed to go.

All of those prayers were answered, but I still wasn’t sure if he really wanted me to go. Because I am immature I asked some more.

My second set of prayers. These were very detailed. If I am supposed to go:

Have mom just offer her car, with amazing gas mileage, so I know you want me to go.

It’s a really long drive and I had to work that day. I prayed that there would be a way to break up the drive so I wouldn’t be so tired.

Super Bowl Sunday, a week before we were leaving, my mom told me to drive her car so I could save on gas mileage. Ok, lord. I think it’s supposed to happen, but I really want to be sure.

Jessica messaged me that we would stay in Oklahoma City with her sister-in-law Thursday night and drive into Texas early Friday morning. That meant I only had to drive six hours after work and six hours the next day. I was incredibly thankful.

But it wasn’t enough. I got really detailed.

The Monday before we left I prayed that if I was really supposed to go that Jennie Allen herself would comment or favorite one of my IF Gathering  posts on social media. I know that is really immature. I just wanted to be ‘double extra for sure’.

I went out to dinner that night with my Little Sister from the Big Brothers Big Sisters program and when I got home there was a question posted in the IF Gathering facebook group about what we are expecting from the week. I posted that I was not sure I was supposed to go but so far God was answering all of my “But this” prayers and opening every door.

Jennie Allen tagged me and said, “Christi Gibson Miller maybe you are really supposed to be here.”

Shut up.

 I cried. I got down on my knees and put my head in my chair and cried.

Ok, Lord. You opened every door. There must be something really big you want me to learn, something you want me to hear.

“Whether you turn to the left or to the right, your ears will hear a voice behind you saying, This is the way; walk in it. Isaiah 30:21

I got to Jessica’s at sevinish and we left. I needed to get gas in my mom’s car. It’s a diesel. The first gas station didn’t have diesel. We drove down the road and pulled and finally found a gas station with diesel.

Jessica had a card for that station with fifty cents off a gallon. Score!

We drove around the street and onto the ramp and the car died. It wouldn’t budge. I tried restarting and it wouldn’t turn over. I called my dad. He told me to hit the road side assistance button. I told the guy what happened. He said they could tow my car. 

Dad told me to call him back when I heard.

It was all moving really fast. My insides were shaking.

Lord, I thought you told me to come. I thought you said this was the way.

I finally called the gas station.

“Hi, I just got diesel on pump one and now my car is acting up.”

Umm, ma’am that was not diesel. You just put E85 gas in that car. Go ahead and gasp.

“Jessica, I need to step outside to make a phone call.”

Shaking with a lump in my throat and tears stinging my eyes, I called my dad.

“Dad, I put E85 gas in your car. I thought it said Stop This Is Diesel like the other pumps do and it said Stop This Is Not Diesel. I screw everything up and always cost you thousands.”

He kept telling me it would all work out. My mom was in the background and she just wanted us off the highway and safe.

Standing on the ramp in Wichita in the freezing cold in February, I wanted to throw up. Tears were burning my eyes and this friend, I just met, was sitting in the car with her six month old baby.

“Lord, didn’t you say I was supposed to come. Lord, didn’t you open every door. Lord, I don’t know what to do”.

We sat on that ramp for an hour. The tow truck came and Jessica’s husband graciously drove us to Oklahoma City and his sister drove him back. We took Jessica’s van. Every one of her family members I met, I felt the need to reassure them I am not an idiot.

I think we do that when we mess up. We’ve sent this message of do’s and don’ts to the world they think that’s what we are about, when it’s really grace. Hang around me long enough and you’ll know I need a lot of it. When I do mess up big, I feel the need to explain to everyone and really, only one opinion really matters.

 My heart was sick. We had a full day of travel the next day and it was not going as planned. I felt like a failure.

I ruined my mom’s car with a little over six thousand miles on it. She’s had it three months.

I didn’t want to go anymore. I put on a good face. My mind and heart were racing. One was praying the other one was worrying.  

I couldn’t believe it.

 I stupidly googled it. One site said it would cost a couple hundred dollars with a flush. Another site said it could cost up to eight thousand dollars if the motor was ruined.

I was in the balance of a couple hundred dollars and several thousand.

We had great conversations, but my heart was constantly pleading, “Please, Lord. Come on I need to know.”

My dad text me just thirty minutes before we got to Austin and to our conference.

“The car will be ready Monday morning. I will put you up in a hotel Sunday night and VW will come pick you up. It’s all going to be ok.”

My mom text me to tell me it would only be $235, not thousands.

We found our parking place and made our way in. We were finally in Austin.

The speakers were amazing. The heart to equip women where they are is exciting.  It is what I crave. I took notes and more notes.  I feel like we are finally getting past the need to be perfect and on to creating sisters among women.

That Friday night they sang a song I had never heard before, Good Good Father.

I lost it. Tears.

I have a Good Good Father.  My dad would not let me pay for that car. He paid for my room. He was more worried about my arrival than the mistakes that I made.

I broke the car. I thought I was double checking but I was putting in the wrong gas. My dad lessened the impact. He put me up in a hotel and made sure it was a good part of town.

I thought God was sending me to Austin so I could learn some mind shattering information from these ladies. I did, but I learned it on the side of the road, in the cold, when I put the wrong gas in the car.

I am never too far from Him. I am never too far for Him to make some calls and brace my fall.

He doesn’t berate me when I call on him in the midst of failure. I can search for him in amazing moments, but he will speak to me in the hard moments. Jesus paid for my sins. He prepares a place for me. He looks at me redeemed and not of my faults though they are many and frequent.

They love me anyway. ( Even though I cost a great deal to love)

We made it back to Wichita late Sunday night. I was scheduled to leave as soon as the part came in on Monday. Check out was at noon. I packed my bags and worked from the lobby. I was thankful for the lesson and thankful for the weekend. Jessica was the best twelve hour road trip stranger I could have met. Her Great Uncles was a gracious host in his beautiful home, but  I was ready to be home.

My mom called me at 1:00 and the part hadn’t come in. I was going to have to stay in Wichita for another night alone. I just wanted to go home. Tears ran down my face as I tried to book another room. I was embarrassed, but I just wanted to go home.

I worked out. Went to my room and ordered healthy Chinese for two. I was scared, ok? I didn’t want anyone to know I was alone.

I started to turn on the TV. I am a closet Real Housewives fan and they had Bravo. I had this nudge in my spirit to shut the TV off and read my Bible but I thought maybe I was just tired.

We have had enough lessons. Right, Lord?

My phone rang. It was Karen, my friend, I used to go to church with her. I loved our conversations about the Bible. She would be a Faith sister if there ever was one.  I have seen her at her job but we really haven’t talked in years.

“Christi, I couldn’t go home until I called you. I am driving from Kansas City to St. Joe and God has you heavy on my heart, girl.  I just want you to know that whatever you are going through God loves you. He cares about you. I had to call you.

I couldn’t speak. I just cried.

What are you doing, Lord?

I shut the TV off. I found that song Good Good Father on iTunes and played it on repeat for two hours. I got on my knees on the hotel floor and just prayed.

I was sure God wanted me there for a reason. I made small talk at breakfast trying to find “The One” he had me there for.

Nothing.  I was sure there would be someone he would place in my path that I could encourage.

It was time to check out. Volkswagen called and they were sending a driver.  They told me he was eighty-four and wasn’t in a hurry so I didn’t need to rush. I saw him pull up and fumble with his phone trying to call. I hurried out the door to save him the hassle.

We had five minutes in the car. If you know me, you know I rambled that story in ten seconds because I think everyone wants to know my business.

He said, “You just hit my hotspot. You see, I am pastor and my dad was a pastor. I think God just wanted you to rest. He had some things to say to you”.

 I told him about my friend, Karen, and crying on the floor, putting the wrong gas in the car, how God showed me in the midst of my mistakes he was a Good Good Father. How I had been so burnt out on church and church things. How I craved real community. 

I have written three blogs just pouring my heart out to God. All of my years of church piled together. My words helping me to work through the pain and lay it all on his lap. Church is family and family is messy and can be painful. I wanted so badly to love the church again. I am not talking about my current church but the church as a whole. (Just clarifying because I don't want to answer seven messages from people wanting to know the scoop.)

“You know Jesus wept. You know Jesus got away to be with God and just pray. He got angry about things. Rest is good, Christi, and sometimes he just wants to remind us who he is.”

He shared several verses with me. He blessed me.

In five minutes with Floyd Smith, I know why I had gone to Austin.

Sometimes I think I have to be in the midst of the “special” things going on. Sometimes I am waiting for some big wig to tell me my calling. Sometimes I am waiting for the earthquake and for the fire like Elijah. Sometimes I think I have something “to do”.

Sometimes God speaks in a still small voice in a van on the way to pick up the mistake you made.

He really is a Good Good Father.