I’m convinced it’s the kindness of God that allows us to fail.

I’ve been in a season of hard relational spaces — the kind that demand conversations I’d much rather avoid. The kind of space where it’s easy to spiral, to ruminate, and slip into self-doubt and defensiveness. There’s an inherent desire in all of us to be right, to justify ourselves, and to validate how we feel. Yet when I lean into those moments, I’m faced with the discomfort of who I am versus who I think I am. There is nothing like pain to expose our deepest shadows.

A couple of weeks ago, getting in the car, it all came to a head. My plan was to have a good cry and let it all out. But as I began, my tears turned into prayer — and I was surprised by what came forth. I started thanking God. Like, really thanking Him. Thanking Him for the challenges, thanking Him for the failed communication, thanking Him for the disappointments, thanking Him for the deep emotions that rose to the surface — even the ones I like to pretend aren’t there anymore. I didn’t plan to thank Him. I don’t think I even wanted to thank Him, but I’m grateful that “…the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words” (Romans 8:26).

As I let go that day and let the Spirit lead that prayer, I realized…without these moments, how would I know who I really am? I think we’d all like to believe we’re healthy and well-rounded people, but the truth about conflict is this: it doesn’t just reveal who they are — it reveals who we are. And when I stop long enough to sit with that reality, I’m quick to see I’m no different than anyone else. I can get off my high horse. I can pause. I can remember that we’re more alike in our weakness than we are in our strengths. And it’s here — right here, in that vulnerability and awareness — that I can finally connect with Grace and Mercy.

Perhaps God’s kindness isn’t in preventing the fall, but in allowing us to stand back up with new eyes. Hard conversations are never easy. They often feel like walking a tightrope with every word. But love requires truth, and truth requires deep honesty, and honesty is a prerequisite for healing. And while confrontation is often harder than retreat and heavy with consequence, it’s lighter in hindsight and often filled with reward.

I’m not sure there’s anything more painful than being trapped between pride and humility. But I also think this fragile part of our humanity is useful. It’s important for me to accept that I don’t get everything right. It’s constructive for my soul to reckon with the fact that I sometimes hurt people. It’s beneficial for me to remember I’m not always the hero. Failure has a way of stripping away the stories I tell myself and showing me what’s really there. And so I’m grateful. I’m thankful for the opportunity to look within.

If the whole point of life is learning how to love, this lesson is vital. Because it’s much easier to extend grace and mercy when I’m in touch with my own deep need for them.

Maybe you’re here right now, too. And if you are, try leaning in this time. I know it’s scary. Fear will tell you that coming face-to-face with your shortcomings might destroy you. Ego will call you crazy for considering the experience of the other. Self-preservation will whisper that you should point the finger. But I dare you to try. Sit in the seat of failure and receive the love of God anyway. Feel the shame of missing the mark and listen to His voice call you by name. Drag the beast of self-loathing who hates the taste of Grace — and smear Mercy all over him.

My brother used to always tell me, “Failure is a gift, because it points us to Jesus.” I understand that now. It’s not meant to define us — it’s meant to refine us. Isn’t that something? In Christ, failure never gets the final word. Grace does. Amen.

What if wherever there is conflict, whoever loves the most wins?

Man… what a world that would be.

“Keep falsehood and lies far from me; give me neither poverty nor riches, but give me only my daily bread. Otherwise, I may have too much and disown you and say, ‘Who is the Lord?’ Or I may become poor and steal, and so dishonor the name of my God.”

– Proverbs 30:8-9

I remember reading this verse with my brother when I was 19 years old. I was young, zealous, and captivated by Jesus in a radical way. My spirit responded to these words and I was deeply impacted by their simplicity. I was attracted to the sincerity and heart posture of the one who wrote them. After sitting with these words a while, I also, prayed this prayer from a genuine place. As I reflect back, I can see it may have been naive, but it was real nonetheless. 

As far back as I can remember, I was aware of what I didn’t have. Feelings of lack were very familiar. From cousins who always had more, to my best friend having 2 parents and a stable home, to random kids at school…just being hyper-attentive to anything that appeared better. I could weep over all the ways that wounded my young heart. 

In those early years of encountering the love of Jesus, there’s a euphoria that carries you a while. It can be dangerous when life settles because disappointment and trial are an inherent part of the human existence and it can be disorienting when you realize you don’t, in fact, have all the answers. 

What I didn’t know is there would be much suffering to come. 

Abuse.

Divorce.

PTSD.

Parenting alone.

Starting over with nothing.

Trauma.

Recovery.

The list goes on.

It was hard. So hard. In some of my darkest moments, the enemy would remind me of my prayer for only my daily bread and mock me, tempting me to believe that my daily bread wasn’t enough. Even more, that God wasn’t faithful to deliver that much. I remember the internal stress of knowing it was all up to me and the constant voice inside my head, “You can’t afford to make a mistake.” It was an incredible pressure and responsibility to hold. 

The longing for financial security is human. There is no condemnation for it. But I started this whole story to share the evolution of this longing. One that’s marked so much of my life and controlled so much of my emotional well-being, and probably yours, too.

Love and marriage have given me so much. We have such a fun life and there’s never a dull moment in a family like ours. Yet you don’t plant a church for the money. You don’t say yes to Jesus for the paycheck. The years of struggle in my single-hood morphed into years of sacrifice in marriage, pouring every ounce of what little we had into ministry for the sake of the One who called us.  

As a single-mom, I still had a sense of control. I decided what I was going to do and when, how I was going to spend money, and what needed to happen next. But in this journey of faith with my husband, my internal longing for security would scream at me some days. I wanted to buy a home. I wanted to make enough money. I wanted to go back to school. I wanted to take my kids to experience a family vacation. I wanted to provide my kids more space. I wanted – I wanted – I wanted. Again and again, I had to drag the desire for safety and security back to the altar and surrender it. This cycle was incredibly painful but so, so good for me.

Although I don’t know exactly how or when, a massive shift has begun in my heart. Nothing has changed. No big paycheck. No great accolades. No impressive stats to show. Yet there’s a deep contentment that’s taking over me. All of the ambition that ruled me in my youth has turned into longing for quiet days on the back porch. My desire to “serve God” used to take me into deeper pits of comparison, now I secretly wish He would just let me plant a garden and learn all the wonders of life that way. All the things my hearts dreamt up and all the deep desires I’ve wanted to accomplish seem to be morphing into something new. 

They’re not gone, they’re just losing their grip. They exist. They’re alive and well. They just don’t have the same power over me or my emotions. It’s as if my 40’s have gifted me a new lens. I often find myself thinking, “Who needs more? Look at the beautiful life you’ve lived without it.” Wow. What a thought. 

My definition of success has changed entirley. The meaning I once applied to accomplishment is gone. Ambition for gain offers no fulfillment. I’m interested in quality, not quantity.

The irony. The beauty. 

How wrong we are about our own happiness. 

Somewhere along the way, Jesus himself, has become the dream. The only goal. My only ambition. And it’s as simple as this: Give me this day, my daily bread. 

Not sure if I’ll ever own a home. Not sure if I’ll ever own another car. Not sure if I’ll ever be able to take this family of mine on a real vacation.

But I’m sure I don’t need any of those things to know the Lord’s great kindness and provision. I’m sure now that the real treasure of my life is the wild acceptance of all that is and is not. I’m sure you’re not rich until you have something money can’t buy. Thank you, Lord.

I am here. 

He is here with me. 

And that is enough. 

SEEK TO UNDERSTAND. This is our position.

This is always our position.

This next election will pass. All the noise will die down and things will go back to “normal.”

We often put more energy into the wedding, than we do the marraige. We’re a people who focus more on the destination, than the journey. We treat our symptoms, but won’t take serious what’s causing our illness.

What will we do after the last vote? What will we do when the chaos and arguing no longer command the world stage? Will we stand on the sidelines of separation and continue throwing stones at each other, or will we get busy picking up the pieces together and forge a new, awakened path ahead for our children?

Political affiliations have led us to a breaking point as a nation. They’ve pulled off the covers of who we are and exposed every ugly piece of us, no matter which side we land on.

We can’t condemn someone’s protest if we haven’t taught them or allowed them to grieve. We can’t get angry when we don’t understand if we won’t sit down long enough to listen. How long will we be decieved by the traps that so easily entangle us?

We don’t judge what we know, we judge what we don’t know.

The church MUST lead the way in unity and diversity. We have to live out the gospel, do the hard work, and bring forth the Kingdom. We have no other call, no other commission.

What are you going to do with your power?
Will you continue to use it to wield over your brother and sister?
Or will you use it to serve them?

The One we follow healed the mans ear whom his disciple pulled his sword on to defend Him. The King of Kings chose not to crown himself with political strength or titles. Our Perfect Leader washed dirty feet.

We are accountable for injustice.
We are accountable for ignoring our wounds until they start bleeding out.
We are accountable to each other and to this moment in time.

“Let justice roll down like waters, & righteousness like and ever-flowing stream.” – Amos 5:24

Let’s get to work.

I’ve noticed how hard it is to initiate any kind of relationship, even when there’s genuine interest. I think we’re largely not great at it. And to be fair, there’s a lot of good reason for that.

Before meeting Cam, I had set myself apart for a period of time, intentionally turning away from those possibilities. I even prayed that God would hide me for a while. It was a sincere prayer. I knew what I needed but didn’t know how to do it by myself. So I was really depending on Him to help me. Meeting Cam a couple years later was jolting and surprising. I liked him a lot. But I had learned a lot as well. Learned a lot about myself.

I learned in my relationship with Jesus, He was the initiator, and I was the responder. So as my conversations with Cam progressed and I was experiencing all the feels, I remember confiding in a friend and we prayed. I asked the Lord to make things clear. I asked the Lord that Cam would lead and I wouldn’t have to guess. I wanted to be the responder, not the initiator, just like I was with Him.

Love is not without risk, but there’s a big difference in responding to someone who made their intentions plain, than ruminating over what everything means and trying hard to set the right impressions and worrying about every little thing. Guarding your heart isn’t about never being vulnerable. It’s about using wisdom, choosing how you will move when you have good information.

I decided right then during that prayer that I would keep my heart diligently. It would remain in Jesus. I wasn’t going to be the pursuer. And that was an incredible blessing as my friendship with Cam progressed. Shortly thereafter, Cam called me one night and Jesus answered my prayer in a profound way. Cam laid his heart out clearly. I didn’t have to guess how he felt or what he was thinking. He knew he wanted marriage and he asked if I would allow him to get to know my kids. I remember him saying, “I want them to trust me, and that’s going to take time and consistency.” I was in awe. Grateful is a weak way to describe how I felt in the year that followed.

This is one of the reasons dating is hard. It’s easy to understand why so many are discouraged and weary because it feels like you’re working hard for love without good results. I encounter so many people who’ve completely given up on meeting someone. Some have even given up on church. Feeling burned out by tradition and religion, always feeling like God or goodness is just something that’s not attainable….this is a sign you’ve become the initiator.

That devotion time you obsess over, feeling like you never get right, it may come when you allow Jesus to lead. Those things you’ve longed for, hiding them in your heart, only lifting them in silent cries, they become fulfilled first in Him, then often show up when you least expect them to and in the most unpredictable ways. Become that which you seek. Become whole. You will never regret that. Never. It’s attractive and magnetic and contagious, enabling others to also.

It’s way easier to respond to someone loving you than working tirelessly to convince someone they should.

Meghan Phelps-Roper calls it, Engaging the Other. Martin Luther King called it, his Dream. My husband might call it, Fighting Fair. Jesus called it Unity. I don’t care what you call it, but we NEED friends (yes, FRIENDS) on all sides of the table.

When my husband does something that gets under my skin, it’s usually because I don’t understand why he did it. When he tells the kids yes to something I would have said no to, it’s usually because he had a reason for it. Asking him why he did something and why he made a choice is always our doorway to understanding each other better. Once I understand him, even if we don’t always agree, our relationship becomes stronger and it makes our home more peaceful because at least I can see how he got there.

Can’t we do this with our friends, our peers, our colleagues? Jen Hatmaker recently said, “We are as lost from our own gospel as we’ve ever been while screaming at everyone else that we are the only ones “found”… Why would anyone listen to any of us?” I don’t entirely disagree with her. This just won’t work. Something is inherently wrong when a difference of opinion can provoke us to being blind to another’s humanity.

My heart bleeds knowing that in many ways we’re responsible for losing our own credibility. Unity doesn’t mean uniformity. Oneness doesn’t mean sameness. We can choose togetherness without always seeing eye to eye. Our life experiences that lead us to where we are politically, religiously, and culturally, are as unique as our fingerprints. Similar, yet vastly different. If we’re surrounded by people who only reinforce what we think we already know, we are doing ourselves, and our community, a huge disservice. We can do better, the world is watching.

Remember, when it comes to conflict, whoever LOVES the most, wins.

Yesterday…

15 minutes after the bell rang, a young man in my class slapped another one and a fight ensued. My mom adrenaline took over and without processing, I jumped right in the middle of it and pushed one away from the other and sent one out of the class immediately. I think it was out of regard for me it dissipated. I walked the other to the office, gave a report, and moved on with the day.

A little later, I was talking to a table working on a group project. I asked 2 young men what they want to do after high school. They both said they didn’t know. Then, one of them said, “All I know is I won’t be no businessman.” I asked him why. He said, “I just know I won’t make it. Not the way me and my brothers are.” So, I responded. Forget about what you want to do. What kind of man do you want to be? The whole table got quiet. One finally said, “What do you mean, Mrs.?” I said, well, what you do matters, but who you are matters much more. To that he said, I don’t know how to answer that.

I said, Do you want to be kind? Gentle? A man of integrity? Someone the people you love can trust? They looked down for a moment, then asked what integrity meant. We had a nice, brief dialogue about that. A few moments later, they told me they didn’t know what to say, but they would think about it and tell me later. A win in my book.

At lunch the same day, another student, my sweet little Muslim friend, came into my room just before lunch crying. She’s often picked on for her faith and for wearing her hijab. She told me what some girls said to her and wanted to call her dad to go home. I just listened to her. When she got really upset, I hugged her, and she cried in my arms. When she calmed down, I told her how brave and courageous she is for showing up authentically in a culture that isn’t her own and how much she teaches me just by being who she is. Some tears fell again, but softly and with a smile on her face this time.

When I was preparing for the role of teaching, I asked the Lord to help me remember my 7th grade year. And after a few days I was frustrated that I couldn’t remember anything. Not one assignment, not one project. Just a few interactions with my favorite teacher and meeting my best friend, Candice. That’s when the light bulb came on. That was it.

If my students won’t remember our explicit vocabulary routine or the fun group projects I come up with, then what will they remember? They might remember me. They might remember they felt enjoyed and celebrated in my classroom. They might remember that I really cared. Not just about their education but also everything it means to be them.

The gift of walking with Jesus is knowing that you’re in the will of God no matter where you find yourself. I dealt with years of inner discontent and turmoil believing all my time at home with the kids was keeping me from something else. Now I know beyond any shadow of doubt it was my training ground. Heaven shows up in every interaction if we have eyes to see it. I don’t have to go anywhere or strive for anything. There are people everywhere, just steps away, who need the love I have to give. And what an abundant life of giving it is. So, so grateful.

This picture stopped me in my tracks.

There’s so many things I want to write about. Accept this as your official disclaimer for all the lengthy posts you will see in the days ahead.

I had a dream about 15 years ago that I’ve told several people about over the years.

I was walking with a friend in a wooded, mountainous area at sunset. As we were walking, the Lord approached us from behind. He was in human form, but I knew it was him. He told us to look out beyond a cliff, pointing in that direction. I could see the top of another mountain in the distance and even make out some details. It was pretty far for hiking, but close enough to see some of it clearly. It looked as though the sun was just getting ready to go down. As he pointed, he showed us he was holding a camera and said, “Run now. Go to the top of that mountain. I want to take a picture of you.” I responded, “But the sun is setting, I don’t think we can make it before dark.”

Before I could even finish that sentence, the friend I was with started running as fast as she could. And I remember thinking instinctively…RUN, STEPHANIE. JUST RUN!

It seemed impossible. There was even a river between where I was and the other side. But my friend gave me confidence and inspired me to go for it. So I just started running. I ran and ran and ran. I don’t know how I made it and I lost my friend along the way. Matter of fact, she disappeared. Dreams are strange that way.

But I made it. And when I made it to the top of the other side I was overcome with emotion. Somehow, I did it. I was completely out of breath, trying to get control of myself, yet feeling pure joy and exhilaration at the same time. Separated now by all that was between us, I shouted at the top of my lungs to God, “I made it! I made it! Can you believe it? I made it!!” Still breathing heavy, I threw my hands up in the air and started crying. It seemed an act of worship. It felt like the most natural response in that moment. And just like the Lord said, he took a picture of me.

In the mysterious nature of dreams, He immediately appeared next to me right after taking the photo. Showing me the picture he took, I was stunned. It was dusk outside, just enough light to see my silhouette. And with my arms stretched out on the top of that mountain, I looked exactly like Jesus on the cross. I couldn’t believe it. I was undone. I wept and wept and wept. Finally, he looked at me. It felt as though I was wearing his love for me like a piece of clothing, and He said, “I’m going to make you a pillar of faith.”

The dream was over.

Cam took this picture at In Harmonie. I wasn’t thinking of a 15 year old dream when I took it. It was one of many we took while enjoying the beautiful prayer garden. It wasn’t until later that night when I was looking through all the pictures of the day that I remembered this dream and it’s been at the forefront of my heart again since.

Ironically, we spent that very weekend at In Harmonie diving deep into the beautiful mystery of the prophetic. And I can’t help but visualize a smirky smile on God’s face when pondering this whole thing. Because the truth is, discerning what Jesus is saying or doing is tough sometimes. And I don’t always get it right. It’s often the gift of hindsight that allows me to see more clearly and understand more fully. But God is kind. So kind. He faithfully reveals himself to us, sometimes even, his plans. And still, every single time…it blows my mind.

“I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me.” -Galatians 2:20

I seen my brother in my dream last night and was never able to go back to sleep.

In my dream, Cam and I bought a house (one of my hearts desires) with more room than we ever imagined, enabling us to host people. Matter of fact, there were a couple people we knew there who would soon move in with us. A true answered prayer.

Some family and friends gathered to come see the place and bless our home. It wasn’t a house warming party, we hadn’t moved in yet, just an opportunity to pray over it.

As we walked outside, one of my cousins was getting married. We moved right into her reception. As I walked around enjoying the moment gathered there with my family I seen Anthony standing, leaning onto a tall table with his arms in front of him. He was dressed in all white, but looked like himself. Looked as though he had white sneakers on, white jean shorts, and a white T-shirt on. Yet his shirt was a little different. It had a beautiful navy blue and soft pink floral pattern on it, and the flowers had dimension. There he was just standing there taking in the moment, looking more peaceful and radiant than ever.

Knowing that my glimpse of my brother was just that, a glimpse of heaven, I run toward him without any trepidation or hesitancy and reach my arm out saying, “ANTHONY!” as if to grab hold of him before it was too late. My voice full of tears, desperation and longing.

When I reached out he grabbed my hand and had a big smile on his face, and as soon as he touched me he began to grow taller. When he grabbed my hand I was shocked because I just wasn’t sure if I would be able to touch him. But not only could I touch him, I instantly kissed his hand and said, I love you. I love you. I love you. Tears flowing.

Our moment was short, he had to leave. He was also growing in stature and brightness as he walked. But right before he let go of my hand, he looked down at me one more time and there were tears in his eyes. Our gaze into each others eyes was brief, but locked and very real. The love and affection between us was palpable. Then he let go and I watched him disappear.

My heart was so curious, even achy. As I watched him walk away I was wondering in my heart…why was he crying? I thought there was no pain in heaven?

And in that moment, somewhere between sleeping and waking, somewhere between the now and the not yet, I heard Jesus voice as I woke up.

“That wasn’t pain, Stephanie. ONLY LOVE.”

I’ve been up pondering, crying and writing since around 3. In absolute awe. Can you imagine a reality where the only tears we’re able to form are those of love? A reality so pure, pain is divorced from our deepest emotions and tears don’t even have the same meaning? A reality where we’re made whole and fully transformed, yet still true to our very essence, finally and forever?

I can’t either. But it’s coming.

And I thank God for this great hope and assurance. Thank you Lord for a glimpse into glory…during Holy Week…days before we celebrate and remember the Resurrection.

You have my heart, Lord. The veil of separation is so thin, Hallelujah.

That’s what my mama called me my whole life. Me, my sister, then my daughters and now her great granddaughter. And it’s only grown more endearing through the generations.

A couple years ago I had a dream I was watching my own funeral. Yet it was quite different than a regular funeral in many ways. I wasn’t in a casket, I was just laying on a raised platform with a blanket over it. My whole body exposed from head to foot. I also didn’t have anything nice on, as we typically bury our loved ones in something dressy. I just had jeans and a regular shirt on. I was also wearing boots. There was only one big flower arrangement, which I also remember being odd. There weren’t any rows for seating or chairs anywhere. Matter of fact, the room was quite large, resembling an art gallery. But the only exhibit in the room was me.

Yet the most notable difference of all…my mother was the only one in attendance.

There were several others in the room afar off, talking and chatting with each other, seeming totally unbothered and even unaware of this sacred space my mom was in as she stood over my body.

So many strange things, but none compared to my mother’s grief. It felt like I was being allowed to wear her pain for a brief moment in time. She was so broken. There was such loss and turmoil in her heart. It was palpable. Even recalling it as I type now, I can feel the piercing anguish well up. The sorrow was tangible and it breaks my heart all over again.

When I woke up I couldn’t shake this dream for several days.

The Lord showed me this dream wasn’t about my physical death. But the death of a daughter and relationship my mother hoped and longed for. Hence all the reverse symbolisms. In His great goodness, He was allowing me to see my mother’s pain. He brought me into the space that only He sees. He allowed me a glimpse of something she carried alone. And it was a profound and life-altering experience.

I spent years being angry with my mother after my divorce. I was wrestling through so much and I was dealing with incredible pain of my own. But my mistake was I couldn’t see beyond it. I spent years wanting someone to be held accountable for what happened to me. Everyone except me, of course. I know now I can’t comprehend the pain I caused during the years I put distance between us. Those years of anger and blame shifting are some of my most regrettable.

And although I can happily and honestly report that those years of anger are long over, this dream brought forth a freedom I hadn’t yet known. It’s given me a gift I didn’t deserve. The gift of another persons experience.

Forgive your parents. I promise you will need the same mercy from your own children.

Your pain is real. But your bitterness is only fueling misery. Extending grace doesn’t minimize the wrong that was done. It simply makes room and spaciousness in your heart, knowing that in due time, you will be the one who needs Grace given.

A sometimes hard yet beautiful truth is the wronged and the wrongdoer can both go to God for the very same thing. And wisdom is knowing that sometimes the wrongdoer is you.

Thank you mama for being everything you are. Such an example of surrender. Such a passionate lover of Jesus. Such a life poured out for others. Thank you for taking your pain to the One who sees. You did good and you tried hard. I know that you cared with all your heart and always wanted the best for us. Thank you for doing your best and trusting Jesus with the rest.

I honor you. I honor the pain you’ve carried and the dying to yourself you’ve lived out. Words are too weak to express all I desire to and everything God’s shown me about you. But I’m so blessed to be your daughter.

The most beautiful girl in the world.

YOU are God’s most beautiful girl, and I love you with all my heart.

Several years ago I had a dream Cam and I were outside teaching in a city square. It had the feel of an antiquated market place, almost in a different time era, but not. We still had on modern-day clothing but everyone else didn’t. A dream isn’t a dream without the mysterious and cryptic things that integrate themselves inside them. We were also in some sort of ocean side cliff village, water surrounded us. The most prominent part of this landscape was a huge mountain that backdropped the whole outdoor scene.

As Cam spoke to the people, more and more gathered. He began to move backward, looking for a better place to project his voice and ended up backing right into the mountain itself. I noticed as he spoke, he was also throwing pebbles of food toward the people, many were following, wanting to catch more and more of the food. They followed him all the way to the foot of the mountain.

When Cam finally got to the foot of the mountain, a wild metamorphosis took place. He transformed into the mountain itself. The entire mountain was Cam’s face, and without any break of consistency, he continued to teach, feed, and care for the people. As I watched the final scene of this dream, I could see everything as though I had a sky view. Droves of people were outside, like the whole village, intently standing with their faces to the mountain. Then the dream was over.

Planting a church has been the most beautiful and most difficult thing Cam and I’ve ever done. It’s given us such deep fulfillment and our most piercing pain. People come, and people go. And if I can be candid for just a moment, no matter the circumstance, sometimes that just plain sucks. There have been times it takes more obedience to stay than to abandon the ship.

When I had this dream many years ago, I always thought it was just the kindness of God to show us a glimpse of destiny. And who knows, maybe thats true. But today, all of a sudden, this dream came flooding back into memory and hit me like a ton of bricks.

The village is a place where things are constantly moving. People come in and people go out. There’s always weak areas and instability. There’s much to be built, as a village hasn’t yet been established into a city. There is still much to be ordered, created and governed. Some are craving the city where things are already built and there’s not so much work to be done. Understandably. But a mountain is solid and its position is fixed. Mountains don’t move. They’re consistent. Stable. They can be memorized and marked and trusted to stand secure. They aren’t going anywhere.

Today I’m praying for all of those who are called to be the mountain. I see you. God sees you. Amen.