But this is not for the faint of Heart...

why our language should be provocative and lives; head turning.

The flight attendant had just announced that personal electronics were no longer permitted. I was forced to make a book choice out of my bag and decided against David Platt's Radical- I was too tired to be convicted. I was still chewing on the last chapter and mulling over the lukewarmness that was seeping into my spirituality. I picked up instead, Russell Brand's biography ; Booky Wook. Within minutes I'm snickering and snorting with laughter at his cheeky Brit humor and shocked at his life in pages. In case you weren't aware, he has an incredible story of overcoming sexual,drug, and alcohol addiction. He has a better grasp on the human condition than most Christians I know , just lacks the solution.

in a  sudden wave of devastation and urgency, I dropped the book in my lap and thought : " Who is going to tell Russell Brand about Jesus??!!" 

O WHAT INFLUENCE HE WOULD HAVE. and others in the entertainment industry.  

But that is a dark place... full of empty glories, drugs, exploited sex, and cuss words. no place for Christians... . Wrong. that is no place for children. 

but that is a perfect place for a Christian. 

See, both David Platt and Russell Brand have one thing admiringly in common; both so boldly live out what they believe  it is offensive.I sat there conflicted. How then do we live? How do we live in the world but not of it? Who then to better instruct us than our Creator. 

therefore, since we have SUCH HOPE, we are VERY BOLD. 

2 Corinth.3:12

Therefore, since Christ died for us, since we are bought with a price, Since we are HIS- we as Christians should boldly approach this dark place with confidence. 

Our lives are meant to be LOUD

Our actions, HEAD TURNING- not an eye for an eye, but love and grace- abounding

Our language, PROVOCATIVE -it is unlike any message they have heard.

Our style, ECCENTRIC- we belong to the most creative of Artists. 

Our love, something from OUT OF THIS WORLD. 

Our art- MOVING, compelling

Our sex- DEVINE, enjoyed in the Holy covenant of marriage

Our Vocations done with EXCELLENCE because we do not work for mere men, but for the King.

We are not for the faint of heart, or the wayward of spirit. 

How do we keep from being salt that stays in the jar.. useless.

How do we become CEO's in New York, without selling our souls to capitalistic mongrols

How do we become models without selling our bodies to the photographers' desires and the ad agency's concepts.

How do we produce movies that sell, and change lives. 

How do we dance in companies where you sleep with the director to land a lead. 

Do we avoid these vocations because these are "dark industries"

We often spit on them because they are sinful media outlets feeding our children dirt. 

then we better get the hell in there and be heaven on earth...

GET OUT OF THE SALT JAR. SALT.LIGHT.

We become angry and bitter about the content of commercials and daytime television, and the lyrics on the radio.So we create our own radio stations, our own tv programs. and when that is all we listen to or watch- all the salt stays in the jar, getting saltier- and never flavoring anything.

We are controlled by FEAR.  

What will he think if I mention JESUS? 

 Will I lose my job if I say no to my boss? maybe. 

But our present sufferings are nothing compared to our future glory that far outweighs them all.

how then should we live? God commands us to live radically different than anything and everything the world suggests. To live not for our own glory but our God's. Our vocations are to be missional. Our finances, freely His. Our marriage, a picture of the Gospel

 This message is not for the faint of heart, not for the unarmed, not for you to justify your sin. If you think God is calling you to be rich and famous and live in Hollywood so you may have a chance to drop Jesus' name at the Grammy's -  1) you are wrong 2) we are probably not friends

this message is not for the rookies, or the newbs, this is for the well trained, well read, knowledgeable , deep rooted, and well armed. 

you would not ask an 18 yr old in boot camp to do a navy seal extraction. you would not send the new guy into uncharted waters.  And you would not send an alcoholic 3 months sober to do ministry at a bar.

If you are walking into the darkest part of the house, you are going to bring your brightest bulb you got.

I am not saying that everyone is called to minister to people in the entertainment Industry. What I am saying, is that if we are- we should not shy away from it . I have done that . I have justified not whole heartedly pursuing dance careers  because it can lead to a dark place. We are given these arts and talents for a good God reason.  But if we go in, if we get that job opportunity, that record deal, or photoshoot, or ad campaign- we better gosh well be armed with the Truth.

My brother is a fashion photographer, my sister models and acts, and my brother in law is in the film industry. Often when I hang out with their friends- they too are models and actors, photographers, and creative minds. I am usually thinking "holy crap- what a different world this is" but also-feeling at home as there is so much room to freely express yourself mainly because my community at home looks a bit different. But I would have no platform to talk about Christ  with them if I wore a smock and a braid and whipped out my bible at the bar. I would also not have a platform if I dressed like a slut and snorted a line on the bar with them. this is where we ask for wisdom, and discernment. 

this is where and how we learn to be in the world and not of it.

How then should we live?

With boldness.

and whatever we do (vocation,art,daily life,your dress,your finances) whether in word or deed do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father. 2 Col.3:17

Some shout outs for those who have used their gifts for the Kingdom: 

MFC New York

www.modelsforchrist.com

My lovely sister in christ/ super model Nikki Dubose

www.thenikkidubose.com

This piece is a direct result of simultaneously reading David Platt's Radical, and Russell Brand's biography- Both so boldly living out what they believe they are offensive

Entry Five

: Not your mom's French doors

I lack the eloquence necessary to describe the beauty of Paris. I will leave it to your knowledge of Monet and Voltaire. Their work does not exaggerate. It  really is that extravagant. I have to crane my neck to get a view of some of the ceilings, or the ornate embellishment of the sculptured buildings.

But what stops me in my tracks are the doors. I have been on plenty of runs where I will come to a halt to snap a picture-or make note to come back with my Diana. I don’t know what it is, I am enamored by them.  Sometimes they do not match the house at all. They are of odd shapes and pop colors. Some are wide as if they are still opening for chariots everyday. Some are so small I swear the residents are hobbits. 

As a kid, I spent a lot of time at Lowe’s.  my parents were always remodeling, and I remember playing with my sister in the chandelier and light section because it was next to the door section. My mom always talked about how important good doors were- pointing out pretty ones, and saying she would like to have French doors. So at 6 I had images of what I thought “French doors” were. They were wood with glass on the front. I spent more time at Lowe’s than Toys R US,  but that’s ok because it is more useful now to navigate a hardware store than the Barbie section. 

Then I came to France and realized Lowe’s lied, I have not seen one door that is wood with glass on the front.

I swear this blog is not about doors. well not literally.

It was Sunday morning in Paris and I creeped through the house to see if the family was up. I asked the parents if they could take me to Hillsong Church the day before and I was hoping they remembered. They didn’t. I slumped back to my flat and starting reading the word. Praying, asking God to OPEN DOORS for me to be a light to this family. Not just how I serve them and care for their Children but to share the Gospel.

Minutes later I heard a knock on my door. It was Fred, the Dad.

"Allo Teephuny! Are you ready? I am taking you to the church." 

I was surprised that he wanted to stay with me and not drop me off. Trying hard not to show him my excitement like I just “won him to the other side” I said I would save him a seat.

And  like water to my soul I heard the band. They were singing in English- it had been so long since I had had fellowship with other Christians. I had been in Paris for  over a month and not met one fluent English speaker, or Christian. Regardless of language barriers though I was with family because they were worshipping the Living God. I couldn’t wipe the smile of my face.

I think Fred noticed that there was something different about this church. His face was surprised, and he kept saying wow! Cool! . I was still nervous though. Fred does not speak good English he knows very little about me and my faith.  Hillsong is a pretty charismatic atmosphere esp, in their worship. They began to pray and all hands shot up. I  thought “oh no” Fred is going to think I am in a cult. Then I started worrying about what the message was going to be about . Then his hand shot up!   I heard God say: Hey Tiff, you got him through the door- I can take it from here .

I relaxed. And of course they start talking about tithing. I cringed. He leaned over and said “ I’ve never heard a church talk about money. We give but we don’t know why. I like this” and then I relaxed again.

The sermon was about asking seeking and knocking. A flood of images I had taken with my Diana and my mind of these beautiful French doors spread a smile on my face.  It was about coming to God with our needs, approaching the door with confidence because of what Jesus had done. We don’t have because we don’t ask.

As we got up to leave, he turned to me and said- “I was moved. It was like my insides were crying.” I said yes, me too.

 As we walked out the door, Fred leaned over and said decidedly- “I am bringing my family here”.

This is Fred, The Dad. in Notre Dame. 

Later, Fred took me to Notre Dame with the rest of the family. He told Valerie all about the service but in French so I couldn’t really understand what he thought about it. As we were walking through the crowded cathedral and  looking at dead saints relics through glass Valerie told me that Fred had told her “his faith was returning, He renounced God when he was younger when his family fell apart. “ 

I did not know this.

And then we rounded the corner, where the crown of thorns lie in glass.

THE crown of thorns. The ones that splintered my Jesus. People were talking all around me, some to me but I heard nothing.  I was weak, and speechless. I could not have stared long enough. To be so close to something that touched Jesus was overwhelming. I understood exactly the woman who said “if I could just touch his cloak”.  And then to wake myself up I partly decided there was no way it was the actual one, even though King Loius the something sold a CITY to have the crown of thorns.

Anyways. God clearly answered the question I kept asking. WHAT AM I DOING HERE??

It’s the same reason we are on earth, as to why I am in Paris. To bring others to Him.

To make disciples, to the ends of the earth.

 ASK. SEEK. KOCK. 

Doors don't open by themselves.

Entry Four

: La Femme Fatale

when you've displaced yourself in another culture, you tend to seek out and cling to the constants. the similarities or the universalities.  if you try to absorb and dwell on all the differences- you'd go mad. and feel out of place. I think there is an innate desire in us to connect, to relate. not by coincidence- God did not create man to be alone.

Fred the dad speaks in fast broken english with a heavy french accent. It was difficult at first for us to understand each other and often our intentions were misread. We were driving in his Jeep in Paris. (the only jeep in paris) in silence.   he picked up his ipod and selected Cat power, then LCD soundsystem, then Metronomy. He could see me excitement and surprise growing with each pick on his ipod.  For the first time we related to each other. and it was over music. we were roof pumping by the time we pulled into the girls school.

one song he played was called La Femme Fatale. I asked him what that meant and he described the ultimate woman, what most girls strive to become, what magazines sell, and what men dream of.
a few days later it was the girl's birthday parties. I found this universal desire to be "La Femme Fatal" apparent even in them.

 Each on separate days , the parties had different themes, and a separate catering company, professional photographers, DJ's and party coordinators. Did I mention they were 10 and 11?

This is Garance, o yeh- and specially ordered paper straws .

Garance and Daphne are polar opposites.and their parties reflected their personalities to the T. We have a great relationship because I can relate to both of their polarities. Daphne, the elder - is unlike any tween girl I have ever met. She is quarky, clever, funny, and can be found with her head in a book about murder mysteries or sci fi's. She loves comics. Garance is the girliest of girly, three different outfits a day- coordinated jewelry, socially in tune and always ready for a camera. I have to tell Garance that that is enough oufits for the day and daphne i have to tell to brush her hair.  the pictures should explain.

This is Daphne- the camera can't even capture her.

And I am somewhere in between. 

Daphne, probably challenging the boys to duel ( she takes fencing)

The only challenge Garanc'es party guests had was to pick the best nail color.

Daphne's party favors were buttons with her picture on them and the date of the party . this is better than most WEDDING FAVORS

  went to the Champs-Elysees , dropped 500 euros on the girls party favors at Sephora, not a bad part of the job

girl girl girl
the party was seperated into stations, nails, hair, makeup, wardrobe, photo

this is Garance's cake. well was.

This is Daphne's cake, in France a Boom is the first big party a girl has that essentially means she can invite boys. perfect for her comic book themed party. 

La petite femme fatal

clothes hand picked by a designer in Paris for this tween party

Lovely makeup artist

this is Valentine , an autre petite femme fatal.  Seriously, a ten year old- knowing how to  work a camera! nurture vs. nature- we'll never know. 

I have little resolve or concluding thoughts to this universality. It was more something I observed in both these parties- though they were so different : we all want to be great, to be distinguished somehow. It can manifest itself in so many ways- whether it be the layers of makeup we apply or our heads in superhero books dreaming of being wonder woman. it's not just la femme either- its mankind. God created his children to live extraordinary lives, hence the innate desire. We just surface it in the oddest of ways sometimes :)

Entry Three

: of God or Country.

Let’s go back to that birthday party when we’re six- unaware of our surroundings and how our bodies are moving through space. We are changing at a rapid rate at this stage and can’t keep up with our limbs.  Johnny is chasing Stacy with cake in his hands  and you want to join so you start running too. But there is a root by your left foot that you did not see, and then concrete to the face. Stunned.  Your knee, your cheek, your hands- you are not sure where all the pain is coming from so you start screaming . But! Before you finish your first wail out of nowhere, swift strong arms have scooped you up and a consoling voice is in your ear. Your dad sits you on the kitchen counter, away from the noise- away from the party and the birthday cake and what you thought was fun.  He took you somewhere quiet so that the wounds could be assessed. And so they can be tended to.

France is my kitchen counter.

where i wander.

If I told you what I did everyday, it'd make you sick.  I am getting paid to vacate. I wake up at whatever hour I choose, read the Word, push a button so a perfect shot of espresso pours, go for a run or a bike ride along the Seine that is my back yard, return- read by the pool, and sometimes wander around the town taking pictures or just to wander.  During the week days, I am usually taken to the golf club to have lunch and occasionally I hit a bucket of balls at the driving range or practice putting.The family and kids come home from their work/activities around 7. Sometimes I cook but mostly the housekeeper does. We talk about our day, wind down and then go to bed. On the weekends, Valerie takes me to the “must sees” of Paris. Some tourist attractions, some of her favorite restaurants and shopping areas. She wines and dines me and has exquisite taste in food, wine, champagne, and tea houses. Are you sick yet?  Because by week two I sure as hell was. WHAT AM I DOING HERE? I have something ingrained in me that I need to be productive, to grow, to struggle, to work diligently to achieve something. And I do not know if it is of God or country.

Capitilism, or Christianity.

I do know that this season  in life is very… quiet.  You can describe it as restful, peaceful, relaxing,  or whatever. But if you look at most of my days- its just me for the duration of my time.  I don’t mind being alone- in fact usually prefer it. However when the only sounds that fill the silence are the sighs of contemplation, snorts or satisfaction, and exhales of frustration. It’s a bit maddening.

SO you’re on the kitchen counter and you stop crying because Dad is telling you its going to be ok but has to clean the wound, and it might sting a bit. He puts ice on the worse of it to soothe your sobs.  You know the party is still going on  without you so you ask your dad if you can go back outside because you do not want to miss out. With a firm but loving tone- he says no. you are not finished being mended.

how i wake up

what i drink

what i do

what i eat

                                                                             what i capture

where i stare

The life I left behind in America is still going on without me. One of my best friends is planning her wedding, Younglife in PB is going through a transitional time, my other best friend is still sleeping in my room how I left it.  A large part of me wants to jump back into the party. The life I left behind was going somewhere- I was working and loving my community. But the truth of it is- there are parts of me that are wrecked, badly bruised , and well- wounded.  I will be vague and say that the divorce has crushed  my perception of family and marriage.  God scooped me up at just the right time, and brought me to a place where it was just me and him. Somewhere quiet away from the noise, where he can mend things.

where i sit, and hear my dad's voice.

Entry Two

: Paris Makes Me Want to Do Bad Things

I have the most free time and least amount of responsibility I probably  ever will In my lifetime. I quickly made note of this and decided in order for there to be growth – there needs to be discipline! 2+2=4.  However, Paris – be it in the water or tea, I have said no to very little. It has put a spell on me. 

Paris, you have bewitched me body and soul.

And  have lead me to want to

1.     Smoke a lot of cigarettes.  Something I not only think is disgusting but not even an option for a life choice. In fact I think its suicide for procrastinators but STILL! its a natural part of the day for Parisians. Go to the bathroom, drink coffee, smoke, drink coffee, breathe, go to the bathroom, smoke.eat.smoke sleep smoke. drink.

2.    Wear red lipstick. It doesn’t matter if you’re running to la poste or to the club.  Parisians rock it. All the time. In fact it may be safe to say women wear rouge more than bras (see 4)

3.     Skip dinner. Head straight for the dessert menu.  French sweets are explosions of paradise in your mouth. I have yet to say no to it. The family takes us out very often too. This is dangerous.

4.  Not wear a bra. Which is funny because there is kind of an unspoken law among American girls: If you’re an A or a perky B you’re probably ok to leave the straps at home but here it really doesn’t matter how high or wide they’re chillen. Apparently it’s not weird for occasional nip action.  I teeter in a b or c so this is also dangerous. Perhaps if I start smoking I will regress and also get to join in on this one.

5.    Not smile.  I read somewhere that Parisians do this, I rolled my eyes but then I got here and realized: its true. Heres why: Parisians don’t like anything.   Smiling says your’re easy. Or easily amused- and which one is worse? we can’t have that.

6.   Drink champagne. Valerie only drinks champagne. So when we are out , anytime of the day, which is often as I said and its offered to me- I of course say yes.  EXPENSIVE CHAMPAGNE IN FRANCE THAT IM NOT PAYING FOR? Of course I will say yes. Everytime.

                                                                entry one.

    

It’s like at your 6 year old birthday party. Someone hands you a bat, blindfolds you, and spins you around until you are disoriented but you’re so determined to burst open that colored paper mache, to be the one to shower everyone with dollar store candy , to win, to succeed. So we swing with all our might but then someone pushes you out the door of the party and its quiet. The noise of the party, the familiar faces, the familiar sounds- gone. Replaced with something foreign. But the expectation is still there to win . to succeed- after all-im armed, I still have my bat that was handed to me as I walked across the stage on graduation day.

May was nothing short of a whirlwind. I was spun around, flipped upside down- flown across the country. From sun up to sun down I was surrounded by people who I loved the most. I partied. Graduated. Partied.Flew to CA for a glorious wedding with friends, said goodbye to my best friends in west palm, and finally ended the month in SC with my family for my brother’s stunning wedding.  I have never laughed harder, cried steadily, and said so many painful goodbyes than I did in the month of may. Not just to people that I would not see but to a chapter of my life that was exuberating.

Hours later after the wedding I am waking up to a flight attendant that is jabbering in a beautiful but unfamiliar tone. My sleep mask my blindfold. I vaguely remember the hours in between the wedding reception and the flight to Paris. I am pushed off the plane, away from the party. It is June 1 , the party is over. Bat in hand, still dizzy –or jet lagged rather. I stumble away from all that I know and into complete darkness. I have no idea what is in store for me this summer, what the family is like, where I am living, what my responsibilities are, or anything  about Europe, France, Paris . hell I can not even talk to strangers if I wanted.  In the dark. Unknown. I breathe. I have a college degree now, that should mean something right?  My bat, my “expensive tool for life” my years in the classroom , my degree are seeming meaningless at the moment because I get lost  trying to find baggage claim from my gate.  It was then I thanked my background  in charades rather than psychology to find my luggage. After hours of circling the airport I find the family who hired me.

Within the first 48 hours of arriving in Paris, I have done more than some have in a lifetime. I wish I was not drugged with jetlag-  but it was hard to miss the splendor of the Eiffel tower, or the grandness of the Louvre, and the exquisite meal I had in the Garden of Versailles. These were each bucket list items for me but for the family I am working for, simply a weekend in their home town.  I tried acting as nonchalant as the Querleus  but squeals of delight would sometimes erupt from my spout.

Blindfold off, bat- not needed,  somehow I was still showered with sweets. 

My 45 year old self

Strollin in the Outback

I was recently going through some old journals and came across this letter I wrote to my 45 year old self. I wrote it exactly one year ago when I was in Australia, and find it still to be true.

Dear you in 25 years,
Right now you're sitting on a sandhill in the outback of Australia. In some ways, I hope you don't change much. I hope that you continue to seek higher ground no matter what your circumstance, be it this desert or a social justice. There will be roads that are easier to take, methods that require less faith, mountains you could go around- but I hope you don't. You could potentially have a daughter my age who learned how to love well from her mother like you did- or you could still be in Cambodia fighting for the freedom of sex slaves. I'd like to think that by 2035 human trafficking would cease to be- that legislation would get passed to illegalize prostitution in the Red Light District. I hope that you are out of the job and are able to move on to another social injustice. Hopefully the road to Haiti's recovery is not as long as predicted and their infrastructure and water is close to being restored to a condition better than the last. most of what I hope for the world won't happen until earth is restored and creation has met it's maker. But until then I hope it is in better condition because you chose to take the high road. I could go on about what kind of wife and mother I'd want you to be but I'm not really sure what God has for you in that area- I think if you're seeking God wholeheartedly as a wife, parent, or single woman the rest falls into place.
Most of all I hope you're still dancing... not necessarily in a studio or on a stage but you are able to abandon yourself recklessly and be lead by something bigger than yourself, that you're letting go , taking leaps of faith and standing on His feet when you're not sure of the steps. I hope you'll still be able to nail a pas de bouree triple pirouette- no pressure

ps. I hope you still like your tattoo that i'm getting next week.

The Marine and the Hippie

when you're traveling with someone-for an extended period of time you suddenly take on all of the unfun parts of marriage. you bicker and don't get to have make up sex after. you use phrases like, where should we eat, where should we sleep, do we want to run this errand first or skip it for coffee. you brush your teeth together and talk about how the day was while you floss. you learn that other persons preference in food, sleeping arrangements, music, movies, because it effects you as well. we bicker about when we should wake up, or what really was the best decade of music? i couldn't be tired when he was tired because, well we would crash. When im too moody to deal with the waitress he takes over.

there are times i want to crawl in his lap and sleep. there are probably more times i want to push him out of the car, in part because the way we view and define things is quite opposite;He thinks that workouts should be done at sunrise on an empty stomach- and pushed till you want to vomit whats not in your stomach. I prefer to run after you sleep in and have a lite breakfast after your quiet time. He thinks I have an addiction to coffee and use it as a crutch. I think it is God's sweet gift to mother earth. He double bags things to secure his groceries- I would carry them in my arms before i used a plastic. He drives a truck and doesn't mind country. I listen to wilco on vinyl.

I was trying to explain to him the logic of my eating habits - he stared hard and said "sometimes when you talk , its like a train wreck in my head. I dont even know where to begin"

Because our God is unfathomably larger than our worldly boundaries and cultural differences, we made a great team.

I told him when he needed to relax, and be. He told me when I needed to be productive.

On paper, he is your all american country -truck driving- marine- now firefighter still serving his country man. And I- a southern belle. but both of us are running, both of us bitter about what we spent our lives on in the past- both wanting something different than the American dream. He wouldn't tell you he served seven years in the Marines. And when people ask me where I'm from I say Palm Beach.

That's why we worked , Very seldom does a team function well because they have similar backgrounds , it is because they are running in the same direction.

The dynamics of Brandon and I were another way God showed up and proved his faithfulness on this tour

#tour2011 #endslavery

And the Lord proved his faithfulness. our first stop was Ft. Myers, Fl where we connected with Summit Church. we met a glorious couple who happened to have the only safehouse for rescued victims of sex slavery. we made a lunch date and went over their non- punitive approach to aftercare. I took notes vigorously because their program was wicked successful and more importantly it was biblical. they have been working with law enforcement, task forces, and coalitions for years, as well as DCF ( child services ) . they knew the hurdles , the jumps , the mountains. we could not come across a couple with more knowledge and wisdom on aftercare. we went to the Collier County Coalition meeting the next day with them and saw a different side of this fight to end slavery. the lawyer side, its not so heartfelt.
nonetheless we learned a ton about the different faces of this fight.
Every city hasn't been as busy, we went on to tampa- connected with Underground church. great community! In Orlando we met people from Status Church at a coffee shop called Downtown Credo. It is a non Profit business that donates all the proceeds back into the needs that are specific to orlando. also! Maya strange does all the baking for tasty treats. she is the wife of Relevant magazines owner.
in Tallahassee we were blessed to connect with IHOP . witnessing their hearts for change was encouraging, they prayed over injustice and our journey. they took up an offering at the end among the few missionaries that were present. we were sent to Atlanta with $120 in cash. so humbled.

Lowell , a man who started the first rehabilitation center in FL said this to us, "We are not abolitionists fighting human trafficking, We are first Christians doing the will of God. right now this is on his heart for us. if tomorrow it is orphans in Uganda, we go there. " This helped put things in perspective for both of us. I think in some ways this tour, at least for me was just another way God wanted to show me what it looks like to completely rely on him for provision, direction and guidance. There were nights we weren't sure where we were sleeping, and nights we werent sure if the bed we were sleeping in was kosher. We also encountered amazing people who encouraged us in our journey, sharing their hearts and wisdom with us. Though people have told us that we are inspiring - I am certain that I have received more than I have given.

There was a night Brandon and I were going to visit a young adult service at a "hip" church in Atlanta. we were so hungry we thought we would grab food and then just go to the service late to connect with the pastor after. we sat down at a restaurant and felt completely convicted for half assing this oppurtunity to connect with this church. we left before the waitress took our order and went to the church still a little late. but the parking lot was empty. I thought, welp we tried. we filled up across the street and were ready to head home but then I saw a man with full dreads and a beard carrying the world on his shoulders. he crossed the street to meet his companion, a young dreaded blonde and two mutts, also with a large backpack. I asked Brandon if we could give help them/ give them a ride/if he could take him if they tried attacking us. so instead of connecting with the hip church we took Eric and Lauren, mudpie and flea to dinner. it may not have been on the agenda that night, or a goal on paper but Lowell was right. We are called to do God's will at all times of the day- sometimes that looks like telling a church about sex slavery and sometimes its sharing life with strangers.

connections were made. people were educated. we were stretched. and humbled and blown away.

this post skims the surface of our experiences. I want to thank all of you who were praying for us and encouraging us along the way.

a bubble bath later...

My gas light came on and I thought, of course. I am always low. Always late, and flying by the seat of my pants. And then I remembered my best friends lost her job today. For unfair reasons. She owned up to something that was hardly her fault. Because she is who she is she’ll fess up to something just so people can move on even if she wasn’t responsible. I wanted to console her but I had nothing to give. Dry as a pipe.

I sat in a bubble bath, wine glass in hand full of consoling cabernet. I was too lazy to grab cheese so I figured cheesitz would work. I didn’t want to be needed tonight. I ignored the phone calls of people that I talked to about hanging out. Delayed my response to texts. Felt even more terrible for letting them down. I stared at my reflection in the water and wondered how I got here. I took off school, quit two jobs I loved, moved out of my house to tour for the Redeem the Shadows. Now I wasn’t even certain if tour was going to happen. All three of us on the east coast team were having doors shut right and left . completely discouraged about what was ahead.

And then God reminded me of Gideon, who was unfit for battle and called to fight an army that outnumbered his. But God went before him

And Then He reminded me of Joshua who conquered a city by following directions that he didn’t even understand. But obeyed because he knew they were from the Lord.

And in Samuel when Jonathan said to his armor bearer, “Come, let’s go to the outpost… PERHAPS the Lord will act on our behalf”

There was an uncertain confidence about his faith.

I know- am more than certain- that this is what God is calling me to. I am uncertain what this month will look like, where we will go, and how we will get there. But I am confident that if God wants us there, he will act on our behalf, He will go before us. He will not call us to a war where he will stand by as we fall. I think sometimes we are surprised when we actually have to fight. When we actually have to use the armor given to us. we spend our lives preparing for battle but then complain or freak out when we actually have to raise our sword and fight. And risk. We risk getting hurt, looking bad in front of others, losing our job, losing someone we love- we risk maybe failing. And then we remember his faithfulness. In our lives. In history. So we go.

I have a good friend who has a fruit for a nickname and also speaks in some type of accent 80% of the time. but offered truth when he said, " Tiff, remember that Jesus received the holy spirit, and THEN went into the desert for 40 days and was tempted. He went through hell before he set out to do what he needed on earth . maybe this is your desert" the enemy will do all that he can to prevent us from doing God's will. We can't always right off that as God shutting the doors

Im still staring at my bubbles at this point and grab the phone to call Brandon who is on the east coast team. He said, I think it’s very American of us to think we have to have our ducks in a row before we set out to do something. Let’s just go. Maybe those doors were shut because God did not want us to plan out every day.

I hung up relieved, revived- and ready to go.