Rollover Miracle

Yesterday morning--after three days of working long and little sleep--I was finally getting some rest. At about 4:30 in the morning, I woke up to a voice, "Are you awake?" Thinking it was my sister Danielle, who I am currently sharing a room with, I muttered, "No. Are you?" only to realize that she was still sound asleep. Then I heard my dad's voice on the phone. Who could he be talking to so early? Extremely irritated that my peaceful REM sleep was disrupted, I got up to get a glass of water and suggest to him that he could perhaps continue his conversation at a more decent hour or in a more subdued tone (it didn't occur to me that there was a logical reason for his being on the phone at such an hour).

Well, turns out there was a reason. An important one. My brothers who had been fishing near the Dalles were on their way home when they hit a semi truck tire in the middle of the road. Their car went off the road and rolled over. Miraculously, they were all able to walk away okay.

I called my sister, Jessica, and we left half an hour later to pick them up where they had been dropped off at a little store in Moro. If you have no idea where that is...well neither did I until yesterday. The time that Jessica and had driving was amazing--much more amazing than my brothers and their friend, stuck out in the cold--the Holy Spirit showed up in a unique and brilliant way. We got to talk about Jessica's recent trip to Uganda, my plans for this fall, what God's been teaching us, and just have sister time. We also had some seriously awesome prayer time.

Once we picked them up, we drove to the spot where the accident had happened. We were astounded by what we saw. I have pictures that I will post, but they're on Jessica's phone. Interestingly, there was one mound right where they flipped. Now, we don't know this, but I have a funny feeling that the mound they rolled over, slowed the impact of their flip and was one reason that they were all in such good shape. It was kind of a surreal feeling, knowing that had things turned out differently, my brothers and their friend wouldn't be standing next to me right now. I was overwhelmed by this sense of thankfulness that God saw fit to save them.

All I can say is this: God is not finished with them yet! And I'm so excited to see the way that He protected them and what He is going to do and keep doing with my brothers. If you think of it, shoot up a prayer for them...I just have this feeling that God is ready to do something more. 

Culture Shock...and I haven't even left yet!

Currently, I am experiencing pre-travel culture shock.

My roommate and I, who were house-sitting for five months, are in the process of moving. However, rather than move for three months with her before going to Kosovo, I made the decision to move home. For many reasons this choice seemed logical: three months worth of saving--no rent, no utilities, mooching off of their food; a place to store my stuff when I leave (without having to move it again); and you know, that whole family bonding thing. Or something.

Well, I've been here about two days, my bed is situated--everything else is in disarray. But I think the thing that is in the greatest disarray is my personal space alarm. You see, I have this little buzzer...when I don't get enough personal space it starts going off. Then it gets louder and louder and louder until it's practically screaming in my ear.

Also, I have a confession. I have a bedtime. My bedtime is 10:00 and my wake up time is 6:00. I value my sleep. My family, on the other hand...
Last night, I got home after 10:00 and had every intention of whizzing off to bed. However, things went a little different than planned.

While searching for my pajamas:
Christina: Amy get out of my room!
Me: Oh, let her come in.
Christina: Amy, get out!
Me: Be nice. Would you like me to wrestle you and make you sleep outside?
Amy: Yes! Yes! Wrestle Christina to the floor and make her sleep in my room so I can sleep with you?

I exit, Amy following, murmuring, "Please! Please!"
I walk to my other sister's room, still in search of pajamas. Danielle is peacefully reading on her bed.

Josiah enters, determined to bring her joy.

Danielle: Josiah, get out of my room!
Josiah: Hey Danielle! Guess what? I invented this new game called hashtag. We play it with bottle caps. It's great! What are hashtags anyways?
Danielle: Go away!
Josiah: Aww, Danielle! Gimme a hug! I'll show you how to play.
Danielle: I will bite you!
I exit, giving up the search for my pajamas and go straight to brushing my teeth. I grab the nearest toothpaste, reciting my mantra "It's only three months, it's only three months, it's only three months..." I finally feel myself begin to calm, and a smile return to my face when...

Michaela: Hey! Is that my toothpaste? Are you the one who keeps stealing it?!
She snatches it out of my hand and whisks it away, without giving me time to answer.
Michaela: I'm hiding this!
I feel the panic rising as the whirling vortex of noise sucks me in. Over and over I hear

 "Wrestle Chrissy!"
"Hashtags. That's a funny word."
 "I will beat you over the head with this book."
"Go away!"
 "My toothpaste."


Sanity. Lord, help me.

P.S. Hope you enjoyed a little humor while reading this and there will come a post soon about the genuine POSITIVES of moving home for the summer, which there are many. I am learning to appreciate the quirks of my family and the time to invest in them as I am once again thrown into the mix, while living there.

  

Kosovo Arts Project

Soooo....big news.

I'm going to Kosovo.

Yep.

For nine months.

From the end of August through the end of May.

Let me tell you a little bit about it.

A few months ago, my pastor issued a challenge to the young people of Mission Church: a 9 month commitment in Gjilan, Kosovo to minister alongside Genti and Linda Saliu, our missionaries there. After much prayer and seeking, I just knew in the middle of me that I needed to go. Actually, the first moment, Brent announced it, I knew. But it took a little while for me to...ahem...accept it.

First, where is Kosovo? Kosovo is located on Southeastern Europe, next to Serbia, Montenegro, Albania and Macedonia.

Primary language: Albanian

Where I'll be living: Gjilan

Population of Gjilan: 80,000

Primary religion: Islam

Number of Jesus followers: 41



The city of Gjilan is interesting as it made up of over 50% young people--between the ages of 12 and 25. In fact there are so many high school students that kids have to go to school during one of three shifts. When not in school, they hang out in coffee shops. This provides a prime opportunity for building relationships., what's better than coffee shop ministry?

Moreover, Kosovar youth  are passionate about American pop culture and the arts, especially music. As a musician, this is another wide open door for me to build relationships through playing music, teaching, and facilitating creativity. I will be joining a small team of people already serving in Gjilan. My job will be all about building relationships and the arts...not to mention extensive coffee conversations.

 Coffee and music. Sounds like my kind of ministry.

How much money I need to raise: approximately
$7000 or around $28/day. Honestly, I won't have an exact number until I come back from my first trip in June and fully figure out what my living situation will look like.

How I'm preparing: Prayer, prayer, and more prayer! Being intentional about spending time in the secret place--in the Word, in worship, and in prayer--is the number one thing I'm focusing on in order to prepare. I know that nothing is more important to this journey than that I'm deeply rooted in Christ and sensitive the leading of the Holy Spirit. Also, I'm learning Albanian (slowly but surely) and reading up a lot on Islam and Kosovo's history. Kosovo, I'm discovering, has both a fascinating and heart rending history.

What you can do: Pray, pray, PRAY!
1) The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few. Pray for the Lord of the harvest.
2) Unity among the team
3) Soft hearts among the youth and their families and that I would be a sensitive, yet bold witness.
4) That my eyes would be ever fixed on Jesus!
5) Financial blessing. I know God is in this, therefore it's His responsibility to make a way!

Also, if you feel led to donate, you can make out a check to Mission Church, in the memo put Kosovo Arts Project. You can mail it to:

Mission Church 2221 NE 3rd St
Bend, Oregon 97701

You may also donate online, here: Kosovo Arts Fundrazr.

So there ya have it.

I'm going to Kosovo.

And it's going to be one brilliant adventure.




Photo Cred: gooseman666, \!/_PeacePlusOne, Lisa568, Maps of Net, Daut!

Arise My Love

So, I have two pretty awesome friends. Who write pretty cool music. Who decided to take Song of Solomon and put it to music. Then I joined in.
This is what happened:
Arise My Love by katelynalexander

The Trial

The prisoner’s shackles clanked to the floor, echoing in the courtroom. Buzzing of conversation ceased and all eyes turned to examine the prisoner. There I sat, in a room filled with scoffing faces. All watching. I turned and looked at all of the eyes around the room. Eyes that belonged to friends, coworkers, and schoolmates. Eyes that now looked on with pity and scoffing. Hundreds and hundreds of eyes. Probing. Questioning. Jeering—all here to behold the fate of one unlucky individual. Or perhaps lucky, should the judge determine their innocence.

I had been to this very room many times before. I had watched as dozens had been tried and sentenced. I had seen thieves and murderers and liars and cheats. And had felt little to no pity as they had received their dues. Neither had the rest of the crowds and a trial such as this always turns up a crowd. Always. Maybe it’s kind of morbid, but I think it’s human nature. Who doesn’t get curious when someone’s life is on the line? And let’s not forget the scoffers. Amongst a crowd this size, they were sure to be here, and cause the most intimidation possible to whatever poor soul’s life hung in the balance. Let’s be honest, I’d done it. Many times.

But not today.

Today was different.

Today it was my life.

A fly buzzed around my head in the sweltering heat, taunting. My hands were immobilized or I would have tried to swat it away. I shook my head, to no avail. Oh, what was the use? It would all be over soon anyways.

I turned my eyes away from the crowd and sunk down into my chair. There I was, in the middle of the room—vulnerable and scrutinized. I knew that all around me, people were placing bets on the outcome of today’s trial. I had a feeling there weren’t a lot of bets in my favor.

Then, the sound that I had been dreading: the two large oak doors at the front of the room opened and the judge entered. His grandeur was overwhelming; one glance and I was terrified, convinced that he knew EVERYTHING. My body was awash in hot and cold flashes, and I started to sweat.

The worst part about this whole ordeal? I wasn’t being tried for petty crimes. No, all my crimes were heavy. Not only that, they were committed directly against the judge. Let me restate—against the judge’s son. I gulped, taking the majesty of the judge. There was no way I was making it out of here alive.

Then, the prosecutor entered. He was handsome man, stunning really. Tall and well-muscled, with striking eyes, it was almost impossible not to look at him when he spoke. I was always amazed at the eloquence and passion in his voice; and his persuasive powers were overwhelming. When he spoke, the whole world stopped to listen. It was apparent to all who bothered noticing that he took his job very, very seriously and would do everything in his ability to make certain that lawbreakers received their just reward.

Lawbreakers like me. It was at that moment that I wished with everything in me that he wasn’t quite so good at his job.

As he began to list my crimes one by one, I found all shreds of hope shrinking, before disappearing altogether. Slowly, methodically, spitefully, he toyed with me, reeling me (and everyone else) into his tale of deception and trickery. The story he wove was stunning. It was impossible not to hate the criminal. If only that criminal wasn't me. He knew I didn’t have a chance, as the evidence against me was overwhelming. And every accusation was accurate. Painfully accurate. Besides, how could the judge—against whom I had done so much wrong—not sentence me heavily?

As I felt myself succumbing to the depths of despair, I heard the sound of another voice—one that I hadn’t expected. At his voice, a sob caught in my throat. Why was he here? I could have handled anyone—and I mean anyone—seeing me before him. I was certain that he had left, given up on me, forsaken me…after what I’d done. You see, he was the one against whom I’d committed so much wrong. All of my spiteful anger had been taken out on him. All of my hate and hurt and disgust had spewed fiery coals onto him. This man infuriated me and yet, more than anything, I wanted to please him. I don't know why I cared, I just didn't want him to see my shame.

I guess I should back up. This man had once been my closest friend. More than that, even—my husband. But when I made my vows, I never expected to fall for a handsome, doting coworker whose voice dripped flattery and empty promises. One thing led to another and the next thing I knew, I was in way too deep. My insecurities, fears, and guilt all came out on my husband. It became my life goal to spite him. Why? Because he kept loving me. After all that I had done to him, he never stopped loving me, which created such passionate fury inside of me, I could hardly contain myself. And, well, didn’t. Sometimes, I just wished he’d retaliate. I had broken him, and I knew it. God, how I knew it. I guess it goes without saying that that was the start of all my other crimes.

And now, as I was being tried for these crimes, I realized why he was here. He was here to retaliate. What more perfect moment to spite me than in front of everyone?

Oh, God, why did he have to be here?

When he spoke, his was soft, yet passionate—not exactly what I expected. Then again, he never did what I expected.

“The evidence against her is overwhelming. Your Honor would be a fool not to condemn her for such horrific crimes."

Yep. He still loves me. Knew it.

"Your Honor is no such fool. According to the law, there is only one payment for crimes such as these.”

Say it. Just say it.

“Death.”

I clenched my teeth, waiting for him to gloat, to tower over me, to rub it in that I would finally get my just reward.

“Your Honor, the law states that judgment must be executed. It also states that another can take the punishment of one condemned. There is one who has offered to take her punishment.”

My head jerked up at this statement.

“Therefore, I plead for mercy. My life for hers. Let me take her place.”

At this, my whole body started shaking. I was quavering all over. He couldn’t be doing this. Surely he couldn’t. Not for me. Not after what I’d done. My head spun, and I struggled futilely to grasp onto a reasonable thought.

The crowds began to stir. This wasn’t what they had expected and they were quick to voice their protestations.

My poor forsaken husband caught my gaze and looked at me with the most powerful gaze of love I had ever seen. In his eyes were forgiveness and mercy and sorrow. No hate. No anger. No rejection. Just...love. I didn't understand, and knew that I couldn't. And perhaps never would. I shook my head, "no," but his face was set.

His voice cut through the crowds, murmuring, pleading—ever so quiet: “Please. Pardon her.”

Deafening silence filled the room.

"You would do this? For her?" The judge voiced the question that was on everyone's mind.

The man nodded, soberly.

The judge perused the face of my once-husband, searching, as if to see if he genuinely meant what he had said. His eyes scanned the room and the crowds and then fell on me. Up and down, he looked me over. He looked at his son and back at me. A mixture of sorrow and pride filled his face. He nodded, slowly. Once more he looked at me, with eyes of intensity and seriousness.

"You've been offered a second chance at life. Don't waste it."

And then the judge looked out over the crowds and spoke one word—one simple word that changed everything: “Pardoned.”

It is God who justifies. Who then is the one who condemns? No one. Christ Jesus who died—more than that, who was raised to life—is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us.
Romans 8:33-34

How's YOUR love life?

So, I was asked this question yesterday, "How is your love life?" I responded with a flippant, "What love life?" then jokingly, "Oh, ya know, there's always Jesus!" Their response? "Oh please! Tell me you're not one of THOSE people?"
Now, I said it as a joke. And I admit I think it's a little silly when girls say that their boyfriend is Jesus.
That said, I don't think being one of THOSE people is such a bad idea. MEANING: one of those people who is so totally and completely wrapped up in Jesus that the fact they have nonexistent love life is okay. And that they believe it when the Bible says, "Your maker is your husband, the Lord Almighty is His name." (Isaiah 54:5) and "I will betroth you to me forever; I will betroth you in righteousness and justice, love and compassion; and you shall know the Lord."
So, even though it's kind of silly, when asked questions like, "How's your love life?" I can think I'm going to answer, "It's amazing."

Come Back Home

Once again, I'm procrastinating homework with this post. But I'm going to post it anyways. This next song is my Hosea inspiration song. I love, love, love this song. And I'm quite jealous that this amazing band wrote the song and not me, as it fits Hosea perfectly. Alas, I shall remain green with envy and simply enjoy this song. I hope you fall in love with the Icarus Account as much as I have.