Author: beautifulharvestblog

I’m going to get real, real fast today…

The Reservation is my home. I fully believe everything I’ve ever done, ever been was because God was ultimately preparing me for my life here. It’s strange to be in a place where I can go to a grand opening and be the only billigaana (white person) in attendance and still feel more at home than in a city filled with people who look like me. 

Today, we drove to town for groceries, hay and feed and some maintenance for the van. J wore his hair pulled up in a Navajo bun, I had on cowboy boots and Little Man runs around speaking Diné (Navajo)…what’s that got to do with anything? Well, this…

A Diné family saw us at lunch and the wife complimented my husband’s hair. In Target, Little Man asked me to hand him his new boots in Navajo and an elderly Navajo lady smiled so brightly, I thought I’d cry. You see, several decades ago, white men who wanted to conquer the West sent the grandmothers and grandfathers of many of my beautiful friends to places they called “reservations”. Yet, when they see my obviously white child speaking their language they smile and nod. When they see my husband’s hair bun, they compliment the tying job that my WHITE hands did. Historically, white people sent them to the hardest, most difficult places to live in the United States and they stuck it out. The Navajo became tough, they learned to work with what they were given, they stood firm on their roots as family and the persevered through decades of indifference, persecution and ridicule. And y’all, they SMILE as my child speaks. They love my children wholeheartedly. They don’t care that my girls have crystal blue eyes or that my boy has blonde hair. The Navajo have so much to teach this world. 

I was recently asked if I thought my kids were missing out by living here. My response was no. I don’t. They have learned so much about sacrifice, hard work, love, joy, laughter…the list is endless…and yet so often people look at our lives and see only the hardships. I, we, get to see the beautiful.

On our way home from town, we drive through a Rez town that is really the first on our way home. The last town with gas stations, a small grocery and a couple of fast food restaurants. Because of the winter storm this past week, many Natives haven’t been able to get out of their communities for things like wood and coal for their homes. As we drove through, we passed a gentleman selling bags of coal. The bed of his truck was half empty, he was using a mallet to bust up what was left and placing it into bags for the people in line. This isn’t uncommon to see on a Saturday during the winter. What was uncommon is that he was the only one selling this afternoon. Due to the lack of merchants, the line for coal was backed up through the abandoned parking lot and wrapped around to the entrance. When I saw the line, the amount of coal in his truck didn’t nearly equal enough and my heart sank. Here I was in my warm van, loaded with groceries and bottled water, as well as hay and feed for the sheep, and many of these people would go home to cold houses or hogans tonight because there wasn’t enough coal. 

Then I remembered the resilience of the Navajo. I remembered their magnificent, Heavenly Father and how he once fed 5,000 with a few fish and some bread and I began praying for those beautiful people I don’t even know…Jesus, give them a fishes and loaves miracle. Show them your works so they will come to know and love you.  I prayed because of my heavy heart and then I realized my heart was heavy because even though they have every reason not to trust my family, not to love my family, to be unkind-they continually show us grace and love. Even though many don’t know Jesus, they choose kindness. They choose to teach us their way of life and to do so in patience. 

I’m going to pray for a fishes and loaves miracle for those people not because of my heavy heart but out of gratitude for the things God has shown me through the incredible Navajo people. Will you join me? 

This weekend, I flew back East for a super quick trip…it was Donna weekend. I explained last year what the weekend means to me, that every year I get to cross the finish line with Lolly is a gift and every year I cry just as hard.

This year was bittersweet. I’d trained-then because of double pneumonia, wasn’t able to run-AT ALL. It was less than impressive walking thirteen entire miles and all the while, praying my chest wouldn’t explode. Truth is, this ole girls lungs are not accustomed to high humidity and warmer temperatures anymore, throw in double pneumonia and you create the perfect storm. I finished though. So did Lolly. We crossed the finish line together again.

I long for the day that we get to cross the finish line with cancer. The day she is healed from the horrible disease that strips her strength and her health and her energy. But, it never steals her tenacity, her humor or her grace. The gift of her friendship is, indeed, one of the greatest gifts He’s ever given me. Each day I get to share in her light is a good one.

At dinner Saturday night, Lolly’s daddy, P, told us a story that was shared with him when he was first parenting Lolly, her brother and younger sister.

It went like this.

You know kids are like puppies, cats and dogs. When they’re first born and during the early childhood years, they like to cuddle and everything you do is awesome. They think you know the answers to all their questions and you can fix all the world’s problems. As they get older, they grow to be like cats. They are in control of their environment. For the most part, they want nothing to do with good ole Mom and Dad. They might occasionally brush up against you for some reassurance, and even less often they’ll curl up next to you on the couch and hug you tight. As fast it happens though, they’ve gone on their way again. Finally, as they begin to enter early adulthood, sometimes sooner, sometimes later, they begin to love you like a dog loves his master. They are able to make their own decisions, they have their own place and space. They call you on occasion for love and a listening ear…not as a parent but as a dear friend.

I was captivated by this story and it took me a few hours after dinner to process why. The reality…this is what my walk with Christ has looked like. I imagine many of you have a similar testimony.

As a young child, we were in church as often as the doors were open. I sang in church, Mom and Dad helped with youth activities and VBS. I was baptized when I was 11. Then as I went into my teen years, I knew God was there, I still went to church, I still prayed (not nearly as much I should’ve) and still made choices that were good. Choices that put me on the list of “good girls”. College was much the same. I loved people easily, had many friends, chose to love others despite our differences and continued to make the good choice. I’ve often told J those decisions were mostly based out of fear…nonetheless, I totally embodied the caption “good girl”.

It wasn’t until I was significantly older, I began to realize how desperately I needed Jesus. Not just for the occasional conversation-for every single moment of every single day. I need him desperately, as a dear friend. I need him to walk through life with me the way Lolly does and even more.

As I received this revelation, my heart burst with acknowledgment that despite myself, He NEVER left me. I may feel like my choices were out of fear of punishment…I also desperately want to believe His voice, while very quiet, was still there guiding my every step.

Then I began to think about my babies. Right now, they are little puppies and most days, everything I do is marvelous and wonderful-a kiss can fix most everything. We’re getting ready for the transition to cats in the next few years. My prayer is that J and I are able to love them so well through the “cat” stage that they will truly become our dearest friends as they transition to adulthood.

So, thanks to Mr. P for the wonderful lesson on parenting and for unknowingly turning me back to my perfect Heavenly Father.

A weekend of blessings, indeed.

 

As I wrote last week, January was a somber month.  A hard month.  A month of reflection and “circling of the wagons”.  February is looking a bit more upbeat as I head back East for The Donna with Lolly and several other friends, we have some super cool events planned with our homeschool co-op and some fun ministry activities.  We are excited to participate with Alleluia Canyon in their first community day celebration and are looking ahead at our spring break plans as well as the mission team from SSCC that will be coming out the first week in April.

We are also enjoying some time with our dear family at White Rock.  J and the kiddos stayed there over the weekend because Masani and Grandma E were both headed out of town.  I stayed here at home because we have our own animals to care for and someone needed to grocery shop, buy hay and feed, get the oil changed, etc.  So, while J and the kids were taking care of the sheep, sheep dogs, cats and Bo (Masani’s dog), building a new roof for the sheep corral with MyMike and riding the four wheeler all over God’s canyon country, I was headed to Farmington for groceries and such.  The time alone was nice…however, it starts to get interesting when there’s so much quiet you feel like you need to create your own noise. Ha.

Before we moved here, our dear friend, Tab, told me he’s never been more peaceful and anxious at the same time as when he drove across the desert, alone.  I remember thinking to myself what an absurd thought process that was….well, I can now say I agree with him.  There’s something both peaceful and unsettling about watching the sun sink behind the mesas as you head onto the Rez.  There’s this odd combination of beauty and tension.  It’s honestly something that can’t be explained unless you have felt it for yourself.  For visitors, people who don’t frequent this area, it’s just what I imagine to be a picturesque scene. For those of us who live it, or visit frequently, we are constantly aware of the dangers that lurk at night.  Dangers, you ask?  Well, on the Rez, street lights are uncommon…when it gets dark, its just that…dark. Our minivan has an LED light bar on top for being able to see at night.  Cows, sheep, horses, coyotes, foxes…they all seem to enjoy the occasional road side grassy snack and they are HARD to see.  Almost impossible at times.  They create a hidden, ever present need to be constantly on guard and aware of your surroundings.  I find myself getting anxious as the sun sets. I find myself checking and double checking the side of the road.

On Saturday night, driving home from Farmington, I had the revelation that while those are legitimate fears of living out here, its also a direct correlation to my behavior when I’m feeling out of control about something. Its in the times that I feel I can’t FORCE something to happen that I am most anxious…

Isn’t that the way of anxiety though? A constant, ever present need to be on guard…wanting to control the uncontrollable, needing to make things right before something even goes wrong?  That’s the way my anxiety works…its especially high when I’m out of routine, off my schedule, my kids are sick…

Webster’s dictionary defines anxiety as being characterized by extreme uneasiness of mind or brooding fear about some contingency…

An extreme worry.

As I was processing, (yes, aloud, while driving down the road–it’s okay though, remember the Rez is dark at night and no one can see me.) it was like the Holy Spirit smacked me in the face.  I was reminded that all throughout the Bible we are told not to worry…that God has it in control.  He is ever-present in times of trouble… and as I was driving, I began to recite the verse that I’ve so frequently said over the past four years…

As I repeated this verse, over and over, peace settled over the truck.  I began to sing “It Is Well” as loudly as I could…because it was…all was well with my soul.

In all honesty, I’ve felt a little, okay, a lot, out of control, since the brown eyed girls left.  We’d had to be in such a routine to keep everyone happy, healthy and safe while they were here that I didn’t really know how to go  back to just being a mom to three kiddos.  My littles have felt out of control too.  Sissy has a tendency to try and mother people when she’s out of control, Mousey seems to vibrate (even more than normal) and is incapable of sitting still for longer than fifteen seconds and Little Man gets very whiney.  While the girls have been able to process aloud all the things they are feeling and J and I have openly talked with them about all the changes, there’s still heartache and grief…and as I often do, I want to lean into brushing all the yuck aside and focusing on the happy, on the good, on the sugar cookie side of things.  Unfortunately, yet fortunately, I know better so I want to do better…and thus I step off the wrong-way train and work really hard to delve into the yuckiness….which is where I had been on Saturday.  The quiet was a blessing…it was a hard truth to swallow-I needed that time though.  I needed the quiet to process aloud all the questions, all the sorrow, all the deep, gut-wrenching pain of watching those three girls walk out of my house for the last time…I needed to feel all the feelings and not be numb to the pain of losing three pieces of my heart.

I needed to feel all those feelings so that I could let Jesus be in control again. He trusted me with those beautiful babies and He’s the author of their story. He has plans only for good and I need to lean into that promise…I also needed to dig out all the yuck, the feelings of rejection and abandonment and punishment…the false guilt and shame.  I had to get all those out so that I could see His goodness in the ugly.

He is near to the broken hearted…I’ve no doubt.

I guess what I’m saying is this…if you’re struggling with letting the ugly show…get somewhere peaceful.  Get somewhere quiet.  Get in a place where you have nothing else to do other than be honest with the One who loves you more deeply than you can imagine…He already knows ALL the ugly inside you, so its a completely non-judgement zone. The more you let Him in to heal the ugly, the more peaceful you’ll feel.

I wish I could tell you it’s a one shot deal…I can’t.  I wish I could tell you that you’ll immediately find the peace you’re searching so desperately for…I can’t.  What I can tell you is that conscious, concentrated effort in releasing the things you can’t control and accepting the things you can…well, there’s hope in that. Joy. Peace. Grace. Understanding.  It’s all there. You simply pick up the courage, make the choice and say YES…over and over again, every day…then one day putting down the control and picking up what you are responsible for becomes easier.  It’s still a process…easier, nonetheless.

 

Sitting down to write has been difficult for me the past month.  It wasn’t necessarily that there’s been nothing to write about but rather, the difficult parts of the things that need to be written.  January was a struggle, as is the case for lots of my friends and family.  January feels like it takes an eternity to end…well, because its a super long month, lots of my friends are educators and don’t get paid until the last day of the month and they have to make that December paycheck (the one before Christmas) last for six weeks or so…then there was the government shutdown that affected many of my other people.  January is supposed to remind us of newness and give us fresh perspective for the coming year.  I usually really work hard to focus on the new things.  This year, January came in like a lion and thankfully, it’s going out like a lamb.  Thank you, Jesus!

I’ve thought about a million ways to write about January and honestly, I haven’t been able to find a way to put into words all that January brought.  So, in an effort to be totally transparent, as I vowed I would be at the beginning of this blog…I’m just going to rip it off like a band aid.

January brought a LOT of changes in the dynamic of our family.  Our party of eight, returned to a party of five.  Our beautiful brown eyed girls moved to a relative placement. My heart has hurt lots of times throughout my life.  There is a different kind of hurt though, when a tiny human asks if they can smell you so they never forget what their “Mommy” smells like….when one tells you they’ll miss your smile…and you realize that maybe for the first time ever, you were the person that smiled at them EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. Even on their worst days. While being with family is what’s right, it still doesn’t take the sting out of packing all their things and kissing them goodbye one last time.

We have our good days and bad days, as is expected.  Finding new rhythms, watching our bio babies step back into their familial roles…having space, freedom, movement…those are all blessings.  We’re enjoying this time.  We’ve been cocooning, if you will. “Circling our wagons” as my precious friend, Nena, puts it.  The reality is, we’ve had a significant loss in our family and we’re doing our best to grieve well.  We’re doing our best to give our kiddos the space they need to grieve well, too.  We’re talking openly about the yuck and the sweet and all the things in between. Will you pray for us, for them, during this time of transition?

I always knew they weren’t my babies to keep forever.  I knew from the beginning that they wouldn’t be here long term. What I didn’t know was how my heart would love them so deeply. I didn’t know how my head would think of all the things they need, even when they don’t need me anymore.  I didn’t know the sadness that comes from waking up with only three kiddos and not six.  I never knew how I’d miss those sweet hugs and fixing all that beautiful black hair.  And, yet, I see the light at the other side of the tunnel.  I see peace in places I had begun to miss it.  I see hope in valleys where I’d been stuck because life with six kids is a LOT, y’all.

Just so you know, I’d still say yes.  I’d still choose them. I’d still call them my daughters.  I’d still love them and their mama.  I’d still choose those seven and a half months.

What else did January bring?  LOTS of snow.  Lots of cold weather…and double pneumonia.  For me.  It was not fun.  It was the first time, in almost nineteen months I’d needed my inhaler…it had been so long, my other’s had expired and I’d recently thrown them away.  I wasn’t concerned because I’m not allergic to “life” here and that helps. Ha.

But-then, I needed it.  My amazing PA, ‘Vina, did an incredible job providing care for me. She and I built a mutual respect for one another through her care of one of our brown eyed girls and she is, simply put, magnificent at her job.  She is thorough, she’s a listener, a watcher, like many Navajo.  She covered all the bases.  I was drastically improved within 48 hours and I can tell you now, it was because of ‘Vina’s attention to detail, care and concern that I didn’t wind up hospitalized.  I’m glad to say, I’m 100% better and looking forward to WALKING my half marathon next weekend.  I was given strict orders not to stress my lungs. And, I’m going to be with Lolli and she doesn’t allow anyone to break the rules. So, I’ll behave. Ha.

On the ministry front, we have been crazy busy, meeting with various churches, planning for the year, walking out timelines and preparing for multiple mission teams from back East.

We added four sheep to the family….Snowflake, Black Eyed Pea, ‘Zhini and Moo are quite the set of characters and the kiddos adore them.  I’ve taken some time to visit with them too.  This may sound strange…but sheep are super peaceful.  ‘Zhini likes to be cuddled and Black Eyed Pea, though she’s the smallest, is totally the leader of the flock. Moo is just that, a cow and tries to eat more than everyone else and will attempt to shove the others out of the way. Snowflake is the caboose and makes sure everyone else is following BEP.

Its a funny thing to have them here with us.  I often make the comment to J that I never envisioned this life, and yet, I wouldn’t change a single thing about it, either.

Seriously.  I wouldn’t change anything.

We had dinner with some dear friends a couple weeks ago.  Over the course of dinner, we shared our personal stories, some of the good, lots of the hard and some of the in between.  During that time, I shared with them a revelation that despite having NEVER wanted to move here, the bitterness I’d felt at knowing I needed to follow J and ultimately, Jesus’ choice for us to move to the Rez, I have seen such restoration since moving here.  We have seen restoration in our family, in our hope, in our joy, in our peace….and that’s something I never want to give up.  No matter what, my prayer will always be that we are walking with Him, fully in His will and always, ALWAYS being renewed, restored, set apart and called.

Let us always hear and answer. Amen.

 

 

Justin bought me a guitar for Christmas.

yes, a guitar…

I haven’t played in close to twelve years. My daddy spent countless hours teaching me when I was young and I would go to my PawPaw’s house on holidays and listen to and watch Daddy and his brothers, along with PawPaw, play and sing. There I’d be, singing along and playing the tambourine. I remember so vividly those days. I can remember how the basement apartment smelled, how cool it was down there and even the way my PawPaw’s hands looked as he played the mandolin and the guitar. If I close my eyes, I can hear Daddy’s beautiful voice along with the baritones of PawPaw and Uncle Bobby. Music is something that has always been a part of me. About twelve years ago, I let someone steal that joy from me. A boy, yes. Here’s the reality though, it wasn’t that boy stealing anything from me, it was the enemy of my soul. I allowed him to steal my song and with it my joy.

So, when Justin gave me my guitar, Mercy (that’s what I named her), there was this insanely beautiful, nostalgic, peace and yet a crippling fear of what if I have completely lost my song. I held her. I smelled her. I strummed and tuned and tuned some more and finally got her just right. As I sat in my bedroom strumming and playing through the five chords I could remember, I cried. I thought about how my whole life has been like me tuning this guitar.

See y’all, when the delivery guy dropped Mercy on my front porch, it was 14 degrees outside. She was COLD. Do you hear me?!? COLD! She needed to be warmed up, tuned up and reminded how beautiful she is…

..Gods been pruning and picking away the ugly. He’s been removing the yuck so I could see crisply, clearly what His purpose was for my life. It took years, intense therapy, lots of ugly, broken relationships with others and myself. It’s taken time and energy and praying relentlessly. It’s remembering daily who fights my battles and refusing to let Satan win. It’s knowing I get to CHOOSE joy, love, peace, patience, kindness, goodness and self control. It’s being reminded by little people on a daily basis that He is in control of all the things so I don’t have to be. It’s surrender and choosing Him. It’s accepting and receiving His grace and mercy and knowing that I am loved unconditionally. That I am valuable and worthy of love simply because He created me.

I need to be reminded that my song is just that…mine. It can only be taken if I allow it to happen, if I choose it.

Tuning my guitar was absolutely necessary so that it could be used for the exact purpose it was designed. God pruning and fine tuning me, well, that’s the same idea. I can’t be used for His purpose if I’m not fine tuned to hear His voice clearly.

My greatest desire is to honor and glorify Him. I want to have so much Jesus in me that it literally oozes from my pores. I want to feel His love so intensely that it has no choice but to be shown to others. I choose to love. I choose to let love, His love, guide me.

Can I be really honest for a minute? Making the choice to love can be really hard for me. When I say God is fine tuning me, it’s seriously a significantly large undertaking…I mean, I wouldn’t want to be in charge of that department. Yet, just like the patience and fortitude and gentleness I showed when tuning Mercy, God does the same and is even more grand in His ways..in His kindness and patience.

His mercies are new every morning…and for that I am so eternally grateful.

My choice to love hasn’t come easily. Many days choosing to love looks like not arguing with a six year old what outfit to wear. Other days it looks like choosing to love myself and refusing to allow someone to manipulate, guilt or shame me. Some days, choosing love looks like snuggling a cranky two year old when I really want to drink my coffee and read a book. Choosing love is hard for me. It IS a choice though…one I continue to make because if not me, then who?

 

Well, friends, we’re at the end of 2018 and 2019 is barreling straight at us. My family and I have lived on the Rez for 17 months now…for 17 months we’ve been stretched and pushed and forced to think outside the box that we’d created for ourselves. For 17 months, we’ve learned to love outside our comfort zone, we’ve practiced boundaries where we weren’t sure they’d be accepted, we’ve looked death and darkness in the face and have come out on the other side. All the while, He’s walked alongside our family and has held our hand. The past 17 months have been monumentally life changing and oddly enough, I wouldn’t want it any other way.

As I reflect back on all the past year has brought, all the joy, sadness, bitterness, resolve and challenge-I realize how He’s been preparing us all for our life here. He’s been preparing us to make our home here, in the West…with the Navajo. 

Several weeks ago, our ministry partner, Tab Smith Ministries, came out for their annual Christmas on the Rez. This is a time for pastoral training, distribution of food bags, Christmas shoe boxes (similar to Operation Christmas Child boxes), blankets for elders and fellowship with other Navajo pastors. It’s a beautiful time to see these incredibly anointed men and women give of themselves while working together to spread the Gospel to their own people. This year’s distribution day was drastically different for me. This year, I wasn’t a stranger in a place I lived. I didn’t feel out of place or uncomfortable. Many of the men and women in the room are now my friends-my brother’s and sisters in Christ. Women I have grown to love dearly; women I pray with and for, diligently. Men whom I’ve watched J believe in, fight for, pray for and love. This year, we were part of the village, not just outsiders…

Y’all, I didn’t realize the magnitude of that revelation until I sat on my couch at home and wept. You see, I needed to grieve the reality that unless God moves, we are here. This is it. 

In all honesty, I love this revelation. 

I was truly grieving the reality that unless you live this life, walk beside these precious people, see the struggle and injustice and oppression EVERY. SINGLE. DAY, you can’t possibly understand the reality of life here on the Rez. What an honor that my family was called to live the nitty gritty with such incredible people. 

I’m so humbled by the love and laughter we’ve been given on this Wild West adventure…know what’s even more humbling? It’s not an adventure anymore, it’s our life. This. The Rez. The Navajo. This beautiful, unforgiving, dry, dusty land. It’s our life and it’s our home. My heart, my family, the trajectory of our future has all been changed by our choice to follow. J’s choice to be obedient and my choice to let him lead. 

Our ministry’s mission statement says this:  

The mission of Beautiful Harvest Project is to develop families who have both head and heart knowledge of their worth and identity in Christ so they become devoted believers who know, love and follow Him, impacting generations for the Kingdom.

I never would’ve imagined that in order to even scratch the surface of pressing into this mission statement, we’d need to recognize, acknowledge and allow for our own family’s destiny to be transformed. We’d have to relinquish control of our family, our marriage, our children, our ministry and give every one of those things to God. We had to choose to live a life that doesn’t make sense to most people. Some days, it doesn’t even make sense to me. Some days, I’m still unsure how we can achieve these God sized goals…and then it hits me square in the face. I can’t-He can.

See, when we go visit Alleluia Canyon for their Christmas community outreach and they have parking attendants, ushers to help with seating and active volunteers who are there to serve any way they can, I see Him moving. 

When I look into  Lilly, MyMike, Masani and Grandma E’s eyes and see how they love my children, my family, I know He is here.

When I text my dear friend, Hilda, to let her know we’re snowed in and I can’t get to town and she reminds me that God’s word says to use wisdom in making our choices, I feel His presence.

When I join our brother and sister, Julian and Autumn, in worship, the presence of God is all over us.

So, even on the days I’m not sure what in the world we’re doing or how we’ll do it…I KNOW He is here.

When I came here for the first time in June of 2017, I was overwhelmed with the darkness of this place. I decided on the way home from that trip I wouldn’t let the darkness consume me, I chose to see this place for the good, to see the Navajo as Jesus sees them. Every day for the past 17 months, I have chosen to live a life of abundance and not one of fear. I have chosen to love fiercely and without condition…

…and life is so beautiful, so magical, so imperfectly, unpredictably wonderful. Because I choose Him. I choose to follow. I choose to love and be loved by incredible people who love Jesus.

I am forever thankful, honored and humbled by the opportunity God’s given us.

I have wanted to write for weeks. I keep telling myself, sit down and write a blog.  Honestly, we have been so insanely busy.  Each time I sit down on the couch (typically around 9 pm), I last about thirty minutes and then I’m ready for bed.  J’s in the same boat.  We’ve got so much ministry stuff happening and keeping it all straight has become interesting.  My planner has started to look like Rainbow Brite sprayed some rainbow magic on the pages.  All the littles have their own color, J has his own color, the ministry has its own color…its beautiful actually.

So is the life we continue to build here on the Rez.

In the past two months, I’ve driven to multiple churches across the Rez, solo.  I know.  Amazing, right?  No one who knew me this time last year and knew the struggles I was having with being here, would’ve thought I’d be driving across the Rez to reach the people I’ve grown to love so dearly.

The truth is, seeing the smiling faces of the children at each church, the pastor’s and their wives (who have become some of my favorite people), and ironically, the drive to each church have started to fuel me.  The drive time and the distance between churches and our house are long and tiring.  Oh, the joy though, when I pull in and those beautiful babies greet me.  The confirmation in hearing Mrs. Verna share her Bible story and the children respond.  The sheer effervescent presence of the Holy Spirit meeting with Mrs. Hilda and Billison during their prayer time before service.  Watching my children walk into a “new” Sunday School room, introduce themselves, explain where we’re from, how we got here and what we do, creates an overwhelming sense of pride.  It’s the coolest thing to observe.

What’s even better is the way we’re seeing God move in the communities and people.  The reality of what the churches on the Rez face in reaching their own people, is seemingly unbelievable.  Yes, we live in the United States.  Yes, WE have ACCESS to running water and electricity but many of our churches don’t even have that luxury. And yet, some of our pastor’s drive four hours round trip EVERY. SINGLE. SUNDAY.  Every Sunday, these warriors drive to share the Gospel.  I say warriors because they ARE Kingdom warriors.  There is Kingdom work being done and still to be done on the Reservation. The Inspired Learner’s Co-op is growing by leaps and bounds.  I am watching as my fellow home school mama’s take ownership of our co-op and are leading, each in their own strengths and gifts. I am seeing first time “teacher mama’s” step into their new role with grace, with increasing patience and a fierce determination to educate the kiddo’s in their house.  Our partners, Pastor Mary and Roland and their congregation, were out this weekend visiting some of the most remote parts of their communities.  They were taking coal, food, and gifts to elders who felt they’d been forgotten, delivering gift boxes to children who may not otherwise receive Christmas gifts and all the while sharing the love of Jesus Christ.  This is Navajo reaching Navajo.  This is what we dreamed of when we established Beautiful Harvest Project.

We are so excited about what we’ve seen and been a part of in 2018.  Oh, but the excitement of 2019…well, it’s almost palpable.  We know God has big plans for BHP and for our family here on the Rez.  If you’d like to partner with us and stand in the gap as we work alongside the Navajo, please prayerfully consider becoming a monthly donor by clicking on the donate button.

Hang on tight, friends…it’s just getting good.

Today was Pastor Appreciation Sunday at one of our partner churches.  It was super cool to spend the morning with our family.  I taught Sunday school; the kids plus their friends, rode the four wheeler with Grandma E and we had a delicious lunch.

…and for the first time since I was thirteen years old, I sang in front of a group of people other than J and my children.

What’s funny about this to me is that when J and I started dating the tag on my car said “ROXSTAR”.  I’ve always told him, “I’m a rockstar in the car because no one can hear me.”

Over the summer, I had a dear friend tell me I needed to use the gift God’s given me.  I laughed it off and just told her I didn’t sing in front of people.  She looked me straight in the eye and said He gave you the gift of song to reach His people.  If you aren’t using it for Him, what’s the point?

Ever since that conversation, in my quiet time, its come up again and again. If you aren’t using “it” to glorify Him, what good is “it”?  Over the past few months, I’ve seen the “it” be lots of different things.  If you aren’t walking your brown eyed girls through hard things AND teaching them to have faith in Him, what good are you doing?  If you aren’t showing and giving grace to those who are hard to love, what good are you doing? If you aren’t leading through Christ’s example, what’s the point?  And, finally, if you aren’t using your heart for worship for His glory, are you fully living into His purpose for you?

This morning, as I sat listening to the final words from MyMike, I felt the Holy Spirit say, “Now.”  I knew what that meant.  I knew exactly which song I needed to sing and I knew I had to do it NOW or I’d never get the courage to do so.  As MyMike stepped down, I stood up.  I explained that I’m not one to speak in front of a group-that the Spirit had just lead me to sing the first verse of “How Great Thou Art”.

So, I did.

I could feel my entire body shaking. I could feel my heart beating out of my chest.  I could hear the tremble in my voice as I started out…and then, there it was.  The same warmth I felt as a little girl, singing in church, worshiping my Father in Heaven.  I closed my eyes and sang.  It felt so good, y’all. So, so good.

It felt good to lead.  It felt so good to hear my own voice mix with the voices of my precious Navajo family and it felt real.  Genuine.  No flash, no hype.  Just Jesus and me and my brothers and sisters.

We had church today.  We worshiped today.

As we drove home, I thought about the morning.  I thought about the strength I draw from watching my family here on the Rez.  I thought about the tenacity and the endurance and the boldness I see in their eyes when they commit to Him.  At the end of our drive home, I realized how much strength it must take to leave behind everything you’ve been taught, go against the grain in so many ways-to trust in a man that walked the Earth so long ago.  Someone who was both God and man.  Someone none of us have ever seen and only felt.  I thought about the “guts” it takes to look into the eyes of your family members and say, “I don’t believe the way you do.  I’m choosing to follow Christ and I hope you’ll love me anyway.”  All the while, knowing, deep down-that may never happen.

What courage.  What love.  What a measure of God working in and among the people here.

When I sang “How Great Thou Art” this morning, my family felt the words to that song.  When we joined our voices together, there was belief.  When we opened the church doors wide, the Holy Spirit entered in.

Because, y’all, Jesus is ALL we have.  He is everything.  He is enough and because He’s enough, so are we.

I heard and felt every negative thing possible when I started to lead this morning…Jesus heard His children.  He heard a joyful noise.

…a joyful noise, indeed.

Crazy is how I’d describe the past few weeks.  Honestly, I pride myself on being very good at setting boundaries around my time and energy…not because I don’t want to do things; because I want to have the ENERGY to do things.  As an introvert if I don’t refuel myself, I falter miserably.  I always want to say no to good things so I can say YES to God things…

The past few weeks though, all the yeses have been to God things, they just sort of piled up on me. Ha.  J said it best…”sometimes it feels like we’re stretched as thin as we can go and then we get stretched a little thinner.” The joy’s of growing pains are real for the Galloway family right now.  The pain of being stretched farther outside our comfort zone is legitimate.  The reality of what life with six kids looks like is sometimes frightening.  God continually offers the next right step, we’re just focusing on the daily dose of grace and mercy we get from Him in this season.

Two weeks ago, I had the privilege of attending Living Proof Live with Beth Moore in Chinle.  I was there with women who represented TWENTY-NINE various Native tribes. It was absolutely breath taking to see all those beautiful faces, hands lifted high, worshiping our Savior.  The Spirit was all over the Wildcat Den and Beth brought the Word.  The coolest moments of the day were when I looked up and realized how I’ve truly grown to love the Native way of life.  How much respect I’ve developed for the women who are so progressive and yet still so true to their Native heritage and culture.  It was incredible to recognize how Jesus must have seen us all in the building.  The wonder and awe I felt as I watched woman after woman relate to Beth’s message, I know Jesus must’ve felt such joy as his princess daughter’s loved on one another and Him. Beth spoke about how each of us is significant.  What a powerful message for women.  For me.  I can’t tell you the number of times I feel insignificant.  The times I feel like my job as a wife, mom and home school teacher are insignificant.  I have, since my day with Beth, reminded myself multiple times a day that I am significant…my life, my jobs, my family are all significant because HE sees them all.  I’ve also written in my journal several times, this statement…”If I feel insignificant, how do my Navajo sisters feel?  Do they feel forgotten?  Do they feel less than, the way I often do?”  I don’t know the answer to those questions-I do know that so many of the women in the Wildcat Den with me were just as overwhelmed as I was that day.

The following weekend, I saw a dream become a reality.  I met with Mrs. Hilda, a pastor’s wife from one of our partner churches, and we wrote a Sunday School curriculum.  Yes, you read that right, we wrote a Sunday School curriculum.  One of our biggest challenges in ministry since we arrived is that our beautiful church families are tired.  Most, if not all, work full time jobs, run churches and have families to help provide care. Many are running these churches alone.  Many are families trying to raise up a new generation of believers, however, at the end of the week they are weary and putting together a lesson causes some difficulty.  Almost immediately, I began to dream of what it would look like for me to work with other Navajo church leaders to write a children’s ministry curriculum…one that spanned the wide variety of ages served in our churches and that was dynamic and thought provoking and ultimately lead the next generation of Navajo to Christ.

Well.  We did it. Mrs. Hilda, me and Jesus. We did it.

In December, at Christmas on the Rez, Mrs. Hilda and I will present each of our fifteen partner churches with an entire year’s worth of lessons for children.  Bible stories, games, crafts, monthly themes and memory verses-they’re getting it all.  My prayer is that each year, more and more of our Navajo leaders will join in and that I’ll work myself out of a job.  My greatest joy will be the day I am able to hand off the curriculum weekend to my sweet sisters in Christ and watch them complete a year’s worth of lessons on their own. I can’t wait to watch Jesus move in the hearts of the young people here on the Rez, to see His spirit dwell within them and watch them grow and move into a working, fluid relationship with Him.

Now, you might be asking why I’d want to work myself out of a job.  The Navajo are a strong people.  They are powerful and bold.  I’ve written many times about the fierceness they have in prayer, about their gentleness with the land and their livestock and the way they continually turn their eyes to Jesus.  The simple fact is, the Navajo don’t need me.  The Navajo are fully capable of reaching their own people. I am simply here as a servant.  I want to work myself into a cheerleader and not a leader.  I want to be their biggest supporter and their smallest dependency.  I want my children to grow up loving their brown cousins and trusting whole-heartedly, the way Little Man does, that he is Navajo, too.  We may not have the same color skin-we were adopted though…into the family of Christ and into our Navajo family.

My hope is that as you read these ramblings, they’ll all make sense.  I hope you’ll feel my heart and the way it beats for the Navajo.  I hope you’ll begin to understand that what started out as a calling only revealed to J and a blue-eyed, six year old, has become a passion that pours out of every fiber of my being.  I am not Navajo; I am FOR the Navajo.  I am forever changed by the brown eyes that see into my heart, by the smooth brown skinned hands that hold mine as we pray together and the beautiful black hair that dances as the desert wind blows.  I am humbled and thankful to do life with my Rez family.  I am honored to have been adopted, accepted, and loved by them.  I am not Navajo, although, my heart beats to the rhythm of Navajo land.  Thank you, Jesus, for bringing my family here…for bringing me here, for holding steady when I couldn’t see.

Last weekend, I had the privilege of flying back East to meet my niece.  It was a quick change of pace as I was able to travel the six hours to the airport, alone.  Fly, alone.  Both coming and going.  It was nice…however, I quickly realized that I’m so used to constant noise, I almost needed a little. Ha.  Isn’t that the way of things, I needed a break…got one and then it was too quiet.  I sang to Lauren Daigle and Adele as loudly as I possibly could, though, so that was pretty nice.

I’ve needed some time to process all the feelings that went with seeing, for the first time, my sister being a mama, meeting my beautiful niece and watching my BIL and sister work together to take care of this precious little girl that Jesus has given them.  I’ll admit, it was kind of cool to NOT be the one feeding a baby at 3 am.  I got to spend some good time snuggling and singing and speaking truth about who Jesus is to her and then pass her off to her Mama and Daddy and that was WAY cool.

When I first arrived at NayNay and Bubba’s house, I looked down at this tiny face and was overwhelmed with God’s goodness, with His love, and with love for this tiny human I’d only imagined.  I remember praying years ago that one day, I’d be able to share motherhood with my sister.  I remember praying that we’d be able to have real conversations that were more than surface level deep and that we’d be able to joke about the craziness of being a parent, as well as the joy.  What I didn’t realize all those years ago, was that it would take me working through some pretty intense things, to get to a place where I could just be her sister and not feel compelled to be the mother. It was a crazy good feeling to just be the sister, the aunt, the sister-in-law and not be the one in control and trying to fix things.  I felt such joy in watching NayNay be a mommy and not telling her how to do things.  It was incredible to see how easily she’s slipped into the rhythm of motherhood, how Bubba has stepped up as such a support person for NayNay, how all of a sudden their house felt like a little home with a family.  I loved my time with them and my time with my little Lo-Lo.

Meanwhile, back on the Rez, Justin was manning the fort and thanks to some great support people, the weekend went off without a hitch.

I realized last weekend that love really is a choice.  I’m constantly reminded of this truth.  It was ever present in the weekend, though.  As I’ve spent this week processing my feelings and the events of my time back East and all the things here on the Rez, I’ve stepped into a place where I’m realizing that even those in my life who are hard to love, hard to please, hard to walk alongside, I get to choose to love them or not.  Not loving them, though, isn’t being Jesus with skin on and that’s my greatest motivation.  I want others to see Him in everything I do.  The reality of this truth is that it’s not easy.  Sometimes its literally the hardest thing I’ve walked through.  Lots of times, it’s not what I want to do at all.  It’s not what my flesh wants to lean into…it is what He tells me to lean into.  Lean into love…”if I speak with the tongues of men and angels, yet do not have love, I am simply a resounding gong or cymbal.” -1 Cor. 13:1.  I don’t want to be a cymbal or a gong…honestly, the thought of that grates my nerves…how much more does it work the nerves of those I’m around?  In truth, I don’t have to please everyone, I get to choose whether to involve them in my life or not, I get to choose who to allow into my inner circle, the ones who understand me best…I also get to choose to love.  Loving doesn’t mean giving in or letting someone manipulate…love doesn’t mean putting on a smile just to please someone else.  Love means truth.  Love means honesty and openness and being willing to do the hard things.  “Love is…patient, kind.  It does not envy or boast. It is not proud, it is not rude or self seeking.  It is not easily angered.  And keeps no record of wrongs.  It does not delight in evil but rejoices in truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes and endures all things.” -1 Cor. 13:4-7

If I’m being honest, I’m not really good at the keeping no record of wrongs…forgiveness has always been a struggle for me.  But God.  He can and does help steer me away from bitterness and anger, every. single. day.

For me.  I’m choosing love.  Even when it’s hard and ugly and not what I want to see.  As a people pleaser, that’s pretty difficult.  I’m pressing into Jesus.  Trusting that He can do immeasurably more than I can ask or imagine.  He loves me that much.  He loves you that much too.