There’s a story in the Bible (Matthew 14) many of you probably know well, where Jesus stands upon a mountain to teach a crowd of thousands of men women and children who are eagerly hanging onto His every word. As the sun begins to set, His disciples realize none of them have eaten all day and the people’s stomachs are beginning to groan in gurgling unison. They need not to just eat for themselves, but to feed the 5000 before them. The problem, though, lied in that the nearest merchant was miles and miles away. Knowing they’d never make it that far, they began to look around themselves to gather resources. When they came back together, all they had gathered was five loaves of bread and two fish. Jesus said, “bring what you have to me.” Upon their obedience, He did something miraculous. He took all they had and He did just this – Blessed it. Broke it. Multiplied it. And with that small act of faith by the disciples, they were able to feed the multitudes, not just a morsel, but until every hunger was satisfied and fulfilled.
The power of this story, is that I see it present in my everyday life. This breaking of my heart is actually what multiplied it. This breaking is actually what nourished it. This breaking is actually what has fulfilled it. Paradoxical to the way our minds comprehend the world, wholeness at it’s fullest capacity follows brokenness carried out through His tender hands, and then put back together into a new creation. Here’s my own story: made new.
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Blessed.
The story of The blessing starts far before you or I. Before time or space existed. It starts with a void, and with an overflowing love found in the sacred communion between Father, Son and Spirit so great that they longed for a creation to share it with. But that story, is for another time. This narrative, on the other hand, starts with performance and perfectionism, and a girl who longed for something greater than the ordinary. That girl is me. And at 23 I had graduated highschool at the top of my class, spent the majority of my time volunteering for multiple different nonprofits, been in a five year long committed relationship, lived on my own, graduated nursing and was working in the field of my dreams — and I was drowning behind closed doors. I was barely eating, yet gaining weight at an alarming rate. I was spending every weekend, and then multiple nights a week, trying to drink away my loneliness. The relationship? Abusive. The job? Everything I thought I had ever wanted, but somehow still not filling the gaping hole in my heart. To the world, I had it all. But inside, I felt like I had gained it all and lost my very self. It was this very desperation that lead my heart back to Him, after years and years away from the church. It too starts with a void. One to which He spoke to and said, “Will you trust me?” followed by the cry of my heart that begged “I’ll do anything, if only to find life again.” And then the blessing followed, as a statement of both commissioning and dedication, “then follow me, and GO.”
Broken.
It was two and a half years ago now, in the early frigid cold weeks of January, that that girl with my same name and face, stepped out the door of her Missouri home. Leaving everything she had ever known behind, she boarded a plane, to chase Jesus – or really, anything that would save her from the life she had been living. The things that set this girl apart from the woman I see in the mirror every morning, are deep matters of the heart, rooted in value and identity. This girl would have called herself anything but Holy, anything but whole, and she had a whole lifetime of hurt and rejection, evidence to back up her heart’s misguided claims. The only hope of escape from this self condemned prison, lay in a Savior she barely knew if she truly believed in. The bondage of shame, isolation, and wounded trust, weighed like chains on her ankles. If she was ever to be able to find freedom, they had to be broken. And just a month into this journey she would embark on on the World Race, she would find the breaking amidst circumstances that would leave her standing face to face with some of her past’s worst mistakes. Suddenly, though years after the circumstances that would meet me in this place had played out, they confronted me once again in the heat of West Africa, in the form of an email sent to my leadership team from someone I had once deeply wounded. Now surrounded by the reality of some of my worst offenses vulnerably laid out before the people who’s decisions would decide the trajectory of my journey, I began sinking deeper and deeper into feelings of utter defeat and worthlessness before them. These were choices I knowingly made, in a deep state of pain, but intentionally nonetheless. Ones I had never told anyone about, until this moment. And I knew the consequences I deserved. In the days of the Old Testament, I would have without hesitation been sentenced to stoning. And a part of me almost wished that that was still my destiny, because anything seemed better than the shame inside that was eating me alive.
I stared holes through the floor in an attempt to dodge my mentor’s gaze, while everything in me attempted to hold up the increasingly heavy wall of false strength. In a low voice, with everything I could muster, I asked, “When do I need to have my bags packed?” She tilted her head a bit in confusion. “What do you mean.” The self protection desires in me rose. “You know it all now. You know who I really am. And I clearly don’t deserve to get to be out here. This is where you send me home. So when do I need to have my bags packed to leave?” “Hannah, what I know, is that you messed up. You hurt people. But what I also know, is what Jesus says about you. I know who HE says you are. So, sending you home never even crossed my mind. I’m here because I want to help. I’m here because I want healing for you, and for them.” She wrapped me in a hug and all of my walls cracked at once as the floodgates in my tear ducts roared open. I didn’t deserve this immeasurable grace. And that was the point. Grace isn’t deserved, but it’s offered to us anyways by the God who knows our every move and intention but casts our sin and shame as far as the east is from the west when we choose to give our lives over to Him.
Multiplied.
It’s been 29 months since that conversation and the events that would follow it that would radically change not only what I knew of who I was, but that of what I knew of who God was. It’s easy to look at the past pain and devastation of others lives compared to where they have come to, and discount the severity of it, but let me assure you, there was nothing tidy or short of heart shattering about the process. There were some dark, dark nights before the morning. And plenty of those ugly sobs we hide in the corner to conceal from the world.
But today, I have not only seen the promises of daybreak ever evident in the life around me, but I have learned to walk in boldness and authority alongside the guidance of the Spirit that lit a deeper burning flame within me. And this fruit of surrender and grace has reached far beyond my own capacity, into the foundations of a community alongside me that loves in a way that surpasses anything I could dream of. Here, my days are filled with meetings, where I now have been given a place at the leadership table of our organization, and a voice in a room of some of the wisest and most humble mentors and elders I have ever known. Here, I am given stewardship authority over the lives and journeys of fifteen other racers that have now come through the World Race’s doors after me. Here, I’m surrounded by and given access to the lives of the very people I looked up to and thought had it all, and constantly reminded of how much they value ME – yes, me. But though the story is FOR me, it’s not about me. It never has been. Since coming into contact with Adventures in Missions, my life has intersected with hundreds, if not thousands of others both Stateside and internationally. And THAT has been His plan all along – that the healing in my life would bring glory to His name and restoration to His people, for generations to come. In each chapter my story holds, in each friendship, in each Thursday night dinner, in each hardship walked out side by side with one another, in each “you’re not alone,” in each “you matter here,” in each shaky but obedient “yes,” we come deeper into relationship with the Father who values and holds our hearts – and Heaven is multiplied. It’s brought down to Earth. And He is made known for His never ending goodness and grace.
I gave them every reason to send me home. And they gave me a place to call home, and a place at the table with a group of people who are constantly fighting to make this program the greatest reflection of Christ’s heart it can be.
I gave the Lord every reason to turn His back on me. And He gave me His heart, and the keys to His Kingdom and a promise that I would get to be a part of a great adventure within it.
So please know, whatever you have to give to Him, it’s enough. If it’s broken, if it’s busted, if it’s shaky and unsure, if it’s fragmented, if it’s flawed – He wants it all. He never asked the disciples to remedy the situation before them. He merely asked them to bring what they had in all of it’s lack and flaws, and that’s all He’s asking of you and I today, too. He doesn’t need our help, but He desperately wants us to be a part of the story. Because that’s where love grows – in the togetherness, in the midst, in the imperfect.
So, come. Come with whatever you’ve got. Even if it’s as small as a mustard seed. He’s waiting with open arms. The Kingdom is eagerly anticipating your redemption story. And someone out there is needing your resurrection to act as a lighthouse, a beacon of hope, into their pain. The story isn’t about you, but it’s FOR you. And the time to rise, the time to let go of fear and doubt and shame, is now. After all, your freedom is waiting. Your Father, is waiting, to come running to you in sweet embrace.
