"What we hunger for perhaps more than anything else is to be known in our full humanness, and yet that is often just what we also fear more than anything else. It is important to tell at least from time to time the secret of who we truly and fully are... because otherwise we run the risk of losing track of who we truly and fully are and little by little come to accept instead the highly edited version which we put forth in hope that the world will find it more acceptable than the real thing. It is important to tell our secrets too because it makes it easier that way to see where we have been in our lives and where we are going. It also makes it easier for other people to tell us a secret or two of their own, and exchanges like that have a lot to do with what being a family is all about and what being human is all about."  – Frederick Buechner

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Several weeks ago, our ComGroup started telling our stories to each other. By this, I mean that we have set aside intentional time for each person to share a little bit about their lives, about their background, about the ways the Lord has been at work. I've done this before in small groups, and while I tend to despise anything related to being put in the spotlight, I think it's a really needed and beneficial part of journeying through life together. To really know one another and be known is such a gift.

So I made my notes the other night, a bit of a timeline of my life. Since I didn't grow up in College Station or even go to school here (shameful, I know), it made more sense to relay a synopsis than a few specific highlights of life. It's amusing now to look back and think about which moments were actually life-altering and which ones I just thought were at the time and to filter content that would fit within an hour and still convey "me". In the end, I'm not sure whether or not that was accomplished, but the neatest part was tracking the way the Lord has weaved provision and grace and purpose into seasons of life when it was least felt or realized.

I've never really thought I had much of a story to tell. There are events and moments of note and worth, sure, but nothing mind-blowing in comparison to some of the struggles and successes of others. But I guess that's ok, because my story is MY story, and it's important in it's own right because no one else has it and because it is also God's story. It is, and continues to be, a story of redemption and growth and learning to trust in pain-staking ways in the mountaintop moments as well as in the dark valleys. So after sharing last week, I actually felt like it wasn't enough, that there was more to tell, more about relationships – both healthy and broken – and marathons and singleness and art and my need to be outdoors and need to pray more and on and on and on, this need for more time to call out the ways the Lord has changed and shaped me and maybe that's the sweet spot. That recounting of the past as well as the expectation of what's to come. Because the Lord has been at work.

One of the stories in Scripture that always comes to mind in reference to "story" is the reference to the Ebenezer stone in 1 Samuel 7. Samuel implores the Israelites to turn to the Lord fully and with all their hearts. They do so, and when the Philistines come to attack, the Lord answers the cries of his people and throws the Philistines into a panic, saving the Israelites. Samuel then erects a stone, names it Ebenezer (stone of help), and proclaims "thus far the Lord has helped us". Perhaps this sticks with me because my dear creative Mother once constructed an 8' tall wire mesh and paper mache Ebenezer stone for a church event. We paper mached for hours, and then she painted the entire structure to look like a real rock. True story. And while I'm sure it ended up in the dumpster after all that work (because really, what do you do with that?), it made the story come alive for me. I love the ways that it was important to the people of the Old Testament to mark the times in their lives in which they knew they tangibly experienced the Lord at work, and I think there's something very powerful to be found in that still today. To stand and say, I'm not done yet, God's not done with me yet, but thus far the Lord has carried and delivered me.

I would say I'm in a season of not knowing what's ahead and really wanting to know, but then, that's the norm around here. I get impatient and concerned with what life might look like in 10 years and will I be a better person then and will I accomplish what I want to and will I love others better and will I trust the Lord more and will I be making a difference and will I feel like I've failed and will I be leaning into Him more even when I do? I guess if the last 10 years are any indication, I shouldn't be as worried about the next decade. For thus far has the Lord helped me.

So tell your stories. Tell the ones that make them laugh at your audacity, the ones that make them question your motives, the absurd and the silly, the scary phone calls that rocked your world, the highs and the lows, the times of tears and longing and broken hearts, and yes, even the utter ridiculous happenings and sacred glimpses of sheer joy. Tell them all and be known.

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And to my story-sharing people here, proof that this happened. And it's worth mentioning that my first email address was hurdle_hopper@hotmail.com. You're welcome.

 







If we want to foster community, we are going to have to make a conscious effort to go against the flow. – Kate Hurley


I guess you would consider attempting to set a Guinness World Record every spring as something that goes against the flow. (Seriously, who does that?) Though admittedly I'm taking this quote a bit out of context, I think it's quite true; our culture is not set up in a way that encourages and promotes community. Thoughts of self, self, self scream much louder than give, give, give. And yet, there are these rare moments when we step outside of that and collide with the idea that maybe joining together could just very well be more powerful than standing alone.

I honestly don't remember the conversation that first got the Guinness events started; I guarantee it included something to the extent of "I've got a wild, crazy idea" and "this could gain the attention of people who wouldn't look twice otherwise", and "after all, changing the world ought to look unconventional". At least, that's how those conversations typically go! But I'm not sure that we (Mercy Project) could have imagined the gathering of support that would come from this event back in 2010 when we attempted to play 50 hours of kickball one weekend. In fact, Mercy Project didn't even exist as an official entity at that point in time.

Yet now, after 50 hours of kickball, 24 hours of flag football, 49 hours of baseball, 50 hours of baseball, and 24 hours of a mile relay, I'm beginning to see it. I'm beginning to see that the Kingdom takes all kinds of support, and it doesn't look anything like we tend to imagine. The Kingdom certainly does look like feeding the hungry, praying for hurting people, sharing clothes with those who have none, and showing up at church on Sunday morning. But it also looks a lot like playing sports for a ridiculous amount of time, rejoicing in efforts of all skill level and confidence, and running next to a friend in order to encourage them to give their very best. It looks like sharing conversation with someone who believes differently than you and thinks differently than you, but in whom you find the common ground of grace and running. It looks like staying up all night, cheering on the underdog, and giving of hours and effort to be part of something greater than yourself.

This past weekend, I witnessed community and Kingdom support in so many different ways, in so many different people. An army of 180 runners joined forces to run the most continuous miles in a 24-hour period, beginning at 7pm Friday and ending at 7pm Saturday. Many of the runners I knew well, while many I met for the first time. But I witnessed acts of kindness and selfless giving in each one. I saw it in...

• The young man, barely old enough to participate, who showed up alone – not at all a runner – and was so excited to achieve more than he thought he was capable. His smile lit up the track.

• The running club team who wore garishly bright colors at 5am and cheered and paced and encouraged each of their teammates – whether new runners or veterans.

• Families who drove in from hours out of town, kids in tow, because they believe in us and in our work in Ghana.

• Two guys who could look at most of us as mere amateurs and instead gave of their talents and effortlessly ate up 4 laps quicker than most of could finish two. Their humility of their gifts astound me.

• Several friends who had to gather much courage to step on the track at all, much less run a full mile. But they showed up, pushed themselves to do their best, and showed me what it means to do hard things.

• Several young men with endless energy who brought humor and excitement to the middle of the night.

• Many who showed up to support and help and bring coffee, church friends who lined the bleachers towards the end of the night Saturday, friends who have become my family and community here.

I could honestly say something about each of the runners and volunteers who came out this weekend, all giving of their time to support Mercy Project and each other. These people – both mere acquaintances and good friends – teach me a lot about myself and a lot about our need for community – both in everyday life and in the life of an organization that is always grateful to garner support, whether through awareness, encouragement, or financial means. We were made and designed to live life together, not alone. Nothing makes me more aware of this than Guinness weekend when I all I have to do is look around at the broad spectrum of people collected for a single cause and marvel at the way the Lord is working. Maybe there are easier ways to foster community than trying to break a world record, but if that serves the purpose, I'm ready for the next one. Here's to 5 more years of wild and crazy dreaming.