I'm Here...

If anyone speaks, they should do so as one who speaks the very words of God. If anyone serves, they should do so with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ. To him be the glory and the power for ever and ever. Amen. -1 Peter 4:11

Not counting speech classes or school presentations, the very first time I ever did any kind of actual public speaking was at our first ever Sonrise Women's Retreat in the fall of 2008. I did one session. I was so nervous I nearly vomited and I think my hands were shaking the entire time. From the fall of 2008 through Christmas of 2013, I spoke twelve times. Retreats, conferences, brunches, and teas. Then, the emails and the calls stopped coming. I assumed the Lord was moving me in another ministry direction. I felt sad but truly believed that any speaking ministry I might have had was over. It seemed like He'd given it to me for a season. 

2014 had hit and with it came personal extended family trauma. While our own family's day to day life wasn't directly impacted, we were reeling and, looking back, I wasn't in any shape to have been taking time away from my family to speak. 2015 dawned with the death of our unborn daughter. Our grief was real and raw and a lot of personal spiritual growth happened in the weeks and months that followed. In 2016, our third son was born and with him came the exhaustion of an infant and, then, an energetic and rambunctious toddler.

In 2017, the Lord provided me with an opportunity to speak at a tea. Then, last weekend, I was flown to California to share at a women's retreat. When I was asked to speak at that retreat, initially, everything in me screamed, "NO!" I felt unqualified, over committed, inadequate. And I hadn't prepared for a multiple session retreat in years. After my initial panic, however, I quickly felt invigorated and excited for the opportunity. For weeks, I poured over scripture and commentary. I wrote and wrote and practiced and changed things and then I flew to California.

A couple weeks before the retreat, I wrote this on Facebook...

In two weeks I'll be speaking at a retreat in CA. I've been praying and preparing for about a month now. Please join me in praying for the women I'll be spending the weekend with. Pray that the Lord would speak through me, for safe travels, and that lives would be positively impacted. You guys, there are so many women more qualified to do this, more knowledgeable, more influential, less loud. "But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong..." 1 Cor 1:27

A friend of mine commented on the post and said, "Very exciting to have your calling come to fruition."

I replied, "Did God tell you this was my calling? I wish He'd tell me! Thank you for your support!"

She said, "I think I've known for a very long time that this was your path."

Now, I'm not saying whether it is or isn't. (There was a time, in those first five years of speaking, when I might have thought God was opening doors to a speaking ministry. But then it felt like that door had closed. Of course, looking back, I wouldn't have been effective--in the least little bit--if I'd attempted public speaking in those days.) But I did have someone ask me if she could consider me as a speaker for an event next year and I did have someone ask me if I was going to write a book and I did feel very much that the weekend had been a wonderful celebration of our Savior and His amazing, redeeming love. And I GOT to be a part of that.

I've always struggled with whether or not to "put myself out there" and sort of announce that I'm available to speak. On the one hand, I believe that God will absolutely bring me opportunities if it is in His will. On the other hand, I believe that He wants us to partner with Him in the work He chooses to do in and through us. All of this to say, I'm not seeking to actually build some sort of ministry. I firmly believe that, if it is His will, the Lord will build that house. But I had a jolly good time preparing to meet with the women of Harbor Folsom and I had an even more amazing time sharing with them, fellowshipping with them, and breaking bread with them. If I might be afforded more opportunities to meet like-minded women and hang with them--this side of eternity--I would welcome the chance.

I believe that if this isn't the Lord's will, nothing will come of it. I also believe that I know a lot of people who attend a lot of churches in a lot of different places so, perhaps, the best place to start is just to say to the Lord and to you, "I'm available. Here I am. Use me."

I know my blog is in serious need of an update (and a blogger who is actually attentive to it) but there is a tab up there at the top that says "Invite Lori to Speak" and you can click on it. If you (or someone you know) are looking for a speaker, please check it out.

I desire to honor and glorify the Lord in whatever way I can. He gave me a mouth. He gave me a loud voice. He gave me a heart for women. He armed me with a degree in Theatre which just means that I paid a lot of money to be taught how to stand up in front of people. If I can somehow combine all those things to bring Him praise, may it be so.

Creed

A little over a week ago, on my birthday, we stood by as a woman lost her life. I only mention that it was my birthday because, even at 37, I suppose that a birthday is designed to be a celebration of life. We've turned it into a festival of cake and presents but, really, it's an acknowledgment that we've made it around the sun once more.

It was first thing in the morning. We were on our way to a baseball game. It was a Saturday and the roads were mostly clear. We'd gotten up, raced around the house, brushed our teeth, combed our hair, and loaded into the car a few minutes later than we'd intended to leave. If we'd left on time, we'd have been ahead of her and none of it would have touched us at all. If Troy hadn't run back in for one last thing, delaying us an additional twenty seconds, we may have been involved in the accident. Who's to say?

As we drove along, suddenly, ahead of us, we saw dirt billowing over the road. A huge cloud of dust. We had a few moments to voice our opinion on what it might be. Someone commented that it was very weird to have seen it so suddenly. Later, someone said he thought it was someone riding on a lawnmower, chopping weeds on the side of the road. Just as we prepared to drive through the massive dust fog, we saw the car.

It was flipped completely. And, as we slowed we could see a woman moving, flailing her arm. Troy pulled our car over just past hers--the first vehicle on the scene--and as I called 911, he rushed to her. I'd noticed the bike rider on the other side of the road. He reached 911 before I did. A nurse pulled up behind the scene and ran to the woman. As I approached, on hold with 911 and unaware that someone had gotten through, I could hear the woman moaning. The nurse kept telling her she was trying to help, trying to get an air way. Troy told me that someone had reached 911 already and that I needed to pull our van forward.

Shaking, I moved our van farther down the road. I told the boys to pray. And then I went back.

Troy walked toward me. He shook his head. No.

No. She won't be making it out of this alive.

The nurse said she was guppy breathing but her pupils were blown.

When we pulled up, she was moving. Moaning. Seemingly attempting to extricate her own self from the rolled Suburban. Somehow, despite the squashed upside down vehicle, I assumed the woman inside would be just fine if help could just hurry up and get there. I've always thought myself a pessimist. Maybe I'm "glass half full" after all. Because when my husband shook his head, I couldn't believe it.

She was alive. Moving. And then, she was dead. I erupted into tears as we walked toward our car.

When we ate our breakfast and brushed our teeth, she was alive. When we pulled out of our driveway, she was alive. When we parked our car on the other side of hers, she was alive--if only barely.

Life. Blink. Snap. Gone. While a nurse tried to save her. While my husband and another man searched the vehicle for other passengers. While I talked to a 911 dispatcher. While my children prayed.

I obsessed. Searched the internet for her name. Then searched for an obituary. I had to know who she was and what she'd left behind. Three children, it turns out. One of them grown. One of them, a teenage girl. One, a little boy. I waffled. Should I? Would I? Could I? Finally,  I sent a message to the girl.

In the end, I decided it probably wouldn't hurt much of anything. I chose my words carefully. I wanted her to know that people stopped. She responded. Overwhelmingly thankful that we'd pulled over. I then told her that many people had stopped, including a nurse who did all she could. I told her that her mother wasn't alone when she passed on.

I don't know anything about this woman or what happened to her soul when her body stopped moving and her pupils blew. I believe in a narrow road to Heaven. I wish I could make up some truth about a wide path to glorious eternity but I believe in God and in His Word. Jesus Himself says, "I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me." Salvation is free to anyone who would accept it, but it is a small and narrow road, passing only through Christ, who suffered, bled, died, and rose again. There is no room for wide views of eternity. Ask and you shall receive, but you must ask.

It sounds so unbelievable, a person raising from the dead and then ascending into Heaven. But my son told me that his friend believes we all came from germs. How is that any less ridiculous? We all have to ask the question, "Where did we come from?" Either we came from bitty materials that were somehow always there and eventually morphed into man, or we came from God who was somehow always there and who designed us with perfect precision. I simply cannot believe that we were ultimately created by something smaller than ourselves. Rather, it is infinitely more plausible to me that we were created by something so massive, our finite brains cannot even comprehend it.

I remember, in a profound way, a debate that took place in my high school English class. I don't know why we were talking about God and an afterlife but we were. Several students argued the insanity of a belief in God. Passionately, and with a lump forming in my throat, I said, "I simply have to believe in God. If there is nothing after this, what in the world is the point?"

I don't believe in a humanity formed by stardust because I don't even believe in the existence of stardust without first the existence of God.

I try not to be too vocal. So much of the world has already rejected my Savior, or walked away from Him, or outright denied His existence. I hate confrontation and I don't want to rock any boats. I'm terrible at sharing my faith--unless someone asks me. I've lived my life not hiding from my faith or my beliefs but not loudly proclaiming them to the masses either. But why? If I had the cure for cancer, I would most certainly give it to you. I wouldn't set it neatly on the table next to my bed--my own little secret. And so I will pray, now, boldly, for opportunities to share my faith.

A woman got up one morning, on my 37th birthday, and she started driving down the road. Something happened. A failure to negotiate a slight curve, is what the officer said. Her vehicle rolled. She wasn't wearing a seat belt and she was partially ejected from the car. A woman got up one morning. And it was the last time she ever rolled out of bed. The last time she brushed her teeth. The last time she climbed behind the wheel of a car.

YOU DO NOT KNOW WHEN YOUR LAST BREATH WILL BE.

If you don't know what's going to happen when you take that last breath, far be it for me to deny you the truth that I have in my Savior, Jesus Christ. I believe that an authentic relationship with the REAL person of Christ is the only way to Heaven.

I believe in God, the Father almighty creator of Heaven and earth.
I believe in Jesus Christ, God's only Son, our Lord,
who was conceived by the Holy Spirit,
born of the Virgin Mary,
suffered under Pontius Pilate,
was crucified, died, and was buried;
he descended to the dead.
On the third day he rose again;
he ascended into Heaven,
he is seated at the right hand of the Father,
and he will come to judge the living and the dead.
I believe in the Holy Spirit (and that the three are one),
one holy Church,
the forgiveness of sins,
the resurrection of the body,
and I believe in a life that never ends.

If you want to know more, if the idea of being upside down in a Suburban on the side of the road guppy breathing your last breath has you as worked up as it has me, please ask me more about the Almighty God that I serve unashamed. I am not worked up because I'm afraid to take my last breath. I'm worked up because I'm afraid I'll take my last breath knowing there were people I needed to share my God with.

Don't wait. Don't shove life's deep questions to the back of your brain to be dealt with at another time. That time might never come...