Tag: Love

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Water into wine

“Miss!” He shouted as he threw open my classroom door and stuck half of his body in my room. I glanced up from my laptop and met the eyes of Sanchez*, one of my MANY beloved fourteen year old freshmen.

“Miss!!!” He yelled again, as if I hadn’t heard him the first time, when he nearly knocked my classroom door through the wall. “I’m gonna beat his a**!”

Laughing to myself, I glanced from Sanchez to one of my junior girls who was drawing in the rocking chair across from mine. She shook her head quietly as the same smirk I was wearing started to draw across her face.

Returning to the e-mail I had been writing, I mindlessly drawled, “That’s not very nice Sanchez… What would Jesus do?”

I glanced up to see him frowning in my direction, giving me his best Shut it, lady glare.

Just then a quiet giggle came from the rocking chair and Emily perked up. “Jesus would turn him into wine.”

I laughed so hard at the flippancy of her statement that I nearly dropped the computer that had been balancing on my knees. My kids are nothing if not absolutely hilarious.

~

About a month ago, I was laying in bed, talking on the phone with a friend. It was just a few days after Johnny had been murdered and I was really struggling to see the Light in our little school community and within my own heart.

“I know you can’t see it now,” she said. “But from the outside it’s really obvious that God’s doing a great work at DSS. Every time I pray for you guys I just keep thinking about when Jesus turned the water into wine in John 2. No one really knew about the miracle except for the servant and he didn’t even see it right away… and I think that’s kinda what you guys are doing. He’s turning water into wine at DSS and you get to see it first. That’s pretty cool…”

As I laid there listening to her, all I could think was Yupp. We’ve got plenty of water. Unfiltered, dirty, rough water… I mean freshmen… I mean water…

(Allow me to clarify: One of the reasons that this year has been so difficult is because our student body is SO young. In the last two years we’ve graduated 27 seniors– a record and miracle in itself! But when a school is only made up of roughly 40 kids at a time, losing that many leaders and replacing them with rambunctious, rough 14 year olds, well… it makes things a bit more interesting.

Sometimes this year it has felt like we’re all out of our “precious aged wine” and all we’ve got around here is water– freshmen that is. In fact, most days it feels like we’re drowning in the chaos of the freshmen…)

As my friend began to change subjects, I made a mental note of her observation, but honestly didn’t think much more of it. I had far too much to think about in those first few weeks anyway.

Or maybe I didn’t…

Maybe the only thing that I thought about for a while was why…

Why was Johnny gone? Why did God let this happen? Why did he randomly march into the principal’s office in October, sit down, and say, “I know I’m 18 with freshman credits. I know I’m not the best student. I know this is gonna be hard, but I want you all to teach me. I’m ready to learn.” Why on earth would He bring Johnny, a kid who had been at DSS three years earlier, back to the school only to have him there for less than a quarter before being murdered?!

My questions were repetitive. They swirled through my brain while I was awake and inundated my dreams when I fell asleep.

And I wasn’t the only one.

The Monday after we lost Johnny, the computer teacher and I sat down after school and processed what we knew about the investigation and what we had seen the week before.

I rambled through all of my “why” questions once more and she quietly hung her head and said,

Ya know, I’m not really one’a those ‘audible voice of God’ kinda people. When I pray, I usually don’t get answers right away. But this weekend, I was praying, asking the Lord all of those questions you just listed off…and I got an answer.

I was sitting there, asking God why, why, why?! and out of no where, He just said, ‘Because I want to be in the middle of this.’  And it dawned on me that He is.

More people than I can count have been praying for their family, our staff, and our students. People I don’t even know have told me they’re praying for peace in this city. I think He brought Johnny back here, not to stop this from happening, but so the aftermath would be covered in prayer and love… He’s gonna be glorified through whatever comes out of this.

I sat there, staring at my fidgety hands and breathed a sigh of relief. Even if it wasn’t what I necessarily wanted to hear, God had a plan, even in the darkest of situations.

~

As I sat in my rocking chair last Thursday, giggling and trying to collect my composure and the papers that I had dropped when Emily made me erupt into laughter, Sanchez remained in my door, clearly not nearly as amused as I was.

“But for real, Miss. Come here.” He demanded, motioning me to the doorway.

After collecting my mess, I grabbed my keys and followed him out the door.

“What’s up, dude?”

“Miss, I don’t want to end up like Johnny.” He said seriously as he stared straight at me.

My heart twitched and I swallowed back the emotional feeling that was starting to rise in the back of my throat. Unsure of what to say, I stammered out a simple, “Uh okay…” and kept my eyes locked on his.

“Miss, I’m not gonna tell you whose a** I want to kick, but I do want to give you this so I don’t do anything stupid.”

As he said that, he took off his hat, pulled a blade out from under the bill, and held it out for me to take.

“I found this and was gonna use it. But then I thought about Johnny and realized that I don’t want that to be me… I don’t want that to be the other guy either.”

With that, he turned on his heels and walked down the hall to lunch, leaving me stunned, standing in the hallway with a blade in my hand.

Water into wine, folks…

God is doing miracles within our walls everyday.

He is in the middle of our turbulent, freshmen infested water, turning it into wine. Sloooooowwwwwwly but surely. And He is being glorified by what may seem like the tiniest of miracles and positive decisions.

 

*Student’s name has been changed to protect their identity

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Backup. [Jan ’15 Support Update]

I’ve sat down six times in the last two weeks to write what I knew needed to be written– this. My semi-annual support update. And yet each time I’ve deleted my words and walked away from my computer feeling defeated.

This update has been tougher to write than most.

By this time in the school year, I wanted to be able to write beautiful stories about all of the great things God is doing in the school right now. I wanted to write you and say that students are coming to know the Lord in droves, that they are making wise choices, and that they’re all working furiously to finish their high school educations… but unfortunately that’s not where we are right now.

The state of the school is difficult to put into words. In fact, the only metaphor that I can use to explain what’s happening within these walls is to say that we are walking onto a battle field every morning… No. Actually we’re in the middle of a full scale war.

Last semester was heart breaking. I watched as students walked away from God, throwing classroom doors through walls on their way out.

I listened as my co-workers sat across from me, crying out to God, begging Him to please give us a bit of relief from the onslaught of spiritual and emotional attacks we were experiencing.

I cleaned up shards of glass and furniture that was broken and wiped a student’s blood off of a concrete wall.

I stood frozen in time at a student’s candle light vigil and watched as bandanas were pulled over faces and war cries were made to avenge Johnny’s death.

These images and sensations washed over me every time I pulled out my laptop and tried to explain what I am doing in these walls everyday.

But to be entirely honest, on most days I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.

I feel unqualified. Confused. Weak. Ineffective. Exhausted.

I feel like we’re losing battle after battle and somedays, when my faith falters, I can’t help but wonder if we’re going to lose the war too…

But yesterday God reminded me that it’s not what I’m doing within these walls that matters– It’s what He’s doing. And even though I may not always see it in the midst of the fight, He is doing great things.

Yesterday when I walked into our Thursday afternoon staff meeting, one of my students was sitting in my usual spot. No one else in the room seemed phased by the fact that Raul* was joining us, so I pulled out a chair and took a seat.

“Now that you’re all here, I want to tell you something.” He proceeded as soon as I sat down. Thinking he was joking around, the majority of our staff let out a little giggle. “God’s been talking to me.” He said, unphased by the laughter.

Confused, I glanced over at my principal whose eyes were fixed on the small 18 year old boy next to me.

“He’s been saying things… Telling me that I need to talk to the kids in this school and show them that they can stop doing what they’re doing.

I get it; I used to be just like them. They don’t care if they do their homework. They don’t care if they hurt people. They don’t have anything to lose. But God has been telling me that I need to tell them my story. The story of how He saved me from myself. “

As the words came out of his mouth, I sat there stunned, mentally cataloging the change I’ve seen in him over the last two and half years– specifically since he gave his life to Christ the summer before last.

Raul.

This is the kid who threw his binder at my head his first year and came to cooking class kicking and screaming. (Literally.) The kid who tried to throw a computer at me when he got frustrated by his writing project. Wait, wait, wait… The same kid who literally had to be carried out of my classroom IN HIS CHAIR because he refused to leave the room when I tried to send him to the principal for threatening another student. The kid who has probably made me lock myself in my classroom and cry more than anyone else in my teaching career.

Yes, this was the kid sitting next to me, telling my peers and I that God had changed him and that he wanted others to experience that kind of change.

I could hardly believe it.

Yet there he sat, requesting a day in chapel to speak to his peers.

“I know you guys have had it hard lately.” He continued. “I don’t say much and neither do you, but I can see it in your eyes. You’re tired and hurt and need backup. And God has called me to back you guys up– to shine light into this school through the trials and tribulations He’s brought me through. So if you need me to set someone straight, let me know. God’s given me a pretty good story and I’ve got your backs.”

As he slumped back in his chair and carefully folded his hands on the table in front of him, he started to get blurry.

Per usual, tears were welling up in my eyes– but for the first time in a long time they were tears of joy and relief, not of sadness or fear.

I could tell you a million different stories about Raul’s time at DSS, but the thing that struck me the hardest (other than the obvious calling that God has put on his life) was the fluidity with which he spoke.

Three years ago, Raul came to us as a 15 year old with a second grade reading level. He struggled to communicate basic ideas, and yet there he was next to me using the word “tribulation”… in the right context… in a complete thought… that actually made sense…

That, in itself is a miracle.

Not only is God working in my kids’ lives spiritually by drawing them to Himself, but He is working miracles through the rigorous, individualized academics provided within our walls. And that is why I continue to walk onto the battle field everyday.

Thank you to everyone who continues to support my students and I as we engage in this crazy fight. Sometimes it’s dark and difficult, but the fruit is always beautiful.

If you are interested in learning more about how you can get involved at the Street School through prayer or volunteer work, feel free to shoot me an email at KacyLouLeyba@gmail.com and I will gladly get you in the loop.

Or if you feel called to partner with me financially as I continue to walk in faith and raise a chunk of my own salary, you can do so by clicking here and simply writing Leyba Support in the comment section.

Again, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for making life change possible.

awards2012

*Students name has been changed to protect their identity.

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Anticipating in our own Nazareth

The last three weeks have been an absolute explosion of emotion.

There’s been intense grief and sadness revolving around the murder of one of our Denver Street School students.

There’s been the guilt that comes with the what-if’s– What if Johnny had just been in school that morning? What if we had loved him more practically? What if we had shared the Gospel more explicitly with him? What if…

There’s been an overflowing of love in my own heart for the community that God has put me in for such a time as this– An inexpressible gratitude for the marvelous people in my life who have checked in on me, texted me, prayed with me, cried with me, and kidnapped me on the weekends simply to bring life back into my withered soul.

There’s been laughter at the thought of memories, rejoicing over small moments of justice, and the heartbreaking sound of screaming and tears as teenagers have sobbed in my lap simply asking, “Why, Miss? Why?”.

It’s been an emotional heyday, but I can honestly say that the one emotion I haven’t seen much of is anticipation– which is a gut wrenching shame given the fact that all throughout this time of mourning, we have been in the season of Advent preparing for Christmas.

Advent… the season entirely devoted to anticipating the coming of sweet Baby Jesus in that manger so long ago and the second coming of our Glorious King in the days to come.

Advent… the season in which my high schoolers should be asking questions about Jesus while baking Christmas cookies in my kitchen after school. They should be studying for finals and wrapping presents, not raising money for their friend’s funeral…

You see, I think I’m stuck on this anticipation bit because before all the emotional ish hit the fan, I had some big dreams.

I had resolved that this year, things were going to be different. For the first time in my life I was going to look forward to Christmas with my own wild family and by-George, I was going to inspire my students to see the good in their own less-than-awesome situations. We were going to anticipate and adore and sing praises to the King while we baked and giggled and looked at the forecasted snow.

So that Wednesday morning, before the emotional fiasco began, I gathered my girls around the dining room table in my classroom and we read through Isaiah 9, appropriately titled “For to us a Child is born”.

We sat around that table and were brutally honest with each other; we admitted that Christmas was hard for all of us and because of that, no one was really excited for the holidays. But together we made a pact to think on the good things this year; we would think about Jesus as our Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, and Prince of Peace. We would think about how that little Baby born in a manger changed everything for us.

A mere six hours later, everything HAD changed, but in a way no one was anticipating.

At 6 pm, I sat sobbing on the front steps of a coffee shop, making the calls that no one ever wants to make– the phone call letting the rest of our staff know that they would be seeing a familiar face on the 10 o’clock news that night, one of our own– the victim of a triple-homicide that had shocked a quiet neighborhood in north Denver.

That night and for several days after, I simply existed. I did not adore. I did not sing. I did not bake, nor giggle, nor wrap gifts. And I certainly could not figure out how to anticipate Christmas or Jesus’ arrival.

Everything just felt broken and foggy and wrong.

As my students sat in my classroom the next day and begged to know why and how this was happening, I hugged them and sobbed, wondering similar things: I know in my mind that God is Sovereign. I know that He works all things for His ultimate Good and Glory. I know all of these things, but how? How on earth could anything good or glorious ever come out of this? This brokenness, this darkness, this despair of Your people. YOUR PEOPLE who should be celebrating YOU right now! How the heck is goodness supposed to come out of this?

That Sunday, much to my slight annoyance and mixed relief, one of our pastors at Park Church stood up and began to preach out of Isaiah 9. As Gary spoke, I doodled, “mmm”-ed, and choked back tears when he read verse 6– that same verse that I had read with my girls not even a week before. But when he looped back to the historical aspect of verse 1, he got me:

Historically, the tribe of Zebulun that is mentioned in verse 1 of Isaiah 9 had been looked on with contempt by the other nations. They had been the first to compromise their beliefs. They had been seen as the most deluded in terms of their worship of God, and because they were from the North, they were often seen as the place where destruction came from. Yet this promise in Isaiah 9 says from that same place, Light will come. From a place of darkness, Hope will come.

There’s a little town in Zebulun named Nazareth– you might have heard of it. Something amazing happened in Nazareth. Someone amazing came from Nazareth. You would have heard the people in Jesus’ own day say, “Can anything good really come from Nazareth? From that much darkness?”

Yeah. Yeah, it can. A man, our Jesus, came from Nazareth. Hope came through that darkness and Hope is coming still.

It’s been three weeks today since Johnny was taken from us, and part of me wants to think it’s a shame that a reminder of this tragedy is falling on Christmas Eve.

But this morning I was reminded: I may not be able to see it yet, heck I may not see it for a long time, but Jesus came out of the darkness of Nazareth when people questioned whether anything good could come from such a janky little town, and goodness will eventually come from this.

Someday. Someday Good will come from this mess and I can rest in that Truth because my God keeps His promises. So that is what I’m anticipating now this year– seeing His Goodness and Glory in the midst of brokenness (once again).

~

Merry Christmas to all. Yes, to the cheery stocking stuffers and the mourning, drippy mascara wearers alike. Jesus Immanuel has come to be with us in it all. For He is our Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, and Prince of Peace and He will reign forever… Advent2014Anticipate“For to Us a Child Is Born”

But there will be no gloom for her who was in anguish. In the former time he brought into contempt the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but in the latter time he has made glorious the way of the sea, the land beyond the Jordan, Galilee of the nations.

2 The people who walked in darkness
    have seen a great light;
those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness,
    on them has light shone.
3 You have multiplied the nation;
    you have increased its joy;
they rejoice before you
    as with joy at the harvest,
    as they are glad when they divide the spoil.
4 For the yoke of his burden,
    and the staff for his shoulder,
    the rod of his oppressor,
    you have broken as on the day of Midian.
5 For every boot of the tramping warrior in battle tumult
    and every garment rolled in blood
    will be burned as fuel for the fire.
6 For to us a child is born,
    to us a son is given;
and the government shall be upon his shoulder,
    and his name shall be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
7 Of the increase of his government and of peace
    there will be no end,
on the throne of David and over his kingdom,
    to establish it and to uphold it
with justice and with righteousness
    from this time forth and forevermore.
The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this.”

(Isaiah 9:1-7)

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Holidays and hospitality

“Hospitality is not to change people, but to offer them space where change can take place. It is not to bring men and women over to our side, but to offer freedom not disturbed by dividing lines. It is not to lead our neighbor into a corner where there are no alternatives left, but to open a wide spectrum of options for choice and commitment. It is not an educated intimidation with good books, good stories, and good works, but the liberation of fearful hearts so that words can find roots and bear ample fruit… The paradox of hospitality is that it wants to create emptiness, not a fearful emptiness, but a friendly emptiness where strangers can enter and discover themselves as created free… not a subtle invitation to adopt the life style of the host, but the gift of a chance for the guest to find his own.”
― Henri J.M. Nouwen

Having grown up stateside, I’m always astounded by the stories of international hospitality that my friends on the other side of the world share with me– the willingness that people in other countries have to take strangers into their homes and serve them a cup of tea, a warm meal, or simply hear their stories after a long day of travel or work.

In countries all over the globe, this type of hospitality is the norm.

These people, Christians or not, understand Jesus’ commandment– “Love your neighbor as yourself.”

They feed the hungry, give tea to the thirsty, and provide company to the lonely (all within the walls of their own home– a place that is likely abounding in comfort and love).

While I mulled over this idea of international hospitality this week, it dawned on me that all of these things are slightly reminiscent of one of Jesus’ other teachings:

“When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on his glorious throne. Before him will be gathered all the nations, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. And he will place the sheep on his right, but the goats on the left. Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?’ And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.’”

(Matthew 25:31-40)

Personally, I’ve found that when I allow Christ’s hospitable nature and love to flow through me by inviting others over for a meal or to stay in my house while they are in a period of transition, I learned to love without great or unhealthy expectation of others.

By no means do I have this whole “love thy neighbor” thing down pat; as my roommates and house guests can attest to, at times I am irritable and impatient. My brain starts to spin and smoke when things are not somewhat orderly. I’ve seen my silly attachments to my material possessions rear their ugly idolistic heads. Oh, and as an introvert, I get to see my selfishness magnified when my “me time” or my “Jesus time” is disrupted. All reallllly cute attributes of my self… Hashtag: sarcasm.

These last few months have taught me that hospitality comes at a cost and that cost is different for everyone. It can be something as simple as sacrificing your “me time” to make your home welcoming to others, or something as big as overcoming self-established boundaries of intimacy with strangers or acquaintences. It simply depends on where God has you.

Hospitality can be uncomfortable and it should be because it is sanctifying.

In those moments when we are being called to be hospitable, we are called to put the comfort of others over ours, to listen, to meet needs, and to pray for and with those whom God has entrusted us with, even if it’s just for one meal or one short season of life. 

What would happen this week and this holiday season if we put aside our anxieties and selfishness and opened our homes to the people around us?

Yeah, I’m talking about the crazy neighbor who lives next door and can be heard screaming at her children until all hours of the night. Mhmm, even the cranky old man who lives alone and complains about your lawn being too long in the summer. And yes, who could forget the co-worker who drives you absolutely bananas with their stories drenched in hyperbole and laced with hidden pain.

What would happen if we invited them over for a Thanksgiving meal, free of expectation but full of Christs’ love? Think of the conversations that could happen and the relationships that could begin if only we lowered our Westernized walls and allowed people to discover themselves as created free and beautiful by a loving God within our homes.

Think of the possibilities.

XYZDinner

“Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.“Hebrews 13:2

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His Grace is Better.

Grace: the freely given, unmerited favor and love of God, as manifested in the salvation of sinners and the bestowal of blessings.

Everything about who I am as a human being rages against the idea of grace.

I am stubborn. I was educated by the school of hard knocks as well as an inner city liberal arts university. I am a survivor of abuse and of being an abuser myself. I am an intelligent, independent minority woman who in many regards has had to fight tooth and nail to become the person I am today. I am passionate about Love and give everything that I can to those whom I love.

Grace conflicts with nearly everything on that list.

Grace is a gift. Grace is unjustified favor, and in other words, as a child of God, there is nothing I could ever do to earn it or lose it.

Grace is the most beautiful gift I’ve ever received from God and for some reason that makes my soul bristle a bit.

Think about it all for a second…

The Son of God came down to this earth in the most lowly of ways– by being born in a filthy barn. He lived amongst the outcasts, healing the sick, loving the poor. He was not popular, glamorous, or concerned with pomp and circumstance as a “good king” should have been, and yet He was and is our Good King.

As one of His last acts of Love, he took the filthy bare feet of His disciples– the same feet that walked miles on end collecting dust, grime, slime, and excrement– and HE WASHED THEM.

Part of me has always understood the beauty of that picture– the Son of Man washing His disciples’ feet and urging them to go and do likewise to the people whom they met.

And maybe it’s because I have a strong stomach and a job history as a CNA, but washing the disgusting feet of others doesn’t bother me. Not literally and not figuratively. It’s what my God has called me to and I love to do it.

I love to serve and tangibly love on people, which is why I work where I do.

I love to sit across from students after they scream and cuss at me, after they throw furniture and break windows. I love it because I get to look them in the eye and tell them that there is nothing that they could do to make me love them less because of the love that Christ has given me for them.

And secretly? I love those moments because I slightly enjoy watching them squint their eyes in disbelief and squirm in their chairs.

They don’t ever get it, this grace that is being offered to them…

And honestly, I don’t either.

Because when it’s time for other people to extend grace to me or wash my feet– my feet that are bloodied from battle wounds at work, covered in salt streaks from my tears, and my own crap that I continuously walk in circles through, I recoil.

I pull my feet under myself and I refuse it.

Fuller, our Bible teacher, has been teaching this story from John in chapel. A few weeks ago, he announced at the beginning of chapel that he was going to wash the feet of all of the teachers. Panicked, I slipped into the back of the room. I’m wearing my running shoes. My feet probably smell terrible. This is totally not happening. There is NO WAY I’m letting him near my feet.

It was stupid, but I refused his act of grace, even though it was a chapel illustration. This being the same man whom I have cried in front of countless times over the years in staff meeting, my brother in Christ whom I literally trust with my life and process so many of life’s silly problems with.

I would let him see all of my baggage, wounds, and tears, but there was no way I was going to humble myself to let him serve me by washing my yucky feet.

(Thankfully in true DSS fashion, one of my advocates had a total meltdown and ran out of the room crying right as Fuller began to call the teachers forward. So naturally, I had to run out of the room after her. I thought I was off the hook from learning that lesson…Turns out I was wrong.)

Three weeks later, the phrase “Believe. Jesus is better.” came up so many times I could have sworn that everyone around me had been reading my mail.

At first, it came out of the mouth of one of my best friends, who just so happens to be on the other side of the world. Three hours later, it came from a friend in my Gospel Community at dinner. Two times in one day? I was willing to chalk it up to coincidence.

Then it came from my roommate… Then during worship at church… Then in a song an old friend sent me. Then during a theology class I’ve been attending on Monday nights. Jesus is better. Pray that your heart would believe.

The icing on the cake of “coincidence” came Tuesday afternoon when I stuck my hand into my mailbox and pulled out a maroon envelope addressed to me with no return address or explanation of where it had come from. The contents?

Jesusisbetter

Like a logical human being, I screamed and threw the letter on the ground upon reading it… And then I went to work on an unfruitful, mad hunt to figure out who sent the letter. Instead of answers, all that I got back were questions.

“How are you responding to this message?” one of my friends asked me after I rattled off my “Jesus is better” chain of events.

“I honestly don’t even know what to do. I don’t know what to think or how to feel or anything. I’m just overwhelmed…” I rambled through iMessenger, desperate for some sort of action I could take to understand this mess.

I do believe, God. I believe in You! I don’t know what the heck you want me to believe?! Something specific? Am I doing something wrong? What can I do to understand?! I sat and thought and thought…and thought.

In the midst of the stress that these last three weeks has caused me, I managed to spin myself into a tizzy.

“Hmmm… I don’t know, Kace. Maybe it’s more than an instruction but a confirmation. Maybe just to rest in the truth and lean into the truth that He is ALL you need.”

Great. Really helpful there bud, I thought snarkily as I read my friend’s text message, trying to process how to practically apply that to my life in addition to this Truth that “Jesus is Better”.

“You know, I can spin myself into a tizzy trying to figure this kind of stuff out…” He continued. “But then I recognize that by trying to figure out why something is happening, I lose focus on the One who is guiding me. Just turn and focus on Jesus… the rest will come.”

Mmmm good. So now I had a friend who was trying to wash my feet with Godly guidance and I was being told to stop working to figure it out and rest… Two more things that make my antsy, sinful heart twitch.

By the time last Thursday evening rolled around, the confusion, panic, and tizziness (I’ve decided that tizziness is a word; deal with it.) was piled just about as high as I could take it, but due to the nature of my month, I was fresh out of tears and emotional energy.

As I sat in rush hour traffic while trying to bust across town for parent/teacher conferences, the song “Jesus is Better” by Austin Stone Worship flipped on through the shuffle on my iPhone and I just about lost it.

“WHAT?!” I shouted in my car as I slammed my palm on my steering wheel. (Sidenote: Shouting in your car at a red light with all of your windows down? Yeah, not recommended… You’ll get some weird looks.) “WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME?!”

Stop working and running and spinning yourself into a tizzy. Just accept my Grace. My Grace is better than your works, so stop. Accept my Love and know that it will never fail when everything else does. Just accept it and stop trying to fight Me on it already. I am better. Just stop and let Me wash your feet…Let the people I have placed in your life wash your feet. Just stop, Kacy. Just stop and focus on Me…

 

“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith– and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God– not by works, so that no one can boast.” (Ephesians 2:8-9)

Make my heart believe.