Thunderstorm.

The thunder is grumbling and stirring in the sky,
deep rumbles and pounding until it builds to its climax.

Crash after crash it hollers so loudly it rattles the windows,
not to mention my bones.

The lightning is flashing like a magnificent burst of visual energy igniting the sky.
Then the lights go out.

I find myself admiring the brilliance of this thunderstorm.
It makes me think of Elijah hiding in a cave waiting for God to speak. Like in the thunder, God expressed His power and might amidst the wonders of nature. Earthquakes, mighty destructive wind, and a raging fire. Even now as I hear the thunder roar, I feel so very small. I sense a sliver of the immense power of the God behind this storm. He is the Almighty.

Yet, just as Elijah cowering in a cave experienced the power of our God.
The truth is God chose not to speak with an earth shattering display of nature.
Nope.

God chose to whisper. Mmmmm. I love that.
The Almighty God whose very Words created the fierce powers behind nature, who is Sovereign above all, commanding the wind and seas to obey His very Words, He likes to whisper.

I savor this paradox.
The Almighty expressing His power in the tenderness and intimacy of a whisper.
As I sit here in the dark watching the show, you better believe I'll be craning my ear for that whisper.

Mochudi, Botswana
According to the Five Senses

It is said that a picture is worth a thousand words. However, a captivating memory that instantly flashes a vivid picture of a time or a place that you once knew is often triggered by a sound, a smell, a delectable taste. I have found the myriad of memories stored in my mind like frames on a reel are captured as I experience life through the five senses God gave me. And so it is that I hope to take you on an adventure of my senses to my life living in the quaint little town (realistically a village) of Mochudi, Botswana where God has called my home. I want to share with you the things I have seen, smelled, heard, tasted, and felt over the past month and half. So here it is (in list form)...take a gander.

A Word from my Senses:

Sights of:
Kilometres and kilometres of green pastures, winding, pot hole-covered dirt roads, friendly faces of Mmas (Ma's) and Rra (Ra's) waving hello, tiny concrete homes, children flailing to wave frantically at the white people, birds flying and nesting in the roof nooks, cockroaches scurrying away from the spray of Doom, donkeys charging the vehicle, babies being carried on their Mama's backs, everything being carried on peoples' heads, children waiting impatiently for the gate to open for church, a small group of faithful church members gathering under the carport joyfully worshiping God, my cottage taking shape, breathtaking sunsets, God on the move in the bush of Botswana.

Smells of:
Burning rubbish and brush, cow manure, curry cooking, Joshua's dirty diapers, wet concrete smelling fresh and metallic, children smelling of sweet dirt and half eaten sweets, the stench of malfunctioning septic tanks, baby shampoo, sugary sugary Sunday school juice, toddlers relieving themselves in the yard, body odor (not my own FYI), hair relaxant, and fragrant roses from the garden.

Sounds of:
Roosters incessantly crowing from 4am on, birds screeching loudly, prolonged echoes of donkeys hee-hawing, persistent cow bells warning of meandering cow families, Joshua crying, cooing, laughing with delight, neighbor children singing praise songs from church outside the gate, hammering, pounding, scrapping cement, skill saws cutting with precision, shovels flinging sand, rocks, soil, and cement, Tyler playing the guitar, squeaking doors, neighbors shouting greetings in Setswana, taxi drivers racing down the dirt road blaring techno music, soccer fans cheering, rain pounding vertically and horizontally, thunder shaking the house, and every bug known to man buzzing in my ear.

Tastes of:
Chocolate chip cookies, tacos, pizza, lasagna, boervoers (African sausage), Pita sandwiches, banana bread, fried chicken, rice, beef stew, pudding cake, boiled bread (African style), curry chicken, fat cooks filled with mince meat (fried bread with ground beef), guavas (glory, guavas!), African fusion sauce, brownies, chapati (fat tortillas), and dry, tasteless Sunday School biscuits.
(Ok, that is totally just yummy Jorgensen food for the most part!
Needless to say, I am eating quite well!)

Feelings of:
Soft baby skin oiled with lotion, rough heads covered with braids and coarse curls, tiny hands grasping mine, guitar strings digging grooves in my poor fingers, hand shakes of kind, sincere new friends, sand and dirt between my toes, clothes pins clamping on sopping wet clothing, rough concrete-covered walls soon to be my cottage, plastic church chairs lovingly arranged, wrinkled, peeling hands from dish washing, refreshing air con wind bringing relief in the heat, humidity to transform my hair into an afro, thorns jabbing into the soles of my feet, damp air in the stillness after the rain, joy and a bubbling brook of hope. Such great hope.

Identity.

Who am I? Who am I becoming? After living for 27 years on the planet, I thought I would have more things figured out. I may not have the answers to these questions, but I know the One who does. I may not be certain of my identity, but I know who is forming and creating it. It is not common for me to be one whose identity gets caught up in a passing trend or shifts like the wind when insecurity comes. However, I find myself wondering if the way that I see myself today is the same way that God sees me.

Through the years, I have found myself wearing a variety of hats with names to apply. As a child, I was “Little Javens,” a not-so beloved title that identified me as the baby sister to my older and much cooler big brothers. I have been a “Babysitter” to the masses, “Nanny” to the rest, “Teacher” or “Miss” to children all over the globe. I have been “Sweet Pea” to my Mum, and “Jen” to my Dad. I have been a “Missionary” to gracious friends who have learned to love Africa, and most recently become a “Pastor.” Each name tells a different story of a season of my life. Some names better reflect who I really am while others I have left behind to move forward into something bigger that God had. At the end of the day, however, when I lay my head on the pillow, who am I?

Don't fear, I have not found myself in the middle of an identity crisis of any kind. In fact, it has been in recent years that I have become quite comfortable being in my own skin. The truth that I know I belong to God has allowed the wrestling with these questions to subside. I suppose the better question is, who do I want to be? If the world must apply a label, what do I want to be know for?

As I sit here and ponder these questions, my spirit percolates and simmers on two main ideas:

The first truth I know is that I must be known as the Beloved of God. I find this name has such power to restore me. While I wouldn't mind others calling me this, in actuality there is only One who can whisper this name in such a way as to settle me. When I forget who I am, or insecurity threatens my certain steps, it is that powerful whisper of, “Beloved,” that transforms me. I remember who I am in God, who I was created to be, and the pressure of this world to be something great fades away. For as His Beloved, I receive the privilege of reciprocating the name. God is and always will be my Beloved as well.
The second truth is found in Psalm 34:5, it says,

“Those who look to Him are Radiant.”

That's it. I want to be known as Radiant. Not because I am pretty, or extremely gifted, not because my friends think I am wonderful or I give my life for God. I want to be radiant because I am consistently found looking to Him. The One who formed me and called me by name. Just like Moses' face radiated because he had met with God, I ache for my life to so radiate the presence of God that it sweetly draws people to Him. Seasons of life may come and go. My name and title may shift here and there. Whether I am 27 or 94, I will be found looking to Him, my Beloved, and soaking up the truth that whoever I am, I am His.

Whispers in the Storm.

They should have never set sail from Fair Havens.

For now the rains poured, winds raged on, waves buffeting the ship to and fro, the cargo already tossed overboard, the ship reinforced with ropes, the future looked bleak.

There was little chance of survival. Yet, in the midst of this raging storm, God spoke a promise.

Paul, a prisoner aboard this ship headed for trial before Caesar, heard the whispered promise. He not only heard, but Believed. It took courage, for he knew that as a child and servant of the King, the promises of God stand. God had said that though the wind, rain, and waves continue in their violent course, though the ship be destroyed, all aboard their ship would survive.

As Paul confidently and faithfully proclaimed the whispered promise amidst his fellow travelers, it was as though nature begged to differ. The winds blew harder, the waves crashed with terror, and the ship began to creak and break under the pressure. Fear had set in. The sailors frantically heaving anchors and trying to stay afloat caught sight of the lifeboats.

Lifeboats. Freedom. Safety. Salvation amidst chaos and uncertainty.
Plan B in case God failed to show up.
Yes, they had all heard the whisper of hope in the storm, but just in case.
After all, circumstances now contradicted the promise.

Paul knew better. He knew the One in whom he had put his trust. He knew that God would do exactly what He had promised. Reaching out in faith he stood firm. Demanding that the sailors stay aboard.

With one clip the ropes were cut as the lifeboats fell deep into the raging sea. No Plan B. It was time for God to show up. It was time for the whispers in the storm to become reality. As the storm carried on its attack, the night seemed endless. Then, with a thin line of hope piercing through the darkness, morning dawned. Land appeared, the ship run aground in its fragile frame, and the men swam to shore.
All had survived without a scratch.

Though I have never set sail, I have found myself amidst storms of life. Not just any storms but storms of circumstances that seem to target and undermine the promises of God for me. I have ached to hear the promises shouted from Heaven, written on the wall, appearing in the fire. As the storms have raged on, I repeatedly hear the faintest whisper. Whispers of hope, of direction, of my heart's desires.

All I see contradicts what I have heard. I catch sight of a lifeboat...a way for me to rescue myself, accomplish the things I long for, that I've asked God for. Then I see the gaze of the Promiser. He requires no Plan B. He doesn't waste His time whispering to me. He means what He has said. With one willful decision I cut ties to any lifeboats. I will, like Paul, believe.

In some areas of life I have seen the promises of God become reality. For all the other whispers, it is time for God to show up and accomplish all that He has spoken. He will. I am certain of it in my life and yours. Sever your ties to any Plan B. God is not slow in keeping His promises. He is faithful and His Word stands true.

Home

There is no place like home,

there is no place like home.

Even still I can see those sparkling ruby slippers click, click as these words are repeated in my mind. Home. Such a small word that can stir up such a myriad of memories to tickle the senses. Perhaps it's the smell of your mom's famous cookies baking in the oven, the sound of your family and friends laughing in the living room, the feel of your childhood comforter snuggled tight to your chin, or the faces that remind you who you were and love you how your are. Home, I truly love it.

Over the past years, I have found myself away from home more than I ever thought I would. Having always considered myself a Homebody I have been struck with how little I have been “home.” With the uncertainties of life I have been challenged to discover how I can establish, enjoy, and rest in the many homes I have inhabited. From guest rooms to living rooms to blow up mattresses to fungus-filled apartments, my many “homes” in the last year have challenged what I had previously considered my security and place of refuge. How does a Homebody turn into a humble transient with joy and delight? Here is my secret...I found it in Psalm 119:54,

“Your decrees are the theme of my song, no matter where I lodge.”

It may seem cheesy and simplistic, but for me it has been what has allowed me to walk in the security, refuge and consistency that a home should offer. My home is securely fastened to the One who travels with me, Jesus Christ. I find His very words become like bricks to surround and form about me the protective walls of my house. His promises are my foundation which hold me steadfast. His whispers decorate the walls with comfort and joy. God is my shelter, the one who settles my spirit no matter where I lodge. His very decrees are the theme-song (I've always wanted one of those) for my life whether in Bend, OR or Botswana, Africa.

I love Him and am only at home in His presence.

I find it a profound mystery that God could take a homebody from Beaverton, OR and cause me to travel the world...setting up home here and there. God has shown me that my home is first in Him and then in those people who He surrounds me with. From Portland to Bend to Botswana. I am richly blessed to have homes filled with people I love that I can always return to. The homesick ache I often feel to be this place or that with people I miss, reminds me too that this world is not our home. When all this passes away, God and His Word will still remain. On that day, my home will still be standing.

Smells of Cilantro.

The night smelled not of winter as I suspected it would...

it smelled of cilantro.

I know, strange.
I thought it was just in the church parking lot but alas,
it smelled like cilantro at my house too.

What does that mean?

Laundry with Jesus.

In the past week I have been struck with the simplicity and yet profound mystery of just being with Jesus.

I have been overwhelmed at the thought that God of the universe wants to be with me. He does! He was with me in the ordinary and I sensed His nearness and delight in me at the strangest of moments...



He was there when I browsed around at Target.
( I am sure Jesus loves Target, I mean it's Target.)

He was there when I ate lunch with His Word at Quiznos.

He was there when I slept in and then drank a cup of Paris tea.

He joined me in the laundry room as I sorted my clothes.

He spoke to me as I attempted to tame the mane He gave me.

He encouraged me as I obediently headed off to work.

In the past week I have enjoyed the treasure it is to recognize that my "time with Jesus" is not limited to the moments I spend in the morning with Him. I have grown tired of compartmentalizing my life in such a way to miss out on the truth that Jesus IS and wants to be with me.

We can chat, laugh, cry, sing together no matter what mundane activities are a part of each day. I don't understand it, but I sensed Him there. What a mystery. Jesus wants to be so near.

Whatever your days seem to look like, invite Jesus along. It makes it so much sweeter.