Friday, March 30, 2012

So I am moving to Asheville

The Adventure Continues....
For I am About to do Something New~ Isaiah 43:19

At the beginning of February I found myself in a place of semi-desperation.  I knew God was calling me to some other challenge. To something new. But I kept encountering dead ends. Until one night I literally stumbled on to a webpage (Honestly I  was looking for something else) for a house for minor domestic sex trafficking victims in Asheville, NC called Hope House.  In the weeks that followed, after many conversations with them and after LOTS of prayer, they have asked me to come on staff as one of the Resident Directors.  I will live at the house, but unlike at Heartlight I will have mornings and weekends off.
It will also be a lot smaller, as only four girls can live at Hope House at a time.  However, the therapeutic journey will be a lot more extreme and difficult  because of the traumatic experiences these girls have been through.  If you are interested to know how you can help me or the girls at Hope House please email me at Also take a look at their website:

 The Sale of American Children
12-14 years old is the average age of entry into pornography and prostitution.
100,000 to 300,000 children in America are at risk for sex trafficking each year.  
In the U.S., the sale of child pornography is a $3 billion annual industry  
55% of the child pornography on the Internet comes from the US                                                                             There are less than 50 beds available in the U.S for victims.

I am really excited about this next chapter of my life and I am humbled about what God is doing. I will try to  continue to post periodically (maintaining a high level of confidentiality) about what  is going on in the next season. Please keep me in your prayers as I embark on this new journey. 

Monday, March 19, 2012

Stand Where I've Stood

Recently, I have been wearing these shoes. They remind me where I have been.

When I was in college I went on two mission trips to Huancayo, Peru.  On the first trip I wore theses shoes. I wore them up and down mountains, in cities and through countryside, in different airports and on a large bus that I was a little afraid I might not get off of.  But the most significant place I wore them was to a orphanage.  When I walked through those orphanage gates, my shoes looked different. They did not have bright red laces. Those came later. They had black ones.

We spent most of that day  playing with children of all ages at the orphanage. That's what I remember anyway. I also remember this little girl who had trouble running and keeping up with the other kids. At first I couldn't understand why. She didn't seem to have a disability of any sort.

And then I noticed her shoes. In the place where her laces should have been, there were only pitiful thin pieces of twine. Barely holding her shoes together. My shoes felt snug and tight on my feet. I could run for miles, but she struggled to run a few feet without her shoes flopping around and tripping her up.

The missionaries had told us to be careful about just giving things away. That we should ask someone before we gave something away to be sure that no one took advantage of us. I didn't even think about this warning as I knelt down beside the little girl and started unlacing my shoes. She sat down next to me and caught on pretty quickly to what I was doing. She chatted excitedly to a friend near her, pointing and gesturing as I looped those shoelaces into her shoes. She didn't seem to care at all how dark and black my shoelaces were. She was just over-joyed that the key to running and climbing and keeping up with the other kids was being laced and tied into the eyelets of her worn shoes as she sat waiting.

And as all giving should, this giving left a void.  This giving was a sacrifice.  I now had no shoelaces, in a third world country where they are harder to come by then you would think. Later that afternoon, a few members of my team and I had to go tromping around downtown to try and find me some new laces (this was my one pair of tennis shoes). We went in shoe store after shoe store.
"Shoelaces?" We asked.
And storeowner after storeowner shook their heads.
Finally, in the last store on a row of stores, an older man opened a large bag and pulled out a pair of bright red shoelaces. Being a Georgia Bulldawg and a "Red" at summer camp, these did not bother me in the least. And I have not changed them since.

When I look at these shoes they remind me that giving should alway be a sacrifice, that even if you have to look for it, provision comes if you trust God, and your shoes can tell a story as well as change a life.