“Thank you for clean water. Thank you for heaters. Thank you for warm blankets. Thank you for hot water. Thank you for clean clothes…”
On any other occasion these platitudes would have sounded like mindless ramblings on a random day in November on a Facebook post spouting on and on about thankfulness. But tonight. Tonight these were very real, very tangible expressions of thankfulness that were pouring out of my heart like a faucet.
I have lived out of a backpack in some of the world’s poorest countries and lived in some of the simplest conditions for the past year and a half. But for the first time in my life, tonight, I could feel the thankfulness like a heavy blanket. A sudden, very real awareness came over me. My perspective was beginning to radically shift.
Iraq.
I live in Iraq.
There is a very long series of events that has led to me being able to type that sentence. God’s ways are truly not our ways. This is never a sentence that I would ever have hoped to write even a year ago. But now, here I am, living God’s plan for my life. It is always wild and crazy and messy and beautiful and perfect all at the same time. And so much farther beyond anything I could have ever possibly imagined for myself.
Fourteen months ago, God spoke to me in Honduras. One night, on a grassy hill in the full moonlight, I sat in God’s presence and wept. I was in awe. I wanted Him to stay there with me. His presence was so tangible and beautiful. I knew He wanted to talk with me about something. And then He asked me if I would be willing to follow Him, no matter the cost. I knew what this meant. Instantly I felt a solemness come over the moment. This was a serious question, and I knew God wanted a serious answer. So I thought about it a while and searched my heart. And I came to a conclusion.
Almost trembling, I said, “My desire is to do Your will. And Your will is that none would perish but all would come to know You. And if that means I have to sacrifice my money, time, health, having a husband or a family one day, or even my life, I am willing.”
A beautiful peace came over me, as if God was pleased. And then, just like that, He was gone.
I meant what I said that night. I really did. But I had no idea what God had in store.
“…Thank you for electricity. Thank you for safety. Thank you for peace.”
My mind was growing weary of living in uncertain conditions, my body was growing weary of ice cold showers, and my heart was growing weary of not having a place to stay and call ‘home‘.
I fell asleep that night with an overwhelming awareness of thankfulness to God for the simplest, but in many cases, greatest blessings in life.
My sleep did not last long though. I was half woken up by loud crashings shaking the walls. In my sleep, I couldn’t decipher if it was an insanely loud thunder storm or bombs going off right outside our house. It seemed to drag on the entire night, but I was never fully awake enough to realize what was actually happening. But fear gripped me the entire night, like a vice.
This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. A few short weeks earlier, in Spain, the same thing happened. One of the loudest thunderstorms I have ever heard dragged on for hours through the night and literally was shaking the walls and rattling the window by my bed. But I was never fully awake enough to realize it was only a thunderstorm. Again, I was worried that we were under attack and being bombed. The next day I had talked with one of my roommates about it and without thinking, I asked myself, “If I were in that situation in real life, would I have the courage to run towards the bombings to help the people?” That had been my dream- crisis relief as a critical care nurse. But now, here I was, almost paralyzed in fear, by a thunderstorm in my sleep. Once in Spain, and now here again, in Iraq.
The stories I have heard since I have stepped foot in this war-torn country have only sought to solidify this fear.
The countless melancholy eyes I have looked into that seem so void of hope as they tell their story of how they came here seeking refuge from the war, some almost seven years ago, and most of them have been separated from husbands and children for that same amount of time- many of them now dead- while they remain here. Sitting. Waiting. In limbo. In a place that is not their own. In a foreign country where no one speaks their language or understands their culture. In make-shift housing that was meant to be temporary but now has become sad reminders of how long this war has drug on.
The fear and courage that I have seen behind the eyes of the man who worries that his family will come to kill him when they find out he has forsaken his violent Muslim upbringing and decided to follow a loving Jesus.
The own disbelief and bewilderment I feel in my soul when I hear of yet, another, “honor killing”. In which, in most cases, a woman has somehow brought shame on her family- which could be anything from as simple as someone making a false accusation against her or her being alone in a room with a man or being raped. These are all deemed “worthy” of death in this culture. And this is then carried out by the father or brother of the woman. This seems to be the only way to restore “honor” back to the family- violent bloodshed between fathers and daughters and brothers and sisters.
It has taken a few weeks to get my feet under me here in Iraq. The world is a big place and I have been a lot of places, but this is my first time in a war zone.
It is not uncommon to go to bed at night listening to what sounds like fireworks but is more than likely gunfire.
This is the world that I stepped into nearly three weeks ago.
The girl who loves thunderstorms and is not easily scared by many things, but especially not by thunderstorms. The girl who grew up reading “Jesus Freaks” and whose heroes were the Christian martyrs. Whose favorite Bible characters were the sold out John the Baptist and the crazy Saul turned radical Paul. The girl who had just bravely stepped out over a year ago and gladly told God she would lay it all on the line, to take up her cross and follow Him. The girl who came to the Middle East, to Iraq no doubt, all by herself on a pioneer trip, because God had laid the Middle East and Muslims on her heart just a few short months earlier.
This girl. This girl was now standing directly in the center of God’s will, but completely dazed and confused and stumbling backward by a powerful wave of fear. No, fear is not strong enough of a word to describe. This wasn’t just fear. This was sadistic fear. This was terror.
It seemed easy enough to romanticize the idea of martyrdom when I was thousands of miles away on a different continent, separated by an ocean, in a country that has known nothing but peace for generations. But now I was here. This was it. Where the rubber meets the road.
This was war. But this wasn’t just any war. ISIS doesn’t follow any of the “rules of war”. They take and they kill and they do whatever they want. They are horrific beyond imagination. Mercy is not in their vocabulary. And Christians or “infidels” as they refer to us, were at the very core of their hatred and hostility.
It had been so easy to love Muslims in West Africa and so fun to share Jesus with Muslims in Southeast Asia. But Muslims who were ISIS? Could I love them too?
God had prepared me for this moment. This past September 11th, I was awake in my room in Spain, due to terrible jet lag, at 2 a.m. and I found myself watching video after video of live footage from 9/11. It was going on hour three of watching these videos, with tears streaming down my face, when I couldn’t watch anymore. My heart could not bear the darkness and the horrific things that had taken place that day. My heart physically ached. I sat and cried and cried for the lives lost and what people had to experience and witness that day. I thought to myself, “How could a human being ever do that to another human being?”
God gently spoke to my heart.
“I love those people.“
Whaaaat? God, did you see what they did?? How is that much evil even possible??
And then I thought to myself… these are the people that God had called me to just a few months ago. I had told people on multiple occasions, “I love Muslims!” I couldn’t explain it, it was just an overwhelming feeling of love that I had for them and knew I was called to share Jesus with them!
But these people… these were Muslims too. Not just the dirty truckers from West Africa or the simple Islanders of southeast Asia, but also- terrorists.
I had to find a place in my heart to love these people. Because God hadn’t just called me to love the nice or easy Muslims- He has called me to love all Muslims.
That night I could find no love in my heart or forgiveness for these men. And I told God that. But I also told Him that I would try.
So here I was again- could I show love and forgiveness here?
This was the Gospel. This was what Jesus came to show us. A love that transcends. A love that forgives over and over and over again. A love that refuses to payback evil for evil. Jesus came to show us the heart of God- love and forgiveness for everyone.
As I pondered some of these thoughts and shared some of my fears with one of the missionaries here, she briefly interrupted me and asked, “Have you taken authority?”
I tried to respond, but stuttered. I had to stop and think, had I taken authority?
“You know… No, I don’t think I have?”
She then proceeded to pray for me and agree with me for this spirit of fear and terror to leave.
Later that night, I stood in my cold Iraqi room. And with what little mustered confidence I had, I said, “In the name of Jesus…”
Boom. Instant darkness. The power had gone out. It was as if the enemy was toying with me. Trying to show off his power and again set the fangs of fear in deeper.
So. I proceeded.
“In the name of Jesus, I take authority and I command any demonic spirit to leave and not come back.”
Boom. Light. The power had come back on. And the spirit of fear had disappeared.
A breath of fresh air. Finally. I began to be able to see through the fog, and things became clearer, more focused.
Iraq is a crazy new world, but my God is still good. His plans are still good. And His love never fails. I am on a journey. I am not perfect and I am still wrestling with how to find love and forgiveness for people who carry out such horrendous acts in the name of God and if my faith would be strong enough to bear Christ’s beautiful name in the midst of it all. Thank God His grace is sufficient and will carry me through.
But for now, I know my enemy and I know how to defeat him.
“For I have not given you a spirit of fear, but of power, and love, and a sound mind.”
-Almighty God
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I am finishing up month 1 of 3 here in Iraq and praise God, because of your prayer and partnership with me on this incredible adventure, I only have $1,493 left to raise to be fully funded for my time here in Iraq and my last three months back in Spain!
God is so good!
If you would like to make an end of year donation and help me reach my goal, all donations are 100% tax-deductible!
1. Click the link below
https://www.generation42.org/donations
2. Scroll down until you find my name and picture
3. Subscribe to my new blog to keep getting updates from Iraq!
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Thank you so much for your incredible love and support in 2018! It’s so hard to believe this year is almost at an end! But wow, I can’t wait to see what God has in store for 2019.
Paul’s prayer is my prayer:
“Pray also for me, that whenever I speak, words may be given me so that I will fearlessly make known the mystery of the Gospel, for which I am an ambassador in chains. Pray that I may declare it fearlessly, as I should.”
Ephesians 6:19-20
Love and Courage from Iraq <3
