The ministry of freedom

Is it me, or does that title sound like something from a Harry Potter Novel? (I guess it makes me think of the Ministry of Magic. . .)

But I digress.

I have always been a warrior.

For as long as I can remember, actually, and I can remember pretty far back. I was never your typical girl. I played with He-Man instead of Barbie dolls. I was the first one in any gathering of kids who would pick up a stick and pretend it was a sword. I preferred little plastic shields to security blankets. I took dance for about five years, (only so I could get a trophy on stage at the recital) and when that was over, I promptly told my parents: "I'd like to be in Karate."

There is this innate desire to fight inside me. I loved watching movies about war and violence compared to Disney's little princess epics. I played many video games where I could be the Hero who saves the day. I think that even when I was a little kid in grade school, there was something inside me that echoed the words: Fight. I'm beginning to wonder if my misplaced sense of battle led to me being the childhood bully. Justice was always sought out promptly. When someone would hurt me or my friends, or break the rules, I'd swiftly doll out justice as only a little kid can, by shoving the evil doer over into the sand box.

The fact that I was a girl never even crossed my mind.

I've always been tough, physically. Mentally, well, that's a different story, but even when I would feel the pressure of injustice in my life, whether it was against me or others, I could easily sink into the recesses of my mind, where I was the hero and where nobody could touch me. I have written so many fabulous stories upon the pages of my brain because I would spend so much time in another world.

Saving the day.

It used to always cross my mind, this idea of how abnormal I may be. I would look around and see other girls my age, interested in so many (what I thought were) frivolous things. Makeup? Hair? Boys? (well, I was interested in boys, but not the same way they were.) Those things slipped past my curiosity as I was consumed with sketching out Wolverine Comics or making up fantastically heroic tales where knights murdered dragons. (but not all dragons, some dragons were good.)

And there was that word, the splinter in my mind: Fight. Fight. Fight.

Is that normal for a girl?

Adolescence was a battlefield for me. I struggled every day to gain love, acceptance, and understanding from those around me, not limited to my friends, and especially from my parents. I just don't think anyone really knew what to do with me. I didn't know what to do with myself, really. I even left Karate for awhile, because I had burnt myself out, but it was less than a year before I was back in the dojo again. I just had to fight something. Even as a Christian, I felt myself in a war against my flesh and my spirit. Oh so many times, have I let my flesh win? They are far too numerous to count. It just seemed to be the theme of my life. I remember the first real bible study I ever went to, and as the icebreaker they went around the room and asked us: "If you could describe your life in one word, what would it be?" Do you know what my word was?

"War."

The room was kind of silent for a moment, and I recall feeling so out of place.

"Do you mean, like a world war?" The moderator asked, "Or. . ."

I could see he was struggling, so I decided to salvage him and clarify. "You know that scene, at the end of the Lord of The Rings movie, where there are the forces of darkness as far as the eye can see, and you look over to the side of good, and there's like, a handful of people?"

He responded he had.

"Like that. My life is a war like that." (Fortunately, I found out later that he really liked movies like Lord of the Rings and Star Wars, so we became friends.)

But really, who thinks that way?

For awhile, I had struggled with that part of me. I of course continued to draw my warriors, with their weapons, and their enemies, as fierce and as terrifying as I could possibly make them. I found it really gave me a connection to those wonderful boys in Bolivia. . . as they loved to look at my pictures wide eyed. "Suave, Tia, Me gusta mucho." they would tell me. (Which translates, "this is cool, I like this one.")

One day, as I was sharing my artwork at the orphanage and before I could understand any Spanish, the Orphanage Director's wife was looking at my artwork and said something.

I don't recall who translated it for me, but she had said: "You have a ministry of Freedom."

"What?" I remember thinking, and I must have voiced that out loud, because apparently she explained. Something about how I was always drawing battle, or warriors, or things fighting other things. It meant (to her at least,) that I had a ministry of freedom.

I didn't chew on that very long, because though I wondered what it meant, I didn't understand how to translate THAT into my life.

"So I have a ministry of freedom. That's great. What am I supposed to do with THAT? Join the army?" Those were some of my serious thoughts as I attempted to comprehend what truth this woman of God was attempting to speak into my life.

So I packed it away when I packed my suitcase and I left it there for awhile.

I mean, it makes total sense, really. Of course I have a Ministry of Freedom. Of course I want to fight and prevail. Of course I want to "free" something, to "bring justice" to the wicked. But how does one go about that in modern day 2oth century North American culture?

I had no idea.

Until this Thursday.

I have been leading a book study (on the book Boundaries) with a handful of other girls. Every Thursday we get together and do the cliché, sit around a Starbucks and air our dirty laundry under a Christian pre-tense. It has been a glorious thing really, but something happened this Thursday that brought a new found clarity to my "Ministry."

We were all sharing about the crap we've been through in our lives, whether it was a relationship that ended poorly, or choices we've made that shouldn't have been made, or even admitting that we feel unloved.

And it hit me, as these lovely, beautiful, talented women were sharing, that nearly EVERYTHING they have experienced, I have too, in some form or another. We've ALL been struggling. We've all been fighting.

We've all been waging a war.

And I think I've been on the front line.

I got this beautiful image in my head, of me standing there, sword in hand, eyes set upon the horizon. Waiting for the enemy to advance. For once, I realized, this is exactly where I was meant to be.

I could see the others behind me, reluctant, but ready for battle, ready to take on the demons in their lives that told them they weren't beautiful, told them they weren't worth fighting for. And as I stood there, fearless, I watched as one of them stepped forward, slowly, admitting that they were terrified, but they were willing to fight too.

And the others fell in line.

I witnessed these women, willing to fight for themselves. They were free from the fear of the horde. They sensed that freedom was just on the other side of the battlefield, and they were ready to fight.

That's when those words, the "Ministry of Freedom" rang through my head. This is what she was talking about. I had been called to fight, not just to fight but to prevail. And when I have overcome, I am to fight for the others who aren't strong enough to fight for themselves, until they too can stand upon their feet, and pull their friends along beside them.

This is what this means. I have never felt so fulfilled in all of my life before. I am watching my beloved friends become warriors, and I am loving every moment of it.

John 16:33 "These things I have spoken to you, so that in Me you may have peace. In the world you have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world."

Holy Reservation

A couple of weeks ago, I got an email from Chick-Fil-A about a new "Spicy Chicken Sandwich" and how you needed to print out the email to reserve one of these delectable delights for your very own.

I didn't think much about it. After all, I've sort of had my fill of Chick-Fil-A because of the recent spirit nights, random drive through runs with my roommate Megan, and having to pick up a fireplace (long Story)

So needless to say, I didn't reserve my Spicy Chicken Sandwich, despite my love for those Cows with poor grammar and my affinity for all things spicy.

So today, I was supposed to get off of work early. I didn't, at least, not as early as I would have liked. I left early enough, however, to be able to drive ALL THE WAY OUT WEST to the mall where I had hosted one of my spirit nights two weeks ago. I rarely have ANY extra time nowadays, with all the working and fundraising and socializing I've been putting into my schedule.

Lately, I've decided that while I'm in the car, I'm going to either leave the radio off, or listen to music that I find "worshipful" or "uplifting." Today was a no music day. I try to "Pray" when the music is off, because I've found with all my extra "socializing", that I seem to have a TON of new friends, all with their own problems, issues, and what not.

How many people have I told that I would pray for them? How many of those prayers go unsaid because I forget? Feeling very convicted, I prayed all the way to Chick-Fil-A, (which is a 30 minute drive both ways) and realized that most of my prayers go something like this:

"Lord please be with So and so's uncle who is still in rehab. Please be with my Godson Lider, and all of the other boys in the orphanage. Remember my friend, who is struggling to understand what it means to have faith in you. . ."

And the list goes on. I never really know what God thinks of those two second prayers. I mean, what else am I supposed to say to Him that He doesn't ALREADY know?

As I arrive at Chick-Fil-A, I go up to the counter, expecting it to be busy because today is the day where all those people who DID reserve their "Spicy Chicken Sandwich" finally get to tantalize their taste buds. Surprisingly, there wasn't much of a crowd. So I wait in line patiently, and lo and behold, one of the kids (Katie) who I work with in youth group appears from behind the counter.

Katie, and her twin sister Hannah, work at this Chick-Fil-A part time. "Have you tried the new chicken spicy chicken sandwich?" Katie asks.

"No," I reply.

"Well it's gross. It's really spicy. Remember how they had that 'Spiciest Hot Sauce on the Planet' stuff at youth group a couple of weeks ago? And how all the boys that tried it were crying and throwing up? That's how spicy it is."

That comment makes me smile. Katie has a tendency to exaggerate. "I doubt it's that spicy," I say. However, I'm fully intrigued, because I really want to know how spicy it really is, however I watch as another customer tries to order the sandwich, and the Chick-Fil-A associate politely tells her that "We're not actually SELLING it yet. We only have enough for the people who 'RESERVED' one. Seeing as how my stomach was still full from a four seasons lunch, I wasn't all that interested anyway.

"I'm sure I'll try it in the future," I wonder aloud to Katie, who is walking up to her sister and her mom, who's there to pick them up from work.

Turns out, her mom was chatting with the Marketing Director, Angela, whom I've only spoken with on the phone. Angela was the nice woman who set up my Spirit night, so it was actually nice to put a name to a face.

We chatted for awhile, about things I certainly can't remember, though I do recall telling her about how amazing my life is. "I get to paint, play with children, and do missions. My life is fantastic." As we're talking, up walks Angela's husband, (to my shame I can't remember his name.. I think I'll call him Ray) who is holding his very own Spicy Chicken Sandwich.

After introductions, Angela quickly switches topics: "Oh Kirsten! Have you tried our new Spicy Chicken Sandwich??"

Are you kidding? "No, I haven't actually. I didn't reserve one. . ." I kind of mumble, chuckling to myself. I'm slowly convincing myself that all the hype around this sandwich is going to cause it to fall flat on its face.

"You have to try one!" she continues. "Go up to the counter and just ask for one! Or better yet, HERE. . ." she says as she takes the sandwich out of her husband's hands and thrusts it into mine.

I try to refuse. "Well, actually, I don't want to take his sandwich," (to which she answers, "He'll get another!") and "But I just ate. . ." and that's the truth. "Besides, I just started a diet with my roommates and I know they'll be upset if I sneak a sandwich. . . ."

At that point, I think I had given up and reluctantly took the sandwich I didn't really want. Simply because of the calories, and I knew I wouldn't be able to resist eating it. . . it just smelled so good.

After a few more kind words, I tote the warm sandwich, fresh in wrapper and place it next to the OTHER leftovers I had from lunch at the hotel (where I work.)

I begin driving home, and I resume my prayers. "Dear Lord, please remember my brothers. . . oh I don't even know what to say anymore." And I start over with all of the people I had promised to pray for.

Then something happened. I got really tired of praying for people. There are just so many! I began to get a little frustrated. . . my prayers became more desperate. "God, how can I possibly remember to pray for all of these people? I don't understand how I'm supposed to keep up. . . I don't understand how YOU can keep up!"

I think, what happened, is that somewhere along the highway lines I started praying for real. God began to show me my weaknesses, and began to reveal a fraction of the Love that He has for others. Somehow, he keeps us all in His hands, our lives, the lives of the people in the cars next to us. I begin to think about the severity of my sin, and I begin to thank God for choosing someone like me. I am so surrounded by His love. He gave me a freaking Spicy Chicken Sandwich. God cares enough about me to bless me with little notes of affection, things I enjoy, because He somehow finds joy in ME.

Who am I to stand in that knowledge? Who am I to stand in His stead, and preach His suffering and His salvation? Do I have the courage to take up that suffering? Do I REALLY want what I SAY I want?

And then a stark reality hit me. One of my newest and dearest friends and I had a conversation a couple of nights ago about JUST HOW SERIOUS the bible should be taken. If it REALLY is the Word of God, then SHOULDN'T we be doing what it says?? Why AREN'T we praying for the sick and then they are miraculously healed? Why AREN'T we loving our neighbor as ourselves? Why AREN'T we casting out demons?

I didn't really have an answer for her then. I think I might now. Because she's right. Why aren't we taking this Gospel, this Good news, as SERIOUS as it should be taken? We have the answer to LIFE, not just in the reality of hell, but LIFE MORE ABUNDANTLY, HERE on earth! There is a better way! Why aren't we taking hold of that and PREACHING it like there is no tomorrow? Because for some of us, there really IS NO tomorrow??

Tears began to stream from my eyes as my prayers turned into, "Dear Jesus, I love you. Please, I WANT this to be real, I don't want this to be something I just talk about. I want to know you better, I want to fast, I want to read my bible. I want to love others as YOU have loved them!! Please, make this real!"

My answer didn't come audibly, for once. Rather, it came in the form of a man on the side of the road. He had a bright yellow shirt, and was sitting on a five gallon bucket with a HUGE white sign that simply said: HUNGRY

I instantly pulled over (after a few u-turns, as I had seen him after I had already driven past) and I opened my window. Trying to keep my composure, I asked him: "How hungry are you?"

"What?" he replied.

I picked up my leftovers first to show him, and he rushed over to my car. Then I looked down at my warm, Spicy Chicken Sandwich. "What is your name?" I asked him.

"Pablo."

"Do you like spicy food, Pablo?"

"Yeah!"

"Well I have one of these new Spicy Chicken Sandwiches from Chick-Fil-A. Would you like that?"

"Yes! God bless you!"

"Do you want this too?" I held up my turkey wrap (which looks really healthy)

"Uh, no. You can keep that."

"God Bless you, Pablo."

He waved, and I was off.

My prayers turned into: "Dear Lord, please be with Pablo. Let him. . . oh I don't know. I don't know what he needs. But You do."

I didn't ever make a reservation for one of those stupid sandwiches. But apparently, Pablo had. I just didn't know it. I continued on to home, asking God to forgive a wretched soul like me, and thanking Him for doing so. I love God. To love someone is to obey them when they ask something of you. Why shouldn't I give the world up? It's so small compared to what I have already been given.

The Dichotomy Of Self

These past few weeks have been a whirlwind of activity. I have been told I needed to write more by multiple people, and I always wonder what it is they really want to hear from me.
I've been overwhelmed with so many blessings, while at the same time, I seem to be struggling with the overwhelming of my spirit as well.
I don't know what bodes so ill for me, as I can look at my life now and finally see myself in the mirror, as opposed to the wretched sinner I once was. I can truly like the person I see, and yet, I know the flesh awaits in the corner, ready to pounce.
I believe it all started with the youth camping trip, as it was the first night I got to use the tent my parents bought me. An amazing, expensive tent, with which I find no joy because I feel like my parents purchased it for me out of guilt. . . and so I wonder how many times this next year I will stare at the mustard yellow interior of that ripstop wall and hate myself for manipulating my mom and dad into purchasing this for me.
That, coupled with no sleep on a cold (nay, FREEZING) ground and muffled country music made me realize at 4am, that I will be doing this for 11 MONTHS. I can't sleep for ONE NIGHT, and I want to do this for 11 MONTHS? Falling into temptation, I realize that I can't even muster the self control I pretended to have for so many months.
Going home, looking at other World Racer photos with my new roommate, made me realize I was going to be leaving these new (and amazing) friendships behind.
Are you kidding me, God? I FINALLY feel healthy enough to actually have REAL friendships, based on Your love instead of co-dependency? And I have to leave them all behind for a YEAR?
AND IT'S ALREADY MARCH?
Who are these people that continue to sing MY praises? Don't they know who YOU are?
And today. . . after all the terrible dreams I can't suddenly seem to ignore, I watch as a man crashes on his bike in the middle of a busy intersection. He isn't moving, his head is cut and the parched concrete seems to vomit this man's life blood all over the ground.
And people just drive on by. . .
What is this life You have given me, Lord? Just a year ago, I remember crying out to You, telling you I can't, and You repeating, "I can do all things through Christ." A simple and strange Dichotomy, my life has become. I can see the Spirit move and the Flesh cower. I feel my sinful nature revolt against my soul and the war has become clearer than ever, but NEVER have the stakes seemed so high.
How I revel in my Health but how I long to return to the strange satisfaction of my shame.
Oh my Lord, please remind me that all of my hope is in you. I thirst for you, as the humility I have swallowed is as dry as the sand. Satisfy me, dear Jesus. May you be all that I need. May you shine brighter than I can ever hope to, regardless of how many matches I burn my fingers on.

My World Race Video

"I'm on a race!"
Movie? (rat race...)

anyway. Here is my promo video I made for my race. :)

Kirsten George World Race 2010 from kirsten george on Vimeo.