Selling The Field.

October 22, 2024 / Mikayla Moore

Year 24 of my life. It started getting sunburnt in Fiji. It ended with forgetting how old I am in a tiny house in Indiana.

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This year has been weird. It’s been confusing, surprising, and hard. And yet it’s been holy, sacred, and life altering.

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At the beginning of this year I prayed Psalm 24 a lot. “Give me clean hands Lord! Give me a pure heart! Take away all that keeps me from You, that I may see You- King of glory!”

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What happened next may surprise you… He did just what I asked. Funny how that works.

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The thing was, when I prayed that prayer all those times I seemed to forget how The Lord chooses to refine and cleanse His bride. I think I thought it would be like a nice gentle foot washing with warm water, nice essential oils, maybe even a pedicure to finish the job. When in reality Jesus actually uses things like fire to burn away chaff. He uses an olive press to crush what cannot remain and to bring forth what is valuable. He cuts off every branch that does not bear fruit and then He throws them in the fire so that more fruit can come. Burning, crushing, and cutting away.

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So when The Lord began answering my prayer for a clean heart it wasn’t an Amazon package delivered to my door step. Clean hands didn’t come from watching a 15 second TikTok tutorial. (I don’t know how long TikToks are but I feel like that’s a good guess..? Am I showing my 25 long years of age yet?)

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No, it was painful. Through daily time spent and life altering encounters with Jesus, everything that wasn’t bound to Jesus in love began to be cut away and thrown in the fire. Surrender after surrender after surrender. Death after death after death.

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Each time I gave something up for Him I was more humbled, I felt more lowly. I think I started  to walk more gently.

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Jesus took my hand and walked me through the Forrest of my life. (I know someone is thinking that’s the cheesiest thing you’ve ever heard but I am not sorry) There were unpruned trees, overgrown weeds, thorns and briers invading every space making it hard to find any trail. Jesus held my hand and began cutting away, Pioneering a new path. I didn’t know where we were going. I didn’t know much at all, but I knew I had to be with Him where He is. He is life itself, I hate being without Him, so I followed as closely as I knew how.

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At night , after we had walked a while, He would ask me to burn all of the foliage He had cut down that day. Sometimes I cried when He asked me to do this because there were beautiful flowers that He asked me to burn. Flowers I had tended to and watch grow. Flowers that other people praised me for, that I was very proud of. He knew I didn’t want to watch them burn because I loved them, and that was precisely why they had to go. He also knew that I loved Him more than those temporary roses. So He would sit with me silently while I cried with His strong hand covering me. He waited until I was ready to throw them into the fire for Him. We watched the weeds  and roses disappear into smoke until it was just me and The Prince of Peace. The light from that sacrificial fire helped me to see Him when the darkness of night fell. I would gaze at Him until I drifted to sleep. And He would be there too! Speaking to me softly as I dozed on and off throughout the night.

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When I awoke we would do it again. ‘What were we searching for and where were we going? When would I be rewarded for all this sacrifice and what would be my prize?’ I’d wonder, but never really ask out loud.

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But He knew my thoughts, and it was just about the same time I started wondering, that I saw what I’d been searching for! There, glimmering in the warm glow of that first love fire! I stopped in my tracks as soon as I saw a glimpse. My Treasure, my Reward, and my Prize, The Pearl of great price! (Matthew 13:45-46) Jesus didn’t have to tell me this was my reward or wrap it in gift wrap, nothing could enhance the glory of that shiny Pearl. There for me, hidden in this garden all along, waiting humbly to be found and longing be held close to my heart.

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My memories glanced back to all those roses that had burned and I thought, it’s not even a question of if it was worth it! Never had I seen such beauty!

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Here I sit and long to stay. To behold Him, Jesus Christ! The Pioneer, The Author, and  

The Prize.

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More roses will be found and need to be burned. But never again will I question if it is worth it. I would sell the field a thousand times for You Jesus.

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I don’t know what will become of me. I desire to be a missionary and to bind the wounds of the suffering. But firstly would I never forget to bind the wounds of The Thorn Crowned King with garments of praise and tender love.

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I love to travel and see the wonder of creation. But would my desire for a plane ride never surpass that of my desire to sit at His feet that walked in dirt and were pierced by nails.

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I’d love to have a home someday to be able to create a space to host the people I love. But would I never stop asking Holy Spirit to make me into a home fitting and comforting for King Jesus to rest.

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Maybe someday I’ll have a family of my own to pour my love onto. But would I never miss an opportunity to pour my love onto Him like Mary with her alabaster jar of worth.

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I’m far off from this being my day to day reality but I want it to be. I don’t know what year 25 of my life will hold. I just want Jesus. The Pearl of Greatest Price.

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Jesus, open our eyes to You, Your love, Your suffering, Your majesty. Holy Spirit help us to love Jesus in the way He deserves, with first love fire ablaze. Amen.

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-Hebrews 12

-Joshua 3:5

Ground To Powder

June 19/ Mikayla Moore

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I can eat an entire watermelon within approximately four days all by myself. Slap some chamoy and tajin on that and I might be able to finish it in three. I know that’s not normal but hey I’m all about vulnerability these days. So today when I passed by that cardboard bin with a sign that said these sweet icons of summer were on sale you already know I scooped one up and headed for the register. I had all I needed in my arms. I envisioned my watermelon feast as I plopped it on the check out counter. 

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Usually I strike up a conversation in these type of moments but the woman standing across from me wore a posture that told me now was not the time. I politely checked out, and left. 

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I got half way to the car when I felt a tugging, a pulling to go back inside and talk to her. I imagined going back in now, her already distant self being put off by my pushy presence. This is not my proudest moment but I got in the car, started the engine and literally said to God, 

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“Can you please send someone else?”… Pictures of Jonah flipped through my mind… I envisioned myself being swallowed by a blue cartoon looking whale… After which I unbuckled my seat belt and went back inside.

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“I don’t know what to say to her Jesus.” I said.

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“Yes, but I do.” He nudged. I handed over the keys to my being and approached the checkout line again. 

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I put some toilet paper on the counter (you can always use more toilet paper right?) and started in with some light questions hoping to get a conversation sparked and see where it led. 

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“Do you get off soon?”

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“Five thirty four” She told me what I owed with out looking at me. Thrown off I nervously fumbled through my wallet for the money.

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“Is your day going okay?” I asked with genuine care. She looked annoyed and put a penny on the counter for me to take as my change.

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I was met with such a disdain. I didn’t know what was happening or why a faint feeling of heart break seemed to be creeping into my chest.

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“Well hey,” I said, “I really did need this toilet paper. But if I’m being honest the only reason I really came back in here is because I felt The Lord told me to come check on you and to make sure you know that He loves you…”

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She looked down and rolled her eyes with a silent smile. I hope this expression was one that meant she was receiving this. But I couldn’t help but feel it was more accurately an expression of mockery. I grabbed my toilet paper.

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“And… I hope you have a good day.” I stammered and left.

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I sat in the car, my hands were shaking, and my heart was pounding. I knew what I was feeling wasn’t mere emotion, there was something deeper happening. 

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“Jesus, how do you feel about this?” I asked Him.

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I was reminded of a book called, ‘The Jesus Book’ by Michael Koulianos. In it one of the ways He describes Jesus is as a seeker. He talks about how a man proposes to the woman. How He puts Himself in such a tender vulnerable situation, on one knee, completely laying Himself down in love, waiting for His love to reciprocate but knowing he may be rejected. The man’s one desire in that tender moment is to hear a yes. He waits for an answer. Heart pounding, hands sweating, time slowing. Is he enough for her?

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It is In the same way that Michael Koulianos describes Jesus, our Bridegroom. He has laid Himself down in the greatest act of love creation has ever seen. He has put Himself in this vulnerable place, longing only to receive His Bride. Longing only to receive her love. His only desire is to have all of her. But is He enough for her in her eyes?

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I gripped the steering wheel. My heart was loud in my chest as I felt it breaking inside me. I realized in this moment Jesus was allowing me to feel a minuscule fraction of what He feels every single moment. Rejection from His love. Hatred from His bride. Mockery where simple presence is desired. 

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I imagined Jesus, bloody on the cross. His great proposal to mankind. Bleeding, gasping in pain, disfigured and disgusting. All of this for us. And yet so many… so many are responding to Him right now as if He were a joke. An inconvenience. A villain.

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And so many, respond to him with a partial yes. We say yes to His offer of salvation. We taking what He can give to us, claiming His gifts, pleading for more signs, praying for more blessings. Trying on His engagement ring with flattering lips. And yet He Himself is not enough for us. Our hearts lie with another and our eyes pine for ‘better’, ‘more pleasing’ options. We take His very life and we give Him only part of ours. Where He gave His very breathe, blood, and body for us. We sell ourselves in harlotry.

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Tears streamed down my face as I pictured my Jesus’s dead body being taken off of the cross. All of this to have me. To delight in you. To receive His people. His people who even still reject Him. I could not contain my Grief and heartbreak. All I wanted to do was love Him. I tried to sing but only sobs came out. I felt like the woman washing His feet with my tears. Being broken, being spilled out, my whole being falling into its rightful place as I adored Him. 

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This is His desire from His bride. A bridegroom doesn’t want service before He wants intimacy. He doesn’t desire great sacrifice before He desires your yes. He doesn’t want to make your dreams come true before you realize that He is every dream come true.

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Recently I have been broken before Jesus. I don’t feel like the woman anointing His feet with oil I feel like I’m the oil jar and I’m being ground to dust. To sit in the weight of His Death and resurrection is to sit in the weight of His love. And to sit in the weight of His love is like a raging fire. A place where even the smallest desire for anything but Jesus is burned up in sacrifice and burnt offering. A sweet smelling fragrance to Him.

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The road is getting more narrow and anything that is outside of Jesus has to go. Even the 'good' things that aren't sinful will be burned up in His presence if they aren't bound to Him in love.

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Now is the time to surrender to Love. Now is the time to be broken by His gentle hand. Now is the time for all that is outside of Him to become an offering to Him. To dwell in His love and let all be burned up by first love fire. His desire is for us, we are His reward. We’re His inheritance, treasure and longing. Not our talent, not our gifts, our dreams or our service. Just us, all of us. Everything else will fall into place.

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May The Lamb receive The Reward of His suffering.

Under The Olive Press.

March 18/ Mikayla Moore

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I recently moved onto Olive Street. I thought it was so sweet  that my street was named after this briny bite sized little snack because I have an intentional adoration for olive trees. I have for years.

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Picture an olive tree cut down to the root. Time passes and that little stump bears no branches. To the average eye, one may think that that the root is dead and useless, that its days of yielding fruit are over. But the average eye would be mistaken! When an olive tree is cut, new life simply sprouts out of the old one.

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Isaiah 11:1 says, “A shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse; from his roots a Branch will bear much fruit.” The Branch that is spoken of is Jesus, the man who would come out of the broken family line of King David. The man who would bring life to all.

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Olive trees have been a symbol to me. A symbol of hope, a symbol of life, a symbol of Jesus. This is why I love them.

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As I moved my boxes into my new house I knew this street name was meant for more than just location. I felt this name was a symbol for the season I was stepping into, so I began to ask Jesus what all it entailed.

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I’m sure you’ve heard people say, “Lower your expectations so you won’t be disappointed.” I feel most people tell me that this is how they live and there’s just something in me that cannot function that way. I will always expect way too much, which has led to a few binds I won’t lie. Oh you got me you got me a surprise? I instantly am convinced you bought us both plane tickets to California. Oh we’re casually walking into a local coffee shop together? I am looking over my shoulder to see if my best friends from out of state are here to surprise me just for fun. Oh it’s my birthday? I am fully expecting to walk outside to see a beautiful cream colored horse. (To fulfill my childhood dream of my sole mode of transportation being horseback… it’s crazy that you knew that, you’re so thoughtful.) I think you get the picture now.

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Needless to say when thinking of an olive tree being an emblem for this new time in my life I thought, ‘ooh this will be good!’ New life! Hope! Jesus! I expected to be slapped in the face with physical blessings. Ew I hate that that’s true but it is.

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My expectations weren’t met. One day I told God, “I feel like I’ve been bamboozled!” I thought this time was going to be blessed. Instead I was met with disappointment, sadness, and grief. These feelings weren’t caused by anyone but they were coming from somewhere on the inside.

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One night I was driving and I started to imagine. I saw soil. That was it. Then my imagination started to shift upward and I saw a green shoot coming up from the ground. It was vibrant and alive.

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I somehow knew what The Father was telling me. ‘Take your hands out of the ‘soil of the physical circumstances.’ The fruit of my goodness grows above the soil! Search in adventure daily for the fruit of My goodness. When you taste it, you will see that I am good.’

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I also knew in this image that I was the unseen seed in the ground that had been planted, yielding this new shoot of life. John 12:24 says “Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.”

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In the gentlest way, He was telling me that now is the time for me to replicate the seed, and die. Not only to take my hands out of my physical circumstances, but to continually lay them and myself back in the ground.

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This means that self-centeredness in the form of gossip, infirmity, offense, or complaining, can never bloom into the appealing flower that is often disguised as ‘victimization’. It means words of self-pity can never come out of my mouth. It means that shame can never sit at my table and pride can never dwell in my thoughts. It means it is all, and only about the life that is sprouting up everywhere above the ‘ground of circumstance’, Jesus. How good HE is. How worth loving HE is. How beautiful HE is. How right HE is. The spectacular things HE is doing. Not me.

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This may sound like a heavy and burdensome process to walk through. But I’ve never felt so light. Galatians 2:20 and Romans 6 say that my old self is ALREADY dead as it was crucified with Christ. So this isn’t a process of excruciating pain, no it is a process of remembering. Remembering that my flesh is in the soil and all that will live forever is Jesus in me. What a joy it is to put discouragement to death. How freeing it is to put fear back in the ground. How lovely it is to allow myself to be pressed under the weight of the olive press.

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I visited a garden in Israel where there was an ancient olive press. It was a large stone mechanism with a circular groove in the middle. Inside the groove was a tire shaped stone with a piece of wood in the center so it could roll over the groove when someone pushed the wood as a lever with their body weight. Olives would be placed in the groove and crushed under the weight of the large stone, producing valuable oil, and leaving behind the olive pulp. The pulp could be dried up and used for kindling fires, its ultimate fate to be burned up into nothing.

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Olive oil was valuable for many purposes in ancient Israel. One of them being anointing oil. The oil was mixed with specific spices and poured over someone or something to create a place of unity between heaven and earth, to sanctify something for Heavenly purposes.

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“He grew up before Him like a tender shoot, and like a root out of dry ground. He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to Him, nothing in His appearance that we should desire Him. He was despised and rejected by mankind, a man of suffering, and familiar with pain. Like one from whom people hid their faces He was despised, and we held Him in low esteem. Surely He took up our pain and bore our suffering, yet we considered him punished by God, stricken by Him and afflicted. But He was pierced for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on Him, and by His wounds we have been healed.” Isaiah 53:2-5

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Jesus, as the fruit of the olive tree was crushed, under the weight of the wrath of God that was supposed to crush me. And when He conquered death by raising back to life He had purchased the sweet fragrance of ‘anointing oil’ available for all. Everyone who believes on Him is promised to be indwelled by His presence, unified with Heaven, and sanctified for His work.

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The work of the cross had a precious outcome, but there had to be crushing and death in order to pour it out.

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Oil was also used to light lamps. We see an example of this in scripture when Jesus tells the parable of the ten virgins. The five wise virgins had a supply of oil ready, prepared to light their lamps when the Bride Groom would arrive. The five of them were ready for His nearness, prepared for His presence.

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Another use of oil was to create fragrant perfume. When the woman anointed Jesus with her perfume, we see that she ‘wastes’ what is costly on Him. Pouring it out without hesitation. Choosing to honor His Kingship, and value, and presence over any earthly value that the perfume could’ve gotten her.

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This is why I live on Olive Street.

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There is a crushing happening right now. A crushing of the flesh. And the outcome is oil. The simple and driving desire to sit at His feet, to ‘waste’ my time looking at Him, to pour out what is costly on him. And when I don’t know how to die, or when I feel a desire to grasp onto what is earthly, I remember His broken body, and spilled blood. The weight of sacrificial Love is the very stone that crushes what is dead in me, refining and pouring out what is alive.

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Let’s remain under the olive press, the crushing weight of His love, offering up a continual pleasing fragrance to bless His heart.

The Devil’s Lullaby.

March 14, 2024/ Mikayla Moore

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I went to bed early, hoping to fall asleep quickly and just escape it all. If I was asleep I wouldn’t have to think anymore. I wouldn’t have to feel the disappointment so deeply, the big ball of ‘sadness’ hanging over my head would go away, and all the questions wouldn’t be allowed to tumble around in my mind anymore.

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I turned on worship music and tucked myself in under my absurdly heavy weighted blanket. But as I closed my eyes, rest wasn’t found. Instead all the feelings flooded my whole body. Like a dam had broken somewhere deep in my stomach, and the water rushed up, up, up until it flowed from my eyes like a fountain. Endless tears running down my face and onto my pillow. 

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‘Jesus, why?’, ‘Jesus comfort me’, ‘Jesus help’. I offered up prayers between sobs. I felt that I was a damsel that needed rescuing. I felt  that I had messed something up somewhere along the way and that’s why I was in so much pain. I felt that I was in a pit. I turned my face over on my tear soaked pillow and dozed into sleep.

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Suddenly I heard a song being played over me. It was beautiful and it covered my whole body. It was slow and sweet and comfortable. Its melody seemed to sing notes that sang, ‘You’re in the right.’, ‘Your pain is real and big and valid.’, ‘Just sit here until you sort it all out.’, ‘I’m so sorry.’

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Before resting fully in the song I asked, ‘Lord is this You?’

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“No. This is The Devil's Lullaby.” Was the response I heard. I stood at attention. It was suddenly clear to me that this song was an attack. An attempt to lull its listeners into a pitiful slumber. With each note it pointed to deep disappointment, the faults of others, and endless reasons to dwell in sadness. It was as if the longer the person listened to the lullaby the more depression blurred their vision, leaving them paralyzed in self pity, reeking of pride as their eyes were only fastened on themselves. 

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It was also clear to me that this lullaby had been being played over me, and I had been listening.

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“Put down the devil’s lullaby, and pick up My Song of Victory.” The Lord said to me with a tone of joy and excitement. 

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Just then I opened my eyes and wondered why I had been crying the night before. Nothing in my circumstances changed, but I had woken up. 

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Jesus has bought me with His death, and I now get to live with Him in His life. All that’s left to do is to love Him and experience His love! To discover the boundless riches of His Kindness and express them to those around me. I was thrust into a time of bubbling worship as I took my eyes off of my life and beheld The Lamb who was slain. When I looked at Him every disappointment and sadness dissipated like wisps of smoke from a tiny candle that had just been blown out. They were replaced with awe and wonder as I pondered such a severe act of love.

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I think there’s a lullaby being sung over many right now. A song that teaches us to claim sickness and infirmity like a badge. A song that offers up endless reasons to clothe ourselves in sadness. It’s a song that reminds us of every disappointment and leads us into a home of depression. Why would we listen? Why does the song sound so sweet? I think it's because the song is all about us. The song portrays us on the throne.

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Let’s put down the lullaby and pick up the Song of HIS Victory. Love Himself is in the room. He’s holding the keys of death and hell, Declaring the war we’ve been fighting is already won! He is the hero, and the victor. He’s rejoicing over you with singing, dancing over you and holding out His hand with an invitation to join the dance to the melody of His Song.

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I don’t want to be misunderstood in saying that we are to ignore our feelings or shove them down. We are to bring our heartache and circumstances to Him in honesty. But so many times in my life I’ve claimed things for myself and worn them around like a name badge. Some days I would be ‘stressed’, ‘betrayed’, ‘sick’, ‘sad’, ‘anxious’, ‘depressed’, ‘lonely’. I would dwell in these feelings and make my home inside their walls. I would introduce myself by their names. But Jesus’s invitation is for me to come to Him. To talk to Him about them, let Him counsel me, and heal me. But then, He tells me to give these things to Him, knowing that He already paid for them with His death, and accept His life in return. Whether I see that life manifested today, or in 10 years, but either way I sing. In this reality, He is the Victor, and we are those who He liberated. 

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Why would we claim chains? Why would we clothe ourselves in darkness when we’re beaming with light? Cast your cares on Him for He cares for you! And if you wake up tomorrow and feel all the feelings all over again, cast your cares on Him and pick up His Song again. And again. And again. Your freedom was purchased at such a price. And the price was all sufficient.

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Let’s not succumb to this lullaby, declaring defeat over ourselves. To do so is to say that Christ isn’t enough, that His sacrifice wasn’t enough. Let’s declare His victory. Let us sing His song, heralding truth until we see it with our own eyes, until we see every lingering shadow of darkness disappear with the coming of the Son. Let’s take up His Song of Victory.

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-Zephaniah 3:14-17

-Isaiah 54

Talitha Koum.

November 2, 2023/ Mikayla Moore
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A sheet lay over my body. I could see fragmented light coming through the thin white garment as I tried to lay still, as lifeless as I could. I remember even trying to take controlled breaths so no one could see my stomach rising and falling from the audience. 
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One Sunday morning at church when I was five years old, I was chosen to play the role of the little girl who passed away from sickness. Go read the whole story found in Mark 5:21-43. Here, I’ll simply tell it from my point of view as a five year old aspiring actress who thought she was getting her foot in the door to the acting world. 
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As I lifelessly laid on the floor of the stage underneath the sheet I listened to the Pastor tell the story. I tried to get into character, inserting myself into this little girl’s life. I had been sick and declining. It got so severe that as a last resort my Father Jairus went to search for a man he had heard rumors about. A man who had been known to heal. But by the time this man named Jesus was able to get to my home, I had already died. I lay lifeless surrounded by mourners. 
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My heart beat a little faster as the five year old boy who was playing Jesus approached me, all I could see was his little shadow. I knew I was simply playing a part but I also knew something powerful was about to happen. He told the mourners to leave and knelt at my side. “Talitha Koum”, the little boy repeated after the pastor, and then, “Little girl, I tell you, get up!”
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He pulled the sheet off of my body and I stood up, reminded of reality as I gazed out at my wide eyed little peers. I was alive. The little girl was alive. Jesus had raised her from the dead. 
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I don’t know why I remember that role play so vividly. At the time I was in awe of what Jesus did for that little girl. What I didn’t know then was that there would come a time when Jesus would do the same thing for me.
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Around ten years later I had been battered and bruised by this world. I felt my life was over before it had really begun, I was dead in my sin. And I identified closely with Jairus’s daughter, the sheet of death pulled over my face in many ways. Hopeless and lifeless. But then Jesus sent the mourners away. The night I fully gave my life to Jesus I remember feeling the same way I did as I laid on the stage with the sheet over my body, a little nervous and excited. I had made the decision to give Him all of my darkness, I just hoped He would take it. I knew I was face to face with someone who could breath real life into my dead lungs, I just hoped He would.
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“Talitha Koum.” He sang over me and I was alive. The sheet was pulled off of my face and the mourning song that had been resounding in my ears became a song of praise. The lifeless body that I had been living in began to dance. This man named Jesus raised me from the dead, took my hand, and started walking with me on the path of true life. 
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For me this path has led me to mountains filled with refreshing streams and endless wonders to immerse myself in. It’s been a path of vast oceans teeming with vibrant creatures to behold. It’s a path where there are always little ones to love and I often feel the tight squeeze of a toddlers embrace around my neck. The warmth of the sun wraps me with peace. The winter cold draws me close to those I love. Airplanes that take me to places where I am drenched in the beauty of culture. And still the nostalgia of returning to the familiar. He brought me to life, where I walk hand in hand with Him. This life is simple and wild and good.
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But recently I’ve realized something. For as long as I’ve been living with Jesus, I’ve allowed the ‘mourners’ to come and go as they please. Wherever I go, their voices declare loudly over me, “You don’t deserve to receive this life, so do more. Love harder. be better.”, “You are not doing enough to earn the life that’s been given to you.”, “God is angry and disappointed with you.”, “Your sin and shortcomings are separating you from Him.” “You’re not really free.”, “You’re not really living.” Theire voices proclaim death over me.
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For years I’ve been in a cycle. I will feel free and alive, and then I will hear one of the voices in my mind accusing and condemning me. When I hear their voices I’m sad to say I’ve often listened, and cowered in fear and shame. 
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Being here in Fiji this cycle has increased at a rapid pace. It seems daily I hear the voice of the mourners in my ear. Their voices paralyze me and I can’t seem to function freely until I recalibrate with Love. This has led me to reading the gospels obsessively, doing anything I can to bathe my mind in what’s true. Each time I read the crucifixion and resurrection account it seems like I’m reading it for the first time as Love challenges me to actually believe that He paid all of my debt and doesn’t expect me to pay any of it. Even still, hearing His Word declare over me that I’m alive and free will push the voices of accusation away for a few days, until they come back with another case to use against me. 
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Recently I was thinking about this cycle I’ve been in, when suddenly  Jesus invaded my imagination. He showed me myself. I was back on that same stage I was laying on as my five year old actress self. Except I was my twenty four year old self now, and I kept pulling that sheet over my body and my face. Laying still as if I were dead. But there was breath in my lungs and the life of creation all around me. As I laid there Jesus just sat there with me. He stared patiently at me, simply waiting for me to take the sheet off and get up. Waiting for me to remember that I was alive and He was there.
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I genuinely laughed when He showed me this image as I realised how simple the truth really is, how stupid I had been acting, and what a smokescreen I'd been letting control my mind.
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I am alive with Christ and no fear, shame, or lies can do anything about that. I am wrapped in love because of Him, not me. He has taken all of my bad, and given me all of His good, all that’s left is love and a good life to live.
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The simplicity of The Gospel sent joy up my spine as I realized how stupid those ‘mourners’ had been to taunt me with lies, and how easy it was for me to take the sheet off and stand up again.
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Our whole ministry in Fiji has been centered around the simple gospel. Many Christians in Fijian culture often believe that Christianity is something you’re born into and only consists going to church and putting on a sulu. Many who would call themselves Christian’s in Fiji often are still wrapped in legalism and earning God’s approval and love. Island Encounter’s hearts cry is to instill in the hearts of the natives that their debt has been paid if they receive the free gift of life that Jesus paid for, that all that is left is love and life. With that in mind every lesson we’ve presented has had the simple gospel woven into it.
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I so badly wanted the kids to grasp the truth of Jesus’s simple and free love with every lesson taught, song sung, and hug given. I didn’t realize until this week that Jesus wanted the same for me. 
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I know I will still have moments where I’m afraid that God doesn’t love me. But what an invitation! What an invitation to open God’s word and remember all that He died for me to receive. I know those mourners will try and sing over me again, but now I know to take that sheet of death off and breath in the fresh air of life that has been purchased at a great price for me. No longer will I feel I am a burden for Jesus to carry, instead I will live life in fullness of joy believing that it was His desire to carry me all along. I will live in gratitude, giving The Lamb the reward of His suffering. 
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I want to live the rest of my days like this. Daily partaking of His broken body and blood spilled for me. Living every day in remembrance of His death so that I can fully embrace His life.
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His life has been radiantly shining throughout our time here in the South Pacific. The Kingdom of Light permeating the dark places. There have been many moments in the last months where I’ve felt His life not only in me, but resounding over me through creation and people. 
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One of these moments was on a Tuesday night at our Saweni Kids Club. From the hill top you could see the orange sun setting over the sea in the distance. I felt aware of my surroundings, wanting to tune my senses to the moment and not all the way knowing why. The cool tile of the porch I sat on, the soft breeze that cut through the humidity of the evening, and the beautiful woman who sat in front of me. Through conversation her story unraveled, revealing how her life had transformed since knowing Jesus. She spoke tenderly and lovingly when she said His name, “My Jesus.” Her voice was genuine. He had not only changed her heart, but He healed her of cancer.

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Another time after a Wednesday afternoon kids club I wrapped my arms around kiddos as they came up to hug me and whispered, “Happy birthday!” In my ear.
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My heart burst with joy at our Princess In Training event as Fijian girls tried to hold back their smiles because they felt beautiful. They got their faces painted, made flower crowns, and I ran rogue spraying all of their hair with glitter. Later I cried as I watched them give all of their pain to Jesus as He crowned them with His love.
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I sat crisscross on the floor with my eyes closed. Swaying back and forth to the rhythm of the harmonies of the Fijian youth singing worship to The Savior in their heart language.
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Butterflies filled my stomach as I jumped in the clear blue ocean water from the edge of the pier. The cool water refreshed me from the outside in as I pulled the mask and snorkel over my face. Little green fish and blue star fish waited for me when I dove down to see the coral. I came back to the surface filled with wonder.
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            We sipped lemongrass tea and ate freshly picked mango with a strong Fijian women who encouraged us to follow whatever God has for us despite the challenges. She had overcome a stroke and since started her own farm.
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            I held two little hands and walked down to the ocean water. Their grips tightened around my hands as the cold waves rushed over our feet and lapped onto the shore. They shrilled in excitement and reached for me to pick them up so they wouldn’t get knocked over by the force of the water. I carried them back to the beach and we made sand castles together as the sun set.
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            Just today a fire breached our farm property so we had to load up in a van to keep smoke from filling our lungs. I sat beside a little girl who lives on the farm, she was afraid and cried as she watched the fire approach her home and her father in the depths of the smoke with water it to keep it away. I gave her some pretzels and tried to distract her mind with conversation. Somehow this conversation ended with us singing together. I asked what her favorite song is and she said 10,000 Reasons (Bless The Lord Oh My Soul) so we started to sing it. We couldn’t help but smile big as we sang even though the fire raged on. Soon the fire stopped and thanks to all of the men who came to help, nothing was permanently damaged on the farm.
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            The Son of God died so that I could live. To live hand in hand with Him, fully and without the fear of death is His desire. 
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            Whatever the mourners may be singing over you, drive them out. Whatever that ‘sheet of death’ threatens to cover you with, take it off. Stand up and live. Life starts now. And life with Him is so simple, it’s beautifully wild, and it’s always good.
            

The Seat Next To Mine.

September 7, 2023/ Mikayla Moore

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Over the last two weeks I’ve changed time zones four times, been in five airports, two bus stations, and spent over 48 hours traveling. In one way I feel filled to the brim, in another I feel simply alone, knowing that when I move onto tomorrow’s destination, I will be the only one who carried the experience of today’s venture. At this moment I’m sitting on a bus on my way to San Luis Obispo for a friends wedding before flying back to Fiji. The bus is loud, strangers surround, and  peace envelopes me as I watch the yellow hills of the grapevine pass through the windows. The seat next to mine is unoccupied, which is a feeling I’ve grown accustomed to in my travels over the past years. This reality sparked a conversation with Jesus as I began to ponder the ‘aloneness’ I’ve felt in the last year of spending time investing in overseas ministry. The deep emptiness, and yet the overflowing love that accompany that reality. Welcome to some of my thoughts.

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“You’re a missionary right?” 

I felt my skin crawl a little when my old friend asked me this. ‘How do I answer that? Do I qualify? What does that actually even mean?’ I asked myself all these questions in a half a second before mustering out an awkward,

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“Maybe?”

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I don’t fully know why I get uncomfortable with this title. But I think some of it has to do with the fact that I don’t think I’m good enough to carry it. Which leads me to wonder if the perception of this title is glorified in ways it shouldn’t be.

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One thing I do know from my own experience, and from watching long term missionary friends, is that overseas missions is not all blue skies. It in itself doesn’t qualify you in God’s eyes any more than any other status. And lastly it’s really really hard. 

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I often think people perceive me as an independent woman who has her stuff together. But in reality, since doing ministry overseas, I’ve learned more of what Jesus meant when He said ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit’ than I have feeling like Paul in the early church. 

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It’s hard missing family events. It’s hard growing distant from close friends. It’s hard watching your loved ones get older over pictures. It’s hard to feel ashamed of doing or saying something that accidentally offended someone. It’s hard to not know how to use a certain kind of toilet, or to not be able to find eggs in the grocery store, or to watch people suffer in ways no human should have to.

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I think that being a missionary is just as much about being drawn into the hot wilderness where you naturally thirst for The Living Water as it is being the hands and feet of Jesus. 

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Here is the truth. I have felt a type of ‘alone’ to the extent that I never have since spending time overseas in the last year.

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I’ve missed closed family members weddings, countless meaningful events, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. I’ve lost a lot even in my short experience overseas, the most important thing being time with the people I love the most.

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On another note, in two months I’ll be twenty- four years old. Some of the most common questions I get these days are, “Is there anyone you’re interested in?”, “How do you feel being single?”, or if it’s a child they get right to the heart of the question and ask what everyone seems to be wondering, “Why aren’t you married?”

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These are all valid questions and I always love a good ‘relationship talk’ myself. Nevertheless these questions make me oh so aware of the fact that though I have heart family in many places, at the end of the day when I return home the only eyes that have seen the beauty there are mine. And the only heart that is broken with the grief of the goodbye is mine. I come home changed, and it seems I’m the only one who has. This is a feeling of ‘aloneness’ I’m not sure how to put into words.

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This level of vulnerability is one that, to be honest, I’m not comfortable with anyone hearing, let alone making it available for everyone to read. But I believe in vulnerability for the sake of growing closer to people, and stepping closer to The Father. So if you’re cringing at my level of openness above, please read the story below to understand why I shared it.

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There’s a type of cry that happens when you’ve been shoving all of your emotion down and you didn’t even know it. The type of cry where the tears falling represent the joy of monumental moments along with the sadness of realizing those moments have turned to memories. The type of cry where the love you feel in your heart comes out in the form of uncontrollable weeping.

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This is a good type of cry. But if there’s one thing you never want, it’s to experience these rogue tears in public.

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This was the exact experience I had a few nights ago at my brothers rehearsal dinner. A song played that made all of the floodgates of deep emotion open. As soon as the song began the reality of this monumental moment sank in I found myself sitting amongst family and strangers sobbing. It wasn’t a cute acceptable ‘wedding cry’, but an ugly, messy, gross cry.

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I tried to discretely wipe my tears and sniffle quietly but I quickly realized there was no hiding the ball of emotion that was me. I had just met a sweet six year old little boy who sat next to me eating his orange chicken with his fingers. He looked up at me with big eyes and a mouth full of chicken and I smiled at him pretending that my mascara wasn’t smeared all over my face. He put his hand on mine and rubbed my arm. This sweet gesture only made the tears flow harder as the song continued. Seeing this and wanting to console me he stood up, put his arms around my neck and stood there until the song was over. When it was done he grabbed my face, and kissed the top of my head. Then he sat back down and drank a whole can of Pepsi.

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Sitting there covered in orange chicken residue I was left with two things, a new friend, and the realization of The Father’s ’ tangible care for me in that moment. A little boy consoled me, but I know the heart of The Father when I feel it.

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I find myself spilling over with these types of love notes from my Father. 

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Just the other day i sat on a plane from Nadi, Fiji to LAX. I didn’t have the little metal tool to change my Fijian SIM card to my American one and didn’t know how I would contact anyone when I landed. Before I could even stress about  what to do, the man sitting next to me pulled out the exact tool I needed and and happy to let me use it when I asked.

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The other morning we visited a grandma in a village in Nadi. Though I sat among strangers tears filled my eyes as The Spirit of God so clearly knit all of us together in love over cookies and juice. 

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That same afternoon I was exhausted in every way. We had spent the day visiting widows and orphans who had little, yet they had more generosity than many who have much. It was heavy in more words than I have time to write here, and I felt I could’ve burst into tears at any moment. I was getting ready to climb in the back of the truck to ride back home through the unkept mountain roads when a Fijian boy walked towards me holding a coconut with a straw in it. Not only is this one of my absolute favorite treats it reminded me of my heart family in Thailand. With a smile he handed it to me and after thanking him I drank it. Tasting and seeing that He is Good with every sip.

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Friends giving me cars to use when I don’t have one, seeing parts of creation I never thought I’d see, the soft texture of the sun on my skin, or even the comforting slowness of my morning coffee. Moment after moment come to mind when I think of how The Father has shows me His tangible, intentional, creative love. Story after story I can recall Him beckoning me to drink of His living water in times when I was desperately weak. And moment after moment He reminds me that He’s the one filling the empty seat next to mine.

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In an uncomfortable way, I’m grateful for the desert. In a hard way, I’m grateful for the time I’ve lost. In a beautiful way, I’m thankful for singleness. Because it’s created room for Him to love me in ways I didn’t know He would. And it’s created in me a desire and need for more of Him than I can seem to drink in. 

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He gives you this same love. He lavishes His gifts on you each day. If you don’t hear Him, listen. If you don’t see Him, look. If you don’t seem to need Him right now, take a step into the wilderness. His gifts are better than our comfort, His life is more satisfying than ours.

The Treasure of The Narrow Way.

June 6, 2023/ Mikayla Moore

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“What if I chased a mirage? What if I missed the ‘right’ thing? What if I didn’t actually hear Your voice?”

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All questions I asked Jesus one morning. 

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The Father has been beckoning me to the secret place over the last months. It’s on the creaky wooden floor of a little closet where I sit with Him without time restraint, and read The Word by a dangerous amount of candle light that He has been speaking to me. He’s given me no answers, no direction, and no physical blessing. Instead He’s entrusted me with precious treasures of His heart as I’ve taken the time to linger with Him. 

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He made it clear to me that in this time this and only this would be my sense of ‘productivity’ and purpose. He also made it very clear that to add onto this would be disobedience. This has been a time of deep communion, rest, and reliance. A marking transition in my mindset from servant to daughter.

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In the light of knowing what He spoke to me I’ve been saying ‘no’ a lot lately. Dreamy job offers were placed in my hands, adventurous opportunities were given, a list of things my heart has longed for  for years were mine for the taking. But something felt off, there was a discord inside when I thought about taking these things as my own. It was as if The Father was saying, “Not yet.”

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In the beginning of this process this was exciting because I knew I was living in obedience. So surely He would bless me! Since I’m denying so many things for You surely You will make up for it! Yes I’m lacking now, but You will give me an abundance in return!

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I waited. More job offers, along with more instruction to turn them down. No financial gain. No external blessing. No green lights. Only more and more need for Him. A deeper sense of His beckoning. And the walls of my home being built in His word.

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Soon my excited obedience turned to restless worry and questions began to roll in my mind. “Okay when can I say “Yes”?”, “This has been fun while it lasted, but at some point You’re going to have to start giving me back what I gave up for you!” (Did I just say that out loud?)

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One night I drove on a back road and smiled as the blazing sunset shone in my rear view mirror. The bright glow somehow reminded me of His goodness and mercy that follow me. ‘The Narrow Way’ by Steffany Gretzinger played loudly through my speakers when suddenly her voice seemed to hit me in a gentle sort of way. “Is it even sacrifice, if I trade the world for You?” The words rang true deep inside me and Steff and I sang to Jesus together. Since then this has been my heart cry and daily love song to The Father.

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Somehow though, I didn’t really understand what I was saying. I realized this on the morning of my flurry of questions and doubts.

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“You were the one who said, Is it even sacrifice if I trade the world for You.” The Father told me in a clear, patient tone. “You’ve traded the world for Me. Come, embrace, receive.”

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Oh…. Wait.

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What if the loss of earthly value and status isn’t a sign of missing His voice? What if, in this case, it is His very confirmation to me that I followed it?

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Suddenly all was clear. He is the prize, He is the great reward, He is the adventure. This path of loss that I’ve been walking has been one of the narrow way. One that leads to His glory as the end goal, not mine.

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“Come and see what treasures you find on the narrow way.” He beckoned.

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Stillness settled in me as I realized I’ve already received what I’ve been waiting for.

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I can’t and won’t say that God wants you in need because that’s not true. The God of Love wants His very best for you. He wants to bless you, heal you, and give to you. And He is beginning to release me into the next season right now. 

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But I will say He should be the shadow I hide under, not the shadow of what I do. Exploring the depths of His heart should be the greatest treasure to me, not the earthly treasure of my bank account. My home should be made in His word not out of the brick and mortar of relationships that I have.

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As I do step through the doors He’s beginning to release me into, I want to stay here. I want worldly value to be lost to me. Because when I lose the things I’ve been grasping onto for so long, I have the space in my hands to take hold of the treasures He’s been waiting to give me. My world gets quiet enough to hear the secrets that He’s been whispering. I taste and see His goodness. And my deepest desire of knowing Him intimately is free to come to the surface.

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I want to trade the world for Jesus. I want to live out of the abundance that I find on the narrow way.  

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- Isaiah 45:3  

-Isaiah 55

-Jeremiah 33:3      

- ‘The Narrow Way’ Steffany Gretzinger

The Raised Knife and The Stillness of The Tent.

March 26, 2023/ Mikayla Moore  

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Abraham stood over his son. Knife raised, ready to plunge it down. I wonder if a million thoughts raced through his mind.  

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“My dream is over.” “Why would God ask me to do this?” “Am I strong enough for this?” “What comes next?” “What will I tell everyone at home?” “How do I handle this grief?”

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Or did time stand still? Was it too much for his mind to grasp? Was he going through the motions determined to walk in obedience, but unable to handle the questions and pain that came with it?

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I’d like to believe it was a bit of both. Moments of mind numbing silence, along with gut dropping questions flooding his mind threatening to drown him silently.

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Nevertheless, through the silent pain and blaring objections, Abraham walked up Mount Moriah. Each step he took an intentional choice of obedience. He built the altar, I imagine tears welling in his eyes as they met Isaac’s when he bound him with rope. But the foreshadowed grief and guilt that he felt had no effect on his posture. He raised the knife. No matter the outcome, his answer was yes.

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Yes to God, no to the promise. Yes to obedience, no to the dream. Yes to being a son, and no to his own.

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Thailand was a taste of my dream and a glimpse into the promises that Jesus gave me since I was a little girl. The place felt like home, the people felt like family, and the work made me feel more like me then I ever have. The process of saying ‘goodbye’ is unexplainabley hard.

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The day before I left I sat across a close friend as he talked to me about the transition of coming home. He encouraged me and I was feeling peace about leaving for the first time until he said something that struck a chord deep in my spirit and sent hot tears to my eyes.

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“Mikayla if you are Abraham, Thailand is your Isaac. You have to be ready to be done with it. You have to be ready to never ever come back. You have to be ready to choose HIM over the dream.”

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Goodbye encouragement, hello despair.

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I would spend the next two days in and out of airports, shuttles, and planes. As I sat in the single terminal airport of Mae Sot I felt a silent numbness come over me, like a tangled yarn ball of grief enclosed me and I didn’t know where the end of the string was to begin to untangle it. I sat in silence for hours as my flight continued to get delayed, eyes forward, mind empty, completely still. A while later I boarded the plane and they made me throw away my coffee. (what is up with that by the way?) I went through the motions until I sunk into my stiff blue window seat. Waiting for the lift off.

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Soon we were off the ground and without any warning every emotion and question that seemed so far away exploded out of me in the form of weeping. I turned away from the normal looking man next to me to try and hide the fact that I looked like a crazy woman, but it was useless due to the loud sniffling. As Mae Sot got smaller and smaller in my vision my grieving got louder, and I found myself asking the same questions I imagine Abraham did.

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“Is the dream is over?” “Why would God ask me to leave this newfound family?” “Am I strong enough for this goodbye?” “What comes next?” “What will I tell everyone at home?” “How do I handle this grief?”

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About an hour later I landed in Bangkok and was met with a silent mind again. And so this cycle continued for the entirety of my travel time.

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In Exodus 33, God gives Moses everything he was living for, victory, prosperity, the promised land. Rather than rejoicing Moses and his people grieved because the knew that God wouldn’t be joining them on this journey.

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Moses stands in a pitched tent, speaking to God like a friend. I imagine expectation and suspense was thick in the air outside as The Israelites worshipped God as He stood strong at the entrance of the tent in the form of a cloud of smoke.

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At this point in their journey I’m sure Moses was tired. He’s spent years leading a stiff necked people. Things he used to find true were proven to be false. And I can’t say for sure but I imagine he had been humbled by God enough times, and had been journeying long enough to come to grips with the fact that nothing is certain. There was only one thing he knew to be constant, only one thing he couldn’t go without, and that was The Lord’s presence.

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He pleads with God, “If your Presence does not go with us, do not send us up from here.”

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As the words left His mouth I wonder, did he doubt it? Was there a stillness lingering in the air after he said this? In the stillness was there room for Moses to grieve the fact that if God granted his request he would never truly be ‘home’?

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When I got back to Indiana I got a job offer to go and work at one of my favorite places in the world and one of the few that feels like home. A feeling and place I haven’t had in years and long for daily. Not only that but it was a job that I would love and thrive in. I heard His gentle whisper that I had a choice. I could go and have fun, experience worldly home again, and live in the luster of young adult adventure. Or I could stay. I could stay and be with Him. I could stay and allow Him to provide my every need. I could stay and experience the treasures of His heart in the stillness of the secret place. I could stay and embark on a new adventure with Him.

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I refused the job offer. Almost immediately after I did I was smacked in the face by opposition, doubt, and anxiety. I felt like Moses, standing in the tent, lingering in the silence between the genuine request and the answer.

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The anxiety is gone and the doubt that I made the right decision is fading. (It’s still a process.) But I feel peace in knowing my only motive, desire, and purpose right now is being with Him.

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The million dollar question I currently get is, “So what’s next?!” Welcome to my answer!

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This is where I stand. Knife raised over the dream. Standing in the stillness of the tent, choosing to seek His face over worldly interpretations of home.

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And let me tell you, it is a sorrowful place to stand, and often it looks more like kneeling. So much in my life feels blurred right now. I wouldn’t trade my journey for anything but it has been long and I am tired. Along the way I’ve learned that circumstances are always shifting like shadows and always will be. There’s only one constant and only one thing worth holding onto, and that is My Father. I want to hear what He has to say. I want all He has to give. I want to allow Him to love on me like His daughter. I want to talk to Him like a friend.

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So until further notice, this is where I’ll be. Choosing good over glory. Him over home. And stillness over a new story to tell. All the while becoming more myself as I realize He is my glory, my home, and I’m caught up in His story.

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Is there a gift in your life that you know you’re supposed to give back to the Giver? Or a dream or desire that’s standing in the way of your genuine friendship with The Father? It will not be easy but take the painful steps up Moriah. Be brave enough to stand in the tent before God as you commit to choosing Him only.

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I have a hunch we will be surprised by what we find when we give Him back our gifts, our dreams, our expectations, and choose to intentionally seek out the treasures of His heart.
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-Genesis 22

-Exodus 33  

The Time In Between.

January 23, 2023/ Mikayla Moore

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I sat in the living room watercolor painting with a friend when I got a text with pictures of families across the border. The kids were doing their school on the jungle floor because their village wasn’t safe to live in. I put down my paint brush, it didn’t seem so relaxing anymore.

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Just before drifting asleep in my warm bed I hear a bomb go off in the distance, and my mind is sent into restless prayers.

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The sun was setting and the air started to cool as we sat around the table talking. I asked my friends questions about their stories, and was left in a state of worship to God for how He has protected each of them. Yet at the same time I tried to hold back tears as they told me the ways many of their family members have died as a result of the war.

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Peace (and the thick smell of sugar) surrounded me as I sat in my friends donut shop. We talked about life and my love for her grew along with an unshakable sadness as we dreamed about the day her family could be reunited again when there is finally peace in Burma.

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What do you do with that? What do you do when you’re life is filled to the brim with love and joy and light, yet the light seems inseparable from treacherous darkness? What do you do when you have nothing to give but yourself? What do you do when you literally don’t know the language to comfort someone in their sadness? What do you do when there’s evil right outside your door and you are just a twenty three year old American girl who is realizing more and more every day how little she knows? (Just a hypothetical situation.)

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If anyone knows the answer, please enlighten me!

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“Love gets close enough to know.” A phrase I heard recently that has been ringing in my mind since. When I first heard this I thought it was a wise quote to set as my screensaver. But the past couple weeks it’s left me with a pit in my stomach and more questions then answers. Because once you ‘know’ the pain, the war, the heartache, you’re left with no option but the desire to ‘do’ something to help. But what if you don’t know what to do? What if everything you do feels insignificant?

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I’d love to wrap this up with a scripture, slap a bow on top and call it good. But I can’t. I don’t know the answers. I don’t know what to do in this muddy gray area I’m left with at the end of each day.

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All I can think of, is that Jesus got close enough to know. He humbled Himself taking on the nature of man to know and relate to our weaknesses. When evil schemes led to His own brutal death He didn’t flee, He didn’t look for an escape, He stayed close enough to know the depths of the very darkness that would seemingly overtake Him. When He was miraculously resurrected, He sought out His followers, letting them see for themselves that He was still close enough to know them even after their own doubt and betrayal. Today He chooses to stay close to me in the midst of my shortcomings. He is close enough to know. God is love, and love gets close enough to know.

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He doesn’t stop there. Not only does He step into every waking moment with love but His very nature is to redeem. He steps into a story filled with death and transforms it into life to the full. He steps into war and brings peace. He steps into the impossible and makes a way while we simply rest in Him.

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I know that God knows. And I know that He redeems. I believe that redemption can be instantaneous, but sometimes it takes time. In the same way that bread must rise for the yeast to activate, sometimes redemption takes time in order to fully curate all of the magnificent victory and glory that will be revealed in its fulness.

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What if I’m just living in between the knowing and the victory? Redemption has begun, soon healing and victory will wash over this war-stricken land, but for now we just see glimpses, through family dinners, the smile of a stranger, the tight hug of a little one. The God of love has heard the cry of His people in Burma, and redemption is in the works, the yeast is rising, and I get to be a part.

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I can’t save everyone I see, but I can stop at my friends donut shop on my ride home from work just to be with her. I can’t single handedly end human trafficking but I can teach little girls about their identity as Princesses on the weekends. I can’t speak Karen, but I can make a fool of myself in attempt to make someone laugh. I can’t end the war but I can give my undivided attention to the person in front of me. I can’t reunite my friends with their families but I can listen to their stories, I can get close enough to know. Even if it hurts, even if I have more questions than answers, even if it’s messy.

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In the time between the knowing and the victory, I will choose to follow the way of my rabbi. I choose to get close enough to know, and stay close enough to Him to listen for where He wants me to join in His redemption work. All the while letting Him carry the heaviness.

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If you’re living in a similar space, in the time in between the knowing and the victory, remember the yeast is rising. Let’s join in the redemptive work of Jesus and love without reserve. Let’s shake the tambourine before we reach the promise land. Let’s abandon ourselves to all else and sit, fully present at the feet of the Redeemer. Victory is here, it’s only a matter of time.

• Isaiah 9:1-7

• Matthew 4:12-22

• Philippians 2:6-11

Behind and Before

January 2, 2023/ Mikayla Moore

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I am a deep dive kind of person. If there’s a book, movie series or food that I enjoy I will hyper-fixate on that thing learning all I can about it until… well until forever. This is why Frodo Baggins from The Lord of The Rings was my first crush as well as my Halloween costume in 8th grade. It’s why I’ve listened to every Bridgetown audio podcast. It’s why I can quote the entire script of You’ve Got Mail. And it’s why I eat oatmeal for breakfast every morning.

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But one can only spend so many hours watching Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks banter emails back and forth. And after a while the well of Knowledge of Middle Earth (although it’s a very deep well) runs dry.

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That’s a huge reason why the Bible is so enthralling to me. I could study it every day for the rest of my life and still discover more depth as I breathe my last breath.

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This is why I love The Chosen TV series. Every episode adds another opportunity to see the heart of The Father through Jesus. This morning I made my breakfast (oatmeal and coffee as usual) and put on season three episode four. I was expecting to just leisurely sip my coffee and be entertained but instead I was punched in the face with emotion, quite literally balling like a baby within the first 60 seconds. In this episode Jesus sends His disciples out and they heal the sick and teach Jesus’s own words. All beautiful. But there were certain scenes that felt incredibly personal to me, as if I were watching my own story unfold.. It was like something deep inside of me was recalling, and relating. These were the scenes when the disciples cast out demons from the possessed.

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I realize that sounds so intense, so hear me when I say I have never been demon possessed. However there was a time in my life where my mind was occupied with thoughts that were not my own. The words I spoke, and things that I did were driven by these dark foreign voices. It began small with little lies that I let into my heart as a middle schooler. What I didn’t know, was that these lies were seeds that would take root in the soil of my mind. They would sprout up as weeds and soon choke out all of the life that was inside of me for years to come.

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Before I knew it I had a full blown eating disorder that gave way to crippling anxiety and numbing depression. My body was literally failing, and all of my relationships were broken or severely damaged at best. I remember waking up in the morning and fainting when I tried to stand up because I was so weak. I remember being alone in my room and having tantrums that I couldn’t control. I remember noises and smells that left me in a constant state of fear that I simply don’t have the words to explain. When I think about that time in my life I know that that was not me. And I know that no amount of self help or rehabilitation could have pulled me out from the grave I had made my home in.

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I don’t explain any of this to get pity because I don’t need that. And I certainly don’t want the powers of self harm to be glorified because we all know that they are defeated. I’m explaining a little bit of the darkness because I believe that when we understand the depth of darkness we WERE in, it makes us more grateful for the power of the glorious light we ARE in.

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At the darkest part of my story, I remember sitting across from my dad in the living room as he pleaded with me to try to get better because he didn’t want to have to bury me. In response I felt nothing, I didn’t care if I died or lived.

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The enemy was successfully dragging my body into the grave that my mind was already in. But this was just before The King of Life came storming in with the healing power of love in one hand and an unfathomable plan of redemption in the other.

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It was a small feeling at first. Just a bit of faith that prompted me to want to give all of the darkness to Jesus. What I didn’t know was that He would take it. After I chose to give it away I found myself on my knees, weeping because it was gone. The darkness I had lived in for years was invaded by cleansing light and the chains that were strangling me were on the floor, allowing me to run and laugh and sing and live again.

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In that moment I decided I would live every moment for The One who freed me. The following years would be spent walking next to Jesus as He patiently taught me to live again. My mind had to be retrained and my body had to go through rehab to catch up with my Spirit that was dancing in freedom. The process was hard, but I had Jesus holding my hand through it.

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Now stepping into 2023 I look back at the past years of my life and am spilling over with wonder at what My Father has done in my life.

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Where my body was once sick and failing, He has made my body strong and able to do the things that I love. Where my relationships with my family were once broken off, He has pruned and nurtured a thriving family tree for me with people from all around the world. Where I once was afraid to even be around people, He has made me a vessel to love everyone I come in contact with. Where I once didn’t want to leave my dark room He has taken me on adventures from various countries. Where I was buried in shame and thought I was unlovable, He showers me with His intentional gifts every day. Where I once thought my life was over He gave me a life full of soul filling memories, deep laughter, travel, contagious light, and people that I love more than myself.

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What the enemy meant to use to kill me, Jesus used to make me love Him all the more.

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Everything that I am and every moment I’m alive I owe to Jesus. I deserve nothing but have been given everything. He hems me in behind and before, He lays His hand upon me. (Psalm 139:5)

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So when I watch a scene from the Chosen of a writhing possessed girl become free at the powerful name of Jesus I can’t help but overflow with praise out of remembrance of my own story.

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I have no reason for writing this other than the fact that I am simply overwhelmed by the love of God. I can’t seem to escape it. And I know I will never understand it. But I’ll live the rest of my life  exploring it and giving all that I am and all that I have back to Him in love.

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Psalm 139

A Sweet Holy Song.

December 22 2022/ Mikayla Moore

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I always love the way light posts make snow look magical as it slowly drifts to cover the frozen ground in a thick white blanket. Each Christmas season I look forward to my families baking day which consists of covering pretzels in chocolate and singing along with Dolly Parton and Kenny Roger’s Christmas album. (an album superior to most) At 23 years old I still find it hard to sleep on Christmas Eve as I dream about cinnamon rolls, piles of gifts, and the familiar joy that is waiting for me the next morning. There’s something nostalgic about opening gifts with my siblings as my dad records us. And there’s something magical about helping my nephew Elliot put together his brand new toys in a heap of red wrapping paper, or snuggling my one year old niece Birdy as she takes it all in.

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This Christmas I am on the other side of the world. I’ve traded snow for sunshine and nostalgia for a world of unfamiliarity.

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When thinking about the holiday season away from my family, I had prepared myself for the worst. I anticipated to experience deep sadness and homesickness. This has been my reality to an extent. There have been moments where I long to be ‘home’, and I feel I love my family and friends more than I ever have. But what surprised me is that the sadness has not taken away any joy, rather, it’s accompanied, even complimented it.

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In those moments where I feel a lump in my throat when thinking about family tradition, I am met with uncontainable gratefulness to be right where I am.

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This Christmas season has been magical. It has been packed full of baking competitions where we all leave filled to the brim with sugar. There have been parties that consist of games that end in laughter, Christmas carols, and preparing food together. Family Christmas celebrations where thoughtful gifts are given, and songs of worship are sang in Karen. Not to mention endless hugs, bubbling laughter, spontaneous concerts, and groundbreaking conversation.

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All of this has left me missing my own family, yet so grateful, invested, and in love with the family Jesus has given me right now. Neither one negating the other. It’s as if longing and grattitude are the melody and harmony joining together in my heart to create a sweet, Holy song.

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I thought about this as I sat in our coffee shop called Braverly. With my bible open in front of me I stared at a Christmas tree that sat in the corner as the hot Thailand sun poured through the windows. It was then that I realized that what I’m experiencing in this season is simply a symbol of the reality of my entire life.

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From my first breath to this very moment I have been longing for home, whether I knew it or not. Longing to return entirely, without the distractions of my wayward heart, or of this enticing world, to the home of my Father. And though I reign with power as a Princess in His Kingdom here and now, my spirit longs for the day when I no longer have to encounter loneliness. Or when I no longer have to face temptation, lies, sickness, darkness, or death itself. I want to go home.

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Yet at the same time I know that here and now the work is finished, I know that I have home wherever I go because He dwells inside of me. I know that in this moment I get to play a role in pushing back the Kingdom of darkness, until the day when The Kingdom of Light defeats it to complete the work.

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As I ponder this I am filled with anticipation for home, along with gratitude for this very moment that I’ve been gifted with. Again with that song.

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All of this points my heart to Jesus. In just a couple days we will celebrate His humble birth. The completion of age old prophecies, and yet the beginning of a gift that no one saw coming. This little baby would grow up and experience the fullness of death, so that I could experience the fullness of life

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So I will live engulfed in this sweet, Holy song. Dancing to it’s rhythm as I receive every moment as a gift. This dance looks like laughing around a table with my Mae Sot family as the sun sets over the Burma mountains, and it looks like tears welling up in my eyes after hanging up the phone with my family who is all together. It looks like having my breath taken away by a gift given to me by one of the Refuge youth, and it looks like reading a letter from my nephew instead of feeling his little arms wrap around me in a hug. It looks like meaningful moments with people whose speech I can’t understand, and it looks like missing my nieces first steps. Whatever the dance looks like, and whether my face wears a smile, or is stained with tears, I dance for an audience of one.

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Whether this is a season of abundance, grief, or longing, whether your song is one of sadness or gratitude or both, let’s choose to dance before The King in worship. In the quiet moments alone, when our houses are filled with the holiday sound of cookies being pulled out of the oven, doorbells ringing, and conversation around the table, or even when feelings of grief wash over us from loved ones we miss, as His children, let’s choose to dance to the rhythm of the reality we’re in. Offering ourselves to Him wholly in worship because He offered Himself to us wholly in love.

The Table of The King.

November 13 2022/ Mikayla Moore

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There’s a scene from, ‘A Beautiful Day in The Neighborhood’ where Mr. Rogers is on the phone with what may as well be a stranger. The man on the other line asks, “What are you doing right now?” To which Rogers replies, “Well right now I’m talking on the phone with you.”

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What an odd concept. To just be with someone. So often we put the ‘what’ above the ‘who’. I’m going to the store, or eating lunch, checking my phone, running an errand, or seeing a movie… and this person is coming along with me. This is why distractions or obstructions to our very important plans for the day can be so frustrating because we’re not focused on people to be loved, but rather on things that we want to do.

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What would happen if we went into every day expecting to be interrupted? What would happen if our days were centered around the people we come in contact with rather than things that need to get done? Imagine if we not only chose to give our undivided attention to the people we were with with, but also gave them all we have to give? I believe in doing this, we would be following the very way of Jesus.

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I was struck by the simplicity of Mark 6:56, “Wherever He went- in villages, cities, or the countryside- they brought the sick out the the market-places. They begged Him to let the sick touch at least the fringe of His robe, and all who touched Him were healed.”

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I wasn’t struck by the miracles, or even by Jesus’s popularity. What settled deep in my heart was that Jesus was all that He was, everywhere He went, to anyone He came in contact with. He brought all He had to the table, no matter who was sitting at it, or how long they would stay.

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Jesus knew His purpose while here on earth and never veered from it. But He never dismissed anyone He met along the way. And He never held himself back from them. I wonder how often I have done the exact opposite. How many times have I intentionally ignored someone I knew when I saw them in the store. Or kept a conversation at surface level because I didn’t have time to really listen to how a persons is truly doing. Or refused to truly connect with someone because their personality rubbed me the wrong way. I hesitate even writing that because it feels raw, but it’s true for me, and I’m guessing it may be true for you as well.

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The last couple months I have felt overwhelmed with the evil that seems to surround me. Bombings, a 70 year long war, trafficking, poverty, abuse, not seen through a screen on my phone, but only a bike ride away from my home. There have been moments where I feel useless and know that I need to do more. Give more away, help more people, fix more problems. These are the moments that Jesus reminds me that He is the savior, and I need only to fix my eyes on Him in worship. But then of course we also worship Jesus by imitating Him, and as we read in Mark 6 He never held Himself back from anyone.

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This has led me to believe that the endless burdens that surround me aren’t mine to lift. What He calls ‘enough’ for me to do is to give all that I have to Him in worship, and all that I have to the people I come in contact with along the way. I have tried to adopt this way of living for the past month, and let me tell you, I think Jesus knew what He was doing because life this way is simply more fun!

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I experienced this in a hotel in Bangkok. My backpack was slung around my shoulder filled with my Bible and notebooks. I had about an hour before our team would meet for breakfast and head out for the day and I was so excited to sink into a couch and read the word with a cup of coffee before the day spun into action.

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I was thinking about what couch I would choose to sit on when I heard,

“Where are you from?” A Chinese women stood next to me. I would later find out her name is Ilene. She looked very old and frail and the top of her head reached to about my shoulder. But there was a clear zeal for life in her eyes and her tone was kind.

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“America!” I said with a smile, thinking this small talk conversation was going to end soon as they usually do.

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“Where at in America?” She asked, getting closer to me. The elevator stopped now. We both got out and stood in the lobby. I told her a few of the places I’ve lived, when I said California she said excitedly,

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“Where at in California?” She went on to tell me that she lived in San Francisco for twenty years. I began to ask her questions and soon it became very clear to me, we were going to be here a while. Through questions asked, her whole life story began to unravel. And there in the lobby as people rushed past us to get where they needed to be, I made a dear friend.

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Eventually her frail legs were getting tired and we relocated to a breakfast table to eat together. By the end of breakfast we both knew each other quite well. She reached into her purse and gave me a bag of sweet Japanese candy. I reached my hand across the table to meet hers and told her that she is like a grandma to me.

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I gave her a hug and watched her pick up her bags and slowly leave. I likely will never see Ilene again on this side of eternity, I was only with her for about an hour and a half. But what a gift it was to give her all I had for that time, to ask her questions, listen to her stories, and give her my full attention. And in return I received a sweet new grandma and some Japanese candy for my drive home.

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I experienced this when we took our Refuge youth to a waterfall. I followed them through the Jungle as they showed me different types of wood, stones, or trees that they used to use as toys or food back home in their village in Burma. I can’t take them home to see their families but I could ask questions and give a genuine listening ear.

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I experienced this when biking home one day through a village. A little boy, about five years old was running along the side of the road. I could hear his wailing from a long way off and as I got closer I could see the tear streaks running down his dirt caked face. I stopped and offered him a gentle look and some consoling words in English that meant nothing to him since he spoke Burmese. His tears stopped and he began pointing ahead. Through a few broken words and hand gestures I asked if he would like me to walk with him, he nodded. I couldn’t offer him a ride, or even words that he understood. But I could walk with him, and give him a face that said everything would be okay.

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Whether it’s listening to a friend while I was in the middle of work, laughing with the lady at the market, giving a smile to the man that I passed on my bike, giving someone a hug, or baking a birthday cake, not all of the encounters have had interesting stories to go along with them. But all of them have left me feeling full knowing that I followed in the footsteps of Jesus and loved the person in front of me with no restraint.

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I am obviously not a master at this, I suppose it will take all of this lifetime to explore all of the ways that following Jesus will change me. I am simply someone who has been welcomed at Jesus’s table. He gives me His undivided attention, along with an endless delicious feast to enjoy. So how could I ever dismiss someone from my table simply because they are a stranger? Or because we don’t speak the same language? I don’t have time to talk to her, I don’t like them, he is ‘just’ my waiter, or I’m too busy?

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I have been welcomed to the table of the King for endless communion. So it is my joy to welcome the stranger, the outcast, the lowly, or even the distraction. Whether it be intentional, or if it completely hijaks my whole day.

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I can’t end the war in Burma alone. I can’t single handedly stop all of the trafficking surrounding me. I can't comfort all of the hurting children in my little town. But I can give my undivided attention to the person in front of me out of the overflowing reserve of Jesus’s love inside of me. And so can you. And maybe, just maybe that will heal our broken world.

Without Reserve.

October 4, 2022 / Mikayla Moore

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I thought Jesus called me to Thailand to be a missionary. I thought He wanted me to come and help the hurting. I thought He wanted me to give up all I had to love the brokenhearted in His name. I was wrong. He just wanted me.

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My first month of living in Thailand was full of the unexpected. Some of these things were exciting! Like confidently riding my bike through bustling streets filled with motor bikes, large trucks, and street dogs. Running through a monsoon. Or trying new food with vibrant flavors that I’d never tasted before. Other unexpected things were incredibly difficult. Like how I wasn’t able to start any ministry because all of the students I would be working with got covid.

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Because of this, for the entire month of September, I had no defined role on my team. My days consisted of asking if anyone needed help, then journaling, reading The Bible, and tucking myself away with a piano to worship. At first this felt like a dream coming off of three years in the life of a busy church world. But after about… five minutes I began to feel useless and restless as a deep familiar pain settled in, with nothing to distract me from it.

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From time to time I will imagine things that bring great insight to different situations either in my own life or someone else’s. Whether these things come from my own mind, or from The Lord I’m not all the way sure. But either way, on one afternoon bike ride during this painful time, my mind took me on a vivid journey.

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In this particular journey I was a little girl again, about five or six years old. I had been playing outside all day and the sun was beginning to set in orange tones, signaling to me that my time for adventure was running out. I ran inside with purpose and excitement to find Jesus waiting for me. He got down on His knees to greet His daughter. Bath water was running in the background and His nature reminded me of my own mother when I was a little girl. I ran straight into His arms and immediately began telling Him of all I had done that day, hoping to bring a proud smile to His face. As I talked He listened and smiled lovingly as He began to take off my tattered clothes one garment at a time to get ready to put me in the bath. One by one He put them in a pile, out of the corner of my eye I could see that they were dirty and torn, but I knew He wouldn’t mind after He had heard of all I had done for Him that day. I continued on with my adventurous tales, pleased to see Him smile at me, until suddenly my heart dropped. I watched as His loving expression turned into a frown of great concern. My clothes were all in a pile behind Jesus and I watched His eyes dart from my torso, to each limb, His eyes were sad and I didn’t know why. I looked down at my own body and was myself startled to see what my clothes had once hidden. scars, bruises, and wounds.

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“Oh, I’m okay!” I quickly stammered, “Wait till you hear what I will do tomorrow!” I tried to sound convincing with a bright smile, hoping to recover His. But His eyes just met mine, His brow furrowed and stern, I thought He might cry. With no words at all He said,

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“There’s nothing to hide behind now.” I started to cry. The kind of cry that’s been pushed down for a long time. I let Him gently tend to my wounds, and He healed me.

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To be honest when I imagined all of that I knew it had meaning but I didn’t know what it was. I asked The Lord to reveal to me what He wanted me to know through it all. Meanwhile I was still hurting, and it only seemed to be getting worse. I didn’t know where the pain was coming from, or how to fix it. All I knew… or thought I knew… was that something was terribly wrong with me.

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One Sunday afternoon the pain was abnormally strong. I knew I needed to war against it, so I locked myself in my room and put on worship music. As soon as the first word was uttered I broke. I mean, shoulder shaking, tears streaming, broke. I turned my face to Jesus and worshiped Him with my whole being. A fly on the wall would’ve thought I was insane. One minute I would be dancing out of the joy of The Lord, and the next I would be on my knees as tears splashed on my blue tile floor. I stayed like this all day. I exalted Him, and He fought for me. So much happened in those hours. So much revelation and healing.

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At one point I opened my journal and began writing, and He told me what He meant to show me on that bike ride a few days before. In the imagination. my stories and adventures were my actions that I thought made God love me more. My clothes were all of the distractions from back home, keeping me from fully allowing Jesus to heal me. The wounds I bore on my body were things I’ve thought were mine to carry for my whole life.

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In America my life was full of good works. I worked at a church, I discipled children, I lived life in generous community. When I arrived in Thailand, I had nothing to give. In America my life was full of distractions. My days were filled with work, school, coffee dates, errands to run, relationships to upkeep. When I arrived in Thailand, The Lord gently stripped all of those things away. When He did, there was nothing to hide the deeply rooted shame that I had been carrying for as long as I can remember. Nothing was able to distract from the various wounds of my past that I had never given to Jesus. I thought these scars were mine to carry. They seemed much too painful to pawn off to someone else. So I claimed them as my own. Thinking that I was somehow helping Jesus, earning His love by carrying my own burdens so He wouldn’t have to. But that Sunday as I worshiped without reserve alone in my room, Jesus sternly said to me, “Give me what I paid for.” All this time I had been stealing what Jesus bought for me. And nothing I could do or give to Him would make Him love me more. He already gave all of Himself so that nothing could hinder our love for each other.

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Now I am aware that this is an elementary truth that I should have grasped by now considering I’ve spent twenty-two years in the church. I’ve heard all of these things before, shoot, I’ve taught these things before! But I didn’t know that I didn’t believe them until Jesus plucked me away from everything I thought I knew and wooed my heart until it was just me and Him.

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My first month of living in Thailand Jesus took everything away from me. He did this so I could lovingly fix my eyes on only Him in worship. And so I could see that His eyes have always been lovingly fixed on me. This is the posture I want to stay in forever. On my knees before my King, pouring out everything I have to Him with no restraint as He dances over me with singing and fights my battles for me. And out of that posture, I will love my neighbor. Out of that posture I will give my life to the downcast, and take my place as a governing daughter of The King. All the while, never taking my knees off the ground, and never breaking my loving gaze off of Him.

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So I wonder, what are your ‘grand stories’ that you bring to Jesus? What are the things you bring before The Father at the end of the day hoping to make His smile wide and His love great for you? What are your tattered garments that you wear that hide the vulnerable truth beneath them?

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I encourage you to lay them down. Not to stop your life of service to Jesus, or to bring your very life to a screeching halt, but to take time. Whether it be five minutes, a day, a week, or however long you need. Take time to quiet your stories. Allow Him to take off your garments of distraction. Welcome Him as He heals your wounds, and take your place as an awestruck child again, extolling Him without reserve. You might just find that you want to stay there.

Supporting Content:

• Isaiah 55

• Psalm 34

• Song- ‘On The Altar’ by Upperoom

• Podcast - ‘The Power of Instead’, Jonathand David & Melissa Helser Podcast

Running Home.

August 20, 2022 / Mikayla Moore

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Last September I sat on Morro Rock in the Sierra Nevada mountains of

California. The clean air cleared my mind, the vast silence quieted my soul, and

the endless peaks before me restored my spirit as they expected nothing from

me. I was free to simply sit, dream, and talk with Jesus. I vividly remember

conversing with Him about how I felt like He was calling me into the lifestyle of

a nomad. That’s what my life had looked like this far, traveling from place to

place, learning more about Him through different people and positions. I dreamed with Him about

this life, going wherever His gentle voice may call me, falling in love with different cultures, serving

different people, and not having just one place to call home.

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I remembered that same conversation with The Lord the other morning as I sat in the

passenger seat of my dad’s car. I fought back tears as I shared with my dad that no place feels like

home anymore. Growing up we moved often, and I wouldn’t trade the experiences, the places I’ve

been, or the many people I’ve grown to love for the world. But it did come with a cost. I can’t help

but have a twinge of jealousy when I hear people talk about their childhood best friend that they

grew up with. Or the home that they can still go back to. I simply don’t have those things. I have

grown used to getting incredibly close to friends that become family and then having to say

goodbye. It has become normal for me to make a space my home for a short time before packing

up and creating a new one. This plays a large role in who I am today, and I am thankful for it- but

there are moments where I long to be home.

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You know that feeling. When you walk in the doors and know you have access to anything

inside. When you are embraced by loved ones and are filled with confidence knowing that you’re

fully known and welcomed. Where you’re safe, and stable, and secure. Home.

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I’ve been weepy lately. Partially because in one week I am

saying goodbye to many people that I love dearly. But I think it’s more

than that, there’s a deep longing I have inside of me and the only way

I can describe it is homesickness. I want to go home, that safe, ‘I

belong here’ feeling. But that sadness is not what makes tears well in

my eyes, the tears come when I hear the Father’s beckoning, “You’re

almost there baby girl.” I hear Him whisper.

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See I’ve come to learn that home isn’t a location, it’s not even a

feeling. Home is when you know you’re in the center of The Father’s will. Home is when He calls

you to something greater and you take the steps to meet Him there. This isn’t because He

demands obedience, it’s because His way is best, and when we follow Him ever so closely, we

choose to accept the very best for our lives.

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In seven days, I will board a plane and begin a twenty-four-hour journey to Thailand. When

showing my five-year-old nephew where I will be on a globe, I used my finger to spin the sphere

and as I pointed to Mae Sot, I realized it is on the exact opposite side of the world from where we

sat. 9,000 miles away and an 11-hour time difference.

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People keep asking if I feel nervous, and whether this is good or bad I can honestly say I

do not feel any nervousness whatsoever. I’m ready. I’m ready to step into this new season. I’m

ready to make a new space my own. To learn about and love a new group of people. To walk with

The Father and grow closer to Him in a completely different context. The Father is beckoning me to

my new home, and I am ready.

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In one week, I will travel further than I have ever been, and in one week I will be home.

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It is of course unlikely that you also are traveling to Thailand next week. But it is likely that

The Father is beckoning you into something deeper. Whether it be a new rhythm, a hard

conversation, a daily discipline, or an invitation to rest. I believe He is calling all His children further

and further into His heart. So, let’s journey together. Step by step let’s venture towards His heart,

no matter the sacrifice or the pain you may feel in the present moment. The Father is beckoning us

home, let’s run to Him.

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Hebrews 12:1-3 “Therefore since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us

throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with

perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfector of our

faith. For the joy set before Him, He endured the cross, scorning it’s shame, and sat down at the

right hand of the throne of God. Let us consider Him who endured such opposition from sinners,

so that we do not grow weary and lose heart.”

I Serve a God of Seasons.

May 9, 2022 / Mikayla Moore

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The other day I was looking at old journal entries from when I lived in the Sequoia

National Park in California. I resonated with this entry from November 30th 2018.

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‘I’m looking at the snow caked on the branches of the sequoias. The thick white

blanket covering the mountain ridge ahead. The heavy fog settling before me. The

sky is dark and the air is cold. I gaze as my breath is taken from me.

Lord, all creation follows your voice. Where once flowers bloomed now is buried in powder.

Where once was warmth and light is now replaced with chill and darkness. You have the power to

transform the mountains before me. You are the God I serve. For the first time, as I stare into the

wonders of the beauty before me, I’m nervous, a little frightened.

If I serve a God capable of THIS. What might you have me do? What might you change inside of

me? Where might you send me? Whatever it is, wherever it is, however it is, have your way. Take me

there. I serve a God of seasons.’

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As I read this I was reminded of the Lord’s great power, sovereignty, and

faithfulness in my life. This God is a God who breathed creation into existence and

orchestrates all the earth as if it were a song, and yet He longs to take control of every

detail of our little lives if we let Him. When I stop and let myself dwell on this fact, I am

filled with excitement and wonder as I know that when I place my every moment fully in

the hands of the Maker, even my biggest dreams dim in comparison to His.

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There’s a song by Will Reagan that I could listen to over and over again. It’s lyrics are simple but seem to wash peace over me as if they were waves breaking on a shore. “I lean not on my own understanding, My Life is in the hands of the maker of Heaven. I give

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Psalm 46:10

“He says, ‘Be still, and know that I am God;

I will be exalted among the nations,

I will be exalted among the earth.’”