found wanting. Him.

Lately, we seem to be in a time of intense perseverance.  

I've got to admit, the trial by fire thing is proving me wanting more often than victorious.  

When Lily was in my bed AGAIN this morning with her feet in my face and asking me to make her breakfast at 5:30 am and whining about having to go to school...I was wanting.  Grouchy.  Snappy.  Pouting.

When Sofie woke up with a fever, and Lily and I are STILL hacking, still runny, still sinus blocked, man, grace did not overflow from me.  Frustration.  Irritation.  Complaints. 

When 6 people were waiting at my office door when I finally got up there this morning, and the first said to me in broken English, "Let me tell you what I need you to do for me..." my internal voice did not respond for His glory, did not pour out a cup full of cold water.

Then Abel needed the truck and there has been no gas to be found since last Tuesday and two students finally paid but no where near the amount they owed and I STILL can't breathe through my nose and Matt's leaving for a few days this week (Port-au-Prince) and then Junior is in the line out my door, again, and by the time it gets to him, I fight to give him a polite, "Good morning."

And he starts rambling about a paper, a project, a community event...then, my cousin called me right now, and my father is dead.

Only half listening and still mostly lamenting my own dire situation, "dead" snaps me out of the cloud of congestion and self-absorption I've been living in lately.

Oh, Junior.

The community of Croix-d'Bouquet where Junior's father has worked as a witchdoctor for over 40 years.

His father, the old well-known witchdoctor I remember meeting in Port-au-Prince when I was 18.  The man who had first seen the great potential in Junior and encouraged, begged, insisted, grudged and lamented that Junior follow in his footsteps.  The man the Gospel first came to see, but found 12 year old Junior, instead.  The man who turned away from Junior but whom Junior has refused to turn away from.  The man whom, just 2 weeks ago over Easter break, Junior travelled the whole island again to see, to share the Gospel, again, the 1000th time, to no avail.  But the man who had warmly welcomed Junior for the first time, the man who was, after 100 trips shunned, glad to see him.

Junior's heart is breaking.  

And even when I'm at the end of myself, that's when He's supposed to be all that's left, all that's pouring out on broken friends in a broken world.

And instead, when I've lost my patience, only nasty, short, frustrated Stacey has been found.  

I've been counting on myself, tapping into me, looking for some vitamins or extra sleep or another cup of coffee to give me GOD things...like grace.  Miraculous patience.  Great, crazy love.  

There is nothing, just nothing, GOOD in me outside of Him.  I've got absolutely nothing sweet or meaningful or life-changing or even worthwhile of myself to offer.  If there is ANY mark to be made, ANY love to be given, ANY perseverance to be for His glory, it's Christ in me.  If there is ANYTHING to stand on, it is only His strength.

Junior's heart-break in the midst of my selfishness reminded me of that this morning.

He's all I have to give.  And on my own, I'm just giving out more crap.  I'd apologize for the word, but that is exactly what it is.  

Taking some time this morning to drop my excuses of busyness, illness and all of my rights and to pick up instead His cross--that something small, something beautiful, something true--might come forth.  That the miracle might bloom, once again, of a loving and holy God, choosing to live in and work through a finite failure...like me.

Join me.

All Judah rejoiced,

for they had sworn with their whole hearts

and had sought Him earnestly,

and He let them find Him.

So the Lord gave them rest on every side.

2 Chronicles 15:15