Achievement Doesn't Hug You Back, But a Daddy Does...

Achievement doesn't hug you back.
It is easier to give than to receive,  It is easier to shout praises up, to be in the doing seat, than to let Jesus shower down.
 Love.
Uncomfortable love.
We cannot earn love. And yet I try and try.
Talk, talk, talk, afraid to sit and receive.
An achiever earning.
We cannot ever make enough "do" deposits into the account to make it feel quite full.. we cannot meet the standard if the standard is someone else's legacy, or certificate, or Masters, or Doctorate, or published work of masterpiece, or anything else that causes a dinner guest, or family member to lift their brow at a 10 second speech of self defining. Hi, I'm Larry, I am an analyst for so and so. Hi, I'm Jane, I manage the pediatric blah blah blah. Hi, I'm Carol, a publicist for doody doo. NO! You are Larry, a complex web of beautiful things not profitable in a paycheck, a dad, a friend, a great maker of brownies and welcome environments, you are a called out redeemed one! You are Jane, an avid worshipper, deeply curious about things not very interesting to most, and yet a joyous image bearer of your accident free maker. You are Carol, a little girl needing to be loved on in a big persons body with an uncomfortably tailored and pressed suit on, and when you take it off, you are no less valid or worthwhile, you are adopted into an eternal family with unbreakable ties and immeasurable love and your dad will never reject your attempts for intimacy because He always makes you a priority. Even if you handed Him a resume of blank white paper, you get the job. You are a beloved one. Nothing but Jesus remains and nothing but Jesus and Him in us should define us. Achievement doesn't hug you back and using it to earn love and approval will only leave little girls everywhere disheartened, overworked, and under-touched. You see so many of us are guilty of this and the strangest part is that we are uncomfortable with touch not earned, hugs not warranted, praise not labored for, as long as we have it in our mind that there is a need for such. But oh we hunger for it, but we won't let ourselves partake and relax inside it until we have eaaarned it. One small gesture repeated in our lives that sends the same message.. you have to earn my love because I give it when you do this... grades, degrees, income, and any other pleasantly received hoop jumping that tends to make small talk go smoother with those you ache for nuggets of love from the most. Achievement will never hug you back, and the small but powerful, even unintentional punches that led you down the road to work for it, to bathe for a brief moment in an "I'm proud of you," will always leave you disatisfied and hungry, hungry hungry hippo I'm telling you. The sad part... the one sending the message is probably a wounded one as well, completely unaware and deeply hurt by their own struggle for earned love and misintended messages on their own heart's corkboard. They just want to feel from you what you feel you can't receive from them... love. Brokenness may muffle it, but grace covers that too, and the need still remains. Loving.. giving it and receiving it...is a choice. Earning it is too... but a poor one for painfully ticket to the dryland of famine certain.

                Love beyond the barriers  of brokenness. Embrace in times not warranted.
                  He gave, that we might live, and live to the full.
                                                    He loved and paid that we could never earn it.
His arms are very different now, but there is a promise, one good for eternity, that puts us on our father's lap, captive in His presence and nothing will again separate us from His love.
 And it's days like these that I just want to be there. Sure of who I am. Hair messy and clung to his chest with static.

17 Hours of Open Eyelids: A Day in The Life Of

My day in bullet points...

 

 

• 9 am prayer and worship over the day and pancake party to come at night. God met 3 of us in unison with an answer. I received that we were to go in the direction of how Jesus taught the children.. teaching them to obey and fear God and the story of Jonah was placed on my heart. Then I asked if anyone else had received a word... Hayley, an intern, said.. "God told me it has already been given so I have just been praying for that persons boldness." Then I asked Steph, another intern, and she said she'd heard one story she thought, but then she also heard Jonah. I snapped my fingers and said that's it!! God just told me the direction for the stories performed each week to be in the focus of obeying and fearing God and then He said Jonah!" It lined up with each of us and the word for the story had indeed already been given. Steph and I both received it!!" This is how we decide on the story for both the women and children every week and every week God does a mini miracle in our midst this way. WHOOOOHOOO! Why wouldn't a living God want to be involved in the making of every major decision?! Ask, receive, simple peasy.
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• leading spiritual development class in our living room on the topic of law as the foundation of repentance leading to Salvation and true conversion.
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• Lunch and tracking down the Sam's card
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• Sam's run for pancake party supplies
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• back home to clean out the fridge, put away groceries, and prep for the kids to come over. Knock on the door and personal update on my neighbors infected toe "Can I show it to you?" "No, no that all sounds really good, I believe you."
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• African girls come over to my kitchen for discipleship (teaching the creation story, memorizing a new verse, prayer, and eating goldfish and orange dreamsicle cookies)
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• 30 minutes of prayer for the pancake party happening later in the living room while the African girls finish writing their verses in the kitchen
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• Dinner and attempt to sneak away to rest... failed attempt
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• Knocks at the door from a neighbor needing a ride to the farmer's market
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• Running through the story drama for the night with the intern performing it to check for refugee English issues
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• Swallow quickly the dinner on my plate still waiting for me and start flipping pancakes with now cold sandwich in hand
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• Kids fill the place in minutes.... more pancakes....
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• everybody on the lawn listening to the story, lap full of Muslim children, one crying from her mom just dropping her off and leaving quickly to care for a sick neighboring Muslim women. ( a hidden miracle that she could even come as her mom had previously forbidden it). Rocking, holding, then up to debrief the story and leaving them hanging for next time..
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• Clean up... kids all pitch in!
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• Quick greasy shirt change and off to Ali's home to show him the Jonah story and invite him to an apartment to see church community worship
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• Meeting more of Ali's family, talking about Muslims and Christians with his father, watching their living room fill up with even more Iraqi visitors as a matchmaking happens right in front of us with two Muslim friends they are putting in front of each other to meet as a result of the man deciding he wants to be married now. The day just always gets more interesting! The one being matched promises to give us the details of what happened at the cooking class on Saturday. Poor woman.
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• Worship at a summer intern couple's apartment and our Muslim friend Ali showing up with his 3 Iraqi brothers in a little living room packed with white people praising Jesus. They see the story of Jonah as Willis, one of the summer interns, acts it out for everyone spontaneously. I scoot under the table to make more room in the overcrowded in such a good way living room. Willis was so willing! How God can use a willing vessel...
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• Off to Waffle House with my MES girls to destress and enjoy oneanother
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• Home at 12 and writing this update to my bigger family outside of Clarkston because what God is doing is just too big to keep to myself!!!
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• And there it is, in all its beautiful hilarity and purposeful surprises, love you all!! Please pray for my future and what it holds after Aug 1st when my commitments here end.
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• A much needed 2 am goodnight to you all as it all starts gloriously again at 9 am!!
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• Jenna

Meet Your Neighbors

I am home from a much needed Easter with my family.. camping, fishing, time with mom and dad, it was awesome. I've brought the outdoors back with me in a little garden I've potted up on my back porch slab and it is providing some very neccessary dirt-in-my-nails therapy.




Tonight I walked a lap through my whole neighborhood with a bowl of left over easter candy in hand. There must have been 30 kiddos out tonight with their families on bikes and playing in my front "yard." I took a break from all my e-mailing duties and answered the clash of small voices calling me to a greater priority. It was wonderful to go to doorsteps and meet Nepali women on chairs,children on steps, and a Muslim father watching His Iraqi wife learn to drive as ladies in Hijabs all clustered around the car. I offered them some candy, but the tensions were not just coming from their seat belts...needless to say I kept moving.



As I stood at the door of one little Muslim girl I caught a glimpse of her father inside as the call to prayer was going off on their computer. I was reminded of my promise to talk one-on-one with her mom about the truths of Jesus this week. The little girl has begged me to do so ever since I offered. The father standing at the door has told her I am bad, and that Jesus was just a man, and that (as she gestured with crossed fingers) "this" symbol is bad, and that she is not allowed to come over and watch movies in my apartment anymore. She begged me not to tell him I knew because he would hit her. We prayed through tears that she will have a dream of Jesus and He will reveal the truth to her. There he stood in front of me tonight holding the door as I hugged his daughter and waved to his wife. Oh Jesus come and equip me with the words and move past my abilities!



As I walked, I gathered names of each child who politely aquired their sugary treasure from my bowl. "How do you spell it?" seems to always be my answer with the Muslim children, and tonight there were so many. I came to understand the reason why many Muslim men congregated around a little table, full in traditional dress, on my sidewalk outside my little friend Essra's apartment. It was her grandfather's funeral. Muslim Black children and their families had come from all over to pay their respects. It was a great time to make a round of the neighborhood with candy in hand, and I love that it required three languages from me.



I hugged Essra at the ice cream truck as she thanked me for the candy I had sent back for her and invited her to come and talk to me anytime in my apt. I also invited her to the "pancake party" I will be holding for the little girls this week in my apartment.



My heart broke for the grandfather who is in Hell right now thinking He was whole-heartedly serving God or "Allah."



I looked at so many of the childrens eyes as I greeted their families with an Arabic "Salaam a lekum" or "peace be upon you," and I thought about those words. In their eyes there was no peace, but rather a physical appearance of deception and bondage in their little worn faces.



It was the kick in the pants I needed to remember the brevity of life and the urgency to open this mouth with boldness. I was filled with a fervor and love only instilled by the Spirit of God in me, and in a beautiful heaviness, I was again broken to love them from my knees.



I will be staying in this place to carry on the work through the Summer as I lead 4 college aged interns in what it looks like to be a church planter among unreached people groups. I will be discipling, teaching, and ministering into the four girls coming as I take on a leadership position and head up this program for the first time in the states. It is only by God's vision and prompting I have chosen to take on such a position of responsibility in my young age, and so I ask for your prayers.


I love you all, thank you for being the body.



Go outside and meet your neighbors,

Jenna

The Brevity of M&M Pancakes

    An update from Jenna

Many minutes have been spent on refugees in the past 2 ½ months I’ve lived in Clarkston, GA and I do hope to tell you how, but for now I’d love mostly to tell you about a very special 120 of them from Wednesday, March 23rd, and the miraculous manifestations that preceded them.

Our relationship began just shy of four weeks ago as two little Muslim girls from Iraq waltzed into my living room as I was cleaning my apartment with the door swung wide. “Can we help you?” There they stood in their little colorful dresses, rich Iraqi voices, dark curly hair, and big brown eyes. “No, but you can come in and have lunch with me!”

And so it began…

These two little firecrackers entered my life the very day after I finished attending a training for Christians on how to effectively reach out to Muslims. It was God’s hand and I didn’t have to do a thing. As we sat and ate, the girls, Fatima and Noor, told me they were throwing a birthday party for their mom and wanted to know if I could help them make the cake. I asked them if their dad was putting it on for her. With a fidgety frankness Fatima responded through her lisp, “He’s dead.” And so I continued, “And your brothers and sisters?“ Her answer was heartbreaking. “They’re dead, all dead. Only me and my sister, I love my sister.”

These girls (only 10 & 8 years old) were throwing a party for their single widowed mom. Quickly sobered, I committed whatever love and time I had. In a matter of moments I was the guest of honor, decorator, baker, coordinator, and newfound friend. We put together crazy decorations, cut out hearts and hand-drawn signs, and planned the whole thing for a surprise just 2 days away. ( :

Fatima saw my Jesus devotional on the kitchen table and asked if I would read her something from it. Dumbfounded I obliged her! Then she asked if she could take it home with her. Again, dumbfounded, “seriously?! Yes, yes!”

As I continued cleaning toilets I peered out to see where she had gone. There she was, sitting at my table, still reading….and reading. I was shocked. I had been praying for God to open up my apartment as a place bursting with ministry and peace. He didn’t even wait for me to get the toilets clean!



I walked to their apartment door and met their mom and picked up the girls to make “tea” which was code for cupcakes for mom’s party! As we baked cupcakes the spiritual talks began, a culture that would define our relationship for the next 3 ½ weeks as we discovered Jesus through M&M pancakes and “Kitchen conversations.”

I will never forget the day they interrupted me from what would have been a restful Saturday morning Sabbath from ministry as they came tapping my doorknocker, then banging on my door, then yelling in my window, and then a lively combination of all three… I held them at the door, determined to protect some space to spend time with Jesus, which is exactly the phrase I told them. “Spend time with Jesus, what do you mean?!! How!?! He is dead.” Oh nutty joy! Before I knew it they had worked their way onto my couch, piled in around me, and engaged me in yet another divine appointed conversation about this Jesus who pursues His little daughters!

“He’s alive, He’s not dead! I can talk to Him and he hears me, He is in this room right now, and I am going to go meet with Him.” “Meet him?!” They responded. “I want to meet Him!” Excited, I explained to them about the resurrection and how I can talk to God anytime I want and spend time with him. After questions about many things they had seen on TV about Jesus healing dead people and sick people, they wanted to know if it was true. it was “on the non-fiction channel,” declared Fatima! I happily responded and told them about Lazarus and that one of the boy students would come over and share the story with them as he had memorized it during our storytelling week in class. They couldn’t wait! It was far past time for them to get back home, as Fatima impatiently pleaded , “MAN! I want spend time with Jesus too; show me how to spend time with Jesus toOo!! Puhlease, please!!” No words for the smile I had. I told them they could come over at 6 that night and we would make pudding and continue answering questions, and I would show them how to spend time with Jesus.

That night the 3 of us girls huddled around the stove on stools and chairs as they took turns stirring. I said “Ok, you wanted to spend time with Jesus, so let’s just talk to Him, He says He hears us, so let’s just talk to Him and ask Him questions and listen for His voice.” And so we did, and He did speak. As the pudding burned a bit, we listened, each taking a turn to ask God a question. As I asked God to show the girls anything that He wanted them to know about Him, Fatima popped open her eyes and said, “I heard Him!” “He said He wants me to know about Him and keep learning about Him and that He doesn’t want me to go to Hell.”

Speechlessness..

Many questions continued to unfold as we frosted cupcakes, made pudding, and our most favorite of all, M&M pancakes. Each time I left a gap, a question without an answer, with a promise to cover it the next time I saw them. I was watching God build a foundation, and I could hardly believe the ways He began to move.

As I walked them back home after pudding Fatima squeezed my hand at the bottom of the stairs to her apartment and prayed, “LORD PLEASE HELP MY MOM TO SAY YES AND LET US GO TO CHURCH WITH JENNA TOMORROW!!” As we waited through the pause of asking her at the door, we heard with raspy directness, “OHHKAYH, YHOU CAN GHO.” Jumping , tugging , shouting!! JOY!!

Here’s where the hinges really come off…..

As we drove to church my friend Amy and I talked with the girls about what they believed about Jesus and what they had learned so far. The girls began to tell me all about the story of Lazarus that my classmate had come over to share with them, and about their favorite stories in the Bible they had been reading so far. We specifically talked about the story of Jesus walking on water, Jesus feeding the five thousand, and Lazarus being raised up. With Bibles on their laps in the backseat, we talked through the themes and truths of Jesus over juice boxes and traffic lights.

As we sat through the sermon (on the second row by special request and bargaining), the preacher taught on, I kid you not, the same three stories by name. My friend Amy and I looked at each other in disbelief as the sermon began to unfold.

I saw the hand of God reaching to these little girls and was held speechless. I leaned over to tell Fatima that Jesus must really want them to know about Him because preachers don’t usually teach on these three stories together at church, and that God was teaching her personally that He wanted her to know Him. After the service Fatima told my friend Amy, “Jesus wanted me to know those stories, I think that’s why Jesus told that man to talk about them for me.” ( :

Faith like a child…

The dreams came quickly to Fatima and they were many. Meeting Jesus in her sleep, hearing His voice tell her that “I loved her” and was “a nice girl,” while riding bikes with me and Jesus, and a few others of beautiful significance.

Our relationship was being woven deeply in Jesus through “kitchen conversations,” resolving tantrums amidst discarded trash and tree needles in the apartment woods, planting seeds in flower pots, M&M pancake lunches after church, and so many other times set aside by God. One night we even had 15 Iraqi and African little girls in my apartment watching the Jesus film ‘Magdhalena” in Arabic as one of the girls translated for us. Little Noor was in tears when they were nailing Jesus to the cross. She just kept saying, “But Jenna He will be alive, you said Jesus is alive, in three days right?!?” She was so concerned, then the sun rose in the movie and she exclaimed, “It’s the third day isn’t it!!” …Oh if I could show you the joy in my heart.

They all clapped when it was over and a few of the Muslim girls stood up and said, “THAT WAS THE BEST STORY I’VE EVER HEARD!! THAT’S MY NEW FAVORITE MOVIE!” It was a 2 day affair to finish the film and many of the girls could hardly wait.

Then a twist, a big one……

Noor and Fatima came over to see me real quick as Fatima told me a big secret her mom told her to tell no one. “We are going back to Iraq on Monday,” she said. I had no idea how to respond. So many emotions were flying around inside of me and immediately the only thing I knew to do was exhort them in their pursuit of Jesus and to urge them to, no matter what they had to leave behind, to take the Bibles they had been given. I was sick with the brevity of time and thankful for all that I had already spent with them. Every interruption suddenly became worth it and nothing mattered but this truth going into their hearts.

Priorities…

I, by the girls request, asked to keep them for the week every day after school and basically devote every waking minute to them I could squeeze out. While trying not to let on that I knew the reason, Lamia, their mom, just came out with it. “We gho bhack to Irhhaqh, Mhaunday.” Trying to act shocked I asked if she would be coming back. She said, “Yhes, 2-3 weeks. My FA-ther, Uhh, yes, he is s-hh-hick, you know?!”

Relief!!!

Now I had volunteered my every waking moment to these girls who were coming back in a couple of weeks. I figured Jesus had a reason for it, and I had hoped he’d show me at 7 am when my duties began. ( :

The next day Fatima broke the news to me of another dream she’d had of Jesus that night. “Jesus came to me in my dream again,” she said. “He told me your mother is lying and you are not coming back, you are going to Iraq and staying forever.” Then the test of faith, “Jenna do you believe that Jesus talks to me in my dreams?” Saddened, I answered her, “Yes Fatima, I do.”

Purpose….

The day had come for us to go on our long anticipated “pancake date” at IHOP, a day set aside in prayer for the finalization of the story of Jesus we had been building up to. We had pre-chosen the Jesus books we would bring with us to read as we waited for our lovely little carbalicious creations to arrive at our table; Chocolate milk with whipped cream - strawberry pancake syrup ontop , and the story of Jonah. Things just look different to little girls from other countries. I sure don’t mind.

Fatima said, “I believe in Jesus now.” Repeatedly shocked I responded, “Really? Tell me more about that!” Trying to get Noor to go to the bathroom wasn’t working and finally Noor said, “My teacher said my mom told her we might not be coming back.” Fatima burst at the seams, anxious to finally tell me all that she was holding from Noor. She exploded, “YAH, my mom sat me on the couch last night and told me she was “just kidding” and that we are going back to Iraq and never coming back, JUST LIKE JESUS TOLD ME!” “SO, Now I believe in Jesus!! He was telling me the truth!!”

Redemption….

Just then my mom called—perfect timing. As my mom explained to Fatima my salvation experience when I was 4 years old, I began to talk one-on-one with Noor. By the time my car pulled back into the apartment complex Noor and I had talked through why Jesus was able to do miracles and prophet Muhammed was not able to--her own observation, and why Jesus is the only true way to God and God himself. Things finally began to click on all cylinders with her as she understood that in her heart she could be a follower of Jesus even though culturally she would be going back to live in a Muslim lifestyle within her family and country. This is called contextualization. The moments that followed were nothing short of miraculous as Noor confidently told me that she believed in Jesus as the only God. Terribly excited, I explained to her that the Bible says if we believe in our hearts and confess with our mouths that we believe in Jesus Christ as the only God, we can become followers of Jesus and He will forgive us of our sins and have a relationship with us forever and never be separated from Him. Noor needed no more explanation as she began shouting confessions of faith in Jesus inside of my car, her voice vibrating off my car windows ( : “Jesus I believe you are only God and Lord, thank you for loving me and that you always love me no matter what I do, thank you God, I believe in you!!!”

On earth as it is in Heaven…

We parked the car and put mom on speaker phone as we linked hands over drink holders with Fatima and thanked God for what He had given them. The girls took turns shouting cries of thankfulness to God for loving and forgiving them and gave confident yes’s to each of my questions of faith. The moment was bittersweet as we knew their mom would not be offering the welcoming arms to affirm the weight of her daughter’s decisions. Our rejoicing immediately turned to prayer for their mother. This is a prayer we will continue to plead, that these precious daughters would worship alongside their mother at the throne of Jesus one day in His kingdom.

The words, a father to the fatherless, will never sound the same to me now…these two broken little girls indeed have a living daddy and now they know Him.

A warm body surrendered, the King who speaks. This story should provoke us to more than an amen. He radically gave, that we might radically worship.

His sacrifice is still relevant.

Refugees, Apartments, and a Solitary Girl

Kiss, Bow, Shake, Hello!

I am reporting to you from Clarkston, GA, my new home for the next 5 months. I am one of 4 students being discipled and trained in the Missionary Training Program with Global Frontier Missions. I am the only girl in the program and one of a handful of Americans in my housing complex.



Rather than load you all down with the nitty gritty details, I wonder if you will give me your eyes for a moment? I want to take you on a tour through my new home and hopefully give you an idea of the mind boggling place that is only hours away from your doorstep. It is blowing my mind.



Picture a place where (don't close your eyes) the American flag waves, roads have traffic lines, police patrol, and Wal Mart is not terribly far off. We all know this place. It is home. America, GA, the good South.



Now take exit 40 off I 285 to a little town named Clarkston. The road signs are all in English, proper British names, names like Church Street, but where are the Americans? They are here.. but you will have to look past the traditional sense of the term. As you drive in you hear languages from Ethiopia, Burma, Eritrea, Bhutan, India, Nepal, Iraq, Sudan, Liberia, all singing out together. People walk up and down the roads regardless of sidewalks, Muslim women hang their head coverings on pegs by the door, and Hindus visit the largest temple outside of India while grabbing tonights dinner from the Publix grocery store across the street. It is truly surreal.



The ratio of apartment complexes to private homes is 80% to 20%. This is truly a town that has become "home" to thousands of refugees from all over the world.If you are looking for groceries, clothing, or a place to eat, you will have your choice from most any ethnicity and language, and you will most likely be unable to determine how to pronounce or read the plethora of scripts and services offered. Need a full Musilm ensemble, Muslim pizza, or belly dancing lessons? They are all in my neighborhood.



Now let me invite you into my apartment complex, Clarkston Oaks.



Picture a place where Muslim women congregate in the afternoon sun on their doorstep in a circle of headcoverings and chairs, all waving as I drive out. A place where the Nepali families on the corner spread out a blanket in the patch of grass outside their door while squatting in traditional dress. Just next door to them is a very large family from Burma with 5 little girls, all playing with balls out in the parking lot while their parents and grandparents (Kapaho, and Gle Ney Sey) watch from the steps wrapped in beautiful loom weaved wraps. Then comes the Nepali, Ethiopian, Eritrean, and other African children riding bikes up and down the speed bumps. No White Americans yet..... and you have just passed three large housing buildings. Off to the side are a few little hooligans ( : climbing up the car hood of their minivan (hopefully theirs) and running around and jumping over a simple string raised up a little higher each time. They are from Burma. Now look straight back, it's me!! Hello! Welcome to my apartment, a place only God could have ordered my steps to inhabit. I am one of 4 apartments being used for GFM's ministry and missionaries. I have a couple of housemates and enough kiddos sharing my blanket in the grass with me to keep me from getting any studying done. ( : They fight over the pen and throw their trash down as they unknowingly open up good character lessons from their new neighbor Jenna.



This week I have been invited into many of these homes... sharing tea, cracked barley, and middle eastern chocolates, while discussing the after school program starting up this next week in our complex and filling out troublesome forms together, often with another family member helping to translate. I have had the privilage of laying hands on a diabetic Eritrean (the country that used to be part of Ethiopia) woman with my team as she deteriorated in health from a lack of insulin supply. Visiting her in her apartment the next day spoke of God's faithfulness as she seemed a new woman full of joy and energy. She, Maheza, speaks very little English.



I have shared meals in Hindu Nepali homes, been to a Nepali birthday party (lastnight) and made many contacts with other resident missionaries as I seek to plug in and as well make some good female contacts to do ministry alongside of. We do things two by two here.

I have also been in class 5 days this week, attended a volunteer training program, unloaded a world relief shipment trailor from a closed down hotel full of furniture, and had the awesome opportunity of moving a new Nepali family (quite a big one) into their new apartment! I had so much fun practicing some Nepali with the daughter as I taught her how to make an American style bed with fitted sheets and loose sheets.



God has blessed me tremendously with the opportunity to once again confront the culture of Nepal and is blessing my efforts to bond with the people here through the language I am able to recall from my time in Nepal a year and a half ago.



Just the simple use of a few Nepali words in a grocery store line to the cashier opened up a 20 minute conversation with a man checking out and leaving in front of me. As he overheard my Nepali words he hung around and engaged me with stories of how he came to be here and his life in a refugee camp for 18 years. After swapping e mail addresses he and his sister have formally invited me into their home. I wonder if you will pray for my ability to continue learning the language and attending these divine appointments.



I love you all and have much more information for you soon. I wanted to send you my eyes for a few minutes and rejoice over the body of Christ that supports me while I am walking with Him. Today was the first day away from Clarkston to attend church and God met me intimately in the service, something I have struggled to feel as a cloud of spiritual warfare fogs my thoughts and worship. It was a sweet release.



Please pray for the warfare I am engaging here and for complete victory in the small and large things. It is very present, even in my own stairwell as I came home last night I was engaging in warfare against an obvious demonic presence trying to cause fear.



Now off to home church and more reading and book reports!! I love you all and will be keeping you updated. Thank you to all who have given monetarily and offered prayer and encouragement!! I will be writing soon...



future updates will be shorter! Thank you for your time!!



On His journey to see eternity in the hearts of men,

Jenna Givens