It seems I’ve encountered a lot of suffering lately.  I do not know why, maybe this suffering is not new.  It’s likely I am just more acutely aware of the hurt of people I love.  I feel as if I am surrounded by it and my heart aches.  And I am “frustrated” by it all, I want to fix these things that I cannot fix!  I hate it, I feel helpless.

The destruction of divorce, death of a precious loved ones, personal illness, sickness of a child, loss of businesses, all deep hurts that seem on some days too much for one person to bare alone.

There is a new song with words I love, Count Every Blessing, by Rend Collective.

I am counting every blessing, counting every blessing
Letting go and trusting when I cannot see
I am counting every blessing, counting every blessing
Surely every season you are good to me

Sounds simple.  But it’s just not.

It had been a really long weekend.  A good one, filled with birthday fun, graduation parties and Kenya meetings but exhaustion was definitely there.  I could not wait to get home Sunday night to snuggle with my Ella.

Sitting down wasn’t even an option because at just after 7 o’clock, Rachel began calling out to me.  “Mom, help me!”

For the next five hours, she was physically and violently sick, every 15 minutes.

Rachel begs me to help her, asks me if it is over yet and pleads with me not to leave her.  I am helpless, all I could do is reassure her over and over…I am not going anywhere!

I want to make it better, but I can’t.  I want to stop it.  But I can’t.  I feel incapable of doing anything to fix this.  All I can do is hold her little hand in mine wait for the next round, and each time pray this would be the last time.

There is something reassuring about holding hands, just touching.  When someone holds my hand, I feel safe, protected, I feel loved.  So I don’t let go of Rachel’s hand.

Rachel moans, it is the eighth round, “Is this the last time, Mommy?”   She is fifteen, she doesn’t call me mommy very often.   She doesn’t want to hold my hand much anymore.  I often think, she doesn’t need me like she used to.

But I just hold her hand tight in mind.  She holds my hand tighter.  I desperately want her to somehow know I am with her.  And then I am taken back to a time and she was three years old and equally as sick.  The night I held her all night during my brother’s wedding reception.  I couldn’t help but think about how blessed I was to get to hold her then and how I get to hold her now, to get to be her mom.

And then it happened, the very moment the blessing came in the middle of this trial.

As I prayed for Rachel, begging God to help her, I couldn’t help but think about all the children of this world who don’t have somebody when they’re sick to hold their hand.  I thought of all the children I love in Africa.  And it broke my heart.  I fell asleep talking to God about this all, still holding Rachel’s hand…counting every blessing.

Rachel woke the next day, after sleeping off the weariness.  Her first words to me were thankfulness.  Her sweet words of praise that I had been with her.

But then she looked at my with her tired blue eyes, “Mom, all I could think of was children in Africa who don’t have a mom to hold their hand.”

Wow… I am blown away by her words.  Our hearts had been somehow woven together in the suffering for something much greater than us.  Our suffering together was turned into a blessing for both of us.  How did this happen?

I read a quote once from A.W. Tozer that says, “I see good things that only suffering can bring.” And I think I am beginning to understand his meaning.

Today, we are leaving for Kenya again.  Shelby, Rachel, Ella and I will be face to face with our blessings again.  We will have the incredible blessing of holding the hands of these children we love.  And all I have left to do is PRAISE!

Thank you for all of your prayers, support and love….we will carry each of you with us in our hearts to Kenya!

Today, my parents celebrate fifty years of marriage!  Fifty years of sacrifice, devotion, love, affection and forgiveness for one another and for us.  They have faithfully carried out this incredible legacy of love that began before them and because of God’s unending grace and mercy will carry on past them.

Seventeen year old, Jim was introduced to my Mom at a party in the Fall of 1967.  Lucky man!  Claudette was a stunning dark haired, blue eyed beauty in a mini skirt highlighted by green legged tights.  Those green leggings were the reason my Dad has forever lovingly called her, “frog legs!”

Only months after meeting, my Dad went “all in” and sold his motorcycle to buy Mom’s engagement ring.  He sold his prized stereo so they would have resources for my sister to be born.  And a lifetime of sacrifice for us all continued from there.

I have watched for years Dad spoil my mom.  And although my Dad is a true master at giving a “surprise gift” it’s really not about stuff and things.  He spoils my Mom with his love and sacrifice for her.  He has spoiled his children this way too!

I have watched my Dad faithfully get gas for her car, hold her hand and if ever she burned something for dinner, my Dad’s response has always been,”it’s just the way I like it”.  My Dad loves my Mom, like Christ loves the church.  He gave himself up for her!

One of my favorite authors Bob Goff, writes this,

“That’s what love does – it pursues blindly, unflinchingly, and without end. When you go after something you love, you’ll do anything it takes to get it, even if it costs everything.”

My Mom is “all in” too  After fifty years, Mom still looks at Dad with young eyes of adoration.  It’s such a beautiful thing.  As her adult daughter, I can’t tell you how proud it makes me to witness this devotion.  She loves to do things for him and not because she is “supposed” to.

My Mom is a giver.  She is strong, confident, capable and she taught her children to be the same.  She honors and serves my Dad because she loves him so deeply and because she loves the Lord who gave him to her.  I see my Mom look at my Dad this way and it wrecks my heart…every time.

My parents have endured heartache together, laughed together, struggled together, and loved together.  The kind of love they have is unconditional, real, inspiring, and because of them it’s the kind of love my heart has always desired.  It’s the way I want to love!

I am so incredibly thankful for the legacy of faith, family and love they have lived out before our eyes.

This is sacrifice.  This is love…this is commitment, fifty years in the making!

I hate being stuck.  Maybe it’s because I am a bit claustrophobic.  Ok, it’s more than “a bit.”

It was last October, our fifth day in Nairobi and we visit another elementary school.  Only on this day my youngest daughter, Ella, is greeted by the scores of laughing children as if she is a full blown “rock star”.  The chaotic scene takes us all by surprise, as this had not happened at any other school.

Ella is truly stuck in the middle of all her adoring fans.  The giggling children maneuver (really, it’s pushing), Ella’s sisters and I to the side, so they can get up close and tight to Ella.

Through my camera lens, I catch a flash of panic beginning in Ella’s bright blue eyes.  I know exactly what she’s feeling.  I lower my camera and hold my breath, trying to decide if I need to intervene.

A nervous smile is fixed on her face, as she searches for a way out, a way to breathe.  She seeks until she finds my face. I smile and her little shoulders relax. I look her squarely in the eyes and fix my eyes to reassure her, I am with her.

We’ve all been there whether it is stuck in a line, a job, a mob of people or just stuck in life.  The result is the same, no way forward and no way out.

In my life, when I am stuck, fear can seed itself then grow and eventually reign supreme.  I panic and question if God is with me.  Like my Ella, I need assurance too.

Sometimes, I decide it is easier to hide.  I don’t want to be stuck or unstuck.  I think, maybe, just maybe, if I stand still long enough this too will pass.  I know this is not abundant living.

We are stuck at 42%.  Our Kenya team.  Our fundraising.  We are less than sixty days away from our trip in July.  Asking people for money is the worst thing ever!  I would rather God just drop the money out of the sky.  But where is my stepping out in faith?  Where I am allowing others to come in and love too?

I am leading this band and at first I start to panic.  Thinking this has something to do with my leadership skills or really the lack there of.  Over and over in my head, I repeat these words, “this is not about you…this is not about you!”

Success or failure, it’s just not about me.  I need to wash these words over me, repeatedly, because I am someone who really wants to score the goal, hit the mountain peak, cross the finish line well. These are not bad things. As long as I remember…it’s not about me.

After hiding, I move to strategizing on how to “fix it.”  My mind races, I don’t want to be stuck here. It’s time to move on.  I like to “make things happen”.  UGH!  I ask God in my heart and He reveals He is working on ME, on my patience.  The knowledge of this is like pouring salt on an open wound.  I am not patient, I know this.

Apparently, sometimes the “being stuck” is for my own good.  When I relax, the stillness draws me deeper to surrender.  My self reliant nature is being worn down.  And when I am finally able to be deeply depend on HIM, I find I am learning abundant peace.

So once again, He is teaching and I am learning, “in the stuck”.

I have been doing this for a while now.  It looks something like this; I get stuck, I try on my own, I cry out to God, finally I surrender and then step out in Faith, (enter the waiting…sometimes long waiting) and He rescues me.

Here is the great news.  Each time I do, I see His face, I get to know Him better and know His heart for me.  The result….I trust HIM just a little more.

I wish I was a faster learner or maybe just less horribly stubborn.  I don’t want to be like the Israelites who wandered in the desert; 40 years is a long time.

But this is the building of my Faith.  No need to panic, so just like Ella, I breathe, relax my shoulders and fix my eyes on HIM!

Thank you so much for your continued support and prayers for our team.  Please visit our team page: https://e91.managedmissions.com/Donations/Donate/30917

I am not a “Sports Person”.  I may be athletic but I’ve never played an organized sport in my life.  Unless you count 7th grade basketball where I happily warmed the bench.  I’m 5’5” and I carry a unique family gene where I can actually fall going up stairs.

My three daughters all played soccer for years but I still struggle to even see off-sides.  And when I climbed Kilimanjaro for this very school in Kenya, I had never climbed anything.

As I walked through the Mathare Valley, one of the worst slums in the world , I wondered…

Where do they play?

The Joy of these children was contagious!  How do they have such joy? Pastor Rick Warren says, “When God is all you have, God is all you need!”  I’m finding this to be true.

Now I am on His adventure to help bring Sport to these 16,000 children at Missions of Hope (MOHI), in Nairobi Kenya.

I always wanted to be used by God but certainly did not feel equipped.  I’m a commercial banker, not a pastor, teacher or even a doctor.

If God wanted to show my strength, He would have used me in the “business side” of this Mission.  But He wants to show HIS strength so He’s put passion in my heart for these children and Sports Outreach.  I am not equipped!   But God is famous in using unqualified people for His purposes.  I am no exception.

On July 21, I am excited to be a part of a team that will again travel to MOHI to participate in a week long VBS/Sports Outreach for 400 elementary children.  Our plan is to take what we learn to assist in building a Sports Mission Outreach Program for MOHI.

We dream of supplying these children not only with sports equipment and a future Sports Field to play but equipping them with the love of God, though the love of Sport!

This sounds like an impossible dream, but we are asking for your support.  I have said before, there are so many causes, so much hurting and so much asking.  But we are not asking for us.  If you would like to join us and help bring joy to these 16,000 children through Sport, please check out the link below.

We are counting on God to provide immeasurably more for these children that we could ever hope or dream or imagine!  At the end of the day, I want to be able to say, whatever my Game…it’s all for His Glory!

Please click this link to donate:  https://e91.managedmissions.com/Donations/Donate/30917

In five short hours, we are off to Kenya.  Me and my three beautiful daughters, Shelby, Rachel and Ella.

We will spend the next nine days visiting children at the Missions of Hope School in Nairobi (MOHI).  The same schools we raised money for climbing Kilimanjaro.  16,000 children in the Mathare Valley slums go to school at MOHI.

What an adventure this will be!

I don’t exactly know why we are headed there but God has given me a deep love for the children of Africa.  And I believe once again God said “Go”.

Its not like an audible voice, I don’t actually hear the voice of God, but it would be super cool if I did!  It is this tug or nudge in my heart for me to step out.

The last time I returned from Kenya, Rachel emphatically stated, “You are not going to Africa again without me!”

Who knew it would be six months later.

I put limits on God.  I didn’t grow up believing in the supernatural power of God.  Burning bushes, staffs turning into snakes, building arks were just bible time stuff.  I used to think that people who believed in that hocus pocus, mumbo jumbo were just off.

I didn’t use my imagination in my faith or even believe the promise that God can do immeasurably more than we could ever hope, dream or imagine.  But God wants me to see…to really see.

It is hard for me to just trust God…and I question why and what He is asking of me.  Moses questioned his abilities even with God talking right to him, face to face.  And I think Noah woke up everyday building a boat for 120 years and thought…What in the world am I doing?

But they stepped out in Faith, anyway.

So here we go, with no real plan.  Stepping out in Faith, knowing that God will accomplish His Will, in His time and His way!

Thank you, Thank you for all your support!  I just got the incredible news, our team hit our goal!!!

As of today, our team has given/raised:$150,196.80

Go ahead, praise God! Do a happy dance!  Celebrate!  Cry out Woohoo!  …Or as my Rachel would, dab or whip!

Thank you to each one of you for being part of this amazing journey over the last year!  Together we did something incredibly special to bless the children of Turkana! 240 more children each year will now learn and grow and find hope and help in Jesus Christ!  What a legacy!  

Not all of us can do great things.  But we can ALL do small things with great love.

I love you all!  And I can’t wait to see what God will do next in and through us all!

This is Victory!  These are the faces of Victory…these contagious smiles and deep brown joy filled eyes.  They are Victory…Our Victory!  We climbed Kilimanjaro together for one fight, for one cause…the Missions of Hope children in Kenya.

When I say Victory, I don’t just mean the mountain top.  Sure, the mountain top is unbelievably amazing!  But, for me, this Victory has little to do with the top of the Mountain and everything about the journey to get there.

Our journey through life shouldn’t be alone.  One does not climb a mountain alone either.  

We were a band of twenty-seven, brothers (and sisters) joined together to fight the same fight.  A band of brothers who stood arm in arm and marched up the Mountain, literally.  In fact, the best part of the journey was that we went together. 

Much of my life I acted as if everything was always fine.  Pretending I could handle anything on my own.  As a result, I had no deep, meaningful relationships.  And I went along just fine, thank you, until I hit the Wall.

You know, “the Wall.”  That point in your life, when you just can’t do it alone.  My pastor, Rick Grover recently said these words, “The Wall is necessary in order for us to grow.”  But I had noone to scale, The Wall, with me.

If two are better than one, and a three-strand cord is not easily broken, then what does that make twenty-seven?  Twenty-seven times the power?  Twenty-seven times the encouragement, determination and resolve.

I wish I could tell you I powered up that Mountain like a rock star.  But that would be a total lie.  In my life and in my writing, I strive to be honest, authentic and vulnerable.

So here’s the real story.  The story my facebook posted pictures don’t tell.

My climb was filled with nausea, puking, dizziness, hallucinations, falling asleep while walking, more puking.  I was quite the walking disaster.  Each of us had our own journey, but mine was a fight, a battle every single step.

If I am honest, I wanted to be the “encourager” on the Mountain.  I want to be the one who provides for others.  Sometimes we don’t get the role we want, but we get the role we need.  It was my job to humbly accept the help as others came alongside of me.

Vulnerability is not a place I love, physically or emotionally.  I don’t like to accept help.  Most of my life, I have been a pull yourself up by your own boot straps kinda girl.  My favorite boxing tee-shirt declares, “Suck it up, Buttercup!”

Half way up the Mountain, after almost six hours of climbing in the dark, I was done.  Ready to give up, throw in the towel, wave high the white flag of surrender.  I was sick on and off, falling asleep each time our line stopped.

Erik calls out to me, “Kristen, do you like Garth Brooks?”  My brain wants to respond but my mouth cannot engage the words.  Erik’s encouragement came as he begins to sing, “I’ve Got Friends in Low Places.”  Funny to me now, but I truly was in a low, low place and Erik’s song kept me climbing.

And repeatedly, I hear, more encouragers, Barry and William, call out to me, “You’re doing great…keep going!”  Their words fill me with life and hope.  I want to be an encourager!

If I am being authentic, I admit I wanted to be the “guide” on the Mountain.  Guides, like Ray, Barry, William and Bruce, who kept my feet on the right path.

Several times, in my dizziness and sleepiness, I completely miss the switchback or teeter ever so slightly too far to the left.  It’s not like I would fall off the Mountain, but I certainly would have hurt myself.  When I pressed for details, I learned, Barry had redirected my “missteps” at least 25-30 times that night.

It didn’t matter how much I trained.  Sick, in the pitch black dark on the side of a Mountain in the middle of Africa, I was afraid.  The only visible light was from the amber glow of our headlamps.  The only thing I could see was the very next step in front of me.

Fear grips me and I desperately want someone to follow.  It was Ray, who would be my guide.  Ray has been up Kilimanjaro five times and he provides for me experienced steps to follow.  After only a few minutes of following, its immediate comfort.  I feel safe, following in the steps of someone who has walked the path before.  I want to be a guide!

Truthfully, I wanted to be a “nurturer” on the Mountain.  Each time I stop, someone’s strong hand grips my shoulder.  Dr. Jeff, Dr. Steve, Ray and William are there to care for me.

There is nothing more vulnerable than being physically ill and unable to care for yourself.  I am a grown adult with my own children, I still want my mom when I am sick.  But puking on the side of a mountain in Africa, my mom is almost 8000 miles away.  Never have I needed that strong hand more.

As I am regaining my composure, I hear the three of them talking, reviewing, and evaluating.  Dr. Jeff, Dr. Steve and Ray were providing everything they knew to get me to the Top of the Mountain.  I want to be a nurturer.

I have countless stories of our whole team encouraging, guiding and nurturing one another.  But much of the time, we just climbed along next to one another in silence…becoming brothers born through adversity.  In the end, God gave us each an incredible Mountain story.  He provided for all twenty-seven of us in different and unique ways.

For me, part of HIS provision was a band of brothers without whom, I would not know the Victory of the journey.

But our journey is not finished, not just yet.  

Our Team of mission minded climbers unified around a singular passion, climb Kilimanjaro to build six new classrooms at the Missions of Hope School in Napuu, Kenya, so that 240 more children can attend school.

Our Team goal was to raise $150,000 and as of today, we are still $9,000 short.

It can be both agonizing and frustrating to be just shy of the Summit.  Our team stands at Gillman’s Point struck in awe as the curvature of the earth becomes visible through the rising of the sun.  It is two more long hours to Uhuru Peak.  I am ready to quit.  Exhausted and unsure if I can continue, it was the words of our guide, Bruce that spur us on, “We’ve come too far to go back now!”

Truer words have never been spoken.

This time, for these children, I am NOT ready to quit.  Our Team is not ready to quit, but we need your help to make it.  Together, we are twenty seven times the power, times all of you!  There is still time to donate.

Please join us and band together to make one final push to the Summit for these children!

We know and trust our God who provided for us on this Mountain, through others, will provide for these incredible, loving and sweet children, through you.

The Journey… and the Victory are always better when we go together!

Click here to Donate

I am a fighter!  Winston Churchill said, “Never ever ever ever ever give up.”

Three years ago, after my very first boxing class, I was hooked!  I loved the hitting part.  I have never really hit anything in my life.  I grew up ice skating, of all things, and I still crave the freedom of the ice.  But my first boxing punch felt completely exhilarating.  The power of the impact, the sound of the quick snap on the bag, I wanted more.

I was quickly educated.  My endurance was pathetic, my rhythm sitcom worthy.  Clumsy, uncoordinated and winded. I glance over at the man sparing next to me.  I think, I could never ever do that.  Clean, crisp, focused with endurance.  His movement was beautiful.  Powerful and graceful at the same time.  How does he do that?

Each time, I wrap my hands and pull on my gloves, I feel a little more sure.  Just ever so slightly more like I belong in this class.  Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined boxing to be the beginning of my training to climb Kilimanjaro.  I was being prepared way in advance.  Physically and mentally.

My muscles scream under the pressure to hold the positions while my brain battles to recall the words.  Jab, cross, hook, upper cut.  Seems simple enough when I write them. But when fists are flying, it’s intimidating and I struggle to keep up.

Punch after punch, my endurance increases as my body begins to naturally respond. My strength grows and my memory rapidly engages.  It is hard for me to remember back to a time when I couldn’t complete the full eight boxing rounds but I know it to be true.

It has taken me three years to build up my endurance.  Three years of pain, suffering and breaking down to build up.  Three years of one day at a time seems like a long time.  Most days, I am not sure what kept me going.

Hope has kept me going.  Hope that endures, hope that lasts.  Hope that promises, these are not my best days, this isn’t the end…and God has a plan even when I can’t see it.  Pushing through the pain to the next day.