the story I debated sharing

part #1

I got my first tattoo at 18. It’s small and discrete, nothing outrageous I will outgrow or regret. On the side of my left foot, I have “Beloved” inscribed in Hebrew.

[Side note: My favorite joke to play when people ask me “What does that mean?” is to look at them blankly and respond “I don’t know!” Trust me, it’s hilarious each and every time.]

My sister and I got this tattoo within a few weeks of each other, hers on the top of her foot and mine on the side. I love that we share this because my sister is one of my best friends. I could write an entire post about how much my sister means to me (and maybe someday I will) but that’s not especially relevant to this story, so moving right along.

The “Beloved” our tattoo comes from is found in Deuteronomy 33:12: “Let the beloved of the Lord rest secure in him, for he shields him all day long, and the one the Lord loves rests between his shoulders.”

Needless to say (though I will), “Beloved” holds a lot of significance for me.

part #2

After a month in Cambodia, I was feeling drained and strained. Nothing was going how I had envisioned it and I was questioning everything: why I was here, what God was doing, and if He was present in this place. Admittedly, I was increasingly becoming a skeptic.

We spent time in prayer with one another on our mid-trip retreat. In a fit of cynicism, I challenged God: “God, if you are here, have someone speak the word “Beloved” to me.”

It’s never been clear to me whether or not I’m supposed to make such demands of God, but I figured the risk would be worth the reward.

So I waited. And waited. And waited.

One by one, my team members prayed for me. They said a lot of great, uplifting things. Heck, they probably even said some really nice things about me. But I barely listened to any of that. I was too busy waiting to hear “Beloved” so I could put an end to all my questions and doubts.

But no one said it.

Maybe I hadn’t given God enough notice, so I changed it.

“Alright God, how about by the end of the retreat?”

Nope.

“Well, sure, you may have until the end of this week.”

Nada.

“Hey God, uh, it’s me again. I think we had a bad connection earlier, but, uh, why don’t you just go ahead and take until the end of my time here.”

As the days ticked by, I forgot about the demand as my focus was directed elsewhere.

part #3

This is where things get good.

So there I am going about my business and speaking to God in strained sentences, sounding more like a spoiled rotten child than the mature adult I swear I am.

And then my personal retreat happened.

It was 36 hours of prayer and journaling and reading the Bible. I also took at least five showers and ate pizza for almost every meal. It was rejuvenating, yes, but I didn’t “hear” God like I would have hoped.

I always hope I hear God like those guys in the Old Testament did, ‘cause there wasn’t a whole lot of questioning who was talking. Moses was just like, “Right, so who should I say sent me?” And God was all like, “Seriously? It’s Me.” End of discussion. But nowadays it seems like God is more into the whispers or gentle tugs of the heart. At least that’s how it’s been for me.

I sat in silence, thinking maybe all the roosters and dogs and pagoda music had drowned out God’s voice. But still nothing.

On a personal retreat, you completely disconnect. No phone, no Internet, no contact with the outside world. When I got home Friday afternoon, I turned on my phone and checked my e-mail. Thirty seven messages in thirty six hours…I was feeling rather popular until I scrolled through and realized that all but two were from businesses. I read the first one, an email from a professor looking for some students to help him—for $20/hour, too! Too bad I was halfway around the world.

The second non-business email was from my boss, Barry. Every Thursday for our entire two months here, he prays for me. He usually sends me a text with a verse and an encouraging message on these days but since I was off the grid, he sent me an email.

And this is what I read:

“Prayed Romans 8:15 for you: that you would not let fear and uncertainty be your master but that you would rest in the confidence of your identity in Christ: beloved daughter.”

I was dumbstruck. I had almost entirely forgotten about my silly demand, but God clearly hadn’t. Instead he did it on his agenda and in his way.

Like the title of this post states, I debated whether or not to share this story. I recently read the book of Luke and I found it odd that after one miracle Jesus would say “Spread the news!” and after another he was like “Pipe down or you’ll wake the neighbors!” I’m fairly certain I’ve heard sermons on this before but taken at face value it just confuses me.

“Soooo, was that a yes or a no on the sharing? God? You still there?”

I wasn’t sure what I hoped you, my dear reader, would take away from this story, either. I certainly don’t hope that you follow in my footsteps because I’ve been known to wander from the path and get lost. And lately my footsteps have led me halfway across the globe, which is pretty pricey and time consuming.

I guess my hope is that you don’t stop listening and looking for God. He might not use a megaphone or a burning bush, but maybe He’ll use a friend. Whatever it is, it’s bound to be creative. And it just might make for a good story, too.