Medikal Klinik La

“I don’t know what’s going on. I just had it working this morning!” 

Doctor Jay looked puzzled as he tinkered with the blood pressure machine, tightening valves, checking for connection, beginning to look unnerved for the first time that day. 

“I just can’t figure out what’s wrong,” he said to the interpreter, who then began to explain the situation in Creole. Our patient, a Haitian mountain pastor, had come down the mountain for the free medical clinic we were conducting at the orphanage. He was a small bearded man in his early forties who’s main complaint had been tansyon wo, high blood pressure. 

Once translated, he just chuckled at the news of the broken machine la. This I found was common among our circle of Haitian friends. When life became frustrating or difficult or complicated, everyone just giggled. There seemed to be few alternatives in a nation like this. Life had been distilled to laughing it off.

“Why don’t you come back tomorrow,” Doctor Jay told the smiling man, who thanked us in Creole, and went on his way, exiting past the long line of villagers waiting to come in. 

This was not the only issue our little clinic experienced that day. We had hauled several suitcases of donated medical supplies and a retired Bonita Springs doctor with us, over the ocean, through customs, across the country of Haiti by bus to the orphanage. Other than naturopathy, I had no real western medical experience, but I was assigned as the doctor’s assistant. It was my job to document the orphan’s health as well as establish medical records for a new clinic being built on the property. 

Halfway into the first day of the clinic, I documented stomach aches, asthma, thrush, malnutrition, worms, diarrhea, AIDS, fungus, scabies....and now high blood pressure. I looked at the table where our supplies lay and realized, we are not prepared for this. Our supply table was laden with American supplies: some band-aids, antibacterial creams, vitamins, cold remedies, and a broken battery-operated blood-pressure machine. Here in the poorest country of the Western Hemisphere, band-aids weren’t going help. 

I walked out of the clinic that day through the sticky Haitian mountain mud, somewhat discouraged, but comforting myself with the knowledge that this was a scouting trip. Take one step, God will be faithfull, take another, God is faithful. 

At the dinner table that night, I decided to take the next step. Sharing our dinner of bouyon kabrit was Junior, a young farmer. He was raised at the orphanage and it was his desire to give back. “I want to do a lot here,” he told me in calculated English that afternoon. “Bon tè?” I asked him as we looked out at healthy crops of banana, pineapple, corn and cabbage. “Good land,” he replied, and smiled. That evening I handed him a packet of Moringa seeds, the ‘miracle plant’ indigenous to Haiti. Moringa is proving to be one of the most nutritious plants on the planet, decreasing infant mortality rates and saving lives in famished parts of Africa. It is easy to grow and is actually grows wild in on the island of Hispaniola. 

“Oh,” one of our Haitian pastors said dismissively, “I know what this is. We feed it to the animals.” Junior shot me a puzzled look. “Oh, no!” I said, “You should feed it to people!” The pastor looked at me like I was a blan fou, until our host’s wife chimed in. “Oh, I remember this. I know this! Moringa, yes. My mother made tea with the flowers for l’oppression....” Asthma. “It made the breathing fasil.” Easy. 

“What else did she do?” I pulled my chair a little closer. 

“For TB, tuberculosis...pas problem. Galanga. Make the tea, strong, vert. Drink it every morning for 7 days. 7 days later... healthy. Pa plis maladi!” Ginger leaves, who knew.

“What about skin disease, what did she do for skin disease!?” 

“The ocean. Everyday my father take a bath in the ocean. He was very healthy. No problems. Bèl po. And moringa, yes, I know this well. Anpil byen.”

Junior put the seeds in his pocket and gave me a smile.

The next day, the line for people to get into the clinic was twice as long as the day before. Word had gotten out in the village. Knowing I would be there for hours I took a walk outside before we began. I came across the kitchen where a small group of women were preparing raw chicken by rubbing it with orange peels. “Prezève?” I asked, and they nodded yes. To preserve. 

Orange peel, I remembered from naturopathic medicine, is a natural astringent and strong anti-bacterial. It is also anti-parasitical. I saw a pot of rice in beans cooking in the corner above a small pile of burning sticks. I remembered another anti-parasitical: cloves. Traditional Haitian rice and beans is flavored with cloves...

Once back in the Clinic, Doctor Jay and I called in the first patient. It was going to be a long day. Several people in, I was already fighting discouragement. We simply didn’t have the supplies on this trip for the issues were were encountering. I took to reaching into my back pack and giving away my own supplies: coconut water for electrolytes, homeopathy for stress, black walnut tincture for worms, saline spray for allergies, magnesium for pain. It is more blessed to give....

While checking the vitals of yet another villager, the door to our room swung open and three young girls skipped in, giggling, “L ap fè mal! L ap fè mal!” Sophia, one of the girls who lives at the orphanage, ran to me with a small cut on her arm which had oozed a little blood. “Ranje m' ” she said, in her typical sass. I cleaned the cut and applied a band-aid. I then gave her a dozen or so loud smoochy kisses on her arm, which made her giggle out of the room with the other laughing orphans in tow. 

But looking at that band aid - that big, awkward, white plastic American-made band-aid - on this little, brown, Haitian orphan's arm - a girl who may have never worn a band-aid before in her life, was surreal. Like many Haitians, she was resilient, self-sufficient, strong. Her cute, skinny knees were scarred and calloused from probably a hundred uncared for falls on rocks and concrete. What was my blan band-aid going to do for her? Hadn’t my kisses and concern been enough? Wasn’t that an aloes des jardins plant I saw growing by the dormitory?

Later that day, the mountain pastor returned, this time san yon bab, without a beard. “Kote se bab ou?” the translator asked, recognizing the bearded man from the day before. We were glad he came back. The blood pressure machine had been working fine all day after some tweaking and a fresh battery. Our translator gave us the explanation: the man shaved his beard because he thought it was keeping the blood pressure machine from working. When we put his arm in the cuff, however, the machine mysteriously stopped working, again. I pondered the power of the lwa. I even wished I had a fèy doktè here to teach me a thing or two...

Again I glanced at my table of neat rows of colorful, shiny boxes of American supplies. We are SO not prepared for this! After finishing up for that day, I left the clinic to trudge through the mud once again. During our walk, I looked up at a mango tree, laden with fruit. “No child is sick during mango season,” I heard our host say. And yet, we had seen at least a dozen people today with malnutrition. Our translator explained, “No, they don’t eat mangoes. They are only sold at market.” That night, I struggled to scrub the mountain mud off my shoes. I began to see that the issues of Haiti are as complex as the mud is sticky. Here we were to help, but how do we help?

On my last day at the orphanage, a village woman and schoolteacher approached me. In broken English, she said, “Madame, is very nice to known you,” and continued to talk in Creole to my translator. He listened, and then shook his head before rebuking her and sending her on her way. “I am sorry, lady,” he said to me. “She asked you for money for her school; I told her she couldn’t do that, that she shouldn’t ask you for money here.” 

I wondered what I was doing here, in Haiti. My once bulging suitcase that barely made weight a the terminal was now deflated and empty, carrying only some muddy clothes and some rocks as souvenirs. I had no money left in my pockets, but for 2 single dollars I was saving to buy a water in the airport. I had no money back at home. I looked at the woman as she walked off, sensing her resiliency, sensing her strength. I was exhausted. I had nothing to give her, nothing left. Realizing my own inadequacy to do anything for Haiti, I sensed the presence of God. I remembered Peter’s words in the third chapter of Acts, "I don't have any silver or gold for you. But I'll give you what I have. In the name of Jesus Christ the Nazarene, get up and walk!" The only thing I really had to offer Haiti, is Jesus. 

“Why does this surprise you? Why do you stare at us as if by our own power or godliness we had made this man walk?” It’s always about Jesus. 

At the airport on the way back home, I met a woman who was also returning from a medical clinic in a tent village in Port Au Prince. “It was wild,” she exclaimed. “So many issues! We weren’t prepared for the need we encountered. But we did what we could. One of our doctors performed some surgeries with an Exacto knife... without painkillers... in the mud.” 

She asked me if I was going to return. “Of course,” I said.

“Good,” she replied, “Because the need is great.” 

The issues of Haiti are complex. 

The need in Haiti is great. 

My Jesus is greater.

And He told me to go. 

Not by might, not by power, not by human wisdom, not with band-aids, not with silver and gold. 

“‘By my Spirit’, says the Lord.”

Ayiti, mwen pral retounen. 

Depraved Indifference

HAITI

HAITI

The Finger

I cut my finger really bad at work the other day. We were trying to fix a malfunctioning Robocoup and silly me - I stuck my finger into a moving blade. I could have lost part of my finger, but thankfully, I simply sliced off a bit.

The Guatemalan women at my job taught me to put coffee in a wound to stop the bleeding, dull the pain and help the healing process. I immediately ran to our cafe to rub freshly ground espresso powder in the cut. I was gushing blood, however, and I dropped to my knees in pain. I sat on the floor with paper towels, trying to contain the blood into the garbage can. I applied pressure and put my hand above my heart. 

I looked up through my tears as the cafe girls stared at me. I think they were in more shock than I was, considering the blood everywhere. “What time is it? When does Sandy get here?!” I yelled. Sandy is our front-end manager and former RN. She was scheduled to be here any minute. Good. I sat and tried to keep myself composed. 

As I waited there, my morning devotion came to mind:

"Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus." (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18)

Sandy came in, 9 o’clock on the dot. She walked behind the counter, put her bag down and saw me there, sitting on the floor, hugging the blood-stained garbage can. “Oh, boy,” she said. “Good morning!” I replied, with a teasing smile. 

She took me in the back to inspect. Looking at the wound, she said I probably needed stitches. Because of our mutual aversion to hospitals, we decided to just bandage me up. We had no first aid kit, so she went across the street to a drugstore for supplies. God bless America.

As I waited, I continued meditating on my morning devotional, a message on 1Thessalonians by Graham Cooke:

     "The will of God is always tied into His nature. The will of God is to make you like Him. We are all made into His likeness. Therefore no matter what is occurring in our life, the opportunity to become like Christ is always instantly, immediately, constantly available to us.       If you are in distress you will learn how to be like God in those moments. If you’re facing opposition you can face it, learning to be like God, enjoying opposition.        It doesn’t matter what the situation is, the ability to become like Jesus is open and available to us and sometimes the situations around our lives dictate for us what God wants to be in us and what we can actually be in Him. That way, if we adopt that way of thinking, life makes all things possible to us but especially if we face it with joy and with thanksgiving."

Sandy returned minutes later, and the bleeding, for the most part, was under control. With bandages in hand, she said, “OK, let’s see it.” Now, the cut was on my middle finger. As she began to expertly attend to my wound, I sat there, middle finger extended, flipping her off, giving her the bird. 

She looked at me amused as we both sensed the irony of the situation. You see, I did not like Sandy. Not too many people in my workplace did. She had nicknames like “Sand-Paper” because she rubbed people the wrong way, and “Sandy-Bot” because she had no mercy for human emotion. She was difficult to work with, to say the least, and I often reacted negatively towards her in the past. She knew that I, like many others, had a general disdain for her. So as I stood there, middle finger extended, she began to dryly chuckle. “You’ve been wanting to do this for a looooong time....haven’t you?”

Previously, my answer would have been a definite in-your-face ‘yes’. She made my days very difficult when I worked with her. But for months, I had been crying out to God to change my heart, to help me love this horrible woman, to make me more like His son, Jesus, who loved the unlovable.

Realizing this was the perfect ice-breaking moment,  I said, “There was a time when I would have loved to have flipped you off. But now that I can, I don’t want to. Sandy, to be honest...I love you.” Without flinching, without any change in tone or emotion, she replied, “I love you, too. Always have.” And with that, she finished bandaging my finger and went on her way.

And that’s when I realized that it was God’s will for me to cut my finger that morning. It was purposed in Heaven that Sandy and I would have a moment of reconciliation, and God saw it fit to wound me to bring it about. Praising Him, I prayed, “If that’s what it takes Father to make me more like your Son, then You can wound me all You want!” I found reason to rejoice and give thanks. The pain and anxiety of the morning seemed to dissipate, so much that I was able to go back to my kitchen and finish out the day. 

While working a verse came to mind:

"If I gave everything I have to the poor and even sacrificed my body, I could boast about it; but if I didn't love others, I would have gained nothing." (1 Corinthians 13:3)

It occurred to me that I am about to go on another overseas mission trip. And yet here in America, at my job, was a woman to whom I had not truly brought the love of Christ. God was giving me the opportunity to make things right with her. He was answering my prayer to soften my heart. I was to first go and be reconciled to my sister; then offer myself to the mission field. (Matthew 5:24) Perhaps if I hadn’t of been so stubborn, I wouldn’t of had to slice my finger off to get to this point. Regardless, God was faithful. I was able to tell her I loved her.

During the next few days, she followed up with necessary care. As she cleaned and re-bandaged my finger, we had precious moments. We laughed. We confided in one another. I made her lunch. We hugged.

Graham Cooke was right. God uses everything to make us more like Christ, even distress, pain, flesh wounds. In all things we can rejoice! I watched myself heal. As new tender skin formed around the finger, it became a reflection of my heart that was new and soft towards this woman who was once my enemy. 

I had a new heart. My blood brought reconciliation.

I was becoming more Christlike.

“...for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.”

Lè Bondye Voye Ou...

"Lè Bondye voye ou, li te peye bòdwo a." 

(When God sends you, He pays the bill.)

Plans for my Haiti trip caught a few snags, hit a few bumps in the road. By the time we worked out all the details, the trip was a little over a month away. 

I didn’t have much time to get prepared and raise support. No worries, I thought, there was a missions board meeting that week where I could easily make a request. However, that month, the board decided to make some cuts and pull support - not the best time to ask for money. I remained quiet. 

At the meeting, emphasis was on investing wisely and having a good return on money spent. Dollars should translate to souls in heaven, they decided. Fair enough.  So I’m riding my bike to work a few days later and began to pray...

“Aren’t I a good investment, Abba? Am I not a high-yield missionary? Am I not your chosen daughter?” I prayed. “You called me to ‘go’ and you called me to bear much fruit. How am I to make disciples of the nations unless you send me? Please, Daddy...pay for my trip.” 

No sooner did I say an ‘amen’, when I saw a dollar bill on the ground! I hit the brakes, spun the bike around and reached down to pull the money from the grass. It was as if my Heavenly Father was saying, ‘Of course I will pay for this trip!” I put that dollar in my back pocket and rode off, full of faith. 

That night, I was at a Bible study which ended with small group prayer time. I asked for prayer, inviting my friends to agree with me that God would finance this trip. That same night, a young man approached me. He had been raising support for his own trip to Nicaragua and received a surplus. He wrote me out a check for half of what I needed, on the spot. The next day, another couple hundred was donated by a friend and medical missionary to Guatemala. “Tax refund,” she said. “God told me to give towards missions.”

I spent the weekend praising God. Early Monday morning I received a call from the pastor of a local church who is going with us on this trip. “Kristin,” he said, “the church and I have decided that we want to sponsor you ourselves. Whatever your balance is, we would like to cover it.” And with that, all of my support was raised. 

“My yoke is easy and my burden is light,” Jesus said. 

Believing what the Lord says in the Word is effortless. I am so glad the the Lord has already made promises to me in His Word about missions work. The only work I have to do, is believe. God gives us rest and surety that He will pay the bill. 

"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God."  Phillipians 4:6

"And we are confident that he hears us whenever we ask for anything that pleases him."  1 John 5:14 

"And I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Son may bring glory to the Father."  John 14:13 

"The LORD will fulfill His purpose for me; your love, O LORD, endures forever--do not abandon the works of your hands."  Psalm 138:8

Learning To Slow Down

I experienced culture shock when I moved to Florida. Having lived in the city of Baltimore for several years I became used to an accelerated, hard, driving pace. Baltimore itself was loud and fast and mean. But the seminary I was attending was also very performance-oriented. I worked hard, studied hard and tried hard to prove to my teachers and peers - and God -  that I was good enough to hit the mark. I got all A’s in seminary -  then I burned out. 

On my first day in Florida I went to open a bank account in the small, quiet, rural port town I now lived in. I walked into the bank, signed in and sat down. I sat - and sat -  and soon found myself tapping my fingers, then tapping my foot, then pacing the empty waiting area, then finally asking a young bank associate -  why the long wait? ‘Ms. Schon, according to the sign in, you’ve only been here 9 minutes.” In Baltimore time, that translated into about two and a half hours! I should be in and out of here by now! “The bank manager should be with you shortly.”

Trying hard keep to keep my foot from tapping, the door of the manager’s office finally opened. I lept out of my chair then stopped. I saw the bank manager, a middle-aged Haitian-American woman in a smart navy-blue dress, assisting an elderly couple out of her office. On one arm was a frail, gray woman, well into her 80’s, on the other arm, a wrinkled, bald, crouching man, perhaps in his 90’s, walking with a cane, slowly. He would take a step, pause, inch his wobbling cane forward, then take another feeble step and pause. I sat back down and watched in painfully slow motion this couple being patiently escorted out of the bank. 

I realized then, I had to slow down. SW Florida was not Baltimore. I took a deep breath. God was allowing me to adopt a new pace. 

However, my internal pace still wanted to race a mile a minute. I recently had a friend call me out on my impatience. Since he lives in the Dominican Republic, he has adopted an even slower pace. “Slow...down...life,” he said, “It is the way of DR and Haiti.” Meditating on this, I learned a few more Creole words and told my Haitian co-worker, while trying to wrangle from her an unfinished container of cucumbers, “Mwen pa yon pasyans blan .” I am not a patient white person! It got her laughing pretty hard. 

And of course, like any good ‘9-5’, my job gives me plenty of reasons to lose my patience. Currently, the reason is Jack. Jack is a bright young 19-year old who found his way into my department a couple weeks ago. The other day, I asked him to peel some carrots and cut them on a bias. Easy enough. 

He grabbed the peeler. “Did you know that carrots come in other colors besides orange?” 

“Yes, Jack, I did know that,” I replied, and watched him wave the peeler in the air as he continued.

“Did you also know that color is an illusion? Color is visual response to wavelengths of light. Light is perceived on the retina as a stimulus and is processed into a perception of color in our brain.”

“Oh, how interesting. After you get those carrots peeled, you can...”

“You know what else is an illusion? Having a job. I mean, I really don’t feel like I want to be working, especially since my whole paycheck went to rent last week. What’s it all for? Life has got to be more than this! Do you think I can get more hours? I really want some more hours. ”

“...put the peels in the garbage can over there.”

“Because there’s this new skateboard I want to get and these SICK new bearings and...”

“Jack... the carrots?”

“Did you know the Russian word for carrot is морковь? Here, I can write your name in Russian!” Pulling a small phrasebook from his pocket, Jack begins to write my name, and the names of all our female co-workers, on our assignment board - in Russian.

“Maybe it’s time we got to work, Jack?”

“Oh, OK. Um...I think I’m gonna get another cup of coffee first. Be right back!” 

So, as I finished peeling and cutting the carrots, I began to think. 

Today’s culture is breeding a generation of kids who have what is called “cultural ADHD”. The society these kids are growing up in - one of information overload, mushrooming technology, microwaves, drive-thrus, planned obsolescence, instant messaging, instant gratification, virtual relationships, twittering, flickering electronic distractions, over consumption of sugar and caffeine, lack of stable environment and anxious parenting - is affecting their development. Young children are being placed in front of television and computer screens until they are ready for their own laptop, cell phone and Facebook account. As their brains develop they become wired differently than children just a generation ago who read books, used cursive and played outside with their neighborhood friends. 

In effect we have a culture that cannot focus, cannot sit still, cannot follow instructions. They are overstimulated and impatient. Obviously it is difficult to manage these kids in the workplace. It tries my own patience, especially when there is work to be done, deadlines to meet, tasks to finish. 

But I see an even bigger problem here. I see an end-time culture that is almost physiologically incapable of ‘being still and knowing He is God.’

I know the feeling well. My own stress levels, inability to concentrate and memory-loss seemed to increase after I installed Internet in my home not too long ago. The more information I gather, the more topics I research, the more time I spend listening to the media, the more ‘socializing’ I do on Facebook, the less I feel connected to the Spirit. 

It concerns me. I am concerned for myself and for this new generation. I am concerned for Jack. My friend put it this way: “God leads us best when we are listening.” But how can we follow God when we can’t hear Him? When there are a thousand other voices competing in our minds, our emotions, our spirits...the only Voice that matters seems to become harder and harder to hear. 

I have found that I need to purposely and intentionally create quiet space. Jesus did this often by spending time alone away from the crowds. I, too, need to get away. I take fasts from the computer and social media. I gave up television a long time ago. I meditate. I go for walks. I set aside time to rest in Him, to do nothing but be still. This takes practice, it takes discipline. I prefer to practice yoga for a while just to get my nervous system quieted down enough to allow my brain to be still. I do what I can to...slow...down. 

I remember finally opening the account at the bank. I sat down at the woman’s desk and we began to talk. Since she was from Haiti, I tried to speak French to her,  which made her smile. She showed me pictures of her family that still lives there. She asked about my recent move to Florida, which brought me to tears. She gave me Kleenex and kind words. She happened to be a Christian and we shared sweet fellowship, ministering the love of Jesus to one another. We spent time together. We had relationship. Had I not slowed down, I would have missed it all.

And this is all that God asks of us. Slow down. Don’t be in such a hurry. Stop tapping your foot and checking the time,  checking your Facebook and texting back and forth. Stop Twittering and being distracted by all the flickering. Stop gathering information just because it’s out there. Turn off the TV, turn off the radio, unplug. 

Yet, in all of our impatience, God is patient. He waits. God is not scattered; He’s completely focused on you. He longs to connect with you in that Secret Place. He desires for you to be still and know that He is God, because in that place, you will have fellowship. Relationship. Intimacy. Connection. Power. Peace. He wants you to know Him and He wants to know you. Slow down. Be still, be still. He’s waiting...

Learning To Enjoy the Ride

Last week I hit a bump in the road, spiritually speaking. I was racing, as usual, toward my destination, full speed ahead. Hitting a bump in the road at high speeds is usually more troublesome than if you were to go over the same bump at a slower pace. If you’ve ever done this in real life, you know that the contents of your vehicle will be shaken and rattled and tossed throughout the interior. Well, now you have a picture of what my little head went through. 

The bump involved a glitch in my well thought-out plans about how I though my life should look in the next year. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, God laughs at my plans. And yet, He loves me. You see, my Father created me with a melancholic mind that is always turning, always thinking. If channeled properly, it can be quite brilliant, sensitive, creative, organized, articulate, artistic and in tune with the Spirit. On the flip side, the weaknesses of my temperament are over analyzing, perfectionism, worrying, over planning and generally driving myself - and everyone around me - completely crazy, especially when things are out of my control. God help us. 

I have some huge changes coming ‘round the bend in the next year. Think about it. A possible transitioning from beautiful Naples, Florida to an orphanage in rural Haiti is kinda huge. This has sent my poor little head into overdrive. I purposed to simply count the cost, but ended up over-analyzing, over-evaluating and over-thinking every little detail. From a systems-management point of view, I actually did pretty well. However, just when I thought I had my life and my future mission ‘all figured out’ ... BUMP!

Stormie Omartian, in her book, Just Enough Light for the Step I’m On, says this:

“(If you) suddenly feel like your life has come to a halt, don't be alarmed. Most likely, God is adjusting your way. Having God correct your course doesn't necessarily mean the one you were on was incorrect. But it does mean that something needs to change to get you headed in the direction God wants to take you.”

Again, one of my strengths, it seems, is to have deep communion with the Spirit. But I can also fall into the trap of having deep communion with my own thoughts.  God wants me to trust Him - not my mind -  with every detail, living a simple life of child-like faith. In His wisdom, God is doing what He can to rattle and shake me to make sure my life becomes a complete walk of faith, similar to that of Abraham, who “obeyed when God called him to leave home and go to another land that God would give him as his inheritance. He went without knowing where he was going.” (Hebrews 11:8) 

You see, in Genesis 12, Abraham was called by God to “go.” He wasn’t told where, he was only promised a blessing. So he left everything behind and went into the land of Canaan, a good land, possessed by a bad people, believing in God’s promises. Abraham was not given details, a plan or an itinerary. He just went. And God was faithful... 

This weekend I was talking to a dear friend. He is an obedient servant, whose walk of faith I admire. I looked to him for wisdom, burdening him with a million questions, and of course, details. I couldn’t see that I just needed to slow down and stop outstripping God by longing to do His will. He is the alpha and omega, after all. He is God. I need to learn that God did all the thinking and planning for me, before the foundations of the earth were laid. I need to just fall in line with what He is already doing and enjoy the ride. Apparently trying to help me out of my struggle, my friend broke it down to me this way, 

“God will show you. It is more like... take a step and God will be faithful. Take another step and God will be faithful....”

So simple. Childlike. And completely over my head. 

So today I fasted. I took a complete Sabbath from any activity. I slowed down. I took my foot off the gas. I didn't even get in the car. I stopped running ahead of the Lord. I stopped analyzing and trying to figure it all out. I simply rested in the Spirit. I enjoyed His presence. I got still...and realized He was God. 

Come, and let us go up to the mountain of the Lord,
To the house of the God of Jacob;
He will teach us His ways,
And we shall walk in His paths.

Micah 4:2