Pt. 9: The Girl’s Home
My leap of faith from Northern California led me all the way down the coast to San Diego, CA to another church experiencing revival. I didn’t know where to be except at His feet in the presence of people who wanted the same thing. Interestingly enough, some of the same people I’d met in Kentucky, were also there at that church doing the same thing. They were staying in their car in the church parking lot, spending as much time in the prayer services as they possibly could. As crazy as it was, it seemed like a good idea to me, so I parked my car next to theirs trusting God for the next open door (which came about 10 days later). Needless to say, people in my circle didn’t understand my choices. I was reminded of what Holy Spirit spoke to my spirit the week before my drive down there, “Will you trust that there is a promise land waiting for you? Will you trust me to provide for you? Defend you? Care for you? Regardless of what it looks like to other people? Will you lay down your fear, will you lay down your doubt? Will you lay down every single ounce of pride? Will you lay down your discouragement when it doesn’t look the way you wanted it to?
Sleeping in a church parking lot was definitely not what I considered a ‘promise land’ experience.
If you aren’t familiar with that story in the Bible, the ‘promise land’ was the place where God promised His people in ancient times that they would inhabit after He delivered them from Egyptian slavery. It was the ultimate destination; the place where the people had been longing to go, where they could finally settle down and find a sense of ‘home’ after such a long stent of wondering around in the wilderness, living out of tents and learning to trust God’s leading. In my own travels, there were so many days that I found myself longing for that moment as well. It had been 9 months of traveling with no break longer than 5 weeks.
I found myself desperate for rest in a real bed. “God, you are the God of provision. You said you have a plan! How do I partner with your plan?” I was reminded of a friend I’d met during my time in Tennessee and decided to call her for prayer.
“Becca, I feel like you need to connect with some people I met at the prayer room in Dallas, they’re in San Bernardino. They have a worship night on Sunday nights - it’s two hours away from you and kind of in the hood - but I think you should go.”
I made the drive and pulled off the highway onto a road littered with trash and homeless encampments by old gas stations and broken down buildings. I drove another half a mile, struck by the smell of motor oil and the number of abandoned businesses covered by graffiti. I turned into the neighborhood to find houses with bars guarding patches of dirt and small stucco homes sandwiched together. ‘R.I.P. Chaz’ was tagged on the light poles and sidewalks all over the place in honor of the recent neighborhood gang casualty. I pulled up to an unmarked house with a red ‘Jesus is King’ flag blowing in the wind of the barred in driveway. I could hear the people inside singing worship songs in Spanish.
I took a deep breath and found a place to park. Inside was a single piano with a girl singing while she wept, 50 young people and the presence of God.
As I stood in the corner of a hallway, elbow to elbow with those around me, trying to stay focused in worship amidst my discomfort, an image flashed before my eyes of an African American man that I’d never met before. It was too dark to see the faces of anyone in the room, but as soon as the worship was over, I was amazed to see the same man that I saw in my “imagination” during worship enter the room. I knew I had to go talk to him. He said his name was Canaan.
“You mean, like the Promised Land?!”
I knew right then and there that I was exactly where the Lord wanted me to be. The owner of the home (who happened to be the young woman on the piano) was kind enough to invite me to live in their prayer room for the next few weeks. Her kindness to me, as a complete stranger to touched my heart and I knew I’d found a friend. But to be honest, I had a hard time being there. After hearing gun shots right outside the door the next night, that place felt more like a tent in the dessert than it did a promised land flowing with milk and honey. None the less, I chose stay (even though that region was rated the third most dangerous city in America that year, there was no A/C in the prayer room in 110 degree weather, broken windows, a rat infestation and more cockroaches than I had ever seen). After all, I didn’t lay it all down for an upgrade in my living circumstances - which was something God had to really humble me to get me to realize. It was never about finding the right circumstances and choosing to ‘get planted’. Like Moses in the wilderness, my whole journey was about finding Him. And I did. Time and time again in that little shed in their backyard.
When we discovered we all wanted to go to the giant prayer gathering at Arrowhead Stadium in Kansas that summer, they invited me to stay longer so we could carpool there. I wasn’t entirely sure what was next for me after the event, but even then, God continued to affirm that phrase to me; “this is the promised land”.
A few weeks later, week packed a car and hit the road. After more than 25 hours on the road and a few overnight stays, we were getting closer and closer to our destination - The Send in Kansas City, MI. In typical road trip fashion, we were relieved to find a place to stop in the middle of Kansas for a quick bathroom break. While the others finished up in the restrooms, I asked one of my new friends how he was feeling about going to the event. He had his air pods in for most of the trip and seemed distant.
“Honestly, I’m struggling to forgive people that I know I’ll see there and I don’t even want to go anymore.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. It seemed like he had a lot more on his mind than just seeing old contacts and it definitely wasn’t any of my business. My heart filled with compassion for him. I prayed and asked the Holy Spirit to give me the words to say.
“Give him Matthew 6:15”
We walked across the street to a local grocery store to grab some things while we waited for the others. The store was the size of a Walgreens back home with the customers discussing their personal lives with the cashiers - everyone clearly knew each other well. The little bakery in the store looked exactly like one I used to visit when I lived in a group home in Kansas for at-risk youth. We would go to the bakery after church on Sunday’s to pick up the leftover bread for the program. I was a junior in high school and 423 miles away from home. At the time, I hated that place. We would earn “points” by finishing our chores on time, staying quiet, and obeying the rules. We wore uniforms in public places, and carried around “point cards” to earn privileges - like having jelly on our toast, speaking, wearing our hair down, or going into the grocery store with staff to help carry out the bread. We weren’t ever allowed anywhere else in the store. During the summer months, we would scrub the whole house twice a day, and the staff would put on white gloves to wipe down our window sills and dressers. If they found any lingering dust, we would have to start our cleaning over again from the beginning. When we weren't cleaning, we were going to church and memorizing Bible verses. It was an experience I resented having at first. I missed my friends and was poorly adjusting to the rigid structure and strict rules of the program. For the first few weeks, I didn’t earn any privileges at all. I was learning to submit to authority.
Back home, my dad and I seemed to bring the worst out in each other and I hated him for it. I hated my mom too. I thought they hated me. I felt deeply rejected and unwanted. Why else would they send me away? It was deeper than that, and not quite as simple. But as a 17 year old, that was the way I saw it. My family and I had hurt each other deeply. We were caught in a toxic cycle of tearing open old wounds. The night of my seventeenth birthday, the relational tensions came to an ugly head. My dad had lost his temper and my mom was on her knees scrubbing the bloody mess out of the carpet in my room. I was running as fast as I could down the street without shoes on, headed to anywhere but there.
A few months later, I found myself in the girls home in Kansas and my parents found themselves in therapy. Our relationship was in ruins and our family needed a miracle.
It was during that season that Matthew 6:15 radically transformed my life. In the midst of the demands of the girls home, I began to encounter the love of Jesus. I started the process of breaking free from my victim mentality, and taking ownership for my actions (that being disrespect and verbal abuse towards my parents) For the first time in years, I began to take my eyes off of their actions, and I started evaluating my own. As much as I had been hurt by them, I also hurt them too. One time I even spit in my dad’s face screaming terrible things at him. I felt guilty for the way I had treated my parents and received forgiveness of my sins through the blood of Jesus crucified on the cross for me. I chose to forgive my parents for their actions. It was an experience that changed me, and an experience I’ll elaborate on in a future post.
I wasn’t exactly sure where we were in Kansas, or how close we were to my old girls home, but we were definitely somewhere in “the middle of nowhere Kansas”, a few hours away from The Send. The familiar sentiment of the little grocery store brought an expansion of bitter-sweet nostalgia to my heart. The chances of it being the same grocery store were slim to none. I put the memories away and we checked out.
“If you forgive others, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you refuse to forgive others, your Father in heaven will not forgive your sins.” -Matthew 6:14-15
My friend and I ended up having a quick come to Jesus, Matthew 6:15 conversation in the pizza place next door. As I scanned the walls of the restaurant, I was surprised to see the name of my old high school all over the walls. I asked the woman at the cash register how far away we were from Kingman, KS. I wasn't the one driving, and had no idea where we were. She gave me a funny look.
“Honey, we are IN Kingman.”
I told her the story about the behavior reform group home that used to get the leftover bread from the grocery store in the town. “Well it would have been that one for sure, honey. Have a nice day.”
We were 3 minutes away from the girls home. The woman said it had been empty for years now. We rejoined our friends in the car and drove straight there. Someone happened to be inside and I walked the halls again, 14 years later thanking God for transforming my heart in that place and teaching me the power of forgiveness. The home was where I made my first quilt. It was where the Lord started stitching my heart back together and showing me His love as a Heavenly Father. Check out this little video tour:
The furniture is mostly the same lol
How crazy of the Lord to lead me back to that place?! I’m excited to write more about my experience there in my memoir. In the midst of the crazy rules and terrible home decor, the Lord met me in that place! I had an encounter with the fear of the Lord when I read Matthew 6:15 in that place that has forever marked me and changed my life as I’ve actively chosen forgiveness for others, because He first forgave me! God is so good.
“Let the redeemed of the LORD tell their story” -Psalm 107:2
Where might God be leading you on the timeline of your own story? Are there spaces or places in your story where you’ve seen the hand of God encounter you in a profound way? Our God is a God fond of reminiscing on the memories He’s made with His children. Are there parts of your story that might need healing, or people you need to forgive? God is faithful to help you heal and mend every part of your story in His love.
