A Wordless Post.

I didn't know, words could be so heavy.

Heavy like a first snow on a broken tree branch.

Heavy like one hundred pound weights on my chest.

Heavy like a tension headache in the back of my brain.

They're burning and building and sinking and swimming around up there and I've been struggling to let them go. To lift the weight of thought from this brain of mine and just let it all go, let the worries go, let the struggle go, let the pain go, let the loneliness go. Just let the words go.

To find the synonym, the antonym, to dig through a dictionary, encyclopedia, thesaurus, to find the one thing to describe it all. To be able to cut open my heart and let the feelings bleed out. For the word, the phrase, the single sentence to explain to someone, anyone what is going on inside me.

But rarely do we ever tell people about the true depths of our struggles and our loneliness. About how with each passing day we feel more lost than the day before, more alienated from those around us and we're not sure how to fix it or where to start.

And as I sit here drinking my cup of tea, letting the heat scorch the back of my throat and letting the warm liquid drain into my stomach. Feeling it's warmth splash into my stomach and into my soul I can't help but compare my tea to the feeling Jesus gives me, even in this moment of wordless struggle. Even when words cannot find their way out of my head and onto my tongue. Jesus finds His way through my mess and into my heart.

I cried at a gum commercial today.

And at first I thought I was going crazy as I felt the stupid tears on my cheeks and then I realized I've been bottling up so much stress and anxiety and I've been miserable for so long that it was bound to leak it's way out over my eyelids. It just hit me at a strange time, sitting on a chair in my living room watching a Extra gum commercial.

It seems to me that the years between eighteen and twenty-something are the hardest, psychologically. It's here that we realize this is make or break, we no longer have the excuse of youth, and it's time to become and adult- but we are not ready. I am not ready. I don't know if I will ever be ready.

Lately I'm just heavier than usual… I fell more broken than usual. I don't feel like Cami. I feel like a shell of Cami. I feel like I'm going through the motions of my life. That I am spending so much time trying to find the words instead of just letting the words find me. That I let the misery of my job seep into my soul and destroy my spirit. It drains me, wrecks me, causes me to weep and stumble and wrack my brain over what I should do.

But I know what I should do. I know what I need to do and I know what I have to do. And it's hard. And it's caused me to curl into a ball into myself and really pray, really discern, really focus on Him and trust that He has it all under control. To know that right now I am hurting and that's okay. That right now there are many hardships. But that they are preparing me for something better. They are teaching me a greater lesson.

That right now I have to choose what to keep and what to leave behind.

And as I sit here staring at my empty cup of tea I have decided to choose to make room for all things beautiful, lovely, peaceful, admirable, lovely, and wonderful in my life and in my heart. To choose the things that bring me closer to Jesus.

To let go of the words I cannot find. To let go of the mess and the misery and just let Him work and know that He will provide no matter the situation I am finding myself in.

To find Him every day, in every thing.

To not try to make every one else happy, to remember that He is the author and perfecter of my life. To not be afraid of my truths and my life anymore. To not omit pieces of myself to make others feel comfortable. To stretch out my hand in faith and touch His robes.

He is with me, even through the tears over a gum commercial and the wordless description of what is going on. Because He knows me and the depths of my heart and I find peace in that.


Letting God Move,


HIS and yours,


 Cami

Life at 23...

On a day like today, most girls my age would want to be waking up to an array of colorful balloons and flowers and presents overflowing, to a pile of new clothes and shoes and gadgets galore.

But if I am going to be real I am most certainly, without a doubt not like most girls... and if one were to take a peak into my room they would not see gadgets and shoes and piles of clothes, but paintings and pictures of another country, of little ebony faces that are engraved on my heart, of sandals that have walked miles and congas that hold stories. And instead of colorful balloons and presents, I wake up longing for little dirty hands on my face, and dusty feet in my sandals, wishing to smell trash burning in the distance and the loudness of the roosters crowing through my window. Aching to hear the laughter of my Tanzanian sisters, echoed by words in Swahili I don't understand. To not have my feet tangled in a bed sheet, but rather a mosquito net full of holes.

And today is a day just like any other. Of longing for the place I unknowingly left my heart behind in. and a year ago I was flying on a jet plane to this place. a year ago today I turned 22.

But today I'm 23.

And I'm not flying across the ocean.

Today I am 23.

But I still feel 22.

My thoughts are still 22.

My heart still feels 22.

and yet here I sit... now at 23.

I just don't know... I guess I've always thought that something magical should happen when we have a birthday. Like all the questions we've found ourselves asking are finally answered on the day your age number changes. Or like the way the beast is transformed into a man at the end of the magical movie. But my life is not a Disney movie, and there really is no way of knowing if that man is still the beast in his heart. Just like I'm still struggling to find out if I'm really 23 or still 22.

And I think what the problem is, well it's that I just grasped onto the fact that I was 22. I felt like I knew what 22 was and understood it and now I'm 23 and just as confused as I was that day one year ago, when I turned 22.

Truth is we are all the ages we've been. Somedays I'm five, somedays I'm thirteen and somedays I'm 22... or is it 23?!?! And there all complied underneath to make the person I am today, and I'm still trying to grasp a hold of that. Still trying to unravel the mysteries with every year that goes by.

As I sit here and reminisce over this past year of my life. Peering about the long journey I've taken to get to where I am right now, I'm seeing that I've changed. A LOT! That I am not the same person I was last October. And that maybe, just maybe I'm more of 23 than I'll let myself believe.

Okay no, no matter how much I wish I was, I'm not boarding a plane bound for Africa this year. But that doesn't mean God isn't sending me places. He has definitely shown me what growing really means, temporarily surrendering my security in my comfortable places to see His greater picture and His greater glory for my life. It means that somedays... most days are going to be excruciatingly difficult. But I'm finding that as I take one step to the next, Life isn't exactly what I expected.

It's greater and bigger than anything I could ever imagine. It's harder and fuller and challenging, yet beautiful and full of joy and so much love!

Granted I am much heavier than I was a year ago. My heart, my mind, my shoulders weighted down with burdens and desires I never knew I had. And this past year there have been many moments I have struggled with what God expects of me. He has changed my perspective on life and what is important. I'm seeing that the things I used to love and thought I found joy in are nothing compared to the things and the people He has now placed on my heart.

That I tend to spend less time with my books and my television and more time with people, talking and praying and thinking about people. I find that my bed has lost it's comfort, knowing that there is a child 8000 miles away sleeping on a dirt floor. I am seeing that what my face looks like and the way my clothes sit aren't nearly as important as the words I am saying and the actions I am taking against the injustices of the world. And I'm finding that the petty, stupid things I used to make such a big deal out of, are really just petty, insignificant things when I realize that the widow I fell in love with months ago could no longer be living and I have no way of ever knowing.

A year ago today on my plane to Tanzania I wrote in my journal...  And I think there is pain in being a disciple. Pain that becomes joy in the end, but pain that no one seems to ever talk about. The pain of leaving the ones you love behind. Peter must have felt it, and James and John. Paul must have felt it, and Jesus most definitely felt it. But I think that is part of suffering for the gospel. Leaving. Always leaving and moving on, never ever forgetting, but continuing on the path. But to show the love of Christ, to sacrifice my life. To be burdened by the lives of other who do not know HIS glorious love. That is worth the pain.

And 23 year old me would have to agree with 22 year old me. There is pain... so much pain. And the pain I felt that day is similar yet so much different than the the pain I feel now. The burdens are the same, but the people and the actions are so much different.

Today I celebrate another year of life and God has blessed me beyond measure! But my heart is with those who don't get that chance. Who are dying right now. You see my heart has changed. And as I get older I am seeing there is less and less time for the people around me to see Jesus. And I'm wondering why in the heck it took me so many years of hatred and selfishness to see this. Why it took me long fights with roommates and friends that I could have easily solved with selfless love. Why did it take me so long with focusing all on myself and not on the people around me to see that my life is worth far more than me.

That my life was made to be a carrier of the gospel, and living out my faith privately and for myself was never an option.

That 23 is for Christ, just as 22 was and the years to come are. That there are no ifs or maybes when it comes to Jesus and loving His people. There is only Yes and Send ME. That in my heart there should be no room for me. And as my heart gets crowded with Jesus I will invite people into the party. People that the world may hate and despise, but who I will love, because He loves them. That they will come into the room and see that this love, His love is what they were created for.

That my life would be an outpouring sacrifice. That my life would be one full of love and selflessness. My life would become God's... His hands, His feet, His heart, His strength.

That my love for Jesus and my love for others would be what stands out about me and nothing else.

No matter where He takes me or who He places in my path, starting now, at 23 I will follow unashamed, unabashedly forever and ever hard after Him. To love recklessly, to living radically, to spill my life out for the gospel, which is Jesus Christ.

Feeling 23,

 HIS and yours,

   Cami

Heaviness...

My once clean floor has now become a pile of haphazardly tossed clothes. My bed hasn't been made in weeks and I can't remember the last time I actually saw the top of my dresser.

   My memories from Africa are fading.

And I'm looking at pictures and reading through my journals.

   My heart is heavy. Weighted down by the inability to recall a child's face or voice. Weighted down by the burden of so much love. Weighted down by the life around me that has seemingly returned to normal and I'm still reaching back trying to hold onto something that I am still struggling to unravel, still struggling to understand.

  And my mind has been plagued with those faces across the ocean, burden by their hurts and pains and the things I can only imagine they are going through, and also filled with faces from home, new faces of kids and people I have began to fall in love with. Worried and burdened by their struggles of home life and school and bullying and unknown issues.

 I feel so heavy. My mind, my eyes, my heart. Heavy.

   Lately I've lacked the motivation to even brush my hair, or pick my clothes up off the floor, or even pick myself up off the floor.

  I spend most of my days at work and when I'm not there I spend most of my time face down on the floor of my messy room, thinking, and praying, and crying. Heavy. Burdened.

  And I forget I asked for this. I prayed for this. To be burden with love. It's a beautiful thing. It's a hard thing. But most things worth living for, most things worth fighting for are beautiful and hard. But the longer I'm away from Africa, the heavier I get.

It's hard to explain. That my heart is here and there. Two places, two homes. My heart is in the hands of those ebony faces, and my family I lived with, and the sick and dying, and orphaned and widowed. But my heart is also here, in the hands of my sisters and brothers and parents. In the hands of him. in the hands of friends, and in the hands of these beautiful new kids that I've come to know and grown to love.

And the burdens are there. In both places. Deep in my heart.

If I'm honest right now I'm weary with life and not sure what to do with myself.

Memories are fading and I just want to hold onto them tight.

And I'm looking at God asking Him what He wants with my life? Whatever it is I want Him to take it. These burdens I have asked for and received and now I am trying to figure out what to do with them. And I'm realizing I'm not alone in this. That there are others with burdens just like mine, who are in my life to talk through things with me, and love me even when my eyes are puffy red from crying and rambling through prayers. I'm seeing that God is ever-so close to me as I continue to draw nearer to Him.

Realizing that what I've asked for I must also continually give right back up to Him in faith and in trust. Knowing that I can do nothing for these kids, for these burdens on my own, without Him. And I'm seeing that even though the memories fade, my love and my passion will not.

That even thought right now I feel like my heart is all the way at my feet, weighted down, that He is lifting me up, He is showing me that I need to stop over-thinking and just start praying more. To continue to seek Him and His will for my life. To stop trying to second guess my path, because He is leading me.

  To find Joy.

   Even in the most unlikely places.

 And I think I will start with picking the clothes up off my floor.


  HIS and yours,

  Cami

Love is not tolerant.

Steel metal colored clouds consume the sky. The sun, hidden behind them, the way I would love to be hiding under my covers.

It is raining.

I stand outside letting the drops hit my face and roll off with the wind.

It smells beautiful. A smell so fragile I need to inhale deeply to grasp onto all its fragrance. Clean and crisp with a hint of something clinging to the edge. Memories, of ebony faces, and the time it poured as we walked to the dukas and sat on the barbers couches until the clouds stopped crying over us. Of the first time I met them and loved them. Of the endless days of walking with squishy wet mud between my toes.

Coolness surrounds me and I close my eyes to relish in the moment, in the memories, in what the smell of the rain brings.

I cannot capture the words.

I cannot capture the memories fast enough.

I cannot capture the beauty and grace of God.

All in the rain.

My African blanket is pulled tight over my shoulders as I write this. I'm cold like always, it's a never ending thing, no amount of hot chocolate or layers of clothing seems to keep my body warm. So I'll just pull on my wool socks and lace my fingers through my steamy mug of chocolate and pour out the warmth that is coming from my soul.

We all have treasured words written upon our hearts. They're the truths we keep locked beneath a cage of bone and a cloak of flesh; and I don't think there is ever a sudden revelation, a complete and tidy explanation for why things happen or why things ends or why or who we are. You want one and I want one, but there isn't a pretty definition to tie it all up in a bow and deliver. I think it comes in bits and pieces, of growing and loving, of trusting in God. And we stitch all these things together where they fit and when we are done there may still be holes in places, we are imperfect, and yet God is still working and still moving, There is no other way.

I am just blown away by God. Blown away by His faithfulness and His love for me and just the way He sneaks in all quiet like and answers my prayers and blessed my life. And I'm just mad at myself for how selfish and how ungrateful I am. Seriously, I mean "Paul said it perfectly, 'I am the worst of these!' but every now and then I swear I think I got that guy beat."

And we could boil it down to me being hard on myself. But I am not. I think that's what this world needs. Christians, Christ followers, reckless Jesus lovers to be hard on themselves. We are too easy on ourselves. We are tolerant. We don't want to make people upset, So we walk on eggshells and go to church on Sunday and say we will do all these things. But we go home curl up on our couch and watch as the world literally goes to hell.

Do we speak out about the racism about Miss America, Or stretch out our hands to the families and victims of the shooting in Washington D.C.? Are we really praying for Syria? What about that kid in the back of the church, searching for answers, did we just walk past him?

We're not fighting the good fight. We're not running the race. We're not fleeing the evil desires. We are not loving.

Love is not tolerant.

Love speaks out. Love throws punches. Love sprints. Love crushes evil with good.

We have this checklist, these guidelines we think comes with following Christ. Go to church. Read your Bible. Tithe. Say grace before meals. But that's the thing loving God is not a checklist, it's not a thing to do. And I am the worst of these. I get so caught up in the things pastors and teachers and books have said define what it means to be a Christian. But there is only one definition of a Christian and that is Jesus.

And we're missing the point. I'm missing the point. That there are much greater things going on out in this world than what Miley Cyrus's new video means, or what's trending on twitter. There is a full out war, there is a battle raging. For souls and live's.

It's not who belongs to what church or what kids belongs to whom. They are all Jesus's and we are getting lost in competitions rather than loving. Lost in numbers rather than sharing Jesus.

Yes, I'm ranting. I know it. But as I sit here wrapped in a blanket, hands warmed by my mug I can't help but be angry with myself.

I didn't thank Him for the breath in my lungs today, for the roof over my head, for my family, my friends, for my little blanket and my mug. I missed it. And it kills me, because the rain reminded me of these memories. These faces of children and women and families who may not have breath in their lungs today, or a roof, or even a tattered blanket. My heart breaks for the injustice of these faces in my mind and heart. And my heart breaks for the blindness of my generation and so many generations before and after me. Caught up in self, while people are literally DYING out there without hearing about or feeling the love of Jesus.

It wrecks me. And so my cheeks match my windows, water trailing down. As I cry out and pray that God open eyes and hearts. That we become a people, that put down the guidelines and let go of self, and of ideas and competitions, of trying to be the best. And just let God have us, hold us, and lead us to be His hands and feet.

To stop being tolerant.

To stop pining for attention.

But to begin loving until it hurts.

And as Mother Teresa said, "That if we love until it hurts, there can be no more room for hurt, only more love." Until the day Jesus returns.

Having a heart that breaks for what breaks HIS.


Sitting with open hands and a tear-streaked face,


HIS and yours,


   Cami

I'm feeling messy...

Writing is safer, somehow
because my pen cannot stutter like my lips do,
and words get stuck in throats,
not fingertips,
And I can't stumble
on paper trails of blue lines
because writing is definite and clear
and no one can tell if I am crying
or laughing
through written words alone.

In writing I can explain who I am and what I feel. I'm not looking into faces or staring into eyes and empty places. It's me, my pen, my paper, and my thoughts.

Which can be a scary place. A place where I come alive. Where I am seeing that sometimes people are not who they seem to be and sometimes people are exactly who they need to be. Sometimes people are going to use you and sometimes people are going to love you, regardless of what you do.

A place where I am constantly hunkering down next to Jesus and asking "What next? Where to? How long? Why me?" Where His arms are wrapped around me in a gentle way and He's leading me, He's showing me that sometimes I have to do things that I don't like to learn more about the things I love. That when I sit down with my pen in my hand and look at the big picture, His hand is in it all. He's guiding my pen, my words, whether written or spoken and He's showing me great and mighty things.

It's moments like these where I realize that when I don't over analyze, when I stop thinking so much He brings an answer into the light. And sometimes it's not the answer I necessarily like, but it's just the answer I need.

I was not made to work...

Okay before someone goes and calls me another lazy person of my generation, let me clarify.

I was not made to work this quote-unquote 9 to 5 job. (technically those are no where near my hours but whatever), You see lately I've been feeling a little overwhelmed by this idea that I could get stuck in this job. It's kind of something that haunts me. I don't want to ever feel stuck. ever. anywhere. Stuck means compromise. And that is something I promised myself I would never do.

You see honestly, most days I feel like I'm not doing the work I was made to do. The Kingdom work. Most days I feel like I'm just another face in the crowd. Standing in a retail store, helping guys pick out ties and underwear, carrying furniture for little old ladies, and slowly being snuffed out by the workforce world.

I feel like I am not fighting the good fight, that I'm not shining Christ near enough, and that my friends, haunts me. Haunts me more than the bills I know need to be paid, and the hours I know need to be filled, and the life i feel wasted at a job I know needs to be worked.

And so many people don't understand, they think it's an easy fix. And all I can do is just smile and nod and pretend like I'm getting along just fine, but I can't really talk about it. Because I can't really explain it. I can't explain that most days I feel the joy getting sucked right from me. That most days I walk around with people who proclaim to be these "Christians" but cut people down and pin people against each other any chance they get. That no matter how much I talk it out, I feel that each day gets worse. Because my heart is not in it. It never has been.

And these people see me as unappreciative, because I can't explain that I don't live, eat and breath my job. That I was not made for work. That I was not made for the workforce.

But that I have been made with a holy purpose. for the Kingdom's force. That I was made for love.

And everyday it gets harder to push myself up from the ground I so easily find myself on. That right now i just feel that nothing is in order and everything is so messy.

And God is showing me that sometimes messy is okay. Because in the messes He is strong. Through my tangled words and stuttered prayers He is answering me.

Because that's the thing. Love isn't beauty, love isn't a plan. It doesn't have a certain beginning and it certainly has no end or visible finish line to those deeply in it. Love happens, and it is incredibly messy.

And through these words written on pages and messy prayers lifted up, God is showing me the things I need to do. That I don't need approval to do them. That it's not going to be easy, but incredibly messy. But that He will continue to love me regardless of the world's view of me. Because that does not matter.

I hate who work makes me become. I hate who I am when I am there. I don't feel like myself and I believe when something is toxic to you, it's time to step away. It's not going to be easy, it's going to be messy. But right now I am leaning ever so close to my Jesus and He's showing me that His wreck is beautiful for my life.

That He's placing people and things and opportunities right in front of me. So I need to stop over thinking, stop over analyzing and just jump right in. He's got it all under control. Even through this messy words of a post. He's showed me a clear path through my cluttered mind. And ultimately it is to His Kingdom and His work and His calling and plan for my life.

Sorting through my clutter with Jesus,



HIS and yours,


Cami

All Comes Back in Moments.

My little Caren 

"You will never be completely at home again because part of your heart will always be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one place." -Miriam Adeny.

Everything comes back to me in moments...

Moments of bittersweet joy, joy so bright and bold that it could keep the sun ablaze for years to come.

Moments of deep sadness, sadness so deep and tears so wet it could fill the seven seas.

Moments of hardening struggles, struggles so tough it could wear down the strongest man.

and Moments, moments of overflowing love, Love so indescribable, love so high, so deep, so wide that no one could grasp onto, no one could reach out without feeling it wash over them in waves of mercy, waves of grace. Love that only Jesus could give and fill. Love that doesn't come from this world.

Everything comes back to me in moments.

Her little ebony legs hugging my hips tightly as she climbs onto my back and the green and orange conga gets wrapped around her tiny little bottom. She's too big to be carried on my back, but neither of us care, we are laughing. A laughter echoes through the Tanzanian sky, laughter that cause heads to turn to look at the Mzungu and the little African girl. Pure laughter. Her little 5 years old hands are already calloused and tough as they grab my neck and she pulls herself up. Her chewing gum, smacking in my ear, would typically drive me insane, but today it's a sound I take deep within me, to remember this second, this minute, this hour with her. I bounce up and down, and her head hits my shoulders and her sweet high pitch squeal echoes through my ears and fills my heart with so much love and so much joy. We're running around the compound. My sweet little sister, my sweet little Caren. And as we laugh, as we dance, and as she grip my neck so tight, trusting me to not drop her. I think this is what I must look like with Jesus. Clinging to his neck, tied with a conga, dancing and laughing and His heart is filled with joy, the way mine is carrying one of His children, the way He always carries me.

Moments. Beautiful moments.

And I can't believe it has almost been a year since I departed for that country. Since I set my feet on that ground and buried my heart deep in the soil. And everyday is reminder of these moments. Everyday is a transition into the person Jesus is making me to be and what's He teaching me about Him and myself and the people He surrounds me with. Everyday is filled with new moments for me to take down deep inside of myself and remember. Always remember.

But with these moments and with talking with friends and family about transition, those who are struggling same as me and those who don't understand, God has been blessing me and teaching me more about Love. I never knew, seriously, how important love is. People say we throw this word around too much, that it has lost it's meaning. But I think love is to be thrown, to be cast out like a fisherman's net, to cascade over people and draw them in. Love is meant to be spread.

The truth is that the more intimately you know someone, the more clearly you'll see their flaws. That's just the way it is. This is why marriages fail, why children are abandoned, why friendships don't last. You might think you love someone until you see the way they act when they're out of money or under pressure, or hungry, for goodness' sake.

Sweet girl and I in one of our giggle fits

But Love. Love is something different. Love is choosing to serve someone in spite of their filthy heart. Love is patient and kind, love is deliberate. Love is hard. Love is pain and sacrifice, it's seeing the darkness in another person and defying the impulse to jump ship. 

And that is Jesus. and that is who I want to be.

Saint Augustine says it like this "Attract people by the way you live."

I want to live like Jesus, every day, every single moment, hour, minute, the rest of my life. I don't want people to be drawn to me, I want people to be drawn to Jesus in me. that I would throw His love over people and bring them into a big bear hug, that Jesus would use my hand to hold the hurting and my arms to wrap His arms around them. That I would be patient, that I would be kind, and I would be deliberate. Through the hard and pain and sacrifice and through the darkness.

Because He sees the darkness in me and yet He still lets me climb onto His back, wraps me in a conga and carries me through.

I desire to choose each day to serve someone in spite of the filth. I've seen messy and I've fallen in love with it, because in the messy God meets us. He's there. Always.  And in each transition I'm learning to love different people in different ways. I'm learning that the moment I open my heart and my arms God enters in and I am His vessel. And what else in life could be more glorious.

My life was not made to be something pretty. I was not made for storybooks, and princess poems, and easy living.

My life was made to be messy. I was made to enter into the darkness and shine His light. I was made for the roughness and tough love. I was made for reckless love, for dirty hands and dirty feet. Though I feel unqualified, He uses me and it's an amazing thing.

I will not live my life trying to stay squeaky clean to this world. I make mistakes, I get dirty, but God is with me and He dusts me off, puts me back on my feet and leads on. And I will follow.

We are all a bit messy, we all are struggling. And yet God is giving us piggybacks, wrapped in congas, carrying us to where He wants us. Because despite the filth and the mess, He does want us. No one can tell you differently.

Throw out your net, let love overflow. His love. Great, grand love. Be messy and know God is there, always dusting us off and leading us home.




Taking in the moments,


 HIS and yours,


Cami

Customer Service Experience Jesus...

I hate retail.

Okay, sorry not an upbeat way to start a blog post but I just needed to get that off my chest, because I do I really hate it.

But let's be honest, Somedays, like today, are full of testing. And somedays, like today, I just seem to fall short.

Sometimes work just doesn't go the way you plan, such is with life. And I thought maybe by now I would have grasped a hold of that and realized that somedays things are going to go wrong. But I haven't. I'm still learning. And like today, I let myself get worked up because things went wrong and I let myself get cranky and short with people. And as I sat in the office thinking about how I had just snapped at one of my co-workers, I thought. I just totally failed today. I totally failed at being Jesus.

So right then and there I stopped. I stopped counting money. I stopped stressing out over things that weren't working out. I stopped thinking. and I prayed. Prayed that God would turn my heart around. That I would stop praying the day would go faster, and I would stop thinking of ways to get out of the things I'm doing and instead that I would have open doors and opportunities to reach out and to be His hands and His feet. to be Jesus in this retail world.

Retail is hard, and dealing with people is even harder, especially in retail. People want and want and want and they'll do anything to get it. In the store we have something called an OSAT score, basically it's an overall satisfaction of the customer's experience in store. Sometimes we do good and sometimes we don't do so hot. And I think the reflection of that OSAT score kind of reflects the way my life has been lately. I'm never at 100% and I don't think I ever will be, because there is always more to do. There's alway further to walk and further to reach and more room to love. OSAT or not, my score will always have room to grow, as does our stores.

They now want us to greet every customer we pass, it's kind of exhausting to be honest. Because some people just do not want to be bothered, they see you coming and they duck into a aisle to get away. Or there are the one's you greet and they jump about five feet in the air because they didn't know you were there. So I got out of the office, apologized to my co-worker for snapping at her and went on my way to do some good old Customer Service.

As I walked around, the store was crowded with people digging through racks of clothes, I greeted people as I walked picking up clothes tossed on the floor and over the racks. And I saw him, wobbling through the aisle. His mullet like hair kind of haphazardly pulled back into a ponytail. There was some sort of air about him, and you could kind of suspect he has some sort of illness. He approached me and asked me about headphones. He had put a pair over his hearing aids and they squealed something fierce.

He began to explain to me this, which I totally understand coming from the girl who wore a hearing aid in middle school and high school and anytime the basketball buzzer went off, I thought I was going deaf all over again. So we browsed the headphone section up at the front and he talked and talked and talked asking me questions, talking about school, and his life and just talked. And co-workers were giggling and saying things over the headset as they watched me walk the front aisle with this older gentlemen just listening to him talk. I had plenty of other projects to do and customers to greet but I just continued to nod and listen to this man talk about being out of school for 40 years and how when I get to be his age I'll need hearing aids too and headphones that won't make them squeal. He laughed and talked and talked and laughed.

And as I stood there listening and smiling and doing "customer service" I couldn't help but think. When was the last time someone really listened to this man talk. This is not customer service, this is not my job. This is being Jesus, this is being His hands, His feet, His ears. because I really am beginning to believe that customer service, the right kind of customer service is just that. Serving. And that's what God has made me to do.

Granted it's not the ideal place I want to be serving. But it's where He has me right now, and I am obviously being taught valuable lessons. Because like my managers, Jesus wants me to pass every person and greet them in Him, love them through Him, reach out His hands, His feet and be Christ. That not one person would be missed, that there overall satisfaction when they see me, will be that they saw Jesus. That's what it is all about.

He is turning my heart around. Yes, I don't like retail, retail is not my passion and my heart and my suitcases are just waiting for the day when God decided it's time for me to leave retail behind. But right now I have things here and I have much to learn.

So I'm working on that. I'm praying about that. That customer service will bring about a bigger end to a far better means. More than store OSAT scores, or customer returns, or number of sales. But that Jesus would be known through me, in just a simple hello, in just a simple gesture to stand and talk to a man, in just a simple hand reaching out to carry things or offer a cart. In even just smile. That Jesus's light would shine and reflect Him.

That there customer service would experience Jesus. Because I know the He reaches further than I could ever imagine and all I need to do is reach out my hands.

Working on my Jesus Service,


HIS and yours,


Cami