Their hair is swept up off to the side of their face ending in a bun or braid that has an intensity and mass that is overwhelming and definitive to even the most uneducated onlooker or passer-by. Their long sleeves and long skirts match his long sleeves and slacks. It is like going back in time, seeing them on their horses or driving their old pickups filled with children hanging out the back and off the tailgate. They live in close community and shun the outside. They know almost nothing of our world. They are trapped. And they are decieved. And they are abused. And they do it in the name of salvation and godhood. In the name of religion.

Their eyes are vacant. Their hope is nonexistent. I will never forget seeing them all... the ones playing on the playground, all around me. All from one family. All victims and all broken...

GOD! - RESCUE YOUR CHILDREN! Please, Abba... please. Their faces will not leave my mind, their pain - it hasn't left my heart. To not know You...

A friend told me a story the other day that has stuck with me. It actually made me really think and drove me to do some serious praying. He was telling me the bucket story. It goes like this: There was this master and he had two buckets. One was whole and held water to capacity. The other had holes on the bottom and when filled with water, it leaked and dripped until usually, it ended up half full. The master would put both buckets on a yoke, one on each side. He would then walk to the river, fill the buckets and return home and use the water as needed. The bucket with the holes saw the full and whole bucket and felt inferior. He apologized for not being all that he could be to the master. Apologized for not being complete, for being broken. The master said, "Watch today when we get the water. I want to show you something." The master took the buckets to the river, filled them and as they returned the bucket with holes leaked and dripped the entire way home. The master pointed to the side of the road and showed the bucket the flowers along the side of the road that the bucket was on. He explained that the flowers were caused by the water that dripped from the bucket and that he was blessed by the beauty of the flowers each day. Without the holes, without the brokenness, there would be no flowers.

Where are you broken, dear one? Where are your scars? I know you have them. I have seen many of them, and He sees them all. And Heaven knows, I have my own. But so much can come of them. He can make good from all things. Teach me, God.

My prayer lately has been that I can learn to want what He wants. In all things. So often, I still see what I want and bypass what He wants. But that is changing. And it is good. He is good.

We had a girl's luau the other night. After there was a long conversation with a friend. Just about life mostly. About Him and about life. And watched the Passion with another few friends, including C, about a week ago. Colorado City this past week, a tv interview coming up this next week, in between was covered by fundraising for mission trip coming up (that I won't be able to go on, sadly) and work and studying-ish for my certification Praxis exam and then as of this morning, taking the exam. Met some new friends in the past two weeks and have hung out three times now and will see them again on Thursday. Learned a lot just from life lately and God has been amazing... He breaks us and heals us and overwhelms me...

And my brain is now mush.