In and out

I'm just a girl who grew up between a swamp and an ocean.

A girl who shelves books in the library for minimum wage.

A girl who watches too much television and not enough sunrises.

A girl who skips too much class and does too little laundry.

I'm the awkward girl sitting on the side lines in your gym class. The girl with more paint on her dress than on her canvass. The girl who puts her finger in front of the camera lens.

The girl that God looks at and says "I have placed My Name on you and all that you do."

God has been gracious enough to place His name on everything I am, on everything that I do. My very existence proclaims the name of the Lord.

I worship a God who when asked His name simply replies YHWH. We add in an "a" and an "e" because it is easier to pronounce during a 25 minute sermon on Sunday mornings. Yet in doing this we lose the force behind His name. His name is one we cannot pronounce and cannot spell because it is the sound of breathing.

In and out.
The thing that is blowing in me, around me, through me.
That is the Lord.

The very air I breathe says the name of the Lord. The inhales and exhales as I watch the sunrise along the ocean or the sunset over the swamp all cry out, "Lord, you made this!"

The dust-filled air I breathe as a shelve books chokes "I will rejoice in what He has given me.

When hate is sputtered over me, the words I exhale in reply say "This is who my God is."

The air that runs through my nostrils as I nap in my bedroom instead of studying in my classroom says "Lord, this is how I treat Your gifts. Forgive me."

The tears I unleash on the couch of a friend's apartment cry, "Do I put my faith in You? Or man?"

Sometimes my life is a mighty, deep breath. Sometimes it is a quiet sigh. Sometimes it is a sputtering sob or a choking cough. Sometimes it is a belly laugh. Other times it is a simple rhythm. In my cries, in my joy, in my mundane - He is there.

In and out.
The constant life force that propels my entire body and being forward.
That is the Lord.

The power of the wind is unstoppable. Its direction is unpredictable. It's everywhere at once and beyond what we can control or measure. It is a mystery. I cannot see it, cannot taste it, cannot contain it - and yet its very existence proves itself. He is as the air is.

As the atheist sits across from me, his very breath cries out "I am not my own."

Before the newborn babe has learned to speak, the first word she must utter is the name of the Lord, or she will surely die. His name is our beginning and our end, our first and our last.

We rely on the air to sustain life within us - is that not what the Lord does? I plunge under water and hold my breath for thirty seconds and am left gasping for oxygen. I have left my God for a moment and am left on the other side heaving, puffing, and unable to collect myself.

Yet the air is always there upon my return. And I need air.

In and out.
The power that never leaves me nor forsakes me.
That is the Lord.

Is it that I breathe, and He moves?
Or that He moves, and I breathe?

When we stop living, do we stop saying the name of the Lord?
Or when we stop saying the name of the Lord, do we stop living?

Moses said to God, "Suppose I go to the Israelites and say to them, 'The God of your fathers has sent me to you,' and they ask me 'What is his name?' Then what shall I tell them?"  God said to Moses "I am who I am. This is what you are to say to the Israelites: 'I am has sent me to you.'"

Exodus 3:13-14

Gratitude makes it enough

I went into the local Goodwill today and thought "Oh my. This place is so expensive. $4.99 for shorts?!"


That's when you know you're a broke college student.

Living on my own at 19 in California has been harder than I could have ever imagined. It's hard to fight off jealousy when it feels like 99.9% of the people around me are still supported by their parents. It's hard to feel blessed when it's gas, groceries, utilities, tuition, rent, or car insurance - you may choose two. It's hard to remain hopeful when it seems like none of it is going to work out.

But it always does.
Every. Single. Time.

Because it is gratitude that turns the "have nots" into the "haves".
It's blessing that multiplies food in the pot and fills up six instead of two.
It's selfless love that keeps honest conversations going until two in the morning.
It's Jesus that says "Don't you worry, my daughter. I have you taken care of."


And this is my hope.

Someone recently prayed for me "May Dani not see ahead to tomorrow."


For a moment I thought this was a strange prayer.

Yet it was so needed. May I not get caught up in the things of tomorrow and be able to remain present in today. May I not be so worried about the future that I forget the blessings of the past. May I never forget that my Father will never change, will never leave me, will never stop loving me, and will never stop taking care of me.

He will never stop doing good to me.

I will make an everlasting covenant with them: I will never stop doing good to them and I will inspire them to fear me, so that they will never turn away from me. I will rejoice in doing them good and will assuredly plant them in this land with all my heart and soul.

Jeremiah 32:40-41

My daughter

The heat radiates from all sides.

It's 8 000 degrees.

Or at least it feels like it.

The tiny apartment is suffocating and the even smaller air conditioner cannot keep up. The Walmart fan whirls and wheezes, incapable to keep up with the rising temperatures.

I sit with a bag of frozen peas to keep my sweating body cool as I continue to search online for jobs. It's another day unemployed. The bills loom above like the sun and my anxiety level rises like the summer's heat.

My tiny apartment has quickly become a cafe, the food going out faster than it comes in. I remember the faithful words of my auntie, who so many years ago taught me that as long as you continue to feed the hungry, the food will keep coming. I know this is true as my roommate and I rummage through the cupboards, searching for a meal to prepare for half a dozen neighboring Marines and friends. I know this is true as I read the words of Christ, commanding me to seek first His Kingdom and His Righteousness, and all my other needs will be taken care of. 


So we stir a pot of goop and chop vegetables and remember the One who gave us this food to share, not to stockpile.  It is in this moment that I am reminded that I am not my own.


These cupboards, these shelves, 
these silly ragamuffin things - they are not mine. 
They belong to a God who lived and died 
and was sent to slaughter only to rise again;
three days later, it was death He had conquered
if only to say "You are my daughter."

My phone buzzes, falling off the stacking-crate-turned-coffee-table as it vibrates. My feet sweat on the industrial polyester carpet as I bend over to pick it up. Another friend looking for lunch? A mother needing a babysitter? A manager offering a job?

No. It is none of these.

A pit falls deep into my stomach and my soul threatens to explode as I slide my nail-bitten thumb across the screen to find a text from the one woman who has the ability to destroy me to pieces.

My birth mother.

It doesn't matter what the letters say; an insult, a plea, an offer of money, a crazy story to get my attention. Ethos, pathos, logos - she's tried them all. So the screen goes black and my view does too as I close my eyes and pray "Lord, not today. Give my wisdom, but please, I cannot take this on today."


The scene cuts back to one of two girls dancing around the kitchen together. The sweat from my palms is no longer due to the heat alone. I chop vegetables; but really, I am cutting into the nagging feeling that tugs at my soul. My mind creeps back to a woman who is lost and lonely and without God's love.

My life quickly becomes a paradox as I stand in a boiling kitchen with a self-proclaimed servant's heart, ushering near strangers into my home, as I ignore the truths of forgiveness and grace to the woman who brought me into the world yet does not realize that the miracle was not her own.

This soul, this heart,
they are not hers to throw around.
They belong to the same God who created me from the dust of the ground. 
My mother, she has her own;
a heart and a soul that will perish and weep
if left untouched, exposed to the elements of bitter distrust.
But as for me, I stand with a heart re-found,
a soul reborn, a spirit resound juxtaposed against
a mother who never knew the Father.
My stomach is tied up in knots, my heart is left unsettled
if only to say "She, too, is My daughter."

Given enough

"Dani, do you think we'd have worked out if you would have come in under normal circumstances?" my sweet new roommate asked as she stirred a can of chicken breast with a cracker.

"I was just thinking that the other day. No, I'm not sure we would have. You would have thought I was insane. But we need each other to survive right now," I laughed as I flipped over an empty box to use as a table.

"We have no power, but it's okay because this is what the Lord has given us."

I smiled. "No problem. It's like hurricane season all over again - just in the wrong state." I immediately began rummaging through boxes, pulling out enough extension cords to reach to the community laundry room and finding emergency candles my sweet auntie had left with me after a Yosemite camping trip.

"I have been living by candlelight. But it's kind of nice, you know? It's like we're Amish. It's just us and the Lord."

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This was a few nights ago as my new roommate and I began to get to know each other. We had just met a few mornings ago, me crying, overwhelmed by the stress of my ten hour notice to move out of the home I was living in.

Then my car refused to start. The next morning I got a stomach virus. I had to miss my first week at my new job. Then I resigned from my two previous jobs. Then I agreed to move with her to another apartment complex, as she had originally intended before campus housing placed me with her.

Yes. This is what the Lord has given us. It is enough.


It wasn't your typical roommate scenario.
It wasn't your typical week.
It wasn't your typical reaction to a completely overwhelming situation.

But we made the best of it, dancing between half-packed boxes, seeking help from neighbors, mismatching different foods to create a "meal", overdosing me on nausea medication, and telling stories by late night candlelight.

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My father nearly gave himself whiplash when I told him I had been living with a stranger for five days without electricity or adequate food.

"Yes, Dad, but it is more important to me that you don't blame the Church, the global Church, and one day accept Christ than it is for me to have electricity. The vast majority of the world lives with less than what I have right now. I am fine, I am well. God is good and I am happy."

My father, for the second time in a week, tried to convince me that I could be capable of earning six figures and having nice, shiny things if I sought a different path for my life. I, for the second time in a week, tried to convince him that there is so much more to this life that I want than Olive Garden and a Lexus.

My father, for the first time in my life, approved and gave his blessing, telling me he would support me in whatever makes me happy. Finally, after years of seeking and searching, I had made my father proud. I had gained his approval only after I stopped trying to be the person he wanted and started becoming the person God created.

We began to discuss spiritual things. My father wanted proof in a living God. I wanted explanation for being able to survive without a living God.

Then the phone died (of course).

I got to call him back later. He hung up the phone after our hour and a half conversation and wired me money for food. For the first time since I boarded that Southwest plane bound for LAX nearly a year ago, my father supported me.

He got a job today. A career, actually. One with a salary and a nice office and benefits. It's his first time being employed by somebody else, and I couldn't be more proud. After my cries and my pleas and my prayers, (and a few from him too, I think), my father has a job that may pull him out of poverty.

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I worship a God who sees my unsettled heart and says "Sleep tonight, my child, for I have already solved your troubles."

He is a God who sees my deepest pains and says "I have felt the same hurts and prayed the same prayers. Take heart - for I have overcome them all... for you."

He sees my confusion and frustrations and deepest hungers and says "Follow my commands. No matter how strange. No matter how much they don't make sense. Just follow them. I promise they will all lead you to me and my richness."

My roommate and I cried in our frustration and we prayed in our hope and we read in our desperation and we sang in our joy and we reminded each other of all that He has done.

Then I came home tonight after a long (yet successful) day at my new job to find a box. In that box was a selection of nonperishable food and drink, a check telling me to pay for my utilities, and a envelope of cash telling me to restock our newly functioning fridge.

Never doubt that the Lord will provide.

Show us the Father and that will be good enough for us (John 14:8).

Because you can't expect normal

It's been a strange week.

2 moves.
2 apartments.
1 house.
2 resignations.
1 new job.
5 days of a stomach virus.
1 holiday spent on the sofa.
1 new roommate.
3 buildings of awesome new neighbors.
7 days without power.
94 degrees.
1 broken down vehicle.
Infinite boxes to unpack, repack, and re-unpack.
Even more amazing friends who helped me out.
And a God who never left my side.

So thanks.

At some point I'll get around to a nice post that does some justice to what's gone down. But for now, I am finding rest in this seemingly empty apartment filled by an uncontainable God.