My wheelhouse

Wheelhouse: (n) an area of knowledge and/or particular interest and/or familiarity; a phrase commonly used by, and introduced to me by, Casey Doyle and Steph Dunn

             
          I was so in my wheelhouse yesterday. Those of you that stepped foot outside/ watched the news/ checked the weather/ got on Facebook or Twitter are aware that the weather was GORGEOUS. Sunny. 75. Slight breeze in the air. Perfection. Outside has always been my favorite place to be. Always. My dad tells a story of me as a baby when my grandpa was holding me outside and I fell asleep. So he tried to take me inside but as soon as he would step foot in the door I would cry. So that day I napped in his arms outside. Love it. Anyways, I am not one to pass up an opportunity to spend some great time outside. And yesterday I was in serious need of rest. Not just the kind of rest you need when you’re sleepy. Just rest. So I skipped my afternoon class and spent some much needed time doing some of my favorite things. Now I know what you’re all thinking. “Oh my gosh Rachel we already knew you were a total bad a**, but skipping a seemingly meaningless intro to psych class that you’re allowed to miss 3 times and where you had an exam Tuesday that consisted of nothing but 31 multiple choice questions that you could have answered without cracking open the book? Dang girl, get on with ya bad self!”

I’d like to see anyone or anything even try to come between me and a beautiful day.

                So in the afternoon I went for a run down the back roads. I love running on them. There’s beautiful farmland on both sides with horses, and cows, and chickens, and huge open fields that lead off to the horizon. My wheelhouse. You can’t beat it.

*Disclaimer*

I am going to try my HARDEST not to use grossly sugary-sweet language to describe everything I saw. I do not want to be like Bob Ross.

Remember him? “Just a happy little tree. And this pretty little mountain with these pretty little flowers.” Barf.

                Anyway, so after the back roads I ran on this trail to a park near school. It was great. Until I was running back out of the park and my mom called me. So I stopped and walked and chatted when BAM, a whole flock?, herd?, tribe?, A WHOLE MESS OF DEER jumped out of the woods and ran literally a foot in front of me. Like I could have touched them. I started screaming “OH CRAP! OH CRAP!” and dove to the ground while my mom is yelling from the other end of the line “WHAT?! WHAT’S HAPPENING?!” It’s actually kind of funny. But I did get a little scraped up.

Freakin’ deer

                After I finished my run, I cooled down by walking through the neighborhoods by school. They’re filled with old Victorian houses painted pastel colors that I LOVE. I walked and stopped to chat with the old people that were gardening or sitting on their porches in their rocking chairs, and moms outside with their babies. It was wonderful. Something you should know about Southern people: we love “goin’ visitin.’” I remember being little and going to my grandma’s house and my sister and I would always ask to “go visitin’” and make the rounds to neighbors and family member’s houses to chat and laugh. So I love when people wave or stop me to chat and be personable. Even if we don’t know each other. And the old Southern people in these neighborhoods LOVE to chat. My wheelhouse. It was a wonderful afternoon resting and being in nature, in God’s creation. And to run and remember what it felt like to play as a child. I’ve always loved to play. In the summers I can remember going to our Country House and playing so hard all day that I would literally fall asleep in the grass. I would wake up to my mom, grandma, and aunt giving me a bath scrubbing me within an inch of my life to remove the layer of dirt, sweat, blood, and spit that accumulated from a day of good, hard playing. I loved it. And now I love being outside because I love being surrounded by things He made with his own hands. No man could make a blade of grass, or a tall tree, or a bird drifting on a breeze. I let my soul rest and feel at home.

                Last night after Thursday night Bible study, I was thinking a lot about how thankful I was for yesterday. How thankful I am that God blesses us even though we don’t deserve it. That He knows the depths of our hearts and knows what we need before even we do. And that in it all, He continues to point me back to Him. That yesterday was so beautiful, and I’m so thankful and praise Him for it. But as I sat in my room and listened to “Heaven Song” by Phil Wickham, I thought about the beauty of yesterday from an eternal perspective. I was reminded that, even though this Earth we have been given is so beautiful and we are so blessed to have another day to enjoy it and breathe the air, that what my soul aches for is what awaits me in Heaven. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE LIFE! I’m thankful for each day that I get to walk through this world feeling joy, loving and being loved, learning about Him and growing in Him. But I also know what awaits me: a home. Because no matter how beautiful this world is, it is still broken. So while I’m here, the Lord will hold my hand and walk through valleys. And He’ll stand beside me on the mountaintop. Through it all, He will never leave. He’s the only thing we can be truly sure of. He is the only place we find security. And true shelter is found under His wing. And while I am daily amazed of the beauty of His Creation, I can’t even imagine how beautiful Heaven will be. Standing in the light of His glory and eternally worshipping Him. Looking Him in the eyes and seeing more beauty than the most magnificent of sunsets. Because what I see is truth. And a love that died for me. I will be home. In a home that is forever. A home that is more beautiful than I can ever imagine. A home with the Savior that has, and is constantly redeeming my soul. My soul craves Him. And my heart loves Him.

I hear Your voice and I catch my breath

“Well done my child, enter in and rest”

Tears of joy roll down my cheek

It’s beautiful beyond my wildest dreams

I want to run on greener pastures

I want to dance on higher hills

I want to drink from sweeter waters in the misty morning chill

And my soul is getting restless for the place where I belong

I can’t wait to join the angels and sing my Heaven song

Some pics I took of some happy little trees and pretty little flowers.

But what I do have I give you...

Then Peter said, “Silver or gold I do not have, but what I do have I give you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk.”

Acts 3:6

                This past Saturday, I went to go see one of my Young Life girls perform in her high school’s spring musical. She ROCKED by the way. Savannah, my dear, you are destined for Broadway. Can’t wait to come see you perform when your name is written in lights. Anyway, as another one of my girls and I were walking to our cars, we were grumbling on about how unhappy we were that it was so cold when just the day before it had been 80 degrees out. And how horribly awful it was to have to walk the hundred-or-so feet from the building to our cars in the chilly wind. But quickly enough I was in my car, blasting the heat, jamming to Mat Kearney and feeling perfectly content. When I stopped at the red light at the intersection of Azalea and Chamberlayne, I became a lot less content.

                If you live in Richmond and have ever been to this area, you know that that intersection is big for homeless people. Every time I’ve ever gone to Henrico High School, I always see men or women with their cardboard signs. And it breaks my heart. One time I got Savannah out of school for an early dismissal and she gave her lunch to them while we were stopped at the red light. (And my heart melted.) Well on Saturday I had my first solo-encounter with the one homeless man at the intersection on that day. As I was sitting at the red light, I saw the man with his sign, “Need money for a motel room. Please help. Hard times. God bless.” Words can’t describe the look on his face as he stood on that corner. It was a look of shame. Of longing. Of need. And as I sat there with my heart breaking, I wondered what to do next. “I don’t have any food so should I give him money? What if he really wants to use the money to buy drugs or alcohol? Should I go buy food and bring it to him? That’s a horrible stereotype, why can’t I trust that he really does want a motel room?” So I prayed. I didn’t know how to help this man. And in that moment, my heart was so convicted of my insignificance. But I took out my wallet, took out my money, and rolled down my window and called him over. “Sir, sir here your go.” The man walked over to my window and instead of simply taking the money, he grabbed my hand. Not in a scary or threatening way. Just holding my hand. Not even concerned with the money that was in it. And as he unblinkingly looked me in my eyes, he was trying his hardest to convey his gratitude, and explain that he was so grateful because he was hoping to be able to get a motel room to get out of the cold. With a smile I told him it was alright. That he didn’t have to explain. And that I hoped he got his motel room. As we loosened our grip on each other’s hands, and with a piercing gaze, he whispered “God bless you, miss. God bless you.” And as my heart was aching and I was trying to find SOMETHING, ANYTHING to say or do, I whispered it back. He walked away. I drove off.

                Andddd commence sobbing. I’m driving down the highway and I’m praying. Praying hard. About how I wished I could have given him more. About how I hoped he got his motel room. About how awful I felt that I had been complaining about having to walk in the cold for 2.5 seconds between being in a heated building, to being in a heated car, to being in a heated house full of food. And this man doesn’t have any of that. But as I cried and prayed, I realized just how utterly insignificant I am. Yes I gave him some money. And yes he’ll be able to use that. But for what, one night? Then what? That man does not need Rachel Hester, or any worldly thing I have to offer. No one does. What he needs, and I need, and we all need is Jesus Christ. Our Savior. Our Redeemer. And as I prayed and sang “Set a Fire,” I looked to the sky and saw the fluffy white clouds against the brightest of blue. And I saw the light shining down from in between those clouds. And I thought of Heaven. I thought of an eternity of no more sin, no more suffering, no more tears, or shame, or hunger, or cold. An eternity where even the homeless come to rest and find a home. The best home. A home standing before the light and the glory of Jesus and worshipping Him.

                I have not been able to stop thinking about that man. And I will never forget that piercing gaze. It breaks my heart. It makes me want to do more to help. But in the midst of this thinking, I have to remind myself of my insignificance. That I can’t give every person everything their heart aches for. The only, THE ONLY, one who can is Christ. He is the ultimate comforter and deliverer. So my humble whispering of “God bless you,” the whispering that seemed so insignificant as I said it, just may have been so much more significant than any tangible thing like money or food that I could have given that man. And the prayers for that man that have poured out of my heart since may be the most powerful thing I have to offer. Because just like Peter recognized that the only thing of any worth that he had to give the beggar was Jesus, that is all I have to give. Because my faith in Him, and who I am in Him, is all I am. And it’s the only thing about me of any worth. I pray that in that brief, seemingly insignificant encounter with that man, that He didn’t get to spend small moments with Rachel Hester, but who really showed up at that street corner was Jesus Christ, working in me. And I pray that for everyone I encounter, for every situation I’m in, every action, every word, that what is really seen is Jesus. Not Rachel. Because I’m insignificant. And I don’t know and can’t give what people need. But He, He is everything. He knows every bird in every tree, and the deepest depths of every heart. I have faith in this. And for that, I am so in love with Him.

“Riches I heed not, nor man’s empty praise. Thou mine inheritance, now and always. Thou and Thou only first in my heart. High King of Heaven, my treasure Thou art.”

Salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under Heaven given to mankind by which we must be saved.

Acts 4: 12

A picture I took of that beautiful sky

Here we go...

     So here I am. I have decided to write a blog. It's something I've been wanting to do for a little bit. But I kept thinking it was dumb. "Who would even read it?" "Will people think it's weird?" "Am I really a blogger? I mean do I really have much of anything to say?" There are some great blogs that I follow that I absolutley LOVE and since I've been reading them, I've started changing my thinking to "I think I would enjoy this." So here I am. Maybe no one will read it or maybe I'll find out I don't have much to say. But what's the hurt in trying, right? Also, my life is pretty quirky. And my friends have been saying for a while, "Rachel, if your life was a book, I'd read it." So why not make a blog! And my little brother, Adam, assured me that he would read it. So there's one reader right there. Woo!

     But really, I wanted to make a blog because I am loving what God is teaching me. The way He is changing my heart. The way He loves me, surprises me, makes me uncomfortable and grows me. I think it's easy to look around and see things as a given- this is the way it is because it's just the way it is. Who knows why things are happy or sad or hard or easy? I think this way of thinking is the trap we fall into a lot. But what I pray to see is that it's all a gift, not a given. The good- a gift that we can thank God for and praise Him. The bad- a gift that we can thank God for because it points our hearts to our need of a Savior. And oh the joy I find when I look from this perspective! That's what I want to come through in this blog. Not every post will be deep. But some will. Because that's part of life. But life is also, fun and normal. But what I hope will shine through is that even when things just seem normal, the Lord's in that, too. He's stolen my heart. And because of this I love being intentional in what I do and say so as to glorify Him and love others. Whether it's a post about my latest crafting or cooking endeavor or something that clearly screams "JESUS," I want to remember that the Lord is in it all. Even what seems mundane. I hope this shines through.

     I also hope that my personality shines through. I have no clue how often I'll be posting, but when I do, I hope that the person that the Lord has created me to be is visible. And like I said, I don't know how often I'll even be writing things.

     Yeah, no. I don't want to feel like I have to say something. Some days are just normal days. Go to class, eat some food, do some homework, get some sleep (if I'm lucky). Don't get me wrong. I know that each day is a blessing and God is in it all. Even the normal and mundane. But no one needs to hear about how much the food in the dining hall was seriously lacking in the flavor/healthiness department but at least I have food to eat. My hope is to portray what I'm learning from the world around me, my friends and family, my ministry, my quiet times, nature, and complete strangers. I have no idea what that will look like. But here we go! Thanks for reading, Adam. :)