Found in the Wilderness

Last night I had a moment.

I’m not sure what your “moments” look like, but mine normally go something like this: one negative thought leads to remembering every other time I have had said negative thought, then hopping on that thought train straight to despair and needing tissues because the world is ending and I’m the worst person ever. Only slightly dramatic.

One of the things I fear most is rejection. I’ve had lots of eye-opening conversations over the last year as to why that might be, the childhood experiences and perceptions of events that lead my heart back to that place of fear. Some I’ve worked through (with the help of a gifted counselor) and others still pop up and I ask the Father for help as I process.

In the darkest moments of this fear of rejection last night, I got a message from a friend with a question and an offer for prayer. She had no idea that I was wiping away tears and feeling isolated and unseen, but she offered encouragement and friendship and care.

I thought of Hagar, and her story found in Genesis. Hagar knew rejection. She obeyed her mistress Sarah to give Abraham a child, but then found herself sitting in the wilderness alone and forsaken by her master. It was there in the midst of the rejection that God found her. He provided for her, speaking lovingly to her through His angel and sparking hope in her heart again. This happened not once, but twice as she had to flee the wrath of Sarah after the birth of her son.

It was in the darkness of rejection that Hagar learned the heart of the God who Sees. She used another name for the Lord after that precious encounter: El-roi (The God who sees me).

El-roi sees us too, in our glorious and messy moments when it feels like the world is falling apart. He sees us in our fears and our joys, the hurts and frustrations and victories. He is not a God far away but One who draws close and in the very midst of that brokenness He offers His presence and comfort. Sometimes He sends a friend to message us exactly when we need it, or brings a verse or song to mind to minister to our hearts. Thankfully He doesn’t give up when I hop on the negative thought train once again. He pursues me with His undying love.

Genesis 16:13 Thereafter Hagar used another name to refer to the Lord, who had spoken to her. She said, “You are the God who sees me.”


Gateway of Hope

Hope (noun): confident trust with the expectation of fulfillment

I keep waiting for the bottom to fall out from under me, that thing I’ve been worrying about to happen or the very circumstance I dread coming true. I have a vivid imagination when it comes to worst case scenarios and the planner in me wants to prepare for every possible twist and turn. It’s hard to turn off the anxious thoughts, to trust someone else rather than striving for command of every situation myself.

I hold that tension in my body; the desperate clutching for a thread of control finds a home in my shoulders, my neck, my temples. My emotions spin in circles and the pressure in my soul builds and builds until I’m certain there will be an explosion and it will be messy.

Hope comes in to all of this craziness with a call to let go. It’s like stretching those aching muscles, releasing the tension with deep, calming breaths. Hope comes in with a reminder to look up rather than madly looking around for the next disaster that must be averted. It’s all about where I’m placing my trust, which points to the source of my confidence.

Hope says that when the bottom does drop out from under me, when the disaster happens (it might or it might not), the Father’s arms will be right there to catch me and pull me to safety. He won’t leave me stranded or abandon me like I fear others will. He doesn’t want me trying to act like the Lone Ranger, trusting only in my own abilities because letting others in is too scary. No, He longs for my heart open and free, allowing His peace to flow through the places full of fear and doubt. He puts people in my life on whom I can lean because we aren’t meant to go through this life alone.

Those broken places where the darkness seems to be winning can become the very places where Hope gets in. The valleys and struggles and heartbreaks can usher in a deeper understanding of our Savior, of the ways that He created us uniquely and the ways He wants us to share Hope with others. The valleys of trouble and trial don’t last forever, when our trust is firmly in the Author and Finisher of our Faith.

Gateway of Hope

Why Short-term Trips Work… And How to Make Them Better

It’s getting to be that time of year.

Airplane tickets are purchased, bags are getting packed and eager young people from youth groups or colleges are preparing for their summer missions trip.

There’s plenty of dialogue out there related to the effectiveness of these trips. Is it volunteer tourism? Do they hurt more than help? Is it just extra work for the long-term worker or does it serve the purpose of furthering God’s Kingdom?

Well, I’m sure the arguments both ways are as numerous as the locations around the world that will receive short-term workers this summer. I have studied the effects of short-term mission in Master’s level classes, received short-term teams as a long-term worker and read articles and books with dos and don’ts and points from both the yay and nay camps. But I have also been a part of several short-term trips that I think were beneficial so here are a few thoughts based on what I have learned along the way.

I’m a long-term worker because of a short-term experience.

I realize this is a selfish reason for short-term trips, but honestly I don’t think I would be an overseas worker going on four years in-country if it were not for the experiences I had in college to get my feet wet. Missionaries became real live people to me rather than just last century’s heroes from biographies. They were not perfect, they had conflict and tough situations and missed home. They modeled love for the people they were serving in a way that invited me to be part of the ongoing story being written there. Yes, I got to try interesting food, see beautiful places and take cool pictures, but those are not the things that stuck with me back on home soil. It was the sacrifice and love of the missionaries for a God deserving of worship among every people group. I don’t think we can discredit the life-changing impact these kinds of trips, when done well, can have on future long-term workers.

Preparation is super important.

Before I spent eight weeks working in Italy with a missionary family, I devoted almost two semesters to preparing to go. Along with about 25 other students, I read books about different kinds of cultures, heard stories from people who had been to these places before, worked through expectations and how to deal with when they are un-met, learned what in the world culture shock was and what to do when it happened, and had friends pick my food in the cafeteria for a week to practice flexibility and the Luke 10 principle of eating and drinking what was set before me. It is important to help those who are preparing for a short-term trip to know how to respectfully enter a new culture, whether that’s inner city Chicago or a village in India. We need to learn as much as we can from the long-term worker there before we make any plans or pack our bags. They are the experts. Which leads to the next important point…

Lean on the long-term worker.

We should find ways to partner with a long-term worker who can help us to understand the culture, what is appropriate, how to interact with the local people and what our role as the short-term worker should be. Before we decide what our schedule is going to look like, we should ask them what would be helpful. Is an English camp going to give the worker more contact with people they want to reach, or will it create so much extra work and follow-up afterward that they will feel overwhelmed? Are we asking to do something the local people should really handle? Are we teaching something or bringing in supplies that will create a dependency on outside help, or are we building a system that is sustainable for the future, whether more teams can come or not?

As a long-term worker now, I love the encouragement and fellowship that comes from time with short-term teams. They bring fresh eyes and fresh joy that can be such a boost to my weary spirit. When these teams leave room in their suitcase for items I can’t get here it ministers to my heart. So, how can short-term teams look for ways to serve and encourage the long-term worker? Let’s do this partnership well, for the sake of God’s glory.

For more on how to do short-term trips well, check out these articles. Remember, you don’t have to agree with everything I have said or what is discussed in the articles, but hopefully it gets you thinking!

What To Do About Short Term Missions

There’s Nothing Short About Short-Term Missions 

A Case for Short-Term Missions 

short-term missions 3


More Than a Game of Chess

The first chapter of the book of Esther irritates my former slightly feminist heart with frustration and defensiveness.

The leader of Persia, King Xerxes, throws an extravagant party for all his nobles and officials. The festivities lasted 180 days (that’s quite the party!), and finished off with a week-long banquet for all the people who were in the fortress of Susa where he ruled. He pulled out all the stops for this banquet, complete with gorgeous and opulent decorations, amazing food and a never-ending supply of wine for the people to enjoy.

The Bible tells us in verses 10 and 11 of chapter 1 that “on the 7th day of the feast, when King Xerxes was in high spirits because of the wine, he told the eunuchs who attended him… to bring Queen Vashti to him with the royal crown on her head. He wanted nobles and all the other men to gaze on her beauty, for she was a very beautiful woman.”

For whatever reason, Queen Vashti refuses. Maybe she didn’t feel like being the subject of the hungry gazes of the nobles and other guests at the party. Maybe she was tired of doing whatever the king asked of her, whenever he wanted. She says no. And honestly, I don’t blame her.

But the king isn’t happy, not one bit. He gets his trusted advisors together and they realize that the queen could set a bad precedent for the respect of husbands everywhere, so she must go. And just like that, Vashti is no longer the queen.

As I was studying this chapter and trying not to curse authoritarian men everywhere, I realized some things about this passage. Even though God isn’t mentioned, we know He is at work in this story. And in case you don’t know the ending, God brings a lowly Jewish girl named Esther into the palace to be the next queen, putting her in a position to save her people from annihilation.

Sometimes, God has to get us out of the way. While I feel sorry for Queen Vashti, she wasn’t the one who could save the Jewish people. In His sovereignty, God took her out of the story and put Esther in.

I like to see myself more like Esther. I want to believe that God has put me in this place, in the position I have and the culture I am in for a purpose. Do I trust Him though when His purposes might include taking me out the story? Or when someone I care about or respect leaves in order to fulfill God’s plan? It is not something I like to think about, and yet God has a purpose. He desires for His glory to spread throughout the earth, for His name to be proclaimed and His message of hope and grace to be shared among all peoples. He doesn’t move us around like chess pieces in a cosmic game. He loves us, desires good things for us, but above all desires to fulfill His sovereign plan. This stretches my faith in Him, my trust in Him. Yet, it also increases my desire to be obedient, even if it means getting out of the way for whatever He might want to accomplish.


A Granddaughter’s Reflection


I lost my grandma, Violet Hilkemann, 25 years ago today. At almost-6,  it was hard to understand death and funerals and cancer, to process loss and grief. My memories are few, but I know she was a neat lady. I know that I loved her, that I am living part of her legacy as her granddaughter.

My favorite memory is of a simple supper over macaroni and cheese. My grandparents lived just down the hill on the corner of our family farm. I have no clue how we got there or what we did the rest of the evening, but I can picture my grandparents’ old kitchen table, and heaping plates of mac and cheese in front of us. I naively took a big bite right out of the steaming middle of the plate, and suffered the consequences. “It’s too hot” I can hear myself complaining as the memory plays across the big screen of my brain. I’m sure I said it in a “this is the end of the world” sort of voice, resigned to leave the mac and cheese on the plate. But my patient grandma showed me a little trick, one I still think of even to this day. “Spread it out, Sarah, and let it cool just a bit,” she said. “Then start at the edges because they cool down the fastest and work your way in”. I would have just quit, given in to grumbling, but my grandma showed me that there are options. We can choose our attitude to tough situations and allow for creative solutions covered with joy.

My grandma loved to read Agatha Christie mysteries and sew her own stuffed animals. She loved to help people. I thought of her a lot last August, after surgery as I waited to find out if the tumors the doctor had removed were cancerous or not, the same kind of cancer that took my grandma away. If it was cancer, would I be able to fight with the same courage and strength she did? Would that be part of her legacy to me?

The tumors were not cancer. That wasn’t part of my story in this season anyway. But in some ways all those reflections brought me to a place of remembering, of allowing memories to float to the surface. I didn’t cry at my grandma’s funeral, I didn’t cry until last fall. There’s a fresh grief awakened in me, but now I can remember and ask questions and soak up stories. I can admit that I miss her, and celebrate this day, March 29th- her birthday and death-day.


I Am From: A Poem

I am from fresh, frothy milk straight from the cow, my dad’s early mornings and late nights on the farm.

From Bob Jones curriculum and Trix cereal as a special treat at Christmas.

I am from rolling hills and sandy valleys, open spaces, fields for miles and the fresh scent of alfalfa in the summer time.

I am from ear corn, bright green turning to brown at harvest as the leaves explode in colors and the combine sits ready for just the right time.

I am from “soup for Christmas” and Hilkemann family stubbornness.

From Paul and Violet, Donald and Lorraine, Mark and Chris; Hilkemanns, Andersons, Severas, Millers.

I’m from Thanksgiving rounds of Spoons and trivia, ice cream cakes for birthdays and summer sleepovers complete with orange sherbet.

I’m from Wednesday night AWANA, tucking verses away in my heart, from Sunday kid’s choir, BRICK class, youth group and praise choruses.

I’m from Nebraska, Germany, Czechoslovakia, Sweden; kolache and potato pancakes, manicotti, and cran-apple juice.

From family vacations to western Nebraska, my mom as my teacher and my dad as the principal. From the land my great-grandpa purchased for all his sons within a few miles of the place I grew up, legacy left in Pierce county soil.

I am from the photo albums filling the buffet in the living room, old birthday cards and baby clothes tucked away in a tote upstairs, stories echoing through the generations.


  • Learn more about how to create your own I Am From Poem by heading here. 

Hold My Hand

5 Ways to Walk Alongside a Friend Dealing with Depression


Life is hard. Can I get an ‘Amen’? We all deal with stress and the burdens of life. Our brains are amazingly complex and resilient, but sometimes, like other parts of our bodies, they break down and need help.

Depression has been part of my story. I remember in college having conversations about why we never see prayer requests in church bulletins for people who are struggling with depression, why we feel the need to hide it. It makes me sad that we can’t feel safe with our stories and struggles, including the way that our brains function, or don’t.

I can’t speak for everyone who has ever struggled with depression, but here are a few ideas for ways that you can love and support someone you know walking this journey right now.

1. Be honest

“I think you might be dealing with situational depression.” A friend just said it plainly, right in the midst of a Skype conversation as she listened discerningly as I shared. She said it with the utmost compassion but I needed that, I needed to hear her when I couldn’t see it myself. If we care about each other, and know the signs of depression, let’s be kind enough to gently ask questions and find out what is going on in the heart of our friend who is struggling.

2. Be present

We don’t always take the time to understand what is different. One of the best gifts that a mentor gave me while I was under the heavy blanket of depression was an invitation to help her understand. “What does it feel like?” We sat over coffee and I tried to put to words the daily experience of this journey and she listened with grace and a desire to hear my heart. Sometimes it just takes showing up, letting our friends know they are not a burden because they are struggling. We are all broken and we can give each other a gift by allowing that brokenness to be shared.

3. Take me out

I always made it out of bed but sometimes the biggest struggle was to get out of the house. Motivation can go right out the window in the middle of depression, and we can offer help for our friend by getting them out into the sunlight. Energy levels might not be at their highest, so plan a short coffee run or quiet stroll through a botanical garden. If they say no, offer to bring a chai latte by the house or to come help with laundry. Be persistent but gracious.

4. Speak truth

When I was struggling emotionally, it affected my spiritual health as well. Everything felt cloudy including how I saw my Father God. When friends would send emails with promises from Scripture, or stories of how God was teaching them or working in their lives or their favorite worship song, it reminded me that He was still good. Even if I couldn’t always feel it or didn’t have the motivation to spend long hours with the Lord, they spoke truth into my life and reminded me of who God was and who I was in Him.

5. Don’t give up- believe that healing is possible.

For some, depression is a significant chapter in their lives and for others it spans decades and is an ever present reality. It can be tough to stick with someone through the ups and downs, but please don’t give up on your friend who is struggling. Fight with them. Believe with them and for them that healing is possible. There are amazing medications available that can kickstart the chemicals that stopped working, there are essential oils and supplements and other natural ways to support our minds and bodies. There are counselors who can provide professional assistance to work through trauma or past issues that might be deep below the surface. Ultimately, we serve a God who holds the power of healing in His hands. He doesn’t always answer our prayers to take away the struggle, whether it is cancer or the flu or depression. But sometimes He does. Pray with your friend for God’s healing, and celebrate the ways He does work even if the depression doesn’t go away forever. Be with them on the good days and the hard days.

We need each other. No matter what we are going through, having good friends who invite us into their lives and to share our stories empowers us to keep going.


Dear Single Sister

Dear Single Sister,

I have a confession. Or maybe three or four.

Sometimes I don’t like being single. I know I should be content, should count the gifts. And I do. But then I come home to an empty house, or wrestle my way through a tough financial issue or google how to fix a leaky sink. I kill a ginormous spider with an entire can of Raid and think how nice it would be having someone to walk with me through those things, to be strong when I’m not, to care for me, and to challenge and teach me.

Sometimes I wrestle with the collision of my relationship status and my calling. My heart bursts when I think about how much I desire for the people around me to love Jesus. I want so desperately to see the harvest the Lord has in store here, for His glory to burst forth like water overflowing. I want to be obedient, to keep tasting of cultures and languages and passport countries other than my own. Yet the desire to get married often equals needing to leave the field in my mind. What would I choose? Can I somehow have both dreams?

I have a wedding board on Pinterest. I love weddings, partly the thought of my own someday, and partly because I still hold on to the dream of being a wedding and event planner when the door opens for a career change. But sometimes I realize that the dream of getting married is more than just a dream. It becomes an idol in my heart, something I demand from God and hold against Him for not giving me. Marriage is an amazing gift from God but it will not ultimately satisfy my heart. Then I step back, delete that Pinterest board, or at least stop looking for the latest fashion trends and color schemes. I spend more time with my first Love, letting Him remind me of the depth of His love for me. Yet I still hope. I believe that God is the author of the love stories I see around me every day, and that it isn’t wrong to keep asking Him, to surrender the dream and desire and ask Him to fill me up with His desires.

Despite only receiving a card from a boy once in my life (and that not until college), I love Valentine’s day. Maybe that’s weird. Yeah, just a bit. I think it’s because I have a much bigger picture of love and think we should celebrate it. I’ve had amazing friends through the years. My parents and siblings are simply the best. I love getting a day to tell them in fun ways through cards and special meals and flowers or chocolate. (Plus it was my grandma’s birthday. So it always meant a party and cake!)

There are parts of this single life that are painful- things people have said to me, the lies I’ve believed about myself, being left behind. I grieve those parts, but they do not define me. My hope for you, single sister, is that you do the same. Be sad about the hard and messy parts, but find the joy too. Singleness itself, like marriage, can be a gift but there are gifts to be found in the midst everyday ordinary of our singleness too. God’s love for you, for me, is so completely beyond my comprehension. Can we just rest in that for awhile? His kindness in sending Jesus to purchase our freedom is a gift undeserved and yet made available to us. His power is at work within us to do far more than we ask or imagine. This life and our relationship status is temporary, yet His love is everlasting.


The Power of Little Things

This is the chair where I meet with Jesus, morning light peeking through the leaves of the jackfruit tree outside my window. I’ve dreamed about this spot for a long time, my own little space where I can curl up and sing softly praises to my Savior, let His Words of Truth cleanse my soul. It is the perfect chair- cozy and wide and sturdy, rattan to remind me of Asia.

There’s a spot on the ledge for my coffee mug, my memorial stone from the week in Thailand last August when ‘tumor’ and ‘surgery’ and ‘benign’ became part of my vocabulary, part of my story. In those scary moments when I felt so alone, God took me to a place of complete dependence on Him because I had nowhere else to go. Now when the fear threatens to grip my heart as I stare into the foggy future, I sip coffee and remember to hope, to trust, to hold tight.

I light my candle and let the gentle scent rise as incense to my King. It reminds me that Light pierces the darkness, always. Light breaks through victorious, our All-Consuming Fire is working, refining, drawing. In the nations where it feels like the darkness is winning, He cannot be conquered or extinguished, even in the places where it feels like the faintest flicker can’t keep going.

The picture frame was a rare find in the little dollar store in the mall. It holds a memory, a moment I treasure with my little nephew tucked in beside me with a new book, my just-born niece cozy in my lap. I can’t help but smile and thank God for the gift of my people, those dear ones He has placed in my life.

Most days, I fight to understand, fight the ugly that keeps pushing through in my heart. I wrestle with the brokenness I see around me, despair over lack of fruit and lack of energy and the fear of all the rest of me that might be lacking. I question and doubt, allow faith to rise in my heart and then wonder yet again. Sometimes I listen and sometimes I’m too quick to speak, to fix or control. Deep joy and deep sorrow reside together, one overpowering the other depending on the day.

Yet, in this spot, with all these precious little things, I get to pause. I get to delight yet again in all of these small gifts undeserved, and feast upon the true source of joy and hope, my firm foundation in the midst of the chaos.


Do You Pray for Your Tuk-Tuk Driver?

We’ve worn a path between the guesthouse and my sister and brother-in-law’s apartment, walking the same familiar streets every morning the last two weeks.  There’s the corner grocery store, aisles bursting with special imported goodies and all the staples. There’s the little roadside cart; the scent of fresh coffee grounds invites us from afar. Near the last corner we greet an elderly couple as they sit outside their home with bowls of soup and rice. Their son The Barber just invested in the little carts we call Tuk-Tuks so he can transport customers around the city. If he’s not busy when it’s time to run an errand or see the sites, we’ll all pile in his Tuk-Tuk for a ride.

He loves to chat as we weave our way through traffic. “This person was very old,” he informs us as we pass the black and white funeral tent. He always seems to be in the know. He’ll practice his English and ask clarifying questions. “You really only have one word for all the forms of rice?”

One day on our way home from an outing, he wanted to know more about what I was doing in Cambodia. I gave him the easy answer first. “We teach English at a local cafe.” But then I added the true reason, why we deal with hot season and constant rains and ants and the nitty gritty hard and messy of life here. “We are people who love Jesus and want to share about the hope of Jesus with the people here.”

He turned back to look at me. “Jesus?” I realized he probably had never heard the name before, he was learning of Jesus for the first time. The traffic picked up and he had to focus on the task at hand. But my heart stirred as I realized all the people who are along those worn paths in my life, the streets I walk every day. Do I pray for my Tuk-Tuk driver, the cashier at the little corner grocery store, my favorite barista? Do I care enough to stop, to know their name and their story, to share my heart and the heart of the Savior?

Who are the people you see daily? Let’s take time to pray for them today and share the hope that we have.