Cultivate Beauty...?

It looked like the end of the world. Again. Pacing the warm, warped wooden floors of my guesthouse room, trying to determine if my roommate was actually asleep or was waiting to leap up and unplug my laptop again at the faintest sound of typing (way past my 1 am curfew...) I retreated to the tiny bathroom, sat on the floor, and cried out to my God.

"Ok I give up! Here I am. What do you want me to do?" 

I was dangling at the end of my rope. An odd series of events that could only happen in Thailand landed me without a kitchen, without hope and without God in the world. Not really, but it felt like it to this orphaned pastry chef. 

The upcoming week of no plans struck terror in my soul. I was armed, I was alert, I was ready to fight that accuser to the death with truth- I was so ready to do so through the baking outreach we started- and now, abruptly halted, I was erupting internally. I'm pretty sure- if someone had shot me at this point, I would have exploded sprinkles and the gospel all over the place. 

Earlier that day, my pride kicked into high gear disguised as rockstar swagger- I defiantly busted out a tiramisu on the backseat of my motorbike. Ok world! I screamed through each espresso soaked layer- if you're gonna take away my kitchen I will bake where I have to bake- nothing gonna stop this girl! Not gonna lie, it turned out awesome, and even the name, Italian for "pick me up" boasted Rosie the Riveter confidence. We can do this, I smiled as we sang Happy Birthday to one of my cooking school students. It sounded triumphant. I felt like we had just won.

And then this soft voice whispered "wrong battle, Hol." 

I was surprised. Wait-what? But it feels awesome. We did it!

And so there I was, on the floor, where I belonged- seeking my God. What began as demanding a schedule from my God, and offering my suggestions- washed over by Psalm 51 and its corresponding Jon Foreman song-melted me into tears of repentance. He moved my heart from frustration to earnest seeking, from looking for answers to looking for Him. 

"You are God. You have my attention and my life. I'm all yours. Use me. Do what You will do, and fill me with Your Spirit so that I may obey with joy." 

Pride broke. Love rushed in. It was beautiful. Peace was there. I went to sleep with a smile on my face. I really thought that it was over, and that pride was dead once and for all in my heart. Silly girl. 

It took a severed toenail, a cactus thorn deep in my heel, a debilitating fever and losing my voice to get me where He wanted me that week: stopped, still, knowing my utter dependence on Him, knowing my smallness and in awe of His strength. 

Again, another sleepless night on the bathroom floor- with open hands I cried out " I am Yours, what do you want me to do?" and He answered me:

Cultivate beauty.

Wait- what? What does that even mean? If Haight and Ashbury hosted a Beth Moore Bible study, they'd name it that. 

But that is exactly what He's been doing, in me and around me, ever since.

It's the gospel.

"I have seen the God-given task with which the sons of men are to be occupied.  He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also He has put eternity in their hearts, except that no one can find out the work that God does from beginning to end." -Ecclesiastes 3:10-11