Empty Arms

The day we found out about you

My Darling Regen,
I never wanted to write this. No mother should ever have to write this. But you are gone and I am empty. I knew you for seven weeks of my life and right away you became my life. I wrote you many letters already in your journal, wondering who you would be. A writer like me or a musician like your father? Your dad hoped you would have my skin and I hoped you would have his nose. Do you have my eyes? I told you no matter who you were we would delight in you every second of your life. I thought for sure that no mother had ever loved her baby more than me, and I didn't even know your name.
When the blood came all I could do was lift my hands in surrender. And then it left and we went to lead worship, your father and I, trusting that you were all snug because we were chosen to be parents. Everything was coming together in a crazy God way and we were going to start your life. Then more blood came and we drove to the hospital. We sat there for hours baby, the last hours of your life. I knew when you were gone, in the bathroom stall with the bright red. We saw you soon after for the third time and for the last. The doctor was very quiet, searching. "There is no heart beat." She said in her thick German accent and we clung to one another. Parents. Mom and Dad.
She wanted to have the operation right away but we needed to know for sure. Then we drove home again and you fell into the toilet. Your father lovingly scooped you out and we rushed back to the hospital where they poked me and undressed me and put me to sleep so they could scrape the rest of my child out of me.

As we were driving home the strangest thing happened. It was raining and very cloudy and in the sky was a rainbow. No sun Regen, but a rainbow. Right away I heard the words- Never again. We named you Regen because the German word for rainbow is Regenbogen. You are named after a promise from the only Father you know right now, the one who is holding you in His arms and laughing. We were so excited to teach you all about Him, but you are learning first hand exactly what He is like. After we named you we found out that in Celtic, Regen means Little Princess. We know you are a girl not because the doctor told us, it was too soon to find out, but because when His children ask, sometimes He gives the answer. You are my daughter and one day you will teach me all I have to know about life.
But right now Mommy sees only what is here on earth and she is in so much pain. You see clearly but I see hurt and grief. I am confused and my arms ache. Today I am doing the normal, I cut my nails and trimmed my hair, I laughed at something your dad said and watched my favourite show. Slowly the fog is lifting but I still don't know how to cope without you.
Do you know what you have taught me baby? Through you I went to the deepest, darkest pit, and I saw Jesus there. Fear has haunted my steps since I was a little girl, but on June 29th 2014, my fear was replaced by grief and sorrow. I would rather have anything then fear. I am covered by the peace of our Daddy, He who holds you and who holds me. I know now, like "Much Afraid" in "Hinds Feet on High Places," that right down in the depths of my own heart, I really only have but one passionate desire, not for the things which Jesus has promised me, but for Himself. All I want is to be able to follow Him forever. So I will continue to dance with our Father. Though I know it will bring more pain and grief, and I won't see clearly what He is doing, I will fall in step and gaze into the eyes that hold you captive right now. The One that is your only desire.


I saw a little boy riding a bicycle the other day and I asked Jesus if He was going to give you one. He told me that He is going to give you wings.

I love you daughter.
Your Mom

Staring Into the Eyes of a Prostitute

We happened upon it and there she was. Encased in glass, she was trapped. Her head was down and her shoulders slumped, defeated. I don't know what I was expecting, a smile? A come and get me look? That came after her, right beside her was another and she was beckoning. But I was still thinking of the first. The prostitute was sitting on a chair in the red light district of Amsterdam. Jordan looked away, trying to show her respect by being the only man in that street not ogling.
I looked at her face and I broke. I wanted to rush at the glass prison with a battering ram screaming like Brave Heart to free her, is not this fight just as heroic?

How broken do you have to be to sit in glass with nothing covering and sell yourself? How many lies does a little girl believe until she becomes defeated as a woman?

He was carrying a briefcase and was balding. Walking with a purpose past the windowed shops he became sidetracked by a display and stopped. Going halfway into the door he started to turn around when suddenly a young man rushed towards him from up the street shouting "Don't be shy! Come on in sir!"
Satan beckoning men into hell with open arms. Here you will experience death eternal, don't be shy!

We walked on trying to find the way out, but wanting to stay and be aware of what we are up against as two people wanting to fight for justice. We passed girl after girl, all with plastic smiles. Jordan looking ahead, myself staring into their eyes, willing them to see my heart and the worth they have. We passed crowds and crowds of men, some looking at the girls in the windows, some walking into buildings. I have never seen so many groups of men or single men in all my travels as I did in Amsterdam.

How broken do you have to be to be a man who doesn't protect women and children but exploits and abuses them? Are you hearing me men? This starts with pornography and ends with destroying lives. STOP staring at your computers and magazines in the dark and be a man. Fight for the oppressed. I beg you. 

When finally we excited the Red Light District, on the next street was a beautiful cathedral next to a canal. The church had it's back on the Prostitutes. Men flocked past us and I stumbled to the river. Hanging over the side and clinging to my husband. I have never felt more helpless. More broken.
A boat floated past us with a band playing a beautiful song. The whole scene was gorgeous and surreal and I had just walked through hell. "God, God, God..." I repeated. "Jesus, oh Jesus."

Even now that's all that I can pray when I remember. Her face haunts me. My lack of action to save her haunts me more.

So what am I going to do about it? What can we do children of God?

Marriage: Leaving The Buts Out Of It.

I'm watching him play ping pong with the guys, laughing and complimenting, counting in German and beating most of them.
I try not to brag about my Husband too much because I know all the girls will get jealous, but it cant be helped anymore. We work together and I get to watch him every day, all day. We get to stare at each other from across the room, it's so fun to catch his eye and share a smile. This man is the only man I've dated. The only man I've kissed. He started to open doors for me when we were friends and continues to this day. Sometimes it means I stand beside the car door waiting, but it's always worth the wait. There have been a few times when I've seen a man walk into a room and my initial thought is-"he's attractive" only to realize that "he" is all mine! Sometimes he gets me giggling so hard that I can't stop. Other times we banter back and forth and surprise each other with how clever we are! I can  identify his walk and his deep, loud laugh can be heard anywhere in the house. He has on occasion cleaned the bathroom, and just today finished the laundry! I love being in love. I miss him when he's gone, even if it's just for a few hours.
We've only been married for two and a half years. We are rookies at this strange dance and have no idea what we're doing most of the time. Marriage is hard. Fabulously hard.
I wish someone would have told me that before we were married. Sure I got lots of -Marriage is hard, BUT it's the most exciting and wonderful thing you'll ever do!
And predictions- Your first year will be hard, BUT it keeps getting better after that!

Can we leave the buts out of it for a moment please? Marriage is hard. It's excruciating and vulnerable. I've never felt more pain. More shame and more stress. I've never stayed awake sobbing quietly so often before, argued so frequently, gone to sleep angry so much (that's right, we occasionally let the sun go down on our wrath, I told you we were rookies), been so deeply hurt before or so angry at one person this often.
I have friends who tell me they've never argued with their husband before, and hey, that's great, I'm
happy for them, that's not us. And that's not the norm. But I'm sorry to say that's really what I was expecting when we pledged our lives to each other, that we would be different, unique, set apart as a holy, beautiful union. When we had our first real fight and Jordan stormed out of the house while my hands were deep in dish water, I cried and told God that this isn't what I had signed up for.
Our next fight I was the one to slam the door and wandered down the train tracks, angry and confused. 'God, what is this?' I asked.

Since then I've come up with a few realizations.

This is learning that marriage was not meant to make me happy. It was meant to make both Jordan and I holy. Think about that for a minute. That goes against everything that the world tells us.
This is looking into the eyes of my husband and seeing who I really am. I can't hide from Jordan. He truly SEES me. He loves me in spite of me.
This is knowing without a shadow of a doubt that we will fight and cry and say things we shouldn't to each other and even leave for an hour, but every night, there he is beside me, in spite of it all. That is commitment.
This is having someone who will witness my life. There are billions of people in this world, which of them really care about how my day went and what my dreams are? Jordan does. And I care about his.
This is clinging to Jesus more than I ever have. I run to Him more often and need His direction when I'm falling apart. The more I realize how much Jordan and I let each other down, the more I realize that God never has, and never will.

We spent five silent days together in the spring. I was so mad I didn't want to touch him. It was the same fight that made me walk the tracks a year and a half before. I still made his meals. He still held the car door open for me. Ice palace. In the early morning of the last day I couldn't sleep so I tried to quietly slip out of bed. Jordan sat up, grabbed me and held me. "I just miss you" he whispered. The next morning I cautiously asked him if he remembered saying that and he looked up clueless. We
started to giggle and immediately the ice was broken.

We fight. We argue. He doesn't always bring roses home and I'm not always waiting at the door with a dress on and lipstick, puckering up. Actually...that's never happened...
Sex isn't like Hollywood portrays. Kissing isn't always a magical moment.

Marriage is filled with normal days, hard days and wonderful days. With all of those moments in between. If this was all that there was to live for in life, I would be completely depressed. It's truly not enough. That's why Jesus has to be number one, for both of you. I'm learning that Jesus is all that there is to life, and slowly everything else is starting to make sense. It all matters. Every argument, every giggle, every tear. It's all making us holy.

I am so excited to grow in this love that feels (and is) so new. I'm thrilled that Jordan is the man who witnesses my life, who sees all of me, and who points me to Jesus every single day, whether he knows it or not.
So let's leave the buts out if it and embrace all that marriage is. I love telling newly dating girls and engaged girls that- Marriage is hard! And it's ok. It's all ok, but it will get better (That was a little joke).

I'm Supposd To Be Miserable?

I have been pondering what to write for my first blog in Germany. I want to write before all of these experiences mold together and I forget specifics. As an International Worker going to Germany, we had to raise the money we needed to work and live here and with that comes many, many wonderful people who have donated so that we can be here! I grew up in a Christian community and therefore have a few ideas of what an international worker's life should be.
#1- They have to suffer. Probably be very sick for a long period of time and miserable for the rest. After all, they are doing the Lord's work.
The problem is, I'm struggling to find things to be miserable about.

I walk into the living room and one young man is trying out Kung Fu on another. I sit in the hall monitoring the first study hour and a young man sits beside me on the floor to read his mystery novel, then an hour later pulls out a plastic gun that he had in his pocket the whole time, just because. When the book is later lost, he becomes Sherlock Holmes and retraces his steps. I am living in the most gorgeous little village I've ever seen, with the church bells bringing in every half hour and the green hills enveloping the dorm. Ping pong is happening all the time. We move into our apartment on the third floor of a house that is 150 years old and I get to name the rats that are making their (I'm sure) lovely house in the wall beside our bed (Tarzan and Jane by the way). I'm driving three seniors up the hill and we sing Michael Buble as loud as we can. The first day Jordan and I are asked by a Freshman if we are siblings and Jordan grabs me and kisses me, the poor guy stares in shock then relaxes when we tell him we're married. I learn to drive a 9 passenger van through narrow streets that were built around houses and trees. France is an afternoon trip for school supplies. I make cappuccino cookies. I last about 3 minutes in the gym playing dodge ball with 26 men, then run screaming for cover. Laundry is now work...what? It used to be something I did for fun. We marvel at being a part of a community, finally.

For those who think that International Workers do indeed need to suffer all the time to make an impact, I could comfort you with things that we have gone through as well. My dear Uncle Lauren passed away when we had been here a week. It's hard to mourn around people I have just met, while being in the town my Uncle grew up in. He was so much a part of why we came here and I see him everywhere I look. He was the fourth family member to die in a little over a year and heaven is looking sweeter now then it ever did. And I can't help but hear his laugh if I told him my fear that people will think we're not being useful if we're having a good time, he would laugh and then ask if I've been eating enough chocolate, and have I started liking coffee yet? I ought to start liking coffee.
Loss happens even in the most beautiful of havens.

These 23 young men are why I'm here and here happens to be in the middle of God's beauty and grace. I've come home.

Dear Miss Smith,

You had me in your classroom for one year. All I remember you teaching me was that I was stupid.

You called me 'The Daydreamer" and would stop class to pointedly ask me sarcastically if I was daydreaming again.
I was a little girl. I believed in dragons and fairies and Aslan. I believed the whole earth and everything in it was alive. I would whisper to rocks and leaves as I passed by.
I was a little girl and I was a daydreamer. I could travel to other worlds from that classroom desk and to other places in this world. I made up the most fantastic stories. I loved to escape you, the fear of you.
I was a little girl and I was discovering love for the first time. My very first crush. I would sneak glances at him across the room, willing him to notice me.
I was a little girl and I was vulnerable. I knew you knew what you were talking about and I must be stupid. I have a very vivid, terrible memory when I suddenly realised just how stupid I must be. You were looming over me as you made me count my folders. I was so nervous with you standing there that I counted nine when there was ten.
"You can't even count to ten?" you asked, exasperated with me. I cowered and didn't respond.
My heart screamed in protest. "Yes I can!" I yelled inside. "I am good at counting. I can also write stories better than anyone else in this room if you gave me the chance, if you encouraged me. But I am being taught to mute my imagination."
Creativity is not as important as sitting still and paying attention, being a good girl and answering the question right. You taught me that.

Do you remember dumping me on to another adult for a 'special reading class'? I was special enough to leave the others and go with him to a small office. I remember those times of freedom from the fear you instilled in me. He was kind and funny and under his tutelage I learned. But then I would be sent back into your classroom and once again into silence.

I am shaking as I type this. I am not writing this letter for you. This is for me. I need to leave these things on the page. I need to tell myself that you were wrong. I am not stupid.

I had many amazing teachers growing up, but your voice is the loudest. It is you I hear late at night. You I hear as I write. You I hear when I'm struggling to speak and can't get the words out. What you instilled in me has affected every area of my life, my marriage, my faith. By teaching me it was wrong to use my imagination, you taught me that I was wrong, that I was made wrong.

You were wrong Miss Smith.

I am a woman and I am a creator.
I am a woman and will no longer be afraid to create.
I am a woman and I will no longer be afraid to speak.
I am a woman with presence.
I am a daughter of the King who made me.

And I will no longer let you into my head. I forgive you Miss Smith. For both of our sakes.

The Proud Daydreamer

I'm Here

Sometimes I think late at night. Or early in the morning. When I was younger and Dad knew I inherited his insomnia, he would tell me to remember that if I was awake, he was awake and God was awake too. It was like a party.
So when my Husband is doing that deep breathing thing, I'm actually having a party with God.

It's times like these when I realise I let God become a stranger today. I didn't tell God that I'm here on July 27th. For the past busy month I've been saying "I'm here." to God. Then I realise that I'm here, and He's here, and we're here together, doing whatever I'm doing, together.

I'm here, with Him when I'm singing next to my guitar playing Husband at a youth camp.
I'm here, with Him when we're living at a dairy farm for a week and there's a scary doll downstairs that is stopping me from retrieving the frozen chicken.
I'm here, with Him with I'm listening to my husband vomit for the 6th time that day.
I'm here, with Him when I'm driving my Husband to the hospital where they inject him with 4 litres of fluid.
I'm here, with Him when our trip home is delayed for three days.
I'm here, with Him when His unexplainable peace seeps through my tortured thoughts of cancer and all things evil.
I'm here, with Him when we arrive in Three Hills with essays to write and thank you cards to mail and people to see and a life to pack and health to figure out.
I'm here, with Him when we get the call that it was food poisoning, and he'll be fine.
I'm here, with Him when my Husband is breathing deep and it's morning but I'm awake. Having a party.

This post might not be too profound, I am sleep deprived after all. This is my life, the mundane life of Rachael Culp world traveller extraordinaire (I tried to make things mundane Rebecka Boys, but then I go and throw words like extraordinaire in the mix and I fail miserably).

I am surrounded by all of my earthly possessions that are packed up and against walls. We are leaving in a week and a half and I may never see them again, but I could care less! Are you trapped by your possessions?
God is here with me, and I am with Him. God is there in Germany too and will be going there with me, and I with Him. Never one without the other. What a beautiful-far-from-mundane-crazy-truth- reality that is!
My prayer reader, is that YOU are able to practise this small Spiritual Discipline of being here with God, wherever, whenever. Now go have a party!

Constant Eyes

My first trip to the Dominican Republic was when I was 17 years old. We went as a family with Compassion International to see for ourselves what they were doing around the world and how we could be ambassadors. 
The last few days were spent at the resort to rest and process all that we had seen. We were with another family who has a daughter my age. She is very adventurous and I am...not. But I aspire to be! So when she asked me if I wanted to go scuba diving with her of course I said a faltering yes. We signed up with two others in her family and we were trained by an instructor in the pool. The next day we woke up way too early and geared up in some sexy suits to meet Sebastian and Flounder.

The boat stopped in the middle of the ocean and a rope was dropped down into the water. We jumped in and went one by one down the rope with the instructor. When it was my turn I grabbed the rope and went under, but the instructor and I had barely descended when what I was doing suddenly hit me. If you have read some of my earlier posts about fear you know the kind of person I am and how utterly out of character scuba diving is for me. I started to panic and race towards the surface but the instructor grabbed my shoulders. He motioned for me to look into his eyes and all I saw was calm inside of them. My fears immediately abated and I gave him the OK sign. We descended and I was not prepared for the beauty that met me. The ocean floor is another world. We know less about the ocean then we do about space (Just a little trivia there for you). I was blown away by the colours I had never seen and the creatures swimming around me. It was incredible. 
It ended too soon and I came back to my family shouting "I SCUBA DIVE!" ('What About Bob' anyone?) 

To think what I would have missed out on had I given my fear a foothold. 

When I look back at this year and all that changed, I can't help but think of God as that instructor. We are in transition right now and until a few days ago didn't know where we were going to be in the coming months. I was certain that we wouldn't be able to raise $31000 in 2 weeks, but thank God that He doesn't agree with our certainties. 
My God is incredible. While my whole world has been caving in around me, He has grabbed my shoulders and motioned for me to look into His constant eyes. 

Nothing about our current situation troubles Him, though suffering will come, He has promised to never leave us or forsake us. That's enough for this learning girl right now. I pray it is enough for you as well, and that in the midst of whatever you are facing, you will never lose sight of His eyes.