My friend, Kris.

I wrote about my friend, Kris, for the first time over two years ago. You can read more about him HERE. With the family representative's permission, I share my thoughts about Kris upon his passing.

My friend, Kris, is being remembered today, as his 2-year struggle with cancer came to an end on Wednesday. It was a well-fought, difficult journey, and he finished the race with his family by his side. With the news being so fresh on my mind, I find it one of my toughest writing assignments yet to put something meaningful down on paper…yet I feel compelled to share my heart.

Kris’s battle with cancer touched me in a way I didn’t expect. For one thing, when the diagnosis first happened, I didn’t know him all that well. He had been my husband’s friend for years, and that was our strongest connection. But we had never had dinner together or vacationed as couples or even, had more than a few brief meetings with firm handshakes and smiles. But when I heard about his diagnosis, it had immediate impact. Thankfully, we were able to spend a small bit of time together in the months to follow, which my husband and I both hold dear.

Since that time I have asked myself why his story has had such an effect on me. I have literally stayed up some nights, praying for Kris and thinking of his family ahead of my own. Through this experience, I have learned how to pray for something consistently, and how the ties of prayer bind hearts and lives together in a unique way. Certainly, this has been a huge factor in my heart’s investment in Kris and his journey.

But in evaluating why Kris’s journey has had such great impact on me over the past 24 months, I think I have come to some type of conclusion besides the obvious one. I believe it is because I have seen how one day he was a strong, vibrant working family man with a bigger-than-life personality… and the next day he was forced into the role of patient -- thrust into a world of doctors, treatments, and numbered days he never expected. His journey has reminded me of not only the brevity of life, but also the cruel realities sometimes life carries. Kris never stopped being strong, even though his body did. In my world, that strength should have allowed Kris to live, as it is certainly how he will be remembered. But that is not something anyone but God can control.

Several weeks ago I was sitting in a Dallas hotel room, preparing for a women’s event that night. I sat on the bed and tried to look over my notes, yet my mind was inexplicably consumed with thoughts of Kris and his family. I tried to push them aside for the moment, but they wouldn’t budge. I felt compelled to not only pray for Kris, but to write down some thoughts that were on my heart and mind. As I thought about the injustice of how his physical body was failing him, Jesus reminded me of the very temporary state all of us on this earth really live in.

Before I share these thoughts, I need you to know that I never stopped praying for Kris to be healed, even right to the final moments. For if sheer will were to determine the outcome, his death never would have been so. I hoped the words I penned in that Dallas hotel room would never have relevance to be shared. But I share them now, praying that they will touch someone’s heart and honor Kris’s life in some small way. His family will undoubtedly share the personal reflections they were privileged to enjoy with Kris; I can only share the things his journey helped me remember.


It was a temporary body he lived in. One day it was strong. The next day, it wasn’t.

One day it saw beauty and love. Smiles and tears. Laughter and rain. The next day, it didn’t.

One day it saw grass and trees, mountains and the sandy beach. The next day, it didn’t.

One day it saw joy and it saw pain. It saw life and it saw death. The next day, it didn’t.

That day, it saw something different.

Streets of gold. Crystal sea. A chorus of angels. Nail-scarred hands, eagerly outstretched and waiting.

Complete peace. Fulfilled purpose. Sacred love. Death to life. Earth to heaven.

And in his new body, he rested. Welcomed by the arms of a Savior. Never again to struggle. Free, full, whole and forever.

Eternally, home.

I pray these words serve as a reminder to all of us that we are not here forever, but only for a brief moment in time. I do not presume to know what is in the hearts of Kris’s family right now, but I can only suppose that the message of making the most of every moment you are given is something they would support. May all of us live with the understanding that our temporary selves are meant to represent something much richer, much better, and much more…eternal.

Thank you, Kris, for this reminder. Rest well, my friend, in your new eternal home.

love, give and be challenged: {my week in el salvador}

You may know that I just returned from an amazing week in El Salvador with Compassion, International. As I struggle to organize my thoughts into a blog, my mind wanders to a verse I came across this morning in Psalm 48:10, “As your name deserves, O God, you will be praised to the ends of the earth.” I watched that verse come alive last week, right before my very eyes. Really, I could end this blog right there, and part of me wants to.

Forgive me. I want to tell you so much more, but I find my head and heart in a jumble.

I could tell you about the first time I saw the children of the Compassion project and how from that moment on, I rarely stopped weeping. I could tell you what it felt like to see a young lady in her Sunday best, standing in the hot sun with a sign bearing my name, welcoming me in a way I didn’t deserve. I could tell you what it sounded like to hear American praise songs sung in words I didn’t recognize. Or what it meant to feel the sweet hand of a child on my head, petitioning my same Savior on my behalf.

I could tell you about the hospitality of people who have mud permanently tattooed into the cracks of their feet, seeing more pain in one day than my mind is able to adequately compute. I could tell you about the giving spirit of a little boy who may only eat a snack-sized meal a day, yet gleefully gifted me with a bag of his favorite tortilla chips.

I could tell you about the humility of people who don’t carry around feelings of entitlement. I could tell you about believers who don’t use filters, politically correct phrases or Christian lingo to convey how they feel. I guess they’ve found that those things aren’t needed to communicate gratitude, love or Jesus. Who knew?

I could tell you about a ministry organization that exudes the Great Commission. I could tell you about some of the finest people I have ever met in my life, starting with the staff and stretching to the ones they most effect. I could tell you about the local pastors who aren’t celebrities, don’t sell thousands of books, and couldn’t care less. I could tell you about the local translators who felt like long-lost siblings within the first 24 hours of our meeting – people I loved so much I wanted to throw in my suitcase and bring home with me to insert into my daily life. If I were allowed to be as selfish as I wanted to be, I would have.

I could tell you about a young man named Nixon, a product of the Compassion project, who preached one of the best sermons I ever heard. Or a drama put on by a group of unashamed teenagers about the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, without the flash of American church passion plays but I dare say with greater effectiveness.

I could tell you about the beautiful girl in the white shirt/black skirt uniform who prayed in a way that stirred my bones to a place of sweet revival. When I told her how her prayer moved me she answered simply, “Thank you. Jesus put it in my heart.” Well, now. Is that how that thing works?

I could tell you this and more, but the stories are too many and too much. I’m quite certain I wouldn’t do them justice until I can unpack them a little more in my own mind. But of this you can be sure: what I saw last week was real. Real faces. Real lives. Real needs. The children I saw are not just images on cardboard cards. They exist. I know, because I met them.

So as I continue to process my week, thank you for your patience. But today, there is something I long for you to know.

This week was a week of personal challenges for me – to test what I thought with a potential to experience something more authentic. To some, this test might seem small. To others, it may seem enormous. I don’t care about the judgments on either side – all I know is that I went toe to toe with my fears and ignorance, and I didn’t back down. I met a personal challenge, and I won.

Which leads me to my exhortation.

Don’t be afraid of your challenge in life, whatever it is. Look it in the face and defy it. Embrace it. Own it. Live it, and let it move you to a new place of personal and spiritual discovery. Love it or hate it, you can either challenge it or it will challenge you. Challenge it, and you will win…no matter what the outcome. Because in the process, you will see with eyes of purpose and feel with new waves of passion.

You can wait, sit and wish. You can wonder what it feels like to regain a spiritual pulse. You can watch while someone else comes to a place of understanding that could be yours, if only you were willing to stop being afraid of what you don’t know.

I can’t tell you what to do, and I know you don’t want me to. All I can say is that it is my strongest belief that you find yourself in the midst of your greatest challenge.

The people of the Compassion project in El Salvador taught me that this week. If I already knew it, they made it more real. Though sheer existence is their greatest challenge, in some ways, that may just be their greatest gift. Certainly, their souls are richer than most.

Because of this I wholeheartedly say: may we follow their example and live to love, give, and be challenged.

To find out more about sponsoring a child or the Compassion project, click on THIS LINK.