something beautiful.

"And Ashley Louise, I told her it was ALL God, not me, because only God could do it, and she thought it was so amazing that she came to our bible study, and she's JEWISH!"

That was my Mom this morning, on the phone. Telling me about how she's been praying for situations at work, and as God answers her prayers, she's telling others about Him.

I don't know what to tell you.

Last week, my Dad told me that he's been using examples of the things I tell him about my experiences at James River to change his Lutheran church. Honestly, the most I hear the word "missional" all week is on the phone with him.

I'm in awe. No matter what I think or feel about the faith of my parents, they are becoming influencers for Christ in their own rights.

It hasn't always been like this. When I was 14, and new in the church, I remember feeling incredibly hurt that, unlike my friends with their seemingly perfect Christian families, my own family was so broken. Adultery, and mental illness, and anger had torn it apart again and again and again. Literally, I've been through three parental divorces. I have heard countless screaming matches, and been through court battles, and gotten the call saying "Your parent is checked into the hospital on suicide watch." I have the memories of hiding in a dark corner of the living room, watching while he leaves, seeing her sobbing on the stairs. When I was a kid, I cried myself to sleep every night for years, because I knew deeply that things were not right, that I lived in a dark world. And no number of piano or figure-skating lessons, no school achievement--gifted programs, or IQ tests, or accolades--could light it.

I'm not thinking about all of that to stir pity, or melodrama. But because it was real, it is real. It happened. But just as surely, this transformation, the fruit of the transformation in the life of my family, is real. It's happening.

Since I first discovered Him, Christ has been using my journey with Him to reach out to my parents. Though they were both raised strongly in the church, they both fell away. When I found church at 14, they both began attending again, though irregularly. While I was away in college, they became stronger. And as I've surrendered completely, and begun to grow, they seem now to be seeking new levels in their own faiths. We're growing together.

I don't say this lightly: this is a miracle.

It's one of the most amazing stories of redemption and grace I've ever heard. That 12 years ago, I cried to my first pastor that I felt so alone in this new faith I had found. And now, I truly know Christ, and see my parents reaching out to know Him as well. Helping others to know Him. That He took something ugly, so terribly ugly. Something filled with hatred, and hurt, and brokenness, and is making a beautiful story, a new opportunity not only for my family, but for those who might come to be helped by my family. That is so far beyond my own capacity to imagine.

Thinking of this reminds me to be faithful, to be trusting, to be willing. How beautiful it all looks from this moment. But how grotesque from within those moments. He's so faithful.

Father, I'm in.