Diggin’ Dirt…

I dedicate this post to two friends: Rachel and Tracy.

Gonna talk about something that I don’t often share.


That’s the only way I know how to express the feelings that rose up in me today.

Looking at a photos of India, a video from Mexico, and a documentary of Amazonian outreach;  I sat and cried.

   I miss the dirt.

Getting our hands dirty.

Customs as old and simple as dirt. Dirt roads — clay pots, adobe ovens & walls, dirt floors.

breadoven.hondurusjpg pots

Kissing the ground (dirt) after your flight lands…

 Because your feet are now where your heart has resided for so very very long.  

I miss the soil of distant lands.  It is thousands of miles away yet as close as a heartbeat.

…The dry seasons that create the gritty clouds as the tropical or desert winds blow.

But the rooster’s wake up call and cool misty breezes of rainy season balance and refresh the dirt.  When I think about missing the dirt, I recall the sounds, the smells, the atmosphere unique to each place.

I have never felt more alive, more real, more authentic than when I lived simply with the people and earthy smells with heartfelt laughter of 3rd world village life.

It is their dirt. The soil from which they came.

Their homeland is on my feet, underneath my fingernails and  smeared upon my heart.

My husband and I are not called to one place.

We are called to the nations.  We have heard that many times from many voices in different places around the world. We carry these nations in our hearts. Most we have not visited yet.

We have been in a very loooooooooooooooooooooooooong season of pruning, sanding, re-shaping and re-tooling for a very fast paced season yet to come.

Fast -paced in that many nations will be leaving their dust on our shoes and we will not shake it off!

But simple, genuine  and humbling in the get down on your knees and reach the people on their own turf and you see Jesus in their faces as you connect.  Dirt poor but so very rich in joy.

                                             Sometimes it seems like it will never come.

I long to return. I pray to visit lands that have yet to make their marks upon my memory and receive the imprint of my feet.


I hear Desert dirt as it whispers my name; rough, challenging mountain range dirt calls to me. The winds blow and the sun beats down upon the heads of the veiled women who appear in my dreams. The ones who will teach me to cook according to their palate and I will gently offer the Bread of Life in  exchange.

I want to, my husband and I want together to go.

To walk, to touch the land and allow the Lord to touch the people  through us. Because that is His way.

You know, when Jesus knelt and wrote on the ground, when He scooped up dirt, spat and made mud to heal, when he wiped the dust, washed the soil off the feet of His followers; He ministered through dirt.

writing in the sand

You have to love dirt if you want to see the Kingdom move in to the neighborhood. 

Today, we recall, and tomorrow we will  get our walking shoes ready and pray more, cry out once again  “Here we are Lord, SEND US!”



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