Japan. Singing Over Nations. (Please Read This.)

As I write this, I am reminded of a story in Exodus.  A story in which a man is asked to do something He feels completely inadequate to do.  Nonetheless, God is calling him.  Still, he gives God every reason he can come up with as to why he is the wrong guy for the job set before him: He thinks the leadership won’t believe Him.  He has a speech impediment.  They won’t know who God is.  They won’t understand him. 

Yadda. Yadda. Yadda.

Perhaps my favorite line he feeds God is, “O Lord, please send someone else to do it.” 

It’s so transparent and human.  I’ve said the same thing myself. 

But, the Lord cared so much for Moses and His people, that He gave him a supernatural sign to get his attention.  He reminded Moses who He was.  He told Moses that His divine words would come from Moses’ mouth, and He would perform miraculous signs through him.

Wow.

So, what does all this have to do with Japan? 

A few months ago, Lisa Coscia, now the principal of a school in Okinawa, Japan and my former principal at VCA, told me how much it would bless her students if I were to come lead worship for their chapels.   At the time, I responded with a short laugh, meaning “that’s a pretty far distance for a few songs to be sung.” 

She mentioned it several times, and I thought about it, dismissing it every time.

In my mind, it wasn’t logical. 

About a month later, the Lord wouldn’t let me leave it.  He prompted me to find out more information and sent people in my life to remind me of the power of the Holy Spirit in worship.  He brought my mind back to His words that have been spoken over me numerous times, that I would indeed “sing over nations.”  That I would see people healed in worship. 

I “pulled a Moses” and questioned God, asking for confirmation, and the Lord gave me a clear one.  A few short hours after I asked for it, He brought me a supernatural, physical sign.  I can’t say He’s ever spoken so clearly to me.  I was broken.

It was then that I knew I had to go.  He was summoning me.  Something would be unleashed in my worship over there. 

Even after this sign, the Lord continued to speak to me through a dream, in which He pleaded that I intercede for His people. 

There is so much more that I could write, pointing to the ways in which God has confirmed this trip over and over again.  And, it blows my mind to think about it all.

Needless to say, even without full understanding, I am obeying.  I will be going the week of Thanksgiving (November 17th-24th), and using every waking moment to minister to these people in Okinawa.

My friend, Jimmy Paton, will be joining me on this endeavor, and I am extremely grateful for his willingness to help me in teaching, ministering to, and loving on these people.  What a heart for the kingdom this man has!

Only 3% of the people of Okinawa claim to be Christians. 

So, I’m asking for your prayers and support. 

Pray that the Holy Spirit would use every song sung to break down walls and go through seemingly impenetrable hearts. 

Pray that our songs would be a prophetic voice of encouragement to the people of Okinawa.

Pray blessing on the Coscia family.

Pray for safe travels, smooth passage, and doors to open for us to minister.

Pray that we will be able to show these people an accurate picture of the character of God and how vast His love is for them.

Pray for healings, be they physical or emotional. 

Pray that the Holy Spirit would move in miraculous ways.

I can’t thank you enough. 

-Allyson

mountain messengers.

The mountains teach me.

Yes, the green ones.

The ones protecting two lands, to be exact.

The ones that brought rain every 45 blasted minutes.

Those unpredicted ones that framed my prayers.

They didn’t know the significance of their being there.

They carried the hope of those people. 

They knew what was expected of me.

The mountains teach me.

No, you’re thinking of the wrong ones.

These are worth much more than that.

They spoke clearly.

Pointed their snow capped peaks towards You

And forced me to take a look at myself.

Holding their regal heads high.

But ready to lower their pride, yield themselves in an instant.

I took notes.

Wrote down their advice.

It all started and ended with You.

a patchwork piece.

A Patchwork piece:

April 2010:

“Yet she sits, thinks,

And makes a sorry attempt

To discover who she is.

Without thinking of the One who knows

Her best.

Forgive me, Lord.”

“We yield because you, beyond us, are our God.

We are your creatures met by your holiness,

by your holiness made our true selves.

And we yield.”

December 2010:

“I need hard facts. Give me the source. Please spare me the flowery words that arouse my emotions. I’ll even leave music at the door. Just give me Jesus.

I want to really know Him.

Good-person.  Virgin-birthed. The center of theological debate.

Please, People.

There’s so much more to it than that.

I’m just beginning to unravel it.”

April 2011:

“Give me vision.

I see a sewer filled pond.

            You see a lake.

I see a lost little girl.

            You see a woman of potential.”

June 2011:

“I realize that I have trust issues, and I unfairly attribute these to the Lord. I fear that things won’t work out for me. That my dreams aren’t valued enough in His eyes. That my ideas aren’t worth much, and that I won’t feel or experience His fullness the way others claim to experience it.”

August 2011:

“There are times where I could write a love song about you.”

August 2011:

“Love must be done.”

December 2011:

“Part of me is annoyed at the pace of this season

While part of me appreciates lingering

…I usually have a hard time closing books when the plot still intrigues me.”

I've been sifting through my old files and random unfinished songs, poems and thoughts, trying to relate to where I was.  To be honest, some of them are terrible writing and a little too vulnerable for my comfort level. 

but I remember exactly who I was in each of these...and I find myself smiling in relief.

I don’t know her any longer. 

This year I found him,

and upon truly encountering the person of the Holy Spirit,

I don’t want to live another day without him. 

Not one.

July 2012

sappy stuff.

I’d be lying if I said I was completely satisfied with my writing skills in this particular blog entry. I’m definitely a “words” person, but it seems I can never pick the best words to say what I want to say at the right time. Later, at the most inopportune time, those words will all come to me, and I’ll have to talk to myself and resist the urge to completely change this. But I’m telling myself the point of this blog is simply to let a few people know how much they mean to me, and “Allyson, no one really cares if you used the word “shaping” or “determining”. (that was me talking to myself…)

So, on to it…

This year has been one of the most “shaping” years of my life. I don’t know how else to say it.

I started thinking about some beautiful people that have definitely played a part in this shifting that took place within me this year, and I felt the need to thank them. This was the best way I knew how…




My beautiful sister. She got married about a month ago to this ridiculously great guy.
I can’t put it into words (go figure), but I tried to put it into song once. Take a listen if you didn’t already. So Ames and Joel, thank you for teaching me the beauty of true love and joy with one another this year.

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My parents. I saw this quote on a card in a quaint little shop in St. Augustine the other day, and me, being the cheapo that I am, decided to take a picture of it rather than buy it. (Just in case I needed use of it any time soon)

I guess this is me “using” it.

“The truth is. Even if she weren’t my Mom I would go out of my way to be friends with her.” (Let’s go ahead and apply this one to dad too.)


This year that unexpected thing happened. That thing that people always tell you will happen one day… except, you never believe it when your young and full of teenage angst towards the people that love you the most, simply because you can’t go to so-and-so’s house or to what’s his face’s party. You don’t want to hear it then…

But. It’s absolutely true.

Your parents can become your friends.
And mine, have become some of my closest.



My Unveiled family. I could go on for days. I’ve never felt such love and freedom in a place of ministry. Truly. (And I’ve grown up around ministry…) I love you guys. (I couldn't find a picture to capture all of us at our best, so don't feel unappreciated if you're not pictured. Cuz that's just not the truth.)




My NC family. I will always claim to be from the South simply because I want people to know I am connected with you people. You know who you are. Any time I take anyone “home”, they tell me I have some of the rarest/best friends. I always reply with, “I know.”











My Dive Sisters, Rita, and Anthony. (Tiffany too!) You guys broke off every negative misconception I had built up of women in ministry. (And believe me, I had a few…) I think the world of all of you. I’ve crafted more songs than ever because of the encouragement you all threw on me.
















My Diddi. (Crystal) We traveled the world together. Cried together. Laughed at men with red thongs sticking out of their dad jeans together. You’re my big sister. I believe I can do almost anything if you think I can.









My Florida friends. (And yes, some of you have moved away and such)You know who you are. I’m getting emotional just typing this…so I’m just gonna stop typing and post some pictures, since my eyes are a bit cloudy at the moment. You guys…awwe shucks…well yeah…


Here goes…


















And that's all I've got, folks.
Just been doing some analyzing, and I think I agree with this somewhat cheesy quote on friendship:

“Let us be grateful to people who make us happy, they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.” — Marcel Proust

And grateful I am...

if you wear green, i'll wear green.

Today I woke up wanting to go back in time.

I could change a few things there.

Put a few things back together.

Leave that scene before I said too much.

Be a little less vulnerable on that Tuesday.

Less hurtful on that Friday.

I’d linger on that bench just long enough for you to get the courage to speak what you wanted to say that one night.

That one night when the moon was mockingly bigger than most nights. When my favorite candy was your favorite candy. And we’d laugh at the same jokes as we sat side by side confused at our chance meeting there in matching color schemes.

But I didn’t notice it then.

This time I’d listen to you.

I'd listen well.

car talk.

Poetry tends to come to me at the most inconvenient of times. Take what you will of this. Tomorrow I probably will find something wrong with it.


And I’m sitting in my car.

Yes, before I know it, I’m sitting here.

In my car.

Engine off.

Door open.
Just enough to blanket the dead silence from within
By allowing a couple of finches to share their comments on the cheek of the moon.
"My, how he’s drawing attention to his figure tonight."

I am alone now.
I am alone now.

And I am sitting in my car.
And I can finally hear it:

The steady sound of my heartbeat in perfect rhythm to the pace of his tread.

And before I know it,

I’m still sitting here.

In my car

Realizing that has to mean something.

he knows what he's doing.

You know,

That 8th grade party you were once dying to go, and mom and dad so humiliatingly said no. I mean, gosh, your reputation was at hand. How dare they.

Later on you found out the importance of you not being there.

You know,

Those desires and places in life you were once dying to go, and God so humiliatingly said no. I mean, gosh, your reputation was at hand. How dare He.

Later on you found out the importance of you not being there.