I stand on the edge of a vast ocean.
The only sound that I hear is the gentle lapping of waves on the shore. A soft ocean breeze raises goosebumps on my exposed forearms. I make no move to pull down my sweatshirt sleeves.
The moon is full and beautiful above the vast expanse of water, bringing it's cool reflection down to gracefully alight on top of every wave. The sand is soft between my toes, which I wiggle a little more to sink in – I'm seeking a sense of rootedness.
My mind is heavy with questions. Just twenty minutes before, I lay awake staring at the ceiling, my mind racing. Although it was early in the morning, I heeded the ocean's siren call and made my way to the beach.
I feel at once large and small next to the big ocean. I feel large because I know the ocean understands and knows my depth. It sees my complexity. It knows that simple platitudes won't change the way that I feel – platitudes only tell me that people care but do not know what to say. It'd be better if they said nothing at all.
I feel small because the ocean is too big, and too vast. I cannot comprehend its length, breadth, or depth. I experience very little of it. Although it knows me, I do not know it; and it is that very lack of reciprocity that makes me feel so small.
A tear silently grows in my eye, and slips down my cheek to dampen the coarse sand. This tear is followed by another, and a third, until I find myself sobbing, lying on the ground with my head in my hands. In a rush, I have no control, and all I know is the deep tearing of my heart in two as I come to grips with what has happened. I am grieving. I don't know what I'm feeling.
I lie there, on the beach, for a while – I do not know how long – emotions pouring from my fractured heart. It hurts, but it hurts in a comforting way; to be vulnerable enough to cry.
The ocean's waves ride up the sand to kiss my cheek, once wet with tears, now wet with the blessings of the deep. It reminds me that I am not forgotten – and that I must not forget. The hand of the ocean, outstretched, touching me, is the strength I needed. My sobbing subsides to quiet crying.
The ocean reaches out again. And once more. The ocean is reminding me that it cares – that it knows the depth of my hurt, and the sorrow of my loss. A thought occurs to me: maybe the ocean is just made of tears cried in love. Maybe the tears of those who have gone before me reach out to me now, to console and comfort me. Perhaps I am not alone.
As I calm down, I stand to my feet, and begin brushing the cool sand off of my shaking body. Some peace is settling into my heart, and as it does, I become more aware of my own body. I'm cold. I'm thirsty. I'm tired. I begin the walk back to my house, and know that tomorrow will look very different. A hole in my life. But the ocean has prepared me for the journey ahead, and I am thankful for its gift of presence.
Showing posts with label special_post. Show all posts
Showing posts with label special_post. Show all posts
Friday, May 11, 2018
Tuesday, April 10, 2018
The Canyon
Evening quickly approaches as a deep darknesses settles upon the ravine floor.
The journey has been long. Here in the cold, stale air, the ravine walls invite you stay forever. To give up hope of finding your destination. To fall asleep forever and let the earth reclaim you. There is something sinister in their presence.
Mists swirl around your ankles, specters of a bygone time. They clutch at you, as if their condensation on your skin could raise them back to life. Their hands gently brush up against you, and a cold more dark than the night penetrates deep into your skin.
Many trials, dangerous and fierce, lie behind you, but they hardly feel like victories now. Rather than heroically campaigning through the adversities, you barely managed to keep your life as you ran, stumbling and tripping on the earth that seems bent on failing you. Where you ran, others stood, and they have been given glory and medals. Those heroes have been celebrated time and time again in taverns warm and hearty, and here you sit; alone in the rubble desperately trying to start a fire with damp kindling.
After a meager meal, you lie your head down and listen for sounds of life around you. Yet not even a wolf would dare venture between these cliff faces. The silence is deafening. You can see the glow of the moon casting its rays just past the lip of the tallest ledge, but none of its light reaches you. The stars are all but blocked by the towering canyon walls. You close your eyes, and you are greeted by the same darkness that met you with them open. As you shiver, you slowly fall asleep, wondering what would come of you in the night.
Light begins to peek over the canyon walls.
A bird, chirping, flits over the canyon, high above your head, heralding the coming of morning. Stiff, you roll over and brush off the gravel that is pressed into your skin. You know from the past few days that the light will not reach more than halfway down the ravine, so deep is the canyon. Even still, the sight of the golden rays imbues you with hope.
The warmth of the porridge you've made for yourself fills your body with strength. The fire is warm, and the dark of the night that seeped into your heart begins to melt away. Have you failed more than you succeeded? Perhaps. But the thoughts of the night before seem far less significant to you now.
"Although I've never won, been heroic, or faced the most difficult of evils, I've yet made it this far," you think to yourself. It is a triumph to simply stand where you are. Simply to stand in living defiance of the cold, lifeless cliff faces on either side of you. You haven't accomplished much, and yet, you've accomplished it all. As you breathe, you are reminded with each pull of oxygen that the earth hasn't claimed you yet.
The morning mists – instead of remaining still and swirling around your disturbances, as in the night before – roll forward into the canyon before you, almost as if the travelers that have come before you now urge you forwards. You begin to pack up your things, and begin to appreciate the adversities you have overcome. You aren't inadequate, a failure, worthless. You've carried on, pressed forward, and pushed through. In the face of such difficult things, the fact that you still stand is incredible.
If no one else sees it, trust Me when I say I do: I've walked this cold, dark, long road too. I know how it wears you down and chips you away. It may not be like killing monsters or fighting armies, but the slow relentless fading is almost more dangerous than any of those other things. It has claimed far more lives than monsters or armies ever have, and yet we act as if it does not exist. We give ourselves no grace, and so we also give others none. And yet ignoring the creeping darkness, the sense of failure, the feelings of inadequacy is what feeds it even more.
Traveler, you have made it this far. You STAND. What a beautiful triumph! To lose is to sit and die, to win is to press forward, no matter the ways that you do. If it is running, walking, stumbling, or crawling, your defiance against giving up is itself a grand and victorious thing. I applaud your relentless courage.
I urge you forward, deeper into the canyon, for on the other side you will step into golden sunlight – the day is ever nearer. Your weapon is not your sword, but your courage. The night holds no sway if you remember your worth – immense and immeasurable, unable to be counted. So much so that if the earth claims you, the rest of our kind loses a great loss. Because of you, we are better. Simply the life within you is enough of a gift to fill a thousand chests.
You are beautiful, strong, courageous, and absolutely incredible. And when the night falls on the canyon again, listen for My voice, whispering the only words you ever need to hear: I love you.
The journey has been long. Here in the cold, stale air, the ravine walls invite you stay forever. To give up hope of finding your destination. To fall asleep forever and let the earth reclaim you. There is something sinister in their presence.
Mists swirl around your ankles, specters of a bygone time. They clutch at you, as if their condensation on your skin could raise them back to life. Their hands gently brush up against you, and a cold more dark than the night penetrates deep into your skin.
Many trials, dangerous and fierce, lie behind you, but they hardly feel like victories now. Rather than heroically campaigning through the adversities, you barely managed to keep your life as you ran, stumbling and tripping on the earth that seems bent on failing you. Where you ran, others stood, and they have been given glory and medals. Those heroes have been celebrated time and time again in taverns warm and hearty, and here you sit; alone in the rubble desperately trying to start a fire with damp kindling.
After a meager meal, you lie your head down and listen for sounds of life around you. Yet not even a wolf would dare venture between these cliff faces. The silence is deafening. You can see the glow of the moon casting its rays just past the lip of the tallest ledge, but none of its light reaches you. The stars are all but blocked by the towering canyon walls. You close your eyes, and you are greeted by the same darkness that met you with them open. As you shiver, you slowly fall asleep, wondering what would come of you in the night.
Light begins to peek over the canyon walls.
A bird, chirping, flits over the canyon, high above your head, heralding the coming of morning. Stiff, you roll over and brush off the gravel that is pressed into your skin. You know from the past few days that the light will not reach more than halfway down the ravine, so deep is the canyon. Even still, the sight of the golden rays imbues you with hope.
The warmth of the porridge you've made for yourself fills your body with strength. The fire is warm, and the dark of the night that seeped into your heart begins to melt away. Have you failed more than you succeeded? Perhaps. But the thoughts of the night before seem far less significant to you now.
"Although I've never won, been heroic, or faced the most difficult of evils, I've yet made it this far," you think to yourself. It is a triumph to simply stand where you are. Simply to stand in living defiance of the cold, lifeless cliff faces on either side of you. You haven't accomplished much, and yet, you've accomplished it all. As you breathe, you are reminded with each pull of oxygen that the earth hasn't claimed you yet.
The morning mists – instead of remaining still and swirling around your disturbances, as in the night before – roll forward into the canyon before you, almost as if the travelers that have come before you now urge you forwards. You begin to pack up your things, and begin to appreciate the adversities you have overcome. You aren't inadequate, a failure, worthless. You've carried on, pressed forward, and pushed through. In the face of such difficult things, the fact that you still stand is incredible.
If no one else sees it, trust Me when I say I do: I've walked this cold, dark, long road too. I know how it wears you down and chips you away. It may not be like killing monsters or fighting armies, but the slow relentless fading is almost more dangerous than any of those other things. It has claimed far more lives than monsters or armies ever have, and yet we act as if it does not exist. We give ourselves no grace, and so we also give others none. And yet ignoring the creeping darkness, the sense of failure, the feelings of inadequacy is what feeds it even more.
Traveler, you have made it this far. You STAND. What a beautiful triumph! To lose is to sit and die, to win is to press forward, no matter the ways that you do. If it is running, walking, stumbling, or crawling, your defiance against giving up is itself a grand and victorious thing. I applaud your relentless courage.
I urge you forward, deeper into the canyon, for on the other side you will step into golden sunlight – the day is ever nearer. Your weapon is not your sword, but your courage. The night holds no sway if you remember your worth – immense and immeasurable, unable to be counted. So much so that if the earth claims you, the rest of our kind loses a great loss. Because of you, we are better. Simply the life within you is enough of a gift to fill a thousand chests.
You are beautiful, strong, courageous, and absolutely incredible. And when the night falls on the canyon again, listen for My voice, whispering the only words you ever need to hear: I love you.
Thursday, December 1, 2016
Dressember Day 1
Today is the first day of December, which means it’s also Day 1 of Dressember!
What is Dressember? It’s an awareness campaign that seeks to end modern day slavery. The creators of such a project originally intended women to wear a dress every day in the month of December as a conversation starter and a way to stand out. It’s quickly grown into a full-blown ministry that raises money to create and commission teams of individuals to find and rescue potential victims from the sex trafficking trade.
As a male, I thought originally that I had no part in such a ministry beyond giving to one of my female friends’ support funds. However, this year I encountered some Facebook posts that let me know that nationwide, there were indeed a few men that decided to wear bowties every day for the month of December as their act of standing against such an evil act. There even arose a hashtag, #RealMenDontBuyGirls that I think is pretty cool.
I first heard about this ministry a year ago. After being accepted to my university, I was added to a Facebook group with a lot of the other incoming freshmen. I met one young lady online (whom I am friends with in person now!) who posted an awful lot about wearing a dress every day - not for a month, but for a YEAR - and advocating for an end to the trafficking industry. She raised an incredible amount of support, and continues to do so.
Up until this morning, I had given little thought to the idea of joining the campaign. After all, I was a guy, and it still seemed to me to be a little silly to join such a thing. However, as I showered this morning, I prayerfully considered what my role in this whole thing should be. God revealed to me that instead of viewing this as an opportunity to join a cause and jump on a bandwagon, it was an opportunity to learn some more and grow some compassion for those who have faced such circumstances. Rather than this being a publicity stunt, I want to educate myself - and others - about what these women face in slavery.
Despite only having one bow tie here on campus, I’m excited to join. Throughout today, I’ve been growing more excited to see what God shows me throughout this whole process. The song, “For Those Who Can’t Speak,” by Tenth Avenue North has been stuck in my head since this morning. And I think I want to explore God’s word about what it means to truly be an advocate for someone.
Please feel free to join me in my journey to learn more about how we can end modern day slavery. You can donate to my individual fund online at the link below. The cool thing is, my individual fund gets pooled in with my university’s “team,” and together we are seeking to raise enough money ($6200) to create and commission an entire team that will be sent out into the world to try and end trafficking in their area. To say that Taylor University has sent a team like that would be, well, incredible.
Thank you for joining me in this cause, and just for your support in general. I’m so thankful for my readers’ constant and consistent encouragement and support as I seek to #LiveItLikeJesus.
Donate:
https://support.dressemberfoundation.org/fundraiser/858553
What is Dressember? It’s an awareness campaign that seeks to end modern day slavery. The creators of such a project originally intended women to wear a dress every day in the month of December as a conversation starter and a way to stand out. It’s quickly grown into a full-blown ministry that raises money to create and commission teams of individuals to find and rescue potential victims from the sex trafficking trade.
As a male, I thought originally that I had no part in such a ministry beyond giving to one of my female friends’ support funds. However, this year I encountered some Facebook posts that let me know that nationwide, there were indeed a few men that decided to wear bowties every day for the month of December as their act of standing against such an evil act. There even arose a hashtag, #RealMenDontBuyGirls that I think is pretty cool.
I first heard about this ministry a year ago. After being accepted to my university, I was added to a Facebook group with a lot of the other incoming freshmen. I met one young lady online (whom I am friends with in person now!) who posted an awful lot about wearing a dress every day - not for a month, but for a YEAR - and advocating for an end to the trafficking industry. She raised an incredible amount of support, and continues to do so.
Up until this morning, I had given little thought to the idea of joining the campaign. After all, I was a guy, and it still seemed to me to be a little silly to join such a thing. However, as I showered this morning, I prayerfully considered what my role in this whole thing should be. God revealed to me that instead of viewing this as an opportunity to join a cause and jump on a bandwagon, it was an opportunity to learn some more and grow some compassion for those who have faced such circumstances. Rather than this being a publicity stunt, I want to educate myself - and others - about what these women face in slavery.
Despite only having one bow tie here on campus, I’m excited to join. Throughout today, I’ve been growing more excited to see what God shows me throughout this whole process. The song, “For Those Who Can’t Speak,” by Tenth Avenue North has been stuck in my head since this morning. And I think I want to explore God’s word about what it means to truly be an advocate for someone.
Please feel free to join me in my journey to learn more about how we can end modern day slavery. You can donate to my individual fund online at the link below. The cool thing is, my individual fund gets pooled in with my university’s “team,” and together we are seeking to raise enough money ($6200) to create and commission an entire team that will be sent out into the world to try and end trafficking in their area. To say that Taylor University has sent a team like that would be, well, incredible.
Thank you for joining me in this cause, and just for your support in general. I’m so thankful for my readers’ constant and consistent encouragement and support as I seek to #LiveItLikeJesus.
Donate:
https://support.dressemberfoundation.org/fundraiser/858553
Wednesday, August 17, 2016
Special Post: Zambia Debrief 2016
Yesterday, I finally came home from my two week missions trip to Zambia. I’ve tried to sum it up concisely for those who have asked about it already, and the best I can do is to say that it was an adventure.
Beyond that, all I can do is tell the stories of what happened.
Our main purpose in Zambia was to help run a summer ministry headed by Every Orphan’s Hope called Camp Hope. It was essentially a beefed-up VBS program. Between a translator and a missionary, the kids learned about the gospel, made crafts, sang songs, played games, and answered some questions that will allow social services in Zambia to identify who is in need of intervention.
You see, these kids were identified by local churches as being single orphans (lost one parent), double orphans (lost both parents), or vulnerable (having a mother and a father, but not a healthy home life based on abuse or malnutrition due to poverty, etc.). And there were 300 the week that we were there. And what’s even more incredible is that there were two other Camp Hope events in weeks prior to the trip I happened to be on, so we ended up serving 900 young kids a meal and getting them some real help to real problems, as well as sharing the gospel.
A lot of the kids have heart-breaking stories. One young lady that was in my group was a single orphan. She slept on the ground, and while her mother was in the fields farming and earning a living, her older brothers would abuse her. Others didn’t eat more than a meal a day; some got no food at all. Completing the interviews really revealed to me how bad things could get.
And yet, despite what us Americans would call wretched living, these kids BEAMED with joy as they sang, and absolutely loved it when us Americans attempted to speak in Nyanja, one of the local languages. Our favorite phrase was to shout “gulu mutu” at each other, which means “fat head”. The kids laughed hard at that one!
The most impactful part of the trip, however, was when I was able to meet the sponsor child of a family I know very well. I was given the opportunity to deliver the sponsor’s gift, since they couldn’t go themselves. Seeing her eyes light up when I mentioned I knew her sponsor family well, and then trying to contain the excitement as she opened her gift - a beautiful assortment of homemade hair bows - was so awesome.
Before leaving, one of the young ladies in the sponsor family - and my good friend - said something to me that stuck with me the entire trip, and will remain with me for a long time afterwards. She mentioned that she saw their sponsor child as family, and that she loved her so much. I was really impressed by this love, and I turned it over in my head… my family too sponsors children in other countries, but I had never taken the time to invest in their lives, read the letters, or even give them much thought.
Seeing the sponsor child beam so beautifully really made the whole thing real to me, even though we only spent like five minutes together. There was a real child behind the money and the gifts that seem to disappear from the mailbox. There was a beautiful child, an image-bearer of Christ Himself, on the other side of the world. I have a whole new respect for sponsorship programs!
While there is so much more I could share, it’ll have to bleed out into other blog posts. I’m so thankful for those of you who prayed for me, supported me financially, and encouraged me with your words and presence. Joining God on this adventure was so, so cool. I just don’t have adequate words for how to describe it!
Beyond that, all I can do is tell the stories of what happened.
Our main purpose in Zambia was to help run a summer ministry headed by Every Orphan’s Hope called Camp Hope. It was essentially a beefed-up VBS program. Between a translator and a missionary, the kids learned about the gospel, made crafts, sang songs, played games, and answered some questions that will allow social services in Zambia to identify who is in need of intervention.
You see, these kids were identified by local churches as being single orphans (lost one parent), double orphans (lost both parents), or vulnerable (having a mother and a father, but not a healthy home life based on abuse or malnutrition due to poverty, etc.). And there were 300 the week that we were there. And what’s even more incredible is that there were two other Camp Hope events in weeks prior to the trip I happened to be on, so we ended up serving 900 young kids a meal and getting them some real help to real problems, as well as sharing the gospel.
A lot of the kids have heart-breaking stories. One young lady that was in my group was a single orphan. She slept on the ground, and while her mother was in the fields farming and earning a living, her older brothers would abuse her. Others didn’t eat more than a meal a day; some got no food at all. Completing the interviews really revealed to me how bad things could get.
And yet, despite what us Americans would call wretched living, these kids BEAMED with joy as they sang, and absolutely loved it when us Americans attempted to speak in Nyanja, one of the local languages. Our favorite phrase was to shout “gulu mutu” at each other, which means “fat head”. The kids laughed hard at that one!
The most impactful part of the trip, however, was when I was able to meet the sponsor child of a family I know very well. I was given the opportunity to deliver the sponsor’s gift, since they couldn’t go themselves. Seeing her eyes light up when I mentioned I knew her sponsor family well, and then trying to contain the excitement as she opened her gift - a beautiful assortment of homemade hair bows - was so awesome.Seeing the sponsor child beam so beautifully really made the whole thing real to me, even though we only spent like five minutes together. There was a real child behind the money and the gifts that seem to disappear from the mailbox. There was a beautiful child, an image-bearer of Christ Himself, on the other side of the world. I have a whole new respect for sponsorship programs!
While there is so much more I could share, it’ll have to bleed out into other blog posts. I’m so thankful for those of you who prayed for me, supported me financially, and encouraged me with your words and presence. Joining God on this adventure was so, so cool. I just don’t have adequate words for how to describe it!
Friday, April 1, 2016
Special Post: Zambia 2016
Hello everyone! I finally have the green light to explain a little bit about this summer's mission trip.
For those of you who have read this blog before, you'll know that I have been to Wytopitlock, Maine, for the past two summers. This year, God is doing something different and I want to share that story with you:
One Sunday in January, I was having a conversation with the mother of a friend about my future. She was asking me what I wanted to major in, and I responded with the answer I had so often given; that I didn't know what I wanted to do for sure, but that I had considered something with computer science, or something with being a pastor, or a counselor... I wasn't sure. But then at the end, I jokingly added that the last resort was to move to Africa and start an orphanage there.
Being the missions-minded woman that she is, she immediately started telling me how awesome that would be, and even mentioned her husband (who also happens to be my small group leader) has wanted to go to Africa, but he just hasn't gotten the chance yet. I left church with all these thoughts of Africa and orphans floating through my head.
Somehow, they got stuck in my heart. I began to think about it more and more. Then, one Sunday a few weeks later, we received information about this year's mission trips. One of them, although not sponsored by our church, was recommended because we supported the missionary down there. And you know what? The trip was to Zambia, Africa, to help at a Bible Camp to minister to some orphans.
I realized why God had put those dreams in my heart, and as I starting emailing with the organization, I felt more and more sure this is what God had for me. Since then, I have received my passport, been accepted on the trip, had a background check conducted, and attended two online meetings with the rest of the team! Now, it's fundraising time, which is why I appeal to you all: if you would be willing to pray for me, that'd be such a blessing! I'll post a link to a document you can view that tells you more information about the trip. And, if God lays it on your heart to contribute to my mission, that'd also be a huge help. I need to raise $2100 by April 15 (the total amount of $4200 is due by May 27); I'm not sure why the deadline is so soon, but I'm trusting God to bring in the money! Maybe you can be an answer to prayer!
Hope you all are doing well! God bless!
The link the the file: CLICK HERE
For those of you who have read this blog before, you'll know that I have been to Wytopitlock, Maine, for the past two summers. This year, God is doing something different and I want to share that story with you:
One Sunday in January, I was having a conversation with the mother of a friend about my future. She was asking me what I wanted to major in, and I responded with the answer I had so often given; that I didn't know what I wanted to do for sure, but that I had considered something with computer science, or something with being a pastor, or a counselor... I wasn't sure. But then at the end, I jokingly added that the last resort was to move to Africa and start an orphanage there.
Being the missions-minded woman that she is, she immediately started telling me how awesome that would be, and even mentioned her husband (who also happens to be my small group leader) has wanted to go to Africa, but he just hasn't gotten the chance yet. I left church with all these thoughts of Africa and orphans floating through my head.
Somehow, they got stuck in my heart. I began to think about it more and more. Then, one Sunday a few weeks later, we received information about this year's mission trips. One of them, although not sponsored by our church, was recommended because we supported the missionary down there. And you know what? The trip was to Zambia, Africa, to help at a Bible Camp to minister to some orphans.
I realized why God had put those dreams in my heart, and as I starting emailing with the organization, I felt more and more sure this is what God had for me. Since then, I have received my passport, been accepted on the trip, had a background check conducted, and attended two online meetings with the rest of the team! Now, it's fundraising time, which is why I appeal to you all: if you would be willing to pray for me, that'd be such a blessing! I'll post a link to a document you can view that tells you more information about the trip. And, if God lays it on your heart to contribute to my mission, that'd also be a huge help. I need to raise $2100 by April 15 (the total amount of $4200 is due by May 27); I'm not sure why the deadline is so soon, but I'm trusting God to bring in the money! Maybe you can be an answer to prayer!
Hope you all are doing well! God bless!
The link the the file: CLICK HERE
Friday, September 11, 2015
Special Post: September 11, 2015
Why does it take heartache and disaster to create a nation?
On this day, fourteen years ago, an unexpected terrorist attack hit a little too close to home. Frightened by the suddenness of it all, schools were shut down, businesses were closed, and people went home, glued to their TV sets to see what would happen next in our nation's capital.
Images of smoke, fumes, and fire were on every channel. An estimated 3000 people were killed: civilians, firemen, police officers, first responders, employees, government officials, fathers, mothers, and children. Some of these were young, some were old, but all of them endowed with the gift of life from their Creator. Thrown in with the rest were 19 terrorists; these too were given the gift of life, they too were loved, and they too were killed.
After the shock of the event wore off, the nation scrambled to react. Volunteers spent days in the harmful ash and smoke and debris searching for survivors amidst the wreckage. There are some amazing stories that you can learn about that could only be called miraculous. Modern day miracles for the world to see.
Around the nation, blood banks were flooded with donors who begged to give their blood to those who were in need; far too much to even use. An estimated $1.4 billion dollars were donated; that is an incredible amount. Altruism was rampant. On board the fourth plane, which was eventually crashed into a field in Pennsylvania (rather than D.C.), the passengers, knowing they'd been hijacked, diverted the plane.
Those involved in helping restore and rebuild after the attack weren't all Christian. Our nation is incredibly diverse, but this incident made us forget all our differences to help those in need.
Here we are, fourteen years later. A society torn apart by conflicting ideals, rather than the unified nation we saw in 2001. The love, grace, and altruism seem all but forgotten in our consumerist, selfish world. When disaster is close to home, we react; but when it's out of sight, it's out of mind.
Around the world, disaster is a part of every day life. There are children starving, people under persecution (whether they be Christian or otherwise), and corrupt government regimes. In many places worldwide, there are sweatshops where workers are paid next to nothing and sometimes, don't even go home. They live in unlivable conditions. There have been incidents where it has gotten so bad, the workers escape the horror by jumping off the roof of their workplace, effectively ending their employment... and their lives.
Christian rapper Andy Mineo, in his new song "Uncomfortable," says it bluntly — effectively modeling many Americans' attitudes towards the terrors outside our borders:
"We got legal weed to keep us high,
'Round the world, other people die,
Where on earth is my wifi?" - Andy Mineo
As Christians, we should be the foremost authority on helping others. Churches should be centers of altruism; but instead, they are seen as greedy and self-serving. Many churches aren't this way, but sadly, many are. The American community run to trusted foundations and organizations for their acts of freewill, not a church. Why aren't we the poster child for helping others? Why are people more willing to give to an organization that will 'get stuff done' rather than a church?
Our society is in desperate need of hope. Parents pursue the American dream, leaving children at home alone to wonder what love and acceptance are. Children are given a choice to believe what they want, leaving them hopelessly clueless as to what is truth and what isn't. Embracing relativity, we pass legislation that works for the 'good of all.'
But a strong Christan presence isn't seen in our societies. Instead of charitable giving to causes both close to home and abroad, the world sees a bunch of people together on a Sunday morning giving their ten percent. They see people in a building, worshipping a God they don't understand, and then returning to their homes for football and recreation, every week, without fail. They don't see sacrifice. They don't see faith, or miracles, or selflessness. They see comfort.
That's not to say it isn't there, but it isn't prominent enough to really make a change in the way people see Christians. Many claim to know Jesus, but few are known by Him. A changed life is evident to those immediately around it, but across the nation, changed lives don't look too much different from the rest; they are overwhelmed by the ordinary.
During 9/11, America forgot it's diversity and became a nation, ready for whatever came it's way. After the tensions died down, and the memory of the incident slipped from people's minds, so did their unity. Fourteen years in the future, we see a society that has legalized marijuana, gay marriage, and abortion. Many cry out against such acts, and rightfully so; they do not glorify our Creator. But how can we defend a faith we don't contend for? If we aren't on our knees praying, how can we cry out against such legislation? If we aren't giving until it hurts, how will the world view us as anything besides conservatives? Where is the evidence of our faith? Without evidence of a changed life, in my own opinion, we have no right to defend a faith we won't contend for.
A year, or perhaps even more, ago, one of my friends challenged me to pray for the persecuted church every three nights. I haven't been completely faithful to carry out this challenge, but I have been improving; I never bothered to shut off the reminder. I want to challenge you as well; pray for Israel, or the persecuted church, or those who are starving, or those under harsh government. Something global. And then act on your faith; give a little, share a little.
The only way our nation can reunite to fight evil in our world is to step up to a faith that demands sacrifice. Police officers, firemen, and soldiers daily give their all for the good of all; reflecting the behavior of the brave men and women who gave what they could to assist in the recovery of our wounded nation. Society should be able to look to Christians as a source of consistent altruism; but this image has not yet arisen on a national scale. Get uncomfortable. Grow your faith. #LiveItLikeJesus.
All gave some, but some gave all. Never forget.
On this day, fourteen years ago, an unexpected terrorist attack hit a little too close to home. Frightened by the suddenness of it all, schools were shut down, businesses were closed, and people went home, glued to their TV sets to see what would happen next in our nation's capital.
Images of smoke, fumes, and fire were on every channel. An estimated 3000 people were killed: civilians, firemen, police officers, first responders, employees, government officials, fathers, mothers, and children. Some of these were young, some were old, but all of them endowed with the gift of life from their Creator. Thrown in with the rest were 19 terrorists; these too were given the gift of life, they too were loved, and they too were killed.
After the shock of the event wore off, the nation scrambled to react. Volunteers spent days in the harmful ash and smoke and debris searching for survivors amidst the wreckage. There are some amazing stories that you can learn about that could only be called miraculous. Modern day miracles for the world to see.
Around the nation, blood banks were flooded with donors who begged to give their blood to those who were in need; far too much to even use. An estimated $1.4 billion dollars were donated; that is an incredible amount. Altruism was rampant. On board the fourth plane, which was eventually crashed into a field in Pennsylvania (rather than D.C.), the passengers, knowing they'd been hijacked, diverted the plane.
Those involved in helping restore and rebuild after the attack weren't all Christian. Our nation is incredibly diverse, but this incident made us forget all our differences to help those in need.
Here we are, fourteen years later. A society torn apart by conflicting ideals, rather than the unified nation we saw in 2001. The love, grace, and altruism seem all but forgotten in our consumerist, selfish world. When disaster is close to home, we react; but when it's out of sight, it's out of mind.
Around the world, disaster is a part of every day life. There are children starving, people under persecution (whether they be Christian or otherwise), and corrupt government regimes. In many places worldwide, there are sweatshops where workers are paid next to nothing and sometimes, don't even go home. They live in unlivable conditions. There have been incidents where it has gotten so bad, the workers escape the horror by jumping off the roof of their workplace, effectively ending their employment... and their lives.
Christian rapper Andy Mineo, in his new song "Uncomfortable," says it bluntly — effectively modeling many Americans' attitudes towards the terrors outside our borders:
"We got legal weed to keep us high,
'Round the world, other people die,
Where on earth is my wifi?" - Andy Mineo
As Christians, we should be the foremost authority on helping others. Churches should be centers of altruism; but instead, they are seen as greedy and self-serving. Many churches aren't this way, but sadly, many are. The American community run to trusted foundations and organizations for their acts of freewill, not a church. Why aren't we the poster child for helping others? Why are people more willing to give to an organization that will 'get stuff done' rather than a church?
Our society is in desperate need of hope. Parents pursue the American dream, leaving children at home alone to wonder what love and acceptance are. Children are given a choice to believe what they want, leaving them hopelessly clueless as to what is truth and what isn't. Embracing relativity, we pass legislation that works for the 'good of all.'
But a strong Christan presence isn't seen in our societies. Instead of charitable giving to causes both close to home and abroad, the world sees a bunch of people together on a Sunday morning giving their ten percent. They see people in a building, worshipping a God they don't understand, and then returning to their homes for football and recreation, every week, without fail. They don't see sacrifice. They don't see faith, or miracles, or selflessness. They see comfort.
That's not to say it isn't there, but it isn't prominent enough to really make a change in the way people see Christians. Many claim to know Jesus, but few are known by Him. A changed life is evident to those immediately around it, but across the nation, changed lives don't look too much different from the rest; they are overwhelmed by the ordinary.
During 9/11, America forgot it's diversity and became a nation, ready for whatever came it's way. After the tensions died down, and the memory of the incident slipped from people's minds, so did their unity. Fourteen years in the future, we see a society that has legalized marijuana, gay marriage, and abortion. Many cry out against such acts, and rightfully so; they do not glorify our Creator. But how can we defend a faith we don't contend for? If we aren't on our knees praying, how can we cry out against such legislation? If we aren't giving until it hurts, how will the world view us as anything besides conservatives? Where is the evidence of our faith? Without evidence of a changed life, in my own opinion, we have no right to defend a faith we won't contend for.
A year, or perhaps even more, ago, one of my friends challenged me to pray for the persecuted church every three nights. I haven't been completely faithful to carry out this challenge, but I have been improving; I never bothered to shut off the reminder. I want to challenge you as well; pray for Israel, or the persecuted church, or those who are starving, or those under harsh government. Something global. And then act on your faith; give a little, share a little.
The only way our nation can reunite to fight evil in our world is to step up to a faith that demands sacrifice. Police officers, firemen, and soldiers daily give their all for the good of all; reflecting the behavior of the brave men and women who gave what they could to assist in the recovery of our wounded nation. Society should be able to look to Christians as a source of consistent altruism; but this image has not yet arisen on a national scale. Get uncomfortable. Grow your faith. #LiveItLikeJesus.
All gave some, but some gave all. Never forget.
Saturday, August 8, 2015
Special Post: Maine 2015 Recap
Tonight is the night that I finally get around to talking about my trip in Maine!!
Well, it's been as week since I've been back, but I've been busy or too tired to write a post about Maine until now. We departed on July 25th, and arrived back home late Sunday evening; August 2nd.
It was an amazing trip. I went up to Maine with my church last year, and again I had an amazing time up there. In addition to the construction and VBS we were able to help out with, it was heartwarming to see the folks I hadn't seen in an entire year. It was like seeing family all over again; I love the people up there so much.
While I could talk about all the things we did, I feel like that be both a waste of my time and yours. If you are interested in hearing about the specific projects, feel free to get in touch with me and I'd be happy to fill you in! But what I want to talk about is how God touched my life.
Coming home from a missions experience is always difficult for me; the sadness from leaving mingles with the fear that I won't have something good to say. It's the super-Christian mentality that plagues our consumer churches: I need to have this life-changing experience or God wasn't working.
Not true. God's at work whether I recognize it or not, and as I mowed my yard this evening, reflecting on my trip, I realized just how powerfully God WAS at work without much immediate life-change in myself. And, in turn, by recognizing God's power displayed in our trip, it IS a little life-changing. So there you go.
The first way I now recognize that God was at work might be the most obvious. After returning from a full day of work without breaks (except for meals), we were exhausted and crashed. Everyone seemed to sleep soundly. But God helped us to wake up early, so we could be at the church (our work site) on time and He also gave us energy for the day. The cabin that the men of the trip stayed in was black mold and rodent infested. I have a pretty big allergy to dust or mold or any particle similar, and so it was literally a miracle that I woke up with only a cold that I could shake off. Similarly, God kept the soreness and stiffness away from the team.
I knew that we were working with a wonderful purpose, for God's glory, but what really hit it home for me was what the pastor's wife told me the last day we were there. As we got ready to leave, she explained to the teens (who spent the most time with the youth of the community, especially during VBS) that our smiles, high fives, and words of encouragement might be the only joy they experience all day. And as we fed the community, it struck me that with all the poverty, this might be one of the biggest meals they'll have in a very long time.
Let me tell you about Ashley. She can't be older than 12 or 13. She's got long hair. She's got sad eyes, but she only looks up from the ground when you say her name. She looks malnourished, but is a little on the heavy side, and hardly speaks. She doesn't feel comfortable around other people, and I think physical touch scares her; whenever I went to give her a high five, she just poked my hand and smiled sheepishly.
I don't know her life story. I don't know what it's like at her home, or what scars lie upon her heart. I remember walking into the darkened sanctuary, as "The Blind Side" played (it was movie night!) and Ashley had sat down in a pew all by herself. Not with the other teen girls who had been in her VBS class, but by herself. Without asking, I sat next to her.
Every time a curse word was spoken, or a scene in the movie that displayed fighting or violence, she shuddered. Sometimes she even looked at me with scared eyes. When the movie ended, I asked if she had seen it before. She said that she had. If she had seen the movie before, and knew when certain parts of the movie were coming, she must have been startled at something other than mere surprise. At what, I can't tell you for sure, but I have a good guess.
I was told later, after we were on our way to the airport, that the people in service (for we left on a Sunday) were mourning our departure. That's God. We were given the opportunity to not just serve the community, but to show them that hope, life, and joy can find them, even in a broken community. In a world where children learn to think of themselves as worthless because of what they hear at school, AND at home, we were able to give them a glimpse of how Jesus thinks of them. One young lady even gave her heart to Christ!! How wonderful!
Jesus wasn't just a good Teacher, or a 'fire and brimstone' preacher. He wasn't just a guy who talked about heaven and hell and grace and forgiveness. When He saw a blind man, He didn't tell the man about his spiritual blindness. No, Jesus HEALED him. Jesus saw a need, and filled it. Simple.
While we were in Maine, we saw an emotional need, in addition to the physical needs. And God, in all His grace, was able to use us to meet that need.
You don't need to travel hundreds of miles from home to do what we did in Maine. All you gotta do is identify ways you can serve others, then #LiveItLikeJesus.
Friday, July 24, 2015
Special Post: Embarking for Maine 2015
Readers, I've got a prayer request for you all.
Tomorrow, very early in the morning, I will be headed to Wytopitlock, Maine, for the second time. I'll be gone for 8 days without any communication with you all as I serve the community up there. As we embark on our missions trip, I would appreciate it if you would be praying for the team and I. We could use prayer for safety, as well as open hearts and pleasant weather.
We'll be doing some construction on the church and parsonage, which have deteriorated over the years. In addition, we will come alongside the Wytopitlock Baptist Church VBS and serve in any way we must to help them have a successful and fun program. Community outreach is another way we can minister to the community; from hosting a free barbecue lunch to getting to know community members one on one, we'll seek to build relationships and emulate Jesus through our actions.
Most of all, I'd appreciate prayer that God is glorified. Sometimes, it can be so hard for me to accept that things won't follow the plans we've made. I love to have a plan and follow it, but sometimes God will turn it all on its head. And that's okay. He's teaching me to learn to be content with His plan, whether or not I think it's for the best. If I follow my plans to the letter and ignore Him, He isn't glorified. It's when I lay down what I had in mind and follow Him without regrets or hesitation that He is glorified.
Thank you for praying, and I'll see you all on the other side. Take care, and God bless! Never forget to #LiveItLikeJesus.
Your brother in Christ,
-David Fletcher
Sunday, April 5, 2015
Easter Special: The Stranger (Part 2)
You just killed an innocent man.
Your wails and cries of pain soon join His own. You don't care who hears you sobbing, your heart has just been torn out. You realize now that the man you sent to die is the One who can help you live. And you've just killed Him. Now you have no hope of living. He is experiencing what you will at the end of your sad existence, but in a much more brutal way, and much sooner. You are sorry. You chose wrong; freedom is out of reach now.
The angry onlookers grow silent after a few hours. Their voices hoarse from jeering, they are content to just look on as they watch their victim bleed out and die. He wasn't offered lethal injection; He was just brutalized and His sinless body molested by sinful hands until He died. Finally, He draws His last breath, and that's when the power cuts off.
No one knows what is going on. The guards immediately start lockdown procedures, locking all the doors in the prison. Panic ensues. Sirens peel through the darkness. The intermittent red glare of the siren lights are the only light that are in the prison, throwing scary red shadows amidst the dank cold walls. No one can see and everyone is pushing and shoving each other out of the way. Some get trampled in the frenzy.
The guards taze, nightstick, and restrain all those they can. The others get sent to their cells immediately, where everyone waits anxiously. Hours pass, and bloodshot eyes stare at the walls, unblinking and unseeing. The siren lights cast their shadows eerily in silence; the wails of the sirens have since turned off.
After some time, you hear the buzz of the electronic locks of several doors opening, but only for certain cells. You hear your own lock buzz open. A voice cries out, "You are forgiven, now quickly, follow me to freedom!"
Hesitantly you rise from your bunk with tear stained cheeks, uncertain of what is going on. Some inmates, those you recognize as the Stranger's followers, also look confused. You and the others step out of the halls, and in front of you, the gate-check doors open one by one. The buzz-click-swing action of each door stuns everyone. Then the voice speaks again, and tells you to hurry up. As one, you and the other followers sprint through the doors as they swing open in front of you.
No guards stand in your way. The doors seem to sense your approach and open to allow you access to places in the prison you haven't seen before. The employee areas, the offices, the bathrooms, it's all vacant. Where have they gone?
You and the others sprint through the final checkpoint and into the dark, cold night air. You look above you and see the stars twinkling in the distance, welcoming you to freedom. You didn't choose this. Maybe there is more to freedom than choice, and you wonder if Freedom can find you instead.
A line of SUVs pull up the drive and stop in front of you. A man in a white suit jacket steps out, puts His hand on your shoulder, and says, "Welcome home, my friend. You were once of me and now you are once again with me. I love you."
You are astounded. The memories of so long ago come flooding back. This Man who grips your shoulder is the One who convicted you! And He says that He loves you? You are too choked up for words, so He sits you and the others in the SUVs, and drive down the long, winding road until you reach the highway. You stare out the window amazed that everything is so vacant; so void of life. There are no houses or buildings in good condition; they have since fallen into disrepair. The Prosecutor explains that Death grabbed hold of all it could, and everyone has sinned. That's why He had to send His Son, to reclaim His Beloved; to reclaim YOU.
The drive back seems like a short one. You are deep in thought over all that has passed today, and it all seems like an eternity ago. When you finally reach your destination, the Prosecutor lays you in one of His many guest rooms, and tells you to sleep. Wearied, you fall fast asleep.
You wake up the next morning. You are surprised you slept so soundly. The night went by quickly. You dress and walk downstairs. You hear snores from the other rooms and assume you are the first to awake. You are wrong.
The Prosecutor is sitting at the table as you enter the kitchen. He watches a small television screen, with the local news playing on it. He weeps silently, and as you approach Him, you see what the news is portraying.
It's the security camera footage from the prison. Being a compilation of the footage of the past few days, you see yourself spitting on the stranger, and then beating Him. You see the guards take Him away. And you see the crowd condemn and murder the stranger. You hadn't seen this before, and you start weeping with your Prosecutor.
He hears you and turns around, looks into your eyes, and softens His face when He sees your pain reflects His own. Although you won't be able to understand the loss of His Son, He knows you lost a Friend. He stands, pushes the chair back, and wraps you in His embrace. You sob there together, quietly, in a stark white kitchen.
Then the Prosecutor whispers into your ear: "You are forgiven, and I love you."
The sobs that shake your entire body make you choke for breath. How can the Host who sent you to Death's jail, and watched you kill His Son, forgive you? Who can love so deeply and wonderfully like He does? You sit down on the couch to ponder these things.
The morning passes slowly. The other freed inmates walk downstairs, one by one, shell-shocked by the events from yesterday. Some rock in the fetal position and cry. Some twiddle their thumbs with blank expressions. Some pace nervously in the corner, wondering if the guards will find them in the safe house. Everyone fears what will happen when Death's agents come searching for them.
Sometime after noonday, the Host gathers you all in the family room. He reassures you that no one will come to take you away from Him. Ever. You are safe, because you bear the name of the Host. The price has been paid for your life, and so you no longer need to live in that penitentiary again. In addition, He says you can rest the next few days at His house to catch up on sleep and reflect on the events of yesterday.
The house remains silent as introspection carries on. The days pass slowly, interrupted only by meals and spotty sleep. Rest eludes most, and the few that can sleep are riddled with nightmares and wet the bedsheets with a cold sweat.
That evening, the grave site of the Stranger is displayed on the news. It's an unmarked stone, made of unfinished granite. More of a rock, really. You think that the Stranger deserves more than that for a headstone.
The next day, you walk into the kitchen and the television displays breaking news on the screen. Interested, you peer at the monitor. The announcer speaks of a mysterious exhumation of the stranger, an act probably committed by some radical inmates to make it look as if the Stranger had risen from the dead. The announcer goes on to denounce such claims and ends his segment by speaking of the preposterousness of the whole ordeal.
You shut off the television and sit in silence. The memories of sitting at the weights bench, eavesdropping on the Stranger's teachings, come rushing back. He spoke of dying often, but He also spoke of rising again. You always discredited such talk previously, but after all that has happened, you aren't so sure. You try and remember His exact words, but you can't seem to. You curse yourself for not listening closer.
You and the inmates laze around the house again. The boredom mingles with fear and is starting to get to you all, as the guilt and regret drives further into your hearts. Also, you fear for your lives because SURELY the guards are out there, searching for you, despite what the Host may say. They might kill you just like they did with the Stranger. Some want to leave the safe house, and others want to stay. No one knows the right course of action.
A firm knock on the door breaks the silence. Many jump, because they haven't heard a thing besides the soft drone of the news and the shuffling of feet the past few days. The Host answers the door, and walks into the room, His arm around His Son.
You turn to face the Stranger, stunned to see Him standing before you. He has scars where He was cut and hurt by the crowd, and His lip is still swollen and split from where you first hit Him. The Stranger's piercing eyes cut through yours and understanding floods His face. A tear rolls down His cheek, and He reaches out for His Beloved. You stand, and embrace Him for all your worth, not wanting to let Him go.
Through the Stranger's sobs, He manages to eek out: "You're home, son. You're home." He seems happier that you are home than you are to see Him alive.
That evening a huge celebration is had. Music, food, and festivities carry on throughout the night. Many are more stunned than anything to find the One they killed standing before them, but you can only smile. You remembered His words of resurrection and you know that He had died and that His is indeed alive now.
After a week or so, the Stranger says He needs to leave. The Host had left the safe house a while ago and the Stranger needed to join Him. However, the Stranger asked the converted inmates, including yourself, to find other jails. To walk into those prisons, speak of all you had seen and heard, and convince others to follow Him. He tells you that you are forever free because of His sacrifice, and no one can take that freedom from you. You will not be jailed again, but you do need to help others who are jailed, and show them the way out. And then He drives away, the dust billowing behind His white SUV; but not before promising His return.
Many of the convicts are horrified at this. They vow to never enter a prison again, and walk out of the door, never to be seen again. You don't really care where they went, because all you want to do is listen to the Stranger and follow His word. So you and the remaining followers split into groups and draw up a plan. You find a map, circle the prisons in red pen, and travel to each separately in your groups.
You are spit on, beaten, and bruised. The guards seek to hold you in each prison you enter, but miraculously you always get out. Some inmates hate you, but everyday new followers follow you to the safe house, where they can hear the whole story of their redemption. And everyday, while you battle to follow the Stranger's words and save others, you look forward to the day when you can stand in His presence once again.
Your life is one of service. You enter the prisons you once despised, avoid the guards, and spread the news of the Stranger. You help those who need it, and head to the safe house for the fellowship with your fellow followers that encourage you and build you up. Each day folds into the other, and you find happiness and fulfillment in the service the Stranger has given you to. This is the purpose of your life: to spread the news of the Stranger, who, in love, liberated your life from Death.
Your wails and cries of pain soon join His own. You don't care who hears you sobbing, your heart has just been torn out. You realize now that the man you sent to die is the One who can help you live. And you've just killed Him. Now you have no hope of living. He is experiencing what you will at the end of your sad existence, but in a much more brutal way, and much sooner. You are sorry. You chose wrong; freedom is out of reach now.
The angry onlookers grow silent after a few hours. Their voices hoarse from jeering, they are content to just look on as they watch their victim bleed out and die. He wasn't offered lethal injection; He was just brutalized and His sinless body molested by sinful hands until He died. Finally, He draws His last breath, and that's when the power cuts off.
No one knows what is going on. The guards immediately start lockdown procedures, locking all the doors in the prison. Panic ensues. Sirens peel through the darkness. The intermittent red glare of the siren lights are the only light that are in the prison, throwing scary red shadows amidst the dank cold walls. No one can see and everyone is pushing and shoving each other out of the way. Some get trampled in the frenzy.
The guards taze, nightstick, and restrain all those they can. The others get sent to their cells immediately, where everyone waits anxiously. Hours pass, and bloodshot eyes stare at the walls, unblinking and unseeing. The siren lights cast their shadows eerily in silence; the wails of the sirens have since turned off.
After some time, you hear the buzz of the electronic locks of several doors opening, but only for certain cells. You hear your own lock buzz open. A voice cries out, "You are forgiven, now quickly, follow me to freedom!"
Hesitantly you rise from your bunk with tear stained cheeks, uncertain of what is going on. Some inmates, those you recognize as the Stranger's followers, also look confused. You and the others step out of the halls, and in front of you, the gate-check doors open one by one. The buzz-click-swing action of each door stuns everyone. Then the voice speaks again, and tells you to hurry up. As one, you and the other followers sprint through the doors as they swing open in front of you.
No guards stand in your way. The doors seem to sense your approach and open to allow you access to places in the prison you haven't seen before. The employee areas, the offices, the bathrooms, it's all vacant. Where have they gone?
You and the others sprint through the final checkpoint and into the dark, cold night air. You look above you and see the stars twinkling in the distance, welcoming you to freedom. You didn't choose this. Maybe there is more to freedom than choice, and you wonder if Freedom can find you instead.
A line of SUVs pull up the drive and stop in front of you. A man in a white suit jacket steps out, puts His hand on your shoulder, and says, "Welcome home, my friend. You were once of me and now you are once again with me. I love you."
You are astounded. The memories of so long ago come flooding back. This Man who grips your shoulder is the One who convicted you! And He says that He loves you? You are too choked up for words, so He sits you and the others in the SUVs, and drive down the long, winding road until you reach the highway. You stare out the window amazed that everything is so vacant; so void of life. There are no houses or buildings in good condition; they have since fallen into disrepair. The Prosecutor explains that Death grabbed hold of all it could, and everyone has sinned. That's why He had to send His Son, to reclaim His Beloved; to reclaim YOU.
The drive back seems like a short one. You are deep in thought over all that has passed today, and it all seems like an eternity ago. When you finally reach your destination, the Prosecutor lays you in one of His many guest rooms, and tells you to sleep. Wearied, you fall fast asleep.
You wake up the next morning. You are surprised you slept so soundly. The night went by quickly. You dress and walk downstairs. You hear snores from the other rooms and assume you are the first to awake. You are wrong.
The Prosecutor is sitting at the table as you enter the kitchen. He watches a small television screen, with the local news playing on it. He weeps silently, and as you approach Him, you see what the news is portraying.
It's the security camera footage from the prison. Being a compilation of the footage of the past few days, you see yourself spitting on the stranger, and then beating Him. You see the guards take Him away. And you see the crowd condemn and murder the stranger. You hadn't seen this before, and you start weeping with your Prosecutor.
He hears you and turns around, looks into your eyes, and softens His face when He sees your pain reflects His own. Although you won't be able to understand the loss of His Son, He knows you lost a Friend. He stands, pushes the chair back, and wraps you in His embrace. You sob there together, quietly, in a stark white kitchen.
Then the Prosecutor whispers into your ear: "You are forgiven, and I love you."
The sobs that shake your entire body make you choke for breath. How can the Host who sent you to Death's jail, and watched you kill His Son, forgive you? Who can love so deeply and wonderfully like He does? You sit down on the couch to ponder these things.
The morning passes slowly. The other freed inmates walk downstairs, one by one, shell-shocked by the events from yesterday. Some rock in the fetal position and cry. Some twiddle their thumbs with blank expressions. Some pace nervously in the corner, wondering if the guards will find them in the safe house. Everyone fears what will happen when Death's agents come searching for them.
Sometime after noonday, the Host gathers you all in the family room. He reassures you that no one will come to take you away from Him. Ever. You are safe, because you bear the name of the Host. The price has been paid for your life, and so you no longer need to live in that penitentiary again. In addition, He says you can rest the next few days at His house to catch up on sleep and reflect on the events of yesterday.
The house remains silent as introspection carries on. The days pass slowly, interrupted only by meals and spotty sleep. Rest eludes most, and the few that can sleep are riddled with nightmares and wet the bedsheets with a cold sweat.
That evening, the grave site of the Stranger is displayed on the news. It's an unmarked stone, made of unfinished granite. More of a rock, really. You think that the Stranger deserves more than that for a headstone.
The next day, you walk into the kitchen and the television displays breaking news on the screen. Interested, you peer at the monitor. The announcer speaks of a mysterious exhumation of the stranger, an act probably committed by some radical inmates to make it look as if the Stranger had risen from the dead. The announcer goes on to denounce such claims and ends his segment by speaking of the preposterousness of the whole ordeal.
You shut off the television and sit in silence. The memories of sitting at the weights bench, eavesdropping on the Stranger's teachings, come rushing back. He spoke of dying often, but He also spoke of rising again. You always discredited such talk previously, but after all that has happened, you aren't so sure. You try and remember His exact words, but you can't seem to. You curse yourself for not listening closer.
You and the inmates laze around the house again. The boredom mingles with fear and is starting to get to you all, as the guilt and regret drives further into your hearts. Also, you fear for your lives because SURELY the guards are out there, searching for you, despite what the Host may say. They might kill you just like they did with the Stranger. Some want to leave the safe house, and others want to stay. No one knows the right course of action.
A firm knock on the door breaks the silence. Many jump, because they haven't heard a thing besides the soft drone of the news and the shuffling of feet the past few days. The Host answers the door, and walks into the room, His arm around His Son.
You turn to face the Stranger, stunned to see Him standing before you. He has scars where He was cut and hurt by the crowd, and His lip is still swollen and split from where you first hit Him. The Stranger's piercing eyes cut through yours and understanding floods His face. A tear rolls down His cheek, and He reaches out for His Beloved. You stand, and embrace Him for all your worth, not wanting to let Him go.
Through the Stranger's sobs, He manages to eek out: "You're home, son. You're home." He seems happier that you are home than you are to see Him alive.
That evening a huge celebration is had. Music, food, and festivities carry on throughout the night. Many are more stunned than anything to find the One they killed standing before them, but you can only smile. You remembered His words of resurrection and you know that He had died and that His is indeed alive now.
After a week or so, the Stranger says He needs to leave. The Host had left the safe house a while ago and the Stranger needed to join Him. However, the Stranger asked the converted inmates, including yourself, to find other jails. To walk into those prisons, speak of all you had seen and heard, and convince others to follow Him. He tells you that you are forever free because of His sacrifice, and no one can take that freedom from you. You will not be jailed again, but you do need to help others who are jailed, and show them the way out. And then He drives away, the dust billowing behind His white SUV; but not before promising His return.
Many of the convicts are horrified at this. They vow to never enter a prison again, and walk out of the door, never to be seen again. You don't really care where they went, because all you want to do is listen to the Stranger and follow His word. So you and the remaining followers split into groups and draw up a plan. You find a map, circle the prisons in red pen, and travel to each separately in your groups.
You are spit on, beaten, and bruised. The guards seek to hold you in each prison you enter, but miraculously you always get out. Some inmates hate you, but everyday new followers follow you to the safe house, where they can hear the whole story of their redemption. And everyday, while you battle to follow the Stranger's words and save others, you look forward to the day when you can stand in His presence once again.
Saturday, April 4, 2015
Easter Special: The Stranger (Part 1)
This is Death: it's a jail. Full of swarms of people, brought in after being convicted by the Prosecutor. This is the result of sin. One wrong move, and BAM, you're jailed for life. A life sentence without bail, without appeals, without even a phone call. You hate the Prosecutor. He made you like this. He made you live this way; He put you in this stinking, filthy dungeon, pungent with the smells of urine and un-showered convicts and death. When you first arrived, you choked at the smell. Now you've gotten used to it, and you hate the Prosecutor even more for making you unable to recognize bad smells from good ones.
You have a jail cell. You too have sinned. You are an inmate. Yep, you were admitted a long time ago, since before you can remember. You've been here longer than most. You wander the halls of the penitentiary, thinking you know what freedom is, and yet understanding so little of the world beyond the fence. You were practically raised here. You aren't dead yet, but you aren't alive yet either. You just kind of exist alongside all the other sinners stuck in this jail of Death.
You've been here so long that freedom starts to look like yard time, where all the convicts get to lift weights and run laps and play in the dirt. Freedom is the tasteless mush you get to eat, because you have a choice. Choices mean freedom. Or, if you make bad choices, even more punishment comes. Solitary confinement for two hours if you talk back to the guards, and twelve hours for attacking one. At least that's what the rules say. But this is Death's jail, and it makes the rules, so sometimes the punishment is a bit more severe.
It didn't have to be this way. The Prosecutor's plan originally included you two enjoying each other's company for eternity. But, you messed up, and since the Prosecutor is just, He had to prosecute you... and He won. He always does. His love for you is still all there, and He misses you, but it's stuck just beyond the glass windows of the visitor room. Sometimes the Prosecutor visits the jail; but recently, He hasn't been here at all. You've forgotten what He looks like. He just went silent one day, and you hate Him for that too.
And then, one day, a crazy man shows up in the prison. He claims to be sinless, but He walks among the inmates and speaks with them as if He's always known them. Even amasses a following. Time passes, and eventually the Stranger becomes a familiar face.
After a year or so, you realize this allegedly sinless man has lived in the jail, alongside the convicted, for the entire time. He has not left since He arrived, though, because He loves His friends. With a true love. He can leave when He wants, but instead He chooses to eat their food, wear their clothes, and reek as bad as them. Beyond the barbed wire is where He belongs, in the land of freedom, and yet He stays here. It's hard to see why, but hey, let the man do what He wants. You just mind your own business.
Until He gets in your business. He walks up to you, one day, and offers His hand to shake. You just walk on by as if you didn't see Him. You don't want trouble and you don't want conformity; too many already follow this man. Plus, the guards don't like it when the inmates congregate because it gives birth to riots and insurrection. The man seems nice enough, though, and it's hard to see Him overthrowing the authorities of the jail.
The Stranger is persistent. The very next day, He's at your side, asking you questions. You answer curtly, obviously put off, but He doesn't mind. He keeps pace and continues to drone on about love and a higher way of living and how your world, this jail, means nothing. You let Him drone on and just tune Him out; years at the penitentiary have hardened you to many things, and you have the power to ignore the annoyance.
Eventually He leaves you alone. He realizes He cannot engage you, and so He moves on to the next inmate. You are pleased with this victory, because once again, your callousness has warded off another weirdo. There are plenty of those in Death's halls.
You see more and more people follow the Stranger around, and He starts to teach them His lessons of love and grace and living for more. He teaches them all at once, and they are enraptured, just sitting there in the yard while He stands in their midst and details His plan for their life. Ha! As if these inmates know what life even is; all that they can find in these halls is Death. You see through His lies and refuse to believe them, but if it makes the weak-minded feel better, hey. No problem. Let them believe what they want.
The stranger's teachings are COMPLETE hogwash. They don't even remotely make sense. You listen from the edges of the crowd, pretending to lift the weights that lie on the perimeter of the yard. He speaks of DYING in order to LIVE... what an idiot! Who would believe such nonsense? And yet, daily, His following grows. He is kind and never says anything bad to anyone, and no matter how strange the teaching, He always seems to follow His own word.
And then things get cryptic. He starts talking about how He came to die, and that it needs to happen in order to liberate those in the prison. As if anyone could leave Death's impenetrable fortress. He talks of His Father, who He claims to have sent Him; the very man who put you in prison in the first place! This gets you mad; the fact that your Prosecutor has the AUDACITY to send His own Son to the jail to mock your imprisonment with His talk of freedom! It's just incredible! You hate the fact that the Stranger would spread a lie like that. He is sinful, like everyone else, and He isn't the Son of the Prosecutor.
You know it isn't true! The Prosecutor really didn't do such a thing. This Stranger just wants to stir up an insurrection in the jail and have some fun. There is no way a sinless man would willingly come to the jail; He has done some wrong that no one thought to ask about. That's why He is here. He is spreading LIES. And He must be stopped because you are concerned for your inmates (you can't really call them friends), whose minds have been poisoned by His reasoning. So you hatch a plan.
You speak to the guards, and they give you the opportunity to spell out your concerns in front of the warden. The warden agrees that this Stranger has gone too far, and he is willing to help you stop Him. He must be killed to show His mortality and the falsity of His lies.
What you fail to see is that this plays right into His hands; He has spoken of His death more and more during these last few days.
You confront Him in the halls. You call out His name, approach Him, overconfident and with swagger, wishing you had a fedora and a cigar to chew on. You say to His face that He is a liar. You spit on Him. He just stands there, looking a little confused, as if He was in a daze. And then an uppercut, right to the chin. He drops to the floor, bleeding from His lip.
And then He stands up. And He looks into your eyes. And you stare back.
You don't see rage. You don't see anger. You don't even see fear. You look back into His eyes and see sadness. A single tear rolls down His cheek, and this enrages you even more. You start to lay it on Him, fist after fist, punch after punch. When you're done, He coughs blood, but He doesn't lift a finger to hurt you or even stop you. He just takes it.
Your inmates look stunned. Their leader, their champion, was just beaten to a pulp by you. You puff your chest, showing your superiority, asserting yourself over the situation. You have won.
The Stranger stands up, and by now, a crowd has gathered. Your fellow convicts CHEER as He staggers to His feet, almost unrecognizable. The guards stare on in silence, forming a circle around the crowd, nightsticks drawn.
You spit in His face again, and you ask Him if He is indeed the Son of the Prosecutor. He replies simply: "You have said it."
Immediately the guards seize Him and take Him away. Satisfied, you glare at those who used to be your friends. Frightened, they hurry back to their cells, to ponder what they just witnessed.
News comes out later that the Stranger's life sentence has been shortened, and by quite a lot. He dies the next morning. You are pleased with yourself. His followers become frightened and you can't find them anymore. They seem to avoid you. No matter, as long as they aren't causing any more trouble. You are sick with this whole business. You overheard Him once speak of forgiveness, but that's just heresy. No one can be forgiven once they are jailed. That's the rules.
At nine in the morning the next day, He is brought before the entire jail. His followers cry out for His release, but it turns out most of the inmates are like you: enraged at this hypocrite who speaks of forgiveness. The overwhelming vote is to kill the stranger, and the cries for His spilt blood sound even louder. The men you live with don't just want Him dead, they want Him brutalized.
That's when you realize you did this.
You realize it's gone too far. You feel sick. You rush back to your cell and retch in the toilet. This man has done nothing but reach out to you, and you have killed Him. You were the one who handed Him over and started this whole mess. The crack of the whip, the sucking sound of flesh being torn. And as His cries of pain start to reverberate throughout the prison, they echo in your soul as well. You are the reason He screams, and it's too late to turn back the bloodlust of the onlookers. You sit on your bunk, only imagining the tortuous things they do to Him. His banshee-like screams of pain only speak half the picture. The other half is filled in by your imagination, and the images come rolling in, graphic and unmistakable. You just killed an innocent man.
Saturday, March 7, 2015
Special Post: Support Letter for Maine Missions
Dear Blog and Google+ Community,
Well, here I am again! Its nearing the end of February and sign-ups for the short-term mission trips at my church have commenced. I went to Maine last year; that was quite the experience!
I plan on going to Maine again this year. From July 25 to August 2, we'll be in Wytopitlock, Maine, serving the community there in many different capacities. We'll be doing some more construction work (hopefully finishing up the staircases into the church that we weren't able to get to last year!) as well as aiding the church with their VBS program. Last year, my biggest responsibility was helping out with VBS, and then in the afternoon, connecting heart to heart with the youth and adults alike. I was able to get to know the community there very well, and everyone was very warm and inviting!
But, probably the coolest thing has been the ways I've been able to stay in touch with those I met! Through social media I’ve been able to stay connected, encourage, and just laugh with the community in Maine. Just a few months ago, a young lady I met this past summer let me know that she accepted Christ that evening! She wanted me to be the first to know. See, God used me in ways I couldn't have even seen; I went up to Maine and came back feeling much the same, and it’s only as time has gone on that I have seen that God has so much more for me!
At this time last year, I was just kickstarting my faith. God called me the month prior (January 2014) to stop living for Him, and start living with Him. And so that's what I did! He blessed me with a trip to Maine, wisdom and knowledge to apply on my blog, and many leadership positions in and around my church. I am so blessed to be serving my God! And here's how you can help me out: I need to raise $950 to be able to go. When ya’ll give, you'll be supporting others on the team as well as myself! I'll need half of my funds in by April 19, but I would be so blessed if I could be fully supported by then! Here’s how: head to the link provided (http://www.purbap.org/givingtomissions) and read the directions.
However, if you cannot give, you can still help out in another way: prayer. Intercessory prayer is such a powerful tool, as James 5:16 tells us: "The intense prayer of the righteous is very powerful" (HCSB). So, PLEASE be praying in, around, over, under, through, and for my trip! I know God will do great things; its only a matter of faith!
Thank you so much!
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