As I'm getting ready to head out to the first of many Christmas parties, I'm struck with an overwhelming buzz of anxiety.
The party is at a restaurant. I'm loading myself and Kyle up with food because we can't afford to eat out. I'm trying to explain to Kyle why we won't be eating. I don't think he gets it. And I'm feeling a bit of shame over the fact we can't afford it.
Should I have declined to go?
Faced with other gift exchanges, my anxiety level is spiking even more. It was hard enough for us to squeeze out one. I think I'm gonna have to politely decline the others.
Again, how embarassing.
But why am I feeling shame at not being able to afford Christmas stuff?
I have a house - today. My husband has a job - today. Booger is healthy - today. I have clothes to wear - today. I have lots of friends - today.
I have more than people in Russia and Latvia. I'm filthy stinkin' rich compared to most people in third world countries.
I have Jesus.
Oh? What's that?
Jesus.
Shame isn't from God. It's from Satan himself. I'm falling prey to it, allowing myself to be distracted from the reason we celebrate this holiday in the first place.
So - it's okay not to buy gifts or go out to eat and attend fancy parties. Really. I say so. Someone has to say so.
I'm going to focus on being content with what I have. Focus on the birth of Christ since I don't have to rush around buying gifts.
Hard... yeah.
Impossible?
No.
Anyone else with me?
Showing posts with label Jesus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jesus. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
Sunday, April 20, 2008
I went to jail yesterday.
Adams County Detention Facility loomed large and beige before me as the vehicle parked in the spiral shadows of barbed wire and high-tech cameras.
All of my belongings were "put away" for safe keeping. Including my identity (driver's license). I passed through the metal detector, me, myself, God, and a few other friendly folks. I nearly had a "Praise-ya-Jesus!" moment when my underwire failed to trigger the alarms.
God is in jail.
Psalm 42, the vocal ensemble my hubby and I joined, did three concerts in the lock-down. Two were for male prisoners escorted to a small empty room with the worlds most uncomfortable plastic chairs.
I was feeling anxious already, having passed through those mechanical doors that clank open, then slam shut with a bone-bumping echo. I couldn't escape if I wanted to! I felt trapped, and I knew I'd be going home in a few hours...
Those dudes were SCARY looking. An older with silver hair and faded tattoos sat cross-legged in the front row staring these "nice people who came to sing some songs" down. Deep lines carved canyons across his forehead. He sat front and center.
When the music began, his eyes shifted from upper left to upper right as if he dared himself not to look at us or get engaged with God as the gang-bangers and bank robbers around him raised their hands praising Jesus.
I stood in the very back of PS42, next to John, my back pressed against the cold concrete block wall. Do I make eye contact with these dudes or do I do the stage thing and let my eyes go blurry as if I'm gazing into another world? Never having done this before, I didn't want to send the wrong message or get myself mugged in the hall.
But God rained down on us all in spite of ourselves. I allowed myself to surrender to the music and share with these men, the gift of my voice along with the other PS42 members. By the end, there was not a dry eye in the room. Hardened criminals wept, prayed, sang and even danced a little, expressing love for Christ. Chaplin Micheal fired them up even more, calling them to account for their 7 week exercise in prayer and fasting. They eagerly recounted their time spent in Scripture over the week. When asked if they all belonged to Jesus, all men responded with resounding yesses.
I think I saw CHURCH for the first time.
Sure, there are probably a few posers hoping for early parole b/c of good behavior, but even they were moved by the Holy Spirit. Even the dude in the front row. He shook our hands and thanked us in a whisper on the way out of the room.
The hairs on our necks stood as if we were on top of a 14er in a lightning storm. Members of our group shot up spontaneous prayers for the next group. We were surrounded by the True Presence, the Almighty God (top that, Oprah and Eckhart!)
Men in white and yellow striped flooded into the room. They kept coming and coming...
Plastic chairs scraped the tile floor as they invaded each other's body space to make room.
Chaplin Micheal shoved his way through the men shouting, "This is incredible! The guys from the last group ran around the pod demanding everyone drop what they are doing and come to church! Incredible! They're all coming!" he bounced up and down on his toes, hands clasped to his chest.
If the previous service was CHURCH, the second one was CHURCH x CHURCH. Skeptical masks melted in mere moments. Young men with gang tattoos emblazoned on their chests, hugged their Bibles and cried out to Jesus b/c He is all they have. These men clapped, danced, hummed a bit and let loose. At the end, when the preacher gave the invite, no one moved. A young man, looked no older than 20, trembled. A huge bald guy next to him pulled him up and yelled out, "This brother wants to be baptized in the Holy Spirit! They pushed their way to the edge of the room. Young dude fell to his knees, begging Jesus to change his life.
Psalm 42 became Snot 42.
God wasn't done yet. And we had no clue.
The chaplains somehow achieved the unachievable by getting us access to one of the women's pods. They didn't come to us, we went to them. More big metal doors, guys with guns, and shouts of "Stay in Line".
It was a big room with cubicle-like cells all along the periferey. A dozen or so women in stripes sat at tables eating or in conversation. Another fifty or so sat stone-faced in those World's Most Uncomfortable Plastic Chairs. Arms crossed over their chests. Eyebrows furrowed. Mouths in deep frowns. "This is gonna suck." I thought as we shuffled around the little CD player (can't bring sound equipment in, could be used as a weapon. Death by Mic.)
Prison women scare prison men.
We were under a very tight time restriction to get in and get'er done. No time to pray, or prep. Our director hit 'play' and we started to sing. Halfway through, the women sat stone-faced. I imagined ice-vapors streaming from their nostrils. Okay, God, this really does suck!
Before our last song, Linda, one of our members stepped forward and preached. She begged the girls to open their hearts and just give Jesus a chance. We sang "I'm forgiven, because You were forsaken. I'm accepted. You were condemmned. I'm alive and well, Your spirit is within me, because You died and rose again."
Amazing love.
We weren't two measures into the song before those faces melted like wax in front of a hot, hot fire. Heads swayed, hands raised, then when Chaplin Micheal gave the invite, 16 women dropped to their knees, crying out in loud voices to Jesus Christ!"
We didn't have time to be stunned b/c we were being ushered out (by people with guns).
In the hallway, Linda started singing "All for Jesus." I joined her. We got busted. No singing in prison hallways. Big Brother doesn't like it. So we whisper-sang and skipped. Others followed our guide, wiping tears off their cheeks.
17 people joined the family of Christ.
Someone doesn't like that. Please, please pray for Psalm 42. Satan tries to debilitate us in many ways so we can't or won't to and sing. 'Cuz there's revival behind bars!
Want more? Read Susie's blog!
That little stink pot beat me to posting!
All of my belongings were "put away" for safe keeping. Including my identity (driver's license). I passed through the metal detector, me, myself, God, and a few other friendly folks. I nearly had a "Praise-ya-Jesus!" moment when my underwire failed to trigger the alarms.
God is in jail.
Psalm 42, the vocal ensemble my hubby and I joined, did three concerts in the lock-down. Two were for male prisoners escorted to a small empty room with the worlds most uncomfortable plastic chairs.
I was feeling anxious already, having passed through those mechanical doors that clank open, then slam shut with a bone-bumping echo. I couldn't escape if I wanted to! I felt trapped, and I knew I'd be going home in a few hours...
Those dudes were SCARY looking. An older with silver hair and faded tattoos sat cross-legged in the front row staring these "nice people who came to sing some songs" down. Deep lines carved canyons across his forehead. He sat front and center.
When the music began, his eyes shifted from upper left to upper right as if he dared himself not to look at us or get engaged with God as the gang-bangers and bank robbers around him raised their hands praising Jesus.
I stood in the very back of PS42, next to John, my back pressed against the cold concrete block wall. Do I make eye contact with these dudes or do I do the stage thing and let my eyes go blurry as if I'm gazing into another world? Never having done this before, I didn't want to send the wrong message or get myself mugged in the hall.
But God rained down on us all in spite of ourselves. I allowed myself to surrender to the music and share with these men, the gift of my voice along with the other PS42 members. By the end, there was not a dry eye in the room. Hardened criminals wept, prayed, sang and even danced a little, expressing love for Christ. Chaplin Micheal fired them up even more, calling them to account for their 7 week exercise in prayer and fasting. They eagerly recounted their time spent in Scripture over the week. When asked if they all belonged to Jesus, all men responded with resounding yesses.
I think I saw CHURCH for the first time.
Sure, there are probably a few posers hoping for early parole b/c of good behavior, but even they were moved by the Holy Spirit. Even the dude in the front row. He shook our hands and thanked us in a whisper on the way out of the room.
The hairs on our necks stood as if we were on top of a 14er in a lightning storm. Members of our group shot up spontaneous prayers for the next group. We were surrounded by the True Presence, the Almighty God (top that, Oprah and Eckhart!)
Men in white and yellow striped flooded into the room. They kept coming and coming...
Plastic chairs scraped the tile floor as they invaded each other's body space to make room.
Chaplin Micheal shoved his way through the men shouting, "This is incredible! The guys from the last group ran around the pod demanding everyone drop what they are doing and come to church! Incredible! They're all coming!" he bounced up and down on his toes, hands clasped to his chest.
If the previous service was CHURCH, the second one was CHURCH x CHURCH. Skeptical masks melted in mere moments. Young men with gang tattoos emblazoned on their chests, hugged their Bibles and cried out to Jesus b/c He is all they have. These men clapped, danced, hummed a bit and let loose. At the end, when the preacher gave the invite, no one moved. A young man, looked no older than 20, trembled. A huge bald guy next to him pulled him up and yelled out, "This brother wants to be baptized in the Holy Spirit! They pushed their way to the edge of the room. Young dude fell to his knees, begging Jesus to change his life.
Psalm 42 became Snot 42.
God wasn't done yet. And we had no clue.
The chaplains somehow achieved the unachievable by getting us access to one of the women's pods. They didn't come to us, we went to them. More big metal doors, guys with guns, and shouts of "Stay in Line".
It was a big room with cubicle-like cells all along the periferey. A dozen or so women in stripes sat at tables eating or in conversation. Another fifty or so sat stone-faced in those World's Most Uncomfortable Plastic Chairs. Arms crossed over their chests. Eyebrows furrowed. Mouths in deep frowns. "This is gonna suck." I thought as we shuffled around the little CD player (can't bring sound equipment in, could be used as a weapon. Death by Mic.)
Prison women scare prison men.
We were under a very tight time restriction to get in and get'er done. No time to pray, or prep. Our director hit 'play' and we started to sing. Halfway through, the women sat stone-faced. I imagined ice-vapors streaming from their nostrils. Okay, God, this really does suck!
Before our last song, Linda, one of our members stepped forward and preached. She begged the girls to open their hearts and just give Jesus a chance. We sang "I'm forgiven, because You were forsaken. I'm accepted. You were condemmned. I'm alive and well, Your spirit is within me, because You died and rose again."
Amazing love.
We weren't two measures into the song before those faces melted like wax in front of a hot, hot fire. Heads swayed, hands raised, then when Chaplin Micheal gave the invite, 16 women dropped to their knees, crying out in loud voices to Jesus Christ!"
We didn't have time to be stunned b/c we were being ushered out (by people with guns).
In the hallway, Linda started singing "All for Jesus." I joined her. We got busted. No singing in prison hallways. Big Brother doesn't like it. So we whisper-sang and skipped. Others followed our guide, wiping tears off their cheeks.
17 people joined the family of Christ.
Someone doesn't like that. Please, please pray for Psalm 42. Satan tries to debilitate us in many ways so we can't or won't to and sing. 'Cuz there's revival behind bars!
Want more? Read Susie's blog!
That little stink pot beat me to posting!
Monday, April 14, 2008
God is on the move - hasn't He always been?
Amidst all the concern over the blanket of false teaching that is billowing over the whole world via the internet and Oprah, people are seeking and finding the truth.
In considerable numbers and odd places like Boulder, CO.
Less than a month ago, I finally surrendered to God's call into a new realm of ministry. For years, I refused to give in b/c I was content where I was. I'd been attending the same Community Bible Study group for eight years. Deep study of the scripture and the relationships were and still are of high value to me. Why change?
God is using the Big D (depression) to rebuild my ruins. I committed to following His plan vs. mine earlier this year.
I let go of my "blankie" and stepped into Psalm 42 - a vocal/ministry ensemble that operates out of Green Mountain Christian Church in Lakewood, CO. One of my bffs, Susie, has been on my case to join for - oh - five years or so.
Two weeks into this new adventure (and only 2 rehearsals) the group was asked to sing at a memorial service in Boulder. The People's Republic of Boulder, Land of Fruits and Nuts. My apologies to the normal folk who live in that gorgeous place. I'd live there if I could afford it...
Anyway, Boulder is known as Berkley East. Some of the most liberal, immoral ideology eminates from that place.
The woman we memorialized was the sister of a Psalm 42 member. This sister who died, lived in the mental health system. She suffered from paranoid schitzophrenia. The family prayed for her salvation for decades. It wasn't until after her death, the evidence of her salvation revealed itself. This woman, deemed crazy by society, led people to the saving grace of Jesus. Contrary to popular thought, Jesus was able to make sense to her in the delusions of her mind. He got past the illness to the heart of the person.
On the drive up highway 93, we knew God was gonna do something big. I was on crutches, another member of the group blew out a disc in her back and was doped on prescription pain pills, and others had serious trouble slam into their families.
As we sang, the Holy Spirit filled the room. It was overwhelming! Pain and trials were forgotten as we tried to sing through tears of Joy from our Savior's presence. When the pastor gave the salvation message, people responded! Person after person after person - in Boulder!
Aside from the immediate family, many of the folks there were mental patients and mental health workers invovled with the woman who passed. NINE people recieved Christ and since have followed up on their commitment though Hope Boulder, the tiny church that held the memorial.
A few weeks earlier, the same weekend the Big Stink happened at MOPS b/c of my Dark Side of Christianity post, Susie had me tag along w/ Psalm 42 to the Mount View juvenile detention facility. I didn't want to go. At that point, I didn't want to join the group b/c I was tired. Wasn't I in the process of clearing my plate of Things To Do?
Half the group was sick, none of the men could sing. Ps 42 was hurtin' for voices, but that didn't matter to the incarcerated teens. The quality of music wasn't great either, that day. But, NINE kids responded to Jesus b/c of the testimony and song of this group. They responded to Susie as she belted out "Shakles" - a Mandisa tune.
In that moment I knew. I leaned against the cinder block wall next to the sound guy and bawled. This is for you. God whispered.
Yesterday, Psalm 42 sang at the Adams County Prison. John and I couldn't go b/c the prison only allowed 8 people in. Susie and Kendall stopped by our house on the way home to tell us all about it. They said God's presence was even more powerful in that max security place than in Boulder. Lives were changed, faith exploded. Prisoners and singers were blessed through three back-to-back concerts.
This coming Saturday, John and I will be part of the group that goes to the prison for the rest of the inmates (they only allow 25 in a room at a time for safety reasons). We can't wait!
But, with ministry comes attack. It's a war. Bad things happen to Ps 42 members - things that should make us bow out of a concert. You know a ministrie's power by the suffering its servants endure.
The director of the group introduces us as broken people mended by Grace. In our group there are testimonies of drug use/abuse, abortion, prison, theft, depression, suicide, suicide attempts, broken marriages, sexual abuse victims, etc. A collection of folks many churchies would brush off as "soiled".
Pray for Ps 42 as we rehearse tonight. Pray for the three or four concerts we'll be doing at the prison. Pray protection over our members. A family was whacked last night by a massive injustice after they ministered. Pray for more opportunities to go into places where few ninistries dare tread. We're trying to get into the immigration prisons to share Christ with illegal aliens waiting for deportation. We're also trying to get into the mental health system to minister to the mentally ill. Pray for my husband's sister, Debbie. She's very much like the woman who died. Pray Jesus can cut through her fog and bring her Hope.
In considerable numbers and odd places like Boulder, CO.
Less than a month ago, I finally surrendered to God's call into a new realm of ministry. For years, I refused to give in b/c I was content where I was. I'd been attending the same Community Bible Study group for eight years. Deep study of the scripture and the relationships were and still are of high value to me. Why change?
God is using the Big D (depression) to rebuild my ruins. I committed to following His plan vs. mine earlier this year.
I let go of my "blankie" and stepped into Psalm 42 - a vocal/ministry ensemble that operates out of Green Mountain Christian Church in Lakewood, CO. One of my bffs, Susie, has been on my case to join for - oh - five years or so.
Two weeks into this new adventure (and only 2 rehearsals) the group was asked to sing at a memorial service in Boulder. The People's Republic of Boulder, Land of Fruits and Nuts. My apologies to the normal folk who live in that gorgeous place. I'd live there if I could afford it...
Anyway, Boulder is known as Berkley East. Some of the most liberal, immoral ideology eminates from that place.
The woman we memorialized was the sister of a Psalm 42 member. This sister who died, lived in the mental health system. She suffered from paranoid schitzophrenia. The family prayed for her salvation for decades. It wasn't until after her death, the evidence of her salvation revealed itself. This woman, deemed crazy by society, led people to the saving grace of Jesus. Contrary to popular thought, Jesus was able to make sense to her in the delusions of her mind. He got past the illness to the heart of the person.
On the drive up highway 93, we knew God was gonna do something big. I was on crutches, another member of the group blew out a disc in her back and was doped on prescription pain pills, and others had serious trouble slam into their families.
As we sang, the Holy Spirit filled the room. It was overwhelming! Pain and trials were forgotten as we tried to sing through tears of Joy from our Savior's presence. When the pastor gave the salvation message, people responded! Person after person after person - in Boulder!
Aside from the immediate family, many of the folks there were mental patients and mental health workers invovled with the woman who passed. NINE people recieved Christ and since have followed up on their commitment though Hope Boulder, the tiny church that held the memorial.
A few weeks earlier, the same weekend the Big Stink happened at MOPS b/c of my Dark Side of Christianity post, Susie had me tag along w/ Psalm 42 to the Mount View juvenile detention facility. I didn't want to go. At that point, I didn't want to join the group b/c I was tired. Wasn't I in the process of clearing my plate of Things To Do?
Half the group was sick, none of the men could sing. Ps 42 was hurtin' for voices, but that didn't matter to the incarcerated teens. The quality of music wasn't great either, that day. But, NINE kids responded to Jesus b/c of the testimony and song of this group. They responded to Susie as she belted out "Shakles" - a Mandisa tune.
In that moment I knew. I leaned against the cinder block wall next to the sound guy and bawled. This is for you. God whispered.
Yesterday, Psalm 42 sang at the Adams County Prison. John and I couldn't go b/c the prison only allowed 8 people in. Susie and Kendall stopped by our house on the way home to tell us all about it. They said God's presence was even more powerful in that max security place than in Boulder. Lives were changed, faith exploded. Prisoners and singers were blessed through three back-to-back concerts.
This coming Saturday, John and I will be part of the group that goes to the prison for the rest of the inmates (they only allow 25 in a room at a time for safety reasons). We can't wait!
But, with ministry comes attack. It's a war. Bad things happen to Ps 42 members - things that should make us bow out of a concert. You know a ministrie's power by the suffering its servants endure.
The director of the group introduces us as broken people mended by Grace. In our group there are testimonies of drug use/abuse, abortion, prison, theft, depression, suicide, suicide attempts, broken marriages, sexual abuse victims, etc. A collection of folks many churchies would brush off as "soiled".
Pray for Ps 42 as we rehearse tonight. Pray for the three or four concerts we'll be doing at the prison. Pray protection over our members. A family was whacked last night by a massive injustice after they ministered. Pray for more opportunities to go into places where few ninistries dare tread. We're trying to get into the immigration prisons to share Christ with illegal aliens waiting for deportation. We're also trying to get into the mental health system to minister to the mentally ill. Pray for my husband's sister, Debbie. She's very much like the woman who died. Pray Jesus can cut through her fog and bring her Hope.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Rejection, Duh-pression
I'm out.
It hurts, like someone poured lighter fluid all over my heart and used a blow-torch for ignition.
But, I'm not broken.
Worship team is not the context in which God wants to use my voice. He's providing me with world-class lessons (I'm not exaggerating) for FREE. A pro who sees potential in me, I don't even see.
Writer. Speaker. Singer. God wouldn't make me good at these things if He didn't want me to use them. It's just that I'm finding out His plan is so different from mine. On a deep level, I'm okay with His wisdom. I'm still sick. Worship leaders need to be well and stable. I'm not well and stable. I'm a mess.
Oh, I said that yesterday. Bear with me as I work to embrace my messiness. Jesus loves me the way I am, I need to do likewise.
Before I called Ryan, I spent an hour at least in prayer and meditation on God's Word. My depression makes downers harder to take. I didn't break in my convo with Ryan. It actually went well. I met my goal. The door isn't closed on me, it's just the timing.
I have talent, but I'm wounded. I need to heal. Shut out the lying voice of Satan, and strive to reach the potential God planted in me. Fear has been my master for as long as I can remember. Proving I'm worth something, goes waaaaay back to childhood. The temptation to Show Them is more than I can bear right now, so I'm begging God for a lift of some kind. I need good news, encouragement, a contract? An agent to call me and say, "I've read your Litterbox and Titletrakk reviews. Dang, girl, you can write!!! Got a novel in the works?"
I'd say, "Oh yes I do. I'm rewriting it due to a change in character relationship..."
"I'd like to represent you and help you get published."
Okay, maybe I'm sliding into fantasy land like a mountain climber whose crampons have balled up with ice on an exposed extreme slope.
But can't God do something like that?
Would He be God if He couldn't?
Doesn't mean He will. He can choose for Himself what to do with the shattered pieces of what used to be Darcie.
I think that's harder than the rejection and depression.
It hurts, like someone poured lighter fluid all over my heart and used a blow-torch for ignition.
But, I'm not broken.
Worship team is not the context in which God wants to use my voice. He's providing me with world-class lessons (I'm not exaggerating) for FREE. A pro who sees potential in me, I don't even see.
Writer. Speaker. Singer. God wouldn't make me good at these things if He didn't want me to use them. It's just that I'm finding out His plan is so different from mine. On a deep level, I'm okay with His wisdom. I'm still sick. Worship leaders need to be well and stable. I'm not well and stable. I'm a mess.
Oh, I said that yesterday. Bear with me as I work to embrace my messiness. Jesus loves me the way I am, I need to do likewise.
Before I called Ryan, I spent an hour at least in prayer and meditation on God's Word. My depression makes downers harder to take. I didn't break in my convo with Ryan. It actually went well. I met my goal. The door isn't closed on me, it's just the timing.
I have talent, but I'm wounded. I need to heal. Shut out the lying voice of Satan, and strive to reach the potential God planted in me. Fear has been my master for as long as I can remember. Proving I'm worth something, goes waaaaay back to childhood. The temptation to Show Them is more than I can bear right now, so I'm begging God for a lift of some kind. I need good news, encouragement, a contract? An agent to call me and say, "I've read your Litterbox and Titletrakk reviews. Dang, girl, you can write!!! Got a novel in the works?"
I'd say, "Oh yes I do. I'm rewriting it due to a change in character relationship..."
"I'd like to represent you and help you get published."
Okay, maybe I'm sliding into fantasy land like a mountain climber whose crampons have balled up with ice on an exposed extreme slope.
But can't God do something like that?
Would He be God if He couldn't?
Doesn't mean He will. He can choose for Himself what to do with the shattered pieces of what used to be Darcie.
I think that's harder than the rejection and depression.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Terrifying times
Last week a deranged teen opened fire in an Omaha mall murdering innocent shoppers out to make others happy.
Yesterday, a gunman entered the Youth With a Mission (YWAM) dormatory in Arvada, CO on the campus of Faith Bible Chapel. The YWAM folks were cleaning up after a Christmas party when some guy entered with a gun demanding to stay the night. They told him no, so he started shooting. Two people died.
My church is only 10 minutes south of FBC, our pastor knows lots of people up there, I know several families that attend FBC... Pastor Jim told us to pray for the families of the dead and wounded. And pray the gunman would be caught.
At 1PM yesterday, a gunman burst into t he lobby of New Life Church in Colorado Springs opening fire on the congregation. More people were shot, three died. The gunman was shot by an armed security guard. New Life has a WYAM center as well and brought in security as a precaution. Both FBC and NLC are mega churches with several thousand members. I know a lot of people in the Springs and am waiting and praying they are all okay.
There are over a dozen Houghton College alumni down there, Rocky Mountain Colorguard Association folk, and member's of ACFW (American Christian Fiction Writer's Association). I urge you to pray for both churches, YWAM and the families and friends of the people killed and wounded. Pray for the people - especially the children who had to witness this macabre slaughter. This is not something people just "get over".
The day after the mall shooting, the Southwest Plaza Mall was crawling with state troopers. I think I counted at least six. Teen boys lumbered around the mall making loud noises, saying crass things causing shoppers and UPS delivery men to jump. It was disconcerting. I bet those boys thought the Omaha shooting was cool.
Later that night as I told my husband about the police presence he said, "So, I guess it's no longer safe to go to a mall. If you can't go to a mall, where can you go?"
This mall is across the street from Columbine High School.
I looked him in the eye. Thoughts raced through my head. I have a baby, I'm a mom. How do I keep him safe?
I can't.
The church shootings remind us that we aren't safe ANYWHERE. Not schools, malls, restaurants (Chucky Cheese shooting on Santa Fe and Hampden in the 80s) or churches.
The temptation is to become agoraphobic and never leave our homes. Fearing the big, bad world outside. Just doesn't seem to jive with the abundant life Christ called us to live.
Here's my thought: God is sovereign. I can't die unless it's my time to go. I don't know when that is, maybe it will be the day a gunman storms Bear Valley Church or the Village Roaster, but I'm not gonna worry. I know where I'm going when I die. Jesus is my Lord and Savior. He promises eternity in Heaven with Him. Then again, maybe I'll live to be 100 because I have a heap of best-seller books to write!
This Christmas season, as we are riddled with horrifying tales of murder and gunmen on the loose, remember Who's in control. Embrace the Gift of Jesus and go shopping!
To follow along with the latest developments of the story, check out 9 News.
They are a local news affiliate that does a really good job. They've updated information twice as I was writing this. When they move stories, the links change, so I only linked their home site above.
Yesterday, a gunman entered the Youth With a Mission (YWAM) dormatory in Arvada, CO on the campus of Faith Bible Chapel. The YWAM folks were cleaning up after a Christmas party when some guy entered with a gun demanding to stay the night. They told him no, so he started shooting. Two people died.
My church is only 10 minutes south of FBC, our pastor knows lots of people up there, I know several families that attend FBC... Pastor Jim told us to pray for the families of the dead and wounded. And pray the gunman would be caught.
At 1PM yesterday, a gunman burst into t he lobby of New Life Church in Colorado Springs opening fire on the congregation. More people were shot, three died. The gunman was shot by an armed security guard. New Life has a WYAM center as well and brought in security as a precaution. Both FBC and NLC are mega churches with several thousand members. I know a lot of people in the Springs and am waiting and praying they are all okay.
There are over a dozen Houghton College alumni down there, Rocky Mountain Colorguard Association folk, and member's of ACFW (American Christian Fiction Writer's Association). I urge you to pray for both churches, YWAM and the families and friends of the people killed and wounded. Pray for the people - especially the children who had to witness this macabre slaughter. This is not something people just "get over".
The day after the mall shooting, the Southwest Plaza Mall was crawling with state troopers. I think I counted at least six. Teen boys lumbered around the mall making loud noises, saying crass things causing shoppers and UPS delivery men to jump. It was disconcerting. I bet those boys thought the Omaha shooting was cool.
Later that night as I told my husband about the police presence he said, "So, I guess it's no longer safe to go to a mall. If you can't go to a mall, where can you go?"
This mall is across the street from Columbine High School.
I looked him in the eye. Thoughts raced through my head. I have a baby, I'm a mom. How do I keep him safe?
I can't.
The church shootings remind us that we aren't safe ANYWHERE. Not schools, malls, restaurants (Chucky Cheese shooting on Santa Fe and Hampden in the 80s) or churches.
The temptation is to become agoraphobic and never leave our homes. Fearing the big, bad world outside. Just doesn't seem to jive with the abundant life Christ called us to live.
Here's my thought: God is sovereign. I can't die unless it's my time to go. I don't know when that is, maybe it will be the day a gunman storms Bear Valley Church or the Village Roaster, but I'm not gonna worry. I know where I'm going when I die. Jesus is my Lord and Savior. He promises eternity in Heaven with Him. Then again, maybe I'll live to be 100 because I have a heap of best-seller books to write!
This Christmas season, as we are riddled with horrifying tales of murder and gunmen on the loose, remember Who's in control. Embrace the Gift of Jesus and go shopping!
To follow along with the latest developments of the story, check out 9 News.
They are a local news affiliate that does a really good job. They've updated information twice as I was writing this. When they move stories, the links change, so I only linked their home site above.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Voice of Truth
Perception. So subjective. So inacurate. So misleading.
My last post probably left you thinking I've gone off and hurled myself into some deep mountain crevasse. I'd love to be deep in the mountains right now, but not lying in a crumpled heap sprinkled with scree. Jesus doesn't like it when we take our life/death timing into our own hands. I promise you all, that's not an option for me. Ever. Hope does exist in this litterbox of a world. Faith is what carries us when we dig and dig and can't find it.
Anyway, God's been revealing things to me. Spooky, huh?
I haven't heard any voices in babbling streams or wind-tossed trees (yes, I have been hiking to get away from the 'noise' of Denver), but I have been reading words of truth. Everywhere I turn, I read/hear words that speak directly to my heart and situation. It's creeping me out.
The day after I wrote my last post, Beth Moore rocked my world even more. I even dialed my mom b/c lesson 5, week 5 seemed to have been written for me.
I thought the previous lesson on betrayal was enlightening. It helped me figure out what I was feeling. Lesson 5 blasted all the soil off the roots of my pain leaving them exposed. "Hearts broken by loss". I've lost a lot. So much, I didn't think anyone, anywhere could possibly understand. I've done hundreds of Bible studies, but not one has affected me in such a powerful way. Beth shares her losses. One after another, after another, after another. Like Job. Like me. No breathing room. In fact, she admits she's still healing from some of them!
Tears splashed onto the page smearing the vibrant orange highlighter marks. I found someone whose been on this road. Maybe even more painful than mine. She spoke to the raw places. She focused on the pains in my heart. She knows. She's experienced them. She's also allowed Jesus to do his thing. I've been mad at him. I've kept him at arm's distance.
By the end of the lesson I realized the TRUTH of my mental/spiritual bondage - I'm stuck in the grief cycle. I got hung up on anger years ago and never moved on. I've let circumstance feed the anger, fanning the flames higher and higher until they consumed me. Destroying me.
The scripture given was John 11:1-44. It's about Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. Take time and read it.
The freaky thing is, I've read this a gazillion times. Made popsicle stick mummies in Sunday School as a kid to play act, "Lazarus, come out!"
Never before had I focused on what Jesus did and said before he brought the poor man back to life.
Jesus knew his buddy was gonna die. He knew Mary and Martha would be beside themselves with grief. He knew they'd be horked off at him.
Jesus didn't keep his motives hidden. He was overt. Verse 4: This will be an occasion to show God's glory, Verse 15: You're about to be given new grounds for believing. (From the Message)
You see, it was about The Big Plan. Lazarus had to die. Mary and Martha had to grieve, so Jesus could perform the mother of all miracles - and foreshadow his own death and resurrection.
This is where Jesus identifies himself as the Resurrection and the Life. Without death, he can't resurrect.
Back to Beth. I'm just gonna throw some quotes out. They speak for themselves. Let them hit you as they hit me.
"Christ never allows the hearts of His own to be shattered without excellent reasons and eternal purposes."
"Any kind of 'death' is an invitation to resurrection life to the believer."
"Joy and effectiveness may seem to pause for a while as grief takes its course, but those who allow their broken hearts to be bound by Christ will experience them again."
"When our hearts have been shattered by loss, we hyyave an opportunity to welcome a supernatural power to our lives."
"Perhaps the most profound miracle of all is liing through something we thought would kill us. And not just living, but living abundantly and effectively - raised from living death to a new life."
"When our hearts are hemorrhaging with grief and loss, never forget that Christ binds and compresses it with a nail-scarred hand."
Whoa.
It hit me that my losses happened so Jesus could do his thing. I haven't let him. I've been mad. My losses/needs are great - beyond human repair. God knows that. I need to step away from the "poop" and let Jesus scoop it up with his scarred hands.
Beth wasn't the only one who honed in on my hurt over the weekend. Writer's Digest, had some quotes about perseverence. I've been seriously thinking about giving up on the whole writing thing.
"I know so many writers who are a hundred times better than me and have longer, greater ideas than mine, but they gave up; they stopped. The biggest talkent you can have is determination." Chuck Palahniuk Fight Club author
"The writers who succeed are the ones who refuse to buckle under the failures that are heaped upon them; who reject the notion that they aren't as mediocre as industry professionals say they are." Jodi Picoult, NYT Bestselling author
One more thing - on Sunday, a special music was done "Voice of Truth" by Casting Crowns. I've heard this song hundreds of times on the radio. For some reason, on Sunday, I felt I'd never heard the lyrics. Here are some below
Oh,what I would do
To have the kind of faith it takes
To climb out of this boat I'm in
Onto the crashing waves
To step out of my comfort zone
Into the realm of the unknown
Where Jesus is,
And he's holding out his hand
But the waves are calling out my name
and they laugh at me
Reminding me of all the times
I've tried before and failed
The waves they keep on telling me
time and time again
"Boy, you'll never win,
you'll never win."
But the voice of truth tells me a different story
the voice of truth says "do not be afraid!"
and the voice of truth says "this is for my glory"
Out of all the voices calling out to me
I will choose to listen and believe the voice of truth
- Casting Crowns, Facing the Giants
For decades I've been listening to the wrong voice. I know that now. Really, really know it now. So, out of all the voices calling out to me I will choose to listen and believe the voice of truth.
My last post probably left you thinking I've gone off and hurled myself into some deep mountain crevasse. I'd love to be deep in the mountains right now, but not lying in a crumpled heap sprinkled with scree. Jesus doesn't like it when we take our life/death timing into our own hands. I promise you all, that's not an option for me. Ever. Hope does exist in this litterbox of a world. Faith is what carries us when we dig and dig and can't find it.
Anyway, God's been revealing things to me. Spooky, huh?
I haven't heard any voices in babbling streams or wind-tossed trees (yes, I have been hiking to get away from the 'noise' of Denver), but I have been reading words of truth. Everywhere I turn, I read/hear words that speak directly to my heart and situation. It's creeping me out.
The day after I wrote my last post, Beth Moore rocked my world even more. I even dialed my mom b/c lesson 5, week 5 seemed to have been written for me.
I thought the previous lesson on betrayal was enlightening. It helped me figure out what I was feeling. Lesson 5 blasted all the soil off the roots of my pain leaving them exposed. "Hearts broken by loss". I've lost a lot. So much, I didn't think anyone, anywhere could possibly understand. I've done hundreds of Bible studies, but not one has affected me in such a powerful way. Beth shares her losses. One after another, after another, after another. Like Job. Like me. No breathing room. In fact, she admits she's still healing from some of them!
Tears splashed onto the page smearing the vibrant orange highlighter marks. I found someone whose been on this road. Maybe even more painful than mine. She spoke to the raw places. She focused on the pains in my heart. She knows. She's experienced them. She's also allowed Jesus to do his thing. I've been mad at him. I've kept him at arm's distance.
By the end of the lesson I realized the TRUTH of my mental/spiritual bondage - I'm stuck in the grief cycle. I got hung up on anger years ago and never moved on. I've let circumstance feed the anger, fanning the flames higher and higher until they consumed me. Destroying me.
The scripture given was John 11:1-44. It's about Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. Take time and read it.
The freaky thing is, I've read this a gazillion times. Made popsicle stick mummies in Sunday School as a kid to play act, "Lazarus, come out!"
Never before had I focused on what Jesus did and said before he brought the poor man back to life.
Jesus knew his buddy was gonna die. He knew Mary and Martha would be beside themselves with grief. He knew they'd be horked off at him.
Jesus didn't keep his motives hidden. He was overt. Verse 4: This will be an occasion to show God's glory, Verse 15: You're about to be given new grounds for believing. (From the Message)
You see, it was about The Big Plan. Lazarus had to die. Mary and Martha had to grieve, so Jesus could perform the mother of all miracles - and foreshadow his own death and resurrection.
This is where Jesus identifies himself as the Resurrection and the Life. Without death, he can't resurrect.
Back to Beth. I'm just gonna throw some quotes out. They speak for themselves. Let them hit you as they hit me.
"Christ never allows the hearts of His own to be shattered without excellent reasons and eternal purposes."
"Any kind of 'death' is an invitation to resurrection life to the believer."
"Joy and effectiveness may seem to pause for a while as grief takes its course, but those who allow their broken hearts to be bound by Christ will experience them again."
"When our hearts have been shattered by loss, we hyyave an opportunity to welcome a supernatural power to our lives."
"Perhaps the most profound miracle of all is liing through something we thought would kill us. And not just living, but living abundantly and effectively - raised from living death to a new life."
"When our hearts are hemorrhaging with grief and loss, never forget that Christ binds and compresses it with a nail-scarred hand."
Whoa.
It hit me that my losses happened so Jesus could do his thing. I haven't let him. I've been mad. My losses/needs are great - beyond human repair. God knows that. I need to step away from the "poop" and let Jesus scoop it up with his scarred hands.
Beth wasn't the only one who honed in on my hurt over the weekend. Writer's Digest, had some quotes about perseverence. I've been seriously thinking about giving up on the whole writing thing.
"I know so many writers who are a hundred times better than me and have longer, greater ideas than mine, but they gave up; they stopped. The biggest talkent you can have is determination." Chuck Palahniuk Fight Club author
"The writers who succeed are the ones who refuse to buckle under the failures that are heaped upon them; who reject the notion that they aren't as mediocre as industry professionals say they are." Jodi Picoult, NYT Bestselling author
One more thing - on Sunday, a special music was done "Voice of Truth" by Casting Crowns. I've heard this song hundreds of times on the radio. For some reason, on Sunday, I felt I'd never heard the lyrics. Here are some below
Oh,what I would do
To have the kind of faith it takes
To climb out of this boat I'm in
Onto the crashing waves
To step out of my comfort zone
Into the realm of the unknown
Where Jesus is,
And he's holding out his hand
But the waves are calling out my name
and they laugh at me
Reminding me of all the times
I've tried before and failed
The waves they keep on telling me
time and time again
"Boy, you'll never win,
you'll never win."
But the voice of truth tells me a different story
the voice of truth says "do not be afraid!"
and the voice of truth says "this is for my glory"
Out of all the voices calling out to me
I will choose to listen and believe the voice of truth
- Casting Crowns, Facing the Giants
For decades I've been listening to the wrong voice. I know that now. Really, really know it now. So, out of all the voices calling out to me I will choose to listen and believe the voice of truth.
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