Adventure: - Wrecked for the Ordinary

Beautiful Letdowns: Redeeming Car Wrecks

Fri, 12 Feb 2010 00:00:00 GMT

I was the youth pastor at a San Diego church for a few years. One of the youth I had the privilege of encouraging was Andy Shirley, who would ask me questions about playing guitar and writing songs. He went off to college and changed his name (as many musicians do these days) to Andrew, then to Drew. Sean Combs changed his name to Puff Daddy and then to P. Diddy. I was glad Andy did not go with Drew Diddy, although I was kind of pulling for "Drew Wah Diddy Diddy Dum Diddy Drew."

Drew is currently the lead guitarist for a band called Switchfoot.

The father of the two guys who formed the band is a pastor in San Diego.

Once at lunch, he asked another friend of mine to tell him about an experience that ended up being extremely disappointing or a huge letdown. Then he asked if any good came out of it or if God was able to use it in ways that were unexpected. After my friend explained how things had resolved in a wonderful way the father replied, "Ah, what a beautiful letdown!" That is the title of their fourth album.

Let me tell you about a time in my life when I was literally wrecked, and God turned it into a beautiful letdown. I was driving back from speaking and singing at a camp for inner-city kids from L.A. A car swerved in front of me and to avoid hitting it, I ran off the road and immediately into a tree at about 55 m.p.h. The car, which was a Cordia, quickly became an accordion. It took them nearly an hour to get me out of the car before I was life lighted in a helicopter to the emergency room. I had a concussion and a couple broken bones to show for my heroic act. I found out later that the paramedics on the scene predicted I had about 48 hours to live. I could have been paralyzed or missing limbs, but I was miraculously left in pretty good shape.

I especially knew God wanted me alive because of what happened two nights earlier at that camp. I was making a phone call around 11 p.m. in what looked to be a dead-end corridor. All the kids were in their tents for the night. I glanced up and saw a bear walking toward me down this dead-end corridor! He wasn't a grizzly but he was bigger than me. I figure he must have been a teenager bear (he had his Walkman on listening to Beyonc, er, I mean, Switchfoot).

I didn't think I would be scared if I ever saw a bear in public because the bears in the zoo always seemed friendly and I grew up watching Yogi the Bear. Me & Yogi were tight, but as my luck would have it, this bear did not know Yogi! I was desperately praying, "Please God, don't let this bear eat me!" Right at the last minute he turned away from me and started to walk down to where all the kids were, and I was glad! Well, not that he was going for the kids, but at that point it was every man for himself.

Now when you run into a tree at 55 m.p.h. and you have a bear come at you and you live, you have a strong assurance that God wants you alive. Then it dawned on me, "God wanted me alive before the accident as well, I just hadn't really thought about it much."

A few months after my wreck, I was sharing the story and how God not only had a reason for me to still be alive, but that God had a purpose for every person hearing my voice, even if their car had not been wrecked. A teenager who had planned to commit suicide that night talked to me afterward. He realized that God did have a purpose for his life, so instead of walking out the door to end his life, he walked into a life that will never end. God took my wrecked car and turned it into a beautiful letdown.

I think back to whatever little encouragement I could be to Andy-Andrew-Drew, and now see him playing guitar for millions. God is using this humble and genuine Christ-follower in mighty ways.

We may never know the impact we can have on someone, and many times I'm sure we never will this side of eternity. But I am convinced that when we do take the time to encourage others and help "the least of these," God will use those efforts to make an eternal difference . As Switchfoot sings, "We want more than this world has to offer."

This world and its promises will let us down. But God takes letdowns and car wrecks and makes them beautiful.

When was the last time that you had a letdown that God made beautiful?

Larry is a homiletical humorist/musician who has traveled full-time for over 20 years sharing God's awesome love. He formed the non-profit corporation Larry Bubb Ministries to help let this hurting world know there is hope in Jesus. You can find out more about this ministry & his most recent album of 18 songs called "The Best of Larry Bubb... Plus 17 Bonus Tracks" at his website.

I Have a Dream... For Haiti

Mon, 18 Jan 2010 00:00:00 GMT

If you are half way sane, afraid to step near the edge of a cliff, or need to live by a plan then it would probably be best if you stopped reading right now. There I feel much better. Consider yourself warned. I have a crazy dream to share with you.

Imagine with me for a moment...

The scene opens on a rice patty as the sun is just beginning to rise. There is a slight mist rising from the green fields reaching up towards the heavens. Stillness permeates the air. As the camera fades out and pans to the left a city is revealed. The honking of horns, the yelling of voices, and the hum of city life shatter the stillness of the field. As the image zooms in, women sitting on the curb, selling their wares comes into focus. The camera moves down the pothole and trash filled street and settles on some men sitting on stools outside the remains of buildings.

Once bustling with life, the buildings now stand in ruins and appear lifeless. They are monuments to a life that once was or is it once hoped for? Either way, they stand as a constant reminder of what now is. A deep, Morgan-Freeman-like voice speaks as the camera zooms out and begins to take flight over the city. As the images of poverty begin to fill the screen, the voice declares, "Welcome to Gonaves, Haiti."

It is ridiculous, of course. The words stand in dissonance to the images. It grates against the ears as the cacophony of images flow by. Children in rags, water jugs being filled near sewage; the every day events of Gonaves don't seem to mesh with the hearty welcome. Suddenly, the flyover slows and the camera begins to zoom in on a building.

At first glance, it is no different than those that surround it. Its slightly rusted and dented tin roof is virtually identical to that of its neighbors. As the camera settles at ground level, the walls are revealed to be concrete, as are the buildings nearby. The paint is chipped and faded. On the surface it appears to be just another lifeless building. But suddenly the camera zooms through the aged and cracked front door.

An explosion of activity and life floods the lens. Old men and young men are at work. Music begins to fill the air and as the viewer takes in the scene it appears as though the men are dancing. As they work, their movements seem to have a dance-like quality to them. The older move much slower but do so with grace and efficiency. Their laboring has a ballet essence to them. The young bound around as if dancing to an internal hip-hop track. There movements are marked by effortlessness and strength.

The images of work and life, of smiles and laughing, of the old mentoring the young is a moving contrast to the images of life outside the walls of this humble building. As the music fades, the voice once again appears and begins to describe the scene...

Umm...

(Sound of crickets)

NOTHING.

Here's the thing: This part hasn't been written yet, because I need help. I can't seem to get the words of the narration out, because I have no idea what the men are doing. I have a feeling, a stirring deep with in my heart that is begging to come out. Every so often I am encouraged by a sliver of clarity that shoots through the darkness of this dream, but these moments are fleeting. They keep me dreaming and thinking. But they are frustrating teasers, not the answers I want.

Do you know what I am talking about? Have you felt a stirring within you? Do you know the feeling of having a smoldering within you that needs to be set ablaze? If you have the evidence of such things in your life: the smell of smoke in your nostrils, a warming in your heart, then I need you.

You see, I've come to the devastating realization that I can't do it on my own. It's terribly upsetting for me to confess this to you, but I can't do it. I can't finish the dream; much less transform it into reality. I am weak. I am fragile. In the prime of my life, I have come to the sad realization that I am feeble.

The crushing reality of how powerless I am almost led me to close off the dream. Better to pretend I am who I want to be then to realize who I really am, right? I almost succumbed to it. I almost turned to the reliving of past successes instead of dreaming about the future. But thank God the images still flash across my mind! Thank God the dream lives on.

I have a dream. Powerful words, aren't they? They are words that, once spoken, can change the world. They are words that seem to yearn to come alive. Of course, they are also words that come with a cost. It may cost reputations, finances, relationships and, as Martin Luther King, Jr. discovered, our lives. But to die a dreamer surely must be better than to die a cynic. To have lived life in hopes of creating a better world has got to be better than to die pretending that nothing was wrong in the first place, right?

The dream awaits its completion. Maybe all that is needed for the dream to come alive is for it to be voiced. Will you join your voice to my voice? Will you strengthen my resolve and let me do the same for you? Will you say with me: We have a dream. We have a dream. We have a...

Dustin lives with his wife, Olivia, and two sons, Drew and Ethan. They are co-pastor of a church in central California. This article was written in response to their mission trip to Haiti in November 2009.

Book Review: A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller

Tue, 3 Nov 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Last summer, I found myself rushing home from an outreach in Los Angles, trying to make it back to East Texas in time for a very important event -- Donald Miller was coming to my town. He was part of the Ride Well Tour, biking across America to raise money for wells in Africa.

I am not going to to lie. I have a bit of a writer/celebrity crush on Don. I don't think I am alone in this either. I think one of the reasons is because before I read Blue Like Jazz, I felt alone, like I didn't fit into cultural Christianity. His quirky, honest memoir deeply resonated with thousands of young people like myself who needed to see God outside of our parents' religion.

In A Million Miles in A Thousand Years, Miller invites us to get off our recliners and stop living vicariously through other people's stories. His own awakening was sparked when he was approached by two producers about making a movie based on his life. In this process of going through the plot line for the movie, Don is slapped in the face with the reality that his real life was too boring to actually be a good plot.

In the beginning of the book, Donald says,

Nobody cries at the end of a movie about a guy who got a Volvo. But we spend years living those kinds of stories and expect life to feel meaningful. Maybe that's why we go to so many movies, because our real lives don't feel meaningful anymore."

The book unfolds in a string of incidents that push Don to jump up out of his spectator chair and participate fully in life. He shares vivid stories of hiking seven miles of stairs to Machu Picchu, reconnecting with his father after 30 years, and, of course, riding his bike cross-country.

The halfway point in his journey was my little town. My friends and I arrived early after a long drive and made our way to the front, craning our necks to see if we could spot him in the crowd. I felt giddy, like a ninth grader at a Jonas Brothers concert.

When his team finally got on stage, I was surprised at how much weight he had lost and how much he blended in with the rest of the team. The event was obviously about something bigger than listening to an author talk about his books (although, I admit, I wouldn't have rushed out of California so fast if he wasn't going to be speaking).

He and his team shared stories from the road, sleeping on church floors and biking through painted deserts. Miller shared about his friend Bob, whose life tells an incredible story. He and his kids decided to start a parade that would go down the street of their neighborhood. They went door-to-door and inviting all the neighbors -- but there was a catch -- no spectators were allowed, only participants. Miller spoke with an excitement and passion that seemed uncharacteristic of his usually wry self. I could see something deep in him had changed, and it wasn't just his belt size.

That story he shared struck a chord in me; I wrote on the inside cover of my journal this reminder: "In the parade of life, there are no spectators, only participants."

I think Don is on to something huge. There are a few main things that must happen in the plot of a book or movie; otherwise, the audience walks away feeling cheated: the hero has to want something, and he must risk and face his biggest fear in order to obtain it. As human beings, we have an intrinsic understanding of this -- we live story. Yet, because we over-value comfort and are jaded by our I-want-it-now culture -- because we are afraid -- we forget what living a good story looks like.

As a writer, I am so busy looking for a good story that sometimes I forget to live my own. As Henry David Thoreau wisely said, "How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live." A Million Miles made me want to live my life in such a way where I don't make my decisions based on what was most comfortable for me, but what would make a good story. Risk. Adventure. Not going through life subtly and carefully, but facing the pain to find ultimate beauty and joy on the other side. As Don writes:

I wonder if that's what we'll do with God when we are through with all this, if He'll show us around heaven, all the beauty and light coming in through windows a thousand miles away, all the fields sweeping down to a couple chairs under a tree, and we'll sit and tell him our stories and He'll smile and then tell us what they mean.

For more on A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, visit the book tour site. You can also buy the book on Amazon and read Don Miller's blog.

Brooke is a missionary with YWAM. She loves to see the world, cook, and write poems. Check out her blog. (That's her with Donald Miller in the picture, by the way.)

Could It Be That Love Is All We Need?

Tue, 20 Oct 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Everyone wants change. We hear the cries for change resounding from the pulpit and the political platform. We desire to see our country hold fast to the moral values it is rooted in, and when we see these roots being pulled from the ground like weeds, we can't help but develop a little righteous indignation.

Everywhere you go, everybody has an opinion. One side or the other, or somewhere between. We all want life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. We want to see the hungry fed, injustice to be a thing of the past, but how we get there is another story. In daily conversation, in the news, all over the internet we hear these opinions voiced, and how to deal with all the very complicated problems. And there are no simple answers.

Or are there?

To be honest, I don't have complicated answers. I am not a brilliant thinker. I have so much to learn about the world around me. I am not some future world leader, and I am definitely not a politician. But I love Jesus and I know I can learn from His life and what He did.

Sometimes I forget that the world Jesus stepped into was slightly worse than the one I was born into. The Jews' history was on pause. Centuries of attempting to follow the law, only to continue to be oppressed by it, had left God's people weary and nearly hopeless. They clung to the old promise spoken by prophets:

God will send a savior to rescue us.

And the Savior came unexpectedly, sneaking in instead of coming in glory and power. They wanted a grand show, they wanted someone to take control, they wanted a warrior. Instead, they got an infant, born in a barn to an unwed girl.

As Jesus grew up and into His ministry, he refused to live up to the standard the people had set for him. When those who followed all the rules tried to trick him with intellectual traps, he refused to step into them. When the disciples tried to "fight the system" using power and control, He rebuked them.

The expectations were for the Messiah to rip the carpet out from under the corrupt people's feet. Instead, He ate dinner with ungodly people and healed the sick.

We believe change will come from the top down, but the kingdom of heaven seems to work in an opposite way: one person at a time. Love entering in, transforming and spreading out. We want to slap a moral sticker on laws and procedures on our land and call it a day, but does that really change people's hearts?

Look at any issue in the world and tell me one that it doesn't stem from the simple fact that we don't love our neighbors.

How can we love when we don't truly know the love of God? We are only capable of loving because He first loved us in a way that is completely irrational and unconditional. What if a revelation of that love was enough to change the world?

Jesus refused to be politically involved, and he wasn't out to play any games. He spent way more time talking about the kingdom of heaven than the kingdom of Caesar. He understood that love was the only way. In fact, the only thing Jesus "protested" was the religious people who kept trying to put a burden on peoples' backs.

When Jesus ascended, He commissioned us to share the Good News. The good news is "tidings of great joy!" It is not trying to argue and convince someone about the authenticity of the Bible. It is not giving people a list of do's and don'ts. It is not manipulating people by scaring them with eternal flames, or promising eternal golden streets. It is not getting someone to join your side.

The good news is a joyful announcement of what has already taken place. Death and sin has been conquered. God already fulfilled the law on your behalf. Stop trying so hard. To quote the song Dreamlife by Sleeping At Last, "The war that your fighting has already been won." This is grace.

We live in a society where "No news is good news." Turn on the TV at 6 o'clock and you will hear about the H1N1 Virus, the latest murder, the latest terrorist activity or the healthcare crisis. I could never be a news anchor, I would get depressed. But can you imagine the relief when they actually get to cover a positive story? Imagine the joy of being able to announce a heroic event that saved hundreds of lives. Imagine being able to announce that the war on terror is over, or that the national debt has been completely canceled.

That is our privilege as followers of Jesus. That is our great commission.

There is so much opinion and theory and planning on how we can change the world. I am not saying these things are bad, but what if it was up to us simply to announce the love and grace of God (The gospel) and that it could be the power of God to change people from the inside out? What if God coming and and just being God will transform people, communities, policies, nations.

What if that was enough?

Brooke lives in the middle of nowhere in east Texas, trying to live, understand, and write about Grace. She makes great pasta salad. Check out her blog.

So You Want to Change the World?

Thu, 24 Sep 2009 00:00:00 GMT

So, you want to change the world? That's a good thing. That motivation has paved the way for many of the innovative ideas that we enjoy today: iPods, the internet, cars, planes, etc. It is no easy task to change the world, but if you're really serious about doing it, I'd like to offer you some advice.

Before we get to the advice part, though, there's something you should know. Chances are you won't become famous as a result. I know it sounds somewhat crazy: if you changed the world, people should know your name. But let's face it, your chances of ever being well known by any significant number of people is extremely slim. That said, changing the world has nothing to do with your fame.

Likewise, you probably won't become rich as a result. Bummer, huh? Look on the bright side, changing the world offers satisfaction beyond just monetary gain. Besides, are you looking to change the world, or just get rich because there are plenty of ways to do the latter without changing much of anything.

Now, on to the advice:

Stop Swinging for the Fence

It sounds somewhat oxymoronic to think that in order to hit a home run you need to stop trying to hit a home run, but that's the truth. If I can stick with this baseball analogy for a bit...home run hitters aren't good at what they do because of their incredible strength, custom bats, or strategic stances. They are good at what they do, and they hit home runs, because of the small things they do (i.e. the practice) day in and day out. At the end of the day, hitting home runs is about doing the small things: keeping your eye on the ball and swinging the bat.

Why then do we think changing the world would be any different? Many of us run from one big thing to the next with the hopes that this one will be the one that does the trick. For us, changing the world is about doing the kinds of things that get noticed - big things, significant things, things that shift paradigms and roll heads.

We are sadly mistaken. And because we swing for the fence, we pile up more strike-outs than hits.

Change Yourself First

I'm tempted to quote Gandhi, but instead I'll just point out that he was right: if you want something to be different, you only have to look in the mirror (props to Michael Jackson here as well). The problem with this little tidbit is that we all say "Oh yeah, right, I've already done that," when, in fact, we haven't. We want to change the world through love and yet we harbor bitterness, unforgiveness, bias, and fear. Seriously, change yourself first. If you don't, you won't be changing the world, you'll just be multiplying hypocrites and, well, that's not much of a change at all.

He who has ears, let him hear.

Start AND END With Your Circle of Influence

Think about the people who, if you had just a single day with, you'd choose as your company as you go about changing the world. Who would you choose? The President? Your boss? A celebrity? CEOs? Randy, Kara, Simon and Ellen (sorry Paula)?

Yeah, I thought that might be the case. But, that's swinging for the fence. You actually have some people who, if you did your job, would add exponential strength to your world-changing cause. They are called your family. Yep, the old ball and chain and those little monkeys who break everything - they are your key to world-change.

But don't just start with them... end with them. Your family (by the way, family doesn't just mean marriage partner and kids, it could mean mom and dad, brothers and sisters, etc.) are not just a step along the way or a means to an end. They are the end.

Have you ever noticed in movies (and real life) nobody sits on their death bed mourning the fact that they never took that one golf trip, or that they never had the chance to be ridiculed by a British guy in front of the whole country (okay, well, maybe some do mourn that) - people mourn about neglecting their friend and families and not making amends where they needed to be made.

So you want to change the world?

Good. Stay small. Look in the Mirror. Love Your Friends and Family.

You'll be surprised at just how much the world changes.

Jesse is a twenty-something married guy living in Colorado who is trying to figure out what it means to follow Christ in the twenty-first century. He wants to change the world, be famous, get rich, and yet live the simple life. This article was written to himself and he hopes you benefit from it. You can read more of his thoughts at his blog, Balancing Tension.

Male Initiation: A Woman's Perspective

Thu, 17 Sep 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Awhile ago, my husband Scott and his friend Marc left the comfort of home (and their wives and children) to embark on a "Man Hike" in the Colorado Rockies. Some of them had been blogging about the need for men to get away together, so they met up with some friends (as well as Scott's brother) and set out into the mountain wilderness.

I don't know all the details of what went on out there; I'm not sure I want to know. What I do know is that I got 19 text messages all along the lines of "miss you", "love you", "miss my fam" during that week.

Now, don't go thinking that Scott's a pushover and that he couldn't "handle" being without his wife. I'm sure he could have easily spent the week on a ridge somewhere enjoying the scenery and called me as he was getting off the plane in Boston.

But, when these men get together, especially with a mentor, something sparks in them. Two rocks collide, and a spark ignites the fire inside them. They start speaking life, worshiping God, and building community. Does this happen in a pew? It may for some men, but many more would argue that true brotherhood, pastoring, and impartation occur on the battleground. (Okay, so the Rockies aren't that dangerous, but they have grizzlies... that's more danger than a pew. The only danger of the pew is complacency, which may be more detrimental to living an abundant life.)

Scott hiked, camped, shared, journaled, prayed, interceded, prophesied, listened along with five other brothers in his band. Seth (the sage) spoke wisdom, encouragement, and empowerment over boys who were stepping into their own as men. (I'm not calling Scott a little boy. What I mean is that Seth has a few more years of experience, education, etc. that he's willing to share with anyone willing to receive it.)

The idea that men can just go for a hike, hang out, have deep conversation, pray a lot, and learn a little bit over a few days and come home refreshed and ready to give of everything they are is how I'm affected. Confused? Don't be. I'm with Scott at home, at work, at church, etc, and let me tell you, I love when he gets with people who are seeking more. Sometimes, the monotony of life can drag a man down; it can lead him into going on "autopilot" (TV, video games, golf). It can leave him content with the status quo. There may have been a dream in there somewhere, but it got lost when the baby was born, and the responsibility of taking care of an infant superseded the vision. That's when a man gets lost.

When the vision dwindles, the house can get chaotic; there can even be a power struggle. If there's no dream, then what am I living for? Women usually pick up the pieces when this happens. We're good at cleaning (not because we like to, but because we're freaks about cleanliness -- figuratively, of course). So we, as women, keep trying to keep the house of cards from falling, thinking that we're fitting the role we were designed for, and that our spouse should be more than impressed with how we hold it together by just balancing it all.

Ladies: we're not meant to hold it together. We're not supposed to help the men in our lives survive on autopilot while we get stressed because we've filled the role of leader in our homes.

Lately, I've realized in my own life how going on "auto" can affect a marriage. I would go to work, come home, put the baby to bed, and watch TV or a movie. With both of us trying to work full time with an infant (who's not in daycare), and the health insurance under my name, I felt the stress of needing to work long and hard. But I also wanted to be the best mom ever to Jaron. And I wanted to be the most loving wife to Scott. But it was too much.

So when Scott returned home and began talking about our dreams and goals, I realized that what I was doing wasn't what I desired. I was only doing it to try to fill the "responsible" role. I didn't let go because of a fear that we wouldn't be able to be insured or that we'd not make enough money now that we have a baby. So when I shared with Scott that my desire is to be a mom primarily and work a few hours a week, he was elated (not what I was expecting at all). Scott was excited about filling his role as husband and father, caretaker and provider for our family (we both know that it's God who takes care and provides for us).

Women: we can't guide men into their identity as men. Which is why when Scott wanted to try to get some men together and go hiking, I said, "Absolutely!" When men get called out to greatness by other men, they can't hide. For sure, I tell Scott how wonderful he is, how he's the only man for me, and that he's a great husband and father, but other men can do more to awaken the man, the leader, the visionary in our homes. When men are willing to be vulnerable (emotionally and spiritually) in an environment that doesn't allow for fakeness or egos, something happens. That fire fans into flame...

And our son and I reap the benefits.

Linnea, wife to Scott and mother to Jaron, lives in Massachusetts.

Tennis Balls: Why Money Cannot Change The World

Fri, 12 Jun 2009 00:00:00 GMT

No one ever wakes up in the morning thinking that life as they know it will change overnight for them. Life changing events tend to make a habit of sneaking up when you are unawares, grabbing you by the throat and never letting go. The day my life changed forever, it wasn't through a lightning bolt or writing in the sky, but through a small child.

She had eyes the colour of a Hershey's chocolate bar. These eyes stared out at me from under greasy matted hair, captivating me. She smiled so wide, displaying a mouthful of badly stained and broken teeth, a smile that won my heart with its infectious joy. Clutched in her fist was a torn up, ratty tennis ball.

She rattled off a rapid fire stream of Spanish off at me, a language I can speak only a few words in. She was still able to make herself clear, however: Play catch with me! In soccer crazed Guatemala, finding a kid who plays anything else is unusual, and finding a girl willing to play a sport is even rarer. Yet here was this girl, not more than perhaps seven or eight years old, ready to play catch with what was clearly her prized possession. What was more remarkable was her willingness to share this prized possession with a total stranger.

As we tossed the ball back and forth, she kept up a steady stream of chatter coming towards me. I could only nod, and smile, but this did not deter her. She was so enthusiastic, so easy to please. Every time she caught the ball, or threw one past me, her face lit up, radiating joy and contentment. I wanted to do something more for her, that whole time I was playing catch. I had grand illusions of taking her back home with me, or giving her new clothes to replace the ones on her back that were little more than rags. She broke my heart, and all I wanted was to make life better for her.

Then it occurred to me that I already was making her life better. I was playing with her, engaging her in an activity that few others would. I could see how happy this small gesture made her, and it made me glad as well. I realized that all I wanted was to see her smile, and that blessed me more than I could have ever blessed her.

So often we believe that the only way to change the world is through money. In the mindset of North America, money solves everything; it is our security blanket. While money certainly can be used to help alleviate many problems in this world, it is not the only or even necessarily the best fix for what ails us. We go around attempting to come up with grandiose schemes to save the developing world, clean up the water supplies of the world, and come home to cook supper by five. We make it seem as if making any difference in this world is something that cannot be done by ordinary people, but only by professionals.

Perhaps that is why so little in our world has changed. We stay back, waiting for someone else to make a difference. Too weak, too small, too unimpressive to make a difference, that is our mindset. It seems that we have forgotten that we are not the important ones here: God is. If God can use a man who stuttered, and was terrified of public speaking, and turn him into the patriarch of His chosen people; if He can take a lowly shepherd boy/songwriter and make him king, how much more can he do in our lives if we just allow him to take control?

It doesn't take much. One mangled old tennis ball transformed a spoiled North American teenager, and brought joy to a young Guatemalan girl. It was such a small action, barely worth noting in the turmoil of our world today. But it was something. No small act of love ever goes wasted. What would happen if, instead of sitting still and refusing to take action, all of God's people stopped merely paying him lip service and started to act like we belong to Him?

Maybe it's time that all of us went out into wherever we are, and took a few tennis balls with us.

If you liked this article, check out: Three Minutes: Finding Jesus in an Orphan's Crib

Lacey is a new high school graduate who lives in Calgary, Alberta , Canada. She loves writing and telling stories that force people to think about God, and how to move in ways that matter to Him.

Chocolate Pudding Spirituality: We Are All a Mess

Fri, 5 Jun 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Life is a complete mess.

I don't mean this in a hopeless, rip-your-hair-out way. It's more sweet, like a toddler covered in chocolate pudding. As much as I think I am this free thinker, go-with-the-flow ,"let's see where life takes me," kind of person, I am still obsessed with control. I still try to clean up, to bring about order, to try and fix things... and people. I guess that's not necessarily a bad thing.

We are all trying to create some kind of order out of the chaos that it is to be human, but I think the danger in doing so is refusing to see our humanity.

I am human. We are all human. What does that mean? My scab bleeds when I pick it. I am indecisive and judgmental. I long for intimacy and for someone to see me for who I am. I am a bundle of contradictions, addictions, a tangled mess of beauty and ugliness and love and hate. We all are.

I don't think being a Christian means ignoring that, or somehow thinking I am above all that. Because Jesus is ultimate reality, looking to Him should lead us to complete honesty. We want to be so "spiritual"; we want to play God. So, we control.

I do it all the time. I plan out how conversations and situations are going to look in my head. I manipulate to try to get people to see my accomplishments, my "brilliance." It's gross; it's pride. It's our fallen humanity in action.

If you look at the Bible, you see that it reflects the life of screwed-up people and a flawless, loving God, perfectly. The Bible's writers did not choose to sanitize it and make it "safe for the whole family." Scandal, blood and guts, and steamy sex scenes are common place in this book some people see as archaic and irrelevant. Hollywood couldn't write a screenplay as intense as half of the Old Testament! Yet, the Bible is overflowing with beauty, grace and redemption. It is God's story. It is my story.

I am beginning to see that life is a mess, but the mess is, in fact, beautiful. Does a parent love her kid any less when he smears chocolate pudding all over his face? It's funny; no matter how many times you give a little kid a bath, it's like they keep getting dirty. It's almost like they are a dirt magnet. Yet somehow, getting dirty is part of the adventure.

Think about every story that ever captured you, every fairy tale or epic cartoon you fell asleep thinking about as a kid. The protagonist has his highs and lows, his times of great assurance, and his times of doubt and fear. His times of getting into the most messy situations, but somehow over coming and ending up victorious.

There are times, when I want all of the adventure, but I want it packaged neatly. I want to know the outcome. It's like I wish I could cheat and read ahead in a "Chose Your Own Adventure" books, working my way backwards to get the desire results. I cling to certainty and stability, I live for it. But where does that leave faith?

Is certainty and stability what I really want? Is it even possible? Life is messy, uncertain, ridiculous, beautiful, and painful. The truth is, I am afraid. I am afraid to live. I am afraid to trust God. I am afraid of being rejected, of messing up, of my heart being broken. I don't really want to face the pain that comes from being truly alive. The risk it takes. Embracing life completely means embracing the pain and mess that comes

Being human means we're gonna get dirty. It's inevitable. We're going to say things we regret; we're going to feel insecure one moment and puffed up the next. Our hearts are going to break.

I see Jesus in this, too. Sometimes, if I really open my eyes, I see Jesus more in the moments when I am smeared with self-hatred or chocolate pudding, or mud or condemnation. He's there, smiling:

"I love you. You're beautiful. Now, let's go take a bath."

Brooke is a writer and missionary who would love to swim in a pool of chocolate pudding. Check out her book All Things Are Becoming New, a collection of poems, here.

A Justice Adventure In India

Thu, 28 May 2009 00:00:00 GMT

My adventure around India over the past month and a half has been one of the hardest things Iʼve done. God loves to put us in situations where we learn to surrender and learn to depend on Him instead of ourselves or our stuff. More ugly stuff inside of me was brought up and out and I had to see it and kill it. I am being refined daily and my hope is that India would end the process, I want to be done, but I guess it never really ends.

I started in Calcutta meeting different people that work to bring human traffickers to justice, and an organization called freeset that offers prostitutes alternative employment in a loving environment.

I was so culture-shocked and afraid when I first arrived walking out each day with God and learning how to trust Him more. I asked different people if I could go with them to the red light area, but everyone said no it was too dangerous and that they donʼt recommend I go either. But I came to India to go into the dark places that no one else would go, so I went alone one day and looked into the eyes of the women standing in the doorways of Sonagachi trusting and believing that somehow in someway God was using me to bring hope, and accomplish His purpose.

Next, I went to Chennai and stayed with a bunch of beautiful girls that have been rescued and have known the love of God to such a degree that they started ministering on TV in India preaching the gospel and praying for the nations of the world. While staying in Chennai I met more people that work to free bonded slaves. International Justice Mission has been doing great work all through out India and the world. These are forced laborers that are often children that work in brick kilns. I learned that Chennai doesn't really have an aria where you would find sex workers but that they are more hidden and spread out. It was thought that southern India may be a place where many of the children are trafficked from.
I found out about a great organization called Oasis in Bangalore so I went and met with a few great people that perform rescues in the brothels. I learned a lot about how they go in and find the girls in very small hidden rooms. They will tap on the walls and floors to listen for a hollow sound for hours. 15 to 20 girls will stay quiet in a space smaller then most bathrooms.

I also got a chance to talk to a few young women that have been rescued from brothels. I heard stories about how their family sold them for as little as 20 dollars and used the money to pay for alcohol. Horrific stories about being beaten, cut, and burned, I've seen the scares. Not to mention being raped and forced to marry under the threat of your mother committing suicide if you refuse. And after all that having your husband sell you to his friends for sex until he is so disgusted with you that he beats you and leaves you to fend for yourself. Stories like this happen all over the world every day, but who is in place to reach out and help them.

These women never knew love and thatʼs what breaks my heart most of all. God gave these children to mothers and fathers that never learned to love and cherish them. That's why what we believe as people is so important; thatʼs why we are called to disciple nations. The world has no clue that they are created to be loved by God and in turn learn to love others like their awesome dad does. Someone has to go and tell them or they perish for a lack of knowledge. The thing is that we either follow and serve the good father or we end up serving the bad father. A lyer is only impowered when we believe the lies, and truth sets the captives free.

In India often girls are celebrated because they will provide for their family, yet they are shamed and rejected because of how they are forced to provide.

Boys, on the other hand, are favored and given more opportunity, they are more loved and stay with the family after they marry; where as girls leave and join the other family when they marry.

In Mumbai I met more wonderful people that perform rescues and work to bring traffickers to justice. I heard their hearts for the girls the pain that they have endured and how they work hard to find them and bring them to justice.

More then anything we want to see the women and children vindicated. They need to understand their worth and know that someone cares about what happened to them.

I ventured into the red light area a few times in Mumbai, but yet again couldn't find anyone to go with me. I met up with an organization that provides daycare for the children of the blothel workers and got to do a home visit one day with them. I love the work they do and they are always looking for volunteers. My hope is to inspire and inform the body of Christ to get up and move into action. We need to reach out and love a lost and dying world.

Shawna is from British Columbia.

The Power Of Prayer: From Prosperity to Movement

Wed, 6 May 2009 00:00:00 GMT

"Every great movement of God can be traced to a kneeling figure."

Every great movement?

That's a pretty bold statement from D.L. Moody. Can the prayer of one individual truly bear such power? I mean, Jesus gave us authority over all things, the ability to move mountains and what-not, but most of us have the idea that this applies only to the miraculous, the healing, the casting out of demons and depression, and the fulfilling of promissory notes, paid-off mortgages, cut-up credit cards, and financial freedom - all made possible by applying the mystical words "...in the name of Jesus!" to the ends of our requests.

It's a legitimate concept. In Luke 10, Jesus sent out 72 of His best people to spread the word that the kingdom of heaven was at hand. When they returned, they were ecstatic over the tremendous deeds they had performed and witnessed in the name of Jesus. As they excitedly told Jesus of their accomplishments they had been part of, Jesus congratulated them, but tried His best to give them perspective:

"Yes, yes...You have authority over serpents and scorpions and spirits of all kinds...but don't get too excited about this. This is what should fire you up...That your names are written in heaven." (Luke 10:19 - my paraphrase).

Jesus is making a powerful point. Yes, indeed, all things are possible through the intercessory power of Christ working on our behalves. Just look at the dramatic examples in the New Testament alone - Jesus fed thousands with just a few loaves of bread and a couple of fish. He healed numerous maladies including: blindness, deafness, leprosy, paralysis, and mental illness. He raised Lazarus from the dead!

But do those things really represent a great movement? Did they really change the world? The people who ate the fishes and loaves undoubtedly got hungry again at some point in life, probably just a few hours later. The sick people Jesus healed most likely became ill again. Who's to say that the woman with the issue of blood didn't come down with whooping cough, tuberculosis or measles or chronic diarrhea the week after Jesus healed her? Lazarus...poor Lazarus...He died, probably went to heaven, had to come back to earth, and then died again!

Jesus himself admitted that there were greater works (John 14:12) than the healings and wonders that were displayed through His power. It boggles the mind to consider this concept, but please understand that the thought isn't an idea or opinion of some half-baked youth pastor - Jesus said it!

There's absolutely nothing wrong with provisional prayer. The power of prayer can overcome any individual conflict, obstacle, or pain in our lives. Prayer gives us hope for a brighter future, will to fight through another day, determination to make it through the worst circumstances and deepest troubles. It's no sin to ask our Father, who gives good gifts to His children, for food, money, healing, shelter, safety, security, or a smokin' hot spouse.

But provision is not a movement. Provision is day-to-day, fill up my hands with enough to get by, please, God, let me have it right now "if it's your will" (of course) kind of stuff. If I'm going to make a real impact in my generation that ripples into generations to come, if I'm going to start a movement, then I have to change myself, and if I'm going to change myself, then I have to change the way I pray beyond just being provided for. If I'm going to institute change, then I have to allow myself to be changed, not just provided for.

A Buddhist folk tale tells the story of a young monk who decided that he wanted to change the world. After years of trying, he realized he had failed, and set out to change his country. Again, years of work proved fruitless, and he decided to change his city. He had no luck doing this, despite even more years of his best efforts, so he shifted gears, and attempted to change his family.

Finally, as a very old man, he looked back on his life, and came to this conclusion:

If he had first sought to change himself, he could have changed the world.

There is a different type of prayer; prayer that doesn't treat God like an intergalactic vending machine, a cosmic creative Santa Claus with a halo. These are prayers that lead to radical personal change, personal change that will leave you unsatisfied, filled with a healthy discontent, and wanting less of yourself, and more of God.

Some of these prayers are ancient in their terminology, and others timeless in their nature. None will make you wealthier, more appealing to the opposite sex, or more popular at parties. These are not provisional prayers.

They are prayers for personal reformation and they are all very dangerous:

"Be the center of what I believe..."

"Make me radiant..."

"Refine me..."

"Bend me to Your will..."

"Make me transparent..."

"Ruin my life..."

"Make my worship shake the world..."

"Let me shine like the stars..."

"Change me, for the glory of Your Name..."

Be careful.

Think before you begin to pray these things out loud, or even whisper them in the most quiet and dark corners of your heart.

God might just give you what you're asking for.

If you liked this article, check out: Answered Prayer in the Grand Canyon

Lee is a UGa grad and works as a student pastor at Crossroads Community Church in Athens, Georgia. When not working with teenagers, he is organizing mission trips to Bulgaria and trying to teach his boxer, Daisy, to be appropriate in social settings. Lee does very little to impress Jesus, but is infinitely impressed with Him.

Sick in Mexico: When Jesus Didn't Wear a White Robe

Wed, 4 Mar 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Getting sick sucks. Being sick in Mexico sucks more. Having a 106 degree fever while on a mission trip in Mexico, on your 17th birthday, being mildly allergic to the meds the nurse in Mexico gives you and having diarrhea all day for several days even after you get home sucks the most. Yet could there be beauty in the diarrhea, so to speak? I'd like to think so.

The first day that I felt super sick I went to the nurse room at the tent city we were staying. Along with hearing about how one kid from another church got it by a monkey, good luck explaining that to the parents, I found out that for at least the next day I had to stay in camp the whole day.

I was mad. I knew I would be no good to my team in the village but dang it, I wanted to help my team! Despite my sickly complaining I stayed all day in the Gowler Prolwer, a Prowler brand travel trailer owned by the Gowler family hence the name.

With me that day was one of the trip moms, Kristie Kramer. She took care of me all day, getting me drink when I was thirsty, crackers when I was hungry, rubbing my back as I was trying to sleep. In a very real way I felt the love of my Lord through the hands and actions of Kristie. We first met through that trip. Now she and her husband are coming to my wedding in three weeks. She was my Jesus that day, loving me when I was at my worst.

The next day I convinced my leaders to at least let me go to the village. It was our last day and I wanted to help and say goodbye to my Mexican friends, hug my Bible School kids, and thank them for their hospitality. Most of the time I was in the van, I came out for a few songs when I could. At our team lunch by the goat pasture, I slept through my team singing happy birthday to me. I awoke as they gave me a journal with special messages written by all the different people. I am still good friends with many of those teammates. They were my Jesus that day, encouraging me and loving me even when I had nothing to give.

That night I was so exhausted, I slept through the group worship, where over 2000 students and leaders gather every night and praise God. I wouldn't have missed it for anything but the fever said no. I only awoke when then whole youth group and staff on the trip sang happy birthday to me at 10pm. I didn't even make it out of my tent. I just laid there and enjoyed the love I felt from those people. They were my Jesus that night, letting me know that they had not forgotten about me.

I had been on several trips before that one, and several since. God has spoken to me on all of my trips serving others. They have all been memorable and good in many different ways. But this was the only trip that I have ever gotten really sick on. Back then, I didn't like it. Now, I cherish it. In my sickness, my fever, my diarrhea Jesus showed up and loved me and cared for me. Jesus came as Kristie. Jesus came as my team. Jesus came as my whole youth group. I will never forget that when I was down and hurting, Jesus came. Don't forget to look around and recognize when Jesus comes to you.

And here is a hint, He probably won't be wearing a nice white robe. He will probably look like Kristie, or my team, or my youth group.

Ben lives in Tucson, AZ studying sociology and writing. He even works full time when it doesn't interfere with writing the stories God puts on his heart to share with the world.

Compromise for a Career

Wed, 25 Feb 2009 00:00:00 GMT

I had always dreamed of a career where I traveled. I wanted to be the guy who jumped on a plane to go from this city to the next, joining the upper echelon of the corporate world and living that life of what I deemed "meaningful". For years, I had been on the bottom of the pole of influence within our industry and once given the opportunity to rise to the level I had dreamed of, I took it.

Little did I know that I was not designed to be a part of that world.

Upon meeting the other people who were doing the same job in different areas of the company, I began to figure out quickly that I had stepped into a whole new atmosphere.

What I thought would be so exciting, I found it to be nauseating. It was fake, nothing more and nothing less.

There were airplanes and expense reports, corporate meetings and a corporate office, which I had believed made you "significant". However, there was deception at the root of it all. A cloud of shallowness hung over the initial meetings and I began to see that I could not fully execute their plan and stick to principles that I had learned from the Bible.

It was all about appearance. They wanted an appearance that said we were better than everyone else. They could care less about the heart of a person. They just wanted people who looked good. I am a person who does not care about the outward appearance, because I know that it fades over time.

If a person's primary focus is how they look, what lasting effect will that leave when they have gotten older and they can't sustain the look that they had when they were in their twenties and thirties?

If a person has heart, that will last beyond because the heart of a person doesn't age. If their heart is about Christ, others are truly impacted by their lives. It always takes me back to 1 Samuel 16:7 which says, "for God sees not as man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart."

Time wore on, and I became more disillusioned with the job as the principles were completely misaligned. The final straw came when we were told to steal business from our competitors. I couldn't do it. Their belief was that any business was fair game; I could not cross that threshold to where I thought I was doing something shady.

It would not be long before I would have to step down from my position as I was not meeting the criteria for the job and upon being notified of the demotion, I breathed a sigh of relief. I would take a large cut in pay but the reward was distancing myself from anything that could cause others to slip away from God.

There are so many times where we visualize what it would be like to be somewhere else, rather than where we are. We dream of it being a paradise and those ideas often cloud our daily judgments and lead us to pursue the wrong things in life.

I found that living in those visualizations causes us to forget that God has us where we are at this moment for a reason. I was put in the position to where I would have to compromise biblical truths to keep a job that existed in a world which I would never want to take up residence.

As we sit at work and dream about those perfect careers, we must ask ourselves two questions. Are we really willing to compromise what we believe for the career we have dreamed of for so long? Are we paying attention to see what God is doing with us in the place that He has us now?

The other side may seem appealing, but once you get there, it might just be appalling.

This article was previously published in Prodigal Son Magazine and can be found here .

Andy is a youth pastor and freelance writer who lives in Graham, NC. Most of his time is spent with his wife, Crystal, or his students at the church. Any other time he might have is spent relating that which God is teaching him to others through his writing.

The Thirsty Rock of The Middle East

Wed, 18 Feb 2009 00:00:00 GMT

"How have I ignored this situation?"

Five years ago, Lynne Hybels of Willow Creek Community Church near Chicago asked that question when she saw the AIDS crisis firsthand in Africa. On a warm October evening in Amman, Jordan, she asked that same question again, this time about the growing danger the Middle Eastern Church faces.

Miles south of Amman, the climbing cliffs dropped a cool shadow on the river of bodies as they entered the narrow ravine, escaping from the harsh Jordanian sun hanging in a clean, blue sky. Necks craned skyward at the sheered steepness, anticipation pulsing through the dry desert air. Finally, there at the end of the chasm, hewn into the rock wall by rude tools, was a monstrous faade: a dozen ornate pillars, majestic statues and a giant door, all in one continuous piece. It was the treasury of Petra, the city of rock.

Petra had been an impenetrable stronghold that enemies had attempted to breech, but they had failed against the towering landscape. It was only when the antagonists cut off the city's water source that these undefeatable people gave up their territory.

It was a fascinating history to the group of fifty Americans speckled with several Europeans and about 20 from Iraq, Egypt, Israel, Lebanon and other Middle Eastern countries. While the Friday hiatus was a welcome trip, it was not why so many had gathered in Amman on a still-warm October week.

During the two days before and the day following the Petra visit, Church leaders from both sides of the Atlantic met in a quiet conference center to talk about the crises facing Middle Eastern Christians, issues that Westerns have too long ignored and, at times, perpetuated. "We began (having these conferences) because of a concern that the Church was not being helped by our ignorance in the West. We had people who were evangelical who thought that every Arab was a terrorist or a fat oil sheik or something and didn't know that we've had Christian churches here for 2,000 years or that we've had missionaries here for 200 years," said Ray Bakke, who is chair of the board for Evangelicals for Middle East Understanding, the organization that hosted the event.

"We felt we should come together with 50 to 70 people... who would come as a listening group."

Those who came to listen had no shortage of sights, facts and heartbreaking stories to take in. Dr. Bishara Awad is the founder of Bethlehem Bible College in Israel, an institution focused on raising up Christian leaders in the Middle East. He opened his session by briefly telling a story that defined his life. At age 9, he helped his mother drag a limp body to their kitchen. The wound in the man's forehead made plain the truth that he had been hit and killed in the Israeli crossfire. The man was Awad's father. But in the years to follow, his widowed mother taught him not to seek revenge but, instead, to forgive.

It is a unique story, because in the Middle East, forgiveness is far from the minds of most. Palestinians are being driven from their land and are exchanging their thrown rocks with bullets from Israeli troops. And in return for bullets, Muslim extremists are building bombs. And westerners are seeing bombs on the news and assuming they know everything about Islam.

But Dr. Nabeel Jabbour, an author and teacher, says there is much more to Islam than hijackings and jihad. He explained that Muslims fit into several categories, from the secular, non-practicing bunch all the way to the extremist sect, but many fall in between. Ultimately, his message was that Christians must view Muslims as individuals in need of salvation.

When one morning in 2001, buildings in New York crumbled under the impact of fully fueled 767s, Jabbour struggled with strong emotions, among them, worry. He wondered, "Are Christians who have been praying for the 10-40 Window going to react by saying, I hate Muslims. I don't want to pray for them anymore. Let them go to hell; they deserve it'?"

Jabbour shared a story a woman had once related to him. While driving, this woman pulled up to a light behind a car with two stickers fixed to its back window. On the left was a full-color American flag. On the right was a black and white picture of Osama Bin Ladden framed in cross hairs. The message was printed out clearly: "WANTED DEAD." A couple weeks earlier the woman would have applauded the message, but for the past weeks she had made a commitment to pray for Muslims, and the sticker embarrassed her. The woman had allowed prayerful compassion to rule her heart, and Jabbour encouraged attendees to also join in prayer for the lives of Muslims. If Christians treat Muslims as enemies, said Jabour, "it will no longer be the Great Commission, it will be the Great Omission." For Palestinians - Muslim and Christian - "omission" is a painful word. The Zionist movement has taught Americans and Christians to throw their weight uncritically behind the Jewish people in support of the Israeli state that many believe will fulfill biblical prophesy. Some Zionists believe Jews are heirs of salvation simply through heritage and are exempt from the need of redemption through Jesus Christ's sacrifice.

Author and educator Rev. Colin Chapman says Christians must have other priorities than the reoccupation of the Jews in Israel. "Our message to the Jewish people must be that it is in the person of Jesus the Messiah that their hopes have been fulfilled, not in their return to the land and in the creation of the state of Israel," he said. "When I see how Jesus has already fulfilled so many of the hopes and dreams of Israel in the Old Testament I can see how... the followers of Jesus today can... both hunger and thirst after righteousness, justice and be genuine peacemakers in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict."

But peacemaking is a difficult thing. America has played no small role in supporting Israel's return to the land of their heritage. In doing so, however, they have displaced the Palestinian people, making their land allotment as diminutive as their rights. In one discussion at the Sounds of Hope conference, this dislodgment of the Palestinian people from the land they had occupied for centuries was compared to the injustices colonials dealt the Native Americans.

Bakke shared a conversation he had once had with a Jewish Rabbi. He had asked the Rabbi about the current state of the Israeli nation from a theological perspective. The Rabbi replied, "Every people, to be a whole people, must somewhere in their history be stewards of power. We Jews have always been victims of power. The state of Israel is our first opportunity to be stewards of power." Then with a big tear rolling down his cheek, he concluded, "If God is just, he will have to remove us one more time for what we have done to the Palestinians in this land. We are treating them the way the Nazis treated us."

According to Chapman, the theology behind Israel's reoccupation is a matter with which every Christian must struggle. He said how each person responds will reflect their biblical interpretation, theology, view of contemporary international politics, interfaith relationships and proclamation of the Gospel. The credibility of the Christian Church, said Chapman, is at stake.

In the middle of the Middle Eastern conflict remains a hurting outpost of believers. In Iraq, Christians flee from slaughter, cutting the number of believers there in half... and then in half again. In Palestine, Christians struggle for their rights, and they struggle to forgive. In Israel, Messianic Jews fight to overcome stereotypes of Arab believers. And across the sea, a "Christian nation" is too often ignoring and too often misinterpreting the events taking place in the cradle of Christianity.

Perhaps Armenian Orthodox Archbishop Mar Avak Asadorian of Iraq summed up the urgency of the Middle East crises best: "If the present state of affair continues in the region of the Middle East and Iraq, then the Eastern manifestation of the Christian Church - the churches that saw the birth of the Lord and worshiped him in his own tongue, giving millions of martyrs throughout 2,000 years - yes, these churches, are already at peril. (This is) a matter not to be taken lightly, otherwise we are going to lose the Eastern manifestation of the Christian Church." It was a call for help that some hadn't heard before. "How have I ignored this situation?"

Hybels asked at the close of the conference. "What's happened this week is that I've seen the pain... I've heard the anger. I think Christians and the Church in the West have really betrayed (the Middle East Church) by our lack of concern, by supporting global policies that have very much hurt the Middle East as a whole and our Christian brothers and sisters here."

What was apparent to Hybels was apparent to many at the conference that week: As basic as water to an impervious city is unity and support within the global Body of believers. Just as the Middle East Church needs the support and prayers of the western Church, the West needs the cradle of Christianity to be a beacon of God's faithfulness to a broken people. Fifty westerners went home after the Sounds of Hope conference to share with others what they had heard and seen in the hopes of helping them understand the urgency of the situation. But after all the speeches, the discussions, the sharing, the question Hybels left lingering at the end of an interview is, perhaps, the question that would most help in the Middle East Church's crises if many more were to ask it in one voice:

"What am I to do now?"

Sam is a part-time youth leader, a full-time employee of YouthWorks, and an in-between-time freelance and creative writer. From his home in North Minneapolis, he values community, seeks beauty and enjoys the open road.

This article was originally published in Prodigal Son Magazine.

Sacred Encounters: Interview with Tamara Park

Wed, 11 Feb 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Tamara Park is author of Sacred Encounters: From Rome to Jerusalem. She works as the Pastor of Community for Warehouse 242 in Charlotte, NC, USA. Here's an interview she did with Wrecked about her journey of discovery:

Can you share a little bit about how you were led to go on a pilgrimage from Rome to Jerusalem?

Travel happens to be my favorite classroom and conversations my teachers of choice. So when some questions and desires started clanging around inside of me, I knew I needed to hit the road. A pilgrimage from Rome to Jerusalem seemed to be the best way to sort out my questions.

I moved to Jerusalem in the summer of 2001 to study. I was taking Modern Middle East Politics, Geology, Archeology, and other courses. Then 9/11 broke the world calendar apart, as Israelis and Palestinians played out their own entangled conflict.

In the midst of the Intifada, Palestinian uprising, my school closed down. So, I rented a flat in a Palestinian neighborhood in the Old City of Jerusalem and I took Hebrew classes in the new city. I volunteered with Bedouin children through a group called Rabbis for Human Rights as well as got to regularly spend time with gypsy kids, the Greek Archbishop, the Syrian muktar as well as other intriguing characters.

During that time I saw how political divisions took on concrete human consequences. Because ambulances in the West Bank had a difficult time getting through Israeli checkpoints, the still birth rate of Palestinian babies had skyrocketed. And due to repeated bombings in Israeli neighborhoods, teenagers were cooped up in houses and an increased number were spending time smoking pot in their basements. And yet, I witnessed this: people with hearty resolve and innovation crossing their ethnic, political, and religious bounds to pursue peace.

Living in the midst of this mlange of cultures and ethnicities, my American sensibilities and my view of God were challenged and stretched. Who was this God who chose to grow up in the East? What do ancient traditions have to say to my spinning postmodern perspectives? What does a God of peace offer to war-torn peoples? I felt like I was just discovering the questions I needed to ask about God when I had to return to the States.

So with those questions in tow and with my penchant for travel, the idea of the pilgrimage formed. And I was fortunate to have two fabulous friends who were game to go with me.

Why do you think it is important for followers of Jesus to go o n their own spiritual journeys?

I suspect there are stacks of reasons for its importance, but here are three that come to mind.

We have an earthy faith. We have a God who refuses to remove Himself from the physical. The Divine blows breath into humanity, hurls bread from heaven, consecrates wine, and then wraps Himself in skin. Symbolism saturates our Scripture-and physical images and acts reveal spiritual truths. Our hikes, our backpacking, our pilgrimages can potently remind us that life rarely comes with instant insights, with straight-lined conclusions, but rather we trek through this life with God in an ongoing conversation about being lost, or being bored, or being overwhelmed by beauty. And, hopefully we learn to listen to God as well. Traveling can be one of the best ways to learn to listen.

We join the ancients when we sojourn. Chunks of Scripture read like a travelogue. Most of the Hebrew prophets that followed were on the move. The Wisdom literature repeatedly refers to God directing one's path. And if you look at the Gospels, Jesus was only a little over a week old when He made His first pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Jesus continued the practice of pilgrimage into His ministry. Travel for the sake of the holy was valued by the early church and beyond.

We have the opportunity to declare our dependence when we travel. Lots can go wrong when you travel, and lots often does go wrong. Our seductive illusions of control get the opportunity to be shattered more easily on the road. We are forced to rely on people and our Creator en route. And in the reliance, we experience the wonder of hospitality, the mystery of receiving, the sturdiness of Immanuel, God who is with us.

What is it about traveling that brings out the more introspective sides of people? Why can't we learn the same lessons from a pilgrimage while sitting in front of our computers, checking our facebook friends' statuses?

When I travel I live more attached to my own body-my nose smells new scents, my feet hurt in new ways, my eyes get surprised by new sights.

We live in such a virtual world-watching reality TV, rather than going on our own bad dates or playing Rockband on our Wii instead of callusing our fingers on our old guitar. When you travel you take no proxy. It's you in your body, getting to react to a wave in Costa Rica, or a pyramid in Egypt, or a glacier in Alaska. And because of that, I think our thoughts become more grounded.

Traveling also heightens my sense of living in story. The various backdrops bring new or intensified aspects out of my character. I get glimpses of who I am in relation to Mount Kilimanjaro, or a street kid in London, or a sunset in Montana. I get to understand more of my American distinctives when I visit different cultures. I see how my Protestant roots have shaped me when I worship with Catholics or Orthodox believers. In all this, my understanding of my story, and hopefully the larger Story of God's creation and pursuit of all, becomes more vivid and robust.

What was the main insight from your own journey from Rome to Jerusalem? If you could only take away one lesson, what would it have been?

Learning to receive. Every day on the journey I had to be poised to receive from strangers-receiving their descriptions of God, their life stories, gifts, and offers of hospitality. This extravagant generosity wrecked my sense of equilibrium.

Admittedly I've lived with a passion for parity. I've not wanted to be ripped off and even more so I've desired not to owe anyone. I've embraced an American sensibility: "You have what you earn and you earn what you have."

My unstated worldview was not only exposed, but it also was revealed as an imposter. I had no way of making my relationships on this trip fit into my little equality box. And even more impossible was to squeeze God into my equations. God was the ultimate host, extravagant in His love. There was no way I could pay back the gift and sacrifice of His Son. All I could do was receive.

You traveled through a lot of different cultures, and asked a lot of different people about who God was to them. Did you find that a person's perception of the divine changed, depending on the culture and history of a specific area? If so, can you give an example?

Yes. I believe context certainly influences our understandings of the Divine. A monk in Florence described Jesus' perfection by showing me the architecture of his church. A priest in Meteora, Greece, explained to me the mystery of God's mercy and judgment by walking me through a fresco.

And in conflict-stained Sarajevo, a few people I met connected their views of God (or lack of belief in God) with the actions of those who claimed to be religious. I found that sentiment in several cities that had experienced war-people's understanding of God was tied to how the religious community practically lived out their faith during times of crisis.

Are you working on any other writing projects? For anyone wanting to know more about you - your writings, ministry, etc. - how can they find out?

I'm doing a blog for Neue and working on other articles. I just returned from a trip from Africa, so I'm sorting out stories from that adventure. People can also visit tamarapark.com or find me on Facebook.

If you had to choose between eating sushi pizza or pizza-flavored sushi, what would it be?

Pizza-flavored sushi. Definitely. And yes, I have my reasons.

Jeff graduated from Illinois College, a small liberal arts school, with a degree in Spanish and Religion. He lives in Nashville, TN. He works for Adventures in Missions, edits this silly little magazine, and loves to do new things. He just got married in January. Check out his blog: Pilgrimage of the Heart.

The Grace of Gulou Street

Wed, 4 Feb 2009 00:00:00 GMT

I never understood Grace until I went to China. Actually I still don't, but it fueled this immense desire to understand this concept, this beautiful reality that there is nothing I can do that will make God love me any more or any less. I am not sure how it all happened. It wasn't as if I was addicted to porn or I had knifed anyone, it was just that I had wrong ideas of who God was. Grace was something sang about in a hymn, some powerful yet foreign word I knew I needed a real taste of, but I didn't quite know how to get it.

I felt as though people my whole life had described Jesus to me. They sent me detailed descriptions, some closer then others. I had maybe seen a photo, a video or two. I had even had some times where we did meet face to face, but my vision was somehow still skewed. I had ideas about His features that weren't quite true to what He really looked like, or worse, I had conflicting images, as if God was two-faced.

One face, was the long bearded long faced law focused God of the old Testament. He did things like command people to destroy whole people groups, turn poor unsuspecting women into piles of salt, and made sure people feared Him. It wasn't necessarily that He is mean, He just does what He wants. After all, He is God. I saw the justice in this moses look alike and respected that. I couldn't really relate to Him, but He was supposed to be the judge.

I saw Jesus as the friendlier face. God's son, sent to save the world from sin because He loves us. Simple, right? This, I thought was the relate-able side of God. His son was a picture of Grace, love, beauty and all those things my heart longed for. No longer was this God of the old Testament needed. But what I couldn't understand is why people constantly used one or the other for there own arguments and agenda.

"But God is just. He poured out His wrath on so and so. He is Holy and can't stand sin."

"But God is Grace, man. You are covered! Jesus died, don't worry about it, stop being so legalistic."

I couldn't get passed the idea that it seemed so schizophrenic. What did I even believe anymore? How could both these faces be true at the same time?

At that point in my life, I was at a major intersection. Not just in what I believed, but where my life was heading. I had just come off of two and a half years of living on a bus touring across the country, helping put on large youth events for a well-known ministry. I was drained and sick of ministry, wondering what my identity was apart from being on tour, and what in the world God had for me next. The opportunity came up to go to China for two months, and I knew I needed to do it. It's funny out of all places to have a revelation of His Grace, God would chose a communist nation known for persecuting Christians. But China is rapidly Changing, I saw as I made my way from the East to the West with a team of eight, trying to capture the essence of this change on film. As I let go of stereotypes and opened my mind, I began to experience a freedom much like the country I was traveling through was beginning to taste.

I have come to one conclusion: I know next to nothing about life, about the world. I am a beginner in the class room on how to love- but you are the best teacher! My heart is warm I can feel you changing me rapidly as liquid grace is dripping into my blood stream. There is something about this place. Away from all the noise of my own life, although I am placed in a new kind of noise, it is different. I am seeing my life more clearly. Seeing myself, seeing others. Seeing you. The smog has lifted for one moment and all is blue. Not that I can see the details anymore then before, it's just that the details don't matter so much anymore. What does? Here and now, and I know it's only you. The doors to my mind have been flung wide open, now You can come in however you wish.

As I let go of my life, I let go of the images I had of God and asked Him to re-define Himself in my life. I didn't want to just go by the Sunday School stories or theological interpretations. Nor did I want to go by some emotional experience I had in the past. I just wanted the real thing.

It came in a hotel room on Gulou street in a city called Tianjin, that I fondly recall as our home for six weeks. It came from the starkness of having nothing to hold onto, it came from the relationships surrounding me, and from a book that left me weeping at cussing and feeling that somehow I had been lied to my whole life.

Suddenly, it was as if I had brand new glasses and the whole world was clear.
The God of the old and new Testament is the same God.
God has always been about pouring out His mercy on His people.
The gospel is a love. The gospel is that there is nothing I can DO!
He leveled the playing field. The prostitute and the nun are in the same boat-
maybe the prostitute is actually better off because she sees her need for Jesus.
We need to need God.
Suddenly, it was as if I a strong flashlight shone in the dark corners of the bible that didn't make any sense before. The dark corners of my life. I cried. I cussed. But most of all,
I laughed.
As God began to reveal His Grace,
years of bondage,
of legalism,
of thinking I am not good enough
of being afraid to be happy,
fell to the floor.
I laughed in my sleep. His joy became my strength. I ended the paranoid existence of being
so afraid of messing up, that I don't actually enjoy life.
Freedom came, in this communist country, in a city and street with a painful, bloody past.
On Chinese New Year, after a huge feast of dumplings and other delicacies, at a friends house, I decided to meet midnight alone. I went exited on the roof of the hotel from the vacant third floor, and sat bundled in the fridgid February air. The skyline was on fire, literally. Fireworks covered the sky like bombs in a war zone, the atmosphere energetic and thick with smoke. Color flashed constantly and I laughed like a child on the fourth of July. I wrote this in my journal:

Color. Light. Heat. Explosion. The cold lingers on me from sitting on the roof the past half hour.
From where I sat, I could see Tianjin stretched out before me.
High rise apartments and their multicolored windows shining.
Darkness surrounded me. But in that darkness, bursts of color all around.
Red, green and gold. These are the colors of my new paradigm.
Cold chilled me, but the warmth in my chest far surpassed February in China.
A burst of heat knowing that I am loved and life is beautiful and full and just beginning. Boom! Another explosion and I giggle again. You are full of surprises and mystery, of sudden bursts of light in the darkness. Sitting on a rooftop in China alone on the most important night for them, I am struck by the irony that I should feel alone, yet I am so content, I could explode. Bam!
The brilliance of Your grace intrigues me, fascinates me, leaves me stunned oohing and aahing.

Sometimes the voice of truth comes as a single candle lit in the darkness,
this time, it came as Chinese fireworks.

If you liked this article, check out: Grace for Sale

Brooke is a full time missionary with Youth With A Mission and wanna-be writer. I love to write things that challenge the status quo of Christian culture, and give people a glimpse of the adventure it is to follow Christ.

God Provides: The stress of life and generosity of people

Wed, 28 Jan 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Christmas morning, I was in a car crash that sent my fiance to the hospital for several hours and totaled my truck. A week and a half later, my fiance found out that she will lose her health benefits at the end of January. A week after that, I lost my job - three days after buying a new car to replace the totaled one.

My wedding is in less than two months,

I am taking a fairly reading-intensive class on Islam, working on growing content for this magazine, and trying to find a new job that will pay the bills, which are growing from the wedding and will grow when I move in with my fiance after the wedding.

Needless to say, life is stressed, and more than once, I've asked God "Why now and why us?" I have spent considerable time in prayer asking why, begging for no more and yet more came. But along with every extra stress and crappy thing came something more. Along with the extra bad came extra good.

Because of the car accident, my parents leave come up to Phoenix were my fiance's parents live and where we were spending Christmas day. This is probably the last Christmas where all of my fiance's family and mine would be in the same state or time zone and we got to spend it all together because of a car accident. God gave us an all family Christmas through the crash.

My fiance lost her health insurance because of a paper work timing issue with corporate. She has to go on COBRA to keep insurance, which means the costs jump from about $40 a month to $220. And again God provides. Her parents have graciously offered to pay for her COBRA coverage until May when she can get her normal benefits back again.

I may have lost my job 3 days after buying a new car but that means I had the job to qualify for the loan to get the car. God knew I needed the job to get a new car to get to what ever job I am able to get in the hopefully near future.

Through all of this, God has sent people into my life to support me and encourage me. The day after I lost my job I had a full days work landscaping my church with a friend's dad. The next week a good friend gave my fiance and I $5 so we could go on a date to see a movie we wanted to see that was at the cheap theater. Another couple from our class gave us an open invitation for dinner at their place because they know money is tight right now for us. People I have only met online working for this magazine have spoken great words of encouragement and been great sources of prayer for me. My parents have dropped all rent payments from me while I live with them before the wedding and have cancelled a previous debt I owed them.

I still ask God why all of this now sometimes. But more often then why, I find myself thanking Him for all the ways he has provided for my fiance and I through the previous month. I know he will continue to provide for us through our marriage. We just have to recognize His hand of provision in our lives.

Ben lives in Tucson, AZ studying sociology and writing. He even works full time when it doesn't interfere with writing the stories God puts on his heart to share with the world.

A Word of Hope: Reflections on Martin Luther King, Jr.

Wed, 21 Jan 2009 00:00:00 GMT

I am a white-skinned father with a black-skinned son.

A little over a year ago, my wife, Amy, and I adopted our son, Silas, from Ethiopia.

Silas turned two in December.

Today our conversations tend to revolve around our favorite snacks - yogurt and lemon pound cake at Starbucks - and favorite TV characters and movies - Elmo and Ratatouille. We also squabble very little these days. Sometimes Silas will take a swing at me when I take away the Wii joystick. And other times he'll treat the cheese sandwich I made him for dinner like a Frisbee.

One day, though, Silas will want to talk about other things. Like the color of his skin. And my skin. And his mother's skin. And pictures and events and people and dates he finds in his history textbook.

There are some historical dates I don't want to broach with Silas then. August 12th, 1955, for example. That's the day Emmett Till, a 14 year old boy, was brutally lynched in Mississippi by white, southern, "Christian" men.

Then there is September 15th, 1963. That's the day when four little girls were killed by a white supremacist bomb at 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama.

Or April 4th, 1968. That's the fateful day Dr. King had his hope-filled voice silenced by a sniper's gun.

But then there are days in America's history I can't wait to explain to Silas.

Days like December 1st, 1955, for example. The day when Rosa Parks refused to give up her bus seat to a white man. That small, defiant "no" reverberated out into a large, defiant "no more."

There are other days, too. Like August 28th, 1963. The day Dr. King delivered his famous message, "I Have a Dream." It was a day unlike any other day. It was a day of dreaming of another kind of America.

And then there was November 4th, 2008. Obama's presidential victory. And then there was January 20th, 2009. Obama's inauguration.

These are dates I look forward to telling Silas about - not as a student of history, but as a participator in making history.

And I will tell Silas this: whether one voted for Obama or not, one could not argue that it was a significant symbolic moment. And a storied moment with deep biblical resonances. From hundreds of years wandering in the wilderness of prejudice and oppression. To now the new days of exploring the "milk and honey" land of equality and opportunity.

Undoubtedly, MLK glimpsed the Promised Land from a distance. Like Moses. Like a dream just beyond his grasp. But Silas, you, and others of your skin color will experience this land as a blessed reality. Like Joshua. And the nation of Israel. I can only pray that this new land for you will shimmer with the topsoil of fresh possibility, and contain in its seedbed the promise of renewed dignity. But, Silas, there are still weeds trying to choke out these verdant seeds. For though the "color line" W.B. Dubois spoke of has been broken in America's political establishment, it still exists in America's religious establishment. 95% of the evangelical church, for example, still remains divided along the color line.

Unfortunately, Martin Luther King Jr.'s truism stills rings true today: 11 am on Sunday morning is still the most segregated hour in America. Perhaps, though, Silas, by the time you come of age, that small, subversive 5% of the American church will have grown and spread through the body of Christ like a lush vine.
Voting though won't bring this change.
Only Spirit-led repentance will.

I can only pray that you discover these seeds pods of repentance bursting within my heart. And your mom's heart. And your grandparents' hearts. And in the hearts of all of those who you know that call themselves Christ followers.

I am reminded of observing MLK Day last year. You, your mom, and I celebrated Dr. King's legacy with our adoption community at the Queen of Sheba, a local Ethiopian restaurant. On that special day, our dear friends, Eric and Tara, received their referral picture from Ethiopia of their soon-to-be-adopted baby boy, Malak. That night we laughed and cried over Malak's picture, ooing and awing at his large black eyes and his luminous smile.

Later that night as I lay awake in bed and reflected on that festive evening, I couldn't help but wonder if in fact Dr. King were alive today, would he approve of couples like us and the Silvestres adopting black children. I also thought about how far we have come, from an age of colonialism, where Africans were our slaves, to this new post colonial age, where Africans are now our sons. And I wondered if Dr. King could have even dreamed of such a day when such transformation was possible. Who knows really?

But it makes me wonder if at the Queen of Sheba, if just for a fleeting moment, with our bellies full of freshly baked bread, and sweet Ethiopian wine on our tongues, and with you in our arms, and Malak's picture in front of our faces, if we did not glimpse even if for a moment, the future community of God, the eschatological days when the old age of hatred and racial division will be truly over, and a new age of love and racial harmony will have begun.

As I closed my eyes to sleep, I suddenly recalled Dr. King's words spoken days before he was assassinated.

"The end is reconciliation; the end is redemption; the end is the creation of the beloved community."

And remembering these words, Silas, I thought to myself, Perhaps the end has already begun.

Josh has been in education as a teacher and administrator of 10 years. He and his wife partner with the orphan ministry Children's Hope Chest, leading the first online church community sponsoring an orphanage in Ethiopia. They are also in the process of adopting a baby girl from Ethiopia.

Book Review: The Journey of Thomas Merton

Wed, 14 Jan 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Anyone who's dared venture their toes into any waters dealing within the realms of spirituality and the contemplative life will be familiar with the name Thomas Merton. Merton's influence has stretched from the realms of a humble Trappist monastery in Gethsemani, Kentucky, to literally the great reaches of the world.

His life and writings are celebrated, studied, and contemplated themselves among the great writings of the saints of old. And rightly they should be. Merton wrote and lived his life with an honesty and reverence genuinely lacking in our demanding society, and reflecting upon his work has helped this writer to realign his life many a time.

Enter Soul Searching: The Journey of Thomas Merton. The companion piece to a recent PBS documentary on the anniversary of Merton's death, this book features a great retrospective of Merton's life, told by folks who knew them as well as those who have studied him extensively.

The tale is laid out in such a way as to mirror the perceived highlights of the monk's life, beginning with his life in New York and ending with his explorations into the East. Along the way, editor and director of the film, Morgan Atkinson, offers up his own tales of the influence of Merton on his own life which bring a healthy and human element to the reading.

The book is a treasure trove of information for the Merton admirer. It showcases some very interesting knowledge to the novice or intermediate Merton scholar as well as offering a solid meal to the advanced student as well. Novices will enjoy being enlightened, as I was, about Merton's summertime struggle of romance with a young nurse. The incident is explained and looked at from multiple points of view, as to whether or not the romance was a serious point for Merton or simply a passing moment.

Another such incident is the discussion of Merton's writings and involvement in politics and social justice, particularly parlayed against those of friend, Daniel Berrigan, SJ. The contrasting ideas as to how to deal with the injustices the tumultuous fifties and sixties brought to light are highlighted here, and it's a compelling read to see how the two friends balanced similar goals with differing methodologies.

And while this work brings to light some interesting viewpoints on the life of its protagonist, it also stands in some respect as a book unto its own, showcasing a solid base of spiritual discussion and information aside from the life of Merton. And perhaps that's the greatest testament to this great life, that his works and life have led others to a deeper place of seeking after that which is greatest in God.

That path here is winding, as an enlightening discussion of the monastic life is shared, as well as a look into the deeper heart of Catholicism. Yet ultimately through these readings there are some powerful passages offered up as well. For instance, speaking in regards to Merton's life as a teacher of novices at Gethsemani, Robert Inchausti shares:

"I don't think happiness was a big goal for Merton. Happiness is a small byproduct of high aspirations. If happiness comes with truth, then Merton would take happiness, but if sadness comes with truth, if despair comes with truth, then he thought it our responsibility to honor those things too."

That alone is a truth worth pondering.

And that's ultimately the case with this life of Thomas Merton. It's a life that is challenging, that leads us to a place of ponderance and contemplation, and ultimately points us to Christ. Soul Searching stands as a fine guidebook along the journey for any who find themselves in pursuit of the deeper life.

When he's not busy juggling his two crazy children, romancing his wife, or slaving at his day job, Andrew Greenhalgh serves as the faithful content editor for Soul-Audio.com as well as aspiring freelance writer.

First Class Citizens: A Story from Israel

Wed, 7 Jan 2009 00:00:00 GMT

As I boarded the plane, eager to complete my entirely-too-long journey back to the States, I stared down at my ticket with a confused gaze. 3A was written in bold black ink. But how could I have landed a seat in First Class?

I hesitated, imagining the embarrassment if I sat in the seat, only to realize later it was not my own. Curious thoughts ran through my head: Perhaps the ink was running out and a 1 before the 3 had not been written. Or maybe the arduous 12-hour wait in the unforgiving airport chair had taken its toll on my tired brain, causing me to inaccurately read my ticket. I certainly had not the money or the status to merit such a prestigious position.

The empty seat beckoned me, enticing my tired legs to join its spacious quarter. Feeling the impatience of the crowd behind me, I carefully slid into the roomy window seat. I glanced around at the nearby passengers, all adorned with influential suits and rigid ties. Just behind me hung the curtain. The curtain. The one that keeps First Class secrets within its folds. I had never been on this side of the curtain before.

As I sat in the seat, enjoying the additional amenities and still debating how I could have acquired such an honor, a single phrase suddenly pressed powerfully through my thoughts: "There are no second-class citizens in Heaven." This phrase, spoken by an Israeli Arab pastor, was a central theme throughout this year's meeting of Israeli Arabs and Messianic Jews held under the lofty trees of Lavi Forest.

Over and over again, he and other pastors drove this point home to a crowd of listeners eager to hear its life-giving message. For many years now, these groups of people have made a decision to come together under the name of Jesus Christ, laying down their dark histories and jaded pasts, and instead choosing to extend the love so generously given to them through Christ.

As I watched these groups interact with one another, hands extended and smiles sincere, I could find no other word to describe the event than captivating. Their love for God and for their brothers and sisters in Christ was simply captivating. These acts of love were obvious. Arabs bellowing worship songs in Hebrew. Messianic Jews dancing joyously to the songs in Arabic. Handshakes and hugs of love, acceptance, and forgiveness. And the ultimate symbol of brotherhood: a meal shared together by all.

Indeed, there are no second-class citizens in Heaven. Christ died for one and all, and each has just as much responsibility to share and receive this love as the other. On this beautiful Saturday afternoon, these groups of people made the choice to do just that.

With the recent happenings in Gaza - an true eye-opener to many Americans - the reminder of the meeting in Lavi Forest comes like a breath of fresh air. It is a simple reminder that God is still in control. That, while such healing takes years upon years, it is real and it is happening now. It exists in a team of Israeli pastors of assorted descent, working day after day to serve one another. It exists in the individual lives of the believers in Israel and Palestine, surrendering their own heritage for one far greater. And it exists in us, through our prayers and expressed love for all people.

I leaned back in my seat and reminisced on the love of Christ and that wonderful meeting in Lavi Forest. I thanked God for the opportunity to see such a remarkable occasion take place, for my stay with the Israeli Arab family, learning about their struggles and brave efforts of restoration.

As the plane took off into the night sky, I smiled at the thought of each of our undeserved places in the Kingdom, and how God had blessed me with an unmerited First Class seat just to demonstrate the depth of such a phrase: Truly, there are no second-class citizens in Heaven.

Becca currently dwells in Colorado Springs. Her days are spent working at a Middle Eastern cafe, where she is learning Arabic. She loves being in the mountains, reading and writing - especially, reading and writing while in the mountains. God has given her the vision for a worldwide network that will contact believers across the globe, and she's in the process of seeing that vision become a reality. She digs community, coffee, and traveling, and has found a recent love for swing dancing.

Robbed of Desperation

Wed, 31 Dec 2008 00:00:00 GMT

The small town of San Pablo wasn't necessarily the worst place I'd ever been or seen. True, the sewer lined cobblestone streets reeked of urine and waste water, and the mange-ridden and diseased canine population was out of control. But all in all, it was quaint. Old Catholic edifices graced every couple blocks of the small village and the cheery, Guatemalan demeanor was to be noticed almost everywhere. I walked with my teammates accompanied by Pastor Domingo on our twice-weekly house visits to the widowed and sick in the poor little town. It had been interesting to note that many of the widows in San Pablo were not widowed due to the horrific mudslides a mere few years previously, nor even due to an outbreak of disease or other large scale disaster. Instead, many were widowed due to freak accidents (ie. falling out of trees, bleeding to death from a poorly aimed machete chop or contracting infections from wounds improperly cared for).

As we turned off the main street down a skinny alley way, we walked into a small, three-walled structure with a partially collapsing roof, our eyes watering from the smoke of a fire coaxed alive and covered from the threat of rain inside the house with the family. The area was about 15 feet by 8 feet separated into two rooms by a make-shift partition hand made from gathered reeds. An old, partially crippled woman looked up at us from the black, gooey fruit she was cutting up and smiled.

Guatemalans smile a lot. They are polite, hospitable, friendly and patient with most attempts at Spanish. Pastor Domingo bent down on eye level and greeted the old woman, whom we learned was named Maria. She graciously invited us in to find a seat anywhere on the swept dirt floor among any number of the various objects filling the room (trash to my eyes, treasures to hers). As we began hearing more about Maria's story we discovered that she was the widowed mother of eleven and was the matriarch of a home unit comprising four generations, many of whom included other widowed daughters and granddaughters. In fact, as we talked, eyes at various heights could be seen peering through the small gaps in the walls of the house - white visitors were a novelty and today was no exception.

We continued to ask questions about her life, her family, and the food she was to feed her family as we grew aware of the desperation of the situation. Fifteen people crammed into the little shack every night to attempt some sort of shelter. The children who were old enough to fend for themselves (potentially as young as 8 or 9) were directed to find their own place as the already overcrowded house was maxed to capacity. As most of the men in the family were either missing or dead, the family's income was almost completely resigned to the crocheting of hacky-sacks (which were purchased by a man in town and taken across Lake Atitlan to sell to tourists). As soon as the motor skills of any girl in the house were developed enough to hold a crochet needle, she would be given her own yarn to begin the production of hand-made Guatemalan hacky-sacks. The meager pittance of income this generated was obscenely inadequate to provide food for the family, and the single pineapple-sized fruit she was cutting was to last as long as possible.

As I began to assess the severity of the situation, Maria looked us in the eye without a care in the world and professed her belief that God would provide - he always had.

I began to reflect on my own life. As a white, middle-class American child, I grew up wanting for nothing. I never missed a meal (and enjoyed many of them), I had clean clothes that fit, a family that loved me, friends to play with and entertainment outlets virtually anytime I wanted them. In short, I needed nothing. Fast forward twenty years and see a similar life of a young, attractive college graduate embarking on a career trek where the sky is the limit. An attractive girlfriend, new car, prestigious social circle and the like are but scratching the surface of all that life holds for a fortunate young man.

Yet, if I am honest my faith doesn't hold a candle to Maria. I've never been in need. I've never been desperate. There has never been a time in my life when a safety net didn't exist. On a deeper level - there's also never been a time I can say I've truly been in complete desperation of the presence of God. Consider the statement: He who has everything needs nothing. The simplicity and apparent redundancy of this statement should not be discarded before pragmatic application is sought. The easiest times, the most comfortable, rob us of desperation for the presence of God. How often do we go about our lives, eating our meals, driving our cars, swiping the credit card for anything that meets our fancy only to have rushed, obligatory, mediocre times spent with our Creator (assuming we remember to in the first place)? Yet, the absence of basic needs, being in difficult relationships, or surviving in environments that are spiritually oppressed are all times of suffering that invoke within us a desperation for the presence of God.

How clear God's voice in the storm. How close is His touch in the battle. Discovering desperation in comfort is a battle few realize they are fighting. Those extravagantly blessed often pity those in need. Yet, the faith of those suffering, the faith I gain when forced to run to the arms of my father, shames any substitute the world has to offer.

I remember watching an interview of a Chinese pastor working with Voice of the Martyrs when I was in high school. The reporter had asked the Chinese pastor to recount the extreme, horrific stories of his underground church, the persecution his little congregation underwent on a daily basis and his own pain at the loss of family members and friends. The reporter asked his final question: "How do you want the American church to pray? Do you want us to pray that the persecution stops?"

The answer to this question has haunted me since that moment. I've read James 1:2-4 which says "Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete not lacking anything." I've tried to apply this to my life, my insignificant trials (relatively speaking), my bad hair days, my trivial disagreements with those around me. Yet, the Chinese pastor's response profoundly changed this perspective.

With a look of confusion on his face he said "Stop the persecution?! Absolutely not! The Chinese church has never been more healthy or more passionate. Pray that our sacrifice encourages more to come to the faith." How many of us in America would risk our lives, the safety of our family, our prestige, security or reputation for what we believe? Why do we consider suffering such a bad thing? Why do we run from those things that might actually be best for us?

Trusting God is terrifying, but it's more peaceful than any secure tower I've constructed for myself. It's not dependence that's hard, it's the leap of faith to dependence that's the challenge. The leap back is easy. It's living with the smiling reassurance that "God will provide" that is difficult. If anything, I've learned this: I do not enjoy suffering, but I like who I become when I am in the midst of it.

If you liked this article, check out: Pennies Face Up: Hope Still Remains

Jimmy received a Bachelor's degree at the University of Florida and a Master's in Theological Studies from Bethel Theological Seminary. He is a native Floridian and currently works for Adventures In Missions. He is an avid student of leadership and missions and hopes to incorporate both into his future. You can follow his journey here.

The Little Things: Taking Time To Talk

Wed, 24 Dec 2008 00:00:00 GMT

This past summer I got the opportunity to be a counselor at this cool thing called "Summer Serve." It's basically a church camp remix. During the day, you do outreaches around the community. You still eat camp food, play camp games and have worship, etc. But from 10 am to 3 pm, you're going all different places.

Kayla and I were in charge of the Social Ministry. This is the story of one of the outreaches.

It was the final day of outreaches and needless to say everyone was pretty exhausted. I was still eager to visit the hospital though. The day before another group had gone and told us all about this great little girl named Haley. They said she was adorable and had the cutest smile but never talked. They got so much joy hanging out with her even if it was wordless.

As soon as we arrived a lady says she'll take a group to see a little girl named Haley. I automatically got excited to see the little girl everyone had raved about the night before. So a group of 4 of us head to her room.

She didn't like sitting in the bed, so the lady in the room carefully put her in her little chair, making sure all her tubes and other things connected to her didn't get tangled. She sat there, just as expected, with a huge grin on her face.

As soon as she was settled we started making bracelets with her, reading to her, etc. As Hannah was helping her make a bracelet I began talking to the woman in the room with her. I pointed out a bear that was obviously homemade as it's eye was hanging on by a thread and said "I really like this." She explained that it was made by a lady at Haley's church, and then lifted the shirt up and pointed to a silver heart with the name "Kristina" carved into it. She said, "That was Haley's momma's name. She died 2 months ago."

Immediately my heart broke, not only was this child in the hospital, she had just lost her mother, who was only 25 years old. Haley's Mammaw told us that the young mom had died of cancer.

As we started talking more she explained what had happened to Haley. She was in a 4-wheeler accident. It flipped backwards with her, her brother , and her grandfather in it, crushing her. She lost 40% of her liver and her brother had a minor head injury. Yet, with all this heartache in her life, she smiled on.

Finally, her Mammaw explained that Haley had been in the hospital for over two weeks now and still had not spoken a word to anyone but her - not one doctor, one nurse, nor any visitor. She was silent. Always.

After speaking to her for awhile, we all gathered around Haley talking to her. We asked her tons of questions and she would just smile and her mammaw would answer doing the stereotypical "Now Haley, tell them...[insert answer here]."

We had been hanging out for about 25 minutes at this point and finally we asked "What's your brother's name?" and just as her Mammaw was about to answer we heard the cutest little voice say,

"It's Evan."

Immediately our mouths opened and we leaned closer saying "Evan?!?! oh cool, Evan's a great name, blah blah blah." And that's when it began. Evan was the first word of millions. Haley would not stop talking! She just chatted away about her bike, her brother, the tricks she does on her trampoline, etc. She wanted to tell us everything.

And as she was chattering away, I couldn't help but glance over at her tired Mammaw and see her wipe a tear from her eye. In that moment I started to understand, not just the joy we brought to Haley, but how incredible it made her grandmother feel that we were distracting her, at least for a moment, from all her contraptions hooked to her and the fact that her mother is gone and the fact that her dad has to work and he can't stay with her. That moment was my favorite of the week.

Our hour of time had flown by, and when it was time to receive our fragile little goodbye hugs I couldn't help but hold back the tears thinking...This little girl, in her Hannah Montana pajama bottoms, has no idea how much inspiration she has given me.

And that was the theme for the week, honestly. The littlest things, one person at a time, one hour, even 5 minutes at a time, as we serve, it changes everything. It changes you, it changes them, and it changes the world.

If you liked this article, check out: All in a Day's Work

Kati is a Sophomore at Marshall University in Huntington, WV who is hungry for a change. She is eagerly counting down the days until this summer when she will spend 2 months in Swaziland with Adventures in Missions, but until then, just living and loving in His name.

Sharing the Blessing

Wed, 17 Dec 2008 00:00:00 GMT

Being long-legged and then cramped in a bus for 14 hours is anything but fun. I know that we have to make sacrifices for the Kingdom and all, but after a year of sacrificing ample leg room I can only get more frustrated when these opportunities present themselves. Thing is, I had found an awesome seat in the front of the bus where I could stretch my legs out. Unfortunately, the bus driver's helper didn't want me sitting there because apparently I looked too comfortable or something. He made me sit next to Sarah.

Traveling on buses in foreign countries means you stop a lot. In fact, sometimes I think that they just get bored from driving so they pull over and tell everyone that they can have a 20 minute bathroom break in the bushes while you watch them stand outside the bus and smoke a cigarette. After awhile you begin to look through their schemes. Of course we didn't have to go to the restroom because we had done so no more than an hour before. On 14 hour bus rides I, personally, would like to see how fast we can get to our destination. I like to think that we want to break the "14 hour record," especially when I have no leg room... but that's just my selfishness speaking.

We got to the point in the trip to Phnom Penh that the driver decided it was time for us to eat lunch. We had, mind you, stopped no more than an hour before that. I wasn't smart like some of the other people on the bus and I didn't pack a lunch. This left me with very few options. I stepped off the bus and into a puddle of mud. I realized that my choices consisted of Pringles and soda from various street vendors. With only 20 minutes I saw that going into the restaurant nearby was probably not an option. They like to take their time making food in foreign countries... and it's not that they're trying to do it in a sanitary fashion. The FDA would scream at these guys.

So I'm standing there munching on my Loaded Baked Potato Pringles, soda in hand, with about 15 minutes to spare. The rest of the crew was milling about trying to decide what they wanted for lunch from the other 25 flavors of Pringles. Yes, even in other countries it's easy to be overwhelmed with options. I'm standing there minding my business and taking in the scenery of a muddy road, frazzled vendors, and kids everywhere. One thing you can always count on in foreign countries is kids. I think the majority of the world's population consists of children. Unfortunately these children were beggars.

I say unfortunately because I have such a heart for beggars, homeless, and the like. When these people approach me with open hands in an attempt to get something from me I cave. This hasn't always been the case, especially up to that point in the year. I had turned countless beggars away out of a calloused heart and false assumptions, but God always has a way of redeeming what we long to give. A little girl, probably no older than ten, approached me with a half-hearted smile and open hands asking for some of my Pringles. With a smirk I grabbed a few Pringles out of my stash and handed her the can. I hadn't eaten very many and didn't think that they were good anyway. She smiled brightly and walked away... and as a result, I felt pretty good about myself. I started to walk away when another girl ran up to me and pointed to the Coke can in my hands then to her mouth. Clearly she wanted some soda and knew that I was the sucker who just gave away my Pringles. I popped the top, took a swig, and then handed her the can. Again, this five year old walked away with a radiant smile.

I don't usually care that I give things up for people like that. It doesn't take much out of me other than a heart and a little bit of willpower. I found my way back over to the bus and I decided to watch them and take in what they were going to do with the chips and soda. I watched the girl with the Pringles can pull out a few chips and then hand the can over to another beggar, this time a man. He took a few chips out, walked the can over to another guy who took a few and did the same thing until they were all gone. And the soda? Yeah - the little girl took a sip, walked it to another person and gave it up; they, in turn, gave it to another person and so on until it was gone.

They shared their blessing.

It's easy to see the lesson here: share your blessings. But I find it more interesting that it's harder for a community of people who live in an affluent society (us) to give things up and share than it is for a community of beggars. They have next to nothing and they're willing to give up a stash of chips or a can of soda in order to see their "family" survive, or at least to have something to fill their stomach.
Our Church in America needs to learn to share its blessings.

This starts with you and this starts with me. We have a plethora of resources at our fingertips and we have to ask ourselves if we're willing to share it. If we are, how are we going to do it? And once we have all of that figured out, we need to do it. The last step is usually the hardest. What's it going to take for you to invite others into the blessing and then actually let them receive it?

And so I stood there and took all of this in until the bus driver called for us to get back in our seats. I let everyone file on as I took in a last look at this small community of saints - my own family, really. Here was the body of Christ at work, operating as it should be. It's amazing the things out there that tend to captivate us, no matter how large or small. Eventually, I found myself walking back down the aisle of the bus thinking of these saints as I folded myself into my seat for another six hours of travel. Isn't God good?

Matt is an ordinary radical who just finished an 11-month, 11-country pilgrimage around the globe with the World Race. In early January he's moving to Port Huron, MI to work on staff with the same organization. Matt loves to see the Kingdom of God manifest itself in the most unlikely places through his own life. He loves Jesus and hopes that you do too.

A Sinless Life

Wed, 10 Dec 2008 00:00:00 GMT

Somewhere along the path of growing up I fell, like so many others, into that wonderful land known as "sin management." You probably know of the place, or at least have heard of it. I joined throngs of people trying to not do "those things," which tended to be a list of what good Christians are not supposed to do. Don't lie, don't swear, don't forget to read your bible, and don't have a bad attitude. I was in charge of keeping myself clean and sinless.

This might also be seen as keeping the outside of the cup shiny and clean while the inside is full of filth: a white washed tomb. I was no better except that I looked better from the outside. I do believe some of that basic obedience helped, but I don't believe I was becoming any different.

What was different was that I was afraid to color outside the lines, or at the very worst, I would try to get so close to that line without going over. Nobody could call a foul on me. I thought I was sinless; and it sure did seem simple, except for the part where the effort of maintaining that sinlessness was exhausting. Well, exhausting until I quit doing much of anything. I retreated from the world, pulled back from bad' friends and built a comfy little house in a bubble. Now, I would call it a callous.

I had ceased doing much of anything, and that isn't what I believe chasing after Jesus is supposed to be. Even managing my sins isn't what God asked me to do. He asked me if I would follow him, and offered me a chance to join something larger than something I could ever be on my own. I wasn't working hard and staying on God's tail, listening to what he wanted me to do as if everything depended on him (which it does, just in case you were wondering).

Analogy time! As an added bonus, you may choose your own analogy. There will be no complaints about the overuse of sports analogies. Go ahead and choose:

The first is a NASCAR race: if you are afraid of crashing, wearing out your tires, running out of fuel, etc. etc, then NASCAR would be a race of cars doing 40 to 60 mph and giving everyone some safe driving space. Yes, there is the potential to mess up, but God is not a God of fearfulness, leaning back, sweating, and worrying. God is leaning forward with the wind in his hair and smiling into the oncoming opportunities.

As a result, we should be gunning it and going to the limit and trusting God's call and the reality is that it does work out. Drivers can go crazy speeds just 6 inches from cars around them and they maximize the potential they have been given. I'll let you guess which one excites the crowds.

The second is baking: if you are afraid of burning something you are cooking, pretty soon most everything you eat is raw. That means most meat is nixed and leaves us with just sushi, which ruins this analogy for those that would willingly live off of sushi. The idea of baking bread is crazy as bread could be burned. There goes the oven as well as the stove, or even broccoli with melted cheese becomes dangerous: don't burn the cheese! Nothing would be heated and for me, that makes a really lousy pizza. I would not visit any of these new restaurants without cooking (I may as well graze through the produce section at your local grocery store).

On the flip side, smelling turkey cooking in the oven from thanksgiving is a smell I wish I could hang from an air freshener in my car. I enjoy so many baked goods, from their taste to their texture, that I need food to be cooked, not just peeled or sliced. My senses are quickly reminded of so many delightfully cooked foods.

Yes, sinning less is a good thing, but not if I am just making a check list of things not to do. What is great is that the process of chasing after God transforms my insides and I am made different. As a result, I do fewer things that are contrary to God. The result may look the same, but the difference is that I am doing God's will and not just looking like I am. I live out God's will. How can I be against him if I am with him? This approach is far more enjoyable, and tasty, not just for myself but for others. I wonder if that would be considered fruit?

If you liked this article, check out: Life on the Edge

Dann is the husband to one and the father to four and spends his days making everything a bit more beautiful.

Eyes Wide Open: Praying under persecution

Wed, 3 Dec 2008 00:00:00 GMT

He looked at me and asked, "Eyes open?"

I nodded, "Yeah, that's fine."

I was having lunch with my Chinese friend Jim. I was in Central China and we were at the little restaurant in the front of the three-story Chinese Wal-Mart type store to enjoy a lunch together and for me to do some shopping.

We were about to pray before eating our lunch when Jim asked me that peculiar question.

He was asking if we could keep our eyes open while praying. In China the government often sees praying in public as proselytizing and proselytizing is illegal. So Christians there often pray with their eyes open to avoid persecution. While it is very sad that they have to do this, there is something beautiful in praying with your eyes open to the world.

Jim and I prayed together a lot during my three-week trip teaching on college campuses. When we prayed with our eyes open together, I could see his heart.

I could see his passion for leading his small house church, his desire to have it grow and for new leaders to develop from it, for reaching more lost students, for the persecution of Christians in China to end.

I could see the people around the campus that he was praying for; I could see their hopelessness and despair. Praying with my eyes open I could see that he still had hope, that he desperately wanted his fellow students to know what a life with Christ held for them.

Ever since I returned from that trip I try to pray with my eyes open more often. When I do, God often shows me things to pray for that I wouldn't have thought of on my own. He will remind me of things forgotten or things over looked that His heart cares about.

By seeing them, I want my heart to care about those things also. I want to see the people around me that need to experience Christ. I want others to see my passion for my community of believers and my desire for my non-Christian friends and coworkers to choose to follow Christ. I want people to see the hope that is within me.

Pray with your eyes wide open some time; you may be surprised what you see.

Ben lives in Tucson, AZ studying sociology and writing. He even works full time when it doesn't interfere with writing the stories God puts on his heart to share with the world.

Kindness to Strangers: Getting to the Source

Wed, 26 Nov 2008 00:00:00 GMT

I made an old woman cry the other day, and it was great.

Last Friday, one of my coworkers and I were in the back room at Borders where we unpack shipments and load the carts for shelving. We talked about how since there was only a short amount of time left to work, we should just open up another crate and sort it onto carts instead of starting a project that we can't finish in shelving. I wish I could say that this was brought up because we were trying to efficiently manage our time, but the truth is that after 6 hours out on the floor, we need to find some job to do where we can work without having to talk to or move around customers. We made our decision, and as everyone else set up the back so we'd have room to work, I went to the bathroom.

As I was walking to the back corner of the store where the bathrooms are, I came across an older woman who seemed to be really struggling to function at the moment. Her bag was hanging off of her arm as she was hunched over and the contents were on the verge of spilling out. The 3 or 4 books that she had picked out were on the floor as if she had just dropped them, and the look on her face just screamed that she was having a hard time.

I knelt down and picked up her books. As she straightened up, I noticed that she had two copies of The Shack. I asked her if she needed any help, to which she quickly replied with a disheveled "Thanks, but I'm alright." I said, "Oh okay." As she was still struggling to gather herself back together, I mentioned that we had autographed copies of The Shack available because the author stopped by for an in-store concert and was nice enough to sign nearly 300 of our copies. She instantly shot up with excitement and asked me where they were.

I took her two copies and switched them out for our autographed ones and brought them back to her. She looked at them with such excitement in her eyes and almost instantly asked if I could grab her 2 more so she could give them to her friends who also loved the book. When I returned with 2 more, I immediately found myself going back for another because she remembered another friend who would like it.

With 5 copies of the book in my arms, I came back to where she was now on her knees looking for a certain novel. We spent 15 minutes looking for it until I looked at the paper that she was referencing that told her about it, and we both found that she had gotten it wrong.

Skip ahead 20 more minutes and we are standing in line at the registers as I am now holding about 8 to 9 books in my arms and her purse; which I felt a bit silly carrying through the store, but made the best of it by flaunting it with all I had. When it was finally her turn, she was hastily checked out by one of our people on the register (who obviously didn't want to be at work that day), paid for her books, took her bags, and was almost out the door when she stopped and turned with tears in her eyes as she genuinely said:

"Thank you. I know I must have been frustrating and a lot to deal with, but you treated me with such love and respect. I haven't felt helped, assisted, or even treated like a human being in such a long time. God will bless you for the light you bring into this place. You're doing well, son."

I stood there shocked as the last few words left her mouth. She smiled, turned and left.

I didn't help that woman in order to boost customer service satisfaction, to earn a boy scout badge, or to get one of those monumentally dramatic smile and approving nods from one of the managers. There was no reward for carrying her pink purse and running back and forth to get more copies of a book. I didn't know why I helped that woman with such purpose. I wish I could say that I did it because I had the greatest commandment at the forefront of my perspective. I wish I could even say that I intentionally did all that I did. Looking back on that seemingly small, yet view altering moment, I can only attribute what happened in that 30-45 minutes to God alone working through his tired and drained son to love this woman.

I remember sitting out on lawn chairs in the field between my friend, Jeff's, apartment and mine as he told me about a time in his life when he made hotdogs and handed them out to the homeless in Franklin. He told me about how at one point in the day these guys came up to him as they ate the hot dogs that he gave and said, "You're a Christian aren't you?"

While neither of us believe that we should stake our ministry on just being nice or helping the poor, I do believe that one of the biggest yet most often missed truths is that the actions and words that speak and share our God into the lives of those around us will only come when our lives, words, and actions are surrendered to God. I'll be honest and say that I don't pray each morning on the way to work that God will give me strength to be nice to elderly women. I just surrender my words and my actions, that I would be used by Him in whatever way that God wants to shine his light and flood his love into the place that I work.

There are so many times that I get specific, looking for the right situation to serve, and I don't surrender everything else to Him.

To me, this is kind of like "treating the symptoms" or "Tending to the fruit".

Do we take care of each individual fruit or do we water and feed the tree?

I want to get back to the source.

Joe loves life in Nashville, Tn and spends most of his days reading, writing, playing guitar, eating great food, and deepening himself in a dependence of the love of his heavenly Father. He blogs at: www.josephallyngomez.com.

Holiday Cheer: What Songs Are You Singing?

Wed, 19 Nov 2008 00:00:00 GMT

I was at the mall this weekend, shopping with my wife. I noticed that, as I was going from store to store, feeling insecure about my un-trendiness, that Santa Claus was already taking pictures with the little ones. My wife and I argued about whether or not it was the "real" Santa (I think it was). Shortly after that, I noticed an abundance of seasonal items - scarves, ornaments, gingerbread-flavored coffee - in most of the kiosks and stores that we passed.

And then, I heard the songs.

Yes, those seasonal songs that get you in the yuletide spirit. I'll admit that in mid-November, I'm not quite yet ready to sing "Dashing through the snow..." However, that doesn't stop every convenience store I walk into to buy a Slim Jim from inundating my eardrums with music about snowflakes, reindeer, and mistletoe.

Whether I'm ready or not, Santa Claus is coming to town; I know so, because the radio told me. On one hand, that's okay; I love music and consider it a gift. On the other hand, it just doesn't sit right with me. Maybe it's my own cynicism running amok or my increasing passion for social justice causes, but celebrating the birth of Christ doesn't quite seem so simple any more.

So, while I used to welcome the warm fuzzies that these songs about silver bells and stockings used to invoke in me, now my conscience is getting in the way. I just can't sit idly by the fireside, drinking hot cocoa, oblivious to the needs of the world and what Jesus came to do.

When I was growing up, we used to sing "Deck the Halls" as we put tinsel on the Christmas tree, while hanging garland around the house. We baked sugar cookies and those peanut butter things with Hershey's kisses on top. We melted candy canes and made peppermint candy out of them, while trying to save room for a huge ham feast. We did this, because Charles Dickens told us that's what you do. Christmas carols used to represent "sweet" times, but I don't feel that way any more.

A couple Christmases ago, I met a group of homeless people living under a bridge. They didn't sing "Deck the Halls" or "Jingle Bells." They lacked warm clothing, footwear, and food in their bellies. I think that they were singing something like Aretha Franklin's "Rescue Me," as their stomachs groaned and the darkness of their circumstances weighed down on their spirits. If I could sing "making spirits bright" in good conscience, I knew that my carols were going to have to drop the tinsel and hit the streets.

So, my friend and I started collecting donations from friends, work colleagues, and church members. We got boots, scarves, gloves, sweaters, coats, pants, food, bottled water, blankets and candy canes... yes, candy canes. And we dropped off those supplies and shared the Gospel with this community that lived beneath a bridge in a way we had never before done. We said, "You know, Jesus was born in a horse trough, literally in a pile of crap, and we think you know what that feels like. We just want you to remember that he understands you and hasn't forgotten you. Merry Christmas." It may have been a little brusque, but it brought tears to their eyes, and it changed my whole perspective on the meaning of this holiday season. I had always heard that it was "better to give than to receive," but I finally got to see the reality of that adage in action.

I know that it may not feel like the Christmas season yet, and this may even seem premature. However, these things take time and intentionality. They don't usually occur spontaneously on Christmas Eve. Last year, I saw a church bring groceries to an inner-city, single-mother family in November and December. They spent time getting to know her week after week, inviting her into their community and surrounding her with encouragement and love, finally culminating in dropping off a carload of gifts on her doorstep two days before Christmas.

Just to be clear: I love holiday cheer. Christmas songs really stir my spirit, but I started to lose hope in them when I saw that in my own life "Joy to the World" meant little more than religious rhetoric. Call me crazy, but I think that I'm not alone in thinking that Jesus coming to "preach good news to the poor" might include allowing him to express that in the lives of his followers. That is, maybe we're the notes he's using to sing a truly beautiful holiday song.

Thanksgiving is right around the corner, and shortly after that, the season of Advent will be upon us. I always thought that meant lighting candles and over-charging my credit card. Now, I'm inclined to believe that it means allowing the words in our Christmas carols to ring true in our lives.

Jeff graduated from Illinois College, a small liberal arts school, with a degree in Spanish and Religion. He lives in Nashville, TN. He works for Adventures in Missions, serves as the Editor-in-Chief of Wrecked, and loves to do new things. He just got married in January. Check out his blog: Pilgrimage of the Heart.

Changing Clothes: Living for Him

Wed, 12 Nov 2008 00:00:00 GMT

I have a problem that seems to be accelerating yet again. My clothes don't fit, or at least my old ones wear poorly on my body. It isn't a fitting problem with my body getting larger or thinner but it is a "fitting" problem where they don't look correct on me.

No, it isn't a style problem either, that my clothes are destined for a second hand store, still being worn while they are a dozen seasons past due. They just don't "fit". I can't say those clothes are me anymore. They are me from the past, me in prior years with different thoughts and beliefs.

I have gone through a lot of clothes over the years, changing them as I have changed.

They were well suited clothes back when I listened to my parents as I thought they could do no wrong. I changed those out to something more cynical when I realized they weren't perfect.

Years later, I changed out of those clothes when I understood how much grace they extended me throughout my youth. They were well suited for when I was first married with very little understanding of how to be a selfless husband and to pursue my wife instead of my own goals.

I have repeatedly changed clothes as I have learned to love and cherish my wife, each jump in maturity dictating a change in what I wear. They were well suited for my first child and how I cared for her and loved her, but by the time we had our 4th child after many miscarriages, those old clothes would never fit.

The truth is, though I may have fond memories of living in those clothes, I can't beat myself up for what I wore and how I was at those times. I was who I was. Sure, I wish I was able to wear something different, but nobody could help dress me. I'm just glad I'm not in those clothes anymore. I meet far too many people wearing clothes that have long since worn thin, held together by whatever means as they just can't part with what they are wearing.

The reality is, we should always be changing clothes. Every few months I see the world and God a bit differently, and I change. My beliefs are not static or perfect and what I clothe myself change. My either/or clothes were discarded for my both/and clothes.

My understanding of the rules clothes made way for my grace and love clothes. My "it has to be this way!" and stomping around and giving black eyes to those I was to care for were tossed out for my comfy slippers and "I am glad you are here" outfit. I am not sure if I retain many of my old clothes as I change but I am not so worried about my clothes as I am about who I am. I am going where God wants me to go, and I want to be dressed properly. Each day my outfit is a little different, sometimes it is a lot different.

Trust God to be your tailor. He'll keep you current with where he wants you to be, but only if you are willing to be naked and say, "this is me, nothing else."

Dann is the husband to one and the father to four and spends his days making everything a bit more beautiful.

Life in Ethopia: A Volunteer's Perspective

Wed, 5 Nov 2008 00:00:00 GMT

I just returned from spending about seven months with the wonderful children at AHOPE Ethiopia. It's impossible for me to write about them without sounding a little cheesy, totally enamored, and somewhat gushy.

Volunteering at AHOPE was by far the best thing I have ever done. I would go back in a heartbeat and will as soon as I can. In some ways it's strange that I found my second family on the other side of the world in a country to which I'd never been and where the sight of my skin elicits cries of excitement from strangers on the street. But being at AHOPE surrounded by those kids, I've never felt more at home anywhere else.

I went to AHOPE to teach, but wound up being the student. I learned more from a bunch of 10-year-olds than I ever did from college professors, academic advisors, career councilors, etc. The kids at AHOPE taught me how to live life.

We've all heard the self-help slogans: don't sweat the small stuff, stop and smell the roses, go with the flow, pick your battles, the list goes on. But how many of us in our busy American lives actually manage to live those lessons? I know I've always tried to, but I'm pretty sure I forget a lot of the time. My alarm doesn't go off and I'm late and tired and in my car rushing to work and cursing the red light staring down at me. I am certainly not smelling any roses. But living in Ethiopia reminded me about all those things I've always strived for: peace, flexibility, happiness.

I followed the example of the AHOPE kidskids who have never read self-help books but are living testimonies to the values of optimism, humility, love. They have real, huge, scary problems in their lives, but they choose to focus on the things that make them happy. They play, they laugh, they learn.

On days when there is electricity they watch movies or stay up late reading. When the power is out they chatter and giggle in the dark and go to bed early. They don't complain. Watching them reminded me of the person I've always wanted to be.

Being back in America now I'm trying not to forget the things the AHOPE kids taught me.

I think my favorite Amharic phrase I learned is "chigger yellum," which means "no problem." I learned to say it a lot. No water today? Chigger yellum. Internet is slow? Chigger yellum. Bad service at a restaurant? Chigger yellum. Because things like that really are no problem. We must choose our battles and those should certainly not be them.

A few months ago, one of the AHOPE guards and a couple of the older girls were walking me home at night. The two girls were on either side of me holding my hands. I was pointing out constellations to them and they were telling me the Amharic names. Then one of the girls pointed to three bright stars in a triangle and said, "That can be our constellation and whenever you see it you can remember this night."

Since I've been home I've been looking to see if I can spot our triangle of stars, but the sky looks different here and I'm not sure I've found the right ones. But even without the constellation I will always remember those girls and the other children at AHOPE. They are in my heart forever. If you ever have the chance to meet them, don't pass it up. You will be a better person because of them.

Marissa recently returned from volunteering at AHOPE Ethiopia in Addis Ababa. She currently teaches middle school English at the Washington International School in Washington, DC.

Answered Prayer in the Grand Canyon

Tue, 28 Oct 2008 00:00:00 GMT

This is a true story. It happened to me just recently when I was doing my one day Rim to Rim hike of the Grand Canyon. It was approaching evening and it was rapidly getting dark. While I always carry a headlight/flashlight just in case I'm out on a trail longer than expected, this time I took it out of my pack to save a little weight. Besides, I wasn't planning on still being on the trail by sundown.

Okay, that was my first mistake. Don't assume, no matter how good or how prepared you might be, that you still don't need to plan for the unforeseeable event. For example, while I was making pretty good time on the trail, I didn't plan on needing to rest as long as I did. I should have seen that one coming, since I drove all night from Tucson to the North Rim, only to get there and start hiking. Nor did I think I would need to totally redo all my foot care stuff, like new moleskin and band-aids and fresh socks and then finally need to re-organize my pack and shift things around.

To make a long story short, I spent about an hour and a half longer than I expected down by the Colorado River, taking care of business. So now it's dark and I'm getting pretty tired. My legs are tired of climbing. I've been hiking all day - over 22 and a half miles and only one and a half miles to go. And while I physically felt stronger than the previous year, this kind of extreme hiking can still take a toll on one's body (not to mention the mind), especially without the proper rest and food consumption the night before taking on something like this. During the last couple of hours of my hike, I was constantly fighting mental fatigue, mostly brought on by improper planning and rest.

As darkness fell on the winding switchbacks, making it extremely difficult to see each step up the rocky path, I started getting frustrated with God. I would say something like, "God, you have to help me because I am getting tired and I can't see my path and I want out of here. I know it's my fault I didn't come prepared, but I still need YOU to get me out of this mess".

This kind of one-sided conversation went on for about an hour. As I continued to stumble my way up the dark and winding path, tripping countless times over uneven ground, I kept complaining to God that I can't do this and that HE was going to have to. It wasn't so much that I couldn't do the hike, because I knew that I could. But it was more that without the light to give me some direction on my path, I was merely stumbling in the dark with every step I tried to take on my own. And stumbling continuously in the dark uses up a heck of a lot more energy than if one has a light and is sure-footed.

As I continued to grumble and complain that God wasn't providing, it finally occurred to me that I was probably like one of the many Israelites who wandered the desert for forty years, moaning and groaning about everything. And while God probably got tired of their lack of faith and their constant whining and groaning, He still loved them so much that He kept providing for them all the while. So finally, I shut up. I told God I was sorry for being such a whiner and I merely prayed that he would provide in spite of me.

Here's where the story gets good. Not ten minutes after apologizing to God for being such a big whiney-baby, I stopped to take a short break. While I was sitting there on a rock, literally wishing for God to either pick me up and float me to the top or to somehow provide some light to my path, a lone hiker, bearing a flashlight, comes out of the darkness and up the path from where I just was.

To my delight and almost disbelief, it was a ranger checking to make sure those who were on the path were doing okay. We talked for a few minutes and then as the ranger left, she offered me her spare flashlight to assist me with my final ascent. It was at that very moment that I saw God really provide. At that moment, I saw real proof that He is still listening and still answers our prayers.

I know it wasn't a healing or a miraculous sign or some incredible feat to show the world He is who He says He is. It was just a simple flashlight to light up a dark path for just one ill-prepared hiker--me. Why? Because that was my need. And that's how He works. One answered prayer at a time. Not usually on a grand scale, but on a personal level, meeting one single need. Not usually on our terms or in our time frame, but always perfectly at the exact moment.

I learned a few things that night. First, I am a big whiney-baby who loses faith easily. Second, even though I'm a big whiney-baby, worrying only about me, God still loves me in spite of myself and wants to provide for me. Thirdly, that without the light (God's light) to illuminate my path I am just stumbling around in the dark, using up twice as much energy and getting nowhere fast, other than frustrated. Finally and maybe most of all, I learned that God answers prayers, especially the little ones. Because those little answers can be the faith builders, the pieces that make up the cornerstone in which we can build our entire relationship with Him upon.

If you liked this article, check out: Sweet Morsels: Divine Direction in China

David is a weekend backpacker and volunteer worship leader in Tucson, Arizona, where he lives with his wife and four children. When he's not busy running his small landscape compay, he spends his time as a Christian songwriter, working toward completing his first CD project in early 2009.

The Thrill of the Hunt: Church, relationships, and danger

Mon, 20 Oct 2008 00:00:00 GMT

I've noticed something after being part of a church for a few years.

It will best be explained by reminiscing. (Cue cheesy synth pop song and bright colors indicating the 80's. Maybe a bit of blur implying the following is a flashback which of course it is.)

When I was an adolescent, I didn't keep romantic relationships together very well. I went from girl friend to girl friend.

It wasn't a sex thing. But it was about the thrill of the hunt.

I was quite addicted to finding out if somebody would be interested in me. And once I figured that out, I pretty much just got bored. Something would come up, because something always does. And this little voice in the back of my head would say "You know, there are other girls out there"

Or just as often the reverse would happen. Somebody would grow bored with me. They'd dump me before I could dump them. We'd move in to new relationships.

It's fairly pathetic, all things considered.

I never learned how to commit. I never had a need to discern minor annoyances from major issues. I never had to decide what was my own baggage that I needed to deal with and what was really unfair from somebody else and needed to be worked out. I never learned that there is a time to talk and a time to just shut up, that sometimes things just go away when you let them go.

Because, when things got uncomfortable, I just moved along.

I've been part of my current church home long enough to have been hurt by people there. I've been part of it long enough to have hurt people there, too. There are issues I have with a few people, problems I haven't figured out how to resolve.

When I worship on Sundays, sometimes this makes it difficult. As it probably should. It's un-biblical and wrong to just let these hurts fester. I ought to let go of them or do something about them. But I'll be trying to just be with God during a song, or try to really let the message penetrate and then that old annoyance, hurt, betrayal, whatever, it's staring me in the face. Perhaps I'll see the person, perhaps I'll look at the doorway to a room where I was hurt

And there is this little, stupid voice that says, "You know, there are other churches."

Now, please know that I am 100% committed to the church I am at. Stupid voices observe lots of things that I'll never act on. But I watch people leave. Sometimes for good reasons. Sometimes for bad reasons. Usually, for a mix of the two.

And I'm learning that if we don't find some community to commit to, we stunt our growth. If we just move on instead of working out our problems, if we just go somewhere else thinking that next place will be perfect, we rob ourselves of all sorts of opportunities. And we rob others, too.

I've never been hunting, but I suspect that a real hunter would challenge that phrase, the thrill of the hunt or at least, a hunter would recognize that the adrenaline-heavy, thrilling part is only a tiny fraction of the total time involved. Hunters spend hours preparing gear. More hours getting to the location. They traipse through the woods for days. Or they climb up in a tree and stand in it for hours on end.

Eventually they get the animals in their sights. I'd imagine that's a rush. But how long is it? Seconds? Minutes?

I'm sure that a hunter would rather that the whole time is those fun parts Or if they are hunting for survival, I'm sure that they'd rather that the whole time is those efficient parts, close to the prey.

There are other rewards in this: hunting,staying married, maintaining commitment to a church. They take more wisdom and discernment. They require skills that many of us lack. But they are no less rewarding.

Jeff is attempting to follow Jesus' revolutionary call on his life as a father of three, a husband, Special Education Teacher, and Director of Small Groups at Fellowship Church in Holden, Massachusetts. He frequently tells his kids--much to their great annoyance-- that he'd like to be a fireman when he grows up.