Unshakable

The last few Sundays in Children's Church we have been imagining what it may have been like to be Paul: Trapped in prison. Unable to go see friends and family. Waiting to hear what the big guys decided to do with him. Possibly chained to a guard who dictated when he could move. Talk about unfair. Paul was just trying to share the Gospel, to lead people to the one who died to save their souls. Yet, there he was, and just like when Paul was unjustly flogged and put in stocks in the innermost cell with his pal Silas, Paul doesn't pull out the sad face emoji. Instead, he rejoices. Now, I'm not saying Paul denied the fact that he was suffering and stuffed his real feelings deep inside. No, this was not a fake face. This was something genuine, something deep pouring out of the very recesses of his soul. This was a deep happy, no matter the the outward circumstances. The palace guards had to be wondering, "What's gotten into this guy?"

Last week, I walked into the Children's Church room to pick up our mess from Sunday. We'd pulled out scissors, glue, paper, stickers and various other crafty things to make a "prison" to remind us of the context of Philippians. I wanted to see our completed work, the kids' imaginations all put together in one mural on the wall, but when I saw the wall, my heart sank. Over half their artwork lay on the floor. I had expected the need for a little patchwork, but to have to re-piece almost the entire thing?

Then I remembered our catchphrase from the previous day: "Bad things will not get us down, when we know that God's around." Something inside me smiled because our artwork had tried to defy the point of the lesson by literally falling down. As I pieced the mural back together, I thought about how important this lesson is for our kids.  I remembered what I'd recently read in a book about how kids respond to the injustices of life. Some kids hear about starving children and walk away from their faith because they wonder why God doesn't do something. Other kids hear about it and become determined to raise money for the helpless. What's the difference? The truth is, any time any of us face an injustice in life or go through a personal crisis, we have to choose how we respond. Do we blame God or praise God? Do we doubt his love, or do we hold on to it with everything that is left in us? And how can the church teach children the latter? Because the truth is, sooner or later, suffering will come knocking on their door.

As a director of children's and family, I have 52 Sundays with your children a year and maybe a few extra days from special events, Wednesday nights, etc., but here's the deal. They can come every single time the door is open and hear me teach about God's love, but until they see someone actually live like they believe it, they won't believe it either. They need a tangible, daily example of faith right in front of them.

Parents, your children need you. They need to see you drag your feet to church even when your tired muscles scream otherwise. They need to see you sing those worship songs even when your heart's not in it. They need to see you cry. Yes, they need to see you weeping when you lose your loved one or get let go from that job. They need to see how you still get down on your knees to pray and open that Bible even when the world around you is shouting, “God's not with you!” Because when you do, you show faith. You show trust, something that is deeper within you than the deepest feelings you've ever felt. You know God is Sovereign, and somehow in some way he's going to take all that pain you are feeling and use it for the advancement of the kingdom. The gospel will spread, even when you feel hopelessly chained, and the people who may be believing the gospel for the first time may be your children.

A couple years ago my family went through a crisis I didn't think possible. At least, I didn't want to believe it. I watched helplessly as one of my brothers walked away from my family and away from his faith, leaving pain and heartache in his wake. I cried as I watched my parents blame themselves for so many things, and I watched as they cried and sorted through the broken pieces of our hearts.  But do you want to know something? Even in the midst of all our questions, all our doubts, all our pain, I never saw them let go of God. Rather, I saw them running into his arms, embracing him, and becoming closer to him than before. They literally lived on the Word of God. Even despite the pain and injustice of it all they still believed God was good, that he loved us, and that he had a plan to make something out of the splintered mess. Although I cannot fully see what God has planned (and I pray it ends with my brother returning to him), I can confidently say that because I watched my parents grapple through this and still come out with joy, I know that whatever life throws at me, I am not letting go of God either. He is my joy. He is my strength. And the gospel? That's my goal, and I pray that I’ll keep sharing it 'til the day I die, even if it be the reason I lose my life.

I just want to challenge you this week, to be an example of faith for your children. No, you're not the apostle Paul, and you certainly aren't Jesus either. But you are you. God made you and put you where you are for a reason... as the parents of YOUR children. Leverage where he has put you now to share the gospel with faith, especially to your children. Ultimately, it is your child’s choice. You cannot choose Jesus for your child. They can still walk away, like you heard from my own family. However, here, in this moment, your children are looking up to you. By God's strength, will you be unshakable?

Home?

This summer, I went to church camp. I never liked camp much growing up, so this was a bit of a stretch for me. Turns out, I'm glad I went! No, I'm not jumping up and down again to go back, but I got to spend time loving the kiddos God put in my path. That made it all worth it, and I learned a little something, too.

One day, I overheard camp faculty talking about how they were looking forward to sleeping in their own beds again. (There was no air conditioning in our cabins and the beds were old and squeaky, so I totally agreed.) Then I got to thinking. Oh, wait. When I leave camp, I'm not going back to my own bed. No, I'm going back to live with my host family. Then I thought about my room at home. I share it with my two sisters, but I'm gone most of the year at school. When I visit home from school and walk into my room, it feels weird. It doesn't quite feel like mine anymore. Life goes on in there without me. How about school? Uh, no. As much as I love living in the dorms, they do not belong to me. I'm moving on in another two years.

After these realizations, I felt a little panicked. God, where do I belong? I'm tired of not belonging and not having a place to call "mine." I can't go on living like this!

It's at times like these that old hymns come to mind: "This world is not my home, I'm just a passing through..." You know, God reminded me I might just have to get used to this not feeling at home thing. I gave my life to Christ. I don't belong to this earthly kingdom. Rather, I belong to a heavenly one. Truly, could I ask to belong to anyone or anything better?

I have a home waiting for me, but 'til then, Here I am, Lord. Where shall I go next?

Update: I am back at home now (that is, my present, earthly home with my wonderful family). With my summer internship over, I'm catching up with my family and taking a few deep breaths before the next semester begins. I truly had a blessed  time in Iowa, and I'm so grateful that God gave me the strength to go so far alone. He surrounded me with a loving church family, and gave me a safe place to grow and learn. Thank you, Lord!

P.S. In case you are wondering about the sock monkey, here's your explanation. My mentor and the children's minister at the church where I was serving this summer, was gone taking care of her parents. One of my friends had begun sending pictures of this sock monkey (a gift from said mentor) and sending them to her. At Overnighters camp, and later at VBS we took pictures of "Mr. Socks" to keep my mentor updated. In other words, Mr. Socks is our version of "Flat Stanley."

The Rich Young Ruler And I

Twice this year I taught kiddos the story of the Rich Young Ruler (See: Matthew 19:16-22, Mark 10:17-27). Twice I studied the passage, memorized the story, and spoke it in such a way in hopes of reaching the hearts of my students. Twice it in went in my head and out my mouth, without reaching my own heart. It wasn't until the Monday after the last time I taught it, that I finally digested the story.

I was struggling inside. I had dreams and hopes that I feared would never happen. There have been many times when I have been so fearful and frustrated that I get angry at God. This particular time, I was angry at myself even, because I was letting my dreams make me miserable. That's when the words of Matthew 6:21 came to mind: “Where your treasure is, there the desires of your heart will also be.” The desires of my heart were all wrapped up in my dreams. Not that dreams are bad. I truly believe that many dreams God builds inside of us. But I was letting my happiness be dependent on whether or not my dreams happened. How does this make me like the rich young ruler?

1. First, I have a genuine desire to serve God and have eternal life. 
2. Second, I often look at myself and I see that I've done okay. I grew up knowing the Bible, breathing the Bible, obeying the Bible. In fact, I look pretty "good."
3. Jesus looks at me and sees that there is something I lack. As the second hour teacher taught the kids, it's like I gave one part of my heart to Jesus, but the other part I said, “You can't have.” I don't trust you with my dreams. They have to happen.
4. Finally, as a result, I broke my own heart. I was walking away sad because I refused to give up my earthly treasures (dreams) for heavenly ones.

On that particular Monday, I was tired of walking away sad. I finally said “That's enough.” Jesus, here's the other part of my heart. I'm following you. That means I'll go where you ask me, do what you want me to, and trust that your dreams are much bigger and better than anything I could ever dream. Lord, be my strength. I know there are times when I will be tempted to snatch that part of my heart back, or maybe even a different part. So I ask, Father, that when I do, that you will whisper in my heart to give it back. Then, you can fill the whole of me with your healing joy, and I will be ready to minister as you called me.

Silver Tree & Crimson Flood

Here I am.

Trapped.

In a cage.

Nowhere to run.

This room,

With its gray, musty walls

Closes in on me.

And I'm afraid.

Nowhere to run.

Where can I go?

Who can set me free?

It's my own guilt that holds me here.

My own sin,

My own fault.

The Master knows,

It's my fault.

The garden,

Oh how beautiful it looked!

With golden flowers,

Silver dewdrops,

Gushing streams.

It was perfect,

A place of bliss!

But now my heart breaks.

How I long to return,

To open the gates,

To dance with leaves

And sway in the wind.

But I am here.

Here, by my own fault.

If only that tree hadn't existed.

With it's silvery fruit

Bathing in the moonlight.

That one tree,

I couldn't touch.

All other plants were mine,

All their fruit,

Every twig,

Every leaf,

They were mine.

But this tree,

It was his,

And he said,

“Do not eat!”

“Do not touch!”

“For its fruit is not for mortals!”

“You, it would surely destroy!”

But the fruit!

How sweet it looked!

Shining, there, in the moonlight.

Just one touch I thought

Wouldn't hurt.

Just to touch the skin

It would surely be divine.

And a bird there in the tree,

He twittered in a agreement.

So I touched the fruit,

Such silver fruit

That hung,

There,

Upon the magic tree.

And a light began to dance

From my fingers,

Up my arm,

Entering every pore,

It filled my heart with desire.

So I took it,

and I ate.

'Twas forbidden,

but I ate!

And a dawning broke upon me

Such as I'd never had before.

I wanted to dance and scream at once

And writhe in pure, hot pain

How something can be so

Sweet and sour,

I know I'll never fathom.

And all at once a fire flamed

And it burned deep down inside me.

It burned,

How it burned!

From my inside to my out,

And my Master heard my cry,

My shrill cry of joy and pain,

And his wrath,

It poured upon me

A storm I'd never seen.

He kicked me from the garden

And locked me in this house,

Here,

In this room.

Where I'm alone,

Where no one else can see me,

And the scars I've born till now.

Every day and every evening,

I pace this horrid room.

At first glance,

It's not such a bad place,

There's lush carpet on the floor

Flowered paper on the wall

A comfy bed

A sturdy nightstand

And a silver mirror above it.

But this mirror,

It is a curse!

For every time I pass,

I see my marred complexion,

And a glimpse into the past.

If I avoid the mirror

It's really quite a nice place,

But it's nothing like the garden!

One more item fills the room,

A blessing and a curse,

For the seed of the forbidden fruit

Has grown into a tree.

And here it is my only food,

It keeps me living,

But it's death,

For every time I eat the fruit again,

I burn and scar once more.

The joy I once received,

From biting into its flesh,

Has faded by the light-years,

And I'm left without a rest.

So I'm alone.

Here,

In this room.

With not a soul to comfort me,

Not a face to give me joy.

“There is one way,”

The Master told me.

“To fix what you've undone.”

But it's a narrow way,

I was informed,

Not one most men would take,

Another must do it for me,

Because I simply,

Just can't.

Another soul must bring me,

Some living water from a stream,

Unlock the door that blocks me,

And offer me his life.

For once he steps across the threshold,

Of my musty, little house.

And sets his eyes upon me,

Death will steal his soul.

No man would dare

To do this thing,

I know I'm stuck for good.

I couldn't bear to see one die for me,

Even if he would.

It's my shame that brought me here,

My own guilt,

My own pain.

Why should another have to bear it?

And free me from this cage?

So I'll stay here forever,

In this musty, cursed room,

I don't care,

I tell my self,

But my longing is just the same,

How I want that living water,

To heal my rotten flesh!

Time passes,

And I pace,

My toes have worn

A well-paved path

Through the lush-green carpet,

And around the silver tree.

My limbs feel limp and weary,

But I dare not go to sleep,

For hunger pains will soon awake me,

And I'll have to eat again.

There!

I feel them!

Twisting my stomach in sudden agony.

I stumble toward the tree,

One hand reaching for the fruit,

The other against my flaming belly.

If only I had that water!

But no one would ever come for ugly me.

I grasp the fruit and take a bite,

A slight shimmer eases pain.

I gobble up the silver flesh,

And fling myself upon my bed.

I feel the fire burn my skin,

And I wish that I was dead.

Oh, terrible curse!

Why must you bite so long?

When will someone come to free me?

But, I know, all hope is lost.

Living water,

Won't you come?

Let me wash now in your stream,

Must I live like this forever?

Oh, such a hopeless dream!

Knock, knock!

A pounding hits the door.

My heart beats wildly.

Could it be?

No.

It can't.

I know it can't.

Who would come for miserable me?

But,

I hear it again.

The knocking once more.

“Come in,”

I say.

But I'm sure this is a dream.

The lock,

I hear it click.

The knob,

I see it turn.

The door screeches on its hinges.

And my soul,

It wants to scream!

For this man who stands before me,

He holds no bowl, no pitcher, no jug.

Where is the living water?

Perhaps he came here by mistake.

He says my name,

And I tremble,

I shake,

And hide my face.

“Don't look at me!” I cry.

“I am ugly. I am marred!”

“My face will surely kill you!”

“Flee this horrid place!”

But I feel his hands upon my shoulders,

He forces me to look his way.

Placing his fingers on my scars,

And kissing my broken face,

He whispers.

“Child,”

“I love you!”

And I cry.

I know that voice,

I know those eyes.

He is my Master's likeness!

“What are you doing here!” I scream.

Surely he wouldn't die.

But the tree within my room,

It begins to tremble and it quakes.

Its silver branches flash like spears,

The leaves rattle in a storm.

Before my very eyes it comes to life,

And uproots its hefty trunk.

My Master turns to face the tree.

His arms spread wide in peace.

“No!” I scream.

“Stay back!”

But the tree wraps its limbs around him,

As if to steal his breath.

And he doesn't say a word,

Not one

Single

Word.

And I cry,

Here.

In this room,

Where the steely branches take his life.

They squeeze his quivering body,

And I too,

Feel like my life

Is being squeezed from me.

How could he do this?

It was all my fault!

I think perhaps the tree is done,

It's awful work at an end,

But one mighty branch breaks from the rest,

Plunging deep into my Master's side.

Blood spews down his legs,

Down the tree,

To the ground,

Where the thirsty roots soak up the spill.

But the blood,

The crimson flood,

The tree drinks,

But it is shriveling!

There must be power in the blood!

The silver leaves,

They curl and drop,

The fruit decays on shrinking limbs.

And my Master slides to the carpet,

Now stained red,

A pool of blood.

I run to his side,

And kneel beside him,

Feel his pulse and know,

He is dead.

Nothing I can do.

Sorrow racks my body,

Tears tumble down my cheeks,

They splash into the river,

Flowing from his side.

Surely this man was not a man,

But someone more.

Blood seeps through my garment,

Warm and sticky.

This life-giving substance,

Floods the entire floor.

Living Water!

Could this be?

I want to vomit,

I long to run.

But something urges me.

Wash.

You must wash!

In the crimson flow!

I stare into the sparkling river.

And it whispers,

“Love is red.”

So I wash,

In pure love.

Pure, crimson love.

I splash it on my face,

On my neck,

And on my arms.

I smear it down my whole body

'Till I'm covered,

In blood.

I walk now towards the mirror,

Trembling.

But my complexion,

It is smooth!

The scars are gone!

And I am clean!

How staining blood can wash me white as snow?

Don't ask me.

I don't know.

But it is true!

I feel a hand upon my shoulder,

And I spin,

Afraid.

But he stands there,

My Master!

Alive!

“I thought you were dead!” I cry.

“I was,” he replies.

“But how..?” I begin.

He places a finger on my lips.

“How can you doubt?”

He shushes me.

“When you have seen what love can do?”

“Believe, Child!”

“I believe!” I reply, clasping his hands.

He smiles.

A beaming smile,

With a sparkling light of gold.

It fills my soul from top to bottom.

“Now, come,” he says,

Pulling me towards the door.

“See the place I have prepared for you.”

And I walk through that door,

The one that locked me,

Here

For so long.

But now I'm free.

And I know love.

True, crimson love.

Now we walk into a garden,

Filled with rainbows of colors.

Ones I've never seen before.

Lots of flowers,

Their scent weighs heavy in the air.

A water fall,

It crashes,

But makes a joyful sound,

Against the golden rocks.

The grass is green,

Pure emerald,

Filled with life.

And there are trees,

Millions of trees,

But their fruit is red,

Like love.

Tears of joy splash down my cheeks.

But my Master wipes them all away,

Puts a song within my mouth,

And we sing,

Together.

Here.

In a garden.

Made new.

The Mystery

He was and is and is to come,
He's love but He is just.
The Alpha and Omega,
He's beginning and the end.

He was king but came to serve,
Though poor He owned the earth.
He was God but He was man,
Mortal but immortal.

He was born so He could die,
And He died so we could live.
He was dead but He's alive,
And we are born again.

We were born yet born again,
And we live because One died.
We were guilty, now we're pure,
Washed in crimson blood.

We stand alone but not alone
Though we suffer, we rejoice
Maybe poor but we are rich.
We are dead but we're alive.

King's children, yet we serve,
Keeping faith in One unseen.
We live here but we're not home,
We will die but we will live.

Amazing Love

"You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us." - Romans 5:6-8 NIV

Thanks to picmonkey.com for all the free photo editing tools!

First Snow

Sorry to those who have already read this on L.A.R.K. Participating in four blogs takes up quite a bit of time, plus I'm working on a story I probably won't post on here due to it's length. If I don't post for awhile, please check out L.A.R.K and Simply Sweet Suggestions as I will probably have posted on one of them.

Two angels lay on their bellies in the clouds, peeking down at human life below. The first angel, Mike, was thick and broad shouldered. He had a very serious look upon his face. His golden eyes pierced the cloud cover below, searching. The second angel, Gabe, was smaller but shared the same twinkling eyes. A yawn escaped his mouth; and he stood, stretching his arms and wings. His gaze turned to a sleeping cherub, her golden head resting on a pillow of cloud. Chuckling to himself, Gabe grasped his own pillow and tiptoed toward the dozing Goldilocks. He raised it high before launching it at the mound of curls. The cherub let out a yelp and withdrew a tiny sword. Upon seeing Gabe, she let her flashing sword slide back into it's sheath and grasped her own pillow, a determined grin on her face. Gabe's eyes widened, and he let out a whoop, starting heaven's pillow war. Unfurling his wings, he leaped into the air, the cherub at his heels. Other angels, cherubs, and seraphs joined the fray. Giggles and laughter echoed off the clouds. Someone's pillow burst, releasing a puff of white. More giggles erupted, and soon all heaven lay beneath a powdered mess.

Mike lay motionless, ignoring the play around him. Not a single feather on his wing twitched. His eyes were fixed on the life below the clouds. Temporarily dropping out of the game, Gabe hovered to his friend's side. “Why don't you come play, Mike?”

Mike barely turned his head to look up at his friend. “We have all eternity to do things like that” He motioned towards the pillow fight. “But this...” he said, pointing towards the earth. “...is temporary. Besides, see what damage you have caused below?”

Gabe peeked through the cloud cover, eyes colliding with a world of white. The tiny flakes from their pillows frosted the ground. More flakes tumbled from the clouds, dusting the trees. “It's not so bad,” Gabe insisted. “I think it's kind of pretty!”

“Yeah, but what will they think?” This time Mike pointed towards white-covered tents where tiny faces peeked out. One bold human stepped from the safety of his home to examine. He gathered a bit of the stuff in his hands and watched it shrink in size, a pool of water in its place. His eyes widened, and he frantically waved his arms, motioning for the others to join him. Laughing, the children burst from their tents, leaving a trail of footprints wherever they went.

“See, Mike, they like -” Gabe's words were cut short when something smacked him from the clouds. Pillow in hand, Mike chuckled, watching his friend's hollering form tumble towards the earth. White flakes flew back into the air when Gabe's flailing form plopped into a snowdrift. Laughing, he shook the flakes from his wings and leaped back into the air.

Meanwhile, a young girl spotted a blur of white drop from the sky and bounce back into the air. Curious, she plodded over to investigate. Stumbling across an oddly shaped canyon in the snow, she shrieked for her father to come see. “Papa, Papa!” she giggled. “Come see what I have found!” Her father dashed to his daughter's side. “Look,” she said, grasping his hand. “A snow angel!”