Hidden Saints

Every so often in my job I come across some of the most amazing saints tucked away in small, dingy apartments. They have little contact with the outside world, and sometimes, their family doesn't even realize the treasure that they are. I cannot tell you what a profound pleasure it is to sit in their presence and know with utter certainty that God is making Himself known to me as they speak. Today, I met Mrs. T. She was a Katrina evacuee last year. She and her daughter and grandson escaped New Orleans just hours before the storm hit and have relocated their entire lives to Fort Worth. Only, you can't really bring your "life" with you. They left behind family and friends and a community they'd known forever. I felt guilty (and elated) as I entered Mrs. T's bedroom this morning because her daughter told me as I headed down the hall that Mrs. T was "just" reading her Bible. What I found in that room caused my eyes to water before she ever uttered a word. A precious, aged, black woman in a rumpled house dress sat in a wheelchair facing her nightstand with her Bible laid out, halfway in her lap, halfway on the table under the lamp, open to Psalm 52, her crooked finger tracing every word as she read. I sat beside her and efficiently asked all of my job-related questions. As I finished the interview, I just couldn't help myself. I folded my papers and set them aside before smiling at her and asking what she was reading. I wish I knew how to convey the light in her eyes or the tenderness of her voice as she began to speak to me about the Psalms. She loves the Psalms. She meets God there, in those pages. She quoted to me from Psalm 121, Psalm 91, and many others. When I mentioned to her that I was involved with a group of college-age girls, going through the Psalms and seeking to learn more of God's character through them, she grew so animated. She spoke to me then of the goodness of God and of His good plan for all who would believe on Him. She spoke the entire message of the Gospel to me quoting Scripture, running precious passages and promises of the Bible together, weaving the beautiful story with such confidence. She told me that she'd been trusting Jesus since 1962, and He's never let her down. She talked to me about how she trusts Him and how He speaks to her, interjecting "'Cause you knows His sheeps hears His voice. That's in John." Oh, don't I know it. She told me how she learned a long time ago not to question Him, just to obey, and how she knew that faith in Him is what helped rescue her and her family from Katrina last year. She didn't question the prompting in her spirit to leave, she just obeyed. It would have been an imense honor just to sit with her and hear her story, but there was so much more to it than that for me today. You see, all week, the Lord's been speaking to me, telling me that I am going to have to trust Him beyond what I can see, to believe Him even if circumstances appear otherwise. I'd been feeling convicted about having an unwaivering obedience. Then, this morning, I had a song based on Lamentations 3:22-24 stuck in my head. It says, "The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, His mercies never come to an end. They are new every morning, new every morning. Great is Your faithfulness!" As Mrs. T finished her stories of God's goodness to her, I spoke the words aloud, "because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed. His mercies are new everymorning," and she finished for me with a triumphant grin, "Great is His faithfulness!" I knew then that it was time for me to go, and I kissed her cheek and thanked her for sharing her story, for speaking wisdom to me from the Word of God, for being a faithful saint. She held my hand, invited me to come back again soon, and spoke words of blessing over me as I left, and I passed her nurse coming to check on her as I moved back down the hall and out the front door.

Follow Me?

In Philippians 3, the apostle Paul wrote this ... Brothers, join in imitating me, and keep your eyes on those who walk according to the example you have in us. I am so challenged by this exhortation. What is it like to follow the Lord so wholeheartedly that you can confidently say to others, "Hey, follow me while I follow Jesus!" Whew! I'm getting ready to launch into a couple of new areas of ministry and the joy of being used to serve others is absolutely thrilling, but the sense of responsibility, of knowing that others are watching even if Ididn't tell them to, often leaves me trembling. I've spoken with several friends recently about what it is to lead a live that others can imitate. What does it mean to strive for that obedience? What does it mean to trust the Lord, to truly count his lovingkindness as better than life? To let go of all that I hold dear in order to reach for a Reward I do not fully understand? Tonight, as I prepare for sleep, I am reminded of a song I only vaguely remember the tune to. I haven't heard it in years, but the lyrics make me want to be bold.

Let It Be Said of Us: Words and Music by Steve Fry

Let it be said of us that the Lord was our passion,
that with gladness we bore ev'ry cross we were given;
That we fought the good fight, that we finished the course,
Knowing within us the pow'r of the risen Lord.

Let the cross be our glory and the Lord be our song, by mercy made holy,
by the mercy made holy, by the Spirit made strong.
Let the cross be our glory and the Lord be our song 'til the likeness of Jesus be through us made known.
Let the cross be our glory and the Lord be our song.

Let it be said of us we were marked by forgiveness,
we were known by our love and delighted in meekness;
We were ruled by His peace heeding unity's call,
joined as one body that Christ would be seen by all.

Let the cross be our glory and the Lord be our song,
by mercy made holy, by the mercy made holy, by the Spirit made strong.
Let the cross be our glory and the Lord be our song
'til the likeness of Jesus be through us made known.
Let the cross be our glory and the Lord be our song.

Let the cross be our glory and the Lord be our song.

He Does Not Disappoint

A few weeks ago, I was having a particuarly difficult day of struggling with contentment in life. I was feeling restless about absolutely everything and frustrated that life wasn't going the way that I thought it should. I was reading and journaling that morning, doing my best to honestly confess my frustration to the Lord, when I heard these words so clearly. "I do not disappoint." I knew it was the Lord. I was home alone, and they hadn't come from anywhere else. I'd heard a similar message about a year ago, and it was sweet to me then, so oh so much sweeter this second time. And, I knew it was true. I may not like how things are going today. I may not understand the way something is working out. But, I can know with utter certainty that when the final story is written, I will not be disappointed in the least with how God has done things. He does all things well. I shared this experience with a couple of friends the next day, but I'm always hesitant to explain those "knowing" experiences. It didn't come from anything I'd read, scripture or otherwise, so how could I be so certain it was from God? Then, two days later, I was reading in Psalm 22. You know what Psalm 22:5 says? Let me tell you what it says! "To you they cried out and were delivered; In You they trusted and WERE NOT DISAPPOINTED." I shared that reference with another friend that night, and he pointed out that his Bible said "they were not ashamed." You know what? Either translation is encouraging, but how precious it is to me that God would allow me to find it that morning in the one that used the words "not disappointed." He's so sweet to us. So generous with his patience and grace. Last week, I was still mulling over some of these issues of contentment as Chip Ingram was sharing a story on his radio program. I don't remember the whole story, but I remember when he got to the part where he talked about Romans 8:32 ... "He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him over for us all, how will He not also with Him freely give us all things?" And, the lesson in it for me was this. If God did not hold back His own Son from death in order to bring us into right relationship with Him, why in the world would I ever worry that He might deny me any thing that He deems good for me? No, indeed, He does not disappoint!

Hallelujah

It's been a while since I posted the lyrics to a good song for you. Every now and then, though, a song grips me in a special way and the musician sings the words in my heart back to the Lord. I met with a dear friend for coffee this morning, and as we shared the things on our hearts and turned them over to the Lord in prayer, I was so encouraged. Of course, such conversations are also an opportunity to disect all the things that have been rumbling around in my heart and mind over the last few weeks. Because we talked about everything from work and church to relationships, school, and exercise, I walked away with all kinds of new things to surrender to God's good plan for my life. I've been struggling with that recently, choosing to rejoice over His answers, even when they aren't what I want to hear. It's so easy to get excited about His good faithfulness when He says "Yes! That's a great idea, Kristen! Go for it!" But, shouldn't I be just as greatful when, in His sovereignty, He steers me clear of something that is less that His best for me? Is He any less good and faithful when He says "No"? Of course not! It is in those times that I rejoice just to know and hear His voice. So, as I got in my car this morning, these are the lyrics that were playing ...

"Hallelujah"

Who can hold the stars
And my weary heart?
Who can see everything?

I've fallen so hard
Sometimes I feel so far
But not beyond your reach

I could climb a mountain
Swim the ocean
Or do anything
But it's when you hold me
That I start unfolding
And all I can say is

Hallelujah, hallelujah
Whatever's in front of me
Help me to sing hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah
Whatever's in front of me
I'll choose to sing hallelujah

The same sun that
Rises over castles
And welcomes the day

Spills over buildings
Into the streets
Where orphans play

And only you can see the good
In broken things
You took my heart of stone
And you made it home
And set this prisoner free

Hallelujah, hallelujah
Whatever's in front of me
Help me to sing hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah
Whatever's in front of me
I'll choose to sing hallelujah

By Bethany Dillon

The Hillton Horhouse

Ten years ago, my parents, The Hortons, embarked on a grand adventure with my best friend's parents, The Hillhouses. They agreed to mentor or "coach" engaged couples through a Before You Say I Do curriculum, then direct and teach a Sunday School class for nearly/newlyweds at Prestonwood Baptist Church. The nearly/newlys soon became young marrieds, then parents of toddlers, and now, that first batch of babies are headed to Kindergarden. Last Friday night, I sat in a room filled with over a hundred people who had gathered from all over the metroplex to honor the Hortons and the Hillhouses for the impact their investment has made in their lives and marriages. There was much laughter and a few tears as person after person stood at the microphone and recounted the ways that their lives and homes and families have been touched for the glory of God by four humble servants determined to do what they knew to be right according to Scripture. Four servants who made it their ambition to lead godly lives, to speak truth to all who would listen, to get involved in the people God led their way. It is really, really difficult to tell you how inspiring this event was. I am convinced that Friday evening's banquet was only a glimpse of the eternal fruit to be produced by this 10 year adventure. The evening included several noteworthy moments. One of my dad and Jim's dreams has always been to see the men and women under their care grow to spiritual maturity and become leaders themselves. When asked how many of those gathered that evening were actively involved in leadership in their own classes and churches now, nearly 20 hands were raised. That's not to count those who were unable to attend because of their commitments elsewhere that evening! Another noteworthy image was to see the multitude of children running freely through the room after the event had concluded and they'd been rescued from the nursery. To think that the class began with engaged couples and now proudly sported more offspring than anyone could keep track of was humorous and glorious. My favorite moment of the evening was at the end when they gave Daddy and Jim their turns at the mic. These precious servants, two of the most humble and godly men I have ever known, stood with tears in their eyes and gave glory to God and used that last time before their flock to issue a final challege to be godly men and women, leaders in their homes and guardians of the next generation.
I assure you, no daughter has ever been more proud of her parents. It was a joy and an honor to participate in the celebration of lives well lived. And, as I told the crowd that evening, the most awesome thing I can think of to tell you about David and Stephanie Horton is that it's all true. They are exactly who they claim to be, who they seem to be. They practice the things that they preach. They are servants with godly integrity in their home and marriage. And, I am blessed beyond measure to be the life most impacted by their faithfulness. I teased with them a few weeks ago on their 30th wedding anniversary, calling and very off-handedly thanking them for staying together all these years. Their love for the Lord and commitment to one another has made all the difference in my life.

Lessons In Missions: I Can't Do It ... And That is Okay!

After spending three months as a student missionary in Guadalajara, Mexico in the fall of 2001, I returned home to Texas unsure I ever wanted to leave American soil again. Guadalajara was the scene of many incredible lessons in God’s faithfulness, but on the whole, I felt like a failure as a missionary and did not relish the idea of repeating the experience. There are plenty of people who need to hear the Good News about Jesus right here in the good ol’ U.S.of A. after all, right? I came home. I moved to Fort Worth, and I started seminary. I was determined to be the best home missionary there was. I would show the Lord and anyone else watching that I could be useful, faithful, successful right here in my own little comfort zone. For three years, I did not leave the state of Texas. My heart beat wildly at the thought of being too far from home and all things familiar. It’s not like it was all that hard. I mean, I was a graduate student after all. I had important things to do. I was putting myself through school. I couldn’t be expected to spend money on frivolous things like mission trips. Then Caleb called. He was taking his youth group on a trip to Morelia, Mexico and needed another female sponsor, preferably one who spoke Spanish. I think I probably laughed at him. If I didn’t laugh out loud, I am certain I chortled inside. He must be crazy!, I thought. I knew I’d told him what a terrible missionary I was. Crazy or desperate, those were the only possibilities. Like any godly woman, I told him I’d pray about it. I was quite certain there was no way God was sending me back to Mexico. I’m not so sure I prayed about it as much as I fretted about it and spent my time before the Lord telling him all of the reasons we both knew this was such a bad idea. Certainly He had to agree with me. Right? Silence. I couldn’t believe it! Finally, I was running out of time to give Caleb a solid answer. I woke one morning telling the Lord I needed an answer, and I was willing to hear whatever the answer might be. I went to work that morning only to be passed a string of Spanish-speaking clients needing my help. I got to my desk and found the “time-off” request form I’d filled out just in case, laying there … approved. I got home and checked my e-mail, only to receive a word of encouragement from a friend I’d met three years earlier in Mexico. It felt like a conspiracy! I don’t remember what all happened that day, but I was certain at the end of it that I was going to spend 10 days in Mexico that summer. And, when Caleb called the next week to say he was purchasing airline tickets and needed an answer, I flatly told him, “Yes, I’ll go. Buy my ticket.” Not having shared any of this struggle with him, I’m not certain he caught the resignation in my tone. I was resigned, though. Not happy, not sad, just resigned. The next two months passed quickly, and soon, the trip was just two weeks away. I woke with a start one morning with just four words flashing like a neon sign inside my head, “I can’t do this!” What had I been thinking? This was nuts! I couldn’t go back to Mexico! I certainly couldn’t go back with a group of students in my charge! What in the world could I possibly show them? How to be a failure at missions? No, this idea had disaster written all over it. I emailed Caleb and told him of my new conclusion. I entreated him to understand what a big mistake we were making. He laughed patiently at me and told me I was going, the ticket was purchased, the plans were made, the kids needed me there. I shared my trembling with another friend, repeating the flashing words over and over again, “I can’t do this.” Finally, with more patience than I deserved, he said, “No, Kristen, you can’t. It’s good you realize it now.” Those were the first words to penetrate my heart in mind in days. And, in their place came a new set of words, a memory verse taught to me by a Spanish professor in college. “Todo lo puedo en Cristo que me fortalice.” I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. I was right and so was my friend. I couldn’t do this, but Christ in me could accomplish anything when I submit to Him. Through the next two weeks of preparation, another verse became dear to my heart and brought me much comfort as I sought to take each thought captive and make it obedient to the will of God. John 15:5, “I am the Vine, you are the branches. Apart from me, you can do nothing. If you remain in Me and My words remain in you, you will bear much fruit.” There is was in black and white, clear as day. I could do nothing apart from Christ, but when I chose to let His words abide in Me and I in Him, I could bear much fruit. I don’t know why I was even surprised to arrive at our final group meeting before the trip only to hear one of the leaders pray that very verse over those students. It’s amazing how many times those verses come to mind as I face life’s daily challenges. Every time I am tempted to cry out a defeated, “I can’t do it!” I am reminded that I indeed cannot do it, but Christ in me can do all things!

Lessons In Missions: God's Concern for My Holiness

As I sat on my unmade bed, journal and Bible open, I poured out my heart to the Lord. I was not respectful. I was not humble. I was not reverent as I entered His presence that morning. I more or less burst into the throne room, stood before Him in utter frustration and spewed forth the uttermost thought in my mind. “Why?! Why in the world am I here?! What are you doing?!” I cannot say for sure now, but I think I cried these words allowed as I sat on my bed. I may have even been yelling loud enough for the neighbors to hear. They weren’t far off, of course. There is little private space in Mexico.
I’d been in Guadalajara, Mexico for seven weeks by that time. I was more than half way through my thirteen week term. Thirteen weeks, 91 days … I counted every one of them. I knew the minute I landed in that place that I was not going to be a good missionary, but I truly was giving it my best. Unfortunately, my best wasn’t much at that time. I signed up for this trip with a lot of unmerited confidence. I’d just finished a four year degree in Spanish. I’d been leading college Bible studies for two years. Of course I knew what I was doing. Of course Mexico needed me. I landed in Guadalajara the evening of September 10, 2001. I didn’t count on leaving my heart back in Texas. I didn’t realize how much I would miss my friends, how I would long to be with the college students in weekly Bible study, how I would feel so cut off from my country in a time of great disaster. But, I’m not sure any of those things was the reason I wept so bitterly that particular morning. It’s much more likely that I wept that morning in sheer selfishness. I had a picture in my head of what this time was supposed to look like, all of the Mexican students I would be leading to the Lord and how popular I would be with the mission board back home. Now, a little over halfway through my term, and I had to send my partner on to the campus by herself because I couldn’t pull myself together and stop crying long enough to get dressed and be presentable. Then, as I sat in the quiet and pulled out my Bible and my journal, seeking solace, I read the verse. “The fields are white unto harvest. Pray to the Lord of the Harvest that He might send workers.” I am not sure there are words for the frustration I felt in that moment, the confusion that brought me bursting into the throne room of the Almighty in a near state of rage. “I’m here!” I yelled. “I’m ready to work the harvest!” I announced. “Why won’t you use me?” I collapsed at His feet in supplication. I needed an answer. And, as I wept bitterly, it came. Softly, in a whisper so loud it was unmistakable. The Almighty was more concerned with my holiness than with any statistic I could post back to the folks at home. He wanted me, my attention, my utter devotion, and if He had to remove me from anything familiar and plant me in a small, unairconditioned bedroom on the roof of a Mexican family’s home, then He would go that far. He had things to say to me, and He wanted to be sure I was listening. You see, back home, I was too busy to listen. I was too important, to confident, too arrogant to recognize how crucial it was that I prioritize His will above my own. I was busy with good things, but they were not the best things. I had charted the best course of my own understanding. But that was precisely what He’d told me not to do. Proverbs 3:5-6, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart. Lean NOT on your own understanding …” A light bulb came on for me that morning, sitting in the midst of my unmade bed, staring at an open Bible and journal. A weight was lifted from me as I realized that God was responsible for the success or failure of my journey. I was responsible to obey. I confessed. I spoke aloud what God already knew, my arrogance, my misguided attempts at doing His job for Him, my selfish pursuit of my own fame. Even as I sit her, five years removed from that place, I can hardly put words to all that I understood in that moment of clarity. Most profoundly, I understood a very simple truth, God loves me. Serving Him and obeying Him is for my best. He does not ask those things of me to punish me, to make me miserable, to break me so that He can boost His own ego. He takes me through valleys and into dark places only to show me more of Himself and remind me that He truly does care for me. His faithfulness is beyond measure. This week, our Sunday School class was discussing 1 Peter 5, “Cast your cares upon Him for He cares for you.” As we discussed our tendencies toward worry and fear, it occurred to me that I am most tempted to be anxious when I forget this simple truth. He cares for me. I laugh at myself, at how quickly I forget. He cares for me, and He wants to be known by me. He took me to a roof in Mexico just to show me how much.

Moveable?

Have you ever prayed a prayer, and then wondered later, as your prayer seemed to be answered, if that was something you really meant to have? I have several of those prayers in my life. They are prayers I prayed in my youth, prayers I prayed as a high school student who was determined to change the world. Prayers prayed in rebellion against what I perceived to be the status quo lifestyle of adults around me. I am not certain when I first prayed that God would keep me moveable, but IÃ?m guessing it was sometime during or directly following a short term mission trip during my senior high years. Short term trips changed my life, and after participating in several of them, it seemed inconceivable to me that there were people in my church who have never been on one! I prayed then that I would always been moveable. That if God needed me, I would never be so tied down to a job or a debt or any other thing that would keep me from being available and obedient to whatever He had for me. I prayed that my heart and mind would be moveable, too. I did not ever want to be so hardened that I could not learn new lessons, and I never wanted to be so stiff necked that I could not be humbled by a new revelation of God?s sweet grace. I am twenty-seven now. Not old. But not terribly young anymore, either. Most of my friends are married. They have full-time, paying jobs with sizeable incomes. Many of them have purchased homes. Some of them are having children. I am still moveable. The first few years out of college and into seminary, I was so thankful for that prayer. I wore it as a badge, I think. But, I confess, as so many people around me begin to put down roots and my life remains so flexible, I wonder if I really meant that prayer. I doubt there was any way I could have fully appreciated the ramifications of God's answer, what it would feel like that no one thing holds you to a place and that any day, God could say "move" and you would have no basis to argue. I laugh inside even as I try to articulate these thoughts. It's not an easy concept to explain. There is such a part of me that is still grateful that God didn't give me enough insight to truly fathom what I was asking of Him when I first prayed to be moveable. There is a part of me, especially on the lonely days, that would take it back if I thought I could. But, truthfully, I cannot, and I am reminded of so many promises of Scripture about God's trustworthiness. He does all things well, and if this is the life He has chosen for me, who in the world am I to think I could have chosen better?

Flannel Board Lessons

It’s common in Christian circles today to make fun of “flannel board Jesus” and all the flannel board characters and stories of our childhood. I grew up in a small First Baptist Church in a rural community in South Texas. Some of my earliest memories are of lessons taught with the aid of a flannel board. For the uninitiated, a flannel board was set up on an easel, must like a blackboard, and the various characters and necessary props for storytelling were cut from other flannel pieces and affixed to the board as the stories progressed. I must have heard most Bible stories for the first time in that room with the flannel board. We would sit on miniature chairs, at a large round table decorated with a patchwork of colorful shag carpet pieces covered by Plexiglas. It’s in that setting that I first remember hearing about Solomon. King Solomon. Wise Solomon. Solomon who knew better than to cut babies in half, but told two fighting women that he would do just that if they didn’t tell the truth. Mrs. McElroy, “Mrs. Mac” for short, told us that God gave Solomon permission to ask Him for anything the young king desired. Solomon could have asked for great wealth and prosperity, for health and length of days, or for victories in battle and great fame. But, Solomon asked God for wisdom, and it pleased God very much. I didn’t know it when I first heard the story, but James 1:5 says that “If any man lacks wisdom, he should ask God who gives generously to all without finding fault.” Wisdom is a greatly esteemed virtue throughout scripture. I can picture my preschool age Sunday School self sitting in a miniature plastic chair around the shag carpet table studying a flannel King Solomon kneeling before the Lord, asking for wisdom. I am not at all certain how in the world I comprehended such things from such youth, but I remember being so impressed that Solomon’s request for wisdom pleased God in such a way that God granted Solomon wisdom … as well as fortune, health, and fame. That’s the first time I remember praying for wisdom. God, make me wise. God, give me the wisdom to choose the things that please you. God, help me to be someone you can bless. I’d be lying if I told you I “feel” wise. I don’t. But, sometimes, when I’m visiting with a friend in crisis, my heart repeats those early petitions for God to grant me wisdom from above, and I hear myself offering counsel that could only come from His very Spirit. Friends say to me, “You are wise beyond your years,” or come to my home specifically in search of wisdom. It might seem tempting to grow arrogant about such things, but God has been gracious to me. Each time I hear someone comment about the wisdom they have gained from me, I am humbled. I see a child in a frilly dress with matching hairbows, head bowed over folded hands asking God to grant her wisdom just like He did for the flannel board King Solomon.

Lessons from Childlike Faith

When I was a little girl, we took prayer requests each week in Sunday School. If I close my eyes, and inhale deeply, I can be there in just a few seconds. The walls are made of cinderblocks, painted white, layers of paint, usually peeling in places. The pictures are cut outs from various Sunday School publications, some of them have probably been there since my own parents were children. On the back of the door, when it’s closed, there is a mimeographed sheet with Psalm 1 written on it, complete with stick figures to help you memorize the progression of the passage … “Blessed is the man who WALKETH not … STANDETH not … SITTETH not …” I picture that page in my head each time I think on that passage. It’s interesting the things one remembers from childhood. We must have been in second or third grade by that time. We sat in metal folding chairs at a long banquet table that took up most of the room. There was a single window and some thin, faded curtains that must have been cheery in their prime. It was in this room we learned about Jesus. We learned about spending time with Him, trusting Him, memorizing His Word, and talking to Him. Prayer must have been the most important thing I learned in that room. I remember taking time each week to ask for the things we wanted most for God to do. Every week I asked for the same thing. I asked God to help my Pappy to quit smoking and to go to church. Pappy had worked shift work for many years, staying up nights and sleeping through the days. Each time I went to visit him and Mimi in Corpus Christi, it bothered my little heart so very much that he never got up to go to church with us on Sundays. I knew he needed to be there to keep learning about Jesus just like I did. I also knew that when he was awake, he smoked. His house, his clothes, his truck, everything about him reeked of it. I knew it had been a source of contention between him and my mother when she was growing up there. She had told me stories about how she would hide in her room until just before her dates came to pick her up, then dash through the house, hoping to avoid the scent that seemed to hang on everything it touched. I don’t honestly recall if I was aware of the health risks for smokers at that time, or if I was just worried about his soul, since non of the church going men that I knew at the time were smokers. Well, if they were, they were most certainly backslidden. You know, my other grandmother used to always tell us that we didn’t “smoke, drink or chew or go with those who do!” I knew I was going to heaven, and I wanted Pappy to go with me.
I eventually promoted out of that Sunday School room to a different one down the hall where I remember spending time learning about missionaries, and I eventually quit asking God to get Pappy to church or to quit smoking. I figured He’d already said “No” since nothing seemed different when I went for visits to Mimi and Pappy’s. When I got to Junior High, we moved from South Texas to Plano, and somewhere along the way Pappy retired from shift work. He began sleeping nights like the rest of us and I actually got to see him during the day when I was there. Then, when I was in high school, the diagnosis came. Cancer … of the lung, of course. None of us could say we were surprised, but we were saddened just the same. But, there were treatments, and Pappy pursued them. He ceased smoking immediately. Mimi told me many years later that he smoked one last one, then never said another word about it. He was just done. I’m not sure along what timeline all these things occurred, but I remember going to Corpus Christi for a visit one weekend late in my high school years. I had heard about the changes in Pappy, but it still surprised me to see him up and dressed in a suit and tie that Sunday morning. But, when it came time to go, he wasn’t there. I asked Mimi about it. She smiled, “He’s gone on early to greet the old ladies and help them from their cars.” And, as we pulled into the parking lot, sure enough, there he was to help us from our cars and usher us into the sanctuary. For the next twelve years, I am not certain he missed many Sundays serving in that way unless he was out of town or very ill.
I’m a slow learner, and it was many years later that I was thinking about prayer and the unique ways that God answers prayer when it dawned on me. I closed my eyes, pictured that cinderblock Sunday School room and remembered the earnest prayers of a child. God did hear me, and He had answered.
Pappy’s cancer came back last year. By the time he was diagnosed, it was beyond treatment. He died peacefully just three weeks later. I saw him a week before he died. When my suitcase was packed and loaded in the car, I headed back to his room to tell him goodbye. Pappy was always a hugger, but never terribly articulate about his feelings for his family. As I knelt by his bed, he pulled me into a bear hug with strength I didn’t know he still possessed, and whispered in my ear, “You know I love you.” He pushed me back and looked into my eyes, chocolate brown eyes that always reminded him of his mother who died when he was twelve, and he said it again, “I love you.” That was it. There was nothing more to say. I hugged him again. Told him I loved him, too, and headed for the car. The following week at his funeral, I had the opportunity to speak with Mr. Wright, the man who was responsible for inviting Pappy back to church and involving him in the greeter’s ministry. I told him about that Sunday School room and my childlike faith. I told him that God answered my prayers, and that I knew that the first answer was lung cancer. That first round of cancer and treatment that made Pappy quit smoking gave us 12 more years with him. The second answer was Mr. Right. His friendship and persistent encouragement helped Pappy find his place in the Body of Christ.

I'm Telling!

Luke 18:27 Jesus replied, "What is impossible with men is possible with God."
I will trust in God
To supply my need
Philippians 4:19 And my God will meet all your needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus.

2 Corinthians 9:6 Remember this: Whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and whoever sows generously will also reap generously. 7Each man should give what he has decided in his heart to give, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver. 8And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work. 9As it is written:
"He has scattered abroad his gifts to the poor;
his righteousness endures forever."[a] 10Now he who supplies seed to the sower and bread for food will also supply and increase your store of seed and will enlarge the harvest of your righteousness. 11You will be made rich in every way so that you can be generous on every occasion, and through us your generosity will result in thanksgiving to God.

He'll come through for me
If I just believe
Mark 11:22 "Have[f] faith in God," Jesus answered. 23"I tell you the truth, if anyone says to this mountain, 'Go, throw yourself into the sea,' and does not doubt in his heart but believes that what he says will happen, it will be done for him. 24Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours. 25And when you stand praying, if you hold anything against anyone, forgive him, so that your Father in heaven may forgive you your sins."[g]

If I pray in faith then I will receiveJohn 15:16 You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit—fruit that will last. Then the Father will give you whatever you ask in my name.

If I tell (God about my problems)
He'll work it out for me (Repeat)

No more crying
Revelation 7:17 For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd; he will lead them to springs of living water. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes."

No more worrying
25"Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? 26Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? 27Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life[b]?
28"And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. 29Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. 30If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? 31So do not worry, saying, 'What shall we eat?' or 'What shall we drink?' or 'What shall we wear?' 32For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. 33But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. 34Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.
No more struggling

Matthew 18:28 "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. 29Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."

If I tell (God about my problems)
He'll work it out for me

Morbid Fascination

Last night, I stayed up past midnight reading the end of a book called "The Usual Rules." It's the story of a 13 year old girl whose mother worked in the Twin Towers and never came home after September 11. It was a wretched, heart-rending story that wasn't even all that well written, but I couldn't put it down as I got to the end. Then, this morning, I was listening to a traffic update on the radio, and they were talking about the backup due to onlookers was worse than the backup in the actual lanes effected by the wreck. And, finally, as I drove to work, the d.j.'s I was listening to made an analogy of something awful happening that they couldn't turn away from and likened it to a train wreck. What is this morbid fascination we have with all things wretched? Why can't we just put the book down, turn the channel, or keep driving when we come across something terrible? Just curious.

My New Favorite Book

I haven't read it yet, but after hearing this quote from the first chapter, I'm absolutely positive that this is my new favorite book.

"When I was in 8th Grade and boys discussed video games, I understood. Now that I am 31, I think to myself, "If you boys would grow up, you might be having sex by now instead of playing Super Mario 34." -- from What a Girl Wants

Thelma and Louise, Part One

Suzanne and I set out on our road trip to her Montana wedding before dawn one Saturday. We were armed with coffee, a map highlighting our route, two cell phones and driving a loaded down Durango full of what can only be called "wedding crap." (Except for the dress, of course. That was truly important.) So, we're driving and laughing, text messaging our friends, and enjoying the scenery. Just as we come into Colorado, we notice a sign to our right, "State Correctional Facility Ahead: Do Not Pick Up Hitchhikers." Well, great! That's comforting! We laugh and continue on our merry way. About 15 minutes later, I'm driving along, watching the traffic in front of me and wondering how much longer before we're actually in the mountains, when suddenly, I hear Suz exclaim, "Look! A marching band!" My first thought is, "What kind of marching band is out in the middle of June?!" But, still, I glance to my right. Where she sees a marching band, I see white buildings, painted uniformly with green roofs and surrounded by barbed wire fencing. I also see rows of men in matching white uniforms lined up in a yard. Could it be a CORRECTIONAL FACILITY?! She came to the same realization about the time I did, and we laughed way too hard for the next several miles!

Tales of a Fourth Grade Theologian

With much fear and trembling I approached the Fourth Grade Bible Lesson at Kid Power Camp on Monday evening. We were talking about The Good News using a Wordless Book made of colored construction paper, each page/color representing a part of the Greatest Story Ever Told. Night one was The Gold Page or Heaven, God's Home. Most of the children in my little huddle were from our church and knew the story quite well, so I spent most of the time letting them tell me the story. When I got to the part about things that wouldn't be in heaven, I was using a teaching aid with pictures on it to prompt them. They were calling out answers like "tears" or "death" or "sun and moon" when I heard it the first time. A little boy on my left said, "anathema." At least, that's what I thought I heard. I kept going, taking answers from the other children, and then I heard it again. "Anathema." I turned, acknowledged him and asked him if he could define that word for the rest of the class. He sat up straight, looked me in the eye as though he couldn't believe that would be necessary and said, "Someone condemned to hell. They obviously wouldn't be in heaven." Wow. You're right, kid. Good job. We move on. (I should note that the three older gentlemen assigned to "corral" my kids for the evening are standing around the circle with their mouths hanging open, dumbfounded.) It gets better. I move on with the children, and we begin discussing John 3:16, "For God so loved the world -- that means you and me! -- that He gave His only begotten Son -- to die on a cross for our sin, can anyone tell me what sin is?" Again, I field answers about kicking, stealing, disobeying, and from my left, I hear the same voice again, "treason." I turn, smile, and ask for a definition -- this time, out of complete curiousity as to what he might say, but without any doubt that he'll have one. That's when the history lesson began. Picture a fourth grader looking you directly in the eye and explaining, "Well, it's like during the War of Such and Such (I don't remember what he said), if someone were serving King Louis IV or V, I've forgotten now, but they befriended the King of Denmark and betrayed him. That's treason, so they CUT OFF HIS HEAD!" The last four words were stated emphatically and punctuated with a karate chop move. Okay, score two for the kid. We continue through John 3:16, "...that whosoever believes in Him -- who is whosoever, kids?" We talk about the fact that this verse tells us that anyone can come to God and go to heaven, that anyone who believes Jesus is Lord and Savior can be forgiven of their sin and does not have to go to hell. The hand on my left shoots up at this point. I can't help myself. I call on him. And this comes out of his 10 year old mouth, "Well, actually, John Calvin's theology of election and predestination states that God has predetermined who will be elected to salvation. And if there are some chosen for heaven, then obviously, some people have to go to hell." I smiled graciously, not sure if I'm more amazed by this child's ability to correctly use such words and sentences or the mouths of the adults nearby that are hanging open. I tell him that John Calvin was a very smart man who wrote many helpful things, but that tonight, we are more concerned with specifically what John 3:16 says. He interrupts me and says with an increduous tone, "John Calvin wrote MANY commentaries on the Bible, you know." "Yes, I know, I've even read some of what he's written, but tonight, we're still going to stick with Scripture only, okay?" He shrugs, but let's it drop. I finish the lesson without further comment. However, later, the children are at craft time, making their own wordless books, working on the Red Page, discussing blood. My Fourth Grade Theologian informs his fellow crafters this very helpful tidbit ... Did you know it's more fun to squash female mosquitoes than male mosquitoes because female mosquitoes have more blood and make a better splat!
I can hardly wait to go back tonight!

Pentecost

Our church joined with numerous others from Fort Worth last night to celebrate Pentecost in an outdoor prayer and praise service. I confess, I was not looking forward to the service through the week. Sunday nights at Wedgwood are pretty much my favorite time of the week, and I guard that hour and a half jealously in my schedule. However, as Bro. Al shared faithfully from 2 Chronicles 7:14 on Sunday morning and called each of us to prayer as individuals and as a corporate body, I realized that Sunday night's service with the community was not something I wanted to miss. I am so glad I didn't! Just seeing the mix of people, races and denominations on that hill was incredible. Spending time in focused prayer with my brothers and sisters was a privilege and an honor. It's so easy to forget our shared purpose when we do not exercise that privilege regularly. It's so encouraging to hear another pray the things that are in my own heart and know that God is moving all around us and the He desires to use us for His glory. Praise Him!

How Sweet It Is

I've been reflecting a lot lately on the voice of the Lord. Psalm 29 describes the power of His voice, culminating in verse 9, "The voice of the Lord makes the deer to calve and strips the forest bare; and in His temple all the people cry, 'Glory!'" Yet, in 1 Kings 19, we read the account of Elijah experiencing the presence of God in a whisper. Truly, God comes and speaks to us in whatever way He sees fit, but lately, I've just been so glad that He speaks at all. A few weeks ago, He had some difficult things to say to me, some hard truths I needed to hear and heed. My initial reaction was, of course, conviction and remorse, but as things began to settle down and my life lined up according to His Word once again, the realization that the Almighty King of kings would care so much about my relationship to Him being in right order that He would speak to me in a personal way was incredible. Even when He disciplines me, it's so sweet to hear His voice. Through the weeping season of last year, His voice came often, comforting, promising hope and healing, challenging me to take Him at His word. I think I took the sweetness of that intimacy for granted at times. For now, as healing happens, and joy comes much more easily, I miss that voice, the way He spoke so clearly back then. May we never cease to be amazed at the greatness of our God, that One so holy would choose to commune with the common likes of me!

I'm So Proud

Five years ago this month, I came home from college for the weekend on a Friday afternoon and discovered an empty house with an unmowed lawn. For those of you who know my dad, Big Dave, you know that this is not normal. Upon calling Mom's cell phone, I discovered that my parents were sitting in the emergency room, waiting to hear the doctor's report from tests being run on Daddy's heart after chest pains and an irregular EKG. We spent four long days in the hospital before an angioplasty revealed a miraculous lack of damage to his heart. Since that time, Big Dave's taken his heart and his health seriously. He's been eating better, staying active, and this weekend, he completed his first triathalon. I'm so proud of him, so thankful that he heeded the warnings of his own body and has such an incredible will not just to live, but to live well. Congrats, Big Dave! :-)

Sympathy Please

Today my job includes having to explain to a very childlike, mentally retarded 68 year old man that he can no longer receive meals on Thursdays because the volunteer that brings her little girls with her to deliver meals finds his pinup girl wallpaper offensive (even though he does have two newspaper clippings of Billy and Franklin Graham right in the center of one wall) and inappropriate and is convinced that when he invited her in to play with his toys, he wasn't referring to the rows of neat little cars and figurines lining the floor around his livingroom. Anybody want to trade?

Notice

I have decided to allow all of you "anonymous" readers to comment on my entries. This means you do not have to be a blogger to leave a comment anymore. However, you must sign your comments/let me know who you are for this to work. Otherwise, I will be forced to go back to allowing only bloggers to comment. Thanks for your participation!