Finding Home

We close on our new house June 12th!

I am Beck far from home, I always have been and in a sense will be until I die. When I was little, in a family as transient as gypsies, home eluded me. In fifteen years of marriage we've lived in four states and spent a total of three years living in other people's homes. From the moment I was born I went questing, casting about for home.

The truth was I never found home, perhaps because I wasn't ready. If you don't know where your heart is meant to dwell it will never find it's resting place. But even though, in a sense I'm still far from home, my heart has finally found a place to call home.

My home is God's heart and my home is his people. Throughout the early years of my life I learned the first truth, in the last few years I've learned the second. Whether living in someone's basement or far from my native south, I learned to live and move and have my being in God my father (Acts 17:28).

After disappointment, that I've both endured and caused, I've come to realize that if my heart dwells in God and your heart dwells in God, we dwell together. I knew that truth doctrinally but experientially it has alluded me. As much as I've cared deeply for the churches we've served I've rarely felt at home. Perhaps I wasn't ready, perhaps I was still sojourning. Maybe I needed to feel far from home to prize home when I found it.

I don't feel far from home anymore.

In all our wandering Chris and I never bought, or even considered buying, a house. There were many, many reasons for that. To a great extent they were financial, the risk didn't out weigh the benefit. But now, even though there are still risks, we're ready to face them.

I'm tired of wandering. I need a home. But more than that, something is different in me, in this church. I believe God is doing something new. Buying a house says something. It says I choose to stay, it says I choose you. For the long haul. And that's what I believe a church family should do, choose Jesus, and one another, for the long haul. Like marriage.

So this house is our engagement ring. We're marrying our future to Christ's bride in this time and this place, for better or worse. For a wandering gypsy like me that kind of commitment thrills and terrifies me. But I trust it's God's doing and I embrace it.

Oddly enough our arrival at the church was less formal than anywhere else we've been and in some ways I think that's good. No need for fanfare, there's work to be done.

In every church we've served the value of our experience has been enormous and we've loved deeply. We are still in relationship with many of our friends. But I've never felt like the whole church was family, I've always wondered if I was wanted. Perhaps I guarded my heart too closely, or perhaps those communities didn't know how to adopt. But I know this is what I've always wanted. To belong.

"You have made us for yourself, Oh Lord, and are hearts are restless until they rest in you." St. Augustine

Do you have a place to belong? We are communal creatures, a life of solitude isn't an option. If you're still wandering ask God to establish you in community, it's his desire for his children to be at home together.

The Scandalous Truth

Have you ever read the Bible to a kid? I didn't realize how scandalous the Bible was until I tried to read it to my son! It's full of murder, adultery, lying, stealing, and trickery, and that's all done by the good guys. It's worse than a Maury Povich show, father-in-laws and daughter-in-laws and babies. How do you read that to an impressionable nine year old? 

All of that scandal points out a greater scandal though, God's love. He's not surprised or put off by the mayhem. He moves in with grace anyway. 

Do you ever feel like your life is a wreck, one big scandalous mess? Don't hide from God, like your parents Adam and Eve did, or you'll miss out on the bigger scandal; God's not impressed by your mess, he's impressed by his mercy.

But we really good Christians try to clean all that up, and in the process, without realizing it, we lose the power. It's unfortunate really that we tend to do that. 

As I read the Bible to Max I want to teach him to read it with wonder over the worst of man being met by all the goodness of God. 

Let's read the Bible with fresh eyes.Without hiding our flaws and mistakes, let the light of truth bring them out in the open, only then can we realize the greatness of God's gift of reconciliation. 

"The old life is gone; a new life burgeons! Look at it! All this comes from the God who settled the relationship between us and him, and then called us to settle our relationships with each other. God put the world square with himself through the Messiah, giving the world a fresh start by offering forgiveness of sins." 2 Corinthians 5:18

Do you let the messy reality of your life, of the world, of the heroes of the faith, and the undaunted goodness of God come face to face in the pages of the Bible? 

Do You Know Any Heroes?

Heroes are awesome! My nine year old, Max, is interested in the laser-eyed, high flying kind. But I'm amazed by a different sort of hero. The kind who fight off fear and take risks for a cause they believe in.

Sometimes that type of hero is high profile, like Bob Goff or Jen Hatmaker. Other times they are the kind of people you go to church with and see in the carpool line. They don't look extra-ordinary, haven't written a best seller, aren't wearing a cape. They're ordinary heroes.

I'd like to tell you about one that has grabbed my attention lately. Stephanie Page is a mom who lives in the freezing world of Minnesota. She's raising three beautiful daughters and investing in the lives of young people, she's blogging, dreaming, and speaking. Recently she started Stories Cafe.

Stephanie says of Stories, "We all have a story to share and our stories can touch the stories of others. Stories is on it's way to becoming a cafe where proceeds will go to the abolition of modern day slavery. Live your story. Share your story. Change a story."

She and her family are working to make Stories a reality. A real place where the proceeds from the Cafe go to fight human trafficking. She's passionate and committed to making a difference.

It hasn't been an easy ride to get to this place, it's taken personal sacrifice. Stephanie's dedication to live what she believes, to put her actions behind her convictions, inspires me. Check out Stories Cafe and see if you aren't inspired too!

Do you know any heroes? It could be your Mom (mine is another one of my heroes), or your pastor, one of your kids teachers, or anyone you know. Tell us who your heroes are!

Have you told them lately that they inspire you? Why not take a moment today to give them a phone call or an email and let them know you appreciate their bold lives of faith!

In need of a Shelter

If you're like me the pressure of life presses in more often than you would like to admit. The frantic pace of trying to make ends meet, keeping up with kid's schedules, pursuing an illusive dream. The aching weariness of a constant stream of bad news. I can't even watch the evening news anymore; killings, hunger, disappointment, disaster, corruption, immorality, a steady dose I just can't ingest. The sorrow of a family member's illness, the fatigue of training up children in this world, the disappointment of personal shortcomings.

It all settles tight between the shoulder blades and threatens to overwhelm. Those moments, which are oddly interspersed with delight and wonder, crop up weed-like so often. When they do my heart is refreshed by remembering the words of Psalm 18:

As for God, his way is perfect: The Lord’s word is flawless; he shields all who take refuge in him. For who is God besides the Lord? And who is the Rock except our God? It is God who arms me with strength and keeps my way secure. He makes my feet like the feet of a deer; he causes me to stand on the heights. He trains my hands for battle; my arms can bend a bow of bronze. You make your saving help my shield, and your right hand sustains me; your help has made me great. You provide a broad path for my feet, so that my ankles do not give way. 

I don't know what weariness you are laboring under, what dreams you are investing in, what hurt is burning in your chest. But I do know the God who is your Rock and mine. He calls, he trains, he protects, and is patient. You've heard it before, but maybe you need to hear it again, God is for you.

Today if your heart is heavy, or maybe you are feeling worn around the edges, take courage, God has offered himself as your shelter. He never wearies of caring for his own and teaching us how to battle in his strength. 

Can I pray for us?
God as the world whirs on, noisy and fitful, quiet our hearts in your presence. Remind us to turn our eyes to you, knowing you always care for your people. Be our Rock, our shield, our safe place of peace. Your good news of grace and truth outshines the ugly of this world any day. Thank you God. Amen.

Prayer God Loves to Answer

For years I have been mystified by passages like James 5:17-18; "Elijah was a human being, even as we are. He prayed earnestly that it would not rain, and it did not rain on the land for three and a half years. Again he prayed, and the heavens gave rain, and the earth produced its crops."

What is the key to praying bold prayers that God answers with a yes? What kind of prayer "moves mountains"? I'm coming to learn context is everything and so is our heart's desire.

I acknowledge that God is capable of making the sun stand still, parting the Red Sea, causing a three and a half year drought, even of raising the dead. But does an awareness of God's ability translate into faith? Faith is an intimate understanding that God is who he says he is and will do what he has said he will do, our faith is a response to his faithfulness.

What enabled a man, just like us, to pray an audacious prayer that God answered? I believe context is key. Elijah was intimate with the heart of God, he understood God's purposes in his generation, and acted in accordance with God's plan. Elijah's faith in God's faithfulness, belief in his power, and awareness of God's purpose in that time and place led him to pray with confidence.

Israel needed to be reminded of God's authority and he chose Elijah to be his messenger. Elijah had confidence in his God given purpose. It was out of an understanding that Israel needed to be reminded of God's authority that Elijah prayed.

Does that mean we can pray and God will dry up the clouds for three plus years. Yes and no. Elijah had no super powers. When God calls his people he prepares them to pray boldly according to his faithfulness and power.

I've seen people name, claim, and carry on over things they are sure God will do or give. And yet the answers still seem to allude or be manufactured. God is not bound to please us he is bound to glorify himself. Of course God can do anything, but we would be wise to pray for things far beyond our control or ability only after we have taken the time to know God's heartbeat and learned how he has purposed to use us in this place and time for his glory.

Could God use you or me to pray and dry up rain for years? Yes. Will he? I doubt it. I am not in Elijah's generation, facing the problems of his time, I am not purposed for what Elijah was purposed for. And neither are you. People like Elijah are examples of how God uses those who are willing to serve his purposes, not patterns to follow exactly.

Are you frustrated in your prayer life? Are you afraid to pray boldly? Or does God not seem to answer?

Ask God to reveal his heart, to align your heart to his, to inform your prayers with scripture, and to make you aware of his purpose for you in this generation. His purpose is always to glorify himself and to include you in that goal.

Calling all Mothers

On this Mother's Day as I sat in church with my two precious children, surrounded by my amazing church family, a whisper of sorrow wound it's way around my heart. The blue eyed boy my heart loves wasn't with me.

Being a mother has been my greatest challenge and an amazing gift. The love that comes from caring for someone small and vulnerable has expanded my ability to love. I'm finding the capacity to care for someone that needs protecting doesn't stop with my own children. My mother's heart rises up in indignation when I hear of a child taken advantage of or neglected.

Perhaps that's what God intended, for mother's to extend that nurture and influence as a spiritual reality to others. The little boy who lies in a crib in Serbia isn't my responsibility. I didn't give birth to him. I didn't abandon him when his body succumbed to disease. But I've seen him, and perhaps a heart that can see and love is responsible to be a mother, even to a child that's not hers. 

Perhaps I've beat this drum a lot lately, a call of love for the broken and needy. But I think I've just gotten started and the beat will only grow louder. The world needs mothers (and father's too for that matter but today is Mother's Day so I'll stay on topic).

The world needs mothers to ease a hurting heart, to be an advocate in weakness, to notice when something's wrong and take the time to make it right. The world needs mothers to stretch out their hands in a soothing touch, smile in pride at faltering steps, forgive, cheer, clean, mend, and do it again tomorrow. 

So even from a distance I'll learn to be a mother to a world I didn't birth but am learning to see. Will you join me moms? Strap on your super cape and reach into your mother's tool box and embrace the world. The world is our responsibility not because we gave birth to it but because we've been given our motherhood by the One who taught us to love in the first place and he's inviting us to turn our superpowers of love on those who aren't our own.

This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him. This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins. Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us. 1 John 4:9-12

A Cat, a T-shirt, and how to Live with Cancer

My Mom was diagnosed with cancer in November of last year. Thursday evening she spoke about her journey with cancer at a Relay for Life dinner, I'm thankful to be able to share her talk with you here. Feel free to spread the encouragement, if you know someone facing cancer or a difficult time pass her story on.

Everything I needed to know about how to live with cancer I learned from a cat, and everything I needed to know about cancer I learned from a t-shirt.

15 years ago we lived in the metro Atlanta area. It was fall of the year, late October, almost Halloween. The air was crisp, beautiful fall leaves, pumpkins on porches. The feeling of change in the air. It was in that atmosphere that I stepped out onto my porch and saw a stray cat. He was jet black, had a big, thick Tom cat head, a flat nose like a boxer, a ragged ear that tilted to one side, a crooked tail, bald spots where scars prevented hair from growing, bowed legs, and he walked with a swagger. He was a bad cat with a bad boy attitude. I named him Boo.

Boo didn't trust people and I wanted to change that. I would call him whenever I would see him, offer him special treats, but he kept his distance. As it got colder Boo started coming into the garage for warmth. That worked to my advantage, I could have more contact with him. Boo had a need but he wasn't ready to admit it yet. He could make it out on his on, the hard way, or make it with me, a wiser choice. Finally he gave in, made the wise decision, and began trusting me. Our relationship was under way. But I knew Boo could not be the great cat he was meant to be until he had an operation. I trapped him in a cage, took him to the vet who did his job and when Boo came home he was a changed man.

He began to pursue me. Boo had not just been physically starved, he had been starved for love. He followed me like a dog, constantly at my feet. If I sat down I had a lap full of black cat. It was Boo's lap and he wanted in it. As far as Boo was concerned there was nothing else he'd rather do and no where else he'd rather be than in my lap.

I had been struggling with my relationship with God. God used Boo. I was Boo and God wanted me in His lap. Me! In His lap! I made the wise decision. I wanted to be like Boo, changed. I purposed to yield to the transformation commitment God had made to me in His word. As I spent time in God's lap I began to feel like Boo must have felt in mine; safe, comfortable, accepted, contented, welcomed, prized, examined, wanted, loved.

Two years ago I began having random symptoms; swollen, painful joints, lost range of motion, and even physical therapy. My doctor referred me to a Rheumatologist but by the time I could get an appointment my symptoms were gone. I had heart palpitations and blood pressure fluctuations. I had a night visit to the ER fearing a heart attack. I had a stress test, EKG, sonogram on my arteries expecting blockage but all negative. I had intense stomach pain and was treated for gastritis. I had fevers and night sweats. My symptoms would come and go but one thing was for sure I was losing strength and energy.

Last November 12 I began running a fever. I was treated for a UTI. Two weeks later I still had a fever. My doctor gave me an antibiotic injection. A week later I was still feverish. My Doctor ordered a CT scan suspecting I had an infection in my abdomen. By this time my strength and energy were completely gone. I told a friend "I fear I'm terribly, terribly ill."

After the scan the nurse at the radiologist sent me directly to see my doctor. I knew something was wrong. I saw the doctor quickly, I didn't like the look on her face. She sat very close and began her medical explanation. She handed me the printed radiology report. I interrupted her and said flatly, "I have cancer." She said, "we don't like that word." I don't remember what else was said, I don't remember how I got out of that room. I went out to my waiting husband and told him, "I have cancer." I do remember his loud, clear, definitive "NO".

I had become so dehydrated I was admitted to the hospital a few days later. A liver biopsy said that I had Neuroendocrine tumors in my liver, too many to count. It's a rare cancer, only 4 in 100,000 people have it. After seeing the oncologist on call I was stabilized and sent home. He called later with more lab results and a treatment plan. We learned it was inoperable and wouldn't respond to chemotherapy. But, we were assured, there were new medicines. The old medicines used to treat it had been only 20% effective but the new ones were better. I didn't like the tone in his voice. He was a great guy, we liked him, a good doctor to be sure, but his arsenal was too small for me. We knew we needed other options.

My husband asked his sister, Jeanne, who had lost her son, Beau, to synovial sarcoma two years earlier, what she would do? She suggested Cancer Treatment Centers of America. We had our first visit to CTCA on December 10th. I met my oncologist who passed me off to an Interventional Radiologist for the preferred treatment. My treatment would be an injection of between 2 to 8 million radioactive therasphers. These are tiny glass beads less than the circumference of a human hair fed through my femoral artery in my groin to be placed in the arteries in my liver which fed the tumors. There are only a handful of hospitals in the country with this new technology. I had "fallen" into the right hands.

I felt like a character in a science fiction movie as I had my first treatment on Jan 19. After an overnight stay I was sent home to wait for the beads to do their job. Those were long difficult weeks. I was in the capable hands of an excellent caregiver, my husband. He took family medical leave to be with me constantly. Our church and families were loving and supportive.

But you are never the same after you hear the C word. Cancer changes everything. It changes how you feel about time, relationships, possessions, even your own body as it betrays you. I prayed, asking, begging God to enable me to do this thing. Fear could overtake me at times. What if the treatment didn't work? But, God reminded me of Boo. I had allowed fear to get me out of the lap. Back into His lap I crawled, insisting on being there, finding comfort, rest, peace and trust. In those intimate moments God spoke to me of my fear reminding me that I need to live today, just today. Don't try to live tomorrow, don't look at it. He hadn't ask me to live tomorrow yet, but when He did call me to He would be there with me.

The last time we were at CTCA my radiologist told me that in January my condition had been scary. He didn't need to tell me that. I knew it. I knew I had been in danger, I had felt it. But, a stray black cat had shown me 15 years earlier how to live with cancer, how to walk the most difficult mile of my journey.

My two treatments were considered successful. At the last MRI I had no viable tumors in my liver. We go back to CTCA Monday the 13th. I'll have an MRI of my liver and hopefully find out about removal of the primary cancer.

The last time Silver, my little therapy dog, and I worked at Mission Cancer Center we walked past the gift shop window. There hung a t-shirt that stopped me in my tracks. Printed on the front was everything I needed to know about cancer. I know some medical facts about cancer. I don't understand much of it. I have an oncologist that presumably knows all he can know about my cancer. That's his job. But, what I learned from the t-shirt is what I need to know and it's this: "Cancer is so limited. It cannot cripple love, it cannot kill friendship, it cannot shatter hope, it cannot shut out memories, it cannot destroy confidence, it cannot eat away peace, it cannot silence courage, it cannot reduce eternal life, it cannot quench the spirit." That's my cancer. And that's your cancer. 

Pat Morton lives in a cabin in the hills of North Carolina with her husband Steve and an assortment of animal friends. She's a native South Carolina girl and a story teller by nature.

Fear Is Just A Bully

Lately I've been out-running a monster. It's teeth are sharp and sink into the flesh of my soul. Every time I think about the what ifs I can feel it's hot breath.

Maybe in the dark you wonder, as I do, if the sting and ache of giving birth really is easier than the raising of the young ones. What if parts get broken that can't be fixed. What if little arms eager now for a hug stop hugging, or hug the wrong person, or fall still in illness. The black hole of what ifs could drown a mother's heart.

And then God's call to follow him, in hazy moments, looms like a mountain, bigger than Everest ever was. What if my heart can't contain the pain I find where he leads, or bursts from the love. What if I'm haunted by the blue eyes of the little boy lying in his crib, forever? What if I fail. At what, I'm not even sure.

The foul breath of "not enough" stalks me when I scroll through Pinterest. (I stopped watching the news years ago because I knew red eyes lurked behind headlines, waiting to consume me.) But it's there, down grocery isles, and in magazines, behind Facebook posts, I feel it's hot breath.

The stench of Fear, and his brother Failure, wafts around me at night as I try to sleep. 

Why? I say I believe God is who he says he is and will do what he says he'll do. But I doubt myself. 

Is redemption more powerful than the brokenness, forgiveness weightier than the chains, will he keep his word even to one such as me? Have you ever asked yourself those questions? 

And then the darkness fades and I read words that swell my eyes with tears and shape my lips into a yes.

Those who enter into Christ’s being-here-for-us no longer have to live under a continuous, low-lying black cloud. A new power is in operation. The Spirit of life in Christ, like a strong wind, has magnificently cleared the air, freeing you from a fated lifetime of brutal tyranny at the hands of sin and death. God went for the jugular when he sent his own Son. He didn’t deal with the problem as something remote and unimportant. In his Son, Jesus, he personally took on the human condition, entered the disordered mess of struggling humanity in order to set it right once and for all...So, what do you think? With God on our side like this, how can we lose? If God didn’t hesitate to put everything on the line for us, embracing our condition and exposing himself to the worst by sending his own Son, is there anything else he wouldn’t gladly and freely do for us? ~ Romans 8:1-4, 31 The Message

Did you just fall a little bit more in love? If that doesn't take care of every fear and what if I don't know what possibly could. I've known, but I'm learning anew, that looking at every situation, every person, every weakness through Jesus changes everything. 

When the teeth of fear sink into our hearts Jesus is the only antidote. Ask your fears "is there anything, ANYTHING, else God wouldn't gladly and freely do for me, the one he loves, the one who's trusting him?" And of course the answer is no. He's given everything already, there's nothing left to hold back. 

Play the what if game. What if the job is lost, the child is ill, the friendship ends, the money runs out, the dream's too big, the adoption drags on? Nothing happens, because nothing can separate us from the Love of our life, our Jesus! Nothing. 

Whew, I needed to hear that! Maybe you did too. Fear is just a bully with little ammunition and no power, because we belong to Jesus.

 

So go face your day, your life, unafraid. And the next time I whimper in fear, remind me fear is just a bully. I'll remind you too!

Cultivating the Hearts of the Next Generation

Spring unfolds her verdant banner early in southern Alabama, inviting us to linger outside. As my little daughter and I enjoyed the backyard I noticed that a large pot, brought from my grandmother's house after she died last year, was coming to life. The hydrangea inside is pushing out fresh green leaves and on one of the vines, winding it's way to rest on the shoulder of an angel, also from her yard, was a dainty purple blossom. I didn't realize last year when I brought the faded green pot home what kind of vine was planted along with the hydrangea, but I was so tickled to discover it was the beautiful purple flowering one.

Today in the backyard my grandmother's flowers, and her grandchild, are blooming.

Grandma's green thumb was more of a green hand. She nurtured and cared for her beloved flowers and yard. Seeing her plants, now alive in my yard, alongside of her vivacious granddaughter, reminded me of our responsibility to tend and pass down truth. How are we investing in the next generation?

Life goes on. We tend and nurture, plant and plan, and then we're gone. What do we leave? It matters. Is it lasting, does it effect generations for God's glory, is what we leave behind of eternal consequence? One day the the little purple flower will fade and die but the little girl with bouncing curls, spinning and singing, I trust, will never truly die.

"He decreed statutes for Jacob and established the law in Israel, which he commanded our ancestors to teach their children, so the next generation would know them, even the children yet to be born, and they in turn would tell their children. Then they would put their trust in God and would not forget his deeds but would keep his commands." Psalm 78:5-7

How we tend little hearts matters. They will not grow straight and strong on their own. Healthy hearts require nurturing. How are you investing in the future generation?

Un-surprised by Evil

Kermit Gosnell is you, and he's me; without the grace of Jesus active in our lives that is. I came to terms a long time ago that I was born with the cancer of evil pumping through my heart. Evil that I know could take me to dark places.

In our culture we tirade against evil and immoral people. My question is, why? Are we really surprised by sin and the media's inability to cover it accurately or well, or the governments ability to address it effectively? What I really want to know is are we moved enough to go places where people are ignorant, poor, desperate, trapped and meet the need? Are we willing to walk into darkness?

Is there a reason we think evil is going to give up the fight, roll over, and play dead? Why are we outraged when people act exactly as the Bible tells us they will without the illumination of truth? Why do we judge those who are already judged.

Of course what Gosnell and many, many others has done is disgusting and outrageous. But I don't see anywhere that Jesus was outraged by people, except by religious dead men carrying out a show, hording mercy for only those deemed worthy in their own minds.

What happened to the women and children at Gosnell's hands is gut-wrenching. But is it so different than what has happened for years to thousands of babies and women? Just because there is documentation of perfectly formed, breathing babies that died in his clinic does it make the legal death of a 15 week old pre-born baby less messy or heartbreaking?

Can there really be shades of death? Sin is sin, death is death. (Tweet This)

I wonder if our surprise over evil speaks of insulation. Let's don't insulate ourselves from the heartbreak and evil of this world. Babies die daily by the hundreds at the hands of violent men. Outside of our homes lies the carnage of sin, sometimes right at our very doorstep.

It's hard, I know, at moments to look. To truly see the socially awkward woman who was once a badly abused child. To witness the starvation of whole people groups. To know of children who suffer a life of not belonging. To look full faced into the eyes of a dying world. So very hard.

But let's go on and assume that today in our town a desperate woman will walk into a clinic and suffer violence to the very core of her motherhood and body, and in the process become an accomplice to death. Let's assume the worst around us. And then lets get involved.

Why not be the nosy neighbor, the concerned friend, the voice of truth, the one who goes into dark places for a rescue mission? I wonder about those babies and women who lost their lives at Gosnell's hands. What if? What if a church patrolled the area looking for victims to rescue, would they have died?

Of course we can't prevent every death, every wound, every violence. The question is, do we try? I'm asking myself. And I'm asking you. I wonder, where is the wound in my community? How can I be the one that Jesus uses today to run a raid on the enemy camp and bring the captive home?

I don't want to be surprised when the evil of my community, of my world, raises it's head. I want to already have been there, looking for the vulnerable to rescue from it's grip. Perhaps those are noble and idealistic dreams but I've always been a crusader I don't intend on stopping now.

How do you respond to the evil of the world, of your community? I'd love to hear about what you are doing to reach out to the broken around you! Inspire us!

Sing a Song to the Darkness

I was awakened in the early morning gray by the sound of one little bird singing. His sweet trilling call rang out strong and silver. I had to smile at his bold declaration, his confidence, that the morning was coming.

As the gray softened and gave way to the morning his lone voice was joined by many friends. After making a cup of tea I stepped out on the back patio. The luminous moon hung low and full behind the pines. By now the yard was alive with the morning song of dozens of birds, almost raucous.

Is your life wrapped in gray? Turn your ear and listen for hope singing in the darkness, and join it. (Tweet This)

"But as for me, I will sing about your power. Each morning I will sing with joy about your unfailing love. For you have been my refuge, a place of safety when I am in distress." Psalm 95:15

Other people are in the darkness listening. When your song of hope, of joy in your salvation, breaks out in the lean space between night and morning it touches another heart and invites your friends to join in the song.

When the job is over sing, when the illness drags long sing, when the news is bad sing, after a night of grieving sing. 

I believe in the spiritual discipline of mourning. Stuffing or denying our sorrow isn't healthy or wise. God is looking for followers who will join him in sorrow. Grieving their own sin and the effects of sin in this world. But after a night of grief joy comes. 

The darkness is all around you. Sing a song to it. A song of hopeful confidence that morning will come, a bold declaration of faith in Jesus unfailing love.

When do you find it most difficult to sing about God's love? Have you had a friend ignite hope in your own heart before? Tell us about it!

What I learned about God's love from a Gay Stranger

The day I picked a young gay man up on the side of the road changed my life. After a half hour ride and an honest conversation I learned something about myself. I was holding on to more spiritual pride than I realized. I also learned something about God. His love can't be quantified and limited the way we as human's try.

The hunger that poured from this young man's lips caused my heart to twist uncomfortably in my chest. The days leading up to our meeting had prepared me to hear what God was trying to teach me. This young man, struggling with his identity and place in life, wasn't an object of pity, he wasn't disgusting, he wasn't an evil to be avoided.

He was the beloved.

That evening, as I processed the conversation we had had, my heart was gripped with the realization that God had brought me into this young man's path as a witness. I could sense the love God was pouring out over his wounded life, the way he was meeting him, calling out to him. God hadn't introduced me to him to set him straight or hone my apologetic skills. God wanted me to stand in wonder at his undaunted love for all of humanity, each person, each one.

I have never been the same since meeting the stranger. He's not a stranger anymore though, I consider him a friend. 

This year I've stood in hurricane force winds, arms and mouth flung open wide in the face of our Father's current of mercy. How can I be the religious zealot, the closet pharisee I was in the past with the display of mercy God has put on in front of my eyes. Or maybe it's that he opened my eyes to the merciful dance he has always been spinning. 

Either way, I can't get my thirst quenched. I want more. I dream bigger, risk more, wrestle my own pride more viciously. 

As the mercy washes over me I'm beginning to lose my appetite for arguing over agenda's and groups of people, conditions and ideologies. A conversation with a stranger changed my perspective, I refuse to point fingers anymore. I prefer to deal in the economy of hearts, and mercy, and love, and who am I. 

I've struggled with spiritual pride my whole life. Only recently have I come to realize that at the core pride is a desire to be worshiped. Considering that reality it seems absurd  that I point out the obvious brokenness and sin of other people, of the insanity of the whole world. That's an argument no one can win.

I love holiness. I believe we were created for order, right perspective, pure relationships, and an understanding of God's sole possession of truth. I believe we were created to live holy lives, drawing others to God. My view of holiness hasn't changed, my view of who is responsible for my holiness has. The best way to display holiness is through serving, not arguing, condemning, or comparing anyone's life to our own.

God's economy of love, this season of mercy, his bending in grace is beyond what I can fathom. But one thing I've learned is not to get in his way. He will have mercy on whom he chooses and extend blessing for generations. Judgement rests with him alone. I can only stand back in wonder!

Some days the world seems mad. In Jesus face I find the answer to the madness. Wherever I can, whenever I can I choose to live in the answer. Mercy for me and mercy for you.

This is how much God loved the world: He gave his Son, his one and only Son. And this is why: so that no one need be destroyed; by believing in him, anyone can have a whole and lasting life. God didn’t go to all the trouble of sending his Son merely to point an accusing finger, telling the world how bad it was. He came to help, to put the world right again. John 3:16-17 The Message

Are You a Couch Rebel? I Hope I Am!

"Icy cold had gripped downtown Billings Montana in it’s talons. There was nothing surprising in that, at this time of year a blanket of snow and frigid air often clung to the city’s skin. Despite the cold my husband and I had found our way to the local Walmart during a break from the pastor’s conference we were attending. Pulling up to a stop sign headed out of the parking lot I saw her..."

Want to read more? Go here!

I shared this story over at CausePub as a part of the Couch Rebels project. Hundreds of writers are teaming up to write this book to earn money for Blood: Water Mission.

For every copy of Couch Rebels sold, the organization, Blood:Water Mission, will be able to provide three people with clean water for one year. The goal of this Cause is to sell 15,000 copies, which means that 45,000 lives can be directly impacted through your participation in this CausePub project!

Stories for this project are submitted by anyone who has stepped outside of their comfort zone and has a story to share, does that sound like you? The stories submitted are then chosen to be published in the book by a team of editors and your votes!

There are three ways you can be involved with this great cause! You can submit your own story, you can vote for other stories (including mine, hint, hint), and you can sign up to buy the book. Why not head on over to CausePub and check it out!

Packing up and Moving in

I'm dreading packing. You heard me, packing. For close family and friends the word packing has the drama of cereal when associated with my life, because after all it's me we're talking about. But seriously, I'm so tired of putting my stuff in a box, moving it around, and rearranging it in a new living space I could scream.

Thankfully I'm not going far, as opposed to other moves in the last couple of years which took hours, or days, of driving. This time I'm not uprooting my children, relearning a culture, and having to memorize directions to the nearest Walmart, all-over-again.

Nevertheless nothing reminds me, like boxing up my stuff, that this world isn't my home. It's a good reminder to face once in a while. It keeps me humble, dependent, and expectant. All good things on the whole.

The weariness that comes with thinking about the hassle of moving all of this stuff, again, isn't the only soft spot this move brushes up against. There's a tender spot that hesitates in the ongoing process of learning directions and customs and history and names, it whispers "you will never belong".

When you've yearned for community for as long as I have, when you've learned to lean close at the rumor of it's existence, when your heart's beat wildly at the sound of it's coming, only to have it snatched away before it's full grown, you start to protect a tender place in your heart. Just like you protect your grandmother's fragile china as it's loaded on a moving truck.

I'm excited about closing the half hour drive between home and church with this move and putting to rest what was, quite frankly, another painful experiment in biblical community. I'm excited, and, I find, hesitant. Hesitant because the last few months at church have moved me from friendly outsider to in-the-trenches member in this new body. And this coming move will only deepen an intimacy that's been growing. While that's a beautiful thing it also feels vulnerable. Do you know what I'm saying?

It's a strange place to be, believing wholeheartedly in the truth of God's promise and command of a living union for his followers, and yet having rarely seen the church actually live in that reality. Having born the consequences of that paradox quite personally I feel raw at times.

I want to jump in. Yet I hesitate. 

I've learned that when hope is broken another moving van waits on the other side, and I am so way over that. I'm tired of fit pitching and selling out to religion because the radical union Jesus offers is too hard. (I get it, I'm as stubborn, prideful, and selfish as the next person. Having to yield to others out of love for Jesus is humbling work. But I don't see any other way around it, do you?)

I'm bound and determined to pursue intimacy with Jesus' people, it's my birthright, it's a need, it's a command. But if you see me grit my teeth or hesitate, be patient, it may take me a moment to lift my eyes from the memory of burned bridges to the compelling eyes of Jesus urging me to trust. 

So, this month as I put my dishes back into a box, and sort through my things, it will be an act of trust. Trust that this world which never fully satisfies me will give way to a redeemed one, trust that God will establish a lasting unity with my heart and his people in this new place, trust that his faithfulness will never run out, and trust that when I disappoint others, because I will, that I will receive grace.

As my heart is stretched I hold to the truth that this world isn't my home, God's heart and his people are. I'm trusting that by faith he will make my heart rest, living out the hard work of unity, with his family, by his Spirit.

What does God use to remind you that this world isn't your home?

God is building a home. He’s using us all—irrespective of how we got here—in what he is building. He used the apostles and prophets for the foundation. Now he’s using you, fitting you in brick by brick, stone by stone, with Christ Jesus as the cornerstone that holds all the parts together. We see it taking shape day after day—a holy temple built by God, all of us built into it, a temple in which God is quite at home. Ephesians 2:19-22 ish, The Message

Becoming Washers of Feet

I'm writing less and more sporadically these days, and it seems more raw. I thought when I came back from Serbia last October I would be a more liberated, world wise writer. I was wrong. It seems that words have become like a jagged, ugly cry rather than a thing of beauty. But some things of beauty, at least outwardly, are hideous. A brand new baby in a smelly, manure filled stable for example. Or perfect Jesus, with the tender voice and piercing eyes, blood matted on a cross. Perhaps that's where worth comes in, the holy meeting the putrid in a visceral mess.

Lately, when I un-clench a protective hand from my blood red heart, I stare at a silver vein running through it. It creates a stark contrast, this sliver of hope tracing itself on flesh. A promise held in trust. It aches like a splinter and throbs like love, tethering it's owners together, stretched thin through time and space.

What story can be told? I've told it before, over and over. Hands I've held in my own, small and dry from lack of care. Chewed for comfort, missing a mother's touch. I remember the feel of them; some days I wish I didn't. And yet he smiles and coos and laughs, if you can call the sound he makes laughter. Who's womb bore him and then gave him up when illness clamped it's steely jaws around his mind? Why would I, a stranger, grieve and cry and pray and beg for his life more than his own flesh and blood? What could her story be.

Sometimes I remember his fragile frame and wonder if a soul and body can just disappear. How many months until his stick legs are bent and twisted, never to straighten again? Will his smile dry up and the mask of loss be his to wear forever? Will the dull, glassy, institutional eyes replace the sparkle? Will he be lost for good? At the moment I see life flicker behind his eyes and I pray it doesn't vanish.

I'll see him in July. I catch my breath and wonder what I'll find. Will he be in the little bed, arms pushed through the rails, waiting? Will he have changed? Will I be able to bear seeing him again?

Sometimes I wonder how the world can take the burgeoning weight of her orphans without ripping at the seams of her huge heart, when it feels my own cannot. How do you taste the brutal love of a Father grieving for his children and not stagger under the weight of it? I cannot, and so most days I cry.

I cry for his mother who knew a beautiful, sweet child and lost him to disease. I cry for the hopes she had for who he would be. I cry for his body, his time, his future, his days locked away from love. I cry for what could have been and what may not be. I cry for me to have seen him and have fallen in love and have to live without him. I cry for everyone who hasn't seen, and lives as if he and his brothers and sisters don't exist, and miss the agony of caring. I cry because I escaped a life of neglect that so many in the world have known. I cry because Jesus cries and he wants company in the grieving. I cry because one day I trust I won't have to any more.

He's just one orphan of so very many, why could it possibly matter that I love him? Ezekiel 16 contains a peculiar passage that hints at the answer. God says to his people Israel, "No one had the slightest interest in you; no one pitied you or cared for you. On the day you were born, you were unwanted, dumped in a field and left to die. “But I came by and saw you there, helplessly kicking about in your own blood. As you lay there, I said, ‘Live!’" Is that not the story of humanity, of me? Is that not the story of the cross?

What if God had passed  by on the day we became orphans in the Garden at the beginning of time? What if he decided Jesus was too great of a price for our own lives, could you blame him? But he didn't. He has pursued us as though we have always been his sons and daughters.

That's what I came away with this Easter season. I was reminded that a great God stooped to clean and care for an orphaned humanity. I was reminded that I'm not greater than my Master and just as he washed feet it's my privilege and responsibility to wash feet too. Wherever I may find them. In my home, in my church, on the side of the road, in Serbia.

I wish I could daily wash the feet of this little orphaned boy. But right now I can't. And so I daily choose to bear the burden of love and wash his feet in prayer from a distance. It's always more complicated when holy and profane meet. I don't know if I'll ever bring him home and be his mama. But I will climb in the yoke of suffering with Jesus. The cross has made a way, and burdens that never seemed as if they could be born, for the love of Jesus, can be. I will labor for this child. The heavy heart that comes, in the light of Jesus, becomes a joy.

When he had finished washing their feet, he put on his clothes and returned to his place. “Do you understand what I have done for you?” he asked them. “You call me ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord,’ and rightly so, for that is what I am. Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. Very truly I tell you, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them. John 13:12-17

Who's burden are you carrying, who's feet has Jesus asked you to wash. The burden becomes joy when carried in love.

Snapshots of the Gospel

How do we display the gospel with our lives, matching words and actions, Jesus like? I love the way the Gospels paint pictures with mustard seeds and pearls, virgins with lamps and farmers.

God was speaking our language.

We can be tiny vignettes of real life gospel, painted and lived out before our neighbors. The dearest hope I have for my life is to become a miniature of truth coming to life, painting the picture of redemption by adopting. But not adopting just any child. There's a specific child on my mind and a particular community watching.

I imagine journeying back to Dom Veternik and walking up to blonde boys crib and saying "I'll take that one. He's my son." It gives me chills to think about.

Isn't that what Jesus did? He showed up to this huge orphanage called life and said, "that one, I want that one." And he paid a price, gave an inheritance, invited us home, became our family. Everyone's invited but not everyone has understood. What he did is still being talked about, it's still a source of wonder so many years later.

Very few children are adopted from Dom Veternik. When I spoke with one of the workers we struggled to communicate about the reality of adoption. She didn't understand why someone would adopt one of the children. They just live there.

I want to lift that bright eyed child who can't speak, or walk, or feed himself, out of his crib and carry him home. I want Lubitza and Anna and Yanna and Marina and Srjdan and Dragana and Zoran and whoever else is watching to rub their heads and wonder.

When I visited in October and held hands and sang and spoke softly to the treasures in beds Lubitza watched surprised. "Are there others like you?" she asked. I want to tell her that there is One so much better than me who cares and there's a band of us that imitate him.

I don't think I'll ever get over that boy. My heart is wounded, in a good way. I will never look at my worth in Jesus the same again. Even though carrying the burden of loving him, locked in my heart an ocean away, physically hurts I'm not sorry for it.

Look at that smile, he loves his physical therapist

At night when Chris plays with our son and daughter making them squeal and run I imagine little boy sitting in a wheel chair, or on the couch beside me, throwing back his head and laughing in delight. I see his eyes crinkled shut in happy. I whisper a prayer that he will be rescued, that he will be loved, that the Spirit of God speaks kindness to his heart in the dark.

I don't think I would be the perfect mama, I know I would get tired and discouraged. I know I would have to give up a lot to care for him and the future would be uncertain. I know it would cost a lot to bring him home. But I think it should, I believe it reflects his worth. And even though I wouldn't be the perfect mama, I would be his.

How are you living out the gospel? Are you bending a submitted knee in a time of illness repeating our big Brother's words "not my will but yours Father." Are you pursuing truth like a pearl even when your coworkers pursue dishonest gain? Are you sowing God's word into your little ones hearts like a farmer scattering seed? The gospel is meant to lift off of the pages of the bible and be replayed over and over again in the hearts of God's people, coming alive in us just as it came alive in the hearts of Peter, Mary, Lazarus, John, Lydia and hundreds of others.

Bed ridden due to meningitis at age five 

Adoption isn't the only snapshot to portray the gospel, but the Bible highlights it as very dear to God's heart, a reflection of what he's done for us, a powerful catalyst of his love in an often bleak world. You may not feel led to adopt but I have no doubt that God has a role for you to play in the display of his good news of grace. What is he calling you to? How are you living out the gospel?

Finding Purpose in Pain

Over the last several months I've wrestled with the concepts of suffering and healing, pain and deliverance in ways I never have before. The struggle is nothing new to the human experience.

An authentic balance between the hope I hang my life on and the ache of a wounded world is emerging. The supernatural as it collides with the material can be raw. The diagnosis of my mom with cancer, and walking among the forgotten of a Serbian mental institution, has fleshed out what I believe in deeper ways.

I have no issue with miracles. I don't doubt the parting of the red sea, feeding of the 5,000, healing of many diseased people, and ultimately the resurrection of a dead Man who was also divine. I figure if I can believe that Jesus is who he said and did what is recorded then anything's up for grabs.

But that's just my problem, anything does seem to be up for grabs. It's a fixation and fascination with the "manifestation" of God's power that sets me on edge. I've believed for a long time that we can expect God to move geography around to suit his needs, to do whatever he wants with the flesh he designed and created. It's all his, atoms have no will, he holds it all together anyway.

If you want to get me really excited and raucous then tell me of a heart that was dead but has come to life with the breath of heaven pumping in it's veins. A will that's been bent to Jesus,' a rebel turned family member, that is truly a mystery I can never get enough of!

But the hunger I see around me for miraculous signs causes me to pause. I distrust a pursuit of healing and a longing for a supernatural display. God rebuked the religious people of his day for asking for a sign when they had the very presence of God in their midst wrapped in flesh. They were looking for wonders and missing the Wonderful One. Jesus wearied of the thrill seekers looking for another meal and miracle. He questioned when they would allow what he had done to open their eyes to who he was. (Matthew 8)

I used to pursue the sensational. I was hard on another person's perceived lack of faith because of that thrill seeking mindset. If the room didn't shake or rushing wind fill the building or people get healed I questioned the power and presence of God. But as I've prayed and studied and lived I believe the supreme miracle that God performs for us, the one that takes the most faith and cooperation on our part, is for him to take a selfish heart and gently bend it to his will and likeness. For him to take a handful of individually redeemed human hearts and knit them together into one living, breathing, walking, talking, united body that longs more for his presence than for his gifts. Those are some mighty miracles.

In the midst of sorrow I've wondered if God would rather hear a child say "I want what you want and I don't want to miss you in this pain," than a bold declaration of faith insisting an illness be removed. I'm not saying we shouldn't pray for healing ever. The bible clearly directs us to pray for all things and that healing is a gift he offers to his children. But the bible also talks about suffering that produces dependence on God and a soft heart that is useful.

The bottom line is I want God more than I want to be safe or comfortable.

Which is what I think he longs for  us to desire. Instead of automatically assuming God wants to heal or remove us from a painful situation by supernatural means, let's ask him. He will tell us. There are times I've been led to pray for healing but more often than not I've been led to pray that God will make his presence known in the suffering, and that his purpose would be accomplished.

I'm uncomfortable assuming God's intention beyond knowing that he is good, I am loved, and it's all about his glory. I want to keep my heart soft and open. If God chooses to reveal his presence in supernatural, visible ways I welcome it. If he chooses to sustain me and meet me in the every day I welcome that as well. The point is I want Jesus. 

A.B. Simpson wrote,
"Once it was the blessing, Now it is the Lord;
Once it was the feeling, Now it is His Word.
Once His gifts I wanted, Now the Giver own;
Once I sought for healing, Now Himself alone.

I want my desire to be for him in whatever he chooses. I find myself in a way indifferent to healing. Not because I don't believe God can heal but because I believe as we seek him we will find himself, the Great Prize. His very presence is a balm and a healing. In the midst of cancer, for the blonde haired orphan I love, Jesus is enough. I rest in that, knowing he will give exactly what we need for our good and his glory.

Are you experiencing pain or suffering right now? I pray and trust that the immense love of Jesus will take that heartache and work in it something beautiful that will leave you more in love with him than before.

It would be my pleasure to pray with you in that hard place! Please leave a comment below or send me an email.

Called to Love

Gordana and Beck

Last week I shared a little bit about meeting Gordana when I traveled to Serbia last year. Her work reaching out to the brokenhearted women of Novi Sad moves me. Many of us have heard of the huge amount of women caught in human trafficking and prostitution around the world. How many people do we actually know on the front lines working personally to help these women? 

What a privilege for us to hear from Gordana's heart today! I hope you will listen closely as she shares about the burden God has given her:

When God called me to the ministry with abandoned women I didn’t know what to expect. I still wasn’t really aware of the way God’s heart looks like, how His love overwhelms and what is the work of His grace. I knew this would happen, He firstly had to break my heart and bring me on my knees before Him. 

Unchanged hearts can never bring forth God’s love to broken people. 

One Friday night as we went to the roadside district where the prostituted girls stood, God came to me with His words, which almost blew me away from my bike as we rode for prayer. 

He asked me, "Gordana, beloved, you have a daughter, right?" 

I said, "Yes, Lord, I do." 

"What would you do in a big city like this if she was lost?" 

The conversation continued. "Ooh, what wouldn’t I do? We would all go looking for her!" 

"OK, I have my daughters lost and I want you to go looking for them!" Jesus said. A tear was running down my cheek. 

I wanted to bend my knees before Him. I hadn’t know how broken His heart was for the girls who are giving their bodies and souls to other men... devil... whoever... Our Lord is crying for the lost. It could be anyone, your brother, sister, cousin or neighbor. 

Can we sit and do nothing? No, I cannot. Because of His love! 

After I met some of the street girls I couldn’t believe the strong feelings I had for them. I felt such strong love which I was not able to explain. I knew God poured His love into my selfish heart. My heart was no longer the same. And He is continuing to keep my heart at this humble state. 

Then I read famous three-times question from John 21. Jesus asked Peter over and over again, "Do you love me?" Yes, I do. "Then go and feed my children. Then go and care for the needy. Then go and help them." This is the way you show me love. You received love and grace. Now go and give it away. As you do, the love and grace will always be refilled in your heart. 

So, if you want the key to increase your love, this is the way to do it. Give love away. God’s love in you and your love for Him will grow and you will be His beloved loving daughter. 

Gordana, Nichole, and Beck

Gordana, and two of her friends ride bikes through the red light district of Novi Sad praying for the lives of the women chained in hopelessness. They take small gifts to the women and engage them in conversation, offering them friendship and truth. Her ministry, Nova Zena, which means New Woman, offers help for women in abusive relationships and those caught in prostitution. 

Today I'd like to ask you to do a few things. 

• Take a moment to pray for Gordana and her team. Pray for safety and wisdom and courage. Ask God to help them build trust with women and to lead women trapped in bondage to freedom, spiritually and physically.
• Share this post with others that you know are interested in being a part of ending human trafficking.
• Lastly, as you pray will you ask God how he may want you to be involved? Consider giving a one time gift or a monthly donation to the work of Nova Zena. Consider becoming a regular prayer partner and receiving ministry updates.

Gordana reminded us that God's love grows in our heart as it is given away. Who has he called you to give his love away to today? 

Called to Light

I packed the blue bound book inside my suite case and set off in search of God's glory in a land time zones away. 

God knew what I carried with me, his word and a desire to see his heart for Serbia. I love how they collided, and one of the most powerful experiences of my life unfolded.

Before I set out for Serbia last October my Mom and I discussed an idea. She wanted to send something to leave in the country, something personal, a gift she had prayed over. I loved that idea. She chose a Bible and wrote a brief message in the front cover.

Soon after arriving in Novi Sad, Serbia I met a spiritual sister, Gordana. I had prayed to connect with God's people in Serbia, as well as the brokenhearted needing his love. I'm touched by the way he orchestrated both. At our first meeting, and through our subsequent time together, Gordana and I resonated with the presence of Jesus like tuning forks struck hard.

If you've followed my story long you know that Gordana has started a ministry to abused women in her city. Women who are victims of domestic abuse, women who have been backed into a corner and see no way out, women who have become slaves. Her passion is evident. She is living hope to these broken people.

Before I left I put the crisp, new Bible into Gordana's hands. A Bible that's been prayed over, that bears a message of love in it's front cover, that carries hope. I asked her to give it to a woman who speaks English, who is hungry to read God's word for herself, when the time is right.

In Serbia a Bible is waiting for a woman. A woman that my Mom, Gordana, and I believe will come out of darkness and into God's marvelous light. A woman who's past will be washed clean and who's future will be as part of Jesus' family. A woman we're praying for.

I'm small. My Mom has never been to Serbia. And yet our heart's are invested in the nations, personally, intentionally.

Discipleship can take shape in the most unique and beautiful ways. Men, women, and children are waiting in places like Serbia, Uganda, Ecuador and our backyards to be called from darkness into light. It's not our duty, it's our privilege to partner with the heart of God in praying, giving, and going.

God has called our hands, feet, voices and hearts to join him in the task of making disciples of the nations, it's not an option for his children. Would we want it to be?

Colossians 1:13-14 "For he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins."

I find these days that I pray more for the salvation of this woman that God's word is waiting for, and her sisters in bondage, than I pray for my Mom to be healed of cancer. I don't feel guilt in saying that because I've long believed the greatest miracle is the redemption of a human heart. After all it was my Mom who taught me the truth and beauty of sisterhood, of investing our healed pain in the lives of others. My Mom lives with a physical cancer but thousands of woman are dying from a spiritual cancer. 

I long for the day my Mom is whole and we celebrate the victory of life, but just as dearly I long for the day Mom and I embrace in victory because our prayers have been answered and the seed of that one Bible turns into the exodus of hundreds of women from a dark bondage and into the kingdom of light.

You have a purpose, a God given one, to be light. 

Who are you praying for, who are you engaging with the good news? The stories of discipleship are as beautifully varied as each of us. I would love to hear your story!

We don't want Religion

"We don't want religion or rules, we want you Jesus" a friend of mine recently prayed. 

My mouth formed a hearty, "Mmhmm." But my heart lurched in conviction. Is that true? Do I want Jesus more than the safety of rules or an attainable form of religion?

I've been reading through the gospels in The Message lately and one thing that's grabbed my attention is Jesus' assault on religion. Not an affront to holiness, or righteousness, or people, but against an empty measuring of our own goodness by human standards and rules.

I'm reminded of my twenties, I spent a lot of time pursuing Jesus but using the wrong standard to measure by. Conforming to religious rules was a measurement I was comfortable with. It was all born out of fear. If people don't obey the rules things can get out of hand real fast, and we don't want a mess.

But I found I was the one in the box, following the rules created, and the mess of life still wasn't contained. It's understandable to appreciate guidelines and rules. As a child and a young Christian it's how we know what's right and wrong, our understanding is shaped, the world is explained. But rules are for children, not friends, not disciples.

Don't get me wrong I'm not suggesting sin is okay. Evil has no place in the heart of a Jesus lover. But standards govern what we eat, wear, say, do, use, not our hearts.

Freedom is a threat as much to the religious as to the true enemy of our soul's, that old father of lies. Because when grace pries the fingers of religion off of a soul, freedom abounds. Religion is a hard thing to identify, even in our own hearts. I find that an action begun in grace can turn to a law or rule quicker that I can blink.

I think that's why everything must be up for evaluation, regularly. Every motive, every discipline, every program, rule, and action has to be weighed in the balance of grace. In Luke Jesus challenges the religious leaders. Those perfect at keeping the letter, though not the heart, of the law. Is the Sabbath for "helping people or leaving them helpless?" he asked. (Luke 6:9) He asked them to evaluate, in the balance of grace, their practice of keeping the law.

When he challenged them on a rigid doctrine, devoid of life, a kind of righteous slavery they were "beside themselves with anger, and started plotting how they might get even with him." (Luke 6:11)

It's so easy to be caught up in holy action, righteous practice, devoted living and not even realize the heart has gone out of it all. A good test of whether we're pursuing religion or Jesus is how we handle evaluation. If what we do is for the sake of our Beloved we face very little threat of evaluation and will humbly accept questions. However a loud protest and rigid defense of our programs, guidelines, and actions is typically a good indication that it's our own kingdom we're defending, not Jesus'.

If these words tread on your toes don't feel too badly, mine are thoroughly bruised! But isn't it better to endure a little toe stepping as a precaution against finding ourselves "plotting against Jesus"? 

So let's ask ourselves, why do we do the things we do. Are they born of love, or religion?