On earth as it is in heaven

It was Palm Sunday. Ten years ago today. I slowly, breathlessly dragged my aching, worn out body down the increasingly long hospital hallway that seemed to stretch out for miles. And it was desolate. I was making my way to the lab for some follow up blood work from my ER visit 24 hours before. As the seconds passed like hours, I pressed my shoulder to the wall for support with each step. I'm a determined, independent chick, so I hadn't thought to ask for help back at the registration desk, or from my family for that matter. I sent them on to church (who misses Palm Sunday?!) and drove myself to the hospital. But I started to rethink my independence about halfway to the lab when I realized that all these 1st floor hallways are empty on a Sunday morning. If I were to stop and slither down the wall for a rest like I really wanted to do, who knows how long it would be before someone made their way down here to find me. And so I kept my shoulder pressed to the wall and willed each step to take me closer to the needle and vile that would hopefully give me some answers.
It had been six days since the fever started. Not just any fever. Nearly 104 degree fever with violent shakes and chills. And then it would disappear and I'd be left feeling like I'd been hit by a truck...and then run a marathon, only for the fever to return a day or so later. Every bone hurt. I had no breath. No energy. I crawled around the house most days trying to care for my three children, terribly fearful for the one that was growing in me. For 4 months this little one was wrapped in peace and safety in my womb and this illness kept me praying for my little pregnant belly.
The lab tech said I looked horrible and asked if I needed help back to my car. I guess that ticked me off a little because I declined and took on the challenge. At home, I sat in my recliner with my Bible study book and began reading. It was Isaiah 45. At verse 7 I was ready to rip a page out. But instead I just put a big question mark and wrote, "I don't like this."

I am the Lord; there is no other.

I form the light and create darkness,

I bring prosperity and create disaster; 

I, the Lord, do all these things.

Nope. Don't like that one bit. You create disaster? No thanks. Whatever this was that was making me so sick it sure felt like a disaster. And when the fever spiked again late that night, I called the after hours line and was told my blood work was "concerning" and I needed to return to the ER immediately. I let my husband take me this time.

It took about 4 hours of ice packs and cool IV fluids, more blood work and lots and lots of questions for the doctor to get a spark of an idea that triggered a question that is seared in my memory. "When you were in Honduras, did you get bitten by any mosquitoes?" I knew immediately that I was lying there, pregnant, in the middle of the United States of America, with malaria. A disaster? Maybe. I still don't like it. And I still don't believe God directed a malaria-infested mosquito to bite me. God knows we struggle with those whys. And so he reminds us who He is...and who we are...just a couple lines later in verse 9. 

Doom to the one 

who argues with the potter,

as if he were just another clay pot!

Does the clay say to the potter,

"What are you making?"

or "Your work has no handles"?

God has taken this lump of clay, with impurities and flaws and clots and all the things that weren't meant to be there in the first place - everything that would spell disaster - and molded a story that has worked for good. Romans 8:28 has proven true: 

God works all things together 

for the good of those who love Him 

who are called according to His purpose.

My happy, healthy baby boy, Jacob, will be 10 in August. And this Sunday I preach at a church in St. Louis telling this gospel-infused story yet again. It has occurred to me that even if my baby would have died, I'd still be telling this story and fighting for mommas on the other side of the ocean who don't have the same opportunity to protect their children that I had to protect mine. God's wholeness and redemption is available to us all. Whatever disaster we have experienced, however it has turned out, Jesus walked this earth turning disaster into healing and restoration. And Jesus reigns as Lord so that we can glimpse His Kingdom right here. There is no malaria in the kingdom of heaven. Your kingdom come, your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.

Ten years. Ten dollars. One precious life.

Donate here to save a life from malaria.

The statistics are heart-wrenching. But they're changing! 

Just $10 helps a momma protect her child. 

The God Who Sees

Sometimes you find yourself crammed into a 4-wheel drive with 6 amazing people, traveling for unending hours on a wide path called a road, forging flooded rivers, dodging cavernous potholes, sliding in muddy ruts, heading to the most remote of places in the middle of an African country, singing bad Bryan Adams remixes and eating dark chocolate covered pretzels from Target. Sometimes. Okay, maybe one time. But you hope that it could happen again. Because God speaks loudly when we get out of ourselves and we're uncomfortable like that. 

God's speaking this to me: How much does my view of God, my understanding of the gospel, get muddied in with my culture and comfortable reasoning? (The answer: a lot.) Am I willing to take off some masks; not just my own, but the ones I've put on God and others? Am I willing to not make assumptions about others' needs or sins or motives or authenticity? 

And am I willing to just see people? I'm seeing this team - the good, the bad and the ugly - as we have experienced some extreme contrasts of culture (i.e. Are you supposed to pee on the rocks or between the rocks in the potty hut? How do you react when your accommodations are quite honestly hard and utilitarian at best?). I'm seeing us wrestle with the contrasts and questions of accepting our own culture just as we accept the African culture. I'm seeing discomfort and submission, humor and heartache. And I'm seeing our little representations of God shining on this journey in Mozambique. We each bear the image of God, the Imago Dei, created in His image to bear His love and grace to the ends of the earth - or just to the end of the road. 

And when we finally reach the end of the road, there are more faces of these representations of God. They are beautiful, significant creations of the God Who Sees. I see them. I travel all this way and I make eye contact with a precious little boy missing his front tooth. I go to the end of the road and there really is a United Methodist cross and flame and I see a woman pastor singing and dancing unashamed for her God. I go to a remote spot in the wide dirt path and stir a pot of chima with a young woman with beautiful eyes. And I see her. And she sees me. And we see God. We are both reminded that God sees us. 

We are created in the image of the God Who Sees and we are to imitate that God and see others. The God who said, "You are precious in my eyes and honored and I love you" (Isaiah 43:4). We have His eyes. Everywhere we go. To the ends of earth, the ends of the road, the end of the street, and across the room. In this contrast of cultures God reminds me to also see the person behind the counter at the gas station, taking my order, driving like a maniac, begging for change at the Cardinals game, begging for my attention at the dinner table. We are each created in the image of God, the God Who Sees. Who do you see?

Waiting for an Epiphany

e·piph·a·ny (noun): a sudden intuitive leap of understanding, especially through an ordinary but striking occurrence.

Ah, yes! That’s what I need! Can you beg for an epiphany? Do you study for it? How exactly can you increase your chances of an ah-ha moment? Because I need one. Really stinkin’ bad.

I have spent too much time the last several months avoiding the mirror. Calling myself names I’d never let anybody call another human being. Ever. I’m just so not where I want to be. Not where I think I am. Until I put on my yet again too tight jeans. Or have to see myself on camera or in a picture and realize that I do not look like I do in my mind’s eye. And I sure don’t look like any of my high school friends – even the ones who’ve had four kids, too. I don’t know what’s happened. Except that some things are within my control. And some are not.

And all the books and all the best friends tell me that you are not what you weigh. Or what your pant size is. You are so much more. You are valued and you are gifted. You are beautiful just the way you are.

Whatever.

I hear the words. They just don’t mean much. I know they should, and I see them take on powerful meaning in other’s lives. But not mine yet. I know the vanity in my concern for my appearance. I know the dangers that I risk for my daughter’s own self-image with my unspoken self-loathing. I fear the lies that I have let take up space in my brain. I even know how shallow this is. But how can something so shallow run so deep? I have a feeling God has something really important to teach me here since the year that I am the most uncomfortable in my body than I have ever been is the very year that I am on platforms in front of more people than I have ever been! I don’t think that’s a coincidence.

I need an epiphany.

I need a transformation. A renewing of my mind.

Do you? Are you fighting for an ah-ha moment that will clear the fog? Are you waiting to be who you think you ought to be? Or think the way you think you ought to think? (Yes, that’s a lot of thinking.)

Because we can’t manufacture an epiphany. We can’t force a transformation. So what are we to do?

Paul says it simply this way: Press on. Point your face toward Jesus and the wholeness, life and power over defeat that only He holds. Jesus is the goal. Not the transformation. (Hang out in Philippians 3 for a little bit.)

Whether it’s avoiding the foods that you know send you in a tailspin or reading your bible for the 50^th day in a row waiting, waiting, waiting for something to click. Whether it’s showing up at the gym or making that hard phone call that will move you toward that reconciliation. Whether it’s boring or uncomfortable, effortless or strenuous, clear or clear as mud….Press on. And lo and behold, one day when we’re scanning the clearance end caps at Target, all of the sudden we’ll realize we’ve been transformed. Our eyes will open, the fog will clear and we’ll see that God has done His work in us!

Like the wise men consulting their notes day after day after day. Pressing on one step after another.  Day 54. Day 176. Is the Lord this way? Are we on the right track? Read those scriptures of old again. Day 297. Day 542. We’re tired, Lord. Every path leads to a dead end and we turn around. Press on. Seek Him. Day 684. He’s gotta be right here! Why is He not right here? We’ve been here a dozen times. Day 702. Really? Really? Come on! Wait. There’s the star again! Day 729. Emmanuel. We want to see You. We worship You and offer You our all. But we want to see You. Day 730. “They entered the house and saw the child with Mary his mother. Falling to their knees, they honored him. Then they opened their treasure chests and presented him with gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh” (Matthew 2:11).

See, we can’t force a transformation. But we sure can prepare for it! And it’s by focusing not on earthly things – the weight, the finances, the conflicts, the success, the strategizing. It’s trusting in and moving toward and focusing on Jesus. And “he will transform our humble bodies so that they are like his glorious body, by the power that also makes him able to subject all things to himself” (Phil. 3:21). By pressing on and not going with the flow, by not conforming to the patterns of this world, then we will be transformed – because our minds will be renewed (Romans 12:2)!

Pressing on. Preparing for an epiphany.

Glory Hallelujah

The strum of the guitar filled this crowded little room. We had squeezed the chairs into this makeshift office that was under construction to listen to this young guy play and sing and see if he would be a good fit as a worship leader for this new church we were starting. I don’t remember what he sang, I only remember a little about the conversation, but what I do remember was an overwhelming sense that this Mark guy was the one God had chosen for this new congregation.

In the middle of the night in a dark community building in Sneedville, Tennessee, I held my head in my hands softly weeping as music poured through my earphones. “I’m coming back to the heart of worship / It’s all about You, it’s all about You, Jesus.” This mission trip to this rural area provided an opportunity for me to pause and reflect on the ways God had been moving me over the last year or so. Our little church was growing, people’s lives were changed and I could see my own relationship with God transforming. And here, humbled before God in this quiet, private space, I realized for the first time that worship isn’t an adjective that describes a church service.

“I just have to tell you that I really feel like I have been learning how to worship,” I told Mark one Sunday after I returned home. “Really,” he said. “When did you feel like you started learning that?”

“Oh, several months ago; around the beginning of the year, I guess.”

“Well, that’s interesting. That’s about the time I felt like I was really learning how to lead in worship.”

That’s the beauty of the Body of Christ. As we use the gifts He has given, we build up one another in such a way that we all fix our eyes more firmly on our God. And when we see Him more clearly, we can’t help but worship.

See, worship is not somewhere we go. It is something we do. And we will worship whatever object grabs our attention. We humans are so fickle in our worship. Webster’s defines it as “extravagant respect or admiration for or devotion to an object of esteem.” And incidentally, “worship” is currently in the top 20% of lookups on Merriam-Webster.com. We want to know what worship really is and what deserves our “extravagant respect.” I think in those early days of beginning to worship, I followed Mark’s gaze. I wanted to see what he saw. And when I focused my heart’s eyes on God I sang those words with a new conviction and reverence that I hadn’t grasped before.

Richard Foster says “singing is meant to move us into praise….If singing can occur in a concentrated manner it serves to focus us. We become centered. Our fragmented minds and spirits flow into a unified whole. We become poised toward God.” Music is powerful. It is meant to move us. I want to be moved toward the “Object of esteem” that is worthy of my full devotion. It takes intentionality to mean what I sing, though, right? Worship is not at 11:15 a.m. on a Sunday. An opportunity to worship is at 11:15. I want to take advantage of every opportunity. Certainly the more I pay attention to the words and their meaning, the deeper I am drawn into the Throne Room and I am moved. 

So it’s no surprise that it is Mark’s new music that is pointing me again to this God that I love. Words that become prayers. Somehow others’ words can be used to set my heart straight and can even express what my soul so desires to say to God. And sometimes the words are beyond what I feel or experience and so as I sing my prayer becomes “God, help me to believe this! Give me the desire to love You like this!” It has long been practiced to recite the prayers of others as a means of solidifying your own faith. And that’s how this new music moves me. My prayer with all of our brothers and sisters through time /[who sang] of the blood of the same sacrifice is that we worship in spirit and truth. That the songs we sing don’t rest in our enjoyment, but are offered to God as worship. This is our song / we lift it to You / singing Glory Hallelujah!

We're Dippers, Not Sippers

“Can we get some Jesus bread, Daddy?” My little buddy skipped down the church hallway holding his daddy’s hand. His dad looks at me, smiles and explains, “That’s what he calls the communion bread.” Britton adds, “I like it! It’s good!” I love seeing my “graduates” from the two year old room excited to be at church and experience God’s presence in beautiful, child-like ways. My own kids like it, too. Jacob calls it “holy bread.” Several weeks ago we had a conversation about how holy it is: that when it is blessed and consecrated, we treat it with special care; we ensure that it is consumed and not disposed of. This past Sunday Jacob asked if we could have the bread to take home so after church we were given a baggie of broken pita bread.  

Lunch that day? Yep. We actually happened to have grape juice, too. 

We’re dippers, not sippers. Intinction is the method of choice.

Which reminded me of the time my daughter was about six. When we got home from church she pulls out tortillas and pours some grape juice, sets it on the table and calls us all into the kitchen. The table had been made ready. Now, there was no consecration of the elements, no liturgy. Don’t even remember if we prayed. But I tell you as we gathered around that table and dipped our Mamacita Flour Tortillas into some off-brand Welch’s in a glass tumbler, God’s presence was palpable.

There’s such mystery wrapped up in the sacrament of Holy Communion. So many different perspectives on what it actually means, what it does, why we do it. And yet one thing cannot escape us: His presence.

One of my favorite roles as a servant is when I get to participate as a communion steward with my husband. As the congregation comes forward, he hands them the bread, I hold the cup (for dipping, not sipping. I only had one sipping attempt last week. It’s always a challenge to respectfully wrestle it out of their hands and hurry and get them another piece of bread. And there was that one time when that lady started to take her piece of bread out of her mouth so she could dip it. I’m pretty sure I put my hand over the cup).  Because of the diverse background of our congregation and the number of first time visitors we have on any given week, there’s always a bit of uncertainly for them as they try to figure out what they’re supposed to do. I, myself, don’t really know what the “proper” response is to someone who offers you the elements of communion. I grew up kneeling at an altar with those little cups and pellet wafers so no one ever handed them to me. However, I’ve come to accept the body and blood of Christ with an affirming “Amen” – a yes! So shall it be! But I would say most of the folks that hear my words “The blood of Christ shed for you” respond with “Thank you.” After all these years, I heard that “thank you” with different ears this time. I’m holding Jesus out to them, I’m sharing Him and offering them an opportunity to know Him in a new and deeper way. Holding that cup as a vessel of His grace and presence.

Later that night I opened the pantry and saw that baggie of Holy Bread. I took out a piece, felt that awed sense of reverence and whispered “Thank You.” Thank You, Jesus, for Your blood and sacrifice. Thank You for Your presence. Thank You for every person that has ever offered me the opportunity to know You more. Let me be a vessel. Let me offer You to others in everything that I do and everywhere that I go. Amen.

With all your mind...

She stands before her easel, artfully blending her paints on the brush and again as she strokes the canvas; the odor of turpentine fills the dining room and kitchen. My mom steps back, tilting her head, and evaluates the colors against the image clipped beside the easel. She touches her brush to her palette, wooing her painting to be exactly as she desires it. This childhood memory flooded back to me this week as I journeyed to Asbury's Florida campus for an intensive seminary class.

I pressed my forehead to the window as if I could actually get closer to the artistry that was unfolding on the horizon.  The whir of the plane pulsed through my skin as I watched God perform His original masterpiece with a display of colors, weaving clouds and light in a dramatic dance. I imagine Him evaluating His own work, whisking a cloud with a flourish of breath to blend the light just right. Watching the sunset six miles above the earth is like witnessing a tenderness that is almost too intimate but invites you to intrude and see the artist at work.

 Author of time ... Creator of all

The hand that paints every setting sun...*

I pulled into the parking lot at Asbury, anxious for this new experience of an intensive week-long class wondering if the reading I had poured over for three weeks had settled in my mind and heart enough to even begin to formulate questions. It felt a bit like having all the paints and brushes in front of me and staring at a white canvas with no vision of creating anything that would convey my passions. The tree, shrouded in fog, stood in front of me in the parking lot giving me hope that perhaps what is unclear can still be beautiful, purposeful and delightful. 

 

Word into flesh … water to wine

Invisible God in human form

Strength to the weak and SIGHT TO THE BLIND…  

Basic Christian Doctrine. Systematic theology. The study of God. How is it that God is three Persons in one Being? Why did God have to become human? How can we know that Jesus was God? Why was his death on a cross necessary for humanity’s salvation? Who is the Holy Spirit? And where does humanity fit into this picture? These are not new questions. These are not unanswerable questions. I have always hungered to think deeply on the things of God and these are questions that I have pondered at a comfortable distance, a distance that allowed me to see the larger canvas without much necessity for understanding the intricate details. But in this class I was challenged to peer into the brushstrokes, to see the individual colors, like focusing on a single tile in a grand mosaic. 

And I long to know, I long to know You more...

I’m not sure why I was surprised, but in this new depth I realized how vital it is to “love the Lord your God with all your mind.” With the guidance of a brilliant professor and delightful classmates, intensely focusing on God’s known-ness, I found my love for Him growing immensely. Awe and reverence overcame me as I was struck anew at the grandness of the cross.

Your willing exchange – my life for yours…

Oh, these are words that I have known, but seeing the brushstrokes, the choice of colors, the delicate pinnacle on which humanity and deity exist in One for my sake caused my knees to buckle and my face to flush, overcome with emotion as I loved God with my mind!

Holy, Holy!

Worthy of infinite honor and glory 

Holy, Holy!

With all that I am,  I adore Thee 

Holy Lord!

Heart. Soul. Mind. And Strength. Oh, how is it that we have decided that theology and academics are stuffy and overrated and have no passion? I have found just the opposite. Study that exhausted my thoughts and focused me on details that I once thought nit-picky and too complicated has generated a flood of love for my God that cannot be contained! 

Sent in His Name, You fill every void 

in every direction uncontained…

HOLY, HOLY!

WORTHY OF INFINITE HONOR AND GLORY

AND I LONG TO KNOW YOU MORE!

*My friend and worship leader, Mark Roach, penned and recorded these lyrics that have allowed me to express my heart and mind in song this week. Enjoy a listen of Holy Lord.


 

Transparency.

Oh, I love traditions! I particularly love traditions that began out of necessity with no real intention of becoming traditions. So our Christmas Eve "dinner" brings a smile to my face every year. Because we are passionate about making Christmas Eve services available to all who are open to hearing the Good News of Christmas, we are often at church most of the afternoon and evening. Having our sit down fancy dinner is just out of the question, so several years ago we let the kids plan a quick-fix menu. Everybody gets to add two things to this amazing smorgasbord and over the years we have had quite the unique variety. This year it looks like this:

The Menu:
Key Lime pie (that's for me! And I actually made it the other day and resisted the urge to taste test.)
Chocolate covered strawberries
Sugar and Gingerbread cookies
Fritos
Cinnamon Rolls (Pioneer Woman's freeze really well. Thank goodness.)
Mozzarella Cheese Sticks
Shrimp (also for me. And always on the Christmas Eve menu.)
Flavor Blasted Cheese Goldfish
Sweet Potato Fries with cinnamon yogurt dip
Rotel dip and chips
Summer sausage, cheese and crackers
Hot Chocolate with spray whipped cream
And of course a birthday cake for Jesus. This year it's a "J" candy cane. Red Velvet. I think He'll like that.

Now, in the spirit of transparency, this is what was behind me in that picture:

Honestly, I don't think the picture does it justice. There's powdered sugar on the counter, not an open spot on any surface, the sink is full of nastiness that is going to be gross to clean up. The "quick-fix" label was, well, deceiving. So I'm scurrying around like a crazy woman trying to get everything hot and on the table while kids are whining that they're hungry and I'm leaving debris around me like a Tasmanian devil. Merry Christmas Eve.

And then I thought that maybe that's the transparency I'm supposed to get on Christmas. That this precious Baby lying in a manger in the silent of night as the world slept was leaving a whirlwind of upheaval in the Heavenly realm that was soon to make its way to the ears of Herod. But more than that, God's bursting into human Flesh disrupted the human condition.

"Long lay the world in sin and error pining, til He appeared and the soul felt its worth."

And what a disruption. One we don't even know we need until we see the beauty of what it brings. A table set for us with all our favorite things.The work that He has done to restore us to Himself that we may see Him. That pulls us out of our own chaos and whining and longing for something more and bigger and better and fulfilling and offers that very Thing which brings peace for us. The beauty of Himself.

"Light of the world You stepped down into darkness, opened my eyes let me see beauty that made this heart adore You."

So I'll deal with the mess I left - because it was worth it. And I'll do it again next year. Because it was born out of necessity.

"O holy Child of Bethlehem, descend to us, we pray; cast out our sin, and enter in, be born in us today."

"Jesus Split the Line..."

I have this treasure from the pen of my great-grandfather:  his journal from 1909-10 as he traveled in a covered wagon to stake his land in an Oklahoma land run. Yes. I know how extremely cool that is!

Nestled in the entries about how to get a wagon across the quicksand in the Red River (I'm fully prepared should I ever encounter this dilemma), opinions on prohibition and a detailed description of a breath-taking cave in SE Oklahoma, is this little jewel. Here is what he wrote about Christmas 1910:

Christmas at our present time surely does not mean what it did many years ago. For with me, and I guess everyone is similar to myself in this respect, I look upon it as a holiday and think but little more of it than any of the others; other than it the most prominent. And even its prominence may be due in a great measure to the fact that it is so very ancient. People down here are celebrating it very much as the 4th of July is celebrated up with us. Even our 4th celebrations are discounted for three fourths of the people here get drunk. If the divinity of Christ is unmistakable, Xmas should mean more than this. I have been wondering if there wasn't a special significance in having all dates reflect back to the birth of Christ; if this is the real state of affairs then we can see the completeness and simplicity of the Creator's Plan. The custom is so firmly established that every civilized person has suggested to his mind that there is a Savior whether he accepts it or not; and this same suggestion is made every time his age or date in history is referred to. We can see how unconsciously this realization of a Savior might be bred into one's life.... I humbly confess that it hasn't been over two years since I fully realized for the first time that when I gave the date of my birth, I gave that of Christ's as well.

Oh, to be so mindful of Emmanuel...

This coming, this advent, this Flesh covering of The Word, "split the line at the turning point of time." And when have I marveled that the right hand lower corner of my computer keeps track of that moment in time that changed everything? Down to the minute. The very second. Instead, I'm rushing to make returns and grab another gift and sag my shoulders at the many still to decide on and frustrated that I have no idea what will bless the recipients in the ways I wish to bless them. And so I shake my head and make another list and bark at the kids to pick up their own stuff so I don't trip over it because I don't have time for a cast on my leg. Oh, if the divinity of Christ is unmistakable, Xmas should mean more than this.

Why I'm really okay with Christmas before Thanksgiving

"Can't we just get through Thanksgiving first?"

Oh, if I had a turkey leg for every time I've spoken those words through the years! But something different has been gnawing at me lately. It started last year when I blared this in my house all through the month of July.

Yes. For real. I was really just being silly at first, but then I started wrapping my brain (or maybe it was my heart) around God dwelling among us. Something different happened when I took the Story of Christmas out of the context of the frenzied, holiday hubbub. GOD with us? God WITH us? God with US??? Oh, Emmanuel! Yes! You ARE with us! And so I celebrated the Joy to the World with the Angels We Have Heard on High, beholding the hallowed manger scene. At the pool.

And then this spring (and again this summer) I read this book.

Find it here

Eucharisteo. Does that make you think of Eucharist? Ever wonder why it's called that? 

"And he took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to them..." (Luke 22:19) He gave thanks. The Greek word is eucharisteo. In breaking the bread, in facing the sacrifice for our salvation, He gave thanks. Can I not also? Can I not "give thanks in all circumstances" (1 Thess. 5:18)? 

Can I make it a lifestyle? Can I daily...no, moment by moment...recognize His blessings that He has poured all over me? Can I be aware enough to count, to give thanks, eucharisteo, one thousand of His gifts that He longs for me to enjoy? Things like:

23. Beautiful clouds announcing the arrival of a new day

152. Jacob after communion: "I want to do it again." Ah, me, too, Little Man. Me, too.

275. Pastor Mike and his heart for Jesus

357. Recognition of my weakness knowing that He is strong in my weakness

I'm making my way to writing down one thousand and in the process the expression of thanksgiving is becoming the habit of thanksliving. 

So this year, rather than "getting through Thanksgiving" before I celebrate Christmas, I desire to not only celebrate Emmanuel at the feast of blessing, but to bring Thanksgiving right to the foot of the manger. And to see the breaking of the bread and the cross and triumph at Easter on the table of grace and in the shadow of the Star that shown over the stable. Because all of it is God pursuing us, reconciling us to Himself, and I don't want to miss it. Perhaps Thanksgiving and Christmas need not be so compartmentalized. Regardless of what retail shelves tell us.

So I'll change out decorations and sing joyful songs and contemplate the gifts I have already been given and share the ones that will bless others. Before the fourth Thursday in November. And long after.

Rich.

This statement from my professor pretty much rocked my world today. "Do I need a PhD to exegete 'Go, sell all your possessions and give to the poor?' No, I don't. It's not that I don't understand it, it's that I'm choosing to be disobedient."

Yeah, take that pill and swallow it. Please don't tell me that that scripture really applies to me.

But then you slap on a "season" of thanksgiving (why isn't it a lifestyle again?) and turn smack dab into a season of let's-get-more (which is really just ingratitude - ahem, opposite of thanksgiving - wrapped up in pretty paper with a high price tag and an air of entitlement), and maybe I'm not exempt.

Maybe we're rich.

Maybe we're young and immature and don't really know what it means to follow Jesus.

Maybe we're rulers of our own little world with all our cool stuff and yummy food and cozy homes and we like it that way.

Maybe...we're rich, young rulers.

Usually I hear the explanation of that little encounter in the Bible as really just Jesus' way of telling us that "whatever it is that you love more than Me" is what needs to go. Whatever has its grip on you. Well, my phone has a grip on me. My laundry (how many days' worth of clothes do I really need?) has a grip on me. My basement is embarrassing so I prefer to ignore that one. My kids' activities, while all completely justifiable, dominate my calendar. Christmas "giving" has a grip on me.

Which leads me to the Mother of the Year acceptance speech I've been working on for a few weeks now: "I don't want to get my kids a stinking thing for Christmas. I don't want to spend money I don't have on stuff we don't need that will take up time we say is more valuable. I don't want to step on one more Lego in the dark. I don't want to hear one more whine about not getting to play 'just til I finish this level' and I don't want to find a home for more crap. I don't want to add to the sense of entitlement that our culture has proclaimed every day of their life and that I have - yes, I have - welcomed into my home with open arms under the guise of birthday parties, TV propaganda, and 'I just want to see their face light up.' And I don't want to endorse a game of Keeping Up With the Joneses. And I, quite frankly, don't want to help anybody else play that game either."

Yeah. I'm still gnawing on that last one myself. Somehow feeding others the same materialistic, stuff-will-make-you-happy philosophy is starting to leave a bad taste in my mouth. See, I find it interesting that Jesus says to "Go sell" and then "give to the poor." So, if you've sold your stuff, what's left to give? Some translations actually come right out and tell you. Money. Give your money to the poor. But we don't do that, because they might spend it on stuff they don't need.

Like we do.

Dang it, I'm mad! I'm mad that I can't seem to really do it. I can justify it that I give in a lot of ways. But I don't give it all.

But I cry as I fill my big ol' garden tub with gallons and gallons of refreshing, clean water because my Honduran momma friends have to carry their dirty, dangerous water in 5 gallon buckets on their heads so they can cook, clean, and drink it. And I want to relax in mine.

And then I get all rational and realize that my not filling my bathtub doesn't get clean water to Escuapa. So, there. I give myself a pass.

And then I read stuff like this:

"The bread in your cupboard belongs to the hungry man; the coat hanging unused in your closet belongs to the man who needs it; the shoes rotting in your closet belong to the man who has no shoes; the money which you put in the bank belongs to the poor. You do wrong to everyone you could help, but fail to help." St. Basil the Great

Dang it. Why am I afraid to be so radically different? Why do I think it will somehow be a bad thing for my family? Why do I think I have to convince my family? What is my role as an individual - not just wife and mom? What am I called to model to my kids? Why hasn't anybody that calls me friend said, "Jenn, I think Jesus means what He says." Why does everybody explain it away?

Well, not everybody. I know a few who are living rich, fulfilling lives because they gave it all away and discovered why Jesus ever spoke it in the first place.

And yet, I'm still choosing to be disobedient. Oh, sure. I can say that that verse is for "those" particular people. And you can, too. It's not a blanket command that Jesus expects every Christian to follow. Nah. But if I feel any kind of relief at the thought that it doesn't apply to me, then it probably does.

What Did You Go Out to See?

I'm a nerd. And I love Jesus. I also like to avoid housework. So a few days ago I got a hankering to explore all Jesus' questions. By "all" I mean until I get bored or God smacks me upside the head. I started in Matthew. My great-grandmother said everything good is in "Matthews." I know Jesus asks some real zingers, so I was hoping to get to a few, but by the time I got to chapter 9, He pretty much had asked a bunch of rhetorical questions. Since the laundry was calling, I pressed on into chapter 10 and then 11. And that's when God smacked me.

The imprisoned John the Baptist sends his disciples to ask Jesus if He is the One who was to come, or if he should expect someone else. You can read Jesus' response if you're curious about it. As John's disciples were leaving, Jesus turns to the crowd and, in His sly little way, asks loudly enough for all to hear, "What did you go out into the desert to see? A reed swayed by the wind? If not, what did you go out to see? A man dressed in fine clothes? No, those who wear fine clothes are in kings' palaces. Then what did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet."

Anytime Jesus says something more than once: Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Pay attention! This is important!

In less than 72 hours, I would be leading a team to Joplin.

What did you go out to see? Just the tornado damage?

What did you go out to see? Important people like Mercy Me, Mandissa, and Mark Roach at the Restore Joplin Festival?

What did you go out to see? A word from God? Or God Himself.

I shared this God-blessed, housework-avoiding revelation with the mission team in Joplin yesterday morning. I confessed that I fall into all three categories: scenery, people, God. I issued the challenge to expect to see God - and more of Him than you can imagine - as we serve the people of Joplin.

The craziness of organizing 40 people to go to about 6 places all at the same time with the right people, in the right cars, with the right tools and the right directions, had me a bit scatter-brained. Well, more than normal. In the frenzy, I forgot a man from another church that wanted to join my little crew at the house where we were working. Shoot. About 15 minutes into our 20 minute commute to the site, I sucked all the air out of the van when I realized I left my appendage, I mean, phone, back at the church where we were staying. I've only given my number to about 92 people in the last 3 days who are just dying to get ahold of me. There's no way I can go the morning without my phone. There're pics to be uploaded to Facebook at the very least. As I drop off the crew at the work site, I head out for the 20 minute drive back.

A few miles down the busy main road I see a hitchhiker. A lady about my age, with stringy dark hair and unkempt clothes, holding up her hand to every car that speeds past. Including mine. I watch her in my rear view mirror hoping someone picks her up. There is an excessive heat warning. She's gonna get hot. I wonder how far she's walking? I should probably go check. I put my foot on the brake at the next cross street.

Nope. Can't do it.

There's a lot of traffic. And I don't have my phone. What if she needs to make a phone call? I won't be able to help her anyway. And besides, I don't just pick up people off the side of the road, no matter how innocent-looking they are. And without a phone, I can't call 911. But it's hot. I slow at the next street. But I've got to get back to the work site to do the real mission work, so I speed back up.

She fades out of sight in the rearview mirror. Hand-slap to the forehead: "I don't want to be a Levite!" Oh, but I don't do this, God; don't you know that?

What did you go out to see?

Okay, fine. I slow at the next street. Aaaand chicken out again.

I know it sounds crazy, but God really spoke deeply to my spirit and said, "Do you want to see what I'm going to do, or not?"

Long, slow exhale.

It's now or never. Hard right turn...onto a dead end.

U-turn in the middle of the street. If I can't make a left across these four lanes of traffic, I'm just gonna go on and get my phone.

Not..a...car...either...direction.

If someone has already picked her up (please, dear Lord) I will consider myself obedient and go get my phone and back to work.

Half a mile back down the road, there she is still trying to flag someone down.

Illegal (I'm sure) Uish-turn at the next intersection; she's now walking in a right turn lane; couldn't be an easier way to pull over. I slow to a stop, roll down the window, "Do you need a ride somewhere?"

Hesitantly, barely making eye contact, but checking out my trustworthiness, obviously feeling that this is a great risk, she answers, "To Missouri Southern State University."

"Hi, my name is Jennifer. I'm actually going that direction." It's on the same road as the church where my lonely phone is. "I'd be happy to give you a ride."

"I'm Christy."

We shake hands through the open window. I unlock the door, smile and motion for her to get in.

She slides in barely onto the seat staying as close to the door as she can without even considering putting on the seatbelt. (Uh, I'm a rule-follower. She's a grown woman. Can I tell her to buckle up?)

She fiddles nervously with the colorful folder she's carrying and holds her small purse tight in her lap. She reminds me of child stiff from fear but strong enough to keep moving.

"Are you taking classes at the college?"

"No, I'm going to the FEMA office."

Gulp.

What did you go out to see?

We drive and talk and I find out more of her story. How her trailer and car were destroyed when the storm hit, but she and her 5 and 2 year old daughters (adorable pictures she showed me on her little phone) were safe at the mall. As I near the college I realize that it's been over a four mile drive. And she was walking. We pull into the empty parking lot and drive around every building and see not a hint of FEMA. Until the final roadway that leads us to an angel parked in a blue Element with bleach blonde hair, more makeup than is needed in this heat, and a stack of directions to the FEMA office that has moved to 32nd street. Six miles back the way we came.

What did you go out to see?

This longer journey gives Christy the chance to tell me how she had quit her part time job to pursue her growing cleaning business. And then the storm hit. And destroyed all her customers' houses. And how God had answered so many of her prayers. And how she is almost done filing for everything FEMA can offer and then she will breathe again. In the pauses, the radio plays songs about praising Him in the storm, what if the blessings come through raindrops, and I lift my hands to believe again.

We find the FEMA office, which is eerily empty except for the dozen or so workers sitting behind computers waiting for storm victims to come and claim their benefits. Christy, shaking, walks to the desk to sign in and I take her hands in mine, lean close and say, "I have to go, but let's pray first." Now, later I realized what a sight that might have been - standing in an empty room surrounded by government employees and a security guard, praying with a stranger. But when I finish, sitting behind the desk is the second angel of the day who goes by the name Jeanine - with equally obnoxious blonde hair and makeup. I grab a FEMA card and write my name and number on the back.

"Now, I don't have my phone right now, but I'm heading back to get it." Yes, I purposely didn't tell her I didn't have my phone until that moment. You know, in case it was all a scam and she really intended to kill me. "But I want to give you a ride home, or wherever you need to go, so please call me when you're done and I can swing back by and get you."

Jeanine smiles at me, winks, and mouths, "Thank you."

The security guard in the corner asks me where I'm from and I explain I'm a volunteer in from St. Louis. He says, "Well, I'd say you did your good deed for the day."

But I don't think this is about what I am doing. This is about what God is doing.

Christy sits on the edge of the chair as cautiously as she slid into my front seat. I release my breath all the way back to my van.

Realizing that I have now been gone for over an hour and my crew is likely wondering where I am, I find my way to the worksite, jump out and proclaim, "I haven't got my phone yet. I picked up a hitchhiker. And God showed up. I'll explain later. Just wanted to let you know I'm alive and going to get my phone now. I'll be back as fast as I can." I think all five of them pretty much went, "Huh?" as I drove away.

I hear His voice all the way back to the church.

Do you want to see what I'm going to do, or not?

What did you go out to see?

You, God! I want to see You. And yes! yes! yes! I do want to see what You are going to do! Thank you for keeping my eyes open and showing me where You were and what You can do!

My phone is right where I thought it was. On top of my Bible shoved back in my suitcase. Two missed calls and one text. Seriously? Nobody needed me any more than that? Maybe I'm not that big a deal. I return the calls and answer the text, hop back in the car and the phone rings.

"Uh, hi, um, uh, this is Christy. They said I need one more paper from the bank and it's down the street - it's real close - but it's Saturday and they close soon. Do you think you could give me a ride?"

"Absolutely. I'll be there in about 15 minutes."

The drive to the bank is short, there isn't a single line inside. (Seriously? Saturday at 11:00? In what world does that ever happen?) She gets the documents she needs and we return to FEMA. Jeanine whispers to me, "She wasn't going to call you. She was going to walk. I told her, 'She said to call her, now you call her and let her give you a ride.' She needed you today. Thank you."

I think I needed her. Thank You.

This portion of the paperwork was only supposed to take 5 minutes. As with most "won't take no time" projects, I anxiously watched the clock tick closer and closer to the time I needed to pick up my crew and head back to the church for lunch. Thirty minutes later, Christy walks out of the office with the slightest hint of a smile glimmering across her tightly lined face.

"How would you like to join us for lunch? I need to go pick up the rest of my team and get to lunch back at the church. I'm not sure I have time to take you home right now."

"I think I, yes, I think I would like that."

At the worksite, the five of them crawl into my 7-passenger van. Only five, because I forgot the one that wanted to join us. My frenzied morning left an open seat. For Christy.

What did you go out to see?

At the church, we fill our plates with an overgrown vienna sausage on a bun and some chips. The lunch time announcements by the pastor's wife, Judy, always include a moment to share the day's happenings. I had introduced Christy to no one but the van crew, and out of the room of 100 folks, Judy locks eyes with me and says, "Do you have a story to share? What happened with you today?"

I briefly share the story and introduce Christy as our special guest for lunch. Her head hangs low but her eyes twinkle, uncomfortably accepting the applause from the room.

The church has a food pantry and I ask if we can provide her with some groceries even though it is closed today. We walk with her through the aisles as she chooses everything she wants that fits in the grocery cart. A gallon of apple juice. Her girls love apple juice. Ravioli? They are going to love this. Can she get two? Cleaning supplies for the two new customers she secured this morning in her fledgling cleaning business. Mac and cheese, canned veggies, laundry detergent, vitamin-fortified rice, feminine products, toothbrushes and some scented shimmering lotion. As we walk the aisles though, she tells me of her abused past. There is not an inkling of "sob story" in her words. It's more like, "Can I trust you with who I am?" Repeatedly abandoned by her mother, raped by her father whom she never once saw sober, those child eyes of fearful determination that peered through my van window hours earlier sighed with relief that someone knew her story. And she still proclaimed, "But without God, I wouldn't be here. He has gotten me through so much. I don't know what I would do without Him. It's through the struggles that I really lean on Him and know He is here taking care of me." Though unspoken, it's apparent her situation still teeters dangerously close to that childhood cycle.

We load her groceries into the van and her shoulders lift, and the smile is real and full.

After dropping off the crew at the worksite, Christy directs me to her newly rented home (for which God miraculously provided the rent last month) and I carry in the groceries in three heavy loads. Little girl toys neatly line the wall in the living room. On the floor next to the lone chair lays her Bible.

"It's been a pleasure spending the day with you. I'm so glad God had our paths cross. I will continue to pray for you, Christy. God always shows up when we look for Him. Count each of these blessings as you put them on your pantry shelves and expect them to last a long time. He really loves you, Christy."

Do you want to see what I'm going to do, or not?

What did you go out to see?

A word from Me?

Yes, I tell you, and more....

Hear my prayer, O Lord

So it's been like forever since I've blogged anything, but I just had to share this somewhere. It's from Little Book of Prayers and even though I don't think I'm too old yet, too many of these could have come from my own pen.

Lord, Thou knowest better than I know myself that I am growing older, and will some day be old.
Keep me from getting talkative, and particularly from the fatal habit of thinking I must say something on every subject and on every occasion.
Release me from craving to try to straighten out everybody's affairs.
Keep my mind free from the recital of endless details - give me wings to get to the point.
I ask for grace enough to listen to the tales of others' pains. Help me to endure them with patience.
But seal my lips on my own aches and pains - they are increasing and my love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by.
Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally it is possible that I may be mistaken.
Keep me reasonably sweet; I do not want to be a saint - some of them are so hard to live with - but a sour old woman is one of the crowning works of the devil.
Make me thoughtful, but not moody; helpful, but not bossy. With my vast store of wisdom, it seems a pity not to use it all - but Thou knowest, Lord, that I want a few friends at the end.

- By a Mother Superior who wishes to be anonymous (Isn't that just the kicker? A Mother Superior penning that! Loooove it!)

Thankful Fors

This came as a challenge from a friend to write out 20 things I'm thankful for.

1. My kids' giggles. And their belly laughs.
2. Music that reaches my soul and brings about change in my life.
3. That my son's "worst day ever" was because he didn't get his math homework done and actually had to stay in from recess.
4. My front porch rocking chairs.
5. Chocolate covered strawberries (and in a pinch, strawberries and chocolate ice cream).
6. Memories of sitting on my daddy's lap watching football on a black and white TV. And that I get to continue that tradition with my kiddos (except instead of a black and white, we have no Tivo and no HD).
7. Country music.
8. The most amazing friends that have seen me at my worst (like with Jr. High hair and everything!), loved me through my insecurities and fears, and challenged me to get over myself. And they still like me. I really can't believe I have so many kindred spirits.
9. Morning Star Church for the balance they have provided for me in nurturing and ministering to me and challenging me to reach out beyond myself and serve others. I seriously cannot imagine who I would be today if we had not said yes to Morning Star 11 years ago. (Yep. In the fall of '98 we sat in Mike and Dede's living room and said, "We're in!" What an awesome ride it has been and will be!)
10. The privilege of experiencing life enter this world and leave it - the most spiritual moments of my life.
11. Planned Parenthood commercials for Plan B that open up great conversation with my daughter. Who knew? Glad I went there - even with the boys in the car.
12. Generations of a Christian heritage that has shaped who I am and who my children will be.
13. Photography that captures raw beauty and reality.
14. My Jesus. And for the growing awareness that He really is my Jesus.
15. Books, books and more books.
16. My experiences on mission trips because even though it sounds self-serving, they absolutely have shaped my view of the world, God, and myself since 8th grade. And the struggle that I go through processing all that I see. It's worth it. It's even worth it that I have more questions than answers.
17. A fire crackling in the fireplace and the perfect roasted marshmallow. (I'm really really good at them. I'm out for hire. You can pay me with chocolate and graham crackers.)
18. Facebook. How corny is that? But seriously, I have reconnected with friends that are in the pit of hell and reaching out to me. And friends that I never should have lost touch with. Just the other night I chatted for 2 hours with my reconnected best friend. I snorted. I cried. And I am planning a trip to the East Coast to hug her neck.
19. For my husband who puts up with my peppiness, and my crabbiness. No wonder he's so even keel.
20. Our home. I still feel guilty for having it because our old one was "too small." But it's beautiful and homey and warm. And I can keep the people I love comfortable and safe in it. Too many mommas don't have that opportunity.

Honduras Bound!

My hope is to be able to update my blog while we're in Honduras with videos and interviews. Um...I kinda need to figure out how to get videos on here, so you get to see my amateur videography efforts. Sorry. It's actually from last year when we asked the kiddos at Morning Star to donate vitamins.

Remembering 9/11

Here's what I wrote in my scrapbook shortly after Sept. 11, 2001

Tuesday morning, Sept. 11, 2001, I turned on the Today Show on NBC to catch the 8a.m. news. At 8:04 they broke to show a plane that had crashed into one of the World Trade Center towers. As I watched, a second plane crashed into Tower Two. Immediately the announcers speculated terrorism. This was no accident. These are the details in the order I remember:
*One of the planes was reportedly hijacked.
*Up to 50,000 people work in the two towers.
*Tower Two tumbles to the ground about 45 minutes after the crash.
*Minutes later Tower One collapses.
*People are frantically running; many had jumped from the buildings.
*A plane crashes into one of the wings of the Pentagon.
*Planes were commercial flights with people on them - no numbers yet.
*Took Emilee to preschool at 9:30. I told her lots of people got hurt today when the planes crashed into buildings. She asked, "Why can't God make the planes not crash into the buildings?" I just explained that people make their own choices and when they don't know God or don't listen to Him, they make very bad choices. She immediately replied, "Like Jonah. He didn't listen to God and got thrown 'over-the-board' and a big fish ate him up."
*A fourth hijacked plane crashes in Pennsylvania headed for Camp David.
*Hundreds injured and at NYC hospitals.
*President Bush leaves Florida for Washington, but Air Force One goes to Louisiana where Bush makes a video-taped statement.
*Bush in Nebraska in bunker and conferences with Colin Powell in South America and Condelisa Rise in the White House.
*All four planes confirmed hijacked.
*Hospitals concerned that they're not busy enough - too many presumed dead.
*Osama bin Laden prime suspect.
*People walking miles to get home - all mass transit shut down - tunnels, bridges closed.
*Shoe store owner starts handing out shoes to many who discarded their dress shoes either in the stairs of the Trade Center or on the street.
*As many as 200 firefighters and 68 policemen missing and feared dead.
*First "missing" number at around 1,500. Family members searching for their missing loved ones, holding pictures asking if anyone has seen them.
*Thick ash and debris including papers cover streets, cars, buildings and people up to 3 inches deep.
*White House and Capital Hill officials taken to "secure locations;" some moved more than once.
*I have to do something to feel like I'm protecting my family so I head to the grocery store and stock up for the week.
*I feel absolute insecurity and vulnerability.
*Everywhere people seem to be very solemn - even the stores broadcast the news.
*America is on alert.
*Airlines across the nation are shut down; many stranded in airports until further notice.
*Numbers rise; missing are into the thousands now, but fewer than one hundred are confirmed dead.
*Operation Noble Eagle, Operation Infinite Justice - Bush quickly alerts all military and begins positioning for a strike back.
*On Thursday, Sept. 13, Bush addresses both Houses of Government as well as the world in an historical speech: "those who are responsible and those who harbor them..." "either you are with us or you are against us..." "We will not falter, we will not tire, we will not fail!"
*Tony Blair, British Prime Minister, sits in seat of honor beside First Lady Laura Bush.
*Friday, Sept. 14 a "day of Prayer and Rememberance" honors all the dead and missing and their families.
*Bush participates at the National Cathedral singing hymns, praying, and speaking; he has tears in his eyes.
*Days go by and presumed dead at WTC, Pentagon and on planes soars to about 5,000.
*Football, baseball, golf scheduled events are cancelled.
*Many give blood as a way to do something. I gave on Wed., Sept. 12 at the St. Charles County Community College. I arrived at 10:20a.m. and was #537.
*Airlines begin again by the weekend, but limited flights.
*America strikes back on Sunday, Sept. 23 as US and British planes bombed key Taliban terroist training camps after wiping out their air power (airports, military targets, etc.)
*Most Arab countries protest; feel it's "harsh."
*Bin Laden has videotaped message with more threats but obviously recorded before strikes.
*America is confident.

Um...clarifications?

1. A whole Gospel approach to meeting the needs of "the least" includes salvation through Jesus Christ. I'm often tempted to blur the lines of holy calling and social action. Non-Christians can do social action, and do it quite well. But we are also called to "go" and "make disciples." Yes, it's one complete command given by Christ, but we often do one or the other. We're either really good at going and don't really make disciples. Or we're good at making disciples within our walls without going out. It's just gotta be both.
2. Speaking of "both" - huddling is not wrong. As a matter of fact, it would be terribly wrong to not huddle. I can't imagine how my spiritual growing curve would ever increase if I didn't have corporate worship with my local church family. That 2 hours on Sunday morning is my sustaining safety net that is absolutely necessary. The Bible is clear on that, and my experience proves to me that truth. My encounters with God in the midst of corporate worship have driven me to my knees (like in front of people. That's just weird, so you know it's a God-moment). Our service can't take the place of corporate worship, and our corporate worship can't be our only act of service. Both/and. Never instead.
3. So, Pastor Harvey moves his congregation out to the streets "instead" of Sunday worship, right? Not necessarily. He moves Sunday corporate worship out to the streets. In the crack house cases, they are just holding their worship service in a different location. In the Bible delivery cases, sounds like they gather for worship and then march out the doors as a way of giving the congregation a hands-on teachable moment. And the women meeting with prostitutes is the overflow of that understanding throughout the week. Perhaps in other churches, corporate worship will never look any different as far as time or location - the doors will never close on Sunday morning - but the teaching will be so compelling that every attendee actually plays the game all week long. Sometimes we need to head to the locker room. Sometimes we need some more training. Sometimes we huddle on the sidelines. But most of the time we huddle in the midst of the game. Both/and. Never instead.
   
4. I love analogies and sometimes carry them too far. Pastor Mike has warned me of this tendency of mine. Ahem.
5. Jesus really is the answer for the world today.
6. I think my clarifications will need clarification.