(IN)Courage

[Judy Harder]

The 1 Thing You Really Have to Know About Your Family
Feb 21, 2013 12:20 am | Ann Voskamp


Iam not going to lie.

When your kin comes knocking on your own back door — come to ask how that trip to Haiti went — how can you look them in the eye and lie?

How can you lie still when babies are drowning in a sea of poverty?

How can you not scream?

I tell Mama that I think I'm angry.


Mama sits down.

And I pace, this hunting for words for the indescribable. And it comes out haltingly, that I think if I open my mouth, it will come right out, this roar. This inhumane, howling moan that only the Spirit can make any sense of...

Angry? She says.

And there's no holding this tattered roar back.

I'm angry at sin that smothers children and selfishness that steals human dignity and apathy that infects the hearts of the comfortable. And I pound my own chest.

I'm angry at me.

Angry at how much I want comfortable more than I want Christ.

Angry at how much I want to forget that grimy boy leaned over a garbage heap, wiping his fingers along the inside of food tray, looking for anything left. I'm wildly angry that I want to forget the struggle of the poor so I can pin the next pretty idea on Pinterest.

I'm angry that I've seen and I'm ashamed that I am angry and I'm angry that I've seen and now I am responsible. More than respons-able – we're response-bound. Once we have seen the poor, we are responsible — we will make a response. As long as your heart is beating, there's no such thing as unresponsive. We all look into the face of the poor and it's either Yes, I will help. Or no, I won't.

There's no getting off the hook.

Faith cannot have a non-response.

We're either responding with indifference or with intercession, either with apathy or aid.

You can't look into the face of the poor and just plead the fifth amendment. Your life is always your answer.

I feel sick that I feel so angry.

Sick that I want to Pin with abandon, that I don't want to be a witness, that I want someone else be an uncomfortable voice for the poor. Sick that six weeks from now I can grow cold and forget. I have.

Why do Christians make their lives tell all these half-truths?

On Tuesday, when I wake up on the farm, my throat is sore. I feel like I've lost my voice. I feel like my heart is sore.

What do you say in the face of disparity that defies words?

It's 708 miles from Port Au Prince, Haiti to Miami, Florida – less distance than the length of the state of Texas.

From a city with no sewer system — where every night workers scoop out latrines with buckets and dump the sewage of its 3 million into open, garbage choked ditches cutting through the city – to not only what Forbes named the cleanest city, but the richest city in the United States of America.

The flight isn't an hour and a half. In ninety minutes, taxing down the runway, we leave the tarped and twigged shacks of people earning less than $750 a year — to suburban McMansions where the average family earns $52,000.

How long can you walk around feeling like you have whiplash? Is heart whiplash what you need to wake your heart up?

Why would we rather turn a blind eye to the needy than turn to the needy and be like Christ? Do we like our own wants and comfort more than we want to be like Christ?

When I walked behind Wesley, I couldn't stop watching the way his arms move.

How they look like these starved, breakable sticks, these bones with brown skin stretched over tight.

It's his head I wanted into, that shaved close head and everything behind those huge sunken eyes. What's Wesley thinking?

What does it feel like to walk ahead of 5 milk white foreigners, walk them through heaps of burnt out scrapped metal, past an open latrine, to your dark windowless house that wouldn't be 100 square feet?

When Wesley's Grandfather's brings the cow into the yard, his shorts are tied up with string. If the body of Christ is tied together with His blood, how does His family live estranged – like the generous giving of grace is strange?

Wesley shows us his Bible. He's standing in the doorway of the shack he lives in with his mother, his Grandfather.



Wesley's mother, she says that Wesley's father lives that way – the mother points — lives in other places with his other wives. She points back into the darkened door, the hard floor. Sometimes he comes here to spend a night. She says it all quiet, says it like there's not much of her left, like she's the one spent. It doesn't look like she has a handful of teeth.

I gently lay a hand on Wesley's shoulder, on my brother's shoulder, ask if he'd like to share with us his favorite Bible verse? Wesley stares at a page. Wesley can't read. He is 12 and he can't read. Who has words for this?

He does have a Compassion sponsor. He hands me their letter.



Attached is a picture of a couple smiling happy in Central Park. Wesley's standing barefoot and wordless in front of a windowless shack with a photo of folks hugging happy in Central Park and how can we help where we are born in this world? This soundless howl pounds in my ears.

Where is the Spirit who interprets all these impossible groans? What is the solution to poverty in this world? What in the world do we all do?

The day we go to the ocean to meet Jonelson, one of the children we sponsor in Haiti through Compassion, he hugs Caleb. He lives on a tropical island, but Jonelson's never been to the ocean before. His mother's trying to feed eight children in a one room house with no running water, no electricity and not much more than $30 a month for them all to figure out how to live, how to scrape something out of the earth.

Jonelson's mother strips him down to his thin white underwear and he stands there at the water's edge not knowing what to do. Drilling his one big toe nervous into the sand.

Caleb digs in his bag for that swimsuit he brought for Jonelson. His mother pulls them up over Jonelson's skivvies.

And when Caleb kneels down in front of Jonelson, to try to beckon him out into the water, the boy climbs up on Caleb's back.



Caleb wades deeper into all that tropical aqua and Jonelson holds on. I stand beside Jonelson's mother and we're two mothers watching our two sons carrying each other, holding on to each other, arms and feet entwined and we're family and aren't we all entangled by something?

Are we entangled in Christ and loving His family or are we entangled in culture and its pressures to have all of its stuff?

When we say goodbye to Joneslon, tears stream down his mother's face. She cups my face in her hands and kisses me on the cheek like a sister.



She puts a grass woven hat on my head and all I can think of is Job saying "justice was my robe and turban" (Job 29:14). In the family of Christ, we wear justice for the poor. In the Body of Christ, our lives should be clothed in caring like our bodies are covered in clothing.

Caleb had packed it – this Canadian t-shirt. He'd given one to little Jonelson. And he'd said it when we'd crawled through the swarming streets of Port Au Prince. He'd looked out on the open latrines and the shacks and the wandering children and he had said it way too loud.

Said it too loud just after the bus engine finally gasped quiet in the heat.

"Sure am glad I wasn't born in a place like this – glad I was born in the land of the strong and free."

And I hissed shhhhhh.

But for days that's what kept echoing – no, shouting — in my head: "It's by and large where you are born." What would your life look like if you were born onto the heaving streets of Port Au Prince instead of all that clean air somewhere west of Central Park?

If you were born onto dirt and mud in the tarped cities of Haiti instead of the windows and water and wealth of the Western world?

You can turn a blind eye to the poor all you want but it could have turned out that you were the poor.
And when our Haitian Compassion translator, Johnny, stands in The Alpha Hotel with its rats running down the hallways, he tells us how, after getting his BA in Florida, he'd got his MDiv in North Carolina.

How he'd come back to Haiti to work for Compassion, and took in 5 starving Haitian orphans to raise with his own 3 and saved to send all 8 of them to university.

How he'd walked out of the Hotel Montana not 30 seconds before it collapsed in the earthquake and how after the quake, how he'd climbed from one tree to the next, all down the mountain from the Montana, all the roads blocked with rubble and death, wild to find his kids and wife somewhere in Port Au Prince that is home.

And that's when I couldn't stop it – when it came out of me, a whisper, but still too loud.

Like an angry fool, I had asked him, laid my hand on his arm and quietly begged him, "Johnny, I know you were born here – but someday — couldn't you take your family and move to a land like the States?"

Just step over the rubble and beggars and latrines and garbage and gangs and just get your family out of this place where you were born and come find the land of the free? It's ugly, but it's what I thought for our friend: You only get one life here and who really wants to spend it in the slums?

And he looked me in the eyes and he waited, searching mine.

Searching for a way to get the truth right into me, me born into the lap of ease of the West and homesick for the farm and wanting everyone to have the relative ease of the middle class.

"But I am Moses." Johnny speaks it deep, his eyes never leaving mine, his fatherly hand gently squeezing mine, soothing out my roaring wail.

"I am Moses. I do not leave my kindred."

And the whole planet and all my heart reverberates.

I am Moses. I do not leave my kindred.

You don't leave your kin to save your own skin.

You don't stay in the palace if you want anybody to find deliverance – especially yourself.

You don't forget who your brother is — when you know Who your Father is.

I turn away, chin quaking hard. I've got a passport in my bag and a ticket to ease and he only gets one life here and he's living in the desperate need of this one for the definite reward of the next one – and how in the world again am I living mine?

If the grace of my life is mostly where I am born, and I am born again into the family of Christ, than how can my life birth anything other than a grace that gives?

I read it just before my plane lifts from Haitian soil, read it standing in a line in the chaotic Port Au Prince airport, what Tim Keller wrote:

"[Anything you have...] It is due to the century and place in which you were born, to your talents and capacities and health, none of which you earned.

In short, all your resources are in the end — the gift of God."

Forget Paris. It's what I found right here in Haiti: It's all in the end a gift and a gift never stop being a gift, it's always meant to be given, and it's all by His grace alone and I bend my stiff neck in Port Au Prince and I'm wrecked and everything gives way.

Why do good things happen to people who happen to take all that good for granted?

Why can I read and Wesley can't, and why do I have the privilege of not worrying where the next meal is coming from and Jonelson's mother doesn't?

And why do I fly home to running water in Canada and Johnny stays here pumping a country for hope and why do the three million of Port Au Prince carry buckets of sewage and why do we have a house of 8 with not one toilet but an obscene four?

I am so angry and so much at me.

When you are born again into the Kingdom of God, how can you ever again forget your kin? Part of the solution to poverty is doing whatever it takes to get your heart to stay with the poor.

There may be miles between the rich and the poor, but how can there be distance in the family of God.

And my mama, my kin —

she reaches over and the world seems small and she squeezes my hand close.::
::

And hath made of one blood all nations of men ...

Acts 17:26



For deeper reflection visit Ann's blog to read about her trip to Haiti THIS WEEK with her husband, six children and mother: Of Women & Sisters and Family and How You Really Speak Lent
{If you'd like to stay with your kindred, consider sponsoring a child through Compassion USA or Compassion in Canada?}





When Flesh Fights Fierce & We Just Want Joy
Feb 21, 2013 12:10 am | Meggan Murkli


Wind gapes through my brunette locks and catches that droplet dripping sorrow and grief. Wet teardrop whisked away to that heavenly storehouse where the God-Man bottles it in His perfect love and healing grace. Clouds are hovering in blue sky and the air is turning heavy with grey. Piercing through, a single ray of fierce light. It fights the black and the cold for a few moments. And I fight the suffering and sin all the same. From those mysterious bowels of cloud and sky, the droplets descend, crashing with a roar upon Mother Earth. Ray of sun shattered in a piercing instant. Feet wade in the fresh puddle. Locks drip wet and eyes close beneath the seeming misery. Tear and raindrop mix into one thundering roar. And it all seems to be too much.



I'm a forgetful creature. A woman of self-absorption, gripped with sin, whose brokenness often blurs that holy perspective. But the skies open and the rain falls and the tears of Grace – that God of abundant grace – descend. And I catch my tears, but only as I catch His. I sorrow, but only as He sorrows. I weep, but only as He has already wept.

His grace doesn't demand our wounds ignored or forgotten. Grace frees us from the veil of shame because Grace already bore the wound, and Grace still wields the scar.

We weep and we mourn and we suffer – Adam's fall ever infectious over these lives we live – and we ache for all of this world's suffering and all of our own immediate hurt to be healed.

Sky sulks. Grey hovers over yellow harvest fields and over my tear-stained soul. I set the kettle on stove and wait for tea leaves to steep into full, majestic flavor. Eyes and heart fastened on the falling happening outside. His tears. My tears. And maybe yours too?

Tears because pain is real and the hurt runs deep.

I pour hot tea into that crackled stoneware. Cinnamon and hibiscus and orange peel dancing wildly together. I feel lifeless. And maybe it's because I'm thankless? After all, that Word says, Enter into my joy through gates of thanksgiving.

Oh, dear Ann unveiled that secret and I'm remembering it now:

Deep chara joy is found only at the table of the euCHARisteo – the table of thanksgiving...As long as thanks is possible, then joy is always possible. Joy is always possible. Whenever, meaning – now; wherever, meaning – here...Here, in the messy, piercing ache of now, joy might be – unbelievably – possible!

The miracle of healing – that miracle we ache after 'neath heavy skies and world's disappointments and failures run deep and utterly brutal scars – it comes when we offer thanks.

It comes when we, with sorrow gripping fierce and darkness laying low, come unto the Healer, with gratitude on our wet, tear-saturated lips & whisper it true.

And it's hard. It's a hard offering up, dear one. But, don't we desperately long for the miracle? Don't we crave after beauty and life abundant? Didn't Augustine say that we are all on this maddening search for eternal joy?

Then this is the secret.

My tea cup is empty. I reach for that white glazen pot and pour until it fills. And I reach for that Word and receive the filling.

John, in His Gospel, says that on the night Jesus was betrayed, He took the cup – the cup of suffering and death and of costly crucifixion – and he gave thanks.

And I take the cup,

of broken engagement,

and loss of love,

and friendship betrayed,

and reputation scarred,

and possessions forfeited,

and plans utterly pierced through,

and almost father-in-law diagnosed with cancer,

and this wounded walk of life,

and I give thanks.

Thanks for the grace and the God of grace Who covers all and sustains all. For the heart of that God-Man and the love of that Beloved, Who is for me and never against me. For the Giver of every good and perfect gift, and that these sufferings are not separate from His goodness. For the Healer, who comforts, but who also cries. For the One in Whom joy is always possible.



This, with love from Meg, at Grace Words.
**Because all is just wild grace, there's a place saved just for you, so stop by...maybe?**

[Judy Harder]

Rushing The Seasons
Feb 22, 2013 12:20 am | Annie Downs




All I can do right now is wish for summer.

The winter in Nashville has been terribly mild and we have barely had a serious cold snap. Usually, I'm the one who loves a good wintery season, all bundled up and such, but this year, winter can't end fast enough.

And I don't even like spring.

I just want summer. I want long days and warm nights outside. I want to wear shorts in the afternoon and feel the sunshine come in through my window at too-early o'clock. I want fresh fruits and farmers markets and rolled down windows. I want a solid thunderstorm. I want last minute tubing trips and long awaited beach vacations.

But the truth is, I know as soon as summer gets here, I'll beg for fall. For the changing leaves and the cooler temperatures and the tall boots and skinny jeans. I will want all the things that the current season doesn't offer.

One day this summer, I will be sweaty and annoyed and everything will feel sticky and I'll think back to today. I will remember that it was 30 degrees and I jogged from house to car, when my fingers were frozen while opening my back door to rush into the warmth of the house, and I'll feel like I wasted winter, wishing for summer. And I'll will wish away summer instead of living it like I am anticipating.

It seems that no matter the time of year, the relationship status, or the prayers unanswered, I always find myself wishing for the next season instead of appreciating the one I am in.

So while my mind longs for summer, I'm teaching my heart to live the winter. And maybe even love it.

[Judy Harder]

May your weekend be filled with happiness, not the kind that comes from winning on earth but the kind that comes from the secret things of heaven.

May you let go of the comparisons that exhaust you. Remember it takes two to make a race.

If you're weary of the competition, simply refuse to run.

Choose instead to linger in the morning when the sun begins her rise.

Take a walk around the block just to see what you can find.

Savor the warm mug, the sharp air, the hope of things to come.

Be thankful for the moments you hold in your hands and the people who sit by your side.

But above all else, let the truth of your own belovedness gather in the sacred curves of your soul.

Listen long to the Spirit-whispers of acceptance and know you are made wonderfully well.

Enjoy your weekend, friends.

Are you weary from the race of this week? What is one way you might choose to slow?

post by Emily Freeman, Chatting at the Sky

[Judy Harder]

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened,
and I will give you rest.
Take my yoke upon you and learn from me,
for I am gentle and humble in heart,
and you will find rest for your souls.
For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."
Matthew 11:28-30

[Judy Harder]

On the Days You Can Only Trace The Rainbow
Feb 25, 2013 12:20 am | Bonnie Gray


Oh, love that will not let me go | I rest me weary soul in Thee |I give You back this life I owe | And in Your ocean depths its flow | May richer fuller be |  ~  George Matheson

I stared into the wall at nights in my bed as a little girl.

It was actually the moonlight slipping into the room, through the edge of the window curtains.

But, I looked at how white the light pierced into the paint.

Yet, it wasn't so bright.  Because my room was still swathed in the quiet serenity of the dark.

The patch of light would float softly along my wall, like the arms of a willow tree's leaves reflecting onto the water, yawning ever so slightly in the gentle breeze.

It felt good to me somehow to feel lost in that gaze.

Because I wanted all my troubles to go away.

Because for a moment, I would forget everything — the things that had been said and the me-who-I-became when they were spoken.  Even the dreams that I wanted to dream.

And as I nestled my cheek into the pillow, wrapping my arms and legs into the folding crevices of the covers, I'd scoot my way close to the wall, where my bed found its home parked in one corner of the room.

I would feel peaceful coolness snuggled there.

It was there many nights I would cry.

And it was also there that I would confide in Jesus.

I would pray.

A Deeper Part
I grew up of course.  And I don't stare into the walls anymore.

But, I'm learning there is a deeper part of me that still wants to disappear — to find that place of numbness, where I separate myself from the truth of the things that bother me, from the words or concerns that don't sit right in my heart.

I can distract myself in my grown-up, culturally acceptable ways.

I tell myself it doesn't matter. That I should know better.

I stay occupied.  Busy.

Or I retreat into my safe corner.

And just stay quiet.

But, I know deep inside, I'm not really free to live in the moment.

I'm really alone, ignoring my heart — just like that little girl, who had to learn to keep holding onto herself because that was simply what she knew best to do.

It's a very weary feeling.

I wouldn't have admitted so before, but I am beginning to understand.

When you don't allow yourself permission for your heart to speak, you can never step out into the big wide world that God created for you — even as the waters rise and carry your soul through the desert or the storm.

Desert or storm, you and I were destined to walk with Jesus by faith – to trace the rainbow through the rain.

Through The Rain
We were just making our way back home from the coast, my husband, two boys and I.  It was raining ever so lightly and I was sitting back, looking out into the great expanse of space along the drive through the winter landscape.

Then, without warning, our situation rapidly changed.

In less than a moment, the windshield was pounded by a smattering torrential downpour and although the wipers whipped violently side to side, to push it away, sheets of water continuously poured onto us, blurring our vision completely.

We all let out a collective gasp and as we drove through the last of the flash flood, it seemed our car jumped out into a clearing of mist and sprinkle.

And in the distance, ever so faintly, against the dark clouds gathering, a patch of white light broke through the canopy like moonlight, next to a mountain's edge.

As I followed that light from the sky, down to the arid terrain of broken rock and mud — cracked like paint on a wall I once knew – I traced a rainbow through the rain.

Trace The Rainbow
The words I write to you this morning come from a place within me where I haven't visited in a long time.

But, I've been wandering, to find my direction — to reconcile what I know in my head, with the uncertain realities of what I'm experiencing in my heart.

This happened because of unexpected changes, frought with anxiety, when what we feel we can deal with is not matching with our experience.

And it is all too overwhelming.

We cannot hold onto all these pieces.

And we are weary from trying to get ourselves to feel okay about it all.

Jesus brought a rainbow to answer cries I've asked in silence, as I struggled to reign in my heart.

Why can't you keep a rainbow in the sky all the time, so I can see it? I answered.  Why does the rainbow only last for a moment and then disappear?

You are my rainbow, Jesus answered.

It doesn't need to stop raining, Bonnie.

Because I'm keeping my promise.

I'm staying right here.

Alive in you.

Always.

Trace the rainbow through the rain.  He seemed to say.

Tracing the Rainbow
Sometimes we look for joy after the rain.

But, Jesus tells us joy is seeking us through the pain.

Because He is reaching out to touch us, even as we stare into the things that distract us from the life He wants us to freely live.

Jesus wraps us into His embrace as we do this.

And He whispers.

Come walk with me.

Out in the big wide world — as is.

You were meant for more than this.

In the moments your heart is open, how do you best experience your true voice breaking through — touching your soul?

On the days you feel most alone, how can you trace the rainbow of His presence — even if it should last a moment?

Where do you want to go?

What do you want to do?

What do you want to say?

How can you express that deeper part of your life with Jesus?

On the days we seem only able to offer the smallest movements, Jesus is coming alive more than ever in us, folding our heart into His.

"I have placed my rainbow in the clouds.
It is the sign of my permanent promise to you"
~ Gen 9:13 NLT

Pull up a chair.  Click to comment. 

Let's trace the rainbow together – even if it seems momentary like a memory — sharing it gives voice to what Jesus has whispered to me and you.

~~~~~

By Bonnie Gray, the Faith Barista, serving up shots of faith.

 

[Judy Harder]

Playing at Worship
Feb 26, 2013 12:10 am | hcaliri


Image credit: Cowgirl Fever

I love a good list. Even if the task is unpleasant, I grit my teeth and don't procrastinate.

This might sound like a good thing.

But when it comes to connecting to Jesus, my type A personality has often robbed me of the very thing I'm longing for: joy.

Since I became a Christian, I've known that daily connection to God is important. I've known it's something I should do. So I have. With about as much joy as you'd expect.

There's a place for discipline even when the feelings aren't there. But only discipline leads me to a place of bleakness. Not to Jesus.

Lately, watching my girls play, I'm struck by how enthusiastically they connect to God.

My eldest brings me her story Bible and asks for David and Goliath. She makes up impromptu praise songs on walks. She and her sister put on a worship CD and jump on the bed. They "play" church, strumming on a guitar.

Lately, I'm trying to follow their lead. Instead of checking Jesus off my list of things to do, I'm trying to play at worshipping him.

I put on the training wheels. In my twenties, a "good" quiet time was full of elaborate effort. Now, I'm find more closeness with God when I keep it radically simple. I'll read a short daily devotional from the Book of Common Prayer—the same words, every day. These "rote" prayers have worn lovely grooves into my memory that I return to over and over during the day. That's dearer to me than 1000 concordance references.
I get out the craft supplies. If I find a verse that resonates with me, I write it out with my best handwriting and decorate it with markers or paint. Heck, I'd use googly eyes if it helped.
I join the circle time. When my girls want to play church, I join in. The other day, my oldest led my youngest and me in worship for a good fifteen minutes. She stood on a coffee table and sang the words to some favorite praise hymns. I think it's one of the most uplifting worship experiences I've had—ever.
I start a sing-a-long. We've invested in some great worship CDs that set Bible verses to music. The other day, full of anxiety, I put on the "Courage" CD. I danced around the room (my daughters joined in) for a few minutes. After we stopped, God's Word echoed in my head all day, instead of the fretting I'd heard before.
I find a buddy. I asked a friend to pray with me once a week. Praying together connects me to someone dear to me; knowing her prayer requests motivates me to pray throughout the week.
I tell my Daddy. If even the little I do starts oppressing me, I stop it, and lift my hurt up to God. I ask him to renew a joyful desire for prayer and worship. Being honest with God eases my heart. He has blessed me over and over by answering my prayer.
I like to get things done. I like to feel accomplished. But when it comes to Jesus, I'm finding less of me is more. Less striving helps me sit at Jesus' feet.

I thank God every day for giving me my kids' example to follow. Watching them, I'm leaning on Him more faithfully. And I'm becoming—Praise Jesus!—more like the child he commanded me to be.

By Heather Caliri of A Little Yes

[Judy Harder]

When God's Voice Sounds a Lot Like Twila Paris
Feb 27, 2013 12:20 am | Jennifer Schmidt


"Honey, go home. You haven't slept more than a few hours in five days. I'll stay with him. Surgery is scheduled for 8 am. You need to sleep when you can," murmured my husband.

Tipping the newborn scales at 10.5 pounds, our five day old son snoozed soundly in his crib at Children's Hospital. Diagnosed with the congenital birth disease, Hirschsprung's, our pediatric surgeon explained that I couldn't nurse our babe again until they completed his colostomy in the morning.

My emotions whirled from the day's diagnosis, but at least we finally had answers.

"Lord, I beg you. Calm my wavering heart. Help me focus my attention on your many gifts," I exhaled, as I processed through my short, choppy prayer. "At the worst, he lives life with a "bathroom bag", and sports won't be his thing. He'll adjust. He can deal with that. Two surgeries are nothing in comparison to what it could be. This is not life threatening. Thank you, Lord. Use this."

Exhausted, broken, yet grateful, I gathered my belongings and began heading to the parking structure.

My brother jogged after me and insisted, "Let me drive you. You shouldn't be driving home by yourself."

"No thanks. I really need the time alone to process all the information of today."

As I trudged through the parking garage, the "What If's" began dancing through my mind. Exhaustion blanketed my thought process and emotions reeled. I begged the Lord to set my mind on things above: His truth, His omniscience, His perfect love that casts out all fear.

Pulling onto the highway, I cranked the local Christian music station knowing that praise music would help squelch any darkness permeating my car. A brand new song by Twila Paris, God is in Control, rang out. Never having played the song before, I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My breath caught, and I pulled over to the side of the road to listen more intently.

"God is in Control. We believe that His children will not be forsaken. God is in control. We will choose to remember and never be shaken."

The tears flowed. I couldn't stop.

Gasping for breath, my whimper turned to wailing, as the spirit of the Lord descended into that car.  He spoke so clearly. Reaching down His loving arms, He gently rocked me, and whispered, "Remember, Matthew's mine. Remember."

"God is in control. We believe that His children will not be forsaken. God is in control. We will choose to remember and never be shaken.

There is no power above or beside Him, we know, God is in control.
He has never let you down. Why start to worry now?  He is still the Lord of all we see and He is still the loving Father watching over you and me.

God is in control."

Oh Lord, how quickly I forget.

Scripture reminds me that You are the same yesterday, today and forever. You do not change.

Ladies, on that summer evening seventeen years ago, God's voice sounded a whole lot like Twila Paris, and I have never forgotten this moment's critical significance on my life.  I did not hear a God who only chose to speak audibly to the people of the Old Testament. No, I heard the one and only, true and living God who sang truth straight to this momma's heart in the middle of crisis.

My Savior who loved, and continues to love, my tiny babe more than I ever could, met me in a dark car.

His creative medium that particular day? A song. The outcome? Life Change.

As I finished my drive home,  peace enveloped me. I can't begin to explain it, but on one of the scariest evenings of my life, I set my alarm and slept through the night like a baby (a really good baby).

In Matthew 11, Jesus declares, "He who has ears to hear, let him hear."

Hearing is a discipline and too often, I make every excuse as to why God feels distant, but I am reminded once again of His desire to speak truth intimately and directly to us, just like that moment in my car.

Often, it's in the ordinary, every day, simple moments of life when he chooses to reach out and minister to us. I love that He uses so many creative mediums to do so, and we just have to quiet our heart and listen expectantly in order to hear what He has to say.

With that in mind, can I ask you a favor?


It's always such an encouragement to our (in)courage community to hear stories from each other.

Is there a time when the Lord spoke so clearly to you that it had a significant impact on your life?

Remember, many life change moments come from simple stories of faithful followers hearing His still small voice in ordinary, unexpected times as well as the big, bold moments. Now is the time to encourage each other and share your story.

I'm so excited to read it.

"When God's voice sounds a lot like Twila Paris" situations typically only happen once in a lifetime (or twice for me, but that's for another time.)

And just in case you were wondering, that seventeen year old baby boy is now being recruited by multiple Division 1 football teams. (Oh yes, the story definitely didn't end that surgery morning when the alarm went off. It was only warming up.)

~~~~~

post by Jen Schmidt, author of Balancing Beauty and Bedlam, and her new food blog, 10 Minute Dinners.

[Judy Harder]

How to make it through a tidal wave
Feb 28, 2013 12:20 am | Arianne




You look around and you find yourself standing at the edge of a shoreline. You can see it coming up ahead. A huge tidal wave.

You have no doubt that it will reach you. You start to tremble. What do you do?

Maybe you consider running, but you quickly realize you're out of time, and there's no way you'll run far enough or fast enough.

So you decide to hunker down. You're praying, and you are reminded of God's love for you. His protection, His affection, it's all there, but you decide to keep those things in your hand. You ball up into the smallest ball you can turn yourself into, hunched down on that shore, hand clenched tight with Jesus inside. You imagine that if you hold that small piece of God, just hold on tight, that it will be enough.

But you start to worry about that wave again. Oh, it's a doozy. You very well might not be able to stand the impact, even with that piece of God in your hand.

So what can you really do?

***

I work through long held heart-issues and I can even get temporary freedom from them. That is, until I wake up the next day and it's groundhog day all over again, and I wonder what all that praying was for. All that surrendering I did. I knew the Truth, I believed — so why wasn't it enough?

This week I shared a story about letting go of shame from my past, 10 years later. And when this happened, just a few days ago, I learned something completely new. I knew what it was that had to be done differently this time.

I don't need to just know that hard stuff is going to hit me, and then steel up and stand there and get pelted while holding tiny bits of Truth in my hand, hoping it's all enough.

What I needed to do was see that hard stuff coming, and become bigger and unreachable. Untouchable, even.

How do you do this, when you face the hard heart-issues? How do you face fear, condemnation, shame, judgment, and all their horrible friends, and get through unscathed?

By letting God's love grow big.

(This is not just a cliche – stay with me here, friends.)

Instead of curling up into a ball and letting the storm hit and just praying I make it through, I can receive His love, let it grow big, and let it make me untouchable. I let His love wash away ALL of the lies I'm believing. All those fallacies. I let His love change my mind about myself.

There is a place of freedom I'm being called into. A wholeness. He wants to make me whole. That place is peace and love and yes, untouchable. Oh how the lines fall in beautiful places.

Let God's love grow you big, bigger than the tidal wave ahead that you see coming. Bigger than that issue which stresses you to your core. Bigger than those people who don't understand you, don't know you. Bigger than those hurts that are not yet healed.

Let Him be big.

***
Arianne blogs at Mabel + Riv, a lifestyle blog about faith, family and style and lives with her 4 children and husband in Phoenix Arizona.






God And Bumper Bowling
Feb 28, 2013 12:10 am | Kerry Messer


So many of my close friends are unemployed or coping with awful diseases...and really struggling. Are you in the same boat?

Wouldn't you love to wave a magic wand and make the struggles disappear? Not so fast. God has something better in mind.



Have you ever watched a kid bumper bowl? Unable to manage the weighty ball, the child drops it with a thud onto the lane. Eyes glued to his ball, he hops nervously up and down in an attempt to will  the ball toward the pins.

That ball wobbles down the lane slower than grass growing. You hold your breath – praying the ball veers to one side. At this point, contact with the bumper is the only thing able to prevent the ball from stalling out in the middle of the lane.

A minor collision between ball and bumper provides enough momentum to propel the black orb to finally  land a sweet kiss on one pin. Pins topple as cheers erupt from the child and sighs of relief are exhaled by on-lookers.

How much of this bowling triumph was due to the strength and accuracy of the tiny bowler? What role did the bumper play?

In the bowling game of life we are unskilled children and the boundaries of our struggles are God-ordained bumpers. His Word teaches us why  he surrounds us with limitations,

"From one man He created all the nations throughout the whole earth.
He decided beforehand when they should rise and fall, and He determined their boundaries."

~ Acts 17:26

The nitty-gritty details of your life that make it your life are not stumbling blocks preventing you from knowing God. Quite the opposite. God displays his hand of sovereignty over the "bumpers" of your life with this profoundly tender picture,

"His purpose was for the nations to seek after God and perhaps feel their way toward Him and find Him – though He is not far from any one of us."

~ Acts 17:27

He placed you in a setting with a cast of characters specifically designed to move you in his direction. He padded your gutters!

The stuff  you're bumping into, and off of, is not put in your path to aggravate you. God lovingly placed it there to redirect you toward Him and to keep you out of the gutter.

When you collide with daily struggles, don't allow yourself to linger in frustration. Search for how God wants to use them.

What are you bumping into this week?

Will you ask God to use that collision to propel you closer to Him?

By Kerry Messer

[Judy Harder]

A Community Mess
Mar 01, 2013 12:20 am | Kristen Welch


The curtains hung half hazard, cups and plates piled high, throw pillows thrown. My hubby wiped the table, I put away leftovers, stepping over a misplaced toy on the kitchen floor, the kids tattled. "Mom, one of the kids said a bad word tonight."

It was just another night of community group in our home, kids and parents at our table, breaking bread -and apparently wall hangings-together.

No one said it would perfect. This loud, messy gathering of friends filling our house and our hearts. Sure there's inconvenience and sacrifice involved, but we cannot deny the absolute benefit of doing life with others.



Community is a lot like family, it takes hard work.

Community is just a messy group of dysfunctional people trying to figure this thing out together.

I'm convinced we cannot fulfill God's unique purpose for our lives without it.

We laugh and commune, hold each other accountable, share the joys and the sorrows. We travel through the mountains and valleys together. Community builds up a treasure chest of shared experiences and the bond grows. Community allows us to set aside our differences.

I don't know about you, but God didn't give me a perfect family. We are a bunch of sinners trying to live out the gospel, getting it wrong more than right.

We are weak and wounded, but when He shines through the thin places, He is most effective in us and through us.

It's the same with community.

"As you live in close contact with me, the light of my presence filters through you to bless others. Your weakness and woundedness are the openings through which the Light of the knowledge of my Glory shines forth. My strength and power show themselves most effective in your weakness." Jesus Calling

We often make community about us. What can this give me? What empty place will this fill? And while the rewards are there, the end goal of search for community is not how community will help us, but how community will benefit the world.

"Jesus had the most rag-tag small group ever – complaining, fighting, betrayal. But He stuck with them, and they changed the world." -Jason Johnson

For His glory.

We need community. Community needs us. "Community is not a luxury but a necessity for life. People need to be involved in meaningful and constant community or they will continue on indefinitely in a state of intense loneliness." -Randy Frazee

How are you pursing community today? Can I urge you to push past the mess that comes with dysfunction and pursue life together with others?

Because we cannot live without it.



Written by Kristen Welch, We are THAT family





Moving Upward: A prayer
Mar 01, 2013 12:10 am | Robin Dance




O most high, glorious God, how great is my dilemma!
In your awful presence silence seems best.
And yet, if I keep my peace, the rocks themselves will cry out.
But if I do speak, what will I say?
It is Love that calls forth my speech,  though it still feels like stammering.
I love you, Lord. I adore you. I worship you.  I bow down before you.
Thank you for your gifts of grace:
- the consistency of sunrise and sunset,
- the wonder of colors,
- the solace of voices I know.
I magnify you, Lord. Let me see your greatness–to the extent that I can receive it.
Help me bow in your presence in endless wonder and ceaseless praise.
In the name of him whose adoration never failed.
~ Amen.

From Richard Foster's Prayer:  Finding the Heart's True Home,  Chapter 8, The Prayer of Adoration.

[Judy Harder]

Teaching Our Kids To Embrace Grace
Mar 02, 2013 12:20 am | Sarah Markley




I grew up without a clear understanding of the grace of God.

I knew God saved and that he forgave, but grace, this undeserved thing? It was like liquid through my hands.

It wasn't until I was an adult that I believe I began my journey to understand this vast part of God and I'm still learning every day. However as a mother, I want to raise a family who embraces a grace-filled lifestyle. I've been thinking about how we can actually do this in a church that still shoots it's wounded.

Here are five real world ways that we can begin to raise kids who embrace the idea of a grace-filled God.

1.    Give our spouses grace

There is nothing more life-altering, I believe, than simply getting married and allowing that life partner to affect you in so many ways. The people closest to us have the ability to hurt us the most and also have the ability to heal us the best. When we show our spouses grace on a daily basis we teach our children what it's like to live within a circle of grace with our spouses.

What that looks like: Grace for our spouses is a gentle, loving attitude toward irritating habits, toward sharp words and toward hurtful things. It's a daily choice to offer gracious, loving care to our mates even when it's hard. When our kids see this, I believe they begin to understand that a lifestyle of grace is possible.

2.    Practice grace in our female relationships

I don't have to tell you that girls can be mean. And I'm not just talking about tweens or teens, but adult girls. Yes, you and me. Our daughters and sons watch how we treat other women. They watch it and they mimic it. They see how we treat our friends and it becomes a part of what they think is normal.  If we want our children to grow up in a way that they learn to be grace-filled and be that way in their own relationships someday, then we need to take the first step and BE grace to our girlfriends.

What that looks like: Grace for our friends is truly, honestly forgiving them when they wound us. Girls hurt other girls. It happens too much and when we truly forgive our friends, our children see this. They notice it. They won't hear the grumbling we do when someone irritates us because that irritation will be covered in God's grace. We don't make "black lists," we allow relationships to be renewed if they've been hurt and we take the first steps when things have gone awry.

3.    Show grace in our parenting

Our kids are people. I mean, they are fully formed souls and fully completed humans who are deserving of the respect that we give any human being on earth. That said, shame or oppression should never find its way into our parenting. When we parent well (with good boundaries and appropriate consequences for misbehavior) we show our children respect. When we allow their disobedience to be just that, disobedience, and not something that offends us personally, we show them grace. I believe that parenting must be a healthy balance of boundaries and grace (just like God does with us) and our children will carry that on into their own families when they get older.

What that looks like: For every family, this might look different. In my home, it means that once in awhile, after a conversation about why their misbehavior is wrong and both the spiritual and real world consequences of bad choices, I might give them grace. I think that coupled with good boundaries and regular consequences, a "grace" once in awhile is good for both my soul and the souls of my daughters. It also means listening to them (if they are old enough to verbalize this) when they explain why they made the choice they did. Everyone wants to be heard.

4.    Reject legalism

Legalism is the antithesis of grace. Legalism says that the law is still king and in essence, Jesus' blood has not redeemed anything. Legalism says that grace is for the weak because "truth" is more important than anything else. Legalism takes "truth" and makes it into an idol. It's important that our hearts and our churches and our groups of friends are free from legalism because it hampers a child's ability to grow up in a healthy understanding of who God really is and how grand His love and grace is.

What this looks like: Choose Christian communities to be a part of that embrace grace. Choose friends and life-doers that embrace a grace-filled lifestyle. Analyze the why's of rules in your home: if there are sufficient moral and practical reasoning behind them, then keep at it. But if a rule is there because it is a rule and no other reason, examine the necessity of it. Talk about the love of God with your children and daily, together, recognize the ways that He loves us and blesses in both big and small ways.

5.    Forgive even when there is not repentance

It would be a sad day if there was only forgiveness if there was repentance. God accepts us while we were sinners, before we turn around and walk the other way. A grace-filled life (and one that will trickle down toward your kids) is one where we forgive before the wound has been healed, we offer grace before the "I'm Sorry" has been said and we love that person back into right relationship with us.  What if they never apologize? I have realized that there are some wrongs that will never be made right. Do I then live my life in bitterness and unforgiveness toward the wounder? I can't. It's impossible. I forgive before the repentance and that is what makes my heart move forward.

What this looks like:  For our kids to learn this, I believe it is a life long journey for them as it has been for us. Is there a one of us, as adults, who doesn't have a little twinge of unforgiveness toward someone? It's hard and grace isn't easy. But when we daily make the choice to forgive, and when we begin to use language of grace and forgiveness in our homes, I believe our children will come away from these 18 years with a foundation underpinning of grace and forgiveness.



Grace in our families looks different in everyone's home, but if we are mothers, I believe that one of our jobs to raise children who love God and His grace as much as we do.

What have you found that helps teach your kids about grace and forgiveness?