His House

Jerry and I arrived home last night around 10:30. In the morning, before 10:00, Jerry had gone to the church for a meeting; I had gone with Melody as she met with an attorney. When we were finished in the law offices, Melody and I went to the church where I sat in on the last part of the meeting where Jerry and Mike and Brenda had engaged with a person representing government funding grants and other options which we are hoping will develop into financial aid for our burgeoning Christian Intervention Program. Melody had received disturbing news from the attorney, so we talked more about that, then at the Red Onion had lunch with her. We went home for about two hours, during which time, Jerry drove out to George and Michele’s to check on them. By 4:00 we were back at the church preparing for the night’s activities; CIP, Ladies Bible study and Men’s Bible study. New people came to register for the program, people called with questions and to say why they would be late, or would not be there at all. A mom had left a message on the answering machine: Thanks for working with my daughter. She won’t be available for 20 days. She’s in Kingman. (The county jail is in Kingman.) A young man came to register, but because of the hours found he could only attend the Tuesday night sessions and would start next week, but as I continued to talk with him, tears welled in his eyes, and I knew God was talking to him. We stood together; a young man in his 20s with a stud in his upper lip, and I. He would leave and return for class on Tuesday, but first, I suggested, let’s go in the pastor’s office and pray. He sat on Jerry’s brown leather couch and we prayed. He sobbed. “I’m from a gang-banging family,” he told us, “and I’m tired of it.” He bent over, his forehead resting in his hand. “My brother is the chapter leader of the Skinheads in the ______________area. I have three children; my girlfriend just had twins, and they are not mine.” He wept so much his eyes were now red, and before he left, he extended his hand across Jerry’s desk. “Thank you. Thank you for your time.” A young woman came in with her father in tow. “He needs to register for your program.” Jerry was counseling another church couple in his office. Because of so much activity in the office, I was late now to pick up someone who needed a ride. “I’m on my way,” I spoke into my phone as I headed out the door. Sessions finished, few people lingering:   I fired up our new Hammond, we turned on the PA, and Mike and I jammed for a few minutes, his red drums aflame. The person I had picked up for class ambled onto the platform, thumbed through the songbook, and said, “Let’s do this one.” Night’s end: Jerry and I dropped off the student I had picked up and, at Black Bear, we met Job and Eliana–our newly weds–for food. Goodnight at 10:30.

Early this morning, I sat in our living room and thought about yesterday and how wonderful it was, and how I love God and His work, and how I delight in being at His house. I turned in my Bible to Psalm 84.

¹How amiable are thy tabernacles, O LORD of hosts!

²My soul longeth, yea, even fainteth for the courts of the LORD: my heart and my flesh crieth out for the living God.

³Yea, the sparrow hath found an house, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, even thine altars, O LORD of hosts, my King, and my God.

⁴Blessed are they that dwell in thy house: they will be still praising thee. Selah.

⁵Blessed is the man whose strength is in thee; in whose heart are the ways of them.

⁶Who passing through the valley of Baca make it a well; the rain also filleth the pools.

⁷They go from strength to strength, every one of them in Zion appeareth before God.

⁸O LORD God of hosts, hear my prayer: give ear, O God of Jacob. Selah.

⁹Behold, O God our shield, and look upon the face of thine anointed.

¹⁰For a day in thy courts is better than a thousand. I had rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God, than to dwell in the tents of wickedness.

¹¹For the LORD God is a sun and shield: the LORD will give grace and glory: no good thing will he withhold from them that walk uprightly.

¹²O LORD of hosts, blessed is the man that trusteth in thee.

In a bit, we will go again to the beautiful, magnificent house of God. How blessed I am.

The Essence of Harvest

“Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seeds that you plant.”

Robert Louis Stevenson

What a practical elegant lesson is here for us Christians. The job Jesus left for His followers is direct and simple; sow seeds. Spread the Good News, make disciples. Sow seeds. Physical laws are inescapable, binding us to certain expectations and conclusions that challenged or ignored inevitably result in disappointment, or even danger, as can be exhibited when one purposely or inadvertently steps off a two story building. In His astounding teachings, Jesus often told stories around these natural, well-understood laws. Perhaps one of His most repeated parables is that of the sower who went forth to sow. Read those accounts in Mark 4 and Luke 8.

Later, in a couple of places, Paul takes up the call,  shouts a warning concerning this law of God’s:

“Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall be also reap.” Galatians 6:7

“But this I say, He which soweth sparingly shall reap also sparingly; and he which soweth bountifully shall reap also bountifully.” II Cor. 9:6

So, today, my friend, recall that control you have over harvest is small. Small, you say? Yes, small; small, but absolutely sure. Plant seeds. Dig into dirt, poke in bulbs and corms; harvest will come. Plant few seeds; harvest will be skimpy. I suggest the planting of many seeds. Fling wide and often your precious kernel. A bountiful harvest will result.

If you look about today and you’re in a spacious field of harvest, get out your scythe and your combine. Rejoice. More likely you will find yourself with a handful of seeds and a long row of dirt. Rejoice…and at the end of the day, judge yourself as suggested by Jesus, Paul and Robert Louis Stevenson

The Stunning Secret to Success

“But Mom, you and dad are doing the best you can. Don’t worry about the rest of it.”

The statement had evolved in a conversation with my youngest son, Andrew, during which I spoke of worries around not doing everything that needs to be done here in our mission church in Lake Havasu. I knew he was right, for I often console myself with that very understanding: God sent us here to bring in this work, and He knows us, knows our ages, our inadequacies and our few abilities.

God. No one like God. Why He seems to find pleasure in taking small things, sorry places, weak, inept and unfit people to effect powerful and magnificent work. It’s a rather good move on His part, this God of mine, for when He uses such circumstances and such people, it is God alone who receives the glory. For none dare say the accomplishment springs from the people who  scurry about with books and phone calls and Bible studies and sermons and music and remodeling and hospital visits and counseling and…

This lesson was jolted again into my thinking when I read the following story  this morning.

Sometimes your biggest weakness can become your biggest strength. Take, for example, the story of one 10-year-old boy who decided to study judo despite the fact that he had lost his left arm in a devastating car accident.

The boy began lessons with an old Japanese judo master. The boy was doing well, so he couldn’t understand why, after three months of training the master had taught him only one move.

“Sensei,” the boy finally said, “Shouldn’t I be learning more moves?”

“This is the only move you know, but this is the only move you’ll ever need to know,” the sensei replied.

Not quite understanding, but believing in his teacher, the boy kept training.

Several months later, the sensei took the boy to his first tournament. Surprising himself, the boy easily won his first two matches. The third match proved to be more difficult, but after some time, his opponent became impatient and charged; the boy deftly used his one move to win the match. Still amazed by his success, the boy was now in the finals.

This time, his opponent was bigger, stronger, and more experienced. For a while, the boy appeared to be overmatched. Concerned that the boy might get hurt, the referee called a time-out. He was about to stop the match when the sensei intervened.

“No,” the sensei insisted, “Let him continue.”

Soon after the match resumed, his opponent made a critical mistake: he dropped his guard. Instantly, the boy used his move to pin him. The boy had won the match and the tournament. He was the champion.

On the way home, the boy and sensei reviewed every move in each and every match. Then the boy summoned the courage to ask what was really on his mind.

“Sensei, how did I win the tournament with only one move?”

“You won for two reasons,” the sensei answered. “First, you’ve almost mastered one of the most difficult throws in all of judo. And second, the only known defense for that move is for your opponent to grap your left arm.”

The boy’s biggest weakness had become his biggest strength.

Author unknown Source: Inspirational Stories

As I finished reading the story, I thought immediately of the great Apostle Paul, and reaching for my Bible, I turned to the well-marked scripture in II Corinthians 12:9. A couple of verses above this Paul had spoken of a problem he had–perhaps an illness or a disability. He talked to God about the situation and in verse 9 tells of God’s response. Love it!

“And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee; for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.”

Isn’t that the greatest thing. Through my weakness, my disabilities, my meager and pathetic efforts, the power of Christ rests on me!

In Awe of the Supernatural

Michael has a friend who is so devoted to her church that Michael describes her as “maybe the most religious person I have ever seen.”  She is devout, a staunch Roman Catholic. A few days ago, she received the Holy Ghost as evidenced by speaking in tongues. This past weekend as several people sat about talking, her husband told how standing in a Catholic church, his wife began speaking in tongues. So did several other people around them.

It happened this way, as I understand it. It had been announced that a certain priest, touted as a faith-healer, would hold a series of meetings called “missions.” It was during one of these services that he called for the entire congregation to leave their seats and come stand around the front of the church. As this startled group did so, he suddenly sprang onto a piece of furniture (my understanding is that it was an altar) and began loudly speaking in tongues, and at one point encouraged other people to speak in tongues. It was then that Michael’s friend began speaking in tongues, as did others around her.

“It makes me nervous when people speak in tongues,” said one of the group this past weekend as Mike, his friends and family sat about, and the husband told of this experience he observed.

The woman who received the Holy Ghost spoke. “It made me nervous, too.”

It does not surprise me to hear people say that observing someone speak in tongues makes them nervous, nor am I surprised to learn that Mike’s friend who herself spoke in tongues was made a little nervous about the experience. Why am I not surprised? I am not surprised because when a person receives the Holy Ghost, and as evidence speaks in tongues, God has inhabited that person, has moved into their very soul. It is humbling to contemplate. Now, I know God is everywhere–even filling the universe–and long ago, I learned that some aspects of God are not easily described, but I press the point that when one receives the Holy Ghost as I have described it is a life-changing experience. It is glorious and impossible to recount.

Jerry preached in a Phoenix church yesterday, necessitating a guest preacher at our own church. After Mike and I lunched with him and his family and Mike was driving me home, he remarked about the thrust of the sermon, and how it was opportune and fitted exactly to our congregation. “He did not know our challenges or particular situation, Mom,” Mike said. “Yet, almost his every word was directed to our needs.”

It’s amazing; I think of it often. God–the very God–He who created the heavens and the earth and all therein, looks about, sees our needs and moves among us. Into the mind of the preacher, He impresses the words the congregation needs to hear. Into the heart of one sincerely longing for Him, He pours His spirit, and suddenly that one is speaking in tongues. Amazing and yes, somewhat frightful…Why? Because it is holy…because it is supernatural…because it is of Another World.

Fingerprints and the Gospel

I’m reading in the early pages of the excellent book, The Case for Christ, by Lee Strobel. Likely because the gist of the book concerns finding evidence of the existence of Jesus, ghosted behind the title, and at various places throughout the book, are images of fingerprints. Seeing these unique whorls and lines, and understanding their significance has caused me to consider the fingerprints I place on those with whom I am working, especially those to whom I strive to show the Way of salvation.

At a crucial time in the lives of one or two, when for varied reasons our ways crossed, I reached over, placed down my hand and made a mark. My prints are there on those people; undeniably they are mine, and should one be lifted and analyzed, it would lead only to me.

What responsibility rests with me then, as I imprint these wide-eyed needy persons– persons who snatch to their hearts my words and who take into their thinking process my understanding of life, of God, and of His Word.

On Backsliding

It’s a subject that has been heavy on my heart for a long time, so much so that I am now dealing with it by writing a book: The subject? Backsliding. I’m not yet sure of the title, but have laid out the book and have written already a fair amount.

Certainly the book may change as I go along, but for now, I have designed it to be written in this way:

I. Introduction (including a significant dream)

II. Causes of Backsliding

III. How to Avoid Backsliding

IV. Backsliding in the Bible

VI. Price paid by backsliders even after they return to God

VII. Resolution of the dream

VIII. Merciful restoration

I’ve decided to share my progress with the book in this column; hope you’ll read with me, and if you have suggestions, I would love to hear them.

Beginning of Chapter 3  CAUSES OF BACKSLIDING

Closely aligned to this chapter is the next in which we talk of ways to avoid backsliding, for within the warp and woof of avoiding backsliding must be observed the cause of backsliding. I’ve chosen to differentiate between these adjacent chapters in this way: In this section the focus will be on those persons who surround, attend, and minister to those who stand a chance of backsliding, which, in the broadest sense, is anyone who is a child of God. For once a spiritual birth has taken place, backsliding is possible. Indeed, as miserable as it is to acknowledge, there is great likelihood that a falling away—a slipping back into the world—will occur.

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The prime in prevention of backsliding will always rest with the individual Christian. Ultimately, I am responsible for my decisions; my advancement or regression, my growth or withering, my discernment or ignorance, my backsliding  into devilry, or my flourishing as a child of God. I reckon with the fact that when I stand before God, I will answer for my life. I fear I cannot blame my husband, my pastor, my church family, my childhood deprivation, or my family curses. I tremble at the thought. Conclusively, I am pressed to insure my own salvation. I am responsible for my final end.

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Having said that, however, it cannot be disputed that a significant sum of human nurture—taking into account every aspect of his being, including his soul—comes from others. It is authentic, then, to conclude that family, friends, the church and the pastor share some responsibility for the success or failure of every person for whom some oversight has been given.

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This chapter will look into that piece of the backsliding issue, certainly with no intent of faultfinding or fixing blame, but rather as part of an honest search for those tools that will effect the saving of every soul possible. From time to time this thought beats through my mind: Is it believable that someone will be eternally lost because I did not effectively teach, pray, inquire, solicit, or generally care? Did I feel a nudge in my spirit to lift a phone to my ear, to schedule a lunch, to lay a hand on a bent shoulder—and ignore all? Not a pleasant idea, nor one on which to linger.

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So, although the cause of backsliding and how to avoid backsliding stand on the same line, I’m assigning a difference. In this chapter we will discuss how we as a body can help prevent our family and friends from backsliding.

The Heavy Price of Following Jesus

At the conference Jerry and I attended in Tucson last week, I was reminded again of the pain and suffering that is often always required of those who sincerely and fully commit their lives to God and to His work. The price exacted from ministers and their families is extensive and if truth be known, there has not been a church staked, but what a woeful, sometimes frightening charge has been levied. Blood streaks the foundation stones. The salt of tears muddles on altars, and to the discerning who walks about in the now beautiful, filled to capacity, auditorium (or the frankly faltering, half-empty shell of a church) may be seen shifting shadows of death and may be heard the faint din of despair.

A heavy price must be paid to follow Jesus. Unfair of me, though, to suggest that only ministry pays such price, for did not Jesus say in Mark 8:34:

“…whosoever will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me.”

Deny myself? What does that mean, Jesus? Take up my cross? How? I thought living for God was the good life, the abundant life, viewed through rosy glasses that reveal only joyful and happy days. What about the power, the miracles, the healings? I thought I was getting into that, Jesus.

You are getting into that, Jesus says, for in verse 1 of Matthew 10, He speaks:

“And when he had called unto him his twelve disciples, he gave them power against unclean spirits, to cast them out, and to heal all manner of sickness and all manner of disease.”

But the price. The heavy price.

“I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves…” vs. 16

“But beware of men: for they will deliver you up to the councils, and they will scourge you in their synagogues:” vs. 17

“And the brother shall deliver up the brother to death…” vs. 21

“And ye shall be hated of all men for my name’s sake:” vs. 22

Expect suffering, Paul said in Romans 8:18

“For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.”

The disciples rejoiced in their suffering. Acts 5:40-41

“…and when they had called the apostles, and beaten them, they commanded that they should not speak in the name of Jesus, and let them go.

And they (apostles) departed from the presence of the council, rejoicing that they were counted worthy to suffer shame for his name.”

And so I have this word for you…and for me…today. Let us willingly pay the heavy price; the only price by which we are admitted into the fellowship of the suffering of Jesus, that lets us share His shame, His exhaustion, His disappointment, His cross.

The Virtue of Grief

Perhaps it is because I have recently been around many people fairly cloaked with sorrow that I have considered grief and its results. Statistically, a family who loses a child is seen to be at high risk of losing their marriage. Grief and sorrow are accompanied by such stress as to fairly take down what were once solid relationships.

I see another side of grief, and as regards those who are dear to me, and who are at the moment traveling a dark and treacherous way, I’m praying that this grief will deepen our relationships, will strengthen our marriages, and especially will bring us closer to God.

It may sound strange, but I am able to see some virtue in grief. Grief and mourning bring tears–deep tears that well up from the depth of our hearts and souls. Grief softens us and makes us aware of others who may be suffering–perhaps as much or more than are we. Most important, when we are grief-stricken, if we are spiritually attuned, we may better be able to share God’s burden for this lost and mangled world. Recall that Jesus wept over Jerusalem, and that He promised comfort for those who mourn.

None chase grief, nor do we find joy in accident or misfortune, but when such come our way, let us take that occasion to examine ourselves, to reach far inside and find the virtue that resides in grief.

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My other blog is here.

Ear-Notched Love Slaves

A despicable thing here in America was when one human owned another. I have spent some time this morning reading stirring accounts of men, women and children being placed up for auction by their owners; sometimes they were displayed, and sold, alone, other times as families; on occasion it was a mother and baby who stood on the auction block.  That such contemptible behavior was so wide-spread and generally accepted amazes and sickens me.

“Those that could afford it kept slaves, and each owner put a mark upon his black servants, and registered the same with the town clerk, in order that runaways might be more easily traced. For instance the mark of Mathew Wygant was ‘a square notch of ha’penny on the upper side of the left ear’. This was previously Abraham Deyo’s mark, but in purchasing Deyo’s slave or slaves, Wygant evidently adopted it to avoid remarking the poor blacks.”

From Slave Narratives

Many masters treated their slaves poorly, some even cruelly, but there were those who were kind (even though, from our vantage point today, the act of owning another person could hardly be thought of as kindly.) By the time the Civil War ended, the Emancipation Proclamation had been issued and the Thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution had been instituted, there was no question: It was illegal for one man to own another. All slaves must be liberated.

Some slaves refused liberty. To one notion, this is understandable: For generations these people had been bound; decision making had been wrenched from them, every hour of their day was directed by another, their mates, in many cases, were selected by the masters, and their shacks were furnished by the plantation owners. Liberty was an unknown quantity, and was so frightening to some that they determined to stay with their former owners. They felt safe and secure there.

I thought of this scenario early this morning, when this song came to my mind. (I think it was written by Dottie Rambo.)

 PRISONER OF LOVE

                 I

WHEN I CAME TO JESUS I SETTLED IT ALL.
I GAVE HIM MY LIFE TO CONTROL.
NEITHER FEAR NO PERSUASION COULD DRAW ME TO CHRIST.
BUT HIS LOVE HAS CAPTURED MY SOUL

                   II

HE HOLDS ME SECURE WITH HIS LOVE STRONG AND TRUE.
I'M HAPPY HIS SERVANT TO BE.
IN BONDAGE TO JESUS FOREVER I'LL STAY
MY SOUL DOESN'T WANT TO BE FREE.

                  CHORUS

I'M A PRISONER OF LOVE (I'M A PRISONER OF LOVE)
A SLAVE TO THE MASTER
I WILLINGLY TOIL (I WILLINGLY TOIL)
THROUGH THE HEAT AND THE COLD
I SEEK NO REWARD (I SEEK NO REWARD)
IN THIS WORLD BELOW.
BUT A PAYDAY WILL COME (BUT A PAYDAY WILL COME)
WHEN THE PEARLY GATES UNFOLD.

That is how I feel today and every day; I’m a prisoner, a slave to Jesus Christ. My ear is notched, and proudly I display the sign of my link to Him. I’m free to leave His environs should I so choose, but how foolish would I be, for He is a kind and loving master. He provides for my every need, gives me joy, contentment  and the promise of living one day in Heaven with Him. Yes, here I will remain–a love slave to Jesus Christ.

Children of God

Biblical writings support my understanding that quite young children may be “touched” by God, and that these singular connections with the Almighty often lead to adult lives that are wholly given to God. Consider the story of Samuel, the child whose mother grieved so for a baby, and who prayed with such fervor in the temple that the priest, observing her distress, believed her drunk. Not so, she assured the man of God. I am not drunk, only with grief for my barrenness. The spirit of God came on Eli and he prophesied that Hannah would conceive and birth a child.

And so she did. She named the boy Samuel, and after weaning him, she took him to the temple, and gave him back to God, leaving him with the ancient priest, a man well past his prime. One night, while yet a boy, God spoke audibly to Samuel…once, twice, three times, and Samuel not recognizing yet the voice of God, ran to Eli saying, You called? After the boy made the third trip to the bed of Eli, Eli knew it was God who spoke. “Say, Samuel,” Eli instructed. “Speak, Lord, for thy servant heareth.”

God speaks to children. I know that to be so, for God touched me when I was a child. I have a clear remembrance of experiencing the presence of God, of being drawn to Him, and of the sense of his convicting power.When I was ten years old, I received the gift of the Holy Ghost, and although I have certainly been far from perfect, I have always stayed in the church, and in my feeble and pitiful way, have served God.

Two weeks ago–maybe a little more now, Ann Jackson who is the pastor’s wife of a church in Highlands, TX, in a ladies prayer and study group, voiced her concern that the children of the church did not seem touched by God as it seemed they should be. I’d like us to make this a matter of particular prayer, coupled with some fasting.

Last Sunday night near the conclusion of the service, a powerful and holy anointing swept through the congregation who had gathered now in the altar area. Young people were dancing in the Spirit; they were weeping and speaking in tongues, truly caught away in the Holy Ghost. I had prayed with several people, then had taken up my camera and was moving about to record the scene, when it came to my attention that many children were also praying. By count, there were at least eight who were earnestly seeking God, and before the evening was over, three of these children had received the Holy Ghost. Two of them were grandchildren of the pastor and his wife, Brother and Sister Tommy Jackson.

It was an amazing scene, and as I write this, I know some who read here may be skeptical about such things happening to a child, but I assure you it is true. Think about it. Children are trusting, not jaded, not worried about their peers, and they have tender believing hearts. A child who commits his life to God is spared much of the grief and distress that comes often to those who grow into adulthood without the benefit of knowing the Lord Jesus Christ. How awesome is it that God reaches down to little children and fills them with the Holy Ghost. It is precious and dear.

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My other blog is here.