One

All through history God has used "one" to accomplish His purposes. Jesus Christ His own son was the epic example of this. In Romans 5, Paul details how by one man, Adam, sin came into the world but then the gift of grace came by one man, Christ Jesus. 

I think of Noah and how God used one man, who was righteous in His generation, to save the human race and build an ark. I think of Abraham and his choice to follow God to a new country, not having any idea what would transpire. I think of Joseph, the one man in Egypt who trusted the God of his fathers and was used to save his people. I think of Daniel, the one man who prayed when others bowed, and how his faith led a king and an entire country to choose repentance. I think of Joseph and how God used this one man to protect Mary the mother of Jesus as well as to father the Christ child through childhood. I think of Paul the Apostle, the one man God used to bring the Gospel to the Gentiles. I think of Stephen, the one man who was the first martyr because he was willing to speak the truth. 

Mary was that one woman that God knew He could trust to say yes to carrying the Christ child. Elizabeth was that one woman chosen to have a child in her old age; the child who became that one man who was the forerunner of Christ. Rebecca was that one woman for Isaac, and Sarah was that one woman who deserved mention in Hebrews 11 because she trusted God and Abraham in faith. Deborah was that one woman who inspired Barak to go to battle. 

Then I sit back and think of the price. Every single one of these people had to pay an enormous price. Jesus paid with His life as well as His reputation and comfort. Noah was mocked and scorned for building an ark in the middle of dry weather. Abraham left all that was near and dear to him and took the risk of moving his family into unknown territory. Joseph was stuck in a prison far from family and friends for years on end. Daniel risked his life to pray and was ridiculed and attacked by opposition. Joseph jeopardized his clean reputation by marrying Mary. Paul's life was constantly in danger, and he left all that was comfortable and familiar to him. Stephen lost his physical life because he spoke the truth.

Then we get to Mary, a woman ostracized and accused falsely by society. She was nearly divorced by her fiancee, but saved by God's intervention. Her life was one of deep pain as she watched her Son live out his ministry and die a terrible death. Elizabeth was willing to walk by faith and carry a child in her old age. Rebecca left behind all that she knew and travelled with a strange servant to a strange land to marry a man she had never met. Talk about faith! Sarah's life was anything but easy as she travelled with Abraham across the land. She was taken into a King's palace and nearly given in marriage to him. She was barren for years but then finally gave birth to a miracle child in her 90s. Deborah was willing to go to war. 

I look at their examples and I ask myself the question: Am I willing to pay the price and walk in faith, or would I rather settle for a half-in sort of commitment? Truth is, Jesus never negotiates that way. Scripture asks us to deny ourselves, take up our cross and follow Him. Oh that there would be more men and women willing to be that one person that God uses. 

As stated by John Knox, "A man with God is always in the majority."

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"What the Church needs to-day is not more machinery or better, not new organizations or more and novel methods, but men whom the Holy Ghost can use – men of prayer, men mighty in prayer. The Holy Ghost does not flow through methods, but through men. He does not come on machinery, but on men. He does not anoint plans, but men – men of prayer.”

— E.M. Bounds

An Ode to My Parents

It is high time that I write a post to honour two of the most important people in my life. No it isn't officially Father's or Mother's Day, but this topic has come to me because of the trail I have been observing over the last few weeks.

You see, I have been living in the land where I grew up - the land where many people know my parents and henceforth know me. But it is good, because I keep stumbling upon people that are happy to see me because of what my parents meant to them. 

As long as I can remember, my father has been the kind of person that noticed people who needed help. He never was loud about it or did it for praise, but his trail is beginning to show. As I travel around, I keep meeting people who were touched by his kindness in some way - the group of bachelors who used to end up at our table Sunday after Sunday because he invited them, the middle-aged man who needed help with his finances, the desperate woman who found shelter in our house during a troubled period of her life, and the list goes on. I have forgotten many of them until I see the results - thankful eyes, restored lives, people with hope again, and people who pass it on to others. I see a legacy. One that is imperfect, because yes that sort of life was not always easy for him or us as his family, but I believe that we as children will always be grateful for his example, and carry it on in various ways in our own lives.

And then there is my Mom. Were it not for her, that type of life would never have been possible. She could have shut the door on people, refused to make extra potatoes on those Sundays, or insisted on having her own friends over. Instead she graciously gave, graciously accepted, and graciously blessed. I have seen her put up with difficult situations with the patience of Job and the kindness of Jesus many times over. She loves what some people would call the unlovable and forgives what some people would call the unforgivable. She also is a friend to those who need help. I remember the woman who got off the bus at the end of our lane to spend the day when her life was bound tightly in the grips of OCD. I remember the mentally handicapped woman who would come to wash dishes and make puzzles because of Mom's kind heart. I have had friends tell me that they remember our home as a place where they were always welcome.  I know they walked into an uncleaned kitchen or bathroom at times, but the door was always open and food available.

The result of this has been a pair of people that have impacted a large number of souls. Their lives have not been easy and I have seen them walk through storms that could have torn their marriage and even faith apart. But they held fast, and I am honoured to be the daughter of parents who have kept the faith and followed Jesus' heart in so many ways. They are far from perfect, but they love and give well.

Today they continue - faithful every day. Their door still swings both ways, there is still food in the pantry as needed, my dad's finances are still the Lord's, my mother still gives food out of both hands where possible, and anyone who needs help knows where to go for it. 

Their legacy continues to grow as they keep serving whoever God brings into their path. I think about legacy and wonder what I will leave behind. What will people see when I leave a place? What will they hear about? What will I have spent my time on? Life is so short. Only what's done for Jesus will really matter and last. ❤️

My Sister Upstairs

Today I have the privileged position of relaxing on a bed in my sister's basement and listening to the sounds of her mothering waft through the floor. I hear the crying baby, the scraping chairs, the clattering feet, and the chattering toddler. Then I hear one strong musical voice along with two smaller wavering ones sing the lyrics of their little noon prayer:

For balmy sunshine, for nourishing rain, dear Lord for Thy goodness we thank Thee. For food and Thy care. Rich blessings we share. The fruit of Thy love and we thank Thee. We thank Thee O God. Amen. 

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And I see my sister's faith, calm and steady through turbulent days, guiding her children to what is important. Is she perfect? No. She would be the first to say she isn't. But she is beautiful. Beautiful because she knows what matters and is living it out every day.

This post is for the mothers. Those dear souls who spend days doing the jobs nobody else would sign up for. The tenacious people who find themselves at their wits end for wisdom and strength many times over, but continue on in the Name of Love. 

Keep going my friends. Keep going. I have never been a mother, but I have been a teacher, and I see the absolute importance and irreplaceable value that a present Christian mother brings to her home and family. Blessings and keep your eyes up today. 🥰

The Life I Wanna Live

I don't wanna be led by Instagram,

I'd rather hear the Holy Ghost with clarity, than run in the confusion of a million jumbled voices. 

I don't want an empty religion,
I'd rather be baptized with fire and let the Holy Spirit make me one of His live wires.

I don't wanna run with the pack.
I'd rather sit still in the silence and listen... for that still small voice of truth that leads so clearly.

I don't wanna live a life of safety.
I'd rather run a rescue shop a hundred yards from hell and walk like those in the Hall of Faith. 

I don't wanna live in blindness.
I'd rather have eyes that see beyond the heavy facades suffocating victims in their pain.

I don't wanna judge people like a human would.
I'd rather love hard like my God and let Him send me in there to rescue all the people who got lost in the crowd.

I don't wanna live for my glory.
I'd rather live low like the Ultimate Servant and simply bring others to Him.

I don't wanna live a life that's wasted. 
I'd rather spend moments extravagantly on issues concerning my King. 

I don't wanna live life like I'd live it.
I'd rather let Him live in me and pray that every moment would become sacred as people see Him in clarity.

I wanna know the God who created me so well

That His character runs in my veins.

I wanna be so full of the Bread of Life

That those who are hungry will come and be sustained.

I wanna be so filled with Him that I get forgotten,
And all who look at me will see only the nails that bought them. 

You Might As Well Pitch Your Rags

It was one of those days where I realized (again) what a horribly human person I am. I made some mistakes (like normal) and made a choice I regretted. 

As I was talking to Jesus about it, a picture came to my mind. It was a scene from over 2000 years ago, and all I saw was a ramshackle group of motley disciples bumbling along behind a well-composed Master. They were young and inexperienced. Some had tax collector histories. Some lived in dishonesty. Some fought with brash words and fiery tempers. Some were determined to topple the immense Roman Empire. Some argued over who was the greatest, and many of them had no idea what their Master had in mind.

Have you ever wondered why exactly Jesus picked the crew of young men that He did? I mean, they weren't necessarily the type most people would pick as future church leaders and evangelists. Yet, He said those well-known words, "Follow me." And they simply did. 

Now what would have happened if that imperfect called-to-be-disciples group would have begged Jesus to give them a year to prepare first. Maybe earn a little more for better clothes, and get their manners back in shape. Leave a little money behind for their parents, and at least sharpen up on their camping skills. 

Yet, I wonder if sometimes we try to ask for an extra year. We want a little space of time to make ourselves presentable for such a Great Lord. So we get busy sprucing ourselves up, making sure we wear the right clothes, working on our attitudes, cutting out those undesirable words. And You know, I imagine Jesus sitting there with an expression of sympathy and also sadness. Sympathy because He knows we'll never get it just right, and sadness because we're not accepting the terms that have already been negotiated.

All He wants is for us to come and follow Him: mistakes, rags, dirt, and all. If we simply see and confess our desperate need, He will gladly take care of the cleaning and do a much better job than we ever could. 

We will not have it altogether. We'll make mistakes along the way, but He will gladly give us what is His. And as He gifts us His Spirit, we will slowly become more like Him. Little by little, we will learn more about who He is. Whisper after whisper, we will define the Spirit's voice more clearly. Choice by choice, our actions will begin to reflect Who is now living inside us.

We need to be a little more like Mary who sat at His feet, or the woman who wiped His feet with her tears. Like the kind of folks who worshipped because of who He was, not who they were. They lost their identity of sin and shame when they got close to Him. Perhaps we ought to bring our tattered, spattered, ragged garments to Him and sit so close that our lives become wrapped up in who He is instead of staying stuck in our torn and greasy condition. Maybe instead of trying to sew the ripped seams and wiping off the grease, we ought to go to the One who gives out brand new clothes for free.

There are still spots on the trail open. Following this Master has been the most beautiful, (albeit humbling) and awe-inspiring life I could ask for. I'm not perfect - I hate to break it to you, but neither is anyone else. But He takes us anyway and gives us the privilege to be part of a group of individuals who are loved before they are worthy, accepted before they have made the grade, and been extended forgiveness before they earned it.

Are your rags really worth hanging onto?

 "For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast." Ephesians 2:8-9

Comfortable or Courageous?

A few months ago I came across a statement that made me lean in and pay attention. The author titled it, "Why Men are Leaving the Church" and then went on to explain his point. He stated that much of church life today (in some congregations) consists mainly of following rules and keeping a proper perfect life; in some ways feminine and neat. In addition, much of the bold, blaring, mission-hearted parts of the church are dwindling. How many times does a "Paul" almost get killed for his faith in North America? How often does a "Peter" preach to a large crowd who thinks he is drunk? 😏

The author continues his argument with the thought that men are becoming discontent and edgy because they don't have "manly" things to do. I agree that this is true to some extent. Men are typically, if not always, made with a sense of adventure and daring. They have a strong drive to conquer. This is clear in the way little boys go hunting with sling shots, give their utmost in an arm wrestle, and like to play cops and robbers. It shows up in the teenage guy's big and definitely loud truck with a modified exhaust system. A boy's play is often louder than a girl's and typically more dangerous. 

Since men are called and literally made to fight, they MUST be given battles. We do them a great disservice if we try to bundle them up into neat packages of dos and don'ts with no space left to risk and to conquer. If they don't become engaged in a spiritual battle, they will expend their energy elsewhere, often in flimsy earthly fights that carry no eternal weight. 

As I thought about this topic some more, I began to wonder if perhaps this is not really an issue about letting men be men, but rather of the church being filled with fire and true Gospel-heartedness once more. I read a Martyrs Mirror account of two individuals who went up to a Prime Minister to share the Gospel in a country where it was strictly forbidden. Of course they were thrown into prison for it, but years later this Prime Minister remembered their words and accepted Christ as His Lord and Saviour. Perhaps our careful protective Western ways need some boldness infused into them once more. Maybe we need to remember what it actually looks like to be completely unashamed for the Gospel of Jesus Christ. 

What if we would be willing to leave the predictability of our own comfortable agendas to bring souls in for the kingdom? Perhaps we could travel to the unreached people groups that have yet to hear the Gospel and risk our lives for a good cause. Perhaps we could take a meal to that neighbour that is difficult to love. Maybe we could even take time for a conversation with the sour-looking clerk that we usually pass by.

A few weeks ago, I came across an ancient group of people that intrigued and inspired me. The Spartans reigned over the Greek city-state of Sparta a couple centuries before Christ was born. This tribe was unique in many ways, but it was widely renowned for its fierce and elite warrior culture. At the young age of seven, boys would enter the Agoge, a school of intensive and brutal military training. By the age of twenty, they were fit and ready to join the army in which they remained for active service until the age of sixty. 

Now we get to an interesting but powerful part of the Spartan story - their women. I've written about fierce warriors, and there is a saying that behind every good man there is a good woman. This section of history lends itself to that very philosophy and gives us a glimpse into part of why the young Spartan men were so successful. Apparently the Spartan women were every bit as cruel and war-driven as their men were. So much so, that some of them went to extremes such as killing their sons who came back from battle as cowards. Now in no way do I suggest that we ought to treat our young men in such a manner, but I believe we can gain a little bit of inspiration from these people. An ancient Spartan legend states that before battles, a Spartan mother would hand her son his shield and impart five words of wisdom to him - "with it or on it." What she was saying was, "Son, you go out there and fight, and you give it all you've got. There is absolutely no room for cowardice. Come back carrying your shield in victory, or come back being carried on it by others because you died courageously." (Sparta-history.com)

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 Mothers, would you let your sons go and follow Jesus Christ in the great battlefield of life as courageously as these Spartan women did? Would you let them go out to a hostile area in order to share the Gospel if it meant the expense of their lives? Would you let your daughters leave home if God called them to, even if it meant your grandchildren might grow up somewhere else? What if like the Spartan mothers we were more focused on faithfulness and courage than safety? How would that change our churches and how would that change our world? 

Now I have mentioned mothers, but this challenge belongs to all of us. Will we risk or play it safe? Will we encourage others to live a life of self-sacrifice and humility like our Lord, or try to keep them safe and comfortable just so we feel better in our own zones?

I have met many types of Christians in person and also through books of history, but the people that always inspire me the most are those who truly made a difference in the Kingdom. They would serve faithfully in whatever place they found themselves, and they were all marked with courage and great faith.

Unfortunately, I see a complicated trend in North America toward all things safety. We live for comfort and feel-good things. We do our very best to protect ourselves and others from all harm. To the point, that I fear this interferes with our commitment and self-sacrifice for our Master of Masters. We think about missions, but the cost is danger. We consider talking to someone about the Gospel, but then our reputation is at risk. We ponder giving generously, but then wonder what will happen to our needs. We almost invite that person to church, but then we're afraid of what they will think or how they'll be treated. We debate about speaking hard-to-hear truth to a fellow Christian, but opt out for fear they'll get angry at us. 

I read the pages of Scripture and see the Apostles laying down their lives one by one for the Gospel. Then I remember the story of Felix Manz's mother who stood on the shore and encouraged him to be faithful as he was drowned for his faith. And I feel sad because I see us losing out on the greatest call of all, simply because we are too busy playing it safe. 

As life goes on and God keeps teaching me new things, I am becoming more and more aware of the intense battle that we as Christians are engaged in. Like it or not, we have an adversary and an enemy that would absolutely love to wipe out our souls entirely. If we sleep on the battlefield or enter without the Lord's armour, we will be taken out. I believe we all know that true battles require courageous soldiers - the dedicated, lay-your-life-on-the-line type of people, the kind that would rather die trying, than stand by observing.

What are we here for and what were we made to do? The time is short. The harvest is ripe. The church is in need of active, engaged members more than ever. If we focus only on our safety and maintenance, we are not truly following the call of our Lord to reach all nations. Let us go. Let us bid others go - some to the nearby neighbours, some to the pulpits for truth, and some to other continents. Let us never put a cap on what the Holy Spirit may call us to do, and let us stand firmly in the fight - for Christ and His Church.

My Favourite Family

I lie here with toes outstretched on a friend's comfy bed in the wonderfully wild country of Belize, and I realize again the beauty of God's people. I look back over my life and the life of my family and see them show up in so many places. 

The men that brought their tractors to haul manure when my dad was lying in bed for six long dark months. The women that would pull me aside after church to ask how mom and our family were doing and if there was any way at all that they could help. The friends who sat and listened without offering a word of advice, simply presence. The pastors and their wives who showed up with anointing oil. The ladies who made casseroles in their kitchens for our freezers. The board members that were always ready to help in whatever way possible. The people who became adopted family simply because they cared that much, and the souls of wisdom who saw and understood just enough to go home and pray.

And now I sit here in Belize with the showers of blessing raining once more. Meals with laughter, beds for the taking, excursions to new places, great conversations, and a lot of love all around. I am finding people that talk about the help my parents gave them years ago when they were newbies in our old province of Ontario. They talk about meals and babysitting and a lot of love passed around, and now they jump at the chance to pass that kindness on to me. 

I see this beautiful cycle and am convinced that God's family is one of the best families on earth to belong to. It is one where we take turns to serve, and turns to receive. It is one where we show up for each other even when it is inconvenient. It is one where we get bumps and scratches and have misunderstandings just like any other family, and we must work them out in order to function. We talk things through, share ideas, live beside each others' shortcomings, and drink from the Fountain of Life together. 

At the end of the day, there's no family I'd rather belong to - this glorious family made out of imperfect people from all kinds of nations, who are gathered together under the perfect umbrella of Love.

How Fear Steals Us

I thought about that yellow coward

Grappling with its jaws.

It howls and yells

Threatens and curses,

Before shoving us deep under a mat where we lie dormant:

Away from life, 

Away from beauty, 

Away from potential, 

Away from radical existence.

We lie there in depression

Waiting for that panther to move. 

Staring at its gory power, but trapped angry inside.

Menacing, roaring, deceitful,

That coward will have you in the depths of nonexistence.

But, oh if you only knew my friend,

Fear has a chain.

That old cat is stuck tight to that floor with a bark worth far more than any bite.

So push your face at it and yell back.

Crawl out from under that rug into whole beauty,

And dare to live.

Say yes to the call that quivers inside your soul, waiting to be born.

Push past the accusations, false flattery, and gossip to new heights of achievement.

That old cat will scream at you, but leave it sobbing in its den.

Walk out the door and don't look back.

Let it howl and let it screech.

It never needed your sympathy or service anyway. 

You were born for more. You were born for such a time as this.

You'll find faith is true

On the other side of courage.

David said to Saul, “Let no one lose heart on account of this Philistine; your servant will go and fight him.” 1 Samuel 17:32

In Spite Of

I lie there snuggled close in the toasty gray of our fuzzy bean bag. I am safe and warm, and I feel the smile of Someone watching close overhead. 

I've looked at a myriad of bright lantern stars twinkling in the heavens and scanned for their patterns. I've lain under blue skies clouded with fluffy abandon and looked for shapes in the whiteness. I've heard thunderstorms pound incessantly and watched lightening scratch a jagged wound across the darkened sky like an angry sword. I've watched the shreds of soft sunlight filter gently through groves of poplar and spruce and stood there with tears filling my eyes. I've woken up like a child on Christmas morning to view the wildly colorful sunrise that my Creator painted in the early morning. (He could have picked brown you know.) 

And I have come to believe in Him soundly. People may call me crazy, or ridiculously optimistic. They may think I am a religious nut or someone gone completely off the deep end. But perhaps if they would see what I have, and understand what I do, they would also believe. 

You see, I have come to know a God in spite of pain. His presence has become more dear to me than any physical or mental strength ever could have been. His love is the kind that walks through any fire and outdoes any darkness. He shows up in the places that no one else can enter and understands the situations no one else can decipher. He is the kind of God who carries His children when they can't stumble forward anymore, and the kind of God who holds His children when the questions outweigh the answers a million to one. He is the One Who follows His prodigal to a thorn bush just to pull him out and gently dress his self-inflicted wounds. I hear Him cry in anguish over His people who walk away when He gave everything for them.

I know He is a God who redeems and restores the most broken of places. You see, He never avoided pain, even though He could have. In fact He walked right into it - on purpose - just because He loved us all. And as I lie in my bean bag memorizing the woolly threads before me, I know that He is here too. Pain is no longer to be avoided, but embraced. I am small and broken, but He is still strong and good. My soul thrills, and my aching brain clears, at the simple thought that He is here. I remember the nail prints in His hands, and understand the paradox of a deep heavy pain meshed with an aching heart of love. And the more pain I see, the more I feel my Saviour's heart. 

Perhaps I am odd. Perhaps I am different, but I have come to know a God who finds us in our dark places. He rejoices over us with singing and reminds us that we are His - always. And I rejoice in my fuzzy little corner, because I have found a God who is good, regardless of circumstances. I have tasted a Presence so true, I wouldn't trade it. I have found a truth so holy, I wouldn't deny it. I have found a love that nothing can uproot or undo. He is mine and I am His. ❤️

The River Still Runs...

A couple days ago, I was standing beside the tiny creek that runs through our property. It comes from somewhere up in the mountain, and during spring it is at its peak for pressure and beauty. I stared at the foaming water for awhile, feeling the sound, and watching the constant eddies swirl and turn. I noticed the jagged and mismatched trees that were left behind after some bull-dozing, and was a little disturbed by their insanity. They seemed to wreck the perfect image of nature before me with their scraggly reaching arms. But a picture came to my mind as I surveyed the scene. I looked at the strewn trees once more, and saw the destruction and ruin we can experience in life. They held a metaphor for the days when questions run deep and the answers are few. They showed the damage of unjust pain and the sheer misery of the things this cursed earth offers. 

Then, I looked down and noticed faith in the river. It danced in and out under the hanging branches, never threatened by their presence. It foamed over rocks and even created shallow pools of stillness along the river's edges. It never stopped and it never diminished. It just kept moving on its course. It had a destination and nothing would stop it. I knew too, that if I were to throw a branch into the moving current it would simply carry it along in a quiet victory. 

Perhaps this is us. When the days look long and things seem senseless, when the sky is dark and there seems to be more rain than blue sky, we simply must offer a tiny mustard seed of faith and see what our Lord does with it. Faith is quiet, but it is true. It can survive the news of another cancer diagnosis. It can live through an unjust and painful childhood. It can handle misunderstandings and mockery, and it can continue walking when the directions are given only a day at a time. Have faith. ❤️

The Jagged Way

I will praise my loving Saviour

Even though my heart is thick with pain,

When I'm walking through a valley

And the sky is ripe with rain.

All I see are thorns and thistles

Prodding in from every side.

Rocks and pebbles jar my pathway

Like the nagging doubts inside.

Joyful thoughts of yester's sunshine

Cloud their way into my gaze.

I remember them with envy

Seeing only darkened haze.

Cups of cheer turn into weeping

I can't hear the words of hope.

All I see is dark foreboding

Stealing every buoyant note.

Yet I lift my hands to silence

Trusting that He still is good.

Knowing that He's always held me,

Even in the deepest flood.

Maybe some day I will reason

All the trials into truth.

Seeing all my Master's purpose

And the beauty it produced.  

                           - C.H.

I May Have Begun to Like Dogs 🙄

I used to struggle with dogs. They seemed to be everyone else's favourite non-human except mine. I mean, I could handle chickens better. At least they stayed in their cages and produced eggs for my morning breakfast. I could be thankful for that, but I struggled mightily every time I walked out our front door cleanly dressed for school to find a muddy, scraggly belly rolled out in front of me for a rub. I mean, really?! Mocha didn't seem to get the fact that I was clean and had places to go. But, me trying to be good-natured and kind like I was supposed to, would begrudgingly find the cleanest spot in all that mud-infested fur and gingerly rub the toe of my shoe across it. After a brief minute, if that, I would retrieve my shoe back to myself and head off on my merry way to school. 

But then, some things changed. When I was in a lot of pain for a few weeks due to my knee injury, I would often find some place to lie completely flat. Since I am an outdoors person, I would pick places like the grassy front lawn, the porch swing, or even the solid deck floor. Then, something interesting happened. The dogs showed up. We have five on our property between all the family members and they would come over to see how I was faring. The first time, the three pups bounced all over me. Tumbling and bumbling completely oblivious to any pain it could be causing. My well-meaning siblings yelled at them, but they just wouldn't leave. Strange to think, since their was no strong attachment on my end. But they were puppies, and blissfully unaware of any rules of etiquette with hurt people. 

As the other two puppies finally listened and made their way over to my siblings, the third and most awkward and clumsy one, Waffles - yes you heard his name right, and no I definitely didn't pick it - climbed right up into the crook of my arm and laid there, belly-up, snuggling against me like an infant. Now I have never held such a hairy, snuffly baby in my life, but really, how can a person resist when a creature seems to think that you are one of the very best humans in the world and they have no other place they'd rather be than with you. I felt a little too much like the cantankerous grumpy Grinch who slowly got melted by acts of love from an innocent young child. Truly, it did melt some of my puppy prejudice and I began to see these wiggling creatures through slightly different eyes. 

Over the next few days, the puppies, my slowly becoming friends, would visit me whenever I chanced to make it a few steps outside the door. I remember one specific incidence where I was sprawled out on the porch steps with my blanket and the three puppies came to pay their respects. I lay there looking miserable and they mirrored the mood excellently. Carefully positioning themselves around me at various angles, they settled down to stare mournfully at me or off into the distance. I felt strangely akin to Job with his three friends sitting solemnly in the dust and misery. 

Now, it has been a few months since this tale happened, but I do believe I like dogs a little more than I used to. To the point that on our first snow day from school, I put on my snow gear and travelled out to the steps for a wild leap into a snow drift. As I landed with a poof of white powder, I felt a whole bunch of wriggling bodies join me in a tornado. And, it was hilarious! I giggled and tried to get them off of me and then we did it again - a couple times - until my knees had all they could handle and we went back to our Job-style positions in the snow bank. I sit and they sit. I think and they must be thinking too. I am silent and they are very still. 

So now, when I come home from school and get out of my red ride, my words go like this, "Hey Swaffles! Hey Oreo! What's up Shadow?" And they bounce around like the most delighted things. Perhaps we shall be friends after all.

Those Parents

I see them. They come to our classroom to visit and stand by their children's desks. Faithful fathers show up to bring devotions every Thursday. Moms pack school lunches and arrive at 3:30 to provide a ride home. They come in pairs and sit in two blue plastic chairs for our parent-teachers meeting. I talk to them after church sometimes, and they show up interested and delighted at school programs. 

I see them, and I know them. I know the way their hearts ache for their children who struggle. I hear the pain in their questions as they wonder how they can help. I hear them talk about prayer, and know there are many times where they wrestle over and over again. I also hear them talk about their failures and how they wish they could have done things differently. Sometimes I hear their song grow a little dim with discouragement and exhaustion, but I have hope. 

Hope, because I've seen many parents make it through tough seasons. I've seen teenagers come out of situations that could only be rescued by God's mercy. I've seen children mature when it looked impossible for them to arrive, and I've seen the light of God restore the most hopeless of people. 

I write this post simply to suggest that we ought to be more grateful for the ones who raised us. They have seen choppy water that our boats haven't reached yet. They are the ones pleading at heaven's gates, so that our boat can be guided by the same Master who led theirs. They are the ones trying to figure out when to give advice and when to hold their tongue. Sometimes they get it right and sometimes they get it wrong, but all they want is for us is to arrive safely and avoid some of the pitfalls they walked into.

Love your mom and dad, my friend. They aren't perfect. They've done things wrong. But they have enough love to fill a decent-sized ocean, and maybe some day when you are in their place, you'll come to realize the sacrifice, blood, sweat, and tears, that was put into your success. 

The Tech War

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This could be a scary and dangerous topic. Some of you are shutting your ears and walking the opposite direction right now because, as one of the men in our church would comment, I'm about to make your toes quite warm.

Perhaps that is true. But you see, this is more of a testimony than a sermon. Just lately, I went through a season where I was a lot more lax with technology—or more specifically social media—than I had been for awhile. A lot of it was because I was tired, and some was simply for a distraction, but I have learned a lot in the process. 

Number one, it wasn't completely worth it. Although I got some spiritual food out of some of the better channels, I got to a place where I was begging God for more of His Spirit. Mercifully, He showed me the importance of having enough quiet space in my mind for His Spirit to speak.

Second, I have come to see how easy it is to drown things out with whatever social media platform we pick. It's more fun to watch some funny guy make jokes online than to think about the fact that I feel unloved or hold anger towards someone in the deep recesses of my soul. 

A third thing I have discovered is that it is very easy for us as a generation to become lazy spiritual seekers. It's simpler to type a question into Google and find a pat answer from a variety of sources, than to actually take time to sit before God, search His Word, and hear His voice on the matter. The consequences of too much of this will be a generation of confused, anemic Christians who have only the opinions of others to stand upon.

Fourth, what you take in is what you think about. If I watch documentaries on trafficking, guess what my dreams are about! Now in no way am I downplaying that good movies can be beneficial. Neither can we avoid what is true, but I've found it essential to siphon what I put into my mind so that it remains lovely, pure, honest, and of good report. 

I have come to believe that just like many other things in life, social media and the internet is being monopolized by Satan as a subtle and crafty means to attack the Church of Jesus Christ. If he can't get us to believe untruth in outright lies, He'll bring it to us in sugar-coated entertainment. 

Each one must decide for himself, but as soldiers of the Cross of Christ, it is crucial to consider every single area that is open to attack. Even the strongest soldiers die in battle if they aren't alert and are missing some pieces of armour. 

Am I perfect? Absolutely not. I don’t have all the answers or have it altogether. As I told my students recently, I fight the war every day too. But perhaps this is an issue we need to start facing. Not in shame, not in fear, but in honesty and courage. Together.

A Life of Purpose

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Many people tend to wander through life aimlessly, taking each day as it comes and letting things happen as they will. Others fly through it like a tornado, trying to find excitement in each moment before that grave day when their breath falls silent. And the question begs to be answered... What is our purpose? It breaks my heart when I observe people who have no passion for living. They simply exist. They breathe and take up space in life because that is all that they know how to do. They live the life of least resistance, blending in to the surrounding vibes with little thought of what matters or is true. They've never entertained the thought that they could make a difference in life and so they don't even try. Life is simply a set of events that happen as they will and need to be survived.

Then there are people who take life by the handles and make it work for them. They are the investors, the planners, the get-it-done-on-timers; always responsible, always volunteering, always making a difference. And yet catastrophe hits even them, and they are forced to ask, "What is life really about? Is success guaranteed by promotions, good job interviews, raising a large family, making a lot of money, or staying on good terms with the people around you?"

This past Thursday morning, we skimmed through the book of Acts during our school assembly devotions. We looked for places where the Apostles displayed a life of zeal and courage, and the instances were many. I asked my students, what made the disciples do those things? What made them risk their lives like that? One student replied, "Because of Jesus." And I have to agree. They had been given much and they were willing to give much in return. 

I am convinced that in order to live life well, one must have a vision, and, I think it's safe to say, that the higher the vision, the deeper the dedication. Everyone wants to be part of something important in life. Nobody really wants to reach the end of their life and realize it was wasted. Unfortunately, too many people wait until it's too late to begin living a life worthwhile. As our Saviour Himself stated, "Life is more than food and clothing." It was obvious in the way He lived. 

Were all the things He did grand and glorious? Were all the things He did oustanding? I would venture to say it depends on what scale of measurement you use. You see, He spoke. He cried. He gave. He blessed. He burned with righteous anger. He healed. He listened, and loved in the small moments as well as the great. And then He died the most influential death on the planet. Whether small or great, every single thing He accomplished was done for a purpose.

So, perhaps if you feel unfulfilled and unsure of what life is about, you ought to ask Him. He seems to have had a vision higher than any human I have ever met. The interesting thing is, that He is able to pass it on and his followers seem to end up in the same life of zeal and self-sacrifice that he did. Just ask Him. I think He'll have a pretty good answer for you. 

For The Child Who Survived

There's a saying that states, "If you treat everyone like they're hurting, you're right 99% of the time." I've been doing a lot of thinking, and processing lately, and this post is for those who were never heard, those who were unloved, those who were hurt, and those who remained deeply scarred. The following scenarios contain a mixture of fiction and nonfiction. If any of them resonate with you, just remember God loves and cares deeply. 

I was the one who shrivelled inside because I was never good enough. I wanted to please you Daddy, but somehow I could never reach the target. The chores weren't done right. I should've been able to play baseball like my brother, and I was never as good at things as you were when you were young. 

I'm sorry, Daddy. Really, I am. I keep hoping that one day I'll be the son you always wanted.

 

I was the one who stood up tall and took care of my Mommy when she couldn't take care of me. Outside I was strong. Everyone told me so. When Mommy became a crying mess, I calmed her down and then held my siblings, so they would feel safe. I turned 16 and took her to psychiatrist appointments. I talked to the doctors and helped her with meds. Sometimes I was tired, but I kept doing my job.

Maybe someday I'll get to be a kid again, but not for now.

 

I was the middle child, the forgotten one. It seemed my older brother got everything. He got to ride a bike first, and I got the hand-me-downs. He got to help Daddy fix the shed roof, but I had to pick up nails from the ground. Sometimes I wondered if Mommy and Daddy really loved me. Daddy was happy when my oldest brother turned 11 and could drive the tractor. But when I turned 11, he said I was too young and so my oldest brother just kept doing it. Daddy said I'd probably hit a fence post anyway.

Maybe someday I'll do something great in life, but I doubt I really matter anyway.

I was the one who wasn't normal. I would have loved to run and jump like everyone else on the playground, but cerebral palsy kept me stuck in my chair. Mom and Dad said I was special, so I tried to smile at everybody, but some days I just wanted to be like the others so badly. Why couldn't I do high jump and play King's Base? The other day I said I wanted to get my license, but Mom just got a weird look on her face. Whatever that was all about. 

I just wish I could be like everyone else.

 

I was the one who protected everyone. I don't know what you had against Mom, Dad, but somehow it made me spitting mad when you'd criticize and yell at her. Is there no way we can be good enough? I hate the fact that we have to look good in public and pretend everything is fine. Maybe one day I can forgive you, but at this rate, I'm afraid I'll turn out right like you. 

But then, I never was much of anybody anyway.

 

I was the one who starved myself. When Mom and Dad went through a divorce, I lost it. I remember the screaming and yelling, and the nights I hid under the covers, pinching the fat on my body. I hated it. If I would just be good enough, surely all this ugliness would go away. I lifted weights and jogged for miles. I avoided sugars and limited fats, and then... I almost died. The nurses told me I had anorexia and made me eat a lot of that gross fattening food.

I still hate myself. If I'd just be a better daughter, they'd surely get back together.

I was the one who was adopted. I love my new mom and dad but it hurts that someone didn't want me. I wonder where my real mom is anyway. I must've been some horrible person for her just to pitch me like that. Who disowns their own kid anyway? People tease me at school too. 

I wonder what's wrong with me? I should never have been born. 

 

And somewhere you have a story. The one that eats at your insides and keeps begging for attention. Some children grow up with love and protection; others do not. Life is difficult, and people let us down. The list of stories above could have gone on for a long long time. I've heard enough people's heartbreak, and had enough of my own to know that there is a vast variety of stories that people carry. 

This weekend I came across the shortest verse in the Bible, John 11:35 - Jesus wept. I looked at it and was flooded with the overwhelming compassion and love that Jesus has for all of us. He doesn't always provide easy and quick answers to our situations. (Many of our whys may never be answered on this side of eternity.) But I do know that He is the One that has come to sit with us in our pain. He is the One that binds up the broken-hearted and brings sight to blind eyes. He delivers captives and brings freedom to the oppressed. There is no situation too hard or too deep for His love. Sometimes it takes years to truly heal, but He will do it in His timing and His way. Trust Him. ❤️

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He Loves You...

Herod, the desperate ruler of Judea, privately called the wisemen to a meeting in that well-known year that scholars believe was around 4 B.C. Apparently a child had been born who was threatening his royal position, and he was going to make sure that no itty bitty boy would usurp his spot as king. He gave the wisemen this order. "Go to Bethlehem and search carefully for the child, and when you find him, let me know, so that I too may go and worship Him." Matthew 2:8

Go and worship him too? These words caught my attention and my brain shot out onto a thought path. How many people today also say they want to worship Him, but it's simply to please other people or to try to make themselves feel good? How many people say all the right words, but their hearts aren't in it? How many people attend church and look perfect on the outside but inside they are like caves of dead bones, to quote John the Baptist. 

A week ago yesterday, we had our Christmas Program at school. As teachers we put a lot of thought into how and why we select the words and songs we do, but this year my brain felt like a blank sheet of paper. Absolutely clueless. As I stood before the group of students one morning before practise, I told them the story. I proceeded to explain how I had been completely blank when it came to ideas for a program, and how typically I have at least a clue what it will be about in the summer or at least when school starts. But this year, the well was dry. I related how I had told one of my coteachers that I guess God knows my brain has enough to handle right now and will give the ideas when it's time. And so it came to pass on Monday or Tuesday of the week I took a break to rest my weary body, that I spoke to God and said, "Well Lord, maybe it's time for some program ideas." And just like that, as faithfully as He always does, He put the theme into my mind. Within a few hours, the entire program, minus a couple songs and some editing, was in order. 

Now you may smile and say, "Well, you finally had time to think, or it was just your imagination." Indeed, both of those were tools in the process, but over several years of teaching, I have come to know a God who understands and uses us in our weakness. He delights to fill us with His Spirit and give us guidance, inspiration, and passion if we will only yield our broken and empty vessels to Him.

As I thought about Herod's method of worshipping, I pictured him atop his jewelled throne, looking down at this tiny baby from his prestigious position, or at best, arriving at the place where Christ and his parents lived with a grand carriage, lots of servants, and quite probably a lot of honour and show directed at himself. Next, I pictured the wisemen, bowing with their faces to the ground, humbly prostrating themselves before a baby King. Completely surrendered and offering what they had to give. 

And I wondered about the kind of worshippers we are today. I believe there are those who want the glory for themselves. It is easy to fall into this selfish human trap of doing good deeds, and organizing charitable pursuits, all for the praise. They may ask God for selfish things and serve Him for what they can get out of it. Of course, when hardships come, they will be forced to make a choice, and find it quite easy to walk away from a God who no longer serves their selfish purpose. In the process, these people competely miss their true need for salvation.

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But then there are those who are broken. Humble and contrite, with eyes wide open to their desperate need for salvation and love. They come to the throne, confident that they will be heard because of the mercy of the God they have come to know. 

They are the type that break bottles of perfume and pour it on the Saviour's feet. They sing songs of worship simply because they are grateful deep down inside. The smile because they know they are loved and redeemed. 

I ended my story to my students, and looked at them. They stood their listening attentively as I spoke, "You know. You can do this entire program. You can sing the songs well and recite your part perfectly, but if you miss the point that He loves you, you've missed it all. He came for you. He died for you. He was mocked, beaten, spit on, and tortured just for you.

And so it is. He loves you. Nothing you can ever do, will change the fact that He died for you. Your worst sins, your ugliest pride, and your blindest selfishness, cannot get rid of His deep love. He's looking at you. He wants you. 

What will you do about it?

The Deborah's of Today

It was at the "Conference of Cults" in 1945, that a young couple, Richard and Sabina Wurmbrand, sat listening as one by one, various church leaders rose to express their allegiance to Hitler and his communistic party. Not a single one spoke out against the untruth of the Nazi regime. 

As the meeting continued and many other believers sat there afraid to speak up, Sabina turned to her husband and said, "Stand up and wash away this shame from the face of Christ! They are spitting in His face!" To which Richard replied, "If I do, you will lose your husband."

Her response was swift and sure. "I don't wish to have a coward as a husband." 

With that, he turned, walked up to the podium, spoke against communism, and declared Christ as Lord. As a result, some other church leaders also spoke up with courage.

I wonder how many of us as women today would have responded like Sabina in that situation. I believe the temptation to dissolve into a puddle of tears and beg Richard not to go up to the podium would have been very strong. I also wonder how Richard would have responded had Sabina become a crying mess. Would he have ignored her or taken her in his arms and missed the call of God. Sabina had the clear choice to encourage or discourage her husband, and ultimately to love herself or God. 

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    As women, one of our most important callings is to        encourage and support the men in our lives, be that 

    husbands, teenage sons, brothers, etc. My question        is, do we help them be more or less? When we      

    respond to them with negativity and fear, we pull 

    them down instead of building them up. A true 

    woman of God must be wholly surrendered and walk 

    in faith in order to build instead of destroy. If we 

    follow our selfish inclinations to maintain our own 

    safety, we can effectively dampen the impact our 

    leaders can have. 

    I have observed many women in my lifetime and have 

    seen some interesting habits. There are women who 

    take God at his word and stand behind their men 

    encouraging them to walk boldly. These faithful 

    saints effectively help their husbands and sons be all 

    that God has called them to be. Then I have observed 

    women who fret constantly and are often second-guessing their husband's ability or choices. These unfortunate men must either tune out their wife's negative tone or succumb to being manipulated into living a life that is far from the courageous one they were called to. 

I believe that it is very important that we as women train ourselves to walk in trust. If we want courageous men and leaders, it is very important that we walk in courage too. Let our voices be the ones that support men in spiritual battle and standing for truth. Let our deeds be the ones that enable them to fulfill their life's callings. Let our attitudes be the ones that remind them that they are capable with God's help. Let our surrendered hearts set them free to go wholly forward. 

We are the church of today. The battle is hot and we need warriors who will rise to the challenge. As women we have the power to encourage or discourage. We can choose to pray heaven's power down upon those we love or walk in discouraged defeat. We can choose whether to look at our difficulties or God's possibilities. 

You, my dear friend, are called. You are called to be a daughter of the Most High King. You are called to to fill the unique roll of a woman in whatever circumstance God has put you. Whether a grandmother, mother, teacher, youth girl, or auntie. You are called. ❤️ 

* Read more of Richard and Sabina's story at lifeonthealtar.com

What If You Wouldn't Be Afraid?

This morning I listened to a podcast on Anabaptist Perspectives in which John Ghanim shares his story of leaving his life as a Muslim in Yemen and becoming an all-out Jesus follower. You can listen to it here if you wish: https://open.spotify.com/episode

What is fascinating to me, is how this podcast was shared with me at this certain time. You see, I have already been thinking about fear over the last few week. To the point that, a week or so ago, I posted a sticky note on my prayer wall with the words "Break the Bondage of Fear" inscribed on it. 

Of course, when we pray prayers like that, God begins to answer. And answer He has; in multiple tiny ways. I won't forget the time that I held back from witnessing to a clearly unsaved man because I thought the person beside me should have the chance to lead out. When I got home, God clearly reprimanded me and said, "Never again do you wait for someone else to make a move. You must be willing to go first." So I died to the notion of trying to please others before my Saviour. 

And as He keeps working, I am beginning to wonder...

What if we would begin to measure our lives by His Word instead if others' opinions? What if we would dare share our thoughts and ideas for the furtherance of God's kingdom, without fearing criticism? What if we would embrace other people's new ideas with openness and humility, rather than shutting them down in fear of where the new path might lead? What if we would use the talents God has given us for His glory, instead of fearing failure and humiliation? What if we loved people so much that we would set aside any fear of persecution in order to bring them to Jesus Christ? What if we would be so convinced of God's calling on our lives, that other people's misunderstandings wouldn't hinder us? What if we would love Jesus so wholeheartedly that we would surrender our entire lives and any self-preservation to Him? 

I wonder what would happen in our lives... I wonder what would happen in our churches... I wonder what would happen to this world...

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Fly High!

We all have people in our lives who get to us at times, circumstances that are difficult, or frustrating bloopers. Each and every time, we have a choice: Fall or rise, optimist or pessimist, hope or discouragement, truth or lies. 

I was reminded of this as I spoke with a friend recently. What do we do when people see differently than we do and criticize us? What do we do, when there are hopeless situations that we can't change? What about the problems that look like they'll never budge? What do we do?

I've thought about this numerous times over the last week as I lay on the couch, and I've run to the Bible for answers when my hands came up empty. Jesus made it very clear to me that humility and love are key. There is absolutely no space for self on the road to glory. 

And oh, the absolute joy that comes when we pick the high road. Let me explain. If God has authorized you to walk a certain path and someone else criticizes you out of jealousy or misunderstanding, simply fix Your eyes on Jesus and keep walking. Let the rest fall. He has a destination in mind for you. If you're in the middle of pain or discouragement, do the same. God has it all figured out and you can trust Him. Keep walking with your gaze forward.

Too often, we let small things get us down: someone's opinion, a smashed plate, gossip, someone's late arrival, or our own shortcomings. Really and truly, these are tiny details in the grand picture of life. Don't let them steal your purpose or focus. You must rise on the wings of faith. Rise in prayer and praise. Rise by trusting your Creator and Saviour. He will come through and you will be able to fly above all the difficulties that Satan would love to trip you with. Fly high my friend. Your destination is heaven. 

The Art of Receiving

It's been a week. I've been humbled and grateful by turn. What else is there to do but lift your hands to the sky when the rain comes in torrents, but differently than you expected. 

Tuesday night, the wife of one of the board members said they were there. Putting in a chair lift so that it would be easier for me to go up and down the stairs each day and avoid some pain and crutch-hopping. Inwardly I cringed, and then sat there with my emotions empty, completely unsure how to feel. I felt hollow; the very last strands of independence had somehow escaped my hands and melted into thin air. I was grateful; really, I was. Actually, deeply, profoundly grateful for such caring and compassionate people in my life. But, I had no idea how to receive it well. 

I asked God to teach me and this verse came to my mind, "By love serve one another..." It didn't take me more than a few seconds to realize that in order to serve, there must be someone on the receiving end. So, I determined that it must be my turn to be the receiver. I turned my gaze upward, and asked for help to be a gracious one. 

It is hard though. Our insides (at least in the case of some of us hard-headed independent ones) kick at the very thought of being cared for or given to. We like to be in charge, in control, and serving others. God knew I needed a reset and so He let my knee hurt for awhile. I knew all along that He was teaching me some lessons, but I certainly didn't realize how deeply they would cut, or how much of my identity they would completely revolutionize. So, I sit here receiving, again and again, day after day. 

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I live on verses from heaven. God gives me one each morning as I wake up; my daily manna. When I lie there writhing in pain, I replay songs of worship over and over and remember the mercy of my Creator who carries me with His peace and strength. As I watch my friend do my laundry and clean my room, I am sad she must do it but glad that she does. I receive lunches from mothers and thank them for chicken, rice, and beans. Perhaps the hidden gift in this is that I get to eat Russian Mennonite food. 

On mornings when things just don't go, my kind and gracious father stands at the kitchen counter trying to figure out how to fold a flimsy wrap with extra chicken and mayo on it (his necessary manly additions), or building a sandwich so big I can barely fit it into the box. I sit there on the same counter watching him and eating my easy-to-make peanut butter bread for the second or third morning in a row. I feel a little too much like the helpless 11 year old girl he carried in his arms when her boot got stuck in the creek. 

I let my students carry my purple chair in and out. They carefully set it up and take it back in. They move their toes to make room for my wheel chair, and wait patiently as my crutches tap their way to class. My song book, bible, and pitch pipe travel upstairs for devotions in their well-tanned hands. The older boys carefully set my keyboard up, and water the plants too high for the little ones to reach. They make sure the game starts while I am still slowly travelling to the playground. On pain days, they gently push my unreliable wheelchair over the bumpy ground while I hunch up in in it tiny and ant-like. I rely on them each day when I think it should be the other way around. 

As I go to church on Sunday, someone holds the door for me. I used to like holding the door for others, but I guess what goes around, comes around. People ask how I'm doing. How weird is that? I used to make sure everyone else was ok. I tell them to the best of my knowledge, unsure of how to make it accurate without asking for a pity party. They carry on and I leave knowing I'm loved. 

I visit the NAPA parts store for my father on a Saturday and feel like a fragile princess among a tribe of brawny males. As I enter the store, every single man behind the counter is at the immediate assistance of this poor disabled woman on her crutches. Doors are opened. The welding canister lifted. Tailgates shut. You name it. All for little me. I feel well cared for and humbled. 

So I am learning to receive. One act of kindness at a time. Each, a drop of rain falling upon the ground of my heart. Each grain of mercy a reminder of God's love and His people. 🤗