Christmas Review

I know it's almost been a week, but humor me.

Christmas in Springfield (which was Christmas #2 of 4 for us this year) was fun. Sunday morning we visited a church that Wildesign may be working with soon. I walked around and took pictures and considered making a sign for my chest that said, "I am not casing your joint." I got some weird looks. Some from my husband.

West Side Christian Church seems a little confused, but it has some good artists. All of the music was top-notch, and we found this piece sitting up against a wall in a hallway in the balcony:


I really like it. We set out a few hours later from Springfield to Taylorville and stopped for breakfast along the way at the Dirksen Diner. I love these kinds of places. It was off a gravel parking lot on the side of the road, but not facing the road - obscure enough that it was on the passenger side of the car, and I didn't even see it when we drove by. How can you not pull a U-y for breakfast at a place like this, though?


Timothy, of course, ordered biscuits and gravy and decided to launch a culinary review service dedicated sole to the art of B&G. Look for the B&G Review, coming soon to a sidebar near you.


My youngest cousin Ryan playing video games. He's been playing video games since he was three. I'm not exaggerating. In fact I may be underestimating. The kid's left brain is a powerhouse.


My cute little brother with a cheese sandwich - guarding the gifts from anxious little boys. (That's not one in the background, BTW, that's my auntie.)

It was a good time. I wish I had a picture of my great-grandma to share with you. She's 93 and still going strong (relatively speaking).

emotions as red flags

My high school health teacher was a strange man. I can't image what it must be like to be the one to discuss emotional and sexual health with teenagers day after day after day ... but this guy at least needed a break. I think he permed his hair too.

The guy was often right, is the problem, and it was difficult to take him seriously.

He used to always tell us that you can't hurt someones feelings. He would argue that you can't hold a feeling in your hand, so how could you hurt it? You can't hit it, kick it, stab it, etc.

He was trying to help us understand that our feelings are our own and that no one can hurt us emotionally unless we let them ... but trying to explain that to a room full of hormonal high school students was impossible. We argued. We called him names. We withdrew our trust and confidence, and refused to believe a thing he said for the remainder of the semester.

Of course, people can violate others' emotions. People from the dawn of time have been betrayed by those they trusted and loved, and who should have loved them back. And of course it is unhealthy to try to be an emotional island - keeping people away for fear of ever being hurt. "'Tis better to have loved and lost than never loved at all." I agree.

But I was talking with someone yesterday who had experienced a little bit of offense (although said person probably wouldn't have called it that), and I thought of that health teacher.

Day-to-day, our little "hurt feelings" are probably red flags that we ignore when we blame and accuse someone else's behavior. If someone says something to me - innocently or maliciously - and my blood pressure spikes, it's probably because there is something in me that Holy Spirit needs to burn out (and it's most likely pride).

If I get upset because I feel like someone is being condescending toward me, or because someone doesn't appreciate me - maybe it's because I hold myself in too high esteem. If I'm wounded because someone dislikes me for no reason, because a leader doesn't take my suggestion, or because someone doesn't trust me - it's probably my wounded pride.

Or if the "offender" is dead wrong it's because I'm striving for the approval of man and not God. Either way - it's me, not you.

Just a thought. Next time someone "makes you" feel a certain way - ask yourself why.

i'll never be happy enough

Star 105.5 makes me sad. And not just because the music is bad, or because I know the people I hear singing could be so much more than what they've settled for (because those have been my complaints until now).

Dave decided a few months ago that it's too quiet in the office. Anyone who's ever been in this office knows - it's like a library. A really old library in a stuffy north-eastern town. You could hear a pin drop at any given moment, and it's carpeted wall to wall.

So he brought in this stereo and of course the only thing PC enough (and with clear enough reception) is Star 105.5.

At first it was just irritating. And usually I open iTunes and play Audra Lynn or Hillsong - or I keep a browser window open to YouTube and just keep replaying Jesus Culture videos - loud enough to drown out the best of the '80s, '90s and today. But sometimes I'm tired of hearing the same thing.

The past couple days, though, office hours have been bordering on depression again and I couldn't figure out why (aside from the intermediate stretches of overwhelming boredom). It's taken me 16 hours of subconsciously analyzing my thought process, but I - at five minutes to the bell - figured it out.

Even though the hit singles are on the other side of the half-wall behind me, and even though I'm not really listening, I'm hearing. I'm hearing a little worldly longing and the occasional heartache, but mostly I'm hearing about summer vacations that will never end and people who have lives supposedly much more exciting than mine. I'm being reminded without paying attention that I want to be a rock star with no responsibilities and lots of money (by rock stars with no responsibilities and lots of money who are mostly very unhappy people).

And I catch myself thinking about how my job is boring or about college or about what could have been if ...

When really, I was horribly depressed in college and I know perfectly well that all that could have been if was addiction and torment. Not to mention I have the best husband in the world, the greatest church in the Midwest, a cute new bass guitar, and the primary affections of the One who was and is and is to come.

And maybe you did put on your blue suede shoes and board a plane, but I took up arms over an entire continent last night - and not even the continent I'm on.

It's strange how the seemingly harmless can be so harmful. How even the subtle implications we don't notice day after day after day really do impress our minds.

Luke 11:23//He who is not with Me is against Me, and he who does not gather with Me scatters.

hippies and bass guitars

So Jason and Cassandra came to visit Monday night. They left Tuesday morning for Arizona, and then they're back in Washington. It's strange how you get used to being without people, and then when they come back you remember how you never wanted them to leave in the first place.

We saw pictures of their trip last summer to Jerusalem. Made me want to go even more than I already do. We rebutted by showing pictures from TheCall and India, but it wasn't quite the same. Round one went to the hippies.

Although Jason's not really a hippie anymore because - as you can see below - he's got Timothy's hairdo.

For those of you who were blessed enough to meet them when they lived in Wisconsin a year and a half ago: they're doing well. They still love youth ministry (although Jason likes Jr. High better, and Cassandra prefers high schoolers), and are doing a Christian camp every summer. They're living with a nice couple in Washington who are hiring them out, apparently, to renovate bathrooms. We saw pictures of that too; they're pretty good at it.

Casandra trying to pack according to O'Hare's regulations.

Jason brushing his teeth.

Awwww.

Cassandra's gorgeous dreads.

And yours truly got an early Christmas gift from her amazing husband last night:

He snuck it into practice and put it up on the guitar stand so when I turned around (after he told me a billion times to tune up), there it was! My new bass!

It looks good on me.

more prayer

I can't seem to get away from this urge to pray for Africa. I meant to sit down with it yesterday, but our friends Jason and Cassandra came for the night (more on them tomorrow) and I didn't pull myself away from them. No one's fault but my own.

All day yesterday, though, I was thinking about how I really should sit down and read The Life and Diary of David Brainerd again. I kept thinking about it and I don't know why because it's a pretty unappealing idea. Brainerd's diary reads a lot like Numbers. It's for the most part very boring, but you read it because you know there's good stuff in there - mostly toward the end.

But Brainerd was a man who labored in prayer for revival among the Native American people he ministered to, and he saw it come to pass. It's his prayer life that I'm finally interested in (whereas the first time I read it I was interested in the move of Holy Spirit at the end), so I know it won't be as dreadful as the first read but I've developed a kind of knee-jerk reaction to the title.

Today I pulled up Craig's blog to see what's going on at LifeChurch.tv and guest blogger Anne Jackson has posted about the prayer lives of some extraordinary men of God:

• John Wesley prayed for two hours every morning, starting at 4 AM.
• Edward Payson prayed so often, deep grooves formed on the hardwood floor by his bedside where he knelt.
• William Wilberforce spent at least two hours every day in prayer, early in the day.
• John Welch (a Scottish preacher - and we know how those can be) considered his day wasted if he spent less than eight to ten hours in prayer, sometimes in the middle of the night.

And I didn't pray at all yesterday.

prayer

I've been praying a lot more lately. I mean a lot.

I read that story a second time. You know - the one that is so un-literary I have to try not to be offended at the poor language, but at the same time has so helped prop open my spiritual eyes. You can download it for free here.

It's inspired me to pray in tongues more. Driving is my designated pray-in-tongues time, and I drive a lot. I've also gotten into the habit of praying in tongues when I'm home alone, and when I'm working on mundane tasks at the office. It's only been a couple weeks, but it's amazing.

(And can I just say that tongues is the strangest thing ever. It doesn't make any sense at all, but I dig it.)

I think its starting to affect the rest of my prayer life. I've been able to sit in prayer (normal, I-understand-what-I'm-saying prayer) for longer than ever, and I'm getting some acute focus from time to time.

Like yesterday. Timothy and I were wrapping up the after-church nap and I had this crystal clear, techni-color, make-my-heart-pound dream. I woke up and spent about an hour praying for Africa.

Holy Spirit is so cool.

cards

It's been an enlightening few days, these past few days. I don't even know if I could articulate all of the little life lessons that seem to have taken root in my heart over the past few days, but I'm sure if I could I'd be right up there with Solomon. It's a drastic overstatement - for effect - but I feel the weight of something lately; spiritual growing-pains perhaps.

Which I think is why Solomon lost it in the end. I'm willing to bet that the weight of wisdom became a burden pretty quickly. Wisdom is a responsibility.

Not that any tremendous wisdom is the weight on me right now, but I've gained some (because I asked for wisdom, and He gives it abundantly) and digesting it is a task. 'Cause once you've got it you have to decide what to do with it, and that's the hard part.

(Warning: Musing) Which is interesting because our culture makes wisdom the goal - the end prize of a lifetime of study and experience. To God, however, wisdom is the beginning. He's got all the wisdom and He'll give you as much as you can ask for, but will He be so quick to show you what to do with it? Because that's where spiritual growth really comes from, isn't it? In prayerfully deciding when to speak and when to shut up, what to say when it's time to speak, and how to gracefully keep quiet when it's time to shut up, whom to speak to, and what is just between you and God forever. When are you being wise, and when are you being prideful? When are you being humble, and when are you being false? Why is it that every bit of wisdom that answers a prayer seems to be laden with personal insights too?


To escape the life lessons I've been working on Christmas cards. I really didn't think this would be a project that ever got completed, but it looks like it might. I've made almost enough for everyone on my who-would-be-offended-if-they-didn't-get-a-card list.

wow

It's 4:55 and I'm trying to finish this chapter before I shut down my computer at work. I've been, of course, working three jobs from the office in Crystal Lake today as usual, and am just at the point where I cannot wait to be out of the internet's reach.

I'm reading a relatively interesting book on church leadership (and I can say "relatively" 'cause I've read lots ... at the architecture office, not the church office, which I just realized is ironic), and the following sentence just set me free from my afternoon:

"When leaders experience resistance, they know that they are actually exercising leadership."

Of course you can exercise leadership without being resisted, the author is merely suggesting that being resisted doesn't make you a bad leader.

It inspired a little sigh of relief in me this evening. I'm going home now.

just another day

It was a cold, icy evening and despite Timothy's valiant efforts, there wasn't a copy of At World's End for rent anywhere in the Algonquin area. Defeated by a legion of more ambitious movie-renters, he went home to begin crafting the culinary masterpiece du jour.

Sam and Lex approached Blockbuster with confident caution.

"Didn't Timothy already try this one?"

"Ya, but I'll bet he didn't pray."

Lex throws caution to the wind and both hands in the air as she petitions heaven for favor. Sam's eyes lock on the temporarily abandoned steering wheel, as if by sheer will power holding it steady.

"I'll cover you," Sam advises.

"If I'm not back in 15 minutes come around the back way ..."

Safely inside, Lex scans the New Release wall. N's ... O's ... R's ... back up. Only #2 on the wall. Why? Why? Oh ... there's a section designated for #3 - far away from the P-section. "Whose idea was that?" she wonders sarcastically. "How did you not see the big, cardboard banners?" she answers herself.

Data processing begins as she stares at the small section of shelves trying to discern where the rent-able ones go, which are strictly for sale, and which are #2 in the #3 section because it's Shopping Season. Satisfied that the rent-able #3 shelves are void of all hope, she files through the rent-able #2's with lightning speed and feline agility. Nothing.

Undiscouraged, she sets her sights on the front counter. As she approaches, the line comes into view and discouragement knocks gently on her heart. Mais non ...

She waits. Someone at the counter is apparently trying to order a cheeseburger at the video store. Nothing else could take so long. Finally, she's next in line. The moment of truth draws near and all she can hear is the crescendo of her heartbeat in her ears.

Trying as best she can to appear calm and at ease, she notices a man walk in the front door and directly to the counter. The intruder interrupts the adolescent employee taking care of another customer and his request carries on the wind, "Do you have a copy of Pirates?"

The accelerating pace of her pulse jerks to a halt as she waits, breath trapped in her constricted chest, for the pimple's reply. Casually, as if finally released of the burden of it, he reaches to the counter just beneath him and hands the betrayer a copy. With a thump, her heart cracks and her chest draws a sharp, final breath.

Victorious and unemotional, the man proceeds to the end of the line she so patiently endured only to be mutinied. When her gaze fails to set his body aflame, she drops it to the floor and - finally - exhales, "Shut ... up."

With a deep breath, she lifts her head. Cracked, but not broken - hard pressed, but not crushed - she holds fast to the hope within her as she approaches the counter with fresh dignity.

"Do you have a question?" the young man asks, as though he didn't know ... as though he weren't a part of the conspiracy.

"Do you have any At World's End in?" He pauses his gaze on her face as though she must be joking.

"I doubt it," he mumbles as he begins the obligatory search. One stack ... no ... she gaps for a fresh breath to hold onto ... a second stack ... no ... beads of sweat begin to form on her brow ... the opposite counter ... no ... she's sure the whole store can hear her heart pounding ... he asks Acne, who casually replies with shake of his head as if he didn't know that he'd just given away the very one destined for her to an impatient line-cutter!

With casual despair in his eyes, the conspirator returns to the counter to tell her no, that her long suffering was all in vain.

Just then, a glimmer of destiny flashes through the air. At the very moment that the messenger thinks to mumble a silent prayer that the princess will be merciful, his salvation is scooped from the bottom of the return bin and held triumphantly before him. He plucks it from the air and places it casually on the counter. "Is that all for you?"

"Yes," she replies sweetly as she quietly re-sheaths her vengeance, "thank you."

ramey whalen

At the risk of looking like a total hippy ... I love this song:

This was the last worship team at TheCall in Nashville this summer. I sent countless emails and posted on dozens of message board to try to find out who this was and never heard anything from anyone. In the end, it was a random YouTube suggestion: Ramey Whalen.

Whether or not you subscribe to your local drum circle, you can't tell me these lyrics aren't amazing:

" ... my soul is water from the purest well, hear me heaven, hear me hell; My dance carries thunder from the throne of Yah, look at me and know He is God ... Let our praises rise like a weapon in Your hand; Let our praises rise, oh God ... God of eternity, wonders and majesty; God of creation, ancient, alive in me; God of all nations, uncharted galaxies; God Who is Spirit, alive in me ..."

(Also consider it was the end of a 14 hour day of prayer that took place under a Tennessee sun in July. Those you see dancing are, literally, happy to have survived the day.)

What really amazes me is the revelation behind those lyrics. My voice affects the nations, heaven and hell hear me. My worship thunders - it's a weapon ... for real. We know that, but I wonder if we get it. Is that how we see ourselves? Do I see myself going to battle at the beginning of a worship set?

do what chuck norris says

You can't really argue with this:

say something you don't mean

Luke 6:45//A good man out of the good treasure of his heart, brings forth good; and an evil man out of the evil treasure of his heart brings forth evil. For out of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaks.

Timothy and I were perfecting patience in each other last night (and we're getting better at it, because it didn't take nearly as long as it used to). I started to think about the idea of "saying something you don't mean."

People tell you to count to ten or walk away from and argumentative loved one or wait a day to talk to a manager ... because you might say something you don't mean. But I wonder if it's even possible to say something that you don't - at least in part - mean.

You might say something that is unBiblical, cruel, or deceitful. You may be acting in your flesh or from your emotion, instead of your spirit. But are you saying something that some unperfected part of you doesn't mean? I doubt it.

And, really, I think we do ourselves an injustice when we write it off as, "Oh, I was angry and said some things I didn't mean." If bitterness, jealousy, pride, etc. came out of my mouth, that thing is buried somewhere deep within my heart. Rather than blame emotion - and distance myself from my words as though the real me would never say something like that - I should probably consider it a big red flag and start cooperating with Holy Spirit to pull some roots out of me.

Just a thought.

it's growing

Sam and I hung out Saturday. I like hanging out with Sam and I always tell myself I am not going to bring her to our apartment because the state of my apartment most Saturdays is not a good example of the way a young wife should keep her home. It always seems to happen that we end up at the apartment and I half-heartedly appologize for its condition. Half-heartedly because she's used to it by now, and I wonder if she even believes me.

This Saturday we walked in to a particularly messy apartment and instead of appologizing I said something like, "You know - I really want to be one of those people who has it all together. I really want to be one of those amazing women who can work full time (at an office or as a mother) and do ministry work and be creative and still have a home that's in order. I really want to, but I just can't yet." Sam chuckled and looked at me as though she couldn't possibly care any less what my apartment looks like. We proceeded to dye hair in the kitchen - making an even greater mess.

Later, I drove her home and on the way back to Timothy and grilled cheese and Ratatouille, was thinking about some of what Pastor talked about that morning at a leadership meeting. Mostly I was trying to diagnose myself as either a Manager or a Leader according to what bullet-pointed characteristics I could remember (I contend I'm an even hybrid), and then some about ministry often being messy. "If it's growing, it's going to be messy."

And I remembered a Brian Zahnd sermon about being born again, and the conviction we often go through, and a comment he made about how birth is a messy process.

And I stepped through the door of our apartment onto a soaked cloth rug. I paused for the briefest of moments to survey the chair in the middle of the kitchen that, instead of being put away, had become a coat hangar, the tinfoil scattered around the floor, the laundry waiting to be put away, the dishes waiting to be washed, and my adorable husband waiting for me to sit down and watch a movie with him.

I felt the corners of my mouth pull up slightly as I secretly ordained myself Pastor of Apartment-Keeping, preached my first official (brief and amazing) sermon silently to the socks in the corner about how our ministry is growing so naturally it's a little messy right now, and sat down on the couch with my Timmy.

eternal perspective

Our latest Voice of the Martyrs newsletter/magazine came a couple days ago. If you're not getting this, you really should. It's free. What's to lose?

One of the first articles was about a man they met who had recently been beaten and imprisoned for sharing the gospel. I think he was in south-east-ish Russia, but I'm not sure and it doesn't really matter. He'd been released and instructed not to preach or distribute Christian literature on pain of death.

When he received a written reminder of the conditions of his release, he wrote back to the national authorities and told them, "You can kills us, but you can't really do us much harm."

That's staggering to me.

one million witnesses

This is rad.

My new friend Jason (because digital networking devices have taught me that I can make a friend of anyone I want - even if I don't know him) has launched a website called One Million Witnesses.

It's a pretty slick site and the home page is a "wall" made up of 100,000 "blocks." The idea is you buy a block for $10 and post your testimony. (Your $10 also gets you a Witness bumper sticker with your unique block number on it.) The first $1 million/100,000 blocks will help Living Water provide clean drinking water for over 100,000 people in Liberia.

There's also a blog on the site that promises to provide updates on the projects as they're being completed.

The site was just recently launched. Currently it looks like only about 25 blocks are taken. I'm so getting in on this.

from India

I got another email from Ruth this morning:

HI dearhow are u, timothy and pst.Tim and all the team members of the Chruch in the Word. We all are fine by the grace of the lord all mighty and by all your prayers.I received e-mail from Titus saying that all are fine.

I'm very happy 2 receive email from u and i request u 2 continue 2 be in contact i will be praying for all u people and iwant 2 say u something that i m filled and anionted by the Holyspirit and i m speaking in Tongues and god is working very powerfully continue 2 pray 4 us

I m sorry, i couldnt reply u as i received ur mail, i had sme problem with my system, so plzz infrom all the teammates that i will replying them later

then dr in christ bye take care say hi to tim and marrrine and to dave, justine, sarah, colline, jonthan, nike, nate, candies,christine and all the others okkkk

then bye take care

yours in christ
ruth

Ruth is one of the amazing Godly women we get to work with in India. She is passionate and she is bold like no one else I know. She was introduced as one of the translators, but it doesn't take long to realize that these "translators" are prophets and worshippers and evangelists.

My favorite Ruth moment from 2007 was when we were standing in a woman's home listening to her insist she is a Christian and only a Christian. Ruth's eyes fell on a charm hanging from a peg in the wall near her (because Ruth is always watching) that she recognized as an Islamic icon. She snatched it off the wall and dangled it at the end of the woman's nose as she began to interrogate, "What's this, then?" (Except ... you know ... in Telugu.)

This is some of our girls in India. Ruth is in the center. I know you can't see her very well but this is the best I can do right now:

PS - I got up at 5:30 this morning. Read about it here.

revolution

We're getting ready to start a series on Friday nights called Revolution. You've probably already figured out what it's about. We shoot to kill around here; no messing around.

So I've been thinking about it a lot. From an administrative point of view and a prayerful point of view, and realizing how revolutionary Jesus really is and how revolutionary I really am not.

'Cause when you read Revolutionary, what do you see?

I see American minutemen camped out in the forests of New England waiting for red coats; men who left their comfortable homes not because they had to, but because they believed in freedom so much that they were willing to die for it. I see people who are nameless and untrained, but passionate and determined; who don't fight according to the enemy's rules because truth is more important than politics; who live the battle because it's happening all around them and they know they can either fight or fall victim to it.

Then I see John the Baptist in the wilderness, yelling at Pharisees, eating bugs, and preaching an unrelenting message that Messiah is coming and you're not ready. And Jesus, doing everything "wrong," yet claiming to be God in the flesh. And Paul being beaten and threatened with death at every turn, but continuing to run the race.

Then I see the Indian woman I met this summer whose husband would beat her every Sunday for going to church, so she started walking hours to go to church in the next town where no one would recognize her. And the Indian men I read about yesterday who were drug out of their church and beaten for hours until the police showed up, and then beaten some more by the police, but who would not deny Christ. And the college students in Gaza who were beaten and are now facing trial on false charges because they were caught handing out literature about Jesus.

Then I see me. I see the desire in my own heart and the words on my lips, but secretly wonder if I wasn't more passionate when my cause was death. I see me and I wonder if I'm qualified to preach this gospel.

whitaker point

Another action-packed day in Arkansas. We drove to the Ozark wilderness this afternoon and hiked about three miles round-trip to see Whitaker Point. Pretty cool.

Along the way.

The point

Us on the point (a nice Indian man we met ... in the forest. yes, I realize that sounds strange)

The drive

ibid

day 2

We drove to Eureka Springs to visit Thorncrown Chapel. The architects I work with dig this place. It was cool.



Eureka Springs is a lot like the Wisconsin Dells. It's a tourist trap. We paid a dollar each to climb up a 100-foot observation tower. My thighs were a little sore and it was really cold at the top, but we got a view.



And the benches at the bottom have something like two decades of love notes on them, so ...


There is one TCBY left in the world, and it's in Harrison, Arkansas.


A Catholic church we drove by along the way reminds you that you're alive.

driving through Thanksgiving

Happy Turkey Day, everyone. So far I've eaten a breakfast croissant from Burger King, and a really nasty salad and a flurry from McDonalds. Currently, Pizza Hut is sitting at the end of the hotel bed waiting for Timothy to come back from the gas station.

That's right. We decided to skip Thanksgiving this year and spend our four days off in the Ozarks. I'll still be here, though. Some pics so far:

We borrowed a GPS. I wish I could say it was useful.

The gateway to the west ...

Scenery from the road.

And if you haven't heard, Michelle DeLaughter had her baby Sunday morning at 12:49 AM. Seven pounds, nine ounces. Daniel, they think. Cute:

prayer tips

So yesterday I drew your attention - in passing - to a book you can download for free. An IHOP book. About prayer. I can't imagine a situation that could require less nudging, but I will hereby proceed to nudge anyway.

It's here.

It's a lot longer than I thought it would be for a free book: 207 pages. Don't tune me out yet.

The first thing I have to say about it - and I don't think this has anything to do with my particular passions - is that it's not written well. The language is not especially inspiring, and some of the dialogue is downright cheesy.

It has also been sending up some theological red flags. I realize that the angels are the big supporting actors in the story, but I got to the point where one of the main (human) characters asks for the gift of tongues, and gets it, and Holy Spirit never makes and appearance. Maybe I'm biased/defensive because I consider Holy Spirit one of my very best friends, but ...

That said: it's good. The point of the book is to explain the spiritual realm and the power of prayer, and the author evidently decided it would be most effectively done in the form of a story. She's absolutely right. I've read a few books on prayer, and heard many a good sermon on the topic, but in two days (and I'm not even technically finished with it yet) it has reopened my eyes to the spiritual activity all around me and completely changed my prayer life. Really.

And while it's not artistically written and I sometimes cringe at/skim over the dialogue (because it's really drawn out because it's trying to teach the reader), the story is good and when I had to leave it halfway through on Monday I was torn as to how Sarah would withstand the attacks coming against her and if Paul would ever lay down his pride.

Half of the story is about a woman named Sarah who meets the Lord at age 70. Her life's call is to be an intercessor, and as she pushes through trial and learns to do that I've learned some fun things/tips about prayer. For example:

_ She prays for everyone. The girl she sees on a magazine cover at the grocery store. The laborer she thinks of when she reads the "Made in India" tag on her blouse. Her neighbors. The people who throw bricks through her window.

_ She covers her fridge in prayer requests from neighbors and outreach organizations like Voice of the Martyrs. She calls it her "Devotional Fridge."

_ She determines to pray in the Spirit whenever she is not talking or eating, and picks a landmark to help remind her. When she discovers that prayer opens doors for the Lord to work, she uses doorways. Whenever she walks through a doorway she asks herself if she's praying.

_ She decides, since praying in the Spirit takes no effort other than moving her lips, she can pray in the Spirit and pray with her understanding silently at the same time. Whenever she prays, she prays twice as much in the same amount of time.

There's probably more, but that's what I remember off the top of my head. You can download the book here.

new from Barna

The Barna Group released the results of a new study called Christian Parents Are Not Comfortable with Media but Buy Them for Their Kids Anyway. Probably not the best title, but ...

This is really weird. Parents generally don't like the conent of DVDs, CDs, etc, but will buy them as Christmas gifts anyway.

DVDs: About 78% of Christian parents will purchase DVDs for their teenagers, and 87% for their pre-teens. At the same time 26% are not comfortable with their purchases.

CDs: About 60% will of Christian parents will buy CDs for their kids, but 33% are concerned about the content.

Video Games: Just over half of all Christian parents in the U.S. have bought video games for their kids in the past year, and between 40 and 46% of those parents are worried about the content of said games.

Does this make sense to anyone?

The report goes on to talk about how fathers and Hispanics are the least likely to buy media products for their kids that they disagree with (which raises the question about wives/mothers rebelling against their husbands' better judgement and buying the stuff anyway?), and how parents who consume a form of media have fewer objections to making it available for their kids.

George commented, "Many Christian parents are striving to serve two conflicting masters: society and God. They refuse to believe that they cannot satisfy both."

And while I don't actually view the entire world through the lense of youth ministry, this one has obvious implications. The ultimate burden of responsibility falls on the parents, of course, but this is also telling me that teenagers who are growing up in "born again" Christian homes are asking for, if not insisting on, this stuff. Parents and youth ministries need to make sure we're teaching our (pre-) teenagers about the spiritual influences they're allowing in their lives.

It's also pointing out the growing conflict between society and the Church. Every day is a tick on the end times alarm clock, and the closer we get the harder it may be to present "relevant" youth ministry. There's a day soon coming when we'll have to ditch Relevant for Revolutionary and just be honest and unashamed about the fact that the Christian life has very little in common with secular society.

monday mornings should be illegal

Ugh.

But the weekend was good. Updates:

Friday night we learned that we're going to have to do some teaching before we try to pull off another worship night. Praise God.

Saturday, Timothy and Connor tried to get up and go to the men's breakfast (Connor's third bed is our couch - no, we have not officially adopted him), but couldn't ... because there was no men's breakfast. We went to the original Reese's in Algonquin and got free food because the Lord knows that the way to Timothy's heart is through his stomach and He's playing that card lately.

Note: The Original Reese's makes the best (home-made) gravy outside of Kirksville, MO but they only serve biscuits and gravy on Fridays (unless you're with Timothy) so get over there on a Friday.

Then Timothy and I found a house we like. We're sure it's the one because it's the only house we've been able to agree on, and because the metal frame on the front screen door has a "W" on it. Of course it's on about an acre and a half with a really crummy-looking apartment building and the owner wants an obscene amount of money for it. We plan to take a walk through, offer him less than half of his asking price (although honestly what the building is worth), and wait for the fear of the Lord to fall on him in his sleep.

We took the cute Krauss family to the airport and decided to hang out with each other (two weekends in a row!) for the remainder of the evening. We wandered around Woodfield mall, which is sinister fun this time of year - meandering through crowds of stressed-out, in-a-hurry people, and left with a deal of a winter coat for me, a deal of a thermal for Timothy, a cute lamp for the office, and inspiration for art projects.

Then we drove across the street and had more sinister-meandering-fun at IKEA while daydreaming about kitchens in some home we will somehow own some day.

Back home, we moved our no-Thanksgiving vacation from New York to the Ozarks in Arkansas (pronounced: ar-KANSAS). You just can't beat the Super 8 for really cheap hotel rooms. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to getting out of town.

Sunday was a really nice manager at Chipotle (visit the new location on 31 across from Springhill Mall!) who contributed to the Lord's Free-Food-for-Timothy campaign, a really good brainstorming session with our youth leaders (although I suspect and hope that even more brainstorming is going on now because of the meeting), the visit to NIMC to meet the newest DeLaughter (I have pictures, of course, but not with me), and a malfunctioning sewing machine that even my mother couldn't diagnose.

And now it's Monday morning. Allow me to reiterate: Ugh. The past four hours have been redeemed, however, by the discovery of a free IHOP book called Angels of Humility by Jackie Macgirvin. Mike Bickle seems to think, "If you're an intercessor or have a desire to be one, this book is for you." I say just about any book (of appropriate content) that I can download for free is for me.

contest

I found a contest I'm going to take a stab at. The challenge is to answer the question, "What makes a Christian different from anyone else?" Completely cheesy, I know - imagine the pain I went through drying to draft a not completely cheesy answer in under 1000 words.

I'm not going to post the whole thing 'cause I think if I have any readers left after the last one I'll lose them too. The last three paragraphs are below. The running theme was to start each paragraph with a simple statement - one that usually contradicted the previous statement. I did "...is dead," "... is alive," "... is a slave," "... is royalty," and "... knows Love." Anyway, here's the end - let me know what you think:

A Christian is a revolutionary, a soldier of the resistance whose weapons are Prayer and Purity. A Christian is one who recognizes the spirit of the age, who knows the truth about the prince that has invaded her lands, and whose hope believes in the return of her King. A Christian is one who refuses to bow to idols of Greed, Corruption, Lust, and Selfishness. She is one determined to stand against the raging current of Bondage in the name of Liberties, Unbelief in the name of Harmony, and Death in the name of Life because she knows that if enough will stand a dam will form and all the gates of hell shall not prevail against them!

A Christian prays because he knows that prayer moves the heart of God and strikes fear into the darkest depth of hell. A Christian worships her Lord without fear or shame because Love has overcome those things within her. A Christian gives of his time and resources because he understands he is only a steward of what God has given him in this life. A Christian studies God’s Word because it is her sword in battle, a lamp to her feet, and sweeter than honey on her lips.

A Christian is altogether not of this world. He is light in a dark place, joy in sadness, and hope in despair. He holds the truth in a world of lies, and comfort in a world of pain. He is free from the mistakes of his past, and sure of a glorious future.

free rice

Yesterday was long. Sorry. I know the blogger handbook prohibits that kind of behavior, but I just had to.

I got an email from my friend Amie yesterday. I don't know if she read the blog or not, and really can't be inclined to assume one way or another. She sent me a link to FreeRice. Remember when I said it was easy (maybe not, if you didn't read the long post)? Well it's easy.

need

Sometimes I am absolutely overwhelmed by the breadth of human need in the world. Just yesterday I learned that ...

... there are 143 million orphans in the world - 15 million in Africa alone.

... every 14, seconds, according to the United Nations, AIDS leaves another child orphaned.

... 800,000 children pass through the American foster system every year.

... seven more (high-profile) Christians were taken into custody in North Korea. The government is calling their portrait studio business "espionage."

... malaria - a treatable and preventable disease - kills six children every day, but you can provide a chemically treated mosquito net bed for only $10.

... 50 million children will go through training this year as part of the People's Liberation Army in China. I sent VOM $25 this morning to put together a Christmas Care Package for a poverty-stricken family in China that will include a copy of the gospel.

And the thing that really weighs on my heart about it all is that its so easy to help. We raised money to smuggle Bibles to secret believers in the middle east last Sunday evening - $4 for a Bible for a person who is living every day as his last in devotion to the Word he can't even get his hands on. How many people in this country really couldn't part with $10 to save a child's life? (I realize there are some, and if you're one of them I'm certainly not trying to condemn you.) Who among us couldn't put together $25 to care for our brothers and sisters in China? Or provide everything a child needs - from food and medicine to a Christian education - for $32 a month?

It's so easy to help, but there's just so much of it.

A teenager can so easily set up a bucket in her school to help support Loose Change to Loosen Chains, and free slaves all over the world. For the cost of a piece of paper and a stamp anyone can write a letter to an imprisoned Christian - encouraging those in bonds and pressuring governments for their release.

We can pray, but how often do we really consider people half-way across the world in our prayers? When I do try, the need is still so overwhelming that it's hard to know where to start.

Even within our borders its staggering. The kingdom of media is turning America into a pornographic nation, and 4000 babies die every day in this country - mostly (98%) because their mothers think they are inconvenient.

Where is one to start? Do you pick a cause that's closest to your heart, pour yourself into that, and pray God moves the hearts of others for the needs you can't meet? Do you spread out your time and resources to help in every way you can? Does it even matter?

I feel sometimes like I can see the whole world. I feel very big because I'm American and I have so many resources and freedoms at my disposal, but at the same time I feel very small because I don't have nearly enough resources at my disposal. I feel like we should just get a townhouse big enough for us (and eventually a couple kids) and content ourselves to stay there while we give everything else we have. How can I spend money on a house bigger than we need while my family dies all around me? I'll have to answer for this someday - soon ...

"For everyone to whom much is given, from him much will be required; and to whom much has been committed, of him they will ask the more" (Luke 12:48).

Jesus can be goofy

After an excellent two hours of prayer last night for the persecuted church (we raised enough money to smuggle 11 Bibles into the middle east!), Timothy and I pulled up to Wendy's to redeem a couple 16-oz frosty coupons. Because the only thing better than a good prayer session is a good prayer session followed by free frosties.

As we walked in, Timothy was hypnotized by the big sign on the wall that shouted at us of the new sandwich we probably need to try in order to live fulfilled lives. "I want that," he said as if reading his lines.

"I have $2.51. You're limited to two items from the dollar menu to compliment your free frosty."

Inside, the companion sign revealed the dark side of the jalapeno cheddar: $4.69. The sandwich on the sign might have been well worth $4.69, but my momma didn't raise no fool. I know perfectly well that no Wendy's in America is selling the sandwich pictured on the sign.

We specified one chocolate and one vanilla, Timothy chose two winners from the 99-cent menu and we passed the next 2.5 minutes with light conversation about how the interior smelled like a bathroom. When the nice Hispanic (?) woman came back to bag a Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger and a small set of fries she pointed at a second sandwich sitting in the outbox and seemed to ask what it was for.

Conversation ensued in various languages and it no one had any idea why the sandwich was there. The woman turned back to us as though to take care of the customers before solving the puzzle and Timothy pointed suggestively at the mystery meal. The cashier shrugged and asked the employees again if anyone knew what it was for, or if anyone wanted it, or if she was allowed to give it up. A moment later she shrugged again, placed it in our bag and pointed at the sign behind us.

"It's that one." Timothy and I looked at each other, trying not to laugh. "Tonight's your lucky night," she suggested. We thanked her and laughed all the way home.

would I lie to you?

Okay. *chuckles* I don't mean to get YouTube-happy here, but this is phenominal. It's opening at the Landmark Theater in Chicago November 30. November 30 is a Friday, so I'll be at Switch but December 1st - seriously - who is coming with me?

The official website is here. It's the same people that brought you Supersize Me, but that probably comes as no surprise. Oh man ...