A Child of the King

It's true. I might be a beggar in brokenness and rags but then The King came and when He walked past he didn't look the other way.  He didn't ignore my need.  He looked at me and He smiled.  He sat down with me and He stayed.  He said, "If you will let me I will change you. If you will believe me you can be my child".  

And I said, "Yes". 

He said, "I'll adopt you and make you mine."  

And He did.  

He said, "You are beloved, you are beautiful, you are my child now". 

And He changed me.  The rags fell away.  The broken became beautiful, because now I'm a child of The King. 

I'm a Beggar Too

I just finished reading the book Under the Overpass by Mike Yankoski.  He along with his friend Sam spent a few months on the streets in several different American cities to get a taste of what homelessness must feel like and to learn something about the homeless communities. 

I had read this book several years ago but a good book is often worth rereading.  It is good to be reminded that not everyone can live the extravagant life that I do. It was also good to be reminded that just because someone’s circumstances are less fortunate than mine does not mean they are less human. It is so easy, in my self-righteous pride, to look down on others who look different or have less than I do.  In the story it is shocking and sad how Mike and Sam were sometimes treated by other humans, by churches, by Christians. There are also examples of kindness and people willing to help but mostly those who are better off tend to ignore the less fortunate, and then we try to rationalize our lack of care. 

So, how do we care and how do we show people that Jesus loves them? 

Several times in the last few years I’ve seen people holding signs at stop signs or traffic lights.  I almost always think, ‘I wonder, what Jesus would do for them, how would he help them?’ and I almost always drive past and do nothing.  Partly because I don’t know what to do and partly from fear of doing the wrong thing.  You see, Jesus knows exactly what they would need.  He would always do the right thing. 

One incident that happened several years ago comes to mind. I was traveling and had stopped at a Sheetz and bought a sandwich.  As I was pulling out of the parking lot I noticed a man with a sign reading “Anything Helps” or something of that nature.  And something within me said – “Give him your food, you don’t really need it”.  I pulled out and left.  I did notgive him my food.   As I drove away I considered going back, but I didn’t.  I still think about that man and I still wonder if I should have given him my food.  

In Under the Overpass Mike acknowledges that while they survived on the money that people gave them, that giving cash is not always the recommended way of helping because many people will spend it on drugs or alcohol. He suggests giving gift cards for fast food or coffee shops. What really caught my attention though is when he said,  “I think the most meaningful gift might be your genuine attention and caring. It was amazing how much a smile or a quick hello did for Sam and me on the streets, partly because such kindnesses were so rare. When someone stopped to talk, even for a minute, the powerful underlying message was, “I noticed you, you’re a human being, and you’re worth my time””. 

It’s true I often try hard to avoid eye contact.  I try to ignore the person, to walk (or drive) by without noticing. 

How hard is it to smile? 

Growing in farming country, far from the big cities I never really saw much homelessness up close and personal.  I really never thought about it.  When I took mission trips into the big city it was almost like the homeless were a novelty to be observed.  I felt sorry for them.  But I don’t really understand the helplessness and hopelessness they must be feeling, as they stood in line at the soup kitchens.
 

Living in a foreign country brought the street beggars a little closer home.  I’d sometimes buy some food for them.  I mostly thought in my self righteous way, that I don’t want to encourage more begging.  I’d usually start conversations by asking them why they did not have a job.  One individual when I asked him why he didn’t have a job, simply answered “I’m crazy”.  Apparently crazy people can’t get jobs?

You know, there’s something a little uncomfortable about hanging out with beggars and I happen to like my comfort.  I remember one time I was killing time in a shopping mall in Thailand when a young girl latched on to me.  She let me know she was hungry and would I buy her some food. 

Sure.  I’ll buy you some food, but since this is a shopping mall and most of the food is more pricey inside why don’t we go outside and I’ll get you some rice and some street food.  She would have none of that, nothing by spaghetti from Pizza Hut would do and trying to convince her that “if” she was hungry noodles from outside would suffice was to no avail. (Apparently beggars can be choosers, sometimes)  So to Pizza Hut we went.   We sat and waited for spaghetti. It seems like it was a long wait. We talked some and she wandered around some.   I believe she even ventured out to the kitchen. Meanwhile I was feeling slightly uncomfortable, surrounded by those who could afford Pizza Hut, while keeping company with a girl who wandered around in places I wasn’t sure guests were supposed to be.
  

So why is it uncomfortable to be kind? Why do I care what others think?   It’s pride.  It’s because I have forgotten that I myself am a poor and needy beggar.  At the foot of the cross of Jesus the ground is level and I too bring my brokenness, ugliness and my unkempt self. I’m completely helpless to save myself and change my ways except for the kindness and love of Jesus.  We are all in desperate need of a Savior.  We're in need of mercy and grace and I am so glad that Jesus did not walk past without taking notice of me.  In coming to Jesus we all start out at the same place.  A place of great need. 

Yankoski, M. (2010). Under the Overpass. Colorado Springs:  Multnoma Books

a single strand of spaghetti

I've heard it said, "women are like spaghetti".  This is referencing the complex thought patterns in which many strands can become intertwined and one original thought could actually lead down many different paths. Given enough time with many twists and turns the thought processes will arrive somewhere but this somewhere could and most probably will be at an entirely different place than one might expect. 
With much discipline and training one might actually be able to follow the thought from start to finish. 

Many give up. 
Others see the the tangled web and run for shelter.   

I recently tried to unearth a single strand - all the way from start to finish.  It took many turns.  I got confused along the way but here's where I'm at. 

As I was gliding somewhere among the clouds - Flight 4783 to Charlotte, I looked out the window and there was the moon.  Like right there, really bright too. I'm sure God put that moon there, just for me.   Then I saw puffy white clouds, I really love puffy white clouds and I'm pretty sure God put those there just for me too.  Then as the we hit what had looked like a puffy white cloud and things got real cloudy and we started bouncing and rocking, I wondered if God put that cloud there just for me too?  
We broke through the clouds and I looked down.   Way down below were lights.  Hundreds of lights.  No, Thousands of lights.  I began to think of the hundreds and thousands of people those lights represented and I began to wonder if perhaps God made the moon and the clouds for them too.  And then I began to wonder about the lives of the hundreds below me.  Did they know about the God who made the moon and clouds?   Had anyone ever told them?   

(here is where the strands of spaghetti get hard to follow) 

One strand - leads down a path of near anger.  I live in a country with hundreds of churches and there's still this possibility that some of those people represented by the lights might not have heard about Jesus.  I remembered a time when I sat listening to the speaker at church as he told us how we don't have to go to the Third World countries to find the poor.  It made me kinda mad because...  
But wait....wrong spaghetti strand.   

Another strand - takes me back a few years.  It was my first time in China.  We traveled out into the country, up into the mountains and were spending some time among Tibetan people.  It was a day that impacted my life - at least for a short time.  Apparently recently I've forgotten - but that's another strand, or around a different bend.   

That day as I saw the prayer flags flying across the valley - I don't know how they managed to string them up the whole way across between the mountains but they did it.  I saw the people spinning their prayer wheels - but what affected me the most was the group of men who were carving their prayers into rock.  
Here in the mountains lived an amazing group of people desperate for their prayers to reach the spirits.  Here in the mountains lived a group of people doing all that they knew to communicate with the gods.   They needed only one thing.  
JESUS.  
They probably had never heard of Jesus.  

And there was I.  Before I was born I had people praying for me.  From the day of my birth I've had people telling me about Jesus.  

How is this even fair???!!

I remember mentioning to my friends how I had been taught of Jesus all of my life and here were people who had never heard.   I remember carrying a picture of those guys carving their prayers into stone in my Bible.  I remembered...for awhile.   And then I basically forgot.   

Another strand - led me to think of  Hotel Rwanda.  

But wait ...I think this was leading somewhere.  

Flight 4783. 
The moon. 
The clouds. 
The lights. 
The people.   
JESUS. 

Then there is Luke 12.
"To whom much is given much will be expected." 

Right now I can't think of anyone who been given more than me, and I'm convicted by the fact that lately I have focused on things I thought I didn't have and completely forgot how much I've been given. 
What would God have me to do with all that I've been given? 


You know what.  This started with admiring the moon, it's gone from here to there and back again and I've still not arrived.
OR I'm possibly arriving at a place that's a little bit scary and could require something of me. 

I'm beginning to see a tangled web.
I think I'll run for shelter!  











   

Home

I've been thinking about home.

A number of years ago, I was traveling through Cambodia, or maybe it was Vietnam, a fellow traveler said to me, "I get confused when you talk about home".
That was back when life was simple. 

Just recently I caught myself telling someone that I was going "home" for the weekend.   I noticed a bit of a strange look on their face and realized they thought I lived here, and this was home.   So I explained that I was going to where my parents lived.  My parents were moving but in fact the place they were moving from was not the home where I had lived.   (well, I did live there for about 4 or 5 months between other homes)

And this is the point where I get confused too.

What is home?
Where is home?   

I have decided that the story isn't finished and I am not home yet.  

Into the future

Sometimes looking back gives me courage to go forward. 

I ask the questions: 
How did I get here?
Why did I have the privilege of traveling and so many different life experiences?  
Where am I going from here?

I remember desperate prayers before stepping into a classroom full of eager students because I was sure I couldn't do it.  Not tonight I just didn't have the energy. 
But I'd leave 2 hours later feeling completely energized!!! 

I can think of numerous times when I've done things that I couldn't do. 
This my friends, is why looking back gives me courage to go forward.  

Looking into the future I get scared!

I'm learning:
Fear is a prison. 
Fear keeps me from living my best.  
Fear keeps me in hiding.
Fear keeps me from helping others.
Fear keeps me silent.
  
Fear is not God's best for anyone.  

Some questions I've been pondering:
What if I really believed that the Jesus of the Bible is really who He says He is?  
How would it change my life if I really took Jesus at His word?

Where did my specific life experiences come from?  
How did I get here?

Take a look at Jesus.  
I'm pretty sure He was heavily involved in the travel.
He was responsible for the miracles.
He has changed me.
He has helped me.
He has led me in the past.

If I really believe that Jesus is who He says he is, why do I fear the future?  

Here's to a future filled with Hope, with Joy, with Love! 
A future filled with Jesus!  

How did I get here?

...and as we say goodbye to 2016.  I'm asking - How in the world did I get here?
  
Actually, I've had many moments in my short life when I've asked - How in the world did I get here? 

I was terribly homesick.
The assignments for the next 6 weeks had been handed out, I was completely overwhelmed and I wanted to go home.   Everyone around me seemed to be having a good time.  And they were really good at Volley Ball too.   I had to be the shyest kid on the Bible school campus.  Could I really survive 6 weeks of this?  I was only moderately OK at Volley Ball and didn't even really like playing Rook at all.

"How in the world did I get here?"

I stayed 12 weeks.

A few months later: 

Homesick again.   Seriously, you'd think I'd either learn to stay home or not be homesick but there it was.  I cried - really I did.  I tried to hide it but...
I was surrounded by Beachys and I didn't know anything about the Beachys except that my brother had told me "to be a Beachy, all you have to do is grow a beard and like to party." I wasn't really interested in growing a beard so did I have any chance of fitting in?
Somehow I had to learn to take care of the elderly.   I knew more about chickens than the elderly at the time.  I, coming from a chicken farm in West Virginia had to deal with Beachys from Ohio, and Indiana, who had completely missed out on the fine culture of West Virginia.  This became apparent by the thrill they seemed to get in telling West Virginia jokes, they thought for my benefit, but I already knew about the fine people who made up my state.
After the homesickness wore off I learned to love the elderly  and made friends with the youth.  One of these youth eventually declared about the West Virginia in me - "It wouldn't be so bad if you weren't so proud about it".  The way I see it, when you came from somewhere so amazing what is there not to be proud of?

But again I ask - "How in the world did I get here?"

From there...
I got a night shift job.  Still caring for the elderly doing things that at one point in my life I thought I could never do.   Now I was wondering - how in the world do you learn to stay up all night?

And then it was the Machine Shop.   

• Stocking shelves
• placing orders 
• helping customers
• making bills  
• I learned a bit about u-bolts and spring leaves - that had nothing to do with the season of spring or the leaves on trees.
• I learned important things like a Grade 8 bolt is better than a Grade 5 and I could identify which of the two grades it was.   If I was uncertain about whether it was metric I had my ways of figuring it out without looking like a fool.   (I'd probably just look like a fool now). 
•  I learned to to make bills for customers that they could understand from cards that said things like - "Grease Elwood" and "2-1/4-20 angels".   I never asked Elwood how he liked the grease but it's always good to have angels around.  

And some days when my hands were black and greasy (I was supposed to work in the office)  I'd ask myself "How in the world did I get here?"

The stories could go on and on...

Eastern WV Community College
Caring for Grandma
Believers Mennonite School 

And then came Asia...
It started fairly young.   I wanted to go to China.  Hudson Taylor went to China so why shouldn't I?  Then later I was given a book about Gladys Alward and told to report on it at church.  She became one of my Hero's.  If Gladys Alward could go to China why couldn't I?

But then - vision lost.  West Virginia was good.  I'm doing alright.  I'm fairly comfortable and I kinda like comfort.  If God wants me in missions maybe I can just go to the city.  Language learning just isn't for me!

Enter Vision trip - 2006.  (was it really 10 years ago?)
The vision trip did just that.  It gave me back my vision. 

China - I'm going back.  Actually, I think I'll try for Tibet.  Or at least the Tibetan people.  (I seemed to have forgotten, I'm a shy kid from a chicken farm in West Virginia who can't speak Mandarin much less the Tibetan language! I seem to have forgotten that I'm not interested in learning a language just so I can communicate with my next door neighbors)  At this point I think my dreams were more down the line of living in a yak skin tent and drinking yak butter tea. Oh, the confidence of youth!
But alas, I did not go back to live in China.  Or Tibet.  In fact I never so much as tasted yak butter tea.

I went to Laos.
I learned a language.
I taught English (I don't even really like English).
And I remember sitting in staff meetings thinking, "what in the world am I doing here?"  Seriously, shy kid from West Virginia - of all the people in the world who could be here how can it be that it's me?

I remember being in a little village.   I arrive at my friends house, the only white person around, neighbors hanging in the windows.  Chatting with my friends. Sharing a rice mat for the night.   When washing my hair became a village project...I remember thinking "How in the world is it me that's here?"

Now... today...

I wasn't going to live in Virginia.   Not anything permanent.  Of course all I knew of Virginia consisted of the Shenandoah Valley which is actually really pretty if you look above the buildings.   Nope, not Virginia.
So why in the world do I have a Va address, phone number, and drivers license? 

"How in the world did I get here?"  

The Songs that I Sing (bind my wandering heart to thee)

Today is Sunday.  
Today I was reminded that I seem to have developed a habit of paying very little attention to the words of the songs that we sing in church.  I suppose that when one does not really know what one is singing it quite possibly is not considered worship. 

Several months ago a friend of mine who had just returned to the USA after spending a number of  years in Asia pointed out that the home churches are still singing the same songs that were being sung years ago.   She also pointed out how when the number is called everyone dutifully picks up a songbook, turns to the correct page, and studies their book while singing.  She wondered why after all these years we don't have these songs committed to memory.  Why do we even need the song books?  

Today after the aforementioned reminder that I've developed this bad habit of paying no attention to the words I am singing I begin to wonder if this could possibly be one reason that I still need a song book.  (In my defense let me also add that  in the current church I attend they do tend to sing different songs than the church I grew up in, so in the last couple of years I have encountered quite a few songs that have been unfamiliar to me)  I also am not going to point to others and question whether they have a heart of worship when singing in Church, nor am I going to question why they need a song book.   Maybe songbooks helps one to sing with confidence, maybe some people need the book for reading the music, maybe songbooks give a sense of security.  These questions really hold no value in the grand scheme of life.  

I like to sing.  Actually I LOVE to sing.   Generally my love for singing comes when no one else is around.  And somehow those times feel more like worship than the times in church when I don't really pay attention to what I'm singing.      
Ok, I'm rambling really badly and you are quite possibly wondering where I'm going with this.   (I'm beginning to wonder myself)  

But here is something I've noticed, if a song means enough to me I memorize it.  At least enough of it that I can sing it very loudly while driving down the road or when I'm home alone.  I remember from the time I was pretty young that if I didn't know all the words to a song I either learned them or made some up.   (also from a pretty young age I broadcasted my singing while driving four-wheeler up mountains and down, through fields and around the neighborhood at a pretty high volume. That is until I realized that the sound of the four-wheeler didn't actually drown out my voice but only made me sing louder to the enjoyment of anyone within hearing distance) Anyway I learned that one of the annoying things in life is not being able to remember all the words to a good song.

I've heard debates, lectures, etc. on what types of music should be listened to and what types of songs should be sung.  I am not completely sold on the ancient hymns (although I think they have great value for their time and place) and I'm totally for the writing of new songs.  I am also realizing that sometimes my solid arguments for or against something may fail me and I might actually change my mind.  

Here's an example:   I have harped about some of the popular hymns from church.  Songs that use words we'd never use in every day life and sometimes words that mean absolutely nothing to me.   In the past one of my favorite songs to harp about was the one which included the words "here I raise my Ebenezer".  Now quite honestly I had no idea what an Ebenezer was, so I was never quite sure what I was raising.  Therefore I decided that I would just discredit that song from having any personal meaning to me, and I would continue to use it in my arguments for newer songs with personal meaning to me

Now move ahead to this summer - when I decided to to do a little Pintrest project.  The words "bind my wandering heart to thee", made perfect sense to add to my project because I'm well aware of the fact that my heart does seem to wander.  It wasn't until I was nearly finished with the project that I realized that the words I had chosen came from the very same song that called me to raise my Ebenezer.   Maybe this song is worth learning after all? 

Recently I've been thinking about this binding of my heart to my Saviour and again realizing how prone my heart is to wander away.  And this morning as I was driving to church I found myself singing the words to the hymn and I'm realizing - I really need to commit all the words to this song to memory because I really need it! (and because it's annoying to try to sing a song when I don't know all the words)

Now what I am going to do about my bad habit of letting my mind wander during the church services?  I don't know.   But this I do know - I'm going to keep on asking Jesus to bind my wandering heart to Him. 

 

Ebenezer - One definition I found says "stone of help".  

For further information read 1 Samuel 7.