The Old Home Place

Can we ever really go home again? Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,Who never to himself hath said,“This is my own, my native land!” Whose heart hath ne’er within him burn’d,As home his footsteps he hath turn’d,From wandering on a foreign strand!Sir Walter Scott May my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth if I do not remember you, if I do not consider Jerusalem my highest joy. (Psalm 137:6) My great grandfather Per Erik Anderson came from Sweden in the 1870s. My great, great grandfather, a Swedish “land-owner,” disinherited Per Erik because Per would not give up his romance with a “peasant girl,” the milkmaid, Carolina. So Per Erik found himself land-less and homeless in Sweden. And when he heard rumors of free land in America, he headed alone across a wide ocean – looking for a new homeland – eventually bringing his Carolina and their two young children to Wisconsin. One of these children was my Grandpa Eric, just five years old when he left Sweden. HOMESTEADERS By the time he was grown, my Grandpa Erik, also infected with “wander lust,” began dreaming of his own land. In 1913 after my grandmother, Anna, had died of the flu soon after the birth of her fifth child, Grandpa Eric took his young family and migrated northwest to Saskatchewan, Canada, to look for land of his own. My father was just a lad of eight that year – when my Grandfather began his homestead on the virgin Canadian prairies. Moving. Searching. Longing. In time, both Grandpa Eric and Dad called it “the home place.” Later I would too. When my Mom and Dad married, they began their life together on the land homesteaded by my paternal grandfather, Eric. CHILDHOOD HOME During my childhood years, I felt that land would be my home forever. I roamed that homestead; explored every square yard of it. Every “coulee” and every hill. Knew which Choke Cherry bushes yielded the sweetest fruit. The draw where the most colorful crocuses exploded from the soil each spring. I could take you to the exact wrinkle in the prairie hillside which hid the coyote pup-birthing den. And the best spots to snare jack rabbits. And the brush patch where hawks nested year after year. Often, I would stand on “the big hill” a mile southwest of our house looking over “our land.” Dark winter evenings, I followed Dad to the barn, carrying the lantern as the hard cold snow crunched under our feet. Dad would point to the glistening crystals at the edges of that pool of lantern glow and say, “Look – we are rich. God has covered our land with diamonds.” LEAVING Although my Father tended his land for more than thirty years, in retrospect I wonder if he ever felt completely at home there. Dad loved that land all right, but it was not a permanent dwelling place to him. He held it lightly and for only a short few decades, then left that land, and moved on to different things. I also left that land – way too young. When I was fourteen years of age, since there was no high school near our homestead place, the folks sent me away to a boarding school. I have never really lived “at home” since then. The day I left, Dad drove me and my scuffed old cardboard suitcase twelve dirt road miles to the little village of McCord to catch the east bound morning train. He set the case on the platform then stood quietly and looked at me a long time. He shook my hand. Then cleared his throat. Then he squeezed my shoulders with a hug. Then shook my hand again. He kept repeating this and blinking back tears, his twitching lips unable to form words. Finally, Dad spoke huskily and abruptly, “Be strong son. And… and remember who you are.” Then turned on his heel and strode resolutely to the car. As the train pulled out of the station, Dad stood by the old Pontiac watching me leave his life. While that old coach rattled down the tracks, I tried to weep out the big lump in my throat. Somehow I knew that I would never live at home again. Oh yes, I returned briefly during a few summers and blew through for short visits. But, I’ve never really “gone back home.” LONGING By the time Mom and Dad died, the “old home-place” had long since passed into the “possession” of others, some of whom are strangers to me. Sometimes, in my nostalgic “home longings,” I wish I could bring back a few more childhood years with Mom and Dad. And I often wish I had “our” land back in my “possession.” Across the years, at times when bittersweet memories flicker in my soul, I go back to re-walk those hills and try to recapture some “at home” feelings. But, I know that place is no longer my home. Hasn’t been in fifty years. In some ways, I think it never really was. Joe Diffie sang my feelings for me, The only thing I see ahead is just the heat a risin’ on the road,The rainbows I’ve been chasin’ keep on fading, before I find my pot of gold.And more and more I’m thinking, that the only treasures that I’ll ever know,Are long ago and far behind wrapped up in my memories of home. Home was a swimming hole, and a fishing pole,And the feel of a muddy road between my toes.Home was a back porch swingWhere I would sit and mama’d singAmazing Grace, while she hung out the clothesHome is an easy chair,With my daddy thereAnd the smell of Sunday supper on the stove.My footsteps carry me away,But in my mind I’m always going home.[1] Guess it runs in the family. Now my youngest son tells me, “I feel homeless.” But then ‘Longing for place’ is as at least as old as the Psalms. Listen to the

To the Girl on the Elevator

I wish I could have hugged the girl on the elevator. I saw her from a distance carrying what appeared to be a clear trash bag. She stepped inside the elevator just a few steps ahead of me. I looked more closely at the garbage bag and saw that she had partially filled it with clothes. Then I looked at her face. Her eyes were red, and she was fighting tears. She lifted a shaking hand and punched a 3. I reached out and touched the 6, and the elevator doors closed. She was thin and pale and not very old. If I had to guess, I’d say somewhere in her 20’s. There were just two of us on the elevator, but she didn’t make eye contact. She leaned heavily against the wall and looked down at the floor. Her whole demeanor said, “Don’t talk to me.” The second the elevator doors opened, she practically ran out, and when she turned right, well, I knew where she was going. You see, the 3rd floor to the right is ICU. That’s where we – my husband Bill had Covid-19 – were when we arrived back in January. Now…. I’m sitting next to Bill (who is sound asleep and improving) in a dark hospital room on the 6th floor, and I can’t stop thinking about the girl on the elevator. If I could talk to her, I would say, “You aren’t alone!” I know you feel like you are, but there is a God in heaven watching over you. I hope you know Him. Seek comfort from Him. Lean on Him. Pray to Him. Trust Him. There is no one you will ever need in your life as much as you need God. Don’t. You. Give. Up! I don’t care what the doctors, nurses, well-meaning friends, and neighbors say. If they tell you there is no hope, they are wrong. Only God knows what lies ahead. He may say “No.” He may say, “Not yet.” But He may say, “Yes.” Keep hoping and praying even when you are so tired and discouraged that you want to give up. Don’t. You. Give. Up! And, ask everyone you know to pray. The Bible says the prayers of a righteous man or woman “availeth much” (James 5:16 KJV). Find your prayer warriors and let them lift you and your loved one up to God. You will feel their prayers, and it will comfort you in a way you have never felt before. Lean on friends and neighbors. The world is full of good people who want to help. Let them. When you are in the midst of a crisis, it’s okay to say, “I need help.” Cry. Cry buckets full if you want to. Cry on the elevator with a strange old lady who can see your heart is breaking. Tears are a universal language. People hurt. People cry. We don’t hide smiles when we are happy. Don’t hide your tears because you are sad. Take one day at a time. My grandma would say, “Don’t borrow trouble.” I know the “what if’s” are scary but don’t let them overwhelm you. When it’s really, really hard, take it hour-by-hour or minute-by-minute. I wish….. I wish I could have hugged the girl on the elevator. She sure looked like she could use a hug. That’s another bad thing about Covid. It has stolen our hugs and replaced them with fist bumps – which, in my opinion, fall far short of conveying the emotion that comes from having someone’s arms wrapped around you. I will be praying for the girl on the elevator…. even a pandemic can’t stop our prayers. In fact, it probably increases their frequency and their power. I know I’ve spent more time in prayer and thinking about the verse, “Be still and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10). Won’t you say a prayer for her, too? And for all those like her who are scared and fighting tears. They need you, and so do I. About the author: Teresa is an accomplished author, speaker, mother, and grandmother. Teresa has been married to Bill for a lifetime of family, faith, and love. They are members of Pleasant Hill Church of Christ in Kentucky. They have 5 children and 4 grandchildren. Teresa is also the author of the popular women’s blog called “NanaHood”!

The Task at Hand

How can we begin to help in a world so full of hurt? Ever suffer from paralysis because of the enormity of a task at hand? This company has to be turned around. My family is in crisis. The nation is at risk. My church is in decline. These are familiar themes. And the sad truth is that not every sinking ship can be floated. Some promising starts will end as dismal failures. Then there are the personal challenges you encounter. There always seems to be a worthy charity that needs money to help children. You hear the call for volunteers at your child’s school or from your church. Someone you know is struggling with drug addiction or has lost her job. There are so many needs. You might begin with the awareness that you can’t do everything that needs to be done. You can’t right all the wrongs. You can’t help everybody who is in trouble. It is arrogant to think you can; it is self-destructive to try. Even Jesus didn’t try to shoulder so heavy a responsibility. And occasionally he withdrew from the press of demands being made on him. He could help many, but not all. So what are you and I supposed to do in the face of crippling poverty and drug or alcohol addiction? How are we supposed to respond to hurricanes, unemployment, and hungry children? How can you be God’s instrument of hope in a world that is filled with troubles and heartache? Dr. Fumio Shigeto was waiting for a streetcar about a mile from the center of Hiroshima, Japan, on August 6, 1945. There was a blinding fireball when an American bomber dropped an atomic bomb that had the destructive equivalent of 20,000 tons of TNT. A five-square-mile area of one of the chief supply depots of the Japanese Army was devastated, and 60% of its buildings destroyed. Sheltered by the corner of a concrete building at his distance from the blast, Dr. Shigeto survived. He began hearing the screams of victims almost immediately. Not knowing what had happened, he stood bewildered and overwhelmed at the carnage. He was only one doctor wondering how he could respond to a city filled with thousands of desperately wounded patients. He knelt down, opened his black bag, and treated the person lying at his feet. Dr. Shigeto’s experience is our own. Having survived alcoholism or divorce, toxic church life or childhood abuse, what is your calling? Having put your life together after cancer, job loss, or a child’s death, where should you focus your attention? Help someone near you. Reach to somebody whose grief you know. Without making that person dependent on you, help him or her with what you have learned. You can’t address every need. But you can do something. [After a very hard day of demanding ministry we find Jesus on the next day] In the early morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house, and went away to a secluded place, and was praying there. Simon and his companions searched for Him; they found Him, and said to Him, “Everyone is looking for You.” He said to them, “Let us go somewhere else to the towns nearby, so that I may preach there also; for that is what I came for.” And He went into their synagogues throughout all Galilee, preaching and casting out the demons. And a leper came to Jesus, beseeching Him and falling on his knees before Him, and saying, “If You are willing, You can make me clean.” Moved with compassion, Jesus stretched out His hand and touched him, and said to him, “I am willing; be cleansed.” Immediately the leprosy left him and he was cleansed. (Mark 1:35-42 NASB) About the author: Rubel Shelly preached for decades and served as a professor of medical ethics, Bible, and philosophy at multiple universities. He was a former president of Rochester College and Professor of Philosophy and Religion at Lipscomb University. He was the author of more than 30 books and hundreds of inspirational articles. His commitment to a non-sectarian presentation of the gospel touched countless lives.

I Was Robbed!

How important to you is your stuff? I’ve often heard the title of this article spoken by a losing team following a ballgame with poor officiating. However, yesterday this phrase took on a whole new meaning for me. Allow me to explain. I was invited to present a seminar on Internet Safety at the Memorial Parkway Church of Christ in Huntsville, Alabama. My good friend and former co-worker, Reed Swindle is one of the preacher’s there. I left Glasgow immediately following Sunday worship service and arrived in Huntsville, Alabama at 3:30 p.m. Since the building doors were unlocked upon arrival, I entered and went to Reed’s office. I sat and talked with Reed for approximately 5 minutes when a wide-eyed man suddenly appeared in Reed’s doorway. The guy who appeared in the doorway had on a hooded sweat jacket, a cap, and a bandana covering his face like in the old Western movies. He pointed a gun at both of us and demanded all our money! Reed and I both laughed at him at first. I thought it was one of the kids in his youth group and he thought I had brought someone with me who was playing a joke. As he pointed the gun at our heads, it eventually dawned on both of us that this wasn’t a joke, and that he was serious. We gave him all the money we had and as he kept the gun trained on us, he said as he was about to leave, “I’m sorry I have to do this.” At that point, I didn’t know whether he was sorry for having robbed us, or if he was telling us he was sorry for what he was about to do. Fortunately, it was the former. The young man then fled the building, and Reed called the police. Fifteen minutes later I had to begin presenting four lessons on Internet Safety. Actually, I don’t remember much of what I said. I probably owe the good brethren at Memorial Park a do-over – but good luck getting me back down there … Ha! (By way of side note, when the detective asked me what kind of pistol the man had, I said, “Pistol? From what I could see, it looked more like a bazooka!) It is amazing how many thoughts flash through your mind while an event like this happens to you. I can’t begin to share all of them with you, but I’ll share a couple of thoughts that occurred to me immediately following this incident. I was reminded of how quickly and unexpectedly life can be taken from you. I can certainly tell you that when I woke up Sunday morning, I didn’t think I’d have someone pointing a gun at me before the day was over, but I did. It caused me to reflect on how many people awaken every morning, having no idea that this day will be their last day on earth. Some day we will all awaken to our last sunrise. Will we be prepared when the day arrives? Also, moments after this man ran from the building, I recalled the words written by the Bible commentator, Matthew Henry. On one occasion in his life, he was robbed. That very evening, he recorded the following words in his journal as he gave thanks to God. “I thank Thee first because I was never robbed before; second, because although they took my purse they did not take my life; third, because although they took my all, it was not much; and fourth because it was I who was robbed, and not I who robbed.” As bad as things may be, there are plenty of reasons to give thanks if one chooses to do so. Well, I’m certainly thankful that things worked out as they did. Reed and I are both fine. I’m back safely in Glasgow with a renewed appreciation for a lot of blessings I take for granted. How do you know what will happen tomorrow? For your life is like the morning fog – it’s here a little while, then it’s gone. (James 4:14 NLT) About the author: Steve Higginbotham is a native of West Virginia. His father also preached. Steve serves the Karns Church of Christ in Knoxville, TN and is an instructor in the Southeast Institute of Biblical Studies and an editor for Think Magazine. Steve & Kim have four children, Kelli, Michael, Matthew, and Anne Marie.

The Lady Who Can’t Forget

Is this a blessing or a curse? I don’t have the best memory. My wife, of course, says playfully that I – like all husbands she has heard about – have both selective hearing and selective memory. She just might be correct. Psychologists say that we humans do practice a sort of selective memory. We let certain embarrassing, painful, or disconcerting memories go. It is part of the coping mechanism that lets us move on with our lives. It would be incredibly difficult to have to hold every adolescent silliness or adult transgression in constant memory. I can imagine how it could be utterly debilitating. Maybe you have heard of Jill Price. She is a California lady who is in her 40s now. She appears to have near-perfect recall of every detail of every day of her life since her mid-teens. It isn’t photographic-memory recall of texts. It isn’t even recall of every public event of history. It is the detailed and specific recollection of things from her personal experience that stays with her. All of it. She has been interviewed by Diane Sawyer and Oprah, written about in both USA Today and the Wall Street Journal. There is a popular YouTube clip of a Diane Sawyer interview from 20/20 in which Price – an avid TV viewer – is being grilled on her recall of televised events she saw ranging from the “Who shot JR?” episode of Dallas to the date for the final episode of M*A*S*H. She gets every one! But she appeared to miss the date of Princess Grace’s death. When did Princess Grace die? “September 14, 1982 – that was the first day I started 12th grade,” answers Price. Oops! Sawyer informs her that she got that one wrong! The correct date was September 10, 1982. Price stands her ground and insists it was September 14 – only to have a 20/20 producer break in to inform Ms. Sawyer that Price was correct and her source notes were wrong. My first-blush reaction to reading about Jill Price was to be a bit jealous of her superb memory. The more I have thought about it, though, I’m not so sure. One piece I read is from a scientist who thinks she may have less-than-perfect memory and be cursed instead by an obsessive focus on the past. Even Price admits her vivid ability to bring up the past has some unpleasant consequences. Bad experiences linger. She still feels their pain. They disrupt her sleep. I suspect my “selective memory” serves me better than a perfect one would. I suspect your ability and mine to let some things go and to refuse to obsess over failures and mistakes from the past is an asset to our sanity. Then there is forgiveness – the greatest asset yet to help us deal with the really terrible things of life that won’t quite fade into oblivion. My faith tells me of a God who knows all things – including every detail of my past – and forgives me. Forgetfulness can be a blessing. And forgiveness is even sweeter still. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness (1 John 1:9 TNIV). About the author: Rubel Shelly preached for decades and served as a professor of medical ethics, Bible, and philosophy at multiple universities. He was a former president of Rochester College and Professor of Philosophy and Religion at Lipscomb University. He was the author of more than 30 books and hundreds of inspirational articles. His commitment to a non-sectarian presentation of the gospel touched countless lives.

Last Things

Are they last or are they lasting? It’s the last week for me. I will preach for the last time for a precious group of people who have loved my family and me for 22 years. I wasn’t forced out and I’m not leaving because I am mad at someone. God has called me to a new place and new opportunities. God is calling this church family that I know so well to begin a journey with someone new … they just haven’t discovered that person yet. It’s scary and emotional for all of us. But the good-byes have all been said and we are not going to have a maudlin farewell and an overly teary last Sunday together. The good-bye party happened several weeks ago. We are going to focus on welcoming visitors and meeting folks we don’t know on this last Sunday we’re together. Why?Why leave?Why end this way?Why leave the familiar?Why go to another place?Why drag my family to a new situation? So often we settle down into what we think are safe places. We think they are safe because we know them and have become comfortable with them. They feel safe. But, for many of us, little by little, we grow deaf to the leading and nudging of God. We come close to giving up listening for the call of God for the security of what is familiar. God, however, has repeatedly challenged his people with new things, new places, and new opportunities. Sometimes, in fact oftentimes, God’s “new things” come as quite a surprise at the most unexpected of times. For the new things to happen, we must give up our grip on what is familiar. We must go through the grief of letting go of what we have embraced and taking the hand of God on a journey into the unknown. So this week, these people that we love and with whom we have been privileged to share irreplaceable moments of grace, will say good-bye to us. We will then begin our new journeys … separately. We will pray for them and they will pray for us. We will be very interested in what God is doing with them. We will remain connected in many ways. But inescapably, this will be a week of last things. My books are packed and mostly gone. My office will no longer be “my” office. The familiar faces of those who have blessed me and enabled my ministry will not be the faces I see each day. I will step up to the podium and preach for the last time as this church’s preacher. I will do my last wedding as their preacher. Donna, Megan, and I will drive away Sunday afternoon and our world, our lives, and our futures will change. Last things … last times … last glances … However, there is one reality that won’t be last. Instead, this reality will be lasting. These will be my people and we will be their friends – forever. We believe the partings that we have in this life are only temporary. The changes we make in location are all preparatory for the ultimate change … when we are changed and made ready for an unending life of joy in the presence of God who will welcome us home. I’m leaving a ministry, a building, a period in my life, but I will never ever completely leave these people nor will they leave me. We’re bound by something deeper than place, time, and familiarity. We’re family. We’re bound by the grace of God, the love of our Savior, and the Holy Spirit who connects us together … forever. These are not last things, but lasting ones. “These three abide: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.” Thanks, dear friends, for sharing these three with us in abundance. About the author: Phil Ware has authored 11 years of daily devotionals, including VerseoftheDay.com, read by 500,000 people a day. He works with churches in transition with Interim Ministry Partners and for the past 21+ years, he has been editor and president of HEARTLIGHT Magazine, author of VerseoftheDay.com, God’s Holy Fire (on the Holy Spirit), and aYearwithJesus.com. Phil has also authored four books, daily devotionals on each of the four gospels.

Daily Prayer for March 9

But if we walk in the light as he himself is in the light, then we share together a common life, and we are being cleansed from every sin by the blood of Jesus his Son. 1 John 1:7, NEB Dear Father in heaven, we thank you as your children, whom you know how to gather. You have brought us into community with you in a wonderful way, in the midst of a world full of unrest, full of misery, and full of sin. For you know your children and lead them into community with you. You comfort them. You give them strength of faith, and confidence in your rulership and your kingdom, which will prevail over everything evil and deathly that still seems to control humankind. But your dominion reaches far, far beyond. You will keep us in your hands. For the sake of those who trust in you, you will send your grace and your help into the whole world. Amen.   Recent articles on Plough Elegy for Sammy Basso Rosemarie Garland-Thomson The life of a young man with a rare genetic condition stretches our understanding of what it means to be human. Read now Mortal Flesh Sofia Carozza Dissecting a cadaver taught me reverence for life and eternity. Read now Thérèse of Lisieux’s Little Way vs. Friedrich Nietzsche’s Big Guns Karl Stern Two nineteenth-century contemporaries had very different views on how to live. Read now In the Footsteps of Saint Francis Frank Mulder A vibrant Franciscan community in the Ardennes attracts young people thirsty for faith. Read now A Ride to the Hospital Midge Goldberg One good deed calls for another, and another. Read now

The Toll Over the Long Haul

What difference does a little criticism really make? I mentioned recently hearing Bob Russell talk about the toll that criticism takes over the long haul. He told about an Easter service a couple years ago that he thought was the best he’d ever been part of. Knowing Bob, that means that the resurrection of Jesus was proclaimed clearly. But afterwards, an older woman came up to him and complained that it was the first Easter service she could ever remember where the song “Up From the Grave He Arose” wasn’t sung. (So we’re not the only ones who sing that song?) He also mentioned a guy coming to him recently after one of his messages and bragging about his sermon. But he said, “It reminds me of the kind of messages you used to preach years ago when we came to this church.” Some compliments hurt … because they are complaints with complimentary ribbons on top. Recently I preached my little heart out at the ACU lectureship. The next morning I ran into someone from our church who said, “I heard you last night. It was so wonderful to finally see you in a suit again.” That was it. Thanks so much. A few Sundays ago, when the second assembly was over, someone came to me and said, “That was great. It really seemed like you meant it today.” Uh, yeah. Thanks. I don’t usually mean it. Both of those anecdotes are so small and insignificant. But Bob was right about the long haul. I’d like to continue growing into the image of Christ so much that some day I can receive every criticism. I’d like to be so centered in my inner being, so reliant on God’s acceptance of me, that I could hear the truth in criticism and not be bothered by what’s not true. But in the meantime … I’ll keep reading Henri Nouwen. He struggled with the same thing! About the author: Mike is is intimately involved in New Wineskins magazine and Heartbeat, and his popular blog, Preacher Mike.

Belief?

Can we grow the gift of faith? Belief. I do believe, help me overcome my unbelief. These are words I say to God every day. Words taken from Scripture (Mark 9:24). I asked Jesus to be my Savior when I was in the 7th grade. After studying and making the choice, I asked my dad to baptize me in our swimming pool. That very day I was saved, but it took me 20 years to make Him my Lord and Savior. What’s the difference? By submitting myself under His Lordship, I have been given a gift – a gift to trust Him to guide me where He wants me to go. For much of my late teenage life and early adulthood, I trusted no one. I was trying to check out of my life mentally and emotionally by using drugs and alcohol. I was searching for love in places where there is only darkness. God saw me through that time and called me to Him. Gratefully, I felt I had no other options left … so I followed. Fast forward a couple of years, and I had been living a Christian life, working in a church, and doing all the “right” things. But, I was still not submitting all that I am to Him. How do I know that? Because I allowed worry, anxiety, and need for control to be my lord. I thought that was normal, because it was everywhere I turned. Many people (not all) were worried themselves, worried about money and the lack of it, worried about health, worried about their kids, worried about their jobs, and worried about … I fit right in. I was confronted with a real choice. Did I really believe that God was in the details of my life? Or, did I just believe that He was to be worshiped on Sunday and then real life happened after that? When I began in depth bible study a number of years ago, my eyes opened a little to this lack of faith I was struggling with. I longed, and still long, for the faith of a champion of God. Along the way, however, God led me to an exciting discovery. The Bible has a faith Hall of Fame (Hebrews 11). These are people who had the kind of faith to be recognized by God as special. Yet as I looked closer at them, I found that many struggled to gain that faith through difficult circumstances. In fact, their faith was grown through those circumstances and struggles. God uses broken people – people like you and me. In fact, that is when God’s strength can often best be seen. Last week in Bible study, I was touched by a quote: “God is drawn to weakness.” Thanks be to God for that, because I am weak. Yet God calls me to grow stronger in Him each day, to move from milk to meat, to move from a faith that is easily shaken to a faith that has been tested and can weather a storm that might have toppled it just last week. Faith through circumstances, struggles, and storms can lead me to growth! Our faith is refined by fire; the more fires we walk through the stronger our faith grows. Fire burns, but what it burns away is our pride, greed, and selfishness; and what it leaves is a humbled servant of God ready to say, “Here I am Lord, I will go where you lead.” To be content in our circumstances and trust God that we are part of His great plan are gifts that brings tears to my eyes. Thanks be to God. The gift of trust, this genuine faith I’m talking about, is one of the greatest earthly gifts we could ever receive. I don’t want to waste this gift any longer. I think it is one of the traits that shine the light of Jesus through Christians. So how does one get this faith? God grows faith, we just need to seek Him with all of our heart and He will increase it. So how do I seek Him? I seek Him through prayer, Bible study, and reciting Scripture … I take Scriptures that stand against whatever I am struggling with and I quote those Scriptures throughout the day. I keep them with me. I say them over and over. I keep putting the words of God into my head and into my heart. I believe this is a crucial exercise. Jesus tells the story about a man who cleans out his house of the one demon that is living there, but he leaves his house clean, yet empty. So the demon comes back and brings his evil friends who take up residence in the house. The end of the situation of the house is worse than it was at the first of it (Matthew 12:43-45). The point for me is simple. I can push out the fear, worry or anxiety, but if I am not re-wallpapering my mind with the promises and faithfulness of God, then the fear and worry come back fourfold – debilitatingly more powerful. So I seek God through prayer, Bible study, and repeating Scriptures. Does my life always look like I want it to? Hardly ever. But God is with me. I am never forsaken. Are there hardships? Absolutely! Yet these hardships are the times where “the rubber meets the road.” I can either shine for Jesus or wither like a lilly in a drought. So I call on God in the hardships. And, if I am willing to seek Him, He gives me peace and shows me the way He wants me to go. It’s then that I realize, through it all – the hardships, struggles, and even weaknesses – He has answered my prayer. God has grown my faith. And so I pray it again, “I do believe, help me overcome my unbelief.” Tammy is part of The Coffee Group, a varied group

What Would You Hear?

What captures your attention in a tragedy? Thankfully, the world’s response to the deaths and destruction from the recent tsunami was different than the responses evoked from news we receive about most other tragedies. Unless a disaster is a global catastrophe and seen on TV, we often resort to the most calloused and selfish forms of interest. For example, listen to the typical way an overseas airplane crash is given: “200 plus feared dead in flight 1547 tragedy – over 100 of the fatalities are Americans.” That is a typical radio or television teaser before they break for commercials. I remember hearing that kind of teaser, and there was something irritating about the phrasing that I couldn’t quite place at first. It was what I sometimes call “Holy Spirit heartburn” – that “greasy feeling” we get in our stomachs when the Holy Spirit convicts us that something is wrong that we might otherwise accept. Then it dawned on me what the irritation was. The way US news services often phrase disaster headlines is so self-serving and ethnocentric. Tragedies get seldom get airtime if there are no United States citizens killed. If the injured or dead are not Americans, we often scrape away our concern for them as easily as we clean the bugs off our windshield. It’s as if the quicker we get the mess out of our line of sight, the more easily we can slip back into our comfort zone and go about our daily routines. I hate that attitude! I refuse to brush away the death of someone simply because he or she is not from my country, race, culture, or socioeconomic group. I know we can’t let every human tragedy in our huge interconnected world emotionally devastate us, but to dismiss a tragedy because the people involved are not like “us” is sick. When the Iran Hostage situation was raging 20 years, the leaders of the Northwest Church in Seattle gathered for prayer. While they prayed for the release of the hostages, they also asked God to open the door for them to minister and protect the Arab and Iranian students from misguided “vigilantes.” Over the course of the crisis, American Christian students accompanied Arab and Iranian students to class to prevent trouble. Rather than getting caught up in the ethnic hype and hate, they redeemed a horrible situation and even led some to Christ that they met and protected. As the newspaper ran a story about how they approached this time of crisis differently than most in the U.S., they visited the church and were not only touched by their love for Arab and Persian students, but by their dedication to serving so many people with Cerebral Palsy. Even more doors opened to share the Gospel because they loved people regardless – regardless of race, culture, background, physical challenges … regardless! As Christians, our hearts yearn for people of all of all races, nationalities, languages, and cultures to come to Christ. (Matthew 28:18-20; Revelation 7:9-11) When disaster strikes and lives are lost, rather than listening for number of casualties that are of our nationality or ethnicity, we remember that God made all of us brothers and sisters through Adam. With that in mind, let’s realize there are some practical things we can do to be a blessing in these times of tragedy. Pray for the victims and their families in our personal prayer time, in our church assemblies, and in Bible study groups. Use that tragedy as a reminder to be more aware of people of other cultures around us and make an effort to warmly greet them and include them in our activities and fellowship. Pray for God to use us to share the love of Christ with those who don’t know him, especially those of different cultures, and especially to those in crisis. If we are given an opportunity to serve those grieving or injured, let’s find ways to serve them lovingly and generously. Intervene and protect others of different cultures and races if they are caught in a difficult situations in our presence. Encourage our church leaders to support missions to other races and cultures, whether the communities are nearby or far away. Learn about at least one other culture and explore ways of effectively sharing the Gospel of Jesus with those cultures while respecting their heritage. You see, God is concerned with each person – every soul – who perishes in a crashed airplane, massive earthquake, destructive tornado, overturned ferry … He’s heartbroken for everyone, not just the folks like us. The Father longs to comfort the hundreds of grieving relatives left behind by a horrible tragedy. Most importantly, God has put us here to be his means of comforting, blessing, and healing those who hurt because of tragedies. About the author: Phil Ware has authored 11 years of daily devotionals, including VerseoftheDay.com, read by 500,000 people a day. He works with churches in transition with Interim Ministry Partners and for the past 21+ years, he has been editor and president of HEARTLIGHT Magazine, author of VerseoftheDay.com, God’s Holy Fire (on the Holy Spirit), and aYearwithJesus.com. Phil has also authored four books, daily devotionals on each of the four gospels.