(This post actually includes two points: The root of our problems, and our reluctance to recognize and deal with it; and God's sovereignty in our suffering, and blase life situations)
Part 1:
We recently watched this nearly perfect movie again.
It is a really fun movie to watch, and it gives an opportunity to talk about relationships. The relationships between men and women, and the biblical requirement of purity before marriage, and the situations we allow ourselves to be in that weaken our ability to resist temptation (the couple in the movie get engaged while lying naked together under a blanket). Also the relationships between parents and children, both young and old. The main character, Tula, comes to realize the wonderfulness of having "meddling" parents/family.
The father of the household is a really fun guy; very greek of very greek. He challenges his children and everyone who comes into his house to give him a word, any word and he will tell them how this word originated with the Greek. One of the children in his daughter's carpool thought she had him when she gave him the word kimono (from the Hawaiian). He did it, though.
This morning, on my way to work, I was listening to Truth for Life with Alistair Begg (http://www.truthforlife.org/site/PageServer), who is doing a study on Biblical characters used by God. Yesterday and today it was about II Kings 5:1-14. This is the story of the healing of Naaman. I was thrilled because we had just talked about this Sunday in Sunday School. This is currently my favorite story in the Bible!
At any rate, in today's talk, Alistair made the point that Naaman's problem was the problem of sin, and that God has the solution. Any of the world's problems is a problem with sin, and Jesus Christ is the solution! 'Aving a bit of depression are we, because of debt? Maybe then, you need to repent of your greed, and trust Jesus to wash this sin from your 'eart, then, eh? 'Aving trouble loving your 'usband, because 'e dusn't seem to understend you the way you'd like, eh? Maybe then you need to be on your knees, repenting of your foolish pride and asking God, the maker of your soul to give you joy as you submit to your 'usband, eh? Are you lonely and afraid? Pride, self-suffinciency.
Give me a problem, any problem, and I can tell you how the root of it comes from the sin, and how, ultimately, Jesus Christ is the solution, the only true solution to the problem.
How often do we tuck Jesus away and try to solve our own problems and the problems of others with whitewash? Depression got you down? Seek debt relief and smile! Don't love or feel loved by your husband? Teach him the five love languages, and smile! Are you lonely and afraid? You've got to love yourself, and build your confidence before you can love someone else! Smile!
Where is Jesus in this?
Part 2:
In our Sunday School class, we looked more at the little Hebrew slave girl. You know, the one who was wrenched from her mother's arms and her father's house by the marauding Arameans?
Do you believe that God has plans for good for you? Do you believe that God is in control of every thing that happens to you? Do you believe that God can, will, and does work everything together for good for the one who loves the Lord; the one called according to His purpose?
Then, what about this slave girl? She was torn by foreign invaders from the safety of her home and family. We are unaware of all that happened to her and all that she suffered. All of this looked bleak and bad. Did her circumstances change? We do not know. We have no basis to speculate that she ever returned home. We have no reason to believe that she was ever thanked or rewarded for her kindness. We have no reason to believe that she grew up to have a home of her own, a husband, or children.
What good ever came from her life? What good did God work through her circumstances? Naaman came to believe and trust in the only true God. Today, salvation came to his house.
Why are you where you are? Why does your neighbor live next to you? Why does that girl check groceries at the store where you shop? Do you believe that you are called according to His purpose? Do you believe that He works all things together for good for you?
Showing posts with label Testimony. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Testimony. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Monday, January 29, 2007
The Ugly Road from There to Here
I met someone online... A young woman, Chantal who used to go to the Church of the Good Shepherd before I got there. One Sunday, she was in church and I got to meet her in person. MaryLee, our pastor's wife recommended that I read Chantal's testimony on her blog, so I did. I loved it!
I love hearing about how God took dead people and breathed life into them. Chantal's story (by clicking on the link above) will not dissappoint you. I am especially intrigued when people sow the seed bountifully while setting themselves on fire, like the sidewalk preacher in Chantal's story.
About that same time, my sister, Deb emailed me. Deb, for me was like a goddess when I was growing up. Everything she did, I thought was the thing to do. She was the perfection of the American Teenager. I loved her hair, her glasses, the way she sucked her thumb and put ketchup on everything... She was the cat's meow! I am still sentimental about her, and wish that we were closer than just an occasional email.
She wanted to know how things were going in my life. I emailed back some little things, and told her about my blog. She told me that she thought I was brave, because of the journey of self-discovery I was making.
I thought maybe Deb didn't know even a little of who I was and where I have been, so, inspired by Chantal's bravery, I decided to post my story. (Glen asked me to leave his chapter out, which drastically decreases the narative.)
It is not for the lightly curious, and it will definitely knock me off any pedistal I may be tottering on. I was not brave enough to be completely thorough, it was too painful, and much of my story is not for the fainthearted or the gentile reader. (here's how brave I am: I wrote it on Thanksgiving day and posted it on January 28 so that it would be buried) You are welcome tor ead it, and if there is an area where I may give details that would help on your walk, or where you, as my friend or sister may know me deeper still, I would be happy to privately continue.
It is a story of dry bones brought to life.
I love hearing about how God took dead people and breathed life into them. Chantal's story (by clicking on the link above) will not dissappoint you. I am especially intrigued when people sow the seed bountifully while setting themselves on fire, like the sidewalk preacher in Chantal's story.
About that same time, my sister, Deb emailed me. Deb, for me was like a goddess when I was growing up. Everything she did, I thought was the thing to do. She was the perfection of the American Teenager. I loved her hair, her glasses, the way she sucked her thumb and put ketchup on everything... She was the cat's meow! I am still sentimental about her, and wish that we were closer than just an occasional email.
She wanted to know how things were going in my life. I emailed back some little things, and told her about my blog. She told me that she thought I was brave, because of the journey of self-discovery I was making.
I thought maybe Deb didn't know even a little of who I was and where I have been, so, inspired by Chantal's bravery, I decided to post my story. (Glen asked me to leave his chapter out, which drastically decreases the narative.)
It is not for the lightly curious, and it will definitely knock me off any pedistal I may be tottering on. I was not brave enough to be completely thorough, it was too painful, and much of my story is not for the fainthearted or the gentile reader. (here's how brave I am: I wrote it on Thanksgiving day and posted it on January 28 so that it would be buried) You are welcome tor ead it, and if there is an area where I may give details that would help on your walk, or where you, as my friend or sister may know me deeper still, I would be happy to privately continue.
It is a story of dry bones brought to life.
1 The hand of the LORD was upon me, and he brought me out by the Spirit of the LORD and set me in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. 2 He led me back and forth among them, and I saw a great many bones on the floor of the valley, bones that were very dry. 3 He asked me, "Son of man, can these bones live?"
I said, "O Sovereign LORD, you alone know."
4 Then he said to me, "Prophesy to these bones and say to them, 'Dry bones, hear the word of the LORD! 5 This is what the Sovereign LORD says to these bones: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to life. 6 I will attach tendons to you and make flesh come upon you and cover you with skin; I will put breath in you, and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the LORD.' "
7 So I prophesied as I was commanded. And as I was prophesying, there was a noise, a rattling sound, and the bones came together, bone to bone. 8 I looked, and tendons and flesh appeared on them and skin covered them, but there was no breath in them.
9 Then he said to me, "Prophesy to the breath; prophesy, son of man, and say to it, 'This is what the Sovereign LORD says: Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe into these slain, that they may live.' " 10 So I prophesied as he commanded me, and breath entered them; they came to life and stood up on their feet—a vast army.
Ezekiel 37
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Hello, It's Me
Today is Thanksgiving. The turkey has been cooked, and much of it has been eaten. The Lord has blessed Glen and me with a good day of peace and grace with one another and our kids. By this, I don't mean that there have been no conflicts, but these conflicts, I think, have been for our benefit and perfection, and to God's glory.
I take up now the task of clearly and thoroughly conveying how I got from there to here. What better day to do it, or at least to begin it, than on Thanksgiving? What better to be thankful for than for life everlasting and freedom from the burden of sin and despair?
I was born the ninth of ten children (no..eleven, my littlest sister, Dinah Ruth was born when I was 13, and lived only 13 hours: a dear little redheaded girl). From my earliest memories, I was in church. First (that I remember) was a Church of Christ. As I approached ten, the "age of accountability," I anticipated my baptism with enthusiasm. I was very disappointed that my family left that church just before this would have taken place.
While we attended that church, which was about 30 - 40 miles from our home, we spent Sunday afternoons in the homes of other members of the church, and returned to church for evening service. It was a pleasant time to be a child, and I had other "grammies" who loved me and my family. That church, of course was full of sinners and fallen men. In my youth, I wasn't privy to reasons; when we left, we left.
We went to another Church of Christ for a while, and then we had church at home for a period of time. We had communion and everything.
After that, we went to the Methodist church of my mother's family. Here, from about age 12 or 13 I stayed until I graduated from high school. I was active in the youth group, sang in the choir (because I loved certain women who were in the choir), attended Sunday School and church and on Thursday evenings, went to Campus Life (an inter-denominational Youth for Christ group). My best friend in High School went, without her family, to the Baptist church in town. I wanted to get baptized, and I went to her church for that.
Was I converted at that point? I don't know. I know that I was aware of my utter inability to improve myself. I know that I was burdened with the acute awareness of my own shortcomings. I know that I desired to follow and love Jesus with my whole self and my whole life. But... was that the mighty hand of God, or just adolescent self hatred? I really don't know, but I believe that the hand of God was on me, at least from that point on.
I graduated and began college at the University of Michigan, Flint. This is a satellite campus of U of M; a commuter campus. I went one year and dropped. I got a job at a gift shop in a famous tourist town, working Sundays, of course. I continued to try to go to Sunday School and at least part of church in the Methodist church in this town. I soon dropped this attempt because it was difficult, and seemed futile and irrelevant.
Soon after that I moved out of my parents' home and into a trailer with a friend from high school and her sister. From this moment on, I had little or no thought of God. The girls I lived with were faithful Christians.
I quit the gift shop job and got a job closer to my new home. I now sold candy bars, cigarettes, and booze in a convenience store. I was not prepared by my family, church, youth group, or personal devotion to the true and living God for the lifestyle I now found myself exposed to.
I slept little, ate poorly, popped no-doz, and flirted with the guys who came in to buy their beer, cigarettes, and booze. That was what they thought I was there for, and it was easier than being myself. I even accepted a date. A guy named Roger took me to see a movie called "My Bodyguard." Then I took him to meet my family. We then went to his place, and when I refused to have sex with him, he took me home, completely rejected me, and I never, ever heard from him again.
My hope at the time was definitely built on much less than Jesus' blood and righteousness. I could have learned about looking for integrity in potential mates, or recognizing character and speaking my mind with confidence, or not being found alone with a date... But instead I learned what it is that men want, and, why was it that I wasn't in the game, anyways? It is just too hard to play by different rules, unless you are aware that you are actually playing a different game.
So I switched games.
This is much too ugly for me to wrench out of my keyboard. I cannot find sufficient reason to go into details about this, but, since God has allowed it, I am willing to expose my past if it will help anyone.
Suffice it to say, for now, that I strayed further and further from God. I even denied him. At the same time, I sometimes marveled at the pleasures that He created, at His sense of humor (ie: red hair--try getting an evolutionist to explain that one!).
I did not have a rock to stand on. I dishonored my parents. I denied the existance of the God who created me, sustained my very breath, and died for the sins in which I wallowed. I completely humiliated myself for the fickle approval of men. I convinced myself that by doing so, I freed myself from guilt, shame, inhibitions, convention, and ties that bind.
As I look back, I see God's hand in the details. Because of my rebellion and reliance on myself, and not His strength, it was a long, ugly road, but He worked all things perfectly together.
After an ill-advised marriage and divorce, I found myself married again. This time, God graciously opened my womb and gave me a daughter. Then He gave me another. Then, by means not to be exposed here, He put an end to the blessing of children. But these children were a blessing beyond expression, and the blessing of them has not seen its end.
One day, while visiting my parents with my daughters, I was talking to my younger sister. I was surprized to find out that she went to church every Sunday. When I asked why, she said that she wanted her kids to grow up in church.
Yes, growing up in church is a good thing. I would take my kids to church. So after a sufficient period of procrastination, I began the difficult task of choosing a church. I went to the first one (a Methodist church) on Palm Sunday. My daughter wore her only dress, a beautiful white dress handed down from her cousin. One of the ladies cooed over it, and commented that she couldn't imagine what my daughter would wear on Easter Sunday. My heart froze. She never found out!
Next I went to an Evangelical Presbyterian Church that my husband's nephew had gotten married in. I sat down and checked out the pew Bible. NIV...hmm... Don't really recognize Zephaniah, but other than that, nothing suspicious. They had all the stuff that I wanted for my kids, and coffee hour between Sunday School and church. There was a lady who found my kids every Sunday and gave them a piece of sugarless gum. She also came along beside me and helped me learn stuff. She held Bible studies, and she just knew a bunch!
One Sunday, while the preacher was preparing for communion, the words he spoke about the purpose of the table and the warnings about eating the bread and drinking the wine unworthily, were used by the Holy Spirit to convict me. I was unworthy. I was the reason that blood was spilt. I had despised the perfect sacrifice of God, and He loved me. I was undone.
When I got home that day, Glen asked me what happened. He somehow could tell that something was different. He realized more than I did at the time the distance between light and dark. He was afraid that our life together was over. In fact it was. The woman he married was gone, and a new creature had taken her place. From that moment on, God's hand was upon Glen's life, and nine years later, God called him as well.
I take up now the task of clearly and thoroughly conveying how I got from there to here. What better day to do it, or at least to begin it, than on Thanksgiving? What better to be thankful for than for life everlasting and freedom from the burden of sin and despair?
I was born the ninth of ten children (no..eleven, my littlest sister, Dinah Ruth was born when I was 13, and lived only 13 hours: a dear little redheaded girl). From my earliest memories, I was in church. First (that I remember) was a Church of Christ. As I approached ten, the "age of accountability," I anticipated my baptism with enthusiasm. I was very disappointed that my family left that church just before this would have taken place.
While we attended that church, which was about 30 - 40 miles from our home, we spent Sunday afternoons in the homes of other members of the church, and returned to church for evening service. It was a pleasant time to be a child, and I had other "grammies" who loved me and my family. That church, of course was full of sinners and fallen men. In my youth, I wasn't privy to reasons; when we left, we left.
We went to another Church of Christ for a while, and then we had church at home for a period of time. We had communion and everything.
After that, we went to the Methodist church of my mother's family. Here, from about age 12 or 13 I stayed until I graduated from high school. I was active in the youth group, sang in the choir (because I loved certain women who were in the choir), attended Sunday School and church and on Thursday evenings, went to Campus Life (an inter-denominational Youth for Christ group). My best friend in High School went, without her family, to the Baptist church in town. I wanted to get baptized, and I went to her church for that.
Was I converted at that point? I don't know. I know that I was aware of my utter inability to improve myself. I know that I was burdened with the acute awareness of my own shortcomings. I know that I desired to follow and love Jesus with my whole self and my whole life. But... was that the mighty hand of God, or just adolescent self hatred? I really don't know, but I believe that the hand of God was on me, at least from that point on.
I graduated and began college at the University of Michigan, Flint. This is a satellite campus of U of M; a commuter campus. I went one year and dropped. I got a job at a gift shop in a famous tourist town, working Sundays, of course. I continued to try to go to Sunday School and at least part of church in the Methodist church in this town. I soon dropped this attempt because it was difficult, and seemed futile and irrelevant.
Soon after that I moved out of my parents' home and into a trailer with a friend from high school and her sister. From this moment on, I had little or no thought of God. The girls I lived with were faithful Christians.
I quit the gift shop job and got a job closer to my new home. I now sold candy bars, cigarettes, and booze in a convenience store. I was not prepared by my family, church, youth group, or personal devotion to the true and living God for the lifestyle I now found myself exposed to.
I slept little, ate poorly, popped no-doz, and flirted with the guys who came in to buy their beer, cigarettes, and booze. That was what they thought I was there for, and it was easier than being myself. I even accepted a date. A guy named Roger took me to see a movie called "My Bodyguard." Then I took him to meet my family. We then went to his place, and when I refused to have sex with him, he took me home, completely rejected me, and I never, ever heard from him again.
My hope at the time was definitely built on much less than Jesus' blood and righteousness. I could have learned about looking for integrity in potential mates, or recognizing character and speaking my mind with confidence, or not being found alone with a date... But instead I learned what it is that men want, and, why was it that I wasn't in the game, anyways? It is just too hard to play by different rules, unless you are aware that you are actually playing a different game.
So I switched games.
This is much too ugly for me to wrench out of my keyboard. I cannot find sufficient reason to go into details about this, but, since God has allowed it, I am willing to expose my past if it will help anyone.
Suffice it to say, for now, that I strayed further and further from God. I even denied him. At the same time, I sometimes marveled at the pleasures that He created, at His sense of humor (ie: red hair--try getting an evolutionist to explain that one!).
I did not have a rock to stand on. I dishonored my parents. I denied the existance of the God who created me, sustained my very breath, and died for the sins in which I wallowed. I completely humiliated myself for the fickle approval of men. I convinced myself that by doing so, I freed myself from guilt, shame, inhibitions, convention, and ties that bind.
As I look back, I see God's hand in the details. Because of my rebellion and reliance on myself, and not His strength, it was a long, ugly road, but He worked all things perfectly together.
After an ill-advised marriage and divorce, I found myself married again. This time, God graciously opened my womb and gave me a daughter. Then He gave me another. Then, by means not to be exposed here, He put an end to the blessing of children. But these children were a blessing beyond expression, and the blessing of them has not seen its end.
One day, while visiting my parents with my daughters, I was talking to my younger sister. I was surprized to find out that she went to church every Sunday. When I asked why, she said that she wanted her kids to grow up in church.
Yes, growing up in church is a good thing. I would take my kids to church. So after a sufficient period of procrastination, I began the difficult task of choosing a church. I went to the first one (a Methodist church) on Palm Sunday. My daughter wore her only dress, a beautiful white dress handed down from her cousin. One of the ladies cooed over it, and commented that she couldn't imagine what my daughter would wear on Easter Sunday. My heart froze. She never found out!
Next I went to an Evangelical Presbyterian Church that my husband's nephew had gotten married in. I sat down and checked out the pew Bible. NIV...hmm... Don't really recognize Zephaniah, but other than that, nothing suspicious. They had all the stuff that I wanted for my kids, and coffee hour between Sunday School and church. There was a lady who found my kids every Sunday and gave them a piece of sugarless gum. She also came along beside me and helped me learn stuff. She held Bible studies, and she just knew a bunch!
One Sunday, while the preacher was preparing for communion, the words he spoke about the purpose of the table and the warnings about eating the bread and drinking the wine unworthily, were used by the Holy Spirit to convict me. I was unworthy. I was the reason that blood was spilt. I had despised the perfect sacrifice of God, and He loved me. I was undone.
When I got home that day, Glen asked me what happened. He somehow could tell that something was different. He realized more than I did at the time the distance between light and dark. He was afraid that our life together was over. In fact it was. The woman he married was gone, and a new creature had taken her place. From that moment on, God's hand was upon Glen's life, and nine years later, God called him as well.
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