When You Get Over Yourself, Repent of Hypocrisy, and Give God Room

May 22, 2013 by 29 Comments

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When almost six thousand people from 88 different countries, representing a myriad of faith backgrounds gather in one place to worship the same Jesus you know and love, you can’t help but be changed by it. And realize that your perspective is quite small.

I stood on the concrete floor of the Royal Albert Hall, five rows from the stage, turning slowly like the ballerina on a child’s jewelry box taking it all in. Next to a folded seat draped with my damp trench coat, I watched people file into four stories of seats from the crowded city streets of London. Willing my mind to record it like a video camera of remembrance.

God’s presence was palpable.

Back home, I’d been so absorbed in finding time to write, connecting with people online and worrying about my children’s future, that I missed seeing Jesus’ perspective on the world. He was giving me a binocular view of unity and the way he loves mankind from the diversity of the Body of Christ.

But more than that, I realized I was avoiding the uncomfortable truth that sin has left an ugly indelible mark on the world. Not intentional avoidance, but one slow drive around my well-manicured neighborhood, one click on the garage door of my comfort zone at a time.

He’s longing for us to be carriers of Hope to a world living with the absence of hope. And there isn’t just one way to do that.

I stood up during a break and asked the woman seated in front of me if she needed prayer. She nodded to the affirmative, so I prayed for what she requested: more of the Holy Spirit’s power in her life. The sky didn’t crack open and she didn’t leap over seats, but we felt the presence of God as we bowed our heads to humbly ask.

The next day I stepped away from my seat, walked around a galley of people to the row behind me and prayed for a woman who stood in response to the need for healing in her neck. The muscles so tight she couldn’t move her head around while driving to see if the road was clear to pass. A young woman and I prayed over her together and after a few moments, she could move her neck without pain.

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Last weekend, I sat in a different kind of theater with my family, waiting for the new Star Trek movie to appear on the screen. As the lights dimmed, the putrid smell of alcohol and cigarettes permeated the air around us. H leaned over and remarked that the person behind us was so inebriated that the smell was leaking from his pores.

I thought about moving to another seat.

I thought about how I don’t like going to the theater anymore. I prefer watching movies on my couch with a blanket draped over me; eating popcorn from my own bowl, instead of a cardboard box.

I thought about how uncomfortable the seats are, how I have to swing my legs over to the left or right because the person in front of me leans too far back in their swanky theater seat, invading my personal space.

I thought about how loud the plastic wrapping sounds on the candy people were opening behind me, how when you are drunk you aren’t considering other people.

And then suddenly, I thought about how I sat crumpled up in the Royal Albert Hall just a few days ago, seated around people I didn’t know, listening to Justin Welby, the Archbishop of Canterbury say, “The key moment for Christians is when we realize what Christ did for us, not what we do for Him.”

So I repented of my hypocrisy and prayed for the person behind me as I watched Klingons threaten someone’s life from the Enterprise.  He didn’t stand up and ask for prayer but I boldly asked the Lord to heal him. Deliver him of his addiction and let him know he is loved in a tangible way.

We are carriers of hope. There is more than one way to deliver it.  More than one way that He’ll remind us of why we are here. God isn’t limited by venue, language barriers, cultural differences, faith backgrounds or our sin when it comes to showing His endless love and transforming power to mankind.

It is not what we do for God, but what He does for us that changes everything.

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Linking with Jennifer for Tell His Story.

 

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Listen to What They Aren’t Saying

May 20, 2013 by 44 Comments

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“How are you,” I ask.  She looks up from wiping the sink, into the mirror to get a look at me. Then she leans her whole body sideways, finishes swiping the white enamel canoe shaped sink until the bowl is spotless.  She smiles and says she is fine. I linger because I sense something more.

Her round cheeks permanently flush, like someone wiped their finger stained with lipstick across them. Her skin is so pale it nearly matches the color of the thin white blouse she wears, making her blue eyes noticeable.

“It’s almost time to go home,” she says.

I turn around with dripping hands looking for the towels and empathize, “You must be counting the minutes then.”

She pulls herself up, moves over to the next sink in the trio and tells me she will be going to the hospital to visit her granddaughter when she gets off.

I hesitate, look in the mirror on the opposite wall and realize we’re the only ones in the bathroom at the Delta Club now. Just outside the door the room is full of travelers speaking different languages. Sitting with their luggage at white plastic tables, eating plates of carrots and salmon sandwiches shaped like rectangles. Somehow, it feels like I’ve entered a sacred portal.

I ask Jesus what He has in mind for these moments that I’m alone in the restroom with an airport employee.

“Oh, she must be quite sick,” I respond.

In less than a minute, I learn that her granddaughter is sixteen, her name is Courtney, and the doctors think she suffers from appendicitis. Except that there are signs of internal bleeding too. She can’t even hold water down.

I tell her I have a seventeen year old daughter and can imagine she must be worried sick. “That sounds serious,” I say.

She makes eye contact with me.

“I’ll pray for your Courtney,” I tell her. She looks down, fiddles with the wet paper towel she is using to clean and mumbles something quietly, then starts wiping the third sink, the one I just used.

“Thank you for praying,” she says sheepishly.

It only takes a minute to be vulnerable and lead someone to the presence of God.  I think about how many times I’ve asked someone that question, “How are you?”, and didn’t wait long enough to hear the answer. Or God speaking.

We’re all longing for someone to listen. Because very few of us are just fine.

So, how are you?

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Linking with Michelle, Laura, Jen and Heather.

 

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Letting Go of Preconceived Notions About Being the Church

October 26, 2012 by 20 Comments

I accompanied my husband to preside at a wedding for a military chaplain in North Carolina shortly after I started blogging. The groom is an Anglican; the bride’s father, a Church of God minister. It was our first time to participate in a wedding performed by a priest in vestments standing next to a pastor wearing a suit. But that wasn’t the most unusual thing about the wedding for me.

It was the email I received later from the wedding planner:

“Who would have thought that in our brief meeting at a late August wedding that my life would be changed by your words?  I eagerly look forward to your blog, as a parched flower soaks up rain.  The depth and transparency of your blog makes me ask questions I didn’t know were in me.”

I didn’t know she was reading. We’d only met for a few brief moments over the placement of wedding flowers and attendants.

Her email, it was the first of many supernatural ways God began to draw me to people through blogging and social networking. A residual gift of writing I didn’t expect.

A few weeks ago, someone I don’t know *liked* my writer page on Facebook. I noticed we had one friend in common who isn’t a blogger. So I messaged her with a note of thanks for the follow. She responded by saying that she found my blog through the ticker feed on Facebook, when she saw our mutual friend *like* something I’d posted on my Writer page.

I’ve asked people to link their stories here on the theme of Letting Go on Friday in the comments each week throughout the 31 Days series. She encouraged her blogging partner to share her story. And this is what happened:

“When she wrote a post on our blog last night on letting go, I encouraged her to share it in your comments today. You having shared it the way you have on Facebook today, not only saw us have a spike on our blog stats but you have provided encouragement to my best friend who has had one of the hardest weeks she has been through in a long time.”

She went on to say how she was letting go of something she had not fully recognized until following the series.

I’ve experienced a few weeks of excessive “God-incidences.” Coming home from prayer walks to read comments on stories that were almost verbatim to the words I heard God speak to my heart moments before. Friends leaving comments on Facebook using particular word phrases of encouragement, identical to  emails and messages from people who don’t know each other.

Some people equate being the church as a mid-week potluck and sermon, gathering in a home to watch a video and talk about it, or making sandwiches for a homeless shelter. But I’m wondering if meeting in the living rooms and altars of our words on social networking isn’t exactly what being missional looks like in the 21st century.

What do you think?

God used a few posts around the web to speak to me on the theme of letting go and settling into who I am. I hope they speak to you too:

Letting Go vs. Holding On: Are You Packing Too Light? by Allison Vesterfelt at Prodigal Magazine

Timeline by Tara Pohlkotte at Pohlkotte Press

You Can Get Past Your Fear by Holley Gerth

Stop Waiting for God to Tell You What to Do With Your Life by Justin Zoradi at Storyline

This is #26 in the series 31 Days of Letting Go. You can read the collective here. If you are a writer, I invite you to link up any post you’ve written on the theme of letting go today in the comments. Subscribe to receive the series in your inbox or feed by adding your address in the side bar under Follow Redemptions Beauty.

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What Are You Fishing For?

August 19, 2012 by 27 Comments

I’m standing on the grassy shore of watching boys grow into men, of casting nets in muddy water and wondering what they might reel in for the life God gave them. We celebrate the one I gave birth stand on the precipice of manhood, while another breathes his last.

And He hands each of us a pole and makes us masters of the hook. I’m wondering if my pole’s been laying in the rain of an abandoned boat one moment too long.

It’s been less than twenty four hours since the grey clouds moved in on our sunny day. I hope to share more on Monday. Until then, will you pray with me?

 

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Stumbling Upon the Sacred Holy

June 3, 2012 by 27 Comments

Lindisfarne Castle on Holy Island, near Berwick-upon-Tweed, Northumberland, England

But how can people call for help if they don’t know who to trust?And how can they know who to trust if they haven’t heard of the One who can be trusted? And how can they hear if nobody tells them?And how is anyone going to tell them, unless someone is sent to do it?

That’s why Scripture exclaims,
A sight to take your breath away! Grand processions of people telling all the good things of God!

Romans 10:15, The Message

H and I pass a link in the chain of our faith pilgrimage on the way to Edinburgh, Scotland.  Our mouths fall open, eyes widen when we see the sign for Lindisfarne Castle .  A 16th century castle perched atop the sea of diamonds shimmering in the sun.

Her stately stones stack from a former priory. Monks sent there in AD 635 from Iona off the west coast of Scotland, to Northumbria at the request of King Oswald.

The monastery becomes the base for Christian evangelism in the North of England, an early marker in the Celtic movement, a place of frequent attacks by Vikings.

So while I crawl out of a warm bed, sip my steamy tea, read scripture from one of several bibles laying around my house, I am thankful for those who risked to tell of Christ.

May we all be castles waving His flag of salvation to those who pass by.

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Awe-Full Opportunity

May 25, 2012 by 28 Comments

 

I rest my arm on the back of couch cushions, surrounded by leaders from around the world, listening to their stories. I try to hold back the tears as joy does her work to push back heavy clouds.

“Ten, I have ten kids at home right now,” she says in broken English. Some are her own, most she has collected from the streets of sad circumstance in the Congo. She tells us about how she visits her niece when she is three and discovers she is still not walking. How the parents of this little one separate, go about their lives and leave her behind with aged grandparents.

She hears God say, “how will you live with yourself if you don’t do something for this little one.” So she picks her up, takes her home, raises her as her own. She smiles when she tells us this niece and her daughter are best friends, teenagers now walking in joyful destiny.

Across the room I listen to a church planter talk about how his church reaches urban youth in Chattanooga. How no one else in the city is doing anything to invest in masses of kids who live in abject poverty without hope of pulling out. They scale back from 100 kids to 60 because it’s just not safe to have that many kids with that many needs in one room.

He tears up, looks down and stops silent, tries to stop emotion rising like steam from a well of compassion inside. Says a staff member was jumped by five recently. Beat to an inch of his life in the parking lot of the church. The man has a wife and two small children and just loves Jesus, wants to share the Gospel with the lost. Those offenders didn’t want anything from him, just an opportunity to beat up someone.

Two pastors stand behind me, tell about how they invest in men to be leaders in their respective cities. They share about strategic plans to spread the Gospel message.  Tell about how their plans grow like grapes hanging low on vines tended for years now.

And when we bow to pray and thank God for the food we are about to eat, the tears fall like faucet down my face in the closing of the eyes. The sky cracks open and rains hope over my weary heart. I’ve seen the ways God offers opportunity on a plate to those He trusts. Opportunity that looks risky and hard, uncertain and sacrificial, but transforms beauty multiplied with the single drop of yes.

Linking with Lisa-Jo for Five Minute Friday with the one word prompt: Opportunity and Beholding Glory.

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