A little over a year ago- Emily, my sister, jumped out of a plane.

Since then her perspective on life has changed. She wants to be a woman not afraid to take risks, not afraid to go after something, not afraid to enjoy and live out the time she has been given on this earth.

It's easy to feel that kind of rush in the moment of adrenaline pumping events.

But then regular life kicks in…

Go to work.

Come home.

Pay the bills.

            Go to work.

                        Come home.

                                    Try and do something fun.

            Go to work.

Come home.

            …and the cycle continues.

A few months ago Emily stood in our kitchen and told me she was tired of talking about all the things she wanted to do.

She felt like she was asking God to shake her up, but never putting herself in a position to allow Him to do that.

So she got into position.

She decided to go to Swaziland.

It has been a DREAM of Emily's to go to Africa, to hold the orphans, to offer her medical experience, to learn and be a part of that culture.

Swaziland is a very poverty stricken place. AIDS runs rampant, orphans cry out for love.

Emily has stopped talking, and she's taken a step towards DOING and BEING- asking God to help her realize a dream, and live His love out in the process.

Emily will be joining a team from Adventures In Mission on March 23-31.

In Swaziland they could end up doing a variety of different things, but a focus will be on orphanages.

She has a few financial needs for going including cost of travel- they amount to about $3000.

I've heard a lot of talk about short-term missions lately- their worth, their value…

The truth is- people don't forget the visitors that God brings into their countries. You could just send money to some of these places, and that would be great…

But money can't hold a hand…

            Money can't hug a child…

                        Money can't look into the eyes of a struggling mother and call her beautiful…

                        Money can't sing and laugh and dance with people…

                                    Money can't embody the presence of God in a place of darkness…

But Emily can.

And Emily will.

Would you consider helping to send her?

You can send a check to:

Emily Gironimi

9 Meredyth Hill Rd

Mystic, CT 06355

OR

If you have paypal and wish to do an electronic transfer- you can send money as a gift to my email address kathrynlynn829@gmail.com and I will transfer all the money to Emily's Trip.

Thank you!

And I will be giving an update on here from Emily about her trip!

I had a long week.

Nothing earth shattering; but there were a lot of little situations that added up to my feeling a little bit lousy.

The harder I tried...

            ...the worse things seemed to go.

And toward the end of my very long week, as I was driving home from a very long day at work...

            ...a tire blew out on my car.

Barbie- the name of my car.

I call her Barbara when she's acting up.

This was one of those times.

She's got character.

And you KNOW whenever someone describes their car as having character, it really means that...

            ...it's a piece of junk.

She's got some dents, her brakes act a little funny sometimes, and not all the dashboard lights work properly. Her gas gauge also periodically decides to jump around instead of giving me an accurate reading.

She refuses to open her trunk.

But the best part is her driver's side door. It doesn't really work. It doesn't open and shut properly- so you cannot just get in like a normal person would enter a vehicle. You have to crawl in from the passenger side, scoot over the middle console and slide into the drivers seat.

I have perfected ninja rolling out of the car- even in a dress and heels...

                        ...cause all I do is win.

It has been mildly embarrassing when I've driven someone else's car and I've crawled in through the passenger side because I forgot that in normal cars people don't do that.

 But I'm really not complaining- I am so thankful for Barbie. She has provided me with a much needed means of transportation since college and the old girl continues to hold out even though she is in some great need of Pontiac botox.

She does however try my patience.

And when her tire blew out- with it went my endearment.

It was just that one more thing...

            ...that one more thing in a series of things...

                        ...that pushes your tolerance...

... and your wallet...

                                                ...to the limit.

She was towed to a little garage that my mother uses.

My mom has a great relationship with this garage- she bakes them cookies and has given them business for years. They in return have been trustworthy and honoring in their work.

I called my mother that day and she told me how much they had estimated the new tire would cost, it wasn't terrible, but I was still in a bad mood about Barbara never giving me five minutes without something going wrong.

I walked into the garage when Barbie was ready to be picked up and told them my name.

The man at the counter said "oh yes, let me find her paperwork..."

I got out my debit card, mentally calculating my costs for the next couple of weeks...

The man came back with no paperwork, walked to his computer, typed some things in and then looked up at me...

"We've voided the costs.

The keys are in the car.

You can go."

He smiled.

I peered at him confused, I waited for the understanding of what he had just said to sink in and before I could contest anything he said...

"Really... really... you can go."

Smiled again.

"Thank you."

It was the simplest most heart felt reply I could give.

I crawled into my car, started her up, and began the drive home- and cried.

Who says there is no goodness left in the world?

It's interesting to me that even within the world there are traces of God's goodness- even when they don't recognize it...

            ...their kindness has even just the hints of His Spirit's DNA.

How much more then -with passionate, Christ fueled and Spirit empowered goodness, have we been equipped to transform the atmosphere of the very lives in our midst?

Mark meets Kathy.

Mark says something along of the lines of "hey baby, want to make this thing legal?" And Kathy agrees to marry him.

Mark and Kathy have a stunningly beautiful baby girl, whom they name Kathryn.

During Kathryn's younger years both parents instill a love of music.

Mark goes the Led Zeppelin, Aerosmith, lynryd skynyrd route, while Kathy takes a more mild approach...

..but introduces her daughter to Fleetwood Mac.

Kathy also gave her daughter Point of Grace, Sandi Patty, and Steve Green...

...but we'll overlook that for now.

Irrelevant information.

Obviously, I am that Kathryn.

And Fleetwood Mac is one of my favorite bands- and Stevie Nicks is a contender for my favorite female songwriter/artist.

Fast-forward a few years...

            ...more than a few...

I began a new job in August.

I work long hours with mostly middle-aged women, and my goal when I began the job was to make each of them fall in love with me. No easy task, since a few of them have English as a second language and I'm not great with the Spanish language.

I want to be liked, of course, but wanting them to fall in love with me was for a much bigger picture than that of my own ego..

...I wanted them to trust me...

...to have a relationship where I could easily be myself and talk about the greatest part of me...

Jesus.

My evangelism technique in the work place isn't really a technique.

I'm simply myself.

And I pray that God moves, and that I have opportunities to speak into these women's lives and for them to know what moves me passionately in life...

...the gospel.

I can honestly say that I have won over most of them.

I love going into work mostly because I love the people I work with.

But there was one...

                        ...one very hard shell to crack...

                                    ...one who speaks down to me...

            ...one with a very rough exterior...

                        ...one who intimidates me so much I can barely even speak around her...

She either is ordering me to do something, or speaking sarcastically about something I've said.

Needless to say- I couldn't figure out a way to gain her trust, or her respect.

Then today happened.

I was wearing my Backstreet Boys 2005 Never Gone Tour T-shirt, and that prompted her curiosity...

...as well as a funny look.

So we started talking about concerts we'd been to, and she asked me to help her lift the pieces she was working on (which are super heavy but I man-up and don't let her see how much exertion it takes for me to lift them).

Just before we end our brief conversation she says, "Oh, and I've been to see Stevie Nicks more times than I can count."

"Oh, I'm really jealous. I love her."

I replied, not thinking much of it.

She stopped what she was doing and looked at me, made a comment about how I was a little young to love her, didn't think I knew her.

I name some favorite songs and just say how much I admire her.

And that was it.

That was the moment that God allowed this woman to be snared in the net of trusting and respecting me.

She looked at me, smiled (which is the first time she has genuinely done that), and her demeanor toward me changed.

Stevie Nicks.

Stevie Nicks was my "in" to this woman's life, and the beginning of a relationship.

As I was driving home I wondered...

...could it be that my mother and father...

... were purposefully put together...

...so that I was born at just the right time...

            ...given just the right musical influences by them...

                        ...so that I could end up standing in front of this woman...

...who I know God desperately wants to reach...

            ...unable to reach her any other way...

                        ...except by the conversation starter of Stevie Nicks.

Seems far-fetched right?

Maybe.

But the truth is, there is purpose- in all of it, in every moment, in every conversation, through every part of us.

And that conversation could have just been that- a common interest.

But I know, it hits somewhere in the depth of me, that God is moving.

He was in it from the very beginning...

...and everyone we encounter is granted an invitation to know who He is.

I did not say "Hey do you want to know Jesus as your personal Savior?" right after we talked about Stevie...

            ...actually I didn't say much at all.

I didn't need to.

But I think there was just as much significance in that encounter, or maybe more, than some of the conversations where I have asked that question of people.

Pray that God moves in the factory where I work...

...that I would be so aware of His presence- because it is a place of depression, lack of joy, and a pervasive fatalistic worldview.

Be aware that every single part of you- even down to your personal interests, is an open door for the Spirit to come rushing through...

Maybe you were born for the conversation that you will have tomorrow with that person that crosses your path every day, or crosses your path once...

..truth is you were probably born for much more than that.

But when you see every encounter as that significant- it changes you.

And I think you'd find that you are much more of an evangelist than you thought.

And you didn't have to take a class, or go to a seminar, or read a book to be really great at it.

(my niece-Camryn)

She placed her hands on her pregnant belly as she stared out the hospital window beyond the pastel colored curtains.

39 ½ weeks…

39 ½ weeks of dreaming of this baby's face…

39 ½ weeks of sorting through names….

…saying each one out loud…

            …till the perfect one came, and she knew the moment it left her lips that it was meant for her son.

39 ½ weeks of folding little clothes that would soon keep warm the body of her precious baby boy.

She had come so far; she had come 39 ½ weeks.

And at 39 ½ weeks…

...her baby died.

Trapped in her womb was no longer the exciting anticipation of new life.

Now her body was housing death.

When she looked down at her belly, once a beacon of hope, it now invoked the immediate emotions of anger.

Frustration. Bitterness. Resentment.

The father in all his strength…

                        …sat in a chair…

                                    …put his face into his hands…

                                                …and sobbed.

He would never hold his son.

He would never teach him how to tie a tie…

            …or swing a bat…

                        …or how to drive…

...He lost his son before he even met him.

And as if the loss wasn't bad enough…

…she still had to deliver him.

She would go through labor pains, and the process of delivery to be met on the other end with a dead child.

My sister is a labor and delivery nurse.

Normally she comes home with stories of life and love, and the occasional humorous encounter with new parents.

But this story was different.

We sat at a diner table with a couple of trusted friends, listened as my sister, through tears, talked about her role, the emotions she witnessed, the feeling of helplessness, the not knowing what to do…

…the not knowing what to say.

We prayed.

For the marriage.

For the mother.

For the father.

For my sister.

The four of us lifted our hearts together and asked God for a miracle- for breath of life to fill the lungs of a dead child, and for his heart to begin beating again.

And I know those prayers were heard.

But she still delivered a lifeless son.

When I saw my sister graduate from nursing school it was such a joyful and challenging send off.

Her years had been spent preparing to not only unleash her practical skills on the world, but to do it with love and hope and the power of Christ.

But education doesn't prepare you for this.

Nothing does.

And the truth is…

                        …situations like this don't get made right.

Not on this earth.

Sometimes the knowledge that God has a plan, or that God is at work…

…doesn't even take the edge off of the pain.

There are times when I sit and think about the depth of grief.

The hurting. The throbbing of the heart. The aching.

It's so tangible.

We feel the loss of a connection- something emotional, and the pain manifests in physical ways.

Pain is complex.

And when people are experiencing a pain that causes their soul to moan…

…there is nothing you can do.

…there is nothing you can say.

When these circumstances occur in our life it's easy to feel like…

…God is not doing anything.

…God is not speaking the answer to the prayers we've cried out.

But that doesn't change the fact that He's there.

Sometimes He is even just there to take our angry tears, and the verbal punches we throw in His direction…

            …He's there…

                        …even just in a hinted way…

                                    …He goes through it with us.

In a similar way….

Sometimes it just matters that we're there.

It matters that my sister takes the rude remarks hurled at her from a mother in pain…

            …it matters that she loves and serves without it being recognized or even acknowledged…

                        …it matters that when the parents aren't looking, she walks into a break room, and literally breaks down, her heart inevitably intertwined with their hearts…

…it matters that she's there.

As disciples of Christ, and ambassadors of hope we desire to speak life, and offer words of comfort.

There are things we can do and so we seek the right way to serve and the best actions to take.

But part of being the salt of the earth…

…is that sometimes there is just a hint of it…

...even when people don't think about it…

…or realize that's what it is…

…they just know it's there.

I used to be an original gangster when it came to evangelism.

When I was in seventh grade I had a fire that couldn't be quenched.

I had no idea what I was doing.

I was armed with about 300 verses memorized through Awana, and a bunch of Sunday school stories…

…but I knew I had truth.

One day I went to the tract rack at my church and I grabbed about one hundred of them- crazy cartoon ones that talked about the end of the world, ones with monkeys that talked about creation, ones about comfort, tracts about heaven and the fire that awaited the unbelieving side of that…

…I had the variety pack of tracts.

I put together envelopes for every single one of my teachers and I shoved about five different tracts in each.

I wrote a note inviting them to my church and telling them I would love if they read the information.

Looking back now.

I'm a little mortified.

I can only imagine most of the teachers opening the envelopes seeing the monkeys and crazy hell fire cartoons and thinking…

...”here we go, another one of the fundamentalist bred kids growing up condemning people to hell and picketing against the homosexuals.”

No one responded to my evangelistic effort.

However, I was not deterred.

I would walk home and I would choose to go way out of my way sometimes, cornering my fellow classmates by racing after them on the sidewalk.

“What do you think about heaven?

       Do you believe in God?

              How do you think someone gets to heaven?”

I was anything but subtle.

No small talk.

I got right to the good stuff.

Sometimes I noticed my friends picking up their pace, but I wasn't letting them get away till I had given them my road mapped gospel starting with Romans 3:23 and ending with John 3:16.

My methods did leave something to be desired.

And my understanding of the gospel has ebbed and flowed and grown tremendously since the days where Hanson photos ruled my bedroom walls.

(p.s. Hanson is playing in New Haven Connecticut on Oct. 8. You better believe this girl is going.)

But something happened between the ages of 12 and 24 years old.

I lost that boldness.

While now I probably wouldn't just shove tracts in envelopes or get in people's faces and say, “When you die do you know where you are going?” my motivation was so pure back then.

I desired so badly for people to know Jesus Christ.

It didn't matter how the message got out there, I just needed to get it out.

And through bouts with my own identity, beliefs, not wanting to seem “weird”, feeling like I didn't have enough answers…

…that very awkward, bad bangs, envelope-tract-stuffing middle school girl lost touch with what had once been the driving force of her life.

When I read through the gospel accounts of Jesus life- time and time again I see people, broken (sometimes physically, sometimes emotionally) whose encounter with Christ is the driving force of their joy.

They encountered Jesus and then (even when told not to) went off and told people about the encounter they just had.

No tracts.

No Romans Road.

No four spiritual laws.

No theological understanding of the trinity.

Just their experience with the living gospel.

When I was 24 I encountered Jesus in a way I never had before.

I hit the lowest I had ever been in my life, no longer masked by the bible college student front, or worship team member, or bell choir ringer (holla at me if you were in bell choir!), no fancy theological papers to debate….

…there came a moment where it was just me and God.

Before Him I could not hide.

I had to be honest about all the sins and idolatry I had whored myself out to instead of loving my God with all my heart, soul, and might.

For the very first time I allowed myself to encounter Jesus and the truth of the good news he proclaimed.

And it was that intimate surrender…

…facing my greatest weaknesses…

…and acknowledging that only God could satisfy…

…that gave me my evangelism mojo back.

Talking with a few friends lately, I'm hearing over and over again their aversion to sharing the gospel. Some reasons, mostly that have to do with boldness, I understand somewhat and know that it takes willful action to get over.

However, in my recent conversations, the complete lack of any interest in sharing the gospel disturbs me- and leaves me wondering….

…have they ever really encountered Jesus?

I think it's pretty clear in Scripture that even religious people can know Jesus, talk to him, be around him, witness his miracles, know about prophecy, and the history of God and his people…

…and still not encounter Jesus in the way they're meant to.

I think there a lot of christians singing worship songs, teaching Sunday school, working for non-profits, tithing, getting a daily devotional email, working for VBS…

…but they have never encountered the gospel in a transforming way.

I don't have a formula for exposing this.

I looked online and I didn't find any tracts for lack-luster Christianity that I could shove into envelopes.

This isn't a blog meant to condemn those christians who could care less about sharing the gospel.

It's more a plea to ask why.

It's my heart that is desperate for people to encounter the Jesus I have encountered.

The Jesus that many with me, and many before me, have encountered.

A powerful, transforming, can't-help-but-want-to-share-it… gospel.

In my area of the U.S. I think we need less tactics for making converts, and more discussion on how to foster discipleship.

We are asking people to do evangelism outside of the church, when it's within the church walls that we end up needing to evangelize.

My bangs are a little bit more tame now, and the Hanson photos are long gone..

…but I'm back to a place of knowing I have truth…

…and just wanting others to have it too.

The year is 1990.

I'm in kindergarten.

I'm probably wearing a jean jumper of some sort, I have a crush on a very cute blonde boy named Joshua (who was a jehovah's witness… it was doomed from the start), and my teacher is one of the sweetest women to ever walk the earth.

I was also collecting milk cartons that had New Kids on the Block pictures.

Probably a campaign to drink the “Right Stuff.”

We're in circle time, and this particular week the question was…

...”What do you want to be when you grow up?”

I don't remember what my answer was- I probably wanted to be the drummer for Led Zeppelin.

But, the reason I can recall this day so vividly is because of the answer one of my classmates gave.

As we went around the circle, you had the generic five-year-old responses- professional baseball player, a mommy, a police officer, a fireman…

…then circle time got awkward.

“When I grow up I wanna be a bunny rabbit!”

With a huge smile on her face, this girl expressed her sincerity in dreaming of becoming a four-legged, furry creature.

Some students laughed- surely this girl wasn't serious.

Even at a young age, I observed the look of confusion in my teacher's face.

“Oh honey, people can't grow up to be bunnies. What else do you think you would like to be when you grow up?” Came the gentle reply.

A thoughtful moment from bunny girl and then…

“Oh… a kitty-cat!”

My teacher simply moved on to the next person.

And that girl didn't pass kindergarten.

There is a trend in Christianity (and I think it's a good one) where we are getting rid of the question “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

We are taking the focus off of that, and saying your identity isn't defined by what you do, but rather who you are.

And who you are is defined by whom you belong to.

And that is a beautiful truth.

As a follower of Christ you have a life hidden in Him.

Free, a new heart- you are a Son or Daughter of the Most High.

But then comes this other question…

What are you called to do?

We slap the word “calling” in there, and even though we now understand our identity, we still fall into the same trap of how we approach life...

…but now it has a Christian jargon face lift.

Calling. Lifework. Mission.

In college I heard this a lot; “Well I'm passionate about…

                                                      …so I feel called to…”

Discussions usually went from asking what we were passionate about to then figure out what we were called to do.

And the reverse was true- in discussion I would find myself, and classmates saying, “well I'm not passionate about that, so I'm not called…”

Calling began to become more closely associated with what I wanted to do, and trying to convince God to come along in that.

I often wondered why so many were called to youth ministry…

…but no one felt called when it was time to clean up the campus.

When I look through the Bible, I see that God's calling on the lives of men and women was always associated with the proclaiming of who He was, and using his people as a vehicle to proclaim that truth.

But I almost never see that the calling was what they really wanted to do.

Nor do I see much of a passion for it expressed prior to the calling.

Noah wasn't passionate about boat making.

Moses wasn't passionate about leadership.

Isaiah wasn't passionate about preaching destruction (in fact God basically tells him people aren't going to listen to a word he says… but he is going to say it anyway).

Jonah was definitely not passionate about Ninevah.

Now, I am NOT SAYING that you can't be passionate about something and pursue it. I believe God puts desires and passions on our heart and we need to act on those.

But, I am also saying that sometimes calling precedes passion.

We were all released into one calling- to make disciples, to see God's name made famous throughout the whole earth, and to proclaim redemption through Jesus Christ.

God calls for that purpose.

To see people come into relationship with Him.

I am speaking to all those who are currently living in a situation that they may not necessarily be passionate about…

Can you cultivate passion about your current calling?

I'm not talking to those who are stuck because of fear or disobedience or unwillingness to surrender- that's a different story.

But to those who, right now, are where God wants you to be- and instead of living out the gospel in your current context you are telling the Lord, “Well this can't be my calling because I'm not passionate about it.”

And God is answering, “But this is where I need you- can you be passionate about me?”

I say dream big, I say follow your passions, explore your desires…

But maybe, you'll find that God has given you a calling- and you will have to sacrificially walk into it before you discover your passion for it.

1 Peter 2:9

But you are a chose race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation,

A people for God's own possession, so that you may proclaim the excellencies of Him

who has called you out of the darkness into His marvelous light…

“And do you know how I knew I really liked him?..

He asked if we could pray before the meal.”

I have a hard time mustering up fakexcitment (new mesh word I made up- self-explanatory in definition) when a friend of mine is relaying ridiculous date stories- but this particular one really got to me.

That was it?

That's what did it for her?

She was ready to say “I do” (and that is NOT an exaggeration), all because the gentlemen said “bless this food to our bodies Lord.”

I replied with something sarcastic about seeing Criminal Minds one too many times…

…about how a lot of the serial killers quote scripture and pray before meals.

But I'm sure they must make great husbands.

They usually don't kill their own families.

My humor did not derail her list of character qualities she had found in this young man, assessed only from the meal prayer.

Thinking way too deeply about the minute details of the conversation, I couldn't shake her words…

“And do you know how I knew I really liked him?..

He asked if we could pray before the meal.”

Now, before someone gets crazy and starts emailing me about how there is nothing wrong with thanking the Lord for our food, I am not disrespecting the good intention behind the meal prayer.

I have prayed before consuming food.

Especially in Africa.

I get a little sentimental when families hold hands and recognize God as their provider.

I even do the little close-out, Amen hand squeeze.

I was reading an atheist blog the other day and he was questioning about the Christian “meal prayer”, and he asked “why don't they pray for water? Your body can last three weeks without food, but not three days without water. But I don't see people bowing their heads to thank God for a glass of water.”

It was, if nothing else, a thought-provoking commentary.

A young man that has been a part of my church family for a little while is being relocated because of his job. It was his last Sunday with us, so I asked our young adult group to gather around him, lay hands on him and pray over him- my intention was really to send him with words of life, with a petitioning for God to blaze the way before him, and for him to have strength in that.

And you know what?

Things got kind of awkward.

No one wanted to pray.

Got up, stood around, put our hands on him….

…and silence.

Not the kind of reverent, meditative silence.

But the kind where everyone else is wondering if someone else will just start talking so the awkwardness can end.

Growing up I remember this happening in youth group too.

We'd ask for prayer requests and there were usually three categories of prayers that people wanted put up on the white board list:

1.) School- tests/papers

2.) Safe Travels

3.) Unspoken

And then our youth pastor would ask someone to pray or he would volunteer someone and that person would refuse, or no one would want to pray.

We celebrate the “meal prayer” as some indicator of Christian goodness or a standard of someone who really means business…

…but we get awkward when prayer could really count.

Because we've grown up “praying” about trivial things that don't connect us with the heart of God, but rather connect us with the news we want to share with the group (or don't trust people enough to share), and mundane activities.

No wonder no one volunteers to pray.

Again, I'm not saying it's wrong to ask for your car to get from point A to point B.

Gosh, have you met my car?

I lay hands on that crazy vehicle every morning, asking for travel mercies.

Not wrong to want prayer for a test/assignment.

Though sometimes you probably just need to study.

And having an “unspoken” request isn't bad.

But at times, it's an indicator of our insecurity in sharing and allowing our community to help us, to really be there for us.

And as a result we grow up in a culture where, for the most part, prayer is awkward unless it's our built-in-scenario comfortable prayers- like the mealtime one.

In his incredibly challenging book Radical, David Platt says this:

“You and I live in a culture where we gather in stadiums and around televisions for hours at a time to watch guys run around a field with a pigskin ball in their hands as they try to cross a white line. We express enthusiasm, emotion, and affection for football and other sports, and it begs the question…

What would happen in our culture if the church prayed with such passion?”

To be honest, I truly believe our prayer lives are an indication of how we view the character of the Lord.

I had a missionary tell me once, “I admire those who spend time in intercessory prayer, I just don't have that gift.”

Really?

Well, if you are a follower of Jesus Christ, baptized into his death and raised in His resurrection, as a new creation, no longer under law but under grace as a child of God who has the indwelling of the Holy Spirit…

…then you have the gift of prayer.

What are you praying for?

We're told the earliest followers of Jesus were devoted to it.

I've seen and I've read probably 14 million books on 7 steps to a better prayer life, or the most powerful prayers you can pray…

Really I think Nike has the best slogan for praying…

Just do it.

Here is my challenge and I am going to do it too!

Let's just say that for the month of August the Lord knows that we're thankful for our food, and we know ultimately He is the provider of our needs.

So INSTEAD of “bless this food to our bodies…”

Visit http://www.operationworld.org/

Click on “Pray for the World”

And pick 31 countries- operation world gives details on the nations as well as specific things you can pray about.

And each night, or at breakfast, or lunch, or when you are out at restaurants- instead of the normal meal prayer, lift up the nations…

Open your heart to allowing God to show you something new…

Need. Justice. Power. Mobilization.

If you do take this challenge- I'd love to hear from you.

Kathrynlynn829@gmail.com

Let me know what the Spirit says through those 31 days in August.

And I appreciate the mealtime prayer, but you show me a man who's heart is in prayer for the nations and that's how I'll know I really like him.

And I'll snatch him up quick.

So you better find him first.

(photo from Philippines 2010)

“Can you believe that guy?”

A little confused, I glanced over both my shoulders…

…no one else was there.

The ice cream attendant was in fact talking to me.

Before I could respond she launched into a rant,

“..Coming in here, all carryin' his garbage bags.

I didn't tell Andy to hand out coupons to the homeless.

Andy is probably at the damn shelter givin em' out.”

I was at an outdoor concert with the girl I nanny on the weekends and one of the local ice cream shops was giving out half-off coupons to bring in business.

And somehow…

     …apparently…    

…a lower class citizen had gotten his “grubby” hands on a coupon.

I had seen the man when I walked in.

More like, I had smelled the man when I walked in.

It was obvious, from the way he spoke, that his mental faculties were not all in proper working order.

He had dropped the first cone he had been given.

Not surprising when you saw him juggling his garbage

bags, filled with all his belongings, and handling

them with the dexterity of a toddler.

Extremely annoyed, which she did not hide with her body language, the ice cream attendant got him another cone and sort of rushed him out the door.

I could talk about how she treated this man like the garbage he was carrying.

I could talk about how, for whatever reason, she deemed his $1.50 not as valuable as any “regular” customer's $1.50.

I could make a statement about how this particular city I was in talks about wanting to help “these” people, and yet they're the ones treated like the plague in their very hometown.

But…

…the thing that really bothered me about the whole situation was not even the lack of respect shown to this man…

…even though I do find that nauseating.

I mean he just wanted an ice cream cone.

Because he's homeless he doesn't deserve a coupon?

That actually makes my blood boil.

But the part that baffled me was how she felt she could talk about him; and the way in which she talked about him when he left the store…

…with me…

…a complete stranger.

Somehow, in her mind, she thought I would naturally bond with her over this “inconvenient” encounter.

She felt free enough to speak candidly about how “crazy”, how “annoying”, how “tiresome”, this man was.

Of course she and I would agree.

Naturally we were above him.

And naturally we would feel the same way.

She probably ranted on for longer than her entire transaction had been with this guy.

She acted as if she and I were together on this one.

I was surprised she didn't want to chest bump it out after I was done paying for my own ice cream.

When we walked out I saw the man with his garbage bags and shaky hands, and as I walked past I handed him my extra coupon.

Businesses love repeat customers…

…right?

Reflecting on this, I was struck deeply by the way God intended for his community of believers to be.

Starting way back with Israel, He had set them apart as a society that wouldn't treat people like garbage, in fact, would seek to serve those who the world would would deem “less”.

Sometimes I sit in church or I read the Bible and I don't get the words like…

Oppressed. Widowed. Poor.

I know we're supposed to take care of them, but I don't always feel like I know how to go about it.

And even Angelina Jolie is worried about the poor people,

so how does this make the Church any different?

And then I saw it.

In a simple ice cream store encounter.

I realized the world does devalue people. The world has these tiers of communities that all think they are better than the one below them.

And they think everyone is in on this mindset.

And God just meant for it to be different…

     …meant for His community to be set apart…

          …meant for His community to be Holy.

A reflection of Himself.

What I am coming to understand is that loving the unlovable isn't me reaching down from my mighty position to pull someone up into it…

…it's reaching into the same place God has met me.

Being reminded that this is where God met me.

Seeing the beauty of that.

Seeing that, in God's shop, He has made every coupon valid.

(photo from Philippines 2010)

I was lying on my bed, in my dorm room, reading.

I can no longer remember the name of the book, but it was for my gospels and acts class.

The book was making a commentary on the birth of Jesus and it so blatantly pointed out that the wisemen were not present at the manger scene.

In fact they didn't show up probably until Jesus was a toddler.

I remember thinking…

“What?...

…is this a joke?”

I ran, got my Bible, and opened up to Luke…

…then I searched out the other gospels with the account of Jesus birth.

Having now investigated for myself I realized it was true- they weren't there.

I hadn't ever really noticed.

And whenever I was told the story, they were always there.

Why did every nativity scene in existence have them there?

Why in every Christmas pageant did they show up kneel at the side of the trough that baby Jesus was sleeping in and present him gifts?

I felt like my world was caving in.

I felt lied to.

I was angry.

I yelled “it's all a lie….”

…and threw the commentary into the hallway, letting it crash against a wall.

I am prone to the dramatic- I realize this.

But come on…

…I was in my second year of bible college…

…and I'm just now learning this?

My friend Meg, having heard my outburst, cautiously peeked her head around the frame of my door, with wide eyes she asked, “Are you okay?”

I explained to her about how I had just come to realize that the wisemen were not actually present at the manger scene during Jesus' birth…

…how I felt betrayed by every sunday school flannel graph that had told me otherwise…

…how every nativity scene depicted a lie.

She listened.

She was very gracious during what can only be classified as bible “road rage”.

I now saw my mission clearly, I had only one choice- I needed to make this known.

Ready to set the world straight, I put on a sweatshirt and ran outside.

Our college had a big statue nativity scene they set up during the Christmas season…

…and in an effort to restore honor to all that was the story of Jesus birth…

…I stole the wisemen.

Well, at first I kicked one down.

That wasn't satisfying enough- so I took them.

A few hours later I would find myself in the Deans office, explaining my transgressions, which I really saw as a vital battle for truth.

The Dean listened to me rant and rave about growing up with a lie; about how I thought that we, an institution that was preparing young men and women to share the gospel and be ambassadors of truth, shouldn't support such inaccuracies by allowing wisemen near the manger.

I still had to return the wisemen.

My ranting did nothing.

Now, looking back, I can see how this wasn't exactly earth shattering information. In my more mature state of mind, I accept that just because we have wisemen in the paintings or in the pageants- it doesn't negate the beauty and truth of Jesus' birth.

Still every year I hide my mother's wisemen, placing them in different places around the house.

I still don't think they belong in the manger scene.

This hasn't happened with just “wisemen” in my life.

Often in my walk with the Lord I will suddenly be introduced to a new concept, or the eyes of my heart will be illuminated by a truth in Scripture that has escaped me…

…. or newly discovered depth of truth causes me to change the way I live or even view the purpose and actions of the Church.

But I usually find that ranting and raving gets me nowhere.

The sarcastic way of which I challenge tradition or the way certain groups of people have done things, isn't always received well.

I will complain, I will even speak poorly- sometimes under the guise of “holy venting”…

…and I find that it doesn't change much.

Now, that being said, I think the Church as a whole does need to be challenged.

Questions do need to be raised…

…about community, mission, social justice, personal sin, entertainment…

…you name it…

…it's probably worth talking about.

But in a world where we can hide behind our computer screens and blog our complaints, or send a tweet out into the universe that vents our imminent frustration with our brothers and sisters in Christ without ever confronting them…

…there is a danger that we act just as I did with the wisemen…

…maybe we feel justified in ranting and raving, but it isn't productive.

Usually too, a truth that we find game changing in our walk with the Lord, is a truth that we had to be illuminated to…

…and for others who haven't seen it, or understand those truths yet…

…they deserve more than our sarcasm.

I'm not saying don't be vigilant for what is right.

I'm not even saying there isn't room for satire or pointed statements within the Church.

I'm saying, if you see a problem, seek to be part of the solution.

Too many times I have allowed “venting” to become idle ideology.

Don't just use your facebook status as an unproductive and dishonoring attack on those within the Church that you believe have it all wrong.

We were meant to pull the best out of one another.

Sometimes that's a painful process, and it isn't easy…

But if first requires that we believe the best about one another.

Just like I believe the best about all past sunday school teachers who didn't make it clear to me that the wisemen were actually absent the night Jesus was born.

I promise I've recovered from that shocking discovery.

Sort of.

“And where were you before you came here?” I asked, as I handed her a napkin.

“Rehab.” She replied nonchalantly as she took another bite of pizza.

I was still in the training phase of my new job working at the group home for young women, and I was trying to get to know the girls without being overbearing.

Rape. Abandonment. Abuse. Drugs. Deep emotional disturbances….

What is being offered to these young girls is a system…

…a structure for dealing with their lives, the things that have happened…

…and resources to choose a better way.

But that's just it.

They have to choose it.

I grew up in church, I went to Bible college, I was what you could classify as a career missionary for a year….

So I've heard a talk or two concerning the Law versus Christ's gift of salvation.

But it was this past week that I got a new perspective on the subject.

Nothing revolutionary in my thinking…

…but I am finding, more and more, that going deeper with the Lord is profoundly simple.

These girls have the law.

There a lot of workers in the government system, in all facets of their education and mental health, that are working to help give them direction….

…Programs. Rules. Guidance.

And these people that work for these programs and institutions aren't there for the paycheck.

They want to see these young women succeed.

They love these girls.

Direction is useless without meaning.

All the laws, rules, programs, regulations, institutions….

…no matter how wonderful they are…

….no matter how innovative…

…no matter how helpful…

….no matter how practical….

None of it helps, unless the girls choose it.

They have to choose to allow the law to point them in the right direction.

They have to be willing to change.

They have to be willing to suffer a little bit in the changing process for it to work.

They have to be willing to face truths about things that have been done to them, and things that they've done…

They have to believe in something beyond the law to see the purpose in it.

Just like Scripture shows us.

The law was good.

But it was powerless.

Jesus Christ infused this world with a new way.

He gave meaning to our direction.

But, we have to choose it.

We have to choose that which is beyond us is better, more fulfilling, greater, stronger…

…that Love…

…that perfect love…

…love that binds all the fragmented pieces of our souls and pulls them together in a unity that we cannot comprehend…

…giving us purpose beyond our deserving or understanding.

My prayer is that these girls would choose better.

But that's just it.

They have to choose.

And I can't do that for them.

I can only point them in the right direction.

I can be a presence of that same Love that wants to see them choose better.