His Footsteps

I wrote this because I realized how much God is working in the world that we don't even pay attention to. It is so sad how oblivious we are.

Your footsteps thunder across the earth -

How can we not feel it shake?

Are we numb and do not feel Your might?

Are we deaf and cannot hear the rumble of Your armies?

Are we so blind?

Will the rocks cry out,

Their eyes seeing what we do not?

How much more must the earth shake

Before we fall, our knees on the ground in worship?

We need a Healer

To make us to hear,

To make us to feel,

To make us to see.

But do we want healing?

A dark silence is comfortable, like sleep,

Or death.

A Conversation with Father

So, this is a poem/dialogue that I wrote, because my heart was anguished by all the girls I've seen who think they can find real love in a guy, when it comes only from God.

A Conversation with Father

My Father is wonderful, sweet, loving,

I am grateful for His care.

But there are times, when,

His protection overwhelms me.

"My daughter?"

"Yes, Father?"

"Who was that man who was just with you?"

"a friend, Father."

My Father looks at me, concerned,

questioning.

"What does he want from you?"

Exasperating paranoia.

"Father, he's been so good to me!

He tells me how precious I am,

How beautiful,

How his love for me could not change,

How I deserve respect,

How I am worthy to die for..."

My Father's gaze has not left me this whole time.

His eyes seem to be glistening with - tears?

"Has he touched you, My daughter?"

...

How can I answer that?

I don't.

"My daughter, this man has disrespected you,

and even Me.

For even as I made you,

With all the care and tenderness in My heart,

He has dared to touch you,

Without coming to Me, your Creator, for permission.

Furthermore, he has dared to speak words to you,

That only I have made true."

The tears in His eyes have become tears in mine.

"Father, forgive me. He made me feel loved,

and I was deceived."

"My daughter, have you forgotten My Son?

The One who calls you precious?

Who made you pure and beautiful in My sight?

Whose love for you has never changed?

Who gave you respect?

Who proved your worth by dying for you?

With every lash of the whip that scraped blood across His back,

He thought of you.

With every pound of the nails into His hands and feet,

He thought of you.

As He hung there dying, anguished,

As you laughed in His face,

He cried out to Me,

'Father, forgive her. She doesn't know what she's doing.' "

Suddenly, I see Him, My Father's Son,

His hand held out to me, a hole made in it for me.

"This is My Son, who, owning the right,

Earned the right to

Hold you in His arms,

To be your Protector,

To love you,

If you will accept His offer."

"Thank you, Father."

Can You Resist This?

I want to start out by citing one of the many haunting quotes from my favorite book, a Chance to Die, by Elisabeth Elliot, a biography on Amy Carmichael. This quote is actually an excerpt from a letter Amy Carmichael wrote to home.

"You who can resist the half-articulate pleading of many and many a heart today,can you resist this? From millions of voiceless souls, it is rising now- does it not touch you at all? The missionary magazines try to echo the silent sob. You read them? Yes; and you skim them for good stories, nice pictures, bits of excitement - the more the better. Then they drop into the wastepaper basket, or swell some dusty pile in the corner. For perhaps "there isn't much in them". Very likely not; "there isn't much" in the silence any more than in darkness, at least not very much reducible to print, but to God there is something in it for all that. Oh! you - you, I mean, who are weary of hearing the reiteration of the great unrepealed commission, you who think you care, but who certainly don't, past costing point, is there nothing will touch you?"

As someone who has been given a great burden for the lost, I found this quote particularly convicting and disconcerting. The context of this quote is Amy Carmichael's earnest plea for prayer, which is a constant theme throughout her life. I was forced to face the awful truth of my lack of prayer for our missionaries, or really for any ministry. Do I pray for them? sure. But in light of this quote, in light of my supposed passion, do I pray as much as I ought? no. ouch. If we think this plea is particular only to the case of Amy Carmichael, we are fools. I believe that this need for support through prayer, for intercession, is in the hearts of all missionaries, of all ministers of God. How many times did Paul ask for prayer in the New Testament? How many times did he thank the church for their prayers? How is the church fufilling it's purpose on earth if it is not building up the church and adding to the church? Are our missionaries not the church? Have they not committed themselves to adding to the church? Where then is our greatest, most powerful source of support (prayer) to be seen? In the 12 people who show up to the missionary prayer meetings? I dearly hope not. However, my own attendance, or lack thereof, does not bode well. We would see a much more unified church, perhaps even a redeeming of who-knows-how-many-more souls, and far more encouraged and uplifted missionaries who can truthfully say that the church supports them well if we actually took the time to get down on our knees for our brothers and sisters every day and throughout the day.

"But you're always so happy!"

Just yesterday, a friend of mine was complaining to me how exhausted he was because he didn't get to sleep in. I replied, telling him how I was in the same condition. "But you're always so happy!" He said that as though my happiness completely invalidated my exhaustion and I was astonished at his thought process. This dialogue set me off on a long train of thought.

I am often told that I am always bright and cheerful, as though that means that my life is perfect. I had to realize that I often use this very idea as a mask. I hide behind the fact that people assume I'm sunny all the time, so that, as long as I keep smiling, no one knows that there is anything less than perfect going on in my heart.

I was also shocked the way in which he treated joy, as though it is rare and only certain people have it. My friend claims Christ as his own, as do many of my other friends who see joy in the same way. Have we not much to be joyful for? Almost every time people ask me why I seem so happy for no apparent reason, I have to reply, "Because Jesus loves me!". I have been redeemed! I am no longer an ugly, filthy, disgusting, broken, battered human being! I am an heir to the inheritance the omnipotent, eternal God has for us! I have been made pure, so that I don't have to be ashamed any longer! Today, in the text for the sermon, 1 Peter 2:9-10 was brought up:

"But you are a chosen 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 darkness, into his marvelous light; for you once were not a people, but now you are the people of God; you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy."

I am chosen! I am of a people for God's own possession! I have been called into His marvelous light! I have gone from not being a people, having no real identity, to being of the people of the Most High! I did not have a purpose, but now I have the most awesome purpose ever!!!! Are we so immune to Christ's love that we cannot feel this joy? That we cannot even ask the Holy Spirit who is living right there inside of us to fill us up with it? Joy is abundant and free! We have only to ask!

The Girl with Death in her Eyes

Darkness surrounds me –
Black behind me,
Black beside me,
But His light is before me.

So many pass me,
Walking into the deep night.
I did not dare look at one,
Until a Voice rang out inside.

“Look at her – the girl with death in her eyes.”

I looked into her eyes and saw
Burning, smouldering, hungry flames.
Terrifying darkness pervades, controls
The girl with death in her eyes.

“She deserves to be told.”
How, oh Lord? HOW?
I don’t know her. I’m too scared.
So I walked on.

These doubts kept nagging,
Cutting me inside.
Still I walked on.

No! I cannot let this happen!
“Wait!” I called out to her.
But I stopped just in time to hear her scream pierce the empty, dark silence
– and my soul.

It was too late for the girl with death in her eyes.

What have I done! I didn’t know!
But I did.
This pain is choking me, strangling me, stabbing me.
LORD, TAKE IT AWAY!
But I need it, Lord, I know.

Don’t take it from me,
Don’t let me forget
The high price for leaving
The girl with death in her eyes.

There is a girl with death in her eyes.

Standing Up

Recently, I've been struggling because of my timidity. Many of you know that I hate to speak up about things because I somehow think that I'm offending someone by opening up my mouth. Well, a situation kept coming up that went against my convictions. I was in a dilemma in which, if I didn't say anything, I knew I was sinning, yet I was too frightened to take a stand for my convictions. My conscience was uneasy for a long time. Finally, I cried out to God and told Him that I had faith that if I would just open my mouth, He would give me the courage and words to say what needed to be said. No one bit my head off for what I said, and instead, complied with what I said. I cannot tell you the freedom I felt once I actually became bold enough to stand up for my convictions. Please pray that I will not be ashamed to speak when the Holy Spirit convicts me.

1 Corinthians 15:57-58 ~ But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.